He wouldn't actually disagree. With what Danny is blatantly implying -- though, really? A pen cap? Not that even that would be impossible, but so last resort compared to all the other options -- but it's not like he ever chooses to agrees either. Well. not often, and never in circumstances such as these, when it's all barbs and quips flashing across a space.
He just gives Danny a withering look, as he's bringing up the last two balls. "Physics and geometry, Danny." Beat. Severely unruffled and obviously pressing him. "And the pleasure of watching you get your ass handed to you."
Along with far too many hours and limited resources for entertainment that were spent in his twenties on a boat or submarine in communal berthing compartments. Gyroscopically controlled tables would always been more fascinating than an ordinary table. Also, far mor challenging. When there's a smug firm fold in at the creases of his mouth, because the ground isn't going to move. Hasn't in years.
Find the five, drop it in the opposite corner. Find the eight, drop it one back from the tip.
Shift around the center so the stripes and solids are evenly mixed inside them.
Looking up for the combine toss of his cue and the words that Danny throws out next. Aggravation lining the edges, when neither of them are in any harm of actually cutting him, as he lifts the triangle from the balls and tosses it toward Danny, saying, "Just for that, I get to break, too."
Which he probably would have claimed anyway. Most likely. Letting Danny continue to be covered and exploding with prickling annoyance and impossible, jealousy, that he kept nearly trying to slide from being true until each new sharp shard fell from Danny's mouth, is not the reason to let him have the advantage. If anything, just acknowledging it, feeling it skitter under his skin, wild and white hot and god he wants to touch it, feel it, see it, again, already, and that feels like Danny has too much of the advantage already.
Steve walks across to the right spot, looking at the balls, and only glancing up once more at Danny, before he's leaning down.
Eyes focusing in on the balls, coasting the pool cue over the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger and, yeah, he does hate pool cues that are designed for people at least half a foot to a foot shorter than he is, but he barely takes more than a second and half's pause, reconfiguring for those variances, too, before it snaps forward. Definitive and sends the cue ball on a fast, hard collision with the set above, landing a loud crack that sends them sliding in every direction.
no subject
He just gives Danny a withering look, as he's bringing up the last two balls. "Physics and geometry, Danny."
Beat. Severely unruffled and obviously pressing him. "And the pleasure of watching you get your ass handed to you."
Along with far too many hours and limited resources for entertainment that were spent in his twenties on a boat or submarine in communal berthing compartments. Gyroscopically controlled tables would always been more fascinating than an ordinary table. Also, far mor challenging. When there's a smug firm fold in at the creases of his mouth, because the ground isn't going to move. Hasn't in years.
Find the five, drop it in the opposite corner. Find the eight, drop it one back from the tip.
Shift around the center so the stripes and solids are evenly mixed inside them.
Looking up for the combine toss of his cue and the words that Danny throws out next. Aggravation lining the edges, when neither of them are in any harm of actually cutting him, as he lifts the triangle from the balls and tosses it toward Danny, saying, "Just for that, I get to break, too."
Which he probably would have claimed anyway. Most likely. Letting Danny continue to be covered and exploding with prickling annoyance and impossible, jealousy, that he kept nearly trying to slide from being true until each new sharp shard fell from Danny's mouth, is not the reason to let him have the advantage. If anything, just acknowledging it, feeling it skitter under his skin, wild and white hot and god he wants to touch it, feel it, see it, again, already, and that feels like Danny has too much of the advantage already.
Steve walks across to the right spot, looking at the balls, and only glancing up once more at Danny, before he's leaning down.
Eyes focusing in on the balls, coasting the pool cue over the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger and, yeah, he does hate pool cues that are designed for people at least half a foot to a foot shorter than he is, but he barely takes more than a second and half's pause, reconfiguring for those variances, too, before it snaps forward. Definitive and sends the cue ball on a fast, hard collision with the set above, landing a loud crack that sends them sliding in every direction.