Point of Contact

Part Four

"Is that what this is now?"

Jim considered that, breathing in a noseful of Blair. He smelled of soap and water and shampoo. Jim would have put money on Blair leaving his shower to the last moment to make sure he was squeaky clean and then running out of time to do more than swipe deodorant under his arms. He didn't smell fancy and he didn't smell expensive.

Just clean. And his hair was still damp underneath, strands of it clinging to his neck when Jim had pushed the weight and wealth of curls aside to get at skin to kiss.

And then he'd bitten Blair instead, giving way to an impulse, a need to show Blair that this wasn't all fucking moonlight and roses. Blair was safer being a client. Jim wouldn't have bitten a client.

Didn't want to hurt Blair… but marking him where it wouldn't show wasn't hurting him. And he'd needed to see how Blair would deal with it.

Christ, he'd felt the reaction rush through Blair, like wind through an open window, been left breathless himself. Blair had tensed, then melted; made this sound, all shock, all pleasure, this grateful, happy sound… fuck, Blair hadn't been the only one close to coming.

Close; no more than that. Jim had been in this line of work for too long to come accidentally or early. Control was what got you the big tips, the return clients… and even now, it was a habit he'd have to make an effort to break.

"No," he said finally, soothing Blair's instinctive jerk and retreat with a nuzzle into the soft, fragile skin below and behind Blair's ear. He knew just where he could find more skin like that on Blair's body, in hidden hollows, dark, secret, sun-shy places. Sensitive places. Press hard enough on them and it hurt; lick and breathe on them and you got -- well, different reactions. He'd put money on Blair being vocal in a quiet way, all shamed, stifled whimpers, bitten-back moans.

Be fun to teach him that screaming was okay sometimes. Hear him stammer something sweet and stunned in a hoarse, raw whisper after coming harder than he ever had. Jim wasn't sure it was worth trying to get him to be silent without a gag to back up a command. He knew his limitations.

"I don't get it."

Jim's jacket was out of reach which meant he was going to have to move. With a final, indulgent nip at Blair's earlobe, velvet skin, taking his teeth in soft, swiftly vanishing dents, pink, white, red, peppermint candy canes… okay, he had to focus before he said any of this aloud.

He eased Blair away, not bothering to hide his reluctance, and got his jacket, seeing a flicker of disappointment cross Blair's face, changing to resignation too fast for Jim's peace of mind. "I'm not going anywhere," he said by way of reassurance, taking out his phone. "Just need to call the office."

Blair settled down with his back against the couch, stretching out his legs and wiggling his toes. "Why?"

"Because." Blair rolled his eyes and Jim grinned, only a small part of his attention on the burr of the phone ringing, the rest on Blair. He wasn't going to be saying anything he minded Blair hearing, so he could move closer, maybe sit beside him, maybe… Blair smiled back at him, open and friendly, and Jim turned away. What the fuck was he doing?

"Ellison Agency."

Simon. It would be Simon…

"It's me."

Simon who knew where everyone was at any given time and would know --

"Something wrong?"

Jim could use a code word in the next sentence. Could get backup, a cleaning crew, hell, given some of their connections, the police, if needed. Simon wouldn't have panicked, that deep voice remaining calm until the crisis was over, when he'd be the one bellowing as Jim winced, placating him, soothing him…

Simon was, well, he was about the best business partner, the best friend Jim could have wished for.

But he wasn't going to like this.

"No. I just need you to cancel a transaction for me. The details should all be in the file."

Blair moved, stood. Jim heard the sounds, matched them to actions, and turned to see Blair walking towards him, his expression determined. Jim held up a single finger to warn him to stay quiet and turned his attention back to Simon.

"Yes, for the client I'm with now. Simon, just --" He rubbed his hand over his eyes. He felt tired. That meant he needed a bed. A bed with Blair in it. Blair not wearing baggy jeans and a plaid fucking shirt but skin, bare skin. His hand remembered the feel of it, heated, hungry skin.  "I don't want to discuss this."

"No? Well, I do. What happened this time?"

"Tomorrow, okay? Simon, just cancel the fucking charge, will you?"

He heard tapping, brisk, angry, loud. "Done," Simon said. "Mr. Sandburg's now enjoying the pleasure of your company for free."

"Good." Jim said, adding a belated, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Simon sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jim. Just be careful, okay?"

"I'm always --"

"No," Simon said flatly. "You're not."

He ended the call before Simon could start giving examples, names, and dates, and tossed the phone onto the couch beside his jacket after turning it off.

"You didn't have to do that."

"You wanted a date. Now it can be one."

"And if you're giving me the illusion of one as part of my time then I should be paying."

"You know I'm not." Jim took in the flushed, troubled expression on Blair's face and sighed. "Blair… it's okay. It's not a big deal."

"You can afford me?" Blair said dryly. "Hey, look at it this way; I'm costing you five hundred bucks now." The flush deepened but he was trying to smile. "Not sure you'll get your money's worth…"

"That is not the way it is," Jim told him. "Shit." He rubbed at his mouth, tasting Blair still, wanting more.

"So…" Blair hesitated. "You were… can we still…?"

"You have to ask?" Jim studied him. Yeah, clearly Blair did…

"It's a date now," Blair said, as if that explained everything. "I'd like to tell you that my dates all include sex, but then I'd be lying and I don't want to do that."

"But we decided to make this a date so that you could have sex." Jim felt the situation begin to slip away from him again. He'd thought it would get easier, but it hadn't.

"Yes, but if we're on a date it shouldn't be all about me," Blair said. "And I don't want you to do something you don't want to do."

"I don't make a habit of it, so relax." Jim shook his head. "How about we just get naked and take it from there?" he asked, trying for casual.

"Naked? Both of us, you mean?" Blair swallowed audibly. "Okay, that was stupid, even for me. Can we pretend I didn't say it?"

Jim wished he could. He was flying blind here, certain only of the attraction he felt. A one-sided attraction if Blair was shying away from something as basic as looking at him naked -- no.

Pushing him away.

Insecure, needy, and self-aware to a scary degree.

Jim thought it over, trying to figure out the best way to handle it, gave up, and went with the not that subtle hint of Blair nearly coming from a single bite.

"No. And it wasn't stupid; you're scared. I get that. It just hasn't stopped you this far so I don't see why you think it will now. Bed. Get naked and get on it. Now, please."

He turned away before Blair had chance to reply, and picked up the bag he'd brought with him.

"Am I going to get to see what's in there?"

Jim gave Blair a pleasant smile. "If you don't do as I told you, I can guarantee it."

Blair took a step back and then another, fumbling at his shirt.

Thank God. Really, really bad shirt… be nice to see it go. Jim refused to let himself admit that his relief was mostly down to Blair obeying him. Every instinct he had for this game was screaming at him not to let Blair analyse and argue them out of sex.

And it didn't make any difference what he wanted, because they were things Blair seemed to do as naturally as breathing.

The bed was the double Sam had complained about, made neatly, in contrast to the crowded shelves and walls where books were stacked in no order that Jim could see although he had the feeling that Blair knew exactly where each one was and wanted it there. The cover was a huge blanket, a deep rich red, soft and thick, draping over the bed and brushing the carpet.

Blair gave the bed an uncertain look, as if he'd never seen it before and couldn't imagine who had put it there, and then finished stripping, doing it fast and clumsy and without any attempt to make it sexy.

Jim, who had once spent an hour sitting full dressed in a chair, giving a beautiful woman standing a few yards away precise instructions on how to strip for him without ever touching her or raising his voice past a cool, low murmur (she'd come twice, pausing momentarily, trembling, her eyes sliding closed) made the first of many mental notes and kept his mouth shut.

Blair finished, looking at Jim for an approval he was going to have to earn, and then at the bed. He was half-hard, no more, shivering slightly. "How do you, uh, want me?"

Jim tossed the bag on the floor at the foot of the bed after taking out a couple of condoms and a small bottle of lube. "Kneeling." He worked his top button undone and lost his shirt, shoes and socks, moving as quickly as Blair but without any of the fumbling. He left his pants on and joined Blair on the bed, pushing up the pillows and leaning back against them, stretching out, watching for a flicker of relief and not getting it.

Ah. Oh, well; he'd learned in the army that you could make mistakes and get away with them, but indecision got people killed. His pants would have to stay on. He put the condoms and lube on the nightstand beside a Kleenex box and a bottle of water and felt Blair's eyes track his hand.

"What is it?"

"Do we need them?" Blair nodded at the supplies. "I, uh…I'm still not sure I want you to, uh…"

"Anytime you tell me something's a red light for you, you're going to have to tell me specifically when that changes for me to even bring the subject up, so don't worry." Jim flicked the edge of one packet. "Those are if we get around to blow jobs, unless you want to hold off on that, and the lube, well, that's just handy for a lot of things." He shrugged. "To be honest, I was just on autopilot there."

"I've had blow jobs without a condom before," Blair objected.

Jim bit back a comment that would have emerged as a snarl. "Not from me."

"I trust you."

"Good way to catch a lot of interesting diseases," Jim told him. "Look, I'm clean; I didn't stop getting tested when I retired; sets a good example to the staff. Anyone working for me gets blood work done once a month and if they're doing drugs, they're gone and if they're sick, they're taken care of but they don't work for me again. I'm healthy and I stay that way because I'm careful." He eyed Blair sourly. "You're an idiot if you've been fucking people without one."

"I haven't!" Blair protested. "I always did. Always. Just… not for that." He blushed. "And I got tested, too. After that first time with you." He fidgeted with the blanket, pinching it up and then smoothing it down. "I'm fine, not that I thought I wouldn't be." He looked up, his expression anxious. "Not that I thought I'd caught anything off you, I didn't think that, I didn't, really, it just seemed like a good idea."

"It was," Jim assured him. "And I'm glad you did. I'm just still not letting you blow me without one and I really don't want to talk about it now, okay?" Blair's naiveté didn't surprise him although Blair's trust left him in a cold panic when he thought of those numbers and addresses he'd handed over. Shit. No way Blair was going anywhere on that list with an attitude like that. No fucking way.

Blair was frowning now, studying his thumbnail with an unconvincing intensity and then biting at it which Jim could have told him never worked out. Time for a distraction. Jim spread his legs wide enough to make space for Blair and nudged Blair's knee with his bare foot. He patted the bed and then crooked his finger. "Come here."

He swore he could hear Blair's heartbeat kick up a notch, but Blair moved -- silently, which was freaky -- and knelt between Jim's legs as far up as he could get.

Jim grabbed another pillow and shoved it behind him, more or less sitting up now.

Okay.

He drew up his legs and brought them in close enough to rub against Blair's body, watching Blair's face and keeping his own expression calm. Blair's hands were cat-claw flexing against his thighs but that didn't matter; Jim planned to give him something else to do with those hands very soon.

"You remember what to say if you want me to stop?"

"Are we still doing that?"

"Yes. You can pick another word but we're still doing it."

"What's yours?" Blair countered.

Jim chuckled. "That's not a bad idea as long as you don't mind me using it when you start talking when you should be not talking."

"I like asking questions," Blair relaxed when he was talking, the tension in his shoulders easing away, his hands moving in a visual accompaniment to his words. Translating those expressive gestures wasn't always easy; it meant not watching Blair's mouth reshape itself and that was a sacrifice.

"Questions are good," Jim allowed. "Running commentary on the other hand…"

"I'm used to thinking aloud."

"I've noticed that." Jim shrugged. "Red works for me, too."

"So what now?" Blair began. "Are you going to --?"

"I'm going to get to know you," Jim said. "That's what people do on first dates, right?"

"I guess…" Blair gave him a doubtful look. "Doesn't that mean a lot of talking?"

"No." Jim pushed his hands slowly through Blair's hair, fitting his fingers to the shape of Blair's skull and his thumbs in the shallow hollows of his forehead. Warm. And the tangled curls parted easily, sliding against the backs of his hands with a silky tickle.

Blair's eyelids sank down in a drowsy flutter and he tilted his head back into the cradle of Jim's palms, making an appreciative murmur as Jim's fingers began to move in small, firm circles. He liked being touched? Good. Keeping one hand in place, cupping the back of Blair's head, Jim used his free hand to explore Blair's features, one finger following the curve of each eyebrow, then the bridge of Blair's nose, before he gave in to temptation and put the tip of his index finger against Blair's mouth.

Blair opened his eyes, went cross-eyed briefly, squinting down at it, and then gave it a tentative lick, parting his lips to do it. Curious, Jim held it there, wondering what Blair would do.

He tilted his head back again.

Oh, nice. Jim approved the subtlety of that as much as the damp drag of Blair's bottom lip against the pad of his finger. Blair's lip was forced to curve out by the downward pressure of Jim's finger, his tongue slicking it with spit and a second, more lavish lick before his lip tugged free.

"You're enjoying this," Jim said, not troubling to hide his amusement as he rubbed his finger dry on Blair's chest, trailing it through the dark hair to a nipple and stopping short of touching it. "You can, uh, get to know me, as well, if you like."

Blair nodded and then gave Jim's hair a speculative, mischievous look. "Don't say it," Jim warned him.

"Has it always been short?" Blair asked, choosing to run his hand up Jim's arm, pausing to squeeze at muscles Jim kept solid through habit and pride.

"Yeah, I guess. What about you? You grow it long at college and never get around to cutting it?"

"No." Blair shook his head and Jim let his hand slip from Blair's neck to his back, scratching at it, taking his cue from the way Blair arched and writhed and nailing as many hot spots as he could. "In college it was short."

"You don't do anything the easy way, do you?"

"I was sixteen," Blair told him. "I hadn't had time to grow it."

"You were at college when you were -- no, forget it; I believe it."

"Where were you at sixteen, Jim? Here in Cascade? What high school?"

Blair's hand reached Jim's shoulder, paused, and then slid behind Jim's neck, pulling him forward before he could answer the swift patter of questions, a swift tug with Blair's head bobbed forward at the same time. Jim resisted out of surprise and then regretted it because Blair let go at once, moving back, breaking position, his face flushing. "Sorry, I just -- sorry."

"You wanted to kiss me?" Jim reached out and grabbed Blair's arm, stopping him from scrambling off the bed. "Hey. Hey"

"This isn't going to work."

"Red," Jim said through gritted teeth. "Red, scarlet, fucking crimson and --" He scanned his memory of a hundred crossword clues and came up with a final one. "Vermilion!"

"That's an orangey-red," Blair said. "And I don't think you can use more than one word or it gets confusing."

"You are one deliberately annoying son of a bitch, you know that?" Jim pounced on Blair and got him pinned to the bed, without much trouble, his hands locked around Blair's wrists, shoving them up above Blair's head. It was a position he could get used to, especially when Blair's cock was hard and the head of it was pressing into the skin around Jim's navel, a blunt, hot push. "You want to kiss me, do it."

He rolled them over, reversing their positions, keeping a tight hold on Blair's wrists and holding them out to the side so Blair's weight was full on him. "Kiss me," he said softly, staring up at wide blue eyes and feeling the tremors running through Blair's body. "And because I just know you're going to ask me where, I'll tell you. My mouth. Shut me up, the way I've been doing to you." He had to be hurting Blair, the way his fingers were clamped, bones shifting as Blair's hands made fists, relaxed, bunched up again.

Had to be.

He didn't let go and he didn't look away. And when Blair's mouth came down on his, open and rough, he let himself be kissed, passive, his lips quiet, until Blair sobbed, a single sob of pure frustration, and then he put Blair under him again and kissed him back.

Kissing Blair, once he'd settled into it and there was less spit and teeth involved, was distracting enough that it took Jim a while to realise that once again they were off track.

Which led him to the next revelation; that yes, he'd had the whole thing planned and could probably have predicted to within two minutes just when Blair would climax. Hell, he would have put money on being able to make Blair come whenever he wanted him to.

That was… on the cold side. It would have been good for Blair-- Jim would have made sure it was -- but for all the wrong (professional pride, little bit of arrogance, lot of showing off) reasons.

And it wouldn't have been all that good for him, which was what Blair had been trying to tell him, but he hadn't listened, and now Blair, tongue busy, hands clawing at Jim's pants as if he thought he really could shred linen, was showing him.

Pride stung, Jim lifted himself up and unbuttoned his pants one handed. "You want these off?" he demanded.

Blair nodded and Jim got off him, lying flat on his back. "Do it."

The lick Blair gave his lips before his fingers grasped the tag of Jim's zipper was arousing enough to make his job that much more difficult, but to give him credit he was careful as he tugged it down and eased the pants over Jim's hips and off. Eager, but careful.

Jim watched a two-hundred dollar pair of pants sail through the air and comforted himself with the reminder that linen was supposed to look creased.

Blair didn't move after that. Jim hooked a finger in the waistband of his shorts and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Another lip lick. "I need to know what you see us doing tonight," Blair said, with a bluntness Jim guessed was based in habit. "If I know, I can get used to the idea."

So much for unscripted… Jim propped himself up on his elbows and stared down at his erection, which, even hidden behind white cotton, was hard to miss. He knew what it was going to look like when -- if -- his shorts came off and he didn't think he could will it soft again.

"I see me getting out of these, with or without your help."

"I'll do it if I can take my time," Blair offered unexpectedly.

"Knock yourself out, Chief." Jim snagged a pillow for his head and put his hands behind his neck, well aware that he looked good like that but more interested in looking cooperative.

Blair got between Jim's legs again, kneeling but crouched over, his hands on either side of Jim's waist. He stared down, holding his position for long enough that Jim, who could outwait a cat, gave up trying to see Blair's face and let his gaze wander around the room, picking out the odd book he had on his own shelves and waiting patiently for Blair to get around to touching him, maybe.

The wet heat of Blair's mouth, soaking through the cotton a moment after the contact had been made brought Jim's attention snapping back abruptly.

"Hey, you don't have to --" he began, but Blair had already stopped, his teeth releasing the shaft of Jim's cock which he'd bitten gently, head tilted sideways, the bite of a mama lion carrying a cub.

"Shush," Blair said absently doing it to one of Jim's balls and smiling when it jiggled free, chasing it and kissing it briefly before -- yeah, he was sniffing him. Jim felt a spasm of panic -- was he sweaty, stinky, what? -- but Blair must have liked it because he gave the head of Jim's cock a smooch and a lick through the shorts.

Jim tried to think when he'd last had a blow job wearing his shorts. Still on, with his dick pulled through the split, sure, but like this? No. The cotton was getting damp, clinging, sticking, dragging, Blair's exhalations sending tiny shivers through a puzzled length of stiffened flesh.

Cat licks. Neat, precise, distanced, and, when Blair leaned over far enough, Jim had to deal with the brush of Blair's hair on his thighs, each strand doing its best to get every hair on Jim's body to stand up and wave.

It had been a while since he'd had a blow job. When he was working they were rare; most people liked getting, not giving, and Jim gave good ones…and not many clients were all that bothered about getting him off.

He remembered one guy who had wanted to kneel for him, his hand busy in his lap, his mouth full of Jim's cock. The guy hadn't been too bad at it and Jim had been moaning, hips rocking carefully, feeling some kindness towards all mankind when the son of a bitch had come, taking his mouth away and jerking off all over Jim's fucking shoes, eyes closed, oblivious to the fact that Jim had been seconds away from coming, his balls tight, his cock throbbing.

It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. It was all about the client, always. His own arousal was, well, nice if he didn't have to fake it, but if he did, he could, there were ways. And some clients didn't want him to come while they were watching. What he'd done in the bathroom of Blair's hotel room, well, it wasn't the first time that had been necessary.

But that guy… jerk, pure and simple. He hadn't been enjoying controlling Jim, or getting off on depriving him of a climax; Jim would have been fine with that. No, he just hadn't thought of Jim as anything worthy of consideration, as if he was some up-scale blow-up doll.  Jim remembered peeling the condom off with hands that were shaking with the need to punch a wall, a face, himself for being stupid, his arousal wiped away by sheer disgust.

He hadn't seen a client for two months after that. Had handed in his resignation to Jack, the owner of what was just called The Agency back then, and spent a lot of time drinking in the dark.

Jack had tried to talk him around, offering him inducements, encouragement, advice; it'd been nice to feel wanted… but he'd said no until Jack lost patience with him and then there was nothing to do but hand over the key to the apartment that came with the job and pack.

It had taken him under three hours to do that, most of it spent in cleaning the place and it took two trips from apartment to his car to empty the plush, snazzy space of all he owned. He didn't mind travelling light but that wasn't much to show for a man his age.

It would take him longer now; the loft he'd moved into, bare, unpretentious, with a view he never tired of, the city and the water, had filled up over the years.

Not that he'd expected to be there for long when he'd moved in; it had been an impulse buy, a deliberate attempt to start over in a new part of the city, but he'd made those kind of changes before and they'd never stuck.

And in some ways, this one hadn't either; he still had the loft but his job… well, he'd gone back to that, more or less…

Blair licked along the place where the waistband of Jim's shorts met his stomach, a wavering line of wet, sometimes on skin, sometimes cloth.  Jim automatically sucked in his belly, thinking about doing some more of that rolling around with Blair on him, under him, against him, kissing him.

No expectations. No pressure. Except he wanted to make this the best sex Blair had ever had… and he was back at the no pressure because it wasn't going to be difficult and how pitiful was that?

Blair pulled back. Jim's shorts were damp enough in places for the flush of skin to be visible through the fabric. "Tell me something I can do that you like," he said when Blair hadn't moved for a long ten seconds, staring at the upthrust outline of Jim's cock and frowning slightly. "Or you can take a picture of my dick and I hope the two of you are very happy together."

"I'm sorry." Blair looked up. "I just haven't ever seen… well, mine, obviously, but from up here you can't see it the same, you know?" He gestured down at his own erection, which meant Jim could look at it, too, without feeling that he was making Blair uncomfortable. Nice. Average length and thickness, cut; Jim's wasn't much different. Maybe a little bigger than Blair, but who, apart from teenagers, measured? If you wanted them big, you usually wanted them huge; most agencies had at least one guy who qualified. For the majority of clients, Jim was more than enough and his ass was more of a selling point anyway.

Speaking of which, he liked Blair's ass. Oh, yeah. Really did…

"I suppose I could have looked in a mirror…" Blair went on.

Jim grinned. "You mean you never have?"

"Man, that never occurred to me." Blair gave him an inquiring look. "Have you?"

"Sure, back when I was a kid," Jim said easily. Embarrassment about sex wasn't really part of his world anymore. "So you approve of the way I'm put together?"

Blair knee walked across the bed and grabbed a bottle of water on the nightstand, half empty. "Cotton mouth," he said to Jim, who snorted at the pun and delivered a reproving kick to Blair's foot.

After a few gulps, Blair turned back, his gaze speculative and focused. Bottle in hand, he got close again and then said in a soft murmur, "Can I --?"

Jim said 'yes' without thinking, without realising what Blair was going to do, and yelped as a stream of water, cool enough to be shocking, was drizzled over his cock from tip to balls. It should have killed his arousal, but it didn't; not when Blair was looking at the blatantly displayed shape of Jim's cock, more naked than naked, the cotton close to transparent, and making a long, throaty moan of appreciation.

"God, you look --"

"Wet," Jim said, not willing to let Blair get away with that even if he had technically asked first. A trickle of water ran back behind his balls and he shuddered. "Fuck. Soaked. Fuck. You --" He stripped off his shorts, not caring if Blair hadn't finished looking, and balled them up, tossing them away.

Then he saw the glint in Blair's eyes and nodded slowly. "I see."

"What?" The amusement in Blair's eyes was crowding out the blue.

"You want me to spank you." The eyes widened and Blair shook his head, starting to edge back. "Oh, you really do," Jim said with a pure, deep satisfaction that he was going to get his revenge.

"Jim! Hey! I'm sorry, I didn't…"

Jim paused, tapped the cover of the bed, the bright, deep red cover, which was a colour that would look really good on Blair, and raised his eyebrows.

Blair got it. He got it fast, shaking his head still, but not for the same reason. Putting his mouth close to Jim's ear, he murmured, "Green, but you want my ass, you're going to have to work for it, okay?"

It took sixty seconds maybe, a wild flurry of a fight, with both of them grinning, wide, peeled back grins, a silent fight, real enough to leave a few bruises on Jim, real enough that he had to try hard to get Blair over his knee and once there it took some effort to keep him there, but when the first smack landed, Blair stopped fighting.

Or maybe just changed his tactics.

He wasn't positioned right and Jim had no intention of letting it continue like this, but there was something about the sound his hand made connecting with Blair's, well, not his ass; he'd zigged and it had landed on his hipbone which had hurt Jim's hand more than Blair's ass. Something addictive, compelling.

With Blair suddenly compliant, his back rising and falling with quick, hungry breaths, his heart hammering against Jim's imprisoning arm, administering a second slap, right where he wanted it to go, on that place, there, where the skin, tinder dry, caught fire so easily, a palm print already blazing, burning as the second one landed, was just too tempting to pass on.

But after those two, Jim stopped, getting a stifled, frustrated wail from Blair and his thigh worried by Blair's teeth.

"Stop that," Jim said mildly. "Those three were for getting me wet. We're even." Because he didn't want Blair to think he really minded, he added, "And I was playing. You want it for real, you've got to ask for it."

"I want it." Blair twisted his head so that Jim could see him. "But I want to make you come. Not just me."

"I'm planning on it," Jim said, amused and a little touched. "Come up here…" He helped Blair to stand up and then got up too, wrapping his arms around Blair and kissing him. Naked. Both of them hard, Blair's body straining against his, eager and hot and strong.

"You just don't hold back, do you?" he said, the words mumbled against Blair's mouth because he didn't want to lose contact with it. "Want to see you lose it, Blair. Want to make you scream."

He felt Blair's hands brush his ass lightly, then with more assurance. "I don't scream. But I'll beg."

"You'll do both," Jim promised. He grinned. "In fact, sweetheart, I can have you begging to scream…"

Blair snickered. "Yes, Jim," he said demurely.

Jim allowed Blair to think he'd got away with that. He'd been smiling, but he hadn't been joking; he'd let Blair find that out for himself.

"So you wanted to know what I'd brought with me?"

Blair pulled back a little, looking up at Jim. "Yeah, Mary Poppins. Show me."

"Blair," Jim said, opening the bag and turning it upside down so that the contents scattered across the blanket like an X-rated piñata. "Pissing me off before I spank you is a terrible idea. Want to know why?"

Blair shrugged, chewing on his lip. "Uh, I'll be sleeping on my front for a week and eating standing up?" He didn't look like the idea bothered him.

"No. You just won't get spanked until I stop being pissed because I won't lay a finger on you when I'm angry, and by the way, I hold a grudge better than anyone." Jim smiled at him. "So. Now we've got that misunderstanding cleared up…"

Blair's attention got diverted to the bed. "Oh, wow…"

He was close to coming, Jim noted with an interest that was still a little professional. Just from looking. In fact, he bet he could make Blair come using that flogger he was gaping at, the one with the soft, wide strands, without ever actually cracking it against his skin, just from ordering Blair to touch it, maybe trailing it over his open, gasping mouth or along his spread thighs, maybe wrapping each strand around Blair's dick, fucking his mouth with the handle, slowly, slowly…

Blair reached out a hand to touch, and, yes, he was going for the flogger, his fingers outstretched, when he froze.

"Jim? Do you --?"

He was already moving to scoop up everything and jam it back in the bag, metal jangling, leather whispering, old habits kicking in fast. "A car? Yeah. You order pizza?"

Pants. Where were his --? Oh, there…

"No."

"Expecting visitors?"

"No."

Jim finished zipping his pants, going commando because his shorts really were just too damn wet, and grabbed his shirt. "Any ideas?"

Blair reached down and gave his waning erection a regretful pat. "It's Naomi. Has to be."

"Your girlfriend?" Jim paused mid-sock. "Blair --"

"My mom, damn it." Blair wasn't bothering to get dressed. He pulled on his shorts and a robe, tying it with angry tugs. "She wasn't supposed to be back for days."

"Hey." Fully dressed and presentable, Jim walked over to Blair and cupped his face, then let his fingers drift over the bite mark on Blair's neck, pressing on it gently. "It's okay. We can do this another time."

"Sure," Blair said flatly, jerking his face away. Outside, what must have been a taxi was reversing and Jim could hear a key being fitted to a lock.

And see the despair in Blair's partially averted face.

On impulse, motivated less by frustration than sympathy -- and selfishness because he didn't want the night to end any more than Blair did, Jim said, "How long will it take for you to get her settled in? She'll have jet lag, right? Be exhausted?"

Blair laughed without amusement. "Naomi? Are you kidding? She'll probably shower and be at a party in an hour. She'll want to see me and make sure I'm okay, but she won't stick around."

'Then there's no problem." Jim shrugged. "Get dressed, say hi, and let's go."

"Go where?" There was a puzzled, expectant look on his face now.

Jim checked his watch, ignoring the first call of Blair's name in a musical voice, sweet and giddy. "It's only nine. We can go anywhere you like." He picked up his bag. "Or you can come back to my place and pick up where we left off." He grinned. "Want to sleep over, Chief?"


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Part Five

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