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sirona_ficsI committed kissing fic! Weeelll, I say 'kissing'...
Title: Kissing ain't for the faint-hearted
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~1,300
Warnings: rimming, otherwise nothing that the warning doesn't imply.
Summary: Every once in a while, Danny wakes up with Steve, even if he doesn't want to.
Notes: Don't laugh, it's almost two a.m. and I'm still sick. This was meant to be about 500 words, and then it... morphed into this fluff-infested, free-smut-for-all extravaganza. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kissemdanno.
It's still dark when Danny half-wakes, half-dreams he's awake, eyes still crusted with sleep and exhaustion. There's movement in the bed, a sideways shuffle that Danny muzzily places as his bed partner gearing up for the day. It's sickening, knowing that Steve will be out from between the sheets in a moment, into the cold air and away from their shared warmth, the comfort of their naked skin sliding together. He huffs his annoyance into the pillow, grumbles incoherently, voice sleep-rough and six-hours-unused. His stubble scrapes against the cotton pillowcase, a soft hsss. He buries his face in it and frowns, unseen but no less intentional.
The shuffling stops, and the bed doesn't bounce from Steve's weight lifting off it. Rather, it dips with the shift of Steve's body, closer until Danny can feel the center of gravity shifting a little. Steve's warmth is close, comforting, home; Danny feels a small, soft caress over his shoulder, then the press of lips against the muscle. Another kiss, just as sweet, the rub of a stubbled cheek across the spot, then softer skin again, probably Steve's forehead. Lips and stubble touch him again, gentle, making his muscles melt and sink further into the mattress. His thoughts are fuzzy again, lulled back to sleep by the slow rhythm of kisses across his back, and then the touch of fingers trailing relaxation up and down his spine.
"Mmmm, must you be up so damn early every morning," he mutters, words weaving together with the growing light, the early hour, the quiet of the house threaded through with the waves crashing against the beach below.
He can feel the smile against his back, that small, smooth point of contact again -- Steve's nose? Must be; it nudges against him lightly, a tiny caress.
"You know it," Steve says, languid but far too awake for the time of day.
"Well I don't like it," Danny tells him, too boneless to put up a true protest but deploring the imminent lack of Steve in their bed all the same.
"Sorry," Steve says, not sounding the least bit remorseful.
"Why do you hate me so," Danny mumbles dramatically, hiding a sleepy smile in the pillow where Steve can't pounce on it.
"I like you plenty," Steve argues mildly; the drugging pleasure of his lips starts tracking a definite path South of his shoulders.
"Oh no you don't," Danny says, though he doesn't even pretend to move to deter Steve's intent. "Sleeping here. You go do your Supreme Being thing."
"Shut up, Danno," Steve directs just before the tip of his tongue teases at the small of Danny's back.
Danny grunts, because what, Steve's a dictator even in bed, who knew--no, scratch that from the record, Danny knew whom he was getting in bed with from the start; but now Steve's tongue has reached the top of his cleft, and certain parts of Danny's anatomy have perked up considerably.
"Ass," he groans instead when that tongue slips lower.
"Yes, it is," Steve says, the smartass, Danny hates him so much sometimes, except when he really doesn't. He groans again instead, hoping that Steve would interpret it as the despair at Steve's sense of humour it is rather than the desire it isn't. Mostly isn't. Goddamn it.
Steve's nimble fingers curl around his cheeks to hold him open, and Steve presses another kiss right there, the rim fluttering greedily under his touch.
"Fuck," Danny moans, because, well, fuck. Steve is good at this.
"Hmm? Sorry? You say something?" Steve asks innocently, lips and tongue withdrawing. Danny considers briefly gathering himself to turn around and smack him, but hell, he's comfortable where he is.
"Going back to sleep if you're gonna be like that," he says instead, even when there's fat chance of it; his fingers are clutching at the pillow tightly already.
"Sure you are," Steve says agreeably, because see re: being an ass. His mouth gets back to what it was doing, though, so. That's all right, Danny thinks with the part of his mind that isn't sparking with need.
Another kiss, a French one this time.
"Mngh," Danny manages, trying to press further up into the touch. Steve curls a long arm over the small of his back, pressing him down into the mattress. Danny just about manages not to whimper (if by 'manage' you mean 'fail', then yeah, he manages just fine); Steve rewards him with a finger, slick with saliva, inching past the ring of muscles.
"Steve," Danny moans, hips humping the bed uselessly. He's so hard he could just rub himself off right there over the sheets, it would be so easy, a few strokes and he'll spill everywhere, slow and languid and so, so delicious.
Steve really does know him far too well; he stops teasing, really goes for it, another finger inside, and Danny's still a little wet from last night, plenty loose, and so fucking turned on he could scream.
"Steve, come on, you bastard, come on," he threatens and begs in the same breath, wanting it so bad he could taste it in the back of his throat.
And then Steve's climbing over him, lips Danny would bet are flushed and spit-slick kissing their way up his spine, to the nape of his neck where they linger. The head of Steve's cock presses against him, hard and slippery, he must have lubed up, when the hell did he get the lube, Danny can't possibly be this far gone -- but apparently he is, because Steve slides right inside, hardly any resistance, Danny opening up for him beautifully, helpless to stop his quiet pants and moans all the way along. Steve's balls press against his perineum, heavy and full, racking up the anticipation.
Then Steve moves, fluid like always, spine and hips flexing sinuously, driving in and out of Danny so smoothly it makes Danny want to yell and choke and demand Steve go faster. Just the drag of it is almost enough; Steve pokes his spot on every thrust, rubs against it like he means it, and fuck, this has been going too long already, longer than Danny can stand.
It doesn't take much; the friction of Steve's cock deep inside him, Steve's laboured breathing, Steve's sweat-damp chest fitting against his back, Steve's gasps in Danny's ears, his fingers trailing up the bed to tangle with Danny's by his head. Then Steve kisses him, open-mouthed and filthy just below his ear, sucks a little, squeezes his hands as he feeds his cock inside just right, and Danny's gone, done, finished, the sheet growing wet and sticky beneath his hips, a disgusting mess no doubt, not that Danny cares. Steve isn't far behind; a few jerks later there are hot spurts inside him and Steve molds himself to Danny's back, forehead pressed to Danny's shoulder, shuddering violently when his cock slips out of Danny after a moment.
Danny lets Steve press him into the bed, relishes the weight over him, wants nothing more than to fall asleep right then and there. But the sheets are filthy, and Steve is already stirring; Danny knows his partner well. Less than twenty seconds later Steve is up, ungluing himself from Danny's back and rolling to his feet, energised like that damned rabbit on TV. Danny lets him, thrashes until he's sprawled over Steve's side of the bed, blessedly devout of a wet spot to make the sheets cling to him.
He's already half-asleep again by the time Steve dons his swimming trunks and departs; but he's quite certain he isn't dreaming the dip of the bed, the fond kiss pressed to his shoulder, the smile against his skin. He sighs contently into the smell of Steve's pillow, lets himself drift off to the sound of Steve's sure footsteps leaving the room.
-----
Title: Kissing ain't for the faint-hearted
Pairing: Steve/Danny
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~1,300
Warnings: rimming, otherwise nothing that the warning doesn't imply.
Summary: Every once in a while, Danny wakes up with Steve, even if he doesn't want to.
Notes: Don't laugh, it's almost two a.m. and I'm still sick. This was meant to be about 500 words, and then it... morphed into this fluff-infested, free-smut-for-all extravaganza. For
kissemdanno.It's still dark when Danny half-wakes, half-dreams he's awake, eyes still crusted with sleep and exhaustion. There's movement in the bed, a sideways shuffle that Danny muzzily places as his bed partner gearing up for the day. It's sickening, knowing that Steve will be out from between the sheets in a moment, into the cold air and away from their shared warmth, the comfort of their naked skin sliding together. He huffs his annoyance into the pillow, grumbles incoherently, voice sleep-rough and six-hours-unused. His stubble scrapes against the cotton pillowcase, a soft hsss. He buries his face in it and frowns, unseen but no less intentional.
The shuffling stops, and the bed doesn't bounce from Steve's weight lifting off it. Rather, it dips with the shift of Steve's body, closer until Danny can feel the center of gravity shifting a little. Steve's warmth is close, comforting, home; Danny feels a small, soft caress over his shoulder, then the press of lips against the muscle. Another kiss, just as sweet, the rub of a stubbled cheek across the spot, then softer skin again, probably Steve's forehead. Lips and stubble touch him again, gentle, making his muscles melt and sink further into the mattress. His thoughts are fuzzy again, lulled back to sleep by the slow rhythm of kisses across his back, and then the touch of fingers trailing relaxation up and down his spine.
"Mmmm, must you be up so damn early every morning," he mutters, words weaving together with the growing light, the early hour, the quiet of the house threaded through with the waves crashing against the beach below.
He can feel the smile against his back, that small, smooth point of contact again -- Steve's nose? Must be; it nudges against him lightly, a tiny caress.
"You know it," Steve says, languid but far too awake for the time of day.
"Well I don't like it," Danny tells him, too boneless to put up a true protest but deploring the imminent lack of Steve in their bed all the same.
"Sorry," Steve says, not sounding the least bit remorseful.
"Why do you hate me so," Danny mumbles dramatically, hiding a sleepy smile in the pillow where Steve can't pounce on it.
"I like you plenty," Steve argues mildly; the drugging pleasure of his lips starts tracking a definite path South of his shoulders.
"Oh no you don't," Danny says, though he doesn't even pretend to move to deter Steve's intent. "Sleeping here. You go do your Supreme Being thing."
"Shut up, Danno," Steve directs just before the tip of his tongue teases at the small of Danny's back.
Danny grunts, because what, Steve's a dictator even in bed, who knew--no, scratch that from the record, Danny knew whom he was getting in bed with from the start; but now Steve's tongue has reached the top of his cleft, and certain parts of Danny's anatomy have perked up considerably.
"Ass," he groans instead when that tongue slips lower.
"Yes, it is," Steve says, the smartass, Danny hates him so much sometimes, except when he really doesn't. He groans again instead, hoping that Steve would interpret it as the despair at Steve's sense of humour it is rather than the desire it isn't. Mostly isn't. Goddamn it.
Steve's nimble fingers curl around his cheeks to hold him open, and Steve presses another kiss right there, the rim fluttering greedily under his touch.
"Fuck," Danny moans, because, well, fuck. Steve is good at this.
"Hmm? Sorry? You say something?" Steve asks innocently, lips and tongue withdrawing. Danny considers briefly gathering himself to turn around and smack him, but hell, he's comfortable where he is.
"Going back to sleep if you're gonna be like that," he says instead, even when there's fat chance of it; his fingers are clutching at the pillow tightly already.
"Sure you are," Steve says agreeably, because see re: being an ass. His mouth gets back to what it was doing, though, so. That's all right, Danny thinks with the part of his mind that isn't sparking with need.
Another kiss, a French one this time.
"Mngh," Danny manages, trying to press further up into the touch. Steve curls a long arm over the small of his back, pressing him down into the mattress. Danny just about manages not to whimper (if by 'manage' you mean 'fail', then yeah, he manages just fine); Steve rewards him with a finger, slick with saliva, inching past the ring of muscles.
"Steve," Danny moans, hips humping the bed uselessly. He's so hard he could just rub himself off right there over the sheets, it would be so easy, a few strokes and he'll spill everywhere, slow and languid and so, so delicious.
Steve really does know him far too well; he stops teasing, really goes for it, another finger inside, and Danny's still a little wet from last night, plenty loose, and so fucking turned on he could scream.
"Steve, come on, you bastard, come on," he threatens and begs in the same breath, wanting it so bad he could taste it in the back of his throat.
And then Steve's climbing over him, lips Danny would bet are flushed and spit-slick kissing their way up his spine, to the nape of his neck where they linger. The head of Steve's cock presses against him, hard and slippery, he must have lubed up, when the hell did he get the lube, Danny can't possibly be this far gone -- but apparently he is, because Steve slides right inside, hardly any resistance, Danny opening up for him beautifully, helpless to stop his quiet pants and moans all the way along. Steve's balls press against his perineum, heavy and full, racking up the anticipation.
Then Steve moves, fluid like always, spine and hips flexing sinuously, driving in and out of Danny so smoothly it makes Danny want to yell and choke and demand Steve go faster. Just the drag of it is almost enough; Steve pokes his spot on every thrust, rubs against it like he means it, and fuck, this has been going too long already, longer than Danny can stand.
It doesn't take much; the friction of Steve's cock deep inside him, Steve's laboured breathing, Steve's sweat-damp chest fitting against his back, Steve's gasps in Danny's ears, his fingers trailing up the bed to tangle with Danny's by his head. Then Steve kisses him, open-mouthed and filthy just below his ear, sucks a little, squeezes his hands as he feeds his cock inside just right, and Danny's gone, done, finished, the sheet growing wet and sticky beneath his hips, a disgusting mess no doubt, not that Danny cares. Steve isn't far behind; a few jerks later there are hot spurts inside him and Steve molds himself to Danny's back, forehead pressed to Danny's shoulder, shuddering violently when his cock slips out of Danny after a moment.
Danny lets Steve press him into the bed, relishes the weight over him, wants nothing more than to fall asleep right then and there. But the sheets are filthy, and Steve is already stirring; Danny knows his partner well. Less than twenty seconds later Steve is up, ungluing himself from Danny's back and rolling to his feet, energised like that damned rabbit on TV. Danny lets him, thrashes until he's sprawled over Steve's side of the bed, blessedly devout of a wet spot to make the sheets cling to him.
He's already half-asleep again by the time Steve dons his swimming trunks and departs; but he's quite certain he isn't dreaming the dip of the bed, the fond kiss pressed to his shoulder, the smile against his skin. He sighs contently into the smell of Steve's pillow, lets himself drift off to the sound of Steve's sure footsteps leaving the room.
