God. It's glorious. The way Danny jerks, and shakes, as much attacking the bed under him as Steve's mouth in his first reaction. When words are literally melting on Danny's tongue. When Steve can make out the first syllable that then falls apart, inconsequential before fisting the blanket and fighting with his pillow. Before letting out these needy, low, wanting, shoved over and through sounds that slam into Steve's ear. Triumphant and burning.
It's harder than he thought, when the night is sharpening down to Danny, not to shove forward. Just push, drag. Milk Danny for the movement he's not giving. For the way he's holding on to the bed and not to Steve. No fingers in his hair or digging into this shoulders as all the closest things Danny can get his hands on. Not thrusting, not desperate, not wrecked and falling apart. Not yet.
When it would be so easy to push this. The dark, low sounds coming out of Danny's mouth and the way his body is shaking already are telling him that. He could push, drag, pull him the whole way like this. It might not even take that long, really. He could keep going, shove him over, make him come. Low and wanting, uncertain of what to call what he wants even. Blow him until those words dissolve even further, into bitten, broken, desperate groans he can't control.
But that isn't Steve wants it. Even when it's there, in his head, under his hands, in his mouth. Even when it's one of his favorite things. Top of the new charts. Not his favorite, but close. Close enough he'd nowhere near tired of it. And he does need it. Has a use for it. But this isn't the point. When Steve can. Use it. Can steady his mouth in a slow downward drop and lift this time, while sliding his free hand from Danny's hip. Down inside his thigh.
Stroking his thumb across the same place where Danny's thighs meets his body, while raising his mouth to the top of him. Tracing with his tongue around the small bumps of his head, while he changes where his hand is entirely. Fingers spreading out under an ass cheek, while his thumb pad made soft, but firm circles and lines across Danny's skin. All of it laid out so close, nothing in his way. Stroking thin, delicate skin, feeling the tingle in his fingers like he was touching straight electric current with each touch.
The rise of muscle, the fall between them, the knot of a circle that he pressed just enough more around the edges. Before he pulling up, popping his mouth off with a purposefully wet, solid sound to it. Smugly, pointed words caking up the darkness. "Were you saying something?"
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It's harder than he thought, when the night is sharpening down to Danny, not to shove forward. Just push, drag. Milk Danny for the movement he's not giving. For the way he's holding on to the bed and not to Steve. No fingers in his hair or digging into this shoulders as all the closest things Danny can get his hands on. Not thrusting, not desperate, not wrecked and falling apart. Not yet.
When it would be so easy to push this. The dark, low sounds coming out of Danny's mouth and the way his body is shaking already are telling him that. He could push, drag, pull him the whole way like this. It might not even take that long, really. He could keep going, shove him over, make him come. Low and wanting, uncertain of what to call what he wants even. Blow him until those words dissolve even further, into bitten, broken, desperate groans he can't control.
But that isn't Steve wants it. Even when it's there, in his head, under his hands, in his mouth. Even when it's one of his favorite things. Top of the new charts. Not his favorite, but close. Close enough he'd nowhere near tired of it. And he does need it. Has a use for it. But this isn't the point. When Steve can. Use it. Can steady his mouth in a slow downward drop and lift this time, while sliding his free hand from Danny's hip. Down inside his thigh.
Stroking his thumb across the same place where Danny's thighs meets his body, while raising his mouth to the top of him. Tracing with his tongue around the small bumps of his head, while he changes where his hand is entirely. Fingers spreading out under an ass cheek, while his thumb pad made soft, but firm circles and lines across Danny's skin. All of it laid out so close, nothing in his way. Stroking thin, delicate skin, feeling the tingle in his fingers like he was touching straight electric current with each touch.
The rise of muscle, the fall between them, the knot of a circle that he pressed just enough more around the edges. Before he pulling up, popping his mouth off with a purposefully wet, solid sound to it. Smugly, pointed words caking up the darkness. "Were you saying something?"