No, nope, no, no, no way, Steve is not palming this off on him. He doesn't care how watery her voice gets, or how sweet she seems: he doesn't have time to go track down a missing -- most likely mis-placed -- fern. He's not leaving this room, or this job, until they're done, no matter how Steve needles him.
They just need to get rid of her, get her out of the apartment and uninterested in barging back in.
That's got to be easy enough, and he does the first thing he thinks of: reaches forward to loop a finger through the closest of Steve's beltloops, and drag him sideways towards the couch and Danny. "What, trying to get rid of me already? I guess the magic really is gone."
It makes people uncomfortable. He's seen it a million times. People -- especially old people -- get edgy and standoffish when presented with overt physical affection, and Ruth, okay, maybe she's down with same-sex marriage or whatever, but Danny's willing to bet she's not going to sit around and watch him get handsy with his erstwhile significant other.
Probably won't want to hang out, while he's dragging Steve hip-first between his legs, and tipping his head back with an insouciant grin, like Steve isn't being a petty jackass that Danny wants to thump upside the head, before tilting his head to glance at Ruth, letting his index and middle finger stay hooked familiar and fond and possessive in Steve's beltloop, like this is something they do every day, and not a thing he's never done, tried, thought about.
Not a thoughtless hand on Steve's chest, or tug at Steve's shirt. Not leaning on him, like he's furniture.
In all the times he's never thought about how he takes moving Steve around for granted, he's never once done it this way: to come to him. To pull Steve towards him, instead of away from someone else. Not to pause a red haze of murderous rage. Not to distract, or direct.
Compelling. Coaxing. He doesn't want to think about the warmth of Steve's hip through denim against the backs of his fingers.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-04-11 04:59 am (UTC)Oh, no.
No, nope, no, no, no way, Steve is not palming this off on him. He doesn't care how watery her voice gets, or how sweet she seems: he doesn't have time to go track down a missing -- most likely mis-placed -- fern. He's not leaving this room, or this job, until they're done, no matter how Steve needles him.
They just need to get rid of her, get her out of the apartment and uninterested in barging back in.
That's got to be easy enough, and he does the first thing he thinks of: reaches forward to loop a finger through the closest of Steve's beltloops, and drag him sideways towards the couch and Danny. "What, trying to get rid of me already? I guess the magic really is gone."
It makes people uncomfortable. He's seen it a million times. People -- especially old people -- get edgy and standoffish when presented with overt physical affection, and Ruth, okay, maybe she's down with same-sex marriage or whatever, but Danny's willing to bet she's not going to sit around and watch him get handsy with his erstwhile significant other.
Probably won't want to hang out, while he's dragging Steve hip-first between his legs, and tipping his head back with an insouciant grin, like Steve isn't being a petty jackass that Danny wants to thump upside the head, before tilting his head to glance at Ruth, letting his index and middle finger stay hooked familiar and fond and possessive in Steve's beltloop, like this is something they do every day, and not a thing he's never done, tried, thought about.
Not a thoughtless hand on Steve's chest, or tug at Steve's shirt. Not leaning on him, like he's furniture.
In all the times he's never thought about how he takes moving Steve around for granted, he's never once done it this way: to come to him. To pull Steve towards him, instead of away from someone else. Not to pause a red haze of murderous rage. Not to distract, or direct.
Compelling. Coaxing. He doesn't want to think about the warmth of Steve's hip through denim against the backs of his fingers.
"Did you try putting up a 'Missing' notice?"