Samuel--Home

[nola_quicksilver]

The front door rattled when Oliver kicked it shut behind him. Belatedly, he remembered that this particular pair of shoes loved leaving prints on the plain white paint, but oh well, what's done is done, and his hands were full.

"Hey, Sam," he called into the apartment at large. Oliver assumed Samuel was home because he was emailed a detailed spreadsheet listing Sam's upcoming work schedule on the first of every month. Also, his bedroom light was on. "A new coffee place just opened down the street and they're giving out free coffee."

Carefully, he started setting down the six huge lattes he'd poached from the frazzled barista who'd been distracted by trying to create legible foam art. The lid on one was loose, sending a splash of coffee on the counter, but even still, Oliver put his hands on his hips and looked down on his bounty like a proud father.

Six! This might be enough to get him through the overnight shift at the tattoo parlor.

But then, with a pang of conscience, he called out, "I guess you can have one of mine."

Comments

[nola_quicksilver]

"You definitely said something about how hot and perfect I look all the time. I remember it like it was five minutes ago."

While Oliver wasn't heavily tattooed, favoring quality over quantity, he was used to people taking a good look at the ink he did have hiding under his clothes—bright, dynamic, and highly illustrative pieces with lots of splashes of blue and green—that he didn't give a second thought to Sam staring a little.

"And yes, I do know what a clean surface look like. The entire counter is one, except for that one tiny coffee splash."

[nola_cyclops]

"Do you know how annoying you are?" Sam could feel himself losing this argument and he was furious at himself for it. And okay, sure, whatever, Oliver was objectively perfect looking. But that had nothing to do with the way he completely ignored spills and stains and correct places for various household objects. His attractive lines and surprisingly -- emotional? -- ink was not relevant to this conversation or to Sam's life. Okay? Okay.

[nola_quicksilver]

Oliver smiled sweetly and picked up a latte, taking a sip before he answered, "Yeah, my mom tells me that all the time."

[nola_cyclops]

"My condolences to your entire family." Sam reached up with one hand to rub at one of his temples -- a headache was coming.

[nola_quicksilver]

"Headache? Caffeine helps." Oliver offered him a latte. The one he'd been drinking from.

[nola_cyclops]

Sam made a face, but he did reach for a latte -- just not the one Oliver was offering. He leaned against the counter and took a long sip, closing his eyes, just for a second. He would get back to the chores in a minute. Less than a minute. Behind his closed eyes, he saw splashes of inked-on color.

[nola_quicksilver]

"Yeah, my mom used to make that face all the time too." Oliver slung a comforting arm around Sam's shoulders and squeezed him a little. "You'll learn to like me, like she did."

[nola_cyclops]

"I doubt it." It was fairly obvious that Sam and Oliver were a complete personality mismatch; Sam had never seen Oliver create a spreadsheet even once. After his response though, Sam paused -- he hadn't expected Oliver to even suggest that they might like each other at some point. He glanced at Oliver, still ridiculously half-dressed, almost apologetic for being so dismissive.

[nola_quicksilver]

"Okay, you'll just keep me around for my body. That works too," Oliver said, cheerful now that it looked like Sam wasn't going to throw a mop at him or something. "And for the apartment—the lease is in my name."

[nola_cyclops]

"Oh my god are you just trying to get me to admit that your body is good? Your body is great! Congratulations!" Sam pulled away, gesturing a little too grandly with his latte hand. And yet -- and yet, Oliver!! -- he didn't spill a drop. "It might be in your name but I'm house proud, and that's not going to change."

[nola_quicksilver]

"God, what's your problem? I thought we were bonding!" Oliver yelled back. His hand strayed to his belt buckle. "What, do I need to take my pants off too?"

[nola_cyclops]

"No one needs to take anything off!" Sam tried his best to not shout but he was kind of staring at Oliver's hands on his belt. "Is that how you want to bond?!" Honestly, Sam didn't know what he wanted the answer to be or what to do with this entire situation or why he had even asked.

[nola_quicksilver]

"Without clothes on?" Oliver yelled back. "Sure, okay!"

Wait, what?

[nola_cyclops]

Wait, what? "Are you propositioning me?"

That was a counter-productive move if you wanted someone to be less annoyed about incidental mess!!

[nola_quicksilver]

"I don't know, maybe?" This was probably one of those Oliver, think before you act things, but he was kind of intrigued by where this was going. "Take your shirt off and I'll give you a definite answer."

[nola_cyclops]

That maybe was a very real answer and Sam didn't know what to do with it. "Are you serious? I'm not taking my shirt off," he said automatically, but he did put down his latte and run his hand through his hair in a way that to Sam had, completely unconsciously, always felt indulgent.

[nola_quicksilver]

"Well, then how can I tell you for sure?" Oliver said impatiently. Nice chests were important for this kind of thing, obviously! He waved a hand and added, "And yes, I've seen your gorgeous thick hair, it's very nice. You don't have to pose for me, temptress."

[nola_cyclops]

Gorgeous? Nice? Temptress? What the hell was happening and why the hell was Scott pulling his shirt over his head? "Don't ever call me a temptress again, it's weird."

[nola_quicksilver]

Oliver tilted his head and watched as every inch of pristine, virgin skin—in the no-tattoos sense, though he wouldn't be surprised if the other part was true too—was revealed. Who knew Sam had time to work out in between complaining and cleaning? Yeah, he could definitely work with this.

"Okay, so temptress is a hard sexual no for you? I don't like edging." Oliver started to undo his belt.

[nola_cyclops]

"What the fuck is edging." Sam knew what it was. But it was a good way to stall, because he had no idea what was going on, and he kept looking at Oliver, all of Oliver, and he couldn't stop.

[nola_quicksilver]

Oh, poor Sam. "Like, stopping just short of orgasm to make the buildup bigger?" Oliver paused to take off his shoes and socks, leaving them scattered in the foyer, before he started to push down his jeans. "I don't have the patience for it, you know?"

He glanced over at Sam, still mostly clothed, and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

[nola_cyclops]

Did Sam move away to tuck Oliver's socks into his shoes, and angle them neatly against the wall? Yes he did. Did he run a hand down Oliver's chest on his way over to the shoes? He may have, but if pressed, he'd deny it.

[nola_quicksilver]

Oliver shivered and watched him with growing annoyance and...lust? God, Sam even made hooking up weird.

"That's not what I meant." He slipped a hand into Sam's stupid thick hair and tugged at it a little, just testing. "Or does cleaning actually get your hard?"

[nola_cyclops]

Cleaning didn't, but Oliver grabbing him like that... did. This was so annoying, so stupid, and you know what? Fine. Fine! He'd see how much Oliver liked suddenly having a sexual level to their argument; he leaned into that hold and kissed him, hard -- surprising even himself with that move, but whatever! This was so annoying and dumb and objectively hot!

[nola_quicksilver]

Oliver knew when he was being kissed into just shutting up already, and frankly, he didn't have a major problem with that. He pushed himself in closer, cupping Sam's jaw with his free hand—and of course even that was perfectly clean and precisely shaved, no missed spots, not even on the curve—as he opened his mouth for Sam, hungry already. He was impatient about a lot of things.