The only halfway clear thought is that it's ridiculous that they're considering doing this again, and he realizes he's said so, when he hears the silence in the room broken by his voice, coming thready, scraping against vocal chords that feel thick and useless.
"Seriously, you are exhausting, what do you think I am, a teenager?"
He's not. He's on the wrong side of thirty-five, and so is Steve, and it's not even like he's been totally celibate since the divorce, alright. He can explain away the four times -- four times, what the hell -- on the first day as what happens when lust and surprise and relief and Steve all come together in a perfect storm of Things Designed to Take Down Danny's Sanity.
So it's ridiculous that he might be able to recover from the exhaustion of earlier, and he knows it, because it's just biology, alright, mortal men are not supposed to be able to go multiple rounds every time they wind up in bed, but his body seems to be having other ideas. And those words, the ones dragged up and breathless, they're coming with a faint gust of what could be laughter if air weren't so tight, because, come on. He's arching into Steve, and no matter what he might say, he's responding. Like Steve's tongue is touching electricity right through him. Sending his pulse careening. And Steve is such a bad idea. They've just been over it, sort of. The rules. The ones that can burn down and get thrown away. The ones he'd be happy to scatter as ashes, because there is no giving this up.
It's madness. An insane thought, cut off by the knifing sensation at his chest, the trail Steve's mouth took burning like it was a match being drawn down his skin and not lips.
"Jesus, Steve."
Making those other words lies. Fingers gripping Steve's hip like nothing in the world could possibly make him let go. "Are you trying to make a point, or should I just chalk this up as one more way you've discovered to drive me crazy?"
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-03-03 04:34 pm (UTC)"Seriously, you are exhausting, what do you think I am, a teenager?"
He's not. He's on the wrong side of thirty-five, and so is Steve, and it's not even like he's been totally celibate since the divorce, alright. He can explain away the four times -- four times, what the hell -- on the first day as what happens when lust and surprise and relief and Steve all come together in a perfect storm of Things Designed to Take Down Danny's Sanity.
So it's ridiculous that he might be able to recover from the exhaustion of earlier, and he knows it, because it's just biology, alright, mortal men are not supposed to be able to go multiple rounds every time they wind up in bed, but his body seems to be having other ideas. And those words, the ones dragged up and breathless, they're coming with a faint gust of what could be laughter if air weren't so tight, because, come on. He's arching into Steve, and no matter what he might say, he's responding. Like Steve's tongue is touching electricity right through him. Sending his pulse careening. And Steve is such a bad idea. They've just been over it, sort of. The rules. The ones that can burn down and get thrown away. The ones he'd be happy to scatter as ashes, because there is no giving this up.
It's madness. An insane thought, cut off by the knifing sensation at his chest, the trail Steve's mouth took burning like it was a match being drawn down his skin and not lips.
"Jesus, Steve."
Making those other words lies. Fingers gripping Steve's hip like nothing in the world could possibly make him let go. "Are you trying to make a point, or should I just chalk this up as one more way you've discovered to drive me crazy?"