These are things he's never told anyone. Not his therapist. Not his sisters. Not Gabby, or Amber, or Rachel. Kept from the one person he might tell anything to, because they were about him.
Maybe never really admitted, even to himself, that he wanted them. That he ever thought about, fantasized about, whether the fact that Steve lets Danny drag him around, lean on him, punch his arm or smack him upside the head, would mean he'd let Danny do something like this.
Push him into a wall. A mattress. A pillow.
Let Danny flip him, turn him, pin him. As much as Danny can ever pin him, or hold him. He can't, couldn't, if Steve ever tried to get away, but Steve doesn't. Never has. Always stops, and listens.
Like he's stopping, and listening, now. Except nothing about him is still. It's like the way he thrums against Danny's fingers and under his palm, when Danny drags him away from some scumbag Steve is trying to turn into a puddle of meat and blood. Paused, but vibrating with the need to keep moving. Like a racehorse held back at the starting gate.
He feels it, now. The shudders. The low, constant vibration. The energy being held back, hauled back. Because he asked for it. Wanted it. Steve still listening, letting him.
It goes to his head like someone smashed a bottle of champagne across his temple. He wants it, and so much more. To see if Steve would let him take his hand, and thread their fingers together, and keep it. If Steve would let him leave a bruise, here, on the curve where his shoulder meets his neck. What it would take to push Steve into pushing back and rolling them, turning this into a wrestling match just like the one their partnership has always been, neither giving in, both giving as good as they get.
He wants that sound, again, and he wants Steve's mouth and Steve's hands and Steve's skin. He wants it all.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-11-22 06:56 pm (UTC)These are things he's never told anyone. Not his therapist. Not his sisters. Not Gabby, or Amber, or Rachel. Kept from the one person he might tell anything to, because they were about him.
Maybe never really admitted, even to himself, that he wanted them. That he ever thought about, fantasized about, whether the fact that Steve lets Danny drag him around, lean on him, punch his arm or smack him upside the head, would mean he'd let Danny do something like this.
Push him into a wall.
A mattress.
A pillow.
Let Danny flip him, turn him, pin him. As much as Danny can ever pin him, or hold him. He can't, couldn't, if Steve ever tried to get away, but Steve doesn't. Never has. Always stops, and listens.
Like he's stopping, and listening, now. Except nothing about him is still. It's like the way he thrums against Danny's fingers and under his palm, when Danny drags him away from some scumbag Steve is trying to turn into a puddle of meat and blood. Paused, but vibrating with the need to keep moving. Like a racehorse held back at the starting gate.
He feels it, now. The shudders. The low, constant vibration. The energy being held back, hauled back. Because he asked for it. Wanted it. Steve still listening, letting him.
It goes to his head like someone smashed a bottle of champagne across his temple. He wants it, and so much more. To see if Steve would let him take his hand, and thread their fingers together, and keep it. If Steve would let him leave a bruise, here, on the curve where his shoulder meets his neck. What it would take to push Steve into pushing back and rolling them, turning this into a wrestling match just like the one their partnership has always been, neither giving in, both giving as good as they get.
He wants that sound, again, and he wants Steve's mouth and Steve's hands and Steve's skin. He wants it all.