Steve is rarely a fan of the expected maneuver. He prefers the abrupt, the alarming, the downright blunt, and Danny knows this, but he still isn't used to seeing it in action. Two years down the line, and he probably won't ever be, because his brain does not take the cataclysmic leaps off the train tracks at which Steve's excels.
So Danny shouldn't be surprised when Steve breaks away, dropping his hand and leaving the back of Danny's neck cold and tingling, side-slipping Danny's equilibrium off-balance, but it leaves him staring over his handful of jeans, watching Steve walk away. Moving with the same sense of efficiency and efficacy as he'd use at work, like he's heading to the computer table, or to his desk. The long, wide, flat, polished one; not the ancient piece left here by John McGarrett, that's probably older than Steve himself.
Staring that dissolves into exasperation, eyebrows pulling together and eyes turning unimpressed.
"Really?"
Whatever Steve's writing, making him look so pleased with himself, he's pretty sure he doesn't want to see it, will only drag himself further into this mire he's so stuck in, that he should have known better, and just never had the chance to avoid because he never once saw it coming.
"Cute, that's very cute, I like it."
Steve's grinning at him, that slant to his smile looking more mad cat than ever, and it should only worry him, right, should only wind that gear that tightens to its breaking point every single day at work.
That funny little hop just behind his breastbone just proves how crazy he's actually gone.
The hand holding the jeans moves, jerking towards the stairs, and his eyebrows lift, incredulous. "Should I wait? Or are you going to pass me a note? Are we back in seventh grade now, did I miss some sort of time warp, here?"
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-02-23 03:09 am (UTC)So Danny shouldn't be surprised when Steve breaks away, dropping his hand and leaving the back of Danny's neck cold and tingling, side-slipping Danny's equilibrium off-balance, but it leaves him staring over his handful of jeans, watching Steve walk away. Moving with the same sense of efficiency and efficacy as he'd use at work, like he's heading to the computer table, or to his desk. The long, wide, flat, polished one; not the ancient piece left here by John McGarrett, that's probably older than Steve himself.
Staring that dissolves into exasperation, eyebrows pulling together and eyes turning unimpressed.
"Really?"
Whatever Steve's writing, making him look so pleased with himself, he's pretty sure he doesn't want to see it, will only drag himself further into this mire he's so stuck in, that he should have known better, and just never had the chance to avoid because he never once saw it coming.
"Cute, that's very cute, I like it."
Steve's grinning at him, that slant to his smile looking more mad cat than ever, and it should only worry him, right, should only wind that gear that tightens to its breaking point every single day at work.
That funny little hop just behind his breastbone just proves how crazy he's actually gone.
The hand holding the jeans moves, jerking towards the stairs, and his eyebrows lift, incredulous. "Should I wait? Or are you going to pass me a note? Are we back in seventh grade now, did I miss some sort of time warp, here?"