It's hot in here. Blair likes a lot of blankets. The air is cool against my skin though, because the thermostat is resting comfortably at fifty. Energy conservation, Blair explained, is key to preserving the world. Good enough, but I think the plants are thinking of migrating south to Mrs. Fitzgerald's apartment downstairs. She keeps her apartment warm, the energy crisis be damned.
But these blankets are hot. I think Blair likes the weight the most. And I'd be more than willing to be his blanket. But the guys at the station all chipped in and got us this down-filled duvet. Hell, I didn't even know what a duvet was, but I'll never forget the gleam in Blair's eyes as he unwrapped the colourful paper hiding the gift. Soft, fluffy and incredibly heavy, the duvet now occupies the best place in the loft - -the bed.
The duvet was a nice gesture, almost a joke. It was a coming-out present, actually. For a bunch of detectives, they sure took long enough to figure it out. We'd even had poker at the loft, but no one noticed how Blair's 'bedroom' suddenly was lacking that crucial piece of furniture, namely his futon. I had thrown that moth eaten piece of junk out the morning after I first got Blair into my bed. Okay, it was more like the afternoon, but you know what I mean.
Now a desk and chair, with Blair's computer perched on top of the desk, and a leather chair are the main occupants of the room. The chair is mine. I sit there sometimes just to watch him work. The light from the computer screen makes his eyes glow behind his glasses, and I sit there, just basking in him, his smell, his everything.
His arm is heavy on my chest, draped there like a limp rag. The tiny hairs are ticklish, and soften the feel of the muscles that lurk there. I think that's what I love most about him: he isn't what he appears to be. Physically he's not the strongest person in the world. He's got the cutest love handles right above his hips, which are actually quite bony. His legs are lean, but strong and meld gracefully into his ass.
But his ass, now that I am truly in awe of. Any man with that kind of ass is on my top ten list. But Blair's beats all the other nine, hands down. Rounded, smoothly meeting the small of his back and joined to his thighs by a sensitive crease, I can't keep my hands off it. Even now, my hand has to stroke the velvet skin. A perfect ass. In fact, it was his butt that set our relation in motion. His ass and a very large splinter....
"Ow! Shit!" Blair clamped a hand to his left buttock, face contorting with pain. Jim looked over from where he stood, flipping burgers at the barbeque. The department picnic, hosted by Joel, was a rousing success, the cries of happy children and the mouth-watering aroma of charring beef wafting in the air.
"You okay, Chief?"
Blair grimaced as he limped over to Jim, twisting the upper half of his body as he tried to examine his wound. "I think I sat on something. Man, I think it's a nail or something."
"Turn around, let me see." Jim put a hand on each shoulder, spinning him gently, while visions of rusty nails and tetanus shots whirled through his head. Blair fidgeted, the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he waited for a Sentinel diagnosis. Jim spotted the slight tear in the blue fabric that covered Blair's rear. Closer examination revealed a splinter as the source of the pain and the bead of blood that drew Jim's gaze. No rusty nails, but removing the piece of wood would be a good idea.
"Hold on. I'll ask Joel if I can borrow some tweezers and disinfectant."
Blair groaned. "Shit. Is it a nail?" He continued to crane his neck. Jim gave him a gentle cuff.
"No, just a splinter. A big splinter, but just a splinter."
"Yeah, well it feels like someone jabbed a two-by-four in my ass." Blair fell silent, his words hanging tangibly between them. Jim cleared his throat and undid the apron tied about his waist.
"I'll go talk to Joel."
Armed with cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide and a box of band aids liberated from Joel's first aid kit, Jim found himself in Joel's spare bedroom with Blair on his knees, resting his chest on top of the bed, jeans around his knees.
"Hurry up, Jim. I'm freezing." Blair pillowed his head on his forearms, which he had crossed comfortably on the patchwork quilt covering the bed.
Jim popped the top on the peroxide bottle. "Your boxers, Chief. Can't get at the splinter through them," Jim's mouth said without any input from Jim's brain. Blair gave an obedient wriggle to push down the plaid cotton on the injured cheek. Gasping the tweezers in fingers that were shaking for some unknown reason, Jim settled onto the bed next to his partner. A small part of his mind wondered how the revealed skin managed to get as tanned as the rest of Blair.
The summer had been good for Blair. No longer teaching, he was able to rest when not trailing behind Jim. He had lost the sallowness of winter and was glowing with health. The fine hairs were a dusky fuzz on the smooth skin, shadowing the tan even more darkly.
"Jim? You falling asleep back there? Zoning?" Blair's voice pierced through Jim's reverie, snapping him back to attention.
"Just...setting things up."
"Well hurry up, already. My ass is freezing."
With suddenly sure fingers, Jim positioned the tweezers, gently keeping the skin taut. He smoothly pulled the splinter free. Blair winced as the splinter came loose.
"Ta da!" With a gleeful fanfare, Jim dropped the tweezers and piece of wood onto the bed. Blair started to push himself up, but Jim placed a hand behind his neck.
"Ah, ah. Not done yet." With a wicked gleam in his eye, Jim dabbed the peroxide on the tiny wound.
"God damn it, Ellison!" Blair grated, squirming to get away from the stinging. His grey t-shirt rode up, revealing the curve of his spine. Jim, swallowing and clearing his throat, stripped the backing off a band aid and slapped it onto the flexing skin.
"Hey, watch the merchandise, man!" Blair joked as he reached down to pull up his shorts and jeans, rolling over onto his back.
"Whatever," Jim scoffed, offering his hand to help Blair up. With a cheeky grin, Blair accepted, warm fingers wrapping around Jim's wrist. His pulse beat against the slightly calloused fingertips, thudding in his chest.
"Thanks." Blair dropped his eyes, suddenly interested in the splinter.
"My pleasure," Jim replied, no trace of sarcasm in his voice.
That was the beginning of it all.
He's moved even closer, head tucked against my neck. I can feel his breath on my skin, and the damp wetness from the tiny bit of drool on his lips. He's stolen the middle of the bed, my pillow...and my heart. Sappy, but there it is. I push his hair back from his face, tracing the line of his jaw with my forefinger. He grumbles a bit, wriggling to get closer--impossible considering he has one leg thrown over me, both arms wrapped around my waist--then, with a happy sigh, he settles down again.
His small snores ought to keep me awake, but for some reason when he's not there, when the loft is dead quiet at night, I panic. Me, a ex-covert agent, needing a teddy bear. Or Teddy-Blair. I look down at him, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks in dark smears. So be it. If I need him to feel secure at night, then that's my life. I wouldn't take back the last two years for anything. I sigh, the rise and fall of my chest moving Blair's head in a parody of a nod. Two whole years. It seems like just yesterday--and an eternity at the same time. Blair rolls over, pulling the blankets with him. He settles back, his ass pressing against my hip. I sigh again as I turn, spooning behind my blanket thief. Two whole years...
Jim watched as Blair entered into the bullpen with his book bag slung over one shoulder. The detective was in the middle of filling out his latest report, but the sound of Blair's voice had teased at the edges of his hearing ever since the young man had entered the building. Jim had listened to the countless conversations that Blair had before making it to the 7th floor, wondering how Blair managed to remember the names of everyone he met.
Even now, Blair was greeting Wilson from traffic like he was a long-lost relative. Jim felt an odd sensation in his stomach as he watched Wilson cast an appreciative glance at Blair's ass on his way out the door. Not that it bothered him that Wilson found Blair attractive. Why should it? Blair was attractive. For a guy, Jim amended after a moment's pause. Besides, Wilson had a partner, significant other...whatever the hell they were calling them these days, he mused. Having a gay cop in the department had made a few waves, but the mayor had grumbled about minority representation and the waves faded to the occasional ripple.
Besides, Jim had never had anything against Wilson. He was a solid cop, did his job and forgave Blair for parking in a space reserved for one of the high brass. So he couldn't help but wonder why it suddenly bothered him that Wilson was sending appreciative glances Blair's way? Jim shook himself and returned to his keyboard, poking irritably at the sticking space bar.
"Hey, Jim." A brown paper bag moved between Jim's computer-strained eyes and the monitor screen. "I brought your favourite, glazed buttermilk and a carton of chocolate milk."
Jim could feel the saliva pooling under his tongue, as the tantalizing aroma of deep-fried batter hit Sentinel nostrils. He grabbed the bag, pushing his chair away from the desk. "I'm in love." He inhaled deeply. The milk was skim, but Jim would concede that small victory to his partner in his ongoing war against cholesterol.
He swatted at the nimble fingers that stole bits of his doughnut, cupping the carton of milk protectively. "Stop stealing my lunch, Chief."
Blair flipped him the bird as he sorted through the stack of paperwork on Jim's desk. Jim ignored him, as he floated on a haze of taste-orgasmic bliss. Better than sex, he mused, although that was maybe going too far. The sweet meatiness of the doughnut melted on his tongue. It would have to be pretty damn good sex though, to be better.
"What?" Blair's voice pierced his doughnut-fogged senses.
Jim blinked. "Huh?"
"You've been staring at me, man. Do I have milk on my lip or what?" The tip of Blair's tongue snuck out to furtively lap at his upper lip. Jim inhaled a piece of doughnut, and while coughing, reached for the carton of chocolate milk. Only to discover half of it had disappeared. Damn milk thief.
Jim gasped and Blair pounded him on the back. A glass of water was pressed into his hand, and Jim gulped appreciatively.
"Better?" Blair asked, eyes wide and filled with concern.
"Yeah, Chief. But next time? Get your own milk." Jim sniffled and blinked his tearing eyes. "Now hand me the Milton file."
They spent the next 20 minutes in companionable quiet. Well, quiet except for Blair drumming his fingers against his thigh, and clicking the ballpoint pen against his teeth as he graded essays.
"Hey, Jim. Did you hear that Peter got dumped by Mark?"
Jim looked up at his partner. Wilson got dumped? And he was staring at Blair's ass? The buttermilk doughnut sat like a lump in his stomach. He had to swear off the damn things, all fat, all prelude to Pepto Bismol hell.
"Peter's really broken up about it. He was wondering if I could go have a bite to eat with him and talk about it. Do you need me tonight?"
"Yes," Jim's mouth blurted before his brain could catch up. "Uh. I mean, I was thinking maybe you wanted to do some tests." That was smooth Ellison, he berated himself.
"Really?" Blair's eyes grew wider with surprise, a pleased grin spreading across his face. Jim sighed inwardly.
"Cool! I'll tell Peter that I'm busy. And actually," Blair looked about and ducked his head, hissing under his breath, "I think he might be interested in me. So it easier to say no if I actually have an excuse. Thanks, Jim. Want some coffee?" Blair jumped up and targeted the coffee maker. Jim thumped his head against his desk, staring at his desktop. He gazed at his desk organizer. The little bastard had taken his favourite pen too.
Bearing False Witness
The sun has come up, and the rays streaming through the skylight turn Blair's hair to golden-brown. His stubble scratches at my chest, sending little shivers arousal down to Jim Junior. I sigh, wallowing in the aphrodisiac aroma of Blair. I can feel the air warming my skin, degree by degree, and I can't help but close my eyes and stretch. God, I love this: lying in bed with Blair in my arms, sun on my face. What more could man ask for?
My stomach growls, letting me know that I could definitely go for scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and maybe some coffee to wash it all down with.
My breakfast fantasies are interrupted as I feel Blair stir, his mouth smiling against my skin before gently fastening around my nipple. The pleasure overcomes any hunger, and replaces at the desire. Blair laps at my nipple delicately. He looks like a cat that found a bucket full of cream and doesn't know where to start.
"Morning." His voice is low, husky, and sexy as hell in morning. All thought of breakfast leaves my mind, replaced by visions of a Blair smorgasbord. Blair's eyes are smoky-gray in the dawn light, and half-lidded with sleep. I roll us over so that I'm spooned behind him my very awake cock nestled snugly between his ass cheeks. He wriggles back, letting me slip between his thighs. I'm so hard I could scream, and his breathy pants and whimpers are pushing me rapidly over the edge. He's clenching the muscles of his thighs around my cock, and I stroke my hand up and down his shaft, in tandem with the clutching silkiness around my cock.
Blair trails a hand up my thigh, and strokes lightly against my ass. That's all it takes. We lie there, sticky and sated. I can feel Blair practically glowing with contentment, wanting nothing more than for us to stay huddled together under the duvet and wrapped in each other's arms. The feel of Blair's compact body in my arms is all I need, and I shiver at the remembrance of a time when I wasn't so lucky. When I almost let someone else wake up with Blair in their arms...*his* arms.
"Hmm?" Jim flicked the page of the mystery thriller, wondering how the hell the detective couldn't figure out who had done it. A kid could solve this drivel.
"How do I look?"
"With your eyes, like the rest of us." Jim didn't look up. Ha. They missed the gun. What idiots.
"Jiimm." Blair's growled frustration had just enough of a whine to make Jim look up. He needed all of his self-control to keep his jaw from dropping. Blair stood in the doorway to his room. There was nothing unusual about that. But the well fitting chinos, which hugged his hips, and the silk shirt which draped loosely from his shoulders, were new. Definitely new. "Well? Do I look okay?"
"Yeah. Like I said, fine." Liar! He's beautiful, a small voice screamed. "What's the special occasion?"
"I...uh...have a date." Blair nervously fingered the silver hoop in his ear. Jim had been living with Blair long enough to know that when he started fiddling with his earring, the man's nerves were frayed.
"A date, huh? That blonde in records finally say yes?"
Blair flushed and Jim's stomach lurched.
"Actually...I said yes to Pete," Blair said a rush. "He's been really nice, and well...uh...he's a nice guy," he finished with a weak grin.
"Pete? As in Pete Wilson?" Pete Wilson asked Blair Sandburg on a date? Jim's mind kept repeating the question, like a record stuck on one track.
"Yeah. Are...you OK with...well...you know." Blair waved his hand expressively about.
Jim focussed on his book, trying to lose himself in the small fine print and fibres of the paper."What? Oh yeah, have fun." Looking up, Jim couldn't help but bask in the warm, fuzzy sensation that grew in his belly at the wide, happy grin that spread across Blair's face at his acceptance of the date. What did he expect? That he would hate that he was dating a man? Jim snorted internally. Yeah, right. He was fine with Blair being bisexual. It was the nineties after all.
A horn honked, the sound carrying through the balcony doors.
"Oh, hey. That must be Pete. Don't wait up, man."
Blair left the loft in a flurry of floral shampoo, spicy aftershave, and vision of silk and cotton.
It was the Nineties.
It didn't bother him that Blair was dating a man.
So why did his stomach suddenly feel like it was doing somersaults in his gut? Blair had gone on dates before. This was no different. It wasn't. Was it?
Jim stared at the page before him. The hero of the story had just swept the heroine off her feet with a flurry of declarations of undying desire and love. Jim snorted in derision. That wasn't love. Love was making sure your lover had breakfast, and cleaning up after they puked in the toilet when they had the flu. Or holding them when they were scared or hurt. Comforting them in a cold parking garage...holding them through the night when a psychopath had just...Jim shook his head to gather his wandering thoughts.
No. It didn't bug him at all that Blair was dating Wilson from traffic. Nope. Not at all.
Blair is in the shower and I'm stuck making breakfast. It takes all my willpower not to let the turkey bacon burn and join him. But, we have to work. And the clock already reads eight o'clock. If Blair is going to make his nine o'clock meeting with his adviser, and if I'm going to clock in by nine-thirty, there just isn't time to enjoy the finer points of a shower with Blair. Surrounded by steam, flushed, soapy, wet... God. I hate work.
I flip over the turkey bacon and pop the whole-wheat, stone-ground bread into the toaster. I'd kill for bleached white bread that flattens into the consistency of cardboard. But Blair merely pouts at me and gets me to drive him to the Italian Gourmet, where he gets the freshly baked loaves. I amuse myself at the Karma Sutra Boutique down the block. Then we go home, and enjoy some bread and spicy sex.
I'll live without white bread, thank you very much.
A gust of steam rushes out of the bathroom, as Blair streaks upstairs. I can hear him mutter about worn underwear and holey socks, and have to banish thoughts of a barefoot Blair going commando. The buzz of the hair dryer is like a mosquito in my ear. I pour the coffee, butter the toast, and artfully arrange the bacon on two plates. The hair dryer turns off, and I place the plates on the table.
"Hmm. That smells great."
I look up and enjoy the view as Blair walks down the staircase. His hair is dry, not too much gel. He's got that dorky tweed coat on, but I won't say anything. He looks like a respectable grad student. The look, however, is marred by the incredible heat in his eyes.
"Have I ever told you how incredibly sexy that apron looks on you?"
I look down, following his gaze. The frilled, flowered apron had been a joke. Blair had bought it, and asked me once if he would ever come home and find me wearing it and nothing else. I had laughed, but then turned the joke on him. The next time he had a late-night lecture, he came home to find me cleaning the dishes, in nothing but the apron. Since then, it's just become a part of our life.
I hand him his cup of coffee, and give him a chaste peck on the lips. "Love you, too."
"So, you're sure that you can pick Naomi up at the airport tonight, right?" Blair sips the black liquid, and his eyes closed in bliss.
"It shouldn't be a problem. I have that meeting with Internal Affairs, but it should be over by six. She arrives at seven, right?"
"Right. I think I left the flight number in my planner at the office. I'll call you"
We feed each other little bits of food from each other's plates. Sickeningly sweet, I know, but for some reason food simply tastes better coming from Blair's fingers. I wash down the final piece of toast with my last drop of coffee. Blair grabs his book bag, and with a grope to my ass, and a quick, very unchaste kiss, leaves for the university.
We're going to tell Naomi today. We're going to tell her she has a son-in-law. Blair thinks she'll be so happy that he's finally found *the one*. I, personally, think she's going to beat the crap out of me for ravishing her baby, free love or no free love. And I've got a nagging suspicion that detaching with love in the case of Blair and me, means messily detaching Jim Jr., and I'm rather fond of Jim Jr. right where he is.
I'm not sure which worries me more, telling Naomi, or telling my father...
Jim had been trying to put together the bookshelf for the past hour. Blair was out on a date with Pete. Peter. The tall ruggedly handsome man who had picked up his guide this morning to whisk him off to some mountain for a hike. Communing with nature, Blair'd called it. There was a firm knock on the door and Jim threw down the instruction sheet, which only seemed to exist in Spanish. He rose from his protesting knees and went to see who would be calling at two o'clock in the afternoon on a Saturday.
Holding a small cardboard box with the top open and with paper spilling out over its side, William Ellison, smiled nervously at his son.
"Dad. I wasn't expecting you." Jim held the door open, and motioned for his dad to enter. He took the box from his father, and placed it on the floor. They stood awkwardly, neither knowing what exactly to do.
"So, is your...*friend* here?" Mr. Ellison looked about, hands in his pockets. "I wouldn't want to interrupt if you were...doing something."
"Blair? Oh, no. He's out at the moment." Jim gestured for his dad to follow him into the living room. "So, Dad. What brings you here?"
Mr. Ellison sat heavily onto the sofa. He took a deep breath and let it out between pressed lips. "Jim, I know we haven't gotten along as well as we could have. I wasn't always there for you when you were a boy. I might not have shown it, but I always was proud of you. And...well, I just wanted you to know that I'm okay with it. You're still my son, and nothing can change the fact that I love you."
Jim sat with his mouth agape. He hadn't seen as much emotion from his father since, well, he couldn't exactly remember when he had seen so much emotion.
"Gee, Dad. I, I don't know what to say. What exactly brought all this on?"
Mr. Ellison picked at a piece of lint on his pants, and then purposely looked up at the bedroom at the top of the stairs. He looked back at his son. "I know you've never chosen an easy way of life. And I know that this isn't really a choice. I joined this group, and they've been very helpful in giving me some information to understand what you're going through. They also told me how important it is to let you know that I'm with you all the way, no matter what sort of problems you face."
Jim raised his eyebrows. "Dad, what are you talking about? What group? What problems?"
Mr. Ellison jumped up excitedly. He went to the box that he'd brought with him, and pulled out of number of pamphlets. "PFLAG is a group for parents who have children who are, well, you know." He made small circles in the air with his hand. "They had a lot of interesting articles and pamphlets there at their offices."
Jim interrupted before his father could go any further. "Dad, what the hell you talking about?"
"You and Blair. I'm happy for you, Son. I'm glad you're happy." Mr. Ellison patted Jim on the shoulder. "It's OK to be gay, Jim."
Jim exploded out of his chair. He paced wildly, collecting his thoughts. "Dad! I'm not gay!"
"Well, you know, Jim, denial can be a serious problem. And while I realize you might not want to put labels on things, if you're in the relationship with a man, then you're gay. The people at PFLAG told me that you might have a hard time admitting you're gay. That you think you just love Blair. And I understand. No matter what, I'll be there for you both."
Whatever Jim was going to say never made its way past his lips. The door to the loft opened and Blair entered with Peter. The handsome officer, so engrossed in Blair, didn't notice the presence of either Jim or his dad. Blair turned to hang up his jacket and was enfolded in Pete's arms, a searing kiss pressed onto his lips.
Mr. Ellison stared in astonishment. He then turned to Jim. "He's cheating on you?" he asked in an outraged voice.
Jim closed his eyes and thumped his head against the wall. He was never going to get those bookshelves built.
Name in Vain
I stand by the luggage carousel, wrinkled piece of paper in hand. Flight 1169 is arriving now, but given the service here, the luggage won't be arriving for another two hours. If at all. Naomi floats through the terminal like a piece of dandelion fluff drifting on the breeze.
I'm enfolded in a hug of spicy aromas and soft silks.
"Hello, Naomi." I smile and she returns it, her face as open as her son's when it comes to her emotions. I just hope that she'll be as joyous to see me when she finds out I'm fucking her son. No, that's crude, that I'm making love to her son. But she might only see the fucking part. She hands me her luggage stubs and I play bellboy, hauling her two bags off the conveyor belt. I didn't think I'd need a cart, but now I wish I had one. I can feel one shoulder twinge with the weight.
"Souvenirs?" I ask with a gentle grin.
She beams back at me. "Oh, just some things for friends here in the states. Mozambique was amazing! So spiritual..."
I tune her out as we head to the truck, and make a note to ask Blair for a back rub tonight, a nice long back rub. At least we hadn't move Blair's stuff back down to his old room. I put the truck into drive and pay the toll at the parking lot entrance. Naomi continues to ramble on about culture shock and presents.
"...and what's new with you and Blair?"
"I'm in love with him." Oh damn. I say it without thinking. It just slips right out before I can clench my teeth around the words. Naomi looks at me with a penetrating gaze, but she doesn't look all that shocked. Fuck. I wanted it to be Blair who told her, but now I'm stuck with being the bearer of news, bad or good, we'll have to see.
"Well. It's about time. How long have you been -- involved?"
That shocks her. A malicious imp in my mind chortles with glee.
She lapses into silence, and I focus on driving. I feel it's going to be up to Blair to take over this conversation.
"Two years." It's just a whisper under her breath, but it's loud to my ears. She shakes her head as she looks out the window at the houses passing by. Two years, three months, five days. And that's since we've admitted it to one another. I admitted it to myself just two years three months and eight days ago.
"Fuck." Jim stared at the ceiling of the loft. His sheets were scratching at his skin, like ants crawling up and down his bare legs, spiders dancing along his chest, and grass tickling at his neck. He could still smell the lingering scent of Peter's arousal, no less pungent for the embarrassment of his father accusing Blair of cheating on him. By the time Jim managed to convince the older Ellison that he and Blair were not actually a couple, Blair was red as a beet, Peter was grinning from ear to ear, and William Ellison didn't know where to look.
The bookshelves were still unmade downstairs; boards stacked neatly by the wall in the living room and the nails carefully contained within one of the Tupperware dishes. Jim planned on finishing the project the next day, but if he didn't get to sleep he doubted he'd have the energy to lift a piece of paper, let alone a hammer.
"Shit. Fucking, god-damn shit." Jim wasn't a man prone to introspection. That was more Blair's department. But he had thought long and hard. And now was having problems with both longness and hardness. He slid his hand down his chest and under the sheet to stroke lightly along his rigid penis. Soft lips, blue eyes, dancing smile, love. His hips bucked up against his palm, breath quickening. Low voice, long fingers, slender hips, rounded ass. A groan escaped his lips.
"Chief," Jim moaned and came, hot sticky wetness making the sheets even more uncomfortable. "Fuck. Damn it to hell. Shit."
Jim lay limply with his arms spread out on either side. But the vision in his head wasn't of him and Blair, but rather was Blair and Peter, locked in a passionate kiss, Peter's hands roving over Blair's back and ass, possessive and erotic. But in his mind, it wasn't Peter anymore, it was him.
"Fuck." Jim wondered how normal people dealt with changes in personal identity. Did they just wake up one morning and suddenly think 'I'll be gay today.'? He doubted it. Which meant that repression probably had something to do with it. He was well acquainted with repression. He absently brought a hand back to his torso and tweaked lazily at a nipple. His cock hardened and began to fill as thoughts of long silky curls wrapped around its length invaded his imagination.
Blair was pretty. Okay, handsome. Beautiful even. But it was more than that, Jim realized. It wasn't just physical. He loved it all, the voice, the intelligence, the humour, the care. That's when the realization dawned. Blair didn't love Peter.
Blair loved Jim. Jim groaned as he came again, not copiously, but deeply. And Jim loved Blair. And Peter was interested in Blair. Sated and limp, in many ways, Jim drifted off to sleep, wondering how he was going to be able get Blair where he belonged, by Jim's side, and hopefully in Jim's bed.
As I let us into the loft, Blair arrives behind us, calling out to his mother. She turns to greet him and he knows. He sees it in her face. But he doesn't call me on it, or say that he wanted to be the one to tell her. He's cool with it.
He takes one of her bags, and I gratefully let him. Naomi walks into the apartment and looks with some disappointment at our rearranged furniture. We hadn't kept her more cosmic arrangement, preferring the practicality of being able to watch TV from the couch. Not that much TV watching went on, we more than likely ended up necking than watching.
But I digress.
Naomi takes over the kitchen, glad to be back among modern appliances by the sound of it. Blair sits beside me on the edge of my armchair.
"You okay, Babe?" he asks softly, rubbing soft circles on the back of my neck.
"Yeah. Long day."
He grins. "Long ride home from the airport, is my guess."
I chuckle and reach up to pull him onto my lap. He chortles as he falls across my thighs, his rear end settling quite nicely against my groin. I bury my head in his neck to stifle the resultant groan.
"You told her, didn't you." He doesn't even sound surprised.
"It just...slipped out," I admit, with a penitent kiss, wrapping my arms securely about his waist.
"I suppose it's for the best," he sighs dramatically. "She deserves to get to know her bad boy son-in-law."
"Punish me later?" I ask with a wicked grin. I can feel him shift uncomfortably as his jeans tighten. That is always a button for my Blair. Giving him control over me is something I don't do often or easily. He has so much control in the rest of our life that keeping control during sex is important to me. "I've been so very, very bad," I whisper in his ear.
"Jiiim!" He whacks me on the arm as he lowers his voice, "my mom is right over there!"
I let him go and he gets up. He wanders into the kitchen where his mother bats his questing fingers away from the food. They are talking and I'm resisting the urge to tune in. I know they're talking about me. About me and Blair.
Naomi laughs and hugs the life out of Blair. He looks over
at me and has a wide smile on his face, all teeth and gums. He takes a piece of
sauteed meat and pops it into his mouth, sensuously running his tongue over his fingers,
his eyes dancing with mischief. I groan and shift
in my chair. That man is going to be the death of me; but what a death.
We are now officially a married couple. Complete with in-laws.
It wasn't often that Jim was jealous. Or spent days pining after someone else's partner or lover. But he couldn't stop the raging feelings that constantly occupied his thoughts. He had retreated upstairs to his bedroom, while Blair and *Peter* chatted downstairs. Now he lay on his bed, sprawled across it's length.
Blair's laughter floated upstairs like water over stones, trickling past Jim's ears and momentarily soothing his soul, at least until Peter's lower voice rumbled up with murmurs of love. Then the jealous feelings surged tenfold.
*I want you to move in with me, Blair.*
Like hell, Jim thought.
*Wow, Peter. I...I...I didn't realize that you felt that way about me. I mean, I know you like me, but I didn't...*
He doesn't, I do, Jim cursed quietly. He knew that he shouldn't be listening in, but the temptation was too great, just like the temptation Blair posed. Sex on legs that was Blair, Jim mused. He lay back, taking his slowly growing erection out of his pants. He could imagine Blair walking up the staircase, shedding his layers of clothes until all that remained was dusky tanned skin. Blair would stroke himself as he swayed closer, his hair falling about his shoulders, loose and shining. Jim suppressed a groan as he sped up his hand on his cock, biting into his left hand. His fantasy Blair moved over him, running his hands over his nipples and bending down to drape his curls over Jim's cock. The coup de grace was the thought of Blair's lips engulfing the crown of the cock that Jim stroked. Recommended
Jim climaxed, even as Blair and Peter continued to talk below, and a feeling of shame washed over him. He threw an arm over his eyes and tried to keep the betraying tears from forming. He had never felt so low. This was what had become of him, lusting after his roommate who loved another, and was loved by another. Coward, he berated himself. Spineless, lowlife, goddamn coward.
The door downstairs closed, the rattle of the chain signalling Blair's continued presence downstairs.
"Hey, Jim, you want to order out?"
"I'll be down in a second," Jim managed to croak out, sitting up and wiping his hand on a shirt before tossing the garment onto the bed. It was then he realized he hadn't heard the answer Blair had given Peter.
With a sigh, Jim zipped up his pants and went downstairs. Blair was leaning up against the kitchen island, his eyes bright and a smile on his face. If he only knew, Jim mused.
"Chinese or Mexican?" the younger man asked, flipping through the phone book. "I kinda thought Mexican would be too spicy for you, but it would give you a chance to practice those control exercises we were working on..."
Jim let him babble on, resisting the urge to sweep him off his feet and kiss him senseless. He would be content with lusting from afar, as long as Blair would keep looking out for what he ate. Jim smiled softly and ruffled Blair's hair as he walked by.
"Whatever you want, Chief."
"Hey! Not the hair, man!"
Blair is lying on his back, legs drawn up to his chest and slightly spread. He's biting his lip so hard I think he's drawn blood. My nose would normally tell me, but I'm too pre-occupied with my current job. I turn my attention back to the cock bobbing at my nose. I'm lazing comfortably between Blair's feet, lapping at the dusky flesh before me. He tastes salty, but with enough of the sweetness that makes Blair so loveable. Blair is trying to be quiet. It isn't every day that we have to worry about one of our parents hearing us have sex. But Naomi being downstairs makes it all the more erotic, daring, and naughty. Blair is loving every minute, even if he can't scream and shout like he normally does.
The knuckles of his hands are white as they clench on his knees. He thrusts his hips up, desperate for action. But I want to draw it out tonight, show him how much I love and adore him. I nibble my way down his erection, and no small thing is that. Then I tongue his perineum, and a small whimper makes it past his clenched teeth. He knows what's coming. He smells wonderful, the small fine hairs tickle my nose, and I gently spread his buttocks to gain access to the delightful hole hidden there.
"Jim." The whisper trickles over my skin, tangible sound. It rumbles through his chest, vibrating down his spine. He's practically begging. I love having this power over him. I let some spit gather on my tongue and liberally spread it over his anus. I can feel the muscles clench in tandem with a suppressed gasp. He's rock hard and leaking.
"I love you," I whisper against his skin, kissing the crease where buttock meets thigh
"Please, Jim. Please please please." He's rambling, the words spilling from his mouth. "Love you, want you, love you, need you."
I prepare him carefully, raising the bar of his desire by nudging his prostate every other trip in. Soon, he's loose and ready and I'm needy. The need to plant myself deeply into him wells up and overwhelms me. With a soft thrust I'm in, his legs coming to rest over my shoulders. He loves this position, grabbing my hair to bring my face down so he can kiss me. His tongue makes love to me as I make love to him. I don't think we've ever fucked.
My hips are joining his in a frantic rhythm that, for all its intensity, remains gentle.
He's coming, I'm coming, swallowing each other's shouts and breaths with our mouths. We are as closely joined as two people can be.
Beneath us, Naomi sleeps, unaware of the magic above her.
I withdraw carefully and Blair draws me down onto his chest, cradling me in his arms. I know that I haven't hurt him. I can't believe that anyone could ever hurt him.
Jim opened the door of the loft and pulled his gun. The living room was trashed, with broken glass and pillows from the sofa thrown on the floor. He could hear Blair's heartbeat rapidly pounding in his bedroom, and dashed across the intervening space to the frenchdoors.
"Blair! Are you..." he trailed off as he entered the small bedroom. Blair lay on the bed, curled into a small ball. His back shook from the strength of his suppressed sobs. Two blood red eyes peered up at the detective, brimming with tears.
"Oh, man. Jim. You...you weren't supposed to be home yet. Oh, no." Blair sat up his hands raking back his hair into a semblance of a ponytail.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you see who did it?" Jim was already reaching for his cell phone to call for Forensics. But Blair put out his hand.
Jim hated it when Blair used his 'guide voice'. He always seemed to lose all control of his body, ceding to the younger man's wishes. "What the hell happened here, Chief?"
Blair rested his elbows on his knees and cupped his face in his hands. "I happened....Or rather, Pete happened."
Jim sagged down onto the futon. "Did that son-of-a-bitch hurt you?"
Blair gave him a watery grin. "Not physically, no. But thanks for asking."
"Then what?" Jim was confused, and part of him was aching to go put order in his living room again.
"Remember how Peter broke up with his lover? Well it turns out his definition of broken up is a bit different from the rest of the world's. He was basically two timing the guy, and fucking me on the side." Blair's face twisted as he said the words, and Jim wanted nothing more than to encircle him with his arms to take away the pain.
"Damn." Jim put a hand on Blair's shoulder. "And the mess out there?"
"I-I guess I lost it." Blair studiously picked at a hangnail. "I was so *angry* that he would lie to me like that, and cheat on his partner, that I settled for him when..." He cut himself off. "I'll go clean it up."
"Wait." Jim moved his hand down to Blair's forearm. "Settle for him when what?" He needed to know, the kernel of hope slowly growing.
Blair looked up at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. "When it was you I wanted," he whispered, flinching as if readying himself for a blow.
Jim felt the kernel burgeon into a beautiful bloom. He simply placed a finger beneath Blair's chin, marvelling at the slight scratch of stubble, tilted the wonderful jaw upward and lowered his mouth to Blair's.
It was like coming home. Their bodies fit together, each clutching the other, neither quite believing their deepest desire could possibly be true. Jim ran his hands through the dishevelled curls and broke the kiss.
"I've wanted to do that for so long."
"I've wanted you to do that." Blair smiled with a tremor in his chin. He sniffed. "Oh, man. I can't believe I'm crying." He rubbed at his face with a hand.
Jim captured his fingers and with infinite care wiped the salty tracks dry, and kissed the tip of Blair's nose.
"You are so beautiful."
"Yeah right, with a snot nose and bloodshot eyes." Blair scoffed, looking away.
"Even more so." Jim pulled Blair to him and held on tight. "Now, to more important business. Where is Peter, and how do you want me to kill him."
Blair chortled and sniffed again. "I think he should be left alone. I think his lover isn't too happy with him right now. He'll probably be spending the next couple of months on the sofa."
"Well, all I know is he was a fool. A fool to think anyone could be better than you. But his loss is my gain." Jim didn't know where the words were coming from. It was like autopilot. But they were the right words and Blair smiled beatifically.
"I love you, Jim Ellison."
"Good. Now let's go eat. I'm starved."
"What about the living room? It's a real mess out there."
"Leave it. We've got more important things to do." A gentle leer accompanied Jim's words and brought a bark of laughter from Blair. Jim pulled Blair up and tugged him gently out of the room and up the stairs.
"Jim? I thought you were hungry."
We're lying in bed, wrapped in each other's sticky warmth. Blair has a sated smile that warms me to my toes. He is resting on his side, with one of his legs thrown over both of my thighs and his head resting on my shoulder.
He's toying with one of my nipples, unconsciously tweaking and stroking it. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you want to view it, he's completely drained me. I mean, I would love nothing more than to drill him into the mattress once again. But, I doubt my abused muscles could take any more calisthenics. My cock lies still and soft, oblivious to the stimulation at my chest.
Blair managed not to wake his mother, although before she fell asleep I could hear her giggle. That had been a bit disconcerting, but Blair distracted me from her presence by sucking my brain through my cock.
I can't stop combing my fingers through his hair. Thankfully, Blair likes head massages and sighs contentedly, pressing into the caress.
"Do you know what day it is today?" I ask, girding my loins, -- metaphorically anyway.
Blair squints up at me and quirks an eyebrow. "Day?"
"Yeah, day. What's the date."
"Um, it's Wednesday."
"No...I mean, do you know what happened today?" I stumble over my words, unsure of how to bring this up gracefully. I relax my grip on his waist and sit up, dislodging him from his body pillow.
"Jim?" Blair is worried and he too sits up. I quickly kiss him, deeply enough to reassure, but not enough to dispel all of the worry I see in his eyes. "What's up, man?"
I take a deep breath and try to keep my stomach calm. "Two years ago today, we became -- lovers." I take his hands in mine, for his comfort and mine. "I wanted to do this before, but when you said your mother was coming, I thought I'd wait until she was here."
"Jim...what?" Blair is practically vibrating with curiosity. "Out with it."
"I want us to...to get married. Of course it wouldn't be a real marriage, more like a commitment ceremony. And it's not like we can announce it because of my work. But since both our parents know, and support us, I thought we could ask them to come. And Simon. We can't forget Simon. He's been so great at backing us at the department. You don't have to wear a ring or anything, I don't wan -- mmmmph."
Blair rests a gentle palm over my lips. I inhale through my nose to catch my breath. Blair's eyes are shimmering with tears and his lips tremble as he leans forward, removes his hand and kisses me with a tenderness that approaches perfection. Then he cups my face and locks his gaze to mine.
My heart feels like it's about to burst, as much as it did that first time I held him in my arms two years ago.
Jim awoke, the muzziness of sleep slowly dissipating as foreign, yet familiar, sensations washed over him: the feel of a hard body with soft skin, the aftertaste of musky semen, the smell of herbal shampoo teasing his nose, the soft snuffles originating from the vicinity of his armpit. He opened his eyes and looked down at the source of his sensory buffet. Blair Sandburg. In Jim Ellison's bed. Imagine that. Jim could feel a goofy grin cross his face as memory of the previous night stole across his consciousness.
Blair turned in his sleep, pulling them onto their sides. Jim stifled a groan as his morning erection settled between Blair's cheeks.
Jim nuzzled at Blair's hair and tried to deny the urging of his bladder. He didn't want to let go, but he had to. He slipped his own pillow into Blair's arms and shook his head as Blair unconsciously hugged it tight. Jim slowly rose from under the covers, muscles protesting with vigour. His limbs felt looser than ever before, but his back twinged. How Blair managed to convince him that some of those positions were actually possible, he would never know, but his body wasn't quite as happy about it as it had been the last night.
He padded downstairs after pulling the comforter over Blair's bare shoulder. He found his boxers draped over a lampshade and pulled them on. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he decided that food would be good. And coffee. Lots of coffee.
The percolator hissed and bubbled merrily, sending tendrils of rich aroma spiralling through the loft. Jim closed his eyes, savouring the scent of roasted beans with a hint of almond. But like all good things, it had to come to an end.
A knock at the door roused him from his sensory reverie.
"Ellison! Sandburg!" Simon's voice was muffled through the door, but strident nonetheless. "Are you two okay? Answer me, damn it!"
Jim yanked open the door. "Captain? What's the matter?"
Simon ignored him and strode into the loft. "So, *Detective*. You suddenly decide that violating departmental policy about answering your phone when on call is okay?"
Jim blinked. "The phone?"
Simon pointed at the inoffensive device. Jim swivelled his head and stared. The receiver hung from the curly chord, the phone's cradle empty. Memories of Blair pushing him against the wall and knocking the table came to mind. Jim could feel a flush start at his face and work down towards his chest, making him even more aware that his boxers were the sole barrier between him and the world.
"Oh, indeed. We need you down at the station. We just got a witness to the O'Leary murder. Seems one of the workers is willing to rat on his boss in return for protection. I figured you'd want to be there."
Jim rubbed his face. "Damn, that's just the break we needed. Of course, I want to be there. But..."
"But what? We can nail the son of a bitch. What could possibly be more important?"
"Jim?" A sleepy voice floated down from the upper bedroom, and Blair's head peered out from behind pillows propped against the railing. "Jim?"
Simon stared. Jim swallowed. Blair blinked myopically.
"Simon? Is that you?" It took a moment, but once the sleepy grad student looked down at the bed he was in, Jim's state of undress, and Simon's pole-axed expression, all he could whisper was; "oh, shit."
Simon audibly shut his mouth, and waved a hand in front of his face. "I don't want to know."
"I don't want to know."
"I don't want to know. Just...get dressed and get to the station. The interrogation should start by ten." Blair and Jim watched as Simon pivoted and left the loft as abruptly as he had arrived.
Jim closed the door and looked up at his lover. With his sight he could see Blair's eyes, wide and filled with sadness. His army training having ingrained slip-second decision-making in him, Jim made the choice to go up and comfort his lover in seconds. He was up the stairs and under the covers with an armful of Blair before he could take a breath.
"Guess we're in trouble, huh?" Blair sighed.
"I don't know." Jim had to be honest. Being involved with a partner, even a civilian observer, wasn't going to be easy. The fact they were both men was even harder to think about.
"I guess there's no way to explain it," Blair mused as he idly stroked Jim's stomach.
"Mmm. Probably not," Jim whispered, relaxing under the tender touch. He could definitely get used to this cuddling thing.
"I mean, I doubt he'd go for a 'Jim zoned and I had to bring him back with my naked body' sort of explanation."
Jim laughed out loud and rolled them over so he was straddling Blair, pining him to the mattress. "I'll have to zone more often so you can practice your technique."
Blair proceeded to demonstrate just how good his technique was, both in bed and the shower.
They were only twenty minutes late in getting to Simon's office. The burly captain didn't say a thing, merely tossed a file into Jim's hands and stormily looked at his door. When they didn't move he growled, "You know where Interrogation Room Three is. Don't let *me* hold you up."
Blair grimaced and trailed behind Jim, careful not to slam the door. "Hey, Jim. Think you can handle this one on your own? I really have to grade some papers."
Jim nodded and quirked the side of his mouth. He put his most sultry look into his eyes and was rewarded with a flush across Blair's cheeks.
"Later," Jim said nonchalantly, whistling all the way to the room where his witness sat.
His witness, Mark Sellers, was a thin, pale and nervous young man, more than ready to spill his guts. So Jim pressed 'record' on the tape recorder and let the man talk.
He couldn't help it if he naturally tuned in to Blair. That 'Blessed Protector' thing was something he took very seriously. And the voice that currently joined Blair's in conversation was more than enough to set his Blessed Protector dial on high.
*Blair, please let me explain.*
*Pete, I think you said it all yesterday.*
*Don't shut me out. Please. Sweetheart. I'm sorry. Please, believe me.*
*Look, this isn't the place for this conversation.*
*Dinner, then? My place?*
*Blair, I'm begging you. Give me a second chance!*
Jim pressed 'pause' on the tape recorder and held up a finger. "Excuse me one moment."
He took great pride in his ability to sneak up on people. It was with no small pleasure that he relished the look of surprise on Peter's face as he grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. Blair was about to say something, but subsided as Jim held up the hand that wasn't involved in pinning Peter to the wall.
Jim turned his attention the man in his grasp. "Now. You listen to me, you two timing, piece of lowlife: Blair is a thousand times too good for you. He told you 'no', and you were too stupid to realize what a good thing you had when you had it. So, I suggest you walk away. I catch you sniffing around my partner again and you'll have more than a broken heart to deal with. They'll never find the body. You understand?"
He let Peter go when the other man nodded, and then watched contentedly as he staggered off. Blair shook his head resignedly, but had a smile on his face. Jim smiled back and turned to walk back to his interview.
"I love you, James Ellison," floated a soft whisper behind him.
Jim grinned wider.
I stand in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. Damn, I'm getting old. There are more lines around my eyes and my hairline is slowly retreating. But I can also feel the years. My sight can't point to the pain in my knees after chasing down a perp half my age, or the way that falling asleep with Blair in my arms almost -- *almost* -- outshines making love long into the night, but that doesn't mean I don't feel it.
I swathe my cheeks in shaving cream and wipe off the condensation on the mirror.
"Pass me a towel?"
I reach over to pull a towel of the rack and hold it over the shower curtain. My wet and wild lover snags it and the water turns off. Steam billows from the tub and Blair joins me at the sink. I drag the incredibly sharp razor over my chin -- trust me, dull razors and Sentinel skin do not mix. The smell of Blair -- his hair, his body, his arousal, his everything -- surrounds me like a comfortable second sskin. The arousal is strong. But what can I say? I'm a hell of a sexy guy, and Blair is a hell of a horny guy, and when you put the two together, the sparks fly.
He's putting some cream in his hair, which the container says will minimize fly aways, add body, moisturize, volumize, control, and condition. I don't say anything about how it masks his scent, or how his hair is so wonderfully soft when merely air dried. The gunk makes it easier to comb, and so, for his sanity, I won't complain.
"Jim, I can't believe you told Simon you were taking a week off. I thought he'd have a heart attack or something."
"Nah, I think it was the wedding invitation that did it." I wipe the rest of the shaving cream off, only to have Blair gently pat my cheek with a soft aftershave. Wrapped in a towel with his hair still damp, slightly myopic without his glasses, He looks as beautiful as when naked and moaning beneath me. I love him as much, if not more, than I did two years ago. I stroke his already shaven jaw with a finger and he involuntarily closes his eyes. Leaning into my touch, he opens them, playful devilishness dancing in them.
"Help me get dressed?" He asks with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He darts away and I grab his towel to catch him. But it comes loose and all I see is a bare bottomed Blair -- my favourite kind -- streaking upstairs. I hope he'll help me put on my tux. I can never get the damn bow straight.
By the time I get upstairs, Blair is sprawled cockily on the bed, in more ways than one.
"I thought we were supposed to be getting dressed," I say. "Besides, isn't it wrong for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?"
Blair's eyes twinkle. "I am *so* not carrying you over the threshold of Steven's cabin." He rises to his knees and reaches forward. He runs a finger along my waist where towel meets skin. "And I've already seen everything you've got."
"Well, we'll just have to see about that." I lose my towel and pounce, pushing him down. I straddle his thighs and pin his wrists over his head. The crowd waiting for us to exchange vows at the Cascade Bird Sanctuary can wait. Today is not about them; it's about the flushed and moaning man beneath me. It's about the last two years and the celebration of the beginning of the future we have.
Jim Ellison couldn't understand Blair. Not that he didn't find himself confused by his partner, now lover, most of the time. But this time he was really confused. Blair was awake, before six-thirty, on a *Saturday*, which also happened to be the first day Jim had managed to get off in at least four weeks.
Jim had been looking forward to snuggling in bed, mapping out the physical landscape of Blair's body, and maybe reading the sports section of the newspaper.
But, no. Blair was up, in the kitchen, chopping something. Very loudly.
"Hey, Jim!" he called cheerfully, as Jim staggered down the steps. Yesterday, Simon had told them to go home and relax after finally managing to crack a case wide open...and dispatching with Peter who wouldn't be showing up any mor. All in all a fine ending to the week, especially with the rather enthusiastic sex which seemed to have fit quite nicely into Jim's schedule. Although, he'd have to invest in some menthol back rub cream if Blair decided to continue to use some of the more inventive techniques.
"Chief, I love you. But what the hell are you doing?" Jim rubbed at his chin, debating about whether to stay unshaven and comfortably sloppy today.
"Making potato salad. Remember Megan's recipe, the one you really liked? Not too much sugar, and just the right amount of mayo." Blair continued to chop at the pile of potatoes in front of him. Jim noted that the mayo jar had 'ExtraSuperLite" written on the label.
"Let me rephrase that. Why are you making food at," he asked, quickly checking the time on the microwave, "six fifteen in the morning?"
Blair looked up at him, eyes wide and innocent. "When else would I make food for the picnic?"
Jim sighed. "What picnic?"
"The Cascade PD picnic. It's today."
Jim groaned. Blair looked confused.
"What? Don't you want to go?"
"Blair, that event is only an excuse for guys to toss around a ball, pretending to play softball while the girls...uh, women, hang around and talk about, well, whatever women talk about, while making sure the kids don't kill themselves on hotdogs. It's a couples thing...a family thing. I never went."
Blair carefully laid down the spoon he'd been using to carefully mix in the dressing over the potatoes and peas.
"So. It's an event when families get together, have fun and relax. As in not work."
"Yeah...so? See what..." Jim trailed off. "I don't suppose you've seen my baseball mitt hanging around."
"It's on the table. Oh yeah, and Jim, get rid of the beard. Two words...whisker burn."
By nine o'clock Jim was showered, shaved, and clad in comfortable shorts and a light T-shirt. Blair had managed to finish the potato salad, create an interesting, if exotic fruit plate, finally topping the large cardboard box in which he stashed it all with some plastic cups and a bottle of sun block. He had also showered, teasing Jim with his naked body as he paused in front of the closet, wondering what to wear. Finally, he, too, was outfitted in a pair of cutoffs that snugly fit his ass, and a loose T-shirt that screamed 'tear me off' at Jim.
The weather was fine; a blessing from whatever god had decided to also keep the criminals at bay while the police force decided to celebrate summer with their families. The parking lot at the park was almost filled, but Jim managed to find a place not too far from the table where the food stuff was being laid out. He knew he'd end up carrying the box, and wanted to save his strength for more enjoyable things -- like waylaying Blair in the grove of trees that bordered the grassy field.
He turned to take the box from Blair and leave the truck, when he was stopped by a look he rarely saw on Blair's face: fear.
"Blair?" Jim moved the box from Blair's lap. "What's wrong?"
The look Blair's face shifted from fear to embarrassment. "It's nothing. It's stupid. Forget it, let's go."
"No way. What is it?" Jim wasn't about to
let whatever it was continue to bother his Guide.
"Well, it's just...I'd understand if you didn't want to...you know, act like anything's different. I mean, Simon knows, but no one else does."
Jim watched as Blair fell silent, saying nothing. Then he got out of the truck, pulling the box with him. Blair followed and they made their way to the long table. The crowd parted like the Red Sea and filled in behind them, as people chatted and greeted each other as if they didn't see everyone on a daily basis.
"Just put the goods where there's room, boys," Megan commanded with a smile. Jim put down the box. Blair was about to move away when Jim stopped him with a hand on his arm. Blair looked up in surprise.
"I'm not ashamed of you. I'm not ashamed of us. And anyone that thinks I should be, will have to deal with me." Jim pulled Blair close, and could see the astonishment on Blair's face. He didn't feel at all apprehensive, or shy. Blair on the other hand was ready to say something, and that couldn't be permitted. And as far as Jim knew, there was only one way to shut Blair up.
Jim Ellison kissed Blair Sandburg. In front of his boss, who dropped his beer, in front of Megan, who pumped her fist into the air, and in front of Rafe and Henri, the latter of who resignedly passed a twenty into his partner's eager hands.
They continued to kiss, Blair melting into the touch, and Jim just plain old enjoying what he found to be a highly addictive activity.
Finally they broke apart.
"Now. Let's play some baseball. Blair, go talk about knitting." Jim snatched up his glove and walked towards the baseball diamond, constructed from four causally places flour sacks filled with sand.
Blair touched a finger to his lips and simply smiled.
The cabin Steven's lent us for the week to celebrate our honeymoon, for lack of a better word, is nestled in the midst of the forest a three hour drive south of Cascade. I climb out of the truck and quickly squash the mosquito that dive-bombed me. We will be spending most of our time inside, but still, arriving at the cabin without itching spots was a high priority. Blair slathers on lotion as he disembarks.
"So, where is this cabin?" He looks about at the end of the road, seeing nothing but trees. And more trees.
I point west to where a small footpath winds into the forest. "That way. About ten minutes."
Blair sighs, but I know he doesn't mean it. He loves to hike, and thankfully we've both managed to pack minimally. Steven had loaded up on groceries the last time he was there, or so he told me, so we're set with only a few clothes. Not that we'll need them.
I hold out my hand and smile as Blair takes it without a blink. We walk hand in hand down the trail, which was just wide enough for two -- made for lovers. Blair points out a woodpecker before I hear it, laughing at finally getting the drop on me. I slow us down and turn Blair so he sees the white tail deer on our left. It's practically hidden -- a fawn with its mottled coat allowing it to blend seamlessly into the bush. Blair's eyes are aglow and his smile is radiant. We move on without disturbing the baby deer and he gives me quick squeeze around the waist before taking my hand once more.
We walk in silence. A choir of crickets acknowledges our passing, the warm wind keeps the biting mosquitos to a minimum, and my hearing keeps me appraised of any approaching bloodsuckers. So we arrive at the cabin, unbitten, a bit winded on Blair's part, and sweating lightly on mine. We dump our backpacks on the porch and I surprise Blair by swinging him up into my arms. He clutches my neck with both of his arms and laughs with delight.
"Who's the bride now, smart ass?" I ask with a deep kiss, carrying him over the threshold and letting the screen door slap shut behind us.
The cabin consists of one large room with half of it covered with a loft-like bedroom overhead. The entire cabin, right down to the spiralling staircase in the centre of the room was lovingly constructed from birch wood, light and cool. A fridge pays tribute to modernity in the galley kitchen underneath the bedroom, while a fat, pot bellied wood stove squats beside the stairs. We won't need a fire tonight, it's so warm, but the thought of Blair bathed in the glow from a fire sends tingles down my spine. There are two wing-backed chairs flanking the room, and a well-cushioned couch completes the decor downstairs.
Blair stands looking about with an open mouth. I grin and take out the bottle of wine I had stashed in my pack. I want it to be slightly cool by the evening so I lay it sideways in the fridge. Blair wanders around, reverently running hands over the soft fabric on the furniture and touching the hewn walls with appreciation.
He looks at me. "Jim, it's beautiful. Amazing."
"Just like you," I say and blush. Yes, damn it, I blush. The only thing that saves me is that Blair is blushing too. Only on him it looks endearing, while on me, it looks idiotic.
"Let's go out on the deck," I suggest. The porch is wrapped around the cottage, allowing one to take in whatever view one desires. After he lights the few mosquito candles sitting on the railing, Blair parks himself on the wooden swing facing the lake. The seats are padded with a brightly checkered fabric, which while painful on Sentinel eyes, is gentle on a Sentinel ass which is protesting just a bit too much after Blair's activities this morning. The creak of the swing as the wooden trestles move slowly is a soft counterpoint to the chirp of what Blair informs me is a chickadee.
Blair is nestled up against me and I can't stop stroking his hair. He can't stop stroking my thigh, so all in all, we're even.
"For this. For everything." Blair ceases his stroking, which I want to protest, but wraps his arms around my waist, settling in even closer.
"You do realize that I've only brought you here to have my wicked way with you." I nuzzle his forehead, feeling the vibrations as he laughs.
"You won't hear me complaining, man."
We sit and rock. The warmth of the sun bakes our bones in a nice respite from the muggy overcast weather of the past month. It should feel too hot but the breeze from the lake cools our skin and makes Blair's hair move in the most disarming of ways.
Blair suddenly lets go of my waist and stands. He looks down at me, and holds out a hand. I take it and let him guide me inside. A quick side trip to my pack to get the lube and we make our way up the stairs. Gallantly, I let him go first, although I know it is really an excuse to watch Blair's jean-clad ass move in front of me.
The bedroom is as welcoming as the rest of the cabin. A large king size mattress lies upon a raised frame that looks like oak. All else, though, gets ignored as Blair pulls his T-shirt over his head, completely at ease with his nudity as he shucks his cutoffs just as easily. I follow suit, but can't resist hanging my own clothes over a nearby chair.
Blair looks down at his pile of clothes and laughs.
"I love you," he says, as he falls backward onto the bed, splaying himself across the acres of soft sheets. "Now, love me."
His wish is my command, as it ever was and will be.
I begin with his feet, laving the insole with attention that has him limp as a boiled noodle, except for one part of him, which is dying for attention. His calves get a firm massage, the inner thighs some light stroking. Then I bypass his cock and head for his chest, fucking his navel with my tongue and lightly kissing my way up his sternum to play gently with his nipples. I pull at them with my teeth until they are hard pebbles beneath my tongue, then I soothe them with long laps. I enjoy hearing the gasps and sweet moans that he gives. He doesn't have to hold back here. There is no Naomi, no neighbour. There are only the lake and the trees, and they don't give a damn.
I nip at his neck, along his Adam's apple and he goes wild. When he throws his head back, eyes barely open, hair fanned over the pillow, I wonder what this glorious man sees in me. What did I do to deserve such happiness? But then I realize it doesn't matter. He's mine. I won't look a gift horse in the mouth. But I will take great pleasure in plumbing the depths of Blair's mouth at every chance I get.
He moans deeply into my mouth, his hands roving over my back and down to my ass. His finger slips into my crack and lightly strokes over my incredibly sensitive anus. There is nothing I would love more than for him to take me. But he won't. He doesn't often, knowing how sensitive I am. And I can tell he wants me buried balls deep in him. Call me psychic or whatever you want -- I just know he does.
I surge against him, my cock rubbing against his. He squeezes my ass, and I'm spreading his legs with my knees. We don't even have to ask, to think, to plan. We just do. It comes naturally to us now.
Hot, clenching. He's tight, but loosens to my questing fingers quickly. Long and slow, I remind myself. Long and slow. I work his prostate, but leave his cock untouched. He's covered with sweat and undulating back onto my fingers with each rub on the gland.
"Oh god, Jim. Oh god. Jim. Please, Jim. Oh god!"
I let him suffer, such glorious suffering, while I slick my cock with my other hand. He's forcing himself not to touch his cock, gripping the sheets in a death grip. Long and slow. He once said he wanted to come without me ever touching his cock. Tonight would be that night. Tonight I would glorify him, worship him.
His ankles move over my shoulders and I slide effortlessly into him while holding his hips still. I move slowly, so very slowly. Blair is flushed, panting and smiling a Mona Lisa smile. I can feel him clenching experimentally around me, testing the waters and the strength of my commitment not to touch his cock. The feeling is incredible and I dip down to capture his lips in thanks. Our tongues twine, not duelling, never combative, but sharing.
My hips move, almost without any conscious thought on my part, and I caress every ounce of skin I can reach, except for his hard erection begging for my touch. But I resist. I focus again on his nipples, lightly skimming my thumb over one as I suck on the other, never stopping my slow oscillation.
His body is so familiar to me, I know each scar, each imperfection, which only makes me love him more. I can hear the rapid acceleration of his heart and his breath. He's close, so close. I want us to come together and begin speeding up my inward thrusts, keeping my out strokes slow and tantalizing. It's driving him wild.
When we come, it's like two waves meeting just as their crests are ready to fall, joined in a splash of white bubbles and drowning all life within. He spasms around me, drawing my orgasm even further. His cock spurts semen over his chest, over my stomach.
Then, still joined we kiss. He can feel me lazily moving within him, and I can feel him deliberately clenching his muscles to revel in the feelings of being united so closely.
Blair Sandburg is my lover.