(no subject)
Act Now (~740 words, Steve/Danny, a teeny tag to 2x09) (also on AOOO)
Steve wakes up and blinks into the dark, reorienting himself: he hears the rhythmic shush of waves, the rustle of his curtains moving in the slight breeze, the familiar tinny hum of voices filtering up from the first floor. He levers himself up and out of bed and pads downstairs, expecting to find the usual lump of blanket-covered Danny on the couch, but Danny's sitting up, blanket in his lap, hair mussed, staring at the wall.
"What is it with you and gold coins?"
"Avoid disappointment and future regret," he intones when Steve sits down next to him. The couch dips, and Danny's arm presses into Steve's, warm through his t-shirt.
Steve's eyes feel dry and gritty; he rubs a hand over them and asks, "What?"
"'Avoid disappointment and future regret,' that's what the announcer says." Danny waves his hand at the blue glow of the TV, at the collectible coins revolving slowly on the screen. "And I've been thinking about that-I mean, maybe the disappointment and future regret are waking up to find you've spent all your money on freaking commemorative coins."
His voice is low and scratchy with sleep, or maybe with just not having said anything for a while; it's the comforting, nighttime rumble that Steve associates with stakeouts in the Camaro and long nights at HQ.
"Seems likely," Steve says, trying hard to follow the thread of whatever Danny's talking about.
"You'd think, right? Only maybe, maybe the disappointment and regret are because you never took a chance, never took a risk, and you wake up one day and realize that you missed out on a good thing because you were too afraid to reach out and take it."
He's not really sure what's going on, but he thinks it might not actually be about gold coins. "Danny . . . "
"Steven." Danny's not focused on the wall anymore; he's watching Steve keenly from just a few inches away. Something about it makes Steve's skin prickle all over, and it's all the warning he gets before Danny leans in, before he feels Danny's breath on his lips, before he feels the scratch of stubble and Danny's slick, hot mouth because Danny's kissing him.
Steve kisses him back, opens his mouth to let Danny in, grapples blindly to find the remote and turn off the TV, grapples a little more to get his hands on Danny-his thigh, his arm, the sweet, strong curve of his throat and shoulder. Steve can't stop, can't get enough.
"Hey," Danny's saying, and Steve hears it like he's coming out of a daze, dizzy and dreamy, heart beating too fast. "Hey, hey, right here, not going anywhere," he murmurs, and Steve makes himself pull back enough to rest his forehead against Danny's, to sweep his thumb along Danny's collarbone.
"You're a light sleeper, you know that?"
"I- what?" Steve feels like he's losing track of the conversation all over again, and he's distracted by Danny-so close, and suddenly, somehow, Steve's to touch.
"I can hear the bed creak, old springs, whatever. You're restless, you, I don't know, I'm just guessing, I don't want to make any assumptions, here, but from what it sounds like, you flop around like an oversized fish up there. It's why I have to listen to infomercials in the middle of the night."
After everything, that's what wakes Steve up like he's been dunked in cold water. He straightens up, looks Danny in the eye, can feel his own face pulling into a frown. "Wait, Danny, I keep you up at night?"
Danny barks out a laugh, but he sounds inexplicably fond when he says, "You're kidding me, come on. Babe. You have no idea- Do you really have no idea?" He's grinning, eyes crinkled up in genuine Danny Williams mirth at the idea that, what, Steve's surprised Danny worries about him? Sleeps in his house and thinks about their future together?
That's it; Steve's helpless, done, couldn't hope to resist this if he tried, doesn't want to. He leans in to kiss Danny's smile, his smart mouth, tugs him up off the couch, stumbles when they both get tangled in Danny's stupid blanket, pulls him toward the stairs, toward his bed, where he's going to start proving to Danny that he's a good investment, and that with the right incentives, he can sleep through the night just fine.
No disappointment. No regrets.
Steve wakes up and blinks into the dark, reorienting himself: he hears the rhythmic shush of waves, the rustle of his curtains moving in the slight breeze, the familiar tinny hum of voices filtering up from the first floor. He levers himself up and out of bed and pads downstairs, expecting to find the usual lump of blanket-covered Danny on the couch, but Danny's sitting up, blanket in his lap, hair mussed, staring at the wall.
"What is it with you and gold coins?"
"Avoid disappointment and future regret," he intones when Steve sits down next to him. The couch dips, and Danny's arm presses into Steve's, warm through his t-shirt.
Steve's eyes feel dry and gritty; he rubs a hand over them and asks, "What?"
"'Avoid disappointment and future regret,' that's what the announcer says." Danny waves his hand at the blue glow of the TV, at the collectible coins revolving slowly on the screen. "And I've been thinking about that-I mean, maybe the disappointment and future regret are waking up to find you've spent all your money on freaking commemorative coins."
His voice is low and scratchy with sleep, or maybe with just not having said anything for a while; it's the comforting, nighttime rumble that Steve associates with stakeouts in the Camaro and long nights at HQ.
"Seems likely," Steve says, trying hard to follow the thread of whatever Danny's talking about.
"You'd think, right? Only maybe, maybe the disappointment and regret are because you never took a chance, never took a risk, and you wake up one day and realize that you missed out on a good thing because you were too afraid to reach out and take it."
He's not really sure what's going on, but he thinks it might not actually be about gold coins. "Danny . . . "
"Steven." Danny's not focused on the wall anymore; he's watching Steve keenly from just a few inches away. Something about it makes Steve's skin prickle all over, and it's all the warning he gets before Danny leans in, before he feels Danny's breath on his lips, before he feels the scratch of stubble and Danny's slick, hot mouth because Danny's kissing him.
Steve kisses him back, opens his mouth to let Danny in, grapples blindly to find the remote and turn off the TV, grapples a little more to get his hands on Danny-his thigh, his arm, the sweet, strong curve of his throat and shoulder. Steve can't stop, can't get enough.
"Hey," Danny's saying, and Steve hears it like he's coming out of a daze, dizzy and dreamy, heart beating too fast. "Hey, hey, right here, not going anywhere," he murmurs, and Steve makes himself pull back enough to rest his forehead against Danny's, to sweep his thumb along Danny's collarbone.
"You're a light sleeper, you know that?"
"I- what?" Steve feels like he's losing track of the conversation all over again, and he's distracted by Danny-so close, and suddenly, somehow, Steve's to touch.
"I can hear the bed creak, old springs, whatever. You're restless, you, I don't know, I'm just guessing, I don't want to make any assumptions, here, but from what it sounds like, you flop around like an oversized fish up there. It's why I have to listen to infomercials in the middle of the night."
After everything, that's what wakes Steve up like he's been dunked in cold water. He straightens up, looks Danny in the eye, can feel his own face pulling into a frown. "Wait, Danny, I keep you up at night?"
Danny barks out a laugh, but he sounds inexplicably fond when he says, "You're kidding me, come on. Babe. You have no idea- Do you really have no idea?" He's grinning, eyes crinkled up in genuine Danny Williams mirth at the idea that, what, Steve's surprised Danny worries about him? Sleeps in his house and thinks about their future together?
That's it; Steve's helpless, done, couldn't hope to resist this if he tried, doesn't want to. He leans in to kiss Danny's smile, his smart mouth, tugs him up off the couch, stumbles when they both get tangled in Danny's stupid blanket, pulls him toward the stairs, toward his bed, where he's going to start proving to Danny that he's a good investment, and that with the right incentives, he can sleep through the night just fine.
No disappointment. No regrets.