Steve doesn't even know where it comes from, or how it all goes. But it's like the walls explode. Seize sharp, unexpected. Always. Like two years, like two weeks, is an always that can displace everything. Everything that suddenly is so scattered around like rubble. More than two decades against it. When he doesn't want to remember, doesn't mean to, and it comes unbidden anyway. I never stopped loving you.
Just because I wasn't around, doesn't mean I wasn't your mother.
Words. The last words he wants to hear when Danny mouth is dragging a line of fire up his neck, brushing the bottom of his ear. In a tone that is suddenly so rough, and so true, it almost hurts. Or maybe that's the rest of it. He can't tell. His lungs feel like they are obliterating. Turning into steam under the warm breath on fragile, thin skin. The rush of his pulse, crashing throb behind his eyes. The pain slamming in the middle of his chest.
Like always. Your and me. Words beating themselves into him, like fire on metal, like a life raft against the rest. All the other things, he doesn't know if are true. Aren't just words. Wishing he could grab these five and hold them. So they don't suddenly seem so insubstantial, that question makes his entire head and sense of reality buck at. Twisting further, dominoes crashing. Chased by lips on his skin, and then by a hand getting everywhere. Tugging at something too big, and too endless, threatening to flood everything in the middle of him. And where they hell did that come from. That wasn't the point. It wasn't his.
He didn't expect Danny's voice to almost shake with sudden, undeniable feeling, nearly right in his ear. Causing his stomach to clench, desperate and wanting. For there to be any truth in it, no matter what he can or can't do with it beyond this second. Just let it be true right now. Here. In this second. With Danny pressed against him. When he turns his head, back, cheek and jaw pressing against a mass of hair, words turning faintly feverish, even pressed. "Then, talk to me, Danny."
Fingers staying threaded in his hair, voice winded and low, the air staying everywhere but in his lungs. When he doesn't tug Danny up, doesn't make him look up, or move, from where he's buried against Steve's neck, the humming race of his pulse. Maybe is even grateful it's not Danny's face. It's just Danny's hair. Like there's nothing to make have to back up that any of these words, words, words that are never his, are falling out of his mouth, into Danny's hair. "It's just us. You and me. Here, right now."
Maybe it's hypocritical, he doesn't know if he'd even know what to say, wouldn't go utterly silent if Danny said the same to him. He just knows he wants it to be true. He wants to know. Wants to drag it out from existing anywhere in Danny. Replace with only those words a second ago. That sound in Danny's voice. That are so undeniably true there, that his heart is pounding more about that voice than any part of Danny's hand, Danny's mouth making their way with his skin. Wants to know. Know what not to do again. To keep it like this, as long as possible.
Danny, here, with him. Saying words like that out of nowhere and making him want to break the whole damn world if they'll just be true.
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Steve doesn't even know where it comes from, or how it all goes. But it's like the walls explode. Seize sharp, unexpected. Always. Like two years, like two weeks, is an always that can displace everything. Everything that suddenly is so scattered around like rubble. More than two decades against it. When he doesn't want to remember, doesn't mean to, and it comes unbidden anyway. I never stopped loving you.
Just because I wasn't around, doesn't mean I wasn't your mother.
Words. The last words he wants to hear when Danny mouth is dragging a line of fire up his neck, brushing the bottom of his ear. In a tone that is suddenly so rough, and so true, it almost hurts. Or maybe that's the rest of it. He can't tell. His lungs feel like they are obliterating. Turning into steam under the warm breath on fragile, thin skin. The rush of his pulse, crashing throb behind his eyes. The pain slamming in the middle of his chest.
Like always. Your and me. Words beating themselves into him, like fire on metal, like a life raft against the rest. All the other things, he doesn't know if are true. Aren't just words. Wishing he could grab these five and hold them. So they don't suddenly seem so insubstantial, that question makes his entire head and sense of reality buck at. Twisting further, dominoes crashing. Chased by lips on his skin, and then by a hand getting everywhere. Tugging at something too big, and too endless, threatening to flood everything in the middle of him. And where they hell did that come from. That wasn't the point. It wasn't his.
He didn't expect Danny's voice to almost shake with sudden, undeniable feeling, nearly right in his ear. Causing his stomach to clench, desperate and wanting. For there to be any truth in it, no matter what he can or can't do with it beyond this second. Just let it be true right now. Here. In this second. With Danny pressed against him. When he turns his head, back, cheek and jaw pressing against a mass of hair, words turning faintly feverish, even pressed. "Then, talk to me, Danny."
Fingers staying threaded in his hair, voice winded and low, the air staying everywhere but in his lungs. When he doesn't tug Danny up, doesn't make him look up, or move, from where he's buried against Steve's neck, the humming race of his pulse. Maybe is even grateful it's not Danny's face. It's just Danny's hair. Like there's nothing to make have to back up that any of these words, words, words that are never his, are falling out of his mouth, into Danny's hair. "It's just us. You and me. Here, right now."
Maybe it's hypocritical, he doesn't know if he'd even know what to say, wouldn't go utterly silent if Danny said the same to him. He just knows he wants it to be true. He wants to know. Wants to drag it out from existing anywhere in Danny. Replace with only those words a second ago. That sound in Danny's voice. That are so undeniably true there, that his heart is pounding more about that voice than any part of Danny's hand, Danny's mouth making their way with his skin. Wants to know. Know what not to do again. To keep it like this, as long as possible.
Danny, here, with him. Saying words like that out of nowhere and making him want to break the whole damn world if they'll just be true.