It's hard to want to move. Now and ever, again, when he can move his fingers so marginally and the whole world reinvents what he knows of it, again. Danny's face shuttering up and shivering outward, beyond his control, beyond his ability to talk straight through. Expressions blurring into and fading out of each other that Steve's never seen and needs to memorize so he can never forget them again.
Which makes it insane that he smiles, grim and pleased, to watch Danny shove through it, too. Drag himself away, out of Steve's hands, and bodily attempt to drag Steve by an arm. There's a momentary consideration of digging his heels in and making it nearly impossible for Danny to move him, but -- what would be the point, right? when he wants what Danny wants? And has for so long -- he doesn't instead, letting himself be dragged like a tug boat.
"For you," Steve corrected, arrogant like he was somehow unaffected, or just as good either way the chips fell in that.
Yet he doesn't fight it, taking the steps with Danny, and not tugging back his arm. The landing is even fewer seconds from the middle stop when they aren't navigating each other's feet and the inability to see. Putting them on the hallway and right next to his room, door already mostly open from when he left this morning, in the middle of thoughts that had nothing to do with this.
The person he was this morning would have laughed, and then broken someone, for implying this would happen tonight.
When it's easy to keep up the motion and propel Danny toward the inside of the room, even in the dark, leaving what little light is being thrown upward by the scant light turned on and left on in the living room. He didn't even reach for the light switch, not even though he wanted to remember everything about this. There was something different to that, wasn't there? Turning on the light and pushing forward through it, glaring light and every inch of exposure.
It's not the same as suddenly snapping his arm in toward himself, fast enough to drag Danny off course and pull him back into Steve's arms. Too long already. When he needs his hands back on Danny's shoulders, and arms. His chest. To find his mouth again, somewhere against the thoughts about the light, and drag Danny right into the places he's always been in this room, already, too. Part of Steve and shadows that Steve keeps here. In his head and his bed.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-11-01 04:38 am (UTC)It's hard to want to move. Now and ever, again, when he can move his fingers so marginally and the whole world reinvents what he knows of it, again. Danny's face shuttering up and shivering outward, beyond his control, beyond his ability to talk straight through. Expressions blurring into and fading out of each other that Steve's never seen and needs to memorize so he can never forget them again.
Which makes it insane that he smiles, grim and pleased, to watch Danny shove through it, too. Drag himself away, out of Steve's hands, and bodily attempt to drag Steve by an arm. There's a momentary consideration of digging his heels in and making it nearly impossible for Danny to move him, but -- what would be the point, right? when he wants what Danny wants? And has for so long -- he doesn't instead, letting himself be dragged like a tug boat.
"For you," Steve corrected, arrogant like he was somehow unaffected, or just as good either way the chips fell in that.
Yet he doesn't fight it, taking the steps with Danny, and not tugging back his arm. The landing is even fewer seconds from the middle stop when they aren't navigating each other's feet and the inability to see. Putting them on the hallway and right next to his room, door already mostly open from when he left this morning, in the middle of thoughts that had nothing to do with this.
The person he was this morning would have laughed, and then broken someone, for implying this would happen tonight.
When it's easy to keep up the motion and propel Danny toward the inside of the room, even in the dark, leaving what little light is being thrown upward by the scant light turned on and left on in the living room. He didn't even reach for the light switch, not even though he wanted to remember everything about this. There was something different to that, wasn't there? Turning on the light and pushing forward through it, glaring light and every inch of exposure.
It's not the same as suddenly snapping his arm in toward himself, fast enough to drag Danny off course and pull him back into Steve's arms. Too long already. When he needs his hands back on Danny's shoulders, and arms. His chest. To find his mouth again, somewhere against the thoughts about the light, and drag Danny right into the places he's always been in this room, already, too. Part of Steve and shadows that Steve keeps here. In his head and his bed.