It's a clash of sensation and roughness. Not like a fight, but like the message is there that one would be put up. But why would he ever fight this? Why would anyone? How could anyone have walked away from it? Danny's body colliding with his, and the very little give of the bed, with a hiss.
Like the act was something trying to melt his spine straight up.
Quick silver and heated brands taking the place of any bones that had been there running the ramrod of his back and neck. Dissolving into the grip into Danny's arm and the leg catching over behind one of Danny's knees even as Steve was still dragging them both back across another foot or two of the bed.
A feat of epic proportion when Danny's fingers are fisting his hair and Danny is kissing him like it is life or death, and Steve's mouth need never doubt it. Nothing else would be good enough. Would be allowed to touch him. Again. Ever again. How that thought against the fierceness of kiss makes so he can't shiver or go too still. He's too busy kissing back. Too busy, hands firming down Danny's shoulders. His ribs.
It doesn't stop. Of course, it doesn't. He doesn't want it to. Wants to be burned alive by this. Every bit of Danny's messy, unnecessary reaction. When there are lips and teeth brushing, sucking against his throat causing him to shudder and jerk up against Danny with a groan if his name not buried enough in all that hair brushing his chin and cheek now.
Finding the small of his back and pulling him close. Like all of his wasn't. Nothing was. The blisters of light. The promise of it. Everything he wanted was right here, and there was nothing to hold him back. From touching him. Kissing him. Thrusting up against Danny. His skin, his stomach.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2012-12-06 06:46 pm (UTC)Like the act was something trying to melt his spine straight up.
Quick silver and heated brands taking the place of any bones that had been there running the ramrod of his back and neck. Dissolving into the grip into Danny's arm and the leg catching over behind one of Danny's knees even as Steve was still dragging them both back across another foot or two of the bed.
A feat of epic proportion when Danny's fingers are fisting his hair and Danny is kissing him like it is life or death, and Steve's mouth need never doubt it. Nothing else would be good enough. Would be allowed to touch him. Again. Ever again. How that thought against the fierceness of kiss makes so he can't shiver or go too still. He's too busy kissing back. Too busy, hands firming down Danny's shoulders. His ribs.
It doesn't stop. Of course, it doesn't. He doesn't want it to. Wants to be burned alive by this. Every bit of Danny's messy, unnecessary reaction. When there are lips and teeth brushing, sucking against his throat causing him to shudder and jerk up against Danny with a groan if his name not buried enough in all that hair brushing his chin and cheek now.
Finding the small of his back and pulling him close. Like all of his wasn't. Nothing was. The blisters of light. The promise of it. Everything he wanted was right here, and there was nothing to hold him back. From touching him. Kissing him. Thrusting up against Danny. His skin, his stomach.