Comes out ragged, but he makes it, pushes it, because this is them, and apparently this is what they do, even like this, which makes sense. It's not like anything he ever thought about, any fantasy he ever had, wouldn't contain this, too, because it's part of what he wants, what he loves, what he needs about Steve, and this, and them. "I hear plenty. I hear you bitching, bitching, bitching, all the time, Steve, all the time."
It's probably even less believable than ever, with his body pressed up against Steve's, and his voice getting tighter and tighter and his fingers in Steve's hair, but he can't stop himself. It's like throwing a match on a pile of TNT, and hoping he can dodge the shrapnel. "I hear you mocking me, and bugging me every single day about what I'm wearing, what I'm eating, what I'm doing later. You are like this annoying fly that's always buzzing in my ear, that I can't get rid of."
As well as the voice of reason, on more than one occasion; his conscience, occasionally, his sounding board, often. He doesn't know what the world would look like, if Steve weren't there to narrate it with him.
He's pretty sure he doesn't want to know.
He's also pretty sure this isn't going to last much longer, especially once he drags one hand down from Steve's head to wrap around them both, punching a groan from so deep in his gut he's sure he'll be sore from it later, like getting hit, or doing too many sit-ups. "Fuck, just...you're terrible. The worst."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2016-05-03 10:34 pm (UTC)"I don't hear anything?"
Comes out ragged, but he makes it, pushes it, because this is them, and apparently this is what they do, even like this, which makes sense. It's not like anything he ever thought about, any fantasy he ever had, wouldn't contain this, too, because it's part of what he wants, what he loves, what he needs about Steve, and this, and them. "I hear plenty. I hear you bitching, bitching, bitching, all the time, Steve, all the time."
It's probably even less believable than ever, with his body pressed up against Steve's, and his voice getting tighter and tighter and his fingers in Steve's hair, but he can't stop himself. It's like throwing a match on a pile of TNT, and hoping he can dodge the shrapnel. "I hear you mocking me, and bugging me every single day about what I'm wearing, what I'm eating, what I'm doing later. You are like this annoying fly that's always buzzing in my ear, that I can't get rid of."
As well as the voice of reason, on more than one occasion; his conscience, occasionally, his sounding board, often. He doesn't know what the world would look like, if Steve weren't there to narrate it with him.
He's pretty sure he doesn't want to know.
He's also pretty sure this isn't going to last much longer, especially once he drags one hand down from Steve's head to wrap around them both, punching a groan from so deep in his gut he's sure he'll be sore from it later, like getting hit, or doing too many sit-ups. "Fuck, just...you're terrible. The worst."