He really doesn't have long to look smacked over with smug, because Danny's not giving him the time. Words. Words, come out, a little biting and just enough edged with humor, like Steve was a child who might have announced the sky was blue. And maybe that goes to his head, too. Flippant, sharp and amazed. Because really, Danny being so completely on level fine with the reference still makes his heart race faster.
Something he can barely think about either, when Danny's face is turning and he's being drug, over, back up. Direction doesn't even seem to matter, or exist anymore. It's just finding Danny's mouth, and meeting the kiss that's gone looking for him. This touch that feels at once like a reckless challenge, and vicious surrender. Nothing easy in them. Maybe on the outside. When this, this entire push and shove, bark and bite, taunting and teasing, thing feels like the easiest thing in the world.
Feels like the single, one and only, thing he doesn't have to fight. Doesn't have to struggle to feel real, keep breathing, his head over water.
When he doesn't think, it happens in the space of breathing. The whole world falling away on the taste of Danny's skin. The movement of his lips. The ways his fingers always find their way into Danny's hair. The way he can never, may never, get enough of the feel of Danny's hands captured from the air, plastered on his skin. Like for the first time in his life there isn't enough of it. His skin, his body. Usually too much, and too tall, and perfect for slamming into things, but careful else wise. Compact unless he's at ease.
Like Danny might find all of it and keep going, elsewhere, once its done. Insane, feverish thoughts. When he can't get over the smallest space of Danny. The sound of him breathing. The feeling of his stomach muscles under the hand Steve has drifting between his hip and his side. Like there could never, never, be enough hours in a day, a weekend, a month to memorize all of it. All of him.
no subject
Something he can barely think about either, when Danny's face is turning and he's being drug, over, back up. Direction doesn't even seem to matter, or exist anymore. It's just finding Danny's mouth, and meeting the kiss that's gone looking for him. This touch that feels at once like a reckless challenge, and vicious surrender. Nothing easy in them. Maybe on the outside. When this, this entire push and shove, bark and bite, taunting and teasing, thing feels like the easiest thing in the world.
Feels like the single, one and only, thing he doesn't have to fight. Doesn't have to struggle to feel real, keep breathing, his head over water.
When he doesn't think, it happens in the space of breathing. The whole world falling away on the taste of Danny's skin. The movement of his lips. The ways his fingers always find their way into Danny's hair. The way he can never, may never, get enough of the feel of Danny's hands captured from the air, plastered on his skin. Like for the first time in his life there isn't enough of it. His skin, his body. Usually too much, and too tall, and perfect for slamming into things, but careful else wise. Compact unless he's at ease.
Like Danny might find all of it and keep going, elsewhere, once its done. Insane, feverish thoughts. When he can't get over the smallest space of Danny. The sound of him breathing. The feeling of his stomach muscles under the hand Steve has drifting between his hip and his side. Like there could never, never, be enough hours in a day, a weekend, a month to memorize all of it. All of him.