Maybe that arrow thing wasn't a bad metaphor, after all, because those five words hit like darts in Danny's chest, bursting everything along the way until the walls of his ribs are splashed with surprised warmth, painted thick and disbelieving.
That Steve could want him. Which he's heard. A couple of times. But, want. It's such a tricky word. It can mean so much, and so little. Could mean falling into bed. Could mean placing the whole world in his hands and telling him to be careful with it. But that Steve could want him. Only him.
Not Catherine. Not Kaila. Doesn't want Danny walking out the door. Wants Danny. Only him.
Was it hard to breathe before? Did it seem impossible? It's laughable, now. When Steve is looking at him with eyes so serious, and that thumb touching the vulnerable corner of Danny's mouth, so gently. Too gentle for Steve, right, for the way he's seen those hands take down criminals, handle a football, fire a gun. Except it's not. And these soft little moments, when Steve's touching him just to touch him, not to set him on fire and burn him to the ground, not clinging in desperation, not shaking him to get his attention or shoving him, no hard edges or flat surfaces or gripping, grabbing, hard fingers -- they trip him up every time. Send his heart catapulting into his throat, where he swallows, hard.
Making him forget every word he ever learned, like the dictionary is evaporating, page by flickering page, from his head. And he can't even strange a laugh in response to that side comment. Can't feel anything except that thumb, though he knows his hands are tightening on Steve's sides. They have to be, because he feels like any motion at all right now would knock him over like Steve clocked him in the jaw instead of said that. Those.
Only him. Wanting only him.
Molten, golden warmth pouring straight through every vein, bright enough that he's sure it's seeping out of his skin, and he'd check, but he can't look away from Steve, who isn't lying, who is serious and so beautiful it hurts, and Danny feels so lightheaded, his heart giving a crazy jerk and he is breathless. Has anyone ever.
"Well, unfortunately, I don't think I can help with the Javelin." His voice sounds terrible, like it got smacked right out of his windpipe and is being hauled back, word by word.
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That Steve could want him. Which he's heard. A couple of times. But, want. It's such a tricky word. It can mean so much, and so little. Could mean falling into bed. Could mean placing the whole world in his hands and telling him to be careful with it. But that Steve could want him. Only him.
Not Catherine. Not Kaila. Doesn't want Danny walking out the door. Wants Danny. Only him.
Was it hard to breathe before? Did it seem impossible? It's laughable, now. When Steve is looking at him with eyes so serious, and that thumb touching the vulnerable corner of Danny's mouth, so gently. Too gentle for Steve, right, for the way he's seen those hands take down criminals, handle a football, fire a gun. Except it's not. And these soft little moments, when Steve's touching him just to touch him, not to set him on fire and burn him to the ground, not clinging in desperation, not shaking him to get his attention or shoving him, no hard edges or flat surfaces or gripping, grabbing, hard fingers -- they trip him up every time. Send his heart catapulting into his throat, where he swallows, hard.
Making him forget every word he ever learned, like the dictionary is evaporating, page by flickering page, from his head. And he can't even strange a laugh in response to that side comment. Can't feel anything except that thumb, though he knows his hands are tightening on Steve's sides. They have to be, because he feels like any motion at all right now would knock him over like Steve clocked him in the jaw instead of said that. Those.
Only him. Wanting only him.
Molten, golden warmth pouring straight through every vein, bright enough that he's sure it's seeping out of his skin, and he'd check, but he can't look away from Steve, who isn't lying, who is serious and so beautiful it hurts, and Danny feels so lightheaded, his heart giving a crazy jerk and he is breathless. Has anyone ever.
"Well, unfortunately, I don't think I can help with the Javelin." His voice sounds terrible, like it got smacked right out of his windpipe and is being hauled back, word by word.
"But you've got me."