Steve just stares at him through the rant at his wallet, face pulling long and far more fakely-blank, patiently exasperated, with the need to listen, or for Danny not to just be following his direction already, than anything really going on beneath the surface. It's actually such old hat now. Tossing Danny a bone. He's got a card. No ID, but a card. In one of his many pockets. But there's no point in going quiet and doing whatever, not with Danny.
Not when he's huffing and snapping at a boil. Not when Steve can keep tossing him things to rail and rage against. Both because it continues to be the thing dragging floods of warmth up through him, and because there is too much that honestly cannot make it's way to falling out of Danny's more. No matter how much he deserves a right to say. He doesn't have it here, and Steve is precarious of that line. Even more reason to throw things in Danny's way.
When he tilts his head, raises his eyebrows like he's considering and holds out his hand for the money,"'Pparently not."
Beat. "Where's my pool cue? How are you going to accomplish anything if you can't even collect the correct pieces to start?"
The disappointment doesn't reach his eyes, but he lets his voice get sardonic and a little sharp. Easy to play along, easy to keep up, and press a little harder. Distract and demand. To try and convince himself he isn't simply because his smile won't stop, even when it's pressed smaller. Because he just wants to watch it. Even more. Tossing gasoline on an unstable, unpredictable, fire.
When he's so caught. Like there's a damn hook sunk somewhere right about the middle of his chest, with all those waves of light and heat. Watching the way Danny moves too fast, the ways the muscles in his face keep tensing and the words fly like draggers. How he keeps looking around and then settling on Steve, who isn't really looking anywhere. (And could with a very small margin for error, still point out where the five nearest people are and how little effort it would be to knock them out between the triangle and the table.)
He shouldn't. But it mesmerizing. What the hell is he supposed to make of it.
Danny going off like a junk yard dog because some girl nearly tripped and landed in his lap, and decided to do with that what people do in bars. When Steve couldn't care less for the girl, who is somewhere behind them, maybe even pulling the same stunt again, because he can't even look away from this. Feeling the warmth and cold, such vastly different wants and actually realities colliding all under his skin.
no subject
Not when he's huffing and snapping at a boil. Not when Steve can keep tossing him things to rail and rage against. Both because it continues to be the thing dragging floods of warmth up through him, and because there is too much that honestly cannot make it's way to falling out of Danny's more. No matter how much he deserves a right to say. He doesn't have it here, and Steve is precarious of that line. Even more reason to throw things in Danny's way.
When he tilts his head, raises his eyebrows like he's considering and holds out his hand for the money,"'Pparently not."
Beat. "Where's my pool cue? How are you going to accomplish anything if you can't even collect the correct pieces to start?"
The disappointment doesn't reach his eyes, but he lets his voice get sardonic and a little sharp. Easy to play along, easy to keep up, and press a little harder. Distract and demand. To try and convince himself he isn't simply because his smile won't stop, even when it's pressed smaller. Because he just wants to watch it. Even more. Tossing gasoline on an unstable, unpredictable, fire.
When he's so caught. Like there's a damn hook sunk somewhere right about the middle of his chest, with all those waves of light and heat. Watching the way Danny moves too fast, the ways the muscles in his face keep tensing and the words fly like draggers. How he keeps looking around and then settling on Steve, who isn't really looking anywhere. (And could with a very small margin for error, still point out where the five nearest people are and how little effort it would be to knock them out between the triangle and the table.)
He shouldn't. But it mesmerizing. What the hell is he supposed to make of it.
Danny going off like a junk yard dog because some girl nearly tripped and landed in his lap, and decided to do with that what people do in bars. When Steve couldn't care less for the girl, who is somewhere behind them, maybe even pulling the same stunt again, because he can't even look away from this. Feeling the warmth and cold, such vastly different wants and actually realities colliding all under his skin.