Many thanks to Wesleysgirl for beta reading this fic and making it better and to Carodee for editing the Blairgasm Anthology it appeared in, for Moonridge 2008.

"So, what's the longest you've ever gone without…" Blair pumped his fist in the air by way of illustrating the activity he had in mind, caught Jim's sardonic look, and put his hand hurriedly back into the bowl of popcorn between them on the couch.

"If you mean what I think you mean, and I know you do, why do you want to know?"

Blair shrugged and went for the simple truth. "I always want to know more about you."

"You do see how I could find that disturbing, don't you?" Jim flicked a piece of popcorn up and bit it out of the air with a snap of his teeth. "Uh… couple of months, I guess."

"A couple of months without sex?" Blair shook his head, all incredulity and shock, conveniently ignoring the arid wasteland that had been his teenage years. "Man, how did you make it?"

"Actually," Jim mused, "it was more like six… yeah, six."

"You're kidding," Blair said flatly. He lusted after Jim too much to be happy with the idea that the object of his fevered fantasies wasn't universally in demand; it was an insult to his good taste.

"Nope." Jim gave him an exasperated glower as if the joke had worn thin faster than a Kleenex in flu season. "Sandburg, I was in the army for years and my love life wasn't high on their priority list when it came to arranging missions. In fact --"

"Oh God, of course," Blair interrupted, mentally kicking himself for being so dense. "Your time in Peru --" He frowned. "No, wait, you were there for eighteen months. So you, uh, while you were with the Chopec, you…?"

Jim filled his mouth with popcorn and chewed it slowly.

"Oh, man." Blair squeezed Jim's arm (nice muscles; hard to make a dent in them) contritely. "I'm sorry. Bad memories? Did you have to leave someone you cared about behind when you got rescued?"

Jim gulped, the muscles in his throat working to make interesting ripples. "The six months without sex was when I was fucking up all over the place in Basic and getting restricted to base instead of taking leave and getting laid like everyone else. It was hell, yeah, but I made up for it, the first chance I got. In Peru… let's just say I was taken care of by Incacha's tribe across the board, and no, I didn't leave any kids behind or any broken hearts."

"Do you think you could do it now?" Blair asked when the silence got sticky and it was clear that was all that Jim was going to share. "Go six months without sex?"

"Sure." Jim held up his hand and wiggled fingertips glossy with oil. "I'd handle it just fine. I'm not dead, but I'm pushing forty; the home fires aren’t blazing. More of a gentle smolder."

"Ooh, bad pun," Blair said with a wince. "And I saw you and Laura going at it only a few months ago and you were doing more than smolder, you dog." He pursed his lips, even more curious now. "Okay, how about going totally dry?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "You want to know how long I can go without sex or jerking off? Hell, I don't know. Why would I even try?"

"For the challenge of it?"

Jim considered that and Blair smirked, sure he'd tapped into the deep well of Jim's competitive nature, but after a moment Jim shook his head. "I prefer sex to challenges. Solo or in company." Blair got a superior, slightly pitying smile. "And so do you, so don't kid yourself you could go even a week, because we both know you couldn't."

"What?" Blair gave an uneasy chuckle. Jim's gaze was expectant, piercing, which made Blair feel as if a conversation he'd initiated, dammit, was now in Jim's hands and he didn't know where Jim was going with it. "A week? Sure I could. Anyone could -- well, maybe not me at sixteen… but I'm older now. It wouldn't be a big deal. Hell, I'm so wiped with midterm papers to grade and helping you that most nights I'm asleep before the light goes out."

'Most' saved it from being the complete lie that 'every' would have been, but Jim's eyes told him silently that he hadn't gotten away with much. He jerked off pretty much every day. Living with Jim had cranked Blair's libido up way past eleven and familiarity wasn't breeding anything but more accurate information on which to base his fantasies. Only last week, he'd gotten a seven-second look at Jim's bare ass as Jim, wet from a shower and exasperated, took a phone call. The loosely fastened towel around Jim's waist had become un-tucked and, like a curtain going up on opening night, had revealed water-pinked cheeks, packed with muscle, to Blair's hopeful gaze. Blair had stopped breathing as Jim, unable to refasten the towel one-handed, had clutched it to his belly to shield his dick and snarled into the phone, all his attention focused on the strong sweep of line and shadow and the glitter of water on skin.

"I'll do it," Blair said recklessly, goaded by that silence. "A week? Hell, make it a month, starting right now."

The wrinkles at the corners of Jim's eyes deepened but his expression was unreadable; hidden smile or concealed frown?

"A month," Jim said reflectively. "Chief, I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"No? Well, it's my dick," Blair snapped.

Jim's mouth tightened. "And my sanity." He met Blair's obdurate glare and sighed. "If you want to test your limits, go for it, but don't blame me if you end up with chafe marks on your dick and a sprained wrist when the dam bursts."

"Nice image," Blair said as Jim polished off the last of the popcorn leaving only a few unpopped kernels rattling around the bowl. "It won't be that bad."

"Why are you doing this?" Jim inquired, looking honestly perplexed as if he hadn't just manipulated Blair into this -- oh, yeah, Blair knew he'd been conned and even that knowledge hadn't been enough to save him from his own determination to show Jim, show him… something.

"It will be an interesting experiment," Blair said loftily. As if. More like a corner he'd painted himself into. How long would he have to endure celibacy to keep some modicum of Jim's respect? The whole month? Fuck, please, no. Or would holding out for too long have the opposite effect and make him look sexless, a 'droid? What about wet dreams? Did they count?

"Linda dumped you, didn't she?" Jim asked out of the blue, and then nodded when Blair's startled silence spoke for itself. "Thought so. The monk impression is starting to make sense." He stood and patted Blair's shoulder, which turned into a surreptitious wiping of his greasy fingers. Gee, thanks, Jim. Guess I'm doing laundry in all that free time I'll have now that I'm not having sex. "I'd call it sulking, not experimenting, and if you start to get pissy when you get withdrawal symptoms, I'll tie you to a chair, with one hand free and your dick out, and make you watch porn until you're smiling again, but --"

"That won't be necessary," Blair said, summoning up a few shreds of dignity to go with the raging hard-on he'd ended up with at some point in the conversation. "And you'd better bring along a few friends to help you do that tying, because I fight dirty and I'm not into bondage."

Jim chuckled, clearly unimpressed, and, more worryingly, skeptical of Blair's claim. If he'd gotten into Blair's stash of erotica… that was for research purposes. Kind of.

"It's just sex, Jim," Blair continued. "It's not as important to me as you seem to think. And she didn't dump me; we came to an agreement that --"

"Her life would be less complicated with you not in it." Jim patted his head this time, which meant Blair would have to wash his hair for the second time that day or wake up with the bed smelling of stale popcorn. "We've all been there, buddy, we've all been there."

Conversation languished after that, and Jim went to bed early, giving off an air of amusement that made Blair's teeth want to grit and grind. With his head full of revised responses to everything Jim had said, witty, smart, seductive responses that would have gotten him into Jim's bed, not about to embark on a month of blue balls, Blair showered and washed his butter-fragrant hair, feeling on edge already because his hands wanted to wander south.

The shower wasn't his favorite place to jerk off, but it did give him the illusion of privacy and made clean up a breeze. The delicious slipperiness of a soaped-up hand gripping his cock usually led to it thickening and if soap didn't make good lube, a finger usually still managed to find its way up his ass as he washed it, providing a pleasant tingle or a jolt of arousal depending on his mood.

Going into the shower mostly hard and just letting the spray beat against his bobbing cock and then pound his ass when he turned away, his hands braced on the tiled wall, was torment, pure and simple. Drying off gingerly, dabbing at his persistent erection with the towel, was more of the same.

After that ordeal, sleep was slow to come and when it did, brought with it dreams that he knew would tease him throughout the next day, half-remembered fragments surfacing at the worst possible moments.

Which would be Jim's fault, because Blair had finally fallen asleep picturing Jim carrying out his threat. Jim would be so patient and calm as he tied the knots, so silently efficient, ignoring Blair as he pleaded with or threatened him. Blair could feel the wooden chair against his back and ass, not his bed, feel the scratch and burn of the ropes against his skin and the pressure where they lay against clothing.

Could feel the coolness of air Jim drew his zipper down and matter-of-factly eased out Blair's dick, pumping it once as if by reflex and then glancing up, a complex expression on his face, guilty, amused, apologetic…

The porn movie would start and Blair wouldn't want to look, no, not with Jim standing behind him, best seat in the house… but Jim's hands would settle, fingers spread, on Blair's head and hold it in place, facing forward, with a gentle firmness. Blair could close his eyes, of course, and did, but Jim always knew when they slid shut and the reproving tap of his thumb against the cap of Blair's ear would make him look again.

Look at naked bodies, writhing, sweating, coming. And wonder why Jim was making him watch men fucking when he didn't know Blair got off on that and just where Jim had gotten the video from anyway…

Lurid thoughts, lust-filled dreams and he woke still hard, his dick aching like a toothache.

Jim looked at him over breakfast and said nothing, pointedly.

"I'm not on edge," Blair said through clenched teeth.

"You smell…" Jim paused and then shrugged. "Sorry."

"I smell? I smell bad?" Blair remembered the showers -- two! -- he'd taken the day before and still felt insecure about his hygiene around Mr. Scratch n' Sniff.

"Not bad," Jim reassured him casually enough to be believable. "Just… frustrated."

"I know what you can do better than anyone, but that's not possible." He said it more to encourage Jim to expand than out of doubt -- once BO wasn't the cause, his curiosity had kicked in. "Pheromones, sure; you can pick up that I'm horny, which I admit, but frustration? No. That doesn't have an odor."

A flicker in Jim's eyes told him that Jim didn't agree. "I can smell you," Jim repeated calmly. "And since I'm late and you're going to start asking questions as soon as I stop talking, either shut up and listen to me, or add one more frustration to what you're dealing with."

Blair opened his mouth to deliver a scathing retort and reconsidered. Jim would walk away, refusing to say word one if Blair did that, and Jim was right; he had questions. With an agreeable -- fake -- smile, he mimed zipping it and folded his hands neatly in his lap.

Jim's mouth quirked in what would've been a shit-eating grin if he'd let it spread, and then he sobered. "I can tell the difference, Chief. When you're horny because you're all shined up and ready to go on a date with a sure thing, that's one distinct smell, and I guess when it gets closer to the moment of truth, it'll change again, get more… more intense, but I'm not around for that, so I wouldn't know."

"You're around when I jerk off," Blair said, the words escaping him before he remembered he was supposed to be keeping quiet.

"Yeah," Jim drawled and rolled his eyes, which defused the sheer, face-burning embarrassment Blair was experiencing a little. "I am. But if you think I'm taking notes on the way you smell when you're about to be covered in spunk, think again, buddy. As soon as I hear the bed creak, I switch off. But if I had to guess, I'd say that would smell different, too; another person involved would change the way you -- oh, shit, look at the time --"

"No, keep talking," Blair said and reached out, his hand closing around Jim's bare forearm. "I guess… yeah, waking up with a woody feels different than when I'm sliding my hand inside a --"

"Stop right there," Jim said sharply and stood, his chair scraping over the floor with the force of his movement. He leaned forward, his hands planted on the table, his face flushed. "God, Sandburg, it's eight-thirty in the morning; I really don't want to be discussing your dick over breakfast. Take it from me, you're halfway to squirrelly from the way you smell and it hasn't even been twenty-four hours; give it up." He straightened and stared down at a stunned, speechless Blair. "I'm going now, so you've got the place to yourself; take care of it."

"It's not me it's affecting most, is it?" Blair said quietly as the door slammed closed, knowing that Jim was still listening as surely as he knew his own name. "It's you. Shit, Jim, why didn't you just tell me?"

It didn't make much sense looked at the other way; one night without jerking off was nothing out of the ordinary and his body wouldn't -- usually -- be dropping hints until three or four days had passed if his schedule was punishing enough to distract him. It had been the deliberate choice to abstain that had focused his attention on the forbidden activity and gotten him worked up, not the lack of release.

And he'd spent the whole night lying there in a welter of lustful emotions, arousal pouring off his heated body -- while above him Jim had slept -- or not -- breathing in the musk soup the loft air had become.

Guilt and confusion met and mingled, but the emotion Blair felt the most was lust, strong enough that he wasn't sure he could stand and stagger to his bedroom.

"No," he said aloud. Jim would be in his truck by now, out of range, so he was talking to himself, but he needed to hear it. "You're suffering, Jim, and I don't like that, but I need to know that I can do this."

He tried not to admit that part of him wanted to see what would happen if he kept pushing Jim. He already knew that he liked it when Jim pushed him back. He squirmed in his chair and panted, fast and shallow, as his head swam with memories of himself against the wall of his office, Jim's hands fisted in his shirt, his face close enough to Blair's that he'd been tempted to stick out his tongue and lick the tight, straight line of Jim's mouth into a pliant, open 'oh' of shock.

Close? Shit, he'd been on dates and not gotten that far inside their personal space and Jim had been a stranger back then, but it hadn't felt wrong to have Jim's breath warmly fierce on his face. Blair had been surprised, then indignant, but never scared. And when he'd thought it over later, he'd gotten hard with a rush of sensation that had made him groan, and that had been the first time he'd jerked off thinking about James Ellison, ending up with a wet belly, drained balls, and a cramping hand because once hadn't been enough.

If he did ever have sex with Jim, he wasn't sure he'd manage to crawl out of Jim's bed when it was over. He'd just lie there, naked, sprawled out, strung-out, ass leaking, dick limp, smiling lips numb, and wait for Jim to come back to him and do it all again.

He made it through the day, helped out by the fact that his university schedule kept him away from Jim, who'd told him at the start of the week that he had to spend some time catching up on paperwork mid-week. Jim was safe enough at work…

By three in the afternoon, he was ready to call it quits. His head was aching; a vicious stab of pain drilling through the base of his skull, and his stomach was telling him that the discovery of a stale granola bar in his desk hadn't really been cause for celebration after all. The peremptory shrill of his phone was painful enough to make him wince even as he grabbed at it to make it stop.

"You didn't do it, did you?" Jim's voice was wound tight and about to snap. "I know you didn't. Christ, Blair, just -- please -- Yeah, I'm coming, Simon…. Now, that's when --" Blair heard Jim take a ragged breath. "Fuck," Jim muttered. "I've got to go. I'll be home at six. You'd better have -- Simon, I said I'm coming, okay?"

The phone went dead and the pain in Blair's head surged back, blindingly bright, which let him realize that when he'd been talking to Jim, it had eased to a bearable level.

Oh, this was just… He put his fingertips to his temples and massaged them, willing the pain to subside. He had too much to think about. There was no way that Jim could smell him from clear across town, so this reaction, this knowledge of Jim's, had to be coming from a different place than the physical.

And how cool was that?

He put his hand on the soft shape of his dick in his pants and the headache dimmed. He experimented and discovered that half-hard was enough to fool his body into thinking it was about to get what it wanted, with an occasional caress thrown in. He finished what he had to do, writing with his free hand gently kneading and squeezing his dick -- God help him if anyone came in without knocking -- and took his hand away to let his erection subside enough that he could walk to his car without getting funny looks.

The headache gave a warning throb, but he'd decided, half-regretfully, that he was going to have to give in, and that surrender seemed to have appeased it. He wondered if Jim had been fighting a similar battle with his libido all day and what form it'd taken. Jim hadn't sounded in pain, exactly, but he'd sounded desperate.

The loft was empty when he got back around five-thirty, the traffic delaying him. It didn't matter; this wouldn't take long. He stripped off his pants and shorts and then, with a shrug, took off everything he was wearing. No point in adding to his laundry. He got out lube and Kleenex and put them on the bed and then caught sight of something at the back of the bedside table drawer, the bright pink of bubblegum.

Shit. Linda's vibrator. She'd come over when Jim had gone fishing with Simon for the day and called Blair at seven to say they were stopping over at a motel because the fish were biting and they wanted to launch an assault at dawn. Sex with Jim sleeping overhead was just too weird for Blair -- though more than one of his girlfriends had seemed into it, which had implications Blair really didn't like, so this was an opportunity to be grabbed and he had.

They'd never gotten around to using the vibe and he'd found it after she'd left, tucked it away discreetly in case Jim had spotted it, and forgotten all about it. He supposed he'd have to return it, though that was an errand he wasn't looking forward to, but for now…

He turned it on; twisting the base and listening to it hum purposefully. It reeked of latex, but the blatancy of the brash, artificial scent was arousing somehow. He touched the rounded tip to the palm of his hand and shuddered as the vibration pulsed through his flesh.

Impulsively, he dragged on his robe and went out to the phone. Three minutes later he was the proud owner of one slightly used vibrator and Linda's terse, clear, explicit instructions as to what he could do with it were ringing in his ear.

He'd used one on a couple of his girlfriends before but it'd made him feel as if there was a third person in bed with them that he hadn't invited. One who knew how to get Kay, Sarah, and oh, yeah, Lisa, off better than he did, judging by the way they'd quivered and arched, their movements oddly restrained, contained, intensified, so different from the way they clutched at him, writhing and noisy. Both responses could be equally valid, he supposed, but he couldn't help wondering…

He took off his robe and lay down, the pillows piled up so that he was reclining, not flat on the bed. He wanted to see what he was doing. The vibrator felt heavy in his hand, a smooth column with some give in it, around seven inches long and of a reasonable thickness. Color aside, it wasn't too dissimilar to his own in size; he didn't feel intimidated or superior.

Just curious. He lubed it up and transferred what was left on his hand to his dick, hard and tingling. No headache now; he felt relaxed, anticipating the addition of something new to a very old game. Cupping his balls in his hand, he ran the gently humming vibrator along his length, root to tip, detached enough at this stage to be able to note hot spots and judge its effect.

Mmm, yeah, there felt good, the head of it pressed firmly against the head of his dick, where it met the shaft. Over to the left just a little -- Sparks flared behind his screwed-shut eyes and he mewled helplessly, hips jerking. The unrelenting, unvarying thrum took a bit of getting used to, and he missed the more subtle pressure of his fingers, but there was no denying that this sensory onslaught was exhilarating. He eased off, and ran the vibe up and down, alternating between the focused touch of the head and a more general, all-over contact with the length of the vibrator snug against his dick, matching it inch for inch.

The bright pink of the vibe was distracting and he wanted to involve more than his body; he closed his eyes and let his hand move the vibe in a stroking movement that wasn't enough to send him over. He'd turn it up soon, but right now he wanted to think about Jim.

He'd like to do this to Jim. Had Jim ever --? If he had, would he admit it? Jim was curiously frank about some things; clammed-up discreet about others. Blair knew Jim had been in more than one circle jerk; didn't know if he'd ever slept with a virgin. It hadn't taken him long to realize that the deciding factor for Jim was that if it involved a single other person, he didn't share. No kiss and telling for Jim, which was admirable in principle, but maddening to a researcher. If Jim had used a vibe to masturbate with, though, that would be something he'd admit to if Blair caught him in the right mood…

Blair groaned, deep and heartfelt, as he visualized Jim on a bed, a much larger, sleekly powerful vibrator in his hand. Color… oh, anything but fucking Barbie pink. Black, yeah, or a deep, intense red, or, fuck, yes, gun-metal shiny, roving over the hard, straining flesh and then slipping --- pushing -- oh, fuck, yes, inside him, why hadn't he --

He scrabbled for the lube, and with the ease of habit flicked the top up and drizzled more out over the vibe, the light, slippery liquid spreading easily over the smooth surface. Flexible, but rigid enough that he should be able to use it as a stand in for something he hadn't had in a very long time. Wet, slick finger to prepare the way, his head full of the sounds he was making, guttural, hungry moans and whimpers, sex sounds, pure and simple, unmistakable, and then he spread his knees wider, heels planted against the bed.

He twisted the vibe up higher -- gonna drill that needy, greedy hole of his, drill and fill and make himself spill -- and set the head of it against the strip of skin behind his balls, teasing himself mercilessly as he drew it down slowly toward the waiting hole. Oh, fuck, that felt good. His body was loose, quivering, a jangle of nerve endings, a collection of charges waiting to go off, bang, bang, lights out.

He pushed and felt flesh give and yield. "Come on," he murmured through gritted teeth. "Take it, you slut, you know you want it --"

He swallowed. Okay, where had that come from? Sometimes, not often, really, really not often, he'd cry out, words torn from him by whatever fantasy was marching across his mind. He'd demand harder, faster, fuck me, come on -- or promise to be good, promise to do anything, please, anything, God, yes, yours, I swear, all yours, do anything, want you, need you, please, please -- but he'd never stepped outside himself and assumed the role of whoever he was fucking, being fucked by.

Slut. Yeah, that fit how he felt right now, along with any number of other words attached, insatiable being one close to the top of the list. He felt deliciously dirty, depraved; wanted to do things that afterwards he'd regret, his body aching, sore, but that now weren't enough, could never be enough.

He forced the vibe deeper and felt muscle give and his hole shape itself around the invader, clinging tight. The lube let him fuck himself, the angle awkward, the feeling a crescendo of sensation. Once the channel was open to the deepest plunge inward he could manage, he tipped his head back, more of the inarticulate grunts forcing their way clear of his throat, his wrist rocking in an age-old rhythm as he fucked his hole, ramming the vibe in over and over, faster, harder, hurting himself beautifully.

He wanted more. The vibrations were good, but he was used to them now and he wasn't coming and somewhere a clock was ticking down. Each stroke was passing over the skin shielding his prostate and sending lightning strikes of pleasure crackling through him, white-hot sizzles, but he wanted more. He tried to twist the end of the vibe and keep up the steady pounding he was inflicting, but lube-slick fingers were too clumsy and he sobbed with sheer frustration and slammed his fist against the bed.

A warm hand closed around his and eased his groping fingers back to circling the base of the vibe. There was a faint click and the vibe whined, screamed, nailed him, fucked him, owned him in the seconds it took to trigger his climax.

Then he belonged to that and nothing else. Not the vibe, still embedded in him, kept there by a hand that wasn't his, because his were clutching at the bedding, not even Jim, who was watching him so intently that Blair could feel the weight of his regard like a hard, bruising kiss even with his eyes determinedly still closed.

The orgasm swept through him, inexorable, unstoppable, made his body dance to its tune, made him sing and scream and, as it passed, pant softly, air passing over dry lips into his heaving chest.

The vibe slipped free, pushed out, pulled out; both, and Blair made a muffled sound of protest and loss even as he registered how raw his ass felt, how tender.

He was going to have to open his eyes soon because Jim wasn't going away. Tissues, soft against his belly, bearable against his cock; sandpaper against his hole, cleaned him with a casual efficiency and he heard the soft flutter of them landing in the trash and a solid, muted thump that had to be the vibrator being placed on the bedside table.

He'd have bet good money that Jim had put down a tissue for it to rest on.

Jim's fingers stroked his jaw, tentative now, questioning, and Blair sighed and opened his eyes when they moved away. The room was dark with shadows; twilight had fallen and a storm had been darkening the sky as Blair drove home. If he concentrated past the rush of blood in his ears, he could hear the mutter of thunder and a patter of rain against the windows and roof.

Jim sat beside him on the bed, still wearing his jacket. He looked apprehensive and Blair supposed he could see why. What Jim had done hadn't crossed lines, it'd obliterated them.

And like every other time that had happened, Blair didn't care. It was Jim. It was different.

"Thanks," Blair said in a rusty croak and watched Jim's expression smooth out with relief as he nodded and gave Blair a grave, sweet smile. "Wow."

Jim hummed an 'mmm' that sounded like agreement and reached out hesitantly to smooth Blair's sweat-damp hair back off his face. Blair smiled back at him, wordlessly telling Jim that yes, you can touch, yes, you can -- hell, you can do anything, Jim, because the two words he'd spoken had been an effort and sentences were beyond him right then. His body was boneless, bee-stung with pleasure, resonating to a note he could no longer hear but he was sure Jim could.

He slid his hand into Jim's and tugged him down until Jim was lying beside him. Jim still had his shoes on; shit, how panicked had he been listening to Blair's racing heartbeat and those desperate moans, or how close to coming himself? Blair glanced down and then, when his eyes couldn't tell him what he needed to know, put his hand on Jim's groin and spread his fingers wide over the soaked cloth that answered the question he hadn't asked.

"That hasn't happened since I was fourteen," Jim said into his ear. "You owe me, Chief."

"I'll make it up to you," Blair said, regaining the power of speech through a miracle.

"Looking forward to it," Jim said mildly. "Just like I'm looking forward to kicking your ass if you ever pull this stunt again."

Blair winced with guilt and sympathy. "I had the mother of all headaches today," he offered by way of recompense.

"I had a boner that wouldn't quit," Jim replied. "I came close to propositioning Vera at lunch."

"You did not," Blair said with certainty.

"I didn't, huh?" Jim toed his shoes off and wriggled out of his jacket and then gathered Blair up in a comprehensive hug Blair returned with interest. "And why is that?"

"Because you were saving it for me." Blair breathed on Jim's neck and kissed the damp skin with a stinging bite of a kiss just to feel Jim shiver and press closer. "Because you spent the day thinking about me and if you tell me you weren't, I'll call you a liar."

Jim rolled them so that Blair was on top, staring down into Jim's eyes and trying not to get distracted by Jim's hands, which were methodically mapping the contours of his back and ass.

"I've been thinking about you for months," Jim told him. "Never thought the first time we had sex we'd be in different rooms, though."

"Huh?" One of Jim's fingers had slid down the crease of Blair's ass and was circling his hole with a careful, firm pressure that was teasing a response out of a body still in recovery. "When -- God, Jim, put it in me, will you, you're --uhn, yeah, like that, oh, fuck, that feels good --"

"Stop squirming." Jim sounded breathless. "I'm not coming in my fucking pants again, even for you. And it was in the elevator and I was by myself, so no, we don't have to move."

"Good to know -- oh, you -- you --"

"Slut," Jim said with a knowing arch of his eyebrows.

Blair flushed. "You heard that?"

Jim grimaced. "It's what made me come. You sounded…" He shook his head. "You feel sore," he said abruptly and drew his finger out, swiping it dry against Blair's ass which was both gross and charmingly typical. Jim would figure, pragmatically, that skin cleaned easier than sheets, and that since it was Blair's mess, Blair's skin was where it belonged.

Blair was fine with that. Watching Jim sniff at the finger and then lick it with a considering look on his face was something else again. He yelped. "Jim! God, don't."

Jim gave him a blank look. "Huh?"

"It was just in my ass," Blair said without stopping to realize how redundant a piece of information that was. "It's not -- that's just --"

"It was your ass," Jim said patiently, as if that explained it. "Blair, is this a one night only or do you plan on a repeat performance?"

"Now that I've got a ticket to the show, it'd better run as long as the fucking Mousetrap has," Blair said and meant it.

Jim nodded, his expression serene. "That's good. Okay, then you'd better get used to my fingers, my dick, and my tongue up your ass, because I'm going to be doing that a lot. Unless…" He looked uncertain, which Blair hated. Jim didn't have to look that way around him, not ever. "Not your thing?"

Blair poked Jim's shoulder for emphasis. "Totally my thing. All of it. At least, I've never…" He trailed off and watched Jim's knowing, indulgent smile blossom. "Look, just because you're all experienced and shit --"

Jim's hand cupped his face with a tenderness that Blair had never had directed at him before in quite that way. "You'll like it, babe, I swear. And it doesn't have to go both ways, so don't panic." His gaze slid sideways to the blur of neon pink on the bedside table. "Yeah, you'll like it," Jim said thoughtfully with the air of a man planning ahead.

Blair felt his stomach twist pleasurably, a tingle of anticipation unfurling. "Jim --"

"Ask me again," Jim said.

"Ask you what?" Blair was studying Jim's mouth. A mouth he hadn't kissed yet. Somehow, he thought when he did, they'd be done talking.

"How long can I go without sex?"

Blair opened his mouth, shrugged helplessly, and looked at Jim for a clue.

Jim pulled him down so that their lips were brushing on every breath, Blair's heart pounding.

"With you? Not very long at all," Jim murmured and had the final word for once because that was the right answer, that was what Blair wanted to hear.


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