Steve, who is admittedly, no matter how many times he rolls his eyes like Danny is exaggerating to the moon, a tank, went for gentle. Professional. The job. A thing he didn't do. Didn't even want to do. But he could do. This time. This time, for the guy watching, if he was ready for it. Knew it was coming. Could brace. He could make an effort to make it look good, without losing his head and forgetting entirely not to swarm Danny like he was actually asking for it. He can shut all the lights down and the heat off.
Just an action. Like cocking a gun and firing. Like breaking a bone. Leaping off twelve stories. It can be the motions and the case. It's the reason he says the words. So Danny knows. It's almost over. He won't have to put up with all of this too much longer. He can make it just show. Reinvent his skin as accessory.
It even works. For about three seconds. His eyes are actually closed this time. Because he doesn't want to see it. He doesn't want more of Danny's eyelashes, and his skin this close. He can't erase the rest, but he could choose not to over-inundate the moment. At least he could have before Danny decided that punching him in the teeth with his mouth was the answer to Steve actually making an effort. Because Danny doesn't just lean back and let it happen.
Danny pushes up into him suddenly. Solid bulk, and bumping chests. Hands, Steve can't even keep track of suddenly. In his hair, pulling him hard, down, in. Mouth open and kiss solid. Hands. Lips. Hard friction. Down his neck. Fisting his jacket. Suddenly pushing up under his jacket. Everywhere. Danny's hands are suddenly just everywhere, and everything else is just gone. Because Danny's is dragging him in, and he's leaning into the buck of Danny's body into him, like he could push Danny straight into the wall with his own.
Not even like that. Fuck. Like he was one of these people.
Like he wanted every inch between them gone. Wants to cover every inch of Danny's body with his own. Every scrap of cloth and lie. Because the lie burns more than the clothes or the touch. Than this kiss that is blistering the inside of his mouth, while he can't not meet Danny like Danny is the only source of air left anywhere. Like he hasn't dreamt of this, ached over this, like an idiot, like he hasn't caught every light kiss Danny ever gave out to girlfriend in his presence, for years.
He doesn't want more half-lies and half-truths in his head, in his bed, in his dreams that are always nightmares.
Not with Danny's face. Not like this. Danny is the one place he's safe.
Usually.
Except nothing about this is safe. Feels anything like it.
Nothing about the way he pushes, tries not to rutt, straight into the hand palming sharp warm straight through the thin dress shirt and the stomach pressed to him. When he's can't even form the lies he'll need to sell for everything his body is saying. Doing. Not stopping himself from doing. Because he isn't. Because somehow. He doesn't even remember. But his fingers are pushing into Danny's hair and he's kissing Danny's head into that wall, angry and apologetic and disgusted, and everything is falling out of his hands, because nothing else fits if Danny is in them.
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Steve, who is admittedly, no matter how many times he rolls his eyes like Danny is exaggerating to the moon, a tank, went for gentle. Professional. The job. A thing he didn't do. Didn't even want to do. But he could do. This time. This time, for the guy watching, if he was ready for it. Knew it was coming. Could brace. He could make an effort to make it look good, without losing his head and forgetting entirely not to swarm Danny like he was actually asking for it. He can shut all the lights down and the heat off.
Just an action. Like cocking a gun and firing. Like breaking a bone. Leaping off twelve stories.
It can be the motions and the case. It's the reason he says the words. So Danny knows. It's almost over.
He won't have to put up with all of this too much longer. He can make it just show. Reinvent his skin as accessory.
It even works. For about three seconds. His eyes are actually closed this time. Because he doesn't want to see it. He doesn't want more of Danny's eyelashes, and his skin this close. He can't erase the rest, but he could choose not to over-inundate the moment. At least he could have before Danny decided that punching him in the teeth with his mouth was the answer to Steve actually making an effort. Because Danny doesn't just lean back and let it happen.
Danny pushes up into him suddenly. Solid bulk, and bumping chests. Hands, Steve can't even keep track of suddenly. In his hair, pulling him hard, down, in. Mouth open and kiss solid. Hands. Lips. Hard friction. Down his neck. Fisting his jacket. Suddenly pushing up under his jacket. Everywhere. Danny's hands are suddenly just everywhere, and everything else is just gone. Because Danny's is dragging him in, and he's leaning into the buck of Danny's body into him, like he could push Danny straight into the wall with his own.
Not even like that. Fuck. Like he was one of these people.
Like he wanted every inch between them gone. Wants to cover every inch of Danny's body with his own. Every scrap of cloth and lie. Because the lie burns more than the clothes or the touch. Than this kiss that is blistering the inside of his mouth, while he can't not meet Danny like Danny is the only source of air left anywhere. Like he hasn't dreamt of this, ached over this, like an idiot, like he hasn't caught every light kiss Danny ever gave out to girlfriend in his presence, for years.
He doesn't want more half-lies and half-truths in his head, in his bed, in his dreams that are always nightmares.
Not with Danny's face. Not like this. Danny is the one place he's safe.
Usually.
Except nothing about this is safe. Feels anything like it.
Nothing about the way he pushes, tries not to rutt, straight into the hand palming sharp warm straight through the thin dress shirt and the stomach pressed to him. When he's can't even form the lies he'll need to sell for everything his body is saying. Doing. Not stopping himself from doing. Because he isn't. Because somehow. He doesn't even remember. But his fingers are pushing into Danny's hair and he's kissing Danny's head into that wall, angry and apologetic and disgusted, and everything is falling out of his hands, because nothing else fits if Danny is in them.