It was an unseasonably warm day even for July, and the Gay Team compound was heating up in more way than one. Mark, the team's crack shot gunman was putting oven mittens on in the kitchen when the oven chimed.
"Ribs are almost ready, boys!" his voice echoed out into the compound's central chamber. He opened the oven door, and moaned in protest as the heat blasted him the face and chest. The metal tray full of juicy meat clattered as he hurried to set it down and close the oven again. "Why did the AC pick today of all days to quit?" he wiped the sweat beading on his forehead with an oven mitt.
"Gizmo's workin' on it, don't sweat it," said a shirtless Alan Ingus, the team's decorated leader, as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. He'd served in two branches of the US military, managing to rise through the ranks in one before being asked to change for the good of the country, but before all that, his first assignment was to infiltrate the Russian military. He was a Captain in the Air Force, briefly an Officer Cadet in the Russian military before he was outed by his first true love, and a Commander in the Navy. After his departure from the military to serve a higher purpose with the Gay Team, he'd been given the nickname COCC to represent his impressive...achievements. His hairy muscle-bound chest glistened under the fluorescent lights. He smiled coyly, as he popped a fat brown cigar in his mouth.
"Don't sweat it? Is that supposed to be funny? I'm dying in here, slaving away over this hot meat for you ungrateful apes. And don't smoke in here! It's hot enough already."
"Sounds like someone is feeling unappreciated," he puffed his cigar.
"No, I'm just hot, and cranky," Mark fanned himself with his hand.
"Well, we can fix that. Why don't you pop that shirt off and cool down a little,"
Alan smiled and crossed his arms, making his hands disappear behind his biceps.
"Fine," Mark hesitated for just a moment, then peeled his shirt off, the fabric sticking to his lithe, smooth body as he did.
"That's better, now have a seat at the table, and take a minute for yourself," Alan instructed. Mark tossed his shirt on the floor took a seat. Alan's heavy footsteps grew louder until Mark could feel the heat emanating from his body. He then felt a stream of cool air being blow on to the back of his neck, the scent of tobacco and sweat wafting all around him.
"Goosebumps already? I've barely even started," Alan teased as he gently traced his fingertips from Mark's wrist to his neck, and back down his other arm.
"I can't help it," Mark whispered, his back arching involuntarily with pleasure as Alan's fingers began to trace his spine.
"Are you feeling any cooler?" Alan's gravelly voice asked only inches away from Mark's ear.
"Yes, thank you," Mark said with a light gasp through his smile.
"Whaddya say we heat things back up a bit? Like we did with that hot candle wax in Budapest." Alan coaxed.
"Alan, you know we agreed not to do this anymore," Mark replied without conviction.
"Oh, well then how about I just describe what I had in mind, so you know what you're missing. I was thinking we'd turn the oven up as high as it'll go, open the door, bend you over it, and I'll make you cum until you pass out."