milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Lazy Lucifer, sitting on a barstool with supper and a piratical purring kitten curled cutely on his shoulder.

Okay, quitting the awesomely awful alliteration now, alas.

Anyway. The eyepatch is flipped up, and the pirate's hat is set at a jaunty angle, not least because Shreddie keeps batting at it fascinatedly. Sam is tolerating this for now, even smiling - well, it tickles. And besides, it's kind of fun.

You live here long enough, you get used to Milliways' quirks. Most of them, anyway. Come bother the nautical Lucifer.

[Tiny tag: Pomona, Cal Chandler]

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A snicker. "No. You can definitely take photos of me."

He fishes in his back pocket and produces a dog-eared black-and-white photo out of his wallet, which he tosses to Cal.

"See, proof." It's faded with time, and shows someone who's clearly Sam with his arms around a pretty, unmistakably chic young woman in a beret and old-fashioned combat clothes. On the back it says in faded, elegantly-scripted French July 1942. To my Luc. Love Annette.

"Ex-girlfriend. Anyway. It's more like... chucking water on a load of live wires. That sort of reaction."

Cal studies the photo with interest. He can see how old it is, the blank paper on the back yellowed with age, yet the image of Sam looks the same as the Sam right in front of him. It's one thing to know someone is immortal, and quite another to see it demonstrated.

"Guess it's just as well I left my watch upstairs, then," he says absently.

"You were planning on annoying me any time soon?" Innocently. "It tends to happen when my emotions go off the charts a bit, that's all."

Cal looks up.

"Oh, I don't have to plan," he assures Sam, handing the photo back to him. "It just happens. It's kind of a specialty."

There have been a thousand times with Sam that he should have been annoyed but wasn't. Cal doesn't expect to keep getting lucky there.

There was also that time the first time they met, but Cal tries not to think about it. It's still embarrassing.

Sam tucks the photo back in his wallet again, putting it away.

"Pillock." He tickles him briefly.

That surprised sound Cal made was totally just a yelp, with absolutely no squeal-like properties whatsoever. He swats at Sam's hands.

"What?"

He just grins at Cal.

"Well, you are."

"What for?" Cal demands, grinning back in spite of himself. He's not sure what a pillock is, but it sounds like one of those British insults.

There may be a reason for that.

Sam sticks his tongue out. "Being you."

Warm, he shrugs the coat the bar gave him off. The red shirt underneath is a bit gaudy, but rather suits him.

Cal snorts. "Yeah, I keep telling you that, glad it's sinking in."

His tone is light and relaxed, though. Not everything is thinly-veiled angst, after all. Sometimes a joke is just a joke.

He gives him a grin, amused, ruffling his hair. "You're all right, though."

"Gee, thanks," Cal says with a chuckle.

He also swats at Sam's hand again, because hair-ruffling stops being acceptable at about age ten.

Well, in comparison... Let's not go there.

Laughing, "I'm too kind to you, I know."

"Way too kind," Cal agrees, and, okay, now there might be a shade of seriousness lurking behind the joke. He doesn't know it's there, though. "I don't know how you put up with me."

"Me neither." Sam heaves a very fake sigh. "But somehow I struggle through it."

Edited 2008-09-26 00:46 (UTC)

"Must be 'cause I'm cute," Cal says with a very ~~srs~~ serious nod.

"Well," Fairly, "You are very cute, it's true."

Beat. Grin. "Although cute's not exactly the word I'd use."

"Oh no?" Cal asks with a grin of his own.

"No." Sam just grins.

Him? A tease? Surely you jest!

Cal merely scoffs, and that faint hint of color is really just because he's holding his mug up to his face. What? The coffee is still hot!

Sam waits until he's taken a drink.

"Scorching hot, maybe."

Hey, just because he's not evil doesn't mean he can't be wicked.

And now Cal's white pirate shirt sports coffee dribbles down the front, and Cal himself is coughing violently.

People need to quit making him choke on his coffee. Even if this is only the second time. He would be happy if it didn't become a theme.

Sam smacks him on the back, helpfully.

Oh come on, like he wasn't going to say it.

Cal makes a swatting gesture in Sam's general direction. Coughing means he can breathe. Why don't people ever seem to be aware of this? Uh, all two times.

"Ianto wanted to give me the Heimlich," he rasps when he has most of his breath back. "It's coffee, I'll li -" Uh. Pause. "I'll be fine," he finishes weakly.

Innocently, "I'll bet he did."

What?