The words practically doing the job for him. Coming out rough-edged, like a battered piece of metal. On the edge of a groan, fingers wrapping around Steve's arm, sliding over warm skin like he owns it. Because Steve is a jerk, and a smartass, and he's been teasing Danny all night, acting like coming back here with him was the only realistic option. Or, no. The only option.
Like everything else just never even crossed his mind.
So he can pay, a little, though anything else that might have been tossed at his head, like playing cards he can brush off, evaporates into brilliancy and the sharp blade of sensation, Steve's mouth striking lighting into that spot. Making Danny's back curve, pushing up, looking for more, harder, like Steve's got the ability to just wipe his mind clean of words, his body of all willpower. Anything but the want for him, his hands, his mouth, his skin under Danny's fingers and lips. The weight of him, pinning Danny down. Long legs and arms tangling so inexorably it's like they'll never get free of each other.
And Danny's regretting ever taking his hand off Steve, away from making his muscles shiver and his eyes close, but he can't help but want this, too, make it his, let everything from the night just go, because Steve's right about one thing, he loves this, all of it, every part of it, and Steve's right about something more, too: that he was jealous, green in the face, temperamental elephants stampeding through his head.
But jealous doesn't even begin to cover the way he'd guard against anyone trying to take this away. God help the person who tries, it's his, and so few things are, and it's too much to ask, but he wants Steve to be one of them, which is terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and Steve is still massacring his ability to think straight. Which is probably for the best.
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The words practically doing the job for him. Coming out rough-edged, like a battered piece of metal. On the edge of a groan, fingers wrapping around Steve's arm, sliding over warm skin like he owns it. Because Steve is a jerk, and a smartass, and he's been teasing Danny all night, acting like coming back here with him was the only realistic option. Or, no. The only option.
Like everything else just never even crossed his mind.
So he can pay, a little, though anything else that might have been tossed at his head, like playing cards he can brush off, evaporates into brilliancy and the sharp blade of sensation, Steve's mouth striking lighting into that spot. Making Danny's back curve, pushing up, looking for more, harder, like Steve's got the ability to just wipe his mind clean of words, his body of all willpower. Anything but the want for him, his hands, his mouth, his skin under Danny's fingers and lips. The weight of him, pinning Danny down. Long legs and arms tangling so inexorably it's like they'll never get free of each other.
And Danny's regretting ever taking his hand off Steve, away from making his muscles shiver and his eyes close, but he can't help but want this, too, make it his, let everything from the night just go, because Steve's right about one thing, he loves this, all of it, every part of it, and Steve's right about something more, too: that he was jealous, green in the face, temperamental elephants stampeding through his head.
But jealous doesn't even begin to cover the way he'd guard against anyone trying to take this away. God help the person who tries, it's his, and so few things are, and it's too much to ask, but he wants Steve to be one of them, which is terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and Steve is still massacring his ability to think straight. Which is probably for the best.