Out loud, anyway, and he pushes closer, every inch of skin thrilling in a sudden slamming crescendo when Steve's fingers clutch his arm, digging in hard, thumb stroking along the fabric of his shirt in a way that is anything but gentle, and it's like throwing a can of propane on a fire. Everything that's been building up all night twists in his stomach, snakes up into his ribcage. "And I did not raise my voice even once."
Like Steve would possibly have missed any of that. Like Steve doesn't know every one of Danny's tones and moods, well enough that he can call him out on them over the phone, even if he's not there to see it in person. He knows when Danny wants to hit somebody, when he is running the ragged edge of restraint, has seen him hit rock bottom and give sanity and restraint a day off.
So he knows. Danny's banking on it. That the girls' might not have noticed, but Steve definitely did.
"You didn't seem to be having any issues with it."
Either Danny's reaction, or the attention. The whole stupid fiasco of an evening. It just left Steve grinning, delighted, teasing Danny for it even after they left the bar behind, and that deserves a flash of temper all it's own. His hand leaves Steve's shirt, bounces the edge off his chest, reaches for his arm again, fingers wrapping around bicep, pushing up under that sleeve to cover what he can see of the tattoo.
It's possessive. Pissed off. And he doesn't give a single shit, okay, he has spent more than enough time tonight not getting to lay his hands on Steve in any way other than the prescribed, appropriate for public ways. Hand sliding rough up over his shoulder, to palm his neck. "Let me ask you this, do you like driving me crazy? Don't answer that, I already know you do."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2012-12-02 06:17 am (UTC)Out loud, anyway, and he pushes closer, every inch of skin thrilling in a sudden slamming crescendo when Steve's fingers clutch his arm, digging in hard, thumb stroking along the fabric of his shirt in a way that is anything but gentle, and it's like throwing a can of propane on a fire. Everything that's been building up all night twists in his stomach, snakes up into his ribcage. "And I did not raise my voice even once."
Like Steve would possibly have missed any of that. Like Steve doesn't know every one of Danny's tones and moods, well enough that he can call him out on them over the phone, even if he's not there to see it in person. He knows when Danny wants to hit somebody, when he is running the ragged edge of restraint, has seen him hit rock bottom and give sanity and restraint a day off.
So he knows. Danny's banking on it. That the girls' might not have noticed, but Steve definitely did.
"You didn't seem to be having any issues with it."
Either Danny's reaction, or the attention. The whole stupid fiasco of an evening. It just left Steve grinning, delighted, teasing Danny for it even after they left the bar behind, and that deserves a flash of temper all it's own. His hand leaves Steve's shirt, bounces the edge off his chest, reaches for his arm again, fingers wrapping around bicep, pushing up under that sleeve to cover what he can see of the tattoo.
It's possessive. Pissed off. And he doesn't give a single shit, okay, he has spent more than enough time tonight not getting to lay his hands on Steve in any way other than the prescribed, appropriate for public ways. Hand sliding rough up over his shoulder, to palm his neck. "Let me ask you this, do you like driving me crazy? Don't answer that, I already know you do."