Breathe. Breathing seems impossible. Like his lungs are anywhere near under his control or something he can even feel attached to him, or his mouth, at this point. When everything he can feel is cataloged along the lines of Danny's body underneath him now. The hands that have gotten free and are almost too soft and still on his face. Framing his jaw, his cheeks, his mouth, the sides of his head.
When it's so much easier to warily eye the words coming back, falling up at him out of Danny's mouth. The ones saying he does want it. Or even more that he does want Steve. When those aren't new words, but they are in a new way, and not one that's been anything like clarified before. Not something that was supposed to happen today, tonight, now. When it's easier to let Danny just keep talking, to let Danny's hands on his face draw him down into a kiss again.
A kiss on the razor edge of everything too highlighted by the careful hands on his face. The careful way beforehand the word Danny caught on was slow. The first one he could give back. The way nothing in Steve wants to listen to that, wants to remember he said it. Wants slow. Goes slow. Ever remembers to check for anything before jumping in the way of a threat or dashing five floors and jumping out the nearest window if necessary. All without hesitating.
There is nothing about anyone he's ever had, or anything he's ever done, they've done that screams slow.
There is nothing about slow written in his blood. But he's kissing Danny, because Danny pulled him down.
Becuse be put it out there. Meant it. Or wants to mean it. Like a splinter, like the need for it be there in himself if he dug hard enough, force himself to hold still enough, be patient enough, willing enough. The ability to do this the way Danny could. Would. The way the word want keeps catching on Danny's tongue, being repeated, crashing a note in Steve's ears, causes his heart the pound harder, trying to ring a bell in Steve's heard. Like he's forgotten something.
When he's already proved it false, already said he wants more, he wants everything, always does, always has, always will, but nothing more is more true that the way he shakes his head a little at Danny's last few words. Without ever breaking the frame of those hands, and his words as simple and few this time, "I already have that."
Because of Danny. Because Danny is still here. Because Danny somehow didn't leave him when he shoved away.
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When it's so much easier to warily eye the words coming back, falling up at him out of Danny's mouth. The ones saying he does want it. Or even more that he does want Steve. When those aren't new words, but they are in a new way, and not one that's been anything like clarified before. Not something that was supposed to happen today, tonight, now. When it's easier to let Danny just keep talking, to let Danny's hands on his face draw him down into a kiss again.
A kiss on the razor edge of everything too highlighted by the careful hands on his face. The careful way beforehand the word Danny caught on was slow. The first one he could give back. The way nothing in Steve wants to listen to that, wants to remember he said it. Wants slow. Goes slow. Ever remembers to check for anything before jumping in the way of a threat or dashing five floors and jumping out the nearest window if necessary. All without hesitating.
There is nothing about anyone he's ever had, or anything he's ever done, they've done that screams slow.
There is nothing about slow written in his blood. But he's kissing Danny, because Danny pulled him down.
Becuse be put it out there. Meant it. Or wants to mean it. Like a splinter, like the need for it be there in himself if he dug hard enough, force himself to hold still enough, be patient enough, willing enough. The ability to do this the way Danny could. Would. The way the word want keeps catching on Danny's tongue, being repeated, crashing a note in Steve's ears, causes his heart the pound harder, trying to ring a bell in Steve's heard. Like he's forgotten something.
When he's already proved it false, already said he wants more, he wants everything, always does, always has, always will, but nothing more is more true that the way he shakes his head a little at Danny's last few words. Without ever breaking the frame of those hands, and his words as simple and few this time, "I already have that."
Because of Danny. Because Danny is still here. Because Danny somehow didn't leave him when he shoved away.