The world keeps narrowing, into the rush of heat, and the slap of skin. Furious pumping of his heart trying to leave his chest, his hand on Danny's skin. The bump of knuckles that doesn't even stop or slow down anyone at this point. The insane feeling like absolutely nothing could at this point. The roof could cave in, and the walls could fall out and the second floor could go crashing into the first, destroying more the fifty years of memories and mementos, and that still wouldn't be enough.
The memories are beyond fucked at this point anyway. The only thing that doesn't feel like it's taken it, with some glass and or diamond sharp edged object, beaten into him in every profane and possible fashion, is this. This thing. Beating, wild and terrifyingly untamable, even more under Danny's hands, on his skin, than it ever was before. Untempered. Tangled and messy and wrong and so right the whole world has gone away entirely, and Danny is all that's left.
All that's good in the world. Fingers pummeling his brain. Voice shoving fire down his ears, into his throat. When it feels like getting hit with a wrecking ball somewhere. Those so few words. Urged and dragged, and that word, that shouldn't even feel different. It falls out of Danny's mouth all the time. But not like this. Not low and as encouraging it is desperate pushing. As it falls down, and in, possessive. This thing only Danny calls him.
Taunting. Teasing. Affectionate. Rolled over into this. Like it's his. This word. This name. Steve.
Which slaps something in Steve like arctic water. Too big, and too overwhelming. Painful and jagged and wanted.
Desperately. Brokenly. So huge it feels like it does. Trip the last alarm. Shatter the windows. Take the roof, and the walls and the floor and the bed. And everything else. A domino reaction starting at the base of his spine like a chain of bomb. Slamming through him suddenly. Shoving him beyond sight and sound, into something so good it causes his muscles to all sieze before they start shaking, so far from control, so far from attached.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-03-06 11:20 pm (UTC)The memories are beyond fucked at this point anyway. The only thing that doesn't feel like it's taken it, with some glass and or diamond sharp edged object, beaten into him in every profane and possible fashion, is this. This thing. Beating, wild and terrifyingly untamable, even more under Danny's hands, on his skin, than it ever was before. Untempered. Tangled and messy and wrong and so right the whole world has gone away entirely, and Danny is all that's left.
All that's good in the world. Fingers pummeling his brain. Voice shoving fire down his ears, into his throat. When it feels like getting hit with a wrecking ball somewhere. Those so few words. Urged and dragged, and that word, that shouldn't even feel different. It falls out of Danny's mouth all the time. But not like this. Not low and as encouraging it is desperate pushing. As it falls down, and in, possessive. This thing only Danny calls him.
Taunting. Teasing. Affectionate. Rolled over into this. Like it's his. This word. This name. Steve.
Which slaps something in Steve like arctic water. Too big, and too overwhelming. Painful and jagged and wanted.
Desperately. Brokenly. So huge it feels like it does. Trip the last alarm. Shatter the windows. Take the roof, and the walls and the floor and the bed. And everything else. A domino reaction starting at the base of his spine like a chain of bomb. Slamming through him suddenly. Shoving him beyond sight and sound, into something so good it causes his muscles to all sieze before they start shaking, so far from control, so far from attached.