Hot in Here

“Is it me or is it hot in here?” Brennan asked, as he carefully placed yet another box of Rigby’s junk—of his boyfriend’s very important possessions, he mentally corrected—on the chest of drawers near the bedroom door.

Rubbing at his temple and doing his best to push away the beginnings of one hell of a stress induced headache, Brennan tried to remember everything he needed to get done that day. Just to make the list even longer, he added check the central heating to the end of it. It really was sweltering in there, and that wasn’t acceptable.

The flat had to be perfect. And that perfection had to start today. Nothing less would do. Nobody ever got more than one chance to make a bloody fantastic first impression, and he and his boyfriend were going to…

Every thought in Brennan’s head gently faded away when he turned around. Said boyfriend made a vague, sleepy noise in the back of his throat as he arched his back and made himself just a little bit more comfortable on their new double bed.

“You’re not going to distract me,” Brennan snapped, even as his eyes raked over the other man’s body taking in every single stunning detail.

There was no way in hell Rigby’s t-shirt had ended up being pushed that far up his body by accident…

“What do you mean?” Rigby asked, lifting his head to blink sleepily up at him. The ragged old baseball cap he’d been wearing fell off. He had hat hair. No one should be able to make hat hair look hot!

“The innocent expression might have been more believable if you hadn’t had your cock buried in my arse half of last night,” Brennan informed him, with as much bite as he could manage.

Rigby grinned, apparently enjoying the memory a great deal. “I had fun too,” he said lethargically, his voice practically dripping with sex. “And I guess that means it’s your turn to top now, isn’t it?”
Brennan’s eyes narrowed. “You planned this!”

“Me?”

“You made sure we had sex last night, just so it would be my turn to top today,” Brennan accused. “Just because you thought that would give you a better chance of talking me into letting you get off before we’ve finish unpacking.”

“Sweetheart, I really don’t need a convoluted excuse to want to have sex with you,” Rigby said, still leaning idly back on his elbows like a living breathing invitation to sin.