Everything feels raw, turned inside out, and smacked down, like it rolls out and out and out and out forever. Except there are the hard edges of walls he figures out now and then. The faint stabbing pain on his right is an annoyance he does his best to tune out first, while there are fingers suddenly. Brushing against the thin stretch of skin over bones, up the muscles of his arm, everything so briefly sensitive, it feels like he could count the hairs Danny's hand drags across.
He's breathing through it, thick, slow breaths. Wondering errantly if his fingers will find their way up further. That Danny hasn't yet actually done what a lot of people end up doing, tracing their fingers against skin on his biceps under some assumptive comprehension like he's suddenly out, docile, unaware.
Not that Danny is anything, or this situation is anything, like anything that came before it.
Or Danny of all people would assume much about him that isn't true at this point.
Well. Except that he would sleep with Cath.
But, he's just. He can push that away. Somewhere else. While he's lifting his head a little and shifting to help Danny get out from having his arm pinned. Thinking fuzzily of shoving that whole idea in some other closet, and finding the other words from tonight. Other more important words. Than almost kissing Cath, almost making Danny right, or Danny's face, or Cath's. All the other words. All the other words tattooed on the spooled out feeling in his head, in his skin.
Angry, or quiet, or teasing. Words he knows Danny meant just as much as his assumption, as his apology. About him, about the rules.
Steve tipped his head a little when the hand settled on his shoulder, his own fingers tightening briefly on Danny's skin in response. He won't be able to fall asleep like this for long, half fallen over Danny, low enough if he tipped his face more down and to the right he'd find Danny's shoulder. Right there. Maybe less than an inch or two away. He won't fit if he stretches his legs.
But he doesn't need to worry about that. About getting untangled of moving yet. Not when all Danny does is shift those few things and settle. Letting out another deep breath, after amusingly sort of capturing his back, shoulder, arm. If his head down through his throat didn't feel like it was growing a field of cotton, he'd make a comment about how there's no need to capture him. He's right here still. Going nowhere.
Every cell weighted down with steel balls. But it really doesn't get that far because he is. There's just the smallest noise.
An amused snort of sound. Or means to be. It's more a breathy wuffled sound in the slow breath released right then. At the same second as he does shift a little. His chin, and his cheek, and his mouth, brushing Danny's shoulder.
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He's breathing through it, thick, slow breaths. Wondering errantly if his fingers will find their way up further. That Danny hasn't yet actually done what a lot of people end up doing, tracing their fingers against skin on his biceps under some assumptive comprehension like he's suddenly out, docile, unaware.
Not that Danny is anything, or this situation is anything, like anything that came before it.
Or Danny of all people would assume much about him that isn't true at this point.
Well. Except that he would sleep with Cath.
But, he's just. He can push that away. Somewhere else. While he's lifting his head a little and shifting to help Danny get out from having his arm pinned. Thinking fuzzily of shoving that whole idea in some other closet, and finding the other words from tonight. Other more important words. Than almost kissing Cath, almost making Danny right, or Danny's face, or Cath's. All the other words. All the other words tattooed on the spooled out feeling in his head, in his skin.
Angry, or quiet, or teasing. Words he knows Danny meant just as much as his assumption, as his apology. About him, about the rules.
Steve tipped his head a little when the hand settled on his shoulder, his own fingers tightening briefly on Danny's skin in response. He won't be able to fall asleep like this for long, half fallen over Danny, low enough if he tipped his face more down and to the right he'd find Danny's shoulder. Right there. Maybe less than an inch or two away. He won't fit if he stretches his legs.
But he doesn't need to worry about that. About getting untangled of moving yet. Not when all Danny does is shift those few things and settle. Letting out another deep breath, after amusingly sort of capturing his back, shoulder, arm. If his head down through his throat didn't feel like it was growing a field of cotton, he'd make a comment about how there's no need to capture him. He's right here still. Going nowhere.
Every cell weighted down with steel balls. But it really doesn't get that far because he is. There's just the smallest noise.
An amused snort of sound. Or means to be. It's more a breathy wuffled sound in the slow breath released right then.
At the same second as he does shift a little. His chin, and his cheek, and his mouth, brushing Danny's shoulder.