Steve is still casing this room, adding up which doors are likely meeting rooms, bed rooms, or potentially exits or entrances. Because the only way out in a rat hole is not the front door. It's always set up to scatter. Which is why he isn't entirely thinking it through when he follows where Danny tugs him. He always follows. Especially when he's busy. What he isn't expecting, is to look back and find himself catching a hand, then forearm on the wall slightly above Danny's head so he won't smack it straight into Danny's face. Chest. Something.
Because there is suddenly a wall. A very solid, very steady, very present wall, just behind Danny's back.
And Danny has drug him here. Into the shadows. Into this space where he's suddenly aware of something he's maybe always know but never needed proof of, that Danny is shorter than him. Enough that he can make a barricade right over him. That it's would be so easy. Just to lean back in. That this is almost like everything else. Like other people. Except it's not other people. Because Danny has never been other people. And Steve didn't need to know he fit right here.
It's another thing the cold water will never scrape clean. He'll end up standing in it all night. Forehead against the slick tile trying not to think about this right here. And how he could just. But he can't. Shouldn't. Needs to stop thinking. He's not supposed to think. Remember. Put it away. It's the case. It was just for the job. It didn't mean anything. Won't ever mean anything. It was just like every other bad cop, good cop routine they've ever pulled. A necessity of the case.
Danny isn't even looking at him, but over his shoulder, over toward the door, while he's stuck looking at Danny's face too close to his. The hair just below his jacket sleeve that is still perfectly domed for this outfit and at least absolutely, thank god, nothing like the way Steve likes it best. When it's soft and everywhere. A thing he almost never sees unless Danny ends up on the beach of gets drug out too early on a weekend morning to go some place Steve has badgered him into agreeing with.
That Danny will go, because Danny is the best friend he has. Maybe the only real one who actually knows and gets everything.
Most of everything. Everything he's allowed to have. That Steve can give. That demands everything, but without asking for more. Without needing more.
A thing Steve knows he's crushing between his fingers, because it's more important than the way his pulse is trying to hammer in his ears. Danny's voice so close to him. Dragging him down. Knowing he can't look stiff as a board, like he's trying to do anything but close the inches between them. Which means pushing in. Looking like he wants to eradicate every inch of the shadows around them from between their bodies.
Makes him have to ignore the glaring hate for everything being behind his back suddenly. All of these people, and that man when he does make his appearance. Because he'll follow, and he'll be looking for them. He might get dissuaded or distracted, might pick someone else. But for the moment they are marked, and that means it has to look anything but like a trap he's just going to open the door into.
Means Steve has to not roll his eyes or let out that black ache starting in his chest again, when he makes himself drop his head, back and posture shifting to be able to have his chin brush Danny's shoulder and shift, so that if his nose jut barely brushes the side of Danny's throat, just enough it will, could look like. While he says as evenly as he can force his voice, low and sharp, a caustic almost black laugh, like standing on burning metal and pretending his skin wasn't starting to peel.
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Steve is still casing this room, adding up which doors are likely meeting rooms, bed rooms, or potentially exits or entrances. Because the only way out in a rat hole is not the front door. It's always set up to scatter. Which is why he isn't entirely thinking it through when he follows where Danny tugs him. He always follows. Especially when he's busy. What he isn't expecting, is to look back and find himself catching a hand, then forearm on the wall slightly above Danny's head so he won't smack it straight into Danny's face. Chest. Something.
Because there is suddenly a wall. A very solid, very steady, very present wall, just behind Danny's back.
And Danny has drug him here. Into the shadows. Into this space where he's suddenly aware of something he's maybe always know but never needed proof of, that Danny is shorter than him. Enough that he can make a barricade right over him. That it's would be so easy. Just to lean back in. That this is almost like everything else. Like other people. Except it's not other people. Because Danny has never been other people. And Steve didn't need to know he fit right here.
It's another thing the cold water will never scrape clean. He'll end up standing in it all night. Forehead against the slick tile trying not to think about this right here. And how he could just. But he can't. Shouldn't. Needs to stop thinking. He's not supposed to think. Remember. Put it away. It's the case. It was just for the job. It didn't mean anything. Won't ever mean anything. It was just like every other bad cop, good cop routine they've ever pulled. A necessity of the case.
Danny isn't even looking at him, but over his shoulder, over toward the door, while he's stuck looking at Danny's face too close to his. The hair just below his jacket sleeve that is still perfectly domed for this outfit and at least absolutely, thank god, nothing like the way Steve likes it best. When it's soft and everywhere. A thing he almost never sees unless Danny ends up on the beach of gets drug out too early on a weekend morning to go some place Steve has badgered him into agreeing with.
That Danny will go, because Danny is the best friend he has.
Maybe the only real one who actually knows and gets everything.
Most of everything. Everything he's allowed to have. That Steve can give.
That demands everything, but without asking for more. Without needing more.
A thing Steve knows he's crushing between his fingers, because it's more important than the way his pulse is trying to hammer in his ears. Danny's voice so close to him. Dragging him down. Knowing he can't look stiff as a board, like he's trying to do anything but close the inches between them. Which means pushing in. Looking like he wants to eradicate every inch of the shadows around them from between their bodies.
Makes him have to ignore the glaring hate for everything being behind his back suddenly. All of these people, and that man when he does make his appearance. Because he'll follow, and he'll be looking for them. He might get dissuaded or distracted, might pick someone else. But for the moment they are marked, and that means it has to look anything but like a trap he's just going to open the door into.
Means Steve has to not roll his eyes or let out that black ache starting in his chest again, when he makes himself drop his head, back and posture shifting to be able to have his chin brush Danny's shoulder and shift, so that if his nose jut barely brushes the side of Danny's throat, just enough it will, could look like. While he says as evenly as he can force his voice, low and sharp, a caustic almost black laugh, like standing on burning metal and pretending his skin wasn't starting to peel.
"You think?"