He's leaning on the bar, on his forearms, but when Steve glances over, and the pilot fish there trying to score a night with him sends a dirty look Danny's way, he just can't stay still. Pushes back, with both palms on the bar edge, shoulders setting straight, and then turns to lean back against it, idly glancing over the room, elbows on the bar, lounging against it like he owns the damn thing. One hand drapes next to his own ribs, the other waves lazily, almost enough to catch on Steve's sleeve. "Me, I don't have those connections. I'm new in town."
It's like playing those old teenage party games, right. Two lies and a dare.
Someone meets his eyes from across the room, and he winks at them, with a crooking smile, before glancing back up to Steve, and easily ignoring his entirely forgettable companion.
Which, guy like him? With connections, and a suit that probably cost more than Danny's car?
Yeah, that ought to piss him off just exactly how Danny wants it to.
Like he's a nobody. Less important than a waiter trying to get Steve's drink order.
While Danny's looking up at Steve with his best, absolutely certain, smugly victorious smile, like they've already got an in-joke, a rapport. Like Steve's already his.
(Which lands a little sour in his stomach, because he is. The plan. Bought and paid for. But. Not like that.)
They do. Have in-jokes, a rapport. But tall, dark, and fuming over there doesn't need to know that, just like he doesn't need to know it's easier than instinct for his hand to brush Steve's arm, plucking the material of his suit between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger. "But hey, maybe I didn't come here to drink, anyway. What about you, stretch? You like it so far? Or you, uh..."
Now his eyes do slide, derisively, to the other guy, and he shrugs, looks back at Steve. "Always let somebody order your drinks for you? Did I miss the sign that says this is the kids table?"
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2015-10-02 12:35 am (UTC)"Well, the thing is --"
He's leaning on the bar, on his forearms, but when Steve glances over, and the pilot fish there trying to score a night with him sends a dirty look Danny's way, he just can't stay still. Pushes back, with both palms on the bar edge, shoulders setting straight, and then turns to lean back against it, idly glancing over the room, elbows on the bar, lounging against it like he owns the damn thing. One hand drapes next to his own ribs, the other waves lazily, almost enough to catch on Steve's sleeve. "Me, I don't have those connections. I'm new in town."
It's like playing those old teenage party games, right. Two lies and a dare.
Someone meets his eyes from across the room, and he winks at them, with a crooking smile, before glancing back up to Steve, and easily ignoring his entirely forgettable companion.
Which, guy like him? With connections, and a suit that probably cost more than Danny's car?
Yeah, that ought to piss him off just exactly how Danny wants it to.
Like he's a nobody. Less important than a waiter trying to get Steve's drink order.
While Danny's looking up at Steve with his best, absolutely certain, smugly victorious smile, like they've already got an in-joke, a rapport. Like Steve's already his.
(Which lands a little sour in his stomach, because he is. The plan. Bought and paid for. But. Not like that.)
They do. Have in-jokes, a rapport. But tall, dark, and fuming over there doesn't need to know that, just like he doesn't need to know it's easier than instinct for his hand to brush Steve's arm, plucking the material of his suit between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger. "But hey, maybe I didn't come here to drink, anyway. What about you, stretch? You like it so far? Or you, uh..."
Now his eyes do slide, derisively, to the other guy, and he shrugs, looks back at Steve. "Always let somebody order your drinks for you? Did I miss the sign that says this is the kids table?"