[It's not his fault you're wearing a Metallica shirt like a slut Steve - !!]
You know what, you're right. My apologies. [This does a little sarcastic, and maybe it is. It isn't malicious, the way his sarcasm usually is. It isn't really mean, but it feels like his old defensive mechanisms, which yeah, is comforting. Makes him feel in control, which is all he's really wanted, isn't it? Control. Can't control dad, can't control mom, or Max, or anything, but he can control this, maybe. Enough of it, anyway.
Billy moves from the window. ] I'll give you the full Billy Hargrove seduction, how's that? Will that make you feel better, pretty boy?
[Steve doesn't want him mean? That's fine. He can pretend like it doesn't feel alien to act as blatantly flirtatious like Steve's Heather Holloway, like this wouldn't get him killed. It won't, here. Nobody gives a shit here about him, about this, about anything. He moves like a cat, all lazy strides with his shoulders tensed, ready to pounce. He approaches like he's on the hunt, like Steve is prey, and he might get close enough to lean in to his space, maybe. Put a hand next to his on the armchair neck, pinky close enough to brush Steve's, lean in close, lower his voice and say: ] How's this? This obvious enough for you?
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[It's not his fault you're wearing a Metallica shirt like a slut Steve - !!]
You know what, you're right. My apologies. [This does a little sarcastic, and maybe it is. It isn't malicious, the way his sarcasm usually is. It isn't really mean, but it feels like his old defensive mechanisms, which yeah, is comforting. Makes him feel in control, which is all he's really wanted, isn't it? Control. Can't control dad, can't control mom, or Max, or anything, but he can control this, maybe. Enough of it, anyway.
Billy moves from the window. ] I'll give you the full Billy Hargrove seduction, how's that? Will that make you feel better, pretty boy?
[Steve doesn't want him mean? That's fine. He can pretend like it doesn't feel alien to act as blatantly flirtatious like Steve's Heather Holloway, like this wouldn't get him killed. It won't, here. Nobody gives a shit here about him, about this, about anything. He moves like a cat, all lazy strides with his shoulders tensed, ready to pounce. He approaches like he's on the hunt, like Steve is prey, and he might get close enough to lean in to his space, maybe. Put a hand next to his on the armchair neck, pinky close enough to brush Steve's, lean in close, lower his voice and say: ] How's this? This obvious enough for you?