Temptation is a deadly thing. It can make you grow or it can cut you dead.
Sam's interested. He won't lie about that, or the subtle flirting he does with Michael; it's fun, a good way to blow off pressure.
Michael is the sort of interested that might mean disaster - horrified and compelled by the idea of his best friend as a sexually available being. Sam lets him know it's a possibility - he doesn't apply pressure either way. The attraction sits between them, gathering dust, waiting for a match strike to set it alight.
It's raining; Fi's back in Ireland; Ms. Reynolds has dumped Sam for a man willing to marry her ("I'm never getting married again, Mikey" he remarks, swallowing his misery with a mouthful of beer. "Women don't get me."). Sam brings the beer and some grilled chicken. They commiserate over their lost women, relaxed, enjoying the breeze through a cracked open window.
They're both slightly tipsy when they reach for the last beer, two hands moving to touch at the same time. A pulse of warmth kissing nerves, opening senses.
"So what's it gonna be, Mikey?"
For them, the edge between "kiss me" and "leave me alone" provides the deadliest fall of all.
And Michael jumps into the abyss without thinking twice.
And I rode along side 'til you lost me... (Sam/Mike)
Sam's interested. He won't lie about that, or the subtle flirting he does with Michael; it's fun, a good way to blow off pressure.
Michael is the sort of interested that might mean disaster - horrified and compelled by the idea of his best friend as a sexually available being. Sam lets him know it's a possibility - he doesn't apply pressure either way. The attraction sits between them, gathering dust, waiting for a match strike to set it alight.
It's raining; Fi's back in Ireland; Ms. Reynolds has dumped Sam for a man willing to marry her ("I'm never getting married again, Mikey" he remarks, swallowing his misery with a mouthful of beer. "Women don't get me."). Sam brings the beer and some grilled chicken. They commiserate over their lost women, relaxed, enjoying the breeze through a cracked open window.
They're both slightly tipsy when they reach for the last beer, two hands moving to touch at the same time. A pulse of warmth kissing nerves, opening senses.
"So what's it gonna be, Mikey?"
For them, the edge between "kiss me" and "leave me alone" provides the deadliest fall of all.
And Michael jumps into the abyss without thinking twice.