"Okay," Danny repeats, "okay, well, good. Glad we're on the same page."
He can glance at it, now. Allow himself, that, once Steve's hand covers his and he takes a deep breath to steady himself, before letting himself look at the sheer mindless relief welling up like blood from a pinprick.
Not that he can stop, once he's started. Cracking that door gives an inch that's rapidly eaten away and kicked into a fullblown flood, rushing through his veins and chasing away the cool calm that he'd forced himself into after the yelling wore itself out, after Steve tried to burn straight through him with a kiss. But here it is, erasing it all, making his hands firm on Steve's legs so they don't shake with it, making him want to duck his head to press his forehead against the back of Steve's hand, breathe in the scent of cotton and skin and sun, with the air starting to cool against his back and the last glimmers of sunset now nothing but a faint memory. The sky is perfect clear teal, fading darker, and Steve's features are a little harder to see.
He's got no idea if Steve meant to stay out here, if he still does, but Danny's knee is starting to complain, and when he pushes up, it gives a bad-tempered crack that makes him grimace.
He doesn't straighten far, though, just far enough to lift the hand not covered by Steve's, curl it at the base of Steve's skull, and lean in to find his mouth, again, eyes sliding shut, kiss firm and gentle and more longing than he'd meant it to be, because it was supposed to be brief, like punctuation, so this conversation could be over, but instead it lingers. He lingers. Breathing in against Steve's cheek, focused on a kiss that's nothing like the one that almost took him apart just a few minutes ago, that's just this, something to get lost in, something to remind Steve, in case the words didn't stick.
That he's the one Danny wants. That it's enough, in the face of a world continually trying to beat them down, push them around, crush them, kill them.
That Steve matters. That nothing could change that.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-05 02:41 am (UTC)He can glance at it, now. Allow himself, that, once Steve's hand covers his and he takes a deep breath to steady himself, before letting himself look at the sheer mindless relief welling up like blood from a pinprick.
Not that he can stop, once he's started. Cracking that door gives an inch that's rapidly eaten away and kicked into a fullblown flood, rushing through his veins and chasing away the cool calm that he'd forced himself into after the yelling wore itself out, after Steve tried to burn straight through him with a kiss. But here it is, erasing it all, making his hands firm on Steve's legs so they don't shake with it, making him want to duck his head to press his forehead against the back of Steve's hand, breathe in the scent of cotton and skin and sun, with the air starting to cool against his back and the last glimmers of sunset now nothing but a faint memory. The sky is perfect clear teal, fading darker, and Steve's features are a little harder to see.
He's got no idea if Steve meant to stay out here, if he still does, but Danny's knee is starting to complain, and when he pushes up, it gives a bad-tempered crack that makes him grimace.
He doesn't straighten far, though, just far enough to lift the hand not covered by Steve's, curl it at the base of Steve's skull, and lean in to find his mouth, again, eyes sliding shut, kiss firm and gentle and more longing than he'd meant it to be, because it was supposed to be brief, like punctuation, so this conversation could be over, but instead it lingers. He lingers. Breathing in against Steve's cheek, focused on a kiss that's nothing like the one that almost took him apart just a few minutes ago, that's just this, something to get lost in, something to remind Steve, in case the words didn't stick.
That he's the one Danny wants. That it's enough, in the face of a world continually trying to beat them down, push them around, crush them, kill them.
That Steve matters. That nothing could change that.