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delicataleSteve reflects on his life, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sirona_gs looked it over.
The fabric is cool against his fingers as Steve pulls the loop around his thumb. 170 inches of black material rolled out in front of him, thick and used to his movements, wrapping once, twice, three times around his wrist, over his thumb, once, twice, across the palm and knuckles, once, twice, and up between his fingers, index and middle, middle and ring, ring and pinkie, and then back over his knuckles, down to the wrist, once, velcro sticking to the fabric when he’s done, holding it all in place.
Steve flexes his fingers, observes his handiwork. The second hand is always harder, but he gets to it anyway, silently enjoying this part of the ritual, a moment in itself, allowing him to reflect. His muscles are burning already, after a swim and a jog, warm up to the rest of his session, and it feels good, it feels right. It feels like his place in this world, like he belongs somewhere, between the memories of his family and the shadows of his past, a little space for him to fit his shoulders and push.
He slides his thumb through the loop of the second handwrap, wondering about the same things he usually wonders about - what his father would think if he was still alive, how they would look, the two of them, sitting on the lana’i, beers in hand, talking about work and Mary and these little things that make a life, that Steve is learning all over again. He looks out at the ocean, the reassuring quietness, the calm ebb and flow that soothes even his darkest corners, the ones hidden in folds of fake smiles and calculated blankness, and he wraps the fabric around his wrist, once, twice, three times, tight but not suffocating.
He wonders if that’s how Danny feels when he puts on his tie in the morning, ready for another day in Five-0, looking professional as ever. Steve wonders if he goes through the motions with the same efficiency as Steve does. As he loops the material around his thumb once, twice, Steve finds himself smiling, thinking of Danny and his quirks and how he unabashedly turned Steve’s life up over on its head when it was already in shambles, only to give it a new meaning, give a new meaning to the word family, he and Chin and Kono.
Mostly, Danny. Steve wraps his palm and his knuckles as he allows himself to relax, the ball of warmth in his stomach growing a little bigger at the thought of his rambling partner. Day after day Steve worked at making Danny want to unpack a few more boxes, day by day Danny worked at making Steve grin. They were no miracle and it was no easy feat, never, but they managed, day after day, to make life a little more bearable for each other, Steve with his classified baggage, Danny with too much of his own out in the open, trying his hardest not to let it fester and rot in the sun.
Two ripples in the same puddle, touching one another, finding themselves entwined, moving together over the surface of the water. Steve wraps his fingers, index and middle, wondering just how long they’ll manage to hang on to this, how long they’ll find solace in their friendship before it’s not enough anymore. It’s barely enough for Steve as it is now - he pulls the handwrap between middle and ring fingers - but it’s better than no Danny at all. Steve’s got to figure it out anyhow, what he feels and what it means, because he spent years suppressing these feelings and they don’t really make sense to him anymore. He feels like a cripple after an accident, relearning, slowly, unlocking parts of his mind he’d forgotten existed. He wraps between ring and pinkie fingers and tugs at the material, making sure it’s snug. This he knows, and in the quiet the weekly ritual brings him Steve can allow himself thoughts of Danny, small wonders - how did his buttons not pop, where all of his shirts were so stretched over his chest, how did he manage to keep his hair that way when he barely used any product, what were the things that made him speechless?
Steve wraps his knuckles and wrist again, securing the velcro and rolling his wrists a few times to make sure both handwraps are in place and comfortable. Again, just like Danny - just like Kono and Chin, too. Steve smiles when he stands up, turning around and finding himself frozen in place when he sees Danny leaning against the open French doors, feet crossed at the ankles. A lock of hair is curling over his forehead and he’s wearing a tracksuit - unusual but not that surprising, Steve knows Danny enjoys working out on Saturday mornings when he hasn’t got Grace. Danny pulls out a pair of bright yellow sparring half-gloves from his pockets, and grins.
“Looking for a sparring partner?”
Steve nods, and grins back.
Don't forget, if ever you're interested, I am on auction here for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_yca.
sirona_gs looked it over. The fabric is cool against his fingers as Steve pulls the loop around his thumb. 170 inches of black material rolled out in front of him, thick and used to his movements, wrapping once, twice, three times around his wrist, over his thumb, once, twice, across the palm and knuckles, once, twice, and up between his fingers, index and middle, middle and ring, ring and pinkie, and then back over his knuckles, down to the wrist, once, velcro sticking to the fabric when he’s done, holding it all in place.
Steve flexes his fingers, observes his handiwork. The second hand is always harder, but he gets to it anyway, silently enjoying this part of the ritual, a moment in itself, allowing him to reflect. His muscles are burning already, after a swim and a jog, warm up to the rest of his session, and it feels good, it feels right. It feels like his place in this world, like he belongs somewhere, between the memories of his family and the shadows of his past, a little space for him to fit his shoulders and push.
He slides his thumb through the loop of the second handwrap, wondering about the same things he usually wonders about - what his father would think if he was still alive, how they would look, the two of them, sitting on the lana’i, beers in hand, talking about work and Mary and these little things that make a life, that Steve is learning all over again. He looks out at the ocean, the reassuring quietness, the calm ebb and flow that soothes even his darkest corners, the ones hidden in folds of fake smiles and calculated blankness, and he wraps the fabric around his wrist, once, twice, three times, tight but not suffocating.
He wonders if that’s how Danny feels when he puts on his tie in the morning, ready for another day in Five-0, looking professional as ever. Steve wonders if he goes through the motions with the same efficiency as Steve does. As he loops the material around his thumb once, twice, Steve finds himself smiling, thinking of Danny and his quirks and how he unabashedly turned Steve’s life up over on its head when it was already in shambles, only to give it a new meaning, give a new meaning to the word family, he and Chin and Kono.
Mostly, Danny. Steve wraps his palm and his knuckles as he allows himself to relax, the ball of warmth in his stomach growing a little bigger at the thought of his rambling partner. Day after day Steve worked at making Danny want to unpack a few more boxes, day by day Danny worked at making Steve grin. They were no miracle and it was no easy feat, never, but they managed, day after day, to make life a little more bearable for each other, Steve with his classified baggage, Danny with too much of his own out in the open, trying his hardest not to let it fester and rot in the sun.
Two ripples in the same puddle, touching one another, finding themselves entwined, moving together over the surface of the water. Steve wraps his fingers, index and middle, wondering just how long they’ll manage to hang on to this, how long they’ll find solace in their friendship before it’s not enough anymore. It’s barely enough for Steve as it is now - he pulls the handwrap between middle and ring fingers - but it’s better than no Danny at all. Steve’s got to figure it out anyhow, what he feels and what it means, because he spent years suppressing these feelings and they don’t really make sense to him anymore. He feels like a cripple after an accident, relearning, slowly, unlocking parts of his mind he’d forgotten existed. He wraps between ring and pinkie fingers and tugs at the material, making sure it’s snug. This he knows, and in the quiet the weekly ritual brings him Steve can allow himself thoughts of Danny, small wonders - how did his buttons not pop, where all of his shirts were so stretched over his chest, how did he manage to keep his hair that way when he barely used any product, what were the things that made him speechless?
Steve wraps his knuckles and wrist again, securing the velcro and rolling his wrists a few times to make sure both handwraps are in place and comfortable. Again, just like Danny - just like Kono and Chin, too. Steve smiles when he stands up, turning around and finding himself frozen in place when he sees Danny leaning against the open French doors, feet crossed at the ankles. A lock of hair is curling over his forehead and he’s wearing a tracksuit - unusual but not that surprising, Steve knows Danny enjoys working out on Saturday mornings when he hasn’t got Grace. Danny pulls out a pair of bright yellow sparring half-gloves from his pockets, and grins.
“Looking for a sparring partner?”
Steve nods, and grins back.
Don't forget, if ever you're interested, I am on auction here for
help_yca.
