“That could, maybe, on another planet, be called swimming,” Steve tells Danny.
“I hate you,” Danny says, and splashes messily over towards the shore.
Steve yanks him back by the band on his swim trunks. “You’re not going anywhere until I’ve taught you to swim, Williams,” he says firmly.
“Can you not just shoot me in the head?” Danny asks plaintively. “Same outcome, but quicker.”
“The point,” Steve says, “is to keep you alive.”
“You have a funny way of going about it,” Danny says.
“I thought you said you could swim,” Steve says.
“Like a fish,” Danny confirms. “Like a fish floundering on land. Like a fish that doesn’t like swimming. Possibly a lungfish. Do those swim?”
“Your metaphors are breaking down,” Steve tells him. “Look, deep breath, lie back, I’ll support you.”
“Lie back,” Danny says mockingly. “I’ll support you, Danny, don’t think of the whopping great body of water you’re currently floating in that’s rife with animals that want to kill you and possibly, probably, all manner of disease and danger, and is the last place you should be because you, unlike certain other people of your acquaintance, were not born with gills and therefore cannot be expected to –”
There are two ways of shutting Danny up. One is to say or do something so spectacularly reckless that even Danny’s momentarily lost for words. That’s temporary, though, and the ensuing reactions are usually terrifying, so Steve’s quite glad he’s found the second method.
Danny’s lips are distractingly warm and salty-wet, and possibly, Steve thinks, this is not such a good idea because there’s no way this swimming lesson is continuing now.
“Home?” Danny asks, and licks the outer curve of Steve’s ear.
“Home,” Steve agrees, and hauls Danny towards the shore.
He pointedly does not comment on Danny’s triumphant grin.
no subject
“That could, maybe, on another planet, be called swimming,” Steve tells Danny.
“I hate you,” Danny says, and splashes messily over towards the shore.
Steve yanks him back by the band on his swim trunks. “You’re not going anywhere until I’ve taught you to swim, Williams,” he says firmly.
“Can you not just shoot me in the head?” Danny asks plaintively. “Same outcome, but quicker.”
“The point,” Steve says, “is to keep you alive.”
“You have a funny way of going about it,” Danny says.
“I thought you said you could swim,” Steve says.
“Like a fish,” Danny confirms. “Like a fish floundering on land. Like a fish that doesn’t like swimming. Possibly a lungfish. Do those swim?”
“Your metaphors are breaking down,” Steve tells him. “Look, deep breath, lie back, I’ll support you.”
“Lie back,” Danny says mockingly. “I’ll support you, Danny, don’t think of the whopping great body of water you’re currently floating in that’s rife with animals that want to kill you and possibly, probably, all manner of disease and danger, and is the last place you should be because you, unlike certain other people of your acquaintance, were not born with gills and therefore cannot be expected to –”
There are two ways of shutting Danny up. One is to say or do something so spectacularly reckless that even Danny’s momentarily lost for words. That’s temporary, though, and the ensuing reactions are usually terrifying, so Steve’s quite glad he’s found the second method.
Danny’s lips are distractingly warm and salty-wet, and possibly, Steve thinks, this is not such a good idea because there’s no way this swimming lesson is continuing now.
“Home?” Danny asks, and licks the outer curve of Steve’s ear.
“Home,” Steve agrees, and hauls Danny towards the shore.
He pointedly does not comment on Danny’s triumphant grin.