One sock down, seconds later Steve was on to the other shoe. Having to switch which hand where was on Danny, the way Danny was at his hip. His other hand having to slow until there are just fingers, against his waist, against his stomach, drifting, skin throbbing from touch only seconds ago, from the friction of cotton and cargo. Making him yank the laces a little harder and faster on this side.
Steve may have snorted with a shake of his head at Danny's talk of the pool table. It wasn't like they'd done anything near people. The closest they came to anything was those moments when Danny seemed to forget -- maybe that they were in public or that there had to be some space -- and would lean on him suddenly. But making him go hard still and list. When Steve wouldn't react, or at least wouldn't reach out. And Danny went on like it was all normal.
Something Steve have down in facts and details. But then there is a better example.
Fingers digging into his hip and teeth bared in against his skin all at once, sending his heart bouncing around wildly, while making him chuckle. Even if that chuckle flipped fast. Fingers tightening on laces and Danny's skin, Steve's half contorted body pressing up into the Danny. Trying to get down with his shoes, but stalled a second pressing in against Danny.
Wanting more, even if it was electricity threatening to fry his sanity, in the pursuit of a subject that had already proven it could totally take Danny's.
Cute was not the word he would have used for it. Fingers and teeth. Like Steve might somehow swap Danny with a girl somehow. Here. In his bedroom, half dressed, wanting Danny hand back where it had been, wanting so much more than that against the way all of Danny's grip shifted.
The second shoe barely dropping before Danny was jerking him from where he was, thrusting them both toward the bed, like it was suddenly a mission, backed by the sudden reemergence of his annoyance. It shouldn't drive him crazy, it shouldn't make his blood rush. But it does. Fuck but it does.
He wants to grab Danny and kiss the jealous, smarting word right off his tongue, suck up every sparking annoyance.
When Steve really probably shouldn't, but he can't help it, knowing it's for far more than smart mouthing right back about who is to blame for bringing them into the bed, same as who brought them into their night at all "You were the one that brought them up, Danny."
It's totally true. Beyond. Danny did. And Steve's totally pointing it out. Mouth trying to press flat, but it's not working. There's a sharp, dangerous and dangerously pleased, smile trying to break out, as he's shoving back Danny's shirt. Across his shoulders, down across his biceps, because that needs to get the hell out already. Then, his hands dropping to Danny's pants. Pulling at his belt as Danny was shoving him back until his calves hit his bed.
no subject
Steve may have snorted with a shake of his head at Danny's talk of the pool table. It wasn't like they'd done anything near people. The closest they came to anything was those moments when Danny seemed to forget -- maybe that they were in public or that there had to be some space -- and would lean on him suddenly. But making him go hard still and list. When Steve wouldn't react, or at least wouldn't reach out. And Danny went on like it was all normal.
Something Steve have down in facts and details. But then there is a better example.
Fingers digging into his hip and teeth bared in against his skin all at once, sending his heart bouncing around wildly, while making him chuckle. Even if that chuckle flipped fast. Fingers tightening on laces and Danny's skin, Steve's half contorted body pressing up into the Danny. Trying to get down with his shoes, but stalled a second pressing in against Danny.
Wanting more, even if it was electricity threatening to fry his sanity, in the pursuit of a subject that had already proven it could totally take Danny's.
Cute was not the word he would have used for it. Fingers and teeth. Like Steve might somehow swap Danny with a girl somehow. Here. In his bedroom, half dressed, wanting Danny hand back where it had been, wanting so much more than that against the way all of Danny's grip shifted.
The second shoe barely dropping before Danny was jerking him from where he was, thrusting them both toward the bed, like it was suddenly a mission, backed by the sudden reemergence of his annoyance. It shouldn't drive him crazy, it shouldn't make his blood rush. But it does. Fuck but it does.
He wants to grab Danny and kiss the jealous, smarting word right off his tongue, suck up every sparking annoyance.
When Steve really probably shouldn't, but he can't help it, knowing it's for far more than smart mouthing right back about who is to blame for bringing them into the bed, same as who brought them into their night at all "You were the one that brought them up, Danny."
It's totally true. Beyond. Danny did. And Steve's totally pointing it out. Mouth trying to press flat, but it's not working. There's a sharp, dangerous and dangerously pleased, smile trying to break out, as he's shoving back Danny's shirt. Across his shoulders, down across his biceps, because that needs to get the hell out already. Then, his hands dropping to Danny's pants. Pulling at his belt as Danny was shoving him back until his calves hit his bed.