He hates everything about tonight, but he especially hates the way that Steve stepping back feels like he's slit Danny's stomach and all his guts have come spilling out, sudden and irreplaceable. It leaves him off-balance, his hands left in the air, where they got pulled from Steve's hair and his waist. He's a stumbling idiot, and gravity just flipped on its own head, and Steve is smiling at him.
Not at him. Or for him. It's for the perp. For the job. To make it look good, and Steve is doing a good job, a great job, too good a job at selling the world on thinking he wants Danny, which should be impossible, because it is. Would always be. Doesn't even work in Danny's head, when he lets himself wonder, sometimes, after Steve has given him too long a hug, or that unreadable but warmly affectionate look he gets sometimes, when they're out on the beach in the chairs and Steve is feeling especially content. The glances he sometimes catches through their office windows, that are only because Steve's desk faces his. Nights out, that got filled with more friendly back slaps and arms slung around Danny's neck than usual.
Everything Steve does, when Steve cares about a person, without wanting that person. But trusting them. Caring. Sure. Loving.
All of just Steve, being Steve. Probably how he was with his Navy buddies, back in the day. Comfortable in physical affection, without worrying about it being weird, or unwanted. Danny knows those looks, and those touches, and he's almost managed to stop being gutted by them, when they come by surprise.
It's these he's got no strategy for, because Steve's eyes are dark and his face is flushed and his hand in Danny's vest is insistent, even while he's reminding Danny of the reason they're here, confusing the biological, lizard-brain impulse deep in Danny's skull to pause in confusion, about how this feels and looks and what it really is. "I got him."
He does. Is keeping track of him, even as Steve's dragging him towards that open door, and the inside of Danny's skull is a roaring wash of white noise. "He's watching."
Waiting, maybe. To see what they'll do. If it's enough to pique his interest.
Danny hopes so. Fervently, maybe even to the point of prayer, because he's not sure he can take making it look any better.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2015-10-14 05:17 am (UTC)He hates everything about tonight, but he especially hates the way that Steve stepping back feels like he's slit Danny's stomach and all his guts have come spilling out, sudden and irreplaceable. It leaves him off-balance, his hands left in the air, where they got pulled from Steve's hair and his waist. He's a stumbling idiot, and gravity just flipped on its own head, and Steve is smiling at him.
Not at him. Or for him. It's for the perp. For the job. To make it look good, and Steve is doing a good job, a great job, too good a job at selling the world on thinking he wants Danny, which should be impossible, because it is. Would always be. Doesn't even work in Danny's head, when he lets himself wonder, sometimes, after Steve has given him too long a hug, or that unreadable but warmly affectionate look he gets sometimes, when they're out on the beach in the chairs and Steve is feeling especially content. The glances he sometimes catches through their office windows, that are only because Steve's desk faces his. Nights out, that got filled with more friendly back slaps and arms slung around Danny's neck than usual.
Everything Steve does, when Steve cares about a person, without wanting that person. But trusting them. Caring. Sure. Loving.
All of just Steve, being Steve. Probably how he was with his Navy buddies, back in the day. Comfortable in physical affection, without worrying about it being weird, or unwanted. Danny knows those looks, and those touches, and he's almost managed to stop being gutted by them, when they come by surprise.
It's these he's got no strategy for, because Steve's eyes are dark and his face is flushed and his hand in Danny's vest is insistent, even while he's reminding Danny of the reason they're here, confusing the biological, lizard-brain impulse deep in Danny's skull to pause in confusion, about how this feels and looks and what it really is. "I got him."
He does. Is keeping track of him, even as Steve's dragging him towards that open door, and the inside of Danny's skull is a roaring wash of white noise. "He's watching."
Waiting, maybe. To see what they'll do. If it's enough to pique his interest.
Danny hopes so. Fervently, maybe even to the point of prayer, because he's not sure he can take making it look any better.