Deacon can recognize Danse's conflict similar to his own based on his expression, but he doesn't comment, letting him work it out while he considers himself what their life might even look like if they took this on together. It feels foreign to him after so many years, to settle down for a simple life with a lover, after everything they've been through. Bittersweet, too, considering his life should have been like that all along if the world was fair.
A slow, wide smile grows on Deacon's lips as Danse responds, and Deacon squats slightly so that he can kiss at Danse's forehead and offer his hands to help the other man back to his feet.
"You're irreplaceable," he replies sweetly, "But maybe the farm stuff's a part-time thing, anyway." As it is, both of them are on a path to self-discovery, and Deacon recognizes this. Danse needs to learn who he is without the Brotherhood, Deacon needs to accept who he is without frequently changing it. It isn't enough to just be each other's; that's too idyllic, too unrealistic. But they can be a foundation for each other's growth; striving to be the man they see in one another. That's a start.
Irreplaceable is a word that still feels almost too sweet to a man accustomed to being Brotherhood cannon fodder, a man who used to declare without a second thought that he would be glad to trade his own life so that any one of his brothers or sisters might live instead. He hasn't yet internalized that there are people--others, even, besides Deacon alone--who want him for who he uniquely is, even if he does know it in more of an abstract sense.
It's still a heart-melting thrill to hear it so casually and yet genuinely from Deacon's lips, and Danse cups his face in both hands to kiss him fiercely as soon as he straightens back up, grateful and adoring and hungry. He pushes Deacon those few inches backward to rest against the shower wall, body flush against his, holding him gently there with his weight because his hands are still occupied with their caresses to the edge of the face he wants to watch grow old.
The kiss maybe should have been expected. Danse often has passionate reactions to the things Deacon says, but the intensity with which he acts is always something that takes Deacon but surprise. He throws his arms around Danse's neck and melts against him, happily caged against the cool tile as he returns that passionate kiss and lets it linger on.
"Was it something I said?" he croaks teasingly against Danse's lips before nipping playfully at the lower one, his fingertips scratching into his scalp, thumbs massaging gently along the sides of Danse's neck.
"I'll keep the face," Deacon says softly, "In case that wasn't clear. For you, Baby Brahmin, it's worth the trouble."
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A slow, wide smile grows on Deacon's lips as Danse responds, and Deacon squats slightly so that he can kiss at Danse's forehead and offer his hands to help the other man back to his feet.
"You're irreplaceable," he replies sweetly, "But maybe the farm stuff's a part-time thing, anyway." As it is, both of them are on a path to self-discovery, and Deacon recognizes this. Danse needs to learn who he is without the Brotherhood, Deacon needs to accept who he is without frequently changing it. It isn't enough to just be each other's; that's too idyllic, too unrealistic. But they can be a foundation for each other's growth; striving to be the man they see in one another. That's a start.
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It's still a heart-melting thrill to hear it so casually and yet genuinely from Deacon's lips, and Danse cups his face in both hands to kiss him fiercely as soon as he straightens back up, grateful and adoring and hungry. He pushes Deacon those few inches backward to rest against the shower wall, body flush against his, holding him gently there with his weight because his hands are still occupied with their caresses to the edge of the face he wants to watch grow old.
no subject
"Was it something I said?" he croaks teasingly against Danse's lips before nipping playfully at the lower one, his fingertips scratching into his scalp, thumbs massaging gently along the sides of Danse's neck.
"I'll keep the face," Deacon says softly, "In case that wasn't clear. For you, Baby Brahmin, it's worth the trouble."