Steve says kiss me but it isn't like Steve isn't an agent of his own destruction, here, because he's pushing up, digging hands under Danny's t-shirt and making Danny feel like the damn thing could just die, burn right off his body so there's no possible interruption between fingers making their way and his skin. So scorching hot he can't believe the cloth isn't smoking, but then, he's more focused on Steve's anyway. Steve's damn shirt, which is catching under Danny's torso and pinioning his wrist, his arm, keeping it from being able to snake up under fabric the way he suddenly needs to, like the rest of Steve might have disappeared when he wasn't looking. Like there might not be hot smooth skin and firm muscle and the ragged pattern of Steve's breath pushing up and down.
He has to push himself up to free it, but he's pushing against Steve's hands, and Steve's hands are holding him down. Flattening against his back, sweeping up along trapezius to shoulderblades, moving like a forest fire, burning Danny down. And it's so ridiculous. That he is here, and not Cath. That Steve wants him, only him. Words hammering in his temples, beating in his blood.
Nobody has ever wanted only him. Rachel picked Stan, twice. He doesn't. He never. And he shouldn't, now, but Steve keeps opening this door and shoving him through and it turns out this door has been open for a while and he just never saw it. But how could he have missed it, this. How could he have never noticed, all the times they've been together, all the times he's reached out to touch him. Pats on the stomach. On the back. Fingers wrapping around his wrist. Every time he hated Steve's attention being taken away, and denied it as being something else, a character judgment, not jealousy.
How had he never burned his fingers on Steve's skin. How had he spent two years with him, and never gotten a clue until he was gone?
There's no excuse. Even if he didn't feel this. It's too pervasive, everywhere, packed into the empty space of his lungs and making breathing impossible. In the sudden sharp sense of loss, hating any space, even an inch he might be able to force in order to push his hand further up under cloth, towards Steve's chest, thumb rubbing over the nub of a nipple. He can't breathe, but who needs air when Steve's mouth is stealing it away, when Steve's hands would set it all on fire anyway?
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-02-11 05:52 pm (UTC)He has to push himself up to free it, but he's pushing against Steve's hands, and Steve's hands are holding him down. Flattening against his back, sweeping up along trapezius to shoulderblades, moving like a forest fire, burning Danny down. And it's so ridiculous. That he is here, and not Cath. That Steve wants him, only him. Words hammering in his temples, beating in his blood.
Nobody has ever wanted only him. Rachel picked Stan, twice. He doesn't. He never. And he shouldn't, now, but Steve keeps opening this door and shoving him through and it turns out this door has been open for a while and he just never saw it. But how could he have missed it, this. How could he have never noticed, all the times they've been together, all the times he's reached out to touch him. Pats on the stomach. On the back. Fingers wrapping around his wrist. Every time he hated Steve's attention being taken away, and denied it as being something else, a character judgment, not jealousy.
How had he never burned his fingers on Steve's skin. How had he spent two years with him, and never gotten a clue until he was gone?
There's no excuse. Even if he didn't feel this. It's too pervasive, everywhere, packed into the empty space of his lungs and making breathing impossible. In the sudden sharp sense of loss, hating any space, even an inch he might be able to force in order to push his hand further up under cloth, towards Steve's chest, thumb rubbing over the nub of a nipple. He can't breathe, but who needs air when Steve's mouth is stealing it away, when Steve's hands would set it all on fire anyway?