Steve stares, not at him, but at his hand, which only serves to make Danny feel even sicker, stoke that gut-twisting desperate rage at himself. Because Steve is staring at his hand, like he can't trust it. Like it's a snake that might be about to bite. Like if he doesn't keep his eyes on it, it might end up on his skin again, on his waist, travel down his arm or back in every way Danny touched him tonight that he knew would be too much.
Too strange. Even with all the times Danny's leaned on him or smacked him in the head or slapped his shoulder or grabbed his arm -- but none of those were like what he did tonight. Friendly touches: maybe a little more often than with most friends, but still mostly platonic.
And no one ever talked about the bone-crushing, breath-destroying hugs, after another too-close call. No one talked about how Danny found himself in Afghanistan at a military hospital, or how Steve got to Colombia, or why. It just happened, and then they went on with their lives, because all it meant was that they cared about each other, just the way friends and partners should. Willing to do anything. Go anywhere. Take a bullet. Break a law, or a hundred.
Everything Danny's thrown into the trash, because it somehow still isn't, wasn't, enough for him. He had to push it further. Had to give in.
No wonder Steve's barely looking at him, no wonder Steve doesn't want to talk. No wonder Steve's only response is a tight, single word, and a jerk of his chin. Still holding himself so dangerously still, and Danny wonders, briefly, if he will get hit before the night is out, once Steve finally snaps.
Maybe. It's not like he doesn't have it coming.
He can't even relax when his request is granted. It just tugs on the knot between his shoulders, drags it a little tighter, even as they slump a little, and he nods, lips pressing together, and drops his hands, to head towards the house. Silent, dark. Nothing like it should be. Staring at him with dark windows, that he's sure are blaming him for being another person to take Steve's love and trust and act like they're worth nothing to him.
He won't. He won't let it. Won't be another in that list. Steve can hate him, if that's what he needs, but he's not going to be one more person to drive straight over everything they have, and not apologize for it, or even acknowledge it. Steve deserves that. He deserves at least that.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-21 10:37 pm (UTC)Steve stares, not at him, but at his hand, which only serves to make Danny feel even sicker, stoke that gut-twisting desperate rage at himself. Because Steve is staring at his hand, like he can't trust it. Like it's a snake that might be about to bite. Like if he doesn't keep his eyes on it, it might end up on his skin again, on his waist, travel down his arm or back in every way Danny touched him tonight that he knew would be too much.
Too strange. Even with all the times Danny's leaned on him or smacked him in the head or slapped his shoulder or grabbed his arm -- but none of those were like what he did tonight. Friendly touches: maybe a little more often than with most friends, but still mostly platonic.
And no one ever talked about the bone-crushing, breath-destroying hugs, after another too-close call. No one talked about how Danny found himself in Afghanistan at a military hospital, or how Steve got to Colombia, or why. It just happened, and then they went on with their lives, because all it meant was that they cared about each other, just the way friends and partners should. Willing to do anything. Go anywhere. Take a bullet. Break a law, or a hundred.
Everything Danny's thrown into the trash, because it somehow still isn't, wasn't, enough for him. He had to push it further. Had to give in.
No wonder Steve's barely looking at him, no wonder Steve doesn't want to talk. No wonder Steve's only response is a tight, single word, and a jerk of his chin. Still holding himself so dangerously still, and Danny wonders, briefly, if he will get hit before the night is out, once Steve finally snaps.
Maybe. It's not like he doesn't have it coming.
He can't even relax when his request is granted. It just tugs on the knot between his shoulders, drags it a little tighter, even as they slump a little, and he nods, lips pressing together, and drops his hands, to head towards the house. Silent, dark. Nothing like it should be. Staring at him with dark windows, that he's sure are blaming him for being another person to take Steve's love and trust and act like they're worth nothing to him.
He won't. He won't let it. Won't be another in that list. Steve can hate him, if that's what he needs, but he's not going to be one more person to drive straight over everything they have, and not apologize for it, or even acknowledge it. Steve deserves that. He deserves at least that.