He's pretty okay with this taking up as much time as Steve will allow, finding the space between his lips, the space between his breath, slipping between his ribs and pushing gently outwards. Tightening when Steve shifts, curls more closely into him, stubborn resistance in the shoulder under his loose arm melting away, like Steve is resigned to giving him, without any truth behind his reluctance.
Look, it's crazy. Their life. The world. Everything thrown at them, aiming to bury them both, and Steve more than Danny, beneath the rubble.
But it's not all rubble. Not all crazy. Not that he'd ever say so out loud. But there's still this. There's still Grace. There's still Kono, and Chin; still Malia, hanging on with the kind of grim determination that knocks Danny flat to see, her strength shoring up her husband's. This. Again. Something to keep stealing, and, yeah. Maybe to protect, because it's too fragile for the way the world could so casually shatter it, a bored cat knocking glass of a table.
And there's no words for it. The way Steve listens, holds himself, then moves closer. Like he wants Danny under his skin as much as Danny wants to be there. Pulling away only to lean in again, meet lips, study mouth, breathing. His hand sliding from Steve's face to the side of his neck, to the rounding of his shoulder, back again. Take a minute. Breathe. There's no time during the day, no allowance. Something Steve would never take for himself, but he's only human, when everything's said and done, lines drawn beneath definitions.
Even he needs a break. They all do. This month has been hell, and it's not likely to get much better. He refuses to even think it might, considering the risk that thought would take, offering up any last stand of optimism to get blown out the window.
He pulls away without actually pulling away, still shifted close and comfortable, arm still slung around Steve, hand still at his neck. "Okay, better."
At least Steve feels a little less like he's about to leap up and start hunting someone down, though Danny wouldn't put it past him. Relaxed might be too strong a word, but most of the tense stillness seems to have seeped away.
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Look, it's crazy. Their life. The world. Everything thrown at them, aiming to bury them both, and Steve more than Danny, beneath the rubble.
But it's not all rubble. Not all crazy. Not that he'd ever say so out loud. But there's still this. There's still Grace. There's still Kono, and Chin; still Malia, hanging on with the kind of grim determination that knocks Danny flat to see, her strength shoring up her husband's. This. Again. Something to keep stealing, and, yeah. Maybe to protect, because it's too fragile for the way the world could so casually shatter it, a bored cat knocking glass of a table.
And there's no words for it. The way Steve listens, holds himself, then moves closer. Like he wants Danny under his skin as much as Danny wants to be there. Pulling away only to lean in again, meet lips, study mouth, breathing. His hand sliding from Steve's face to the side of his neck, to the rounding of his shoulder, back again. Take a minute. Breathe. There's no time during the day, no allowance. Something Steve would never take for himself, but he's only human, when everything's said and done, lines drawn beneath definitions.
Even he needs a break. They all do. This month has been hell, and it's not likely to get much better. He refuses to even think it might, considering the risk that thought would take, offering up any last stand of optimism to get blown out the window.
He pulls away without actually pulling away, still shifted close and comfortable, arm still slung around Steve, hand still at his neck. "Okay, better."
At least Steve feels a little less like he's about to leap up and start hunting someone down, though Danny wouldn't put it past him. Relaxed might be too strong a word, but most of the tense stillness seems to have seeped away.