Steve pulls away, about as far as he can get into the pillow, and it wouldn't stop Danny from leaning down and kissing that tension right off the corners of his mouth, except there's something in Steve's expression, the way he looks at him, that makes him hold back. Because Steve's watching him, but it's not those lazy bedroom eyes, despite being in bed, despite Steve's arms around him, despite Steve's fingers in his hair. Despite kisses that felt like drowning, or, no. Less cataclysmic. Like sinking into a warm bath.
But Steve's paused now, searching out -- something. Answers, maybe. Whatever might be written across Danny's face, and he knows, alright, he knows that it's probably pretty clear, he's never been able to keep a decent poker face. Not in moments like this, when everything else is laid out and vulnerable. When he doesn't actually want to hide anything from Steve. Especially not when Steve is watching him with something so much like actual trepidation.
Like Steve thinks this is somehow his fault. Like he can be help responsible for the crap floating through Danny's head, and you know, he might be the one who jokes about that shit, but this is not Steve's responsibility. He should be able to crack jokes. Anyone should. These things are meaningless, and Danny is the one handling them like a grenade about to go off when to the whole rest of the world, they're plastic Easter eggs.
Harmless. Absurd. Maybe silly, but certainly not painful.
And definitely, definitely not on Steve's shoulders. He'd admit to it, if it would wipe that expression of Steve's face. Maybe should. So Steve stops thinking whatever it is that's making him cautious, still prodding at it.
"No. No. No. Definitely not that bad."
Thumb rubbing light along the line of Steve's jaw, like he could draw the truth of it right into his skin. Not that bad. Not Steve's fault. It isn't Steve's fault that Danny is a wreck. That he's a handful. That he's sensitive.
He avoids the word fine, because that's just like pulling a trigger, and shakes his head in negation of whatever is pushing through Steve's brain right now, that made him stop, that made him bring it up again. "Seriously. I just trip myself up. It's not that bad, and you can stop looking at me like you want to put yourself in the corner, okay, it's not you."
Well. It is. But nothing he did. Nothing he is. It's the fear of losing him.
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But Steve's paused now, searching out -- something. Answers, maybe. Whatever might be written across Danny's face, and he knows, alright, he knows that it's probably pretty clear, he's never been able to keep a decent poker face. Not in moments like this, when everything else is laid out and vulnerable. When he doesn't actually want to hide anything from Steve. Especially not when Steve is watching him with something so much like actual trepidation.
Like Steve thinks this is somehow his fault. Like he can be help responsible for the crap floating through Danny's head, and you know, he might be the one who jokes about that shit, but this is not Steve's responsibility. He should be able to crack jokes. Anyone should. These things are meaningless, and Danny is the one handling them like a grenade about to go off when to the whole rest of the world, they're plastic Easter eggs.
Harmless. Absurd. Maybe silly, but certainly not painful.
And definitely, definitely not on Steve's shoulders. He'd admit to it, if it would wipe that expression of Steve's face. Maybe should. So Steve stops thinking whatever it is that's making him cautious, still prodding at it.
"No. No. No. Definitely not that bad."
Thumb rubbing light along the line of Steve's jaw, like he could draw the truth of it right into his skin. Not that bad. Not Steve's fault. It isn't Steve's fault that Danny is a wreck. That he's a handful. That he's sensitive.
He avoids the word fine, because that's just like pulling a trigger, and shakes his head in negation of whatever is pushing through Steve's brain right now, that made him stop, that made him bring it up again. "Seriously. I just trip myself up. It's not that bad, and you can stop looking at me like you want to put yourself in the corner, okay, it's not you."
Well. It is. But nothing he did. Nothing he is. It's the fear of losing him.
Nothing new.