the only thing that's real
Title: the only thing that's real
Author: somehowunbroken
Beta: shinysylver
Fandom: H50
Characters: Steve/Danny
Word Count: 1,500
Rating: NC-17
Notes: For
kink_bingo 2011: bites/bruises. You have been warned. Post 2x01. Contains spoilers.
Summary: Steve has to focus on anything other than the thoughts that keep racing through his head.
There are a thousand thoughts trying to force themselves to the front of Steve’s mind; he pushes them all away and focuses on the minutiae of what he’s doing. If he thinks about putting one foot in front of the other, he can’t think about Hesse saving his life. If he counts the keys on his keyring as he walks up the path to his house, he can’t recall how raw Danny had sounded when he was talking about Rachel. If he measures his steps from the front door to his bedroom, there’s no room left in his head for Makoto telling him stories about his father.
Steve pulls each breath in on a count of five, holds it for two, lets it out on another five. He pauses another two and takes four long steps into the bathroom before inhaling again, and he resolutely doesn’t think about his father shaking hands with Wo Fat.
Actually, Steve thinks as he glances up and catches his reflection in the mirror, that’s a lie. It’s the only thing in his head, the only thing he can think about - his dad sitting in a chair next to the criminal responsible for his death, across a desk from the woman who’d had a hand in it-
Steve reacts without realizing he’s going to, striking out as quickly as he can. The mirror shatters under his hand, glass flying everywhere, and Steve bows his head, shaking.
He’s so out of touch with things that he doesn’t register the voice for a few moments. He spins when he does, putting his back to the wall and taking a defensive stance, but Danny holds his hands up and keeps speaking quietly, almost soothingly.
“-you look like a psychopath, I hope you know that,” Danny says, apparently in the midst of the world’s least aggressive rant. “People don’t go around punching mirrors, Steve. That’s what we like to call an anger management-”
“Danny,” Steve says, slumping against the wall. Danny smiles gently, and Steve can see some of the tension bleed from his shoulders.
“So you are still in there,” Danny jokes as he lowers his hands and takes a step towards Steve. Glass fragments crunch under his feet, and Steve winces. Danny stops less than a foot away from where Steve is standing, and he reaches out to run his hands down Steve’s arms until he’s carefully pulling Steve’s hands up. Danny inspects each, dropping Steve’s uninjured left hand in favor of frowning at his right. “You really did a number on yourself here,” he sighs, tapping Steve on the wrist. “Sit down. I’m gonna have to dig all the glass out before we can wrap that up.”
“I can do it,” Steve mumbles halfheartedly, but he closes the lid of the toilet and sits, holding his hand out when Danny reaches for it.
Danny works in silence, pulling sliver after sliver of glass from Steve’s hand. He glances up from time to time, and Steve doesn’t know what to do with the looks Danny gives him, something troubled and dark and very unlike Danny.
“Why did you come?” Steve asks when Danny finally sits back, wiping the tweezers across the hand towel that he’s been using to collect the shards of glass. Steve is probably going to have to throw it out, just to be safe, he notes absently as he focuses on Danny.
“I figured you probably shouldn’t be left alone right now,” Danny replies, studying Steve’s hand. Steve follows Danny’s gaze down; it’s a little bit of a mess, but it’s really not that bad. None of the bones are broken.
Steve looks back up and is startled when he finds Danny looking right back at him. Danny holds his gaze for a moment before sighing. “Why did you punch the mirror?”
“Distracting myself,” Steve replies before he has the chance to think about it. He winces, expecting the tirade to start rolling from Danny’s lips, but Danny just gives him another one of those troubled looks as he sits back.
“You’re hurting yourself to keep your mind off of things,” Danny says carefully, reaching for a damp washcloth and gently blotting at the cuts on Steve’s hand. “That’s kind of fucked up, babe.”
Steve shrugs instead of trying to explain why - why he needs it, why it works. Danny glances back up, and this time, that look from before is gone, replaced by something that’s half-guarded and half-resolved. “Let me help you.”
That wasn’t anywhere near the response that Steve had been expecting. He blinked a few times before clearing his throat. “What?”
“Let me help you,” Danny repeats, setting the cloth aside and leaning in. He’s firmly within Steve’s personal space now - not that he wasn’t before, but now there’s no plausible deniability, none of the careful sidestepping that has always dictated how they’ve skirted around whatever they might be. “I know how you bend and how you break, Steve. I can get you out of your head for a while.”
Steve sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, because - there are so many reasons why this is a bad idea, so many ways it could just go to hell in a handbasket, and he knows if he says yes to this he’ll never say no to Danny again.
It doesn’t scare him like it maybe should.
“Yeah,” he says, and he feels himself slump forward a little until his forehead is resting against Danny’s. “Okay.”
Danny hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then he leans in and brushes his lips across Steve’s cheek. “C’mon, let’s go to the other room.”
Steve doesn’t say a word as he stands and follows Danny out of the bathroom.
It doesn’t take long for them to strip, to lay in the center of the bed; it should feel weird, but Steve’s a little too keyed up to worry about it. Danny pushes Steve onto his back and kneels over him, legs bracketing Steve’s hips, hands splayed on the sheets by Steve’s shoulders, hair falling forward into his face. “Tell me to stop,” he says, and it sounds like a warning more than anything else. Steve opens his mouth to clarify, but before he can get a word out Danny leans down and bites.
“Ah,” Steve breathes out, not sure if he’s surprised or if it actually hurt. Danny doesn’t pause before nudging at Steve’s jaw with his head. Steve tilts his head up and Danny bites again, making his way up the tendons in Steve’s neck until he can press his mouth below Steve’s ear. He bites down hard and Steve jerks up into Danny’s body, still held so carefully over his own.
Steve loses himself for a little while, concentrating on Danny’s mouth and his movements, how he nips his way across Steve’s collarbone and down his chest; Steve shudders when Danny presses a light kiss to the bandage on his abdomen, then groans when Danny sucks a dark bruise onto the inside of his thigh. Danny’s hair brushes across Steve’s leg, fine as silk, and Steve can’t help the way he shoves his hips up as Danny inches his way up Steve’s leg.
“Danny,” he pants out, “Danny, Danny, Danny-”
“Okay,” Danny murmurs, and then he takes the tip of Steve’s cock into his mouth.
Danny is careful, almost methodical, and it doesn’t surprise Steve at all; he throws an arm against Steve’s hips, effectively pinning him to the mattress, and he keeps his gaze trained on Steve’s face, his eyes searching intently for something. Steve isn’t sure what it is until Danny pulls off and mouths a kiss into his hip.
“You ready?” Danny asks, his voice a little uneven, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut and nods. Apparently it’s answer enough for Danny, because Steve feels his mouth return in earnest a moment later, sucking and bobbing and driving Steve right up to the edge. It’s not quite enough, though, and Steve opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Danny trails his hand down Steve’s thigh and pinches the bruise he’d left earlier, and Steve can only choke out a moan as he lets go.
Danny is lying next to him when Steve manages to open his eyes again. “You’ve got some bruises,” he murmurs, tracing over the marks he’d left scattered across Steve’s body. Steve hums in agreement, reaching out to tug Danny in against his chest. Danny arranges himself, carefully avoiding Steve’s bandaged stomach, and Steve waits until he settles to let out a breath.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, meaning it for so much more than this - for giving a damn, for staying, for all of the things that Steve can’t even remember right now.
“Hmm,” Danny replies. “You good to sleep?”
“Yeah,” Steve says, curling his arm around Danny’s shoulders. “You’re staying, right?”
“Babe,” Danny huffs into his chest, “you’re crazier than I gave you credit for if you really think I’m leaving now.”
Author: somehowunbroken
Beta: shinysylver
Fandom: H50
Characters: Steve/Danny
Word Count: 1,500
Rating: NC-17
Notes: For
kink_bingo 2011: bites/bruises. You have been warned. Post 2x01. Contains spoilers.
Summary: Steve has to focus on anything other than the thoughts that keep racing through his head.
There are a thousand thoughts trying to force themselves to the front of Steve’s mind; he pushes them all away and focuses on the minutiae of what he’s doing. If he thinks about putting one foot in front of the other, he can’t think about Hesse saving his life. If he counts the keys on his keyring as he walks up the path to his house, he can’t recall how raw Danny had sounded when he was talking about Rachel. If he measures his steps from the front door to his bedroom, there’s no room left in his head for Makoto telling him stories about his father.
Steve pulls each breath in on a count of five, holds it for two, lets it out on another five. He pauses another two and takes four long steps into the bathroom before inhaling again, and he resolutely doesn’t think about his father shaking hands with Wo Fat.
Actually, Steve thinks as he glances up and catches his reflection in the mirror, that’s a lie. It’s the only thing in his head, the only thing he can think about - his dad sitting in a chair next to the criminal responsible for his death, across a desk from the woman who’d had a hand in it-
Steve reacts without realizing he’s going to, striking out as quickly as he can. The mirror shatters under his hand, glass flying everywhere, and Steve bows his head, shaking.
He’s so out of touch with things that he doesn’t register the voice for a few moments. He spins when he does, putting his back to the wall and taking a defensive stance, but Danny holds his hands up and keeps speaking quietly, almost soothingly.
“-you look like a psychopath, I hope you know that,” Danny says, apparently in the midst of the world’s least aggressive rant. “People don’t go around punching mirrors, Steve. That’s what we like to call an anger management-”
“Danny,” Steve says, slumping against the wall. Danny smiles gently, and Steve can see some of the tension bleed from his shoulders.
“So you are still in there,” Danny jokes as he lowers his hands and takes a step towards Steve. Glass fragments crunch under his feet, and Steve winces. Danny stops less than a foot away from where Steve is standing, and he reaches out to run his hands down Steve’s arms until he’s carefully pulling Steve’s hands up. Danny inspects each, dropping Steve’s uninjured left hand in favor of frowning at his right. “You really did a number on yourself here,” he sighs, tapping Steve on the wrist. “Sit down. I’m gonna have to dig all the glass out before we can wrap that up.”
“I can do it,” Steve mumbles halfheartedly, but he closes the lid of the toilet and sits, holding his hand out when Danny reaches for it.
Danny works in silence, pulling sliver after sliver of glass from Steve’s hand. He glances up from time to time, and Steve doesn’t know what to do with the looks Danny gives him, something troubled and dark and very unlike Danny.
“Why did you come?” Steve asks when Danny finally sits back, wiping the tweezers across the hand towel that he’s been using to collect the shards of glass. Steve is probably going to have to throw it out, just to be safe, he notes absently as he focuses on Danny.
“I figured you probably shouldn’t be left alone right now,” Danny replies, studying Steve’s hand. Steve follows Danny’s gaze down; it’s a little bit of a mess, but it’s really not that bad. None of the bones are broken.
Steve looks back up and is startled when he finds Danny looking right back at him. Danny holds his gaze for a moment before sighing. “Why did you punch the mirror?”
“Distracting myself,” Steve replies before he has the chance to think about it. He winces, expecting the tirade to start rolling from Danny’s lips, but Danny just gives him another one of those troubled looks as he sits back.
“You’re hurting yourself to keep your mind off of things,” Danny says carefully, reaching for a damp washcloth and gently blotting at the cuts on Steve’s hand. “That’s kind of fucked up, babe.”
Steve shrugs instead of trying to explain why - why he needs it, why it works. Danny glances back up, and this time, that look from before is gone, replaced by something that’s half-guarded and half-resolved. “Let me help you.”
That wasn’t anywhere near the response that Steve had been expecting. He blinked a few times before clearing his throat. “What?”
“Let me help you,” Danny repeats, setting the cloth aside and leaning in. He’s firmly within Steve’s personal space now - not that he wasn’t before, but now there’s no plausible deniability, none of the careful sidestepping that has always dictated how they’ve skirted around whatever they might be. “I know how you bend and how you break, Steve. I can get you out of your head for a while.”
Steve sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, because - there are so many reasons why this is a bad idea, so many ways it could just go to hell in a handbasket, and he knows if he says yes to this he’ll never say no to Danny again.
It doesn’t scare him like it maybe should.
“Yeah,” he says, and he feels himself slump forward a little until his forehead is resting against Danny’s. “Okay.”
Danny hesitates for a fraction of a second, and then he leans in and brushes his lips across Steve’s cheek. “C’mon, let’s go to the other room.”
Steve doesn’t say a word as he stands and follows Danny out of the bathroom.
It doesn’t take long for them to strip, to lay in the center of the bed; it should feel weird, but Steve’s a little too keyed up to worry about it. Danny pushes Steve onto his back and kneels over him, legs bracketing Steve’s hips, hands splayed on the sheets by Steve’s shoulders, hair falling forward into his face. “Tell me to stop,” he says, and it sounds like a warning more than anything else. Steve opens his mouth to clarify, but before he can get a word out Danny leans down and bites.
“Ah,” Steve breathes out, not sure if he’s surprised or if it actually hurt. Danny doesn’t pause before nudging at Steve’s jaw with his head. Steve tilts his head up and Danny bites again, making his way up the tendons in Steve’s neck until he can press his mouth below Steve’s ear. He bites down hard and Steve jerks up into Danny’s body, still held so carefully over his own.
Steve loses himself for a little while, concentrating on Danny’s mouth and his movements, how he nips his way across Steve’s collarbone and down his chest; Steve shudders when Danny presses a light kiss to the bandage on his abdomen, then groans when Danny sucks a dark bruise onto the inside of his thigh. Danny’s hair brushes across Steve’s leg, fine as silk, and Steve can’t help the way he shoves his hips up as Danny inches his way up Steve’s leg.
“Danny,” he pants out, “Danny, Danny, Danny-”
“Okay,” Danny murmurs, and then he takes the tip of Steve’s cock into his mouth.
Danny is careful, almost methodical, and it doesn’t surprise Steve at all; he throws an arm against Steve’s hips, effectively pinning him to the mattress, and he keeps his gaze trained on Steve’s face, his eyes searching intently for something. Steve isn’t sure what it is until Danny pulls off and mouths a kiss into his hip.
“You ready?” Danny asks, his voice a little uneven, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut and nods. Apparently it’s answer enough for Danny, because Steve feels his mouth return in earnest a moment later, sucking and bobbing and driving Steve right up to the edge. It’s not quite enough, though, and Steve opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Danny trails his hand down Steve’s thigh and pinches the bruise he’d left earlier, and Steve can only choke out a moan as he lets go.
Danny is lying next to him when Steve manages to open his eyes again. “You’ve got some bruises,” he murmurs, tracing over the marks he’d left scattered across Steve’s body. Steve hums in agreement, reaching out to tug Danny in against his chest. Danny arranges himself, carefully avoiding Steve’s bandaged stomach, and Steve waits until he settles to let out a breath.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, meaning it for so much more than this - for giving a damn, for staying, for all of the things that Steve can’t even remember right now.
“Hmm,” Danny replies. “You good to sleep?”
“Yeah,” Steve says, curling his arm around Danny’s shoulders. “You’re staying, right?”
“Babe,” Danny huffs into his chest, “you’re crazier than I gave you credit for if you really think I’m leaving now.”