"Wrong," Steve says, an exacting rejection, like any other day -- but, with a strange, smothered note of hilarity under it.
That word. Again, that word, that keeps popping up. When he has to pull back far enough to be giving Danny a withering look through it. Like Danny is the one entirely off his rocker, and definitely it is not Steve. Lying. Or pulling buttons faster and faster, fingertips brushing starch cloth and hot skin. Not feeling Danny's heart racing against the side of his hand as they keep moving further down.
"I hate it." Steve leaned back in. Fast specific, but with a deviation. Finding the edge of Danny's jaw, and chasing a madness the welcome mat of the opening shirt made him remember. Want to reclaim. Claim, again. Claim, for the first time. "You never shut up--" Is pressed almost to the juncture of his jaw and the space beneath his ear. "--and you never say anything important."
Steve wants it back. That sounds Danny made earlier. The sudden dark note when he'd forgotten. Not to touch Danny like this, and it had slipped. A little more than half not for the case, when his lips had slid against the skin of Danny's neck, hovering like insanity against the race of his pulse. The way it isn't not. It's not for the case and he's not apologetic. When Danny will know that Steve wants it entirely. Is choosing to this time.
"It's just talk, talk, talk--" Steve fingers hadn't stumble even when they reached the vest, and had to start undoing one vest button and then the shirt buttons below it, so he doesn't stumble here, even if the words disjoint against his neck, his shoulder, nosing the shirt from his way. "--even though no one is listening to you."
When he's pulling up the thin skin between his lips, racing pulse against his teeth, while pulling Danny's white shirt with solid tugs from his pants, to push it back, toward the door, out of his way, put his hands on Danny's bare skin. When he wants to push into this feeling, this warmth, burning through him, boiling the world, his thoughts, words, his hands on Danny's skin. That he's seen enough to know all of it, but he's never touched it like this. Wants, needs, wants, needs. Has to touch all of it. Wants all of it against all of him. With his own suit already burned off.
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"Wrong," Steve says, an exacting rejection, like any other day -- but, with a strange, smothered note of hilarity under it.
That word. Again, that word, that keeps popping up. When he has to pull back far enough to be giving Danny a withering look through it. Like Danny is the one entirely off his rocker, and definitely it is not Steve. Lying. Or pulling buttons faster and faster, fingertips brushing starch cloth and hot skin. Not feeling Danny's heart racing against the side of his hand as they keep moving further down.
"I hate it." Steve leaned back in. Fast specific, but with a deviation. Finding the edge of Danny's jaw, and chasing a madness the welcome mat of the opening shirt made him remember. Want to reclaim. Claim, again. Claim, for the first time. "You never shut up--" Is pressed almost to the juncture of his jaw and the space beneath his ear. "--and you never say anything important."
Steve wants it back. That sounds Danny made earlier. The sudden dark note when he'd forgotten. Not to touch Danny like this, and it had slipped. A little more than half not for the case, when his lips had slid against the skin of Danny's neck, hovering like insanity against the race of his pulse. The way it isn't not. It's not for the case and he's not apologetic. When Danny will know that Steve wants it entirely. Is choosing to this time.
"It's just talk, talk, talk--" Steve fingers hadn't stumble even when they reached the vest, and had to start undoing one vest button and then the shirt buttons below it, so he doesn't stumble here, even if the words disjoint against his neck, his shoulder, nosing the shirt from his way. "--even though no one is listening to you."
When he's pulling up the thin skin between his lips, racing pulse against his teeth, while pulling Danny's white shirt with solid tugs from his pants, to push it back, toward the door, out of his way, put his hands on Danny's bare skin. When he wants to push into this feeling, this warmth, burning through him, boiling the world, his thoughts, words, his hands on Danny's skin. That he's seen enough to know all of it, but he's never touched it like this. Wants, needs, wants, needs. Has to touch all of it. Wants all of it against all of him. With his own suit already burned off.