This, all of this, rivals into the best parts of his day. The parts that for years have belonged only two things.
Solidly, specifically. Two things. The sea, rolling in and out, as much a part of him and his days, as breathing, and his job. More specifically the end to the long ones, when they got the bastard, whether he was taken down or brought in, or a family was put together or given justice. And, now, this.
Okay. Not just this. This, where that sound come up from deep inside Danny, feeling like it's designed in genesis with the key to melting his skin, burning his organs, tearing out his control, and it's matched by Danny fingers, direct and purposeful, sliding down his side, stomach, his hip, until it's barely a sound. Maybe it isn't at all.
When his shoulders shudder and finally. The world dissolves for a second too hot, too hard, burning thoughts.
Not just that. It's up there, okay. It's fucking up there on the charts of the best ways to go lately even. Kissing Danny, knowing that way, this way, the heat of his kiss and the friction of their hands, lies madness. One they trip into so often. A couple of times a week. More than a couple. But the rest too. Everything under Danny's insane scene earlier. About him still being here. Through Rachel and Grace, Doris and Cath.
Getting pissed and possessive someone dared to look at him. Reaching for him right now without waiting, like it's all one thing. Everything they do now. The both of them together, in all of this. When Steve losses the traction on his kiss, feeling the burn in the arm keeping him half up, but mostly he's torn between the drive of Danny's hand to tear his ability to focus and his focus trying to do the exact same thing to Danny.
This is all in there. The whole wash, up there. The third thing. Danny. Danny, to unwind his night with. Whether that's out or in. Danny, still in his bed when dawn comes too fast and he needs to move and watching him sleep slows down the whole of Steve's world like nothing else, not even the other two. Like somehow there's air in it. When he's doing nothing. Being there.
When it's insane, that these things, spark into his brain, shattering on the rise and fall of Danny's hand on his skin, when he's leaning in. Doesn't know when he started leaning against Danny. Breath coming faster. Trying to focus on his own hand, when the ground under all of his thoughts is evaporating right out from under him. Like it's a race between what will win out. When he wants both of them, all of this, all of it, all at once, every bit of Danny the same as the rest.
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Solidly, specifically. Two things. The sea, rolling in and out, as much a part of him and his days, as breathing, and his job. More specifically the end to the long ones, when they got the bastard, whether he was taken down or brought in, or a family was put together or given justice. And, now, this.
Okay. Not just this. This, where that sound come up from deep inside Danny, feeling like it's designed in genesis with the key to melting his skin, burning his organs, tearing out his control, and it's matched by Danny fingers, direct and purposeful, sliding down his side, stomach, his hip, until it's barely a sound. Maybe it isn't at all.
When his shoulders shudder and finally. The world dissolves for a second too hot, too hard, burning thoughts.
Not just that. It's up there, okay. It's fucking up there on the charts of the best ways to go lately even. Kissing Danny, knowing that way, this way, the heat of his kiss and the friction of their hands, lies madness. One they trip into so often. A couple of times a week. More than a couple. But the rest too. Everything under Danny's insane scene earlier. About him still being here. Through Rachel and Grace, Doris and Cath.
Getting pissed and possessive someone dared to look at him. Reaching for him right now without waiting, like it's all one thing. Everything they do now. The both of them together, in all of this. When Steve losses the traction on his kiss, feeling the burn in the arm keeping him half up, but mostly he's torn between the drive of Danny's hand to tear his ability to focus and his focus trying to do the exact same thing to Danny.
This is all in there. The whole wash, up there. The third thing. Danny. Danny, to unwind his night with. Whether that's out or in. Danny, still in his bed when dawn comes too fast and he needs to move and watching him sleep slows down the whole of Steve's world like nothing else, not even the other two. Like somehow there's air in it. When he's doing nothing. Being there.
When it's insane, that these things, spark into his brain, shattering on the rise and fall of Danny's hand on his skin, when he's leaning in. Doesn't know when he started leaning against Danny. Breath coming faster. Trying to focus on his own hand, when the ground under all of his thoughts is evaporating right out from under him. Like it's a race between what will win out. When he wants both of them, all of this, all of it, all at once, every bit of Danny the same as the rest.