He doesn't expect this either. Danny's hands on his cheeks. Danny's voice, telling him to come closer, come back, come to him. Which hits harder into his chest. Somehow. He can't explain how. Turns it sore, instead of hot as fire. Like someone Dany gets it. Something. Even when he can't. Because Steve doesn't, but it's been so long since Steve thought that was a reason to stop, to even question his orders. Steve doesn't question Danny in this voice.
Danny's hand had been poised over his heart. The place no one touches except Cath. No one is allowed.
It's too much of a risk. It's too close to the kill shot you can't come back from. The hearts pumps out 2,000 gallons everyday, so it bleeds out in seconds, and Danny's hand was there. Making every warning go off. Making him shudder and want to push into it. Because Danny would never. Because Danny has his back. Has him. Always has. Can have whatever part of Steve he wants. Ever wanted.
Especially with voice that drags him. The careful, calm one, that sounds like it hurts, too. The one Danny only uses so rarely. When Doris left, and when Cath left. When he told Danny about Freddie, too late, but without him yelling either. The nights when Danny just sat by him and was smart enough to be careful when he reached out to touch Steve, or didn't at all. Knew too well how much more dangerous and fast Steve was when he didn't know why even if he kept mouthing the reasons.
Danny kisses him. Again, and again. Those hands still on his face, fingers pressed in. Like Danny is trying to prove some point. Adding those words that make Steve want to roll his eyes. Like Danny could never understand. Not really. That Danny has driven him crazy for years. The most important person he's possibly ever met, and how many of the things that made Danny the happiest he'd been in these years -- barring Grace, never Grace -- had been the things Steve wanted to hate.
Pushed him toward. That joy that made him make that face. That face he was just making at Steve blinding him. That it hadn't mattered. The madness. Sting. If Danny was happy. It was more than he got living the madness for missions.
"You?" Again. That unrepentant words. With too much in it. Not a question. A rebuff. He can hear it in his voice, when it's flushed through him. Like Danny can't have any possible clue. That if it's even true, then Danny still has the lesser of that load, and somehow Steve has to prove it. Or can't stop himself. Both. When one hand veers from Danny's shoulder, across the seam on Danny's vest. Too heavy, slow, purposeful. "Have you seen yourself?"
There's something dark in it. Yearning. Impossibly not okay. With himself. "I hate this suit. I've always hated it."
Because it looks so good. It hugs every line of Danny's body. Not like those shirts, with their straining buttons that play havoc with Steve's mind and even more with his dreams. This one is painted on all of Danny. Crisp lines. Form fitting. He's wanted to put his hands on it from the first time Danny walked out. Strutting. Grinning that shit eating grin, before twirling Kono right there in Bull Pen, ready for their UC.
Touching her, even joking and showing off, smiling, in a way he would never ever touch Steve. Couldn't know Steve wanted. Except. Except. Those words stumble, drunken into Steve's head again. Danny apologizing. Danny seconds ago saying he didn't Steve would be laughing. Danny minutes ago saying. What had he been saying. Steve could punch him. Steve could fire him. And the whole world would laugh at that.
"I could never--" just falls out of his mouth, against Danny's. Refusing to let the those thoughts exist in the world. So wrong, and absolutely impossible. When Danny is the best man, the best cop, the best detective, the best friend he's ever had. He can't even imagine, or understand, the people who walk away from Danny. He can't imagine hating Danny, reviling him, even if he didn't feel this way. Even if his fingers are heavy on Danny's buttons. But don't. He doesn't.
His hand coming back up, finding that loose open collar and pulling Danny's head to him. Kissing him more. Trying to tell him.
He'd relieved Danny of duty for only that one time. With the man who had chained and hurt little girls. Who Danny took to a deep personal place he couldn't not go to as a father, with Grace as the center of his entire existence, and Steve couldn't even be allowed to touch, or he'd do so much more than he let Danny. There wouldn't have been a smear left if Steve had allowed himself. He hadn't stopped Danny, or mentioned anything about his oaths in Columbia. Not before, or after, that gun went off.
There's nothing Steve could ever do, willing to do any of those things to Danny for. He had Danny's back. He'd break almost any rule. Maybe any rule. For Danny. He'd follow Danny into hell. Sheild, gun, get away. Whatever Danny needed of him. Everything he did. Even if he didn't know what it was, and Steve had to run it. Like on that plane to Columbia, with all the cash in a bag. There was nothing Danny could say to him, ask of him, need him to do that he wouldn't do. He could never. Never. Not ever. It wasn't in him.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-24 03:22 pm (UTC)He doesn't expect this either. Danny's hands on his cheeks. Danny's voice, telling him to come closer, come back, come to him. Which hits harder into his chest. Somehow. He can't explain how. Turns it sore, instead of hot as fire. Like someone Dany gets it. Something. Even when he can't. Because Steve doesn't, but it's been so long since Steve thought that was a reason to stop, to even question his orders. Steve doesn't question Danny in this voice.
Danny's hand had been poised over his heart. The place no one touches except Cath. No one is allowed.
It's too much of a risk. It's too close to the kill shot you can't come back from. The hearts pumps out 2,000 gallons everyday, so it bleeds out in seconds, and Danny's hand was there. Making every warning go off. Making him shudder and want to push into it. Because Danny would never. Because Danny has his back. Has him. Always has. Can have whatever part of Steve he wants. Ever wanted.
Especially with voice that drags him. The careful, calm one, that sounds like it hurts, too. The one Danny only uses so rarely. When Doris left, and when Cath left. When he told Danny about Freddie, too late, but without him yelling either. The nights when Danny just sat by him and was smart enough to be careful when he reached out to touch Steve, or didn't at all. Knew too well how much more dangerous and fast Steve was when he didn't know why even if he kept mouthing the reasons.
Danny kisses him. Again, and again. Those hands still on his face, fingers pressed in. Like Danny is trying to prove some point. Adding those words that make Steve want to roll his eyes. Like Danny could never understand. Not really. That Danny has driven him crazy for years. The most important person he's possibly ever met, and how many of the things that made Danny the happiest he'd been in these years -- barring Grace, never Grace -- had been the things Steve wanted to hate.
Pushed him toward. That joy that made him make that face. That face he was just making at Steve blinding him.
That it hadn't mattered. The madness. Sting. If Danny was happy. It was more than he got living the madness for missions.
"You?" Again. That unrepentant words. With too much in it. Not a question. A rebuff. He can hear it in his voice, when it's flushed through him. Like Danny can't have any possible clue. That if it's even true, then Danny still has the lesser of that load, and somehow Steve has to prove it. Or can't stop himself. Both. When one hand veers from Danny's shoulder, across the seam on Danny's vest. Too heavy, slow, purposeful. "Have you seen yourself?"
There's something dark in it. Yearning. Impossibly not okay. With himself. "I hate this suit. I've always hated it."
Because it looks so good. It hugs every line of Danny's body. Not like those shirts, with their straining buttons that play havoc with Steve's mind and even more with his dreams. This one is painted on all of Danny. Crisp lines. Form fitting. He's wanted to put his hands on it from the first time Danny walked out. Strutting. Grinning that shit eating grin, before twirling Kono right there in Bull Pen, ready for their UC.
Touching her, even joking and showing off, smiling, in a way he would never ever touch Steve. Couldn't know Steve wanted. Except. Except. Those words stumble, drunken into Steve's head again. Danny apologizing. Danny seconds ago saying he didn't Steve would be laughing. Danny minutes ago saying. What had he been saying. Steve could punch him. Steve could fire him. And the whole world would laugh at that.
"I could never--" just falls out of his mouth, against Danny's. Refusing to let the those thoughts exist in the world. So wrong, and absolutely impossible. When Danny is the best man, the best cop, the best detective, the best friend he's ever had. He can't even imagine, or understand, the people who walk away from Danny. He can't imagine hating Danny, reviling him, even if he didn't feel this way. Even if his fingers are heavy on Danny's buttons. But don't. He doesn't.
His hand coming back up, finding that loose open collar and pulling Danny's head to him. Kissing him more. Trying to tell him.
He'd relieved Danny of duty for only that one time. With the man who had chained and hurt little girls. Who Danny took to a deep personal place he couldn't not go to as a father, with Grace as the center of his entire existence, and Steve couldn't even be allowed to touch, or he'd do so much more than he let Danny. There wouldn't have been a smear left if Steve had allowed himself. He hadn't stopped Danny, or mentioned anything about his oaths in Columbia. Not before, or after, that gun went off.
There's nothing Steve could ever do, willing to do any of those things to Danny for. He had Danny's back. He'd break almost any rule. Maybe any rule. For Danny. He'd follow Danny into hell. Sheild, gun, get away. Whatever Danny needed of him. Everything he did. Even if he didn't know what it was, and Steve had to run it. Like on that plane to Columbia, with all the cash in a bag. There was nothing Danny could say to him, ask of him, need him to do that he wouldn't do. He could never. Never. Not ever. It wasn't in him.