"Everything." That means nothing. Nothing is wrong with that suit, except everything it makes Steve think. Want.
When his mouth is saying all the things he should never say. Never. Wasn't supposed to look at in the light of day. It didn't matter if he'd spent most of that first night awake, pillow pressed into his face, trying to force sleep, or suffocation, if it would help, and unable. "I hate it on you." Beat. "And the idea of it off of you-" Steve's teeth almost snap, but his body is humming, like he's in the middle of a hard run.
God. He remembered. Okay. He remembered, like he's supposed to remember everything. Hating watching Danny leave. Broad shoulders, skip in his step, the swing of his hands. Hating the idea he was going home. Maybe even to Gabby, while still looking this good. Hated his mind for thinking about delicate fingers, thin and graceful, professionally polished, on this vest, on the collar. Maybe even a casual brush of lipstick on the folded edge of it.
Other things. Of course. Because he just said. Admitted. He'd thought about it not on Danny. Somewhere else. When Danny isn't stupid enough to miss his voice and just assume Steve meant hanging up and not left on the floor.
Danny, who is an idiot. At least as much as he is. Bristling up his ruffles at Steve's insult, that wasn't, even when he's not letting go. Even when his hands find Steve hips and Steve's chest wants to let go of another sound he shouldn't, can't, won't, as they collide into each other again. Sending a shuddering hard jolt through his body because of it. The walls cracking all around him. But not the ones holding up the door. Never those. They stand silent vigil over all the sins in this house.
He can believe it, but he can't. The way Danny looks just the edge of antagonist, puffed up, defensive. Proud of his suit. Not certain if Steve is just lying to him. Like anyone could miss it. Danny cuts a line through a room, and maybe everyone doesn't look. But enough people. Enough people that Steve wants to chunk things at their heads. Because they can look. Do. As he's forced to watch. Pretend he doesn't care, notice, mind.
Maybe it's even part of the reasons, the unlooked at ones at least, more than half the time, that he bulls ahead and expects Danny to follow in the wake he makes, so he doesn't have to see it. He knows it's happening. Especially when Danny is happy. Shined up so that people get dazed by his smile and his ebullience. A million words and that happy go lucky tone. Making the whole world pale before it.
Making Steve unable to look away, but unable to lean into the feelings that batter him like bullets, sends him into a hurtling into a faster, harder free fall than jumping out of an airplane, that he has had to find the strength and will, again and again and again, to wrench himself from. How it's impossible, and a given. Like breathing air. He breathes in even when he doesn't think about, holds his breath without thinking about it. He wants Danny, even when he doesn't think about. Even when he's busy with other things. Other problems. Other people.
Tries not to think about what shoves in like bamboo under his nails. That maybe this is part of why, too. Because there's so much he's given Danny, can't not give him now, that he couldn't share. Not even with Cath.
That it happened even on a daily basis, brushed off like the random rainstorms. In the car, and in the office, and on the job. Danny. Every day. Always on some lower level. Something he just handled and accepted. Like Doris being gone, and Wo Fat being more than he'd thought, but less than he assumed. Danny. With his stupid dome of perfect hair and --
"And your stupid shirts," Steve shakes his head. "Are you trying to drive me crazy?" Because it worked.
"What is with this look like you are waiting for your clothes to just fall off if you actually remember to take a breath?"
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-10-24 06:29 pm (UTC)"Everything." That means nothing. Nothing is wrong with that suit, except everything it makes Steve think. Want.
When his mouth is saying all the things he should never say. Never. Wasn't supposed to look at in the light of day. It didn't matter if he'd spent most of that first night awake, pillow pressed into his face, trying to force sleep, or suffocation, if it would help, and unable. "I hate it on you." Beat. "And the idea of it off of you-" Steve's teeth almost snap, but his body is humming, like he's in the middle of a hard run.
God. He remembered. Okay. He remembered, like he's supposed to remember everything. Hating watching Danny leave. Broad shoulders, skip in his step, the swing of his hands. Hating the idea he was going home. Maybe even to Gabby, while still looking this good. Hated his mind for thinking about delicate fingers, thin and graceful, professionally polished, on this vest, on the collar. Maybe even a casual brush of lipstick on the folded edge of it.
Other things. Of course. Because he just said. Admitted. He'd thought about it not on Danny. Somewhere else.
When Danny isn't stupid enough to miss his voice and just assume Steve meant hanging up and not left on the floor.
Danny, who is an idiot. At least as much as he is. Bristling up his ruffles at Steve's insult, that wasn't, even when he's not letting go. Even when his hands find Steve hips and Steve's chest wants to let go of another sound he shouldn't, can't, won't, as they collide into each other again. Sending a shuddering hard jolt through his body because of it. The walls cracking all around him. But not the ones holding up the door. Never those. They stand silent vigil over all the sins in this house.
He can believe it, but he can't. The way Danny looks just the edge of antagonist, puffed up, defensive. Proud of his suit. Not certain if Steve is just lying to him. Like anyone could miss it. Danny cuts a line through a room, and maybe everyone doesn't look. But enough people. Enough people that Steve wants to chunk things at their heads. Because they can look. Do. As he's forced to watch. Pretend he doesn't care, notice, mind.
Maybe it's even part of the reasons, the unlooked at ones at least, more than half the time, that he bulls ahead and expects Danny to follow in the wake he makes, so he doesn't have to see it. He knows it's happening. Especially when Danny is happy. Shined up so that people get dazed by his smile and his ebullience. A million words and that happy go lucky tone. Making the whole world pale before it.
Making Steve unable to look away, but unable to lean into the feelings that batter him like bullets, sends him into a hurtling into a faster, harder free fall than jumping out of an airplane, that he has had to find the strength and will, again and again and again, to wrench himself from. How it's impossible, and a given. Like breathing air. He breathes in even when he doesn't think about, holds his breath without thinking about it. He wants Danny, even when he doesn't think about. Even when he's busy with other things. Other problems. Other people.
Tries not to think about what shoves in like bamboo under his nails. That maybe this is part of why, too.
Because there's so much he's given Danny, can't not give him now, that he couldn't share. Not even with Cath.
That it happened even on a daily basis, brushed off like the random rainstorms. In the car, and in the office, and on the job. Danny. Every day. Always on some lower level. Something he just handled and accepted. Like Doris being gone, and Wo Fat being more than he'd thought, but less than he assumed. Danny. With his stupid dome of perfect hair and --
"And your stupid shirts," Steve shakes his head. "Are you trying to drive me crazy?" Because it worked.
"What is with this look like you are waiting for your clothes to just fall off if you actually remember to take a breath?"