His lips end up pressed looking down at her fingers resting against his. Pale peach-pink, and nowhere near the soft, vague tan Danny has. It's the color of so much time spent in door, surrounded by computers. That color that stretches cool and smooth, solidly, all across her. Not Hawaiian, of Hawaii, in the slightest. So very much, just her, just Cath.
There's a rough breath that presses out of his lips, as he shook his head, shoulders loosening the way boulders break.
"Cath." Is heavy, if straight through a winded sound, too. "It's just --" He doesn't even have words. It's everything. Everything is. Everything it shouldn't be. Tripping up his face, and even more his chest, anytime he tries to pull it apart. To get anywhere past acknowledgement it's fleeting, and it will flee. Because everything does, and the deck is stacked entirely against it.
"It is what it is." He can't change it. He can't make it go away. He tried. He tried every conceivable thing for a year. And now, now, Danny. Wasn't just this figment. Just this awkward, slapped, cement wall feeling of reading too much.
Danny just looked at him, brushed by his shoulder in the middle of a case, or bumped into him trying to get things in the office kitchen, and anything, everything, that happened once they weren't at work. Danny, with the taste of his lips and his skin. With the way his hair felt through Steve's fingers. The way his hands got everywhere even as he slept, and he sounded like an angry bear every time Steve wasn't quite enough leaving to swim.
The things he kept saying. The way it made Steve want to, willingly, walk off the damn cliff. Even if it killed him.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-03-28 12:09 am (UTC)There's a rough breath that presses out of his lips, as he shook his head, shoulders loosening the way boulders break.
"Cath." Is heavy, if straight through a winded sound, too. "It's just --" He doesn't even have words. It's everything. Everything is. Everything it shouldn't be. Tripping up his face, and even more his chest, anytime he tries to pull it apart. To get anywhere past acknowledgement it's fleeting, and it will flee. Because everything does, and the deck is stacked entirely against it.
"It is what it is." He can't change it. He can't make it go away. He tried. He tried every conceivable thing for a year.
And now, now, Danny. Wasn't just this figment. Just this awkward, slapped, cement wall feeling of reading too much.
Danny just looked at him, brushed by his shoulder in the middle of a case, or bumped into him trying to get things in the office kitchen, and anything, everything, that happened once they weren't at work. Danny, with the taste of his lips and his skin. With the way his hair felt through Steve's fingers. The way his hands got everywhere even as he slept, and he sounded like an angry bear every time Steve wasn't quite enough leaving to swim.
The things he kept saying. The way it made Steve want to, willingly, walk off the damn cliff. Even if it killed him.