Suits You



"What do you miss about being with a woman?"

Sandburg came up with the sort of questions that in an ideal world would need permission in writing and two weeks notice before asking. Jim cleared his throat, because at some point in the time between coming and ceasing to come he'd made the kind of noises that got stuck halfway, and answered warily.

"Nothing. Why should I?"

Wrong. So wrong. It had seemed safe but it was wrong.

"You should. Unless you're not missing anything because you're still…?" Blair's voice ended on an accusing up note.

"I'm not." Jim let himself get annoyed. They hadn't agreed to exclusive but they hadn't left many options open, either. "What, you think I wouldn't tell you?"

"Would you?" Blair did something that meant he was lying on the same bed as Jim, not in bed with him, without moving a muscle.

"Yeah, Chief. I'd tell you."

"Before or after?"

Ouch. "Probably after," he admitted. "But I wouldn't do this again without telling you first."

That seemed to satisfy Blair, who nodded, looking smug. "You touch me all the time," he said obliquely.

If Blair thought that would stop no matter who either of them was fucking, he was wrong. That was something that wasn't connected to fucking him. Sort of.

"Yeah… This is all academic, wouldn't you say? Right now, you're wearing me out, okay? Not in the market for anyone else."

"Interesting way of putting it." Jim braced himself for a lecture on anything from dowries to matriarchal societies but he'd forgotten how single-minded Blair was. "You must miss something."

"Why?"

Blair shrugged, letting that and a coaxing, expectant silence speak for him. Jim felt put upon. Sex, a brief time of holding and being held, endured at first because Blair seemed to expect it, embraced once he'd discovered it was the after-dinner mint that left him settled for the third pleasure on the list; a swift plunge into sleep. That was what his evening should have held as it came to an end and now Blair wanted to talk, which they could do any time.

Besides, it was none of Blair's damn business.

"I don't miss anything about the casual…" He hesitated. Flings? One-night stands? "Ones," he finished lamely. "But Carolyn…" Oh, yeah, Blair flinched at her name, not much, just a little. Good. Served him right. "Sometimes, she'd, you know, dress up for me. Make an effort."

"You mean a costume or something?" Blair sounded dubious, as if he was picturing Carolyn as a naughty fucking nurse or something. Loyalty to her and discomfort pushed Jim into a sharper reply than Blair deserved. "Christ, Sandburg, how old are you? No. Just something… I don't know. Sexy. Silky."

"Right." Blair was nodding quickly now, his hair catching on the pillow, dragging over it and making a sound Jim had once zoned on, a soft, rasping tickle, oddly soothing like a scratch on an itchy ear. "Yes, I know what you mean." His upper hand sketched a vague shape in the dim air and then sank back to rest on his flank, still bearing the marks Jim's fingers had left, although Jim was the only one who could see them. Blair probably didn't know they were there, and never would as they'd fade soon. Jim rarely left bruises on him and when he was being fucked, Blair didn't notice as much as Jim had expected, sinking into his own responses with a hedonistic selfishness Jim found endearing or irritating depending on his mood. "Lingerie."

Jim snorted with amusement. "Yeah, Chief. Whatever."

He'd bought her a… a thing once. A body. Or was it a teddy? A deep red, plunging down, cut high enough up on the sides that it exposed most of her ass, purchased on Christmas Eve, with the shop full of harried men, conforming and confirming all the stereotypes. He'd stood in the store, face flushed when confronted with women's underwear in a bewildering rainbow, the soft, scented air unwelcoming, until he'd realised no one was staring and there wasn't a female customer in sight, and then waded in aggressively when he saw how stripped the racks were looking.

It'd been a size too small, which he'd known but he'd been aiming for flattery… she'd worn it once, teeth gritted, then again, months later when he'd all but forgotten it, visible proof of the success of  a diet he hadn't known she'd been on.

Twice. Sometimes. They were more or less the same, right?

"I could do that," Blair said thoughtfully.

It was a measure of how much he'd warped to fit Sandburg's view of the world that Jim schooled his first wrinkle-nosed rejection of Blair in a red teddy into serious, objective consideration.

For a few seconds, anyway, before he laughed, good humour restored. "I don't think so, Chief."

Blair rolled his eyes as if he could see the same incongruous vision Jim could. "Not that. Although, silk… you'd like the way I felt in that, you know."

He would. He felt his fingers flex and tingle at the thought of it. A square of silk, not clothing, whisper-light or maybe heavier than that, something Blair could feel on him, cool as he wrapped it around Blair's cock, heating, clinging, getting wet. Jerking Blair off with it cloaking his dick, taking the stained, soaked silk and draping it over Blair's face, making him breathe in the humid, heavy smell of his own come as Jim fucked him. Gagging him with it, blindfolding him, Jesus --

"Yeah." Blair's voice oozed smug and dripped satisfaction. "Thought so."

Little fuck, Jim thought, unsure where to put the emphasis on the insults but feeling the need to reassert himself so strongly he was trembling with it. Sometimes Blair was just too fucking much.

"So do it for me," he said. "Dress up for me."

I dare you.

He felt Blair react to it, the shiver of, yeah, excitement that went over him. With a detached ease, Jim catalogued the signs that Blair was turned on, not letting himself just look at Blair's dick to confirm it until he'd finished.

"What do you want me in? Leather?"

Jim felt his mouth start to smile and stopped before he hurt Blair's feelings, feeling magnanimous now they were both hard. "No, Chief. Can't say that it's how I see you."

Blair hissed out an impatient sigh. "So?"

"A suit."

"Of what?"

"A suit," Jim said. "You know; jacket, pants, shirt, tie…"

"You've got to be kidding me."

You think, Chief? Jim warmed to it just because of Blair's reaction, talking himself into it. "Not kidding."

"I've got suits. A suit. I've worn it before."

Jim blinked at him, silenced by the petulance. The kid really thought he owned a decent suit? Oh, Christ…

"You've got… things that might pass for a suit if it was midnight and the person looking had cataracts," he said kindly. "Off-the-peg crap. I'm talking made-to-measure."

"What?"

"Sure." Oh, this wind-up was good… Jim pressed a fingertip into the crease of skin where Blair's thigh met his groin, dredging up slightly humiliating memories of his own. "Tape measure there…"

"Hey! Tickles! And wouldn't you punch them out? You know, you've got this possessive streak about you, Jim…"

Babbling. Good to hear. Jim dragged his nail down the inside of Blair's thigh as far down as he could reach, feeling the skin warm under the slow, deliberate scoring. "I'd be watching him measure you," he assured Blair. "Sitting in the fitting room, waiting to pay for it."

He watched the implications of that hit home; saw the nervous, quick swallow. "Pay?"

"Oh, yeah. I'd be buying it for you." He felt Blair's appreciative, involuntary moan but didn't hear it because Blair clamped his mouth shut. It spurred him on to be inventive. "I'd take you in there, make you strip while he watched you. Make you fold everything you took off, make you put it neatly on a chair…"

"I think you're going away from the point of this…"

Jim put the palm of his hand over Blair's mouth and smiled at him until he shut up. "I'm thinking you'd be hard by then. You'd keep your shorts on, but the shirts you wear are too thick. You'd strip to boxers and socks and your nipples would be tight and you'd be blushing down to here --" His hand left Blair's lips after a single, warning press and skimmed over Blair's chest, feeling the hair on it rise to meet his palm. "You'd have to stand there waiting while I chose a shirt for you to wear."

"Jim -- this is really out there, man, you know that? Really, seriously fucked." Blair's rebellious whisper was anguished, intent, and his dick was jerking, small, frantic, strong movements as it filled and hardened more, wet-tipped and so much more persuasive and truthful than his mouth.

"It is? Want me to stop?"

That verged on cruel but it was going to hurt him more if Blair said yes, which evened things out in some obscure way and diluted his guilt.

Blair rolled to his back and his head moved on the pillow in a silent negation. He was breathing audibly enough for it be called panting until Jim placed his hand just so again over Blair's mouth, liking the way it felt to silence him, the way his hand got kissed and licked secondhand as Blair dealt with dry lips and his tongue encountered the barrier Jim had put in place.

"So. You're standing. Waiting. While I sit and watch you and the tailor's holding shirts up and looking at me. I probably like the first one just fine, but I keep shaking my head and you're just -- I don't know. Are you enjoying it, Blair? You're shaking and your eyes look like you're about to cry but are you enjoying it?"

His hand got bitten. Fair enough.

"I go back to the first --"

Blair bit him again, chewing savagely at the side of Jim's hand in an unmistakable message. He lifted it up and Blair heaved in a breath and then said coldly, "What colour is it? And if you say blue because it matches my eyes, I'll strangle you with the fucking tape measure, you got that?"

"White is classic," Jim said, shifting position and kissing him just to see what he'd do.

More biting. He tasted blood and grimaced.

"Green. Not so classic, but I think you could make it work." He eased on top of Blair, his dick demanding something to rub against, and started to fuck the hollow of Blair's hip with a languid rock, feeling the scratch of thick wiry hair against his balls. Blair's wrists fit snugly into his grip, pinned to the pillow, and he felt the solid heat of Blair's erection press against his belly.

"It's stiff and new. You watch him take out the pins, so many of them, all over it, and you know I'm making sure they've all gone, you trust me for that, and when he's finished, I take it from him and put it on you, crisp cotton, creased and hanging wrong, but I button it up anyway, and you're staring at me the whole time, eyes fucking huge, hands by your side and I want to -- I want to --"

He couldn't continue. Christ how had he got this far? He felt the fantasy thin to forgotten, lost in the need to fuck Blair until the only question he'd be asking was what his own name was. Yeah. Fuck everything out of him, everything he knew about Jim, everything because they were both so fucking obsessed with each other it was starting to be scary.

"Just do it, fucking do it --"

Blair turned into a good imitation of something wild and angry, surging up off the bed, freed hands clawing, feet kicking, teeth scraping and digging in wherever they could.

Jim let himself get rolled to his back and smiled up at Blair furiously spitting out orders and demands, his hands smacking and punching Jim's skin in punctuation. Oh, yeah. Better than smug.

"What do you want to wear, huh, Jim, huh?" Blair ground out, jacking Jim's dick with a spit-wet hand, too heavy across Jim's thighs but he wouldn't be sitting there for long, so it didn't matter…

"Just you, baby, just you."

Blair stared at him, gave a sniff as if Jim had finally got something right, and after what had to be the quickest reach, rip, and roll of a condom Jim had ever seen, moved up just a little, raised up just enough, and sank down on Jim's waiting dick.

Perfect fit.


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