That breath that shakes out of Danny is nearly painful, just to hear.
He knows Danny. He could detail more things about Danny than Danny would ever like to know. The good. The bad. Easy weakness and hit points for the fastest efficient take down. Even the things people take for granted. He knows what Danny sounds like when he's happy, when he's busy, when he's pissed. And when he's scared. Steve knows there are times he frightens Danny. Down to his core, into his marrow. Actual, rational, fear.
Never enough to make him run away, but enough it's written then in his eyes, across the horror in his expression. But. This wasn't supposed to scare him. That was never part of it. Hurt him. Yes, if he had to. It was an acceptable collateral to Grace, to their future. It was still an acceptable collateral to Grace, when even the thought is splintering, and rolling way like marbled dropped everywhere.
But he the idea of Danny being afraid of him, right now, right in this second here, the one he's thinking in, pressed so lightly against so little of him, is like being slapped with a sudden cement wall. Even while those marbles are rolling, even while Danny's hand is crawling up his arm, trying to divest him of sense left in his head, hiding under his tongue. Pulling at the strings and whispering the truth that can't be true.
That there already isn't anything left. His hand is already on Danny.
His other one, rough feel of cloth the only first sign he knows he moved at all.
It's finding Danny's side. Fingers gripping in fabric, against the solidness of skin, bones, and muscles underneath, for granted of them. When he's tipping Danny's head, with the hand he let himself get away with only seconds ago, off mission, and doing the only thing left. The only that's pounding in his head, drowning out the siren in bubbles of air, drowning by choice like it's the same thing as breathing, like failing is the same thing as incapable of any other option.
Less than careful fingers, and almost no breath pulled in for so long, but that is an angry ache that is so small compared to the one driving him right. Causing him to tip his head, and find Danny's mouth. Almost too soft. Like knowing it's still attached to his face, doesn't mean Steve has any idea whether he's lost it or found it entirely.
Because he can't apologize. He meant every single word. But he didn't mean for this. Too.
Because it doesn't feel like there will ever be a day he won't want this. Danny.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-03 09:15 pm (UTC)He knows Danny. He could detail more things about Danny than Danny would ever like to know. The good. The bad. Easy weakness and hit points for the fastest efficient take down. Even the things people take for granted. He knows what Danny sounds like when he's happy, when he's busy, when he's pissed. And when he's scared. Steve knows there are times he frightens Danny. Down to his core, into his marrow. Actual, rational, fear.
Never enough to make him run away, but enough it's written then in his eyes, across the horror in his expression. But. This wasn't supposed to scare him. That was never part of it. Hurt him. Yes, if he had to. It was an acceptable collateral to Grace, to their future. It was still an acceptable collateral to Grace, when even the thought is splintering, and rolling way like marbled dropped everywhere.
But he the idea of Danny being afraid of him, right now, right in this second here, the one he's thinking in, pressed so lightly against so little of him, is like being slapped with a sudden cement wall. Even while those marbles are rolling, even while Danny's hand is crawling up his arm, trying to divest him of sense left in his head, hiding under his tongue. Pulling at the strings and whispering the truth that can't be true.
That there already isn't anything left. His hand is already on Danny.
His other one, rough feel of cloth the only first sign he knows he moved at all.
It's finding Danny's side. Fingers gripping in fabric, against the solidness of skin, bones, and muscles underneath, for granted of them. When he's tipping Danny's head, with the hand he let himself get away with only seconds ago, off mission, and doing the only thing left. The only that's pounding in his head, drowning out the siren in bubbles of air, drowning by choice like it's the same thing as breathing, like failing is the same thing as incapable of any other option.
Less than careful fingers, and almost no breath pulled in for so long, but that is an angry ache that is so small compared to the one driving him right. Causing him to tip his head, and find Danny's mouth. Almost too soft. Like knowing it's still attached to his face, doesn't mean Steve has any idea whether he's lost it or found it entirely.
Because he can't apologize. He meant every single word. But he didn't mean for this. Too.
Because it doesn't feel like there will ever be a day he won't want this. Danny.