It continues, a little harder, and then with nails. Thin, sharper, more pressure, but so precise, blade-like without slicing. Rubbing in circles, and taking out a good chunk of Steve's need to focus on anything. Need to be able to look at anything at all. Catches like a burning ache somewhere in his chest. Gentle and generous, sort of like putting your hands over a barrel fire on a frigid night. Feeling it push up your skin like a hungry, living thing, pushing the cold out.
Even when it does make his shoulders shift and curl this time. Stretching through his back, causing even to shift around a little. A little closer, in what is already close enough there's barely much of anything. Catching a hand low on Danny's side, half on is hip, by the time the small stretch fades. Leaving him with Danny's fingers still and faintly charged nerves, and slightly looser muscles.
The quieter, almost slurred, like he's losing the motivation to move his mouth entirely for this second, response of, "Pretty sure you're already moving."
His hands was. Moving. Right? And Steve was all for being belligerent, hair splitting, unhelpful.
Maybe even toward his own point, his own deflection. He didn't even care. His eyelids were heavy and nearly all the way closed, everything smelled like Danny. His voice had the waves behind it. His hands had a direct line on all the nerves going down Steve's spine.
It felt like having warm water pooling on the spaces of his head where Danny moved to. Everything unknotting itself.
Nerves. Muscles. It should be insane. He was laid out here not too many minutes ago, too. But that didn't always mean relaxed once awareness hit. That was actually a good word for it. Even now. Hit. Like getting hit with something. Taking in a deep breath in through his nose, and it goes out with a drop of his whole chest, rippling out, loosening, fingers of his hand tightening just enough to be purely reflexive against Danny's side.
no subject
Even when it does make his shoulders shift and curl this time. Stretching through his back, causing even to shift around a little. A little closer, in what is already close enough there's barely much of anything. Catching a hand low on Danny's side, half on is hip, by the time the small stretch fades. Leaving him with Danny's fingers still and faintly charged nerves, and slightly looser muscles.
The quieter, almost slurred, like he's losing the motivation to move his mouth entirely for this second, response of, "Pretty sure you're already moving."
His hands was. Moving. Right? And Steve was all for being belligerent, hair splitting, unhelpful.
Maybe even toward his own point, his own deflection. He didn't even care. His eyelids were heavy and nearly all the way closed, everything smelled like Danny. His voice had the waves behind it. His hands had a direct line on all the nerves going down Steve's spine.
It felt like having warm water pooling on the spaces of his head where Danny moved to. Everything unknotting itself.
Nerves. Muscles. It should be insane. He was laid out here not too many minutes ago, too. But that didn't always mean relaxed once awareness hit. That was actually a good word for it. Even now. Hit. Like getting hit with something. Taking in a deep breath in through his nose, and it goes out with a drop of his whole chest, rippling out, loosening, fingers of his hand tightening just enough to be purely reflexive against Danny's side.