Maybe not no idea. Sure. He's willing to believe that there's a hell of a lot he's got no clue about, that he's coming to the realization Steve has more than a clue, this is clearly not Steve's first rodeo, and that's fostered all kinds of questions he hasn't really looked at too hard over the last, what, twelve days?
Things that haven't been detailed. Haven't been offered, or even mentioned, aside from that once, that one time in the kitchen the very first night, when he went careening off a cliff of sudden uncertainty straight into panic and Steve never brought it up again. And he has to say he's grateful. This is already moving at light-speed for him, that we're taking it slow he'd hid behind in the car losing all credibility and dissolving into meaningless fog every time they're together. Like all it takes is one touch to short-circuit his willpower and restraint, turn him into a teenager who can't even wait the thirty seconds it would take to get upstairs, let alone the minutes or hours of talking they have yet to do.
And it's not, okay, he has no intention of putting the brakes on every time. He's not stupid, he can guess how this is going to go eventually, but the idea sort of stalls in the back of his head and grips hard onto a handle of fear. Edging towards this sudden hole in his education. A gut reaction he's not proud of that caused a face he'd be happy never to see on Steve again.
But he hardly needs to know details to make some educated guesses when Steve is surging up, gripping his hips, tipping Danny forward and pushing himself close, when Steve's eyes are more black than blue and wicked, wicked, lighting a bonfire in Danny's suddenly tight chest. He doesn't need to know. Steve can do what he wants. He can say what he wants. Danny doesn't care, as long as he keeps looking at him like that, like he is the last fraying thread of Steve's sanity, like restraint is a fragile cardboard web about to be blasted out of existence by a grenade already pulled and primed.
"Give me a break, I'm new to this whole thing."
Right this second, he wishes he did know. That he knew everything. Everything he can do to Steve, everything Steve wants. That he could make more than a guess. When those words come out low and wanting and nothing like the brash, prodding argument it could be. Fingers tugging at the hem of Steve's shirt. "But getting rid of this does seem to be a good starting point, I wholeheartedly."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-02-12 03:15 pm (UTC)Things that haven't been detailed. Haven't been offered, or even mentioned, aside from that once, that one time in the kitchen the very first night, when he went careening off a cliff of sudden uncertainty straight into panic and Steve never brought it up again. And he has to say he's grateful. This is already moving at light-speed for him, that we're taking it slow he'd hid behind in the car losing all credibility and dissolving into meaningless fog every time they're together. Like all it takes is one touch to short-circuit his willpower and restraint, turn him into a teenager who can't even wait the thirty seconds it would take to get upstairs, let alone the minutes or hours of talking they have yet to do.
And it's not, okay, he has no intention of putting the brakes on every time. He's not stupid, he can guess how this is going to go eventually, but the idea sort of stalls in the back of his head and grips hard onto a handle of fear. Edging towards this sudden hole in his education. A gut reaction he's not proud of that caused a face he'd be happy never to see on Steve again.
But he hardly needs to know details to make some educated guesses when Steve is surging up, gripping his hips, tipping Danny forward and pushing himself close, when Steve's eyes are more black than blue and wicked, wicked, lighting a bonfire in Danny's suddenly tight chest. He doesn't need to know. Steve can do what he wants. He can say what he wants. Danny doesn't care, as long as he keeps looking at him like that, like he is the last fraying thread of Steve's sanity, like restraint is a fragile cardboard web about to be blasted out of existence by a grenade already pulled and primed.
"Give me a break, I'm new to this whole thing."
Right this second, he wishes he did know. That he knew everything. Everything he can do to Steve, everything Steve wants. That he could make more than a guess. When those words come out low and wanting and nothing like the brash, prodding argument it could be. Fingers tugging at the hem of Steve's shirt. "But getting rid of this does seem to be a good starting point, I wholeheartedly."