Steve isn't positive, even when he is letting Danny push him, roll them, that he wants to relent. Let Danny. Do anything but kiss him into the bed, and through the mattress, maybe the floor and the ceiling and the next floor. Like somehow that action could say everything it can't, and that he has no clue how to say for Danny, and Danny keeps asking, because Danny needs words. That even trying to touch in himself, either of them trying, makes him vicious and feral even at Danny, who is every reason for everything.
Danny whose fingers were in his hair, and whose arm was across him, leg tangled up. Making this shift ungraceful, but, also, somehow like it didn't matter. Neither of them letting go, or paying it any mind, as they didn't pull apart during it. Steve didn't care. Or he did. Too much. With their names still in his ears, like it had been etched with a razor sharp blade on his skin, or his brain. The backs of his eyelids, and the last thing he wanted was to share. This fleeting darkness. These minutes. His bed. Danny.
He's done it for so long. Sharing Danny with the world, and with them, and he doesn't want to anymore. Not now. Not with Danny kissing him back like this. Making his breath go ragged, when he even remembers to breathe in and his hands have to find more of Danny's skin, as Danny lets him. Kiss him like this. Touch him like this. Not backing down and not flattening a hand on his chest, or his neck, telling Steve that Steve had to. Danny only pulled him even closer, kissing him back just as hard. Nothing but willing and seeming to want him, still, too. To feel the urgent insanity and the blistering impossible walls in the air.
That it wasn't just Steve who lost it on a touch. The taste of Danny. The solidness under his hands.
The way nothing in his head made any sense when he was trying to say it, but everything about this did. Even if it was the kind of sense crackling the edges of everything calm and sane. Tempting him toward the edge with a red blanket waving, while it felt briefly, crazily, like somehow they might be on the same page here at least.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-11-19 03:11 am (UTC)Steve isn't positive, even when he is letting Danny push him, roll them, that he wants to relent. Let Danny. Do anything but kiss him into the bed, and through the mattress, maybe the floor and the ceiling and the next floor. Like somehow that action could say everything it can't, and that he has no clue how to say for Danny, and Danny keeps asking, because Danny needs words. That even trying to touch in himself, either of them trying, makes him vicious and feral even at Danny, who is every reason for everything.
Danny whose fingers were in his hair, and whose arm was across him, leg tangled up. Making this shift ungraceful, but, also, somehow like it didn't matter. Neither of them letting go, or paying it any mind, as they didn't pull apart during it. Steve didn't care. Or he did. Too much. With their names still in his ears, like it had been etched with a razor sharp blade on his skin, or his brain. The backs of his eyelids, and the last thing he wanted was to share. This fleeting darkness. These minutes. His bed. Danny.
He's done it for so long. Sharing Danny with the world, and with them, and he doesn't want to anymore. Not now. Not with Danny kissing him back like this. Making his breath go ragged, when he even remembers to breathe in and his hands have to find more of Danny's skin, as Danny lets him. Kiss him like this. Touch him like this. Not backing down and not flattening a hand on his chest, or his neck, telling Steve that Steve had to. Danny only pulled him even closer, kissing him back just as hard. Nothing but willing and seeming to want him, still, too. To feel the urgent insanity and the blistering impossible walls in the air.
That it wasn't just Steve who lost it on a touch. The taste of Danny. The solidness under his hands.
The way nothing in his head made any sense when he was trying to say it, but everything about this did. Even if it was the kind of sense crackling the edges of everything calm and sane. Tempting him toward the edge with a red blanket waving, while it felt briefly, crazily, like somehow they might be on the same page here at least.