Steve goes, which might be a relief, if Danny could still process anything other than the immediate; anything other than Steve's body writhing up under his, grinding up into him like they're a couple of horny teenagers going at it in a locker room or in a basement, hoping like hell that nobody's mom is about to open the door, flick on the light, walk down the stairs.
He's not sure he can remember the last time he felt like this, like he wanted to crawl right under someone else's skin, to get closer than closer, to wind himself so close around their body that he ends up sinking straight into it, can't remember the last time he didn't care about getting it right, too caught up in how it feels, but it's been a long time. Since Rachel, maybe. Back when they couldn't keep their hands off each other, back when they were young and stupid and so in love nothing else even seemed like it existed.
Like nothing else is existing, now, except Steve grinding against him and Danny gasping, and that groan that's been ripped out of Steve's chest, so many times tonight, and not enough. It couldn't ever be enough, he needs to hear it again and again to know exactly how wrong he was, every time he ever allowed himself to picture this. The way his whole chest clenches, and then cracks, like a block of ice someone's taking a sledgehammer to.
Because he picture also never had that. Those words. Steve saying them, breathless and raw and too honest, the way he can be, sometimes, when he's been railroaded again by a world he keeps trying to save, but which seems to love nothing more than to kick him, over and over again.
Saying he wants Danny. He just wants Danny.
The strangled sound Danny makes now isn't from Steve's skin rubbing against his, or Steve's hands hard on his hips, or even the slow white out building up in his head: it's those words. I want you.
When he can't remember the last time anyone wanted him. Just him. "Tell me."
Even if it's hypocritical, because he has his mouth on Steve's again right after he says it, kisses coming undone, getting messy, distracted by the heat Steve's churning into his gut. "I want to know -- I want to know everything. All of it."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-12-01 04:32 am (UTC)Steve goes, which might be a relief, if Danny could still process anything other than the immediate; anything other than Steve's body writhing up under his, grinding up into him like they're a couple of horny teenagers going at it in a locker room or in a basement, hoping like hell that nobody's mom is about to open the door, flick on the light, walk down the stairs.
He's not sure he can remember the last time he felt like this, like he wanted to crawl right under someone else's skin, to get closer than closer, to wind himself so close around their body that he ends up sinking straight into it, can't remember the last time he didn't care about getting it right, too caught up in how it feels, but it's been a long time. Since Rachel, maybe. Back when they couldn't keep their hands off each other, back when they were young and stupid and so in love nothing else even seemed like it existed.
Like nothing else is existing, now, except Steve grinding against him and Danny gasping, and that groan that's been ripped out of Steve's chest, so many times tonight, and not enough. It couldn't ever be enough, he needs to hear it again and again to know exactly how wrong he was, every time he ever allowed himself to picture this. The way his whole chest clenches, and then cracks, like a block of ice someone's taking a sledgehammer to.
Because he picture also never had that. Those words. Steve saying them, breathless and raw and too honest, the way he can be, sometimes, when he's been railroaded again by a world he keeps trying to save, but which seems to love nothing more than to kick him, over and over again.
Saying he wants Danny. He just wants Danny.
The strangled sound Danny makes now isn't from Steve's skin rubbing against his, or Steve's hands hard on his hips, or even the slow white out building up in his head: it's those words. I want you.
When he can't remember the last time anyone wanted him. Just him. "Tell me."
Even if it's hypocritical, because he has his mouth on Steve's again right after he says it, kisses coming undone, getting messy, distracted by the heat Steve's churning into his gut. "I want to know -- I want to know everything. All of it."