Five minutes ago, he would have said he was as surprised as he was going to get, tonight, when Steve leaned in -- pushed in, shoved in -- and kissed him, instead of breaking his jaw, or simply never speaking to him ever again, but that was before now. Before those words, punching their way out of Steve.
Getting strangled off like there could possibly be more to that sentence, but if there is, or if Steve says anything else, Danny can't hear it. Can barely feel Steve's fingers against his collar. Those other words coming like Steve's saying them under water, under glass, beneath a mile of ice, muffled and unimportant. Something about his shirts, except Danny can't care about his shirts, or even what Steve thinks of them, because Steve hates this suit. Hates it on Danny, and the idea of it off of Danny.
Because he has apparently been thinking about it off off Danny.
Shutting off Danny's ability to think, breath, or react like he hit a power switch, because Danny's brain is currently a wash of white noise and confusion. When. Okay. Maybe it wouldn't be so surprising. Maybe he shouldn't be so stunned. It's not an unusual thing to hear from someone who has spent the last ten minutes dedicatedly kissing him into the door.
But it is, because it's Steve. And Danny hasn't even been able to wrap his mind around this news that Steve wants him, comes to a hard stop at the thought that maybe Steve has wanted him for a while.
I've always hated it. This suit. Steve's always hated it. Danny's thoughts backpedaling in a furious panic to try and even figure out when the first time Steve saw this suit was, and coming up with...
That can't be right. That's too long. That's not tonight. That's years. Almost back to when Danny himself figured it out, years.
The kind of years that were filled with two girlfriends (him) and the return and subsequent departure of Cath (Steve) and too many close calls along the way, years.
Years in which Steve has hated this suit. Imagined it off Danny. Somewhere on a floor. That isn't this one.
Or was?
Which is a thought that kicks Danny in the throat, his throat, that's suddenly gone Sahara-dry and clogged.
When what he might say -- teasing or flirtatious or heavy with sparking promise -- to someone he expected to like this suit and want to peel him out of it doesn't seem to fit, because none of those people were Steve.
And because: "I've had this suit for years."
Slow, like he's just catching up, now. And maybe he is, except he's not sure he wants to know, doesn't want to look too closely at this swelling bubble of dread that's pushing against his lungs.
Because if Steve's always hated this suit, and Danny's had this suit for years, then he's gotten a lot of things very, very wrong, for a very, very long period of time.
no subject
Five minutes ago, he would have said he was as surprised as he was going to get, tonight, when Steve leaned in -- pushed in, shoved in -- and kissed him, instead of breaking his jaw, or simply never speaking to him ever again, but that was before now. Before those words, punching their way out of Steve.
Getting strangled off like there could possibly be more to that sentence, but if there is, or if Steve says anything else, Danny can't hear it. Can barely feel Steve's fingers against his collar. Those other words coming like Steve's saying them under water, under glass, beneath a mile of ice, muffled and unimportant. Something about his shirts, except Danny can't care about his shirts, or even what Steve thinks of them, because Steve hates this suit. Hates it on Danny, and the idea of it off of Danny.
Because he has apparently been thinking about it off off Danny.
Shutting off Danny's ability to think, breath, or react like he hit a power switch, because Danny's brain is currently a wash of white noise and confusion. When. Okay. Maybe it wouldn't be so surprising. Maybe he shouldn't be so stunned. It's not an unusual thing to hear from someone who has spent the last ten minutes dedicatedly kissing him into the door.
But it is, because it's Steve. And Danny hasn't even been able to wrap his mind around this news that Steve wants him, comes to a hard stop at the thought that maybe Steve has wanted him for a while.
I've always hated it. This suit. Steve's always hated it. Danny's thoughts backpedaling in a furious panic to try and even figure out when the first time Steve saw this suit was, and coming up with...
That can't be right. That's too long. That's not tonight. That's years. Almost back to when Danny himself figured it out, years.
The kind of years that were filled with two girlfriends (him) and the return and subsequent departure of Cath (Steve) and too many close calls along the way, years.
Years in which Steve has hated this suit. Imagined it off Danny. Somewhere on a floor. That isn't this one.
Or was?
Which is a thought that kicks Danny in the throat, his throat, that's suddenly gone Sahara-dry and clogged.
When what he might say -- teasing or flirtatious or heavy with sparking promise -- to someone he expected to like this suit and want to peel him out of it doesn't seem to fit, because none of those people were Steve.
And because: "I've had this suit for years."
Slow, like he's just catching up, now. And maybe he is, except he's not sure he wants to know, doesn't want to look too closely at this swelling bubble of dread that's pushing against his lungs.
Because if Steve's always hated this suit, and Danny's had this suit for years, then he's gotten a lot of things very, very wrong, for a very, very long period of time.