Point of Contact

Part Five


Blair knew Naomi wouldn't walk into his room. She had, once, and caught him jerking off. The embarrassment he could have dealt with; the way she insisted on talking it through was harder to cope with. She'd continued to wander in, convinced that they'd worked past the issue, and only stopped when he'd bought a lock for the door and asked her if he needed to use it or if she'd respect that it was his space.

You just had to use words she understood.

'No' wasn't one of them and 'please' didn't work that well, either.

Blair also knew that she would've seen Jim's car and getting them out of the house without an introduction would only work if they climbed out of a window.

"I'd like that," he told Jim. "But you don't have to -- I mean, I don't have to stay the night."

"I'd throw in pancakes," Jim said. "Round ones."

Blair looked from Jim's smiling eyes and studiously serious mouth to the white splash of Jim's shorts against the red blanket. Okay. He got dressed and packed his toothbrush, a change of clothes, and, from force of habit, the book he was reading. He was going to do this. He'd fuck it up and Jim would serve him those pancakes out of politeness and they'd exchange the usual empty promises to call that were so threadbare and shoddy, they couldn't be accepted at face value by even the most optimistically deluded, but he was going to do it.

"I have that book," Jim said. "Enjoyed it. But I really hope you don't plan on reading much of it tonight. I've got other things for your hands to hold and your eyes to look at."

Blair grinned. "That sounds too neat to be off the cuff."

"Busted," Jim said lightly. "I've got a list of seduction lines memorised. That was number five."

"You don't need to seduce me," Blair said. "I'm hooked, remember?"

"You keep wriggling." Jim was close enough that Blair could almost smell the frustration simmering off his skin, a salt-sweat musk that made Blair want to fall to his knees without anything as superfluous as an order and go to the source.

That reminded him of Jim's insistence that they stick to using condoms for blow jobs. Blair knew all about the risks -- and in his opinion, considering everything, this wasn't much of one. Walking over to his desk, he took out his blood test results, scarily comprehensive, and gave them to Jim, who accepted the form with a puzzled frown until he saw what it was and his face cleared.

"Okay," Jim said a moment later, handing them back. "Thanks. But I believed you before."

"I haven't had sex, apart from with you, in, uh…. Eight months," Blair said. "I'm safe to suck and so are you."

Jim's mouth twitched in what might have been a grin. "'Safe to suck?'" he repeated. "Want to put that on a T-shirt?" He reached into a side pocket of his bag, that bag -- God, Blair couldn't believe his mom's timing, seriously fucked-up, seriously -- and took out his own version of Blair's form.

Blair read it because it was words and reading them was automatic but he didn't need to. He couldn't imagine Jim lying to him about something that would put him in danger.

"So?"

Jim tucked the form away and sighed. "It's not just you and me. It's whoever we're with next. I can't put any of my clients at risk."

"It wouldn't be one," Blair argued. "And I thought you didn't do that anymore."

"I came here tonight, didn't I?" Jim's eyes matched his mouth now and the coldness seemed to be genuine. "Blair, I can get you off when you're suited up; don't worry about it."

"Okay," Blair said. "But when I return the favour, I want you bare. There's no risk to you that way and it's my choice to make."

"Do you ever stop?" Jim said after an incredulous, furious glare had lasted longer than Blair thought one could. "Ever?"

"No," Blair admitted. "Get used to it or, well, do what everyone else did."

"Oh, no." Jim smiled, thin and sharp. "When I walk out of here, I'm taking you with me. Now tell me what cover story you want me to use with your mother."

"I wasn't planning on telling her anything but the truth." Blair sighed. "Sorry; I should have discussed that with you first; maybe you don't want her to know what your job is?"

"And you do?" Jim's hand was back on Blair's face again. He did that a lot, Blair thought distantly. "Blair, she went away thinking you were single and straight; she comes back and finds you dating a man who makes a living selling sex and I'm guessing no matter how liberal she is --"

"You have no idea," Blair put in.

"She's still not going to like it." Jim's voice was firm but gentle as his hand slipped away. "Tell her I'm a friend and you were showing me something in here. Lending me a book, maybe."

"That's probably not going to work, but even if it did, it would only work once." Blair looked away. Okay, that had to be the lamest plea for a second date ever.

"True." Jim grimaced. "Break it down. Are you sure about coming out to her?"

"Why not?" Blair shrugged. "That's not going to bother her. She's mentioned it as a possibility before."

"But you're not sure how she'll react to my job."

"She… won't like that," Blair said slowly. "But she doesn't need to know tonight."

"She'll find out eventually," Jim said. "If you keep me around." He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "But maybe we should keep it simple for tonight."

***

"Mom, this is Jim. He's my…"

"Your?" Naomi repeated, still smiling from the kiss Jim had given her hand, managing to make it seem as natural as the look of frank appreciation in his face when Naomi had rushed over to them, fresh from a shower, her red hair a shade darker, a flutter of apple-green silk revealing, not concealing, her body.

Naomi was beautiful. Blair could appreciate that fact objectively; he just wished so many of his friends hadn't felt the need to tell him how hot or awesome she was. It wasn't something a twelve-year-old needed to hear. In fact, it wasn't something he ever wanted to hear. He waited, resigned, for Jim to get added to the list of her admirers.

"Blair and I…" Jim let his sentence trail off, arching his eyebrow and giving Naomi a conspiratorial smile. "We met when you were away and, well…"

"Oh…" Naomi drew the word out in a long, startled gasp that gave her time to decide how she wanted to react. Blair had seen her do that a hundred times; it was a trick he'd picked up himself; let your mouth move and say nothing much while you give yourself time to think. Naomi's gaze was flicking over Jim, summing him up efficiently and ruthlessly now.

"Oh," she said softly, her smile wide, delighted. Jim got a butterfly-light kiss on his cheek and Blair a hug that transferred some of her vibrant, humming energy to him. "Well, that's wonderful news."

"I think so," Jim said pleasantly.

Okay, that had gone well, but all Blair's instincts were telling him that it was time to go. Naomi would start to ask questions soon, and she'd want answers.

"Mom, I hate to do this when you've just got back, but Jim and I had plans and we're running late."

"Well, don't think of changing them on my account," she said firmly.

The nice thing was that she was sincere about that. Blair gave her a hug and a kiss on her cool, rose-scented cheek. "I'll be back tomorrow sometime; I'll see you then and we can catch up, right?"

He got an apologetic moue. "I might be out, sweetie; I promised to take some organic honey over to Drew and Justin. But when the time is right to talk, we'll both be here, I'm sure of it."

Blair grinned at her, feeling a familiar surge of affection. It wouldn't surprise him to come back and find her already planning another trip -- or even already gone. "Whenever," he said.

"Whenever," she agreed. She turned to Jim. "And I want to meet you properly very soon, Jim."

Okay, maybe this time she would be sticking around… Blair shoved the twinge of worry away. It wasn't likely that Jim would have to face her curiosity, after all. A date. Singular.

Jim smiled and inclined his head. "I'll look forward to that, Naomi."

They watched her walk away, a comment about meditating to restore her balance after the flight drifting back like the thin spiral of smoke from a joss stick, and then Jim ran his hand from the nape of Blair's neck to the base of his spine, an unhurried, possessive caress that made Blair's body scream out for more, his arousal flaring brightly again.

"Run?" Jim murmured into his ear. "Before I destroy that good first impression?"

"I don't think you could," Blair murmured back. "You were very, uh, polite."

"She's easy to be nice to." Blair tilted his head obligingly, giving Jim's mouth access to the side of his neck. Warm, tickling kisses… "And if you're sure bending you over the couch would go down well…"

Blair snickered. "You wouldn't."

"Yeah, I would," Jim said seriously. "If I thought you wanted it, I'd do it. But it wouldn't be a good idea. Let's go, huh?"

Blair stopped staring at the couch with an effort of will. "Um, yeah, sure." He took a few steps and then stopped, shaking himself like a dog emerging from a river. "God."

Jim didn't ask for an explanation but the expectant, focused look in his eyes was lightened by a flicker of amusement.

It didn't take long to make the drive into the city, not when it turned out that Jim lived on the edge of it, down near the bay. Jim drove fast, but with too much competence for Blair to feel concerned. He relaxed against the black leather seat and played with the settings on it until Jim reached over and slapped his hand away. "Stop that."

"Sorry." Blair gave him an unrepentant grin. "Nice car." Cars weren't his thing, but responding to the sleek lines of the sports car and the subdued growl of the engine wasn't difficult.

Jim shrugged. "It's the agency's, not mine. Well, I suppose that makes it mine, but it's one any of us can drive. Makes a good impression. I'd have used my own to come to see you, but it's in for servicing."

"What do you drive?" Blair asked, thinking along the lines of something Italian, expensive, lean and low.

Jim smiled, making a turn with a squeal of rubber and raising his hand dismissively to someone who objected to him claiming the right of way. "1969 pickup truck. Needed some work so I got a good deal. I wanted to restore her myself, but I don't have all that much time so I found a mechanic instead."

There was something wistful in Jim's voice but before Blair could reply, they pulled up outside a small, private underground parking lot. "I live over there," Jim said, nodding towards a row of shops with what looked like converted warehouse space above them. "Third floor. Not safe to park this outside, though, so I rent a space here. Hop out and grab your stuff and I'll just leave this with the attendant."

As he waited, Blair looked around. It wasn't a rundown part of the city exactly, but it wasn't what he'd expected. The tang of saltwater was strong enough for him to guess that the bay was close, although it was too dark to see it, and overlaying that was a spicy smell he tracked to a Thai restaurant a few hundred yards away.

An old woman, her face wrinkled like a winter apple, ambled by, pushing a cart full of… stuff. Blair waited to be hit on for spare change, already feeling through his pockets as unobtrusively as possible, but she just gave him an incurious look that blossomed into a smile as Jim appeared, his bag in one hand, his other hand vanishing into his pocket.

"Jimmy!"

"Hi there, Mrs. DeLuca." Jim bent over and submitted to a hug that lasted long enough for him to slide a folded dollar bill into the pocket of her coat. It was done smoothly, but as she trundled her cart away, Blair saw her pat her coat, head cocked as if she was listening for a reassuring crackle of paper.

"Friend?" Blair asked politely.

Jim shook his head. "She found out I was called Jim; she's got it into her head I'm her son's cousin or something. Keeps asking if I've seen Mickey today."

"And he's not around?" They crossed the street, dodging a kid on skates, arms windmilling wildly, and headed for the entranceway, next to a dress shop.

"I asked a cop friend of mine; he's doing ten to fifteen for holding up a store and shooting the owner in the leg." Jim led the way up some stairs, talking back over his shoulder. "With him gone, she lost her place, but she won't let anyone get her an apartment. Just wanders around with that cart."

"That's terrible," Blair said.

Jim rounded a corner. More stairs. Blair was beginning to wish they'd taken the elevator but he supposed Jim had his reasons for avoiding it.

"She manages," Jim said briefly. "I'm not the only one looking out for her, not that I do much."

He didn’t seem to be out of breath at all. Blair was feeling the effects of too many hours spent hunched over a keyboard typing away and the stairwell was hot, the walls painted a long time ago by the look of it.

"Have you lived here long?" he asked, just as they came to a front door.

Jim fished out a key and opened it. "Few years," he said uncommunicatively. "I bought it last year."

"Oh?" Blair stepped inside and blinked. "Wow."

Jim closed the door and took Blair's overnight bag from him, dropping it on a chair and putting his own on the floor. "Thanks."

Blair stood in place, letting his gaze wander. Compared to Naomi's place, it wasn't that much, maybe, but the airy, open space… he felt as if he could breathe here. He proved it by taking a deep, contented breath, registering the fact that Jim had been a customer at the Thai restaurant recently, and then wandered in deeper, after kicking off his shoes. Something told him that Jim wouldn't mind.

"You can see the water," he noted, when he'd finished scanning the books shelved here and there, doing his best not to stare openly at the photographs, although one which had Jim in a uniform of some kind had been difficult to skip over. It really didn't fit his image of Jim.

The loft was furnished with some furniture that looked expensive but comfortable, although the pale fabric on the couch made Blair feel like avoiding it.

Jim opened the balcony doors and they wandered out onto the small patio. Blair brushed his fingers over a glossy leafed plant in a huge ceramic planter, tracing the deep dent in the leaf that funneled the water to where it was needed.

"I sit out here a lot," Jim said, leaning on the wall. "Watch the boats… listen to the gulls… It's quieter than you'd think."

"I like it," Blair said. "The mountains are quiet, too, but you're kind of distanced up there. Looking down on everything. Not part of it."

"It's good to be part of something," Jim said. He looked as if he was going to say something else, then hesitated. "Want a drink?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know," Jim repeated, sounding bemused. "Why don't you know?"

"I don't know if that's your way of saying you've changed your mind." He'd decided not to waste time being tactful or bashful. There was a clock ticking so loudly in his head he felt as if everyone in the building could hear it, checking off the moments before he ate the last syrup-drenched, buttery bite of the perfect pancakes Jim would cook for him, accompanied by freshly squeezed juice, expensive coffee beans ground and turned into fragrantly kick-ass coffee. He'd chew, swallow, and leave, and that would be that.

"About what?" Jim studied him, which shouldn't have made Blair's mouth dry up with pure, panicked lust, but it did. "Bending you over something?" His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Maybe later," he decided. "Can we just get naked and come and take it from there? Because I don't know about you, but I can't take much more of this. I nearly ran the car off the road because I couldn't stop looking at you. And if that light at Franklin hadn't changed when it did, I'd have had no choice but to see it as a sign from above and start kissing you."

"Why didn't you?"

"I start and I won't stop." Jim sounded definite about that. "Why do you think I've kept my distance since we got here?"

Blair swallowed. "You don't need to. You can start anytime. I want you to start. I want --"

"Then go inside," Jim said, his eyes never leaving Blair's face. "Go in, go up the stairs, get naked and kneel on my bed. And I won't stop. I promise I won't. And I won't let you stop us with talking or questions or anything else." His teeth dug into his lip. "You need me to back off, and you know what to do, but other than that --"

"I'm going," Blair blurted out. "God, I'm doing it, okay?" He turned and took four stumbling, eager steps before Jim was on him, arms around him, mouth and teeth finding the place on Blair's neck he'd bitten earlier, sucking and licking until Blair felt as if the skin there was going to thin and shred and yield, breaking him open for Jim. He was making sounds, meaningless, incoherent sounds, soft and anguished and desperate.

Jim's hands found their way to bare skin, Blair's skin, stroking it with hard, demanding passes of palm and heel and fingertips that still managed to be frustratingly not enough. He wanted Jim on him, lying on him, weight bearing him down, Jim's thigh wedged between his legs, close, heavy, there.

"Not fast enough," Jim whispered against, into, Blair's neck, the words soaking his skin with heat. "Trying to tell me something? Want it here? Want to be fucked on the floor, get come all over it, that I'll make you clean up by the way, get bruises off it, ones that'll be there for days? I will, you know I will…" He pulled away, leaving Blair surrounded by aching emptiness until Jim's hands came to rest on his shoulders. "Or you can get your ass upstairs."

"I was," Blair said, the words hard to fashion from the spark and sizzle going on in his head. "Jim… I was."

"Not fast enough," Jim reminded him. He gave Blair a gentle push. "Go on."

Blair watched Jim walk quickly to where he'd left his bag and then realised that he wasn't moving. He made it up the stairs to an open area with a wide bed, right up against the railings that would, he hoped, stop them from falling out of bed and plunging to the floor below. He felt exposed, stripping in a place so open, but he did it anyway.

Jim arrived just as he was kicking his way free of his jeans, giving him a vaguely disapproving look that made him flinch. "What? What did I do?"

Jim's expression went from puzzled to enlightened to guilty. "Sorry. Nothing. It's just…" He waved his hand. "The way you do that, it's not very…seductive."

"I'm getting undressed," Blair informed him coldly. "I'm getting naked. That's plenty seductive for most people."

Jim looked as if he'd been hit when he wasn't expecting it. "I didn't mean -- "

"You meant it wouldn't be good enough if I was working for you, right?" Blair demanded. "I don't measure up to what you're used to?"

"Blair…" Jim took a deep breath. "There's no one that you have to compare yourself to."

Blair walked over to the bed, got on it, anger giving him all the strength he needed, and knelt, facing Jim, his spine a stiff line, his hands tight fists on his thighs. "Okay. I won't. But you want me to do something differently, just tell me. Hell, make it an order; spank me if I get it wrong." He frowned. "Or right; I'm not sure how that would work as a punishment because I'd like it, wouldn't I?"

Jim sighed. "I could do it so you wouldn't. Look --"

"No. I wasn't done." Blair licked his lips, noticing that Jim seemed to like that, his tongue passing over his own lips in an unconscious echo. "Do that. Tell me. Train --God, yes -- train me, just don't ever look at me like that. Like I've disappointed you. Let you down. I can't take that from you. Everyone else. Not you."

Jim got undressed and from where Blair was kneeling it didn't look any different from his own clumsy rush, and then Jim was on the bed with him, holding him, in a way that was more like being clung to than held, and they were falling sideways, and Jim was heavier than he'd expected, but as Blair kicked and squirmed until he got them just how he wanted them, he didn't really care.

"You're fucking with my head," Jim said and this time it was Blair's hair that got the words, tangled up in the strands, stuck there like gum. "I keep wanting to -- and you won't let me. You just don't."

"I'll let you do anything, Jim." There was a shoulder to kiss right there, smooth skin over so much bone and muscle it would take a long, long time to cover every inch. Blair settled for one particular inch, the one that made the exclamation point of Jim's dick and balls jerk and quiver just a little bit when his mouth fastened onto it. "You know that."

"Right… right…" Jim turned his head away and buried it into a pillow, scrubbing it across the softest cotton Blair had come across. The sheets were clean, smelling of fresh air. Blair wanted them to reek of sex and sweat, wanted to rumple and crumple and crease them. Wanted to leave his mark on the pristine perfection of this loft with its white on white walls, its copper panned kitchen, its honey-toned wood floor.

He knew where it was all coming from; this need to leave a sign that he'd been there that would last. It was coming from his fear that Jim would dismiss him as soon as the sheets had been stripped from the bed, the breakfast dishes tidied away. And really, the only marks he could leave were ones that would damage, mar. Jim's skin was barely touched with a freckle and he wanted to leave claw marks, bite marks, bruises? That was just freaky.

Better to ask Jim to leave those marks on him, so that he could remember as he was the only one who was going to want to.

Yes. That would work. He just couldn't think how to ask for it and now Jim was kissing him, and he couldn't talk, and Jim was moving against him, a slow, relentless rocking that meant Blair's cock got the tiniest bit of friction every third stroke or so, and always in the perfect spot, right beneath the head, but not enough --

He sank his teeth into Jim's shoulder, already missing the kiss, and let the bite anchor him as he pushed up, writhing, wriggling, graceless and desperate. "Want to come, need to come--"

He was snarling. Biting, snarling, like a dog, like a fucking dog, his cock red and hot and needing something to touch it.

"Stop biting me." Jim's voice sounded calm in comparison but there was a ragged edge to it. "Blair --"

He threw his head back, distantly aware that those snuffled, harsh grunts were coming from him and not caring. His nails raked down Jim's back, and he willed Jim to get it, to see that he was giving what he couldn't ask for because he didn't know the words.

Hurt me, mark me? They sounded crazy things to ask a near stranger and he wasn't even sure he wanted that exactly.

He keened out his frustration, turning his face into the pillow and finding it damp in places. Jim hissed, arching away from Blair's nails. "Stop it."

"No. Make me. No -- just -- please, Jim, please --"

Jim rolled away. Blair froze, mouth open on a plea, screwing his eyes closed so he couldn't see Jim walk away. God. No. Fuck.

Then the bed dipped slightly under Jim's weight and Blair found out what the railings were good for as his wrist was cuffed, the link looped over a metal bar and the second cuff wrapped closed a second later.

Jim stared down at him. "Chief, you've got to find a better way to ask for what you want." He rolled his shoulders and winced. "Yeah. You really do."

Blair thought about apologizing but he couldn't make it sincere. The cuffs were leather, lined with sheepskin, a long chain linking them. Play cuffs, but they felt secure. He tugged on them experimentally and then harder. Held. He was held in place. Not going anywhere.

Cuffed to Jim's fucking bed.

"Velcro," Jim told him. "You okay with them?"

"I don't know," Blair said in a husky, urgent whisper. "Are you okay with me coming if I pull on them one more time?"

Jim looked surprised and then intrigued. "You like them that much?"

"Hell, yes," Blair told him fervently.

"I wanted you to come," Jim reminded him. "Take the edge off."

There was something subtly wrong about that. Blair thought back, replaying Jim's words until he tracked down the revision. "No. Both of us."

"Watching you come will probably do it for me." Jim shook his head, giving Blair a look that was bewildered and almost resentful. Blair could sympathise with that. Jim was taking his control away so easily it was scary. "God. You're just so…"

"So what?" Blair demanded, holding himself still with an effort.

Jim's face lost any softness, all taut lines and hard, bright eyes. "Enough."

Blair opened his mouth to ask for clarification on whether that was an answer or an order and was silenced by Jim's hand. "I can gag you, you know" Jim said. "Easy to work out another signal for red. Do you want that?"

Blair thought about it and didn't get a buzz from the idea, let alone another lazy ripple of heat lapping over him, sweet and heavy. He moved his head in as clear a 'no' as he could and Jim took his hand away.

"Look at me," Jim said, moving to kneel between Blair's legs, pushing them wider with his hands and keeping them in place for long enough that when he took them away Blair was left with palm-sized patches of warmth on his skin. "Take a good look."

Jim naked and kneeling bore no resemblance to the way he'd probably looked when he did it, Blair decided. Jim wasn't sucking in his gut to firm it up; you could probably bounce pennies off it, for God's sake. And he was kneeling with a perfect assurance that didn't hold a shred of submission in it.

Blair stared at Jim, from his face, emotionless by a clear effort of will, to his chest, smooth, bare, hard, to the jut and thrust of his cock and the heavy roll of his balls underneath. Male. Good looking in a way that crossed gender lines when it came to appeal.

Or maybe it was just Blair who was hardwired differently than most men -- he was too much Naomi's son to do more than consider, then reject, 'wrong' -- but it didn't matter how anyone else saw him, saw Jim, saw them. It only mattered how they saw each other.

"Way out of my league," he said.

"I don't think so." Jim didn't take his gaze away which meant Blair couldn't either, captivated by the cool blue above him.

But he wanted to; Jim's hands were moving over his own body now with an easy familiarity and Blair wanted to look down, just a little, and see what effect those clever, strong hands, those knowing, self-aware caresses, were having on Jim's erection. Wanted to see it twitch and harden and sway with every breath, wanted to watch the head get slick, glaze over. Wanted to taste.

He moaned, catching himself before he tugged against the cuffs, but it was getting to the point where the soft rub of the lining was almost enough just by itself.

"This is -- it's doing a lot for me," he said, stuttering through the words because he felt drunk now, swimming, floating. He could feel his body, all of it, all at once, a comprehensive totality of arousal, so that his attention wasn't moving between the beat of blood in his nipples (hard, needing a twist and tweak to make them harder) to his imprisoned wrists, or curved arms; wasn't forced to choose between that maddening tickle on the inside of his left knee, or the incipient cramp in his right calf.

All of it. And all of it was waiting for a single word, a single touch.

"I can see that." Jim's voice was quiet, reflective and his eyes finally moved away, skimming Blair's spread, captive body. "You're chained to my bed."

Good to know that was as much a source of wonder to Jim as it was to him.

"I've never done this here," Jim went on. "Never once brought a client here, not to fuck, anyway."

"I'm not --"

"But you were." Jim's hand came down far enough that the head of his cock bumped his wrist. He glanced down, as if surprised, smiled, and began to jerk himself off, using the same perfectly timed strokes Blair remembered. He knew what that hand felt like on his cock but it had been too long --

"Touch me," he begged, and really that was the only word to use, the only one that fit. "God, Jim --"

"What would you let me do?" Jim asked, leaning forward a little, his hand slowing, his face showing what it cost him to do that. He must have decided it was better to stop; he took his hand away and licked reflexively at a smear of precome at the base of his thumb. "Would you have done that?"

"Yes." Blair had tasted his own come out of curiosity in the past as he imagined most men had, and found it something he could go a while without wanting to try again, but it hadn't tasted unpleasant, just outside his frame of reference. He didn't feel any reluctance about the idea of tasting Jim's.

"And you'd suck me," Jim mused. "Let me come in your mouth."

Blair didn't bother to answer that.

"You haven't done that before," Jim said. "I'll show you how I like it done."

The idea of that was both erotic and ridiculous; Blair's mind split into two, half quivering, about to send out the message to come, right the hell now, the other half wondering just how Jim could tell him how to lick and suck and move if Blair was doing anything like a good job of it. Blow jobs, the few he'd had, tended to reduce Blair to a gratefully babbling mess.

Somehow, though, with Jim looming over him, the still small voice of reason was a barely audible dying whisper.

"You still haven't come," Jim noted. "I'm going to turn you over when you do and I'm going to use my hand on you and then that flogger you couldn't take your eyes off. It's going to feel good and you're going to try and stay quiet, try and lie still, but you won't be able to. Not even if I tell you I’ll stop. Not even if I tell you I won't fuck you unless you do. Because I think you want that more than my cock in you, don't you?"

Blair stared at one of his choices and felt his body split into pieces again, just waiting for Jim to put him back together.

"Want both," he said distinctly against the seashell roar of blood in his ears, and he struggled deliberately against the cuffs Jim had fastened on him and let the affirmation that he was held securely tear the climax out of him because he couldn't wait any longer.

He closed his eyes and felt his body convulse in an orgasm strong enough to leave him weak. He let Jim see it as it would have happened if he'd been alone, even if he couldn't quite make himself watch Jim watching, sharing it with him because Jim didn't seem to want to do more than --

A hand closed around his cock, moving fast and strong, just when Blair thought he was done, working him until he cried out and felt one final last spit and spurt of come leave him.

Then he lay there, panting, his fingers curling, twisting, trying to get free so that he could reach down and touch Jim, whose hand was loosely wrapped around the soft, lax curve of Blair's cock and whose head was pillowed on Blair's hip, his mouth kissing the hollow of skin there, his deep voice murmuring reassurances Blair didn't think he needed until he listened to the sounds he was still making and realised how close they came to sobs. Jim was being careful not to look at him until they stopped, giving him space, giving him the mistaken kindness of privacy.

"Red," Blair said, getting Jim's attention at once, a startled jerk of his head, a verging on painful squeeze of his fingers.

"Blair?"

"Get these cuffs off me so I can --" They were ripped open before he'd finished speaking, and Jim was staring down at him, frowning, worried. "It's okay," Blair said. "I just -- you were down there and I couldn't touch you. I wanted to touch you."

Jim's frown didn't disappear. He grabbed some Kleenex and used them on Blair's face and then lower, wiping up the sticky trail of come across Blair's stomach without comment and tossing the balled-up tissues at a small bin in the corner. They hit the side and bounced, which was obscurely comforting.

"Don't you want to?" Blair said doubtfully. "I know some people don't --"

"God, Blair --" Jim hauled him against him, kissing him more softly than Blair had expected after that impatient snarl. "Shut up, will you?" Jim's lips clung to his, the kisses sweeter, open mouthed, relaxed, even though Jim hadn't come yet and Blair could feel the body he held was shaking, infinitesimal shivers his eyes couldn't track but his skin could.

"Just… shut up…" Jim whispered intensely. "For five minutes, while I kiss you, and I swear I'll make you come like that again as often as you want before you fall asleep. Just give me five minutes to kiss you first."

He started to say please but that was more than Blair could take. He laced his hands behind Jim's head and pulled their mouths together until he found something better for his hands to do, tracing the scratches his nails had made on Jim's back, letting Jim take five minutes, ten, as long as he wanted.

He couldn't hear the clock ticking now. Just the soft, hidden beat of Jim's heart and his own name on Jim's lips.


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Part Six

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