It's a little like he'd touched Steve with a taser, instead of his hand; muscles tighten, lock up one by one, and Steve shudders and jerks, that dark molasses sound ripping out of him like threads are being pulled from every spine, like nerves are fraying and sparking with ragged ends. It's all sudden instinct, rutting into his hand, fingers shoving, grasping, hard, and he is going to be sore as hell tomorrow, but it's worth it.
To watch Steve lose it. Making Danny wonder how far out on this plank Steve walked, telling himself he was in control, ignoring himself so he could focus on Danny, because it hits like someone jumping through a plate glass window, unexpected and complete. Landing like a boulder in his chest, that starts rolling casually around that crammed space, crushing everything it comes across, flattening him out leaving him as winded as if it were Steve's hand on him, instead of the other way around.
Making him, wildly, want to call a halt to everything else, push down, get his mouth there, reduce Steve to a shaking, groaning mess, every constructed wall tumbling away, every barred off door ripping off its hinges. Lay him out on the mattress, sweat-slick and beautiful, with no one else's hands or mouth and no one else's name dropping off his lips in restless moans. Because no one gets to be here. If they're stupid enough to let Steve go, they've lost their chance. Danny's made plenty of mistake in his life, but this, this is not one of them, he knows it down deep in his bones, knows it like he knows Grace is beautiful and brilliant and best of all good, like he knows coins will drop and birds will fly.
It can't come to nothing. It's already this, and this is already too much for him to hold without being terrified it will fall out of his hands and smash on the floor; this already shoves his hapless heart out of the way to make more room for Steve, for Steve's smiles and frowns and testiness and the way he knocks the cap off a bottle of beer without looking at it, for the larger than life Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett who is too big for every room and takes up too much space in the car and the bed and the couch, who only seems to fit when he's out on the ocean, where the horizons are boundless and the sky gives him all the space he needs.
That's what tries to fit inside Danny's chest, in his head, and it will never, could never work, but it's there anyway, and Steve should never be surprised that Danny wants to touch him. To make him make that sound. To reduce him to trembling muscles, snapped self-control, rasping voice that lacks any kind of sense or words.
Like this. Shoving deeper, harder, into Danny, and it hurts, but it's good, too, making his eyes squeeze shut and his breath grow labored, shallow pants gusting against Steve's lips, chin, cheek. Racing up his spine in looping threads that squeeze, pushing everything out of the way except Steve, who really is everywhere, now, around and on top and inside and if Danny could fit all of him under his skin, he would.
He can't, though, so his fingers just tighten, and keep pace, and his hips are moving, pushing back and forth, asking for more, more, more Steve, more of this, more.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-02 10:26 pm (UTC)To watch Steve lose it. Making Danny wonder how far out on this plank Steve walked, telling himself he was in control, ignoring himself so he could focus on Danny, because it hits like someone jumping through a plate glass window, unexpected and complete. Landing like a boulder in his chest, that starts rolling casually around that crammed space, crushing everything it comes across, flattening him out leaving him as winded as if it were Steve's hand on him, instead of the other way around.
Making him, wildly, want to call a halt to everything else, push down, get his mouth there, reduce Steve to a shaking, groaning mess, every constructed wall tumbling away, every barred off door ripping off its hinges. Lay him out on the mattress, sweat-slick and beautiful, with no one else's hands or mouth and no one else's name dropping off his lips in restless moans. Because no one gets to be here. If they're stupid enough to let Steve go, they've lost their chance. Danny's made plenty of mistake in his life, but this, this is not one of them, he knows it down deep in his bones, knows it like he knows Grace is beautiful and brilliant and best of all good, like he knows coins will drop and birds will fly.
It can't come to nothing. It's already this, and this is already too much for him to hold without being terrified it will fall out of his hands and smash on the floor; this already shoves his hapless heart out of the way to make more room for Steve, for Steve's smiles and frowns and testiness and the way he knocks the cap off a bottle of beer without looking at it, for the larger than life Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett who is too big for every room and takes up too much space in the car and the bed and the couch, who only seems to fit when he's out on the ocean, where the horizons are boundless and the sky gives him all the space he needs.
That's what tries to fit inside Danny's chest, in his head, and it will never, could never work, but it's there anyway, and Steve should never be surprised that Danny wants to touch him. To make him make that sound. To reduce him to trembling muscles, snapped self-control, rasping voice that lacks any kind of sense or words.
Like this. Shoving deeper, harder, into Danny, and it hurts, but it's good, too, making his eyes squeeze shut and his breath grow labored, shallow pants gusting against Steve's lips, chin, cheek. Racing up his spine in looping threads that squeeze, pushing everything out of the way except Steve, who really is everywhere, now, around and on top and inside and if Danny could fit all of him under his skin, he would.
He can't, though, so his fingers just tighten, and keep pace, and his hips are moving, pushing back and forth, asking for more, more, more Steve, more of this, more.