He can't even keep track entirely. When one kiss ends and another begins, or whether there are multiples, when it feels like somehow, suddenly, without even planning it, they gave up the need to breathe except through each other. Except through this suddenly shift of mouthes, brush of tongues, Danny's hands lighting fires everywhere they moves. Again. But different this time. Wanting to touch him this time.
But he wanted earlier. It's hard to keep straight, when he's pushing into them, into Danny's bulk. Danny knowing, and choosing. Both of them aware. It's flaming shots. The burn down his throat and the kick in his center, except without any wait between them. Because Danny's hand is pushing around under his coat, and Steve's seconds from pushing the whole damn thing off. The case being over was enough to want out of it. Danny wanting it out of his way, is reason to burn it. Fling it away.
He's about to drag his hands off Danny, as impossible as that thought seems, to start shoving it off when Danny pulls back suddenly. Not just enough to get a gulp of air and smother himself back against Steve. Actually, pulls back. Even if it's not far. Far enough Steve has to focus on Danny's face. It never loses focus. Steve can't lose focus. He's not allowed. Except everything swims even as he's blinking his eyes, and he feels like he's dazed.
Dazed like three or four days of too much blood loss, on his feet, without sleep, unable to stop. That kind of dazed.
Danny staring at him from so close. Breathing fast, as though air was at a premium in the room. Eyes locked on him, wide and dark, but blue in the yellow light with nothing blocking him. His hair suddenly a wreck, and Steve doesn't remember doing that specifically. While a boulder crawls into his chest. Because it's terrible and amazing, and he won't be able to burn this out ever. He's going to go to his grave with it.
Freddie's fierce grin and even fiercer tackle of a hug the day they graduated stumbles about somewhere.
Except it's not like that. It's not gratitude beyond words. He's had that. Here. With Danny. It's not those bone crushing, mind not needed, hugs after the world throws its newest fucked up thing at one of them or both. It's not even those day where close was too close, because some bad day or even a great one, left them toasted far out at sea, hanging on each other and demanding the other listen even when the drinks had made it impossible to keep their sentences clear.
He's been this close to Danny. He has. But never like this. Never without some part of himself reigned back, even when it was crashing around his ears. Mountains falling. Desperation at large. Loud and impossible to fight for a few seconds, even as he never did this. Never let this part happen. His mouth touch any part of Danny. His hands wander anywhere. Not even press him face into Danny. Except.
Except there are excepts. He's not supposed to think about them. Acknowledge them. Remember them. Slips in judgement. Slips in control. Slips he's not allowed to have, or give into, or allow to exist without being scourged out.
But this one isn't a slip. This one, with Danny's rapid breathing and his eyes that pin Steve in a way no weapon or person ever has. Making him swallow down planes and mountains. Making him try to remember. How to breathe. Or construct a sentence. Or think. When even thoughts are just like trying to hold water in the palm of a hand where his fingers won't curl and close. Because he can't hold on to any of it. Not with Danny here. Touching him like this. Looking at him like this.
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He can't even keep track entirely. When one kiss ends and another begins, or whether there are multiples, when it feels like somehow, suddenly, without even planning it, they gave up the need to breathe except through each other. Except through this suddenly shift of mouthes, brush of tongues, Danny's hands lighting fires everywhere they moves. Again. But different this time. Wanting to touch him this time.
But he wanted earlier. It's hard to keep straight, when he's pushing into them, into Danny's bulk. Danny knowing, and choosing. Both of them aware. It's flaming shots. The burn down his throat and the kick in his center, except without any wait between them. Because Danny's hand is pushing around under his coat, and Steve's seconds from pushing the whole damn thing off. The case being over was enough to want out of it. Danny wanting it out of his way, is reason to burn it. Fling it away.
He's about to drag his hands off Danny, as impossible as that thought seems, to start shoving it off when Danny pulls back suddenly. Not just enough to get a gulp of air and smother himself back against Steve. Actually, pulls back. Even if it's not far. Far enough Steve has to focus on Danny's face. It never loses focus. Steve can't lose focus. He's not allowed. Except everything swims even as he's blinking his eyes, and he feels like he's dazed.
Dazed like three or four days of too much blood loss, on his feet, without sleep, unable to stop. That kind of dazed.
Danny staring at him from so close. Breathing fast, as though air was at a premium in the room. Eyes locked on him, wide and dark, but blue in the yellow light with nothing blocking him. His hair suddenly a wreck, and Steve doesn't remember doing that specifically. While a boulder crawls into his chest. Because it's terrible and amazing, and he won't be able to burn this out ever. He's going to go to his grave with it.
Freddie's fierce grin and even fiercer tackle of a hug the day they graduated stumbles about somewhere.
Except it's not like that. It's not gratitude beyond words. He's had that. Here. With Danny. It's not those bone crushing, mind not needed, hugs after the world throws its newest fucked up thing at one of them or both. It's not even those day where close was too close, because some bad day or even a great one, left them toasted far out at sea, hanging on each other and demanding the other listen even when the drinks had made it impossible to keep their sentences clear.
He's been this close to Danny. He has. But never like this. Never without some part of himself reigned back, even when it was crashing around his ears. Mountains falling. Desperation at large. Loud and impossible to fight for a few seconds, even as he never did this. Never let this part happen. His mouth touch any part of Danny. His hands wander anywhere. Not even press him face into Danny. Except.
Except there are excepts. He's not supposed to think about them. Acknowledge them. Remember them.
Slips in judgement. Slips in control. Slips he's not allowed to have, or give into, or allow to exist without being scourged out.
But this one isn't a slip. This one, with Danny's rapid breathing and his eyes that pin Steve in a way no weapon or person ever has. Making him swallow down planes and mountains. Making him try to remember. How to breathe. Or construct a sentence. Or think. When even thoughts are just like trying to hold water in the palm of a hand where his fingers won't curl and close. Because he can't hold on to any of it. Not with Danny here. Touching him like this. Looking at him like this.