Steve's a little surprised to feel his belt loop tugged on again, the fabric getting tighter in Danny's grip on it.
But just as much he isn't, too. It's the location that makes it feel like he's got his hand over a flame, but not the touch itself. Not the fact Danny's hand is always moving even when touching his shoulder, his back, his arm. Little flickers of movement that are part of him, even if it makes things in the wrong places on Steve want to pay more attention than it deserves.
Which is proven a second later with how fluidly Danny just lets go of it. His belt loop. His pants.
The sudden, and undeniably familiar feeling, of feeling like his guts rip out through his skin, wrapped in those fingers.
While Danny is casually answering his question, and tugging on his jacket instead now. Everything above board. Above the flat of where hit clothes fall. Danny retreat to the safe area. The normal ones. The ones where he always is, and always will be. Which is better. It feels like an injection of air pushes itself sharp and cold into Steve's blood, running through him in seconds, while he's only raising his eyebrows, dubious bow of his mouth and dark glint to his eyes.
Can't smack at Danny's hand, like normal (hasn't actually touched him yet, shouldn't yet), so he goes about throwing himself right into the ice bath where he belongs. Making this normal. Making this the job, where they constantly cut each other apart in the car between locations, or in the office between needing to show up and run out. "I would have thought you could have five more seconds, or even a few minutes, before deciding to go jealous on the first guy you saw."
He's looks too smug even for his semblance of a frown. Like Danny's antics upset his plan. Like Danny is his favorite toy.
"You could have waited until I got my eighty dollar glass of wine at least. Do you even know how rarely those things come around?"
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-05 12:05 am (UTC)Steve's a little surprised to feel his belt loop tugged on again, the fabric getting tighter in Danny's grip on it.
But just as much he isn't, too. It's the location that makes it feel like he's got his hand over a flame, but not the touch itself. Not the fact Danny's hand is always moving even when touching his shoulder, his back, his arm. Little flickers of movement that are part of him, even if it makes things in the wrong places on Steve want to pay more attention than it deserves.
Which is proven a second later with how fluidly Danny just lets go of it. His belt loop. His pants.
The sudden, and undeniably familiar feeling, of feeling like his guts rip out through his skin, wrapped in those fingers.
While Danny is casually answering his question, and tugging on his jacket instead now. Everything above board. Above the flat of where hit clothes fall. Danny retreat to the safe area. The normal ones. The ones where he always is, and always will be. Which is better. It feels like an injection of air pushes itself sharp and cold into Steve's blood, running through him in seconds, while he's only raising his eyebrows, dubious bow of his mouth and dark glint to his eyes.
Can't smack at Danny's hand, like normal (hasn't actually touched him yet, shouldn't yet), so he goes about throwing himself right into the ice bath where he belongs. Making this normal. Making this the job, where they constantly cut each other apart in the car between locations, or in the office between needing to show up and run out. "I would have thought you could have five more seconds, or even a few minutes, before deciding to go jealous on the first guy you saw."
He's looks too smug even for his semblance of a frown. Like Danny's antics upset his plan. Like Danny is his favorite toy.
"You could have waited until I got my eighty dollar glass of wine at least. Do you even know how rarely those things come around?"