Notes From the Tundra
On a random Wednesday afternoon, Adam comes through his front door to find a known felon reclining on his couch, his guard rat lying upside-down on the felon's lap, disarmed by belly scratchies.
"Hi," Steve says, like they'd just seen each other this morning rather than three weeks ago. The rat cracks an eye to find out why the fingers that were ruffling his belly fur have stopped.
"What are you doing here?" Adam asks, caught flat-footed. He is still standing in the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other holding his laptop bag.
"Well," Steve scoops up the rat, who does not look at all pleased by this turn of events, and places him on the couch so he can stand up, "your last postcard sounded a little lonely."
"My last…" Adam struggles to even remember what his last postcard said as Steve tugs him gently the rest of the way inside and takes the laptop bag out of his hand to lean it against the wall. "You mean the one that said 'my furry little roommate isn't getting enough quality petting'?"
"Call me crazy," Steve smiles, pushing Adam's coat down off his shoulders, "but that sounds just an eensy bit like a euphemism to me."
Adam glances over Steve's shoulder at the rat, who is hunched up on the couch in irritation, actually baring his teeth over the loss of his petter, and isn't sure whether laughing so hard for the first time in weeks feels better than Steve's arms sliding around his waist.
A Miss Daisy and a Leon Spinx
Adam is leaning his head back against the headrest of the rental car with his eyes closed, wondering how it can possibly be the same sun that won't melt glare ice in Vermont frying the hell out of him here in Mexico, even with the AC up as high as it will go. It didn't seem half so bad when the car was moving, but just waiting in the sun outside a convenience store is making Adam's brain feel like it's leaking out his ears.
He cracks an eye when the car door opens and slams shut again quickly, and turns his head to find Steve with a wild expression.
"Drive!" Steve exclaims, eyes wide. "Drive fast right now!"
Without thinking about it, Adam sits up and slams the car from park into drive, then punches the accelerator and peels out of the parking lot. They are two miles down the road and going eighty-five when he dares look over again.
He finds Steve grinning widely at him.
"You son of a bitch," Adam exclaims in disgust, heart rate slowing a lot less quickly than the car as he brings the speed back down to something closer to legal.
"You should have seen your face!" Steve howls, leaning over to punch Adam's shoulder teasingly. "You could see the whites the whole way around your eyes!"
"Fuck you," Adam grumbles, slouching a little in his seat with irritation. Steve chuckles some more at his own cleverness as he stretches out to lay across the front seat with his head resting against Adam's thigh. The heat doesn't seem to bother him, he just seems to soak it up while Adam bakes in it. Adam drops a hand from the wheel to give Steve's hair a sharp tug, but then leaves it where it's tangled in the dark strands.
"Maybe you can be my getaway driver next time," Steve murmurs, eyes closing and already on the way to a nap.
"Bastard," Adam says, but with the sort of exasperation that makes it a pet name. "You'd better not drool on my leg again."