Bikes vs Cars
Notes: I got the inspiration for this from a story I remember my husband telling me about a friend of his. It was only when he turned up at work in his leathers that he got the attention of a girl there. So this is my twist on it, featuring our favourite men.
"I'm telling you, Bri, a motorbike is a sure fire date magnet." Blair's voice preceded him into the bullpen, followed by the vibrant man himself. Brian Rafe was shaking his head in denial.
"No way, Hairboy. A Beemer will take a bike any day." He flicked a minuscule piece of lint from his sleeve and tugged his cuffs down to a precise half-inch below the hem. Jim wondered if he had a tape measure in his pocket, and then decided that no-one could be that anal about their appearance. He kept an ear angled towards them while he turned back to his screen so he could listen to Sandburg take Rafe down with a well thought out argument.
"Hate to say it, Rafe, but Sandy's right." Megan chimed in behind them.
"I still don't believe it." Rafe was adamant.
"Why doesn't Sandy prove it then." Connor suggested with a grin. She looked across the room to see if Jim was listening. "Both of you go to a neutral bar, and see who ends up with the most phone numbers."
"Hey, I didn't mean.." Blair started protesting, but stopped when Rafe looked challengingly at him.
"Worried you'll lose, Hairboy?"
"So we're on? How about Friday?"
"Look, I don't know if I can get hold of a bike by then." Blair flicked a worried look at Jim.
"You can borrow mine." Megan said, and dug in her purse for a set of keys, "It's in my garage, and you can come over tonight to take it for a spin." She paused, "You can ride a bike, can't you?"
"You insult me, Megan." Blair looked offended, and started to tell her about the summer he toured Europe with two friends.
"What was that all about, Jim?" Simon paused by his desk.
"Sandburg and Rafe have a bet going on who can get the most phone numbers on Friday night."
"You sure about this?"
"He's a free man, Simon." Jim shrugged, unconcerned.
"Who's holding the pot?"
"Looks like H is." Jim didn't bother looking up. Simon looked over to where Sandburg was standing with Connor and Rafe; a scruffy urchin in baggy clothes and battered sneakers. Then he looked at the GQ model of Brian Rafe.
"There's no contest."
"Care to put your money where your mouth is, Sir?" Jim murmured.
"You're on." Simon nodded sharply and strode into his office. Jim shook his head sadly at the back of his boss. "Sucker." He thought, eyes resting fondly on his animated Guide.
Rafe and the rest of Major Crime were already in the bar when Blair arrived at nine o'clock on Friday. Megan grinned as he sauntered across to them, wearing worn black leathers with kevlar padding at hips and knees, protective boots and a deceptively soft leather jacket. The back and shoulder protectors forced his back straight and he held the full-face helmet by the straps, pulling his hair out of the tie as he walked and shaking it free.
"You're a bit late, Hairboy," Rafe crowed, fingering the slips of paper in his pocket.
"Do we have a deadline?" Blair asked, carefully setting the helmet down on the table.
"I thought we'd give it until ten."
"Fair enough." Blair shrugged and smiled at the waitress, who walked into table, banging her knee. Blair immediately jumped up and fussed over her, helping her over to behind the bar and making sure she sat down. Rafe grinned again as he was engaged in conversation by two men, then picked up a beer from the bar and made his way back to the table.
"What, she didn't give you her number?" he grinned.
"Missy? I don't hit on married ladies, Rafe." Blair smiled around the bottle as Rafe choked. Jim pounded him on the back and encouraged him to sit down. The hour went quickly and Rafe's face took on a smug expression as he received two more numbers to add to his collection. Blair sat chatting to Jim and Megan, seemingly unconcerned about his growing confidence.
"Okay, time's up." H said, "Lay 'em out, guys."
Rafe stood and carefully placed a handful of napkins, paper coasters and scraps of paper, and he gleefully counted out twelve girls names.
"Beat that, Hairboy."
With a longsuffering sigh, Blair stood up. Crumpled bits of paper emerged from the various zipped pockets of the jacket and then he started digging into the pockets of his trousers. Finally he pulled two scraps from down the side of his boot. Jim sat with a wide grin on his face and held out his hand to Simon.
"Where the hell did you get all these from, Sandburg?" Simon counted eighteen names, and not all of them were women.
"That's why I was late, Simon," Blair shrugged sheepishly, "That bike attracts a lot of attention."
"I'll say." H was impressed, and sidled closer to Megan.
"Come on, Chief, I'll give you an escort home so you don't get waylaid." Jim stood up, pocketing his winnings and placing a large hand on his partner's shoulder. Blair leant into him a little and then picked up the helmet, letting Jim clear the way through the crowd.
As he exited the loud bar, a hand grasped his arm and he was tugged into the shadows where the bike was hidden. Blair's eyes adjusted to the darkness and drew a sharp breath in when he saw Jim sitting astride the Harley with a helmet resting on the tank.
"I thought you were going to escort me home." He settled behind the larger man and rested his chin on his shoulder, turning his head slightly to nibble on his ear.
"I am. I'm just doing it personally."
"What about the truck?"
"We'll come back in the morning for it."
"Babe, you got eighteen numbers between here and the loft; who knows how many more you'd get on the way home?"
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