It's wrong how much he loves that. Choosing words he knows will distract Danny even at his most distracted. Making him have to pull back into the pillow, away from Steve. Wrinkling up his face, into that disgusted look that he knows so well. That one that isn't so much offended as almost affectionately resigned to an endless barrage of Steve's harrowing, horrible facts that collect on his tongue at a seconds' notice.
That he does, throws words at Steve's head, without letting go. Like the space between their faces is all Danny will allow. Almost like a perverse punishment, when snapping at him is more necessary than kissing him. Dragging him down into the sheets and the muddle of the blankets they're making. Like Steve can't feel it. Danny shifting to make room for him, so he can slide down a little, lay out across Danny, while he's ranting.
The hand warm and solid on his neck, and the leg curling over his. Not trapping him anymore than his will to stay there, and his will has nothing else in the world it wants. Than he wants. To be here. Danny under him, covering him, pulling him down, yelling at him about toys and cars and the house and weapons. Voice louder than a whisper, again, as he lectures Steve on other things he knows and doesn't care about the rules of.
"Slander." Steve defend, a hot vainglorious twist to his tone, dropping his mouth. Ghosting his lips along the edge of Danny's jaw, in no rush for this second. When he's half way to gusts of air, that haven't quite made it to laughter at Danny's brow beating. "I wouldn't keep more than the legal limit allowed in this house."
Blistering warmth that is at once mockingly offended and probably all sorts of a prime confession. Rules. Steve doesn't follow rules. Obviously. Isn't that proof right here. When he stops at the juncture between Danny's jaw and his neck, sucking the skin between his teeth, just barely. Just enough to pull at it from the muscle.
Before nipping the skin lightly. Aimed for a reaction, without driving him crazy or marking him up. Again. Maybe, yet. Maybe.
But he's too busy to care about the thought, the heady rush of possibility, when he's lifting his head to catch Danny's eyes, dark with mischief.
"And you love my head." God. Talk about bizarre miracles. Because Danny had to do something more than hate it. Or be exasperatedly resigned to it. To be here. Danny wasn't the person who made choices without some kind of general agreement all across himself. He didn't just shut off everything, to take whatever he could, was offered, from the world. Even if he hated the rest of it. "Don't lie."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-03-02 05:30 pm (UTC)That he does, throws words at Steve's head, without letting go. Like the space between their faces is all Danny will allow. Almost like a perverse punishment, when snapping at him is more necessary than kissing him. Dragging him down into the sheets and the muddle of the blankets they're making. Like Steve can't feel it. Danny shifting to make room for him, so he can slide down a little, lay out across Danny, while he's ranting.
The hand warm and solid on his neck, and the leg curling over his. Not trapping him anymore than his will to stay there, and his will has nothing else in the world it wants. Than he wants. To be here. Danny under him, covering him, pulling him down, yelling at him about toys and cars and the house and weapons. Voice louder than a whisper, again, as he lectures Steve on other things he knows and doesn't care about the rules of.
"Slander." Steve defend, a hot vainglorious twist to his tone, dropping his mouth. Ghosting his lips along the edge of Danny's jaw, in no rush for this second. When he's half way to gusts of air, that haven't quite made it to laughter at Danny's brow beating. "I wouldn't keep more than the legal limit allowed in this house."
Blistering warmth that is at once mockingly offended and probably all sorts of a prime confession. Rules. Steve doesn't follow rules. Obviously. Isn't that proof right here. When he stops at the juncture between Danny's jaw and his neck, sucking the skin between his teeth, just barely. Just enough to pull at it from the muscle.
Before nipping the skin lightly. Aimed for a reaction, without driving him crazy or marking him up. Again. Maybe, yet. Maybe.
But he's too busy to care about the thought, the heady rush of possibility, when he's lifting his head to catch Danny's eyes, dark with mischief.
"And you love my head." God. Talk about bizarre miracles. Because Danny had to do something more than hate it. Or be exasperatedly resigned to it. To be here. Danny wasn't the person who made choices without some kind of general agreement all across himself. He didn't just shut off everything, to take whatever he could, was offered, from the world. Even if he hated the rest of it. "Don't lie."