Disclaimer: Um, yeah, so kiss kiss, bang bang, Harry, Perry & crew don't belong to me. They don't make me any money.

Warnings: Language and (non-graphic) sexual content.

Notes: Another story that was written a while ago (as a gift fic) that I've decided to post here, as well.

Harry Lockhart was no expert when it came to cars and driving, but even he knew that an engine should not be making the horrible screeching, dying noise that Perry's car was making right now. "Oh fuck!" he shouted as smoke began to rise up from under the hood.

Perry woke up in the passenger's seat. "What the fuck did you do now?" he asked before his eyes were even open. He opened them and took quick stock of the situation. "Shit! Pull over now."

Harry jerked the wheel to the right and managed to get the car off the highway and onto the shoulder before the engine stuttered and whined to a stop.

"You overheated the engine, you moron!"

"I what? That can really happen?"

"No, I just made it up. Shitwit! Who the fuck taught you to drive?"

"My brother."

"I guess stupidity runs in the family. Sweet Jesus! What in pluperfect hell do you think that temperature gauge is for?"

"You know, I've wondered for a while, but is 'poo-perfect hell' some kind of gay catch phrase?" Instead of responding, Perry whacked Harry on the back of the head. "What!?"

Perry opened the passenger door. "Pop the hood and call triple A, genius. I'm going to check under the hood." Perry got out and gingerly raised the hood, then stood straight, surveying the engine.

Harry, feeling the interior of the car heating rapidly in the Mojave sun, opened his door and turned sideways in the driver's seat, his feet resting on the sandy ground. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the signal. It was fluctuating between one and two bars, so Harry hoped for the best, searched his phonebook for AAA, and dialed.

"Oh thank God!" he exclaimed, confusing the service rep, when the call connected. "Um, sorry. Yeah, our car kind of died--"

"Overheated," Perry interjected sharply.

"—overheated on the road." Harry began answering the representative's questions. "Um, some mountain pass on the 15 East, between the Mojave Desert and Las Vegas… Er, we passed some gas station called Stateline Service a few miles back, I think. No, I don't remember a Wheaton Springs… An hour!? I see… OK, thank you very much." He hung up his phone, put it back in his pocket, and stood up. "Well, Perry, they'll be here in 30 minutes to an hour."

"Fabulous," Perry said as he slammed the hood closed. "You are never allowed to drive my car again."

"It's not my fault that you crazy people on the West Coast build cities in the middle of fucking deserts! 'Hey, where can we build the biggest gambling resort in the world? How about in the middle of the hottest fucking desert in America!?' And you call me stuphfff—"

Harry was cut off by Perry's hand on his mouth. "Shut-up. It's fucking hot enough here." The P.I. looked ready to say more, but it merely came out as a sigh when he took in the look on his assistant's face. If Harry had been a dog, his ears and tail would have been drooping. "Come on," Perry said, closing the driver's side door before pulling Harry with him to the passenger's side. "This side is shaded." He pulled a dirty towel out of the car and spread it on the ground next to the car. He sat down, and pulled Harry down next to him.

"I'm sorry, Perry."

"Forget it. I shouldn't have gone to sleep on you."

"Well, you've been working ridiculously hard the last few days."

"Had to finish that last damned case before our trip."

"I'm not complaining – I've always wanted to go to Vegas – but why are we going?"

Perry turned his face toward the smaller man. "Harry… what's tomorrow?"

"Saturday."

"Besides that?"

"Um… Oh, yeah, it's my birthday."

"Exactly."

"Wait, we're going to Vegas for my birthday?" Harry went quiet after that, his eyebrows drifting down and a small wrinkle forming between them. His mouth formed questions like "how" and "why," but none of them seemed to find voice.

"Harry, of course I know when your birthday is. We've been together for months, now. I planned this trip as your present."

"Why not just a 'happy birthday?' I mean, I can't even remember the last time I got a card."

The perpetual cynicism flowed out of Perry's eyes at the genuinely perplexed expression on his lover's face. His voice was uncharacteristically soft when he said, "Because it's your birthday. It's a very special day."

"It's just another day in another year."

"Not to me." Perry took Harry's face in his hands and turned it toward his own. "The day you were born is not just another day to me."

"Perry…" Harry tilted his chin to receive a soft kiss, then closed his eyes as the kiss was deepened. He felt Perry's hands slide slowly through his hair until one rested on the back of his neck and the other pressed his lips against Perry's. A moist tongue lapped at his lower lip, seeking entry. He opened his mouth and felt his own tongue drawn into a passionate slow dance with Perry's.

Just when he felt dizziness whirl around the edges of his consciousness – he had forgotten how to breathe – Perry pulled away, ending the kiss with the softest nip at Harry's lower lip. Harry opened his eyes.

And pushed Perry away, flushing crimson. "Perry!" he gasped out, "We're in public!"

The only reply he got was wickedly twinkling eyes and a satisfied smirk.

Harry sighed and leaned back against the car. "Y'know, I don't know when your birthday is."

"I'll remind you, don't worry."

"I won't." He allowed his eyes to move back to Perry. "So, what exactly did you have in mind for my exciting birthday in Vegas?"

"Well, seeing as we may not get there now, I guess I'll spoil the surprise." Perry had to pause for another smile at the sweetly exasperated look on Harry's face. "First, I'd make sure you had no more than fifty bucks in your wallet—"

"Hey!"

"-- before we hit the casino for an hour or so before dinner. Then, I'd let you choose the restaurant. And then the bar. And then the next casino. We'd check into our hotel just before midnight."

"This is a really detailed plan…"

"Just after midnight, I'd take you to the window of our room. You'd exclaim delightedly about the spectacular view as I softly embraced you from behind. I'd put my lips right against your ear…" He did so at that moment. "…and whisper, 'Happy birthday, Harry.' And you would shiver just like you're doing now. I'd slide my hands lower and begin stroking you, through your clothes." Harry gasped as Perry did just that. "You'd start to protest, so I'd kiss you even more breathless than I did just now. You'd groan into my mouth as you came inside your underwear." Perry's voice had become a light, sexy cross between a growl and a purr.

"P-perry!" Harry could not seem to manage anything more as his boss and lover continued the soft stroking motions against his hardening crotch.

"Naturally, in apology for making a mess of your clothes, I'd carry you into the large marble bathroom. Then, I'd strip us both naked, and before you'd had time to catch your breath, I'd give you the best blow job of your life, under the hot--" Perry licked his ear with the word. "Steamy—" Another lick and a gentle nip. "Flow of the shower. You'd scream my name and I'd have to hold you up as your legs gave out, but I'd still swallow—" He increased the pressure of his strokes on each word that followed. "—every – last – drop."

Harry moaned and threw his head back against the side of the car. A flush ran along his cheeks and down his neck. A small damp spot began to form on the front of his pants.

"Finally, I'd carry you to the king-sized bed and lay you out with a pillow under your hips. I'd generously coat my hand with baby oil – I know it's your favorite – and I'd stroke and stroke your prostate until—"

"Perry… please…"

"Yes, you'd whimper just like that and then I'd fuck you until dawn. I'd do my damned best to bring you to orgasm once for every year of your life…"

"P-p-perry." Harry was scarcely articulate. He dimly registered an approaching humming noise as he turned his face to his tormentor. "Perry, I'm gonna—I'm—"

Screech. Creak. Slam. "You guys call triple A?"

Perry stood up swiftly and turned nonchalantly toward the voice. "Yes. Our car overheated," he said to the driver of a tow truck. "Good luck with that," he mouthed to Harry, indicating the still seated man's painful, throbbing erection, before walking to the truck,

"Son of a bitch." Harry slumped down with a groan. "I knew he'd forgiven me too easily for hurting his car…"

"Come on, Chief. Rick here says he'll take us all the way to Vegas."

"Great…"

~An uncomfortable tow truck ride, a hundred dollars lost, a dinner, several kept promises, and six? seven? orgasms later…~

"Perry?" Harry's voice was raspy from overuse. He was curled up in his lover's arms. Perry's hands rested in their favorite place on Harry's abdomen, a thumb occasionally drifting to lovingly circle and stroke Harry's bellybutton. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Chief." He felt the answer rumble against his back and whisper across his cheek. "Happy birthday," was the last thing he heard as he drifted into blissful slumber with rosy dawn sunlight and Perry's kiss on his cheek.

THE END