It's not quiet, but silent. They've done quiet, into the lull on the beach, or the hum of the car in a long drive, or while a game is playing, when only good moves or odd commercials earn a noise more than a comment even. But this isn't quiet. This is silent. This is being able to hear the hum of the proximity light sensor on the house next door, even though it can't see them yet. This is the wind in the trees above them. The waves beyond them. The friction of Danny's shoes on the driveway.
But nothing else. A nothing else that chisel new chips from him every new second.
Danny took the keys, but he didn't move away. Didn't move anywhere, or at all. Didn't even look away from Steve. Standing there. Staring at him with dark eyes that weren't even blue in the late night shadows, and only made Steve's muscles tense when he remember that electric shot of blue brighter than high flame. He looked away and back, trying to banish it. Danny didn't want him to touch him, so he certainly didn't want Steve remembering what would be burned on the inside of his head. What Danny looked like for anyone he actually chose to have those reactions for with.
They could just up the ante. Fucked over by Steve. Fucked over by his own body.
Steve wants to snap something. Hard, fast. Like What, already? because it more unnerving to be stared at by a silent Danny than it is to be screamed at by five million of his words and helicopter hands. It's every proof he never wanted of what it must have been like for them at a point. Rachel. Gabby. Amber. Good, until it wasn't anymore. Until Danny didn't even want to talk about them, no less seemed to ever spend any time talking to them. Staring at Steve, something knit in his face, lips pressed together. Until the question.
Too carefully, like Danny's decided this needs to be official. He has to have it out, instead of letting Steve shove it the hell under the rug. A handful of drinks. An epic ice bath. Probably a jack off where he hates himself to the things he shouldn't remember, and still, viciously, sickly, doesn't want to forget. Falling asleep too close to dawn for it to count as real sleep. Because sleep hates him most of the time. Which will make it dawn, and a swim, and back to this face.
It'll be here tomorrow. Maybe it should be tomorrow. Further away. An easier lie. "It's been a long night--"
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-10-21 09:51 pm (UTC)It's not quiet, but silent. They've done quiet, into the lull on the beach, or the hum of the car in a long drive, or while a game is playing, when only good moves or odd commercials earn a noise more than a comment even. But this isn't quiet. This is silent. This is being able to hear the hum of the proximity light sensor on the house next door, even though it can't see them yet. This is the wind in the trees above them. The waves beyond them. The friction of Danny's shoes on the driveway.
But nothing else. A nothing else that chisel new chips from him every new second.
Danny took the keys, but he didn't move away. Didn't move anywhere, or at all. Didn't even look away from Steve. Standing there. Staring at him with dark eyes that weren't even blue in the late night shadows, and only made Steve's muscles tense when he remember that electric shot of blue brighter than high flame. He looked away and back, trying to banish it. Danny didn't want him to touch him, so he certainly didn't want Steve remembering what would be burned on the inside of his head. What Danny looked like for anyone he actually chose to have those reactions for with.
They could just up the ante. Fucked over by Steve. Fucked over by his own body.
Steve wants to snap something. Hard, fast. Like What, already? because it more unnerving to be stared at by a silent Danny than it is to be screamed at by five million of his words and helicopter hands. It's every proof he never wanted of what it must have been like for them at a point. Rachel. Gabby. Amber. Good, until it wasn't anymore. Until Danny didn't even want to talk about them, no less seemed to ever spend any time talking to them. Staring at Steve, something knit in his face, lips pressed together. Until the question.
Too carefully, like Danny's decided this needs to be official. He has to have it out, instead of letting Steve shove it the hell under the rug. A handful of drinks. An epic ice bath. Probably a jack off where he hates himself to the things he shouldn't remember, and still, viciously, sickly, doesn't want to forget. Falling asleep too close to dawn for it to count as real sleep. Because sleep hates him most of the time. Which will make it dawn, and a swim, and back to this face.
It'll be here tomorrow. Maybe it should be tomorrow. Further away. An easier lie. "It's been a long night--"