Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and am not making any profit (monetary or otherwise) through writing this.
A/N: missmeagan666 on A03 wrote, "I would love if you did more stories like this with Danny's unworldly ass. Would you consider doing a series of Steve and his love for Danny's ass?" and this is what happened as a result of that. Hopefully (and if there are others interested) there will be more such stories in the future. Inspired by, "Walk Like an Egyptian" The Bangles.
Thanks, swifters, for reading through this, and letting me know it needed a little more.
Danny's humming a song that Steve doesn't recognize. Hips moving in a way that's sinful, and mesmerizing. He's dancing. Hips and ass moving across the room, capturing Steve in the wake of their movements.
Steve's a man lost and drowning, and Danny's his desert oasis. Dry heat and mirage. A cold glass of water with condensation pooling on the smooth surface.
Fingers clicking along to the beat of a song that only Danny can hear, his ass starts to dip and sway. Steve's mouth goes dry, eyes zeroing in on Danny's ass.
Perfectly shaped mounds of flesh are lost beneath the folds of too much fabric wrinkled from the wash, and Steve wants to rip Danny's unpressed slacks off, press his lover against the nearest hard surface and fuck like it's a Sunday and they've nowhere to be, no one to bring to justice.
Danny starts to whistle the nameless tune. Lips pursed and ass wriggling dangerously close to Steve's unoccupied hands. He sashays past Steve, moving toward the cupboard that houses his favorite cereal. Some overly sugared crap that Steve's threatened to toss out more times than he can count.
Steve's eyes are locked on Danny's ass, though, and all thoughts of sugar and bad diets leading to diabetes flees in the presence of perfection. The way that the slacks stretch over the muscled surface, make Steve's breath hitch, and his fingers twitch. If he touches now, though, the bad guys, whoever the fuck they are, will get away.
'Danny's ass should be outlawed,' Steve thinks, and then revises that thought, because...no. He needs Danny's ass. 'Clothes should be outlawed. Clothes on Danny's ass should be outlawed,' he amends.
Eyes locked on Danny's ass, the room temporarily swirls around Steve, and he's dizzy. Licking his lips, Steve blinks, pictures Danny naked, his hands full, fingers skimming over glistening skin taut over rippling muscles that give way beneath Steve's touch.
Steve holds his breath when Danny shimmies past him, that ass mere centimeters away from Steve's cock. He closes his eyes and indulges in a minute of fantasy – tearing Danny's clothes off, and shoving him up against the counter, fingers and tongue working, working, working that ass, making the man squirm and writhe and cry out...
"All the cops in the doughnut shop sing, ay oh ay, oh ay oh, walk like an Egyptian," Danny sings, and his ass brushes against Steve's hips, the knuckles of his hand. It's electric and fire, a cold bucket of water on the hottest day of the year.
Steve's fingers flex, and touch, and fuck it all. Fuck the office, and the criminals, and everything else that stands between Danny's ass and Steve's hands.