"That's all you've got, right now? 'Get in the car'?"
Sounding more amused than ever, sending a spiked wrecking ball of aggravation straight into his temple and tightening his frown. The girls aren't around anymore, he can knock it off, right?
Except it's Steve, and Steve has no concept of boundaries or limitations except to sometimes note when he slams right past them. Danny can't fault the guy for enjoying the attention, but it smarts, deep in his chest, to see him still so happy about it, in a way that he knows is going to spiral further, shield itself with old hurts that have nothing to do with Steve, but don't help the prospect of someone else edging in and...
What, taking him away? The way Steve didn't stay to flirt with Lani, or the nameless girl at the bar, or Megan the overly hospitable bartender?
But he might have. He could have. In so many ways, it's almost more like he should have. Right? A month is so much longer than he expected any of this to last, and it was always only going to be a matter of time before other people started looking at Steve, and Steve started looking back.
It's rolling around and around in his head, confused and unhappy and pissed off because of it, because, what the hell, what say does he have? Nothing, right? It's not like with Rachel or Gabby, when he could step in and make himself obvious -- but then, it's not like Rachel or Gabby ever seemed to really crave the attention from anyone else, either. And what could he say, anyway? That Steve is, what. His?
A sudden flash of possessive, fiercely selfish agreement shakes him right down to his center, but -- no. It doesn't matter if he's fallen asleep with a hand on Steve's arm or hip, doesn't matter if he's woken up the same way. They're partners. Best friends. And -- this. Whatever it is. Nobody else spends as much time with Steve as he does: mornings, work, evenings, night. Weekends without Grace. Weekdays, everywhere else. But that doesn't mean he can stake a claim.
"Fine, let's get out of here."
None of which has any effect on his temper, unless it's a deleterious one, dragging a thick, heavily sparking storm cloud along with him into the passenger seat of the Camaro, disgruntled and knowing he's got no right to it and that lack of right making it worse.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2012-11-30 06:14 pm (UTC)Sounding more amused than ever, sending a spiked wrecking ball of aggravation straight into his temple and tightening his frown. The girls aren't around anymore, he can knock it off, right?
Except it's Steve, and Steve has no concept of boundaries or limitations except to sometimes note when he slams right past them. Danny can't fault the guy for enjoying the attention, but it smarts, deep in his chest, to see him still so happy about it, in a way that he knows is going to spiral further, shield itself with old hurts that have nothing to do with Steve, but don't help the prospect of someone else edging in and...
What, taking him away? The way Steve didn't stay to flirt with Lani, or the nameless girl at the bar, or Megan the overly hospitable bartender?
But he might have. He could have. In so many ways, it's almost more like he should have. Right? A month is so much longer than he expected any of this to last, and it was always only going to be a matter of time before other people started looking at Steve, and Steve started looking back.
It's rolling around and around in his head, confused and unhappy and pissed off because of it, because, what the hell, what say does he have? Nothing, right? It's not like with Rachel or Gabby, when he could step in and make himself obvious -- but then, it's not like Rachel or Gabby ever seemed to really crave the attention from anyone else, either. And what could he say, anyway? That Steve is, what. His?
A sudden flash of possessive, fiercely selfish agreement shakes him right down to his center, but -- no. It doesn't matter if he's fallen asleep with a hand on Steve's arm or hip, doesn't matter if he's woken up the same way. They're partners. Best friends. And -- this. Whatever it is. Nobody else spends as much time with Steve as he does: mornings, work, evenings, night. Weekends without Grace. Weekdays, everywhere else. But that doesn't mean he can stake a claim.
"Fine, let's get out of here."
None of which has any effect on his temper, unless it's a deleterious one, dragging a thick, heavily sparking storm cloud along with him into the passenger seat of the Camaro, disgruntled and knowing he's got no right to it and that lack of right making it worse.