This is where Danny actually gets comfortable. Not hands all over him. Well. Okay. Hands still all over him. Because those hands don't stop moving almost ever. But he shifts and settles in a different way. Like it's not exactly Steve's body under him anymore, like the focus or remembering it is slips. Settling like he's laying on something. Like a board or a couch or a bed. Which somehow makes Steve mouth stay curled.
Fingers gently tracing the slope down the small of his back, only to go still when Danny starts talking. Not because he specifically wants to, but because he can't even think to be doing anything else. Having this so close, watching it splash across Danny's face. Bright as sunshine on the water, direct to the water. Not a golden molten lava fading at the end of the day, or that silver in the morning. That intense, blinding white when it catches hard and can even blind the best surfer.
Something you can't not see. Because it's everywhere and so much bigger than you could ever be.
Steve hasn't a clue what movie Danny's talking about but that's fine. Some kids' movie. Doesn't matter. Inconsequential detail beside the way Danny has lost him entirely. Laid out on top of him, shifting like Steve's just a cushion under him, looking through him to his most favorite place in the world. The way any tension in his face almost fades, like there's no way to fight it, keep it, in the face of Grace.
"You got a long time still." Steve says it because it's the first thought. She's young, and she's going to be young a lot longer than the next five minutes or five days. Before the thought of Vegas even appears seconds later. Doesn't make it any less true. Whatever happens. Danny's got years.
Steve fingers track down. Easy, economic move. Trace half a inch above the line of denim and skin, before tugging the top of the jeans between thumb pad and the side of his pointer finger, dragging out a smirk, and poking Danny for more. More of all of this, on that curve of his smile. "You're telling me you wore these to a nice dinner. Seriously? You hit your head on something?"
Steve loved it. He was pretty sure Danny meant yesterday about dinner. But he couldn't keep himself from the thought.
Every time Danny looked anything like he belonged here, like he might like it here, it needed ragging and dragging out a long while.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-02-10 06:11 pm (UTC)Fingers gently tracing the slope down the small of his back, only to go still when Danny starts talking. Not because he specifically wants to, but because he can't even think to be doing anything else. Having this so close, watching it splash across Danny's face. Bright as sunshine on the water, direct to the water. Not a golden molten lava fading at the end of the day, or that silver in the morning. That intense, blinding white when it catches hard and can even blind the best surfer.
Something you can't not see. Because it's everywhere and so much bigger than you could ever be.
Steve hasn't a clue what movie Danny's talking about but that's fine. Some kids' movie. Doesn't matter. Inconsequential detail beside the way Danny has lost him entirely. Laid out on top of him, shifting like Steve's just a cushion under him, looking through him to his most favorite place in the world. The way any tension in his face almost fades, like there's no way to fight it, keep it, in the face of Grace.
"You got a long time still." Steve says it because it's the first thought. She's young, and she's going to be young a lot longer than the next five minutes or five days. Before the thought of Vegas even appears seconds later. Doesn't make it any less true. Whatever happens. Danny's got years.
Steve fingers track down. Easy, economic move. Trace half a inch above the line of denim and skin, before tugging the top of the jeans between thumb pad and the side of his pointer finger, dragging out a smirk, and poking Danny for more. More of all of this, on that curve of his smile. "You're telling me you wore these to a nice dinner. Seriously? You hit your head on something?"
Steve loved it. He was pretty sure Danny meant yesterday about dinner. But he couldn't keep himself from the thought.
Every time Danny looked anything like he belonged here, like he might like it here, it needed ragging and dragging out a long while.