A/N: This is what happens when I need to write a research paper. I write boy fluff and limes.
Whoops. Enjoy! Feedback of any kind is appreciated, unless it's a flame, in which case I'll just use to keep my room nice and warm for the winter.
Summer. Ah, yes, good ol' fashion, sweet and dry, languid and hot California Summer. If there had been a beach within a ten mile radius it would have been a picture-perfect day and a seemingly typical Californian activity; but, they weren't normal, a beach wasn't superbly close, and boys like them had the motivation of a sleepy infant.
It was too much effort just to get there, let alone pack up and prep.
Instead they found it much, much easier to lounge about on their break, nestled comfortably on the sweet sofa while their feet were carelessly tossed up on the table. Why, the most boring of television shows were exciting enough for them – just taking it easy before they had to sweat under the sun was vacation enough for them.
Just, one small problem:
Benson should really work on keeping the air conditioning off.
Rigby, whose one-hundred pound weight and his five-foot-three-inch height gave him a short and scrawny build, had a hard time coping with the chilly breath of the air conditioner. It did not do him one bit of good to sit in the house while the creeping breeze from the vents caressed his skin, especially so in that he didn't have protection: Instead of his usual ong-sleeved "Misbelieve, Disbelieve, Just Believe" shirt and baggy, patched-up sweater, he wore a simple zip-up vest and some baggy capris to fit the season.
Ugh! I knew dressing 'weather-appropriate' was gonna be lame! Why do I let him talk me into these things?
A frown crosses his lips as he folds his lanky arms, caressing the goosebumps on his flesh in order to invite warmth.
No cigar. He isn't even producing enough heat to keep warm.
He glances curiously over at the figure beside him. Mordecai followed suit and ditched his hoodie, keeping it easy with a tight-fitting, indigo wife beater and a pair of skinny jeans.
If anything, that guy had the body build of a stick figure, considering he was a whole foot taller. Both of them had little body fat, and yet, it seems like only the brunette is the one freezing his ass off while the cerulean-haired is perfectly content in their artificially chilled environment.
Lucky bastard.
Rigby huffs and whines a little, fidgeting until Mordecai can't keep his focus on the screen anymore.
"Dude, are you okay?"
"Fine!"
"You're…shivering."
"Hmph, hmph. It's 'cause I'm excited!"
"About what? We have to go back to work in ten minutes. That's nothing to be excited about."
"Pfft. You think I'm excited about work? Hahaha! I'm so psyched and you don't even know about what! Man, it's so awesome it'll blow your mind!"
"…"
His lips curl into a small smirk as he brushes his long bangs out of his features for a moment. "So in other words, you're cold."
"No I'm not!"
"Dude, you suck at lying."
"Stop talking!"
He stiffens his jaw, giving a fake glare in the artist's direction.
"…okay, so what if I am? Don't bother me none!"
"Stop acting so tough about it. It's pretty chilly in here; you don't have to act like it doesn't bother you."
"…well, why aren't you shivering, then?"
"Doesn't mean I'm any warmer than you. I'm just better about hiding it."
"Show off!"
"Whiner."
"No, you're the whiner!"
Tut, tut. Mordecai rolls his eyes and chuckles, arm stretching out before his digits slipped over Rigby's right arm.
"What are you – ohh…"
Cold? As if. Rigby thought Mordecai was out of his mind, because he was absolutely blazing with heat. Every inch, from his thin digits to his skinny arm, radiated an intense amount of warmth that melted into the brunette and made him shiver in simple pleasure.
"Fuck…how are you…so warm? I thought you said you were cold."
"I am."
"But – "
"I know." He shrugs a little. "I don't know why but I guess even when I'm freezing, I actually feel hot to the touch. I just…well, I can't really tell, know what I mean? It's really hard to suck up my own body heat, I mean, unless I wrap myself up in a blanket and curl up or something."
"That is…the weirdest thing I have ever heard." Rigby furrows his brows a bit, trying to understand how that is even possible but stops, considering he doesn't care.
His lover is warm; secure. He pulls the shorter male in more, enveloping him with his blissful heat and soft scents of strawberry shampoo and cologne.
"Mmh…"
"Warming up yet?"
"Yes…"
The television is background noise, now. Rigby is taken out of the physical plane of the park house and enters a sort of mental nirvana: He tunes into the way Mordecai shifts and flexes, how each muscle in his arm must be twitching and contracting by the way his tall lover trembles slightly as he nestles into this one-armed embrace.
Even the soft shivering feels good.
Rigby keeps taking notes, listens to the way Mordecai breathes with a sort of calculated measure. Each one is calm – minutes seem to pass before he releases the air held within his lungs before taking more in. His heartbeat is quick, moving at eighty miles an hour although he doesn't break a single sweat about it. With each shift, he brings the tanned male into him more until his soft lips find his temple, leaving an impression with a peck.
That made his forehead tingle, made his body feel as if the artist had taken heat and made it a liquid to fill each pore.
"So warm…" He sighs in comfort, turning so that now their lips brushed against each other. They were kissing in light whispers.
"You're not shivering anymore." Mordecai points it out rather blatantly, but the way he hums it from the core of his throat is sensual. "Are you warm, now?"
"Y-yeah…"
"Hmh…"
He feels this ache in the short distance they possess – blue meets brown and they gaze at each other for one good, long second. So close are they that Rigby can see it manifest in those pretty, mismatched irises just how badly he craves it.
Oh, Mordecai wants to do it but he lets the moment sit open on their laps so they can simply appreciate each other and drink in the sensation of same emotions; fluttering heart-beats and soft sighs, shared warmth and longing gazes….
People always go on about what it feels like to kiss, but they never stop to see that the time just before is a feeling all by itself.
It makes them both aware of how much love they share without yet even having committed the act of showing it.
Rigby tilts his head just a little bit to the right, lets their lips brush and tickle before Mordecai moves his head just a little bit to the left to complete the kiss.
Slow, easy, soft.
If they were cold in cuddling then they certainly can't be, now; the surge of heat that flows from their single point of contact keeps out the chill and a shiver of warmth to tickle their spines.
"Mordecai…you stopped shivering…"
"Mm. So did you."
"It's really hot outside…we're just gonna sweat in a minute, anyway."
"I'm sure I can keep you cool, too."
"Haha…"
The brunette's lips part briefly for the laugh before they are taken over by the cerulean-haired male's kisses; fingers thread through thick locks and tight tank tops, skin brushes and sounds harmonize while wet kisses fill up the room with vitality.
"Mmh…"
"Hmh…"
"Love you…"
"I – hmh…Mordecai…m-more…"
"Whatever you want."
"Hey, Mordecai, Rigby, I need you two to – STOP DRY HUMPING ON THE SOFA AND GET BACK TO WORK OR ELSE YOU'RE BOTH FIRED!"
"But, Bensonnnn…"
"Aw, come on Benson, we were just –"
"NO, I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU TWO WERE 'JUST' DOING! YOU'RE ALL OVER EACH OTHER AND YOUR BREAK IS OVER! NOW GO CLEAN THE GOD DAMN FOUNTAIN!"
"Ughhh…"
They groaned in harmony [both from their bosses' rampant yelling and at their current condition] before parting and standing.
"Okay, fine. We're up, we're up…"
"…fix your boners while you're at it."
The red-head turns on the heels of his feet and storms away, muttering under his breath about hiring the most ridiculous workers he has ever seen.
"Well, that was awkward…" Rigby shuffles his foot on the carpet, playing with his fingers.
"He did say to fix them…" As soon as the back door slams, Mordecai leaves playful kisses on his tanned neck. "It's pretty hot out there..."
"I'm still cold…" He lies, closing his eyes. "Maybe first we should ah, warm up…get ready for that fountain?"
"Yeah…definitely…warm up…"
Good, ol' fashioned, California summer. Warming up was a finer activity than cooling down on a picture-perfect beach any day.