Point of Contact
Blair didn't know what he'd expected, but the bedroom looked
disappointingly normal. Large, yes, luxurious, yes, but… normal.
Many thanks to T Verano for being a wonderful beta.
Jim's hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing it and not moving
away. "Look again," Jim said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
He wasn't sure if it was good that Jim could read him that easily.
Useful in some ways, sure, but…
"Look closer," Jim advised, leaning in. His breath stirred the air
beside Blair's neck and set off a chain reaction, a localized shiver.
And just like that, he saw normal shred away, because most bedrooms
didn't have a hook set into the ceiling above the bed.
The bed was higher than most, and there was a discreet key pad,
wall-mounted, within reach of someone lying down. "Adjustable," Jim
murmured in his ear. "Hell on the back if you want to fuck someone
while you're standing and the bed's too low…"
Blair stared at the bed, all white pillows and dove gray covers, muted,
elegant, a neutral canvas. He tried to picture Jim, naked, his hands
gripping slender hips; a faceless, beautiful woman moaning, long hair
brushing the bed as she was fucked.
Except it wouldn't always be like that, would it? It might be Jim on
his hands and knees, mouth making sounds he'd been paid to make, a man
behind him, older maybe, with a body showing the effects of too many
lunches like the one Blair had just had, a sweaty, red-faced, grunting
"You're not looking happy." Blair turned and saw that Jim was holding
his belt in one hand, the dark strip of leather dangling. Jim saw the
direction of Blair's gaze and coiled the belt loosely before tossing it
onto the bed. It lay against the pale fabric like an ink-drawn spiral.
"You said you didn't mind me talking about it."
"I don't." Blair licked his lips and caught himself doing it. Doing it
again, because ever since he'd risen from his knees,
lips warm and numb and wet, he'd been licking at them, chasing the
taste (new, different, had to show; had to be like lipstick, there for
all the world to see…).
The only reason he wanted to stop doing it was because each time the
flavor was fading, going away.
He tried again. "I don't mind. I just -- I was thinking of you. Doing
that." Having it done to you.
"Oh." Jim stood in silence for a moment. "I've never -- not here. Not
in this actual room." He glanced around, frowning. "I don't think so,
"It doesn't matter," Blair said. He couldn't let it matter. And in a
weird, fucked-up way, it aroused him; not the idea of Jim getting
fucked, no, but the wave of possessiveness that followed the thought.
He liked the mantra of 'mine' it set off in his brain.
He studied the room with more attention now. Jim's place. Jim's space.
Jim's workplace. And Jim was looking vaguely proud now that Blair
thought about it, standing there and watching Blair wander around
something he'd created.
"Close the door?" Blair asked.
"No one else will show up," Jim told him. "But sure." He pushed it
closed. "Want me to lock it?"
"Yeah, I do. Do you mind?"
He supposed he should feel panicked, claustrophobic even. The windows
in the room, two of them, were blind, hidden behind heavy drapes, and
the room was quiet. Alone in here, he might have felt trapped, but with
Jim there, arms folded across his chest, leaning back against the
locked door, the room felt like a refuge.
There were places on the headboard where metal and wood had been rubbed
shiny. Places where anchor points had been added. Blair found himself
absently stroking his wrist, remembering how it'd felt to be tied down.
"I don't suppose there's a Gideon Bible in the nightstand."
"If the cleaners did their job -- and I'm sure they did, they're
in-house and well-trained -- there are three bottles of assorted lubes
and five boxes of condoms in various styles and sizes, plus, well,
other stuff." Jim grinned at him. "Go and check for me and I can call
this a working lunch; part of my job is random inspections of the
Curious, Blair opened a drawer. The bottles and boxes were small,
reminding him of the usual hotel giveaways of toiletries. "Looks like
it's all there," he reported back. "All new, too. The lubes haven't
"Well, sure." Jim sounded perplexed. "Once they're opened, they're
disposed of at the end of the session."
For some reason, that mundane detail brought home to him where they
were more than anything else. His own bottle of lube, sticky,
half-empty, tossed under a heap of junk in his own nightstand drawer,
had been there for months.
He closed the drawer and turned, gesturing at the closets, two of them,
flanking the doorway to the bathroom. "What's in there?"
"Equipment," Jim said. "Want to see?" His mouth twitched in what Blair
guessed was an attempt to hold back a smile. "Of course you do."
"Maybe I do," Blair said. He managed to keep a grin off his face for
about three seconds before surrendering. "Oh, you know I do."
He walked over to the closet nearest the window and tugged at the
"You can't open it without using this," Jim said, joining him by the
door and pointing at yet another keypad set into the wall. "And clients
never get told the combination, and neither will you, but for different
reasons." Oh, way to make his throat close up, lust choking him as he
worked through the implications of that. Jim liked being in control,
but not as much as Blair liked being held in place… and if he didn't
get to come soon, really soon, he might have to see how easy it was to
beg Jim into being merciful. "Close your eyes."
"You're joking, right -- oh!" Jim's large hand covered his eyes, a
warm, effective blindfold, and Blair heard the light tap of a finger
entering a four-digit code, and then a soft click.
"You can look now."
Jim's hand fell away and left Blair staring at the contents of the
closet. Neat. Tidy. Organized. Not alphabetically, no, because dildo
came before flogger -- unless it was a crop? No, that was over there,
hanging from a hook…
"Uh-hmm." Jim sounded satisfied by Blair's reaction, even if it'd
consisted of one sharp breath and a lot of stunned silence. "The other
closet's got costumes, harnesses, that sort of thing. Nothing I want
"Collars?" Blair asked, surprising himself. "Because, you know, I think
I'd like to try --"
Jim brushed the back of his hand over Blair's throat. He didn't look
"Two things. No, three. One, you wear a collar -- my collar -- and it's
going to be one I had made for you, not something a fucking client --
not something anyone else has ever touched."
"Fine --" And I was a 'fucking client' until last night, Jim…
"Second, I'm not sure I want to take this that far --"
Then why are you still touching my neck, Jim? Why are you looking at me
like you did when I was on my knees, mouth full of your dick?
Blair tipped his head back instead of asking what he thought were two
excellent questions, and felt Jim's fingers slide up the side of his
neck, one finger finding the hollow behind his ear and pressing into
it. When the finger moved away, Blair could still feel the insistent
pressure there, radiating out until the skin around it felt heavy with
the weight of their mutual need.
Because Jim might have just come, but it hadn't been enough for him.
Blair could tell.
"And third…" Jim kissed the corner of Blair's mouth. "You're not ready
for one. Nowhere near ready."
"Hey!" Frustrated, Blair slammed his hand against Jim's chest and
pushed, succeeding mostly in propelling himself backward, because Jim
didn't budge. "That's my call to make."
"You think it’s just a fashion statement?" Jim's eyes were remote,
cool. "Something you can wear for the hell of it and take off after
you've come? You think it's something you can ask for without earning?
You think you can wear it while you've got all these limits in place?"
Jim shook his head. "Not that I'm saying you're wrong to have those
limits, but -- it just doesn't work like that, Blair." His voice
softened marginally. "Look, trust me on this, will you? Don't rush it.
Don't push yourself or me." He reached out and hooked his finger under
Blair's chin, bringing Blair stumbling closer with a small tug. "I
promise you we've got time, okay?"
Blair jerked his head, freeing himself, and nodded. "Okay."
As responses went, it was pitifully inadequate, but it was all he had.
He felt humiliated, his needs and weaknesses exposed.
And still hard. God, so very fucking hard.
Limits… yeah, he had those, didn't he? And he could see what Jim meant;
he wanted the toy without eating the cereal. And maybe thinking about
it as a toy wasn't something Jim would like, either.
"Fuck me today," he offered impulsively, the words spilling out. "Get
it over with."
"What part of not rushing are you failing to get, Blair?" Jim shook his
head, looking bemused. "You're something else, you know that?"
Blair opened his mouth to refute that, and got distracted by something
on the third shelf. "Jim? What -- oh, God, it's an
arm." A clenched fist and a forearm, to be exact.
The thought of it inside his ass was enough to make every muscle he had
go into spasms. "Shit, it's just… way to make me feel inadequate," he
muttered, trying to cover up his reaction.
"Hmm?" Jim turned his head. "Oh…" This time his lips tightened but the
amusement was still visible. "Well, as arms go, it's not that big."
Blair chuckled. Fisting wasn't on his to-do list which meant that
impossibly sized object was something he could observe objectively
after his first, instinctive flinch. "True. And compared to you, it's
on the small side." He ran his hand over Jim's forearm, gratified by
the way Jim froze in place. "The bright purple's a bit much."
"There's probably one in a different color in another room if you want
me to get it," Jim said softly. "Or maybe we could just stop
"Works for me," Blair agreed, registering the way Jim's voice had gone
quiet and recognizing it as a signal that Jim was done playing. "So
what do you want --?"
This time, the hand went across his mouth.
"I want you to stop talking. I want you to do what you're told without
hesitation, without commentary. I see you smile or roll your eyes and
you're taking care of this little problem --" Blair gasped as Jim
palmed the heavy ache of his dick, the casually rough caress perfectly
timed, Jim's hand gone before Blair could arch and rub against it.
"Single-handed," Jim finished, the final word ominous.
Jim smiled unexpectedly. "And I want you to learn how to get undressed
for me the way I like it." He pushed his thumb past Blair's lips and
pulled it back wet from the lick Blair hadn't been able to stop himself
giving it. "You're a quick study. It's not a lesson I expect to have to
Jim dropped his hand and arched his eyebrows, waiting for a response.
Blair knew these games from a dozen movies about soldiers in training
and he'd gotten off on them even as Naomi had exclaimed in horror at
his choice of entertainment. And Jim had been a soldier, hadn't he, so
this was something he'd have endured for real...
So. He hadn't been asked a question, which meant he had to keep his
mouth shut -- unless maybe Jim wanted him to acknowledge the
instructions, in which case did Jim want him to say 'sir' or something?
"You do quiet the way other people make speeches," Jim told him. "Just
"Right," Jim said, with a sigh of relief. "Now we're getting somewhere."
'Getting somewhere' meant taking fifteen minutes -- fifteen, and Blair
didn't believe Jim when he said it could take four times that, because
you could only spin out taking off a sock for so long -- to do what
Blair, motivated by what was going to happen once he was naked, could
have accomplished in as many seconds.
It meant Jim lounging back in an armchair, fingers tapping idly at his
mouth, his gaze never leaving Blair, his eyes cool, appraising.
It meant Blair feeling his arousal wane somewhere around the third
button on his shirt, refastened and undone four times before Jim was
happy with the way he'd done it (it was a button,
for God's sake, a freaking button…) -- only for it
flare up, burning bright and hot, when Jim stood, walked over, bent his
head and kissed the bared skin on Blair's chest, a single, slow kiss,
and then glanced up, meeting Blair's eyes.
"Take that long on the next ones and you won't get to come at all," Jim
"Don't worry." Jim's next words were whispered into Blair's hair, quiet
words in a quiet room. "I'll still spank you, sweetheart."
Diabolic bastard, Blair amended silently, biting
back a despairing whimper at the threat of a spanking with no climax.
Or worse, coming anyway, as he wasn't sure it was something he'd be
able to prevent, and Jim doing… something to him by way of punishment
that he wouldn't like.
Jim went back to his chair, nodded, flicked his fingers, and Blair slid
the next button free, one handed, his gaze fixed on Jim's face, his
other hand resting against his thigh, fingers spread, pointing down.
Jim's commentary wasn't helping his nerves, but it was better than
doing this into an unresponsive silence. Maybe.
Blair was sweating, a graceless, blushing mess, but under Jim's steady
gaze he produced something that was barely adequate, although he wasn't
confident of his ability to remember the order his clothes had to leave
his body -- right sock before left and both before his pants, for
example -- and some of the details Jim was insisting on were just too
fucking stupid --
And it didn't matter, did it? The realization hit him at the same time
as his shirt reached the floor after sliding down his outstretched
arms, his back arched in a wordless offering of his finally naked body.
It only mattered that Jim was telling him what to do and making his
obedience perfect by not accepting anything less -- or as close to
perfection as Blair could get, because this wasn't easy. He'd thought
that it would be -- that arousal and an erection would carry him over
any awkwardness toward the ultimate goal of sex the way he wanted it,
with someone hot. He'd even, more or less, gotten over the shock of
discovering that men did more for him than women when it came to this
kind of sex.
Maybe any kind. He wasn't sure about that; but until Jim left his life,
it was a theoretical question.
He hadn't gotten over the twist of pure need in his gut every time he
looked at Jim and found him looking back, that grave, considering smile
on his face. Didn't want to.
But it wasn't easy and he was wondering why he'd ever thought it would
He stood, positioned by words, held in place by his own determination,
and felt himself lose it between one breath and the next, shaking, his
teeth chattering, warm tears gathering in his eyes, because he was
naked and Jim wasn't looking at anything but his face, and he could
feel the blood heat it and even if he managed to keep these stupid
fucking tears from falling, his nose would start to run soon, always
did, and Jim had told him not to move and sniffing was so not seductive…
Jim nodded, made an indeterminate sound of approval, and walked past
Blair to the bed, pausing for long enough to shove a handkerchief into
one of Blair's hands. Blair used it, balled it up, and after looking
around, left it on a table by the window, next to a glass vase filled
with nothing but air, the glass a smoky mix of purple and gray.
Jim undressed to the waist in a matter of seconds, placing his
discarded clothes on an upright chair against the wall. Blair watched,
resentment that Jim got to do it the easy way lost in appreciation of
Jim's chest and arms -- God, if Jim didn't say to him soon, lick me all
over and do it slowly, he was going to suggest it himself -- and a
dawning awareness that even when he stripped quickly, Jim still made it
look better than he had done in that endless quarter of an hour.
Jim kicked his shoes off and then, still wearing his pants, got onto
the bed and patted it, settling down on his side. "Come here."
Blair took a step forward and then paused, lost without the
instructions that had rained down on him when he'd undressed.
"Just do it," Jim said. He smiled. "Do it so I can't take my eyes off
Blair didn't think that was much of a challenge. Jim hadn't stopped
looking at him since he'd walked into the restaurant. He considered his
options and went for simple. He walked to the end of the bed, bent and
put his hands flat on it, and then crawled over it until his head was
level with Jim's shoulder. He stopped, head down, his hair falling
around his face, and held that position.
"Oh, that was nice," Jim said approvingly. "Stay like this."
He stared down at the bed, his eyes blurring. Jim edged a little closer
and began to fondle him, his hand stroking Blair's back and side,
exploratory, possessive touches.
"Don't like your hair like that, though," Jim murmured, tucking Blair's
hair back behind his ear on the side nearest Jim, exposing Blair's
face. "I want to see you. Is that a problem?"
Blair shook his head. Jim's hand swept down his spine and cupped his
ass. "You answered too fast," Jim told him. "But I don't think I'd have
listened if you'd said it was." His thumb grazed down the split of
Blair's ass, going shallow and slow. Blair shivered and found his knees
edging wider, his hips tilting up. God, he was going to be begging Jim
to fuck him soon, because that single teasing touch had left him
trembling and it hadn't been anywhere near his --
He forced himself to think, ignoring what Jim's hand was doing to the
back of his thigh with an effort of will. He was past freaking out
about sex with a man. He was. He was turned on by
Jim to the point where the man could get him hard just by existing;
that didn't go with freaking out, it just didn't.
And yet he only had to imagine Jim sliding one slicked-up finger into
his ass for his face to crumple into a squeamish grimace. Stupid; Jim
was inside his head, for God's sake; his ass was off-limits, but his
But logic didn't mean much to muscle groups, and even as he spread
wider, feeling his knee nudge the cool leather of Jim's belt, he tensed
His half whispered, half wailed, 'Jim' came a heartbeat behind Jim's
'What is it?'.
He collapsed onto his stomach, scrubbed his face against a clean, cool
pillow, and waited for Jim to read his mind and make it better.
"Get your head out of that pillow, would you?"
From bemused to bossy in two sentences.
Blair turned his head and stared up into blue, blue eyes. "Have you
ever wanted something you were terrified of?"
"Sure," Jim said promptly. "Parachuting. I wasn't scared the first
time, but the second… God. See, I knew what it was like… and I loved
the freedom, the feeling that I was flying -- nothing like it -- but it
scared the shit out of me, too." He pushed Blair's hair back again in a
move Blair was starting to anticipate. "What am I doing wrong?"
"Nothing. It's me."
"You're doing just fine. I'd tell you if you weren't."
"See, that's just it. I'm only doing what you tell me to. Take you away
and I'm lost."
"Well..." Jim was back to looking bemused again. "Blair, you need me
for this. Or it's called masturbation and I think you've had enough
practice at that."
Blair swatted Jim's hip indignantly. "Hey! Don't tell me you don't jerk
"Oh, I do," Jim assured him. "But since I met you… well…"
"I missed you," Jim said obliquely. "Put it this way; that time in the
hotel bathroom wasn't the last time I jerked off thinking about you."
"You've been thinking about me when you…?" Was that flattering or … no,
it was flattering. It was really, really…
Jim didn't have the grace to look even a little self-conscious. "Only
when I'm in a hurry."
Blair absorbed that and decided to do come confessing of his own. "God,
I only have to think about you and I go off like a rocket."
"Yeah? Me doing what?" Jim asked. Jim didn't sound as if he was fishing
for a compliment Blair doubted he could frame in anything but stammered
incoherencies; he sounded more like a doctor asking about symptoms.
Blair shook his head and lied, just a little. "Nothing specific. Just
you. Spanking me. You know…"
And kissing the back of my neck, and holding me, and getting hard over
me, over me…
"Mmm." Jim looked unconvinced, but he let it go, which disappointed
Blair in some ways. "So what's wrong?"
Blair rolled to his side, facing Jim. "I think about you fucking me and
I can't go there. Then you touch my ass and I'm -- it feels good and I
want it and I start to think I can… and then I'm back on the image of
your fingers in my ass and I'm just -- oh, man."
Jim blinked at him in silence for long enough that Blair's erection
began to wilt. "I see."
"Glad one of us does, because I can't figure it out," Blair muttered.
"There's nothing to work out. You don't want it, we don't do it."
"You say that now."
Jim's fingers were suddenly tight on Blair's chin, holding him in
place. "I say that now, yes. I'm not going to change my mind. Do I want
to fuck you? Yes, because I know I'll like it and I think you would,
too. I do. But it's not a condition of being with me."
"What is?" Blair asked quietly.
"I don't know. That you don't lie to me. That you don't hide --" Jim
pushed his hand through Blair's hair, freeing it from behind his ear
without letting it fall forward to shield his face. "With me, why would
you want to? I know your deepest, darkest secret, right?"
Good point. "Habit."
"Smartass," Jim said affectionately and kissed him.
Blair stiffened in surprise and then got into it as Jim didn't show any
signs of stopping or being in a hurry. The cloth of Jim's pants was
smooth against his legs and he edged back a little because he was hard
again. Those pants looked expensive.
He didn't ask Jim to take them off, though; he'd already worked out
that Jim preferred to spank him when he was naked and Jim wasn't, and
he could appreciate the power dynamics at play there.
Jim paused. "Feeling better?" His hand reached down and stroked Blair's
erection. "Oh, yeah, you are."
"Not really," Blair said without thinking. Jim frowned and he pushed
himself to explain before Jim began to ask questions. "I'm still all
--" He wiggled his hand. "Indecisive."
A flash of frustration passed over Jim's face before his expression
changed to studiously calm. "Then we deal with it. Don't overthink it,
just tell me to start with what is it that you like about the idea?"
"Like? Oh, man." Blair shook his head. "The physical bit -- you touch
me and I just -- I don't know what you do, but it's good. And I trust
"And I like the idea of being…" Blair swallowed, but he'd come this
far, he could do this… "I like the idea of being taken by you. Just
feels like the ultimate submission, right?"
"I can't say it feels that way for me when I'm bent over," Jim said, a
slight edge to his voice. "But if that's what you think you'd get out
of it, well, it's your dime, Chief."
He wasn't going to back down no matter what issues Jim had. "Yeah. It
is. I've been letting you inside since we met; that would be just more
of the same."
Something softened in Jim's eyes. "I guess. Okay; so that sounds like
you want it here --" he tapped Blair's forehead, "as well as down
there. Move on to what's holding you back."
"Messy, painful, and just not what I'm used to," Blair blurted out, the
words running together like rained-on wet paint.
Jim wrinkled up his nose, looking bewildered. "Huh?"
"'Messy'," Jim repeated. "Blair, it's sex. Sex
is messy. You don't let it stop you and if you mean
what I think you mean --"
"You know I do," Blair muttered, his ears hot.
"Well, I could point out a lot of things, but why don't we just go with
'shit happens' and you cross that one off your list of hang-ups because
it's sure as hell not on mine." Jim sighed. "And it won't hurt. I
wouldn't let it."
"Mmm," Blair said tightly. "Fine."
"Has it hurt before?" Jim asked tentatively.
"Before?" Blair stopped reciting the alphabet backward in his head to
distract himself from the single most embarrassing conversation he'd
had since the first time he'd met Jim, and blinked. "Jim, you know I've
never done this before."
"Not with someone else, no," Jim said, "but when it's just you, I
Jim's breath hissed through his teeth. "When you jerk off, Blair. Or
are you telling me you've never slid a finger or two inside to make
things interesting -- oh, God, you haven't, have you?"
"No, Jim," Blair snapped, his humiliation reaching heights he hadn't
known it could and tipping over into rage. "Sorry, but at the age of
twelve, I had enough to deal with on the outside to think about sliding
a finger up my ass, or my ear, or my fucking nose
for that matter. It wouldn't have occurred to me, and since then I've
just gone with what I knew would work." He sat up, needing to be able
to glare down at Jim. "What, did I miss a memo on the Ellison-approved
method of getting off? Have I been doing it wrong all this time? Do I
fail at that the same way I did at getting naked?"
"No, you asked, and I'm telling you. I never have. Virgin territory.
And, yes, I guess I could change that with five minutes alone in that
bathroom over there and one of those bottles in the top drawer, and
maybe I will, but you don't get to look at me like I'm -- like I'm --
Into the stunned silence that followed his final snarl, Jim dropped a
single word. "Sorry."
"Yeah, well," Blair muttered, unwilling to give up the lifejacket of
righteous anger and just sink. "Now you know. I'm a repressed,
fucked-up, sad --"
"You didn't see them, because they're in the other closet," Jim
interrupted, "but this room's equipped with a variety of gags."
"Make your mind up." He was aware of the fact that he was behaving
badly, but stopping was harder than starting. "First you make me talk,
then you --"
"No," Jim said. "You're the one who wanted to spill, and I'm glad I
made you. I get it now and so do you. You're scared. You've been scared
since you opened that hotel room door and saw me, and you've dealt with
all of it really well, but you've reached your limit. I get that,
Blair, I really do." He smiled. "Simon would be amazed at how
reasonable and understanding I'm being. I fake it for clients, but with
friends, well, I've been known to come on a little strong. I'll have to
tell him you're a good influence on me."
"I'm not scared."
Jim turned and Blair heard a drawer slide open. A moment later a bottle
of lube, a paper-thin surgical glove, and a flat package of Wet Wipes
landed on the bed. "Prove it. Here, with me watching, or in the
bathroom alone, if you like."
"You want me to…" Blair felt hot and dizzy and oddly eager, which must
have shown on his face, because Jim's lips curled in a small smile.
"Jim, I don't think so. I will, but not now."
"Okay." Jim's smile vanished and he looked -- oh, God, he looked
disappointed. Anger, Blair could have met with a matching heat;
disappointment had him looking for a way to make it better.
"What happened to it not mattering?" Blair demanded. "What happened to
it being my choice when it happens?"
"That hasn't changed. I'm not going to fuck you. It
won't even be my finger. I don't even need to be here when you do it.
But if even that's too much, too soon, fine."
There was a pause as Blair digested that piece of Jim-logic. In the
end, though, it wasn't Jim's now well hidden disappointment, but the
memory of the tingle of anticipation he'd felt with Jim's hand on his
ass, just before the panic had hit. Pleasure or panic; one of those
emotions had to win out, and if it wasn't an easy choice to implement,
he knew which option he preferred. Enough of his life had been lived
under the shadow of self-doubt and apprehension; enough time had been
wasted while he tried to pretend that he could get by with fantasies.
"Green," he said finally. "You wanted me to tell you when things
changed, right? So, for this, it's green, but I want you to do it, not
me." He picked up the glove, stared at it for a moment as it lay limp
and empty across his palm, and then tossed it off the bed and onto the
floor. "Don't need that." He picked up the lube and held it out. "But
you do need that, right?"
Jim hesitated and then took it from him. "You're sure about this? Me
doing it, not you, I mean?"
"You didn't want me to overthink it," Blair reminded him. "And, yes,
I'm sure I want it to be you."
Jim knew what he was doing, for one thing.
"Okay. But we do it my way."
"So what's new?"
Jim grinned at him slowly. "You really believe that, don't you? Blair,
you have no fucking idea how wrong you are, but let it go."
Jim stood up and got out of his pants, dropping them over the chair
that held the rest of his clothes. He was wearing boxers in navy silk,
dark against his tanned skin. "Get a towel from the bathroom," he said
without looking at Blair.
"Why?" Jim turned his head and Blair got off the bed fast when he saw
Jim's expression. "Towel, right."
He grabbed the first one he saw in the bathroom, white, fluffy, thick,
and walked back across the bedroom. Jim nodded at the bed. "Put it
there." He was holding his belt between his hands, doubled over, and a
pillow had been moved to the center of the bed. "Facedown," Jim said.
"Jim…" Blair said uncertainly.
"I'm going to get you relaxed, Blair," Jim said. He raised the belt.
"And I promised myself I'd use my belt on your ass, so you get that
first, because I'm feeling selfish. Then you're going over my knee --
which is what the towel's for, because if you come, I don't want to be
wearing it all day -- and you get my hand." He gave Blair something
Blair decided was meant to be an evil smile but really, Jim looked as
if he was having a good time, and it showed. "And then a finger or two."
Blair lay down on the bed without answering, his legs already relaxed
to the point of being incapable of holding him up, suddenly calm. He'd
heard what Jim had said, but that was far off and distant, a future
The belt in Jim's hand was now.
It flicked his thigh, a snap and a promise, and he exhaled slowly and
waited for Jim to get something and tie him down.
Jim got what he needed from the closet, his mind still processing what
had just happened. Jesus, the kid was one surprise after another. His
mouth shaped 'messy' soundlessly and he choked back laughter that would
have hurt Blair's feelings and held more than a little incredulity.
Because, really, if anything had been needed to drive it home, bang,
bang, just how much distance there was between them, it was that.
Not when it came to sex. No. Just… life. He'd spent two days in the
jungle wearing a uniform where blood from three men, shit and piss and
puke and God knows what else, had dried stiff, and had stunk so badly
he'd come close to stripping it off and leaving it until his nose shut
down. And he'd been glad of the shit smeared down his arms and stomach
because it had fouled the scent of blood, and made him less of a
target, but that was a rationalization he'd come up with later. At the
time, he'd been a shell-shocked zombie, stumbling through undergrowth
and suffering from a few wounds of his own, concussion, and, until he'd
found water, dehydration.
He remembered falling into the water, a small, swift-moving river, and
letting it take him, cleanse him, cool his fever, and he remembered
strong hands pulling him out.
And he remembered a room like this one where a woman had wanted him to
piss on her, craving a degradation a world away from Blair's simpler
need to submit, but he wasn't sharing that story with Blair and not
only because it wasn't his to tell.
He was stranded between tenderness and impatience, but when he turned,
his hands full of leather and steel, and met Blair's gaze as Blair
glanced back at him and smiled, the impatience was lost.
He got Blair tied down, moving quickly only because of the clock,
ticking away the time they had here, and found himself wishing he
hadn't told Blair what he was going to do because really, right now,
Blair was ready. Blair loved this. He was testing the restraints, sure;
Jim could see the muscles in Blair's arms and legs tense and relax;
hear the creak of the bed as Blair used what limited leverage he had to
tug, but he wasn't fighting them. He just got off on knowing how well
he was held.
Jim could have told him that he was held perfectly because he was
damned if Blair was ever going to have anything less, but Blair needed
to find out for himself that he was safe.
And after, Blair was as graceful in the placing of his head and the
arch of his body as he'd been clumsy at undressing. Maybe next time,
Blair could strip blindfolded… might work for him… or maybe it'd make
it too easy…
He eyed the round, solid curve of Blair's ass and wondered what Blair
would do if he just got between those widespread legs, parted that ass
and let his tongue lap and push inside. It wasn't something he did
often -- never with a lover, only a client -- but for Blair, yeah, for
Blair made a small, protesting, inquiring sound and Jim snapped out of
his reverie. "Just admiring the view," he said by way of an
"My ass?" Blair sounded too… connected for Jim's liking. Too calm, too
reasonable. "It's worth looking at?"
"Oh, yeah." Jim nodded, even though Blair couldn't see him. "Shame to
mark it up."
There was a pause measured in heartbeats. "Really?"
Scarlet skin, and dim purple bruises rising… Jim wound the buckle end
of the belt around his hand and drew the leather through the fingers of
his other hand, checking for sharp edges, flaws.
"No. Not really."
Blair's cry, startled, exultant, as the leather struck skin -- Jim was
half hard before the second stroke landed, aching for release by the
And Blair was sobbing, pleading now. Not for Jim to stop, not that, no,
but for a permission to come he wasn't going to get, because when Blair
came, Jim wanted to see his face or at least be holding him.
He knelt on the bed, undoing Blair's restraints, unable to resist
locking his hands around each freed wrist and ankle for a moment once
the cuffs had been removed. The skin was hot against his palm,
roughened slightly, and Blair moaned when he was touched and curled up,
reaching out blindly for Jim.
"Come here," Jim said, remembering to drape the towel across his lap as
he sat on the edge of the bed, and wishing he didn't have to put that
barrier between them.
Blair crawled into Jim's lap, instead of across it, wrapped his arms
around Jim's neck, his legs around Jim's waist, and stared at him with
a dazed intensity. His cock was jabbing into Jim's belly, wet-tipped
and hard, and he was shaking. "Fuck."
Jim held him, one hand sliding down to trace the welts on Blair's skin.
Blair's eyes widened. "Don't --"
"Can't help it," Jim whispered back, fiercely.
"I'll come," Blair warned him, his voice husky, his hips jerking. "Jim,
I'll come on you --"
Jim felt his world narrow to those words, already anticipating the
slick heat against his skin, the noises Blair would make. God knows
what he looked like, but he felt -- felt --
Like he had in the shower that morning. Unsure, with no clear idea of
what he was doing, and, at the same time, confident that he couldn't do
He mouthed Blair's neck, licking at damp skin. Blair's hair was damp,
too, with sweat now, not rain, strands of it clinging to his face, dark
and lustrous. His eyes were glittering and his face was flushed and he
wouldn't stop moving --
Jim shifted his hold on Blair and pushed down. "Over my knee," he
whispered. Blair stared at him and then did it, tensing slightly as
Jim's hand brushed over hot, sore skin.
He groped for the lube, bringing it closer and flipping the top open,
and then dropped it beside him. He studied Blair's ass, assessing the
damage. He'd been careful, though he wasn't sure Blair would agree. The
skin wasn't broken and it was stinging like hell, most likely, but the
pain would already be starting to fade to heat and a throb. "You can
take more," he said. Blair moaned in response, already arching up to
meet the promise of a slap.
Oh, yeah. Blair could take it, would beg for it, if Jim teased him with
a delay -- but Jim knew that his own control was weakening. His
erection was as insistent as it'd been when he'd walked into the house,
pressing against the silk of his shorts, rubbed by Blair's hip when
He took a deep breath and brought his hand down, three times on each
cheek, hard, as hard as he could, not holding back as he had with his
belt, and then Blair started to sob and writhe, struggling.
He murmured something soothing, something sweet, and made Blair take
two more, his free hand clamped down in the small of Blair's back,
pinning him in place.
Blair wailed, hips jerking, and Jim grabbed the lube and one-handed,
not fumbling because he'd done this before, God, so many times,
squeezed out a puddle of it into his palm, dropping the bottle and
tilting his hand until his fingers caught the downward spill.
Then he pushed a single slick finger inside Blair, slowly, carefully,
holding him down. Blair stiffened, silenced by that, and Jim eased his
finger in and out, going deeper each time, so much lube, so easy, so
hot and tight in there, and Blair was panting now, and yeah, there,
there, Blair was pushing back, wanting more, that
was what he'd wanted, that was what he'd been waiting for --
Jim couldn't wait any longer. He got Blair off his knee and onto the
bed on his back, rotating his wrist with a dexterous twist and keeping
his finger deep inside Blair's ass. He wasn't losing that connection
between them. Blair lay sprawled out, gasping, his chest heaving, his
hands clutching air and then clawing at the covers. His cock was rigid,
dark, his balls drawn up and tight.
Jim grabbed one of Blair's hands and held on tight, then slid half off
the bed, taking Blair's cock into his mouth in a greedy, avid swoop,
choking as it nudged the back of his throat and not caring. He sealed
his lips around it and sucked hard, using his tongue, his teeth, and
matched the thrust of his finger with the bob of his head.
He could taste Blair and smell him, musky, pungent, male; could hear
him cry out, wordless, frantic, and feel the answering squeeze of
Blair's hand as he clung to him. It wasn't enough, God, it would never
be enough. He pushed a second finger inside Blair, fucking him fast
now, driving his fingers deep and feeling Blair struggle to take them
He came a moment after Blair did, his climax triggered by Blair's
startled, awed 'oh' and the warm spurt of come spilling over his tongue
in a smooth rush, the taste of it catching at his throat, intense,
intimate. Came without warning, the spattered silk clinging to him as
Blair's fingers loosened and slipped away.
He turned his head slowly after giving Blair's cock one final, gentle
lap, and kissed Blair's thigh as he eased his fingers free.
The room felt crowded with silence but Jim didn't want to speak. Not
yet. He picked up the towel that had fallen to the floor and wiped his
mouth, his hand, Blair's skin, not giving them more than a token clean
because when he was able to walk, which he wasn't right then, he was
heading for the shower and taking Blair with him.
His shorts were soaked. Fuck.
Blair slid down off the bed to join Jim on the floor, moving into Jim's
arms as if he belonged there.
Jim waited for Blair to comment on the fact that Jim had come in his
fucking shorts like a goddamned kid, but Blair just passed one hand
lightly over the outline of Jim's cock, still half-hard, and sighed
with what sounded like a sleepy satisfaction.
Jim smiled and kissed the side of Blair's head. "You okay, Chief?"
"Oh, yeah. Very much okay," Blair assured him.
"Good." Jim realized that he was petting Blair the way he petted
Simon's cat when it climbed onto his knee and settled down to purr. He
cleared his throat. "Hate to make you move, but --"
"Oh, God, no." With a gratifying reluctance, Blair burrowed in closer,
his hands hot on Jim's skin. "Don't wanna."
Jim grinned and slapped Blair's thigh -- gently. "I don't, either, but
"But what?" Blair grumbled.
"We need to shower --"
"Some of us more than others."
Jim made his next slap on target and got a yelp of protest followed by
a sound, husky and provocative, that he knew damn well Blair wouldn't
be able to make good on. "Behave, or I won't apply some TLC to your
"Mmm. Going to kiss it better?"
"No." God, he wanted to. Wanted to spread Blair out on the bed and lick
his way across every inch of skin he'd marked. "Got some cream; it'll
cool it off, help with the bruising."
"I don't want it cooling and I want the fucking bruises."
Jim raised his eyebrows at Blair's petulant tone. "I don't recall
asking your permission."
"I want something to remember -- to -- something I can see afterwards
so I know it was --"
"Real?" Blair didn't answer and Jim sighed. He touched the bite mark on
Blair's hip. "You've got that."
"Then I'll give you another." Jim pushed his hand through Blair's hair
and tilted Blair's face up. "Blair -- I'm not going anywhere. You want
to carry something that lets you accept that, I'll give it to you. But
you let me take care of you after a session, okay? That's not
Blair sighed. "Okay. Sorry. I'm just --" He shrugged, looking a little
lost. "That was kind of overwhelming, you know?"
"For me, too, and I know you noticed," Jim said dryly. He cupped
Blair's face. "So…?"
"Yeah. I liked it," Blair said, answering the question Jim hadn't
needed to ask. "And I guess that wasn't hard to miss."
"No more limits."
"One less limit," Jim corrected him. "Now get your ass in the shower,
"Sir, yes, sir." Blair murmured, getting to his feet and walking away,
leaving Jim to follow him into the shower, crowding close and kissing
Blair's smiling mouth as the water rained down.
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