Steve is going to stand there, against all those words, lodging at him, and go right over it again. Because, okay, he might get offended at Danny's clothing being on him -- with is admittedly his own actual problem, especially now that Danny is getting into a penchant of taking them off for him, or letting Steve strip them straight right off him -- but he was not -- Was. Not. -- the one who said, only second ago, the jean should be tossed out.
Right against Steve having said they should keep them around.
They were two completely different insinuations.
Which is just clouded up and confused more, like his head doesn't have its own problems, between travel and sleep and everything that happened between Asia and Hawaii last week, but Danny's hands are on him. Dropping to his side. Thumbs catching in the lines between solid muscle and tracing down through it. Causing muscles all along his stomach and his back up into his shoulders to tense.
Like it doesn't feel good. Except it does. He can't even stop the way he leans into the touch, like some part of him had drastically slammed a wall like it was over, like they were heading toward a cliff or a steep waterfall plummet, and the slightest brush makes him shamelessly press into it like it's air after being down too long. Necessary as air. Not enough already. Like his skin totally is beyond needing to check in with his head before reacting, wanting more, moving.
As if the touch was somehow more important than the words making absolutely no sense.
The touch that roughens his voice, unexpectedly, with too much air, when he's dragging his own hand up Danny's back, slow, searching touch, spreading his fingers and palm wide across Danny's skin, pulling him closer, with solid movement once his hand finds the middle of Danny's back. "Seriously? You're just not going to tell me?"
Would be sharper if it could, but it can't, stumbles out just distractedly low and pointedly knowing.
Not cut with everything else. Not cut with insane relief at Danny touching him, at the way Danny's awkwardly trying to smile.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-27 11:08 pm (UTC)Right against Steve having said they should keep them around.
They were two completely different insinuations.
Which is just clouded up and confused more, like his head doesn't have its own problems, between travel and sleep and everything that happened between Asia and Hawaii last week, but Danny's hands are on him. Dropping to his side. Thumbs catching in the lines between solid muscle and tracing down through it. Causing muscles all along his stomach and his back up into his shoulders to tense.
Like it doesn't feel good. Except it does. He can't even stop the way he leans into the touch, like some part of him had drastically slammed a wall like it was over, like they were heading toward a cliff or a steep waterfall plummet, and the slightest brush makes him shamelessly press into it like it's air after being down too long. Necessary as air. Not enough already. Like his skin totally is beyond needing to check in with his head before reacting, wanting more, moving.
As if the touch was somehow more important than the words making absolutely no sense.
The touch that roughens his voice, unexpectedly, with too much air, when he's dragging his own hand up Danny's back, slow, searching touch, spreading his fingers and palm wide across Danny's skin, pulling him closer, with solid movement once his hand finds the middle of Danny's back. "Seriously? You're just not going to tell me?"
Would be sharper if it could, but it can't, stumbles out just distractedly low and pointedly knowing.
Not cut with everything else. Not cut with insane relief at Danny touching him, at the way Danny's awkwardly trying to smile.