It does. Is. Easy. Easy enough it feels like breathing, except that breathing is impossible as anything other than a groan, when Steve is rubbing along him, hard and hot and perfect. Blanketing him completely, just like Danny pictured, when Steve had him crammed up against the wall.
When he wasn't supposed to touch Steve. When it was for the job, and a lie, until it wasn't either, and it was Steve's door against his back, and then Steve's mattress.
And now, he can't stop. Touching Steve. Fingers gripping into his hips, before one hand lets go, to run down over the curve of muscle, and back up, following the sweep of Steve's back. Wrapping Steve's leg with one of his. And opening up into this kiss.
Another one. And another. Each one feeling a little more like complete madness, like Steve is taking the claw of a hammer or a backhoe to the floorboards and ripping them all up, demolishing everything Danny ever thought of as true and unchangeable between them. Everything he was never supposed to want, and couldn't stop wanting. The reason, very probably, why things never quite worked out with Gabby or Melissa. They were never his confidante or the person he trusted the most. Not the first person he spoke to, not part of ninety-five percent of his days and weeks and life.
Someone he never had to worry about, with Grace, when she loved him so completely from nearly their very first meeting, on, and vice versa. Who always had his back, no matter what. Who would do anything, and be anywhere -- whether Danny told him to or not.
Of course it wasn't easy with them. Of course it is, with Steve, because Steve has always, despite everything Danny has ever shouted at him or accused him of, tried to make things easy for Danny. Held him up and pieced him back together. Let him crash on the couch. Brought him beers and commiserated. Dragged him out of the house and back into the sunshine and fresh air. Took on the harder parts of the job, on the days when Danny's heart simply couldn't take it.
Easy. Let striking a match, easy. Tripping and falling. Cocking a gun and squeezing the trigger. Easy, and foolhardy, and too, too good to stop.
Pushing his hips up into Steve, and unable to stop, or even to want to stop, the sound that punches out of his chest at the sensation, new and strange and perfect. Fitting like he never knew they could. "Yeah, it does."
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It does. Is. Easy. Easy enough it feels like breathing, except that breathing is impossible as anything other than a groan, when Steve is rubbing along him, hard and hot and perfect. Blanketing him completely, just like Danny pictured, when Steve had him crammed up against the wall.
When he wasn't supposed to touch Steve. When it was for the job, and a lie, until it wasn't either, and it was Steve's door against his back, and then Steve's mattress.
And now, he can't stop. Touching Steve. Fingers gripping into his hips, before one hand lets go, to run down over the curve of muscle, and back up, following the sweep of Steve's back. Wrapping Steve's leg with one of his. And opening up into this kiss.
Another one. And another. Each one feeling a little more like complete madness, like Steve is taking the claw of a hammer or a backhoe to the floorboards and ripping them all up, demolishing everything Danny ever thought of as true and unchangeable between them. Everything he was never supposed to want, and couldn't stop wanting. The reason, very probably, why things never quite worked out with Gabby or Melissa. They were never his confidante or the person he trusted the most. Not the first person he spoke to, not part of ninety-five percent of his days and weeks and life.
Someone he never had to worry about, with Grace, when she loved him so completely from nearly their very first meeting, on, and vice versa. Who always had his back, no matter what. Who would do anything, and be anywhere -- whether Danny told him to or not.
Of course it wasn't easy with them. Of course it is, with Steve, because Steve has always, despite everything Danny has ever shouted at him or accused him of, tried to make things easy for Danny. Held him up and pieced him back together. Let him crash on the couch. Brought him beers and commiserated. Dragged him out of the house and back into the sunshine and fresh air. Took on the harder parts of the job, on the days when Danny's heart simply couldn't take it.
Easy. Let striking a match, easy. Tripping and falling. Cocking a gun and squeezing the trigger. Easy, and foolhardy, and too, too good to stop.
Pushing his hips up into Steve, and unable to stop, or even to want to stop, the sound that punches out of his chest at the sensation, new and strange and perfect. Fitting like he never knew they could. "Yeah, it does."