"Who's making any jokes? I'm not making any jokes," Steve insists, glancing down at the giant hand grenade cake with nothing short of amusement as Danny cuts off a piece from the top, serving it on a plate and handing it over to him. His smile briefly disappears in the wake of a blissful look when he licks some extra icing off the prongs of his fork, swaying happily.

"Buttercream," he murmurs, almost humming. "My favorite." He leans in, presses a kiss to Danny's temple and then cuts a section off his piece, shoveling it all in on one bite. "S'good," he manages, chewing slowly.