Enjoy some gratuitous Sparks/Croach fluff, Adventurekateers. Obviously I'm not Acker or Blacker, so they aren't my giant nerds. Drop a review with a request if there's a drabble you'd like to see!
This drabble is sponsored by Patriot Brand Cigarettes.
Gross
"Ahhhh." Sparks Nevada exhaled in satisfaction as he sprawled out on his bedroll. The fire was dying to embers, his belly was full of Croach's marjun chili, and it was a generally awesome time to be alive and out on the galactic trail.
Croach spread out his bedroll askew to Nevada's to keep his antennae safely out of reach of the glowing coals, and he dropped onto it gracelessly. He kicked the Marshal's socked feet with his moccasins, and Sparks nudged the Martian out of his space.
"Get yer gross feet away from me," he teased, and Croach withdrew onto his own bedding without reply. That wasn't like Croach at all. Sparks leaned up on one elbow, observing his companion in the dying light. He wasn't one to instigate a conversation dealing with feelings, and wouldn't press Croach to talk if he didn't want to, but the silence from the native seemed heavier than it had a right to be if he was just going to sleep.
When he made no comment, Sparks shrugged and lay back with his arms sprawled behind him. He could pick out the tiny blue dot in the sky that he called his home. He was from there, anyway.
"Do you truly find me repulsive, Sparks Nevada?" Croach asked out of the darkness, and Sparks rolled over to frown at the Martian. Croach had not turned, but lay with his back to the Marshal.
"What d'you mean?"
"You often express feelings of distate or disgust with my personal appearance, yet act on occasion as if you are...much the opposite. Your actions confuse me."
Sparks nudged Croach with his foot, snorting.
"You know I'm kiddin' around."
"Are you?" The Marshal found himself being stared at with luminous insectoid eyes, reflecting slightly the starlight and the softly pulsing bioluminescent spots around them. "Are you truly joking?"
Sparks reached over, bodily pulling Croach's bedroll flush against his. Croach glanced away, shy perhaps, or embarrassed, and Sparks maneuvered his arm around the Martian's shoulders. Croach allowed himself to be pulled close, but remained petulantly rigid, arms folded across his chest.
"I wouldn't do things like this if'n I really thought you were gross, Croach," he pointed out, and the Martian huffed.
"So you are not repelled by my physical difference from yourself?"
"No, Croach. I don't really think yer gross."
The Martian gave in and wound his arms around the Marshal, resting his head in the safe hollow of his shoulder. They lay in silence for a few moments, breathing the dusty scents of the other, when Croach spoke again.
"Is your inappropriate teasing perhaps a side affect of your emotional unavailability and inability to connect to other beings without the use of defense mechanisms such as humor and forced distance?"
Sparks scowled and flicked the Martian in the back of the head.
"Stop bein' perceptive and shut up. I like you better when you ain't talkin."
"Was that an intentional innuendo Sparks Nevada?"
"Will it bein' an innuendo make you shut up?"
"That depends upon what actions you intend to use in the facilitation of making me."
Sparks looked down and saw the playful quirk of Croach's lips, felt himself rising to the egging, the stroking of his ego-which would, no doubt, lead to rising and stroking of an entirely different sort.
"That a challenge?"
"If it were you would lose."
"Bring it on."
"I intend to do so."
"Seriously, Croach, stop talkin'."