delinquency in an attic
Nov. 8th, 2009 11:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tachycardiactitle: as for the photograph
author:cridecoeur
pairing: jamie/nathaniel
rating: pg-13
word count: 510
The attic’s hot with summer, even with the windows open and the floor fans blowing on full, skimming back and forth, back and forth. Jamie’s lying shirtless on the bed; he’s already kicked off his sheets and he’s considering kicking off his pants, too - hell, he’s alone, and it’s not like he minds himself being naked - when somebody knocks on the floor - well, the ceiling to them, whatever - and he rolls over and shifts himself up on his elbows.
“What?” he calls out, hoping it’s just his mother, and he can get her gone by assuring her that no really everything’s fine, he’s just in a temper because it’s too damn hot to move, and, anyways, everybody he knows is an asshole. So of course it’s not his mother who calls up a, “Just open the God damn door,” but Nathaniel. Jamie slips his feet over the side of the bed and clicks off the low-murmuring radio on his bedside table - nothing but commercials, anyways, and shitty music when they’re actually playing something - and pads over to the trap door.
“Why the hell should I?” he calls down because, frankly, Nathaniel’s just another asshole he doesn’t want to deal with.
There’s a long silence from down below, then the scuff of feet on wooden stairs, and Nathaniel calls back, “Twenty bucks and a six-pack,” which startles a laugh out of Jamie. Jesus, he would think that was the way to make up, wouldn’t he?
Jamie shifts a box off the trap door that’s keeping it shut from above, to find Nathaniel on the stairs below, blinking up at him. He really does have a six-pack in his hand, and Jamie’s gonna hold him to that twenty bucks.
“Did my mom see you with that?” Jamie asks, and Nathaniel snorts and says, “Do I look like an idiot to you? I came in through the back. She out talking with Ms. Blum, anyways.”
“Well, then get the hell up here.” Jamie says, shifting to one side so Nathaniel can walk the rest of the way up the stairs and heft himself into the attic proper. As soon as he does, Jamie shuts the trapdoor and slides the box back over it.
Nathaniel brushes his hair away from his face with one hand and says, “Jesus, it must be 90 up here.”
“Tell me about it,” Jamie says, walking across the room to flop back down on the bed again, then reconsiders and sits up, gesturing at Nathaniel to, “Gimme one of those.”
Nathaniel tugs a can out of its ring and throws it to Jamie, who fumbles it but thankfully doesn’t drop it - the last time he did that, the can split open and sprayed everywhere, and of course his mom knew immediately because the shit Nathaniel buys stinks - and pops it open while Nathaniel does the same. Jamie clicks the radio back on with his free hand because, what the hell, shitty music’s best suffered through with another person, and he’s hoping it’ll keep Nathaniel from talking.
author:
cridecoeurpairing: jamie/nathaniel
rating: pg-13
word count: 510
The attic’s hot with summer, even with the windows open and the floor fans blowing on full, skimming back and forth, back and forth. Jamie’s lying shirtless on the bed; he’s already kicked off his sheets and he’s considering kicking off his pants, too - hell, he’s alone, and it’s not like he minds himself being naked - when somebody knocks on the floor - well, the ceiling to them, whatever - and he rolls over and shifts himself up on his elbows.
“What?” he calls out, hoping it’s just his mother, and he can get her gone by assuring her that no really everything’s fine, he’s just in a temper because it’s too damn hot to move, and, anyways, everybody he knows is an asshole. So of course it’s not his mother who calls up a, “Just open the God damn door,” but Nathaniel. Jamie slips his feet over the side of the bed and clicks off the low-murmuring radio on his bedside table - nothing but commercials, anyways, and shitty music when they’re actually playing something - and pads over to the trap door.
“Why the hell should I?” he calls down because, frankly, Nathaniel’s just another asshole he doesn’t want to deal with.
There’s a long silence from down below, then the scuff of feet on wooden stairs, and Nathaniel calls back, “Twenty bucks and a six-pack,” which startles a laugh out of Jamie. Jesus, he would think that was the way to make up, wouldn’t he?
Jamie shifts a box off the trap door that’s keeping it shut from above, to find Nathaniel on the stairs below, blinking up at him. He really does have a six-pack in his hand, and Jamie’s gonna hold him to that twenty bucks.
“Did my mom see you with that?” Jamie asks, and Nathaniel snorts and says, “Do I look like an idiot to you? I came in through the back. She out talking with Ms. Blum, anyways.”
“Well, then get the hell up here.” Jamie says, shifting to one side so Nathaniel can walk the rest of the way up the stairs and heft himself into the attic proper. As soon as he does, Jamie shuts the trapdoor and slides the box back over it.
Nathaniel brushes his hair away from his face with one hand and says, “Jesus, it must be 90 up here.”
“Tell me about it,” Jamie says, walking across the room to flop back down on the bed again, then reconsiders and sits up, gesturing at Nathaniel to, “Gimme one of those.”
Nathaniel tugs a can out of its ring and throws it to Jamie, who fumbles it but thankfully doesn’t drop it - the last time he did that, the can split open and sprayed everywhere, and of course his mom knew immediately because the shit Nathaniel buys stinks - and pops it open while Nathaniel does the same. Jamie clicks the radio back on with his free hand because, what the hell, shitty music’s best suffered through with another person, and he’s hoping it’ll keep Nathaniel from talking.
