chest.
“Hey! Chance?” Sam’s hand cupped his face, turned his eyes up to meet the bright blue of Sam’s. “You okay?”
Oh, thank God. He shook his head, mouth moving, trying to explain, trying to get Sam to give him the fucking juice.
“Fuck, it’s the diabetes, isn’t it?” Sam pushed him off and got up, leaving him on the bed as he left.
Shit.
He just closed his eyes a second, letting the room spin for a bit until he could focus again.
Sam’s arm was suddenly under his back, solid and warm, pulling him up to sit, a glass pressed against his lips. He opened, choking a little as the liquid poured down his throat, his body confused.
“Fuck. Come on, Chance. I’m pissing in the wind here, hoping this is what you need.” Sam kept on pouring the juice in, almost faster than he could swallow.
It didn’t take five or six good swallows before he felt like he could focus, finishing the rest eagerly. “Oh. Oh, I needed that.”
“Thank god. I wasn’t sure it was the right thing.”
It hit him suddenly what had happened and his cheeks flared. “Oh. Oh, God. Sam. I. I’m sorry, man. I.”
Sam shook his head. “I forgot you needed to eat more than I needed to fuck you. I’m just glad I had it right.”
“No. I got busy today and didn’t have my three o’clock snack and... God, I’m sorry.” He stood up, knees wobbling and weak. “I need a sandwich.”
Sam stood with him, arm around his waist, supporting him. “I can make it. You can just sit.”
“I’m not broke. I’ll do it.” He was shaking hard -- embarrassed and pissed and about to cry and it wasn’t him, damn it, it wasn’t. It was the sugars and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself in front of the finest thing that had crossed his path in forever.
“I can make a fucking sandwich, Chance.” Sam pushed him into a chair and pulled out the bread.
He was going to scream. He was. Or throw something. Or scream. Fuck.
Sam buttered the bread and opened the fridge. “There’s a couple slices of ham left. That okay?”
He nodded, fingers twining together. Yeah. Yeah, that would work.
Sam put the sandwich down in front of him, poured him another glass of juice and sat down across from him. “You gonna be okay?”
He nodded, eating, tremors slowly fading as his sugars settled. “God, I hate that.”
Sam nodded. “It’s a little scary.”
“Yeah. I guess I should have warned you.”
Sam grinned wryly. “No sex unless you’ve had food. Consider me warned.”
He blushed again, stood. “I think I’m going to take a quick shower. I’m all sweaty.”
“Want company?”
“It depends on if you’re coming in because you want my bod or if you’re worried about me falling and hitting my head.” He winked.
Sam chuckled. “I can’t promise I’m not worried about you falling and hitting your head, but to be honest I was more trying to cop myself some more feels.”
“Oh. He grinned, feeling a little more human. “In that case, I’d love some company.”
Sam answered his grin with a smile, the worry leaving those blue eyes. “Good.”
He twined their fingers together, tugged Sam toward the shower and round two.
***
They’d showered and gone to hit the Dairy Dart for some take out, putting the groceries off for another night.
Now they were in bed with a couple of books, Chance’s a murder mystery, his a horror novel that wasn’t terribly horrific, Chance snuggled up against him, nice and warm. It was getting late, nearly gone ten, but he was still keyed up from the evening’s events, couldn’t settle. Which might explain why the book just wasn’t holding his attention.
Chance hummed a little, cheek rubbing his shoulder, turning a page. Which made his cock jerk and wasn’t that just how the whole evening had started -- with him acting like a horny teenager.
Chance looked up at him, grinned. “You okay, Mr. Sam?”
He smiled back and nodded. “Just... well it was an exciting evening. The kind of
“Hey! Chance?” Sam’s hand cupped his face, turned his eyes up to meet the bright blue of Sam’s. “You okay?”
Oh, thank God. He shook his head, mouth moving, trying to explain, trying to get Sam to give him the fucking juice.
“Fuck, it’s the diabetes, isn’t it?” Sam pushed him off and got up, leaving him on the bed as he left.
Shit.
He just closed his eyes a second, letting the room spin for a bit until he could focus again.
Sam’s arm was suddenly under his back, solid and warm, pulling him up to sit, a glass pressed against his lips. He opened, choking a little as the liquid poured down his throat, his body confused.
“Fuck. Come on, Chance. I’m pissing in the wind here, hoping this is what you need.” Sam kept on pouring the juice in, almost faster than he could swallow.
It didn’t take five or six good swallows before he felt like he could focus, finishing the rest eagerly. “Oh. Oh, I needed that.”
“Thank god. I wasn’t sure it was the right thing.”
It hit him suddenly what had happened and his cheeks flared. “Oh. Oh, God. Sam. I. I’m sorry, man. I.”
Sam shook his head. “I forgot you needed to eat more than I needed to fuck you. I’m just glad I had it right.”
“No. I got busy today and didn’t have my three o’clock snack and... God, I’m sorry.” He stood up, knees wobbling and weak. “I need a sandwich.”
Sam stood with him, arm around his waist, supporting him. “I can make it. You can just sit.”
“I’m not broke. I’ll do it.” He was shaking hard -- embarrassed and pissed and about to cry and it wasn’t him, damn it, it wasn’t. It was the sugars and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself in front of the finest thing that had crossed his path in forever.
“I can make a fucking sandwich, Chance.” Sam pushed him into a chair and pulled out the bread.
He was going to scream. He was. Or throw something. Or scream. Fuck.
Sam buttered the bread and opened the fridge. “There’s a couple slices of ham left. That okay?”
He nodded, fingers twining together. Yeah. Yeah, that would work.
Sam put the sandwich down in front of him, poured him another glass of juice and sat down across from him. “You gonna be okay?”
He nodded, eating, tremors slowly fading as his sugars settled. “God, I hate that.”
Sam nodded. “It’s a little scary.”
“Yeah. I guess I should have warned you.”
Sam grinned wryly. “No sex unless you’ve had food. Consider me warned.”
He blushed again, stood. “I think I’m going to take a quick shower. I’m all sweaty.”
“Want company?”
“It depends on if you’re coming in because you want my bod or if you’re worried about me falling and hitting my head.” He winked.
Sam chuckled. “I can’t promise I’m not worried about you falling and hitting your head, but to be honest I was more trying to cop myself some more feels.”
“Oh. He grinned, feeling a little more human. “In that case, I’d love some company.”
Sam answered his grin with a smile, the worry leaving those blue eyes. “Good.”
He twined their fingers together, tugged Sam toward the shower and round two.
***
They’d showered and gone to hit the Dairy Dart for some take out, putting the groceries off for another night.
Now they were in bed with a couple of books, Chance’s a murder mystery, his a horror novel that wasn’t terribly horrific, Chance snuggled up against him, nice and warm. It was getting late, nearly gone ten, but he was still keyed up from the evening’s events, couldn’t settle. Which might explain why the book just wasn’t holding his attention.
Chance hummed a little, cheek rubbing his shoulder, turning a page. Which made his cock jerk and wasn’t that just how the whole evening had started -- with him acting like a horny teenager.
Chance looked up at him, grinned. “You okay, Mr. Sam?”
He smiled back and nodded. “Just... well it was an exciting evening. The kind of
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