Surprise Steveam!
Mwhahah...yeah, I'm doing the Reaper fanfic thing now. But Steveam's just too, too fun to pass up. I just...hope I didn't completely screw over their voices.
For c_quinn, for no other reason than she's probably going to be the only one to read it, and also because...I kind of gave her this idea, and then took it back. For which I am dreadfully, dreadfully sorry.
“Do you,” Sam yanked at the crisp white sleeve peaking out from underneath the soft green sweater. “Do you think it looks okay?”
The demon looked at him carefully, dark eyes narrowed in concentration, not quite at the point of being unnerving but still more focus then Sam was used to, then shook his head.
“It isn’t really your color, is it?” he mused, biting at his lower lip. “We should’ve gone with blue. Go take it off, I’ll bring you something else.”
He wandered back into the dressing room, tried to pull the sweater of with his usual indifference, only to find it’s neck sticking under his chin and biting into his skin before he managed to yank it off.
He was debating whether or not he needed to fold it up again (No, right? Because…who really could get all that floppy scratchy wool into those tight, precise little squares?) when a light knock at he door startled him.
“Heads up, Sam,” he heard Steve call out, before being buried by soft pile of clothing tossed lightly over the door.
“What is all of this?” Sam called out, picking up sweaters and shirts and slacks off the floor.
“Clothes?” he practically heard Steve half-shrug, lips curved in instinctual sarcasm.
“I know, but, you didn’t get me anything, like, pink, right?”
“Yes, Sam, because I’m gay all I want to do in my free time is dress you up like a Barbie doll.”
“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that at all, I just-“
“Just try something on, kiddo,” and the tone was back to genial, so Sam went along with it. “Shirts and pants, Sam, it’s important to pick things out as outfits.”
“Okay, okay,” he called back, hopping into a pair of dark slacks, material cool and rich enough against his legs that even he could tell it was the good stuff.
Even if the price tag hadn’t tipped him off about it.
As for the sweaters…well, he picked one up at random, the softest, lightest blue thing he’d ever seen, or felt, almost a whisper across his cheek when he pulled it on.
“So, what do you think?” he smiled, embarrassed, as he pulled at caramel colored wooden door.
“It’s not what I think, Sam,” Steve cocked his head, evaluating him again, like a purveyor of fine arts at a museum or like Ted, looking over the newest industrial paintbrush display. “You’re the one who’s wearing it. What do you think?”
“I think…” he started, wondering if there was a right answer, as Steve nodded him on. “I think it’s better than the green but…but a little too…light?”
“Hmm,” the demon nodded, tapped his fingers briskly along his chin. “That’s a good point, Sam.”
“Yeah?” he grinned, embarrassingly happy at the obvious sincerity in Steve’s voice.
“Oh, yeah,” Steve nodded once more, swift, and then glanced over, at the pile of as yet unproven sweaters, and picking one seemingly at random. “Try this one, with,” and quick fingers skimmed through a line of previously rejected hangers. “This shirt.”
“Okay?” he said, taking the proffered items.
Steve gave him a quick, encouraging smile, than ducked back out of the tiny space.
Sam pulled the sweater off with a lot more care this time, easing it off into a somewhat neater pile and unbuttoning a shirt he would have to say was basically identical to the one he was about to pull on.
Slipped cool fabric off and replaced it.
Pulled the door open without even checking his reflection.
“So?” he said, hand still on the doorknob.
“Well, well, well, Mr. Sam Ol-i-ver,” the demon grinned, one eyebrow quirked and eyes glimmering. “Don’t we clean up well?”
“You think?” he wondered, smoothing his hand nervously down his own chest, as Steve rolled his eyes and pushed him back, turned him toward the mirror.
“Well, you may want to make sure your collar’s tucked out,” the demon said, professional, fast fingers flipping the tabs out from under the sweater, briskly unbuttoning the first button. “And that looks much better. Except…”
“Except?” he answered, wary at the suddenly crafty expression in brown-black eyes.
“Lean over a bit,” Steve winked, and pulled his shoulders down anyway, set confident fingers smoothing down his hair. “Oh, we really should do something about this, you know? When’s the last time you got it cut?”
“Uh…” and he honestly couldn’t remember, which made Steve shake his head and laugh again.
“Okay, I think you’ll do,” the demon grinned, and moved away, leaving him to look at his reflection.
And he looked…well, he looked good. Older. The blue was dark enough to not set off alarms, but did… “bring out his eyes,” or whatever, and if it everything was a little more form-fitting than usual, it…certainly wasn’t hurting anything.
“Good?” Steve smiled at him, “Not exactly jeans and a t-shirt, but comfortable, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he shrugged, tried to keep from smiling too much.
“It’s not,” Steve was telling him, brisk palms sliding across his shoulders, tugging slightly at the fabric, fluttering around him like a particularly elegant mother hen. “About you looking like you just stepped out of GQ, like moi,” he smiled, making an elaborate on handed gesture that encompassed his immaculate black suit pants and silk vest. “It’s about you feeling confident, wherever it is you end up.”
“Yeah, I…I think we’ve got that down,” he choked out, realizing that there was suddenly a warm hand resting on his waist, almost like it was burning through the-
“Cashmere,” Steve smiled pleasantly, and the hand slide away, seemed to be settling any remaining wrinkles, “Everyone should have at least one thing made out of cashmere, Sam. One of the greatest wonders of creation, and believe you me, I’ve seen my share.”
“Ri…right,” and he almost crashed against the mirror, as slender fingers slipped just barely under the waist of his slacks.
“Just need to make sure they fit, Sam,” Steve shook his head, and pulled away again.
“Well…” he gulped. “Do they?”
“I think they might be a bit long on you, actually,” and Steve was sinking to his knees next to him, and oh shit was he actually going to…
“Um, Steven?”
“Yeah?” the demon glanced up at him, drew the word out past its requisite syllables, and waggled his head a bit, as he folded up the cuffs of the slacks like his mother used to do.
And suddenly Sam felt really, really embarrassed.
“Oh…nothing…”
“Nothing?” Steve got off the floor and shook his head. “I’m really offended, Sam. Is it the gay thing, or the demon thing that makes you think I’m, apparently, a huge slut? I mean really, I’m honestly not sure which would be more insulting. Because listen, here, Sammy,” Steve shook his head in disappointment, “I am in a committed relationship, which you know. And when we say committed, it’s committed. Not till the end of our days, but to the End of Days, okay? And, from what I understand, you could be said to be over-committed, what with all those lovely women flinging themselves at you left and right. And then you’ve got all of your reaping to do, and the Devil, to deal with, which, I know, is tough, and that’s why I thought, hey, it’d be nice for you to get out, away from all that. But you, you just have to misconstrue everything and I just don’t…I just don’t know why I even bother.”
“No, Steve, look,” he tried to be as comforting, look as apologetic, as he could. “I just…I wasn’t sure and I’m an idiot, okay, which you know, and…I’m really, really sorry, okay? Really.”
And the demon sighed, lips pressed into a delicate pout, a hand pressed dramatically to his forehead. “Oh, Sam, you’re just such a confused little puppy dog, aren’t you?”
“I think that’s a little condescending-“ he started to say, only to have Steve give him a look that quite clearly and without any words brought up the fact that he’d just assumed, based on really no evidence at all, that the demon found him so hot in $100 pants that he was willing to blow him right in the middle of a Macy’s changing room. “No, you know, I could see that…”
“You know why this is?” Steve looked at him compassionately, laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. “This is because of the Devil. He’s just coming into your life, jerking you around, making you think everyone’s out to get something from you and you…you just can’t keep letting him do that, okay, Sam?”
“I…I guess?” he blinked at the earnest, shining dark eyes.
“You’re better than that, Sammy.” The demon said with conviction, patting his arm familiarly, smile slight and full of camaraderie, the intensity of which should have made Sam more uncomfortable than it did. “You have to let him know that.”
Silence washed over them, swallowed the warning thoughts buzzing in the back of Sam’s mind.
“You know what we should do, Sam?” And the moment, of strange, not quite discomforting tension passed, was shattered by Steve’s light chuckle. “We should go get some ice cream to completely gain back all the calories we just burned. What do you say?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling oddly tired. “Yeah, sounds good.”
.
For c_quinn, for no other reason than she's probably going to be the only one to read it, and also because...I kind of gave her this idea, and then took it back. For which I am dreadfully, dreadfully sorry.
“Do you,” Sam yanked at the crisp white sleeve peaking out from underneath the soft green sweater. “Do you think it looks okay?”
The demon looked at him carefully, dark eyes narrowed in concentration, not quite at the point of being unnerving but still more focus then Sam was used to, then shook his head.
“It isn’t really your color, is it?” he mused, biting at his lower lip. “We should’ve gone with blue. Go take it off, I’ll bring you something else.”
He wandered back into the dressing room, tried to pull the sweater of with his usual indifference, only to find it’s neck sticking under his chin and biting into his skin before he managed to yank it off.
He was debating whether or not he needed to fold it up again (No, right? Because…who really could get all that floppy scratchy wool into those tight, precise little squares?) when a light knock at he door startled him.
“Heads up, Sam,” he heard Steve call out, before being buried by soft pile of clothing tossed lightly over the door.
“What is all of this?” Sam called out, picking up sweaters and shirts and slacks off the floor.
“Clothes?” he practically heard Steve half-shrug, lips curved in instinctual sarcasm.
“I know, but, you didn’t get me anything, like, pink, right?”
“Yes, Sam, because I’m gay all I want to do in my free time is dress you up like a Barbie doll.”
“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that at all, I just-“
“Just try something on, kiddo,” and the tone was back to genial, so Sam went along with it. “Shirts and pants, Sam, it’s important to pick things out as outfits.”
“Okay, okay,” he called back, hopping into a pair of dark slacks, material cool and rich enough against his legs that even he could tell it was the good stuff.
Even if the price tag hadn’t tipped him off about it.
As for the sweaters…well, he picked one up at random, the softest, lightest blue thing he’d ever seen, or felt, almost a whisper across his cheek when he pulled it on.
“So, what do you think?” he smiled, embarrassed, as he pulled at caramel colored wooden door.
“It’s not what I think, Sam,” Steve cocked his head, evaluating him again, like a purveyor of fine arts at a museum or like Ted, looking over the newest industrial paintbrush display. “You’re the one who’s wearing it. What do you think?”
“I think…” he started, wondering if there was a right answer, as Steve nodded him on. “I think it’s better than the green but…but a little too…light?”
“Hmm,” the demon nodded, tapped his fingers briskly along his chin. “That’s a good point, Sam.”
“Yeah?” he grinned, embarrassingly happy at the obvious sincerity in Steve’s voice.
“Oh, yeah,” Steve nodded once more, swift, and then glanced over, at the pile of as yet unproven sweaters, and picking one seemingly at random. “Try this one, with,” and quick fingers skimmed through a line of previously rejected hangers. “This shirt.”
“Okay?” he said, taking the proffered items.
Steve gave him a quick, encouraging smile, than ducked back out of the tiny space.
Sam pulled the sweater off with a lot more care this time, easing it off into a somewhat neater pile and unbuttoning a shirt he would have to say was basically identical to the one he was about to pull on.
Slipped cool fabric off and replaced it.
Pulled the door open without even checking his reflection.
“So?” he said, hand still on the doorknob.
“Well, well, well, Mr. Sam Ol-i-ver,” the demon grinned, one eyebrow quirked and eyes glimmering. “Don’t we clean up well?”
“You think?” he wondered, smoothing his hand nervously down his own chest, as Steve rolled his eyes and pushed him back, turned him toward the mirror.
“Well, you may want to make sure your collar’s tucked out,” the demon said, professional, fast fingers flipping the tabs out from under the sweater, briskly unbuttoning the first button. “And that looks much better. Except…”
“Except?” he answered, wary at the suddenly crafty expression in brown-black eyes.
“Lean over a bit,” Steve winked, and pulled his shoulders down anyway, set confident fingers smoothing down his hair. “Oh, we really should do something about this, you know? When’s the last time you got it cut?”
“Uh…” and he honestly couldn’t remember, which made Steve shake his head and laugh again.
“Okay, I think you’ll do,” the demon grinned, and moved away, leaving him to look at his reflection.
And he looked…well, he looked good. Older. The blue was dark enough to not set off alarms, but did… “bring out his eyes,” or whatever, and if it everything was a little more form-fitting than usual, it…certainly wasn’t hurting anything.
“Good?” Steve smiled at him, “Not exactly jeans and a t-shirt, but comfortable, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he shrugged, tried to keep from smiling too much.
“It’s not,” Steve was telling him, brisk palms sliding across his shoulders, tugging slightly at the fabric, fluttering around him like a particularly elegant mother hen. “About you looking like you just stepped out of GQ, like moi,” he smiled, making an elaborate on handed gesture that encompassed his immaculate black suit pants and silk vest. “It’s about you feeling confident, wherever it is you end up.”
“Yeah, I…I think we’ve got that down,” he choked out, realizing that there was suddenly a warm hand resting on his waist, almost like it was burning through the-
“Cashmere,” Steve smiled pleasantly, and the hand slide away, seemed to be settling any remaining wrinkles, “Everyone should have at least one thing made out of cashmere, Sam. One of the greatest wonders of creation, and believe you me, I’ve seen my share.”
“Ri…right,” and he almost crashed against the mirror, as slender fingers slipped just barely under the waist of his slacks.
“Just need to make sure they fit, Sam,” Steve shook his head, and pulled away again.
“Well…” he gulped. “Do they?”
“I think they might be a bit long on you, actually,” and Steve was sinking to his knees next to him, and oh shit was he actually going to…
“Um, Steven?”
“Yeah?” the demon glanced up at him, drew the word out past its requisite syllables, and waggled his head a bit, as he folded up the cuffs of the slacks like his mother used to do.
And suddenly Sam felt really, really embarrassed.
“Oh…nothing…”
“Nothing?” Steve got off the floor and shook his head. “I’m really offended, Sam. Is it the gay thing, or the demon thing that makes you think I’m, apparently, a huge slut? I mean really, I’m honestly not sure which would be more insulting. Because listen, here, Sammy,” Steve shook his head in disappointment, “I am in a committed relationship, which you know. And when we say committed, it’s committed. Not till the end of our days, but to the End of Days, okay? And, from what I understand, you could be said to be over-committed, what with all those lovely women flinging themselves at you left and right. And then you’ve got all of your reaping to do, and the Devil, to deal with, which, I know, is tough, and that’s why I thought, hey, it’d be nice for you to get out, away from all that. But you, you just have to misconstrue everything and I just don’t…I just don’t know why I even bother.”
“No, Steve, look,” he tried to be as comforting, look as apologetic, as he could. “I just…I wasn’t sure and I’m an idiot, okay, which you know, and…I’m really, really sorry, okay? Really.”
And the demon sighed, lips pressed into a delicate pout, a hand pressed dramatically to his forehead. “Oh, Sam, you’re just such a confused little puppy dog, aren’t you?”
“I think that’s a little condescending-“ he started to say, only to have Steve give him a look that quite clearly and without any words brought up the fact that he’d just assumed, based on really no evidence at all, that the demon found him so hot in $100 pants that he was willing to blow him right in the middle of a Macy’s changing room. “No, you know, I could see that…”
“You know why this is?” Steve looked at him compassionately, laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. “This is because of the Devil. He’s just coming into your life, jerking you around, making you think everyone’s out to get something from you and you…you just can’t keep letting him do that, okay, Sam?”
“I…I guess?” he blinked at the earnest, shining dark eyes.
“You’re better than that, Sammy.” The demon said with conviction, patting his arm familiarly, smile slight and full of camaraderie, the intensity of which should have made Sam more uncomfortable than it did. “You have to let him know that.”
Silence washed over them, swallowed the warning thoughts buzzing in the back of Sam’s mind.
“You know what we should do, Sam?” And the moment, of strange, not quite discomforting tension passed, was shattered by Steve’s light chuckle. “We should go get some ice cream to completely gain back all the calories we just burned. What do you say?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling oddly tired. “Yeah, sounds good.”
.