Helix - part 5
Table of contents
Part 5
"This? Basically heaven."
"Yeah... gotta concur," Cory said in a sleepy drawl, eyes closed behind his ugly hipster ray-bans.
They were lying on the hood of the DOW, backs against the windshield, enjoying the uselessly lovely day. Rudy'd been with them earlier -- it had started out with Rudy and Cory bringing Bash tacos while he changed the wiper blades -- but when Bash wanted to check his email and Cory wanted to sunbathe, Rudy had gotten bored and wandered off. Now it was just the two of them. It kind of felt a little bit like a date. Unless that's just me being a dip and reading into things. Still... He prodded his half of the pair of earbuds from Cory's music player a little more securely into his ear. Sheila, it informed him, was a punk rocker now. What with the flirting yesterday, there is a definite datelike feel to the earbud sharing thing here.
For lack of anything more worklike to do -- at least, anything he could do without detaching himself -- he started organizing recent emails and updating his contacts list. Cory had sent him the shirt graphic from an address other than the one he used for the project mailing list, presumably his personal one, so that had to go in the 'friends' whitelist. He made a sorting filter for it. He reread the email for the sixth or seventh time. Not that it was a love letter or anything, but it kept making him smile.
Montana:
Enclosed find awesomeness. Dare me to make a version that says OFFICIAL HELIX4 TEAM TSHIRT and drop it on the mailing list? J/K, poor Mercy would asplode. :D
- CW
He'd forwarded it to Rudy straightaway, of course. Rudy had confirmed for him that no one else would find that email hopelessly sweet, since it was in fact pretty ordinary and actually a bit immature. As if Bash needed more corroboration for his theory that he'd fallen for Cory in a really serious way and was going to have to actually do something about it soon.
He was still stumped on the web-presence front. He had a feeling Cory was going to remain deliberately elusive and teasing until he solved that puzzle. It was a challenge. A test? No, Cory was just having a little fun with him. Cory was a joker, but he didn't mean any harm by it. Besides, Bash liked puzzles. It was part of what made him good at his job.
He glanced at Cory to see if the man was still dozing -- Oh wow, those eyelashes, oh goddamn he's sexy all in repose like that, with his mouth a little open like he's just waiting for someone to kiss him. When he'd forcibly wrenched his eyes away from that distracting sight, he began searching permutations suggested by the email name scudthumper. Unfortunately, it turned out to be from a John Updike poem, and the only links he could find that weren't about English literature were from fantasy games that used the poem as a riddle.
Even his taste in poetry is sexy. Jesus, I've got it so bad.
"You're staring," Cory said, still without opening his eyes.
"Am not. You don't even know that."
"How do you know I don't know? If you weren't staring you wouldn't know my eyes stayed closed."
"Damn. And I would've gotten away with it if it wasn't for you meddling kids." Bash settled back against the windshield with a sigh, studying the cloudless sky. "Just trying to figure out your little challenge. 'Scudthumper' is totally unfair."
"How is it unfair?"
"Using a unique word someone else made up."
"Enh, you're on the wrong track anyway. I don't know how you're even missing the track, it's got a big sign on it with neon and everything saying, 'Hey Bash, this is the track on which to investigate, you dense motherfucker!' Why don't you ask Rudy?"
"He won't play. He thinks we're both totally juvenile."
"He's probably right." Cory yawned. "Do you ever go by Sebastian?"
This shift of subject took Bash aback. "Not really. It's an awfully dignified name for someone like me. Sebastians play the piano and know about wine. I go looking for new ways to get nutted by chunks of my own windshield. Bash is more appropriate."
"Sebastian is the patron saint of gays, so I think you're allowed."
Bash snorted. "Martyrdom: not appealing."
Cory twitched a slight shrug. "Suit yourself. I like it, though. Sebastian, not martyrdom."
Bash had to bite his lip to hold back an instant invitation to use his full name in bed anytime. Once he'd regained control, he said instead, "You can call me Sebastian if I can call you Corbin."
Cory's head lifted a few inches and his eyes popped open. He speared Bash with a suspicious scowl. "What. Where did. How."
"Guvmint paperwork, genius. Head honcho, remember?"
Cory's dark brows knit. "Tell no one."
Bash crossed his heart. Cory, satisfied, let his head fall and closed his eyes again.
Flexing his fingers to get the twitches out -- his hands were tremoring like he was chasing a big one, just from the sound of Cory saying his real name -- he started shuffling files in search of inspiration. That often worked for him when he got stuck while writing a paper. His brain would get fond of a particular arrangement of data and kind of get comfortable and stop trying. Putting his sources in a different order usually broke the lockup. Instead of chronological, how about alphabetical? How about alphabetical by author's name? How about arranging the dominant colors in the graphs and maps in a rainbow spectrum?
Or, in this case, arranging Cory's papers, application, mailing list responses, personal email, and shirt graphic in descending order of humor value. Except that he only got as far as saving the shirt graphic to a new file so he could open it in an art app, at which point the idea came to him.
The filename of the image.
It was just too funny for a joker like Cory to keep private. If he had any web presence at all, this image was up there. And chances were he hadn't thought to change the filename. Bash crossed the fingers of one hand while he copy-pasted with the other.
Bingo. He knew even before he opened the link that 'VerticalShear's gallery' was what he was looking for. He bit his lip to hold in a triumphant laugh as he clicked it.
Weather photos. Crazy gorgeous photos of dangerous weather, taken from right up close. There was little doubt that VerticalShear was Cory. Maybe a tiny, tiny chance this was a friend who'd agreed to host the shirt graphic for him, a friend who was also a storm chaser -- who had also spent a summer on a boat with Melanie Starmore -- and had her permission to post a hilarious picture of her being menaced by a seagull that thought her orange snorkel pipe was food -- no. This was Cory.
A sideways glance confirmed that Cory wasn't watching him. He didn't want to be secretive about this -- he was going to announce his victory sooner or later anyway -- but since he had time, he might as well explore the place thoroughly. The gallery site had all kinds of useless widgets for its members to paste on their portal page. Profile, chat box, twitter feed, journal --
Journal. Intriguing.
May 6, 2:14 am (local time)
Incommunicado all summer once again
You have to be getting used to this by now, right? I go away, I come back with pictures of Skies Bearing Grudges, I find acres of comments asking if I'm dead. Okay listen: I might be. But if I was, would I tell you? Think about these things.
Anyway, let me just leave you with this link. It's the documentary which, back when I was an undergrad, inspired me to switch my major from engineering to meteorology. Not that it's an amazing flawless documentary or anything, and at first I just kept it in my braincandy-during-workouts rotation because I loved the idea of these nerdhooligans speeding around in a pockmarked Subaru in pursuit of the Finger of God. I loved the very concept of a science documentary with that many bleeps in it. But once I got over that, I started to get interested in the science, and the rest, as they say, is history. (And if I don't stay sharp this chase season I am likely to become geography. *steals jokes from Pratchett, pretends they are mine, is not sorry*)
As an added bonus, when you get to around 7 minutes in, check out the guy in the back seat. That lanky blue-eyed doofus of a postgrad. The one they make pick up the hailstones later. That guy? Our Fearless Leader. That's right, the big bossman of Helix 4, wearing too-short boardies and getting beaned on the head by angry iceballs. I can't wait to meet this guy.
Right, anyway, back in July. Unless I'm dead. Until then I can be in a spooky quantum dead/alive state for you, isn't that special?
Bash was grinning ear to ear while his stomach did flips. That stupid documentary. He'd kind of hated it all this time. That stupid documentary was responsible for turning Cory on to meteorology? And Cory had noticed Bash's part in it? He hadn't even been introduced by name!
He scrolled down through the comments, intending to leave his own and thus announce he'd won. The name HurricaneMel caught his eye; that was Melanie, Cory had linked her from the seagull picture.
HurricaneMel : Just try not to attach yourself to his face like an alien the moment you see him. Tornado people aren't as relaxed about this stuff as us hurricane folks. Midwestern reserve and all that.
VerticalShear : Yeah I'll restrain myself somehow.
That could be just a reference to some in-joke, or random silliness. It didn't necessarily mean Cory had expressed to Melanie any sort of romantic interest in Bash before they even met. Which didn't sound like a very Cory thing to do, really.
The rest of the comments were well-wishes from fans of his photography, tapering off over a week or so. And then there was a comment dated yesterday:
HurricaneMel : Way to collapse the eigenstate, spoilsport. So have you confessed to your nerdcrush yet? Protip -- being a huge stalker is not romantic in real life. Plus he already probably knows from Rudy, so you might as well get it over with.
That must've been when he posted the shirt pic. There was no reply from Cory. Maybe he hadn't even seen it yet. Maybe when he saw it he'd delete it. The facehugger alien remark could be explained away -- maybe? Somehow? But this was such a giveaway.
Not that Bash was surprised, because all that leg-collision activity yesterday had been fairly obvious. And this music-sharing thing right now, too. And in fact, when he thought about it, their first face-to-face conversation, in retrospect, was entirely a flirtation from the moment Cory answered the door shirtless.
Bash realized that if he waited until he stopped making weird grinny lip-bitey laugh-stifley faces, he'd be waiting an awkwardly long time, so he decided to just take his medicine and get mocked. He tapped Cory's shoulder to get his attention.
Cory, true to expectation, took one look at Bash and started laughing. "Dude, what's wrong with your face? You look like you ate a bug and you think you liked it."
"I win," Bash managed to say. He pointed to the screen.
Cory scooted closer and hooked his chin on Bash's shoulder so he could look. There was that sexy Cory-smell again, and this time Bash didn't freeze up. He leaned back against Cory a little and let the smile take over his face. Cory huffed a sigh. His breath smelled like root beer.
"Jeez, Mel," he muttered. "What is it with girls gossiping at me lately. So what took you so long, anyway?"
"I found it by searching the filename of the shirt graphic. I have no clue how you thought I was going to find it before that."
"Umm... Mel's blog? Which is under her real name? Durr." He knuckled Bash in the back.
"Oh! Duh. I are smurt."
"Pff. I was just being a wiseass anyway. I'm not mister emotional maturity. You probably noticed."
"I've been enjoying it." Bash turned his face toward Cory slightly. Not enough to force a kiss-or-move decision, just enough that the question was on the table. His heart was pounding crazily. "So... I take it you like me then."
"I'm so into you I can't even talk about it. My brain just goes duuuuuuh. It's like a dial tone." Cory whuffed a soft chuckle and moved so it was his forehead resting on Bash's shoulder instead of his chin.
"Well, in case I'm not already Captain Obvious about it, I like you too. In a 'can we please meet up after the season's over and date and stuff' kind of way." A still moment crept by. "Um. It's unsettling not to see your expression when I say this stuff."
Another long moment, and at last Cory moved and lifted his chin, shoved his shades up on top of his head, and gave Bash a wry grin at close range. "How about in a 'let's go make out in the back of the truck' kind of way?"
"Oh God. That would be so unprofessional." Bash's voice and expression gave him away. He was seriously considering it. The uncertainty and hope in Cory's bitter-chocolate eyes was irresistable.
Wryness was gradually giving way to mischief. "So?"
"I'm not the only one with a key to the DOW. Rudy would walk in, I just know it."
"So?"
"Nnnngh Cory you're such a bad fucking influence."
"I know." Cory's gaze flicked to his mouth, then back up. "I could just kiss you here."
And then, because Murphy's Law is absolute, Bash's inbox began to emit a cascade of chimes; something had set the project mailing list on fire.
"Ignore it," Cory breathed.
"I can't. I'm the boss." Bash's distress was genuine, and it must've showed, because Cory forgave him with a sigh. Sat back and put his shades back on. Lay down and closed his eyes.
"There's no fucking privacy anywhere around here, is there?" he grumbled. "It's just you make me feel like I'm fucking sixteen again. No, answer your damn email. I'm not mad."
"If it helps any, this is driving me crazy too."
Cory's lips curved wickedly. "Yeah, that helps."
Bash checked his mail. He had a pretty good idea of what could've caused that reaction; everyone but him had to be obsessively refreshing their favorite weather maps, waiting for something to break, and someone must've spotted something. And yes, sure enough, the first email -- from Rudy, so that's where he went -- was titled Is it just me or does that jet stream look kinky? and contained only a link to a radar loop with wind speed arrows on overlay. Thirty seconds later the speculation had started pouring in. If Bash had set his mailer to check for new messages continually, rather than every fifteen minutes, he might not even have gotten to have this deliciously awkward conversation with Cory.
If only I'd set it to check once an hour.
"I have to go be prediction guy," he said sadly, removing the earbud from his ear and closing his computer. "And call everyone who went home, and so forth. And. You're right, there's no privacy. But for what it's worth, Cory, I think you're so awesome." Bash lost his nerve for a split second as Cory opened his eyes, then forced the rest out in a rush: "And sexy and funny and brilliant and completely my type, so can we please not let this lapse for lack of opportunity or whatever?"
In one smooth, sudden motion, Cory sat up, wrapped a hand around the back of Bash's neck, and captured his lips in a brief, intense kiss. Then he grinned. "I'm a stormchaser too, remember? Like I'm gonna be upset the weather's breaking. I won't promise not to send you filthy emails, though."
Shoving his player in his pocket, he slid off the hood and jogged away, leaving Bash spin-headed and beaming.
The world was a beautiful place. Cory wanted him. Cory liked him. Cory was one hell of a kisser. And that kink in the jet stream was almost certainly going to be doing some very nasty things over Colorado and New Mexico by tomorrow afternoon.
Part 6
Part 5
"This? Basically heaven."
"Yeah... gotta concur," Cory said in a sleepy drawl, eyes closed behind his ugly hipster ray-bans.
They were lying on the hood of the DOW, backs against the windshield, enjoying the uselessly lovely day. Rudy'd been with them earlier -- it had started out with Rudy and Cory bringing Bash tacos while he changed the wiper blades -- but when Bash wanted to check his email and Cory wanted to sunbathe, Rudy had gotten bored and wandered off. Now it was just the two of them. It kind of felt a little bit like a date. Unless that's just me being a dip and reading into things. Still... He prodded his half of the pair of earbuds from Cory's music player a little more securely into his ear. Sheila, it informed him, was a punk rocker now. What with the flirting yesterday, there is a definite datelike feel to the earbud sharing thing here.
For lack of anything more worklike to do -- at least, anything he could do without detaching himself -- he started organizing recent emails and updating his contacts list. Cory had sent him the shirt graphic from an address other than the one he used for the project mailing list, presumably his personal one, so that had to go in the 'friends' whitelist. He made a sorting filter for it. He reread the email for the sixth or seventh time. Not that it was a love letter or anything, but it kept making him smile.
Montana:
Enclosed find awesomeness. Dare me to make a version that says OFFICIAL HELIX4 TEAM TSHIRT and drop it on the mailing list? J/K, poor Mercy would asplode. :D
- CW
He'd forwarded it to Rudy straightaway, of course. Rudy had confirmed for him that no one else would find that email hopelessly sweet, since it was in fact pretty ordinary and actually a bit immature. As if Bash needed more corroboration for his theory that he'd fallen for Cory in a really serious way and was going to have to actually do something about it soon.
He was still stumped on the web-presence front. He had a feeling Cory was going to remain deliberately elusive and teasing until he solved that puzzle. It was a challenge. A test? No, Cory was just having a little fun with him. Cory was a joker, but he didn't mean any harm by it. Besides, Bash liked puzzles. It was part of what made him good at his job.
He glanced at Cory to see if the man was still dozing -- Oh wow, those eyelashes, oh goddamn he's sexy all in repose like that, with his mouth a little open like he's just waiting for someone to kiss him. When he'd forcibly wrenched his eyes away from that distracting sight, he began searching permutations suggested by the email name scudthumper. Unfortunately, it turned out to be from a John Updike poem, and the only links he could find that weren't about English literature were from fantasy games that used the poem as a riddle.
Even his taste in poetry is sexy. Jesus, I've got it so bad.
"You're staring," Cory said, still without opening his eyes.
"Am not. You don't even know that."
"How do you know I don't know? If you weren't staring you wouldn't know my eyes stayed closed."
"Damn. And I would've gotten away with it if it wasn't for you meddling kids." Bash settled back against the windshield with a sigh, studying the cloudless sky. "Just trying to figure out your little challenge. 'Scudthumper' is totally unfair."
"How is it unfair?"
"Using a unique word someone else made up."
"Enh, you're on the wrong track anyway. I don't know how you're even missing the track, it's got a big sign on it with neon and everything saying, 'Hey Bash, this is the track on which to investigate, you dense motherfucker!' Why don't you ask Rudy?"
"He won't play. He thinks we're both totally juvenile."
"He's probably right." Cory yawned. "Do you ever go by Sebastian?"
This shift of subject took Bash aback. "Not really. It's an awfully dignified name for someone like me. Sebastians play the piano and know about wine. I go looking for new ways to get nutted by chunks of my own windshield. Bash is more appropriate."
"Sebastian is the patron saint of gays, so I think you're allowed."
Bash snorted. "Martyrdom: not appealing."
Cory twitched a slight shrug. "Suit yourself. I like it, though. Sebastian, not martyrdom."
Bash had to bite his lip to hold back an instant invitation to use his full name in bed anytime. Once he'd regained control, he said instead, "You can call me Sebastian if I can call you Corbin."
Cory's head lifted a few inches and his eyes popped open. He speared Bash with a suspicious scowl. "What. Where did. How."
"Guvmint paperwork, genius. Head honcho, remember?"
Cory's dark brows knit. "Tell no one."
Bash crossed his heart. Cory, satisfied, let his head fall and closed his eyes again.
Flexing his fingers to get the twitches out -- his hands were tremoring like he was chasing a big one, just from the sound of Cory saying his real name -- he started shuffling files in search of inspiration. That often worked for him when he got stuck while writing a paper. His brain would get fond of a particular arrangement of data and kind of get comfortable and stop trying. Putting his sources in a different order usually broke the lockup. Instead of chronological, how about alphabetical? How about alphabetical by author's name? How about arranging the dominant colors in the graphs and maps in a rainbow spectrum?
Or, in this case, arranging Cory's papers, application, mailing list responses, personal email, and shirt graphic in descending order of humor value. Except that he only got as far as saving the shirt graphic to a new file so he could open it in an art app, at which point the idea came to him.
The filename of the image.
It was just too funny for a joker like Cory to keep private. If he had any web presence at all, this image was up there. And chances were he hadn't thought to change the filename. Bash crossed the fingers of one hand while he copy-pasted with the other.
Bingo. He knew even before he opened the link that 'VerticalShear's gallery' was what he was looking for. He bit his lip to hold in a triumphant laugh as he clicked it.
Weather photos. Crazy gorgeous photos of dangerous weather, taken from right up close. There was little doubt that VerticalShear was Cory. Maybe a tiny, tiny chance this was a friend who'd agreed to host the shirt graphic for him, a friend who was also a storm chaser -- who had also spent a summer on a boat with Melanie Starmore -- and had her permission to post a hilarious picture of her being menaced by a seagull that thought her orange snorkel pipe was food -- no. This was Cory.
A sideways glance confirmed that Cory wasn't watching him. He didn't want to be secretive about this -- he was going to announce his victory sooner or later anyway -- but since he had time, he might as well explore the place thoroughly. The gallery site had all kinds of useless widgets for its members to paste on their portal page. Profile, chat box, twitter feed, journal --
Journal. Intriguing.
May 6, 2:14 am (local time)
Incommunicado all summer once again
You have to be getting used to this by now, right? I go away, I come back with pictures of Skies Bearing Grudges, I find acres of comments asking if I'm dead. Okay listen: I might be. But if I was, would I tell you? Think about these things.
Anyway, let me just leave you with this link. It's the documentary which, back when I was an undergrad, inspired me to switch my major from engineering to meteorology. Not that it's an amazing flawless documentary or anything, and at first I just kept it in my braincandy-during-workouts rotation because I loved the idea of these nerdhooligans speeding around in a pockmarked Subaru in pursuit of the Finger of God. I loved the very concept of a science documentary with that many bleeps in it. But once I got over that, I started to get interested in the science, and the rest, as they say, is history. (And if I don't stay sharp this chase season I am likely to become geography. *steals jokes from Pratchett, pretends they are mine, is not sorry*)
As an added bonus, when you get to around 7 minutes in, check out the guy in the back seat. That lanky blue-eyed doofus of a postgrad. The one they make pick up the hailstones later. That guy? Our Fearless Leader. That's right, the big bossman of Helix 4, wearing too-short boardies and getting beaned on the head by angry iceballs. I can't wait to meet this guy.
Right, anyway, back in July. Unless I'm dead. Until then I can be in a spooky quantum dead/alive state for you, isn't that special?
Bash was grinning ear to ear while his stomach did flips. That stupid documentary. He'd kind of hated it all this time. That stupid documentary was responsible for turning Cory on to meteorology? And Cory had noticed Bash's part in it? He hadn't even been introduced by name!
He scrolled down through the comments, intending to leave his own and thus announce he'd won. The name HurricaneMel caught his eye; that was Melanie, Cory had linked her from the seagull picture.
HurricaneMel : Just try not to attach yourself to his face like an alien the moment you see him. Tornado people aren't as relaxed about this stuff as us hurricane folks. Midwestern reserve and all that.
VerticalShear : Yeah I'll restrain myself somehow.
That could be just a reference to some in-joke, or random silliness. It didn't necessarily mean Cory had expressed to Melanie any sort of romantic interest in Bash before they even met. Which didn't sound like a very Cory thing to do, really.
The rest of the comments were well-wishes from fans of his photography, tapering off over a week or so. And then there was a comment dated yesterday:
HurricaneMel : Way to collapse the eigenstate, spoilsport. So have you confessed to your nerdcrush yet? Protip -- being a huge stalker is not romantic in real life. Plus he already probably knows from Rudy, so you might as well get it over with.
That must've been when he posted the shirt pic. There was no reply from Cory. Maybe he hadn't even seen it yet. Maybe when he saw it he'd delete it. The facehugger alien remark could be explained away -- maybe? Somehow? But this was such a giveaway.
Not that Bash was surprised, because all that leg-collision activity yesterday had been fairly obvious. And this music-sharing thing right now, too. And in fact, when he thought about it, their first face-to-face conversation, in retrospect, was entirely a flirtation from the moment Cory answered the door shirtless.
Bash realized that if he waited until he stopped making weird grinny lip-bitey laugh-stifley faces, he'd be waiting an awkwardly long time, so he decided to just take his medicine and get mocked. He tapped Cory's shoulder to get his attention.
Cory, true to expectation, took one look at Bash and started laughing. "Dude, what's wrong with your face? You look like you ate a bug and you think you liked it."
"I win," Bash managed to say. He pointed to the screen.
Cory scooted closer and hooked his chin on Bash's shoulder so he could look. There was that sexy Cory-smell again, and this time Bash didn't freeze up. He leaned back against Cory a little and let the smile take over his face. Cory huffed a sigh. His breath smelled like root beer.
"Jeez, Mel," he muttered. "What is it with girls gossiping at me lately. So what took you so long, anyway?"
"I found it by searching the filename of the shirt graphic. I have no clue how you thought I was going to find it before that."
"Umm... Mel's blog? Which is under her real name? Durr." He knuckled Bash in the back.
"Oh! Duh. I are smurt."
"Pff. I was just being a wiseass anyway. I'm not mister emotional maturity. You probably noticed."
"I've been enjoying it." Bash turned his face toward Cory slightly. Not enough to force a kiss-or-move decision, just enough that the question was on the table. His heart was pounding crazily. "So... I take it you like me then."
"I'm so into you I can't even talk about it. My brain just goes duuuuuuh. It's like a dial tone." Cory whuffed a soft chuckle and moved so it was his forehead resting on Bash's shoulder instead of his chin.
"Well, in case I'm not already Captain Obvious about it, I like you too. In a 'can we please meet up after the season's over and date and stuff' kind of way." A still moment crept by. "Um. It's unsettling not to see your expression when I say this stuff."
Another long moment, and at last Cory moved and lifted his chin, shoved his shades up on top of his head, and gave Bash a wry grin at close range. "How about in a 'let's go make out in the back of the truck' kind of way?"
"Oh God. That would be so unprofessional." Bash's voice and expression gave him away. He was seriously considering it. The uncertainty and hope in Cory's bitter-chocolate eyes was irresistable.
Wryness was gradually giving way to mischief. "So?"
"I'm not the only one with a key to the DOW. Rudy would walk in, I just know it."
"So?"
"Nnnngh Cory you're such a bad fucking influence."
"I know." Cory's gaze flicked to his mouth, then back up. "I could just kiss you here."
And then, because Murphy's Law is absolute, Bash's inbox began to emit a cascade of chimes; something had set the project mailing list on fire.
"Ignore it," Cory breathed.
"I can't. I'm the boss." Bash's distress was genuine, and it must've showed, because Cory forgave him with a sigh. Sat back and put his shades back on. Lay down and closed his eyes.
"There's no fucking privacy anywhere around here, is there?" he grumbled. "It's just you make me feel like I'm fucking sixteen again. No, answer your damn email. I'm not mad."
"If it helps any, this is driving me crazy too."
Cory's lips curved wickedly. "Yeah, that helps."
Bash checked his mail. He had a pretty good idea of what could've caused that reaction; everyone but him had to be obsessively refreshing their favorite weather maps, waiting for something to break, and someone must've spotted something. And yes, sure enough, the first email -- from Rudy, so that's where he went -- was titled Is it just me or does that jet stream look kinky? and contained only a link to a radar loop with wind speed arrows on overlay. Thirty seconds later the speculation had started pouring in. If Bash had set his mailer to check for new messages continually, rather than every fifteen minutes, he might not even have gotten to have this deliciously awkward conversation with Cory.
If only I'd set it to check once an hour.
"I have to go be prediction guy," he said sadly, removing the earbud from his ear and closing his computer. "And call everyone who went home, and so forth. And. You're right, there's no privacy. But for what it's worth, Cory, I think you're so awesome." Bash lost his nerve for a split second as Cory opened his eyes, then forced the rest out in a rush: "And sexy and funny and brilliant and completely my type, so can we please not let this lapse for lack of opportunity or whatever?"
In one smooth, sudden motion, Cory sat up, wrapped a hand around the back of Bash's neck, and captured his lips in a brief, intense kiss. Then he grinned. "I'm a stormchaser too, remember? Like I'm gonna be upset the weather's breaking. I won't promise not to send you filthy emails, though."
Shoving his player in his pocket, he slid off the hood and jogged away, leaving Bash spin-headed and beaming.
The world was a beautiful place. Cory wanted him. Cory liked him. Cory was one hell of a kisser. And that kink in the jet stream was almost certainly going to be doing some very nasty things over Colorado and New Mexico by tomorrow afternoon.
Part 6