The largest leaps and bounds Steve's made has been to shut off the TV, and Danny's pretty sure he was about three seconds away from just throwing the remote at the thing and hoping it would hit the right button, or maybe knock the television off the stand altogether.
The silence is blissful, though, even while it highlights the ringing in Danny's ears, the galloping clumsy beat of blood in his head, rushing through his body in an insane torrent. "Who's the one still on top of who, here?"
Though Steve is starting to move, letting cool air flood between them, allowing Danny to breathe again, head back against the couch cushion, face flushed, licking at his lip and tasting Steve there, eyes heavy-lidded and lazy, blown dark and fevered. Steve's hand at his pants isn't helping, they're both more than half undone, and there's a flash of skin past Steve's boxers that Danny's eyes zero in on, impossible to decide whether he wants to reach and tuck Steve back into some semblance of neatness before this whole plan goes up in smoke and flames, or if he just wants to say fuck it and get rid of those pants, those boxers, right here and right now.
Except Danny can't take his eyes off Steve's face when he looks back up. It was a tactical error, looking at Steve, because now he's struck, blinded; light's shining off Steve like someone hit a switch and decided the sun should rise early, right here in Steve's living room. Mouth laughing, eyes crinkling, shined up like Christmas, like the Fourth of July, like every present Danny ever wanted and never got, handed to him on a silver platter.
Christ. He's so fucking beautiful. How is anybody supposed to say no, how is Danny supposed to do anything but go where that hand is tugging him, his own palms finding the couch instead of Steve's skin, pushing him up to sitting, unable to get further while Steve's still on his legs, still tangled up in him, a freaking octopus with control issues and a significant body weight advantage. "Get off me, you natural disaster. This is like fooling around with a giant squid, Jesus, you are a sea creature, you could guest star in Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, how am I supposed to move anywhere with you all over me, huh?"
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The largest leaps and bounds Steve's made has been to shut off the TV, and Danny's pretty sure he was about three seconds away from just throwing the remote at the thing and hoping it would hit the right button, or maybe knock the television off the stand altogether.
The silence is blissful, though, even while it highlights the ringing in Danny's ears, the galloping clumsy beat of blood in his head, rushing through his body in an insane torrent. "Who's the one still on top of who, here?"
Though Steve is starting to move, letting cool air flood between them, allowing Danny to breathe again, head back against the couch cushion, face flushed, licking at his lip and tasting Steve there, eyes heavy-lidded and lazy, blown dark and fevered. Steve's hand at his pants isn't helping, they're both more than half undone, and there's a flash of skin past Steve's boxers that Danny's eyes zero in on, impossible to decide whether he wants to reach and tuck Steve back into some semblance of neatness before this whole plan goes up in smoke and flames, or if he just wants to say fuck it and get rid of those pants, those boxers, right here and right now.
Except Danny can't take his eyes off Steve's face when he looks back up. It was a tactical error, looking at Steve, because now he's struck, blinded; light's shining off Steve like someone hit a switch and decided the sun should rise early, right here in Steve's living room. Mouth laughing, eyes crinkling, shined up like Christmas, like the Fourth of July, like every present Danny ever wanted and never got, handed to him on a silver platter.
Christ. He's so fucking beautiful. How is anybody supposed to say no, how is Danny supposed to do anything but go where that hand is tugging him, his own palms finding the couch instead of Steve's skin, pushing him up to sitting, unable to get further while Steve's still on his legs, still tangled up in him, a freaking octopus with control issues and a significant body weight advantage. "Get off me, you natural disaster. This is like fooling around with a giant squid, Jesus, you are a sea creature, you could guest star in Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, how am I supposed to move anywhere with you all over me, huh?"