It's perfect. That second Danny almost seems to stop breathing after the words come out. Barely a second, maybe a half second, before the movement, even if it requires less than half an inch of space covered, hits him like a high swell. First this groan Steve can't even label, but it's flinging itself through Danny's chest, like it could hit him solid. Like the sound alone isn't trying to liquify Steve's stomach.
Before Danny's mouth against him. Feverous in the same rush that sends fingers into his hair and suddenly on to his stomach. Causing a sound to choke its way up, fingers sinking into denim tight. Like for a second he can only hold on. Like he might not have been sure if Danny would take it as a joke or a dictate, an explanation, or the want burning through every single part of him. How could anyone resist this? Danny.
How did he get this? How did Rachel walk away, twice, knowing he loved her beyond slight or mistake, and how did Gabby ever let Danny leave, knowing him how she must have after all these months? How did this fall into his hands? Except that's such a passive thought. Fall. When Danny's fingers are tightening in his hair, pulling him closer, like Steve isn't curling toward this already, and rough, calluses on fingers brushing hard, against the taut muscles of his stomach, his side. And it feels like fire is waking up under each of those.
Waking up. Exploding alive, and awake. Like it never got put out. Like it was just waiting there through all these hours.
He can't say there isn't anything passive about Danny, but there doesn't feel like there is right now. No. Not at all. Not even slightly. When the only thing in him is to answer. Surges back like a domino explosion, caused by the first. Mouth opening under Danny's touch, but pushing up, into him forceful, wanting. His. That sound that Danny made, and this mouth, the taste of Danny, warm and wet and more necessary than air that he's taking from Danny, denying Danny access to.
The fingers finding him, that drag Steve's like a magnet into motion, in a rapid quick fire movement from those pockets, and up Danny's back. Pushing his shirt up with it. The skin of his back. Wide, and firm, and soft under wide-spread hands that coming up that expanse, warm, solid, fingertips dipping into muscle. Holding him down, close, like close will never be close enough. like he doesn't even know.
Like he could feel every ounce of all that energy and movement all composing Danny, making him three times bigger than he ever actually is. Filling all that space. Like he could drown Danny in himself. In this fire he's already been set on and is feeding right back to where it came from.
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Before Danny's mouth against him. Feverous in the same rush that sends fingers into his hair and suddenly on to his stomach. Causing a sound to choke its way up, fingers sinking into denim tight. Like for a second he can only hold on. Like he might not have been sure if Danny would take it as a joke or a dictate, an explanation, or the want burning through every single part of him. How could anyone resist this? Danny.
How did he get this? How did Rachel walk away, twice, knowing he loved her beyond slight or mistake, and how did Gabby ever let Danny leave, knowing him how she must have after all these months? How did this fall into his hands? Except that's such a passive thought. Fall. When Danny's fingers are tightening in his hair, pulling him closer, like Steve isn't curling toward this already, and rough, calluses on fingers brushing hard, against the taut muscles of his stomach, his side. And it feels like fire is waking up under each of those.
Waking up. Exploding alive, and awake. Like it never got put out. Like it was just waiting there through all these hours.
He can't say there isn't anything passive about Danny, but there doesn't feel like there is right now. No. Not at all. Not even slightly. When the only thing in him is to answer. Surges back like a domino explosion, caused by the first. Mouth opening under Danny's touch, but pushing up, into him forceful, wanting. His. That sound that Danny made, and this mouth, the taste of Danny, warm and wet and more necessary than air that he's taking from Danny, denying Danny access to.
The fingers finding him, that drag Steve's like a magnet into motion, in a rapid quick fire movement from those pockets, and up Danny's back. Pushing his shirt up with it. The skin of his back. Wide, and firm, and soft under wide-spread hands that coming up that expanse, warm, solid, fingertips dipping into muscle. Holding him down, close, like close will never be close enough. like he doesn't even know.
Like he could feel every ounce of all that energy and movement all composing Danny, making him three times bigger than he ever actually is. Filling all that space. Like he could drown Danny in himself. In this fire he's already been set on and is feeding right back to where it came from.