He kind of misses the way Steve's fingertips were tracing down the sloping small of his back, callused but gentle against his skin, but not enough to not despair at Steve's lack of finesse when it comes to clothing options. A fact he'd point out, if Steve weren't also tipping up, slightly, towards the line of Danny's throat, where it's stretched by the way he's propping up his head on one hand. Warm breath pushing against skin, sending shivers racing goosebumps down the ladder of his spine. Darting like silvery minnows under his skin.
And Steve is toying with the jeans. Toying. Tracing the stitching like he's never seen a pair of Levi's before. Following the seam, carefully, as if he has no idea where it might lead. And saying that word against Danny's throat. Edging at him. Nudging him into a confused mixture of annoyance and desire swilling in a sudden bewildered storm in his head and chest.
"Yes, sartorial. Of or relating to clothes. What, I gotta buy you a dictionary, now?"
He tries. He does. But it comes out a little tight, a little wound, a protesting fishing line being tugged away by something under the water and pulling him along with it, no matter how he digs in his heels. There's no defense against this.
Then again, he's not sure he wants one. It's not like he isn't all in, already. Not like he could turn around now and decide he needs or could possibly use some kind of protection against Steve. It's way too late for that, and he can't even bring himself to care. Knows he should, but right now, with Steve's fingers studying the details of his jeans and Steve mocking him right into his own skin, it's a pretty good scene, all around.
His own fingers spread flat on Steve's chest, and he tries to pretend it doesn't look possessive, but in all honesty, he can't even convince himself it's not. "Just because you go everywhere in cargo pants and t-shirts doesn't mean the rest of the civilized world agrees that they are appropriate for every occasion."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-11 12:33 am (UTC)And Steve is toying with the jeans. Toying. Tracing the stitching like he's never seen a pair of Levi's before. Following the seam, carefully, as if he has no idea where it might lead. And saying that word against Danny's throat. Edging at him. Nudging him into a confused mixture of annoyance and desire swilling in a sudden bewildered storm in his head and chest.
"Yes, sartorial. Of or relating to clothes. What, I gotta buy you a dictionary, now?"
He tries. He does. But it comes out a little tight, a little wound, a protesting fishing line being tugged away by something under the water and pulling him along with it, no matter how he digs in his heels. There's no defense against this.
Then again, he's not sure he wants one. It's not like he isn't all in, already. Not like he could turn around now and decide he needs or could possibly use some kind of protection against Steve. It's way too late for that, and he can't even bring himself to care. Knows he should, but right now, with Steve's fingers studying the details of his jeans and Steve mocking him right into his own skin, it's a pretty good scene, all around.
His own fingers spread flat on Steve's chest, and he tries to pretend it doesn't look possessive, but in all honesty, he can't even convince himself it's not. "Just because you go everywhere in cargo pants and t-shirts doesn't mean the rest of the civilized world agrees that they are appropriate for every occasion."