Flashing through his head like a shoal of silver fish, darting away in startled fear at even the idea, but it's true. The sound Steve makes, dark and needy and exasperated all at once, the way he pushes down, hard, like he's jealous, could possibly be jealous, of anything else that might manage to piss Danny off as much as Steve manages on a minute to minute basis. Hand dragging hard over Danny's chest, to find buttons and tug at them, sulky and rapid, proving a point, fingers snaking through his hair, and those words, dropping like raw eggs and splatting gunshot patterns all over the inside of Danny's chest.
And the way Danny can't quite seem to catch his breath, because he's still laughing.
Mostly silent, now. A shake of his chest against Steve's palm, unruly smile grinning against Steve's mouth, those words sizzling straight through his cerebral cortex, into the instinctive core of his brain, burning out any filters that may once have existed along the way. "I don't think that's the normal goal, is it?"
Falling out of his mouth, into Steve's, amused and a little challenging and a little questioning at the same time, because it's a joke, and it's not a joke, and it's been a month now, and Steve's clearly done all this before but Danny's still got basically no clue how it works beyond what they already do. Which doesn't mean he's not willing to learn, which doesn't mean he doesn't want to, and doesn't mean he doesn't feel a little thrill of uncomfortable fear beating blunt wings in the pit of his stomach, too.
Not that he expects Steve to put it on the table right now. Not that he has any idea what he's talking about, aside from a vague notion.
But under those fluttering leaden wings, the sick crawly feeling in his gut, there's something else. Heat. Want. He wants Steve, in every way possible, said so the first day, and he meant it, even though he froze up in the kitchen, didn't know what to do with the information shoved so unceremoniously into his hands. Wants, God. So much. To wake up tomorrow morning and not have to go to work. To wipe that uncertain look right off Steve's face.
And, yeah. When they end up in bed, he wants to fuck Steve. He's aware of wanting Steve to fuck him, even if he's not totally clear on how the mechanics work.
Does it matter? He figured it out once. He can do it again. And this time, he has the benefit of not being a clueless teenager. It's not like the basic premise is all that different, right?
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Flashing through his head like a shoal of silver fish, darting away in startled fear at even the idea, but it's true. The sound Steve makes, dark and needy and exasperated all at once, the way he pushes down, hard, like he's jealous, could possibly be jealous, of anything else that might manage to piss Danny off as much as Steve manages on a minute to minute basis. Hand dragging hard over Danny's chest, to find buttons and tug at them, sulky and rapid, proving a point, fingers snaking through his hair, and those words, dropping like raw eggs and splatting gunshot patterns all over the inside of Danny's chest.
And the way Danny can't quite seem to catch his breath, because he's still laughing.
Mostly silent, now. A shake of his chest against Steve's palm, unruly smile grinning against Steve's mouth, those words sizzling straight through his cerebral cortex, into the instinctive core of his brain, burning out any filters that may once have existed along the way. "I don't think that's the normal goal, is it?"
Falling out of his mouth, into Steve's, amused and a little challenging and a little questioning at the same time, because it's a joke, and it's not a joke, and it's been a month now, and Steve's clearly done all this before but Danny's still got basically no clue how it works beyond what they already do. Which doesn't mean he's not willing to learn, which doesn't mean he doesn't want to, and doesn't mean he doesn't feel a little thrill of uncomfortable fear beating blunt wings in the pit of his stomach, too.
Not that he expects Steve to put it on the table right now. Not that he has any idea what he's talking about, aside from a vague notion.
But under those fluttering leaden wings, the sick crawly feeling in his gut, there's something else. Heat. Want. He wants Steve, in every way possible, said so the first day, and he meant it, even though he froze up in the kitchen, didn't know what to do with the information shoved so unceremoniously into his hands. Wants, God. So much. To wake up tomorrow morning and not have to go to work. To wipe that uncertain look right off Steve's face.
And, yeah. When they end up in bed, he wants to fuck Steve. He's aware of wanting Steve to fuck him, even if he's not totally clear on how the mechanics work.
Does it matter? He figured it out once. He can do it again. And this time, he has the benefit of not being a clueless teenager. It's not like the basic premise is all that different, right?