God, he's giddy. He is actually light-headed from this, sitting back on his haunches, hand trailing out from under Steve's shirt to his hip, pushing that hem up enough that he can rub his thumb over the dip of muscle there. Steve's skin, always tan, now flushing darker, warm to the touch. Eyebrows lifting like he could in any way be surprised at the things that come out of Steve's mouth, but the truth is, he is. He can't get over it. Steve. Thinking those things. About him. Steve's hands on his hips, thumbs sliding into the dents of his groin, possessive. Like no one should ever get to touch Danny again. And his eyes are traveling over him like they could burn straight through cotton and denim. Making Danny acutely aware of how tight these jeans are, sitting like this, how much less room there is in them now than there was before.
Christ, it's like having a bell to ring for anything he wants in the world. Like winning the lottery. Part of him wants to see just how far he can stretch this. What would happen if he changed into jeans and t-shirt one day at the end of work in the office. If this new appreciation will extend to board shorts and work clothes. How. How can he makes sure it never stops, that Steve keeps looking at him like this, eyes going dark and dangerous in a way that makes Danny tense and brace himself, because Steve's fingers are finding holds on his beltloops and Steve has always had a suicidally short fuse when it comes to restraint.
Even if Danny's not done enjoying it yet. Looking down at Steve splayed under him, lolled against the couch, gorgeous lines of shoulders and long arms, the flat plane of his stomach and the way his shirt hangs against his frame. He wishes he had a camera but he's got no idea if it could ever do this scene any amount of justice. Not the tiniest percentage. The lift and fall of Steve's chest. Shadow of stubble. Hair mussed and rumpled from Danny's fingers, lips pinked from Danny's kisses.
And eyes on Danny. Like there's nothing else in the whole world, and he thinks there is any coming back from this. There couldn't be.
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God, he's giddy. He is actually light-headed from this, sitting back on his haunches, hand trailing out from under Steve's shirt to his hip, pushing that hem up enough that he can rub his thumb over the dip of muscle there. Steve's skin, always tan, now flushing darker, warm to the touch. Eyebrows lifting like he could in any way be surprised at the things that come out of Steve's mouth, but the truth is, he is. He can't get over it. Steve. Thinking those things. About him. Steve's hands on his hips, thumbs sliding into the dents of his groin, possessive. Like no one should ever get to touch Danny again. And his eyes are traveling over him like they could burn straight through cotton and denim. Making Danny acutely aware of how tight these jeans are, sitting like this, how much less room there is in them now than there was before.
Christ, it's like having a bell to ring for anything he wants in the world. Like winning the lottery. Part of him wants to see just how far he can stretch this. What would happen if he changed into jeans and t-shirt one day at the end of work in the office. If this new appreciation will extend to board shorts and work clothes. How. How can he makes sure it never stops, that Steve keeps looking at him like this, eyes going dark and dangerous in a way that makes Danny tense and brace himself, because Steve's fingers are finding holds on his beltloops and Steve has always had a suicidally short fuse when it comes to restraint.
Even if Danny's not done enjoying it yet. Looking down at Steve splayed under him, lolled against the couch, gorgeous lines of shoulders and long arms, the flat plane of his stomach and the way his shirt hangs against his frame. He wishes he had a camera but he's got no idea if it could ever do this scene any amount of justice. Not the tiniest percentage. The lift and fall of Steve's chest. Shadow of stubble. Hair mussed and rumpled from Danny's fingers, lips pinked from Danny's kisses.
And eyes on Danny. Like there's nothing else in the whole world, and he thinks there is any coming back from this. There couldn't be.