Warning: Language, Sexual content
It was hot. Sizzling, in fact. The Indian Summer day had descended on Cascade with a flurry of unseasonable warmth, drowning the city in cloying humidity. Finally, he could unwind, peel off the layers that were usually his salvation, and cool off. He closed his eyes as the door swung open, waiting for the rush of blessedly cold air...
The loft was no cooler than the hallway, air hanging still and oppressive. He opened the balcony door in a vain attempt to entice a cooling breeze into the room and trudged over to collapse onto the sofa, shirts and a slightly damp pair of jeans shed along the way. Maybe he'd have the energy to pick them up before Jim got home. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, his last thought one of frozen drinks and snow machines.
He drifted up through layers of sleep, moaning softly. Cool liquid slid over his flesh, teasing his heated skin. A sudden, frigid touch against his nipple startled him, wringing a gasp from his throat as his eyes shot open.
Blue eyes met his, and Jim smiled wickedly before lifting the ice-cube away, replacing it with his mouth. His lips were cool against the puckered skin, chilled from the contents of the half-filled beer bottle that dripped condensation onto Blair's t-shirt, pressed into coaster duty on the end table. The ice cube was lifted to his lips, tracing a wet, melting stripe against the corner of his mouth before pressing inside.
Blair moaned, lids growing heavy as the riot of sensations assaulted him: lips and tongue warming against his chest, the rough-soft against his nipple, cool liquid sliding down his throat inside and out, and the cold, salt-tinged fingers pressing against his lips.
He opened his mouth, sucking two of Jim's fingers inside. He was rewarded by a hum of approval, and the muted nip of sharp teeth. He licked along the digits, swallowing heavily as their heavy weight filled his mouth. So, so good, but not enough, never enough...
The fingers were pulled from his mouth, sliding rough and slick down his robs to squeeze his hip before sliding away. Jim's other hand burrowed under his thigh, gripping tightly and pinning him in place. A quick nuzzling press against the placket of his briefs was his only warning, and then they were skimmed down, his cock enveloped, swallowed, consumed.
He panted harshly, head falling back to roll against the cushions as his hands fisted in his hair. Quick, hard press of tongue against his tip, rolling sweep under the head, long, slow lick down the shaft.
His moans were a continuous stream. Low, urgent, dirty-hot sounds that filled the room with a different heat entirely. He heard the rustling clink, vaguely wondering what was causing the sound, and then--
"Oh, Jim, fuck!" He was gone, spasming harshly as the melting ice cube traced beneath his balls and Jim's throat tightened around his cock.
He calmed slowly, the room swimming back into focus as Jim stroked his hair away from his face.
"So, Chief, how do you like the weather now?"
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