"Oh, you mean that," with a not entirely complimentary gesture towards Steve's head, "isn't just all full of sand and too many ways to kill a person using your bare hands and a pen cap?"
Aggravated, all too aware that Steve is leaving him hanging on purpose and probably will continue to do so, just to piss him off further, while Danny tries to count to ten and makes it as far as three before just shoving the cue onto the table itself. It rolls a little dejectedly against the bumpers, comes to a gentle halt somewhere near Steve's hip.
Who looks like he is enjoying himself a whole lot more, suddenly, and Danny guesses that attention from two pretty women in a row, less than ten minutes from each other, would have that effect. Which is fine. Totally fine. Understandable, even. Who doesn't like to feel wanted, right?
But it is seriously like standing on a pit of coals, searing steam up into his head and blotting out everything but his own bad mood.
Which he should let go of. It's not the point of tonight, letting things get to him, totally normal things, like barflies hitting on Steve the way they always do and that he has just maybe not really noticed as much, before. It feels like the planes of muscle on his back have soldered into a solid plate, though, and he flexes it, a little, testing, butt of his cue on the ground, leaning on it as he watches Steve rack the balls, all deliberate efficiency, now that he's had his own way.
Seriously, he's worse than Grace.
"Is your gambit for me to die of old age before you finish setting up? Because I have to say, that might work."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2012-11-27 02:57 am (UTC)Aggravated, all too aware that Steve is leaving him hanging on purpose and probably will continue to do so, just to piss him off further, while Danny tries to count to ten and makes it as far as three before just shoving the cue onto the table itself. It rolls a little dejectedly against the bumpers, comes to a gentle halt somewhere near Steve's hip.
Who looks like he is enjoying himself a whole lot more, suddenly, and Danny guesses that attention from two pretty women in a row, less than ten minutes from each other, would have that effect. Which is fine. Totally fine. Understandable, even. Who doesn't like to feel wanted, right?
But it is seriously like standing on a pit of coals, searing steam up into his head and blotting out everything but his own bad mood.
Which he should let go of. It's not the point of tonight, letting things get to him, totally normal things, like barflies hitting on Steve the way they always do and that he has just maybe not really noticed as much, before. It feels like the planes of muscle on his back have soldered into a solid plate, though, and he flexes it, a little, testing, butt of his cue on the ground, leaning on it as he watches Steve rack the balls, all deliberate efficiency, now that he's had his own way.
Seriously, he's worse than Grace.
"Is your gambit for me to die of old age before you finish setting up? Because I have to say, that might work."