The hair's on Blair's pillow, a single strand. Jim picks it up and opens his senses, impelled by the curiosity Blair's always evoked in him.
It's thin but resilient, a short spring of silver-gray. Steel and wood-ash. He rubs it between his fingers, catching a fugitive scent. Once, it would've been longer, softer, a rich brown.
They're getting old.
"Jim?" Blair kisses his cheek, jolting him out of his haze. "What're you doing?"
Jim, kisses him back, a hard, hungry kiss, and pulls him down to the newly made bed with a sense of urgency.
Not that old.
Return to Home
Click here if you'd like to send feedback