He loves that. This. The way Steve grins against his lips, presses a smug curve of a smile into Danny's own skin, and then traces it along his jawline, making Danny tip his head back, into the cushions he's just hit. They're a mess, a tangle of arms and legs, Steve dragging him up further onto the couch and bracketing either side of his thighs with knees, until Danny manages to loose the leg closest to the TV and slide it free, only to frame the side of Steve's leg with it. "You want a fight, we're not staying on the couch."
A real knockdown trial of strength between the two of them would probably wreck a whole lot more of this living room than Danny particularly wants to have to pay for; at the very least, the coffee table would die, maybe the desk, too. A lamp, or three. A barroom brawl that would probably end in grievous bodily injury, and possible property damage. "And we just got back in from outside. Nope, vetoed."
Especially considering the way his voice is starting to stretch thin and crackle at the edges, like a piece of gum pulled slowly apart. Nerves are skittering into life, stumbling over themselves as Steve's warm breath gusts over them, drawing up goosebumps and slamming his heart rate into a higher gear, pulses starting to turn over themselves, the beginnings of overlap. And there's so much space between them, but he's sure that if he were to stick a hand in the empty air between his stomach and Steve's, it would burst into flame and crumble away to ash, instantly.
The whole room is starting to feel that way, actually. A long, slow burn, ticking gradually up the thermometer, giving another click every time Steve's mouth moves against his skin, and a muffled noise contracts itself in Danny's throat, quiet on a breath he lets out hard through his nose.
Eyes slitting, and his brain must be misfiring, because Steve nips at his skin and it feels like squinting at sunlight, that same sensation of too much, almost sore in how bright it is, too brilliant to take in.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-05-14 10:28 pm (UTC)A real knockdown trial of strength between the two of them would probably wreck a whole lot more of this living room than Danny particularly wants to have to pay for; at the very least, the coffee table would die, maybe the desk, too. A lamp, or three. A barroom brawl that would probably end in grievous bodily injury, and possible property damage. "And we just got back in from outside. Nope, vetoed."
Especially considering the way his voice is starting to stretch thin and crackle at the edges, like a piece of gum pulled slowly apart. Nerves are skittering into life, stumbling over themselves as Steve's warm breath gusts over them, drawing up goosebumps and slamming his heart rate into a higher gear, pulses starting to turn over themselves, the beginnings of overlap. And there's so much space between them, but he's sure that if he were to stick a hand in the empty air between his stomach and Steve's, it would burst into flame and crumble away to ash, instantly.
The whole room is starting to feel that way, actually. A long, slow burn, ticking gradually up the thermometer, giving another click every time Steve's mouth moves against his skin, and a muffled noise contracts itself in Danny's throat, quiet on a breath he lets out hard through his nose.
Eyes slitting, and his brain must be misfiring, because Steve nips at his skin and it feels like squinting at sunlight, that same sensation of too much, almost sore in how bright it is, too brilliant to take in.