Steve's always heavy, but he's especially huge and immovable when he's been smacked over the head like this, unable to make his arms and legs do anything but collapse, a human landslide burying him against the bed.
It's kind of nice. He's adrift on the floating, comfortable waves of total relaxation, and after he pries his fingers open and slides them clumsily out from between the two of them, riding out the unpleasant shock of too much sensation and the way they make him jerk and twitch, he slips back into it without effort. Eyes closed. The air in the room soft and thick as cotton. Smelling like salt and sex and Steve. Sweat sticking between their bodies, bellies pressed together, matting coarse chest hair, cooling on his forehead, neck, shoulders.
The descent of silence. No more rush and push of breath, rustle of sheets, the pounding roar in his head, thundering pulse.
Just quiet. It's almost peaceful, would be, were he not starting to feel the discomfort of this, now that he's not caught up in a tidal rip of sensation and momentum. He grunts, low, and deep in his chest, protesting, edges his hips away from Steve's hand, which...feels weird. Still.
Even weirder, now that there's nothing to distract from the weirdness of it, and he'd appreciate it just, not. Existing anymore. So he can relax, and become one with the mattress, like Steve's weight is slowly threatening him with.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-06-05 08:02 pm (UTC)Steve's always heavy, but he's especially huge and immovable when he's been smacked over the head like this, unable to make his arms and legs do anything but collapse, a human landslide burying him against the bed.
It's kind of nice. He's adrift on the floating, comfortable waves of total relaxation, and after he pries his fingers open and slides them clumsily out from between the two of them, riding out the unpleasant shock of too much sensation and the way they make him jerk and twitch, he slips back into it without effort. Eyes closed. The air in the room soft and thick as cotton. Smelling like salt and sex and Steve. Sweat sticking between their bodies, bellies pressed together, matting coarse chest hair, cooling on his forehead, neck, shoulders.
The descent of silence. No more rush and push of breath, rustle of sheets, the pounding roar in his head, thundering pulse.
Just quiet. It's almost peaceful, would be, were he not starting to feel the discomfort of this, now that he's not caught up in a tidal rip of sensation and momentum. He grunts, low, and deep in his chest, protesting, edges his hips away from Steve's hand, which...feels weird. Still.
Even weirder, now that there's nothing to distract from the weirdness of it, and he'd appreciate it just, not. Existing anymore. So he can relax, and become one with the mattress, like Steve's weight is slowly threatening him with.