[ Where that mental image comes from as it flashes into his mind like lightning, or how he has the nerve to just type it without hesitation as it does, he isn't sure, but he knows exactly how he wants to be shoved over onto his back for Deacon to ride him. ]
Because you do own it. You have all of me. I'm all yours to do anything you damn well please with, but I want you to show me that, not tell me.
In the meantime, I don't know how I can possibly wait another minute to taste you. I want you here now.
[ He won't need to make any effort at all to look exactly the way Deacon wants him to. ]
The fatigues are waiting on the coat rack just inside the entrance for Deacon when he arrives, as if there was the slightest doubt they wouldn't be. It's a much easier dream for him to make come true than the one he's detailed to Danse, both because Danse does not already have a corset in his possession and because he wouldn't be able to get it on without help even if he did.
But it feels unfair, to Danse's intrinsic sense of balance and justice and give-and-take, not to give Deacon anything to admire in turn after a long journey down dangerous wasteland roads to get home to him. And while Deacon has never given him any brocade undergarments for the purpose of wearing them himself (though using them for other purposes is another matter), he has made both mention and gift of a different, easier to wear sort of thing.
Had he slightly less modesty and more courage, Danse would be answering the door in that jockstrap, shamelessly letting Deacon see the way it lifts his ass and displays his bulge like a museum case, and willing to let a neighbor potentially get an eyeful to gossip over as well. He's not quite there yet. But he will and does stretch out on the couch in it, right there the moment Deacon turns his head, lips tugging into a faint smirk as the door closes behind his lover.
"Welcome home," he says, just a little too deadpan not to be teasing.
Deacon notices the fatigues immediately, already tugging off his shirt to replace it as requested. He is expecting Danse to be waiting in the restroom, and is surprised when he does turn to find him stretched out on the sofa looking like a meal to be devoured.
"Holy--" the shirt hits the floor and Deacon is moving toward Danse topless, abandoning his task entirely to instead get his hands and mouth on all of that beautiful bare skin. "Goddamn, you are beautiful," he purrs, crawling over him and bowing to steal a kiss, his hands mapping over his chest and abs, skirting the elastic of the jockstrap until his fingers can curl around Danse's thighs and tug them higher while he peppers Danse's jaw and neck with gnawing, playful kisses.
All that bare skin on display makes it transparently visible how these compliments affect Danse, the pink flush creeping all the way down his chest with his pleasure at that open, free, honest praise. He'd never want to hear it from anyone but Deacon, but his lover has always had a way of admiring his looks that makes Danse actually want more, want to hear it and want to earn it.
He gives a rumbling, purring sort of hum of delight into that kiss, arms winding immediately around Deacon to gather him into that embrace and one hand sliding through the soft regrowth on his scalp to stroke at it with the pads of his fingers. Deacon's hands are devouring him before he can get his wits about him again, his breath caught and quickening with pleasure at those skillful hands and that hot mouth on the most sensitive spot of his throat, already beginning to harden and wearing something that somehow manages to make that even more obvious than if he were just naked.
"Glad it exceeded your expectations," he teases, low in Deacon's ear and lips brushing the shell of it. "I'll wear it more often. But we need to address your uniform violation, soldier." His nails dig gently into Deacon's bare shoulder blade, to illustrate the point.
That pink hue to Danse's skin only makes Deacon want to devour more of it, kissing over pectorals now, his nose nuzzling into the soft bed of hair along Danse's chest. He huffs in indignation at the comment, his hands skirting up Danse's raised legs to squeeze at the curve of his ass.
"Give me a moment-" he protests, "I just need you to know how much you're appreciated before I get into character..." Deacon laughs, looking lovingly up at Danse with a smile. He crawls higher again to give his lover a more affectionate kiss, slower and emotional in nature. When it breaks, it lingers for Deacon to murmur against his lips. "I've missed you."
With clear hesitation, Deacon's hands lower Danse's legs again and skim back up his bare body to cradle his jaw while he presses another kiss to the tip of Danse's nose and his brow. He then eases back, one of the most difficult things he has had to do in the last week, easily.
"Head back to your bunk, soldier," he says, still too playful to be playing the role of Danse's superior. "I'll be there in a moment."
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no subject
[ Where that mental image comes from as it flashes into his mind like lightning, or how he has the nerve to just type it without hesitation as it does, he isn't sure, but he knows exactly how he wants to be shoved over onto his back for Deacon to ride him. ]
Because you do own it. You have all of me. I'm all yours to do anything you damn well please with, but I want you to show me that, not tell me.
In the meantime, I don't know how I can possibly wait another minute to taste you. I want you here now.
[ He won't need to make any effort at all to look exactly the way Deacon wants him to. ]
no subject
[Literally. He had imagined it too, pressing him down forcefully and claiming him.]
Well, I'm not sure I'm capable of not doing both. I have so much to wax poetic about with you around.
It's your lucky day, baby. I was already on the way home when I sent the first message. Lay my fatigues out for me by the door.
no subject
But it feels unfair, to Danse's intrinsic sense of balance and justice and give-and-take, not to give Deacon anything to admire in turn after a long journey down dangerous wasteland roads to get home to him. And while Deacon has never given him any brocade undergarments for the purpose of wearing them himself (though using them for other purposes is another matter), he has made both mention and gift of a different, easier to wear sort of thing.
Had he slightly less modesty and more courage, Danse would be answering the door in that jockstrap, shamelessly letting Deacon see the way it lifts his ass and displays his bulge like a museum case, and willing to let a neighbor potentially get an eyeful to gossip over as well. He's not quite there yet. But he will and does stretch out on the couch in it, right there the moment Deacon turns his head, lips tugging into a faint smirk as the door closes behind his lover.
"Welcome home," he says, just a little too deadpan not to be teasing.
no subject
"Holy--" the shirt hits the floor and Deacon is moving toward Danse topless, abandoning his task entirely to instead get his hands and mouth on all of that beautiful bare skin. "Goddamn, you are beautiful," he purrs, crawling over him and bowing to steal a kiss, his hands mapping over his chest and abs, skirting the elastic of the jockstrap until his fingers can curl around Danse's thighs and tug them higher while he peppers Danse's jaw and neck with gnawing, playful kisses.
no subject
He gives a rumbling, purring sort of hum of delight into that kiss, arms winding immediately around Deacon to gather him into that embrace and one hand sliding through the soft regrowth on his scalp to stroke at it with the pads of his fingers. Deacon's hands are devouring him before he can get his wits about him again, his breath caught and quickening with pleasure at those skillful hands and that hot mouth on the most sensitive spot of his throat, already beginning to harden and wearing something that somehow manages to make that even more obvious than if he were just naked.
"Glad it exceeded your expectations," he teases, low in Deacon's ear and lips brushing the shell of it. "I'll wear it more often. But we need to address your uniform violation, soldier." His nails dig gently into Deacon's bare shoulder blade, to illustrate the point.
no subject
"Give me a moment-" he protests, "I just need you to know how much you're appreciated before I get into character..." Deacon laughs, looking lovingly up at Danse with a smile. He crawls higher again to give his lover a more affectionate kiss, slower and emotional in nature. When it breaks, it lingers for Deacon to murmur against his lips. "I've missed you."
With clear hesitation, Deacon's hands lower Danse's legs again and skim back up his bare body to cradle his jaw while he presses another kiss to the tip of Danse's nose and his brow. He then eases back, one of the most difficult things he has had to do in the last week, easily.
"Head back to your bunk, soldier," he says, still too playful to be playing the role of Danse's superior. "I'll be there in a moment."