Bluespirit

Danny can’t help himself; as much as he’s trying not to, he can’t help but look. Because Steve’s sitting there – no, Steve’s lounging there, shirtless again and legs sprawled out, and all Danny can think about is the swell of Steve’s cock against the soft material of his sweatpants, and how much he wants to get down there on his knees and mouth his way across the soft grey cloth until he can feel Steve hardening under his touch, until he can pull the sweatpants down (and Jesus, Steve’s not even tied them up, the drawstring’s just hanging loose, accentuating what’s underneath…) and get his lips round Steve’s cock, swallow him down and make him lose it…

…and then he catches Steve’s eye, sees the wicked, wicked half smirk on his lips, and his mouth goes dry because, fuck it, the bastard knows…