Jungle Fever



Jim sighed. "Chief --"

Blair didn't even look up, just chanted, "Not done, still not done, on a deadline, Jim, a deadline…"

"Nine tomorrow morning. And it's eight in the evening." Jim tried not to sound anything but casually concerned. "You have plenty of time to finish that report, and a break would do you good."

"No, it wouldn't. Not when I'm this close…"

Jim gave Blair a comprehensive look. Hunched up, headache furrowing his forehead, neck bent at a weird angle as he transcribed from his notes, fingers cramped judging by the way Blair was unconsciously flexing them every few seconds… and in the minute or two Jim had been watching with his full attention on what Blair was doing, he'd been mostly hitting the backspace key.

Yeah. Definitely break time and Jim knew just how to relax them both and it wouldn't take long at all.

And if his motives weren't entirely selfless, well, it wasn't his fault. The city was sweltering in an unlooked for, unwanted wave of humid heat and Blair was typing in nothing but shorts. Which was sensible, but it meant that in addition to every breath Jim took bringing him the rich, complex smell of Blair's hot, damp skin, he could see that skin. A lot of it. The city's climate was mimicking the jungle, with a warm rain pattering down and just making everything wetter without cooling it down, and Jim felt like following its example and getting back to the man he'd been in the jungle. A man who understood the relative importance of a deadline as compared to getting to come, hard, quick, and soon.

Part of him was wondering why Blair hadn't noticed the attempts at seduction he'd been making. Blair wasn't the only one stripped down, although Jim was still wearing jeans because he liked giving Blair something to peel off him. But he was bare from the waist up and that usually got an admiring, sidelong glance from Blair, one that could generally be encouraged to linger.

He cleared his throat and tried one last time to get Blair's attention, and got an impatient, dismissive flap of the hand instead.

Ooookay.

He slipped upstairs, took off his jeans and shorts and, after a brief moment of enjoying the feel of the air on his sweat-damp skin, he put on another pair of shorts and padded back downstairs.

He sat down on the couch, in Blair's line of view assuming the guy ever looked up from the laptop's screen, and ran the palm of his hand over his erection, getting it back up to speed with one long, slow inhale. The moan that followed was mostly planned but it still felt good to make it.

Blair glanced up and did a cute little double take that Jim tried hard not to smile at, before scowling. "Jim… I know what you're doing and it won't work. Wait. I finish this and we can play around as much as you want."

"Play, Chief?" Jim smiled then, a lazy, confident grin. "I don't want to play. I want to fuck. And I don't want to wait."

"Well, that's an attractive regression to toddlerhood, but until I finish this, little Jimmy's going to have to wait for his Popsicle. Behave."

Jim blinked. That was just dirty pool. Blair had managed to call him immature, possibly insult the size of his dick, and flood his head with images of sucking on something sweet and thick all in one sentence.

Way to go, Chief. Oh, and by the way? You so fucking asked for this.

After a moment's thought he started talking, knowing Blair wouldn't --couldn't -- ignore that. "Let's try something out here. I'm rubbing the silk of my shorts between my thumb and finger and running another finger along my bare skin…" He lay back and spread his legs wide, his finger tracing a tendon on his inner thigh. "The silk's cooler, definitely. Now I'm touching my cock through the silk and I'm going to try something."

"Jim," Blair warned him, sounding uneasy. "Stop it, okay?"

Jim didn't close his eyes, although he wanted to. He kept them fixed on Blair's flushed face and continued talking. He knew what got Blair going and it only worked on Guides.

"I can isolate the sensation of the silk if I try. It's weird; my dick knows it's being touched -- up high, just under the head, I'm pressing in a little, making small circles -- but it's my finger that's aware of everything. I can feel the weave of the silk, the individual strands. Dialed up high like this, it's not as smooth as you'd think but it's so light…"

"Jim…" Blair made a soft choking sound. " Those shorts -- Jim, are they --?"

"The silk's getting wet now, just there, just at the top of my -- and the wet spot's spreading. God, I want to swap it over, stop feeling the silk, just feel my finger stroking, gliding up and down the way I wish your tongue was… but I'll come if I do that. I'm so close and you know, Blair, if you'd taken one lousy fucking break, you could've got me off in three minutes, you know that? Less."

"Jim!" Blair came over to him in four long strides. "Those shorts--"

Jim squinted up at him, sprawled out and panting, giving into temptation and allowing himself the torment of a single open-handed caress, root to tip. "What… what about... uhn."

Blair compressed his lips and then said tightly. "They're the ones Carolyn gave you. I know it's stupid, but it bugs me when you wear them. I don't know why; I like her, I know she was part of your life, I know it's irrational --"

"I get it, Chief." He did. And he'd known Blair felt that way. It was why he'd worn them. And he'd apologise and crawl later, but right now…."Hey; you hate them that much, I'll take them off."

"No," Blair said. "I will."

Jim gave him a wary look but before he had time to formulate a reply, Blair knelt down, hooked his hands in the fly of the shorts and arched an eyebrow.

Jim swallowed, feeling dizzy from lust -- Blair tearing his clothes off? Oh, yeah, that worked -- and at the same time totally ashamed of himself for goading Blair into this. Shame won. "Yeah -- look, Blair, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have done this, any of it --"

"Yeah. But you did." Blair gave him a cool look that tipped the scales and left guilt in the dust. "Payback time."

The sound of silk ripping was like a whisper from a thousand throats. Jim felt the susurration brush against his senses even as the tattered, torn edges fluttered against the exposed skin of his belly and balls. He was still wearing the shorts, technically, but Blair had just made sure it was for the last time.

Blair stared down at him, making a satisfied murmuring hum deep in his throat. Jim felt that, too. Jim had the feeling that if Blair thought hard enough right now, he'd feel it. In the space of a heartbeat, his body had gone from being his to waiting for Blair's hands to touch it, existing just for that.

"I should leave you like this while I finish working," Blair said conversationally.

"But you won't."

"I'd like to."

Jim studied him, trying to decide if Blair meant that or not.

Blair nodded. "I'd get off on that. You don't know how much. I always used to think you were the patient one, but you're not."

No. He wasn't. Not when it came to Blair.

"I'd come." It wasn't a threat; it was a certainty.

"I'd really like that," Blair told him. "I might even stop and watch."

Jim smiled, refusing to take the bait. "I'd make it worth your while."

"I bet you would," Blair said under his breath. "But I'm not going to."

There didn't seem any need to reply to that and it was difficult to talk without lapsing into begging which, later, would leave him vaguely bothered by how easy it had been.

"Turn over."

Jim nodded and then gave Blair an inquiring look he couldn't be bothered to make sultry. "How do you want me?"

"Just turn over," Blair told him irritably. "I don't know; lean on the back of the couch or something. I want to be able to get at your ass."

With an agreeable, acquiescent shrug, Jim twisted around, kneeling on the couch and resting his arms on the back of it. He would have liked Blair to have at least touched him first; anywhere would have done, but this was fine. At least…

He just had time to think to himself that if Blair wanted to fuck him like this it was going to be hell on Blair's knees and the height was all wrong, when Blair palmed his ass in a strong, possessive caress.

"Mine."

"Oh, yeah," Jim agreed readily. The dizziness was back. He felt the heat in the room thrum inside his ears, his head, his blood. He was sweating, a fine prickle of it bursting out of every pore. "All yours."

"Are you hot, Jim?" The hand was moving, a rough, careless grab and pat, repeated over and over without falling into a rhythm Jim could lose himself in. "You feel warm."

"Hot for you, babe." It was supposed to come out sounding like a joke, sounding deliberately fake and innuendo-laden. Jim heard it echo and realised that he'd meant every word.

"You're going to get hotter."

"I --"

Blair's hand came down on him like a clap of thunder, a shocking, unexpected, jarring affront. It stung and his skin sang out a protest that got translated into a needy groan along the way.

"That was through silk. Concentrate, Jim. Remember how it felt since you're in the mood for tests. How it sounded. Because I'm going to do it once again on skin."

Breathe. Breathing was easy; breathing was something he could do. And as Blair's fingers tugged the wreck and ruin of Jim's shorts down, just past the swell of his ass, it was about all Jim was capable of.

He'd felt the surge of excitement coming from Blair when that slap landed and he wasn't sure he wanted this tonight, although his dick seemed to approve, but he owed Blair something and --

The second slap happened in slow motion. Without being told, without meaning to, he'd dialed it up high, hearing and touch. He heard the air part as Blair's hand sliced through it, heard and felt it compress as Blair's curved palm neared his ass. And then everything was lost in the crack and burn and he cried out, his hands scrabbling for a hold on the back of the couch, his back arching, trying to get away from the searing sting.

"Jim?" Blair sounded startled, upset. Jim drew in a sobbing breath and relaxed in stages, leaning his forehead against his hands. "Are you okay?"

"Blair --" Had to get himself under control. This wasn't Blair's fault. Two slaps, not even all that hard, and it wasn't like they'd never done this during sex, much harder, for much longer, though not often, and he was starting to wonder if Blair ever wished it was more often because Blair had liked it plenty until he'd seen Jim's reaction. "Hot now, babe. Cool me off?"

"Oh, man… you didn’t--? You really felt that, didn't you? God, Jim…"

Blair was quick. Jim liked that about him. And he thought fast, too. A moment later, Jim felt Blair's tongue lick a deliciously cool wet swathe through the heart of the conflagration, followed by a pursed-lip exhalation of directed air that left Jim covered in goose bumps and moaning in relief.

"Feel better?"

"Mmm," Jim managed.

"Good." Blair slapped Jim's thigh, lightly, but not gently. "Now do what you should have done without me telling you and dial it the hell back, will you? Sheesh…"

That wasn't easy but he did it. Blair behind him, waiting, a solid mass of arousal from what Jim's nose was telling him, was a good incentive. The deep ache faded to nothing, Technicolour to black and white, and he realised just how much Blair had held back because his ass could barely tell it'd been hit now he was back to normal.

"You ever do that again and I'll…" Blair's voice trailed off. "I'm sorry."

"My fault." Jim craned his neck. "I can't keep my senses locked down when I'm this close…Can I turn over now?"

"Are you kidding?" Blair shook his head. "Do you know what you look like?"

"I don't know but I feel like an --"

"You look good, Jim. You look… okay, I can't -- turn over. Jim. Now. Want you."

Jim rolled to his back, automatically tugging his shorts back up, for all the good it did, and took a long look at Blair. "You okay?"

"No." Blair was kneeling between Jim's legs staring at his lap, his hands warm on Jim's thighs, thumbs stroking. "You look disturbing like that."

Jim glanced down. The ripped black silk and the jut and thrust of his erection were an interesting combination but it was his dick and his shorts and he couldn't see that they were all that disturbing. He pictured himself in Blair's place, looking at a similarly not-dressed Blair, and sucked in an approving breath. "You might have a point. Want me to take them off?"

"Disturbing is good," Blair said absently. "And, no, not yet. Hold your dick steady for me, will you?"

"One hand or two?" Jim asked, proud of the way his voice remained calm.

"One. Put the other in my hair." Blair gave him a not-very-nice look. "And that makes us even."

Jim grimaced an acknowledgement. He had a thing for grabbing Blair's hair when they were kissing; Blair didn't, making acid comments about cavemen. And it looked like Blair had decided he had a thing for walloping Jim's ass and Jim didn't like it, which was a misapprehension they'd have to discuss later, but not now.

Not when the thick tangle of Blair's hair was there to work his fingers into and hold. Not while Blair's hands were staying just where they were, his thumbs still describing circles, wearing a groove until two places on Jim's inner thighs, high, where the skin was baby soft and bare, were burning, tender.

Not when Blair's tongue, delicately cruel, was lapping and wrapping and flicking and whipping and doing things to Jim's dick that made begging seem like such a small price to pay if it would get Blair's head lower, just a little, just enough ---

"Blair. I'm gonna--"

Blair stopped licking long enough to murmur, "I know."

And when Jim's hand closed tight on a handful of hair and Blair's hand, pushing down, was the only thing keeping his hips from snapping, arching up, he had to admit that Blair did.

Because he leaned back just in time and wrapped his free hand around Jim's cock, cupping it so that each jolt and jerk and spat-out drop hit his palm, the one he'd used to -- and he wiped his hand off on the wreck of Jim's birthday present of five years ago and Jim decided that the next woman who told him Sandburg was sweet was going to get corrected because Blair looked indecently pleased with himself for a man who hadn't got to come.

When he could talk without panting, he said, "You want to drop them in the trash, Chief? Go ahead."

Blair stood up, looking dreamily thoughtful. "No. I want to wash them and make you wear them the next time you piss me off."

God, that idea really shouldn't make his balls tighten in one last, verging on painful spasm. "Chief…"

"Jim. Little quiet, please." Blair went back to sit down, pulling the laptop closer and giving it a fierce scowl. "The deadline didn't go away when your erection did -- hmm, oh, yeah, that works…"

His voice trailed off and he started typing, fast enough to make Jim grin as he peeled off the clinging, come-soaked shorts.

That was one break. If Blair was still working, he was going to get another around midnight.

Deadlines.

Jim loved them.






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