New
Arrivals
Author-Magnetic North
Titles
Cold Comfort
by Magnetic
North
Summary: Sometimes the boys can communicate just fine, thank you.
Disclaimer: Of course, sad to say, UPN and Paramount own all rights to the characters that appear herein, and the author of this humble work makes no claim (nor money) on them.
"Oh, man! Who turned off the heat? It is *freezing* out there!" Blair complained before he even got through the door. Quickly sealing the portal against the swirling white death, he huffed and he puffed on his frigid fingers and shook himself like a wolf climbing out of a breakup to shed the thick blanket of arctic air that had him in its icy embrace, clawing and biting at the laughably inadequate jacket which was all that stood between tender young flesh and disfiguring frostbite.
"Cold cold cold cold cold cold cold cold."
"You're a wimp."
"Yeah, but it's still cold."
"Where's your Elmer Fudd hat?"
"I didn't bring it because it was nice this morning," he answered his roommate from within the depths of his collar. "Who knew that Happy Valley would turn into the Klondike in just a few hours?"
"Well, take off your coat, Yukon Cornelius, and go sit by the fire," Jim suggested, turning back to the stove.
"There's a fire?" Blair's head emerged from between his shoulders and turned toward where he remembered having last seen a fire. Currently he could see positively nothing but the inside of his fogged spectacles.
"Sit by it, not in it."
The very prospect of warmth warmed him, and in no time the jacket was hung up, the soggy shoes tugged off, and the glasses folded and tucked away. Blair grabbed the arms of the nearest chair and waddled with it toward the fireplace, perching on its very edge when he'd got as close to the heat as he dared.
"Warm warm warm warm warm warm warm warm." Waves of hot air lifted the curls around his face in a soft caress, and he let out a long, contended sigh, his entire world having condensed to the steady, radiant pleasure that he worshipped and adored -- heat! His eyes closed and contented hums vibrated in his throat. He felt a comforting weight settle around his shoulders and his hair being gently lifted from beneath it. The quickly thawing young man snuggled into the thick afghan like a joey into its mother.
"Mmmm, thanks."
"You're welcome. Here."
Blair opened his eyes to see Jim holding out a mug of steaming something. He quickly tucked the edges of the afghan around his forearms and reached out to take accept the coffee. No, not coffee. A deep breath of the fragrant steam told him coffee, indeed, but also chocolate, and something else.
"What is it?"
"Try it." Jim settled himself onto the floor beside his friend, but a good twelve inches further from the fire.
Blair blew a long, steady breath onto the mocha, cooling it just a fraction before he sipped. The hot, creamy, slightly sweet liquid flowed over his tongue and filled his mouth, bold and soft and biting and soothing at once. When at last he swallowed, the aftertaste made itself known.
"There's liquor in here."
"Yup."
"You made this?"
"It's no big deal," Jim demurred modestly.
"It's fantastic. Tell me what it is." Blair scooched around in the chair to face his partner, then took another slurping sip, swirling it around inside his mouth as though it were a rare, well-aged vintage.
"It's just coffee and hot chocolate with a shot of rum." Blair's encouraging expression was all the excuse Jim needed. "I went by the market and got some of that organic coffee that you like, and some Tropical Source chocolate -- the dark kind, not the milk chocolate -- and a bottle of whole milk."
"Oh, with the heavy cream at the top? I love that." He licked his lips.
"Yeah. That's what makes this so good, the real on-the-stove hot chocolate. The powdered stuff that you add hot water to just isn't the same."
"Beauty, brains, and he can cook, too."
"Stop, you're embarrassing me." He didn't look embarrassed; rather, he looked quite pleased.
"Where's yours?"
Jim shook his head. "I made it for you. It's not nearly cold enough yet for hot chocolate, as far as I'm concerned. Got another twenty degrees to go."
"You made this just for me?" Blair asked, all innocence and wide eyes. "Really?"
"Well, don't start to cry or anything, but yeah, really."
"That's so nice. It is," he insisted at Jim's dismissive wave, nudging his knee with one ragg-socked foot, which he left resting there. "You made a special trip on your day off to get the all this stuff that you knew I'd like, and you started a fire, and made real hot chocolate -- and you don't even think it's cold out."
"I knew you would."
"Right, that's what I mean."
"Well . . . " Now he really was beginning to feel a bit embarrassed. He crossed one arm over his cocked knee and pressed his thumb against his lips.
"You can really be a nice guy when you want to, Ellison."
"Keep it under your hat."
"Oh, heaven forbid the world should learn your shameful secret: that flint-hard, stone cold James Ellison is a closet mom."
"I'll mom you, junior," he retorted, reaching up to pinch his friend's leg just above the kneecap in that sensitive, ticklish spot. Blair jerked away, barely managing to close his mouth around the interrupted gulp, and grabbed at the offending hand. Two sets of blue eyes twinkled with amusement in the firelight. With an effort, Blair swallowed the hot mouthful of coffee.
"So it's your evil plan to marinate me inside and out then toss me into the fire, eh, Jim? A closely guarded family recipe for glazed anthropologist flambé."
"Nah, too rich. I prefer my anthropologist smothered in afghan and polartec, then toasted till plump."
"Well, dinner is just about served, I think," Blair responded, pushing down the afghan and tucking his legs under him. Jim smoothly took the cup from his hand to let him adjust. "This is a great fire. I don't know how you do it every time. I can't get it going nearly as hot as you."
"I'm motivated."
Blair paused in his reach for the cup at the curiously tender sound in his friend's voice. A silent, eloquent, warm smile graced Jim's firelit face as he handed off the cup, pressing Blair's fingers around it.
"Have to take care of my partner. He's the only one I've got." And he winked.
Blair gazed at him for a very long time, accepting the smile and blessing the fates for whatever he'd done in this life to deserve so sterling a friendship. "Jim, man," he began, wanting somehow to express his appreciation for the great gift, to find the right words. "I know you probably won't want to hear this, but . . . well, some of the things you do . . . the way you take care of me . . . it just makes me feel . . . you know . . . " He lowered his eyes, hesitant to say it.
"Loved?"
Blair's eyes closed and a shy smile broke forth. "Yeah."
"Yeah." Jim snickered softly when Blair's eyes popped open. "Don't pretend to be surprised, chief, just because I never said it. You've had me in your pocket since day one and you know it." Jim playfully slapped his friend's leg, then used that same leg as a rung up. "Dinner in fifteen minutes."
Between the fire, the hot drink, and the bright glow on his cheeks, Blair Sandburg felt as warm as a summer day in Bermuda. Or a winter night in Cascade.
End