Jesus. If he thought a kiss, or a bite on the lip was bad, it's nothing to what Steve's laugh does to him. Dissolves him like a sugar cube in hot water. He can actually feel the edges of himself melting into this ludicrous goo that is all that's left of his internal organs. He thinks he could literally be spread over toast, like butter. "Obviously your crazy is catching. Like the flu."
He doesn't know why, alright, but he has to keep putting up a fight, like he needs to save face, or something, but the truth is he's not sure he's wrong. There's just no vaccine for Steven McGarrett, SEAL extraordinaire and all-around Superman in cargo pants. No vaccine, and Danny's not even sure he'd have tried for one if it did, impossibly, decide to exist. Not now. Not now that he knows. He hates not knowing things, being in the dark, being on the outside of understanding, and this has pulled the wool over his eyes for too damn long, alright?
"Maybe it's something in the water. Or it's a side effect of the chronic sunstroke that every miserable day on this island bestows on me."
Alright, fine. He's pale and he burns easily and he doesn't like the sun or sunscreen, but he hasn't really had sunstroke except for maybe like the first few weeks here. He might be reluctant to acclimate, but he kind of hates dizzy spells and fever more.
This sort of feels like that, though. The sudden shift in his body, just because he was suddenly in sun and hundred-degree heat all day, because the days were about half again as long as they are at the height of July in Jersey. The sun doesn't fuck around, here, it sort of futzes about rising, but once it's up, everything is pounded with heat and the sort of brilliant prismatic light that only comes from being surrounded by water. And it took a toll. Wore him out, skyrocketed his core body temperature, left him dizzy in a way he wasn't again until that spilled milk, that dead body, that doorway, the one a year ago.
The one that Steve said was the first tripping step into all of this.
And now he feels it again. Shortness of breath, spinning head, rapidly rising temperature. Like heatstroke, because Steve is like all of Hawaii rolled into one, island-warm, blood beating like waves, the ocean Danny mistrusts and hates that he can't mistrust or hate when it's Steve, Steve's ocean. Perfect under Danny's hands, smooth skin, rough stubble, reacting to every touch and kiss and word like Danny never thought possible.
When the truth is, he has no excuse. "Maybe I never had a chance."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-05 05:44 pm (UTC)He doesn't know why, alright, but he has to keep putting up a fight, like he needs to save face, or something, but the truth is he's not sure he's wrong. There's just no vaccine for Steven McGarrett, SEAL extraordinaire and all-around Superman in cargo pants. No vaccine, and Danny's not even sure he'd have tried for one if it did, impossibly, decide to exist. Not now. Not now that he knows. He hates not knowing things, being in the dark, being on the outside of understanding, and this has pulled the wool over his eyes for too damn long, alright?
"Maybe it's something in the water. Or it's a side effect of the chronic sunstroke that every miserable day on this island bestows on me."
Alright, fine. He's pale and he burns easily and he doesn't like the sun or sunscreen, but he hasn't really had sunstroke except for maybe like the first few weeks here. He might be reluctant to acclimate, but he kind of hates dizzy spells and fever more.
This sort of feels like that, though. The sudden shift in his body, just because he was suddenly in sun and hundred-degree heat all day, because the days were about half again as long as they are at the height of July in Jersey. The sun doesn't fuck around, here, it sort of futzes about rising, but once it's up, everything is pounded with heat and the sort of brilliant prismatic light that only comes from being surrounded by water. And it took a toll. Wore him out, skyrocketed his core body temperature, left him dizzy in a way he wasn't again until that spilled milk, that dead body, that doorway, the one a year ago.
The one that Steve said was the first tripping step into all of this.
And now he feels it again. Shortness of breath, spinning head, rapidly rising temperature. Like heatstroke, because Steve is like all of Hawaii rolled into one, island-warm, blood beating like waves, the ocean Danny mistrusts and hates that he can't mistrust or hate when it's Steve, Steve's ocean. Perfect under Danny's hands, smooth skin, rough stubble, reacting to every touch and kiss and word like Danny never thought possible.
When the truth is, he has no excuse. "Maybe I never had a chance."