There's something more. He knows that. Knows that when Danny's is pausing in a way that continues to leave him there, breathing, a little too suddenly higher strung while Danny is looking at other things. His hand holding down Steve's wrist. When he doesn't know why or what for. And it goes just about when Steve's throat finally is shoving itself together enough to swallow, about to ask.
But that's when Danny moves again. Weight lifts, fingers trailing down, around his wrist. Gentler. Normal. Fingers ringing his skin, before just as suddenly they let go and Danny is leaning back up. Hand smothering the skin on one side of his face, acros his ear, and into his hair, Danny mouth against his. Then, those words. Those words that land with something that is both mad pride and a too sharp pain, before Danny is kissing him.
Drawing a sound out of his chest, trapped on his lips, when he's kissing Danny back, that other hand sliding in against the small of Danny's back, covering and holding, while Danny keeps moving and shifting. While it feels like something is happening, with Danny, back behind his hands and his words and his deliberate kiss, something he might be missing.
Which feels misshapen and unsettling, moving in under his skin in the spaces where there are already bones and muscles, fitting in at the wrong angles under it all. But wanting to know, even when Danny keeps moving. Almost manic suddenly after the moment of tension, weight and stillness. Suddenly, his hand is coasting everywhere and
It's distracting, in a way that could be tuned out. But how could he, why would he, would it even be possible. Danny fingers drawing light and fire across his skin. Causing his chest to cave in without air when he's tracing over sensitive skin, making the inside of Steve ache and throb in response. When he wants.
He wants to drag Danny down, fingers in his hair, mouths tangled and hot, skin sliding never close enough, never fast enough, racing for disaster. But Danny is tracing his skin. Slow and specific. Like someone something is trapped there, stealing all his focus. His chest and his stomach, down across the planes of everything. Cuts into muscle and the spaces beside the raise of bones.
But. Danny is looking down at him. Steve's body. Danny's own hand. Like what?
Like somehow it's different? Like somehow he's changed since the night before last?
When Steve doesn't even know what question it is he's asking when he asking, only that he is, forehead furrowing lines, because he knows his partner, his focus, even if not why or how or what. The way's Danny William's pauses or fixates on things.
When the smallest too long silence, or lack of movement means something is going on, even in the car, during a normal day. He's had so long to watch him. Know him. So it slips out quiet, and little side ways, like a check-in. "Danny?"
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2012-12-07 12:47 pm (UTC)But that's when Danny moves again. Weight lifts, fingers trailing down, around his wrist. Gentler. Normal. Fingers ringing his skin, before just as suddenly they let go and Danny is leaning back up. Hand smothering the skin on one side of his face, acros his ear, and into his hair, Danny mouth against his. Then, those words. Those words that land with something that is both mad pride and a too sharp pain, before Danny is kissing him.
Drawing a sound out of his chest, trapped on his lips, when he's kissing Danny back, that other hand sliding in against the small of Danny's back, covering and holding, while Danny keeps moving and shifting. While it feels like something is happening, with Danny, back behind his hands and his words and his deliberate kiss, something he might be missing.
Which feels misshapen and unsettling, moving in under his skin in the spaces where there are already bones and muscles, fitting in at the wrong angles under it all. But wanting to know, even when Danny keeps moving. Almost manic suddenly after the moment of tension, weight and stillness. Suddenly, his hand is coasting everywhere and
It's distracting, in a way that could be tuned out. But how could he, why would he, would it even be possible. Danny fingers drawing light and fire across his skin. Causing his chest to cave in without air when he's tracing over sensitive skin, making the inside of Steve ache and throb in response. When he wants.
He wants to drag Danny down, fingers in his hair, mouths tangled and hot, skin sliding never close enough, never fast enough, racing for disaster. But Danny is tracing his skin. Slow and specific. Like someone something is trapped there, stealing all his focus. His chest and his stomach, down across the planes of everything. Cuts into muscle and the spaces beside the raise of bones.
But. Danny is looking down at him. Steve's body. Danny's own hand. Like what?
Like somehow it's different? Like somehow he's changed since the night before last?
When Steve doesn't even know what question it is he's asking when he asking, only that he is, forehead furrowing lines, because he knows his partner, his focus, even if not why or how or what. The way's Danny William's pauses or fixates on things.
When the smallest too long silence, or lack of movement means something is going on, even in the car, during a normal day. He's had so long to watch him. Know him. So it slips out quiet, and little side ways, like a check-in. "Danny?"