He never signed up for this, and he wishes he could find whatever scrap of paper his name accidentally got scrawled on that said he was, and black it out with permanent ink, tear it to shreds, light those shreds on fire, because he doesn't want this. For Steve to freeze up, when he gets this close. For his fingers to go so tense in Danny's lapel it feels like the fabric's about to rip. For the way his jaw tenses, and Danny's sure he's about to hear the crack of Steve's teeth shattering.
He can't blame him. This is nothing like usual. It's too close, too uncomfortable, too exactly like everything they joked about it needing to look, while Kono laughed at them and said it wasn't gonna be a problem.
But it is. A problem. Danny's problem, and now Steve's, and he wishes he could pull back, when Steve does, but he can't, and they can't, and he wasn't wrong about trying to get attention. If he's here, he's more likely to follow them to the back if they catch his eye, first. If he's not...
Danny should make sure. They should. Look to see if he's here, if that step is even necessary, which is both a relief and a fist reaching to grab a hold of his stomach and squeeze, filtering a cold rush that's a welcome calm -- until it sparks, runs hot under his skin when Steve's eyes wander, drop, lift again, leaving Danny's mouth dry, dry tongue licking dry lips, everything sizzling. He didn't mean. Except he did, didn't he? Suggested they make a scene. Draw some attention. Right now -- he wrenches his eyes away from Steve's mouth to take a glance -- they don't look too different from any other paired off couple of patrons. Leaning a little too close. Talking a little too quietly.
He needs to get a hold of himself. It's the job. And Steve's face -- that cracked-open, startled expression -- they can't have that. Not for the job, and not for the sake of Danny's heart and sanity, because he knows, okay. That it's too much, and he's too much, and he doesn't want to do this any more than Steve does.
Even if it's for vastly different reasons, that largely boil down to self-preservation, and a distaste for taking advantage of his best friend, partner, boss.
It would be smarter to lean back, for a minute, go back to what would look like mild flirting but would in fact be a wet blanket tossed over Danny's head, a space for a breather. That would be the better idea, and then they can regroup, and head to the back.
It's a good idea, except two things happen at once:
First, his head clears enough to realize he's been staring over Steve's shoulder in one direction across the room, and someone's staring back.
Secondly, he knows that face. "Hold on."
His pulse, already kicked into overdrive, takes a hard sidestep, and he wants to swear, wants to kick himself, wants to travel back in time by thirty seconds to smack himself in the back of the head. "That's him, I got eyes on him. I got --"
Too much eyes on him. He can see the way the guy's eyebrows furrow, in the first shading of suspicion, and Danny wants to groan at his own idiocy. He was distracted. He shouldn't have been distracted. "New plan: I think we've got too much of his attention, and not in the good way."
Tipping his head back, eyes lowering to Steve's mouth, like Steve just said something to drag his attention back, while he's speaking low and intent through a smile. It might look good. He's not sure it's good enough. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the guy shift, to face them a little more fully.
He lifts his free hand to cover the one Steve's got at his vest, and it feels like covering the bullethole after getting shot, but it still calms a little of this sudden rushing, flailing panic in his chest, even if he can still hear it in his voice when he says, "Just remember, hitting me is not the look we're going for," before his hand tightens at the back of Steve's neck to drag him in, while Danny tips his, eyes closing, to kiss him.
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He never signed up for this, and he wishes he could find whatever scrap of paper his name accidentally got scrawled on that said he was, and black it out with permanent ink, tear it to shreds, light those shreds on fire, because he doesn't want this. For Steve to freeze up, when he gets this close. For his fingers to go so tense in Danny's lapel it feels like the fabric's about to rip. For the way his jaw tenses, and Danny's sure he's about to hear the crack of Steve's teeth shattering.
He can't blame him. This is nothing like usual. It's too close, too uncomfortable, too exactly like everything they joked about it needing to look, while Kono laughed at them and said it wasn't gonna be a problem.
But it is. A problem. Danny's problem, and now Steve's, and he wishes he could pull back, when Steve does, but he can't, and they can't, and he wasn't wrong about trying to get attention. If he's here, he's more likely to follow them to the back if they catch his eye, first. If he's not...
Danny should make sure. They should. Look to see if he's here, if that step is even necessary, which is both a relief and a fist reaching to grab a hold of his stomach and squeeze, filtering a cold rush that's a welcome calm -- until it sparks, runs hot under his skin when Steve's eyes wander, drop, lift again, leaving Danny's mouth dry, dry tongue licking dry lips, everything sizzling. He didn't mean. Except he did, didn't he? Suggested they make a scene. Draw some attention. Right now -- he wrenches his eyes away from Steve's mouth to take a glance -- they don't look too different from any other paired off couple of patrons. Leaning a little too close. Talking a little too quietly.
He needs to get a hold of himself. It's the job. And Steve's face -- that cracked-open, startled expression -- they can't have that. Not for the job, and not for the sake of Danny's heart and sanity, because he knows, okay. That it's too much, and he's too much, and he doesn't want to do this any more than Steve does.
Even if it's for vastly different reasons, that largely boil down to self-preservation, and a distaste for taking advantage of his best friend, partner, boss.
It would be smarter to lean back, for a minute, go back to what would look like mild flirting but would in fact be a wet blanket tossed over Danny's head, a space for a breather. That would be the better idea, and then they can regroup, and head to the back.
It's a good idea, except two things happen at once:
First, his head clears enough to realize he's been staring over Steve's shoulder in one direction across the room, and someone's staring back.
Secondly, he knows that face. "Hold on."
His pulse, already kicked into overdrive, takes a hard sidestep, and he wants to swear, wants to kick himself, wants to travel back in time by thirty seconds to smack himself in the back of the head. "That's him, I got eyes on him. I got --"
Too much eyes on him. He can see the way the guy's eyebrows furrow, in the first shading of suspicion, and Danny wants to groan at his own idiocy. He was distracted. He shouldn't have been distracted. "New plan: I think we've got too much of his attention, and not in the good way."
Tipping his head back, eyes lowering to Steve's mouth, like Steve just said something to drag his attention back, while he's speaking low and intent through a smile. It might look good. He's not sure it's good enough. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the guy shift, to face them a little more fully.
He lifts his free hand to cover the one Steve's got at his vest, and it feels like covering the bullethole after getting shot, but it still calms a little of this sudden rushing, flailing panic in his chest, even if he can still hear it in his voice when he says, "Just remember, hitting me is not the look we're going for," before his hand tightens at the back of Steve's neck to drag him in, while Danny tips his, eyes closing, to kiss him.