In no world is there actually room for them both on this couch, if they aren't sitting on it the way God and the makers of the thing intended, but it's not stopping Steve. He just unfolds, long legs shifting under Danny, hanging over two sides of the couch. Hand persistent on his side, his back, sending ripples of electric sensation over skin he hasn't even touched yet, which is unfair, and should be impossible. One hand sneaking under the hem of his shirt should never be able to shut him down so completely, send all focus to those few inches of skin and the fingers brushing over it.
But Steve lives in the world of the impossible, apparently even in this situation, so it's almost distracting enough to keep him from trying to figure out where the hell to put himself, here. Steve's bruises are old now and less painful, but that cracked rib can't possibly be healed yet, and he's trying to be careful, but that's the one thing Steve isn't, won't let him be, either. Not with his fingers sinking into Danny's hair and his mouth under Danny's lips, laying himself out like a rug and dragging Danny down to lie on him, until Danny's legs are sort of fitting themselves one on either side of the one Steve's still got mostly on the couch, and he's shifting up to be able to keep kissing him. One hand leaving Steve's face to brace against the arm of the couch as they slide down, before it leaves the leather and finds Steve's shoulder, fingers curving, sliding down to his chest.
And yeah. It's still sort of strange to think about, how wanting slim, small, soft curves turned into needing Steve instead, heavy lean muscle flexing under his touch, but it doesn't matter, it's a stupid distinction to make or care about. It's all just bodies anyway and Steve is warm and big and more comfortable than Danny would ever have guessed, and it's Steve, which is the important thing. Blinking open lazy blues eyes that catch at Danny's heart and squeeze it painfully, long lashes, slow easy smile, and those fingers, smudging prints into his skin.
He doesn't even try racking his brain for whatever Steve's talking about; it's long gone.
"Please repeat the question and I will attempt to answer it to my fullest ability."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-10 02:40 pm (UTC)But Steve lives in the world of the impossible, apparently even in this situation, so it's almost distracting enough to keep him from trying to figure out where the hell to put himself, here. Steve's bruises are old now and less painful, but that cracked rib can't possibly be healed yet, and he's trying to be careful, but that's the one thing Steve isn't, won't let him be, either. Not with his fingers sinking into Danny's hair and his mouth under Danny's lips, laying himself out like a rug and dragging Danny down to lie on him, until Danny's legs are sort of fitting themselves one on either side of the one Steve's still got mostly on the couch, and he's shifting up to be able to keep kissing him. One hand leaving Steve's face to brace against the arm of the couch as they slide down, before it leaves the leather and finds Steve's shoulder, fingers curving, sliding down to his chest.
And yeah. It's still sort of strange to think about, how wanting slim, small, soft curves turned into needing Steve instead, heavy lean muscle flexing under his touch, but it doesn't matter, it's a stupid distinction to make or care about. It's all just bodies anyway and Steve is warm and big and more comfortable than Danny would ever have guessed, and it's Steve, which is the important thing. Blinking open lazy blues eyes that catch at Danny's heart and squeeze it painfully, long lashes, slow easy smile, and those fingers, smudging prints into his skin.
He doesn't even try racking his brain for whatever Steve's talking about; it's long gone.
"Please repeat the question and I will attempt to answer it to my fullest ability."