For a smaller, if deceptively stocky, man, Danny has a pretty constant habit for locking him into a place. Or at least doing his best to throw all of himself at it, or the idea of it. Any other time or place or person in his life, Steve's pretty sure he would have a few more issues with it. But here, now, all he wants to wrap Danny around himself, or vice-versa, and never resurface. What would be the point. Why should they.
The world could keep from trying to poison and kill itself for a few days, right?
So that he could give into this. Not just a few hours. Feeling like he's stealing each second from the sun. Both the one that set and the one getting closer with each passing minute. When Danny's been gone, or he was, or the world, in its many facet's was trying shake apart in their hands. So that Friday is a blur, and most of the weekend, aside from Cath's laugh, and her shock, and the hellish endless day, comprising many days without sleep, in the week before it.
Back to nearly the beginning of last week. Or maybe right before the beginning. Which is insane. That one can't still be the first weekend, and they can't have lost this whole week. Lost the chance to even note it was still here, because they weren't, hadn't been. Here. Got caught up in so much else going on out there. But it is. It's already gone. With every single jagged bite it took out of every obvious and not-so-obvious place already.
It's almost possible to forget it entirely, when Danny's got his leg curl over the backs of his, and he's got an arm almost like a bar against Steve's back. Holding him there. Again. Like Steve had plans on getting up and go anywhere else, doing anything, anyone, else.
Like he's even capable of doing anything but feeling the burn in his chest, through his lungs, as Danny surges up against his like a wave. Danny straining up into him, muscles and ribs, and the loud, thundering race of Danny's heart, pressing into Steve's own chest. Before the words come, breaking on his lips, his teeth, and his tongue, and Steve still feels like it's insane Danny doesn't get it. The power he has in a single word. Set of syllables he's heard all his life.
Tripping and escaping, fast off Danny's mouth into his, with the force of a shovel pummeling the back of Steve's head.
When he doesn't know which perverse part of his braincells left clinging on has him whispering, "Breathe, Babe."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-03-04 06:02 am (UTC)The world could keep from trying to poison and kill itself for a few days, right?
So that he could give into this. Not just a few hours. Feeling like he's stealing each second from the sun. Both the one that set and the one getting closer with each passing minute. When Danny's been gone, or he was, or the world, in its many facet's was trying shake apart in their hands. So that Friday is a blur, and most of the weekend, aside from Cath's laugh, and her shock, and the hellish endless day, comprising many days without sleep, in the week before it.
Back to nearly the beginning of last week. Or maybe right before the beginning. Which is insane. That one can't still be the first weekend, and they can't have lost this whole week. Lost the chance to even note it was still here, because they weren't, hadn't been. Here. Got caught up in so much else going on out there. But it is. It's already gone. With every single jagged bite it took out of every obvious and not-so-obvious place already.
It's almost possible to forget it entirely, when Danny's got his leg curl over the backs of his, and he's got an arm almost like a bar against Steve's back. Holding him there. Again. Like Steve had plans on getting up and go anywhere else, doing anything, anyone, else.
Like he's even capable of doing anything but feeling the burn in his chest, through his lungs, as Danny surges up against his like a wave. Danny straining up into him, muscles and ribs, and the loud, thundering race of Danny's heart, pressing into Steve's own chest. Before the words come, breaking on his lips, his teeth, and his tongue, and Steve still feels like it's insane Danny doesn't get it. The power he has in a single word. Set of syllables he's heard all his life.
Tripping and escaping, fast off Danny's mouth into his, with the force of a shovel pummeling the back of Steve's head.
When he doesn't know which perverse part of his braincells left clinging on has him whispering, "Breathe, Babe."