Steve has to look back, even though he knows what it is before his gaze even gets there. The bottle he dropped when he was kissing Danny. When the only thing left in existence, not even on the planet because the planet was gone, in all of thought and touch, was kissing Danny. Which makes his stomach clench in a vague sour fashion, when he's looking back.
Half distracted by the hand pressing a palm and fingers into the small of his back over his shoulder, while he says, a little more mocking than blank, "Private property. I could have given my permission."
It's a load of trash, because Steve would never. Not for any place on the island, and certainly not for his home, but it is something to throw out to Danny. That could be true, if it were anyone else, in some ways. People did choose to permit dumping in the oddest places. Something to leave him with when Steve it stepping away from that hand, and leaning down, with a swipe of a land toward the ground to pick up the bottle.
Wet down the side, with grass and dirt clinging to the half beaded, half spilled, with tenacious fragility. He absently goes about wiping it off with his hand, wiping his hands off on his pants. He's held worse, had worse on him. He could give up the grate of reminders to minutes ago. At least for a second. Stepping back around the chairs and nodding, gesturing his head toward the house and the direction he's headed with faster, focused strides, for Danny to keep up already.
no subject
Half distracted by the hand pressing a palm and fingers into the small of his back over his shoulder, while he says, a little more mocking than blank, "Private property. I could have given my permission."
It's a load of trash, because Steve would never. Not for any place on the island, and certainly not for his home, but it is something to throw out to Danny. That could be true, if it were anyone else, in some ways. People did choose to permit dumping in the oddest places. Something to leave him with when Steve it stepping away from that hand, and leaning down, with a swipe of a land toward the ground to pick up the bottle.
Wet down the side, with grass and dirt clinging to the half beaded, half spilled, with tenacious fragility. He absently goes about wiping it off with his hand, wiping his hands off on his pants. He's held worse, had worse on him. He could give up the grate of reminders to minutes ago. At least for a second. Stepping back around the chairs and nodding, gesturing his head toward the house and the direction he's headed with faster, focused strides, for Danny to keep up already.