He's starting to wonder if he said the wrong thing, if maybe he should be concerned, because Steve is staring at him like he's aiming down the sights of a sniper rifle, laser-focused and intent, looking for, Christ, Danny doesn't know. If it's the truth, maybe. That would make sense, considering how many people Steve has trusted, who turned around and lied to him again and again.
Danny won't. Not now, even when he knows it's probably too much, too soon, too sensitive. Maybe ruining their friendship, or making Steve second-guess everything Danny's ever done for him or said to him. Possibly freaking him out, because feelings are heavy, even if there was that knife-edged thing in his voice earlier, bracing himself for Danny to tell him about someone else. Some mythical, impossible other man, or men.
As if Steve were not the catalyst and result, both.
He doesn't know what else he can say, how much more clear he can be, but he should say something, right, because Steve is still just staring, a whole new sequence of expressions flicking across his face, one by one, until they start blurring together and Danny's mouth opens just in time for Steve to lean in and capture it.
Drag a soft, surprise, wounded sound out of Danny, instead of words, that's all sore relief and longing so pure it shocks Danny himself, because it's only been a minute or two, and he'd lived years without it before ten minutes ago, but he'd missed it. Steve's mouth on his. Needed it, back.
Steve's mouth, and Steve's hand, where no one but Steve would be allowed to touch. Heavy against his throat, that should make him tense up, because it's such a vulnerable spot, easy to crush, easy to pin him -- but then it slides down to his shoulder, and back up again, like Steve doesn't know how to touch him, or how to keep his hand in one place.
While kissing him. Like. God. Like Danny is his first glass of water in a week. Or like he's sucking in fresh air after being nearly smothered. It's not trying to burn him down, or break him into pieces.
Just Steve, curving into him like the tide, and overwhelming him, until Danny's head is spinning and his fingers are tight in Steve's clothing, all over again.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-25 04:42 am (UTC)He's starting to wonder if he said the wrong thing, if maybe he should be concerned, because Steve is staring at him like he's aiming down the sights of a sniper rifle, laser-focused and intent, looking for, Christ, Danny doesn't know. If it's the truth, maybe. That would make sense, considering how many people Steve has trusted, who turned around and lied to him again and again.
Danny won't. Not now, even when he knows it's probably too much, too soon, too sensitive. Maybe ruining their friendship, or making Steve second-guess everything Danny's ever done for him or said to him. Possibly freaking him out, because feelings are heavy, even if there was that knife-edged thing in his voice earlier, bracing himself for Danny to tell him about someone else. Some mythical, impossible other man, or men.
As if Steve were not the catalyst and result, both.
He doesn't know what else he can say, how much more clear he can be, but he should say something, right, because Steve is still just staring, a whole new sequence of expressions flicking across his face, one by one, until they start blurring together and Danny's mouth opens just in time for Steve to lean in and capture it.
Drag a soft, surprise, wounded sound out of Danny, instead of words, that's all sore relief and longing so pure it shocks Danny himself, because it's only been a minute or two, and he'd lived years without it before ten minutes ago, but he'd missed it. Steve's mouth on his. Needed it, back.
Steve's mouth, and Steve's hand, where no one but Steve would be allowed to touch. Heavy against his throat, that should make him tense up, because it's such a vulnerable spot, easy to crush, easy to pin him -- but then it slides down to his shoulder, and back up again, like Steve doesn't know how to touch him, or how to keep his hand in one place.
While kissing him. Like. God. Like Danny is his first glass of water in a week. Or like he's sucking in fresh air after being nearly smothered. It's not trying to burn him down, or break him into pieces.
Just Steve, curving into him like the tide, and overwhelming him, until Danny's head is spinning and his fingers are tight in Steve's clothing, all over again.