How the hell is anybody supposed to guard against this?
What's he supposed to do, when Steve's hand is engulfing first his arm and shoulder, and then his head, muffling everything that's going on in there down to a dull roar. When Steve is pressing forward, quiet but insistent, and pressing his mouth against Danny's forehead in a kiss that's not a kiss but still splits Danny's heart wide open like a kiss. The way a lip splits when it gets punched.
What's he supposed to do, huh? When Steve won't let it just be his problem, when Steve won't let it go, won't let him sink into a preoccupied, withdrawn stew. When Steve's telling him things Danny's not even believing from himself. Maybe he's not okay. Maybe that's not such a bad thing to be.
It means this is big. Huge. Important. Serious. That word he keeps bumping on, that neither of them will admit to or slap on the table along with all their chips. It means this is not something he can do and just roll over, sleep on, like nothing's changed. Things have changed. It's different now. Not worse. Maybe better. But different.
Except Steve's asking. A question disguised as a statement, threaded through with everything Danny's not sure he wants to hear in Steve's voice. It's cautious. Worried, maybe. All the bluster and bragging, the smug certainty, is leaked out, evaporated. Even in the dark, he can see the way Steve is peering at him, close, like he might be able to read Danny's thoughts in his face. "Yeah."
Half breathed out, and, okay, he's here, and Steve just did, so he allows it, gives himself this, a push forward that has sheets rustling, his hand sliding from Steve's side to his back, nudges forward to press nose, mouth, into the crook of Steve's neck. Breathes. It's easier, here. "I'm okay. I am, you know, a little weirded out. That was definitely new. But okay."
It helps that Steve's here, and not going anywhere, and that he hasn't tried to do anything idiotic like leave again. It all helps.
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What's he supposed to do, when Steve's hand is engulfing first his arm and shoulder, and then his head, muffling everything that's going on in there down to a dull roar. When Steve is pressing forward, quiet but insistent, and pressing his mouth against Danny's forehead in a kiss that's not a kiss but still splits Danny's heart wide open like a kiss. The way a lip splits when it gets punched.
What's he supposed to do, huh? When Steve won't let it just be his problem, when Steve won't let it go, won't let him sink into a preoccupied, withdrawn stew. When Steve's telling him things Danny's not even believing from himself. Maybe he's not okay. Maybe that's not such a bad thing to be.
It means this is big. Huge. Important. Serious. That word he keeps bumping on, that neither of them will admit to or slap on the table along with all their chips. It means this is not something he can do and just roll over, sleep on, like nothing's changed. Things have changed. It's different now. Not worse. Maybe better. But different.
Except Steve's asking. A question disguised as a statement, threaded through with everything Danny's not sure he wants to hear in Steve's voice. It's cautious. Worried, maybe. All the bluster and bragging, the smug certainty, is leaked out, evaporated. Even in the dark, he can see the way Steve is peering at him, close, like he might be able to read Danny's thoughts in his face. "Yeah."
Half breathed out, and, okay, he's here, and Steve just did, so he allows it, gives himself this, a push forward that has sheets rustling, his hand sliding from Steve's side to his back, nudges forward to press nose, mouth, into the crook of Steve's neck. Breathes. It's easier, here. "I'm okay. I am, you know, a little weirded out. That was definitely new. But okay."
It helps that Steve's here, and not going anywhere, and that he hasn't tried to do anything idiotic like leave again. It all helps.