Steve can ignore or overlook or override, or, no, maybe it was ignore the first few seconds of Danny's irritable shifting. Of the hand at his skin. Danny's arm trying, impossibly, to shift through the solid mass of his chest, without being physically removed from being attached. The way it shifts his shoulders. But, really, it's not a lapse. He vaguely is aware of them.
He'd be more aware if Danny wasn't trying to turn the air in his lungs into steam more pressingly during it.
Which sets a ramping thrum in his blood, overrunning anything else. Anything but to take, but to pull for more, to put aside anything and everything that isn't this. This feeling of Danny pressed against his side, his skin, his mouth. The way the inside of his mouth is wet and warm, and how it's insane, it's been weeks since it started, and barely days since they last, but it still sets everything in him to smoldering. Begging to catch flame. Begging to burn down everything else.
Until Danny moves, and moves enough to be dragging him somewhere, that isn't closer. In fact it's forward from the back and not in a forward toward Danny way. Shifting his weight, dragging him, enough to make Steve open his eyes, enough to snort. Because Danny's trying to get to the table or the floor to get rid of his beer and he isn't even letting go for that much. Like he has some desperate need of both of his hands, like Danny could do anything without both of his hands, and he can't even let go of Steve to get to both of his hands.
There are words, burnt to all hell, smoking ruin, crowding up Steve's throat, about to tease him for it, when he shudders suddenly. Cool, cold, wet fingers against his jaw, when Danny's free hand is suddenly on his skin. Causing the muscles in his shoulders, stomach and thighs to tense up fast and hard in surprise. Staggering a ripped up sort of gasp from his lungs and Danny's lips, when it's making everything else standout.
Danny, and Danny's hands. Both of them now. The other one getting free with running down his skin, until it has to be on fabric, making Steve nearly hate the clothing itself because it's not as close. Muffled sensation, cloth, wrinkles, dragging hand, pushing in between him and couch, pulling him closer, as Danny's giving up any pretense there was a movie, that the tv is still on. Is dragging Steve, who could care less about it, with him.
Skin prickled and razor edged, everything heightened briefly knife-sharp and glaringly aware, even more sensitive, reactive for the shock.
no subject
He'd be more aware if Danny wasn't trying to turn the air in his lungs into steam more pressingly during it.
Which sets a ramping thrum in his blood, overrunning anything else. Anything but to take, but to pull for more, to put aside anything and everything that isn't this. This feeling of Danny pressed against his side, his skin, his mouth. The way the inside of his mouth is wet and warm, and how it's insane, it's been weeks since it started, and barely days since they last, but it still sets everything in him to smoldering. Begging to catch flame. Begging to burn down everything else.
Until Danny moves, and moves enough to be dragging him somewhere, that isn't closer. In fact it's forward from the back and not in a forward toward Danny way. Shifting his weight, dragging him, enough to make Steve open his eyes, enough to snort. Because Danny's trying to get to the table or the floor to get rid of his beer and he isn't even letting go for that much. Like he has some desperate need of both of his hands, like Danny could do anything without both of his hands, and he can't even let go of Steve to get to both of his hands.
There are words, burnt to all hell, smoking ruin, crowding up Steve's throat, about to tease him for it, when he shudders suddenly. Cool, cold, wet fingers against his jaw, when Danny's free hand is suddenly on his skin. Causing the muscles in his shoulders, stomach and thighs to tense up fast and hard in surprise. Staggering a ripped up sort of gasp from his lungs and Danny's lips, when it's making everything else standout.
Danny, and Danny's hands. Both of them now. The other one getting free with running down his skin, until it has to be on fabric, making Steve nearly hate the clothing itself because it's not as close. Muffled sensation, cloth, wrinkles, dragging hand, pushing in between him and couch, pulling him closer, as Danny's giving up any pretense there was a movie, that the tv is still on. Is dragging Steve, who could care less about it, with him.
Skin prickled and razor edged, everything heightened briefly knife-sharp and glaringly aware, even more sensitive, reactive for the shock.