Saying Danny finds words would be a gross understatement. There are sounds that whimper and beg, making Steve's skin burn and peel. That he wants to have tattooed straight into the places Danny says them, like the spots he is certain he'll have on his hips and back and sides and thighs. Soft blue and vibrant. He never pictured it right. That's the thing he can't get over. Never. Not once. Danny like this, saying please, like that, to him, needing more of his hand and his mouth.
His name on Danny's tongue, pushed in a shuddering breath back into his own mouth. A hot poker down his throat that is going to shove him over, until Danny starts shaking, hard, words in his mouth obliterated into a ragged and choked abortive sound and Steve, by the very skin of his teeth, has to stop. Hold back even though it feels like even considering it, before he's looking straight down, is cutting ragged chunks of his skin straight off his back and into his thighs. Everything angry, but none of it mattering next to this.
Because he can't miss it, okay. He would rather be blind and dead, first.
Danny shudders the way a mountain does when the avalanche snow slams the ground, all force and explosion in free fall. Eyes screwed shut and face so tight it looks like it hurts. Except it doesn't. Nothing about the sound coming out of Danny's mouth, and Steve's need to kiss him through it, this, the wetness suddenly spurting through fingers, and down their skin, while Danny never lets go. Because. Danny never lets go. It's nothing but impossible and gorgeous, every bit of it.
Fingers slick on skin now, gliding so smooth it makes Steve groan Danny's name, torn apart by both things at once. Giving in to what has been threatening to shove through him for minutes now. No reason to hold back. No reason to wait. Nothing he wants more than to just give into that absolute disaster that starts ripping up everything in the back of his head. Brilliant blindness punching him from inside of his head. The tense ball in gut suddenly expanding in waves outward. Taking out everything left in its way.
Shrapnel waves of pleasure buffeting him as he fell forward on to an arm, his body shuddering harder than seemed possible.
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Saying Danny finds words would be a gross understatement. There are sounds that whimper and beg, making Steve's skin burn and peel. That he wants to have tattooed straight into the places Danny says them, like the spots he is certain he'll have on his hips and back and sides and thighs. Soft blue and vibrant. He never pictured it right. That's the thing he can't get over. Never. Not once. Danny like this, saying please, like that, to him, needing more of his hand and his mouth.
His name on Danny's tongue, pushed in a shuddering breath back into his own mouth. A hot poker down his throat that is going to shove him over, until Danny starts shaking, hard, words in his mouth obliterated into a ragged and choked abortive sound and Steve, by the very skin of his teeth, has to stop. Hold back even though it feels like even considering it, before he's looking straight down, is cutting ragged chunks of his skin straight off his back and into his thighs. Everything angry, but none of it mattering next to this.
Because he can't miss it, okay. He would rather be blind and dead, first.
Danny shudders the way a mountain does when the avalanche snow slams the ground, all force and explosion in free fall. Eyes screwed shut and face so tight it looks like it hurts. Except it doesn't. Nothing about the sound coming out of Danny's mouth, and Steve's need to kiss him through it, this, the wetness suddenly spurting through fingers, and down their skin, while Danny never lets go. Because. Danny never lets go. It's nothing but impossible and gorgeous, every bit of it.
Fingers slick on skin now, gliding so smooth it makes Steve groan Danny's name, torn apart by both things at once. Giving in to what has been threatening to shove through him for minutes now. No reason to hold back. No reason to wait. Nothing he wants more than to just give into that absolute disaster that starts ripping up everything in the back of his head. Brilliant blindness punching him from inside of his head. The tense ball in gut suddenly expanding in waves outward. Taking out everything left in its way.
Shrapnel waves of pleasure buffeting him as he fell forward on to an arm, his body shuddering harder than seemed possible.