[ That's something they both have in common. Sam's gotten used to people supporting him, over the years, but he's out of practice, and it's something he has to forcibly remind himself that he knows is a good thing.
He's going to remember this about Shiro, though. Maybe, when he's a little more sober and can figure out how to word it better, he can work up some way to approach the two of them supporting and being there for each other. Because it's... nice, that reassurance.
Sam gives him a look, because yeah he knows exactly what Shiro's thinking right there. Shiro's said it to him before, that he wasn't allowed to do things like take time for himself. Then he relents, shrugging one shoulder and giving a little smile. Shiro's not wrong. ]
Guess you are. I don't think either of us are ever likely to give up fighting when we're needed. The trick is figuring out how to balance.
[ Even though Sam'd pulled away, he's still pretty close up in Shiro's personal space, and for a long moment, he looks at him. Then he figures what the hell, they might as well both take a stab at something like normal. He holds out a hand, confident in the way only the mildly inebriated can be about spontaneously offering a handshake in the middle of a conversation. ]
Hi, my name is Sam. I'm from Harlem, New York, the United States. It's nice to meet you, man, you wanna grab a cup of coffee with me?
[Sometimes it feels like he'd like to stop. To take a break for five minutes and just breathe. A vacation. But that's not possible. It's not even remotely possible. So he shelves that idea. Even if they won the war... there's always another fight. Always more people to protect.]
[So it's not an option.]
[Balance isn't an option. Maybe someday, it will be, though.]
[And then he's thrown for another loop, with Sam suggesting, of all things, coffee. Like a normal goddamn person. Like they're normal people meeting on the roof of a building. Chatting. He stares for a minute.]
[And slowly holds out his human hand.]
Shiro. I'm from Earth. And uh... yeah. Sure. Why not?
[ This is a bad idea. Sam knows Shiro's type - goddamn does he know Shiro's type - and he's already been trying to get the guy to take care of his mental health issues for his own sake, to accept help and support instead of thinking he can go it alone. To see reaching out as a sign of strength instead of weakness.
Sam already loves too many people who don't know how to put down the fight. Steve who'd fought over and over again just for the chance to go to war, who will never back down as long as there is someone or something he needs to stand up for. Bucky who doesn't know anything but the mission, who doesn't know how to live without expecting the fight to catch up with him because it always does. Clint who's tried so many times to retire, to devote himself to a mission that involves bedtimes and house rules instead of arrows and blood on his hands; just like Sam he comes back every time, and part of Sam wonders when the both of them will accept that being needed in the fight will always come before being needed anywhere else. His three small broodmates, so full of fire and passion and the desire to fight, who've already been through so much that it's hard to call them naive, and yet still Sam has to curb the desire to tell them to get out while they still can.
And Shiro. There's a good chance that Sam's gonna wreck himself over this stupid guy if he keeps going; Sam's self aware enough - and inebriated enough - to know that. To know that this is a bad idea, taking this head on, getting himself more attached to someone who doesn't believe there's anything but the fight - who's going to keep going and keep going and keep putting everyone else before himself until he's got nothing left, until at best he crashes and burns and at worst he's a hollowed out husk, empty and drained. Sam's either gonna have to watch it happen or run himself ragged trying to stop it, and because he already cares, either way it's gonna hurt.
But he already cares. And he's already taken Shiro's hand, given it a warm, friendly shake and then held on while watching Shiro contemplatively, thumb stroking over Shiro's knuckles. Sam's shields are strong enough that the specifics of his thoughts are kept to himself, but there's a sense of importance, a mounting tension that builds, and settles into something warm and comfortable like acceptance when it breaks.
When it does, Sam shakes his head, and gives Shiro's hand a last squeeze before he drops it, shooting him a little smirk. ]
Well, it was either that or tell you to come back to bed with me, and I figured coffee was less awkward.
[He has no idea what's going through Sam's head. None whatsoever. He's still reeling over the idea of being kissed. And the close contact feeling like a drug to his systems. He hasn't been touched like that in longer than he can remember. Hasn't had contact that wasn't violent or casual.]
[To be honest, he'd never realized he'd even wanted it. Until suddenly it was here and present and seeming like it wanted him in return and he doesn't know what to do with it. Because, if he's honest with himself, he'd never considered... this. Wanting that kind of touch from another guy.]
[And finding himself not opposed to it, at all. He doesn't even know if it's intentional or maybe in Sam's Earth that's just what people do and god maybe he should have found time to figure these things out before going to space and-]
[If Sam's thoughts turn to the people around him, Shiro's are internalized. Trying to figure everything out and only succeeding in running in senseless circles. Give him a fight. Give him a problem to solve. A flight path. Something concrete and real and he'd figure it out. Plan it out for the best possible outcome.]
[In this, it feels like he's drowning.]
[A feeling that doesn't abate with the squeeze on his fingers. He's about to say it's fine, say he doesn't mind the offer. And then Sam has to go and say that.]
[ Despite everything that had been swirling around in Sam's head - and is still there, at the back of his mind - there's a steady calmness about him now, one that drifts out between them both.
Sam's no stranger to making questionable life choices or decisions that set him down rocky paths. He's done it his whole damn life, and just because he has the insight to know them when he sees them, well. It hasn't changed it all that much. There's a surety that comes with accepting what he can't change and working to do the best he can moving forward, and that's about where Sam's at right now.
For once, it probably helps that he's not quite sober.
He leans in again, bumping Shiro's shoulder playfully with his own and somehow managing to resist the urge to press a kiss to Shiro's forehead, or to brush his thumb over the flush in Shiro's cheeks. ]
One day you'll get used to it. But all that aside, I probably should get to bed. We can talk more in the morning?
[Right. Bed. That's a thing normal people do when it's late and they've had a long day. It's where he probably should think about going. At some point. And where he knows he won't see until he passes out on top of it.]
[It's good to feel calmer, though. Even if that feeling isn't from himself. He'll take it. But it doesn't do anything to stop him from blushing again. It's the shoulder knock that does it. Normally, it wouldn't bother him at all.]
[But the kiss thing is still at the front of his brain.]
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sizeofyourbaggage) wrote2016-05-22 03:26 pm
no subject
He's going to remember this about Shiro, though. Maybe, when he's a little more sober and can figure out how to word it better, he can work up some way to approach the two of them supporting and being there for each other. Because it's... nice, that reassurance.
Sam gives him a look, because yeah he knows exactly what Shiro's thinking right there. Shiro's said it to him before, that he wasn't allowed to do things like take time for himself. Then he relents, shrugging one shoulder and giving a little smile. Shiro's not wrong. ]
Guess you are. I don't think either of us are ever likely to give up fighting when we're needed. The trick is figuring out how to balance.
[ Even though Sam'd pulled away, he's still pretty close up in Shiro's personal space, and for a long moment, he looks at him. Then he figures what the hell, they might as well both take a stab at something like normal. He holds out a hand, confident in the way only the mildly inebriated can be about spontaneously offering a handshake in the middle of a conversation. ]
Hi, my name is Sam. I'm from Harlem, New York, the United States. It's nice to meet you, man, you wanna grab a cup of coffee with me?
no subject
[Sometimes it feels like he'd like to stop. To take a break for five minutes and just breathe. A vacation. But that's not possible. It's not even remotely possible. So he shelves that idea. Even if they won the war... there's always another fight. Always more people to protect.]
[So it's not an option.]
[Balance isn't an option. Maybe someday, it will be, though.]
[And then he's thrown for another loop, with Sam suggesting, of all things, coffee. Like a normal goddamn person. Like they're normal people meeting on the roof of a building. Chatting. He stares for a minute.]
[And slowly holds out his human hand.]
Shiro. I'm from Earth. And uh... yeah. Sure. Why not?
no subject
[ This is a bad idea. Sam knows Shiro's type - goddamn does he know Shiro's type - and he's already been trying to get the guy to take care of his mental health issues for his own sake, to accept help and support instead of thinking he can go it alone. To see reaching out as a sign of strength instead of weakness.
Sam already loves too many people who don't know how to put down the fight. Steve who'd fought over and over again just for the chance to go to war, who will never back down as long as there is someone or something he needs to stand up for. Bucky who doesn't know anything but the mission, who doesn't know how to live without expecting the fight to catch up with him because it always does. Clint who's tried so many times to retire, to devote himself to a mission that involves bedtimes and house rules instead of arrows and blood on his hands; just like Sam he comes back every time, and part of Sam wonders when the both of them will accept that being needed in the fight will always come before being needed anywhere else. His three small broodmates, so full of fire and passion and the desire to fight, who've already been through so much that it's hard to call them naive, and yet still Sam has to curb the desire to tell them to get out while they still can.
And Shiro. There's a good chance that Sam's gonna wreck himself over this stupid guy if he keeps going; Sam's self aware enough - and inebriated enough - to know that. To know that this is a bad idea, taking this head on, getting himself more attached to someone who doesn't believe there's anything but the fight - who's going to keep going and keep going and keep putting everyone else before himself until he's got nothing left, until at best he crashes and burns and at worst he's a hollowed out husk, empty and drained. Sam's either gonna have to watch it happen or run himself ragged trying to stop it, and because he already cares, either way it's gonna hurt.
But he already cares. And he's already taken Shiro's hand, given it a warm, friendly shake and then held on while watching Shiro contemplatively, thumb stroking over Shiro's knuckles. Sam's shields are strong enough that the specifics of his thoughts are kept to himself, but there's a sense of importance, a mounting tension that builds, and settles into something warm and comfortable like acceptance when it breaks.
When it does, Sam shakes his head, and gives Shiro's hand a last squeeze before he drops it, shooting him a little smirk. ]
Well, it was either that or tell you to come back to bed with me, and I figured coffee was less awkward.
no subject
[To be honest, he'd never realized he'd even wanted it. Until suddenly it was here and present and seeming like it wanted him in return and he doesn't know what to do with it. Because, if he's honest with himself, he'd never considered... this. Wanting that kind of touch from another guy.]
[And finding himself not opposed to it, at all. He doesn't even know if it's intentional or maybe in Sam's Earth that's just what people do and god maybe he should have found time to figure these things out before going to space and-]
[If Sam's thoughts turn to the people around him, Shiro's are internalized. Trying to figure everything out and only succeeding in running in senseless circles. Give him a fight. Give him a problem to solve. A flight path. Something concrete and real and he'd figure it out. Plan it out for the best possible outcome.]
[In this, it feels like he's drowning.]
[A feeling that doesn't abate with the squeeze on his fingers. He's about to say it's fine, say he doesn't mind the offer. And then Sam has to go and say that.]
[If he wasn't bright red before, he sure is now.]
Y... eah.
Way. Way less awkward.
no subject
Sam's no stranger to making questionable life choices or decisions that set him down rocky paths. He's done it his whole damn life, and just because he has the insight to know them when he sees them, well. It hasn't changed it all that much. There's a surety that comes with accepting what he can't change and working to do the best he can moving forward, and that's about where Sam's at right now.
For once, it probably helps that he's not quite sober.
He leans in again, bumping Shiro's shoulder playfully with his own and somehow managing to resist the urge to press a kiss to Shiro's forehead, or to brush his thumb over the flush in Shiro's cheeks. ]
One day you'll get used to it. But all that aside, I probably should get to bed. We can talk more in the morning?
no subject
[It's good to feel calmer, though. Even if that feeling isn't from himself. He'll take it. But it doesn't do anything to stop him from blushing again. It's the shoulder knock that does it. Normally, it wouldn't bother him at all.]
[But the kiss thing is still at the front of his brain.]
Right. That's... yeah. I'll let you go.