God. It's glorious really. Fingers tightening on Danny's hip. One hands sliding between Danny's hair, and down his neck, only letting him away so far, even as the high never fades from just watching him. The taste of Danny on his lips, under the brush of his tongue on his own bottom lip, while Danny is dragging in air. Deep and wide, expanding into his chest, squinting down at Steve and tossing words at his head.
Words that would work so much more if his voice wasn't so thick and full. Making Steve want to lean up and taste the words. Run his mouth against Danny's throat while he's talking, like he could feel them take shape. Ideas that flame through head, and fade into ashes about as quickly as they spark into life. Because Danny's words just leave him staring at this face. Digging his teeth into the path his tongue just took, when Danny groans and hitches up into him.
Sliding his hand under, into the small of Danny back. Like somehow it'll be possible to pull him, push him closer. Like there's any space left to be rid of between them, anyway to explain how much Danny is wrong. Has been wrong. Is.
That isn't the few seconds when his eyelids flicker closed, before he's looking down at him again. All the words that have been thrown at him nothing near the actual truth. How insane it is. Was. Realizing, and then having each week only make it more true.
"You have a problem with that?" With Steve. With the fact Steve can touch him like this, slide slow and heavy against Danny, and aim for that same reaction again, and insinuate every dirty truth that's wrung him inside out. When he can shove at Danny, push at him, in every other way, too.
"You think I'm putting you on? That you haven't driven me fucking crazy, for longer than you can even grasp," Which might sound like any other dig, like the play back to Danny's words it was meant to be, if it weren't for the way his voice is rubbing into scatter shot gravel, while his skin tightens against the feeling the same slow friction digging it's claws right back into him, tightening muscles ans causing his shoulders to roll slightly forward, shoulder blades pushing back.
no subject
Words that would work so much more if his voice wasn't so thick and full. Making Steve want to lean up and taste the words. Run his mouth against Danny's throat while he's talking, like he could feel them take shape. Ideas that flame through head, and fade into ashes about as quickly as they spark into life. Because Danny's words just leave him staring at this face. Digging his teeth into the path his tongue just took, when Danny groans and hitches up into him.
Sliding his hand under, into the small of Danny back. Like somehow it'll be possible to pull him, push him closer.
Like there's any space left to be rid of between them, anyway to explain how much Danny is wrong. Has been wrong. Is.
That isn't the few seconds when his eyelids flicker closed, before he's looking down at him again. All the words that have been thrown at him nothing near the actual truth. How insane it is. Was. Realizing, and then having each week only make it more true.
"You have a problem with that?" With Steve. With the fact Steve can touch him like this, slide slow and heavy against Danny, and aim for that same reaction again, and insinuate every dirty truth that's wrung him inside out. When he can shove at Danny, push at him, in every other way, too.
"You think I'm putting you on? That you haven't driven me fucking crazy, for longer than you can even grasp," Which might sound like any other dig, like the play back to Danny's words it was meant to be, if it weren't for the way his voice is rubbing into scatter shot gravel, while his skin tightens against the feeling the same slow friction digging it's claws right back into him, tightening muscles ans causing his shoulders to roll slightly forward, shoulder blades pushing back.