Steve could push him off, or redirect him and drag him around, take that turn and haul him up the second half of the flight of stairs, but he doesn't, because Danny has never known Steve to back down to a challenge.
Even if he's also never seen Steve give in to one like this, either. Steve doesn't push himself down to make it easier for someone to reach him. Steve doesn't bare his throat to give someone better access. Steve protects, at all times.
Except, apparently, not, because one of Steve's hands is sunk into Danny's hair and pushing Danny's mouth harder against his throat, and Danny can feel the machine gun rapid-fire of Steve's pulse against the flat of his tongue, runs the edge of his teeth along the cord of muscle straining in Steve's neck, and then has to windmill back from the instinctive want to bite down, as Steve's other hand slips down the front of his pants, and paints his world into sudden, brilliant light.
Like he hasn't been touched in a long time, since Melissa, and even that was nothing like this. When it's as much revenge as anything else. Steve, insane and upping the ante, making Danny's body shake so hard he worries for a second that he might black out, or his legs might give out, or he'll come in his pants like a teenager who's never been touching before, just from pure anticipation.
And this whole night. It feels like he's been on the edge this whole night, from back in the club when he hoped to God and St. Michael and any one else who might be able to help that Steve wouldn't notice, to the second after Steve shoved him into the door and kissed him, instead of hit him.
Making him groan, right into Steve's skin, long and helpless, pushing into that hand. He should. He shouldn't. The stairs are right there. They can't, here. They're so close. But all he wants is more, more of that hand, more of Steve against him. All of him. Nothing more in the way.
Voice strangled and thin, like he's at the top of a too-tall mountain. "You think that's gonna help?"
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-11-01 02:51 am (UTC)Steve could push him off, or redirect him and drag him around, take that turn and haul him up the second half of the flight of stairs, but he doesn't, because Danny has never known Steve to back down to a challenge.
Even if he's also never seen Steve give in to one like this, either. Steve doesn't push himself down to make it easier for someone to reach him. Steve doesn't bare his throat to give someone better access. Steve protects, at all times.
Except, apparently, not, because one of Steve's hands is sunk into Danny's hair and pushing Danny's mouth harder against his throat, and Danny can feel the machine gun rapid-fire of Steve's pulse against the flat of his tongue, runs the edge of his teeth along the cord of muscle straining in Steve's neck, and then has to windmill back from the instinctive want to bite down, as Steve's other hand slips down the front of his pants, and paints his world into sudden, brilliant light.
Like he hasn't been touched in a long time, since Melissa, and even that was nothing like this. When it's as much revenge as anything else. Steve, insane and upping the ante, making Danny's body shake so hard he worries for a second that he might black out, or his legs might give out, or he'll come in his pants like a teenager who's never been touching before, just from pure anticipation.
And this whole night. It feels like he's been on the edge this whole night, from back in the club when he hoped to God and St. Michael and any one else who might be able to help that Steve wouldn't notice, to the second after Steve shoved him into the door and kissed him, instead of hit him.
Making him groan, right into Steve's skin, long and helpless, pushing into that hand. He should. He shouldn't. The stairs are right there. They can't, here. They're so close. But all he wants is more, more of that hand, more of Steve against him. All of him. Nothing more in the way.
Voice strangled and thin, like he's at the top of a too-tall mountain. "You think that's gonna help?"