The first words land somewhere in the center of his chest, like a cocktail bomb was thrown straight through the cage of his ribs. He can't tell if it's setting him on fire or shattering glass. So sharp and heady, and his. The implication that it is, at least. When sure he's got his hand on Danny, and he knows, okay, what he's doing, that it could just be more words.
Words they throw back and forth, all the time. All day. But he wants them. Both the words, and for the words to be true. Like if was even part of him, that he could stop, shake Danny a little and ask. But he couldn't. He's not. And he doesn't. That's not him in any sense of the word either. Especially not right now, right here.
Here and now, when Danny's hand goes crazy. Flying up and down, everywhere brushing his skin. It's almost the onslaught of an attack. Touching everywhere, fast, sudden, needing everything and only having ten fingers, two hands, too few when everything goes haywire, demanding more, demanding everything. When Steve continued to glide his fingers along Danny's skin. So smooth and hot, from the rush of blood.
This is all part of why he didn't move, even if hands are flying everywhere. He gets to see this. What it does to Danny. What he gets to do to him. Over and over. Not someone else doing things. Not someone else under his hands. Danny. Which is a feeling inflating painful against the already stretched space in his chest, when Danny decides to lob a more expected insult at him.
"Oh, is that what you wanted?" Steve raised his eyebrows in dark, as his hand twisted and he drug his hand up again, using a thumb to circle the top. Voice soaked in dry, heavy amusement. "I must have gotten confused." His hand went down and up, starting a rhythm, as he leaned down, again, finally. Mouth hovering above Danny's for, "Maybe you should tell me again."
Except he followed it up with taking Danny's mouth from him the second after the words came out, too.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2012-12-08 06:32 pm (UTC)Words they throw back and forth, all the time. All day. But he wants them. Both the words, and for the words to be true. Like if was even part of him, that he could stop, shake Danny a little and ask. But he couldn't. He's not. And he doesn't. That's not him in any sense of the word either. Especially not right now, right here.
Here and now, when Danny's hand goes crazy. Flying up and down, everywhere brushing his skin. It's almost the onslaught of an attack. Touching everywhere, fast, sudden, needing everything and only having ten fingers, two hands, too few when everything goes haywire, demanding more, demanding everything. When Steve continued to glide his fingers along Danny's skin. So smooth and hot, from the rush of blood.
This is all part of why he didn't move, even if hands are flying everywhere. He gets to see this. What it does to Danny. What he gets to do to him. Over and over. Not someone else doing things. Not someone else under his hands. Danny. Which is a feeling inflating painful against the already stretched space in his chest, when Danny decides to lob a more expected insult at him.
"Oh, is that what you wanted?" Steve raised his eyebrows in dark, as his hand twisted and he drug his hand up again, using a thumb to circle the top. Voice soaked in dry, heavy amusement. "I must have gotten confused." His hand went down and up, starting a rhythm, as he leaned down, again, finally. Mouth hovering above Danny's for, "Maybe you should tell me again."
Except he followed it up with taking Danny's mouth from him the second after the words came out, too.