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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