66.5 Calvin and Hobbes
[Sam = likes_cameras, Woodrow = and_dontcallme. Inspired by THIS. Set after THIS and THIS]
"It's like, it's like friendly fire is what it is!" Devon said, the Smirnoff in hand. Sam passed on the alcohol that night for a reason his boyfriend couldn't possibly understand. Alcohol was good. Alcohol made everything better - from time to time. Tonight, alcohol did the trick. Oh what a trick, it did. "Celeste brings in these new people and then Savannah's shots are chosen and I'm reprimanded and essentially, I'm going to be fired."
Devon was now pacing above the couch in front of Sam. They had music on because Sam couldn't have possibly watched anything with Devon in this state. Instead, Sam simply sat on the couch, watching Devon with his eyes.
"Do you want to sit down?"
"No," Devon replied. "Why would I want to do anything besides stand, pace, and rant? It's accomplishing what I need. I'm getting drunk. And I'm talking to you. And I like talking to you," he said, sliding into the couch beside his boyfriend.
"And I like talking to you," Sam replied, assuring Devon.
The soon to be ex reporter grinned and laid back on the couch, legs sprawled across his boyfriend's legs.
"I felt like we had a good thing going, you know?" Sam looked over, listening and Devon liked that he didn't have a too-talkative boyfriend. "We had you and me and Marion, and Alex and -- Martinez, of course he doesn't count because he's a bitch of a married guy."
"Devon--"
"Biiiitch," he echoed, stretching his arms backwards. "But, maybe he had it right. From the get-go he hated these newcomers and besides Savannah there isn't much to like about them. Oh God," he said, sitting up.
Sam, looking worried, leaned into Devon. "What?"
"...He has sunk his claws into Alex. And Alex hates everyone." Off Sam's glance, he added, "OK, except Marion and us - at times. But even then, they're imploding. They are on their way to imploding and Sam knows this and he isn't doing aaanything about it. Nothin', Sam," he replied. "It's so...tragic."
Devon slid closer, legs hitting the ground and brought his hand to Sam's shoulder. Sighing, he bit his upper lip and nodded slowly.
"So...I should quit."
"You would be good."
"At quitting?" And then, before Sam could answer, Devon ran through into the next sentence. "Oh. Right. Therapy. Yeah, I would, wouldn't I? I'd need to go back to school..." He thought about this for a second. "We talked about this, didn't we?" he asked, looking at Sam who simply nodded, holding back an amused laugh.
"We did," he replied.
"Fuuuuuck," he replied, holding the bottle in front of it and bringing it to his eye. "Where did...it go?"
"You drank it," Sam replied, a smile now apparent on his face.
"Oh," Devon replied. "I should get more."
As he scrambled to get up and off of Sam, his boyfriend held him. "No. No, you don't need any more of - that. You had three."
"But, I got six for a reason!" Devon's eyes went wide. "Do you want one?" Sam shook his head, standing up and pulling Devon up with him. "What?" he asked, tilting his head,
"You need water," he replied, setting his boyfriend back down on the couch. Devon nodded as Sam disappeared back into the kitchen before emerging with two bottles of water.
"Thank you," Devon replied, eyes lit up as he took a bottle and twisted the cap. "You're so good to me. Soooo...good to me." He smiled and settled into Sam who took a seat on the couch again and let Devon snuggle. "Soooo...good. To me."
The next morning Devon woke up with quite a hangover but he was in Sam's arms and that was what counted. He needed Advil, however, and Sam was nice enough to get it for him. No, his job hadn't mattered that much.
"It's like, it's like friendly fire is what it is!" Devon said, the Smirnoff in hand. Sam passed on the alcohol that night for a reason his boyfriend couldn't possibly understand. Alcohol was good. Alcohol made everything better - from time to time. Tonight, alcohol did the trick. Oh what a trick, it did. "Celeste brings in these new people and then Savannah's shots are chosen and I'm reprimanded and essentially, I'm going to be fired."
Devon was now pacing above the couch in front of Sam. They had music on because Sam couldn't have possibly watched anything with Devon in this state. Instead, Sam simply sat on the couch, watching Devon with his eyes.
"Do you want to sit down?"
"No," Devon replied. "Why would I want to do anything besides stand, pace, and rant? It's accomplishing what I need. I'm getting drunk. And I'm talking to you. And I like talking to you," he said, sliding into the couch beside his boyfriend.
"And I like talking to you," Sam replied, assuring Devon.
The soon to be ex reporter grinned and laid back on the couch, legs sprawled across his boyfriend's legs.
"I felt like we had a good thing going, you know?" Sam looked over, listening and Devon liked that he didn't have a too-talkative boyfriend. "We had you and me and Marion, and Alex and -- Martinez, of course he doesn't count because he's a bitch of a married guy."
"Devon--"
"Biiiitch," he echoed, stretching his arms backwards. "But, maybe he had it right. From the get-go he hated these newcomers and besides Savannah there isn't much to like about them. Oh God," he said, sitting up.
Sam, looking worried, leaned into Devon. "What?"
"...He has sunk his claws into Alex. And Alex hates everyone." Off Sam's glance, he added, "OK, except Marion and us - at times. But even then, they're imploding. They are on their way to imploding and Sam knows this and he isn't doing aaanything about it. Nothin', Sam," he replied. "It's so...tragic."
Devon slid closer, legs hitting the ground and brought his hand to Sam's shoulder. Sighing, he bit his upper lip and nodded slowly.
"So...I should quit."
"You would be good."
"At quitting?" And then, before Sam could answer, Devon ran through into the next sentence. "Oh. Right. Therapy. Yeah, I would, wouldn't I? I'd need to go back to school..." He thought about this for a second. "We talked about this, didn't we?" he asked, looking at Sam who simply nodded, holding back an amused laugh.
"We did," he replied.
"Fuuuuuck," he replied, holding the bottle in front of it and bringing it to his eye. "Where did...it go?"
"You drank it," Sam replied, a smile now apparent on his face.
"Oh," Devon replied. "I should get more."
As he scrambled to get up and off of Sam, his boyfriend held him. "No. No, you don't need any more of - that. You had three."
"But, I got six for a reason!" Devon's eyes went wide. "Do you want one?" Sam shook his head, standing up and pulling Devon up with him. "What?" he asked, tilting his head,
"You need water," he replied, setting his boyfriend back down on the couch. Devon nodded as Sam disappeared back into the kitchen before emerging with two bottles of water.
"Thank you," Devon replied, eyes lit up as he took a bottle and twisted the cap. "You're so good to me. Soooo...good to me." He smiled and settled into Sam who took a seat on the couch again and let Devon snuggle. "Soooo...good. To me."
The next morning Devon woke up with quite a hangover but he was in Sam's arms and that was what counted. He needed Advil, however, and Sam was nice enough to get it for him. No, his job hadn't mattered that much.