The world ships out, disorienting pleasure washing through with rocking waves, hitting him still like pieces of that earlier falling wall, still falling, never running out of raining pieces. Somehow like there are no hands to defend the falling. As it keeps punching his stomach, his head, wringing him out from the inside, and pulling him over. Every nerve ending alive with each ripple of release. Each muscle in his chest aching to every edge with each heavy labored breath.
Everything feels boneless and caustic, even when there are suddenly fingers finding his hair. Slow, clumsy, sort of finding and settling, like his head might have been lost. Maybe it had been. Still was. It doesn't stop his mouth from twitching faintly, when that hand is following by Danny's head and his hair, leaning in against his head. Well, his cheek. Soft silky hair against his cheek, all causing a tiny, soft, lost, comfortable sound to drag out of Steve's scorched sandpaper throat.
He can't make his eyes work yet. Barely feels coherent about the touches that fade in and out, as his skin is still shivering outward from the center. Heart beat loud in his ears, breath heavy and warm against Danny's skin, breathing in the smell of it. Danny, and whatever it is he uses in his hair, and that something that is only him, and sweat, and sharpness, and leather. His couch is going to need work, but he can't bring himself to give a damn. Not right now.
Can hardly hold a thought. Barely feel the muscles in his back having snapped from thick cement to running water.
Yet somehow feeling Danny's faintest shifts. Loosening back into the couch. Uncertain if he could even come up with a joke in his head. It's not like he's a blanket over Danny right now, fallen like a rock slide, a solid avalanche. Like before. Not when Danny is loose but wrapped around him still. When even unfurling, his ankles and legs staying around and over Steve's legs. When everything else wanes, but there are fingers at his back, still, the back of his head, a check touching Danny's head.
When Steve seriously feels like he can't distinguish where exactly he ends, and Danny begins at the moment. Like they've become too tangled to still be two different bodies in this space. When he's not sure that hasn't been true for a long time. The world awash of with warmth, the heavy steady rise of a chest under his, not quite lifting him with each breath. When everything is still too heavy, too fuzzy, too fluid to do much more than shift and brush his lips and cheek, a little, against the hair tickling at the skin and stubble of his cheek.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-16 03:48 pm (UTC)Everything feels boneless and caustic, even when there are suddenly fingers finding his hair. Slow, clumsy, sort of finding and settling, like his head might have been lost. Maybe it had been. Still was. It doesn't stop his mouth from twitching faintly, when that hand is following by Danny's head and his hair, leaning in against his head. Well, his cheek. Soft silky hair against his cheek, all causing a tiny, soft, lost, comfortable sound to drag out of Steve's scorched sandpaper throat.
He can't make his eyes work yet. Barely feels coherent about the touches that fade in and out, as his skin is still shivering outward from the center. Heart beat loud in his ears, breath heavy and warm against Danny's skin, breathing in the smell of it. Danny, and whatever it is he uses in his hair, and that something that is only him, and sweat, and sharpness, and leather. His couch is going to need work, but he can't bring himself to give a damn. Not right now.
Can hardly hold a thought. Barely feel the muscles in his back having snapped from thick cement to running water.
Yet somehow feeling Danny's faintest shifts. Loosening back into the couch. Uncertain if he could even come up with a joke in his head. It's not like he's a blanket over Danny right now, fallen like a rock slide, a solid avalanche. Like before. Not when Danny is loose but wrapped around him still. When even unfurling, his ankles and legs staying around and over Steve's legs. When everything else wanes, but there are fingers at his back, still, the back of his head, a check touching Danny's head.
When Steve seriously feels like he can't distinguish where exactly he ends, and Danny begins at the moment. Like they've become too tangled to still be two different bodies in this space. When he's not sure that hasn't been true for a long time. The world awash of with warmth, the heavy steady rise of a chest under his, not quite lifting him with each breath. When everything is still too heavy, too fuzzy, too fluid to do much more than shift and brush his lips and cheek, a little, against the hair tickling at the skin and stubble of his cheek.