There are hands on his pants, jerking him forward, closer, closer, never close enough, even when he's blanketing Danny hard into, against a wall, and he's taking stumbling steps he can't see, doesn't give a damn about so long as his boots don't come down hard on Danny's socked feet accidentally. Because nothing matters but the way Danny growling and grumbling at his lips like he's going to push away.
Like Steve is an idiot. Like he can't think. Can't wait. Can't make any sense of anything. Except he can. Because that sound vibrates against his lips, gets lost in his throat, but the only thing Danny does is kiss him back and drag him in. Fighting back. Pulling him down. Demanding they lose even more space. Mouth and fingers doing the exact opposite of pushing him away. There's not even a second's worth of a fight to it. Even when he's shoving words in Steve's teeth, shoving them into his head, and his blood stream.
Making him remember language even exists. Even when there's a laugh shaking his chest, between Danny's chest and his hands up on Steve's shoulder, something like fire-bitten helium bubbling inside his chest, swapping itself with his air, when he's saying, "Never," and, pausing only long enough to sound deliberately, smugly, so damn self-amused and sure, before, "Always," because they'll get there, because it's still working right now, his plan, and because it'll never not to be true.
Even if Danny'd left, that thing, those words, would haunt him and they'd never not be true.
Five feet would be too far away from Danny. The distance between every single set of chairs. The space of breath.
Before Steve pulls himself back. A purposeful step, matching the winded shit eating grin, while he's dragging Danny bodily forward with him, past stairs and feet in the hallways, headed backwards for the door to his bedroom. "Come 'on already. What is it with you and the walls of my house?"
Aside from the fact he looks so damn good against them, and feels even better crowded up against them, still fighting back, and how Steve's mind is glad to come up with at least a half dozen, maybe a dozen more ways, he'd looks amazing plastered against one. The way Steve skin feels like it's never not on fire anymore, finger running against the raise of blood and the sheen of sweat, against every single brush of Danny against him, the high pitched ringing in his head as they get closer and closer.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-28 01:13 am (UTC)Like Steve is an idiot. Like he can't think. Can't wait. Can't make any sense of anything. Except he can. Because that sound vibrates against his lips, gets lost in his throat, but the only thing Danny does is kiss him back and drag him in. Fighting back. Pulling him down. Demanding they lose even more space. Mouth and fingers doing the exact opposite of pushing him away. There's not even a second's worth of a fight to it. Even when he's shoving words in Steve's teeth, shoving them into his head, and his blood stream.
Making him remember language even exists. Even when there's a laugh shaking his chest, between Danny's chest and his hands up on Steve's shoulder, something like fire-bitten helium bubbling inside his chest, swapping itself with his air, when he's saying, "Never," and, pausing only long enough to sound deliberately, smugly, so damn self-amused and sure, before, "Always," because they'll get there, because it's still working right now, his plan, and because it'll never not to be true.
Even if Danny'd left, that thing, those words, would haunt him and they'd never not be true.
Five feet would be too far away from Danny. The distance between every single set of chairs. The space of breath.
Before Steve pulls himself back. A purposeful step, matching the winded shit eating grin, while he's dragging Danny bodily forward with him, past stairs and feet in the hallways, headed backwards for the door to his bedroom. "Come 'on already. What is it with you and the walls of my house?"
Aside from the fact he looks so damn good against them, and feels even better crowded up against them, still fighting back, and how Steve's mind is glad to come up with at least a half dozen, maybe a dozen more ways, he'd looks amazing plastered against one. The way Steve skin feels like it's never not on fire anymore, finger running against the raise of blood and the sheen of sweat, against every single brush of Danny against him, the high pitched ringing in his head as they get closer and closer.