He feels awkward, and exposed, which is a stupid thing to feel when he's already been naked and Steve's had his tongue down his throat, but he does. Feel awkward. Almost defensive. It's been there for so long, and he had to hide it for so long, and he is crap at hiding these things, okay, he's a shit liar and always has been, but he feels the need to protect it. Like maybe Steve will laugh at him, call him sensitive, mock him for all the feelings he has, and how they spill out everywhere and he can't control them. "Not like this, every day, but."
His hands are getting a little more agitated -- if he were standing, he'd be pacing, but Steve is lying on top of him, a dead weight, still, so all he can do is let them flick from the wrist, like he's shooing away flies. "You're always around, and you're always in everything, you stick your nose into every single aspect of my life, Steve, every one, so how was I supposed to go a day without thinking about it?"
Him. Them. Everything they couldn't be. Everything he wanted and couldn't have.
He rolls his head back, to look up at the ceiling, like that might make any of this seem less personal, less sensitive, less like he'd been pining for his partner every day for the last four years. Because he hadn't. Didn't. It wasn't pining, if it was never going to happen. Couldn't be, since it was impossible. Pining implied that there was even a snowball's chance in hell, and Danny didn't have that.
Until suddenly, it turned out, he did.
It's not a comfortable feeling, though, relating it. Every day. Even if most days, it was just a familiar ache, and nothing more specific than that. Just a brief thought of could be, before it was shaken off. Not usually more than that. He didn't always allow it.
Not always fantasizing about sleeping with Steve, because even at the start, it was more than that, right? "It wasn't even about the sex, most of the time, okay, it was just, I just wanted...to be," an abortive flip of his hand, and another shrug, feeling like he's about to start jittering right out of his skin. "Here."
Just, here. Not in bed. Just here. With Steve. At his side, at his back. And sometimes, sure, it got heated, got desperate, turned into torturing himself about what it would be like, about the physical, but that was never why it was a problem.
It was a problem because he fell in love with his partner, who was never going to want him back. His body wasn't the problem, as much as Danny wanted to blame it. It never is. It's always his heart.
no subject
"Yeah, well -- "
He feels awkward, and exposed, which is a stupid thing to feel when he's already been naked and Steve's had his tongue down his throat, but he does. Feel awkward. Almost defensive. It's been there for so long, and he had to hide it for so long, and he is crap at hiding these things, okay, he's a shit liar and always has been, but he feels the need to protect it. Like maybe Steve will laugh at him, call him sensitive, mock him for all the feelings he has, and how they spill out everywhere and he can't control them. "Not like this, every day, but."
His hands are getting a little more agitated -- if he were standing, he'd be pacing, but Steve is lying on top of him, a dead weight, still, so all he can do is let them flick from the wrist, like he's shooing away flies. "You're always around, and you're always in everything, you stick your nose into every single aspect of my life, Steve, every one, so how was I supposed to go a day without thinking about it?"
Him. Them. Everything they couldn't be. Everything he wanted and couldn't have.
He rolls his head back, to look up at the ceiling, like that might make any of this seem less personal, less sensitive, less like he'd been pining for his partner every day for the last four years. Because he hadn't. Didn't. It wasn't pining, if it was never going to happen. Couldn't be, since it was impossible. Pining implied that there was even a snowball's chance in hell, and Danny didn't have that.
Until suddenly, it turned out, he did.
It's not a comfortable feeling, though, relating it. Every day. Even if most days, it was just a familiar ache, and nothing more specific than that. Just a brief thought of could be, before it was shaken off. Not usually more than that. He didn't always allow it.
Not always fantasizing about sleeping with Steve, because even at the start, it was more than that, right? "It wasn't even about the sex, most of the time, okay, it was just, I just wanted...to be," an abortive flip of his hand, and another shrug, feeling like he's about to start jittering right out of his skin. "Here."
Just, here. Not in bed. Just here. With Steve. At his side, at his back. And sometimes, sure, it got heated, got desperate, turned into torturing himself about what it would be like, about the physical, but that was never why it was a problem.
It was a problem because he fell in love with his partner, who was never going to want him back. His body wasn't the problem, as much as Danny wanted to blame it. It never is. It's always his heart.