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That Dog Might Hunt

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"You're sure you brought everything up?"

"Yes."

"And nothing was left inside the dryer?"

"No."

"And you didn't drop anything coming up?"

"No."

"And nothing was sticking together?  Could it be in the towels you folded?"

"No."

Blair stalked up to Jim, who was sitting at the table reading the morning paper and sipping coffee.  "So where is my other sock?" He asked, shaking the mate in front of Jim.  "These are my favorite pair."

Jim looked up placidly.  "I don't know.  Did you check around?"

Blair rolled his eyes.  "You had me up at the crack of dawn because you just had to get laundry out of the way early.  If you recall, we stripped the bed and picked up everything washable from every conceivable surface.  Then we picked up everything from the bathroom, the kitchen, we even threw in some of my tee shirts that weren't dirty but you said 'looked dusty' that were sitting quite happily on my desk. I looked under the futon, checked in all the cracks of the sofas and chair.  I even looked behind the TV. Nada."

"Well, if you would just use the hamper..." Jim murmured.

"What was that?  I'm not the one with the sentinel hearing here."

"Nothing, my love," Jim said saccharinely.  "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No.  Thank you," he added, belatedly.  "Jim, I was thinking." The little whine in Blair's voice made Jim look up warily.  "Maybe you could, you know, hunt for it," he said, lightly touching his nose.

"That's disgusting, Sandburg!"

"I thought you liked the way I smelled," Blair said indignantly.

"Parts of you smell great.  Your feet, not so much."  Jim turned to the sports section.  "I'm not your personal bloodhound, you know."

"Oh, is that the meaning of 'that dog won't hunt'?" Blair said, with a little grin.

Jim smirked.  "Well, exactly.  Your idea doesn't work for me.  Just give it up and buy some more socks."

Blair walked up behind Jim, bent down and whispered, "I could make it worth your while."

Jim's smirk got bigger.  "How's that?"

"Well, I could cancel those tests we were going to do tomorrow.  You could consider this a test instead."

"Not interested."

"I could fix you a special breakfast.  The smell of frying bacon would overcome any residual sock odor."

"Mm, tempting, but no. I'm in the mood for the Lumberjack Special at Mom's Diner this morning."

"Well, what do you suggest... big boy?" Blair gave Jim's thigh a pat, gratified by the immediate response.

Jim stood up with a put-upon sigh, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, scenting his quarry.  He unerringly went to the kitchen, reached up and grabbed the prey from the top of the refrigerator.  He handed it to Blair with a triumphant grin.

"How the hell did it end up--" Blair smacked himself on the forehead. "Oh yeah, last week's strip tease. I guess I got a little enthusiastic with my toss."

"Well, stick it in the hamper, my little Love Slave and scamper upstairs.  I expect we'll be stripping the bed again and you can do the laundry this time."

"Oh no.  One sock, one reward.  I can either be Love Slave or Laundry Slave.  You choose," he said as he wiggled his ass.

Jim sighed, his arousal making the decision for him, and pointed upstairs.  "You never get the fabric softener right anyway," he said, climbing the stairs behind Blair.

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