How is he ever supposed to make sense of this. Ever want anything else on the planet. Anything but Danny.
Danny with his Do you want me to go? soft and so bare it's gouged into the bare floors of Steve's head right next to I want it, too, I want you, too. Gouged in a way that will never go. That will still be there, dug in with stronger than a chainsaw and more deadly than a circle of landmines, that will still be there when all the red marks on Danny's skin are a memory.
Somewhere so deep nothing physical or debilitating could compare. Marking him aside, coloring him completely. Putting itself somewhere he can never tear out of his own skin, or Danny's. Something wild and terrifying and permanent.
Lined in the way Danny doesn't pull away, doesn't tell him to stop. Grinding up into Steve's body, leaving him muffling a groan into Danny's skin he can't stop, because he never saw it coming, slamming his body, his chest, and his mouth with the speed of a mac truck going top end, careening. Making him hiss in a sharp breath and have to let go so he doesn't bite down on Danny's skin in shock hard enough to rip it or draw blood.
When. God. He can't even be fiercely annoyed for longer than half a heart beat, because he's rewarded, knocked out, with the sight of Danny with his head thrown back, the faintest sheen of sweat broken out on his skin, catching the low light of the lamps in the room and giving his skin a faint glow. Right up his chest, shadowing into his neck and his jaw, and his face. When Steve is floored by how gorgeous, how impossible.
That Danny wants anything to do with him. Especially tonight. Said all of it now. Still. After. Looks like this because of him. Is holding on to him like the world would shatter and fall apart if he let go of Steve now. Like he's falling apart inside his skin, flush and shining with antagonized patches of skin Steve shouldn't take such a visceral pleasure in, but he's so far beyond guilt or shame for that. He knows where that belongs tonight, and it's not on Danny's skin.
Maybe for caving. Maybe for wanting this more than anything else. More than he even wanted to be Good, to do Right.
But not for leaning into Danny's skin, licking a path up his breast bone to find his mouth again, while his hands are headed for Danny's pants. Tugging at the fabric with quick efficient movements while he's trying not to have to think about that part where he's going to have to move anywhere else to get these pants off Danny. That can wait, everything can wait.
When he's gotten the zipper and button, even with his mouth busy and his unwillingness to move yet from between Danny's legs. When it doesn't involve needing to move, to slip his hand in Danny's boxers without any preamble or introduction until he can get his hand on Danny. When knocking his knuckles against Danny's cock even before he's twisting his wrist to wrap his fingers around it and pull lightly already, is filling and fueling his head with dozens of images he'd never have let creep in this soon, this vividly.
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Danny with his Do you want me to go? soft and so bare it's gouged into the bare floors of Steve's head right next to I want it, too, I want you, too. Gouged in a way that will never go. That will still be there, dug in with stronger than a chainsaw and more deadly than a circle of landmines, that will still be there when all the red marks on Danny's skin are a memory.
Somewhere so deep nothing physical or debilitating could compare. Marking him aside, coloring him completely.
Putting itself somewhere he can never tear out of his own skin, or Danny's. Something wild and terrifying and permanent.
Lined in the way Danny doesn't pull away, doesn't tell him to stop. Grinding up into Steve's body, leaving him muffling a groan into Danny's skin he can't stop, because he never saw it coming, slamming his body, his chest, and his mouth with the speed of a mac truck going top end, careening. Making him hiss in a sharp breath and have to let go so he doesn't bite down on Danny's skin in shock hard enough to rip it or draw blood.
When. God. He can't even be fiercely annoyed for longer than half a heart beat, because he's rewarded, knocked out, with the sight of Danny with his head thrown back, the faintest sheen of sweat broken out on his skin, catching the low light of the lamps in the room and giving his skin a faint glow. Right up his chest, shadowing into his neck and his jaw, and his face. When Steve is floored by how gorgeous, how impossible.
That Danny wants anything to do with him. Especially tonight. Said all of it now. Still. After. Looks like this because of him. Is holding on to him like the world would shatter and fall apart if he let go of Steve now. Like he's falling apart inside his skin, flush and shining with antagonized patches of skin Steve shouldn't take such a visceral pleasure in, but he's so far beyond guilt or shame for that. He knows where that belongs tonight, and it's not on Danny's skin.
Maybe for caving. Maybe for wanting this more than anything else. More than he even wanted to be Good, to do Right.
But not for leaning into Danny's skin, licking a path up his breast bone to find his mouth again, while his hands are headed for Danny's pants. Tugging at the fabric with quick efficient movements while he's trying not to have to think about that part where he's going to have to move anywhere else to get these pants off Danny. That can wait, everything can wait.
When he's gotten the zipper and button, even with his mouth busy and his unwillingness to move yet from between Danny's legs. When it doesn't involve needing to move, to slip his hand in Danny's boxers without any preamble or introduction until he can get his hand on Danny. When knocking his knuckles against Danny's cock even before he's twisting his wrist to wrap his fingers around it and pull lightly already, is filling and fueling his head with dozens of images he'd never have let creep in this soon, this vividly.