Pillow Talk

by Jane Davitt




When Blair walked into the loft, late one night, Jim's pillow was on the floor again, a cool splash of blue in a golden pool of light from the lamp Jim had left burning.

Blair rolled his eyes, glanced up at Jim's bedroom, and then picked up the pillow. He bounced it on his palms, considering what to do. Jim needed the pillow; without it, he would -- no, he already was snoring, breathy snuffles that would be impossible for Blair to sleep through. On the other hand, without coming out and actually saying it, Jim's room was off limits without an invitation.

Blair kicked off his shoes and coat, grabbed the pillow again, struck by the indefinable scent wafting up from it, pure Jim, clean, masculine, familiar, and headed for the stairs. He didn't tiptoe; that would put the sentinel in Jim on guard more than a direct approach and Blair didn't want to be on the receiving end of a choke hold as a sleepy Jim acted on impulse.

The night was summer-hot and Jim was sprawled out naked on the bed, a sight unexpected enough to make Blair's breath stick in his throat, tangled around an incredulous, appreciative whimper. Holy shit, that was -- Jim was -- oh, man.

He'd always thought that Jim slept in shorts. Maybe that was something Jim had only started doing once he'd acquired a roomie. Maybe, half-dozing, not really awake, the sticky heat had prompted Jim to push them down over that bounce a dime on it ass -- yeah, there they were, at the foot of the bed.

Blair realized that he was clutching the pillow to him, kneading it with his hands the way he wanted to knead that perfect ass.

Jim stirred, as if Blair's thoughts were tangible, stopped snoring, and stretched, his legs parting, one hand going up to brush, then grip the railings that, since Jim had moved his bed, were at the head of it.

Wide railings that a pillow could fit through.

Blair hadn't thought that anything could distract him from the shadowed cleft of Jim's ass and the darker shadow of his balls, lax against his thigh, but there was something about the way that hand was wrapped tightly around the unyielding metal…

He'd pictured Jim a lot of ways, but never bound. Jim moving, free, graceful, all power and speed, was too appealing to exchange for tied up, tied down, captured.

Jim's other hand joined the first and Jim's body was laid out in an X, marking the spot, the sign of a kiss, whatever. Blair's mouth was dry and the pillow was suffering. Jim turned his head against the mattress, the other pillow way over to the side, and moaned, his hips arching slightly, humping the mattress that had done nothing, nothing whatso-fucking-ever to deserve a treat like that.

Blair took a step forward, then another; more. When he'd run out of floor and that damned mattress was digging into his knees, he stopped..

Jim's eyes were closed. He was asleep. Doing the horny male equivalent of chasing rabbits in his dreams. Blair wished he was a rabbit. He wanted to be chased, pounced on, feel Jim's teeth bite the back of his neck…

Jim's arms flexed in interesting ways, shoulder muscles bunching, and Blair very carefully put the pillow on the floor, knelt on it and leaned forward. One touch on that skin, one lick, one nip, one --

"My head's up here, Chief."

Blair yelped, scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding, and tried to remember how to breath, speak, and, most important of all, lie.

"I uh, it dropped, and then I dropped, and you woke up, and --"

"Give me my pillow, please."

Blair picked it up and thrust it at Jim who took it with an annoying calm and a wide yawn, and tucked it under his head. "Thanks. G'night."

Blair headed for the stairs on uncertain legs, his dick a heavy ache, and then paused. "Jim? Why did you move your bed when you keep losing your pillow like this?"

A snore (no way it was real) was all the answer he got, but the pillow fell to the floor with a soft thump before he'd gotten half way down the stairs.

When Blair stalked back up the stairs, frustration and a dawning hope fighting within him, Jim was lying on his back, his eyes open, his dick hard and stiff against his flat stomach.

"Sorry," Jim said insincerely. "I'll move it back tomorrow."

Blair tossed the pillow onto the bed without a word and anchored it to the mattress with his head a moment later after stripping off his clothes as slowly as his pride required.

"You snore and I'm going back to my own room."

Jim's hands found the railing again and he stretched out lazily, displaying himself with a confidence Blair had to admit wasn't misplaced. "Better keep me awake, then, hadn't you?"

Blair narrowed his eyes. "Or fuck you so hard you pass out."

Jim's knuckles turned pale and Blair smiled and ran his hand over Jim's chest slowly, possessively.


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