Words. They exist somewhere. He knows they do. Somewhere beyond his current inability to find them.
It's not quite up to what Steve was talking about, before. He hasn't lost the ability to speak, hasn't forgotten how to make words, push them into the air; he's just got a few other things on his plate, like struggling with his body's contradictory impulses to make this stop and get more of it all at the same time.
Hips shifting, legs moving awkwardly, trying to find the best spot, the one hitched up by Steve's hip trembling slightly with the effort of staying there. Muscles he'd never even considered, starting to ache from a combination of tension and trying to stay in the best position -- whatever that might be.
And then Steve's hand is moving, finger harder and faster, and even if it isn't mind-blowing, even if he's too tense and too uncertain to just lay back and enjoy it, it feels good, better than he expected, and he can feel himself loosening up, allowing it, the slick-slide of lube making things easier, erasing any fear of dry rubbing friction, and, okay. It's just one finger, but that's one more than he's ever had there before and he feels like he's doing pretty well with the whole not-freaking-out-about-gay-sex thing, all things considered.
"It's a good start," he tosses back, finally, hand going to Steve's jaw and dragging him in for a kiss, open-mouthed, wet and clumsy, and it's maybe to hide the way his breathing is getting shorter, shallower, and maybe it's because this is a touchstone. Steve's mouth. Steve's breath, and smile, and the triumphant smirk on Steve's face that Danny can't even try to wipe away, because, all right, this is pretty amazing. Isn't it?
Of everything he ever thought would never happen, this is right at the top of the list.
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It's not quite up to what Steve was talking about, before. He hasn't lost the ability to speak, hasn't forgotten how to make words, push them into the air; he's just got a few other things on his plate, like struggling with his body's contradictory impulses to make this stop and get more of it all at the same time.
Hips shifting, legs moving awkwardly, trying to find the best spot, the one hitched up by Steve's hip trembling slightly with the effort of staying there. Muscles he'd never even considered, starting to ache from a combination of tension and trying to stay in the best position -- whatever that might be.
And then Steve's hand is moving, finger harder and faster, and even if it isn't mind-blowing, even if he's too tense and too uncertain to just lay back and enjoy it, it feels good, better than he expected, and he can feel himself loosening up, allowing it, the slick-slide of lube making things easier, erasing any fear of dry rubbing friction, and, okay. It's just one finger, but that's one more than he's ever had there before and he feels like he's doing pretty well with the whole not-freaking-out-about-gay-sex thing, all things considered.
"It's a good start," he tosses back, finally, hand going to Steve's jaw and dragging him in for a kiss, open-mouthed, wet and clumsy, and it's maybe to hide the way his breathing is getting shorter, shallower, and maybe it's because this is a touchstone. Steve's mouth. Steve's breath, and smile, and the triumphant smirk on Steve's face that Danny can't even try to wipe away, because, all right, this is pretty amazing. Isn't it?
Of everything he ever thought would never happen, this is right at the top of the list.