Fire and Ash

by Jane Davitt

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?"

"Wasting time."

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.

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