The first word slide through everything, slick and warm. Like a sudden dollop of scalding water on ice.
But it doesn't cool like the image should suggest. It burns it's way down. Back to the center of his chest. Back to that place that has inflated sometimes. All night. Filled up until it felt like he might burst, only to keep holding, keep pushing the walls another inch out, and another, like his ribs and his skin hardly defined it. Slips in there, somehow sparking it back again.
Flickering out against all the quiet, stillness, tugging at the walls, tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Distracted for even partial awareness of that when Danny's fingers shifted at his sides, covering more space. The warmth of his skin divided so very thinly by this shirt. But he can't focus on that, even. Not really, because Danny is still focused, shifting, and he knows one word isn't go to cut it. Not for Danny, and his encyclopedias of words to answer anything asked of him.
Except it takes a longer second to even look like it's going to come, and maybe that does almost concern Steve. Like the thing running around at the edges of his spine, up his shoulders, in his neck, wasn't utterly gone. When the next words are more careful. Something he tries to pay some mind to, except that his heart tumbles, sideways, feeling like it either missed a beat or fell down a stair with each new word.
When it's something else. Fragile. Precious. Terrifyingly like have an object of the thinnest blown artisan glass dropped into his hand unexpected. That might break if so much as twinges a single muscle or takes a breath. At leas, it is until those last few words. When they sound almost like a get out of a jail free ticket. A write off of permission to just gloss over feeling like I do and I want you. Again.
Again, making that thing in center throb harder, even when he's starting to frown. At those last words.
Said like it's fine if he doesn't care so much about it. Like it's some fact he should know. Even if he doesn't care about knowing it, or it, itself. When the whole tumble of thoughts, snowballing, only makes everything sharper. The heat. The confusion. His grip against Danny's skin. The rise in his tone. "What is that supposed to mean?"
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2012-12-04 12:48 am (UTC)But it doesn't cool like the image should suggest. It burns it's way down. Back to the center of his chest. Back to that place that has inflated sometimes. All night. Filled up until it felt like he might burst, only to keep holding, keep pushing the walls another inch out, and another, like his ribs and his skin hardly defined it. Slips in there, somehow sparking it back again.
Flickering out against all the quiet, stillness, tugging at the walls, tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Distracted for even partial awareness of that when Danny's fingers shifted at his sides, covering more space. The warmth of his skin divided so very thinly by this shirt. But he can't focus on that, even. Not really, because Danny is still focused, shifting, and he knows one word isn't go to cut it. Not for Danny, and his encyclopedias of words to answer anything asked of him.
Except it takes a longer second to even look like it's going to come, and maybe that does almost concern Steve. Like the thing running around at the edges of his spine, up his shoulders, in his neck, wasn't utterly gone. When the next words are more careful. Something he tries to pay some mind to, except that his heart tumbles, sideways, feeling like it either missed a beat or fell down a stair with each new word.
When it's something else. Fragile. Precious. Terrifyingly like have an object of the thinnest blown artisan glass dropped into his hand unexpected. That might break if so much as twinges a single muscle or takes a breath. At leas, it is until those last few words. When they sound almost like a get out of a jail free ticket. A write off of permission to just gloss over feeling like I do and I want you. Again.
Again, making that thing in center throb harder, even when he's starting to frown. At those last words.
Said like it's fine if he doesn't care so much about it. Like it's some fact he should know. Even if he doesn't care about knowing it, or it, itself. When the whole tumble of thoughts, snowballing, only makes everything sharper. The heat. The confusion. His grip against Danny's skin. The rise in his tone. "What is that supposed to mean?"