When did this happen? When exactly did everything become just barely edging toward breathable, again?
Not this second, not Danny touching him. Being touched at all. When it had taken Cath and he almost the better part of that whole first afternoon and evening to realize they could still rag on each other, like normal. With occasional touches, but she still let him be. Was careful. Not to get too much in his face, or too close, when she was dragging him out of his head, again. For the newest second dozenth time.
Now. There's Danny. Laying out on him, warm and heavy, drug down there by him, like a blanket too small to actually cover him. Smile tugging even more free as he's looking at his own hands on Steve's chest. Not the smallest bit wary of Steve, or Steve's need for space, or Steve's ability to flip sometimes, too sharp, too short, too reactive, on a dime. And, God, how much he doesn't want that.
Almost wants to crush Danny, and his surprised smile, to him briefly. Just to blot out the thought he might stop. Or have to.
Danny who looks back up, no less blinding on that smile going from surprise into something far more smug and unconcerned, than when he looked down. The light catching in his hair as he moves. An arm of his moving to brace on the arm of the couch beside Steve's head, that he only glanced to for a quarter of a second. Habit.
An arm blocking in, around him, and a finger poking his ribs, muscle, the next second. Danny asking that question.
When it's beating in the hollow space of Steve's throat. The want to kiss this sudden brilliance off Danny, again. Slow, smug, and warm, rolling off of him like the sun. Like no one told him it already wen down and it's night time. It's living in Danny's face, and his eyes. Making Steve so aware. A minute. Two. Obviously, that's too long. Already. Except there's that finger making a point still, along with those eyes and words.
He shrugs wide shoulders, eye widening in approximation innocence and unexpected defense so transparent he's not even trying. "I didn't say anything." Which he didn't. Which has nothing on saying he didn't start anything. Especially, when he's sliding his hands, both of them, into the pockets of Danny's jeans, and pulling him in one smooth, easy movement, higher closer, voice all too amused. "If I said something it'd be more like this--"
Which pauses, when he decides Danny's close enough, and still not going to accidentally elbow him or smack him in the face flailing those arms and hands with a mind of their own. Until he can catch Danny's eyes, even in the middle of reacting to being manhandled, and just let his voice drop. Bottom of the barrel, eyes turning completely world-ending serious, at the drop of a pin, and focusing only on Danny's eyes, leaning up until the tip and then side of his nose brushed faintly against Danny's.
Until his chest ached, like mad for at least two different reasons, and it dropped nothing like a request. "Kiss me."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-11 06:02 am (UTC)Not this second, not Danny touching him. Being touched at all. When it had taken Cath and he almost the better part of that whole first afternoon and evening to realize they could still rag on each other, like normal. With occasional touches, but she still let him be. Was careful. Not to get too much in his face, or too close, when she was dragging him out of his head, again. For the newest second dozenth time.
Now. There's Danny. Laying out on him, warm and heavy, drug down there by him, like a blanket too small to actually cover him. Smile tugging even more free as he's looking at his own hands on Steve's chest. Not the smallest bit wary of Steve, or Steve's need for space, or Steve's ability to flip sometimes, too sharp, too short, too reactive, on a dime. And, God, how much he doesn't want that.
Almost wants to crush Danny, and his surprised smile, to him briefly. Just to blot out the thought he might stop. Or have to.
Danny who looks back up, no less blinding on that smile going from surprise into something far more smug and unconcerned, than when he looked down. The light catching in his hair as he moves. An arm of his moving to brace on the arm of the couch beside Steve's head, that he only glanced to for a quarter of a second. Habit.
An arm blocking in, around him, and a finger poking his ribs, muscle, the next second. Danny asking that question.
When it's beating in the hollow space of Steve's throat. The want to kiss this sudden brilliance off Danny, again. Slow, smug, and warm, rolling off of him like the sun. Like no one told him it already wen down and it's night time. It's living in Danny's face, and his eyes. Making Steve so aware. A minute. Two. Obviously, that's too long. Already. Except there's that finger making a point still, along with those eyes and words.
He shrugs wide shoulders, eye widening in approximation innocence and unexpected defense so transparent he's not even trying. "I didn't say anything." Which he didn't. Which has nothing on saying he didn't start anything. Especially, when he's sliding his hands, both of them, into the pockets of Danny's jeans, and pulling him in one smooth, easy movement, higher closer, voice all too amused. "If I said something it'd be more like this--"
Which pauses, when he decides Danny's close enough, and still not going to accidentally elbow him or smack him in the face flailing those arms and hands with a mind of their own. Until he can catch Danny's eyes, even in the middle of reacting to being manhandled, and just let his voice drop. Bottom of the barrel, eyes turning completely world-ending serious, at the drop of a pin, and focusing only on Danny's eyes, leaning up until the tip and then side of his nose brushed faintly against Danny's.
Until his chest ached, like mad for at least two different reasons, and it dropped nothing like a request. "Kiss me."