There's a harsh, low, repeating rasp of his name, tiny against his skin, pushing with each crush of hips, with Steve gripping him tight, tighter, impossible to move or escape, aching pain spreading against those fingers. Feeling like he'd be crushed if those arms were around him, snapping ribs and pulverizing organs. Already snapped, already pulverized. Hit like a truck, the sudden shock of gravity kicking in, sending him screaming into an implosion that leaves a smoking crater where his stomach used to be.
Muscles shaking with aftershock, tremors skittering across thighs and arms. Holding on, tight, as Steve goes up like a crashing plane, shaking apart, caught in critical momentum, unable to stop or do anything but push through. Straight into destruction. And it's. God. Beautiful. Body wire-tight and coiling hard, before it all collapses, head heavy next to Danny's, burying himself there, into Danny curling up around him.
And then. Quiet. Ragged breathing. A gradual increase of weight, sticky warm bellies pressing close together, softer now, muscles trembling into looseness. His hips ache from flexing, bending; his knee will probably never stop giving him hell, and the couch is going to get tacky with sweat, need to be wiped down.
But for now. All he can do is breathe. Hand finding, clumsy, the back of Steve's head. Temple tucked against Steve's cheek. Eyes sliding closed. Breathe. Steve so heavy and warm and fallen apart now, a loose collection of body parts, relaxing slowly after being paused and poised, bowstring-tight and now collapsing like a building with the foundation blown out from under it.
When not even the taut discomfort in his hips makes Danny want to let go, or move. Like. He's here. Steve put him here. Wanted Danny wrapped around him. He doesn't have to let go if he doesn't want to. And he doesn't want to. Wants to lie here, curled. Breathing in Steve and leather and salt. Wants to forget there ever being even a second when this was gone. Wants to blow the desperate, almost pleading look right off Steve's face, banish it to some locked room that never sees the light of day again.
Joints relaxing, painful as they loosen, feet sliding down the back of Steve's legs, until he isn't a knot tied around him anymore, but they're draped. Possessive. Impossible for Steve to get up without tripping. Nothing he can do to leave. Or go any further than Danny is comfortable having him be. Which is. Not even inches, okay. He can pretend later.
Right now, his arm, hand, leg is still holding him close. And it lets him. Breathe.
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Muscles shaking with aftershock, tremors skittering across thighs and arms. Holding on, tight, as Steve goes up like a crashing plane, shaking apart, caught in critical momentum, unable to stop or do anything but push through. Straight into destruction. And it's. God. Beautiful. Body wire-tight and coiling hard, before it all collapses, head heavy next to Danny's, burying himself there, into Danny curling up around him.
And then. Quiet. Ragged breathing. A gradual increase of weight, sticky warm bellies pressing close together, softer now, muscles trembling into looseness. His hips ache from flexing, bending; his knee will probably never stop giving him hell, and the couch is going to get tacky with sweat, need to be wiped down.
But for now. All he can do is breathe. Hand finding, clumsy, the back of Steve's head. Temple tucked against Steve's cheek. Eyes sliding closed. Breathe. Steve so heavy and warm and fallen apart now, a loose collection of body parts, relaxing slowly after being paused and poised, bowstring-tight and now collapsing like a building with the foundation blown out from under it.
When not even the taut discomfort in his hips makes Danny want to let go, or move. Like. He's here. Steve put him here. Wanted Danny wrapped around him. He doesn't have to let go if he doesn't want to. And he doesn't want to. Wants to lie here, curled. Breathing in Steve and leather and salt. Wants to forget there ever being even a second when this was gone. Wants to blow the desperate, almost pleading look right off Steve's face, banish it to some locked room that never sees the light of day again.
Joints relaxing, painful as they loosen, feet sliding down the back of Steve's legs, until he isn't a knot tied around him anymore, but they're draped. Possessive. Impossible for Steve to get up without tripping. Nothing he can do to leave. Or go any further than Danny is comfortable having him be. Which is. Not even inches, okay. He can pretend later.
Right now, his arm, hand, leg is still holding him close. And it lets him. Breathe.