He's glad his fingers are already fisted in Danny's vest.
At least when he can get there. But getting there is straight through a blast of inferno that has nothing like rational thought. It's not even parsing Danny's voice. Because Danny's lips brush the side of Steve's ear, and everything slants sideways, as his fingers grip the cloth tighter and he's already leaned into the touch, into that warmth, that friction, before he freezes.
Every single warning in his head suddenly flaring into life.
Or maybe it's been screaming the whole time and he can only just hear it.
Thundering in his head, when he's clenching his jaw, teeth pressed to shatter, muscle there trembling at the necessary force, against the battering knowledge and impulse hammering at him like the worst storm he ever withstood. Because it would be be less than half an inch, maybe less than a quarter of it, to press his own mouth to Danny's jaw, and follow it down. Taste the skin brushed against his, in his nose.
The want is explosive. A hunger he hasn't felt at the mercy of for years.
Years. Not since those idiotic first ones when it hit.
He makes himself hold his breath, ignoring the sudden galloping motion in his chest that won't stop as suddenly as the other. Makes himself put those words he couldn't hear together. Danny. Danny agreeing. Because they were doing the job. Going to the back because Steve said he might be back there already. But Danny made a point the rush in Steve couldn't -- didn't want -- to ignore.
That maybe they needed to make a spectacle of themselves before it.
That maybe he was in this room, but he needed an incentive.
Which made Steve draw back. Not far enough. Not by far. Because it's only far enough back that his forehead is only nearly not brushing Danny's. Because he must have jumped to wrong conclusion. Right? That's his brain trying to boil out of his ears, where his ear has not stopped feeling like it's been burnt. Like Danny is still touching it even now. When he's not. When it's his hand on Steve's neck. Keeping him from leaving. Wanting Danny to actually be doing that. Keeping him here. (To pull him in closer.)
There's something terrifying and dangerously exhilarating in the desperate need to know if that was what Danny meant. If that was just the jump-start of what Danny thinks they need to do still, right here, right now. Makes him find Danny's eyes, wander, a little wild, a little too fast, to fall down to his mouth, and come back to his eyes.
He's taken bullets and broken bones like nothing, and he doesn't want to know if he could take this like it was nothing, too. (He couldn't.) Has to. He's better than himself. He has to be. (He wants to go down in flames.)
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-12 09:29 pm (UTC)He's glad his fingers are already fisted in Danny's vest.
At least when he can get there. But getting there is straight through a blast of inferno that has nothing like rational thought. It's not even parsing Danny's voice. Because Danny's lips brush the side of Steve's ear, and everything slants sideways, as his fingers grip the cloth tighter and he's already leaned into the touch, into that warmth, that friction, before he freezes.
Every single warning in his head suddenly flaring into life.
Or maybe it's been screaming the whole time and he can only just hear it.
Thundering in his head, when he's clenching his jaw, teeth pressed to shatter, muscle there trembling at the necessary force, against the battering knowledge and impulse hammering at him like the worst storm he ever withstood. Because it would be be less than half an inch, maybe less than a quarter of it, to press his own mouth to Danny's jaw, and follow it down. Taste the skin brushed against his, in his nose.
The want is explosive. A hunger he hasn't felt at the mercy of for years.
Years. Not since those idiotic first ones when it hit.
He makes himself hold his breath, ignoring the sudden galloping motion in his chest that won't stop as suddenly as the other. Makes himself put those words he couldn't hear together. Danny. Danny agreeing. Because they were doing the job. Going to the back because Steve said he might be back there already. But Danny made a point the rush in Steve couldn't -- didn't want -- to ignore.
That maybe they needed to make a spectacle of themselves before it.
That maybe he was in this room, but he needed an incentive.
Which made Steve draw back. Not far enough. Not by far. Because it's only far enough back that his forehead is only nearly not brushing Danny's. Because he must have jumped to wrong conclusion. Right? That's his brain trying to boil out of his ears, where his ear has not stopped feeling like it's been burnt. Like Danny is still touching it even now. When he's not. When it's his hand on Steve's neck. Keeping him from leaving. Wanting Danny to actually be doing that. Keeping him here. (To pull him in closer.)
There's something terrifying and dangerously exhilarating in the desperate need to know if that was what Danny meant. If that was just the jump-start of what Danny thinks they need to do still, right here, right now. Makes him find Danny's eyes, wander, a little wild, a little too fast, to fall down to his mouth, and come back to his eyes.
He's taken bullets and broken bones like nothing, and he doesn't want to know if he could take this like it was nothing, too. (He couldn't.) Has to. He's better than himself. He has to be. (He wants to go down in flames.)