He's not a teenager anymore, and the refractory period is a real thing, but nobody seems to have told his body that. Steve pushes up to sitting, carrying Danny with him, until Danny ends up in his lap, and they're fitting together almost as snug as a lock and a key.
Almost. Almost. Enough to blitz his brain like Steve tossed it in a blender and hit high. Enough that they're slick with sweat again, melting the tackiness of earlier off skin, slippery between stomachs, and making Danny groan. He hadn't meant for this, when he back-pedaled, when he told Steve to kiss him, after wanting to know. Needing Steve to see.
That it matters. One year. Three. Four. Every day they lied to each other about this, and how much longer it would have gone on if it weren't for a stupid sting operation, undercover at a gay bar like the start to some third-rate porn.
That Steve's feelings matter. Every time he pushed Danny towards Gabby, or Melissa, and away from him. Every time he held his own hand in the fire because he thought it would make Danny happy.
It matters. But he fucked up talking about it, somehow, and now Steve is dragging him into his lap, and Danny's hands are at either side of his head, because it is. A lot. It's a lot. It's everything. Everything Danny still wants to know, can't wrap his head around, needs to have accompanied by some solid proof, evidence, something he can hold up and examine in the light of day, that will mean this isn't just tonight, and it's not just another dream he'll hate himself for when he wakes up.
He wants to know everything. When it started. Why. How. What it is about him Steve wants so much it's been eating at him for four years, without him ever making a single peep, without any sign except for a few too-tight hugs and maybe a closer than usual interest in the boring, mundane details of Danny's life.
Leaning to press his forehead against Steve's, while trying to catch his breath, which is impossible, because they're almost in a dead sprint again, his hips nudging forward and sending hard shudders up his back. Eyes closing. Licking at dry lips. Caught between a kiss, and just...this. Forehead to forehead. Feeling almost close enough to sink straight into the joint of Steve's hips. "So I hear."
Except it still doesn't make sense. Doesn't seem real. After Steve said I just want you, and they've both been using those words, and Danny's not sure he'd be able to explain them, either, but they're piling up in his chest, trying to force their way out. Everything.
He wants to know everything, before he loses this chance. Before this all goes away.
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He's not a teenager anymore, and the refractory period is a real thing, but nobody seems to have told his body that. Steve pushes up to sitting, carrying Danny with him, until Danny ends up in his lap, and they're fitting together almost as snug as a lock and a key.
Almost. Almost. Enough to blitz his brain like Steve tossed it in a blender and hit high. Enough that they're slick with sweat again, melting the tackiness of earlier off skin, slippery between stomachs, and making Danny groan. He hadn't meant for this, when he back-pedaled, when he told Steve to kiss him, after wanting to know. Needing Steve to see.
That it matters. One year. Three. Four. Every day they lied to each other about this, and how much longer it would have gone on if it weren't for a stupid sting operation, undercover at a gay bar like the start to some third-rate porn.
That Steve's feelings matter. Every time he pushed Danny towards Gabby, or Melissa, and away from him. Every time he held his own hand in the fire because he thought it would make Danny happy.
It matters. But he fucked up talking about it, somehow, and now Steve is dragging him into his lap, and Danny's hands are at either side of his head, because it is. A lot. It's a lot. It's everything. Everything Danny still wants to know, can't wrap his head around, needs to have accompanied by some solid proof, evidence, something he can hold up and examine in the light of day, that will mean this isn't just tonight, and it's not just another dream he'll hate himself for when he wakes up.
He wants to know everything. When it started. Why. How. What it is about him Steve wants so much it's been eating at him for four years, without him ever making a single peep, without any sign except for a few too-tight hugs and maybe a closer than usual interest in the boring, mundane details of Danny's life.
Leaning to press his forehead against Steve's, while trying to catch his breath, which is impossible, because they're almost in a dead sprint again, his hips nudging forward and sending hard shudders up his back. Eyes closing. Licking at dry lips. Caught between a kiss, and just...this. Forehead to forehead. Feeling almost close enough to sink straight into the joint of Steve's hips. "So I hear."
Except it still doesn't make sense. Doesn't seem real. After Steve said I just want you, and they've both been using those words, and Danny's not sure he'd be able to explain them, either, but they're piling up in his chest, trying to force their way out. Everything.
He wants to know everything, before he loses this chance. Before this all goes away.