He would say Danny isn't responding, but that would be like saying the waves didn't move at all all against the beach. Danny doesn't say a word, but his hands tighten and his body shudders all along Steve's, breath going erratic at a second notice. Danny not stopping him in the slightest, which might be almost smart at this point. When the warm salt on his tongue is only spurring on the explosive black glee and vicious hunger exponentially bigger, hotter, sharper, more necessary than air.
When his hands can't touch enough of Danny's skin. This skin he's seen all of. He's had his hands on, long ago, for surfing lessons, between himself and Kono. On this skin, far too recently, covering it in duct tape, trying to stop the bleeding of rebar. But not like this. Not like this, fingers digging into muscles when it feels like he can't even hold onto the skin of the earth while holding on to Danny's.
Yet he can't stop there.
Not when Danny's fingers suddenly find the back of his head, pushing him into Danny's skin, blackening Steve ears with this sound that is nothing like the one from earlier. An escape that lead to panic and freezing of everyone. But this time it doesn't. This time, Danny's body is pushing into his mouth, Danny's hand is crushing his head down, finger pressing into his scalp, just as hard. Saying that.
God is right. Profane and perfect in his ear after that sound.
Followed by his name said in a way Danny has never said his name, and how he'll never forget even if Danny forgets this. The want, or what's happening. Changes his mind, because this isn't. Isn't whatever it should be. It's a dark, black, gorgeous, perfect, Molotov cocktail dribbling insanity down into his ears, his throat, exploding in his gut. Danny is going to kill him. Not a international terrorist or a stray bullet. Torture gone wrong. Moving just a second too slow, with his reflexes not as good as it once was, because he's no longer living it every minute of every day. Just Danny, touching him like and saying two words.
Making his motions rough. Wanting to fist his fingers into Danny's hair and force him to stay there, kiss him as fast and hot as the universe is exploding out from inside him, but he can't. There aren't enough hands attached to enough arms, and he needs these two for pushing Danny's shirt. Hands off his skin only to give himself more of it, all of it. Pushing it down Danny's shoulders and off his elbows, even if it demands Danny's hands from him as well. Until nothing is left between them he doesn't have to think about it. There being anything left in the world to stop him.
(no subject)
Date: 2015-10-27 12:51 am (UTC)He would say Danny isn't responding, but that would be like saying the waves didn't move at all all against the beach. Danny doesn't say a word, but his hands tighten and his body shudders all along Steve's, breath going erratic at a second notice. Danny not stopping him in the slightest, which might be almost smart at this point. When the warm salt on his tongue is only spurring on the explosive black glee and vicious hunger exponentially bigger, hotter, sharper, more necessary than air.
When his hands can't touch enough of Danny's skin. This skin he's seen all of. He's had his hands on, long ago, for surfing lessons, between himself and Kono. On this skin, far too recently, covering it in duct tape, trying to stop the bleeding of rebar. But not like this. Not like this, fingers digging into muscles when it feels like he can't even hold onto the skin of the earth while holding on to Danny's.
Yet he can't stop there.
Not when Danny's fingers suddenly find the back of his head, pushing him into Danny's skin, blackening Steve ears with this sound that is nothing like the one from earlier. An escape that lead to panic and freezing of everyone. But this time it doesn't. This time, Danny's body is pushing into his mouth, Danny's hand is crushing his head down, finger pressing into his scalp, just as hard. Saying that.
God is right. Profane and perfect in his ear after that sound.
Followed by his name said in a way Danny has never said his name, and how he'll never forget even if Danny forgets this. The want, or what's happening. Changes his mind, because this isn't. Isn't whatever it should be. It's a dark, black, gorgeous, perfect, Molotov cocktail dribbling insanity down into his ears, his throat, exploding in his gut. Danny is going to kill him. Not a international terrorist or a stray bullet. Torture gone wrong. Moving just a second too slow, with his reflexes not as good as it once was, because he's no longer living it every minute of every day. Just Danny, touching him like and saying two words.
Making his motions rough. Wanting to fist his fingers into Danny's hair and force him to stay there, kiss him as fast and hot as the universe is exploding out from inside him, but he can't. There aren't enough hands attached to enough arms, and he needs these two for pushing Danny's shirt. Hands off his skin only to give himself more of it, all of it. Pushing it down Danny's shoulders and off his elbows, even if it demands Danny's hands from him as well. Until nothing is left between them he doesn't have to think about it. There being anything left in the world to stop him.