He really can't believe how much of an idiot Steve can be, that he thought this was a good idea, that he was trying so hard to push it all away and leave Danny in confused pain, a hit and run with a trailer truck and a sudden crushing meeting with gravity and the ground, so Steve doesn't get to talk. Steve said more than enough a few minutes ago, and all Danny wants now is assurance that he's accepted the inevitable and isn't going to mention anymore stupid ideas about leaving, or not doing this.
Because, Christ, he doesn't know how to not do this, if Steve still wants it, if they both do. How did Steve think it was going to work, huh? Being together all day, in the car, in the office, at each others' backs, and then just...going back to the way things were before?
He can't. It's impossible. He knows, now, what it's like, what Steve's like late at night, how he takes up the entire freaking bed with his giant octopus body. He can't un-know it. Can't just delete his memories of Steve's smiles, the fingers tracing down his skin, kisses ranging from soft and tentative to volcanic, and Steve is a moron if he thinks any of that would be possible, if he thinks Danny's willing to step back and lose it. It's not. He's not.
Not willing to hand over any of this. This. This is his. The ripped-out sound that Steve makes, that explodes in a silent dark eruption in Danny's chest, a depth charge hitting bottom. It's his. He gets to hear it, gets to be the one pulling it out of Steve. Gets to coax it into the broken repetition of his name, the way it warms some shattered part of himself, makes it glow, when Steve is barely able to breathe or think or speak at all. Wanting to press up flush against Steve's body, and unable to, because Steve has to bend over and he has to reach up and it's not enough, he wants to blanket Steve with himself and hold him down, keep him from doing anything so stupid as going anywhere at all away from him.
And it's not even a nice kiss. Not soft or sweet or apologetic; it's a fight, teeth grazing Steve's bottom lip, fingers trying to gain some kind of purchase in Steve's too-short hair, feeling like his skin could rip clean off and he could rip straight in two and he wouldn't care. None of it matters, except burning into Steve's idiotic thick skull that this is not going anywhere, Danny isn't going anywhere. He said he wouldn't, and he won't.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-05-04 03:22 pm (UTC)Because, Christ, he doesn't know how to not do this, if Steve still wants it, if they both do. How did Steve think it was going to work, huh? Being together all day, in the car, in the office, at each others' backs, and then just...going back to the way things were before?
He can't. It's impossible. He knows, now, what it's like, what Steve's like late at night, how he takes up the entire freaking bed with his giant octopus body. He can't un-know it. Can't just delete his memories of Steve's smiles, the fingers tracing down his skin, kisses ranging from soft and tentative to volcanic, and Steve is a moron if he thinks any of that would be possible, if he thinks Danny's willing to step back and lose it. It's not. He's not.
Not willing to hand over any of this. This. This is his. The ripped-out sound that Steve makes, that explodes in a silent dark eruption in Danny's chest, a depth charge hitting bottom. It's his. He gets to hear it, gets to be the one pulling it out of Steve. Gets to coax it into the broken repetition of his name, the way it warms some shattered part of himself, makes it glow, when Steve is barely able to breathe or think or speak at all. Wanting to press up flush against Steve's body, and unable to, because Steve has to bend over and he has to reach up and it's not enough, he wants to blanket Steve with himself and hold him down, keep him from doing anything so stupid as going anywhere at all away from him.
And it's not even a nice kiss. Not soft or sweet or apologetic; it's a fight, teeth grazing Steve's bottom lip, fingers trying to gain some kind of purchase in Steve's too-short hair, feeling like his skin could rip clean off and he could rip straight in two and he wouldn't care. None of it matters, except burning into Steve's idiotic thick skull that this is not going anywhere, Danny isn't going anywhere. He said he wouldn't, and he won't.
The sooner Steve gets the message, the better.