There have been parts of it, late at night, deep in dark and drowsiness, after everything's been burned away, leaving them just clinging to this side of consciousness. Or out on the lanai, watching stars, watching waves, watching the sun diving down into peaceful water.
There's not a lot of it, but there's enough to pinpoint parts, enough to know this is different, in some way that Danny doesn't want to try and define. It's comforting, like a warm blanket. Companionable. Sifting away the necessity of trying to say the unsay-able, before he tries and fails and brings that look back to Steve's face.
Fingers tightening, barely, at Steve's wrist, the pad of his thumb marking the rush of Steve's pulse, fast without being thready, yet, and this could spiral into that, too, but he wants to hold it here, just for a minute. Regain his footing after the floor fell away beneath him. Try to wrap his mind around a world where he is the best thing to happen to someone.
Whatever freight truck just drove through his chest left him feeling hollow and aching, brittle at the edges, an old feeling that isn't unwelcome, right now. Steve knows he's not bulletproof, so what's the point in pretending he is?
Hand sliding along Steve's side, soft cotton, firm muscle, warmth radiating like he'd spent the last day in the sun, on a board, on the sand, soaking it in the way Hawaii begs people to do. Letting this touch wipe out any thoughts of any others, manicured nails and dainty fingers, possessive anger and fear starting to fold back into their box. Cool water poured on an over-heated temper, threatening to snap at any second with the weight of fears that are just drifting out of touch, now; sun hitting mist, a slow kiss that he could drown in, if Steve weren't holding onto him.
Careful. Like explanation, not punctuation, and it hurts, this unfolding, but the way over-worked muscles hurt, the way healing bones hurt.
And Steve is a goof and a crazy person, and he brings all kinds of violence and wreckage along with him, but there is no single other person Danny wants the way he wants him, not least because the thing Steve never seems to see clearly is that, for all the destruction that surrounds him, Danny has never met anyone so dedicated to fixing every single break he finds. That he builds as much as he takes down, gives more than anyone should, or could, without a single thought for himself.
no subject
There have been parts of it, late at night, deep in dark and drowsiness, after everything's been burned away, leaving them just clinging to this side of consciousness. Or out on the lanai, watching stars, watching waves, watching the sun diving down into peaceful water.
There's not a lot of it, but there's enough to pinpoint parts, enough to know this is different, in some way that Danny doesn't want to try and define. It's comforting, like a warm blanket. Companionable. Sifting away the necessity of trying to say the unsay-able, before he tries and fails and brings that look back to Steve's face.
Fingers tightening, barely, at Steve's wrist, the pad of his thumb marking the rush of Steve's pulse, fast without being thready, yet, and this could spiral into that, too, but he wants to hold it here, just for a minute. Regain his footing after the floor fell away beneath him. Try to wrap his mind around a world where he is the best thing to happen to someone.
Whatever freight truck just drove through his chest left him feeling hollow and aching, brittle at the edges, an old feeling that isn't unwelcome, right now. Steve knows he's not bulletproof, so what's the point in pretending he is?
Hand sliding along Steve's side, soft cotton, firm muscle, warmth radiating like he'd spent the last day in the sun, on a board, on the sand, soaking it in the way Hawaii begs people to do. Letting this touch wipe out any thoughts of any others, manicured nails and dainty fingers, possessive anger and fear starting to fold back into their box. Cool water poured on an over-heated temper, threatening to snap at any second with the weight of fears that are just drifting out of touch, now; sun hitting mist, a slow kiss that he could drown in, if Steve weren't holding onto him.
Careful. Like explanation, not punctuation, and it hurts, this unfolding, but the way over-worked muscles hurt, the way healing bones hurt.
And Steve is a goof and a crazy person, and he brings all kinds of violence and wreckage along with him, but there is no single other person Danny wants the way he wants him, not least because the thing Steve never seems to see clearly is that, for all the destruction that surrounds him, Danny has never met anyone so dedicated to fixing every single break he finds. That he builds as much as he takes down, gives more than anyone should, or could, without a single thought for himself.
It knocks him flat, every time.