Danny keeps right on rolling. Words falling out, breathed pauses between words, and scandalous concerns Steve truly need to stop and be chastised for. Like laughing into his skin doesn't make Danny's finger hold on a little tighter. Doesn't makes his voice seem that much more strained. Like he isn't tilting his head into the pillow, giving Steve even more of his skin.
Making it impossible not to shift up, his whole body, trace his mouth up the line of muscle.
Pretending maybe that he doesn't feel how responsive the entirity of Danny's body has become. Like there is any way to ever not notice it. Not feel it. When Danny's entire body shifts, like the ground under him going up. Rising to meet him. Fighting to feel more. To be touching Steve more. Arching into him, chest and stomach suddenly pushing up into his fingers, while Danny's stretches wide, open and available.
That his own skin prickles into sharp awareness under the slow, heavy drag of Danny's fingers over him. Down his back. Like he doesn't even know. Like Danny's going to touch every inch of it suddenly. Again. Following the lines of them straining, themselves, as his fingers move. Wholly almost unrelated to movement of his mouth, the brush of his finger, still rolling back and forth.
The way those fingers trailing down, cause his stomach muscles to tighten and loosen in waves he really can't focus on stopping. Before they find his hips. Cupping the edge of like Steve's hip was always meant to fit there, and he just didn't know until now. Like the bones and curve of his body there, cut of muscles, shape of skeleton, belonged in the curve of Danny's hand.
Rocking a little harder, just in the swing of the movement, more than the helpless rut into Danny's upper thigh.
Like a joint testing twisting in a new socket. The hold of that hand on his skin. The movement of his hip, shifting, in, under it.
Air. Who needed air. Danny pulse is burning against his tongue, melting into the throbbing filling his ears, running higher and faster through his own body. Even the quiet just reminds him, when it catches up with him. However long that takes when Danny's breathing, and the shift of his skin, and the drag and cup of his hands on Steve's own skin, blurs his sense of when anything was and is, reminds him. That he doesn't want that.
Silence. That isn't what he's looking for. The best things about Danny's mouth have nothing to do with it. Well. Most of them. And he's jut going to let the hiccup where his breath evaporated on a rejoinder evaporate on his tongue, through his lungs, on a thought that only helped to burn down more of braincells. But he wants other things right now. The whole delirious aim. To find the point where Danny's mouth drives him mad. Drag that back out. Point at it. High and far over.
When he's shifting again. Mapping his mouth down. Through curls warmed between the press of both of their skin. The smell of Danny's skin filling up his head, and the fast feeling of hair brushing his cheeks, his noise, as he moved across Danny's breast bone, the rise of muscle in his chest. Taking his time, pulling up skin, until he gets to the same place his fingers are, and takes that, too.
Lips tripping over the rise of flesh. Pausing barely, to breathe, to lick his lips, before he's using the tip of his tongue around Danny's nipple. Gentle briefly, almost making a full small circle. Before his lips close on Danny's skin, hot and moist, dragging it up against his tongue and teeth, too.
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Making it impossible not to shift up, his whole body, trace his mouth up the line of muscle.
Pretending maybe that he doesn't feel how responsive the entirity of Danny's body has become. Like there is any way to ever not notice it. Not feel it. When Danny's entire body shifts, like the ground under him going up. Rising to meet him. Fighting to feel more. To be touching Steve more. Arching into him, chest and stomach suddenly pushing up into his fingers, while Danny's stretches wide, open and available.
That his own skin prickles into sharp awareness under the slow, heavy drag of Danny's fingers over him. Down his back. Like he doesn't even know. Like Danny's going to touch every inch of it suddenly. Again. Following the lines of them straining, themselves, as his fingers move. Wholly almost unrelated to movement of his mouth, the brush of his finger, still rolling back and forth.
The way those fingers trailing down, cause his stomach muscles to tighten and loosen in waves he really can't focus on stopping. Before they find his hips. Cupping the edge of like Steve's hip was always meant to fit there, and he just didn't know until now. Like the bones and curve of his body there, cut of muscles, shape of skeleton, belonged in the curve of Danny's hand.
Rocking a little harder, just in the swing of the movement, more than the helpless rut into Danny's upper thigh.
Like a joint testing twisting in a new socket. The hold of that hand on his skin. The movement of his hip, shifting, in, under it.
Air. Who needed air. Danny pulse is burning against his tongue, melting into the throbbing filling his ears, running higher and faster through his own body. Even the quiet just reminds him, when it catches up with him. However long that takes when Danny's breathing, and the shift of his skin, and the drag and cup of his hands on Steve's own skin, blurs his sense of when anything was and is, reminds him. That he doesn't want that.
Silence. That isn't what he's looking for. The best things about Danny's mouth have nothing to do with it. Well. Most of them. And he's jut going to let the hiccup where his breath evaporated on a rejoinder evaporate on his tongue, through his lungs, on a thought that only helped to burn down more of braincells. But he wants other things right now. The whole delirious aim. To find the point where Danny's mouth drives him mad. Drag that back out. Point at it. High and far over.
When he's shifting again. Mapping his mouth down. Through curls warmed between the press of both of their skin. The smell of Danny's skin filling up his head, and the fast feeling of hair brushing his cheeks, his noise, as he moved across Danny's breast bone, the rise of muscle in his chest. Taking his time, pulling up skin, until he gets to the same place his fingers are, and takes that, too.
Lips tripping over the rise of flesh. Pausing barely, to breathe, to lick his lips, before he's using the tip of his tongue around Danny's nipple. Gentle briefly, almost making a full small circle. Before his lips close on Danny's skin, hot and moist, dragging it up against his tongue and teeth, too.