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Are You Callin' Me Fat?
by Us
This story was written at ConneXions during lunch at TGIFridays in Baltimore by Suze777, HLEmpress1, and BithoS1592. Our fellow diners contributed strange looks only.
A short story which takes place in the Outside Influences universe. We are forever grateful to Candy for creating this world and giving us Starsky as Blair's father. I mean, who else would it be? Also, thanks to Candy for allowing us to share this little story with the group.
Are You Callin' Me Fat?
By Us
Jim could smell the delicious fragrances as soon as he left the truck. Stopping to take a deep breath, he took a moment to savor the combination of cheese, tomato, garlic, and oregano that teased his senses. Jim thought he could even taste the lasagna. Oh, he was sure it was lasagna. One of his all time favorites. He wondered which of his lucky neighbors was in for such a treat. His stomach decided that he had delayed long enough as it growled quite loudly.
Moving towards the building and entering the foyer, Jim decided to forego the elevator and sprinted up the steps. As he opened the stairwell doors on the third floor, he could immediately tell that the lasagna was bubbling away on his own floor. He sighed, realizing he would be smelling it all night.
Jim again stopped and decided to test himself. Sandburg would be proud, he thought. Which apartment? Focusing strictly on smell, Jim turned up the dial and followed the odor...directly to 307. Blair was making the lasagna? He walked a little closer to the loft and tried again. Yep, it definitely was going to be his lasagna. But...if his sense of smell was working correctly, and he was sure it was, this was not Sandburg's usual vegetarian, low fat cheese, healthy lasagna. This was nirvana: loaded with full fat cheese, meat, and plenty of sauce and garlic.
Jim approached the door, now with some trepidation. If Sandburg was making him the 'Jim, you're gonna kill yourself eating like that, do you know what that's doing to your arteries?' lasagna, something must be wrong. Using his key, he opened the door of the loft and walked in, dropping the keys in the basket by the door and taking off his coat.
"Hey, Jim, you're home!" came the joyful greeting.
Jim watched as the tornado in the kitchen bounced from counter to table to refrigerator at what seemed to be an ever-increasing speed. He looked and noticed the table was set for four, instead of the usual two place settings. Well, that certainly explained a lot.
"Company?" he asked, moving towards the refrigerator, dodging the frenetic movements of his partner as he retrieved a beer.
"Jim, guess whose coming to dinner?" Blair exclaimed. "I suppose that's a clich, but then it wouldn't be a clich if everyone didn't say it, now would it? I wonder if anyone has ever done a study of..."
The beloved voice droned on but Jim tuned it out, watching as Blair added talking to the list of things he was trying to do simultaneously. And of course, this also included the usual hand waving that went along with all such mini-lectures. Realizing he still didn't know who their dinner guests were, Jim took a swig of his beer, hoping Blair would be winding down soon. He smiled to himself, deciding that in his lover's current state, that might not be until Christmas.
"Hey, Chief, we're going to have a 747 landing on the balcony if you don't cool it with that arm waving thing." Jim laughed as the arm waving devolved into a single finger pointing in his direction.
"You're a laugh a minute, man," Blair commented, continuing his systematic destruction of the kitchen.
"So who is our important company?" Jim asked again, wincing as the bowl Blair was waving about hit the counter.
"Napkins!" was the response, and the curly headed blur started to move past him. Jim decided if he was going to keep Blair off the ceiling tonight, he'd have to calm him down a bit. He put his beer bottle down quickly and grabbed his lover, he pulled him into an embrace.
"Hey, I have to..." the voice was cut off by Jim's lips as he stole a kiss, which was soon eagerly returned. "Mmmmm" the smaller man moaned softly and his arms came up to wrap around Jim's back.
The kiss finally ended, and blue eyes met blue as the two men smiled at each other, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed together. Jim brushed a curl away from his lover's face, and then gently cupped it with his hand.
"You're going warp speed here, Sandburg," he said with a smile. "What time are the Klingons attacking?"
"Hey, that's good, Jim," came the reply. "A pop culture reference that doesn't involve sports. There's hope for you yet."
"Smartass"
"You wouldn't have me any other way."
"The way I'm feeling right now, I'd have you any way," Jim teased, pressing his lower body into his lover's.
"Well, hold that thought and whatever else you need to hold," Blair replied, freeing himself from the tempting embrace. "I have to finish dinner. They'll be here in about a half an hour."
"Who?!?!"
"Geez, Jim, you don't have to yell," came the calm reply. "All you had to do was ask."
Jim took a deep meditative breath. There was no sense in pursuing this. Blair could be maddeningly evasive and had the verbal skills of a high priced criminal attorney.
"Chief?"
"Yes, Jim?"
"May I ask who are dinner guests are?"
"Certainly."
The only sounds in the loft were the clanking of dishes and the grinding of Jim's teeth.
"Chief?"
"Yes, Jim?"
"Who is coming to dinner?"
"Dad and Hutch," Blair replied, taking a quick peek over his shoulder to see if his luck had run out. "Isn't that great!"
Jim frowned, wondering what he'd missed.
"Did I know they were in town?" he asked.
"No," Blair replied. "Dad wanted to surprise me, but Hutch convinced him that they had to give us a little notice. They called my cell early this afternoon. I told them to come right here from the airport and that I'd cook dinner."
Jim watched as Blair took a familiar bakery bag out of the refrigerator. His salivary glands immediately went into mass production.
"Garlic knots?" he asked, eyes gleaming. "You got garlic knots?"
Blair glanced over his shoulder, smiling at the glazed look in his lover's eye. Seducing a man with his senses took on a whole new meaning with Jim, he thought.
"Yep, my man, step right up," his voice took on the accent of a carnival barker. "We got your garlic knots, we got your salad, with blue cheese dressing, I might add...we got your lasagna, four cheese lasagna...and last but not least, we got your Chunky Monkey ice cream for dessert. No finer meal has ever been set before man or beast."
Jim wiped his mouth to make sure he wasn't drooling. Blair was going to have to roll him up the stairs tonight.
"Hey, how come you never make any of this stuff for me?" Jim asked, a little petulantly.
"Have a little whine with your lasagna there, Jim?" Blair teased.
"No, I'm serious, Sandburg," Jim continued. "I get stir fry and tofu and...sprouts, for God's sake, and your father rolls into town and gets my all time favorite meal."
"But Jim, it's my Dad."
"And what am I?"
Blair stopped what he was doing, hearing a serious note in Jim's voice.
"You're my world," he said simply, smiling as he watched his lover's cheeks blush slightly.
"Yeah?" Jim asked.
"Oh, yeah," Blair replied, holding his gaze for a long moment. The oven timer interrupted and Blair quickly turned back to the stove. "Jim, it's almost time! They'll be here any minute! Can you..."
Arms wrapped around the smaller man from behind and a voice whispered in his ear.
"I'll do anything you ask, Chief."
"Anything?" Blair breathed in response.
"Anything at all," came the growl and Blair shivered as teeth tugged on his earrings. "Hold that thought for later, Jim. First, can you put the salad on the table? And don't forget the dressing. It's in that bowl. You know the ceramic one you gave me for my birthday? Did you know that certain ceramics shouldn't be used to store food..."
Jim sighed and began following the distracted instructions. The sooner they ate, the sooner his in-laws would leave, and the sooner he would have this crazy man to himself.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh"
Hutch glanced over at his partner then back at the road, now smiling after seeing the boneless heap to his right. The passenger seat was slightly reclined and Starsky's shirt was pushed up and his jeans unbuttoned. Look up "gluttony" in the dictionary and Hutch was pretty sure whose picture would be there. He looked over again as more satisfied groans and moans issued from the other seat.
"Aw, man, that was soooo good."
"Enjoy it now, babe," Hutch replied. "You're not getting any of that when you get home."
"My son really knows how to take care of me."
The comment was followed by a heavy, self-pitying sigh. Hutch rolled his eyes at the drama, not that he wasn't used to this argument after all these years.
"Your son loves you and wants to make you happy. I'm the one who takes care of you." Hutch reached over with his right hand and began rubbing the exposed, softly furred belly.
"Ya can't keep your hands off me, can ya Blondie?" came the smug reply as Starsky snuggled back further into the seat. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the darkened car were the gurgles of an abused stomach and soft moans. "I still don't think he likes me."
"Who, Jim?"
"Yeah."
"Are you kidding? You're the perfect father-in-law. You live 300 miles away."
"But I carry a gun."
"So does he."
And they both laughed softly.
"He's still not quite used to sharing Blair's attention, Starsk," Hutch replied. "And it's not like you've been exactly uninvolved."
"As long as he takes proper care of my son, I don't have to be involved."
"You mean your definition of 'proper care'."
"There is no other definition."
Hutch didn't bother to respond. This was another familiar subject. Noticing that his partner was moving around a bit more, he looked over and noticed that his belly rub was stimulating more than Starsky's digestion. His hand roamed lower with each pass.
"That feels good," Starsky moaned, arching into his lover's hand. "It's tough being so irresistible to beautiful blondes."
"With that garlic breath? You must be joking."
Starsky breathed into a cupped hand, smelling his own breath. This was followed by a discreet cough and a defensive tone of voice.
"Yeah, well, you can stay on your own side of the bed if you're so offended, Blondie."
"Are you serious, Stark?" Hutch scoffed. "You couldn't last for more than 24 hours before you'd come crawling to me."
"You wanna make a bet?"
The roaming hand reached into the open jeans and squeezed lightly. Starsky moaned and thrust upwards, seeking additional friction. A groan followed as the hand retreated back to its former position.
"Not a chance," Hutch replied, shifting in his seat as his own pants grew tight. "I want some of that chubby when we get back to the hotel."
"Hey! Are you callin' me fat?"
Light jazz music drifted through the darkened loft as a fire crackled in the fireplace. Jim sat on the couch while Blair sat on the floor, his back against the couch between his lover's legs. The two men were enjoying the last of the wine from dinner while Jim gave Blair a scalp rub. His large hands were firm, but also caressing, as he tried to relax his partner.
"You did a really great job on dinner, Chief."
"I think Dad and Hutch liked it too."
"Are you kidding?" Jim replied. "Did you see how many garlic knots your father put away?"
"I think the competition was pretty even there, man," Blair teased then yelped at a light hair pull. "Hey, no problemo! I take it as a compliment to my extraordinary cooking skills."
"You bought those knots at the bakery."
"Yeah, well, I heated them up well, didn't I?"
"You heat me up well, too."
"I know," came the satisfied reply as Blair relaxed further in Jim's very capable hands. "Isn't my Dad a cool guy?"
"I still don't think he likes me."
"He loves you. You are a father-in-law's dream."
"Sure. Stubborn and bad-tempered."
"Not bad tempered," Blair disagreed. "Just...high maintenance."
"I am not high maintenance."
"Are you kidding?" the younger man laughed. "You are the very definition of high maintenance." Another hair pull and another yelp. "But in a good way," Blair hastened to assure his lover.
Jim leaned down and nuzzled Blair's neck, wrapping his arms around the flannel-covered chest.
"Thanks for dinner, even though it wasn't meant for me," Jim said softly. "Sorry I was such a prick earlier."
"It's a part of your charm," Blair replied, leaning back further into the embrace. "But what isn't part of your charm is that garlic breath. No Sentinel senses needed here, thank you. An encounter with the toothbrush before bed would be most appreciated."
Jim chuckled, holding Blair tighter, his hands beginning to roam. Soon a large hand was cupping a jean-covered crotch.
"Hey, Jim, there's more Chunky Monkey in the freezer," Blair whispered.
"The only chunky monkey that I'm interested in is right here."
"Hey, are you calling me fat?"
FIN
End Are You Callin' Me Fat? by Us: [email protected]
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