"Bring it, bitch," is still smothered against Danny's neck, with a hot amused snort of a challenge. When in some part Steve might not move again unless Danny made him, and in all honesty it'd probably have to be a good reason even then. His grip tightening a little even at just the though. Hopefully not one for leaving the bed indefinitely. Before dawn. Before work made them.
"Whenever you think you're ready." Half threat and half promise, both entirely, scaldingly, unwavering.
When there's something oddly amusing about the words, that trip out. Tugging at his memory. Something about words like it. From the first day, first-second night. Something he can't quite put his finger on, because everything from that time is a little hazy. The way everything is in periods when he hasn't slept or eaten correctly for so long he can't even tell when it stopped being bearable, survivable, strain and started being constant, well-trained, surviving.
But there was something like that. He vaguely remembers it. Some kind of laughter. Banter. Bluster. Boasting.
Yet there's no way he doesn't mean it, too. He's ready. He could, wants. Wants to run Danny through every pace he's ever gone himself, been shoved by someone else, wants to give him every good piece, sheared from every worst cold, empty second stored right there with the rest of his. Ready. Ready, and waiting. And willing to wait. And conflicted, but willing to let it stop. Willing to just lay here, and pretend that it isn't like every other part of his body has grown shadowy and half dissolved, except from where his skin is touching Danny's.
Except for where that fingers of Danny's is stroking his skin. Soft enough not too be desperate, hard enough that it feels like Danny needs to make sure his skin is there. The kind of words that don't have words. The kind of message he doesn't know what to do with, does't what to say to, doesn't know what means at all. And still he can't help feeling like there's a spotlight there. Like he's supposed to. Know. Say. Do. Something with it.
Danny's thumb rubbing back and forth like a lifeline. His breathing thin, the way people actually shot in the chest do.
When Steve could -- would -- right now, if the answer was right now, yes, let's go. But it won't be. He's mostly certain. As certain as he ever is about Danny, given that he was utterly wrong about this. All of this never happening. Danny never wanting anything to do with this. Utterly wrong about this earlier evening. Continues to be utterly wrong at every turn, and still Danny doesn't leave. Burned words on to his lips like Steve could ever forget. Will be ever able to.
Please. Don't.
And
Please.
Don't. Don't. Don't.
When it's easier to let those sail past him that to think he'd really like ten or twenty minutes of sleep, himself, before considering anything. Against the burn in his bicep and wrist. The coil half unfettered and half too tight in his gut. When there are half a dozens questions on his tongue, barred by his lips, and he has no idea how to even frame or phrase a single. All he really has is the way everything smells like Danny when he breathes in.
And this tiny part of his head echoing those words Danny said to him. Except to Danny, himself, now.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-06 03:48 am (UTC)"Whenever you think you're ready." Half threat and half promise, both entirely, scaldingly, unwavering.
When there's something oddly amusing about the words, that trip out. Tugging at his memory. Something about words like it. From the first day, first-second night. Something he can't quite put his finger on, because everything from that time is a little hazy. The way everything is in periods when he hasn't slept or eaten correctly for so long he can't even tell when it stopped being bearable, survivable, strain and started being constant, well-trained, surviving.
But there was something like that. He vaguely remembers it. Some kind of laughter. Banter. Bluster. Boasting.
Yet there's no way he doesn't mean it, too. He's ready. He could, wants. Wants to run Danny through every pace he's ever gone himself, been shoved by someone else, wants to give him every good piece, sheared from every worst cold, empty second stored right there with the rest of his. Ready. Ready, and waiting. And willing to wait. And conflicted, but willing to let it stop. Willing to just lay here, and pretend that it isn't like every other part of his body has grown shadowy and half dissolved, except from where his skin is touching Danny's.
Except for where that fingers of Danny's is stroking his skin. Soft enough not too be desperate, hard enough that it feels like Danny needs to make sure his skin is there. The kind of words that don't have words. The kind of message he doesn't know what to do with, does't what to say to, doesn't know what means at all. And still he can't help feeling like there's a spotlight there. Like he's supposed to. Know. Say. Do. Something with it.
Danny's thumb rubbing back and forth like a lifeline. His breathing thin, the way people actually shot in the chest do.
When Steve could -- would -- right now, if the answer was right now, yes, let's go. But it won't be. He's mostly certain. As certain as he ever is about Danny, given that he was utterly wrong about this. All of this never happening. Danny never wanting anything to do with this. Utterly wrong about this earlier evening. Continues to be utterly wrong at every turn, and still Danny doesn't leave. Burned words on to his lips like Steve could ever forget. Will be ever able to.
Please. Don't.
And
Please.
Don't. Don't. Don't.
When it's easier to let those sail past him that to think he'd really like ten or twenty minutes of sleep, himself, before considering anything. Against the burn in his bicep and wrist. The coil half unfettered and half too tight in his gut. When there are half a dozens questions on his tongue, barred by his lips, and he has no idea how to even frame or phrase a single. All he really has is the way everything smells like Danny when he breathes in.
And this tiny part of his head echoing those words Danny said to him. Except to Danny, himself, now.