It's creeping up on him, while Danny is wavering, fighting for words, like this is a conversation, he can somehow make it one even if Steve can't. That maybe even if Danny was wrong about earlier it didn't mean Steve was right about right now. That maybe he's chucked Danny right off a cliff by trying to keep him from doing that. Or. No. He hadn't. He. It's bottled and baffled, against Danny's mouth. When everytime he kisses Danny it's nothing like it was.
There's something careful or desperate. Something equally shocked and apart. He doesn't know what. His mind is already screaming half a dozen, a dozen, two dozen reasons why. Because there are just as many. Making his feet stick and blocks of ice tumble into his lungs, where there's hardly any air taking up that space anyway. Because maybe he should pull back. Stop. Get his hands back off Danny, and take whatever Danny is willing to give.
Even if it's two word questions about things Steve can barely make coherent thoughts about.
But just when Steve tries to grind down his guts into a palm, to do anything like trying to take charge, make the right decision, Danny suddenly moves. Danny caves into him, but without caving. He's solid and set, moving right into Steve. Hands finally, finally, moving and pushing into him. Up at him. Turning this kiss into something that has the both of them fumbling for sense it seems like, or just where to put hands. Or how to leave them. His other one (the one Danny isn't suddenly leaning his head toward in ways that make everything in him shudder) keeps moving without his thought to it.
The line of Danny's shoulder. Down into his back. The crease of this vest.
He thinks it's madness. But then Danny makes that noise. Holy. God. That noise. Sending his vision sideways and his chest tight. Blown into with a blow torch with that sound in his mouth. Coming from Danny. While he's touching him. Kissing him. Like the one from the bar when Steve was -- and things shiver, sparking under his skin. Suddenly wanting to push Danny back against the door. Hold him there, and do that, again. Not apologetic. Not accidental. Not a brush of lips. He wants to runs his mouth along Danny's neck and hear it again. Pull the sound out and know it's for himself.
But he can't. Because the thought is taken and tossed into the bonfire because Danny's stillness is absolutely gone. Fingers on his shoulder. Wrapping his neck. Barely flickering a warning from the touch. Because he's shuddering into it all. Into that one, and Danny's kiss that suddenly punches up several notches, and the hand getting under his jacket and grabbing his pants, which he doesn't expect and pulling him closer by them. Pulling the waistband, top half of his pants, tight around him as it's used like a leash.
Which was a thought. It had been, before he was slipping. There were steps. He was sure. Shuffling. But it didn't matter. Danny was kissing him, kissing him like he meant it, and he needed. Why did he have to be so. Higher. Purchase somewhere. On something. Except he can't make his mind focus. Not stairs, or couch, or desk. Because this is it. It can hurt. It can burn. His muscles could start pulling off his bones. Because any will power to slow down and hold off, consider anything else, is being stripped away by that mouth and those hands. Set on fire. Tossed through a window. Shards of glass falling everywhere.
He was wrong, completely wrong, to think he ever could have survived this and walked away unscathed.
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It's creeping up on him, while Danny is wavering, fighting for words, like this is a conversation, he can somehow make it one even if Steve can't. That maybe even if Danny was wrong about earlier it didn't mean Steve was right about right now. That maybe he's chucked Danny right off a cliff by trying to keep him from doing that. Or. No. He hadn't. He. It's bottled and baffled, against Danny's mouth. When everytime he kisses Danny it's nothing like it was.
There's something careful or desperate. Something equally shocked and apart. He doesn't know what. His mind is already screaming half a dozen, a dozen, two dozen reasons why. Because there are just as many. Making his feet stick and blocks of ice tumble into his lungs, where there's hardly any air taking up that space anyway. Because maybe he should pull back. Stop. Get his hands back off Danny, and take whatever Danny is willing to give.
Even if it's two word questions about things Steve can barely make coherent thoughts about.
But just when Steve tries to grind down his guts into a palm, to do anything like trying to take charge, make the right decision, Danny suddenly moves. Danny caves into him, but without caving. He's solid and set, moving right into Steve. Hands finally, finally, moving and pushing into him. Up at him. Turning this kiss into something that has the both of them fumbling for sense it seems like, or just where to put hands. Or how to leave them. His other one (the one Danny isn't suddenly leaning his head toward in ways that make everything in him shudder) keeps moving without his thought to it.
The line of Danny's shoulder. Down into his back. The crease of this vest.
He thinks it's madness. But then Danny makes that noise. Holy. God. That noise. Sending his vision sideways and his chest tight. Blown into with a blow torch with that sound in his mouth. Coming from Danny. While he's touching him. Kissing him. Like the one from the bar when Steve was -- and things shiver, sparking under his skin. Suddenly wanting to push Danny back against the door. Hold him there, and do that, again. Not apologetic. Not accidental. Not a brush of lips. He wants to runs his mouth along Danny's neck and hear it again. Pull the sound out and know it's for himself.
But he can't. Because the thought is taken and tossed into the bonfire because Danny's stillness is absolutely gone. Fingers on his shoulder. Wrapping his neck. Barely flickering a warning from the touch. Because he's shuddering into it all. Into that one, and Danny's kiss that suddenly punches up several notches, and the hand getting under his jacket and grabbing his pants, which he doesn't expect and pulling him closer by them. Pulling the waistband, top half of his pants, tight around him as it's used like a leash.
Which was a thought. It had been, before he was slipping. There were steps. He was sure. Shuffling. But it didn't matter. Danny was kissing him, kissing him like he meant it, and he needed. Why did he have to be so. Higher. Purchase somewhere. On something. Except he can't make his mind focus. Not stairs, or couch, or desk. Because this is it. It can hurt. It can burn. His muscles could start pulling off his bones. Because any will power to slow down and hold off, consider anything else, is being stripped away by that mouth and those hands. Set on fire. Tossed through a window. Shards of glass falling everywhere.
He was wrong, completely wrong, to think he ever could have survived this and walked away unscathed.