Clarity works too well in moments like these, where everything feels frozen and precarious suddenly. The last thing he wants is to talk about is how he made himself be fine with everything Danny did, and who, for the length of their friendship. That he used as a prod to remember himself. His place. While constantly pushing Danny forward, or laughing at his mistakes, or giving him advice and calming him down from his panics.
It's selfish and probably insane, but he needed what he'd done, never to Danny's face or where he could see it, and it'd worked. But it wasn't something he wanted to give Danny. Not here, like this, talking about Danny being with other people. Not while Danny already feels so much further away and that was while the man was pinned under him.
A thumb rubbed into his muscle making him freeze briefly, in some surprise, startled from his thoughts, before realizing it was just Danny. Rubbing his thumb into his muscles and asking another question. Like somehow anything could be wrong. Or Danny could ever be an idiot, when Steve suddenly had absolutely nothing. Incriminating himself as bad as any other criminal, when all he wants is not to explain fully, but not to lie to Danny.
He doesn't lie to Danny, not about anything he has a choice about. Doesn't leave the city, state, without informing him now.
There's a thumb pushing into his muscles and warmth spills from his skin there, like it's been waiting for Danny's touch. A reminder that his bones and muscles, even as he's torn them back from relax, because they listen at the ready, for any run, are still close enough to what just happened that the sliding scale goes both way. Everything still full of warmth buried right under all this crap suddenly shoved on top of him.
Confusing him, wanting anything better to tell. Something worth Danny hearing. That he'd ever, even for a moment, pictured this for a good reason. But he hadn't picked this. Them. Danny, here in his bed. After sex. Wanting to be here truly at all. It wasn't something Danny was going to want. Him. His bed. Steve couldn't ever lie to himself beyond the pushing moment of using the idea of what just happened.
Except there's a thumb pushing into his shoulders, in small circles, that keeps dragging him back out in every turn, reminding him Danny is waiting. Making him nod in the dark, even if he goes from no words to only a single one now. "Yeah."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-11-14 12:47 pm (UTC)Clarity works too well in moments like these, where everything feels frozen and precarious suddenly. The last thing he wants is to talk about is how he made himself be fine with everything Danny did, and who, for the length of their friendship. That he used as a prod to remember himself. His place. While constantly pushing Danny forward, or laughing at his mistakes, or giving him advice and calming him down from his panics.
It's selfish and probably insane, but he needed what he'd done, never to Danny's face or where he could see it, and it'd worked. But it wasn't something he wanted to give Danny. Not here, like this, talking about Danny being with other people. Not while Danny already feels so much further away and that was while the man was pinned under him.
A thumb rubbed into his muscle making him freeze briefly, in some surprise, startled from his thoughts, before realizing it was just Danny. Rubbing his thumb into his muscles and asking another question. Like somehow anything could be wrong. Or Danny could ever be an idiot, when Steve suddenly had absolutely nothing. Incriminating himself as bad as any other criminal, when all he wants is not to explain fully, but not to lie to Danny.
He doesn't lie to Danny, not about anything he has a choice about. Doesn't leave the city, state, without informing him now.
There's a thumb pushing into his muscles and warmth spills from his skin there, like it's been waiting for Danny's touch. A reminder that his bones and muscles, even as he's torn them back from relax, because they listen at the ready, for any run, are still close enough to what just happened that the sliding scale goes both way. Everything still full of warmth buried right under all this crap suddenly shoved on top of him.
Confusing him, wanting anything better to tell. Something worth Danny hearing. That he'd ever, even for a moment, pictured this for a good reason. But he hadn't picked this. Them. Danny, here in his bed. After sex. Wanting to be here truly at all. It wasn't something Danny was going to want. Him. His bed. Steve couldn't ever lie to himself beyond the pushing moment of using the idea of what just happened.
Except there's a thumb pushing into his shoulders, in small circles, that keeps dragging him back out in every turn, reminding him Danny is waiting. Making him nod in the dark, even if he goes from no words to only a single one now. "Yeah."