Steve doesn't think there's a day of his training, or their partnership, that ever prepared him for this. The rusty few seconds when he's nearly, truly gathered his feet under him, again, and Danny fingers begin to slide along Steve's skin. Hands he's seen do a million things, but when he has to look, has to be sure, he's not dreaming this, not imagining it, Danny's fingers are wrapped around him, sliding slowly up and down his skin. Making it feel like a bomb goes off in his brain, in his vision, again. Everything so clear but blowing out everything else left that wasn't it.
Danny's hand on him. Shifting. Causing ripples of warmth to flood through his skin and the building itch, twining, tightening in the pit of his stomach at the base of his spine. But Danny, who has decided he's not a wall flower tonight, is still talking and Steve at least can hear it, now that the shock is starting to at least ebb back enough for him to start focusing everywhere else, too. At least. Slightly. Not that Danny's words help any.
Danny pulling back and staring up at him as he says it. Steve licking his lips, trying to plant his weight in his heels and control the small jerks of his hips already. Making an effort not to blink or let his eyelashes lower against the friction he can't ignore, doesn't want to, could never. Letting go of Danny's shoulder as his control settles more into his skin, a careful balance he'd carried worse with, even when it feels like his skin is more than ready to slide off his muscles at a twitch's notice. The urge is to kiss Danny, when these words are falling out impossibly, is strong.
Danny jealous of that guy. It's half a question and half a rush that just suddenly sprints through him. Honest to god jealousy of someone just touching Steve. Someone thinking they could have him.
Even when Danny knew he'd be in the Camaro after. With him. Headed to HQ, and then home.
"So that's why you went off script," Steve said, as though there were a script. As though he gave a damn about any non-existant script. Or understood how this was possible. Any of it. Danny half-dressed in the first few feet of his house, fingers curled around his dick, moving slowly. So slowly. How Danny even could be jealous of someone who didn't matter touching him. When Steve couldn't have cared a rat ass about Campbell. But somehow Danny was thinking about it. Which is a boiling point.
Somehow it flashes through him, as though Danny's hand isn't on him, right now, trying to liquefy his focus, Danny wanting him. Not wanting anyone else to touch Steve if Danny couldn't be touching him. Wanting to break someone's hand even for the false assumption. That was, somehow, how much Danny wanted him.
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Steve doesn't think there's a day of his training, or their partnership, that ever prepared him for this. The rusty few seconds when he's nearly, truly gathered his feet under him, again, and Danny fingers begin to slide along Steve's skin. Hands he's seen do a million things, but when he has to look, has to be sure, he's not dreaming this, not imagining it, Danny's fingers are wrapped around him, sliding slowly up and down his skin. Making it feel like a bomb goes off in his brain, in his vision, again. Everything so clear but blowing out everything else left that wasn't it.
Danny's hand on him. Shifting. Causing ripples of warmth to flood through his skin and the building itch, twining, tightening in the pit of his stomach at the base of his spine. But Danny, who has decided he's not a wall flower tonight, is still talking and Steve at least can hear it, now that the shock is starting to at least ebb back enough for him to start focusing everywhere else, too. At least. Slightly. Not that Danny's words help any.
Danny pulling back and staring up at him as he says it. Steve licking his lips, trying to plant his weight in his heels and control the small jerks of his hips already. Making an effort not to blink or let his eyelashes lower against the friction he can't ignore, doesn't want to, could never. Letting go of Danny's shoulder as his control settles more into his skin, a careful balance he'd carried worse with, even when it feels like his skin is more than ready to slide off his muscles at a twitch's notice. The urge is to kiss Danny, when these words are falling out impossibly, is strong.
Danny jealous of that guy. It's half a question and half a rush that just suddenly sprints through him.
Honest to god jealousy of someone just touching Steve. Someone thinking they could have him.
Even when Danny knew he'd be in the Camaro after. With him. Headed to HQ, and then home.
"So that's why you went off script," Steve said, as though there were a script. As though he gave a damn about any non-existant script. Or understood how this was possible. Any of it. Danny half-dressed in the first few feet of his house, fingers curled around his dick, moving slowly. So slowly. How Danny even could be jealous of someone who didn't matter touching him. When Steve couldn't have cared a rat ass about Campbell. But somehow Danny was thinking about it. Which is a boiling point.
Somehow it flashes through him, as though Danny's hand isn't on him, right now, trying to liquefy his focus, Danny wanting him. Not wanting anyone else to touch Steve if Danny couldn't be touching him. Wanting to break someone's hand even for the false assumption. That was, somehow, how much Danny wanted him.