It wasn't very often that Dan let himself feel, or really enjoy. Life was like a wheel sure, but it was also always a struggle - it was the dark abyss of loneliness, of dark water and a man who wasn't truly dead even though he had succumbed to the swing of Death's scythe once, technically, already.
But now, he let himself relax a bit.
He had that rose sort of clenched in one hand, against Bill's waist, but the other hand touched him, on some sort of trajectory - he followed the map of muscle and bone and tendons, shoulder and neck, the hollow beneath an ear. Everything about this made his stomach drop, but not in a bad way. He returned that kiss, sighing into it, lips parting, inviting. There was even the subtlest arch of his spine, leaning up into Bill - an aching arch, as if it wasn't already obvious that he was so touch-deprived it was almost comical.