He'd sort of suspected it before, but he's pretty damn sure it's true, now, as Steve tracks his way down, lips brushing stubble and catching every now and again to give a soft squeeze of teeth. A Thing. Steve has one. For Danny's neck.
Danny's.
This still doesn't seem like it's gotten the kind of attention he feels is due such a bizarre turn of circumstances. He can, sort of, wrap his head around the general idea that Steve wants him, that Steve likes him, likes him in a way that's got nothing to do with their friendship or partnership and everything to do with wanting to get him naked. It throws him every now and again, but it's doable, acceptable.
It's when he breaks it down to Things like Steve's Thing for his neck that it all starts falling apart at the seams, because it's just so crazy, Steve. Focused on the thin skin, the cord of muscle, the pulse point. Mouth following some set, wandering path Danny can't map. Pushing Danny's head back into the leather, eyes squeezing shut as his arm loosens from around Steve's neck, so fingers can snake up into Steve's hair, tensing, curving against his skull, blunt fingernails running across his scalp.
Chasing moans that have already nearly started, sifting like low-lying clouds in Danny's ribcage, pushing against each other and lifting a little closer to escape every time Steve's mouth closes over his skin. Back arching restlessly when that mouth sucks at his artery, pulling skin into wet warmth and the teasing sweep of tongue.
And it's a tiny thing to focus on, to lose himself over, because it's been weeks, and Steve's done this plenty of times before, but it's like taking a step to the side and seeing the world from a whole new angle, right before tripping on a rock he hadn't noticed earlier. His neck. It's the same as it always was. Nothing special. He can't explain it, can't reason it out, and he knows that it's probably no different than his Thing for Steve's neck, but that's -- he needs to be able to taste the sunlight and shadow on it, see if it's different when Steve's clean from the shower, missing the tang of salt from sweat or sea. Needs to find the precise location that makes Steve groan when it's sucked and gasp when it's bitten. Has to count the beats of his pulse against the flat of Danny's tongue.
Everything else is too big, it's like being on a rope bridge freshly cut and tumbling into a yawning valley, but this, this is like stepping on a rake and getting smacked in the face when he least expects it, shoving an ache and pressure in his chest, making him want to wrap himself completely around Steve. Tie him up with limbs, pin him down with as much force necessary to make sure he never tries anything so stupid again.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-05-15 02:08 am (UTC)He'd sort of suspected it before, but he's pretty damn sure it's true, now, as Steve tracks his way down, lips brushing stubble and catching every now and again to give a soft squeeze of teeth. A Thing. Steve has one. For Danny's neck.
Danny's.
This still doesn't seem like it's gotten the kind of attention he feels is due such a bizarre turn of circumstances. He can, sort of, wrap his head around the general idea that Steve wants him, that Steve likes him, likes him in a way that's got nothing to do with their friendship or partnership and everything to do with wanting to get him naked. It throws him every now and again, but it's doable, acceptable.
It's when he breaks it down to Things like Steve's Thing for his neck that it all starts falling apart at the seams, because it's just so crazy, Steve. Focused on the thin skin, the cord of muscle, the pulse point. Mouth following some set, wandering path Danny can't map. Pushing Danny's head back into the leather, eyes squeezing shut as his arm loosens from around Steve's neck, so fingers can snake up into Steve's hair, tensing, curving against his skull, blunt fingernails running across his scalp.
Chasing moans that have already nearly started, sifting like low-lying clouds in Danny's ribcage, pushing against each other and lifting a little closer to escape every time Steve's mouth closes over his skin. Back arching restlessly when that mouth sucks at his artery, pulling skin into wet warmth and the teasing sweep of tongue.
And it's a tiny thing to focus on, to lose himself over, because it's been weeks, and Steve's done this plenty of times before, but it's like taking a step to the side and seeing the world from a whole new angle, right before tripping on a rock he hadn't noticed earlier. His neck. It's the same as it always was. Nothing special. He can't explain it, can't reason it out, and he knows that it's probably no different than his Thing for Steve's neck, but that's -- he needs to be able to taste the sunlight and shadow on it, see if it's different when Steve's clean from the shower, missing the tang of salt from sweat or sea. Needs to find the precise location that makes Steve groan when it's sucked and gasp when it's bitten. Has to count the beats of his pulse against the flat of Danny's tongue.
Everything else is too big, it's like being on a rope bridge freshly cut and tumbling into a yawning valley, but this, this is like stepping on a rake and getting smacked in the face when he least expects it, shoving an ache and pressure in his chest, making him want to wrap himself completely around Steve. Tie him up with limbs, pin him down with as much force necessary to make sure he never tries anything so stupid again.