HEAT

by Rebekah Black

Note: Well, Lumpy and I (uh, that'd be my muse, btw) have finally come to an understanding. She gave me an idea for a slash story that's...well, to be honest, not all that original. But we're making progress. :)

Maybe PG-13...stuff happens, but nothing that graphic. (Building up to it, though. Honest.) Basically a humorous PWP

This is my first ever slash that isn't a poem, so we'd appreciate some nice feedback. :)

Heat
by Rebekah Black

Jim sat quietly in his calm, comfortable loft apartment. He was absorbed in the "News You Can Use" segment of his local broadcast. (Jim didn't really think he could use any "teaching your kids about drugs" information, but you never can tell.) He was killing time until his partner came home.

He felt proud of himself - he'd done something nice and gotten food that he knew his partner would like, rather than food he liked - which Blair referred to as "artery cloggers in a convenient bag". He felt so bad for Blair - the air conditioning was out in the poor guy's office - that he'd actually made Blair a fresh caesar salad and bought him softshell crabs from one of Blair's favorite restaurants. The extra expense and trouble would be worth it, just to see the incredulous, slightly suspicious look that would be on Blair's face.

He smiled slightly upon hearing Blair enter the building. And then frowned slightly as he began to decipher the quiet words Blair was muttering - "fucking old bitch", Blair's nickname of choice for Chancellor Edwards, figured prominently in the ramblings. This was a sure sign of a bad day. He walked to the door, and opened it when he heard Blair enter their hallway.

Blair was a certified wreck. His hair was plastered to his head, held by his profuse sweat. His skin glistened and looked uncomfortably greasy. His short-sleeved blue shirt and blue jeans were moist, and held tightly to his lean, muscular... Jim derailed that line of thought. A sort of sweaty odor clung to him, one Jim had smelled many times before on many men and had found disgusting - but on Blair it smelled sort of...nice. He derailed that train of thought, too.

"What the hell happened to *you*?" Jim asked. He realized, after he said it, that this was not the nicest way to phrase this particular question.

Blair glared at him. "What happened? What *happened*? I'll tell you what happened." He walked to his room forcefully and slammed his bookbad on the floor. "Rainier sucks, that's what happened."

Jim raised an eyebrow at this. "Aren't you the guy who defended the school's rep for an *hour* when that TV news reporter started trashing it?"

Blair turned and growled at him. "Your point being?" Judging by the threatening look he was giving Jim, he was in no mood for their usual witty banter.

Jim held his hands up in surrender. "Absolutely nothing. Now, why does Rainier suck?"

"Because the fucking old bitch is still on my ass about the medical leave I took last month when I got that concussion, my students are barely literate, and the fucking air-conditioning is still broken."

"Ah," Jim said, casually sitting on the arm of the couch. "Well, dinner's in teh kitchen if you're ready."

Blair sighed. "All right, just lemme get a quick shower first." He walked towards the bathroom.

"Ah, Chief - you can't."

"Why the hell not?"

"The construction workers 'accidently' cut the lines again."

"Goddamnit," Blair said, sinking into a chair and rubbing his eyes. "At least it was just water this time, not *everything*. Idiots."

"That's the spirit," Jim said with false cheer.

Blair fixed him with a desperate gaze. "Do we have any ice, maybe?"

"I think we still have those peas..."

"Well, how the hell am I supposed to cool down, then?" Blair asked.

An idea popped into Jim's head. One he usually would promptly repress, but just couldn't now - not with Blair looking the way he did, not with the air so full of pheromones. "I think I might know a way, Chief," he said, wincing at his voice. It cracked slightly - hadn't had that happen since he was fucking 16 years old.

"What?" Blair asked, looking a bit nervous.

Jim sighed, and walked over to Blair purposefully. He knelt down next to Blair...and began lapping at the young man's neck with a long, pink tongue. He ran it over Blair's adams apple and the dusky place where his chest hair began and the joint of his neck and shoulder...

Blair's heartbeat sped up to a frentic pace and his breathing became more ragged. When Jim finished bathing him, he moved back and looked into Blair's wide, shocked eyes. Jim cleared his throat, then said, "Well, Sandburg, how was that?"

Blair looked at him apologetically. "Afraid it didn't work that well, Jim."

"Oh," Jim said softly, trying to squelch is disappointment.

"It had the opposite effect, actually." Blair grinned deviously now. He wrapped his arms around Jim's waist (much to the larger man's surprise, but he wasn't complaining) and pressed his face into Jim's chest. "I'm more hot now then I was before."

Jim felt himself begin to grin hugely. "You devious little bastard."

Blair laughed. "That's why you love me, right?" He pulled his face back and stood up, still clinging to Jim.

"Sure," Jim said, still grinning. He pressed his lips to Blair's. Jim moaned into Blair's mouth after feeling Blair's tongue touch his.

"What say we take this someplace more comfortable?" Blair murmured.

"You haven't even seen the great dinner I made you," Jim complained mildly.

Blair rolled his eyes and squeezed Jim tighter. "And people think *I* act femme?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jim growled.

"Nothing," Blair said. He smiled slightly. "Nothing at all."

END