Work Text:
Interlude: Camping
by Basingstoke
Author's webpage: http://www.ravenswing.com/bas/
Sequel to "Kissing Friends."
Interlude: Camping.
Jim looked at the marshmallow stick sadly. "Roasted marshmallows aren't nearly as good with heightened taste, Chief."
"Ohhh, man. That's sad, that really is." Blair sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag, giving Jim a sympathetic look.
Jim sighed and handed over the marshmallows. He reclined on his elbows, warming his feet at the fire, and watched Blair pull the gooey, perfectly-roasted marshmallow off the stick.
"Mmmm. These taste bad, Jim?"
"Yeah. The sugar is weird and I can taste the burned dirt."
"Ew." Blair looked at his fingers and licked them off again. "Tastes okay to me."
"Then you eat marshmallows for both of us, Chief."
"Sure thing." Blair speared two more. He shifted closer to Jim as he found a good spot for the stick over the fire.
"So, Jim."
"Chief."
"Is this man-against-nature enough for you?"
"Marshmallows aren't very primal."
Blair wiggled his eyebrows. "We could wrestle them into submission."
"I could wrestle you into submission."
"Hey, okay!" Blair dropped the stick and leaped at Jim, snickering. Jim caught him and flipped over, pinning Blair face-down underneath him. He twisted Blair's arm lightly up behind his back.
Blair struggled, but Jim had him firmly. "Argh! Uncle! Uncle!"
Jim grinned and let him go. He rolled onto his back again, and Blair flopped onto his elbows beside him.
"Why did I know you'd be good at that?" Blair said, smiling.
"You just keep your brain in shape and leave the wrestling to me."
Blair snorted. "I can kick ass when I want to."
"Never said you couldn't. But you're out of your weight class by about fifty pounds, Chief. And your stick is burning."
Blair glanced over his shoulder. He kicked the marshmallow stick deftly into the fire. "Score!"
"And the kid comes back better than ever."
"Damn straight." Blair beamed. "You should see me on the soccer field."
"You play sports?"
"Can't geek all the time. Yeah, I play basketball too, and I was on the Rainier intramural soccer team during my undergrad years. Could have made the main team, but I had too many classes."
Jim laced his fingers over his chest and raised his eyebrows. "I'm picturing you in soccer shorts now."
"Perv." Blair grinned. "I still have them."
"Ooh baby."
"Chapter six, sexual perversions of sentinels..."
"Hey!" Jim socked his shoulder. "Keep your pen out of my pants."
"Only if you keep your eyes off my soccer shorts. And I thought you were still pretending to be straight?"
"We're camping," Jim said, indicating the surroundings.
Blair perked. "Yeah?" He propped his chin in his hands and widened his eyes. "When do the hand jobs come in?"
Jim gazed at the fire and concentrated on looking inscrutable.
He sneaked a look at Blair. Blair was using the puppy eyes again. This meant war.
"Jim?"
"Chief?"
"What is it about camping that fires your engine? Is it a sentinel thing?"
"Nah."
"What?"
"It's the peace and quiet." Jim grinned. Victory.
"Oh, very funny." Maybe not.
Jim glanced over at Blair. Puppy eyes had given way to that terribly appealing near-dangerous look.
"Jim."
"What?"
"You're gay, dammit."
Jim shrugged.
"Let me get my hands in your pants and I'll prove it," Blair said, and Jim snorted.
"Persistent bastard, aren't you?"
"All my teachers said so. Exes, too."
"I can imagine."
Blair edged closer, until Jim could feel the heat of Blair's body all along his side. "I have a theory."
"I bet you do."
"I think you're trying to tell me something subconsciously."
"I think you're wrong."
"I think you took us out here so you could let your animal spirit free." Blair's eyes glittered and the firelight glanced off his teeth.
"Cool down, Iron John. I don't plan on sharing a sleeping bag tonight."
"Who said anything about sleeping bags?"
"I wasn't planning on sharing anything tonight."
"Be spontaneous."
"Look, Casanova? There's a very cold stream not fifty feet from where we sit." Jim grinned. "We've already shown that I can toss you around."
"Fine, fine. Your loss, man." Blair dropped his head onto his folded arms. "Can we still huddle together for warmth?"
"No."
"Want a s'more?"
"Slap enough chocolate on it and I'll eat a grasshopper, Chief."
"You know, those are actually pretty good..."
end.