Steve snorts, easy, fast, keeping his mouth light and loose against Danny's words. Against Danny kissing him back. Against Danny grabbing on to something to act out toward like it's life raft, which makes it easier. Slowly ramping up the pace of his hand, that is causing a pretty semi-constant burn in his inner wrist and the first part of his forearm. But ignore it. Ignoring a good half of that. Or at least pretending to.
As much as he could ever ignore this. Touching Danny. Danny on him. Around him. His fingers, his hips, grafted close with just a much fear about the whole thing as trust that Steve isn't going to drop him suddenly. Steve who's pushing through the feeling clouding up his chest, surprising him for it happening now, again, to swat back at Danny's complaints about his style, about the time he's taking, about firsts and Danny's own reactions, like smacking a fly.
Steve says, heavy and sarcastic, sharp insulting bite to his words, "You haven't been coherent a day in your life."
It's not entirely untrue that Steve misses the looks people throw Danny. But he does catch some of them. The ones that get made because of that. Because Danny is mouthy Jersey cop, with a flash-paper short temper and hands that act like planes. Who goes off at the drop of hat, ready to throw several volumes of a dictionary at unsuspecting people's head, with those dangerous hands flying everywhere.
That it can confuse people just as fast when he's happy as when he's angry. Because he's kind of like a massive wave, just hitting you and drenching you with everything all at once. Just keeps coming and covering everything. An onslaught. A squall. Maybe Steve didn't mind because he learned how to stand all those things before he got to it. Or maybe because he catches on to the pea sized matter behind Danny's bluster every time.
Catches on to the way it matters. All of it, even now. Needing to be coherent, needing to be sure, needing to push forward as much as not say he's obviously thought about running away. That it's not easy. And running would be, stopping would be. That easy just took a dive off the cliff Danny shoved Steve over, and he's still gripping the top with his fingers.
Clutching every single known thing he has to consider normal, right, something he already knows and knows he's good at.
All of those things Danny Williams likes having as his foundation. The things he's good at, that he likes to hear he's good at.
no subject
As much as he could ever ignore this. Touching Danny. Danny on him. Around him. His fingers, his hips, grafted close with just a much fear about the whole thing as trust that Steve isn't going to drop him suddenly. Steve who's pushing through the feeling clouding up his chest, surprising him for it happening now, again, to swat back at Danny's complaints about his style, about the time he's taking, about firsts and Danny's own reactions, like smacking a fly.
Steve says, heavy and sarcastic, sharp insulting bite to his words, "You haven't been coherent a day in your life."
It's not entirely untrue that Steve misses the looks people throw Danny. But he does catch some of them. The ones that get made because of that. Because Danny is mouthy Jersey cop, with a flash-paper short temper and hands that act like planes. Who goes off at the drop of hat, ready to throw several volumes of a dictionary at unsuspecting people's head, with those dangerous hands flying everywhere.
That it can confuse people just as fast when he's happy as when he's angry. Because he's kind of like a massive wave, just hitting you and drenching you with everything all at once. Just keeps coming and covering everything. An onslaught. A squall. Maybe Steve didn't mind because he learned how to stand all those things before he got to it. Or maybe because he catches on to the pea sized matter behind Danny's bluster every time.
Catches on to the way it matters. All of it, even now. Needing to be coherent, needing to be sure, needing to push forward as much as not say he's obviously thought about running away. That it's not easy. And running would be, stopping would be. That easy just took a dive off the cliff Danny shoved Steve over, and he's still gripping the top with his fingers.
Clutching every single known thing he has to consider normal, right, something he already knows and knows he's good at.
All of those things Danny Williams likes having as his foundation. The things he's good at, that he likes to hear he's good at.