Steve might be moving toward a smirk. When Danny's chest sinks in, a breath pulled in and muscles firmed up. Like somehow, there's a way Danny could pull away. That wouldn't involving having to go straight through his own spine and the mattress's below him. Let him. Startle a little. Be unnerved. By whatever it is, that flashes through his head, when Steve is not about to move his hand.
The ends of his finger curling against muscle. The beat of Danny's heart trapped under the area of where three different fingers are stretched. Danny might be lecturing him about how or where, but he's nowhere near even started with memorizing where every single muscle on Danny's body is. What it looks like. Feels like. Tastes like. Until it's branded into him deeper than any other scar left on his skin, any other story he can't share, wouldn't, doesn't want to.
That hand that shoves at his chest makes him laugh. Like it's actually going to get him to go anywhere. While Danny's other arm is wrapped around him, as well as a leg. As long as part of Steve's weight is actually resting as much against Danny's chest as the bed. The heady combination of all together, making it so easy. Catching Danny's hand at the wrist and forcing it out. Back, above, to the side of his head.
Smiling too broadly, challenging, and not in the slightest thwarted. Leaning down, with that as the only warning, without shifting, and let his mouth touch on the center of Danny's shoulder. Maybe not center. But where there's a semi-circle. He can't see it without the light. But he knows it's there. Somewhere close to where he lays a kiss on Danny's shoulder.
"You have to stop making such--" When he's tracing slowly inward on that shoulder, pausing his sentence, the lasting statement of any picture clear enough. Until he can brush his lips, and the skin around it against the rise of Danny's pulse. But only that. Not kissing him. Not pulling on the skin.
Just that. The rub of smooth lips. The friction of warm skin, and sharp stubble there, only. Exhaling against that thin skin, where it thrums with the rush of blood. And it takes a second, windfall blown through his dropping level of voice, against the warm ache slicing through his own chest, like the word isn't even enough to explain, taunt, torment with.
Doesn't even know which of them that it's truer of, for. "--obscene noises when it happens, first, Danny."
The sounds that drag up out of Danny. When his name becomes this completely different word, unlike every other million times Danny's said it. Playing in his head like liquid fire. When those fingers are digging into his skin. His back, his arm, his hip, his shoulder, his hair, depending on what part of Danny's skin he's gotten to. Like Danny doesn't turn tense and pliant in waves, isn't pushing into him, opening up, giving him whatever he's willing to take next.
Like he can forget. Don't stop. Two words that don't leave him. Tip and tumble like dice, like a card turned over in his fingers. An ace he'll never use. Something he can hardly believe. Doesn't really want to look at, or toward. Isn't proud of. And, still. Even then. Danny and his hands, the reckless abandon beyond even understanding why or how. But still with him.
Still wanting him, giving him everything, even when the tether on his control, beyond even Danny's control, snapped.
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The ends of his finger curling against muscle. The beat of Danny's heart trapped under the area of where three different fingers are stretched. Danny might be lecturing him about how or where, but he's nowhere near even started with memorizing where every single muscle on Danny's body is. What it looks like. Feels like. Tastes like. Until it's branded into him deeper than any other scar left on his skin, any other story he can't share, wouldn't, doesn't want to.
That hand that shoves at his chest makes him laugh. Like it's actually going to get him to go anywhere. While Danny's other arm is wrapped around him, as well as a leg. As long as part of Steve's weight is actually resting as much against Danny's chest as the bed. The heady combination of all together, making it so easy. Catching Danny's hand at the wrist and forcing it out. Back, above, to the side of his head.
Smiling too broadly, challenging, and not in the slightest thwarted. Leaning down, with that as the only warning, without shifting, and let his mouth touch on the center of Danny's shoulder. Maybe not center. But where there's a semi-circle. He can't see it without the light. But he knows it's there. Somewhere close to where he lays a kiss on Danny's shoulder.
"You have to stop making such--" When he's tracing slowly inward on that shoulder, pausing his sentence, the lasting statement of any picture clear enough. Until he can brush his lips, and the skin around it against the rise of Danny's pulse. But only that. Not kissing him. Not pulling on the skin.
Just that. The rub of smooth lips. The friction of warm skin, and sharp stubble there, only. Exhaling against that thin skin, where it thrums with the rush of blood. And it takes a second, windfall blown through his dropping level of voice, against the warm ache slicing through his own chest, like the word isn't even enough to explain, taunt, torment with.
Doesn't even know which of them that it's truer of, for. "--obscene noises when it happens, first, Danny."
The sounds that drag up out of Danny. When his name becomes this completely different word, unlike every other million times Danny's said it. Playing in his head like liquid fire. When those fingers are digging into his skin. His back, his arm, his hip, his shoulder, his hair, depending on what part of Danny's skin he's gotten to. Like Danny doesn't turn tense and pliant in waves, isn't pushing into him, opening up, giving him whatever he's willing to take next.
Like he can forget. Don't stop. Two words that don't leave him. Tip and tumble like dice, like a card turned over in his fingers. An ace he'll never use. Something he can hardly believe. Doesn't really want to look at, or toward. Isn't proud of. And, still. Even then. Danny and his hands, the reckless abandon beyond even understanding why or how. But still with him.
Still wanting him, giving him everything, even when the tether on his control, beyond even Danny's control, snapped.