Danny is quiet. Quieter. They both are, like a blanket dropped into the tense noise of a few comments back, and there's a quiet truce finding its way into the spaces between their breaths. The suddenly smaller words. Softer, and more direct. Less other people's names when Steve opens his eyes while Danny goes back to talking, alongside his hands rubbing up and down Steve's skin suddenly.
He knows Danny is trying to calm him back down, and that Danny shouldn't have to. Calm him or apologize.
That this, right here, is in the long list of reasons he knew that he should never be right here. Didn't deserve to, as well as couldn't be and wouldn't be. Except that Danny keeps touching him, and he keeps looking down at Danny. That traitor in his chest. His heart that just won't stop beating no matter how many beatings it takes from how many people he tried to believe wouldn't do what they always do. Like clockwork. The one promise he can rely on from the world.
But he wants to believe it, all over again, when Danny says those words. I want to think about you. I just want you.
Impossible. Improbable. But Danny is still here. Danny isn't shoving him to the side and getting his pants and his keys to get the hell out of dodge from Steve who can't even reign it in for a civil discussion of when, where and how. Just keeps touching him and saying those words instead. Following it up with that small request that makes Steve look at him, in the dark, a touch too long. Maybe uncertain. Maybe confused. Maybe just unable to be relieved and distracted entirely. Not twenty-five and entirely reckless anymore.
Even if he wants to be, and it is something he can give. Wants. Doesn't even give it a word, because his words are poison in the air, but he can do this. Okay. He can do this. Right now, if Danny wants him to, and for as long as he can, until Danny doesn't want him to anymore. Lean back in and find Danny's mouth. Warm smooth lips, that just touching makes his stomach quiver like it's been days somehow. Kiss him as though it doesn't feel the ground is entirely unstable or that he knows the ground is sable, as it always is, and Steve, himself, just isn't.
Just press himself against there, trying to push it all away. The thrumming tension and the sharp protectiveness, the biting cold hunger. Shame. Anger. Helplessness. Jealousy so old it's another shirt. Just close his eyes, and tip Danny's head into the mattress again, his own hand finding the side of Danny's face and remember the rest of it. The parts that don't feel like even on the first night everything in his hands is cracked and broken because he can't stop dropping it.
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Danny is quiet. Quieter. They both are, like a blanket dropped into the tense noise of a few comments back, and there's a quiet truce finding its way into the spaces between their breaths. The suddenly smaller words. Softer, and more direct. Less other people's names when Steve opens his eyes while Danny goes back to talking, alongside his hands rubbing up and down Steve's skin suddenly.
He knows Danny is trying to calm him back down, and that Danny shouldn't have to. Calm him or apologize.
That this, right here, is in the long list of reasons he knew that he should never be right here. Didn't deserve to, as well as couldn't be and wouldn't be. Except that Danny keeps touching him, and he keeps looking down at Danny. That traitor in his chest. His heart that just won't stop beating no matter how many beatings it takes from how many people he tried to believe wouldn't do what they always do. Like clockwork. The one promise he can rely on from the world.
But he wants to believe it, all over again, when Danny says those words. I want to think about you. I just want you.
Impossible. Improbable. But Danny is still here. Danny isn't shoving him to the side and getting his pants and his keys to get the hell out of dodge from Steve who can't even reign it in for a civil discussion of when, where and how. Just keeps touching him and saying those words instead. Following it up with that small request that makes Steve look at him, in the dark, a touch too long. Maybe uncertain. Maybe confused. Maybe just unable to be relieved and distracted entirely. Not twenty-five and entirely reckless anymore.
Even if he wants to be, and it is something he can give. Wants. Doesn't even give it a word, because his words are poison in the air, but he can do this. Okay. He can do this. Right now, if Danny wants him to, and for as long as he can, until Danny doesn't want him to anymore. Lean back in and find Danny's mouth. Warm smooth lips, that just touching makes his stomach quiver like it's been days somehow. Kiss him as though it doesn't feel the ground is entirely unstable or that he knows the ground is sable, as it always is, and Steve, himself, just isn't.
Just press himself against there, trying to push it all away. The thrumming tension and the sharp protectiveness, the biting cold hunger. Shame. Anger. Helplessness. Jealousy so old it's another shirt. Just close his eyes, and tip Danny's head into the mattress again, his own hand finding the side of Danny's face and remember the rest of it. The parts that don't feel like even on the first night everything in his hands is cracked and broken because he can't stop dropping it.