Perfect Evening
by Kira


Blair sighed as he scratched a large red 'X' through the answer in the booklet before him.  He couldn't believe some of the answers that students had given in the midterm.  Was he not communicating well?  Did he forget that he hadn't covered the topic in class?  Feeling discouraged and tired from three straight hours of reading the often cryptic scrawls of his student, he wrote '0' in the margin and moved to the next booklet.  One more down, seventy five to go.

He loved teaching.  He did.  He just, well, hated the marking.  He knew it was his own fault for assigning essays on the midterm, but he just felt that it was the only way to truly know if the students understood the material.  Now, faced with a stack of pink booklets, he wished he followed the example of his fellow colleagues in assigning multiple choice exams, which could easily be put through the computer.

But then he knew he would feel like a cheat.  He took his job seriously, no matter what Chancellor Edwards thought. *Warping young minds...* he idled, resisting the temptation to draw unhappy faces over the incomprehensible answer before him.

A soft knock at his door distracted him.  And proceeded to distract him more when he saw the face behind the knuckles doing the rapping.

"Rafe!"  Blair pushed the chair away from the desk, scurrying around his desk.  Rafe smiled in anticipation of the greeting, only to be disappointed when Blair grabbed the aromatic bags from his arms.  "You brought food!"

Blair barely noticed his lover shrugging off his jacket and hanging it carefully on the hanger behind the door.  He was too busy rummaging through the slightly soggy boxes.

"Chicken fried rice...yum.  Oh man, you got extra eggs rolls.  Tell me this is...oh yes!  Wonton soup.  Rafe, I could kiss you!"

"So why don't you?"

Blair looked up to see Rafe staring at him with an amused look on his face.  Blair stared down at his desk, where he had cleared a spot from exams and spread out the feast.  He dropped the package of chopsticks and moved over to where Rafe leant against the door.

"I've been incredibly naughty.  Here you bring me food, and I don't even thank you."  Blair said huskily, running a hand over the soft material of Rafe's shirt.  He wound his other hand behind Rafe's neck, bring his head down.  Their lips met and Blair undulated against Rafe's body, tantalizing and teasing.

Rafe was breathing heavy when they parted, his eyes dark.  "I think you've more than made up for it."

Blair chuckled and the raw sensuality seemed to flow right out of him as if draining from his feet.  "Thanks for bringing food, man.  I didn't realize what time it was, or how late it was."

"Well I couldn't let my snuggle bunny starve and wither away to nothingness, could I?" Rafe intoned seriously, fitting himself behind Blair and wrapping his arms around the shorter man's waist.  "Besides, I was hungry too.  But not for Chinese."

Blair shivered as Rafe nuzzled the nape of his neck, kissing his way down Blair's neck and back up to nip playfully at a bejewelled earlobe.  "Food....then *food*," he admonished with a wave of his chopsticks.

Rafe sighed and let go, reaching to pick up his own packet of sticks.  "I never could get the hang of these, you know."

Blair shook his head, oblivious to the hair which tickled at Rafe's face.  "Hopeless.  I'm involved with a culturally bereft American.  Woe is me."  He yelped as Rafe gave him a pinch on his left ass cheek.

"So teach me, Teach."

It was with much laughter and kisses that Blair set out to teach Rafe the fine art of using chopsticks.  Ten minutes into the ordeal, he gave up.   Rafe forsook the sticks in favour of his fingers, and Blair stared, mesmerized as a chicken ball was daintily popped between sticky lips and the extra sauce sucked off long digits.  Rafe looked up as he chewed, and paused at the desire in Blair's eyes.

Blair leaned forward and gently licked a stray drop of sweet and sour sauce off Rafe's lip, stroking along its length with ardour.  His eyes gleamed with unholy desire.  "Yum."

The boxes were scattered amidst exam booklets as they sank behind the desk, arms locked about each other, tongues entwining in a passionate kiss.  Rafe fumbled with Blair's fly, and Blair struggled with the buttons on Rafe's Armani shirt.  They had just about succeeded when a not-so-subtle cough interrupted them.   Blair froze, his hands resting against the flat planes of Rafe's stomach.  Rafe's hands didn't stop working at Blair's groin, almost moving without his volition.

Blair pushed Rafe off him and slowly peered over the desk.  Red flushed his cheeks as he saw Jim standing in the doorway, embarrassment clear on his face.  The blush on Jim's face grew as Rafe also peered over the desk, unwilling to let Blair take the brunt of the punishment.

"Uh...sorry, Chief.  I...uh...there's a....I didn't realize."

Blair hurried to do up his fly and tuck his shirt in as Rafe modestly buttoned his shirt and left the tails dangling to obscure the bulge at his groin.  Jim's nostrils flared, and Blair wondered what they smelled like to a Sentinel.

"Sorry, Jim.  I thought I locked the door."  Blair uselessly tried to straighten the chaos on the desk.  "Is something wrong?" he asked, praying that Jim had just popped by for a social visit, which he could kill him for later.

"I got assigned a stakeout and was hoping you were free to keep me...uh...company.  But I see you're busy."  Blair caught the subtext.  Jim's senses had been spiking unexpectedly lately and he couldn't very well leave his partner in the lurch.

He shot a apologetic glance at Rafe, but turned back to Jim.  "No, Jim.  Nothing that can't wait.  The stakeout's important."

As he gathered up some papers to take with him, he missed the look of frustration and dejection that crossed Rafe's face.  When Blair turned to him, Rafe was composed and embraced him tightly.

"Sorry to cut this off.  See you tomorrow?"

Rafe nodded.  "I'll clean up the mess," he volunteered, sorting the containers into piles and stacking the remaining exam booklets.  "Go."

Blair kissed him on the cheek.  "Thanks."  He ran a hand down the side of Rafe's face, appreciation shining in his eyes.

"My pleasure," Rafe automatically responded.  Jim gave a small snort, but subsided at Blair's glare.

"Just lock the door before you go.  Thanks again, man."  Blair picked up his book bag and motioned Jim to leave ahead of him.  "See you."

"Bye," Rafe said.  The door closed, leaving him alone with the rapidly cooling food and a unsteady pile of midterms.  He picked up a pair of chopsticks and tried to latch on to a chicken ball.  He cursed as the small sphere eluded him.  He managed to latch on to it, only to drop it on the front of his shirt.  It left a sticky, reddish-orange trail parallel to his buttons, which he realized were buttoned crookedly.  A perfect ending to a perfect evening.

Rafe tossed the sticks down in disgust and began stacking the cartons into the plastic bag.  He righted a pile of books that they had knocked over in their passion and sat down in Blair's chair, closing his eyes.  He imagined Blair, sitting in that very chair, his body warm and pliable.  But then he opened his eyes, facing the fact that Blair was out with Jim.  And he was here.  Alone.  Perfect evening indeed.


Finis

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