Original -- Cigarettes
Title: Cigarettes
Part: VI
Series: The Sam and Adrian Saga
Pairing: Adrian/Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 871
Warnings: cigarettes (hence the title), brief language, teenaged boys being teenaged boys XD
Summary: In which college-aged Sam attempts to convince college-aged Adrian to give up smoking.
Author's Note: I wrote this, without really intending to get far on it, after chasing a three- and a five-year-old around for a couple hours, so I was tired. XD
CIGARETTES
Sam was eyeing Adrian’s jacket pocket suspiciously.
“I think you should sell them,” he decided, “and donate the profits to some feed-the-children charity in Africa.”
Mark considered, tugging on an earring. “Maybe you should just give them to African warlords,” he noted, “and they’ll all have a smoke together and chill the fuck out and stop slaughtering all the starving children.”
Sam gave Mark a weird look before returning his attention to Adrian, who wasn’t loathe to have it despite the mild censure involved. “That’d work, too,” Sam declared, agreeing with Mark for what might have been the second time in their months-long acquaintance. “Just get rid of the damn things, one slightly dubious way or another.”
Almost idly, Adrian rifled through his card catalogue of excuses, knowing perfectly well that as he did, Sam was sorting out the according rebuttals.
“It’s not a big deal,” Adrian said.
“Emphysema will be,” Sam retorted.
“I can’t just quit.”
“You can quit to the effect of any adverb you like.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No, it’s much simpler.”
“You guys are both crackheads.” This, predictably, from Mark.
“You have a problem with crackheads?” Adrian asked pointedly, attempting to divert the conversation.
“You have a problem with inhaling tar?” Sam interjected. “Oh, yes, that’s right-apparently not.”
“It’s hardly ‘inhaling tar,’” Adrian muttered, a finger probing the corner of the little box in his pocket.
“Look,” Sam told him, taking his arm, halting their halfhearted progression towards the library lawn. “If you give Mark the pack and let him send it collect to some African warlords, I will reimburse you for your sacrifice.”
“Send it collect; good idea,” Mark murmured.
Adrian did look-looked at the sooty-haired dynamo looking challengingly back at him. He wished he could deny Sam Tanner anything.
Cringing, whether at his own weak will or at the prospect of a smokeless evening he didn’t know, he ceded the latest red and white pack of cigarettes to Sam, who promptly smacked them into Mark’s waiting palm.
“Catch ya later, crackhead,” Sam called to his coconspirator over one shoulder as he commenced dragging Adrian towards the nearest building, a red brick construction with a whole lot of bronze accents and a worn stone staircase leading in.
“If you’re not too doped up to notice my existence,” Mark replied calmly. He tossed the pack, snatched it out of the air, and tucked it into his back pocket, resuming the trek to the library.
Sam refused to divulge any details as they wandered the crisscrossing corridors of the hall he had chosen, maintaining his silence adamantly regardless of Adrian’s insistent inquiries. Adrian, for his part, tried wheedling, whining, whispering, and wailing, all utterly in vain.
Then a slightly maniacal grin lit Sam’s face as they came into view of a men’s bathroom.
“Let’s go scar some homophobes for life,” Sam suggested, impressively wickedly. He grabbed Adrian’s wrist, dragged him into the bathroom, shoved him up against the tiles of the wall, and stood on his toes to reach Adrian’s lips with his.
Reluctantly, Adrian admitted that he was quite sufficiently distracted from the nicotine cravings.
Wait, “reluctantly”? Who the hell was he kidding, “reluctantly”? He wasn’t reluctant in the slightest.
He took Sam’s shoulders in hand and flipped their places, Sam’s head missing the paper towel dispenser by mere inches as Adrian spun him around. Adrian applied tongue and teeth to Sam’s ear and cheek and neck, raking his fingers through wild dark hair that shifted obediently beneath his hands. Sam gasped softly as Adrian’s mouth found his collarbone where the same impatient fingers had pushed his tee-shirt out of the way. Only distantly and peripherally did Adrian hear a toilet flush and a stall door creak.
Sam made a sudden, muffled squeaking noise, and then Adrian paused, curious through the haze of hormone-ridden insanity, and glanced over at an extremely startled-looking middle-aged man in a tweed jacket.
Sam looked like he was praying, perhaps for spontaneous combustion. Then he seized Adrian’s hand and bolted.
They didn’t stop running until they were on the other side of campus, and Adrian didn’t stop laughing until Sam raised his red face from his hands and employed his right to hit Adrian on the arm, strikingly vehemently.
“It’s not funny!” he cried indignantly, though this was clearly untrue.
Adrian’s stomach ached, and he was winded. He flopped down on the grass and watched the sun wink through the branches of the willow under which they’d taken refuge from sun and scandalized adults alike.
“You sound stressed,” he commented innocently.
“Of course I’m stressed!” Sam howled. “My journalism adviser just caught me making out in the men’s room! No, I’m doin’ just fine and dandy after the biggest humiliation of my life!”
“Tough draw,” Adrian noted blithely, unable to smother the grin spreading on his face. “You know what would do you a world of good?”
“Hanging myself with my bedsheets? Jumping off a cliff? Entering the witness protection program?”
“Better.”
“What?”
Adrian closed his eyes and grinned, his hands folded behind his head. “A cigarette.”
Sam laid down next to him, scowling. “You’d better hope the emphysema kills you soon,” he muttered, “before I get to you.”
[V: Stars]
Part: VI
Series: The Sam and Adrian Saga
Pairing: Adrian/Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 871
Warnings: cigarettes (hence the title), brief language, teenaged boys being teenaged boys XD
Summary: In which college-aged Sam attempts to convince college-aged Adrian to give up smoking.
Author's Note: I wrote this, without really intending to get far on it, after chasing a three- and a five-year-old around for a couple hours, so I was tired. XD
CIGARETTES
Sam was eyeing Adrian’s jacket pocket suspiciously.
“I think you should sell them,” he decided, “and donate the profits to some feed-the-children charity in Africa.”
Mark considered, tugging on an earring. “Maybe you should just give them to African warlords,” he noted, “and they’ll all have a smoke together and chill the fuck out and stop slaughtering all the starving children.”
Sam gave Mark a weird look before returning his attention to Adrian, who wasn’t loathe to have it despite the mild censure involved. “That’d work, too,” Sam declared, agreeing with Mark for what might have been the second time in their months-long acquaintance. “Just get rid of the damn things, one slightly dubious way or another.”
Almost idly, Adrian rifled through his card catalogue of excuses, knowing perfectly well that as he did, Sam was sorting out the according rebuttals.
“It’s not a big deal,” Adrian said.
“Emphysema will be,” Sam retorted.
“I can’t just quit.”
“You can quit to the effect of any adverb you like.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No, it’s much simpler.”
“You guys are both crackheads.” This, predictably, from Mark.
“You have a problem with crackheads?” Adrian asked pointedly, attempting to divert the conversation.
“You have a problem with inhaling tar?” Sam interjected. “Oh, yes, that’s right-apparently not.”
“It’s hardly ‘inhaling tar,’” Adrian muttered, a finger probing the corner of the little box in his pocket.
“Look,” Sam told him, taking his arm, halting their halfhearted progression towards the library lawn. “If you give Mark the pack and let him send it collect to some African warlords, I will reimburse you for your sacrifice.”
“Send it collect; good idea,” Mark murmured.
Adrian did look-looked at the sooty-haired dynamo looking challengingly back at him. He wished he could deny Sam Tanner anything.
Cringing, whether at his own weak will or at the prospect of a smokeless evening he didn’t know, he ceded the latest red and white pack of cigarettes to Sam, who promptly smacked them into Mark’s waiting palm.
“Catch ya later, crackhead,” Sam called to his coconspirator over one shoulder as he commenced dragging Adrian towards the nearest building, a red brick construction with a whole lot of bronze accents and a worn stone staircase leading in.
“If you’re not too doped up to notice my existence,” Mark replied calmly. He tossed the pack, snatched it out of the air, and tucked it into his back pocket, resuming the trek to the library.
Sam refused to divulge any details as they wandered the crisscrossing corridors of the hall he had chosen, maintaining his silence adamantly regardless of Adrian’s insistent inquiries. Adrian, for his part, tried wheedling, whining, whispering, and wailing, all utterly in vain.
Then a slightly maniacal grin lit Sam’s face as they came into view of a men’s bathroom.
“Let’s go scar some homophobes for life,” Sam suggested, impressively wickedly. He grabbed Adrian’s wrist, dragged him into the bathroom, shoved him up against the tiles of the wall, and stood on his toes to reach Adrian’s lips with his.
Reluctantly, Adrian admitted that he was quite sufficiently distracted from the nicotine cravings.
Wait, “reluctantly”? Who the hell was he kidding, “reluctantly”? He wasn’t reluctant in the slightest.
He took Sam’s shoulders in hand and flipped their places, Sam’s head missing the paper towel dispenser by mere inches as Adrian spun him around. Adrian applied tongue and teeth to Sam’s ear and cheek and neck, raking his fingers through wild dark hair that shifted obediently beneath his hands. Sam gasped softly as Adrian’s mouth found his collarbone where the same impatient fingers had pushed his tee-shirt out of the way. Only distantly and peripherally did Adrian hear a toilet flush and a stall door creak.
Sam made a sudden, muffled squeaking noise, and then Adrian paused, curious through the haze of hormone-ridden insanity, and glanced over at an extremely startled-looking middle-aged man in a tweed jacket.
Sam looked like he was praying, perhaps for spontaneous combustion. Then he seized Adrian’s hand and bolted.
They didn’t stop running until they were on the other side of campus, and Adrian didn’t stop laughing until Sam raised his red face from his hands and employed his right to hit Adrian on the arm, strikingly vehemently.
“It’s not funny!” he cried indignantly, though this was clearly untrue.
Adrian’s stomach ached, and he was winded. He flopped down on the grass and watched the sun wink through the branches of the willow under which they’d taken refuge from sun and scandalized adults alike.
“You sound stressed,” he commented innocently.
“Of course I’m stressed!” Sam howled. “My journalism adviser just caught me making out in the men’s room! No, I’m doin’ just fine and dandy after the biggest humiliation of my life!”
“Tough draw,” Adrian noted blithely, unable to smother the grin spreading on his face. “You know what would do you a world of good?”
“Hanging myself with my bedsheets? Jumping off a cliff? Entering the witness protection program?”
“Better.”
“What?”
Adrian closed his eyes and grinned, his hands folded behind his head. “A cigarette.”
Sam laid down next to him, scowling. “You’d better hope the emphysema kills you soon,” he muttered, “before I get to you.”
[V: Stars]