He stopped breathing, somewhere around the second he actually started touching Steve with purpose, and his chest is contracting now with something that is probably the need for air, but feels like something else. Something huge and immovable, that he should have tried harder to move, that lurches like a boulder when he gusts out a breath of a laugh, that feels more wry than it should, for their cover. "Oh, I'm sure I'll pay for this."
For months, if not years. Even if Steve never cottons on, this is the stuff his dreams are made of, when it comes to giving Danny a hard time. At the very least, Danny will pay for every single liberty he takes tonight by being the butt of jokes, which will honestly be the best possible outcome, because it would beat it all getting erased in a miasma of embarrassment, never spoken of again because Steve's too weirded out by how naturally it all came to him.
But he'll pay, regardless. Even if Steve does nothing. Even if it changes nothing. He knows Steve's weight, and how much effort it takes to haul him back from some scumbag Steve wants to turn into a red smear, and he's pushed and pulled Steve around, bodily, before, but not like this. Not this tiny tug, that still manages to shift him, a little. That feels more intimate than the thousand things he's not allowed to dream of and sometimes wakes from, anyway, flushed and sweating like a thirteen year old who just discovered girls.
He'll pay for it just like he's paid for all the rest of it, every day and every time he stays over at Steve's place and every time they're a little too close or Steve lets Danny touch him for a little too long, every time Steve's there with a six-pack or whatever else Danny might need, to listen to him or back him up. It's just one more thing to toss in the coin jar he carries around, make it a little heavier, a little less easy to ignore.
Unlike the other guy, who Danny remembers only suddenly when it's become clear that he's given up, leaving Danny with the feeling of having swum up from deep water, blinking when he breaks back into the air.
The guy giving in. Graceless, and annoyed, and about to leave, which means he'll have to let go of Steve's beltloop and try to stop feeling like he'd spent the last five minutes scuffing wool socks over a carpet until all the hair on his body stood on end. "Have a nice night," he says, to no one in particular, because he's still caught on watching Steve, even if some of it is studying now for when the mask drops and Steve starts being Steve again, not his cover, not the person who might be interested, who'd let Danny touch him like this and flirt like this and make heavy, sparking promises.
He likes to just keep an eye out for when the hammer drops, okay.
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He stopped breathing, somewhere around the second he actually started touching Steve with purpose, and his chest is contracting now with something that is probably the need for air, but feels like something else. Something huge and immovable, that he should have tried harder to move, that lurches like a boulder when he gusts out a breath of a laugh, that feels more wry than it should, for their cover. "Oh, I'm sure I'll pay for this."
For months, if not years. Even if Steve never cottons on, this is the stuff his dreams are made of, when it comes to giving Danny a hard time. At the very least, Danny will pay for every single liberty he takes tonight by being the butt of jokes, which will honestly be the best possible outcome, because it would beat it all getting erased in a miasma of embarrassment, never spoken of again because Steve's too weirded out by how naturally it all came to him.
But he'll pay, regardless. Even if Steve does nothing. Even if it changes nothing. He knows Steve's weight, and how much effort it takes to haul him back from some scumbag Steve wants to turn into a red smear, and he's pushed and pulled Steve around, bodily, before, but not like this. Not this tiny tug, that still manages to shift him, a little. That feels more intimate than the thousand things he's not allowed to dream of and sometimes wakes from, anyway, flushed and sweating like a thirteen year old who just discovered girls.
He'll pay for it just like he's paid for all the rest of it, every day and every time he stays over at Steve's place and every time they're a little too close or Steve lets Danny touch him for a little too long, every time Steve's there with a six-pack or whatever else Danny might need, to listen to him or back him up. It's just one more thing to toss in the coin jar he carries around, make it a little heavier, a little less easy to ignore.
Unlike the other guy, who Danny remembers only suddenly when it's become clear that he's given up, leaving Danny with the feeling of having swum up from deep water, blinking when he breaks back into the air.
The guy giving in. Graceless, and annoyed, and about to leave, which means he'll have to let go of Steve's beltloop and try to stop feeling like he'd spent the last five minutes scuffing wool socks over a carpet until all the hair on his body stood on end. "Have a nice night," he says, to no one in particular, because he's still caught on watching Steve, even if some of it is studying now for when the mask drops and Steve starts being Steve again, not his cover, not the person who might be interested, who'd let Danny touch him like this and flirt like this and make heavy, sparking promises.
He likes to just keep an eye out for when the hammer drops, okay.