It's a little harder than just a second thought to calm back down to nothingness, even when it's still shoving at his edges. A feeling he could pound into submission if he needed to roll out, just like broken bones, or didn't want to be wherever here was. But, he does, and he doesn't have a reason to fight it. Which isn't the same as it coming back easily as deciding he doesn't need to move or go somewhere. Like some part of his body is still uncertain, ready for Danny to change his mind.
Except that Danny's hand find his back again, amid his warm snapped words, and they trace up Steve's back. Danny's palm warm and flat, more solid and settled than it ever is except when Danny is trying to give comfort. Except this isn't that. It's so far from that. When Danny's hand is on his bare skin, has been on nearly all of it, and he's just running it up Steve's back, to curl it at the base of his neck, while he curves a little into where Steve's head is.
Steve can't help pushing into those fingers, on his back, his neck, letting them drag him back.
Even when Steve huffs a scoff that really comes out more as a heavy breath than a real scoff, barely settled into the hand and Danny's shifting when Danny adds an arm to back and says those words. Like Steve was still changing his mind. Like Steve wanted to be anywhere else in his house or the world, or had moved for any other purpose than that it was what he was supposed to do, always did, planned better, usually never got so smacked over that everything was an impossible blur and he didn't remember to pull to a side, or wasn't usually on the bed already by then instead.
"I thought you'd be less bitchy after sex," Steve says, low, too warm for a scoff too, even though it's all shit and lies, because he's never once really pictured 'after', except as Danny with other people, as something to hurt and keep himself reminding cold and brutal of his place, where he should be, can't be, but is tonight, suddenly is, and he has to give in to cross that barely an inch, since Danny shifted, and brush his cheek against Danny's shoulder, which brushes his nose and then his mouth against the side of Danny's neck. This small tentative thing, that isn't a kiss or a scoff or a laugh or an insult.
It's just Danny's skin. Another piece of it, like all the parts he's covering aren't enough still.
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It's a little harder than just a second thought to calm back down to nothingness, even when it's still shoving at his edges. A feeling he could pound into submission if he needed to roll out, just like broken bones, or didn't want to be wherever here was. But, he does, and he doesn't have a reason to fight it. Which isn't the same as it coming back easily as deciding he doesn't need to move or go somewhere. Like some part of his body is still uncertain, ready for Danny to change his mind.
Except that Danny's hand find his back again, amid his warm snapped words, and they trace up Steve's back. Danny's palm warm and flat, more solid and settled than it ever is except when Danny is trying to give comfort. Except this isn't that. It's so far from that. When Danny's hand is on his bare skin, has been on nearly all of it, and he's just running it up Steve's back, to curl it at the base of his neck, while he curves a little into where Steve's head is.
Steve can't help pushing into those fingers, on his back, his neck, letting them drag him back.
Even when Steve huffs a scoff that really comes out more as a heavy breath than a real scoff, barely settled into the hand and Danny's shifting when Danny adds an arm to back and says those words. Like Steve was still changing his mind. Like Steve wanted to be anywhere else in his house or the world, or had moved for any other purpose than that it was what he was supposed to do, always did, planned better, usually never got so smacked over that everything was an impossible blur and he didn't remember to pull to a side, or wasn't usually on the bed already by then instead.
"I thought you'd be less bitchy after sex," Steve says, low, too warm for a scoff too, even though it's all shit and lies, because he's never once really pictured 'after', except as Danny with other people, as something to hurt and keep himself reminding cold and brutal of his place, where he should be, can't be, but is tonight, suddenly is, and he has to give in to cross that barely an inch, since Danny shifted, and brush his cheek against Danny's shoulder, which brushes his nose and then his mouth against the side of Danny's neck. This small tentative thing, that isn't a kiss or a scoff or a laugh or an insult.
It's just Danny's skin. Another piece of it, like all the parts he's covering aren't enough still.