Numb3rs Fic: Somebody Bring Me Some Water
Written for numb3rs100 Challenge #479 - Water
Title: Somebody Bring Me Some Water
Pairing/Characters: Billy
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 300
Spoilers: Man Hunt
Summary: The sign at a nearby bank reads 4:35PM and 106 degrees
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
106 degrees.
Sun beats down harder than a gangbanger and Billy should know, he's had his share of tussles trying to bring in their posse members gone fugitive.
A bead of sweat clings to his brow tentatively then falls to the paper below obscuring part of his signature.
One more bad guy handed over to the local P.D.
Time to choose: drive all the way back to HQ or hope one of the hick town motels has enough A/C to keep him from melting away into the asphalt hell beneath his boots.
107 degrees.
Fuck driving. He's getting a motel.
+
Angels exist.
One of them, a uniform who looks fresh out of the academy, stops him at the door to hand him a supersized cup of cold water.
He'd kiss her, but that would make the job harder for her in this male dominated cowboy county.
Still, he gives her his best southern charm smile, the one his mother always warned his girlfriends not to buy when he was in trouble.
She blushes and retreats.
Outside he drinks lustily, the cool liquid spilling down on his shirt.
It feels amazing.
So he dumps the rest over his head.
Even better.
+
The Desert Star Motel may only have two stars, but their A/C seems to have more horsepower than his truck.
There's a pool too, but the mirror says he's already fried his freckled skin enough.
He stands in the shower letting the delicious coolness slide in rivulets down his heated flesh.
It's a revelation, being cool and clean again.
He stays in so long there must be an empty reservoir with his name on it.
Tomorrow he'll drive off into the sunrise.
Tonight he crashes nude on the bed, offering up his wet skin to the god of frigid air.
=
Title: Somebody Bring Me Some Water
Pairing/Characters: Billy
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 300
Spoilers: Man Hunt
Summary: The sign at a nearby bank reads 4:35PM and 106 degrees
Notes/Warnings: Read the disclaimer on my LJ
106 degrees.
Sun beats down harder than a gangbanger and Billy should know, he's had his share of tussles trying to bring in their posse members gone fugitive.
A bead of sweat clings to his brow tentatively then falls to the paper below obscuring part of his signature.
One more bad guy handed over to the local P.D.
Time to choose: drive all the way back to HQ or hope one of the hick town motels has enough A/C to keep him from melting away into the asphalt hell beneath his boots.
107 degrees.
Fuck driving. He's getting a motel.
+
Angels exist.
One of them, a uniform who looks fresh out of the academy, stops him at the door to hand him a supersized cup of cold water.
He'd kiss her, but that would make the job harder for her in this male dominated cowboy county.
Still, he gives her his best southern charm smile, the one his mother always warned his girlfriends not to buy when he was in trouble.
She blushes and retreats.
Outside he drinks lustily, the cool liquid spilling down on his shirt.
It feels amazing.
So he dumps the rest over his head.
Even better.
+
The Desert Star Motel may only have two stars, but their A/C seems to have more horsepower than his truck.
There's a pool too, but the mirror says he's already fried his freckled skin enough.
He stands in the shower letting the delicious coolness slide in rivulets down his heated flesh.
It's a revelation, being cool and clean again.
He stays in so long there must be an empty reservoir with his name on it.
Tomorrow he'll drive off into the sunrise.
Tonight he crashes nude on the bed, offering up his wet skin to the god of frigid air.
=