Of course, there's a flaw in this plan, this half agreed upon plan to get off the couch, go upstairs, and lose the rest of their clothes, which is that in order to get there, he has to let go of Steve, and Steve has to let go of him.
It's not an appealing thought, for a number of reasons. First, naturally, his mind and body both rebel at the idea of actively letting go and stepping away from Steve, like they would at the thought of leaving a campfire on a snowy night to wander the cold woods alone and freezing. Secondly, all this momentum comes to a screeching halt, and while that might not be such a bad thing -- he's seen how Steve does with stopping once he's gotten started, the guy's like a hurricane that just keeps feeding itself -- it's going to feel a little like stepping into an ice-cold shower.
The hand he's got around Steve squeezes, and lets go, reluctant, slides up the clutched muscles of Steve's stomach, along the biceps of the arm that's currently halfway down Danny's pants, a fingertip there pressing closer now, striking nervous fires into life. It's not immediate, intense good like it is when Steve's got that hand wrapped around him, pulling and stroking, dragging insanity into his bloodstream, but it's not bad, either.
He wonders what it'll be like with no clothes in the way, when they're not lying on their sides, when there's all the room in the world to lie out and open up, a though that heats his face, spreads a slow feverish flush through his chest. Having Steve. Having all of Steve, which as a concept is both terrifying and exhilarating, shouldn't be possible, should definitely not be available, and yet here it is. Steve. With that dragged-out, scraped-out voice, and thinly disguised want that sounds a whole lot like need. Faintly distracted, like he's already three steps ahead of Danny, considering what comes next, after pants are gone and they have room to do this without breaking any furniture or pulling any muscles.
"This movie's always on replay, anyway."
As if the movie matters. As if either of them were even paying attention to it to begin with.
no subject
Of course, there's a flaw in this plan, this half agreed upon plan to get off the couch, go upstairs, and lose the rest of their clothes, which is that in order to get there, he has to let go of Steve, and Steve has to let go of him.
It's not an appealing thought, for a number of reasons. First, naturally, his mind and body both rebel at the idea of actively letting go and stepping away from Steve, like they would at the thought of leaving a campfire on a snowy night to wander the cold woods alone and freezing. Secondly, all this momentum comes to a screeching halt, and while that might not be such a bad thing -- he's seen how Steve does with stopping once he's gotten started, the guy's like a hurricane that just keeps feeding itself -- it's going to feel a little like stepping into an ice-cold shower.
The hand he's got around Steve squeezes, and lets go, reluctant, slides up the clutched muscles of Steve's stomach, along the biceps of the arm that's currently halfway down Danny's pants, a fingertip there pressing closer now, striking nervous fires into life. It's not immediate, intense good like it is when Steve's got that hand wrapped around him, pulling and stroking, dragging insanity into his bloodstream, but it's not bad, either.
He wonders what it'll be like with no clothes in the way, when they're not lying on their sides, when there's all the room in the world to lie out and open up, a though that heats his face, spreads a slow feverish flush through his chest. Having Steve. Having all of Steve, which as a concept is both terrifying and exhilarating, shouldn't be possible, should definitely not be available, and yet here it is. Steve. With that dragged-out, scraped-out voice, and thinly disguised want that sounds a whole lot like need. Faintly distracted, like he's already three steps ahead of Danny, considering what comes next, after pants are gone and they have room to do this without breaking any furniture or pulling any muscles.
"This movie's always on replay, anyway."
As if the movie matters. As if either of them were even paying attention to it to begin with.