Blah, blah, blah, blah. That is what the rise of Steve's eyebrows are probably saying about Danny and his five million words and complaints falling out, not far from his chest and his mouth, and the way he's still following, even almost falling, but not falling. Except that it's not, too. It's not because there's something disastrously pleased in the hook of his mouth on Danny's shrill use of his full name.
Because Danny looks like sun. When he breaks the surface at dawn, even getting drug further into the shadows, into the dark places of his house, his room. And he wants to kiss this smile until those words dissolve. Until they fracture and shatter, until they're half formed and desperate, until those fingers on his skin are digging in, desperately laying nail bites and fingerprints on him, not like he's a hand hold, but like Steve's the last anchor actually securing Danny to the entire planet.
The answer is already making it up his throat, flash bright and dark as sin, only to get thwarted by Danny suddenly smacking his shoulder and that changing entirely what he's about to say. But then so does Danny. Danny who does not slow down for even the consideration of his shoulder, who's grabbing on to what he can fo Steve's hair and dragging him back in, back down. No words. Just that hiss and then Danny demanding a kiss now.
Fingers sliding in sweat, and digging into the muscles in Danny's shoulders, arm circling him and pulling him close, through a short, but unexpected moan. When he never has time to question how even long enough, before Danny is every single thing in the space of his chest, shoving his heart into his ears, his wrists and pounding pulse points, but everywhere but his chest suddenly. When nothing feels close enough, and everything is so sharp, so hot.
Kissing Danny back like the walls could fall off the whole house and he'd never noticed. Never. Not once. Not compared to this, to Danny. Who tears apart his want to focus on anything. Even Danny. Until he's biting at the bottom of Danny's lip, sucking for air off his mouth, hands sliding down his bac and pushing at Danny's pants and his boxers.
Fingers sliding halfway past both, dragging the loose, hanging fabric with them. "These are done now."
And if he's backing Danny up against his bed at the same time, that's right where he wants it, and him, to be, too.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-28 02:24 am (UTC)Because Danny looks like sun. When he breaks the surface at dawn, even getting drug further into the shadows, into the dark places of his house, his room. And he wants to kiss this smile until those words dissolve. Until they fracture and shatter, until they're half formed and desperate, until those fingers on his skin are digging in, desperately laying nail bites and fingerprints on him, not like he's a hand hold, but like Steve's the last anchor actually securing Danny to the entire planet.
The answer is already making it up his throat, flash bright and dark as sin, only to get thwarted by Danny suddenly smacking his shoulder and that changing entirely what he's about to say. But then so does Danny. Danny who does not slow down for even the consideration of his shoulder, who's grabbing on to what he can fo Steve's hair and dragging him back in, back down. No words. Just that hiss and then Danny demanding a kiss now.
Fingers sliding in sweat, and digging into the muscles in Danny's shoulders, arm circling him and pulling him close, through a short, but unexpected moan. When he never has time to question how even long enough, before Danny is every single thing in the space of his chest, shoving his heart into his ears, his wrists and pounding pulse points, but everywhere but his chest suddenly. When nothing feels close enough, and everything is so sharp, so hot.
Kissing Danny back like the walls could fall off the whole house and he'd never noticed. Never. Not once. Not compared to this, to Danny. Who tears apart his want to focus on anything. Even Danny. Until he's biting at the bottom of Danny's lip, sucking for air off his mouth, hands sliding down his bac and pushing at Danny's pants and his boxers.
Fingers sliding halfway past both, dragging the loose, hanging fabric with them. "These are done now."
And if he's backing Danny up against his bed at the same time, that's right where he wants it, and him, to be, too.