Steve stares, long and hard, like he's not sure he heard right. Even when he did.
Like he's listening for something miles off. Staring that five thousand yard stare. Into Danny.
Because. That's impossible. Isn't it? Like entirely impossible. Like it made sense for him, okay? Even if it was backwards and misplaced. Falling for his partner. Wanting to suddenly push him against a crate or drag him upstairs from the beach. Feeling like his heart stopped every time Danny nearly died. Not the first time. Not the first guy. But maybe the first one who really stuck. Longer than a night. Longer than a desperate need to feel. Longer than not being real at all. Because his career was all.
Danny keeps saying it. Small, single sentences so certain. Reluctant. Almost embarrassed. Like this is the worse admission. Not that it's been years. Not that it was a lie. That it was Steve. Only Steve, only ever Steve. Who feels like the room is shrinking again. That can't be right. It can't be. No one would. Has ever. Except Danny isn't looking away, and he knows Danny's face. The one that can't lie to save itself. That has tic's that read bright as the moon at midnight to Steve at least.
Staring up at him, almost beseeching. Not to shove his fingers and holes into this. Don't laugh. Don't tear it apart. This is the look he had when Steve got out of Hawala. The look he had all the time after Matt left, especially when he admitted. Not being able to pull the trigger on his brother. For weeks and weeks after they saved Grace. Off and on the evening, then weekend, after Rachel gave birth to Charlie with him at her side. After Reyes, and the way he pretended he didn't look after Amber's ex stabbed him into another hospitalization.
That floundering, flopping thing, with absolutely no defense against itself: Danny's heart. The victim of everything it loved.
You're my best friend, and I love you, swims up from somewhere. Meeting, merging, diluting entirely into it was only ever you, and setting off an explosion that Steve can't tell if is in his heart or his head. All he knows is he has to kiss Danny now. He has to. Pushes into it like maybe he hasn't this whole night. Not when it was just about giving in, but not giving in. Not when it was about the sudden shattering insanity of Danny's mouth on his, hands wandering here in his house.
Danny. Danny loves him. More than -- maybe not like that, but more than they've been saying. Too. Maybe not world-ending. Not like Grace. Or Rachel. But more. Somehow. Someway. More than he thinks he should. Wants Steve so much more than he thinks he should. Enough to feel scared and embarrassed of the bare facts. That he has. That it all started with Steve, even if he never let Steve in on it. It's supposed to be making sense, but his brains cells are popping in a grand crescendo with too much power and too much light, and there are no words for this feeling. None. None at all.
He's got a hand on the side of Danny's face, but it's moving down his throat, to his shoulder and back up. Because he's joked that Danny was smaller than an average man more times than he can't count, but suddenly it's true in both ways. Suddenly he's too small in the scope of the world, too impossible, too nothing like anyone else in Steve's whole life or anyone's he's met, even five years later and he's, also, too large, and Steve's hands have to start somewhere before the rights to even touch it, no less map it, suddenly fade from his grip.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-25 04:24 am (UTC)Steve stares, long and hard, like he's not sure he heard right. Even when he did.
Like he's listening for something miles off. Staring that five thousand yard stare. Into Danny.
Because. That's impossible. Isn't it? Like entirely impossible. Like it made sense for him, okay? Even if it was backwards and misplaced. Falling for his partner. Wanting to suddenly push him against a crate or drag him upstairs from the beach. Feeling like his heart stopped every time Danny nearly died. Not the first time. Not the first guy. But maybe the first one who really stuck. Longer than a night. Longer than a desperate need to feel. Longer than not being real at all. Because his career was all.
Danny keeps saying it. Small, single sentences so certain. Reluctant. Almost embarrassed. Like this is the worse admission. Not that it's been years. Not that it was a lie. That it was Steve. Only Steve, only ever Steve. Who feels like the room is shrinking again. That can't be right. It can't be. No one would. Has ever. Except Danny isn't looking away, and he knows Danny's face. The one that can't lie to save itself. That has tic's that read bright as the moon at midnight to Steve at least.
Staring up at him, almost beseeching. Not to shove his fingers and holes into this. Don't laugh. Don't tear it apart. This is the look he had when Steve got out of Hawala. The look he had all the time after Matt left, especially when he admitted. Not being able to pull the trigger on his brother. For weeks and weeks after they saved Grace. Off and on the evening, then weekend, after Rachel gave birth to Charlie with him at her side. After Reyes, and the way he pretended he didn't look after Amber's ex stabbed him into another hospitalization.
That floundering, flopping thing, with absolutely no defense against itself: Danny's heart. The victim of everything it loved.
You're my best friend, and I love you, swims up from somewhere. Meeting, merging, diluting entirely into it was only ever you, and setting off an explosion that Steve can't tell if is in his heart or his head. All he knows is he has to kiss Danny now. He has to. Pushes into it like maybe he hasn't this whole night. Not when it was just about giving in, but not giving in. Not when it was about the sudden shattering insanity of Danny's mouth on his, hands wandering here in his house.
Danny. Danny loves him. More than -- maybe not like that, but more than they've been saying. Too. Maybe not world-ending. Not like Grace. Or Rachel. But more. Somehow. Someway. More than he thinks he should. Wants Steve so much more than he thinks he should. Enough to feel scared and embarrassed of the bare facts. That he has. That it all started with Steve, even if he never let Steve in on it. It's supposed to be making sense, but his brains cells are popping in a grand crescendo with too much power and too much light, and there are no words for this feeling. None. None at all.
He's got a hand on the side of Danny's face, but it's moving down his throat, to his shoulder and back up. Because he's joked that Danny was smaller than an average man more times than he can't count, but suddenly it's true in both ways. Suddenly he's too small in the scope of the world, too impossible, too nothing like anyone else in Steve's whole life or anyone's he's met, even five years later and he's, also, too large, and Steve's hands have to start somewhere before the rights to even touch it, no less map it, suddenly fade from his grip.