Steve can'r help it. The soft groan that nearly drags out of his chest like it's being drug with forceps and a jet engine, hands and thoughts unable to do anything to stop it. When Danny is laughing into his face, into this kiss. Taking that sounds and throwing it everywhere in his chest, like a hard wind off the sea, like waves crashing against a hull, up and over deck, spattering solid and sharp across everything.
Drowning out all the thoughts he had a second ago. Until the heavy racing, pounding, in his chest can't even be his heart. It's just this wild thing chanting Danny's name over and over again, like it's trying to escape his ribcage. Trying to bang through muscles and bone like it's tissue and twine. When that sound, that groan, is getting tangled in that space, on Danny's words.
Relief twisting up with something viciously possessive. Doesn't want to share. Doesn't want to give up even this angry, annoyed focus of Danny on him to anyone or anything else. Doesn't want to see it, himself, replaced. Wants to taste the marrow of that focus, fixation, antagonization, which shoves words into Steve mouth that twist and contort in every way they shouldn't. Give him ideas about marking, claiming, that leave the small bruises in the dust.
Which isn't helped by Danny suddenly laying into him, fighting for control. Dragging him down. Fingers in his hair, on his skin. Pushing up into his body. Like there's any space. But somehow Danny finds it. Solid and warm against him, fitting himself in like a key. Until Steve has to react, tightening his knees and thighs against Danny's legs, hands traveling. One loose and heavy against the side of his head, and the other back toward the buttons he'd left.
The shirt in his way. The way everything is throbbing in his head, his skin, against the onslaught of Danny. Against giving at least as much as he gives, if not a hundred percent more. Shoving out even a scream follow by smarting dialogue, because he's gruffly saying, "I'll give you a pain in your ass," before he's tugging Danny's bottom lip into his mouth with teeth, sucking on it, like it's necessary for staying alive. Or maybe for leaving it at that.
A ground out sound, followed by threat or an accusation. Because he doesn't mean it. Except that he does.
And fuck it all if he hasn't said anything like that in weeks. It's at least as true, as everything he can't take back now. That he wants Danny, in every single goddamn way possible and not possible, as much as he knows he shouldn't, too.
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Drowning out all the thoughts he had a second ago. Until the heavy racing, pounding, in his chest can't even be his heart. It's just this wild thing chanting Danny's name over and over again, like it's trying to escape his ribcage. Trying to bang through muscles and bone like it's tissue and twine. When that sound, that groan, is getting tangled in that space, on Danny's words.
Relief twisting up with something viciously possessive. Doesn't want to share. Doesn't want to give up even this angry, annoyed focus of Danny on him to anyone or anything else. Doesn't want to see it, himself, replaced. Wants to taste the marrow of that focus, fixation, antagonization, which shoves words into Steve mouth that twist and contort in every way they shouldn't. Give him ideas about marking, claiming, that leave the small bruises in the dust.
Which isn't helped by Danny suddenly laying into him, fighting for control. Dragging him down. Fingers in his hair, on his skin. Pushing up into his body. Like there's any space. But somehow Danny finds it. Solid and warm against him, fitting himself in like a key. Until Steve has to react, tightening his knees and thighs against Danny's legs, hands traveling. One loose and heavy against the side of his head, and the other back toward the buttons he'd left.
The shirt in his way. The way everything is throbbing in his head, his skin, against the onslaught of Danny. Against giving at least as much as he gives, if not a hundred percent more. Shoving out even a scream follow by smarting dialogue, because he's gruffly saying, "I'll give you a pain in your ass," before he's tugging Danny's bottom lip into his mouth with teeth, sucking on it, like it's necessary for staying alive. Or maybe for leaving it at that.
A ground out sound, followed by threat or an accusation. Because he doesn't mean it. Except that he does.
And fuck it all if he hasn't said anything like that in weeks. It's at least as true, as everything he can't take back now.
That he wants Danny, in every single goddamn way possible and not possible, as much as he knows he shouldn't, too.