The world shorts out in a hard blister, like being smack with all the pieces of a falling wall at once, when suddenly there are teeth biting into his skin. Pain, slamming into his system, sharp and unexpected. Like being snowed without warning, vision cutting white and grey and red, through a fierce slam of it sending him hard into shakes and harder, reckless, wild, thrusting, before he can even consider trying to shift or stop it.
Like lifting a hand could have held back a tsunami slamming into the whole side of a country. Like he was going to own either of his hands or any of his body, except one last raggedy bloody inch he can't even see right now. Not now. Not now when there's something desperate like a groan snapping on his lips, like he's shattering a sound the way you shatter the glass in a window.
From desperate and wanting, almost like the last note in a god forsaken plea he hasn't said a word about, into something dark and almost beyond explaining, that want running rampant into a demand. When he's dropping his hand from supporting him self, feeling the world slide in and out from underneath him, but he can't stop. Hand dropping and catching Danny's other leg. Fingers catching under Danny's other knee and calf and pulling it up, to match the other one. Making sure it's above his hip and can't, won't, slow him down.
When he knows, fuck, he knows he's playing with fire, already burning up on it. Danny shaking around him and moaning into his skin, in this reckless, broken open, needy sound that Steve can't even find the will to breathe through. Wants. Wants. Wants so bad it's screaming in each rushed breath, steaming in and out of his lungs without touching them. Because he wants to feel this. Even more. Danny falling apart. Reckless and wrecked.
When it feels like he's only feeding that insane want and fire getting hotter, trapped under and inside his skin, when can't do anything but thrust hard against him. Wrecked with need, with the fingers digging into his back, mouth at his throat, legs so tight around his center. Pushing hard, chest heaving, sweat dripping down across his muscles. Patience and will something that are burning fast under a raging fire.
When he knows there's more than one reason, and at least of of them is the desperate shrill alarm of want inside himself, when he's reaching up and dragging Danny's head back by that hair. Saying, "C'mon," Into his mouth, before kissing him, hard and sharp, biting at his lips. Needing, needing something to snap. Shoving for it. Harder and faster, matching Danny's frenetic movements. Because it can't be him. Which, maybe, means it's all just fucked.
It can't be him, he can't lose every inch, and he's already sliding down a spiral where the stairs are melting, and the one person he needs to keep them still, the only person he can ever trust to make them still, to make him breathe, think, do anything but burn everything down out whatever's in front of him, until it doesn't exist, that one person who when everything bleeds away, when all of his control, that thin frayed line, snaps like spider silk in a rough breeze, is the one he's trying to make lose everything first.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-16 01:34 am (UTC)Like lifting a hand could have held back a tsunami slamming into the whole side of a country. Like he was going to own either of his hands or any of his body, except one last raggedy bloody inch he can't even see right now. Not now. Not now when there's something desperate like a groan snapping on his lips, like he's shattering a sound the way you shatter the glass in a window.
From desperate and wanting, almost like the last note in a god forsaken plea he hasn't said a word about, into something dark and almost beyond explaining, that want running rampant into a demand. When he's dropping his hand from supporting him self, feeling the world slide in and out from underneath him, but he can't stop. Hand dropping and catching Danny's other leg. Fingers catching under Danny's other knee and calf and pulling it up, to match the other one. Making sure it's above his hip and can't, won't, slow him down.
When he knows, fuck, he knows he's playing with fire, already burning up on it. Danny shaking around him and moaning into his skin, in this reckless, broken open, needy sound that Steve can't even find the will to breathe through. Wants. Wants. Wants so bad it's screaming in each rushed breath, steaming in and out of his lungs without touching them. Because he wants to feel this. Even more. Danny falling apart. Reckless and wrecked.
When it feels like he's only feeding that insane want and fire getting hotter, trapped under and inside his skin, when can't do anything but thrust hard against him. Wrecked with need, with the fingers digging into his back, mouth at his throat, legs so tight around his center. Pushing hard, chest heaving, sweat dripping down across his muscles. Patience and will something that are burning fast under a raging fire.
When he knows there's more than one reason, and at least of of them is the desperate shrill alarm of want inside himself, when he's reaching up and dragging Danny's head back by that hair. Saying, "C'mon," Into his mouth, before kissing him, hard and sharp, biting at his lips. Needing, needing something to snap. Shoving for it. Harder and faster, matching Danny's frenetic movements. Because it can't be him. Which, maybe, means it's all just fucked.
It can't be him, he can't lose every inch, and he's already sliding down a spiral where the stairs are melting, and the one person he needs to keep them still, the only person he can ever trust to make them still, to make him breathe, think, do anything but burn everything down out whatever's in front of him, until it doesn't exist, that one person who when everything bleeds away, when all of his control, that thin frayed line, snaps like spider silk in a rough breeze, is the one he's trying to make lose everything first.