Picked. He could have picked far worse than Steve.
Like he up and decided, recently, that he wanted to try sex with a guy, and coming clean to Steve in a rockslide of ineloquent feelings was somehow a secondary action. Like there was a decision made, first, and he'd considered his options, and picked Steve.
Picked. Steve.
The whole concept makes his thought processes come to an abrupt, bewildered halt, because, Christ, he really couldn't be more wrong if he suggested this was all Rachel's idea. What was it he'd said before? Maybe I never stood a chance. Saying he'd picked Steve is like saying he'd picked the bus that hit him, picked the bullet that brought him down. There's no picking going on here, no choice, no chance. Or, well. There's a choice. There's trying to be here, with Steve, and there's climbing the walls, miserable and furious with the world.
"Then you should stop looking at me like I said I'd like to try a hand at being a trapeze artist instead of a cop. What, you think maybe somehow in all this --"
He lifts one hand off Steve's shoulder and shirt to wave it in a general sort of loop, indicating this, them, the couch, the desk they almost broke, the conversation outside that still makes Danny wonder if he should have just tried punching Steve in the face again. "-- it would maybe just never occur to me that it might be nice to do more than blow you?"
Blunted words, brash with his own bemusement at the very thought that Steve might consider there to have been some sort of picking and choosing. As if falling for him wasn't like falling down a well. He's not on the market, wasn't out shopping, didn't decide to just try Steve on for size and see how he liked the feel of a body heavier than his, flat where he'd been used to curves, hard and hot where he'd been used to soft and yielding.
That's not what this is. If it were, he could have walked away. If it were, he never would have risked his partnership, his friendship, and his job all in one fell swoop by pinning his sights on Steve.
It's not like that. Couldn't be. He's tumbled down at the bottom of that well, now, and someone's pulled the ladder straight back out again.
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Like he up and decided, recently, that he wanted to try sex with a guy, and coming clean to Steve in a rockslide of ineloquent feelings was somehow a secondary action. Like there was a decision made, first, and he'd considered his options, and picked Steve.
Picked. Steve.
The whole concept makes his thought processes come to an abrupt, bewildered halt, because, Christ, he really couldn't be more wrong if he suggested this was all Rachel's idea. What was it he'd said before? Maybe I never stood a chance. Saying he'd picked Steve is like saying he'd picked the bus that hit him, picked the bullet that brought him down. There's no picking going on here, no choice, no chance. Or, well. There's a choice. There's trying to be here, with Steve, and there's climbing the walls, miserable and furious with the world.
"Then you should stop looking at me like I said I'd like to try a hand at being a trapeze artist instead of a cop. What, you think maybe somehow in all this --"
He lifts one hand off Steve's shoulder and shirt to wave it in a general sort of loop, indicating this, them, the couch, the desk they almost broke, the conversation outside that still makes Danny wonder if he should have just tried punching Steve in the face again. "-- it would maybe just never occur to me that it might be nice to do more than blow you?"
Blunted words, brash with his own bemusement at the very thought that Steve might consider there to have been some sort of picking and choosing. As if falling for him wasn't like falling down a well. He's not on the market, wasn't out shopping, didn't decide to just try Steve on for size and see how he liked the feel of a body heavier than his, flat where he'd been used to curves, hard and hot where he'd been used to soft and yielding.
That's not what this is. If it were, he could have walked away. If it were, he never would have risked his partnership, his friendship, and his job all in one fell swoop by pinning his sights on Steve.
It's not like that. Couldn't be. He's tumbled down at the bottom of that well, now, and someone's pulled the ladder straight back out again.