People joke. They joke about everything they do, and don't do.
From the screaming and fighting, to the biting that's just normal, to the way they move in sync without thinking about it. They call it their partnership. Their friendship. They call it knowing each other for so long it's impossible not to. They been through the good and the bad. They back each other up on every single thing in the book.
If one gives, the other takes. If one steps, the other slides in. If one drops, the other covers.
And when Danny's hands are tightening on his side, somewhere in the far distance, but right next to him Danny tilts his head wide, Steve shifts and his mouth is moving against the skin of Danny's throat, a sideways line straight upward, before it's even a thought. Not a kiss. Just a shift. Just. As though it could be a just when his chest catches in a spasm. As though the warmth isn't an explosion against his mouth, when all he's doing is talking, can contain the just that turns everything in his stomach straight into steam and swallowing so hard it might as well contain a canon ball.
"Eyes on the prize," Steve forces himself to say. Even if it's right into Danny's skin. Even if he can't defend the tone of his voice, the way it's gone thick and dark. Even if he's not sure if he's telling Danny, or forcibly reminding himself out loud, where Danny will have it to beat him the hell over the head with. When everything and nothing in him wants to listen. Wanting to go rigid with awareness, even though he's already half plastered against Danny.
And there are reasons not to think about that word. Things he needs to stop trying to happen.
That being pressed against Danny, realizing the friction against the rise of his top lip is Danny's pulse, is not helping.
He makes himself push it forward, makes himself try to focus on anything but his mouth brushing Danny's skin in other places as he tries to straighten a little, without looking like he needs to be fifteen feet away, or a whole island, half the globe. "What's he doing?"
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-10-14 03:58 am (UTC)People joke. They joke about everything they do, and don't do.
From the screaming and fighting, to the biting that's just normal, to the way they move in sync without thinking about it. They call it their partnership. Their friendship. They call it knowing each other for so long it's impossible not to. They been through the good and the bad. They back each other up on every single thing in the book.
If one gives, the other takes. If one steps, the other slides in. If one drops, the other covers.
And when Danny's hands are tightening on his side, somewhere in the far distance, but right next to him Danny tilts his head wide, Steve shifts and his mouth is moving against the skin of Danny's throat, a sideways line straight upward, before it's even a thought. Not a kiss. Just a shift. Just. As though it could be a just when his chest catches in a spasm. As though the warmth isn't an explosion against his mouth, when all he's doing is talking, can contain the just that turns everything in his stomach straight into steam and swallowing so hard it might as well contain a canon ball.
"Eyes on the prize," Steve forces himself to say. Even if it's right into Danny's skin. Even if he can't defend the tone of his voice, the way it's gone thick and dark. Even if he's not sure if he's telling Danny, or forcibly reminding himself out loud, where Danny will have it to beat him the hell over the head with. When everything and nothing in him wants to listen. Wanting to go rigid with awareness, even though he's already half plastered against Danny.
And there are reasons not to think about that word. Things he needs to stop trying to happen.
That being pressed against Danny, realizing the friction against the rise of his top lip is Danny's pulse, is not helping.
He makes himself push it forward, makes himself try to focus on anything but his mouth brushing Danny's skin in other places as he tries to straighten a little, without looking like he needs to be fifteen feet away, or a whole island, half the globe. "What's he doing?"