He expects a joke. Some terrible, biting comment about making messes on his own floor like a child. Or something pointed about basically laying himself out in front of Danny, in the air, with that goading statement and his arrogant belief in his physique being utterly unbecoming, no matter what his neanderthal head or the people in his life have led him to believe this far.
Anything but the way way Danny's face shifts. The way his shoulders tense a little under that plain t-shirt, and he swallows hard, like there's a rock in his throat he either can't breathe around, or can't swallow, or maybe both all at once. Eyes riveted to Steve's skin. Like. Like it might be more than just his skin. When Steve keeps waiting for the snap, the moment those words will pour out.
Danny will snap back, and that mouth, with the smile it can't keep out, will spear him, happily. Both said and wanted.
Because Danny has seen this. Okay. Danny saw it early on. When Steve was willing to get half undressed for any necessity of a case. More willing to ask it of himself than anyone else on his team. And Danny had gotten his fair share of seeing him, this all, his body, for years already. Which, sure, he'd looked. The first time like it was a hilarious unfairness that Steve got to look like this and be as insane as Danny found him.
Until there were events through the last year or so, where Danny was still looking and Steve could only bewilderingly have no idea why or what it was. Maybe that he was still insane even years later, untempered by Five-0. Because, obviously, it wasn't anything else when Danny was back to normal minutes or seconds later every time. And Steve got it. Okay. That it was nothing actually. A note. Observation.
That he was one looking for there to be more in it, and how there really was. Case or surfing. Accepted that.
But he doesn't look back up, and as much as Steve can tell, and he's so close, too close to not be sure, Danny doesn't even take another breath in while his eyes trace down Steve's chest with the thickness of an actual touch. A slow, settled, need to see all of it, that makes Steve swallow, watching him heavy lidded. Stomach muscles and lungs all but shuddering the moment Danny's hands touch his sides after those long seconds.
How Danny's still not looking up. How Danny, and his five thousands words, are actually so pin drop quiet it's like shouting.
His thumbs are pressing into the ridges of muscles, tracing, lacing fire into Steve's skin for every quarter inch of skin touched and left behind as he keeps touching more. Brushing slowly, so slowly, it makes him hold so still he think he may start trembling with the sheer effort it takes not to move. Across his obliques, up each rung of his ribs on both sides.
Until he can't help that he's pushing up into the sensation. Into those fingers. Wanting this. More. Everything.
And finally Danny's mouth moves, but not his eyes. He's still not even looking up. His sentence stutters stops twice. First.
What the hell is he even supposed to do, make of that. How is Steve even supposed to breathe, pretend the inside of his stomach and chest don't slip on something oily or fill full of an unexpected free fall, a hard jolt in the center of his chest, a want to grab Danny and kiss him, fiercely, all over again. When he's saying that. When it takes him time to even get to the ability to say that.
That somehow, it is. It is better, actually truly better, a better that looks like it is short circuiting Danny's brain and his mouth in one go, beyond being a smug mocking joke, when Steve is there, under his hands, half dressed, filling his face up with everything shining there that Steve can't even begin to name, and Danny wants him. To touch him. To look at him.
And Steve has nothing better than to rib it, because if he doesn't something else will come out, he doesn't even know what or how or the shape, but it's clogging up his chest and expanding so fast, so hard, taking out the walls and the floors, and it's threatening to just shatter everything else in there his body doesn't need anymore, by command decision of itself. "I'm sorry. What was that? Did you say something?"
Like he could not. Hear Danny's little choked breath. Stutter. Soft swearing. Confession. Burning themselves into his skin.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-12 08:18 pm (UTC)Anything but the way way Danny's face shifts. The way his shoulders tense a little under that plain t-shirt, and he swallows hard, like there's a rock in his throat he either can't breathe around, or can't swallow, or maybe both all at once. Eyes riveted to Steve's skin. Like. Like it might be more than just his skin. When Steve keeps waiting for the snap, the moment those words will pour out.
Danny will snap back, and that mouth, with the smile it can't keep out, will spear him, happily. Both said and wanted.
Because Danny has seen this. Okay. Danny saw it early on. When Steve was willing to get half undressed for any necessity of a case. More willing to ask it of himself than anyone else on his team. And Danny had gotten his fair share of seeing him, this all, his body, for years already. Which, sure, he'd looked. The first time like it was a hilarious unfairness that Steve got to look like this and be as insane as Danny found him.
Until there were events through the last year or so, where Danny was still looking and Steve could only bewilderingly have no idea why or what it was. Maybe that he was still insane even years later, untempered by Five-0. Because, obviously, it wasn't anything else when Danny was back to normal minutes or seconds later every time. And Steve got it. Okay. That it was nothing actually. A note. Observation.
That he was one looking for there to be more in it, and how there really was. Case or surfing. Accepted that.
But he doesn't look back up, and as much as Steve can tell, and he's so close, too close to not be sure, Danny doesn't even take another breath in while his eyes trace down Steve's chest with the thickness of an actual touch. A slow, settled, need to see all of it, that makes Steve swallow, watching him heavy lidded. Stomach muscles and lungs all but shuddering the moment Danny's hands touch his sides after those long seconds.
How Danny's still not looking up. How Danny, and his five thousands words, are actually so pin drop quiet it's like shouting.
His thumbs are pressing into the ridges of muscles, tracing, lacing fire into Steve's skin for every quarter inch of skin touched and left behind as he keeps touching more. Brushing slowly, so slowly, it makes him hold so still he think he may start trembling with the sheer effort it takes not to move. Across his obliques, up each rung of his ribs on both sides.
Until he can't help that he's pushing up into the sensation. Into those fingers. Wanting this. More. Everything.
And finally Danny's mouth moves, but not his eyes. He's still not even looking up. His sentence stutters stops twice. First.
What the hell is he even supposed to do, make of that. How is Steve even supposed to breathe, pretend the inside of his stomach and chest don't slip on something oily or fill full of an unexpected free fall, a hard jolt in the center of his chest, a want to grab Danny and kiss him, fiercely, all over again. When he's saying that. When it takes him time to even get to the ability to say that.
That somehow, it is. It is better, actually truly better, a better that looks like it is short circuiting Danny's brain and his mouth in one go, beyond being a smug mocking joke, when Steve is there, under his hands, half dressed, filling his face up with everything shining there that Steve can't even begin to name, and Danny wants him. To touch him. To look at him.
And Steve has nothing better than to rib it, because if he doesn't something else will come out, he doesn't even know what or how or the shape, but it's clogging up his chest and expanding so fast, so hard, taking out the walls and the floors, and it's threatening to just shatter everything else in there his body doesn't need anymore, by command decision of itself. "I'm sorry. What was that? Did you say something?"
Like he could not. Hear Danny's little choked breath. Stutter. Soft swearing. Confession. Burning themselves into his skin.