There's nothing about this that makes him want to relax. Nothing. From Danny propping himself up on an arm, and pushing down on his chest and shoulder, until he's laying flat. To Danny curling up next to him, but, also, still propped up, looking down at him. Listening to Danny breathe out, suddenly, unexpected relieved, not as tensely trapped and held inside. Steve wishes that didn't just crank the screws in him even tighter.
That there is something Danny is coming down from. Leaning into him. Pushing Steve and shifting in against him, until Danny finds the places he wants to be. The words belongs hovers somewhere near that thought, but he's so irritable, if it were a bug he'd probably swat at it in the air. Because none of this makes sense anymore, even when Danny is moving finally. Those hands sliding against him, moving him, settling him.
When Danny's watching him with this thing. This quiet, shadowed, stricken thing almost like worried guilt, and the whole thing makes him sick. And angrily annoyed. Shoves at him left and right like he's helpless to make it go the fuck away. Take care of it. Danny Because hasn't a damn clue what put it there, clouding up Danny's face. Only know that it must have been something. Something he said. Something he did. Only hates that in that expression on the face above him is frustration and not quite, but still, nearly regretful, embarrassed.
Before he even touches on the exhausted put upon. The soft, quiet way Danny's voice trips out into the air, when he finally chooses words again. Softer this time. Closer to a secretive whisper, tripping up chest, making have to focus to hear. Asking him again. To let it go. In some part. Any part. Let it go. And he can't really. He can't. It's like his fist tightens around the idea, denied more than dying, forgetting anything, letting Danny think he has to bear anything alone, especially anything that does all of this to him.
Even when Steve can't stop his fingers from spreading slowly over Danny's back, his arm from looping further around the wide expanse of shoulders. Muscles and ribs under his finger tips, somehow pulling strings and directly tugging at his own stiff muscles and ribs. He can't stop it, any more than he can help that he stops breathing for that pause of hesitation before Danny is kissing him. Than he can stop his other hand from finding Danny's cheek, pulling him in closer, even as it sinks his own head further back into the pillow.
Fingers sliding back against Danny's cheek, toward the the shell of his ear, and juncture of his neck, and the beginning of his hair. Eye closing, and kissing him back, like it's suddenly, so suddenly, so achingly clearly, more important than another single breath he might need tonight. Like maybe it can say every single word, or at least another important handful of them, of all the ones Steve keeps fucking up every time he opens his mouth to ask or comment or demand.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-28 06:10 am (UTC)That there is something Danny is coming down from. Leaning into him. Pushing Steve and shifting in against him, until Danny finds the places he wants to be. The words belongs hovers somewhere near that thought, but he's so irritable, if it were a bug he'd probably swat at it in the air. Because none of this makes sense anymore, even when Danny is moving finally. Those hands sliding against him, moving him, settling him.
When Danny's watching him with this thing. This quiet, shadowed, stricken thing almost like worried guilt, and the whole thing makes him sick. And angrily annoyed. Shoves at him left and right like he's helpless to make it go the fuck away. Take care of it. Danny Because hasn't a damn clue what put it there, clouding up Danny's face. Only know that it must have been something. Something he said. Something he did. Only hates that in that expression on the face above him is frustration and not quite, but still, nearly regretful, embarrassed.
Before he even touches on the exhausted put upon. The soft, quiet way Danny's voice trips out into the air, when he finally chooses words again. Softer this time. Closer to a secretive whisper, tripping up chest, making have to focus to hear. Asking him again. To let it go. In some part. Any part. Let it go. And he can't really. He can't. It's like his fist tightens around the idea, denied more than dying, forgetting anything, letting Danny think he has to bear anything alone, especially anything that does all of this to him.
Even when Steve can't stop his fingers from spreading slowly over Danny's back, his arm from looping further around the wide expanse of shoulders. Muscles and ribs under his finger tips, somehow pulling strings and directly tugging at his own stiff muscles and ribs. He can't stop it, any more than he can help that he stops breathing for that pause of hesitation before Danny is kissing him. Than he can stop his other hand from finding Danny's cheek, pulling him in closer, even as it sinks his own head further back into the pillow.
Fingers sliding back against Danny's cheek, toward the the shell of his ear, and juncture of his neck, and the beginning of his hair. Eye closing, and kissing him back, like it's suddenly, so suddenly, so achingly clearly, more important than another single breath he might need tonight. Like maybe it can say every single word, or at least another important handful of them, of all the ones Steve keeps fucking up every time he opens his mouth to ask or comment or demand.