He's never going to ever be able to get these sounds out of his ears.
It would be there if he cut his ears off and weighted them down into the deepest part of the black, pressing sea. Danny's voice, moans and groan, he's only ever imagined and it was never like this. Never this good. He was nowhere close. It kicks whatever air is left in his lungs straight out and makes him want to draw more and more of them out.
He adds this to the top of the list of the reasons he hates Danny's mouth.
Hate. Hate that word. The word, that isn't the word, when he looks up because Danny is talking again. Words that the conversation hardly needed, Danny didn't need to say, but he says it and for a blinding moment things in Steve's head went haywire. While Danny told him not to stop. A serious answer to an anything but serious statement.
Do not stop, and like Danny put a gun to him and pulled the trigger.
Danny telling him not to stop. Danny wanting him not to stop. No. Ordering him. Instead of telling him anything about the door, or his forgotten clothes. Or. Anything. Anything at all. Telling Steve the thing he never tells Steve so directly. Do. Not. Stop. The air has to have turned into fumes at this point, and if it's a dream, he hopes he never wakes up. Or does. Right this second. Before he never can leave.
Which is a lie, when his hand on Danny's chest moves back up, finds the curve of his neck and then the nape of his hair, driving fingers up in the back and pulls him up to kiss again. And then again, and again, because Steve knows it is. It's already a lie. He can't. He'd only stop now if Danny made him. Shouted stop, and shoved him back. Said this was a mistake. They couldn't. Shouldn't. They were partners. Best friends. He wasn't this kind of person. He didn't. Was just wrong. Made a mistake. That sacred, embarrassed face from under the rubble of a whole building flickering up briefly.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-10-27 11:03 pm (UTC)He's never going to ever be able to get these sounds out of his ears.
It would be there if he cut his ears off and weighted them down into the deepest part of the black, pressing sea. Danny's voice, moans and groan, he's only ever imagined and it was never like this. Never this good. He was nowhere close. It kicks whatever air is left in his lungs straight out and makes him want to draw more and more of them out.
He adds this to the top of the list of the reasons he hates Danny's mouth.
Hate. Hate that word. The word, that isn't the word, when he looks up because Danny is talking again. Words that the conversation hardly needed, Danny didn't need to say, but he says it and for a blinding moment things in Steve's head went haywire. While Danny told him not to stop. A serious answer to an anything but serious statement.
Do not stop, and like Danny put a gun to him and pulled the trigger.
Danny telling him not to stop. Danny wanting him not to stop. No. Ordering him. Instead of telling him anything about the door, or his forgotten clothes. Or. Anything. Anything at all. Telling Steve the thing he never tells Steve so directly. Do. Not. Stop. The air has to have turned into fumes at this point, and if it's a dream, he hopes he never wakes up. Or does. Right this second. Before he never can leave.
Which is a lie, when his hand on Danny's chest moves back up, finds the curve of his neck and then the nape of his hair, driving fingers up in the back and pulls him up to kiss again. And then again, and again, because Steve knows it is. It's already a lie. He can't. He'd only stop now if Danny made him. Shouted stop, and shoved him back. Said this was a mistake. They couldn't. Shouldn't. They were partners. Best friends. He wasn't this kind of person. He didn't. Was just wrong. Made a mistake. That sacred, embarrassed face from under the rubble of a whole building flickering up briefly.