Title: Rebel Rebel
Author: Zalia Chimera
Pairing: Simon/Sam
Warnings: Needles and piercings
Summary: Even in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, there's still time for those small rebellions and becoming the person you want to be.
"What are you doing, Sam?" Simon asks, sliding his fingers into Sam's hair and giving a little tug that makes Sam shiver.
Sam ignores him for a moment and runs his tongue along the outer edge of Simon's ear with a curious sort of deliberateness, tongue curling around the line of rings and studs that run along it. Simon tugs again, pulling his head back gently to look him in the eyes and Sam licks his lips, making a soft noise of protest.
"You got a thing for piercings?" Simon asks, raising an eyebrow at him and Sam squirms, a faint blush colouring his cheeks and that's enough of an answer for him. "Kinky," he says, smirking as he loosens his grip on Sam's hair, combing his fingers through it instead.
Sam frowns at him. "It's not like that," he says, then gives a soft growl of irritation and dips his head back down. There's one quick swipe of his tongue and then it hooks into the ring through the lobe and pulls.
Simon hisses and curls his hand against the back of Sam's neck, drawing him in for a kiss. Sam nips at his lip and Simon laughs. "Getting to be a right little sadist aren't you Sam?" he teases, and kisses him again quickly to stifle the inevitable protest.
It's not really fair, considering they're not much beyond snogging and mostly clothed groping, but Sam is always fun to fluster. He gets allsquirmy, like now in fact, and it does awful, wonderful things to Simon's cock.
He lets the kiss linger until Sam pulls away and gives him a look that's half annoyed, half amused. It's a remarkably common look on people who spend time with him. Simon can't imagine why.
"I just like them, okay?" Sam says. "They're just cool."
"Of course they are," Simon replies. "They're mine."
Sam rolls his eyes and slides one leg between Simon's. "Is modesty anything you've ever come across?"
"Sure it is!" Simon says cheerfully, rocking up against Sam's thigh. "Other people have a lot to be modest about."
"You are impossible."
"I prefer 'unique'."
"I can think of a few other words I prefer," Sam replies and presses his leg up harder against him, dragging a soft groan from Simon's lips.
"Devilishly handsome, charming, that kind of thing?"
"If that's what you want to believe," Sam replies, leaning in to give the earring one last tug, letting Simon feel the scrape of his teeth.
Simon swears he doesn't whimper. "What's got you all into piercings today anyway, besides them being cool? Which they are."
Sam shrugs and settles against him, face tucked into the crook of his neck. "Just thinking."
"That must be the funny noise I can hear," Simon teases gently. Sam shoves him in return.
"Ha ha. You're such a comedian."
"I might have tried a little stand-up when I was younger and you are avoiding the question," he continues. He runs his finger along the shell of Sam's ear, stopping to pinch his nails into the lobe, making Sam yelp softly and glare.
"You'll think it's stupid," he mutters.
"You think most of what I say is stupid so I think we're about even, right?"
Sam just looks at him for a moment and then huffs, folding his arms defensively across his chest and pulling away, leaving a bit of a gap between them on the cramped cot that they're sharing. "I always kind of wanted one," he admits, "but my dad said I wasn't allowed."
"Your dad's not here," Simon says, frowning at him. "I mean, it's just a piercing. What's the harm in it? I'm guessing you weren't angling for a nose ring or gauging either."
"Just an earring." Sam shrugs. "He said it'd make me look like a thug or a delinquent.
Simon takes a moment to try to process what exactly it would take Sam to look anything like a thug and fails miserably. "Well, delinquent maybe," he says, ruffling Sam's overgrown hair affectionately. "But since we all kind of look like that does it make you a conformist?"
It works and Sam smiles, giving him a wry look. "Wow, you really know what to say to make a boy feel good there, Simon."
Simon laughs and grasps Sam's hand, pushing it up under his t-shirt, over his stomach and chest. "If you like piercings, thought you'd go for this one actually." He presses Sam's fingers against his left nipple and the barbell piercing through it.
Sam goes still for a moment and glances at Simon with a curious, kind of intrigued look when he feels the metal, testing out the edges of it with his fingertips while Simon lays still and releases his hand only to jerk and make a pleased gasp when Sam twists it, feeling it pull at sensitive skin.
"Did it hurt getting it done?" Sam asks, tilting his gaze upwards as he continues to play with the little bar and god it's been a while since anyone's paid so much attention to that piercing.
"Ngh, kind of? A little bit," Simon replies, sliding his hands down Sam's sides to his hips and pulling him firmly down because if he's going to keep teasing then Simon's going to tease a little in return. "More a pinch than anything, a bit sore for a few days. Isn't as though I got one anywhere really sensitive," he adds with a lecherous grin, gaze flicking downwards to make sure that Sam knows what he's talking about.
"Pervert," Sam mutters, but it doesn't stop him glancing down as well, looking like he can't decide whether to be horrified or fascinated.
"Oi! I said I didn't have one down there. No-one is getting a needle near my cock thanks."
"But you've thought about it," Sam replies, smirking at him in that way that is far too knowing and it's easy to forget beneath the awkwardness and insecurity to forget that Sam is observant and brilliant and god if he'd only had the chance.
"Thought about it," Simon admits, rubbing his cheek against Sam's and grinning when he pulls away muttering about stubble burn. "There was this guy I knew..."
"Why do I get the impression that you have a lot of stories that start with 'there was this guy I knew'? Let me guess, you met him in a pub."
"I did actually," Simon says, smile widening when Sam snorts. "I was working there and he used to come in on a Friday night. Professional piercer. Did a couple of mine, including the nipple. He showed me."
"Showed you or showed you?" Sam asks, sounding suspicious enough that Simon is actually a little offended.
"Hey, it was an entirely platonic display of his cock and... oh god, I didn't even realise that was a sentence you could say, and you!" he adds, giving Sam a hard look when he starts laughing, "you are becoming a bad influence."
"Me?!" Sam replies, looking scandalised, or as scandalised as you can be when not trying very hard to stifle your laughter. "You're the one talking about getting a needle stuck through your dick."
"I said I didn't! You're the one who keeps bringing it up. I'm starting to think that you want one."
Sam grimaced, shaking his head. "Oh god, can you imagine trying to explain that to Maxine? 'What seems to be the problem?' 'Oh, someone stuck a needle through my penis and now it's oozing.' Yeah, I think not."
"Eurgh, did you have to go into detail there Sam?"
"You choose now to get squeamish? You always seem to have some unholy glee for zombie guts and blood and stuff."
"Yeah, but that's not... that's not my dick."
"It's all about your dick, isn't it?" Sam replies but he's grinning, even though he tries to hide it. Well, he doesn't try very hard. More of a token attempt to look serious.
Simon gives a lazy smiles and slides his hand down to rest over Sam's groin lightly. "Could be all about yours if you're up for it."
Sam's breath stutters and he loves the way Sam's lips part, his tongue darting out over them. "Yeah, I think so," Sam agrees.
"Always happy to be of service," Simon murmurs, drawing him up for another kiss.
"Got you a present Sammy."
Sam looks up from the comms desk just quickly enough to catch what Simon tosses at him. He glances down at it, frowning and turning the little plastic bag over in his hands. "Earrings? But I don't-"
"Don't yet," Simon says, grinning widely and brandishing the other part of the present; a small sealed package containing a needle, and an antiseptic wipe.
Sam gives him an incredulous look. "Did you decide to take a jog through a piercing shop or something?"
"Beauty parlour," Sam replies, utterly unrepentant, "and before you start lecturing, we found a lot of stuff for sterilising med kit over there, rubbing alcohol and the like."
"And this just happened to fall into you bag."
"I know. Weirdest thing," Simon replies. "Almost like they knew that you want a piercing."
"Wanted. Wanted a piercing. It's the middle of the zombie apocalypse. It's not exactly the time to be living out teenage rebellion. Especially since I'm in my twenties."
Simon walks over to him, leaning against the edge of the desk, finding that sweet spot where he can control the wobble of the wonky leg. "Of course it is. If you can't be a little rebellious when every day could be your last, then when can you? Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die, and all that."
"God, you're a ray of sunshine. They did warn me about people from Yorkshire."
"Oh aye?" Simone replies, deliberately exaggerating his accent, drawing out the vowels and making it thicker. "About our charm, wit and grace?"
"About your morbidity and bloody-mindedness more like."
"Well, there is that," Simon agrees magnanimously, "but those're survival skills now!"
"What was that song?" Sam asks, smirking at him. "Ilkey Moor Barter? You sang it while staggering back to the barracks after that party in New Canton."
"Ilkley Moor Baht 'at," Simon mutters, looking a little sullen.
"What does that even mean?" Sam asks, giving him a look like he's just grown another head.
"Without a hat. And it's part of my proud Yorkshire heritage. Just 'cause you don't understand perfectly clear English."
"That's not English! It's a stereotype from a costume drama. And you were singing about people dying and getting eaten by worms! I got that much."
"Natural order of things. Don't see you complaining when the kids sing 'Circle of Life'."
"Except you changed the words to include zombies."
"Folk songs are supposed to reflect the experiences of the common man."
"Yes, thank you Karl Marx, but then," he continues doggedly, "you gave up halfway through a verse and started singing 'Dancing Queen'."
"Uh..." Simon does actually have the grace to look embarrassed, "I really don't like folk music that much actually."
Sam sniggers and fingers the lobe of his ear thoughtfully, gaze returning to the little silver studs that Simon had brought back for him. "It's not exactly an essential procedure," he says, but it's obvious that he wants it. "I mean-"
"Sam," Simon says firmly, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning close, giving him an intent look, "if you never got to be rebellious as a teenager, why not now? And if it's your dad you're worried about... well, he isn't here and even if he was, I think he'd be more pissed off about you making out with another bloke honestly. We've done plenty of that," he says.
Sam chuckles softly. "You're sure it's safe?"
"What part of our lives is safe these days really?" Simon asks but continues before Sam can get a word in. "I asked the doc and she said it would be fine as long as it was a sterile needle and kept clean."
Sam thinks for a moment, chewing on his lip pensively before giving a small nod. "Alright," he agrees, a small smile curling his lips. "Live dangerously, right?"
"Absolutely," Simon replies and leans in to kiss him softly, coaxing him into it, hand cupping his cheek. "So, your place or mine?"
Sam snorts, shaking his head. "So, between a barracks with seven other people and a tiny room next to the comms shack? How do I decide between such luxuries?"
"Yup, the Abel Township Ritz provides the finest in post-apocalyptic accommodation and cuisine."
"Wow, with a recommendation like that, how can I resist? My place. There's a bit more privacy. I don't want someone walking in and startling you."
Simon laughs, holding up his right hand. "I have very steady hands. Had no complaints so far," he says with a lascivious grin.
"How many piercings have you done?" Sam asks suspiciously.
"Well... three," Simon admits, "but one of those was while I was drunk so I figure that's got to be double points."
"Oh god..." Sam moan, looking a little sick.
"It'll be fine, Sammy," Simon says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and drawing him along.
"I'm gonna be the only person in the zombie apocalypse to die of- of ear gangrene."
Simon sniggers and kisses Sam's temple affectionately as they leave the comms shack. "Sure you don't want to change your mind? I can still do your nipple. You know I like getting my hands all over your naked chest."
"Always knew you got your number by sleeping with the boss, Simon!" Roman calls as he passes.
"Wouldn't you?" Simon calls back, grinning and pulling Sam closer against his side as the younger man squirms. Simon loves it when he blushes like that.
"I hate you so much," Sam mutters, elbowing him in the ribs, but making no attempt to actually pull away.
"You weren't saying that last night," Simon replies cheerfully.
"Temporary insanity," Sam says, giving him a wry look. "I'm going to see Maxine about it later."
"Right, that must be what it is."
They turn into the little, well, shed is about the best that can be said for it, where Sam sleeps, and he closes the door behind them. It's small; enough room for a cot and a small chest for belongings which doubles as a table, but it's private and out of the way of most of the accommodation, since Sam tends to be on call in case of emergency. He stretches himself too thin, Simon thinks, but they all do and there's nothing as reassuring as hearing Sam's voice during a hard mission.
"Right, so, where should I-" Sam begins, uncertainty bleeding back into his expression.
"Just sit down on the bed," Simon says, "get comfy."
Sam nods and goes to perch on the edge of the cot, at least until Simon nudges him back so that he's leaning against the wall.
"Uh, do you really have to take your shift off for this, Simon?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as Simon strips off.
Simon grins and crawls onto Sam's lap, straddling his thighs. "No, but the sight of my perfect abs should help to ease the discomfort."
"Do you ever listen to what comes out of your mouth?" Sam asks.
"Nope!" Simon says cheerfully. He wriggles a little to get comfortable, and okay, maybe to tease a little.
He's as clean as anyone's likely to get today; any mission where there's been a chance of a bite or infection gets them disinfected and given clean clothes. Too much risk not to. Simon pauses before he opens the wrapper of the anti-septic wipe, meeting Sam's eyes squarely. "You're sure about this?" he asks, serious for once.
Sam hesitates for a moment and then nods. "Yeah. I'm sure."
"Alright then."
He wipes Sam's earlobe carefully and then unwraps the needle. It's a proper one for piercing too, not one of the guns or a medical needle. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he prepares, waiting for Sam to relax.
"Thought about doing this professionally for a while, learning how to do tattoos too."
"Why didn't you?" Sam asks.
Simon smiles, presses hard, the needle goes through and Sam gasps. Simon can feel the pounding of his pulse as he cleans off the dab of blood and slides the stud through.
"Because I was eighteen and had the attention span of a housefly. There, done."
Sam gives a shaky little laugh, catching his breath. "Not much change there then."
"Oi! You're the one who couldn't be a runner because you get distracted every time a squirrel crosses the path. I feel unfairly maligned." He leans back, letting go of Sam's ear and putting the needle back into the packet to be cleaned or disposed of or whatever the Doc recommends.
Sam reaches up tentatively to touch his ear, fingers sliding over the little gold stud that Simon has put in. "Ow, that hurts."
Simon rolls his eyes. "Well yeah. I did just stick a sharp bit of metal through your flesh. That tends to sting a bit."
"Wise-ass," Sam mutters, but he looks pretty intrigued by the piercing, twisting the stud gently and Simon wishes that he had a mirror so he could see it.
"It looks good," Simon says, smiling and sliding his thumb down Sam's cheek. "You delinquent, you."
Sam laughs, ducking his head and touching the stud again like he can't quite believe that it's there. "That's me. Such a rebel."
Simon ruffles his hair. "I like your rebellious side. Maybe we shoul-"
"No," Sam says firmly. "Whatever it is. No. Just no."
"Awww, you spoil all my fun."
"Hey, I let you stick a needle into me. I normally only let doctors do that."
Simon grins, leaning in to nip at Sam's lower lip lightly. "Oh? Is that what you consider fun then?" he asks, voice lowering as he leans their foreheads together. "Didn't think you were the type."
He feels the whoosh of air as Sam exhales sharply, his eyes widening. Simon laughs and kisses him, a little rough, tugging at Sam's lip with his teeth. It drags a soft little sound from him, one that makes Simon shiver pleasantly.
Sam's arms wrap around him, one tangling in the short hair at the back of his neck. "I don't really know what type I am," he admits quietly, but there's a little smile on his lips.
Simon's been working on that assumption so it doesn't surprise him. He smiles warmly though, tilts Sam's chin up to kiss him again. "Plenty of time to figure it out, Sammy. I still am."
Sam looks a little startled at that. "What, really?"
"'course," Simon replies. "I figure the zombie apocalypse shows you a few things about yourself. What you're capable of."
Sam just looks at him for a long moment, then smiles. "When did you get smart?" he asks, fingers combing through Simon's hair, twisting messy curls around his fingers.
Simon gives him a mock-offended look. "There you go again, taking pot shots at my dignity."
"What dignity?" Sam asks, giving him a cheeky look and kissing him again, just as hard and hungry. Simon just laughs and kisses back.