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stephanometraTitle: The Tune Will Come To You
Pairing: Rosenbaum/Carlson (Y HLO THAR, BOYS)
Rating: PG13
Summary: The thing about Mike, Steve thinks, is that he's really a nine-year-old kid in a grown man's body.
Warnings: Marijuana-induced schmoop.
Notes: So this has been sitting in my "in progress" googledocs folder since Wincon, and it occurred to me that it's fine just the way it is. Thus: posting. 1000 words.
***
"This is what you wanted to show me?"
"Hell yeah it is," Mike says, running his fingers lovingly over the spines of a matched set of books on a shelf. "Best Christmas ever."
"They're comic books."
Mike grins. "Dude, I know. Isn't it awesome?" And then he pulls down one of the volumes—a glossy Wolverine trade paperback—and curls up on the couch to read it, tucking his bare feet under him and humming contentedly.
The thing about Mike, Steve thinks, is that he's really a nine-year-old kid in a grown man's body. Essentially, that's the key to understanding just about everything about him.
It also makes all of their various sexual exploits over the past few months kind of ridiculously naughty, but whatever. Steve likes naughty. Steve would kind of like to be getting back to the naughty, instead of cooing over the stack of comics Mike's mother gave Mike for Christmas.
But, well, the guy's nine years old.
"I don't believe this," Steve mutters.
"Whatever," Mike says. "Like you've never gotten stoned and read comic books."
Steve has, but not since he was fifteen. Nowadays, he'd much rather fuck or play when he gets high, which is to say that he'd rather be fucking or playing now. Watching Mike indulge his superhero fetish wasn't really part of the evening he'd envisioned when Mike invited him over, especially considering what Mike does for a living and that he has to go back to it in a few days. He'd almost consider it a waste of good pot, except that Mike's got a guitar sitting in the corner of his office.
He stretches out on the couch with Mike's guitar, puts his feet in Mike's lap, and lets his fingers wander the strings. Random chords segue into "Seven Days" segues into "Sweet Jane," and then almost without realizing it he starts in on "Stairway to Heaven."
Mike sets down the book, leans back and listens, giving him a dopey smile.
"Was it everything you hoped it'd be?" Steve says, nodding toward the trade on the floor, picking out the first few bars of the solo.
"Third time I've read it, man."
And okay, high or not, that's kind of annoying. "What the hell, Rosenbaum?"
Mike makes a rude noise and flips him off. "Hey, you have any idea how excited I was to get these books?"
Steve pokes Mike in the stomach with his toe. "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."
"Fuck yeah I will." Mike's head lolls on his shoulders, and he splays a hand around Steve's calf, just resting there. "So it was Christmas Eve, right, and we're opening shit from each other, and my mom has Eric just dump this huge box on my lap. Fucker hurt, dude. My brother's a total dick, bet he did it on purpose."
"Okay, heavy box, Eric's a dick," Steve says. "Got it."
Mike laughs. "And then I open it and it's, like. This huge stack of trades! And it was awesome and I got up and chased my mom around the couch and picked her up and spun her around because best present ever the end."
Steve glances again at the orderly row of books on the shelf. "Dude, they pay you enough that you can buy your own comics. That many trades had to be a fair chunk of change."
"Well. Wait, why do you know how much comics cost? Have you been holding out on me?"
Jesus, perish the thought. "Nah, Chris reads the Buffy ones sometimes. Joss sends them to Dave for free, but they've still got the prices printed on 'em."
"Pssh, Buffy comics." Mike rolls his eyes. "Wolverine, man. This is my favorite."
"If you like it so much, why didn't you buy it yourself?"
Mike waves his hands in the air in what passes for an eloquent gesture when one is totally baked. "I was busy when they came out, right? Was working on a couple of voice gigs all summer, and then when I was back on set it would've been...weird."
"Weird how?"
"Oh God, you didn't just ask me that." He waves his hands around some more, giving Steve an incredibly patronizing look. "Superman, Steve. Justice League. All DC shit. I can't go around reading Marvel books on set, I'd feel like a traitor!"
"That's, uh." Steve blinks, licks his lips. "That is the dorkiest thing I have ever heard in my life."
"Not true, I know for a fact that Jensen made you watch 'Candy Mountain' over the summer."
"Charlie," Steve says, snickering. "Okay, fine, you're the biggest goddamn geek on the planet. Happy?"
Mike smiles, ducks his head. "Baby, flattery will get you nowhere."
"Yeah?" Steve leans forward, curls a hand around the back of Mike's neck. "Pretty sure this will."
He can feel Mike grinning into the kiss. "Maybe," he says against Steve's lips, and then he slicks his tongue into Steve's mouth again with a happy noise.
When they break apart again, Steve says, "Also. Aren't you Jewish?"
"The only Jew ever to scream like a little girl when he gets comics for Christmas," Mike says solemnly, and then he bursts out laughing, loud and happy and long. It lights him up even more than the stupid books did, and Steve starts to laugh too, even though it's really, really not that funny, and they're both just fucking gone, leaning into each other and laughing their asses off.
And that makes Steve want to kiss Mike again, so he does, over and over until they're both totally breathless. There's no urgency, no goal in mind; Steve just wants so badly to kiss him that he can't do anything else, and it's stupidly, wonderfully good.
Eventually—through all the kissing, that is—it occurs to Steve that maybe he's a little bit in love with Michael Rosenbaum, even if the guy is a geeky bastard and also nine years old.
So yeah, definitely not a waste of good pot.
***
*happy sigh* Oh, boys.
Pairing: Rosenbaum/Carlson (Y HLO THAR, BOYS)
Rating: PG13
Summary: The thing about Mike, Steve thinks, is that he's really a nine-year-old kid in a grown man's body.
Warnings: Marijuana-induced schmoop.
Notes: So this has been sitting in my "in progress" googledocs folder since Wincon, and it occurred to me that it's fine just the way it is. Thus: posting. 1000 words.
"This is what you wanted to show me?"
"Hell yeah it is," Mike says, running his fingers lovingly over the spines of a matched set of books on a shelf. "Best Christmas ever."
"They're comic books."
Mike grins. "Dude, I know. Isn't it awesome?" And then he pulls down one of the volumes—a glossy Wolverine trade paperback—and curls up on the couch to read it, tucking his bare feet under him and humming contentedly.
The thing about Mike, Steve thinks, is that he's really a nine-year-old kid in a grown man's body. Essentially, that's the key to understanding just about everything about him.
It also makes all of their various sexual exploits over the past few months kind of ridiculously naughty, but whatever. Steve likes naughty. Steve would kind of like to be getting back to the naughty, instead of cooing over the stack of comics Mike's mother gave Mike for Christmas.
But, well, the guy's nine years old.
"I don't believe this," Steve mutters.
"Whatever," Mike says. "Like you've never gotten stoned and read comic books."
Steve has, but not since he was fifteen. Nowadays, he'd much rather fuck or play when he gets high, which is to say that he'd rather be fucking or playing now. Watching Mike indulge his superhero fetish wasn't really part of the evening he'd envisioned when Mike invited him over, especially considering what Mike does for a living and that he has to go back to it in a few days. He'd almost consider it a waste of good pot, except that Mike's got a guitar sitting in the corner of his office.
He stretches out on the couch with Mike's guitar, puts his feet in Mike's lap, and lets his fingers wander the strings. Random chords segue into "Seven Days" segues into "Sweet Jane," and then almost without realizing it he starts in on "Stairway to Heaven."
Mike sets down the book, leans back and listens, giving him a dopey smile.
"Was it everything you hoped it'd be?" Steve says, nodding toward the trade on the floor, picking out the first few bars of the solo.
"Third time I've read it, man."
And okay, high or not, that's kind of annoying. "What the hell, Rosenbaum?"
Mike makes a rude noise and flips him off. "Hey, you have any idea how excited I was to get these books?"
Steve pokes Mike in the stomach with his toe. "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."
"Fuck yeah I will." Mike's head lolls on his shoulders, and he splays a hand around Steve's calf, just resting there. "So it was Christmas Eve, right, and we're opening shit from each other, and my mom has Eric just dump this huge box on my lap. Fucker hurt, dude. My brother's a total dick, bet he did it on purpose."
"Okay, heavy box, Eric's a dick," Steve says. "Got it."
Mike laughs. "And then I open it and it's, like. This huge stack of trades! And it was awesome and I got up and chased my mom around the couch and picked her up and spun her around because best present ever the end."
Steve glances again at the orderly row of books on the shelf. "Dude, they pay you enough that you can buy your own comics. That many trades had to be a fair chunk of change."
"Well. Wait, why do you know how much comics cost? Have you been holding out on me?"
Jesus, perish the thought. "Nah, Chris reads the Buffy ones sometimes. Joss sends them to Dave for free, but they've still got the prices printed on 'em."
"Pssh, Buffy comics." Mike rolls his eyes. "Wolverine, man. This is my favorite."
"If you like it so much, why didn't you buy it yourself?"
Mike waves his hands in the air in what passes for an eloquent gesture when one is totally baked. "I was busy when they came out, right? Was working on a couple of voice gigs all summer, and then when I was back on set it would've been...weird."
"Weird how?"
"Oh God, you didn't just ask me that." He waves his hands around some more, giving Steve an incredibly patronizing look. "Superman, Steve. Justice League. All DC shit. I can't go around reading Marvel books on set, I'd feel like a traitor!"
"That's, uh." Steve blinks, licks his lips. "That is the dorkiest thing I have ever heard in my life."
"Not true, I know for a fact that Jensen made you watch 'Candy Mountain' over the summer."
"Charlie," Steve says, snickering. "Okay, fine, you're the biggest goddamn geek on the planet. Happy?"
Mike smiles, ducks his head. "Baby, flattery will get you nowhere."
"Yeah?" Steve leans forward, curls a hand around the back of Mike's neck. "Pretty sure this will."
He can feel Mike grinning into the kiss. "Maybe," he says against Steve's lips, and then he slicks his tongue into Steve's mouth again with a happy noise.
When they break apart again, Steve says, "Also. Aren't you Jewish?"
"The only Jew ever to scream like a little girl when he gets comics for Christmas," Mike says solemnly, and then he bursts out laughing, loud and happy and long. It lights him up even more than the stupid books did, and Steve starts to laugh too, even though it's really, really not that funny, and they're both just fucking gone, leaning into each other and laughing their asses off.
And that makes Steve want to kiss Mike again, so he does, over and over until they're both totally breathless. There's no urgency, no goal in mind; Steve just wants so badly to kiss him that he can't do anything else, and it's stupidly, wonderfully good.
Eventually—through all the kissing, that is—it occurs to Steve that maybe he's a little bit in love with Michael Rosenbaum, even if the guy is a geeky bastard and also nine years old.
So yeah, definitely not a waste of good pot.
