At least the boots go. A second thud following the first. Forgotten about as quickly as they can be.
The same as the only reason he'd need to put them on this evening. He doesn't want to think about that again now.
Focused on the movement of letting himself reach up from over his feet toward his own hips, grabbing and shoving boxer fabric, all in once bunch within his fingers. Catch what he can of his pants, at one knee and half-way down a calf on the other side. Pulling his feet out and the cloth up, bunched in a hand and thrown half haphazardly toward the closet door. He'll get to it later, or if he's lucky, in the morning. While it's still dark and Danny's sleeping.
"Seriously? I'm the hassle?" Steve gave him a look he felt could permeate even the oily oblivion of pitch darkness. Which this wasn't. It wasn't dark enough you couldn't see. It wasn't dark enough he could make out the line of Danny's body. The steady taper of his thighs and the wall, the expanse of his chest, his wide, steady set of his shoulders, the way his eyes reflected just enough even in the shadow.
"You-" And for a second Steve can't even make that word thick enough, deep enough. Can't touch, make words attach to it when he's clambering on to his bed. Chasing the shadow of Danny, like is any world, any place he wouldn't follow Danny, wouldn't be bound and shackled and have to go. When right this second it has nothing to do with being bound and shackled and having. Its about wanting.
Wanting so badly it feels like every inch of his skin is against him. Is a knife slamming into the door he's holding back with ever thought, his whole weight, right behind the only tattered pieces cool and patience? he has left. Shaking his head, when he's got his weight on his knees and he's not at all aimed for Danny's side, or any higher up on the bed. Settles between Danny's calves and is already leaning down. Fingers catching under Danny's knee and pulling it up.
Burying the words in brushing his mouth against the inside of Danny's leg right above his knee. "-are going to drive me insane."
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The same as the only reason he'd need to put them on this evening. He doesn't want to think about that again now.
Focused on the movement of letting himself reach up from over his feet toward his own hips, grabbing and shoving boxer fabric, all in once bunch within his fingers. Catch what he can of his pants, at one knee and half-way down a calf on the other side. Pulling his feet out and the cloth up, bunched in a hand and thrown half haphazardly toward the closet door. He'll get to it later, or if he's lucky, in the morning. While it's still dark and Danny's sleeping.
"Seriously? I'm the hassle?" Steve gave him a look he felt could permeate even the oily oblivion of pitch darkness. Which this wasn't. It wasn't dark enough you couldn't see. It wasn't dark enough he could make out the line of Danny's body. The steady taper of his thighs and the wall, the expanse of his chest, his wide, steady set of his shoulders, the way his eyes reflected just enough even in the shadow.
"You-" And for a second Steve can't even make that word thick enough, deep enough. Can't touch, make words attach to it when he's clambering on to his bed. Chasing the shadow of Danny, like is any world, any place he wouldn't follow Danny, wouldn't be bound and shackled and have to go. When right this second it has nothing to do with being bound and shackled and having. Its about wanting.
Wanting so badly it feels like every inch of his skin is against him. Is a knife slamming into the door he's holding back with ever thought, his whole weight, right behind the only tattered pieces cool and patience? he has left. Shaking his head, when he's got his weight on his knees and he's not at all aimed for Danny's side, or any higher up on the bed. Settles between Danny's calves and is already leaning down. Fingers catching under Danny's knee and pulling it up.
Burying the words in brushing his mouth against the inside of Danny's leg right above his knee. "-are going to drive me insane."