"I'm beginning to think that's something I should have been doing all along." A quick quip back, while Steve is glancing idly up, like the ceiling is giving him suggestions on how to further being a smartass. Back and forth. Words aimed like the cue ball on the pool table, breaking each comment into a dozen different paths, all more or less aimed at perfecting Steve's ability to aggravate Danny.
Which he's not really doing, though the momentarily bared line of his throat as his head tips as enough to make something not unlike aggravation skitter under Danny's skin, thin legs pricking and stinging. "Utilitarian. Efficient. A little paranoid, maybe, but an excellent conversation starter. 'Why are you wearing body armor?' they'd ask, and it would be a very long story that would end with me explaining how people shoot at me on a near daily basis and also that you keep incendiaries in my car, so I like to keep my own person as safe as possible at pretty much all time, just in case of random shrapnel."
One hand lifts to his collar, where it lies, cool and unbuttoned, against his throat, and he tugs at it, eyebrows lifting into a skeptical arch that pushes deep ridges over the bridge of his nose.
"Oh, you want the tie back, now? You run out of other things to criticize, or are you just hitting all your favorites? Clip-ons, come on, this is not a bar mitzvah, I'll have you know, I never owned a single clip-on tie. They are an affront to the whole idea."
no subject
Which he's not really doing, though the momentarily bared line of his throat as his head tips as enough to make something not unlike aggravation skitter under Danny's skin, thin legs pricking and stinging. "Utilitarian. Efficient. A little paranoid, maybe, but an excellent conversation starter. 'Why are you wearing body armor?' they'd ask, and it would be a very long story that would end with me explaining how people shoot at me on a near daily basis and also that you keep incendiaries in my car, so I like to keep my own person as safe as possible at pretty much all time, just in case of random shrapnel."
One hand lifts to his collar, where it lies, cool and unbuttoned, against his throat, and he tugs at it, eyebrows lifting into a skeptical arch that pushes deep ridges over the bridge of his nose.
"Oh, you want the tie back, now? You run out of other things to criticize, or are you just hitting all your favorites? Clip-ons, come on, this is not a bar mitzvah, I'll have you know, I never owned a single clip-on tie. They are an affront to the whole idea."