[Fanfic] Peek
Dec. 18th, 2017 01:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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surstrommiakkiTitle: Peak
Author/Artist: Hinata Plusle
Assigned prompt: Smoke
Other characters and pairings: None
Rating: T
Extra notes: Drug mention
Summary: snapshots of their lifetime, involving the prompt.
It was the larger, sturdier, thicker pieces of wood that actually kept the fire burning and cooked the food and kept them warm, but what Tapio truly enjoyed was to throw a bunch of dry leaves (when he could actually find them, that is) at once on it and watch the beautiful, yet short outbursts of tall flames dancing around, contrasting with the blue and white that surrounded them. The smell afterwards was not the best and would linger on the clothes for days, sometimes; the soot would get on basically everything on sight; worst of all, Bengt was invariably pissed off whenever he did that.
Tapio still thought it was worth it. Even though he never admitted it, he could see how Bengt also watched the flames with a hint of wonder and excitement.
***
At first, he hated the smell. Scratch that, he still hated it. That shit smelled like burnt humid leafage and his lungs screamed for him to get the hell away from whatever source of that was.
Still, when he looked at Tapio take one of those thin, sort of long things to his lips, light it up, then blow up smoke, and smile like he’d just won the lottery (or just forgotten his inner demons for a moment), there wasn’t much he could do to stop him, not when he’d just gotten out from a life or death situation – and that wasn’t even addressing the alcohol problem he had apparently developed.
All he could do was hope he could find solace in his company, even after what he’d done.
***
Out there it was in the negatives. Double digits. The lake was frozen – of course, a hole had been made so everyone who wanted could dip.
But inside? Inside was hot. Really hot. Literally. More than a hundred degrees hotter than outside.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way. If he were in the mood, he’d dip outside in the freezing water and go back, possibly multiple times.
But he had a man waiting for him, and (as much as he thought he was missing out all the fun) he didn’t like it, especially all the strangers, so what could he do besides getting finished as fast as he could and leaving?
***
Water for coffee wasn’t supposed to be actually boiled. Instead, it was to be heated to 90ºC, he’d once read somewhere. But, quite honestly, it was too much of a hassle. It took way too little to go between 90 and 100 (or whatever temperature water boiled there anyway), and there was no whistling kettle that warned anyone at exactly 90 degrees (unless water boiled at 90 degrees there, which kind of defeated the purpose of not heating until 100 – or was he just overthinking it?).
So, it was with no little amount of groaning that Bengt got up and went to the kitchen to turn off the stove, cursing at the sharp sound the kettle made. When it finally stopped the goddamn sound, taking the white characteristic fog with it, a small smile made its way to his lips.
It would not be the best barista-style coffee he'd ever made, but it'd surely taste good.
Author/Artist: Hinata Plusle
Assigned prompt: Smoke
Other characters and pairings: None
Rating: T
Extra notes: Drug mention
Summary: snapshots of their lifetime, involving the prompt.
It was the larger, sturdier, thicker pieces of wood that actually kept the fire burning and cooked the food and kept them warm, but what Tapio truly enjoyed was to throw a bunch of dry leaves (when he could actually find them, that is) at once on it and watch the beautiful, yet short outbursts of tall flames dancing around, contrasting with the blue and white that surrounded them. The smell afterwards was not the best and would linger on the clothes for days, sometimes; the soot would get on basically everything on sight; worst of all, Bengt was invariably pissed off whenever he did that.
Tapio still thought it was worth it. Even though he never admitted it, he could see how Bengt also watched the flames with a hint of wonder and excitement.
***
At first, he hated the smell. Scratch that, he still hated it. That shit smelled like burnt humid leafage and his lungs screamed for him to get the hell away from whatever source of that was.
Still, when he looked at Tapio take one of those thin, sort of long things to his lips, light it up, then blow up smoke, and smile like he’d just won the lottery (or just forgotten his inner demons for a moment), there wasn’t much he could do to stop him, not when he’d just gotten out from a life or death situation – and that wasn’t even addressing the alcohol problem he had apparently developed.
All he could do was hope he could find solace in his company, even after what he’d done.
***
Out there it was in the negatives. Double digits. The lake was frozen – of course, a hole had been made so everyone who wanted could dip.
But inside? Inside was hot. Really hot. Literally. More than a hundred degrees hotter than outside.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way. If he were in the mood, he’d dip outside in the freezing water and go back, possibly multiple times.
But he had a man waiting for him, and (as much as he thought he was missing out all the fun) he didn’t like it, especially all the strangers, so what could he do besides getting finished as fast as he could and leaving?
***
Water for coffee wasn’t supposed to be actually boiled. Instead, it was to be heated to 90ºC, he’d once read somewhere. But, quite honestly, it was too much of a hassle. It took way too little to go between 90 and 100 (or whatever temperature water boiled there anyway), and there was no whistling kettle that warned anyone at exactly 90 degrees (unless water boiled at 90 degrees there, which kind of defeated the purpose of not heating until 100 – or was he just overthinking it?).
So, it was with no little amount of groaning that Bengt got up and went to the kitchen to turn off the stove, cursing at the sharp sound the kettle made. When it finally stopped the goddamn sound, taking the white characteristic fog with it, a small smile made its way to his lips.
It would not be the best barista-style coffee he'd ever made, but it'd surely taste good.
