A lot of what they say is lies, insults, and over exaggerations. It's who they are, how they roll, what they do.
A lot of people outside of Five-0 think every bit of it is real. Never understand how they could still be working together six years later if they hate each other this much. But they've never hated each other. No matter how many times Danny has said it. Not the first day, trying to bulldoze each other, and not even the first time disappeared to Asia and Danny called almost every day saying I hate you as often as he said come back.
Not now, when they still constantly disrespect each others skills like breathing. When Steve doesn't even have to say and Danny doesn't have to hear that no part of Steve wants Danny to be dead silent. That every cell in him wants to shudder and push harder, pull deeper, hold longer when Danny's voice takes his name and swears like Steve dropped Danny on frying pan instead of his bed, and it goes to his head, expanding fast and hot through his chest, like nothing else in the world.
Danny's fingers finding his head. The side of his face and over his hair. Shaking enough -- just like the rest of Danny's body -- that Steve can feel it. Wants to laugh. Dizzying madness shooting through were his blood is supposed to be, but has no room to be, when this is shoving through, ballooning the space of his veins to twice their size. Because he's doing this to Danny. Him. To Danny. That Danny is holding on, and can't stop saying his name.
When Danny has never said his name this many times in a row when he wasn't trying to get Steve's attention to keep him from making an example of someone, or when he was drunk and he had found the newest thing he absolutely needed Steve to pay attention to. This third one, dribbling into his ears like acid, when he doesn't want to stop. He wants to keep going. Wants every single shudder that smacks Danny's body so hard, Steve's name following it like an echo. A warning trampled.
A double spur pushing into Steve along with all of Danny. Warm and solid in his mouth, pushing up into him with every shudder and buck of his body that Steve doesn't even try to stop. Not really. He could pin Danny's hips or his thighs. But he doesn't. It's electric. He wants this. He wants whatever Danny gives, pushes at him. All of Danny. Wants to hear his voice as it gets more and more wrecked with each solid shake, turning from profane to something like begging.
He's never heard Danny like this. This isn't even what it's like when Danny is miserable, or angry, or desperate.
This is perfect. The cracks in his almost never crackable voice. All of Steve's name. In a dozen ways Steve will never be able to wash out of his mind or his skin. Ragged and cracking, with such an audible promise. That Steve could just shove throught the whole damn thing and show Danny. Take him here and now, in less than half a dozen minutes. That Steve could do that. Have him coming in minutes, maybe even the next one if he put his back into it, when Steve's barely taken a single breath in again.
It's tempting. Red and warm, burning under his skin. But not winning. Shoved at. Because, and Steve wonders if he's an idiot, too old and gone soft -- or if it's that other thing, that he can't look at, not tonight, not this and that, and still manage -- because he doesn't want that. He doesn't want a wham, bam, thank you ma'am here on his bed in form of Danny Williams.
He doesn't want Danny done in the next forty seconds, capable of falling asleep or leaving. Doesn't want Danny's hand off of him and his name not in Danny's mouth, garbled with marbles and written in boiling oil, being torn out of his chest while Danny is incapable of control his own mouth. Steve wants everything, but he doesn't want to be done. Not yet. Not now. He'd kill anyone who called and needed them now. Just. Kill them. Fast. Silent. Even if a part of him whines at the concept, more important thing. But, nothing in the world is this.
It's pulling bones from sockets, to pull back. Tongue licking the ridge of Danny's head, before it's playing at his own shiny bottom lip for a second in the stretch of his jaw, before he laughs. A crackling sound in the dark that is anything but silent. "Guess we're going to go with no on that one, too."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-11-07 02:31 pm (UTC)A lot of what they say is lies, insults, and over exaggerations. It's who they are, how they roll, what they do.
A lot of people outside of Five-0 think every bit of it is real. Never understand how they could still be working together six years later if they hate each other this much. But they've never hated each other. No matter how many times Danny has said it. Not the first day, trying to bulldoze each other, and not even the first time disappeared to Asia and Danny called almost every day saying I hate you as often as he said come back.
Not now, when they still constantly disrespect each others skills like breathing. When Steve doesn't even have to say and Danny doesn't have to hear that no part of Steve wants Danny to be dead silent. That every cell in him wants to shudder and push harder, pull deeper, hold longer when Danny's voice takes his name and swears like Steve dropped Danny on frying pan instead of his bed, and it goes to his head, expanding fast and hot through his chest, like nothing else in the world.
Danny's fingers finding his head. The side of his face and over his hair. Shaking enough -- just like the rest of Danny's body -- that Steve can feel it. Wants to laugh. Dizzying madness shooting through were his blood is supposed to be, but has no room to be, when this is shoving through, ballooning the space of his veins to twice their size. Because he's doing this to Danny. Him. To Danny. That Danny is holding on, and can't stop saying his name.
When Danny has never said his name this many times in a row when he wasn't trying to get Steve's attention to keep him from making an example of someone, or when he was drunk and he had found the newest thing he absolutely needed Steve to pay attention to. This third one, dribbling into his ears like acid, when he doesn't want to stop. He wants to keep going. Wants every single shudder that smacks Danny's body so hard, Steve's name following it like an echo. A warning trampled.
A double spur pushing into Steve along with all of Danny. Warm and solid in his mouth, pushing up into him with every shudder and buck of his body that Steve doesn't even try to stop. Not really. He could pin Danny's hips or his thighs. But he doesn't. It's electric. He wants this. He wants whatever Danny gives, pushes at him. All of Danny. Wants to hear his voice as it gets more and more wrecked with each solid shake, turning from profane to something like begging.
He's never heard Danny like this. This isn't even what it's like when Danny is miserable, or angry, or desperate.
This is perfect. The cracks in his almost never crackable voice. All of Steve's name. In a dozen ways Steve will never be able to wash out of his mind or his skin. Ragged and cracking, with such an audible promise. That Steve could just shove throught the whole damn thing and show Danny. Take him here and now, in less than half a dozen minutes. That Steve could do that. Have him coming in minutes, maybe even the next one if he put his back into it, when Steve's barely taken a single breath in again.
It's tempting. Red and warm, burning under his skin. But not winning. Shoved at. Because, and Steve wonders if he's an idiot, too old and gone soft -- or if it's that other thing, that he can't look at, not tonight, not this and that, and still manage -- because he doesn't want that. He doesn't want a wham, bam, thank you ma'am here on his bed in form of Danny Williams.
He doesn't want Danny done in the next forty seconds, capable of falling asleep or leaving. Doesn't want Danny's hand off of him and his name not in Danny's mouth, garbled with marbles and written in boiling oil, being torn out of his chest while Danny is incapable of control his own mouth. Steve wants everything, but he doesn't want to be done. Not yet. Not now. He'd kill anyone who called and needed them now. Just. Kill them. Fast. Silent. Even if a part of him whines at the concept, more important thing. But, nothing in the world is this.
It's pulling bones from sockets, to pull back. Tongue licking the ridge of Danny's head, before it's playing at his own shiny bottom lip for a second in the stretch of his jaw, before he laughs. A crackling sound in the dark that is anything but silent. "Guess we're going to go with no on that one, too."