The whole world is, annoyingly, present outside his head. Finite shapes and noises. The way the endless wall and wash of white ebbs off, almost entirely, even when it leaves him heavy muscles, strained until a snap, still loose. He could still jump into action with little thought to it. But he's avoiding that thought, letting it continue on to whoever it needs, because he has had to. For a month.
They've only had to get up and run after a case once or twice. The rest of these night cocoon themselves into darkness, sleep, the solid warmth, touch, feel of a body sleeping at his side. The one half under him right one. Danny's. The though he could move off Danny is even less active, after all these weeks, than the one where he could for work.
Because Danny doesn't make him, and Danny is actually far more talkatively, almost disappointed, when he does. Pull away somewhere else. The few times he ever managed to disentangle any bit of himself from Danny. From wanting to burrow even further into the smaller man. The warm solidness of him, his breath, heart beat, never completely still movements.
Like now even. When the faintest movements still catch like pins being dropped in abject silence. Or is just abject, obsessive, observance of Danny, of nothing but Danny? The way the arm blanketing him tightens, so briefly, not even strong enough he thinks its on purpose. Like Danny's body still talks even when his mouth isn't yeti
It should annoy him. Be clingy. Or something. Especially by now. Weeks in. But it doesn't. It's a interesting thought really to have trampled by Danny's rough low voice. Low. Not so far from his face. His ear. Everything else.
When Steve can't help the jerk of the muscle in his cheek, how it makes his mouth curve trying for sharp, even semi-clinging to muddled. Making him open his eyes, challenge Danny's stupid mouth, even when he's remembering how fast and sharp Danny had gotten annoyed about Steve opening his mouth to respond last time.
"We'll just do it, again, tomorrow, then," is coolly smug and challenging. And just the smallest bit distracted by letting his hand in Danny's hair shift. Curve against his head, through more of his hair. Fuzzily considering the notion of tipping it and kissing him now. Already.
Because he would. For this, the way it left him feel winded and warm and the way they were still, well, like this. He didn't care if it was crazy. Not when it felt this good. Ended like this. Even this was great.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2012-12-11 07:00 pm (UTC)They've only had to get up and run after a case once or twice. The rest of these night cocoon themselves into darkness, sleep, the solid warmth, touch, feel of a body sleeping at his side. The one half under him right one. Danny's. The though he could move off Danny is even less active, after all these weeks, than the one where he could for work.
Because Danny doesn't make him, and Danny is actually far more talkatively, almost disappointed, when he does. Pull away somewhere else. The few times he ever managed to disentangle any bit of himself from Danny. From wanting to burrow even further into the smaller man. The warm solidness of him, his breath, heart beat, never completely still movements.
Like now even. When the faintest movements still catch like pins being dropped in abject silence. Or is just abject, obsessive, observance of Danny, of nothing but Danny? The way the arm blanketing him tightens, so briefly, not even strong enough he thinks its on purpose. Like Danny's body still talks even when his mouth isn't yeti
It should annoy him. Be clingy. Or something. Especially by now. Weeks in. But it doesn't. It's a interesting thought really to have trampled by Danny's rough low voice. Low. Not so far from his face. His ear. Everything else.
When Steve can't help the jerk of the muscle in his cheek, how it makes his mouth curve trying for sharp, even semi-clinging to muddled. Making him open his eyes, challenge Danny's stupid mouth, even when he's remembering how fast and sharp Danny had gotten annoyed about Steve opening his mouth to respond last time.
"We'll just do it, again, tomorrow, then," is coolly smug and challenging. And just the smallest bit distracted by letting his hand in Danny's hair shift. Curve against his head, through more of his hair. Fuzzily considering the notion of tipping it and kissing him now. Already.
Because he would. For this, the way it left him feel winded and warm and the way they were still, well, like this. He didn't care if it was crazy. Not when it felt this good. Ended like this. Even this was great.