The hand on his back should not actually surprise him in the slightest, but somehow it does. The shove followed by the fist of his pants, doesn't, even when that ends up both sending him forward and half keeping him from doing it is even more amusing in some ways. If amusing is even the word to use. When they're getting back away from the lights he's left on again toward dark hallways, and nearly there.
When Danny's fingers on him, manhandling him, like he always does. Like Steve isn't taller, larger, heavier, better trained. Like he's baiting exactly what happens. The stumble across the last few steps. The way Steve's hand catches on Danny's forearm and uses his own shoved momentum to drag Danny toward him, throwing his own strength into the already useful movement and pulling Danny directly into running into him. His chest.
Tangling his the fingers of his free hand into Danny's hair and dipping his head in to find Danny's mouth. Even when he hasn't given up steps. Walking and jogging backwards, except that by that second, the thought is a little, okay, a lot, in flames on Danny lips. On the taste of his tongue, And the wall is just there. And it's too easy to use it. Too hard not to push Danny into it, push himself back into Danny. Prove that one of them is better built for this game.
To kiss Danny, and let his other hand get to Danny's hip, fingers, knuckles, smacking the wall, but not caring. Not giving a damn about anything else in the world, especially not his fingers or the wall, or even the other twenty feet, through the door and to the be, when he's kissing Danny's lips and letting his fingers dig in against Danny's muscles. Running his hand back between Danny's back and the wall, getting the his palm flat into the small of Danny's back.
Kissing his head back against the wall, without cease, at the same time as he's pulling Danny closer by his stomach and his hips, flush tight against him. Like nothing is close enough, nothing will be, even getting this close, having an idea turning the liquid in his veins from blood to lighter fluid waiting for a spark, is too long for this second.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-27 07:06 pm (UTC)When Danny's fingers on him, manhandling him, like he always does. Like Steve isn't taller, larger, heavier, better trained. Like he's baiting exactly what happens. The stumble across the last few steps. The way Steve's hand catches on Danny's forearm and uses his own shoved momentum to drag Danny toward him, throwing his own strength into the already useful movement and pulling Danny directly into running into him. His chest.
Tangling his the fingers of his free hand into Danny's hair and dipping his head in to find Danny's mouth. Even when he hasn't given up steps. Walking and jogging backwards, except that by that second, the thought is a little, okay, a lot, in flames on Danny lips. On the taste of his tongue, And the wall is just there. And it's too easy to use it. Too hard not to push Danny into it, push himself back into Danny. Prove that one of them is better built for this game.
To kiss Danny, and let his other hand get to Danny's hip, fingers, knuckles, smacking the wall, but not caring. Not giving a damn about anything else in the world, especially not his fingers or the wall, or even the other twenty feet, through the door and to the be, when he's kissing Danny's lips and letting his fingers dig in against Danny's muscles. Running his hand back between Danny's back and the wall, getting the his palm flat into the small of Danny's back.
Kissing his head back against the wall, without cease, at the same time as he's pulling Danny closer by his stomach and his hips, flush tight against him. Like nothing is close enough, nothing will be, even getting this close, having an idea turning the liquid in his veins from blood to lighter fluid waiting for a spark, is too long for this second.