patte de lapin

Samael Le Roux || 25 || Synthetic Superior || Fortune

[txngledupwithyouallnight]

[luckysamael-blog]

Sam everytime he sees @begdorian and @james-reagan-bryne on the dash

[luckysamael-blog]

james-reagan-bryne

If J.R. could see more than Sam right now he would have made a comment on the bedroom. But at the moment nothing else existed except for him and Sam and the bed they were making their way towards.

Catching Sam’s lip between his own was his new favorite pastime.

Pumpkin Spice.

It really was a shame that Sam had never invited the actual James to one of his fantasy sessions. Or that J.R. didn’t invite Sam into the shower with him.

He stared affectionately down at Sam, a chuckle leaving his lips, “You don’t get paid to just stand there and look pretty?” He asked, “Huh.”

When Sam turned red J.R., drunk with the taste of Sam’s lips, realized that he had just let the l-o-v-e word slip and… he was ok with it.

He could feel his shoulder and the tip of his nose redden, and there was that familiar tightening of his chest but he meant what he said.

He meant what he said.

James looked down at Sam, a quiet moment of just taking in the man’s features, the little stubble on his chin, that wild hair, Sam’s crazy brown eyes…

“I love you.”

He pressed a tentative kiss against Sam’s jaw, shaky hands fumbling to get rid of Sam’s pants until they joined the pile of clothes on the floor. He left a trail of kisses down the man’s neck, fingertips, feather light, walking down Sam’s thin front until they found the elastic of Sam’s underwear.

He was suddenly nervous, J.R. the sex god. Because those were the three words that James found the hardest to say.

But there his fingers went, freeing Sam from his confines, they still knew what to do even if J.R. was still in a state of shock.

He still had pants on, which was uncomfortable, but he could wait. Sam first.

Another kiss against Sam’s neck, fingers wrapping around his shaft and giving a squeeze, before his lips made their way down Sam’s chest. J.R.’s eyes flickered up to meet his gaze or at least catch the man’s expression, flat of his free hand running against the inside of Sam’s thigh (which James made sure to kiss too.)

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Because why not steal a page out of Sam’s book, what better time than when J.R.’s face was between Sam’s legs.

James wasn’t sure if he could make a blowjob romantic but he would make sure Sam enjoyed every second of it.

Sam used the word love all the time. He loved croissants, cinnamon rolls, and artistic renderings of fingerprints. As vivacious as he was and had always been, the word love was never directed towards a person. He could feel it all day, but the moment he put a name on it that meant he was giving himself to someone—leaving baked goods at his neighbors’ doorsteps was one thing, but leaving a piece of who he was?

That was something else, and he hadn’t realized he was afraid of that until he heard the words slip from J.R.’s mouth. He could’ve easily passed it off as an accident, a slip of tongue in regards to traits James liked about him, not necessarily about Sam as a person. An individual with thoughts and feelings, someone with a predilection of killing, to date, dozens of boners because he decided it would be funny to quote the bible to an atheist in heat.

Or to laugh inappropriately because J.R. always had this look about him, as if he was a kid on Christmas eve running his fingers along a present he wasn’t supposed to find—like James was trying to ‘put the moves on him’ or something. And it was his little secret, as if Sam couldn’t tell.

He loved it. It was his favorite thing in the world to pen down flirtatious little notes only to have them soar over the small gap of an alleyway that divided them. (And then promptly achieve a head shot because his aim? Impeccable!)

The furrow of J.R.’s brow preceding an inevitable smile when he realized that no, he wasn’t getting attacked, it was just Sam—which probably wasn’t too far off from being the same thing.

And he loved the way the tip of his nose lit up, the cascading red that eclipsed his shoulders beyond the small, bruised marks Sam had left on the smooth expanse of his neck.

So when James said I love you, there was no possibility he wouldn’t have said it back.

…Except there was, because in the fleeting moments it took Sam to process what that meant, James swept him away in timid kisses, shaky hands working their way downward.

If Sam wasn’t so overstimulated, he might have noticed how nervous the other man was. The near imperceptible tremble of his hands, the hurried way his lips worked his chest, neck, his thighs.

But Sam couldn’t, because his own body was writhing at the touch, hips rolling into James wantonly.

“Ah!” His lips parted when James’ hand worked his shaft, their gazes meeting for just long enough for Sam to determine it was the end of the road for him—

Nope, they were done here. He could feel every bit of him throbbing, heart beats where they absolutely should not exist. And just when he thought things couldn’t escalate any further, he felt the warmth of James’ lips wrapping around him.

“I—fuck, James,” He breathed, curse falling from his lips as his free hand reached for the man’s hair. His fingers curled into the dark tresses.

If blow jobs weren’t meant to be romantic, Sam couldn’t tell.

[luckysamael-blog]

james-reagan-bryne

He could just hear the beating of Sam’s heart over the sound of his own. As fashionable as Sam was, in his Purples and Oranges and other colors J.R. had no way of really distinguishing he much rather see what was hiding underneath the expensive sweaters and tailored shirts.

They had already made some head way as far as leaving marks down Sam’s neck. And Sam might have succeeded in getting one or two in on James too. And James would treasure them. Trace them with his finger, commit each faint bruise over pale skin to memory.

Sue him for wanting this to be special. This was special. This was a big deal.

Not only their first time together but Sam’s first time ever.

He let Sam pull him to the bedroom, returning every kiss with this hunger, uncontrollable lust for this man that liked to greet him by tugging at his ear and baked pound cakes and didn’t sleep.

Sam’s tongue in his mouth, that breathy ‘Jesus Christ, I want you.’ it all drove James crazy. Because it was one thing to be attracted to Sam, to want Sam, but for Sam to want him back? And to vocalize that want? Excitement washed over him, his cheeks, his hands, down below his waistline..

And then Sam laughed and the world stopped to listen.

And J.R. was so captivated that he lost himself for a moment, just in Sam’s laugh.

“Fuck…”

He watched Sam undress, light bouncing over those perfect shoulders and it became abundantly clear that Samael, despite his name, was an angel. An angel with J.R.’s love bites on his neck.

Honestly, in this moment, Sam could do whatever he wanted with J.R. Move him any which way, draw a dick on his forehead with sharpie.. He let himself be pulled forward, but the kiss he stole was more deliberate. Gentle but deep. He wanted Sam to feel it. To feel what he was trying to convey but didn’t have the words for yet.

When he broke away he kept close, heady breath against Sam’s lips, “You say that like it’s a bad thing… What if I called you beautiful?” With each word he stepped them back, “And kind. And funny,” When the back of Sam’s legs hit the bed James lowered both of them onto it, “And a smart ass when you want to be.” He easily pulled his sweater over his head, letting it fall to the floor, “What if I told you I loved all of those things about you? That you make me want to be.. better.” And now that he had successfully had Sam laid back on the bed, positioned right between Sam’s legs, he didn’t make a move to kiss all over his chest until given permission, “Would you let me touch you then?”

God, Sam could probably count on his fingers how many times he stepped foot into his bedroom within a week. The bed was terribly untouched, almost as pristine as the day he first bought it. But there was something about bringing someone with him that made it feel so exciting, like it was an adventure instead of a cumbersome chore.

They were starved for one another, audible sighs passing by their lips for every second they weren’t touching. It was almost embarrassing, the way Sam’s body gave into every touch, the way his lips parted at the mere sound of James’ voice.

The reality was so much better than the fantasies he had, played out over and over again the moment James had one foot out the door—

It wasn’t as though the make out sessions didn’t do anything for Sam. In fact, he would always get a little too excited, heat emanating to every part of his body, starting first with his head and then ending, inevitably, with his…other one. He was ashamed at first, but shame quickly gave way to uninhibited, uncontrollable lust. The way J.R.’s hooded eyes looked under the setting sun cascading into the apartment. Familiarizing himself with the strong grip of the other’s hands, the way his thumb brushed across Sam’s cheek before they’d melt into each other, Sam’s tongue giving J.R. a taste of what had to be pumpkin spice something from earlier that day.

He couldn’t control himself anymore. He’d lost all hope of ever doing so again the very first time he saw white-hot, the lingering pulses accented by the thought of J.R.’s mouth wrapped around him, his hands working up and down his body.

Sam backed up onto the bed, hands reaching behind him as he sought to steady himself as James lowered his body onto him.

He quirked a playful brow. “Well, I sure hope I’m funny. That’s what I get paid for.”

And when J.R. went on to call him a smart ass, he made no effort to combat it. He’d just proven his point, after all. This is coupled by the fact that James, at that moment, decided it was high time to disrobe himself. Sam felt it getting hot again.

He ached for him. Wanted to run his fingers across his collarbones, feel every inch of his skin.

And he heard the word love and turned an impossible shade of red.

There James was, positioned lasciviously between his legs and he was laid out, chest bare to the world, ready to give it all because oh my god, he swore he felt his heart stop.

“…I’d beg you to.” He held the man’s gaze, pants growing tighter and tighter by the second. “Please touch me, James.”  

[luckysamael-blog]

james-reagan-bryne

No, it wasn’t worth the risk. And the thought of Sam’s disappointment made his chest hurt.

Sam arched his neck for him and James returned to a spot he particularly liked, sucking at the pink skin for a moment before moving on. No where would go untouched. “That’s all I do.” He responded, “I think about you all the time.” Sometimes clothed, sometimes not. It depended on the day.

Right now it was definitely the latter.

“Mmm…” Was his response, his hands happily placed on Sam’s lean little waist, keeping the closeness they’ve established. Body pressed against body. He could feel every part of Sam and it was kind of driving him crazy, “I didn’t notice.”

His eyes seemed to smile, even if Sam couldn’t see his lips because they were busy exploring Sam’s collar bone, “That’s just my voice. Not my fault.” And then a laugh, playfully tugging Sam to him again. He could have added a growl here for effect, “Oh, I had more in mind than just your hand on my thigh. Considering I haven’t seen anything below your neck it left a lot to the imagination.”

He’s felt Sam’s abdomen though, the man’s thighs under fabric.. J.R. wanted to kiss every inch of skin on Sam’s body,

“Like what?” He repeated with a smile, “You could let me take you out of this shirt, maybe.” His lips grazed gently against Sam’s, barely touching,

“I know you never venture into your bedroom, but maybe you could make an exception for me?” And now his breathing was heavy, His fingers were already undoing the expensive buttons of Sam’s shirt. This was happening, and J.R. found he was reluctant even to break his lips away for Sam for the minute it took to show him to the bedroom.

“I’d like to kiss every fuckin’ inch of you, Sam. I want to see you and feel you. I want to make you feel good. Yes.” And then pulling back to look down at his hands, still working to undo god damn buttons, “…I want to just pop these buttons but I know this shirt probably costs about the same as a small island.”

Sam’s heart was racing at a mile a minute. His skin was flushed, and god, it was hot. So goddamn hot, especially under the layers of clothing that adorned his body. Layering was fantastic for fashion’s sake, but apparently not when J.R. Byrne decided to make his grand appearance in the apartment complex, chiseled jaw line and stark blue eyes. Contrary to what the journalist believed, he lit up the room—even moreso, he lit a fire under Sam’s ass and God, he didn’t even have the right mind to put it out.

All he wanted was James, each and every part of him, to explore his body, to leave marks all over him. Evidence of kisses littered onto his skin, cascading down his neck. He wanted to remember this, for James to remember it every time he looked at him.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” Sam responded, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as they met, skin to skin, the feeling of J.R. exploring his collarbone sending the man into an absolute frenzy. And honest to god, Sam was starting to believe it was just J.R.’s voice because there wasn’t a moment that went by when the man spoke and Sam didn’t feel it absolutely whittle him down into nothing but mush. The man could probably tell him to dive headfirst into a tank of sharks and with a low enough cadence, Sam would do it with no hesitation. He’d follow those blue eyes anywhere.

“Well, since you asked so nicely I may just let this one go.” And off came the first layer, slipped off into the abyss that became the festive room surrounding them. Everything was long forgotten: the little plastic spiders, pumpkin spice anything. Sam held their bodies close, his hands gripping the front of James’ shirt as he pulled them into the bedroom, haphazardly, as his free hand clasped onto the handle in desperation. Desperation to free himself from this heat, his incessant need to let J.R. explore every inch of him.

He felt a shiver run down his spine as James voice growled in his ear, low and full of unadulterated want. Sam immediately reciprocated by sliding his tongue into James’ mouth, pulling him close as he felt the man’s fingers fumble along the buttons of his shirt.

“Jesus Christ, I want you.”

He could tangibly feel the heady desire that encompassed them, the heat the other man was emitting. Their movements were urgent, full of need. He needed to touch him. He needed to feel him, skin to skin, for the first time and if he had to wait any longer to get this shirt off he’d absolutely lose­ it—

“It’s more like a run of the mill peninsula.” Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

Throwing caution to the goddamn wind, Sam then took a small step back, his own hands meeting the buttons of his shirt and quickly undoing them, practiced movements long since coming into play. With an easy shrug, he threw off the remaining layer, the top half of his lithe body exposed to the small streaks of sunlight that shone from his windowsill. And just as quickly as he’d stepped away, he pulled James forward by the collar of his shirt, his free hand placing James’ firmly at his side, now completely exposed. He cocked his head as he locked eyes with the other.

“If I told you you could look but not touch, would that make me a tease?” The comic taunted. “I’m just wondering, James. Since you like to call me names.”

[james-reagan-bryne]

@luckysamael

[luckysamael-blog]

james-reagan-bryne

James would take love taps from Sam anyplace, any day.

Admittedly, James was still struggling with the smoking. He was in the mental no man’s land now, running towards the other side and praying he didn’t get shot. There was temptation everywhere. It’d be so easy to go buy a pack. So easy to get one from an intern at the office.

But no. He had to stay strong. For Sam. And tandem bikes. And the Eiffel tower.

So every time he thought about a smoke he’d text Sam instead, without explanation, and the man’s response (or what would become an hour long text conversation) would distract him enough from lighting up.

His nose brushed against Sam’s, “Give me a break, this was a pop quiz.” His eyebrows raised, “Oh, I have to persuade you, professor?” It was James’ turn to press his lips against Sam’s jaw, then neck, murmuring in between tender kisses, “We shouldn’t. What would the dean of students say?”

James’ body was screaming heck yes right back at Sam’s, and the bag of decorations and the specialty cookie were easily forgotten. His front pressed against Sam’s, as close as they could get. Of course, he spoke in that low, slow voice of his,

“What am I doing, Sam?”

They both had a healthy dose of mischief in them.

God damn. Sam was hot.

A laugh, “Sam, you remember the other night, hm? When we were watching that movie with Elizabeth Taylor? One moment you’re practically in my lap and your tongue’s in my mouth, the next you’re watching the movie like nothing happened. I spent the rest of the night reeling. I went to sleep thinking about your hand on my thigh.” Sam effectively had James wrapped around his little finger.

Maybe he shouldn’t have disclosed this information. Sam might let it go to his head. Drunk with power.

He let cheeky fingers slide under Sam’s shirt, “We could do something other than talking.”

There was an unspoken agreement between them: stay away from the cigarettes, and the kisses would keep coming. So far, so good. They’d yet to stumble into any hiccups on that front, and he figured James knew that cigarettes smelled like disappointment—Sam had a good nose for that type of thing. It simply wasn’t worth the risk, especially not when Sam was getting hungrier and hungrier for his touch. It showed in the way his warm eyes scanned over the other man’s body, lips unconsciously wetting themselves as his imagination ran wild.

But the way things were looking, the only imaginary thing he had to worry about was the dean of students being sorely disappointed in them. Sam had no intention of doing anything but that, not with the way James’ lips pressed against his jaw like they belonged there. There was no argument at stake here: they did. “Don’t worry about him.” Sam teased, arching his neck just a bit so J.R.’s lips could run wild, kissing anywhere they wanted to on the smooth expanse of his skin. “Why don’t you focus on me? One thing at a time, James.” He couldn’t help his small laugh, the now-familiar excitement trickling through his veins like static.

“You’re whispering into my ear.” Sam responded in kind, offering the other man a small hitch of his breath. “And speaking all low, like you always do. You don’t have to act all innocent, James. I can see right through you.”

And Sam mirrored that same laugh, pressing his forehead against James’ affectionately. “I vaguely recall.” He teased, as blasé as he could possibly muster in spite of himself. “And something tells me you were doing that thing, right? The talking all low, sweet nothings. You’ve got it down to a science, don’t you? It’s not my fault you know which buttons to push!”

He quirked his brow. James? Going to sleep thinking about him? Well, that was reason enough as any to shoot back a devilish grin in kind. “Just my hand on your thigh? You didn’t have anything else on your mind that night?”

Sam was definitely more creative than just a hand on his thigh that night. But he wasn’t going to mention that, not without being prompted, anyway. He had a reputation to uphold. Something about virginal innocence, he didn’t even know anymore. Nor did he care at this point, all he could think about was James and his perfect body, his jaw line that felt so good to trace with his lips, fingertips.

He welcomed the man’s touch, tilting his head to the side shamelessly.

“Hmm? Like what?” He challenged, brown eyes fixated on J.R.’s lips, full and always ready to be kissed, nibbled on, and above all, admired. God, he was beautiful.

“You know how much I like the sound of your voice. What could possibly be better?”  He inched himself impossibly closer to J.R., lips but mere millimeters away from the other man’s, their breaths mingling but still so far apart.

“Would you like to show me?”  

[luckysamael-blog]

james-reagan-bryne

Sam really needed to separate sex symbol and has had a lot of sex in his mind.

Sam also needed to understand that part of the reason why James was so attracted to Sam was because of Sam. His personality, his humor… James liked Sam’s body too but that wasn’t all.

J.R. knew Sam. Or, at least, he was getting to know Sam intimately. James dedicated his time now to Sam and work now, in that order. Everything else came after. So he picked up on the the clues Sam left for him, noted what movies were Sam’s favorite, and the colors in his wardrobe Sam couldn’t live with out. He took the time to wear what he thought Sam would like him in. Made sure to keep an eye out when Sam said things like ‘I got myself blown up.’ All those little cuts on Sam’s body, he memorized, careful not to add anymore to such a beautiful canvas.

A snort, “Sam I only hear Gwen Stefani when you put on Gwen Stefani.” he looked up and away in thought, “Oh – um, working hard night and day, something something, champagne kisses is in there somewhere.”

J.R.’s hand’s traveled down Sam’s front, fingers sliding easily through Sam’s belt loops, tugging him closer, “I mean you turn me on Sam. My body is attracted to your body.” Did Sam… Really not know this? “You’re a little bit of a tease.”

He could see the worry in Sam’s eyes.

“You know George Orwell once said: journalism is printing what someone else does not want printed: everything else is public relations.” He lifted Sam’s chin, pressing another gentle kiss over soft lips that tasted like expensive coffee, and the best damn fall baking that anyone could ask for. Jame’s wondered what it was Sam had concocted today, scones, maybe fresh baked bread, “This is just another part of the job description.”

Sam noticed.

J.R. was a man who paid close attention to detail. The proof was in the pudding, after all! If the magician offhandedly mentioned his affinity for bagels, it’d come as no coincidence that James may or may not have passed by a bagel shop on the way home. Or if he claimed he hated dad jokes but also had to bite his lip to fight back a smile every time, James would rattle ‘em off like the best of them. He might as well have been rocking the Barbeque Dad 4’s while he was at it, white crew socks and all! Sure, it’d earn the older man a few love taps on the head for the sheer ridiculousness of it, but the journalist took his faux-rage in stride.

It was an amazing transformation. J.R. had gone from a chain-smoking Gwen Stefani skeptic to Broody Bear, the man who recited her lyrics within a moment’s notice. Or attempted to, anyway, because Sam was certain riding on a red tandem bike while simultaneously jumping off the Eiffel Tower was a difficult feat for anyone, especially if their lungs were recovering from years of abuse.

“You forgot about 3/4ths of it.” Sam deadpanned, eyes trying for disappointment but instead succeeding only in staring at the other man dotingly. His eyes searched James’ face for a moment, memorizing each freckle, each and every prickle in his beard that glowed a deep red. The Irish in him showed best when he was blushing. “I don’t know if I should pass you. 70% is the general consensus for acceptable. You’ll have to persuade me otherwise.”

And then, much in a ridiculously suave manner, J.R. had him by his literal belt hoops. He was putty in the man’s hands, small bumps rising on his skin as the other man smoke, voice velvety smooth in his ears. He could feel his cheeks bursting into color—it was as red as James’ beard for sure.

No, Sam really did not know this.

“Don’t—“ He laughed, shaking his head. His head tried to gesture no but his body was going for heck yes, each point of contact burning where James touched him. He felt his hips pull closer into his counterpart’s. “You can’t say that and then quote George Orwell to me, James. That’s not fair. You know what you’re doing.”

He placed a hand over his partner’s cheek, returning the kiss with enthusiasm. James tasted like robusta coffee beans, black of course, with hints of mischief. He always had that hint of mischief, didn’t he?

And Sam distinctly smelled pumpkin spice something in the room, but he figured it was his mind playing tricks on him. The sweetest thing James got a taste of was Sam’s lips, and the comic made certain that he got a good taste, teeth nibbling on the journalist’s bottom lip just a bit as he pulled away.

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you and you’re distracting me,” Sam let out a laugh, a breathy sigh escaping him. “And I’m not a tease. Frankly, I’m not even sure what that means—do explain it to me, if you don’t mind. I’ve got plenty of time.” Another coy smile. “It’s just you, me, and plastic spiders today. We can talk about anything you want.”

[luckysamael-blog]

james-reagan-bryne

[JR]: You know that thing on our phones? Face time?

[JR]: That’s what we’re going to do now, so I know you’ll be in bed at a reasonable hour and won’t just say “goodnight” and really stay up till 5 in the morning

“No –” And then a chuckle, “Who are you to be lecturing me about all nighters?” Could Sam hear it? James’ smile through the phone. “What’s that noise?”

Sam took too long to answer. So J.R. took it upon himself to get the bottled water and a black coffee for himself.

But he did concede and get Sam one of those pumpkin sugar cookies with the frosting.

Hahaha. All the color talk went straight over J.R.’s head. Even interrupting to say, You know I don’t know beige from orange.

He had finished his own coffee by the time he reached Sam’s door. Good thing too, so the sheer force of Sam’s attack didn’t spill the hot liquid all over his shirt front.

Damn. He could’ve rolled with that.

J.R. was still getting used to Sam, Sam, pressing kisses over his jaw and neck.

This man wasn’t as innocent as he let on. And James kind of loved it. He loved how mischievous Sam could be, that glint in the man’s eye. Sam could suck on J.R.’s bottom lip,  and then continue conversation like nothing had happened. There had been multiple occasions where things had gotten just far enough, to where James might have thought they might take that next step and then just stopped. James wasn’t sure if Sam knew he was being such a tease. “Hello to you too ~” He hummed, letting Sam pull him into the apartment, and attempting not to let his imagination run with the feeling of Sam’s teeth, working just above his collar.

Looking around the apartment at the leaves, “I can see that. But the place looks great. You did a good job.” He responded, before pressing a quick peck over Sam’s lips. Sweet and simple… It’d never get old.

“I’ve been waiting for an encore since I first saw you in the window.” At this point he let his bags drop so he could concern his hands with pulling Sam closer to him, “You’re being so distracting right now, Sam.”  tilting his head back to chuckle at the ceiling. Allowing Sam one more little love bite before he pulled back. Thumb brushing against Sam’s cheek, “I honestly don’t know how you expect me to stay focused, when you’re kissing my neck. I’m only a man.”

He didn’t want to make this bigger than it was, “I’m going to be running a story soon about the New Order, and it won’t exactly be good press.” A pause, taking one of Sam’s hands and bringing it up to his lips, kissing over knuckles, the man’s palm, the inside of his wrist, “I just wanted to let you know.” He let his voice trail off, “Things will just be a little heavy at work for a while. That’s all.” He wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist, keeping him close.

He didn’t feel like he needed to go into more detail. Sam knew how the New Order operated.

“You can go back to kissing my neck now.”

Okay, so Sam wasn’t the pinnacle of innocence as far as Jesus was concerned—but he definitely wasn’t a tease on purpose! And just like he didn’t know that James saw right through his ‘good night’ ruse (yes, he will concede that he sent those texts by way of courtesy, not promise), he also wasn’t aware that those neck kisses actually did anything for the man. James Reagan Bryne had a whole decade on him for goodness’ sake! What’s amateurish kisses gonna do for his downstairs area? Nada! The magician was convinced J.R. was a sex symbol, and thusly, his marked enthusiasm did little by way of the journalist’s arousal.

And if James would do him a favor and stop smiling so loudly over the phone, maybe he wouldn’t get attacked so often. But Sam, deep down, would be deeply saddened if he did.

He liked that James’ expressions were saved just for him.

“You haven’t heard much Gwen Stefani since then,” Samael mused, leaning into J.R.’s touch as the man’s thumb brushed against his cheek. “Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the lyrics by now! I demand a proper recitation! Otherwise, she’s gonna be blasting again in the near future.”

A little smile preceded Sam’s smirk. “You’re only a man? I don’t know what you mean.”

Sam flinched. It was small, almost imperceptible, but very present. The words New Order never looked beautiful coming from anyone’s lips—and Sam must say he hated seeing them on J.R.’s most.

He inhaled deeply, brown eyes following the kisses James left on his knuckles, wrist, palm.

“Are you scared?”

Each syllable rolled off Sam’s tongue, moribund, close to extinction. More concise than usual—heavier.

He let himself ease into the space between J.R.’s neck and shoulder, lips meeting the skin in a gentle kiss. Sam could feel his chest constrict—but he also knew better than to press on about the matter. To let his anxiety consume him to the point of catatonia. He would save the neuroses for later.

“Thank you for letting me know.”

[toyboxboy]

[homopascal]

“Um. Sir, you can’t smoke here,” says the barista boy that looks like he still belongs in kindergarten. The longer Dorian stays silent, the more visible the kid’s nerves are. But what is he supposed to do? Acknowledge the pimpled scrawny virgin? Psha. “You’re… disturbing the other customers…?” he boy adds, trying to stand up for the coffee shop’s policy. 

Blowing some smoke out, Dorian makes a show of turning his head around. He’s slow and bothered. There’s only one other person in this godforsaken cafe and he’d be damned if he has to put a cuban out just for them. “Does it disturb you?” 

[luckysamael-blog]

Sam was caught in between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, he personally didn’t mind the stranger smoking beside him. On the other, he was a regular at the coffee shop, and that meant he was very well acquainted with the entire staff. The poor fella getting walked all over was a newbie, who, up until that very moment, was bright eyed and bushy tailed. Sam didn’t enjoy conflict, but he also didn’t enjoy the suffering of others. The barista was definitely suffering.

So the magician straightened himself up a bit, giving the stranger a placative smile.

“I think it’s bothering Joe a little.” He offered. “He’s new here and is doing a really good job so far! It’d help him a lot if you put it out.”

The timid barista looked in their direction.  

“I’m Samael, by the way! That’s a Cuban cigar, right?—Some of the guys I work with like those. If you’re worried about it dying out I can grab ya a new one! There’s an app called Favor and they’ll deliver just about anything to you. We won’t even have to get out of our seats! Pretty neat, huh?”

[luckysamael-blog]

Random txt to whoever || Open

Jian: I'm bored, I have shit ton of food and booze, a tower of console games and movies.

Jian: Wanna come over to kill the boredom?

Sam: I CAN DO FOOD

Sam: booze not so much Jian you remember how I got last time lol

Sam: you said you're heavy into PC right? I RECENTLY GOT AN XBOX KINECT JUST DANCE IS AWESOME YOU HAVE TO TELL ME YOU HAVE IT

[luckysamael-blog]

james-reagan-bryne

[JR]: I was just over yesterday how did you manage to turn your home into the inside of Martha Stewart Living in less than 24 hours?

[JR]: I feel like my cheap-o plastic spiders aren’t up to your standards :(

Calling because J.R. can’t text and walk. That’s dangerous.

“Yes, everything’s fine. It’s just a work thing I want you to be aware of.” He passed by a coffee shop, before popping in, “– Want one of those pumpkin coffee things?” Sam, a James speak major, would understand that J.R. meant a Pumpkin Spice Latte. “How many cups have you had today?” Sam’s answer would determine what James would appear with. If it was past what J.R. felt was a healthy sugar/coffee limit for the average adult he’d bring Sam a nice, cold, bottle of water.

“How was your day?”

He listened to Sam’s voice the entire walk to their street, passing his building and going straight to Sam’s. When the man opened the door, “Now let me preface letting you see what’s in this bag by saying that I was going for more of a kitschy Halloween vibe than HGTV.  And now I’m embarrassed. – Except I did get you a rainbow feather boa. No regrets about that.”

[Sam]: Because I don’t sleep

[Sam]: c’mon investigative journalist, get with the program!!

[Sam]: [unsent] and no please bring the spiders

Although he wasn’t expecting a call, Sam answered it in a hurry. His hands were, as usual, busy tinkering with something (an autumn inspired wreath that just didn’t wanna keep it together! There were leaves everywhere!) as his fingers tapped the speaker phone button.  He set the phone down beside him, legs crossed as he sat squarely on his living room floor.

“You’re not gonna be puling crazy all-nighters again, are you?” Sam asked, forgoing the usual ‘hello’ for a headfirst plunge into their conversation. (Although Sam typically liked to announce himself along the lines of: ‘yellO, it’s Sam!’)

There was a soft rustling over the line, the magician shaking the wreath by its edges. It was a delicate strangle, one that denoted his willingness to work for the fall spirit, janky leaves be damned!

Yes, Sam was a James speak major, and yes, he wanted a pumpkin spice latte.

“…Uuuuuuh.” He scratched his head. How many hours had he been up now? There was usually an equation to it. For every two hours spent up, it usually equated to about one and a half cups of coffee. Had he been getting better about it?

“Like…. Four?” There was an unmistakable question mark at the end of that sentence. James would probably get a water. Sam sighed audibly into the decorated room.

Nonetheless, Sam rambled up until the very moment he heard the knock at the door. There was a whole lot of talk about different shades of beiges and orange, egg white versus burnt sepia. It only took about a fraction of a nanosecond for Sam to go from still-life portrait to a bullet train headed right for J.R.’s neck because inevitably, that was where he ended up.

It’d become a new greeting between the two of them. Sam catapulting himself onto James, and James, well. Taking it. He showered him with hyper-aggressive kisses, teeth playfully working the skin as he went in for a gentle tug.

“Kitschy-smitschy, I’m gonna love it. I know just where to put the spiders! There’s enough room for them to hide in all these leaves I’ve got everywhere!” He pulled away, just a bit, brown eyes meeting those striking blues. “Who knew you’ve been dying to see me work a feather boa again? I can’t thank you enough, James! You’re just getting more and more romantic by the day!”

He went in for another bite, voice muffled against the journalist’s skin. “Let’s talk about you now! How are ya?”

[javierdiaztime-blog]

festivities

[luckysamael-blog]

javierdiaztime

It wasn’t often that people paid for Javier, and he was planning on insisting but fuck it was just corn.  It wasn’t expensive and if it made Samael feel better about himself and his generousity - particularly with someone so ceaselessly awful as Javier Diaz - then why not.  Flex your saintly muscles, little one.

He grunted about how Samael was taken - pretty by the book when it came to those men in black.  Bishop was taken the same way, right before Javier’s eyes - then Javier was ‘escorted’ back to the New Order as well, for some well-deserved extra ‘training’.  That word gave Javier a nervous tic, these days.  

‘This isn’t the life I wanted for myself.’

Javier heard that sentiment, then looked at Samael, semi-impressed that he actually had the balls to say something like that, out loud.  Then again, maybe that was the point of Samael’s facade of helpful!happy!cheerful!   If he could come off as innocent and hapless as a host on a toddler’s TV show, then he got to say things like that, and people would actually take pity on him.  Hell, here was Javier, feeling somewhat sorry for Samael with that one wistful line.

Sneaky sneaky, Samael.

Javier knew - he knew - if he ever dared to utter that (very accurate) sentiment himself, he’d get backhanded, verbally or otherwise.  Another rich bastard whining about how life was sooooooo harrrrrd, wah wah wah - while there was actual real suffering going on AKA the Urchins.  Always the Urchins and their permanent eye-rolling edgy ‘I’m so done, ugh, whatever bye’ suffering.  

“I don’t want to believe I’m bad either,”  Javier drawled softly, with a slight smile at the idea.  Did evil people really think they were evil?  No; they thought they were righteous.  Just like good people.  Who decided where the line was drawn then, between good and bad?  So Javier sighed and conceded.

“But I am bad.  I’m not a good man, Samael.  I…I think i used to be once, but I know I’m not anymore.  But anyway - you can’t deny who I am.  No amount of slapping rainbow buttercream and sprinkles on a burned cake will hide what it really is.”  Javier carefully, tenderly bit into his corn, mopping his moustache with a wad of napkins as he chewed.  “And I’m just one example of bad, in a very big, very burned cake.”

He wasn’t annoyed anymore though.  At least Samael was making sense to him now, and therefore Javier didn’t try to convince him of anything but just tried to understand, and counter-point.  “Are you afraid that you’d break?”  Javier asked.  “If you didn’t hyper-focus on the glory of a loaded funnel cake and actually consciously acknowledged the world. Would it break you?”

Honestly - honestly, and this was Javier from months before this shitstorm rained down on him - he didn’t believe Samael would break.  Perhaps Samael was stronger than he believed, and perhaps it took JR Byrne with all his noble perfect dedication to eke that out of Samael one day.  What a true and marvelous love story, Javier thought, deeply bitter at his own shambles of a relationship.

“No need to apologize, darling. I liked it,”  Javier said with a lazy shrug, biting at his corn again, then a couple more times, like a typewriter.  He chewed and swallowed first, before saying,  “You were human, not just a cartoony caricature of one.  So, yes.  I liked it.  And…”  Javier glanced around for a moment, before he added.  “For the record, I don’t…work for the New Order any longer.”

Javier was fortunate Sam wasn’t a mind reader. He would’ve gone full-on psychoanalytic talk (courtesy of hundreds of sessions with his own counselor) if he’d known they were doing the downward comparison shindig. It was a basic idea, really: just because someone is suffering differently doesn’t discount someone else’s struggle. The two concepts didn’t exist in mutually exclusive space. A man’s house could have burned down and if Javier was pissed he dropped his elote (god forbid), he would be valid.

It was Samael’s first foray into venting to someone who was in no way a trained professional. It wasn’t a traditional conversation by any means. Javier Diaz had a predilection between hopping roles—bad cop, good cop, and criminal all the same. It was fascinating but in many ways far too avant garde, even for Sam’s taste.

He fought back the taste of iron in his mouth.

“Javier, I don’t know anything about you aside from what you’ve told me—and for all I know, that could all be a lie.” He took the first bite of his elote, tilting his head just so to achieve minimal splatter. There was a technique to it.

Samael went on as if they, again, were not in the middle of a fall festival. The dichotomy between their festive reality and the conversation at hand was striking. “But I’m just not willing to believe that things are so black and white. That people are just good or bad.” He tried for air quotes around the word but struggled just a bit as his hard-earned elote balanced precariously in his hands. It was a delicate art if he’d ever practiced one.

“And maybe this is because I’m a food enthusiast or it’s because I’m naïve,” A slight emphasis on the word, if not only because Sam was certain it wasn’t a novel concept—especially not from what he deduced from Javier earlier. “But if we’re gonna use metaphors involving cakes, any true patisserie will tell you that it’s not all about taste. Sure, it helps a lot, but it’s about the,” He waved the corn on a stick as he fished for words.

“Experience. Of making it, of trying it. Of seeing what works and what doesn’t. You can fail at making something a million times, but the fact is, when you’re working on it, you’re experiencing something. Tenacity, perseverance, ambition—and if you’re making it with other people?” Sam couldn’t help but let out a big grin despite himself. Hopeless romantic that he was. Life is beautiful, blablabla. Friendship and love! “Well, then you’re making memories. And eventually, you’ll have something that tastes just as beautiful as your vision.”

A few more munches on his elote later, he continued. “But you’re not a cake, of course. You’re a person. And you have people that care about you. Whoever you were and whoever you may be now, there’s at least one person who really wants you to be here.”

There was nothing quite like walking by sweaty, grease laden children. Especially when philosophical concepts were being tossed around as senselessly as their clumsy curse words, tongues forming newly wrought ideas. Sam rather liked kids. They were the future, after all. And the future really liked deep fried foods.

His mouth answered before his mind could catch up.

“I don’t know. Never tried.” He gave Javier a tentative smile. “Not for long, anyway. I’m not sure I want to—but that’s not always up to me.”

For as much as Javier liked words packed with punches and lips forming bitter sounds, Sam couldn’t help but wonder about the man, what he’d been through and the things he’d seen. There was a kinship there, somehow: the irrevocable bond between two men who experienced the unspeakable, the quiet thread that lassoed around them like victimless twine.

“I’m glad.” Sam exhaled. There was a moment’s pause.

“…Would it break you?” An echo of Javier's words. It was cryptic, yes, but it was also deeply personal. Sam’s tone was quiet.

“Did they break you? The New Order?”

[james-reagan-bryne]

@luckysamael

[JR]: Hey, Sam, you busy?

[JR]: I thought we could do some decorating.

[JR]: [sent photo of the bag from Spirit Halloween he was holding]

[JR]: And I wanted to talk to you about something.

[luckysamael-blog]

[Sam]: Hey! Never busy :D 

[Sam]: A MAN AFTER MY OWN HEART

[Sam]: I’ve already gotten started! 

[Sam]: [attached img]

[Sam]: Are you okay?

[criminerdminds]

[luckysamael-blog]

text >>> Samael

Pim: I should have paid you a visit. After the explosions.

Sam: omg pim what

Sam: don't even stress that was forever ago!!!

Sam: plus I'm sure you've been busy. I heard there's a people of aisling thing now?? or something?

Sam: and all this crazy stuff that's been on the news. are you alright?

[james-reagan-bryne]

txt >> Sam 😋

[luckysamael-blog]

james-reagan-bryne

James didn’t even get really upset often. Kent Brockman just had a way of bringing it out of him.

But even if it didn’t seem like it, J.R. knew Sam didn’t partake in foul language often (if ever,) and tried to be a little mindful of how many f-words and s-words he allowed to slip. He left all the rest of the words that’d be bleeped out on american television to himself.

Another exhale. Thank god for Sam. “Thanks for listening. I feel better now.” He could feel himself calming under the warm cadences of Sam’s voice. “We’ve know each other for a long time, Sam – It’s a long story.”

There was really no point in trying to divide his attention between Sam and the paper because Sam would always win, but James could skim bits and pieces of the article in the little breaks where Sam paused to think. He wanted to snort at the idea that Kent Brockman was jealous of him. Of course, flawless Kent Brockman, who was one of those annoying assholes that had the nerve to be attractive and intelligent at the same time, was not jealous of him. He knew Sam was trying to be uplifting, but couldn’t bring himself to buy that.

But he knew Sam was right about one thing: J.R.’s audience respected him and his work because he wasn’t Kent Brockman. While some of Kent’s fans could at least read J.R.’s pieces or watch him on television without too much gripe, J.R.’s following (bless their AP U.S. history, no nonsense little hearts) refused to pick up a copy of the tribune. At least he had that.

A small smile involuntarily twitched at the corner of his lips, “No, you’ve definitely not been slacking on the compliments. You give me so many compliments I don’t know what to do with all of them.”

He turned a page in the paper, “I hope your Kent is less of a dick than mine.”

A pause, “…Yeah?” his interest piqued. Sam? Riled up? “What happened?” and then, because Sam was so quick change the topic to putting off their dinner date, “– What? No! I’m excited for dinner. Sorry, I’ve been ranting at you this whole time. No wonder you think… No. I want to see you.” His voice softened, “You’re my favorite part of my day, remember?” He let his voice trail off to glance at the News paper, debating if he should mention it to Sam or not. Then deciding against it.

He opened his mouth to say something more when he crashed into someone. Which no doubt sounded beautiful over the phone. After some fumbling, “…Sam? Let me call you back – Or  I’ll just… I’ll see you at your place? Ok?”

He waited for a response, then offered a quick goodbye, before hanging up the phone.

Running into Keaton wasn’t as… infuriating as J.R. had expected it to be. It left him feeling this uncomfortable numbness. He didn’t end up calling Sam back, a little to frazzled to carry conversation. James just needed to think, for a while.

He texted Sam when he was five minutes from the man’s apartment.

JR: About a block away.

JR: the pasta man says hello.

JR: with the mustache.

James couldn’t remember his name. He assumed Sam would know who he was talking about. By this point Sam would be at least at an introductory level of decoding James speak. The journalist had a way with words and really really didn’t at the same time.

Even the knock his knuckles made against the wood of Sam’s apartment door sounded exhausted.  

“Hey.” He held up the bags, “As promised.” He’d try and do something cute here like kiss Sam on his forehead… but even if he miraculously grew a couple inches right that moment it wouldn’t have been possible. So he went for a quick peck in greeting instead, “How are you?” looked like it was one of those days for both of them. Which was fine. He was looking forward to a quiet, easy night with Sam.

Although Sam wasn’t necessarily ready to see James in person, (phone conversations and texts were always so much easier) he felt a swell of happiness in his chest when the man confirmed they were still ‘on’ for dinner. It was easy to get lost in James’ words, every chuckle accompanied by sly look, a smug disposition that oozed an effortless self-confidence.

Sam was getting spoiled. While he had no qualms with cooking for himself, god knows he enjoyed it a little too much, it was always different when he cooked with someone else in mind. He’d spend hours browsing Pinterest (would James like this?, is this too sweet? Too weird?), fingers happily swiping through the posts as he went about his day. There was never a dull moment, not when all he could think about was that happy little look James would give him if he successfully made something he’d enjoy.

James Reagan Bryne, medical mystery, was absolutely capable of smirking. Smiling, however, was something Sam desperately tried to work for.

And maybe that was why he was so upset.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he let himself think he was doing a half decent job at this relationship thing. That idea, however, was quickly shot down after one very thought-provoking conversation with Javier Diaz.

He promised himself he wouldn’t bring it up.

Sam: ALBERTO???

Sam: HE’S NEVER THERE WHEN I AM THOUGH

Sam: TELL HIM I’M REALLY UPSET

Sam: but don’t bc he’s a great guy and makes the best pasta in all of Aisling

Did James ever have these conversations with Keaton?

They were intrusive, unwelcomed thoughts. He didn’t want to be that guy.

When he heard the knock at the door, Sam’s legs whizzed on by, fingers autopiloting as they undid the latch. He put on his best Sam-face—which, apparently, he’d been having trouble maintaining since the fair. No amount of Neutrogena was gonna fix that.

“Hey!” He greeted, returning the peck with a happy wiggle. Sam slyly slid his arms into the little loops of the grocery bags, grabbing hold of them with one swift movement. He may or may not have added a little ‘swoop’ sound effect as he did so.

“I’m doing fantastic, as usual! Always better when you’re around.” He flashed J.R. a small little half smile, nudging the man’s shoulder a bit as he guided him into the apartment.

Sam looked back at the man, tired eyes scanning him carefully. He scrunched his nose.

“Are you okay, James?” He placed the grocery bags onto the counter top, opting to turn himself toward the man. Eye contact was important, after all. “Did something happen after the scuff I heard over the phone? You seem, um,”

This is the part where Sam was going to have trouble with. Having a more serious conversation. He gestured vaguely with his hands, seemingly searching for words in the air particles between them. “Off?” Samael furrowed his brows.

“I don’t mean that in the rude way, it’s just—you know, again, you’ve had a bit of a day. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”