Just a small something I had to write down before I went to bed.
I don't own them and all.
...
"So I guess the moral of this story is: Give fire to whom fire is due."
"Very funny."
Danny watched as Rusty leaned against the cold marble, right hand pressed on his left wrist, a damp towel wrapped around his arm.
"I told you it wouldn't work."
No reaction.
"And I was right," Danny added.
Rusty raised his head. "Yeah, well, except for the part where you weren't. It worked. Did you see the fire?"
"Your arm was aflame, there was no way I could not see it." Shaking his head, he got up from the toilet lid and nodded at Rusty's wrist.
"It's fine."
"Oh, it looks fine."
"No, it's fine."
He shifted his weight and felt his fingers twitch. "I could get-"
"Fine. Capital F."
He didn't believe him. But then again, Rusty was old enough and it really had been his own fault.
"Huh, you know what? I could blame you. It's all because of your birthday after all."
Danny turned around and watched the reflection in the mirror. He knew Rusty was joking and it irritated him a lot more than being blamed. "There was no need to-"
"No sweat. I'd never robbed an award-winning..."
"-burn the hotel room and ruin your tattoo."
"Ah, what the hell." But, apparently, the remark about his tattoo had made Rusty nervous. Slowly, he inspected his left wrist, knitting his brows, mouth slightly open. "You think it's ruined?"
With great effort, Danny pulled himself together to not roll his eyes. Then he turned his head to look at Rusty's … no. No, he couldn't, he had to close his eyes, no way. Because after all it really was his birthday and he'd said some incredibly stupid things about "exquisite food" and "burning for action"...
He should have known better.
"I don't know, Rus. I still think people do it differently," he said, opening his eyes and trying to breathe again.
Rusty only looked at him, head tilted to one side.
"Just, you know, moving the torch, using another tool to begin with, keeping their distance..."
... not stealing dessert from the kitchen of a luxury restaurant and risking their life with a flamethrower (or something related) while trying to light the supposed oversized birthday cake, only because some friend had said years ago that he liked to crack the caramel crust of a certain custard...
Rusty's lips curved up into a smirk. "I really hate Crème brûlée. It's too good to resist."
He answered before he had the time to think about it. "Considering that it literally went wild for you in that bowl, I suppose this feeling is mutual."
And then Rusty put the towel back and Danny saw that the smile really reached his eyes.