He wets his bottom lip, considering, relaxing a little further at the smirk that's pulling on Steve's mouth, backing them both a little further away from the wide-open bareness of a few minutes ago, challenging Danny to say continue, to -- what? Shock him, surprise him? Set a fire roaring in his head until he can't even hear his own thoughts anymore, let alone the things Danny's saying, or wants to say. Detail every fantasy he's ever had, that he's sure Steve's had, too? List all the things he knows nothing about, even after surreptitious internet searches that probably only confused him more?
He's not a dirty talker. There's a reason Kono managed to write a filthier text message than he ever could. Even with all the words he's got at his disposal, all his bluster and bravado, he's not. Hasn't ever managed it. Making sex just about the physical, which seems necessary for dirty talk to exist; or, at least, to shrug off the self-consciousness needed to say it all out loud.
Because, Christ. It's not just physical. It's visceral. The way he feels about Steve. The things Steve makes him feel. How he looks, how he sounds, when soft gasps turn rough and needy, punching Danny low in the stomach and twisting there, grabbing a fistful of gut and yanking it out.
And there's so much of it. That he wants. That he could list, if he could. Watching Steve's back arch, watching his arms shake and tremble with the force of trying to keep himself up. The way, when he wraps his hand around Danny, it's like the whole world shrinks to that fist, and Danny wants to know what it would be like with Steve's body, instead of his palm and fingers. Wants to know fast and hot and rough, wants to know mind-bendingly, screamingly slow. Wants to feel slick tight heat, try fingers, tongue, cock, everything there is. Wants to know what makes Steve shudder, what makes him moan, what makes him lose the ability to form words or coherent thought.
Wants to be able to say all that out loud, to him, for him. "You want to fuck me."
Everyone's got to start somewhere. He takes a breath, lets it gust out against Steve's lips, that are so close, the edge of Steve's jaw, that he considers going back to, hiding in without looking like he's hiding in it. Feeling a flush come up on his face that doesn't have everything to do with the long lean heavy frame of Steve on top of him.
But Steve talked, so Danny can, will, too. Because he's pretty sure this is something Steve wants, too. To hear it. To see it. To listen to Danny telling him it can, will, happen. "You want to make me lose my mind. You want to get buried so deep in me you don't even know where you start anymore. You want to make sure I can't even breathe without it coming back out as your name. " His heart is scattered and ramping now, beating like he's terrified, and he is, but he's elated, too, and Steve is, Christ, Steve is just so beautiful, lying here, every inch of him a miracle. Six feet of tanned skin, tattoos, and loyalty that never quits. A big stupid goofy heart that just wants to make the world safe, and never once thinks of himself.
So Danny will, for him. He'll try. "You want my sweat on your tongue and you want me to forget which way gravity is supposed to go. You want to have parts of me not one single person has ever gotten before. I bet you want to rip this shirt straight off and have me right here on the couch, and I bet you don't want it slow and easy, either."
His mouth is dry and his fingers have tightened gradually against Steve's back, until now they're pushing divots into firm muscle. "Or maybe that's all just me."
Things he wants. That won't, probably shouldn't happen right now, because it's one thing to talk about it and another to actually start down that path, and he's pretty sure neither of them exactly came prepared for sex on the couch tonight.
Which is maybe just as well, considering the way his heart's hammering, making him light-headed and forcing the room into a strange half-unreality around them.
no subject
He wets his bottom lip, considering, relaxing a little further at the smirk that's pulling on Steve's mouth, backing them both a little further away from the wide-open bareness of a few minutes ago, challenging Danny to say continue, to -- what? Shock him, surprise him? Set a fire roaring in his head until he can't even hear his own thoughts anymore, let alone the things Danny's saying, or wants to say. Detail every fantasy he's ever had, that he's sure Steve's had, too? List all the things he knows nothing about, even after surreptitious internet searches that probably only confused him more?
He's not a dirty talker. There's a reason Kono managed to write a filthier text message than he ever could. Even with all the words he's got at his disposal, all his bluster and bravado, he's not. Hasn't ever managed it. Making sex just about the physical, which seems necessary for dirty talk to exist; or, at least, to shrug off the self-consciousness needed to say it all out loud.
Because, Christ. It's not just physical. It's visceral. The way he feels about Steve. The things Steve makes him feel. How he looks, how he sounds, when soft gasps turn rough and needy, punching Danny low in the stomach and twisting there, grabbing a fistful of gut and yanking it out.
And there's so much of it. That he wants. That he could list, if he could. Watching Steve's back arch, watching his arms shake and tremble with the force of trying to keep himself up. The way, when he wraps his hand around Danny, it's like the whole world shrinks to that fist, and Danny wants to know what it would be like with Steve's body, instead of his palm and fingers. Wants to know fast and hot and rough, wants to know mind-bendingly, screamingly slow. Wants to feel slick tight heat, try fingers, tongue, cock, everything there is. Wants to know what makes Steve shudder, what makes him moan, what makes him lose the ability to form words or coherent thought.
Wants to be able to say all that out loud, to him, for him. "You want to fuck me."
Everyone's got to start somewhere. He takes a breath, lets it gust out against Steve's lips, that are so close, the edge of Steve's jaw, that he considers going back to, hiding in without looking like he's hiding in it. Feeling a flush come up on his face that doesn't have everything to do with the long lean heavy frame of Steve on top of him.
But Steve talked, so Danny can, will, too. Because he's pretty sure this is something Steve wants, too. To hear it. To see it. To listen to Danny telling him it can, will, happen. "You want to make me lose my mind. You want to get buried so deep in me you don't even know where you start anymore. You want to make sure I can't even breathe without it coming back out as your name. " His heart is scattered and ramping now, beating like he's terrified, and he is, but he's elated, too, and Steve is, Christ, Steve is just so beautiful, lying here, every inch of him a miracle. Six feet of tanned skin, tattoos, and loyalty that never quits. A big stupid goofy heart that just wants to make the world safe, and never once thinks of himself.
So Danny will, for him. He'll try. "You want my sweat on your tongue and you want me to forget which way gravity is supposed to go. You want to have parts of me not one single person has ever gotten before. I bet you want to rip this shirt straight off and have me right here on the couch, and I bet you don't want it slow and easy, either."
His mouth is dry and his fingers have tightened gradually against Steve's back, until now they're pushing divots into firm muscle. "Or maybe that's all just me."
Things he wants. That won't, probably shouldn't happen right now, because it's one thing to talk about it and another to actually start down that path, and he's pretty sure neither of them exactly came prepared for sex on the couch tonight.
Which is maybe just as well, considering the way his heart's hammering, making him light-headed and forcing the room into a strange half-unreality around them.