He really thinks he might actually prefer getting shot, to this. At least grazed. Punched. Kicked. Anything but the way her face lights up, like she thinks she's found an in, eyes widening with what has got to be overly exaggerated curiosity.
"Oh, wow, you were in the service? What branch?"
Her fingers spread a little wider, palm resting against Steve's shoulder briefly, before she pulls them away, yanking Danny's guts right along with that touch, incoherent fury bubbling into a high-pitched shriek in his head, the wail of a teapot boiling over. Unable to keep from focusing on her hand, a laser sight graphing every second her fingers are on Steve's skin.
His free hand lifts, scrubs at his mouth, and it's like trying to lift a tank with a fishing line, but he manages to drag his eyes away from her, to glance at Steve, only to shift away again almost instantly, because Steve is looking at him with this...face, and he doesn't know what face that is, just yet, it's a new one, but it doesn't look unhappy. Which is just great, it's great, just perfect, and Danny wishes he hadn't put his beer down.
At least her hand is off his arm, now, so he's a little less likely to want to rip his own hair out, but she's leaning forward, all interest, clearly considering she's gotten past the possible conversational rejection, and he would love to clarify for her just how inaccurate that thought is, except Steve is not doing anything to push her off.
He's not really being inviting -- Danny can see that, even if she can't -- but he's not pulling away, either, seems fine with her sticking around, and that is just, you know. He bites down on the inside of his bottom lip to keep from saying anything too blunt, anything outright rude, but she is seriously trying his willpower, and Steve is not helping. Which, okay. Fine. Maybe he's actually okay with this. Being flirted with. The attention.
And it's childish. This need to shove his way into the conversation, between them, the sudden desire to take a fistful of Steve's shirt and drag him out of touching range. When his fingers itch to wrap around his wrist, his arm. Cover up the lower edge of that tattoo with his hand.
Which he can't do. Here. In public.
And he should really stop considering getting her name just to see if she has any unpaid parking tickets he can bust her on.
"The Army," he says, just to be a dick, and feels like a jerk for saying it, but it's an old joke and he can't help himself, even if it's feeling a little more bitter than amusing right now.
no subject
"Oh, wow, you were in the service? What branch?"
Her fingers spread a little wider, palm resting against Steve's shoulder briefly, before she pulls them away, yanking Danny's guts right along with that touch, incoherent fury bubbling into a high-pitched shriek in his head, the wail of a teapot boiling over. Unable to keep from focusing on her hand, a laser sight graphing every second her fingers are on Steve's skin.
His free hand lifts, scrubs at his mouth, and it's like trying to lift a tank with a fishing line, but he manages to drag his eyes away from her, to glance at Steve, only to shift away again almost instantly, because Steve is looking at him with this...face, and he doesn't know what face that is, just yet, it's a new one, but it doesn't look unhappy. Which is just great, it's great, just perfect, and Danny wishes he hadn't put his beer down.
At least her hand is off his arm, now, so he's a little less likely to want to rip his own hair out, but she's leaning forward, all interest, clearly considering she's gotten past the possible conversational rejection, and he would love to clarify for her just how inaccurate that thought is, except Steve is not doing anything to push her off.
He's not really being inviting -- Danny can see that, even if she can't -- but he's not pulling away, either, seems fine with her sticking around, and that is just, you know. He bites down on the inside of his bottom lip to keep from saying anything too blunt, anything outright rude, but she is seriously trying his willpower, and Steve is not helping. Which, okay. Fine. Maybe he's actually okay with this. Being flirted with. The attention.
And it's childish. This need to shove his way into the conversation, between them, the sudden desire to take a fistful of Steve's shirt and drag him out of touching range. When his fingers itch to wrap around his wrist, his arm. Cover up the lower edge of that tattoo with his hand.
Which he can't do. Here. In public.
And he should really stop considering getting her name just to see if she has any unpaid parking tickets he can bust her on.
"The Army," he says, just to be a dick, and feels like a jerk for saying it, but it's an old joke and he can't help himself, even if it's feeling a little more bitter than amusing right now.