Steve's definitely done something to his ability to determine all kinds of things: personal risk, his own previously certain preferences. They've all gotten shaken around in a box marked "REASSESSMENT," along with his ability to breathe, to speak, to do anything other than keep falling into this heat-driven tornado.
They just can't stop. It's insane. They're both hurtling towards forty, if they manage to live that long; they aren't teenagers, aren't drunk and confused college students. They should be able to touch each other without spontaneously combusting, should be able to have discussions about what they should or shouldn't do, have or haven't done, without dialogue giving way to the need to have Steve's mouth against his, breathe his breath, suddenly terrified it might be the last time, that it might sudden't vanish, sand sinking under his feet like he's trapped in a tipped hourglass.
Steve is seriously detrimental to his ability to think, focus, or exist, in every possible way. For example, there is absolutely, one hundred percent, no reason for him to be so intent on Steve's lips against his skin, on the warmth running like water under his voice, that he can tell Steve's smiling. But he can. And it hits him like a jolt from a defibrillator, because Steve is smiling at him. Because of him.
Steve is running his mouth along the ticklish, sensitive skin of Danny's inner thigh, and gently shifting Danny's leg, and he's smiling, teasing, light-hearted. Shining up so dark and bright at the same time Danny's not sure whether it's moonlight hitting the blanket, or just Steve, reflecting back into the night, who is so much of everything that his smile can stop people dead, that crowds part for him, that Danny has, at times, held entire conversations with nothing more than Steve's raised or lowered eyebrows.
How does he do it? How can he not see it? Doesn't he have any idea, any idea at all, what people would give to be Danny right now? To have all that laser focus directed on them, until any lump of coal could be cut into a diamond. He's already starting to over heat, a dull flush climbing up his chest, pressure beginning to build.
"Then I guess you're not the only one going crazy."
no subject
They just can't stop. It's insane. They're both hurtling towards forty, if they manage to live that long; they aren't teenagers, aren't drunk and confused college students. They should be able to touch each other without spontaneously combusting, should be able to have discussions about what they should or shouldn't do, have or haven't done, without dialogue giving way to the need to have Steve's mouth against his, breathe his breath, suddenly terrified it might be the last time, that it might sudden't vanish, sand sinking under his feet like he's trapped in a tipped hourglass.
Steve is seriously detrimental to his ability to think, focus, or exist, in every possible way. For example, there is absolutely, one hundred percent, no reason for him to be so intent on Steve's lips against his skin, on the warmth running like water under his voice, that he can tell Steve's smiling. But he can. And it hits him like a jolt from a defibrillator, because Steve is smiling at him. Because of him.
Steve is running his mouth along the ticklish, sensitive skin of Danny's inner thigh, and gently shifting Danny's leg, and he's smiling, teasing, light-hearted. Shining up so dark and bright at the same time Danny's not sure whether it's moonlight hitting the blanket, or just Steve, reflecting back into the night, who is so much of everything that his smile can stop people dead, that crowds part for him, that Danny has, at times, held entire conversations with nothing more than Steve's raised or lowered eyebrows.
How does he do it? How can he not see it? Doesn't he have any idea, any idea at all, what people would give to be Danny right now? To have all that laser focus directed on them, until any lump of coal could be cut into a diamond. He's already starting to over heat, a dull flush climbing up his chest, pressure beginning to build.
"Then I guess you're not the only one going crazy."