"Hey, Blair, you ready to go home?" Pete Summers shouted in Blair's ear over the pounding rhythm of the bass.
Downing the rest of his coke, Blair nodded. "Go round up the gang. I'll get our coats."
The blond haired young man passed the coat check receipts over to Blair, and went in search of their friends. The evening was a celebration of Peter's completion of his comprehensive exams. Blair had offered to be the designated driver, and they had gone to a downtown club to party. The night was winding down, though, and it was time to go.
Blair collected the coats, and waited by the door for his friends. Pete, with four cohorts in tow, sashayed to the door. Julie Forsythe, a lanky brunette with a killer smile --and an equally killer slinky dress that hugged all the right curves -- clung to Pete's arm. Both were pretty buzzed, giggling and very, very happy. Mike Dawson, the rugby player-cum-anthropology student, and his date, Mary Gracie, were three sheets to the wind and were being guided by the slightly less drunken Frank Pierce, a new grad student who had recently joined the department.
Blair handed out coats amidst much laughing, teasing, and general confusion. While it was fun to be one of the party people, sometimes it was more fun to simply watch the inebriated students make fools of themselves. Blair grinned as Mike slobbered a kiss, meant for Mary's ear, on her forehead. Being an observer definitely had its high points at times.
They walked to the parking lot, and after securing his friends within the Volvo, Blair buckled his seatbelt and turned the key. Nothing.
"Wha's a matta, Blair?" Frank drawled, leaning over into the front seat.
Blair laughed as he reached for his cell phone. "Looks like we're cabbing it home. The car's dead." He dialled the cab number he remembered seeing in the bar. "Hi, could I get a cab at the parking lot of the LavaPit, please?. . . Yup, for Blair Sandburg . . . . Thanks."
Blair shut off the phone, and glanced in the rear view mirror at his friends who were mostly leaning on one another and falling asleep. He looked over at Pete and grinned. "Have fun tonight?"
"Oh, yeah. It was a blast, Blair. Thanks for setting this up. Too bad Jim couldn't come."
"Yeah, well you know how he is. He's not quite comfortable with hanging around you guys yet."
"How long have you two been together now?"
"Eight months." Blair didn't need to see the stupid grin plastered on his face to know it was there. It was that silly, infatuated look he had no control over, and his friends joked about it whenever Jim's name was mentioned.
"Boy, you do have it bad."
Blair grinned at his friend. "Oh yeah."
Headlights from an approaching car hailed the arrival of the taxi. Blair did a quick head count. "Oh man, Pete, we're not going to all fit. How about you guys take the cab? Just get the cash out of my wallet. Make sure that everyone gets home okay. I'll call Jim, and get him to pick me up." Blair tossed his wallet over to his friend, to lazy to pull the money out himself.
"Yeah, the stakeout was supposed to be over by ten, and its going on . . . what . . . twelve now? Shouldn't be a problem."
Blair helped Pete get the near comatose grad students into the cab. Blair quickly jotted down the address on a scrap of paper, and handed it to the driver.
"See ya tomorrow, Pete. Bye, guys!"
Blair waved at the car as it pulled out of the parking lot, and went back to the Volvo to get the phone. After trying unsuccessfully to reach Jim at the loft, Blair figured he was still at the stakeout. He left a message for Jim on the machine and resigned himself to taking a cab. He swore softly to himself as he realized that Pete, in his slightly tipsy state, had taken his wallet and the remaining cash that he had. Digging through his pockets, he managed to find a handful of change. *Great. Looks like I'm bussing it.*
The night air was chilly as he walked to the nearest bus stop A slight breeze nipped through the light, cotton shirt that he had worn in deference to the heat of the club. The cold leached the heat from his legs through his black jeans. Jim had frowned when Blair came downstairs in his outfit. Blair had to admit that it was part of his plan. Get Jim riled up enough, and his lovely jealous streak would have him imagining the most lurid scenes happening at the bar. Wearing the outfit he had inevitably meant that he'd be in for a most *interesting* homecoming. While modesty normally was very important to Blair, he would be the first to admit that his ass looked mighty fine in these jeans. Given Jim's reaction as he had sashayed out the door earlier this evening, he was perfectly justified.
He shivered as he stood by the lamppost sporting the bus stop sign. *When's the bus going to come, anyhow? Geez, it's cold.* Blair spotted a twenty-four-hour 7-11. *I wonder if I time to grab a coffee. I'll ask someone for the time. Yeah. That's it. As soon as someone comes by anyway.* Blair shivered with his hands as deep into his jeans' pockets as he could get them. His prayers were soon answered as a number of pedestrians came by.
Officer David Collins slowly drove the unmarked police cruiser down the main drag. His partner unwrapped a hamburger and chomped into it with great gusto.
"You know, Marshall's been coming down on the department really hard lately. What's up with that?" Victor Smith, his partner asked around a mouthful.
"Aw, he's just worried about us not getting our quotas. You know, like in traffic? So many tickets a month? Well Marshall's got this crazy idea that if we get so many hookers a night we're showing the guys upstairs that Vice is doing its job." Collins broke off as he peered out the window. "Speak of the devil. Looks like we've got a bit of action."
Smith followed the direction of his partner's gaze. A young man on the sidewalk approached a man walking by him. The kid's shoulders slumped dejectedly as the older man shook his head and moved on. They watched as he approached three other people, each shrugging their shoulders or shaking their heads and moving off.
"Break out the tally sheet, Vic. I do believe we can meet our quota tonight."
Blair sighed as the last man walked away. Just his luck that the only people he met didn't have watches. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he was startled as a bright light suddenly shone in his face. He squinted against the glare, and managed to make out the outline of a car and two men getting out of it.
"Up against the wall," a voice commanded.
Blair held up a hand to block out some of the light. "Excuse me?" He looked behind him, almost expecting someone else to be there. When he looked back, the two men had moved closer.
"Cascade Police, assume the position. Now." Blair could tell who was speaking now, a hulk of a man with closely cropped hair and a mustache.
He held his hands out placatingly. "I think that there's --- Hey!" His protest was cut short as large hands pulled him around, and shoved him face first against the brick wall of the building behind him. Unprepared for the move, Blair barely got his hands in front of him, and failed to protect his face. Pain blossomed as his lip split from the impact.
"No I.D.," the cop said, easily holding Blair in place as he frisked him. "So, pretty boy, thought you could get away with trolling for customers right in front of us, huh?" He gave a Blair a rough shake even as Blair began to protest.
"Look, I think that there's been a huge mistake --" Blair fell silent as a nightstick struck him in the small of his back. The blow left him gasping -- not to mention wanting to curl up in a painful ball -- but, he couldn't so much as lean forward as the strong arms kept him pinned to the wall.
"Listen, punk, the only mistake here was the one you made. Now shut up." The officer spat in disgust, and struck again, this time along his right side. "Filthy faggot!"
Blair's chest clenched painfully, and he knew it had nothing to do with the blows he had received. *This is not good.* Blair didn't resist as one of the officers cuffed him. He sagged on the pavement as his arms were pulled behind his back. The cold steel was too tight as it snicked around his wrists and he winced as one of the cops dragged him up by a vise-like grip on his elbow.
"One down, five to go. I'm thinking we might get our quota yet. Let's run him in." Blair stumbled as he was steered towards the car, but managed to keep his feet despite the pushes to the small of his back.
"Watch your head," one of them said snidely, after Blair's temple impacted sharply with the door frame.
What's one more pain among many, Blair thought blurrily as he tried to curl up on the seat.
"So, Vic. Your daughter's graduating in a couple weeks, huh?"
"Yeah. Hard to believe she's already seventeen. God, they grow up so fast. Darlene wanted to get her a car or a trip to Europe, but really...on a cop's salary? She's lucky we're going to be shelling out half of her college tuition. What about your kid? Isn't he at university?"
"Sophomore business major. He'll be coming home at the end of semester. He wants to find a summer job here..."
Blair let the inane conversation wash over him. He was bleeding and bruised, and the bastards were talking about their kids. He panted weakly, resting his head against the vinyl seat covering. Show no fear. Once they got to the station everything would get sorted out. Jim would come for him. Jim would make everything better. Jim. The world slipped by; the sporadic flashes of the streetlights in the windows made his head pound, the heat from the car heater suddenly oppressive. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of the car enfold him, beckoning him to the welcoming darkness. *Jim.* His last thought was of his lover waiting at home for him to return.
"See you later, Rafe," Jim called as the younger detective pulled out of the parking lot at the loft. Rolling his neck, he smiled at the thought of getting a nice back rub from Blair to get out all of the kinks in his spine from sitting in Rafe's undersized car all night. The outfit that his lover had worn to the bar was enough to keep him on edge all night.
He knew as soon as he opened the door that Blair was still out. There was no softly beating heart, no gently wafting scent filled with those intoxicating pheromones. With a sigh, Jim tossed his keys into the basket. So much for a passionate homecoming followed by hot wild sex. He brightened when he realized there could still be that homecoming -- he would just have to be the welcomer rather than the welcomee. He could do that.
Sentinel vision caught the flashing light on the answering machine from across the room, and he went over to see who had called.
"Hey, Jim, its me, Blair . . . your love slave, rentboy, lover, and all-around cock tease!"
Jim laughed aloud. Blair was nothing but original in his messages. Jim had learned never to get the messages while Simon was visiting. He had never seen his captain choking to death on a sip of beer before, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.
"The car died, and I thought that I'd see if you were home. Guess not. I'll get a cab, then. Wait up for me, sweetums."
Jim snorted. Blair never called him nicknames -- within striking distance anyway -- but would always say something silly like that on phone messages. And Jim didn't mind. He must be in love. Glancing at the clock, Jim frowned, realizing it was well past one o'clock. Blair's message had been left at quarter past twelve. Cop sense atingle, Jim flipped through the address book by the phone until he found Pete Summers' number.
"hhhmmm . . . 'llo?"" The voice at the other end was muzzy with sleep.
"Hello . . . Pete Summers?" Jim asked.
"Sorry to wake you, but this is Jim Ellison. Did Blair go home with you?"
"No. Uh, he gave me some money for the cab, and said he'd call you."
"I wasn't home. Look. He's not back yet. Do you know where he could be?" Jim started to worry. No, scratch that, he was already worried. He was starting to really worry.
"No, sorry -- oh shit."
"What...What is it?" Jim demanded, his knuckles clenching on the phone.
"He gave me his wallet to take out some cash...I guess I kept it. It's here on my table."
Jim hung up, and was out the door and down the stairs before he even formed a rational thought. First stop, the bar. After that -- he didn't have a plan, but he'd come up with one. With any luck, Blair was safe and warm in his office at the university, or with another friend, or even catching a ride with someone and was on his way home -- just a perfectly normal, perfectly harmless, perfectly safe evening.
Blair cringed as the officers led him through the police station. It was just his luck that the officers weren't stationed at the main department where he was at least known by some of the staff. Strange faces met his desperate gaze, but quickly moved on. He was unceremoniously dumped in a chair, hands still cuffed behind his back. He mostly ignored the conversations going on around him, but the shrill voice of a woman cut through the confusing sounds.
"Look, David, we're swamped with bookings right now. Put him in the back, and we'll get to him as soon as we can. We had a gun fight tonight, and some hooker -- even if he did resist arrest -- is pretty low on our priority list right now."
Blair couldn't get his wits together enough to protest that he hadn't resisted.
"Okay, Janine. Tell you what. Me and Vic we'll leave him here and come back in an hour or so to fill out the paperwork when you're not so busy." Blair watched the tall cop flash a grin at the beleaguered clerk. She blushed and pushed at his shoulder.
"Oh, stop it, Dave. You're married, remember." But Blair could tell she was interested and furthermore that she was prepared to agree to the plan.
Dave walked over and pulled Blair to his feet with a hand under his arm. "Let's go, kiddo. Couple of hours in the holding tank will teach you what happens to trash like you," the cop said, leading Blair through the corridors of the precinct.
"L..l...look, man, there's been a mistake...," Blair stuttered as he resisted the urge to curl himself up and scream.
"Tell it to the judge." A vicious twist to his arm cut off anything Blair would have tried to say. They arrived at the holding cell. Blair could see five other people already inside, and they definitely didn't look friendly.
"Here you go, fairy. Next time think twice about trying to sell your ass." The cop unlocked the cuffs, and pushed Blair forward with a smirk. Blair couldn't think of anything else the cop could have said to make the people inside the cell think the worst of him.
The steel door clanged shut behind him with an ominous echo. Five men -- very large men -- turned to look at their newest cellmate. Blair swallowed painfully, one arm wrapped around his stomach. He slowly sank down to the floor as the bruises throbbed mercilessly. Fear clenched his belly, and it was all he could do not to lose his dinner. *Oh God, Jim. Get me out of here.*
Jim stood next to the Volvo, frantically and futilely searching for an indication of where Blair could have gone. He could detect the faint scent of Blair's shampoo trailing off towards the main street so he left the truck, deciding to go on foot. Like a bloodhound, Jim focused on the scent, following it to where it permeated the air most strongly. There was another smell overlaying the heady musk that was Blair. Jim strained to identify it, and immediately went on alert as he realized it was blood. Sentinel vision scanned the brick wall and then the cement sidewalk. Blair was hurt.
Voices. Fuzzy voices. Blair could barely make out what they were saying.
"I think he's waking up."
"Hand me your jacket, would ya?"
Blair bit back a moan as pain returned with consciousness. He could feel the concrete beneath him leaching the heat from his body. A hand gently raised his head while another tucked a leather jacket, still warm from body heat, underneath it.
"Hey, pretty face. Come on, open those gorgeous eyes."
"j . . . j . . . jim?" Blair managed to whisper through dry, cracked lips.
"Sorry, sugar, no Jim here."
Another hand patted his cheek insistently. Blair's eyelashes fluttered, and the small cell gradually swam into focus. Five faces peered down at him, and Blair jerked convulsively away as he remembered where he was.
"Easy there, sweet cheeks. We ain't going to hurt you. You fell asleep on us."
Blair blinked and accepted the helping hands which pulled him gently up and over to the sole bench in the cell.
"Lie down. There you go." A burly Black man with an earring in his ear and abs which would make Jim jealous, slowly eased Blair down. "I'm Lucas, by the way. These are my friends: Dale, Shawn, Nick and Francis."
Blair almost started laughing at the inane names. They were so . . . so . . . so normal. Dale sported an impressive set of dread locks which offset the rather dapper clothes that stretched across his physique, while Shawn and Nick looked like identical twins from a biker gang movie, clad entirely in leather and metal studs. *Hell, a whole herd of cows died to outfit those guys!* Blair tried to rein in his hysterical inner commentary. Francis, on the other hand, had to have been a sumo wrestler in a former life.
Blair shut his eyes and stifled yet another groan . . . this one at his incredible luck of getting stuck in a cell with five guys who could, and probably would, eat him up and spit him out . . . . Not for breakfast . . . . No, he'd be an hors d'oeuvre. Small and tasty. They'd probably have to use toothpicks. Blair clamped down on his wayward thoughts.
"Hi . . . nice . . . to meet you." He managed to reply after a moment, feeling obliged to say something. He refused to laugh at the complete weirdness of it all, and he was hard pressed not to cry at the loss of what was supposed to be a hot night of sex with Jim.
"What you all . . . in for?" he asked, feeling his strength gradually return. That's it Sandburg. Find out what truly crazed and psycho cellmates you have. It was then he realized that they weren't acting like ordinary criminals. The last time he's been in lock up, when Jim had been kidnapped by Colonel Oliver, the men had made threats, postured, invaded his space and generally made him wish that he had gone to the gym with Jim just a few times more. But these guys . . . they were fucking polite already! That's when he noticed that Francis had a hand firmly planted on Dale's ass, and Dale didn't show any signs of complaining. And Nick was stroking Shawn's hand in a comforting move that Blair definitely recognized from Jim's behaviour.
*Welcome to the Sandburg zone.*
"Well, you see, honey. We were down at Darla's." Shawn replied. Blair knew the club by reputation only; it was the only bar in Cascade that welcomed gays with open arms. Shawn continued, "And Lucas here starts a fight over some blonde number who couldn't' find his ass with a map . . . "
"He could too! Don't you dare insult him!" Lucas interrupted.
Shawn made shushing motions with his free hand. "You see? Anyway, everything went to hell in a handbasket, the police come by to break it up, and we all end up here. Disturbing the peace and all that jazz. Next thing we know, the cops are throwing your fine self in here with us. Seem to think we'd like a piece of you, or something."
"Yeah, well . . . I'm a popular guy . . . Name's Blair, by the way." Blair grinned at the unexpected turn of events and then winced as his bruises decided to make their presence known.
"Blair, you know, I don't want to sound intrusive or anything, but trolling the streets is really not a good idea these days. Do you have any idea the sorts of dangers you face? AIDS? Perverts who would really like to mess a sweet kid like yourself up?" Nick crouched down beside Blair, hand still touching Shawn's.
Blair pushed himself up. "God damn it! I am not a prostitute!" The pained shout echoed in the cell stunning all of the occupants, including Blair. Blair tried to relax. "Look. This has all been a huge mistake. I was waiting for the bus! The *bus*!"
"Sure, Blair." The men shook their heads tolerantly.
"Blair, denial is horrible state of mind. You must acknowledge your state of being in order to change. Shawn here is a social worker. Maybe he could set you up in a program or something."
The other men chimed in with useful advice. *What is this...a group intervention for God's sake? Jim...come and shoot me now.*
Blair settled himself against the bench, resigned to be harried to death by a bunch of well meaning cellmates
Jim stood at the bus stop, pondering what to do next. He could go home and wait in case Blair called. "Yeah right, and Simon is my fairy godmother," he snorted. He could put out an APB. That option was looking better and better the longer he stood there.
Spotting a parked police cruiser, he jogged over and flashed his badge as he approached. "Detective Ellison, Major Crimes."
The burly man in the driver's seat completely rolled down the window. "How can we help you, Detective?"
"I was wondering if you'd do me a favour. I'm looking for my partner. He was maybe waiting around here. About five-nine, shoulder-length, curly brown hair, wearing a blue shirt and black jeans?"
The increased heart rate of the two officers pounded like timpani in Jim's ears. They covertly looked at each other. "Your . . . your partner you say?"
"Yeah. He was probably waiting for the bus at that bus stop. But I found some blood, and I'm worried that something happened to him. You wouldn't happen to have seen anything, would you?"
"Bus stop?" The cop in the passenger's seat asked plaintively.
"The one over there." Jim pointed back towards where he found the bloodstain. He forced himself to remain calm, slowly letting out the hook to bait the two men into biting. *Come on, fishies, come to papa.* "His car broke down, and I was on stakeout. I figure he took the bus because he didn't have his wallet on him to catch a cab. Have you seen anyone around?"
"Oh shit." It was whispered beneath the man's breath, but Jim easily heard the panic in the cop's voice.
"Is there something you gentlemen would like to tell me?" Jim's voice was laden with sarcasm as he put on his most menacing expression, leaning in towards the window.
Blair jerked his head as his voice was called from outside the cell. His new 'friends' were still trying to detail the poor choices he was supposedly making and the dangers that lurked on the streets for young men like him.
Blair didn't even get a chance to respond. Suddenly, his lover was pushing past the clerk who had called his name, rushing up to the bars. Blair pulled himself up and went to meet his distraught partner. Jim stuck his arms between the bars, running his hands over Blair's head and shoulders. Blair closed his eyes as Jim's comforting hands roamed over his body, checking for contusions and cuts. A gentle finger stroked at his lip, and he opened his eyes to meet Jim's worried gaze. Love and fear were more than evident in the blue depths that looked down at him.
"Oh man, I am so glad you got here," Blair breathed.
Jim cast a wary eye over the five men who stood looking suspiciously at the detective. "They hurt you, Chief?"
Blair almost giggled with relief. "Nah. Only tortured me with kindness." He stroked a hand across Jim's forearm. "I'm okay. Sore, but okay."
"I found the men who arrested you. They're being suspended pending an investigation."
"Can I go home?" Blair whispered, closing his eyes again as Jim stroked his cheek.
"Yeah." Jim motioned to the clerk who opened the cell. "Let's go home, Chief."
Blair turned to the men remaining in the cell, who had been watching the proceedings with interest. Their smiles and knowing winks put a wry grin on Blair's face. "I was just waiting for the bus." Content to get the last word in -- and pointedly ignoring the hungry looks that were being directed to Jim -- he allowed Jim to drape a protective arm around his shoulders after wrapping him in his coat. With one last affectionate pat on the cheek, Jim guided him out the door, staring fiercely at the clerk, daring him to comment about his behaviour.
Once at the truck, which Jim had parked haphazardly outside the precinct, Blair gratefully sank onto the seat with a sigh. Jim got in behind the wheel and put the keys in the ignition, but paused. Blair turned, wondering what was the matter, and found himself on the receiving end of a passionate kiss. Jim's lips closed on his own, tongue teasing at his mouth to open. Blair moaned and placed his hands on Jim's shoulders, squeezing hard. Breaking apart, they both gasped for air.
"What was that for, Jim?"
"Just because." Jim looked at Blair. "Oh god, Blair. I'm sorry. You're lip . . . " He reached out with a finger to stroke the abused lip.
"Oh, it's fine. Just fine." Blair sat back, face flushed. Jim turned the key and pulled out of the lot. Time to go home. Blair idly wondered what the most comfortable position would be for his bruises. A hand stroking his thigh brought his gaze back to bear on Jim's face. "Jim, I'm okay. Really." Blair put out a hand to capture Jim's. He clutched it between both of his, recognizing Jim's need to connect and reassure himself that Blair was okay. Blair could identify with the feeling, and was in no hurry to relinquish his lover's hand anytime soon.
The trip to the loft seemed to take forever, and Blair was drifting, idly stroking Jim's hand, head swaying with the movement of the truck. Jim opened his door for him and helped him down; the mother-henning was more than welcome as his stiff muscles protested. Blair sighed in relief as the elevator purred upwards towards the third floor. When they entered the loft, he made up his mind. He had gone out this evening with the intention of getting well loved when he got back, and it was going to happen.
"I'm going upstairs, you okay to lock up?" The older man nodded and he pulled the jacket off Blair's shoulders, carefully hanging it on its hook.
Blair mounted the steps as quickly as he could, unbuttoning his jeans and shirt as he went. He quickly stripped, and then mounded the pillows in the centre of the bed after turning back the covers. Moving carefully, he lay down on his stomach, propping himself up with the pillows. The soft pillow covers were gentle on his bruised skin, and he sank into the soft foaminess, moaning with pleasure.
There was a growl from downstairs and Blair smiled softly to himself, his burgeoning erection pressing against one of the pillows. Soft footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Blair heard the soft inhalation as Jim saw his bared body, legs spread, open to his lover's gaze. Blair wiggled his ass a little in encouragement and was rewarded as the mattress dipped slightly. A hand traced over the bruise on the small of his back, and he knew that Jim was reassuring himself that he was indeed okay.
"Blair . . . your bruises . . . is this . . .?" Jim hesitated.
"Jim, if you don't fuck me into oblivion, I swear to God, your right hand is going to be getting the workout of its life for the next month," Blair grated. Jim laughed lightly and ran a hand from the nape of his neck down to the swell of his ass, eliciting a groan and a full body shiver. "Jim, I'm bruised, not broken. Just let me lie here and enjoy the ride, man. I'm all yours."
" . . . And I'm yours," Jim whispered in his ear, nipping at the lobe and pulling at the silver loop that dangled enticingly. Hands caressed, stroked, massaged and aroused. Blair could feel Jim reach across the bed to the night table, grabbing the tube. He forced himself to resist the urge to push back on the fingers that gently entered him. Relinquishing all effort to Jim, he went limp, reveling in the soft strokes to his prostate, as Jim drove him insane with those sensitive fingers.
Jim held Blair's hips, preventing him from thrusting backwards, as he slowly entered him. Blair smiled into the pillow at Jim's tenderness. Each gentle thrust forward slowly filled Blair with more than just Jim's cock. Blair could feel his heart swelling with love for the man who treated him with such reverence. Floating on a sea of emotions, Blair clenched his muscles around Jim's erection, gently milking the firm shaft that penetrated him, the fear and pain of the evening forgotten for now.
Jim covered him with his body, thrusting in a smooth, rolling motion, slowly and gently taking Blair to the brink of ecstasy. "I was so worried about you," Jim panted into his ear. "I kept thinking: What if something happened? What if I could never hold you in my arms? What if I could never feel *this* ever again?" Jim pulled back, almost completely withdrawing and then entered again.
"Oh, God, Jim," Blair moaned, each light stroke against his prostate a surge of bliss. "Don't stop. Don't. Love you. Love you. Never leave you."
The pleasure built and grew; his cock throbbed from the lack of direct stimulation, leaking fluid into the pillow cover beneath him. Jim increased the pace of his thrusts and sucked gently on the skin behind Blair's ear. Blair moaned and tensed, muscles clenching, pulling Jim's climax from him.
In the hazy aftermath of coming so hard he could swear his brain imploded, Blair felt Jim's weight on him increase slightly, but not enough to make him uncomfortable. He brought a hand up and lazily patted at the short hair on the head at his shoulder, his ass spasmodically clenching and unclenching around Jim's softening cock.
"You okay?" Jim asked as he withdrew slowly, both of them reluctant to break the intimate connection.
"Hmmmm," Blair hummed, absently continuing his petting. Jim maneuvered them about so that Blair was no longer resting on the pillows, but was instead firmly settled on him.
"Go to sleep, babe," Jim murmured. With a snuggle, a wriggle that threatened to spark Jim's drive again, and a soft contented sigh, Blair complied. The last sensation he felt before dropping into the depths of sleep was that of Jim slowly massaging the back of his scalp. He knew that soon Jim would be following suit, succumbing to exhaustion. And loved, at so many levels, the two men would slept and be joined, even in their dreams.