He's glad Steve doesn't push for more words, because, for once in his life, he has none. No words at all. He's got nothing, not even air.
Only his mouth on Steve's, and his body pushing into Steve's, and Steve's weight shifting with each press and roll of his hips. Gravity converging on them, dragging him down, and shoving him back up again, into bursts of light and heat.
Steve's rhythm falling apart, under Danny's hands, against his skin. His palm stripping Danny's skin. Hips shuddering. Steve losing it. Against him. Because of him. Dying on his mouth and hands and all across this bed, across his ski. Going up in flames, with his name breathed back into his mouth, riding the tail edge of Danny's groans.
Finding words, finally, but without making any sense, repeating Steve and please and egging him on, and on, and on, telling him to come on, come on, before it chokes in his throat, on a wave rolling through his whole body, demolishing everything in his path. Thought and sense and speech: nothing but his hips jerking helplessly into Steve's hand, up against him, and a hard shudder washing through him. Rolling and rolling and crashing, finally, in a burst of white and a full-body shiver that feels like a seizure.
Muted blasts, wrecking brain cells and muscles and clutching his stomach, leaving the inside of his skull white-washed, with an ear-piercing hum shrieking, and his head digging back into the bed, and tumbling, tumbling, gone, with a gut-shot sound he already can't hear, because he's down the rabbit hole, and there's nothing left to do but fall.
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He's glad Steve doesn't push for more words, because, for once in his life, he has none. No words at all. He's got nothing, not even air.
Only his mouth on Steve's, and his body pushing into Steve's, and Steve's weight shifting with each press and roll of his hips. Gravity converging on them, dragging him down, and shoving him back up again, into bursts of light and heat.
Steve's rhythm falling apart, under Danny's hands, against his skin. His palm stripping Danny's skin. Hips shuddering. Steve losing it. Against him. Because of him. Dying on his mouth and hands and all across this bed, across his ski. Going up in flames, with his name breathed back into his mouth, riding the tail edge of Danny's groans.
Finding words, finally, but without making any sense, repeating Steve and please and egging him on, and on, and on, telling him to come on, come on, before it chokes in his throat, on a wave rolling through his whole body, demolishing everything in his path. Thought and sense and speech: nothing but his hips jerking helplessly into Steve's hand, up against him, and a hard shudder washing through him. Rolling and rolling and crashing, finally, in a burst of white and a full-body shiver that feels like a seizure.
Muted blasts, wrecking brain cells and muscles and clutching his stomach, leaving the inside of his skull white-washed, with an ear-piercing hum shrieking, and his head digging back into the bed, and tumbling, tumbling, gone, with a gut-shot sound he already can't hear, because he's down the rabbit hole, and there's nothing left to do but fall.