[ what is a petty photo that's been written directly on but a paper airplane in the making for Rafe to then physically toss at Sam's shitty receding hairline as he surfs through cable channels. ]
( he never thought he'd say there are too many goddamn channels, but there are honestly too many. goddamn. channels. at the moment, he's somewhere in the telemundo lineup when the pointy end of rafe's makeshift projectile pokes him right in the head. he tears his attention away from whatever telenovela he happened to stop on to glance in the direction of what he now sees is a paper airplane made out of rafe's stupid photo of sam's sticky notes. )
Really? ( he picks up the airplane and tosses it back in rafe's direction. ) Thought you'd do better than that.
( to be honest, he was sort of expecting something much more extravagantly petty, so this almost feels like a win. )
Well, hey, now I got plenty of time to pursue my other passions. No phone, no distractions, right? ( aside from cable, but only when something good's on. he lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. ) Post-it comedian, maybe not in my future. But, you know, I've always thought about picking up the bagpipe.
( there's a 50/50 chance he's joking ... in this case, leaning heavily toward the half that's serious just to annoy the shit out of rafe with bad bagpipe wailing. )
Edited (i swear i know how english works) 2021-03-31 04:21 (UTC)
[ yes, because bagpipes are clearly such a curse. not like he's spent most of the past decade in literal Scotland to become inured to that exact thing.
hence why Rafe doesn't blink at the threat, just nods thoughtfully along as if Sam's had a truly solid idea there. ]
Viable career path. Especially since, you know, it seems like the kind of work you're suited for: getting your lips around something and just blow.
[ because sure, Rafe's sucked off more than a few without batting a gag reflex but Sam oozes that outdated and ridiculous fragile machismo to make a joke like this perfectly low-hanging fruit. ]
( oh, yeah, it's a real knee-slapper alright. can you see how hard he's laughing, he's practically falling off the couch from the force of how fast his face falls, his jaw setting irritably.
he knows he shouldn't engage, because this is just the kind of shit rafe says to get under his skin, but ... boy does it always work. he does at least attempt to ignore it for about two seconds while he mashes the channel up button on the remote, hoping for something distracting enough on tv, only to be rewarded with the home shopping network, which is about as lifeless as it gets. who the hell needs any of this shit? )
That's real rich coming from you. ( he says, gesturing pointedly with the remote at the man who has a skincare routine. ) You wanna call me queer, you might wanna look in the mirror first.
( which is not his wittiest or most intelligent comeback, but you know what. fuck you. )
[ fuck him? nah. not in a million years for all the pirate gold this side of Nassau. ]
I'm perfectly aware of what I am, [ he answers, as blithe as Sam is bothered. ] And I've zero problem with any of the various things I've put in my mouth.
[ or with having a skincare routine, which if Sam lives long enough he'll come to regret not having. nicotine's a bitch like that. ]
It doesn't — ( yeah, no, he can't even finish that sentence because it's that much of a boldfaced lie it would be embarrassing to even try. ) No, you know what, you're right. ( which is probably the only time he's ever going to admit that. ) I just don't see what's so appealing about putting a dick in your mouth.
( ... which might sound like an invitation to tell him exactly what is so appealing. uh. wait. )
For the love of God, please do not enlighten me.
Edited (the power of christ compelled me) 2021-04-29 06:33 (UTC)
[ Sam needn't have worried— the most Rafe had in mind even before the warning was a silently scathing eyebrow, but the backpedaling is hilarious to watch. definitely better entertainment than a couple of middle-aged women with badly done highlights discussing the joys of an air fryer. ]
Same appeal as eating somebody out. No real difference to it.
[ a sidelong glance and onto the important question here. ] You're not watching this, right? [ because if he is, Rafe is about to fistfight him to get control of the remote. ]
Uh, I'd say the difference is one involves a dick. But, sure, if you love choking, suck all the dicks you want.
( there's a certain finesse to eating pussy. no choking hazards involved.
anyway, no, he's not watching what's on, but he's also not about to give up the remote anytime soon. pointedly, he flips through about 20 channels until a familiar field and familiar uniforms grace the screen. he sits up a little straighter, attention fully on the sport playing out in front of him. he hasn't really paid much attention to baseball in a long time for obvious reasons, but it is right around world series time and — )
Holy shit, the Sox made it to the World Series?
( as far as he's aware, they haven't been since 1986 — and haven't won since 1918 — so he'll sure be fucking surprised to find out they've won two world series titles in the time he was in prison. )
Okay, first of all— [ at least Sam's changing channels, that's some progress. ] It's like doing a keg-stand or chugging booze, you can learn to relax those muscles but even without, if you do it right? You don't choke. But the point is, oral is oral, man. The logic behind doing it doesn't change on what the other person's got below the belt.
[ ...then again, maybe Sam isn't an oral guy at all. the act is one of present investment for future payoff and Rafe can't exactly see Sam as being that patient or generous.
thankfully, sports is here to distract him from further considering how Sam Drake possibly conducts himself in the bedroom. ew. ]
Did they? Huh. That time of year again, I guess. [ this is not a guy who super follows the game, the Sox winning in 2004 was a big enough deal that even he noticed so he recognizes the Cardinals alongside the Sox. ] Guess they're looking for a repeat performance.
( guess who super doesn't believe any of that. his face is gonna stick from the amount of incredulity he's leveling at rafe right now. )
Uh huh. Okay.
( yeah, they're just gonna have to agree to disagree on this one. which is practically a goddamn miracle considering they almost never agree on anything. including oral, apparently.
he doesn't expect they'll agree on baseball, either. rafe doesn't seem the type of guy to even enjoy the sport, let alone know anything about it, so the comment about a repeat performance is strange on two different levels. )
What d'you mean "repeat performance"? They haven't won the World Series since 1918. Hell, they haven't even been since '86.
( but even if they didn't ultimately win the series then, sam still has fond memories of that particular year: boston in late october with all the trees turned yellow and orange, sneaking out of the orphanage and into fenway park, stolen ballpark hot dogs, catching a foul ball with his baseball cap, enthusiastically teaching his baby brother about the sport as each play happened. honestly, looking back, that game might have been one of the best nights of his life. just him and nathan, the way it was always supposed to be.
so he's not going to think about the fact that it still should be him and nathan, except his little brother decided to go off and live some normal apple pie life with a wife and a house and some boring dead-end job — leaving him here with rafe. for the time being, anyway. nothing about this particular arrangement is permanent, not if sam can help it. but until he has something more enticing to lure nate back into the hunt (something more concrete to convince him they were meant to do this together, to remind him of their destiny), it's apparently post-its and baseball and bitching at rafe day in and day out. )
I would know, I was there. Nathan never was much of a baseball fan, but no one can say no to a Fenway Frank and four hours away from the Sisters on a Thursday night.
( huh, it's almost like they're having ... a normal conversation? )
[ Rafe can only roll his eyes at Sam's reaction which is only a couple of notches above ew cooties as far as he's concerned. but fine — Sam wants to be immature about sex, that's his own prerogative and his future fuckbuddy's problem and none of Rafe's business to fix.
at least there's the advent of baseball to give something else to talk about. true, Rafe isn't a fan— finds it a lot of stop-and-go with no concrete payout to be gotten just from watching, sees no gain to be gotten from watching others do, and it isn't as if baseball is an impossible sport to pick up for any schmuck off the street anyway —but it's better than silence because given his and Sam's track record? either or both of them would end up throwing something out into the quiet that'd more than likely lead to another snipefest of barbs and jabs. not that Sam's exactly smooth here, but still. it's leagues better than their usual.
up until Sam goes and mentions Nate.
of course Nate had been one of the first questions Sam asked after they'd gotten the hell out of Panama, so Rafe had been ready with the information. the general timeline of events. the retirement. the shitty civilian job and setup. the marriage. it'd been gratifying in a cold and bitter way to see Sam's reaction to the news mirror his own unspoken feelings— disbelief bordering on disgust because how could anyone just walk away from all this? how could a person practically dig a grave for himself then lay down in it and call it comfortable? it'd never been said aloud but Rafe could hear it all the same and after that night playing catch-up for Sam... it'd been an unwritten law that Nate not be mentioned that both had abided by.
until now.
it takes a moment to push down the bitter gut-punch sensation that hits every time he hears Nate's name, but this sure as shit isn't a hill Rafe wants to die on. so back to the conversation without addressing the last chunk of it. ]
It's their third World Series in ten years. They win this, it'll be three for three.
[ clipped? maybe. but still better than bitching back or letting the silence fill in. ]
Edited (missed a forgotten space, please ignore me sob) 2021-05-30 04:17 (UTC)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chardismastic) wrote2016-08-08 05:33 pm
no subject
no subject
no subject
Really? ( he picks up the airplane and tosses it back in rafe's direction. ) Thought you'd do better than that.
( to be honest, he was sort of expecting something much more extravagantly petty, so this almost feels like a win. )
no subject
[ Rafe counters as he snatches the plane out of the air with one hand. ]
Your phone's still off. You can scrape the entire Pacific Northwest to make your post-its for all the good they'll do you.
no subject
Well, hey, now I got plenty of time to pursue my other passions. No phone, no distractions, right? ( aside from cable, but only when something good's on. he lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. ) Post-it comedian, maybe not in my future. But, you know, I've always thought about picking up the bagpipe.
( there's a 50/50 chance he's joking ... in this case, leaning heavily toward the half that's serious just to annoy the shit out of rafe with bad bagpipe wailing. )
no subject
hence why Rafe doesn't blink at the threat, just nods thoughtfully along as if Sam's had a truly solid idea there. ]
Viable career path. Especially since, you know, it seems like the kind of work you're suited for: getting your lips around something and just blow.
[ because sure, Rafe's sucked off more than a few without batting a gag reflex but Sam oozes that outdated and ridiculous fragile machismo to make a joke like this perfectly low-hanging fruit. ]
no subject
he knows he shouldn't engage, because this is just the kind of shit rafe says to get under his skin, but ... boy does it always work. he does at least attempt to ignore it for about two seconds while he mashes the channel up button on the remote, hoping for something distracting enough on tv, only to be rewarded with the home shopping network, which is about as lifeless as it gets. who the hell needs any of this shit? )
That's real rich coming from you. ( he says, gesturing pointedly with the remote at the man who has a skincare routine. ) You wanna call me queer, you might wanna look in the mirror first.
( which is not his wittiest or most intelligent comeback, but you know what. fuck you. )
no subject
I'm perfectly aware of what I am, [ he answers, as blithe as Sam is bothered. ] And I've zero problem with any of the various things I've put in my mouth.
[ or with having a skincare routine, which if Sam lives long enough he'll come to regret not having. nicotine's a bitch like that. ]
I just know it bugs the utter shit out of you so.
[ cue a beaming smile, just for Sam. ]
no subject
It doesn't — ( yeah, no, he can't even finish that sentence because it's that much of a boldfaced lie it would be embarrassing to even try. ) No, you know what, you're right. ( which is probably the only time he's ever going to admit that. ) I just don't see what's so appealing about putting a dick in your mouth.
( ... which might sound like an invitation to tell him exactly what is so appealing. uh. wait. )
For the love of God, please do not enlighten me.
no subject
Same appeal as eating somebody out. No real difference to it.
[ a sidelong glance and onto the important question here. ] You're not watching this, right? [ because if he is, Rafe is about to fistfight him to get control of the remote. ]
no subject
Uh, I'd say the difference is one involves a dick. But, sure, if you love choking, suck all the dicks you want.
( there's a certain finesse to eating pussy. no choking hazards involved.
anyway, no, he's not watching what's on, but he's also not about to give up the remote anytime soon. pointedly, he flips through about 20 channels until a familiar field and familiar uniforms grace the screen. he sits up a little straighter, attention fully on the sport playing out in front of him. he hasn't really paid much attention to baseball in a long time for obvious reasons, but it is right around world series time and — )
Holy shit, the Sox made it to the World Series?
( as far as he's aware, they haven't been since 1986 — and haven't won since 1918 — so he'll sure be fucking surprised to find out they've won two world series titles in the time he was in prison. )
no subject
[ ...then again, maybe Sam isn't an oral guy at all. the act is one of present investment for future payoff and Rafe can't exactly see Sam as being that patient or generous.
thankfully, sports is here to distract him from further considering how Sam Drake possibly conducts himself in the bedroom. ew. ]
Did they? Huh. That time of year again, I guess. [ this is not a guy who super follows the game, the Sox winning in 2004 was a big enough deal that even he noticed so he recognizes the Cardinals alongside the Sox. ] Guess they're looking for a repeat performance.
no subject
Uh huh. Okay.
( yeah, they're just gonna have to agree to disagree on this one. which is practically a goddamn miracle considering they almost never agree on anything. including oral, apparently.
he doesn't expect they'll agree on baseball, either. rafe doesn't seem the type of guy to even enjoy the sport, let alone know anything about it, so the comment about a repeat performance is strange on two different levels. )
What d'you mean "repeat performance"? They haven't won the World Series since 1918. Hell, they haven't even been since '86.
( but even if they didn't ultimately win the series then, sam still has fond memories of that particular year: boston in late october with all the trees turned yellow and orange, sneaking out of the orphanage and into fenway park, stolen ballpark hot dogs, catching a foul ball with his baseball cap, enthusiastically teaching his baby brother about the sport as each play happened. honestly, looking back, that game might have been one of the best nights of his life. just him and nathan, the way it was always supposed to be.
so he's not going to think about the fact that it still should be him and nathan, except his little brother decided to go off and live some normal apple pie life with a wife and a house and some boring dead-end job — leaving him here with rafe. for the time being, anyway. nothing about this particular arrangement is permanent, not if sam can help it. but until he has something more enticing to lure nate back into the hunt (something more concrete to convince him they were meant to do this together, to remind him of their destiny), it's apparently post-its and baseball and bitching at rafe day in and day out. )
I would know, I was there. Nathan never was much of a baseball fan, but no one can say no to a Fenway Frank and four hours away from the Sisters on a Thursday night.
( huh, it's almost like they're having ... a normal conversation? )
no subject
at least there's the advent of baseball to give something else to talk about. true, Rafe isn't a fan— finds it a lot of stop-and-go with no concrete payout to be gotten just from watching, sees no gain to be gotten from watching others do, and it isn't as if baseball is an impossible sport to pick up for any schmuck off the street anyway —but it's better than silence because given his and Sam's track record? either or both of them would end up throwing something out into the quiet that'd more than likely lead to another snipefest of barbs and jabs. not that Sam's exactly smooth here, but still. it's leagues better than their usual.
up until Sam goes and mentions Nate.
of course Nate had been one of the first questions Sam asked after they'd gotten the hell out of Panama, so Rafe had been ready with the information. the general timeline of events. the retirement. the shitty civilian job and setup. the marriage. it'd been gratifying in a cold and bitter way to see Sam's reaction to the news mirror his own unspoken feelings— disbelief bordering on disgust because how could anyone just walk away from all this? how could a person practically dig a grave for himself then lay down in it and call it comfortable? it'd never been said aloud but Rafe could hear it all the same and after that night playing catch-up for Sam... it'd been an unwritten law that Nate not be mentioned that both had abided by.
until now.
it takes a moment to push down the bitter gut-punch sensation that hits every time he hears Nate's name, but this sure as shit isn't a hill Rafe wants to die on. so back to the conversation without addressing the last chunk of it. ]
It's their third World Series in ten years. They win this, it'll be three for three.
[ clipped? maybe. but still better than bitching back or letting the silence fill in. ]