It's not a habit, and it's not no big deal, but it is amusing. Amazing. Like learning to breathe for the first time, all over, again. Watching the light in Danny's eyes come back on as he deflects, dragging out that smile that stays even when he's defending himself. Like Steve couldn't probably count on less than his hands and feet the number of times Danny Williams has ever been see in jeans by him.
There were more holidays in each of the years since Danny was drafted, against his will, into Five-0.
Like Danny's eyes dropping to his mouth -- making Danny's body breathe in, chest rise, lips licked -- don't distract him entirely.
Talking, talking, talking words Steve is supposed to be hearing, is hearing, is getting drowned out on wetted pink lips and the way Danny focusing on his mouth makes Steve whole chest tighten like it's the air inside a fist, compressed suddenly to nothing. And why, why, again, can't he be in Danny's head. Touch the second that somehow this all started in him. Where and how and why, earlier. And this second. This second in his head.
When the thought and the words and Danny's face are all completely different places and things, and he wants all of them. All of Danny. Even if he swallows hard, like there's a boulder clogging his throat the moment Danny's eyes shoot up. Making him strangle a scoff and grab the only words he can like a defense. Like he isn't drowning, like he isn't already leaning down, back toward Danny's mouth, fingers at his side, pulling at his shirt, wanting skin, wanting Danny's heart beat and the feel of the breaths that catch, right there under his finger tips.
Inconfutable evidence. That's the word. Even if it might be in Danny's voice in his head even. Burning through him to make it that, when he's saying low and quiet and close. Goading, insulting, warm, "The state of Hawaii is paying you far too much if you can't even multitask."
Before he's leaning instead of taking that last breath. Finding Danny's mouth, and kissing him only to slip from it half a second in, tugging on that lip that had been brushing by Danny's tongue. Like he has to touch, trace the echo of that touch, taste that want against his own lips, the edge of his teeth. Drag it out, further. Pink and soft on one side, and rough with stubble on the other.
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There were more holidays in each of the years since Danny was drafted, against his will, into Five-0.
Like Danny's eyes dropping to his mouth -- making Danny's body breathe in, chest rise, lips licked -- don't distract him entirely.
Talking, talking, talking words Steve is supposed to be hearing, is hearing, is getting drowned out on wetted pink lips and the way Danny focusing on his mouth makes Steve whole chest tighten like it's the air inside a fist, compressed suddenly to nothing. And why, why, again, can't he be in Danny's head. Touch the second that somehow this all started in him. Where and how and why, earlier. And this second. This second in his head.
When the thought and the words and Danny's face are all completely different places and things, and he wants all of them. All of Danny. Even if he swallows hard, like there's a boulder clogging his throat the moment Danny's eyes shoot up. Making him strangle a scoff and grab the only words he can like a defense. Like he isn't drowning, like he isn't already leaning down, back toward Danny's mouth, fingers at his side, pulling at his shirt, wanting skin, wanting Danny's heart beat and the feel of the breaths that catch, right there under his finger tips.
Inconfutable evidence. That's the word. Even if it might be in Danny's voice in his head even. Burning through him to make it that, when he's saying low and quiet and close. Goading, insulting, warm, "The state of Hawaii is paying you far too much if you can't even multitask."
Before he's leaning instead of taking that last breath. Finding Danny's mouth, and kissing him only to slip from it half a second in, tugging on that lip that had been brushing by Danny's tongue. Like he has to touch, trace the echo of that touch, taste that want against his own lips, the edge of his teeth. Drag it out, further. Pink and soft on one side, and rough with stubble on the other.