He sets back, even if his forearms don't leave the table, while the waitress is setting down a napkin, and his beer. Manages a very martialed, "Thanks," for the service. Even if he might feel like he's looking through more than looking at the woman serving them.
Feeling that thing climbing the rungs of his spine that has been more and more the last few hours. With its many sharp claws and legs. Coiling right behind his neck, vicious and warring. Threatening to pierce into his skin. Sliding like slime and oil, yet still catching and holding everywhere, no risk of falling off him.
Those rules can screw themselves. Danny said. In his bed. Against his skin. As they banged straight through the conversation that should have ended everything. But put them back on his bed, back on the path to destruction, holding on tighter, breathing less, needing to touch every part of each other like somehow the world was trying to shake them apart.
And Steve can still feel it. The way it made his blood boil. Just those words.
Danny with all his neat clothes and hard, fast, Right Rules, burning through his skin with those words. When he can't justify it, doesn't deserve to defend it, and yet-- Danny picked him. Over The Rules. Everything.
How was he ever supposed to turn his head and look away then? Now? In any capacity, even sitting here, while Cath was looking at him, like he'd taken his own gun and shot himself in the foot with it. He picked up his beer, with an even raised of his eyebrows at the insane next question. He was insane, this was all insane, but nobody here was actively suicidal.
"No." His gaze shifted from her to his beer, when he didn't even shake his head once. "Of course not."
It's the furthest thing from his head. Telling anyone. Anything. That she wouldn't have known left to him. Probably.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-03-27 03:15 pm (UTC)Feeling that thing climbing the rungs of his spine that has been more and more the last few hours. With its many sharp claws and legs. Coiling right behind his neck, vicious and warring. Threatening to pierce into his skin. Sliding like slime and oil, yet still catching and holding everywhere, no risk of falling off him.
Those rules can screw themselves. Danny said. In his bed. Against his skin. As they banged straight through the conversation that should have ended everything. But put them back on his bed, back on the path to destruction, holding on tighter, breathing less, needing to touch every part of each other like somehow the world was trying to shake them apart.
And Steve can still feel it. The way it made his blood boil. Just those words.
Danny with all his neat clothes and hard, fast, Right Rules, burning through his skin with those words.
When he can't justify it, doesn't deserve to defend it, and yet-- Danny picked him. Over The Rules. Everything.
How was he ever supposed to turn his head and look away then? Now? In any capacity, even sitting here, while Cath was looking at him, like he'd taken his own gun and shot himself in the foot with it. He picked up his beer, with an even raised of his eyebrows at the insane next question. He was insane, this was all insane, but nobody here was actively suicidal.
"No." His gaze shifted from her to his beer, when he didn't even shake his head once. "Of course not."
It's the furthest thing from his head. Telling anyone. Anything. That she wouldn't have known left to him. Probably.