Those words make him laugh, washing through him in a wave he recognizes so well. A call and response. A code. He knows they aren't true now any more than they ever are. Especially not now. When Danny, only a breath ago was shoving at his clothes, and pleading with Steve to admit he had the vaguest clue of knowing what he did to Danny. When it felt like being punched in the head to know he did anything at all to Danny. That every moment he'd collected like photographs and shoved away. Danny had meant it. In those seconds.
Made Steve want to know everything.
Did he collect those moments like photos? It wasn't possible he'd ever. After seeing it. Not like Steve. It was hard picture. Danny with his perfect hair and little car and little house. But, suddenly, he wanted to know.
All the things he still had no words for, or not enough yet. He might be fine jumping out of a plane 3,000 up, but he wasn't entirely cool with fucking this over entirely by asking something like that. Maybe not now, or ever. If it would implied he had, too. Even when looking at Danny's face like this was all the start he needed. This face that was going to be etched in ash on the inside of his chest once Danny stopped proving he was Steve's only weakness. The one Steve couldn't root out. No, not couldn't. Never couldn't. Wouldn't.Won't.
When his hand gets free of his pants, letting them drop from one so it can find the center of Danny's chest and push him back again. Flat to the door. But not under Steve this time. It pushes him a foot away, while Steve leans the opposite direction, arm stretched nearly straight, and Danny should know to run. Just based on the expression on Steve's face. A grin, shining smile. Wild, and reckless, and utterly with a plan.
"Me?" Steve rolled his eyes, even as the smile, with slightly swollen, didn't pause a beat. Mimicking whining badly, very on purpose. "The door is a problem." Beat. "Forget the door, Steve." Which is not. It was Do not stop. Still a shiver in his blood, but not his bragging. "The door is not good enough now."
"I think-" Steve said, letting his hands fall, one from Danny's chest and from the only part of his pants being held out, even as his smile only darkened along with his gaze never wavering from Danny. "-you should go back to your other topic." The one that was Steve. Somehow. The one that Steve thrust back at Danny as Steve was pushing his briefs off over his thighs next, something of a challenge in his face. Even when he could read the hairline fracture in Danny's.
Like a kid at the edge of a Ferris wheel. Wide eyed and wanting, but trembling. A face he knew incredibly well on Danny. The one that said everything about what Danny wanted -- even if Steve still couldn't entirely parse that being himself, him, here, now, like this -- and everything he was afraid to give in to, to have explode and drag him down again. That Steve had been pushing him over for years. Into the arms of every other person on the otherside of it.
Except as much as Danny hated him, yelled at him, he was the one always there, too. Always stepping up to whatever it was. Yelling at Steve that he wasn't driving fast enough. Dragging Steve out of the red zone. A shoulder on the beach. An ear when Steve could manage words. And he always listened then, too. When Steve told his to go get that cup of coffee, or fly to another country and take care of his own family business, fight for and believe that he could fight for Grace, believe in himself. Believe in Five-0, and in Steve.
Steve can feel the tremble down his own spine, resolutely straight and still though it is, when the rest of the cloth hits the ground, making him have to find the way to step out of shoes, pants and all, while he can only briefly think, refusing to look away from Danny's face, that if it is a mistake, he's going to go down in the biggest bonfire of his life yet.
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Those words make him laugh, washing through him in a wave he recognizes so well. A call and response. A code. He knows they aren't true now any more than they ever are. Especially not now. When Danny, only a breath ago was shoving at his clothes, and pleading with Steve to admit he had the vaguest clue of knowing what he did to Danny. When it felt like being punched in the head to know he did anything at all to Danny. That every moment he'd collected like photographs and shoved away. Danny had meant it. In those seconds.
Made Steve want to know everything.
Did he collect those moments like photos? It wasn't possible he'd ever. After seeing it. Not like Steve.
It was hard picture. Danny with his perfect hair and little car and little house. But, suddenly, he wanted to know.
All the things he still had no words for, or not enough yet. He might be fine jumping out of a plane 3,000 up, but he wasn't entirely cool with fucking this over entirely by asking something like that. Maybe not now, or ever. If it would implied he had, too. Even when looking at Danny's face like this was all the start he needed. This face that was going to be etched in ash on the inside of his chest once Danny stopped proving he was Steve's only weakness. The one Steve couldn't root out. No, not couldn't. Never couldn't. Wouldn't. Won't.
When his hand gets free of his pants, letting them drop from one so it can find the center of Danny's chest and push him back again. Flat to the door. But not under Steve this time. It pushes him a foot away, while Steve leans the opposite direction, arm stretched nearly straight, and Danny should know to run. Just based on the expression on Steve's face. A grin, shining smile. Wild, and reckless, and utterly with a plan.
"Me?" Steve rolled his eyes, even as the smile, with slightly swollen, didn't pause a beat. Mimicking whining badly, very on purpose. "The door is a problem." Beat. "Forget the door, Steve." Which is not. It was Do not stop. Still a shiver in his blood, but not his bragging. "The door is not good enough now."
"I think-" Steve said, letting his hands fall, one from Danny's chest and from the only part of his pants being held out, even as his smile only darkened along with his gaze never wavering from Danny. "-you should go back to your other topic." The one that was Steve. Somehow. The one that Steve thrust back at Danny as Steve was pushing his briefs off over his thighs next, something of a challenge in his face. Even when he could read the hairline fracture in Danny's.
Like a kid at the edge of a Ferris wheel. Wide eyed and wanting, but trembling. A face he knew incredibly well on Danny. The one that said everything about what Danny wanted -- even if Steve still couldn't entirely parse that being himself, him, here, now, like this -- and everything he was afraid to give in to, to have explode and drag him down again. That Steve had been pushing him over for years. Into the arms of every other person on the otherside of it.
Except as much as Danny hated him, yelled at him, he was the one always there, too. Always stepping up to whatever it was. Yelling at Steve that he wasn't driving fast enough. Dragging Steve out of the red zone. A shoulder on the beach. An ear when Steve could manage words. And he always listened then, too. When Steve told his to go get that cup of coffee, or fly to another country and take care of his own family business, fight for and believe that he could fight for Grace, believe in himself. Believe in Five-0, and in Steve.
Steve can feel the tremble down his own spine, resolutely straight and still though it is, when the rest of the cloth hits the ground, making him have to find the way to step out of shoes, pants and all, while he can only briefly think, refusing to look away from Danny's face, that if it is a mistake, he's going to go down in the biggest bonfire of his life yet.