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Sex Pollen

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It’s like a fucking fever.

Biochem warfare, like viagra spiked with E spiked with if you don’t get fucked now then you are going to DIE.

He just wants.

“Hospital,” Steve gasps, gripping the rusty pipe on the wall like it’s his salvation or something. Like his dick isn’t going to break out of his pants.

Danny is impressed with that bulge.

Danny wants to see how far he can get that down his throat.

Scratch that.

Danny wants to see how deep he can get that up his ass.

“Nope.”

Standing. Standing would be excellent. Wow, he just wants to fuck. Steve is staring at him, scared and weirdly apprehensive.

If this guy is afraid of sex Danny is going to kill him. Well, he’s going to tell Kono and Chin so they can laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh, but then.

Then Danny’s going to kill him stone dead.

After the fucking.

Because that? That is going to happen.

Back to the convincing portion of the evening.

“Danny, we--” Steve is arguing, something about biochemicals and not being in their right minds and all this completely obvious bullshit, and Danny doesn’t understand why they’re not fucking.

“Need to fuck,” Danny says, helpful. “Now, probably, considering my balls feel like they’re gonna fall off or like, hang to my knees.”

Steve stares at him and Danny sighs and drops to his knees between Steve’s legs. Runs his hands up Steve’s thighs. The fabric bunches under his hands.

Steve stares at his hands. Flicks his eyes from one hand to the other and then glances at Danny’s dick. Maybe finally getting with the program, but. Stubborn.

“You don’t know what you’re--Danny, you’re--Rachel.”

Rachel. Rachel meaning women. Rachel meaning Steve hasn’t noticed Danny and Toast actually met at a bar of the homosexual nature. Rachel meaning Steve hasn’t figured out that Danny could be a Katy Perry song about bicuriosity.

Wow, these fucking drugs are awful.

In a kind of excellent way.

Fucking.

“You’re such an idiot,” Danny tells Steve kindly, and then kisses him, sucks Steve’s lower lip into his mouth and runs his tongue along Steve’s teeth. Steve makes some kind of choked noise, and Danny thinks this is like Christmas but better. “Babe, come on.”

It’s clear that Danny’s gonna have to do most of the work, because Steve keeps muttering things like “Oh shit” and “Danny, Danny, Danny” which, while flattering, does not translate to Steve’s cock in Danny’s ass, which is really just a travesty.

But after Danny’s stripped off (Jesus Christ, his hands are shaking and he’s leaking and wet like he’s a chick, for fuck’s sake. He’s never seen so much precome in his whole fucking life--which might be good, because he did not bring lube) Steve’s fingers press at Danny’s hole, curious and then rougher, like he can’t help hiimself.

“Welcome to the fucking party,” Danny gasps, hips jerking as Steve works a slick finger into him.

(”Wait, where the fuck did you get lube?”

“Gun oil”

Danny is going to need to be tested for so many things.)

His fingers stutter, then go rougher, and Steve’s all on board, his other hand bringing Danny’s face to his and he kisses like he’s trying to suck Danny’s fucking soul out of his body. Danny groans and Steve adds another finger and Danny has to jerk his mouth away, hitch a gasp and slide his mouth along Steve’s rough cheek.

He misses finger number three, though it gets added at some point. He’s too busy begging and pleading, burning up, reaching back for Steve’s dick and whining when Steve shifts to evade him.

“Not--Don’t wanna--”

Danny is feeling homicidal, but then Steve says, “hurt you” and Danny forgives him, feels goodwill towards all mankind, Jesus Christ why aren’t they fucking?

He bites at Steve’s throat, hungry for him, gasping for it as Steve’s fingers work and crook and take him apart until he’s melting, strung out and tense and liquid, molten metal, contradictions and dying with it.

“Steve, now. Now, please, God, now,” he begs, chokes on it. “Fuck me, you have to, c’mon.”

“I got you,” Steve says, shifting a little and guiding Danny down. “I got you, Danny.”

It’s not smooth, it’s not slow and it’s part gravity and part Steve’s hands bruising Danny’s hips and part Danny shoving himself down. It’s perfect. It’s so fucking good, slick slide of skin on skin, feeling full, split open on Steve’s cock. He doesn’t give himself time to adjust, pulls himself up and slides back down, fingers on the wall behind Steve’s shoulders, using it for leverage.

Things go hot and frantic, impossible and Danny can’t think, can’t think about anything except this, Steve’s fingers moving from hips to ass, pulling Danny’s cheeks apart, fingers playing next to his cock like he could slide them in, like there’s any room in Danny to accommodate that.

He’s sobbing, leaving marks, burning up, and then, sweet relief, he’s coming. No one’s touched his dick, just friction between them, the drag of his cock against Steve’s abs, the hem of his shirt. It’s an explosion, wrecks him, makes him lightheaded and he can’t fucking breathe and then Steve’s jerking, eratic drags against his prostate, hips slaming up against Danny and then following over the edge, filling Danny up, he’s gonna be dripping with it.

“Hazmat,” Steve gasps, and Danny looks at the warehouse door, then at his pants. Too much of a stretch, and every single muscle in his body rebels but he gets them on.

Then he collapses.

(Later there’s the hospital and the awkward nurse’s glances and having to hunt Steve down because the fucker thinks he raped Danny or something, and Danny has to choke on Steve’s cock to prove he wants this (oh, the humanity), but on the plus side, they get to skip the condom stage entirely since they’ve already set precedent and they both have very recent STD tests.)