There's a moment, with this muffled sound from Danny he can't tell is lost or confused or annoyed, especially when Danny goes still and his hand lifts off Steve's side entirely, that he wonders if banging his head on the wall would be a better tactic than yelling at or kissing Danny suddenly. But it's only a half a second before the ability to think so clearly wipes away almost entirely.
Because Danny's lips move, and he gets in so close their chests bumps and his fingers are suddenly digging into Steve's back with a desperation, momentarily, that has to almost match anything he saw in Danny's face, standing just about here or outside. When his lung burn briefly from refusing to breathe in, just kissing him, just letting himself be kissed by Danny, suddenly, like it's a ravenous need.
Hands and fingers scaling Steve like he was a mountain to be climbed. Along his side, up his chest, around his neck. Fingers heavy and possessive, almost unable to stay anywhere, moving, moving, touching more of him and more of him. Brushing his stomach, and pulling back, far before he's ready to find air, would ever need to take a single breath yet. When there's hot air moving fast against his lips.
Then, for a flicker of a second he thinks of Cath. Except not of her so much as of that moment. The feel of it, breath against his lips before the brakes were slamming harder than any vehicle he'd ever crashed, and how all it did was bring him right back to this. To Danny, with his eyes wide, solid and warm against him, hands everywhere, with that air rough and ragged, being gulped in and out, and that blue.
A drunken, electric, dunked, alive blue now. Wide and endless, like the sea in the tropics.
When you could look down and down and down and down, and it looks like fifty feet, but it was actually hundreds.
It's not until the question, everything clarifies again from the gallop of his heart rate and the way staring at Danny's face makes it so the world suddenly has color, again. Like everything had been dim. But the question still comes, and Steve mouth still firms up a little on the edges, but he doesn't let go of Danny, not that he has any idea when his arm got around Danny.
It might still be annoyed, but it's weary thin, nearly transparent, kind of annoyance. Without any razor sharp edges or heavy emphasis. Thumb rubbing absently at Danny's shirt, even when his face isn't entirely loosing that edge of seriousness or the crack of normality, the blur somewhere between them, that makes his words not as much as joke as they could be anywhere else. "It's still pending review. You can check in on it later."
Much later. Once the fact that Danny looked dazed wasn't still being considered as good, only because he didn't look gut shot.
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Because Danny's lips move, and he gets in so close their chests bumps and his fingers are suddenly digging into Steve's back with a desperation, momentarily, that has to almost match anything he saw in Danny's face, standing just about here or outside. When his lung burn briefly from refusing to breathe in, just kissing him, just letting himself be kissed by Danny, suddenly, like it's a ravenous need.
Hands and fingers scaling Steve like he was a mountain to be climbed. Along his side, up his chest, around his neck. Fingers heavy and possessive, almost unable to stay anywhere, moving, moving, touching more of him and more of him. Brushing his stomach, and pulling back, far before he's ready to find air, would ever need to take a single breath yet. When there's hot air moving fast against his lips.
Then, for a flicker of a second he thinks of Cath. Except not of her so much as of that moment. The feel of it, breath against his lips before the brakes were slamming harder than any vehicle he'd ever crashed, and how all it did was bring him right back to this. To Danny, with his eyes wide, solid and warm against him, hands everywhere, with that air rough and ragged, being gulped in and out, and that blue.
A drunken, electric, dunked, alive blue now. Wide and endless, like the sea in the tropics.
When you could look down and down and down and down, and it looks like fifty feet, but it was actually hundreds.
It's not until the question, everything clarifies again from the gallop of his heart rate and the way staring at Danny's face makes it so the world suddenly has color, again. Like everything had been dim. But the question still comes, and Steve mouth still firms up a little on the edges, but he doesn't let go of Danny, not that he has any idea when his arm got around Danny.
It might still be annoyed, but it's weary thin, nearly transparent, kind of annoyance. Without any razor sharp edges or heavy emphasis. Thumb rubbing absently at Danny's shirt, even when his face isn't entirely loosing that edge of seriousness or the crack of normality, the blur somewhere between them, that makes his words not as much as joke as they could be anywhere else. "It's still pending review. You can check in on it later."
Much later. Once the fact that Danny looked dazed wasn't still being considered as good, only because he didn't look gut shot.