That wryness is settling down to camp on his forehead, in the twisting line of his mouth, as his hand grips the side of Steve's neck like he wants to scold him but can't. "You think you're funny, but you're not."
Not that it matters. Whether it's actually funny, or it isn't, when Steve is looking at him the way he is, relaxed and amused and self-satisfied, full of smug arrogance, which is all there, yeah, but this. This, too. A way he's focused, like he's not even trying, that makes Danny feel suddenly like the only person in the world. Like maybe this isn't just some stupid joke, and Steve really can't think of anyone else he'd flirt with. Like all those girls, bikini babes, surfer boys, just aren't options.
Which would be a stupid thing to say, right now, right, just as Danny's winding down from the worst bout of jealousy he's had in -- years, probably, easily, and he's not sure even Steve is dedicated enough to screwing with him to want to suggest that any of those people might get a chance to take this place, Danny's place, right here. "Who wants your terrible lines, anyway?"
It's not like Steve's ever had to try all that hard. Obviously. When this whole night has been evidence that Steve can just wander into a place and people will just glom onto him, taking on the role of aggressor.
Not that Danny wants to see him actually try, because that opens a whole other barrel of swirling horrors that he's not ready to deal with, so he tugs at Steve's neck, instead, impatient, wanting to feel it again, again. Steve's mouth, his hands, the thrill that shoots through his long body when they press together.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2012-12-02 11:38 pm (UTC)Not that it matters. Whether it's actually funny, or it isn't, when Steve is looking at him the way he is, relaxed and amused and self-satisfied, full of smug arrogance, which is all there, yeah, but this. This, too. A way he's focused, like he's not even trying, that makes Danny feel suddenly like the only person in the world. Like maybe this isn't just some stupid joke, and Steve really can't think of anyone else he'd flirt with. Like all those girls, bikini babes, surfer boys, just aren't options.
Which would be a stupid thing to say, right now, right, just as Danny's winding down from the worst bout of jealousy he's had in -- years, probably, easily, and he's not sure even Steve is dedicated enough to screwing with him to want to suggest that any of those people might get a chance to take this place, Danny's place, right here. "Who wants your terrible lines, anyway?"
It's not like Steve's ever had to try all that hard. Obviously. When this whole night has been evidence that Steve can just wander into a place and people will just glom onto him, taking on the role of aggressor.
Not that Danny wants to see him actually try, because that opens a whole other barrel of swirling horrors that he's not ready to deal with, so he tugs at Steve's neck, instead, impatient, wanting to feel it again, again. Steve's mouth, his hands, the thrill that shoots through his long body when they press together.