Whatever Steve was expecting to come next, too many questions or more strung together words, it doesn't.
Danny laughs with him, ribbing him, and right here, right here, this exact second is where Danny would smack him on the shoulder, or shoulder bump him, or thwap his back. Except Danny's hands are on him. A fact he can't forget, but keeps, suddenly, remembering again. Because nothing is the way it was even five hours ago. Laughing. A different laugh then, but not entirely, either. Giving each other shit about outfits, the lack of wires, and eyes open.
This isn't that. That had been everything. The everything that was everything. The everything he had left to lose when he walked into this room. Before all of this, and Danny is suddenly looking at him. Like that. Grin cracking his face, and making his eyes crinkle. The edges of his mouth. His chest rumbles with it. Steve knows how those go. Steve's been there.
Danny's worst moments. His best. He knows what Danny needs, how to get him through things, and where to take him after. There are plans and paths, and this one. Where this laugh, this smile, this joke happen, this isn't one of those paths he knows.
None of those paths have it written in years of a blood and dust that this is where Danny leans in and kisses him again. Again. Making his fingers tighten and his lips part without even thinking. Making him push down, pushing at the muscles in his back to meet Danny kissing. So bright it almost hurts to look at, he's barely even parsed it existing at him, without a beer, or Grace somewhere nearby while Danny is bragging about her, but he can't remember.
Because. Danny is kissing him. Laughing against his lips. Sending his heart -- the winded, wicked, racing thing in his chest, that suddenly exists too, furiously pumping, jumping, somersaulting -- tripping and falling down all of his ribs on that sound. Breathed against his lips, his teeth, his tongue. Wanting to suck it down, like oxygen at a too high altitude. Danny is the person who centers him when he can't. A mooring point when the whole world is the ocean in the middle of mother nature's worst.
Nothing about Danny's touch is centering. Mooring. Helping.
Steve doesn't care. Doesn't care about not caring. Doesn't even think about it.
Not when he has to kiss Danny back. When the first real struggle is with the thought about where to drag him, to cut the burn starting across his shoulder blades, and how he can't pick Danny up the way he would have just moved Cath, depositing her somewhere, and whether he gives a damn about any of that even. Someone could shoot him and he might not even feel it if Danny kept kissing him. The sarcasm still thick, even when it's broken between kisses that are more necessary than his getting out, "Would I do that?"
If he means it to be a real question, he's failing, because he only kisses Danny, again. Like the words are an air stop gap. Not real. Not necessary to be heard or responded to, because he gives up trying to think. Pushing Danny back toward the door they still haven't gotten far from. It's not going to help, but he doesn't give a damn. He just wants more of Danny. The rest of the world can burn. His muscles included. Which is maybe how the momentary pop in his head happens. Dragging out Danny's, we're crazy, again.
Making him push his forehead against Danny's, "Christ, Danny," irreverent, sharp and so air thin, not even sure which thing he's swearing at before he's kissing Danny, again. Not knowing at all, or not being able to even think straight if Danny keeps his hands on him. Fiercely against any notion of Danny putting them anywhere that isn't presently on him, unless it's on another part of him. That he's one of the few men made to walk through hell and come out in one piece, and he's going to dissolve, right here, against Danny's mouth.
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Whatever Steve was expecting to come next, too many questions or more strung together words, it doesn't.
Danny laughs with him, ribbing him, and right here, right here, this exact second is where Danny would smack him on the shoulder, or shoulder bump him, or thwap his back. Except Danny's hands are on him. A fact he can't forget, but keeps, suddenly, remembering again. Because nothing is the way it was even five hours ago. Laughing. A different laugh then, but not entirely, either. Giving each other shit about outfits, the lack of wires, and eyes open.
This isn't that. That had been everything. The everything that was everything. The everything he had left to lose when he walked into this room. Before all of this, and Danny is suddenly looking at him. Like that. Grin cracking his face, and making his eyes crinkle. The edges of his mouth. His chest rumbles with it. Steve knows how those go. Steve's been there.
Danny's worst moments. His best. He knows what Danny needs, how to get him through things, and where to take him after.
There are plans and paths, and this one. Where this laugh, this smile, this joke happen, this isn't one of those paths he knows.
None of those paths have it written in years of a blood and dust that this is where Danny leans in and kisses him again. Again. Making his fingers tighten and his lips part without even thinking. Making him push down, pushing at the muscles in his back to meet Danny kissing. So bright it almost hurts to look at, he's barely even parsed it existing at him, without a beer, or Grace somewhere nearby while Danny is bragging about her, but he can't remember.
Because. Danny is kissing him. Laughing against his lips. Sending his heart -- the winded, wicked, racing thing in his chest, that suddenly exists too, furiously pumping, jumping, somersaulting -- tripping and falling down all of his ribs on that sound. Breathed against his lips, his teeth, his tongue. Wanting to suck it down, like oxygen at a too high altitude. Danny is the person who centers him when he can't. A mooring point when the whole world is the ocean in the middle of mother nature's worst.
Nothing about Danny's touch is centering. Mooring. Helping.
Steve doesn't care. Doesn't care about not caring. Doesn't even think about it.
Not when he has to kiss Danny back. When the first real struggle is with the thought about where to drag him, to cut the burn starting across his shoulder blades, and how he can't pick Danny up the way he would have just moved Cath, depositing her somewhere, and whether he gives a damn about any of that even. Someone could shoot him and he might not even feel it if Danny kept kissing him. The sarcasm still thick, even when it's broken between kisses that are more necessary than his getting out, "Would I do that?"
If he means it to be a real question, he's failing, because he only kisses Danny, again. Like the words are an air stop gap. Not real. Not necessary to be heard or responded to, because he gives up trying to think. Pushing Danny back toward the door they still haven't gotten far from. It's not going to help, but he doesn't give a damn. He just wants more of Danny. The rest of the world can burn. His muscles included. Which is maybe how the momentary pop in his head happens. Dragging out Danny's, we're crazy, again.
Making him push his forehead against Danny's, "Christ, Danny," irreverent, sharp and so air thin, not even sure which thing he's swearing at before he's kissing Danny, again. Not knowing at all, or not being able to even think straight if Danny keeps his hands on him. Fiercely against any notion of Danny putting them anywhere that isn't presently on him, unless it's on another part of him. That he's one of the few men made to walk through hell and come out in one piece, and he's going to dissolve, right here, against Danny's mouth.
He wants to.