He might love this, if he had the time to properly process it. How Steve shudders like ground breaking in an earthquake, and then dragging him into a kiss, instead of answering him. Steve barely able to keep his eyes open. Steve barely hanging on.
It makes Danny want to push him faster, harder. See what happens when Steve finally breaks, all over him, because of him. His hand. His mouth. His skin. Because Steve can't stop, even to mock him, even while insulting him directly into his mouth with a voice that sounds like it was tarred with a brush and left out in the sun to bake all day in the Hawaiian heat. "Seems like it's working for you."
Which hasn't yet stopped being astounding, or suspicious, in equal measure, flipping back and forth into each other. Because it is working for Steve. Steve likes it. Him. Wants, somehow, ludicrously, him. Short and loud and opinionated and a thorn in Steve's side for years, and Steve -- the one who looks like Bond, the one people always stare at and want -- has wanted him. For years.
Is looking down his body, and asking those questions, and swearing into Danny's mouth, because he keeps crushing any words Danny would toss back out with another kiss. And another. Another. While complaining about Danny having too many clothes. "How do I still have pants? How?"
His hand never stops moving, but he does have to be careful, slow it down, as Steve shifts, and Danny has to shift, too, back towards the door under Steve's weight and the force of being run down like a wooden fence crumpling beneath a tank. "Maybe if you'd gone for mine instead of yours, that wouldn't be a problem."
And then they'd both be. Naked. And he tries not to think about how that's far too fast, except, is it? It's been years. For them both. Secretly. And Danny's imagined this so many hundreds of times. This isn't like sleeping with someone on a first date, they've been here for years. Maybe they've been moving too slow, and need to make up for lost time.
Maybe he'll freak out in the middle of sex with Steve for the very first time and then this house will burn down, who knows. Anything could happen.
Especially when Steve says, dark and dangerous, those words, and Danny can hear the fizz of the fuse burning down to a stick of dynamite, in his head.
Asking him to pick. Couch. Or.
Or. Or. Clutching his stomach suddenly into a painful ball of nerves, because. That would be. Real. Sudden. Way too fast, and not fast enough, and two options are, it turns out, two options too many.
So he stalls. Even if he'd never say it, out loud, admit to it: he stalls. "Oh, now you want to move away from the door, huh?"
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-31 04:48 am (UTC)He might love this, if he had the time to properly process it. How Steve shudders like ground breaking in an earthquake, and then dragging him into a kiss, instead of answering him. Steve barely able to keep his eyes open. Steve barely hanging on.
It makes Danny want to push him faster, harder. See what happens when Steve finally breaks, all over him, because of him. His hand. His mouth. His skin. Because Steve can't stop, even to mock him, even while insulting him directly into his mouth with a voice that sounds like it was tarred with a brush and left out in the sun to bake all day in the Hawaiian heat. "Seems like it's working for you."
Which hasn't yet stopped being astounding, or suspicious, in equal measure, flipping back and forth into each other. Because it is working for Steve. Steve likes it. Him. Wants, somehow, ludicrously, him. Short and loud and opinionated and a thorn in Steve's side for years, and Steve -- the one who looks like Bond, the one people always stare at and want -- has wanted him. For years.
Is looking down his body, and asking those questions, and swearing into Danny's mouth, because he keeps crushing any words Danny would toss back out with another kiss. And another. Another. While complaining about Danny having too many clothes. "How do I still have pants? How?"
His hand never stops moving, but he does have to be careful, slow it down, as Steve shifts, and Danny has to shift, too, back towards the door under Steve's weight and the force of being run down like a wooden fence crumpling beneath a tank. "Maybe if you'd gone for mine instead of yours, that wouldn't be a problem."
And then they'd both be. Naked. And he tries not to think about how that's far too fast, except, is it? It's been years. For them both. Secretly. And Danny's imagined this so many hundreds of times. This isn't like sleeping with someone on a first date, they've been here for years. Maybe they've been moving too slow, and need to make up for lost time.
Maybe he'll freak out in the middle of sex with Steve for the very first time and then this house will burn down, who knows. Anything could happen.
Especially when Steve says, dark and dangerous, those words, and Danny can hear the fizz of the fuse burning down to a stick of dynamite, in his head.
Asking him to pick. Couch. Or.
Or. Or. Clutching his stomach suddenly into a painful ball of nerves, because. That would be. Real. Sudden. Way too fast, and not fast enough, and two options are, it turns out, two options too many.
So he stalls. Even if he'd never say it, out loud, admit to it: he stalls. "Oh, now you want to move away from the door, huh?"