If he's honest with himself, he knows he's been touching Steve more, ever since.
Or maybe he just started noticing it: how often his fingers ended up in Steve's shirt, or his hand landed on Steve's shoulder or back, because he hadn't ever really thought about it, before, just moved in when it seemed like someone needed to get between Steve and the world (or the other way around, depending).
And then everything shifted, and he couldn't stop noticing. Or couldn't stop himself, maybe. Letting a hand linger a little too long. Leaning a little too close. Sitting on the couch with Steve's arm around his shoulders, like that's not a weird thing for two partners to be doing, but it was, right?
It was too much like this. This is deliberate and that wasn't, but it feels the same: like he's a piece of wool suddenly dropped into too-hot water, every inch of his skin shrinking all at once. Every nerve in his body suddenly clamoring, hyper-attentive of Steve's hand on his shoulder, and Steve's hip brushing his stomach, and how easy it would be, when Steve's looking down at him like this.
With that expression. The one they don't talk about. The one they don't tell the therapist about, the one Danny feels freezing up his own face, clutching in his chest, sharp claws prickling and gone again.
Ruth's talking, and the only thought he has is to sell it, right, because this is a cover, and that's why he lets go of Steve's beltloop to grip the waistband of Steve's pants, four fingers curling just inside, thumb against the loop he just let go of, heel of his hand against Steve's hip, while he looked back at Ruth, heart sprinting like he just ran a mile.
"A fern, huh?"
He feels only marginally like he's hearing and understanding everything she's saying: he's too caught, like his fingers up to the first knuckle, on the pressure between Steve's waistband and t-shirt and the slight, tiny, sliver of skin he's promises himself he can't feel. "Maybe we can look into it for you while we're here. Since you were so nice to bring us cookies, I mean."
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If he's honest with himself, he knows he's been touching Steve more, ever since.
Or maybe he just started noticing it: how often his fingers ended up in Steve's shirt, or his hand landed on Steve's shoulder or back, because he hadn't ever really thought about it, before, just moved in when it seemed like someone needed to get between Steve and the world (or the other way around, depending).
And then everything shifted, and he couldn't stop noticing. Or couldn't stop himself, maybe. Letting a hand linger a little too long. Leaning a little too close. Sitting on the couch with Steve's arm around his shoulders, like that's not a weird thing for two partners to be doing, but it was, right?
It was too much like this. This is deliberate and that wasn't, but it feels the same: like he's a piece of wool suddenly dropped into too-hot water, every inch of his skin shrinking all at once. Every nerve in his body suddenly clamoring, hyper-attentive of Steve's hand on his shoulder, and Steve's hip brushing his stomach, and how easy it would be, when Steve's looking down at him like this.
With that expression. The one they don't talk about. The one they don't tell the therapist about, the one Danny feels freezing up his own face, clutching in his chest, sharp claws prickling and gone again.
Ruth's talking, and the only thought he has is to sell it, right, because this is a cover, and that's why he lets go of Steve's beltloop to grip the waistband of Steve's pants, four fingers curling just inside, thumb against the loop he just let go of, heel of his hand against Steve's hip, while he looked back at Ruth, heart sprinting like he just ran a mile.
"A fern, huh?"
He feels only marginally like he's hearing and understanding everything she's saying: he's too caught, like his fingers up to the first knuckle, on the pressure between Steve's waistband and t-shirt and the slight, tiny, sliver of skin he's promises himself he can't feel. "Maybe we can look into it for you while we're here. Since you were so nice to bring us cookies, I mean."