Steve huffed a sound that was maybe about as evocative as his ability to have a through process at the time. That he might be a lot more careful if Danny wasn't dragging his brain out by his -- but you know, that's not even entirely true. Even when he can't slow down. Even when the teeth pulling at his skin are a ghost echo compared to Danny. Laughing and groaning in the same caught breathe, complaints reaching his ears, while he was rocking into Steve's body with a reckless abandon not even faltered by it.
When there's not enough room on this couch really, and not enough give a damn going on in Steve's head. Even if he nips Danny's neck softly, as though it's recompense for the aggravation. Whether that's for complaining, while not not complaining. Or making him want to do it over, and over again, until Danny was shaking, and asking him not to stop. Or because all he wanted to do was wrap Danny's leg around his waist and forget he knew how to think or breathe at all. Until Danny couldn't think or breathe or do anything but shake around him.
When that is a blistering thing, he's trying to outpace, stretching up to claim Danny's mouth again, not all that against how the couch arm and back keeps him bracketed between Steve and a stationary object. Pretty much all over. Giving him control to push in, against Danny. Or pull back the slightest, in the middle, and let his hand have more than just Danny's sides. All of his skin.
Warm, soft and solid different places. Muscles straining tense and tight under him, release and tightening with every kick of hips.
When Danny's got his hands on Steve back, moving everything. Across muscles, down into the small of his back, across the round of his ass. Pulling him tight and close, making it almost impossible to keep a straight thought that is not being slammed by rivers of light. Everything throbbing hard, heavy, loud in his veins. How much he wants Danny.
When he doesn't even know how much of it is next step and how much of it is a heady swoop of need so deep it scoring itself on Danny's body through two layers of pants. Dragging back enough in the center, hands, finding the top of his jeans, the metal button and pulling at them almost too forcefully, open and beginning to shove the now tented-tight fabric down Danny's hips, even while he was laying heavy right on it.
Steve's mouth is muttering words straight into this kiss. "These are definitely better the floor."
Even if they were, honestly, proving highly worthwhile in pretty much every other place they'd been so far, too.
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When there's not enough room on this couch really, and not enough give a damn going on in Steve's head. Even if he nips Danny's neck softly, as though it's recompense for the aggravation. Whether that's for complaining, while not not complaining. Or making him want to do it over, and over again, until Danny was shaking, and asking him not to stop. Or because all he wanted to do was wrap Danny's leg around his waist and forget he knew how to think or breathe at all. Until Danny couldn't think or breathe or do anything but shake around him.
When that is a blistering thing, he's trying to outpace, stretching up to claim Danny's mouth again, not all that against how the couch arm and back keeps him bracketed between Steve and a stationary object. Pretty much all over. Giving him control to push in, against Danny. Or pull back the slightest, in the middle, and let his hand have more than just Danny's sides. All of his skin.
Warm, soft and solid different places. Muscles straining tense and tight under him, release and tightening with every kick of hips.
When Danny's got his hands on Steve back, moving everything. Across muscles, down into the small of his back, across the round of his ass. Pulling him tight and close, making it almost impossible to keep a straight thought that is not being slammed by rivers of light. Everything throbbing hard, heavy, loud in his veins. How much he wants Danny.
When he doesn't even know how much of it is next step and how much of it is a heady swoop of need so deep it scoring itself on Danny's body through two layers of pants. Dragging back enough in the center, hands, finding the top of his jeans, the metal button and pulling at them almost too forcefully, open and beginning to shove the now tented-tight fabric down Danny's hips, even while he was laying heavy right on it.
Steve's mouth is muttering words straight into this kiss. "These are definitely better the floor."
Even if they were, honestly, proving highly worthwhile in pretty much every other place they'd been so far, too.