Steve looks, sounds, pleased. Ragged. Breathless. But pleased. Ragging on him through a tone as wrung out like a dishrag, voice straining, muscles straining. A smile flashing and disappearing again, against Danny's lips, before they're taken again, Steve leaning down and Danny pushing up. Not giving a single damn that he's desperate, that it's showing, that Steve's got the upper hand here and those slow, drawn-out moments of earlier have burned up like so much tissue paper in a firepit.
Like there's no time, now, and he needs Steve more than air. Which. Air is so unnecessary, and it's useless when all it does it sizzle into steam the second it hits his lungs. When Steve is saying those words, low and darkly delighted, making Danny groan, half exasperated, half impatient, all wanting . Fingers digging into cotton and the muscle beneath, before sweeping around to the back of his leg, curving there, hard, pulling him closer. "You cannot possibly blame me for being impatient."
No one could. No one in their right mind. No one, pinned under Steve, back slick and sticking to a leather couch, could possibly question the frantic, frenzied desire that's laying him to waste. Tossing any semblance of good sense out a high-rise window in a spectacular shatter of glass, just before Steve's hand snakes under his boxers and the whole world freezes, paralyzed.
Caught on one hand. Fingers, wrapping. A sudden explosion of sensation, hitting him like a punch to the jaw, bursting in hard white light. Fast and slick, stroking up and down, melting what's left of Danny's brain right down his spine and short-circuiting his nerves until all he can do for a second is go with it, hips pushing helpless, head pushing back. Steve's fingers done with coaxing, now threading him into an outlet and shorting out the fuse, throwing breakers along the way until there's nothing but pure current pulsing through his body with each slide of Steve's hand.
Making his own shake as he tries to find the waistband of Steve's pants, fumbling at the button, unwilling to untangle his fingers from Steve's hair but wanting him, now, hating these layers of cloth, wanting. Wanting. Everything. Eyes trying to roll back in his head, breathing rough and ragged. Fingers so clumsy, unable to move in the correct patterns when Steve is massacring every previously known ability.
Gasping out "c'mon" into Steve's mouth and, "I want to see you." All of him. Wants it all. Anything Steve might be willing to give. Anything he might want to offer. Anything at all, because he didn't change his mind tonight, which means Danny gets at least one more night's reprieve before he might, will, could.
Anything at all to keep against that moment. When there's already all of this, but Danny still wants more.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-14 04:07 am (UTC)Like there's no time, now, and he needs Steve more than air. Which. Air is so unnecessary, and it's useless when all it does it sizzle into steam the second it hits his lungs. When Steve is saying those words, low and darkly delighted, making Danny groan, half exasperated, half impatient, all wanting . Fingers digging into cotton and the muscle beneath, before sweeping around to the back of his leg, curving there, hard, pulling him closer. "You cannot possibly blame me for being impatient."
No one could. No one in their right mind. No one, pinned under Steve, back slick and sticking to a leather couch, could possibly question the frantic, frenzied desire that's laying him to waste. Tossing any semblance of good sense out a high-rise window in a spectacular shatter of glass, just before Steve's hand snakes under his boxers and the whole world freezes, paralyzed.
Caught on one hand. Fingers, wrapping. A sudden explosion of sensation, hitting him like a punch to the jaw, bursting in hard white light. Fast and slick, stroking up and down, melting what's left of Danny's brain right down his spine and short-circuiting his nerves until all he can do for a second is go with it, hips pushing helpless, head pushing back. Steve's fingers done with coaxing, now threading him into an outlet and shorting out the fuse, throwing breakers along the way until there's nothing but pure current pulsing through his body with each slide of Steve's hand.
Making his own shake as he tries to find the waistband of Steve's pants, fumbling at the button, unwilling to untangle his fingers from Steve's hair but wanting him, now, hating these layers of cloth, wanting. Wanting. Everything. Eyes trying to roll back in his head, breathing rough and ragged. Fingers so clumsy, unable to move in the correct patterns when Steve is massacring every previously known ability.
Gasping out "c'mon" into Steve's mouth and, "I want to see you." All of him. Wants it all. Anything Steve might be willing to give. Anything he might want to offer. Anything at all, because he didn't change his mind tonight, which means Danny gets at least one more night's reprieve before he might, will, could.
Anything at all to keep against that moment. When there's already all of this, but Danny still wants more.