That shudder is almost perfect. When Steve can feel it, against this mouth, against Danny fighting with his shirt and the one hand Steve is not using as well as he could when his vision is out of use, and his busy tracing Danny's skin with his mouth. Chasing down it. Staying only long enough to drag skin into his mouth, like he's collecting, tagging and cataloging all of it.
Like he's labeling each piece as his. Because Danny said he was, he wanted...
When his thoughts aren't even that coherent against the groan that wracks out of Danny's chest beneath his fingers and his mouth, while Danny is stil struggling with the cloth, tensing and shaking it with his own growing frustration and distraction under Steve's mouth, and Steve is seriously beginning to consider the necessity of a casualty. Because it would go so fast if he grabbed both sides and just ripped it down Danny's back.
But a wave of relief sags through Danny about the second after that thought and Danny is moving, finally shaking a hand free. An arm, moving to the other, before there's the noise of something being thrown and landing away from them. Somewhere away that Steve doesn't need to be looking, because Danny's hands are on him. There are nails digging across tight muscles, active, muscles making him shiver and stealing his breath, even when he's arching into them for more.
Even if he won't let go. Not really. Not long enough do more than look at Danny's chest, again. And his face, while Danny's getting his hands, his arms as far as they can go right now around Steve. When he's solid and warm, a matching frantic, shoving his face into Steve's skin and making his chest ache with a fierce spike because he didn't do it earlier, but suddenly he's doing it now.
More than those fingers. Hanging on. Hard. Holding. For dear life. Or something like it. Burying himself into, against Steve, in a way he hadn't done when he was blushing, nervous, and painting sentences with a bravery that Steve is not sure he even possesses except like this. Grafted inside his arms, to his chest, trying to choke his ribs, whispering that this is everything and not enough. That Danny wants him. And more.
Wants everything he can do, give, take. Even when it scares him, makes him nervous, sends him somewhere he's never been.
When Steve let's it hit, like a bomb, but doesn't stop. Lets his fingers card up into Danny's hair, from over his throat, almsot like a caress for only the space of something like half a second, before he's pulling Danny back down. By his hair, by his head, needing his skin back, needing to trace further. Keeping hims body a few inches above the cushions, while he keeps going, by the sheer strength of will and no want for Danny to be further, for Steve to have to contort more.
Down more skin, insistent and focus. The valley between his shoulder and his collar bone, the rise of his collar bone itself. The solid mound of muscle that is his pec. The flat of his breast bone. Running soft, half-chapped lips across that skin. Pulling it into his mouth, every second or other second, when he's made it too long ago. Before he needs the tang of salt and the flavor that is only Danny, burning on his tongue, against his stubble, filling his nose.
Like he's trying to find, with any of his senses, where something changed while he hadn't noticed. Going to make it so he can tell every place he's been with a mark, so he can know where every other inch of Danny he still needs under his tongue, in him, pulled up, messed up, torn apart, the way he just did to everything that even exists in Steve.
Setting about bagging and tagging all of it that he gets to, so he knows exactly which inches of Danny still might hold the ember of that elusive, burning truth that was shoved into Steve's body and is thrumming toward an explosion all it own. Dragging his mouth over Danny's nipple next and pulling on it. The taste of skin, and feel of hair against his lips, his tongue, when he's not going any gentler on anything more sensitive. When maybe it's a little harder, even. When he wants to everything, and he wants it now.
Because Danny said. He said so much. Him and his million words, and they are burning Steve alive.
When he's going to drink Danny in, burn Danny down. Fingers hard in his skin, arm muscles tense with the weight but not shaking and Steve needs, wants all of him, now, now, now. Wants every single thing that fell out of disown mouth, the Danny's mouth, rubbing on his skin and his mind like a match, that Danny just lit everywhere, all over him, on purpose.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-23 12:16 pm (UTC)Like he's labeling each piece as his. Because Danny said he was, he wanted...
When his thoughts aren't even that coherent against the groan that wracks out of Danny's chest beneath his fingers and his mouth, while Danny is stil struggling with the cloth, tensing and shaking it with his own growing frustration and distraction under Steve's mouth, and Steve is seriously beginning to consider the necessity of a casualty. Because it would go so fast if he grabbed both sides and just ripped it down Danny's back.
But a wave of relief sags through Danny about the second after that thought and Danny is moving, finally shaking a hand free. An arm, moving to the other, before there's the noise of something being thrown and landing away from them. Somewhere away that Steve doesn't need to be looking, because Danny's hands are on him. There are nails digging across tight muscles, active, muscles making him shiver and stealing his breath, even when he's arching into them for more.
Even if he won't let go. Not really. Not long enough do more than look at Danny's chest, again. And his face, while Danny's getting his hands, his arms as far as they can go right now around Steve. When he's solid and warm, a matching frantic, shoving his face into Steve's skin and making his chest ache with a fierce spike because he didn't do it earlier, but suddenly he's doing it now.
More than those fingers. Hanging on. Hard. Holding. For dear life. Or something like it. Burying himself into, against Steve, in a way he hadn't done when he was blushing, nervous, and painting sentences with a bravery that Steve is not sure he even possesses except like this. Grafted inside his arms, to his chest, trying to choke his ribs, whispering that this is everything and not enough. That Danny wants him. And more.
Wants everything he can do, give, take. Even when it scares him, makes him nervous, sends him somewhere he's never been.
When Steve let's it hit, like a bomb, but doesn't stop. Lets his fingers card up into Danny's hair, from over his throat, almsot like a caress for only the space of something like half a second, before he's pulling Danny back down. By his hair, by his head, needing his skin back, needing to trace further. Keeping hims body a few inches above the cushions, while he keeps going, by the sheer strength of will and no want for Danny to be further, for Steve to have to contort more.
Down more skin, insistent and focus. The valley between his shoulder and his collar bone, the rise of his collar bone itself. The solid mound of muscle that is his pec. The flat of his breast bone. Running soft, half-chapped lips across that skin. Pulling it into his mouth, every second or other second, when he's made it too long ago. Before he needs the tang of salt and the flavor that is only Danny, burning on his tongue, against his stubble, filling his nose.
Like he's trying to find, with any of his senses, where something changed while he hadn't noticed. Going to make it so he can tell every place he's been with a mark, so he can know where every other inch of Danny he still needs under his tongue, in him, pulled up, messed up, torn apart, the way he just did to everything that even exists in Steve.
Setting about bagging and tagging all of it that he gets to, so he knows exactly which inches of Danny still might hold the ember of that elusive, burning truth that was shoved into Steve's body and is thrumming toward an explosion all it own. Dragging his mouth over Danny's nipple next and pulling on it. The taste of skin, and feel of hair against his lips, his tongue, when he's not going any gentler on anything more sensitive. When maybe it's a little harder, even. When he wants to everything, and he wants it now.
Because Danny said. He said so much. Him and his million words, and they are burning Steve alive.
When he's going to drink Danny in, burn Danny down. Fingers hard in his skin, arm muscles tense with the weight but not shaking and Steve needs, wants all of him, now, now, now. Wants every single thing that fell out of disown mouth, the Danny's mouth, rubbing on his skin and his mind like a match, that Danny just lit everywhere, all over him, on purpose.