"Why do you like it?"
Blair wriggled off Jim's knee and curled to face him, carefully lying on his side. His face was flushed for several reasons and his eyes were tear-blurred. "Seems freaky?"
"Mmm." Jim was reluctant to come right out and say it, but, yeah, freaky covered it. "It hurts," he went on, compelled, now he'd asked, to keep going. "You stub your toe and you moan and curse and demand ice; you don't get hard."
Blair snorted. "Well, no."
"So?" Jim ran his hand -- hot palm, throbbing, skin stretched and shining, polished and smoothed -- over the yielding, conquered curve of Blair's ass and watched Blair shudder with a sensuous enjoyment tempered by exhaustion.
"I get that."
"I'm not in love with the chair leg or whatever it is I bump into."
"But you're in love with me." He couldn't quite keep the satisfaction out of his voice.
Blair found the energy to kick out, his heel catching Jim's leg. "As if that's news. Yes, I am."
"But if someone else did this to you… a stranger…"
"Like I'd let a stranger do this!" Blair said indignantly.
"You've never…" Jim hesitated, dimly aware of deep waters, cold and dark. "Paid for it?"
"Paid? For sex? To get spanked?" Blair's voice went bat-squeak high. "No!"
"Just wondered," Jim said uncomfortably.
"Why?" Blair stared at him curiously, his hand dropping to scratch lightly over furred, sweat-damp balls, unselfconscious, at ease. The relaxed curve of his cock, come-smeared and dark pink, drew Jim's gaze. Without thinking about it, he ran his fingers over the spent, small skin, petting it.
Blair smiled. "He loves you, too."
"Go and shower," Jim told him, lifting his hand to flick the tip of Blair's nose.
"Not until we finish this."
"I don't -- you know I don't --" Jim began. It was one rule he'd never let Blair sweet talk him out of; he'd spank Blair, as hard as Blair needed, let Blair come, held captured, bent, across the ledge of Jim's lap, but he wouldn't fuck Blair afterwards or let a pliant, temporarily glorying in being submissive, and grateful Blair suck him.
He wasn't sure why he'd made that rule. Residual guilt, maybe; he'd hurt Blair; he shouldn't get rewarded for that.
Even when the hurting was what Blair had asked for, imperious, cajoling, desperate, depending on his mood.
Even when spanking Blair, listening to the sounds he made, feeling him squirm and fight and pant and wail and come, come hard, the jerking spasms so much more intense than they ever were when he was being fucked or sucked, had got Jim aroused to the point that he could come, hot and eager in his hand's tight clasp, before Blair had even reached the bathroom door.
One day, he might not be able to wait and Blair would still be there, watching. Watching him use the heat from Blair's punished skin to bring himself off, cool himself down.
Blair sometimes did that for him; cradling Jim's hand between his, almost matter-of-factly, and licking it with broad wet swipes of his tongue, blowing on the stinging skin gently to cool it.
One day, he'd come just from that.
"I didn't mean that," Blair said. "I meant finish the conversation."
Jim sighed and rolled to his back. "It doesn't matter. It gets you off. I guess that's reason enough."
"If I knew, I'd tell you," Blair said seriously. "I don't. Not really. Just know I need it sometimes and you deliver."
"Yeah, I do, don't I?" Jim murmured. Blair's ass -- shit, it was scarlet, sizzling, and when that died down, the pale skin would be bruised in places; he could see them, under the skin. "God, Blair, did I --?"
"You never go too far," Blair said with a quick reassurance. "I'd stop you."
"No, you wouldn't," Jim said with a glum certainty. "You stop caring. I can tell when it happens. You'd let me do anything when you're close to coming just to let you finish."
"Now I'm curious." Blair eyed him speculatively. "How far would you go for me?"
Jim smacked Blair's ass lightly and watched him wince, no pleasure in it now. "Don't worry about it."
It wasn't much of an answer, but it was good enough to get Blair off the bed and into the shower.
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