Steve doesn't want to think, and absolutely can't breathe, when Danny's voice goes sharper with defensive disagreement and his hand, because his hands talk as much as his mouth and so much more, tightens possessively. Nearly making that sound crawl right back up Steve's throat, teeth meeting, as a haze shifts his eyelids almost closed for that second and his hips made abortive pushes into that sudden constriction of a warm hand and the friction of the muscles and softness of the stomach at the end. Helpless and nearly shameless.
When he's never pictured it like this. Not ever. With Danny holding the most delicate part of him, that isn't a vital organ inside the thin barriers of his skin and muscle, possessively. Like Steve is the one on dangerous ground making that comment, and it's not supposed to go to his head. Danny snapping. Arguing. Making his comment right. Inflating his head like helium had been blown in.
"Not for you, apparently," Steve said, once he could make his teeth unkit from each other and all of the muscles in his jaw. Refusing to let even his body keep him back, no matter how much he wanted to push in, lean in, let it be everything he's pictured more than a hundred ways or times and known the whole time wasn't real or wanted.
Except it is, and Danny's hand is there. His blue eyes dark and his mouth pink.
When all Steve wants to do is punch this straight over the red line, until everyone of Danny's muscles in shivering with the need that is creeping through Steve's whole body, replacing his own muscles, with this desperate want to move more inside his hand. To make him see how true it was, even when Steve made his words rejecting and flippant. Like he couldn't see Danny's problem in the slightest, even when his voice was rougher and thicker. "He wasn't my type anyway."
Like it was Campbell, himself, and not Danny was the bigger thing.
Like Danny hadn't been every single thing he looked for in a person in years.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-30 01:16 am (UTC)Steve doesn't want to think, and absolutely can't breathe, when Danny's voice goes sharper with defensive disagreement and his hand, because his hands talk as much as his mouth and so much more, tightens possessively. Nearly making that sound crawl right back up Steve's throat, teeth meeting, as a haze shifts his eyelids almost closed for that second and his hips made abortive pushes into that sudden constriction of a warm hand and the friction of the muscles and softness of the stomach at the end. Helpless and nearly shameless.
When he's never pictured it like this. Not ever. With Danny holding the most delicate part of him, that isn't a vital organ inside the thin barriers of his skin and muscle, possessively. Like Steve is the one on dangerous ground making that comment, and it's not supposed to go to his head. Danny snapping. Arguing. Making his comment right. Inflating his head like helium had been blown in.
"Not for you, apparently," Steve said, once he could make his teeth unkit from each other and all of the muscles in his jaw. Refusing to let even his body keep him back, no matter how much he wanted to push in, lean in, let it be everything he's pictured more than a hundred ways or times and known the whole time wasn't real or wanted.
Except it is, and Danny's hand is there. His blue eyes dark and his mouth pink.
When all Steve wants to do is punch this straight over the red line, until everyone of Danny's muscles in shivering with the need that is creeping through Steve's whole body, replacing his own muscles, with this desperate want to move more inside his hand. To make him see how true it was, even when Steve made his words rejecting and flippant. Like he couldn't see Danny's problem in the slightest, even when his voice was rougher and thicker. "He wasn't my type anyway."
Like it was Campbell, himself, and not Danny was the bigger thing.
Like Danny hadn't been every single thing he looked for in a person in years.