Those two words fall like stones. Like a match on a pool of gasoline that's already boiling.Because he could. Because it would be so easy. Because he wants to so much more than he wants to do anything else. Especially when Danny is goading him, and he knows he's goading him for so much less. Because that order, that challenge is coming out on the tension radiating through Danny's body. Making it highlight the need to keep going, to make it work, to make it right.
To not force every single thing that Steve possibly could. Wants to, more than breathing. Is waiting to even have the faintest chance of getting at if he doesn't mess this up. Even when he's hazarding, like he's harrying Danny, a threat that is as much a promise as any other words that had come out of his mouth, ever. "That is the point."
When Steve is nowhere near giving up or considering stopping. Even if it was just prep for more, in any other thing, it takes time. Well. When you aren't just deciding to throw it all to the wall and slam right past it. Which does have it's own pitfalls and amazing points both. Things he's thinking of and trying to cast aside. At least for today. At least until Danny's past this. Chiding the universe on breaking him of the whole idea, rule, thing, of no one brand new.
It's pushing against the muscles suddenly torn between tensing up on his finger, around it, and trying to relax. All in series of movements he can't help but feel. Pulling in and out, as much to manipulate the muscle as to get lube on the inside. To make the friction less and the traction for movement more, when he's past his first knuckle, pulling back and then pushing forward for his second. Not stopping. Dragging his finger, back and forth working at skin he can't see. Only feel this way.
Pushing against tense, confused, resistant muscle. Swallowing through a dry throat and empty lungs. That way he feels like hard is a sensation that left his own body behind an hour ago. Underestimation of where it is now, what he is now. Every part of him keyed to the claustrophobic feeling of being swallowed whole going on around his finger, to there, that want for it to be around him. This friction. This movement. The way he can tell each time it gets marginally easier to move. Further forward or to the sides, to pull back and push back in.
When more of his palm is ending up closer, flatter, flush against Danny's skin. When he can start trying to angle up. To dig back against muscle. To find the the right place to hit just that much harder, firmer. Considering already if he should be moving on to two fingers, even as he keeps going, picking up his speed instead.
no subject
To not force every single thing that Steve possibly could. Wants to, more than breathing. Is waiting to even have the faintest chance of getting at if he doesn't mess this up. Even when he's hazarding, like he's harrying Danny, a threat that is as much a promise as any other words that had come out of his mouth, ever. "That is the point."
When Steve is nowhere near giving up or considering stopping. Even if it was just prep for more, in any other thing, it takes time. Well. When you aren't just deciding to throw it all to the wall and slam right past it. Which does have it's own pitfalls and amazing points both. Things he's thinking of and trying to cast aside. At least for today. At least until Danny's past this. Chiding the universe on breaking him of the whole idea, rule, thing, of no one brand new.
It's pushing against the muscles suddenly torn between tensing up on his finger, around it, and trying to relax. All in series of movements he can't help but feel. Pulling in and out, as much to manipulate the muscle as to get lube on the inside. To make the friction less and the traction for movement more, when he's past his first knuckle, pulling back and then pushing forward for his second. Not stopping. Dragging his finger, back and forth working at skin he can't see. Only feel this way.
Pushing against tense, confused, resistant muscle. Swallowing through a dry throat and empty lungs. That way he feels like hard is a sensation that left his own body behind an hour ago. Underestimation of where it is now, what he is now. Every part of him keyed to the claustrophobic feeling of being swallowed whole going on around his finger, to there, that want for it to be around him. This friction. This movement. The way he can tell each time it gets marginally easier to move. Further forward or to the sides, to pull back and push back in.
When more of his palm is ending up closer, flatter, flush against Danny's skin. When he can start trying to angle up. To dig back against muscle. To find the the right place to hit just that much harder, firmer. Considering already if he should be moving on to two fingers, even as he keeps going, picking up his speed instead.