Christ. He does. Steve drives him crazy, requires Danny to smooth every situation over, when Steve is a blink and a snap of spiderweb-fine self-restraint away from turning some annoying suspect into a smear on the floor or wall, and he's got to control every tiny splinter that so much as edges into the frame of his scope. Has got to drive Danny's car, be the one to take the bullet, know every last detail of everything happening outside his direct line of sight. Sometimes attacks Danny, like this is warfare, not sex; a battlefield, not a bed.
And Danny does. Love it. Not for itself -- what is there about needing control in this psychopathic way that is, exactly, lovable? - but because it's Steve doing it, part of who he is, what he does. And.
Fingers tightening, an ugly snag in his chest threatening to catch breath, pulse, reality. Pushing aside the clear clang in his head, to grin into the air, pulling in a breath, eyes sliding closed as his skin lights up like Steve flipped a switch. "That seems like uncharacteristically poor judgment on my part."
Hand pulling at him, though Steve's laying half against him already, balancing his weight above Danny's chest. The other running from the back of Steve's head to the back of his shoulder, to curve around his bicep, palm to tattoo inl.
no subject
Christ. He does. Steve drives him crazy, requires Danny to smooth every situation over, when Steve is a blink and a snap of spiderweb-fine self-restraint away from turning some annoying suspect into a smear on the floor or wall, and he's got to control every tiny splinter that so much as edges into the frame of his scope. Has got to drive Danny's car, be the one to take the bullet, know every last detail of everything happening outside his direct line of sight. Sometimes attacks Danny, like this is warfare, not sex; a battlefield, not a bed.
And Danny does. Love it. Not for itself -- what is there about needing control in this psychopathic way that is, exactly, lovable? - but because it's Steve doing it, part of who he is, what he does. And.
Fingers tightening, an ugly snag in his chest threatening to catch breath, pulse, reality. Pushing aside the clear clang in his head, to grin into the air, pulling in a breath, eyes sliding closed as his skin lights up like Steve flipped a switch. "That seems like uncharacteristically poor judgment on my part."
Hand pulling at him, though Steve's laying half against him already, balancing his weight above Danny's chest. The other running from the back of Steve's head to the back of his shoulder, to curve around his bicep, palm to tattoo inl.
"Control freak and delusional."