Steve's voice is far too smug. Even when it shakes right along the edges. Like it's been dipped in oil and is already burning inward toward his center from every one of those edges. And he is. He can feeling it, digging at the floor under his balance, finger tips, even laying on Danny. Especially laying on Danny. Hear it in the singed ash of his control smudging up even his own voice.
"Fucking Christ." He shakes his head into Danny's skin, repeating Danny's words. A variation on them. His shoulders even tremble. And it may not all be from some approximation like breathless huff of laughter. It's probably not even possible it's only that. Not with all this. Not when Danny does that. Says that. But it's that, too. When he's half-turning his head, to get Danny's face back in part of his direct line of sight.
Shift with the deadliness exactness of every other hairpin turn in his life. Every turn of the car, or a case. Except on Danny. When his mouth firms, against a struggling smile. So pleased, so full of nearly bragging. "And you talk about having some modicum of control left."
Steve's or Danny's. Because hell, it was like one rope, thrown over a cliff, going up in flames, like it hadn't already frayed down strands before that happened. But Steve didn't stop. "When you sound like that?" Shoving every coal straight into Steve's hands. Especially the one tracking down Danny's chest, brushing fingers across his stomach and his hip, while he shifted his torso, mouth finding a higher patch of muscle on his chest. "And you feel like this?"
How was Steve supposed to even think. How was Steve supposed to think of work, and other people. When Danny started falling apart in his hands. When Danny was the one letting out these gasps and groans, swearing, and calling on God, and turning Steve's name into words Steve had no hesitation in the thought he'd want to gut anyone else on the planet from even hearing fall off Danny's lips.
Because it was his. God. Danny falling apart against him, every jerk and gasp. While telling Steve it was all his own lack of control.
"But, hey, maybe I'm wrong." Steve said, stopping to brush his mouth on the inside rise right where Danny's collarbone started to go out. Before he lifted, looking at Danny's face. An all too smug tone, literally making his words all but the reverse of every single one that rolled off his lips. "Maybe you like your delusions that you were ever level-headed better."
The same as they hadn't happened. Since the kitchen. Since that night after Steve literally staked out Danny's parking lot. Since the bruise that purpled at Steve's neck, and then Danny's whole set had faded. That maybe there were reasons why it shouldn't or it didn't and why it wasn't and it hadn't since. Grace, and Five-0, and the general rest of the too opinionated world.
That things above board hadn't been brooked once since. Not on either side since they vanished. Even before leaving.
"But, me?" Steve asked, whisper quiet, dark and low, breath falling against Danny's lips as his mouth was turning into a sharp smirk, the edges of his eyes crinkling. "I think you like it."
After all, wasn't that every thing else they'd said already, here, too? It wasn't. They shouldn't. He didn't.
There were rules. But that didn't mean you couldn't f eel it. Couldn't still want it.
"I think it's exactly what you want." Which had Steve tipping Danny's chin again, and kissing him, deeply.
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"Fucking Christ." He shakes his head into Danny's skin, repeating Danny's words. A variation on them. His shoulders even tremble. And it may not all be from some approximation like breathless huff of laughter. It's probably not even possible it's only that. Not with all this. Not when Danny does that. Says that. But it's that, too. When he's half-turning his head, to get Danny's face back in part of his direct line of sight.
Shift with the deadliness exactness of every other hairpin turn in his life. Every turn of the car, or a case. Except on Danny. When his mouth firms, against a struggling smile. So pleased, so full of nearly bragging. "And you talk about having some modicum of control left."
Steve's or Danny's. Because hell, it was like one rope, thrown over a cliff, going up in flames, like it hadn't already frayed down strands before that happened. But Steve didn't stop. "When you sound like that?" Shoving every coal straight into Steve's hands. Especially the one tracking down Danny's chest, brushing fingers across his stomach and his hip, while he shifted his torso, mouth finding a higher patch of muscle on his chest. "And you feel like this?"
How was Steve supposed to even think. How was Steve supposed to think of work, and other people. When Danny started falling apart in his hands. When Danny was the one letting out these gasps and groans, swearing, and calling on God, and turning Steve's name into words Steve had no hesitation in the thought he'd want to gut anyone else on the planet from even hearing fall off Danny's lips.
Because it was his. God. Danny falling apart against him, every jerk and gasp. While telling Steve it was all his own lack of control.
"But, hey, maybe I'm wrong." Steve said, stopping to brush his mouth on the inside rise right where Danny's collarbone started to go out. Before he lifted, looking at Danny's face. An all too smug tone, literally making his words all but the reverse of every single one that rolled off his lips. "Maybe you like your delusions that you were ever level-headed better."
The same as they hadn't happened. Since the kitchen. Since that night after Steve literally staked out Danny's parking lot. Since the bruise that purpled at Steve's neck, and then Danny's whole set had faded. That maybe there were reasons why it shouldn't or it didn't and why it wasn't and it hadn't since. Grace, and Five-0, and the general rest of the too opinionated world.
That things above board hadn't been brooked once since. Not on either side since they vanished. Even before leaving.
"But, me?" Steve asked, whisper quiet, dark and low, breath falling against Danny's lips as his mouth was turning into a sharp smirk, the edges of his eyes crinkling. "I think you like it."
After all, wasn't that every thing else they'd said already, here, too? It wasn't. They shouldn't. He didn't.
There were rules. But that didn't mean you couldn't f eel it. Couldn't still want it.
"I think it's exactly what you want." Which had Steve tipping Danny's chin again, and kissing him, deeply.