Sweet as Candy

by Jane Davitt




Blair's hand reached for the bowl of candy on the coffee table, an action that had become as regular as the sweep of the clock hand as it ticked away the minutes of the afternoon.

"You'll make yourself sick," Jim said. He gave the heap of sticky wrappers on the table a disapproving look that managed to avoid the smaller pile that bore silent witness to his own depredations.

"I know," Blair said ruefully. "I don't even like some of them, but I just can't help it. They're bite-sized and they're just there --" He reached out again -- again! -- and Jim leaned in and slapped Blair's hand away, acting as a concerned friend should and saving Blair from himself.

"I told you that I don't get kids knocking on my door at Halloween," Jim pointed out, not for the first time. "I said there was no need to buy candy, well, not this much, anyway."

Blair licked his lips, a calorific boost in itself given how much chocolate clung to them, and sighed. "Bite-sized," he repeated. "Small and cute and bite-sized; I can't resist."

"That explains a lot of your dates," Jim said, unable to resist the cheap shot. Blair rolled his eyes and forbore to comment, which might have been because he was dealing with a particularly dense and chewy Tootsie Roll. Even Sentinel sight hadn't seen that get unwrapped and slid past the pout.

There was something pleading in Blair's gaze, though, something that seemed to scream, 'Rescue me!'. Jim considered dumping the candy in the trash, but, well, it was candy. That seemed wrong. Wasteful.

Without realizing it, Jim snagged a Snickers bar. It melted on his tongue, sweet and sinful. He crumpled the wrapper in his hand and tossed it at the bowl with a despairing groan.

"See?" Blair said mournfully, his voice thickened by chocolate and guilt. "We're trapped. Doomed to sit and eat until the bowl's empty and --"

"And we throw up in it," Jim said with a shudder. Okay. Enough. Inspiration fuelled by desperation gave him an idea, and a sugar high added to a persistent ache of arousal provided the determination to carry it out.

The arousal was Blair's fault. He'd chosen to dress up as an eighties rock star the night before, his hair gelled and wild, his features accentuated by cosmetics, applied with a knowledgeable hand. Blair's blue eyes plus a smudged, smoky line of black kohl added up to a potent slam in the gut, Jim had discovered, and the dense, rich red his lips were painted was enough to bring Jim figuratively to his knees…where the skintight leather pants clinging to Blair's ass and thighs could be best appreciated, incidentally. Jim had grabbed onto the table and stayed upright, his incredulous gaze taking in Blair's costume while his mouth watered.

Blair had thrown out an invitation for Jim to join him at the off-campus party, but it'd been half-hearted at best and Blair had returned at two in the morning, a miasma of smoke and alcohol surrounding him like a filthy cloud, his lipstick kissed off and his shredded T-shirt torn even more, so that his nipples -- and that damned ring, glinting, winking -- were on show, as well as a broad chest and a lot of dark, sweat-damp hair.

Jim had risen from the couch, nodded curtly, and stalked off to his bed, outrage and envy churning in his gut, his dick like steel.

Now, he stood again, and gathered what he needed; a sheet of paper, a pen, and a roll of tape.

Making a label saying 'bite-sized' and sticking it to his chest didn't take long. Getting up the nerve to turn and walk back to a puzzled, expectant Blair, who'd been asking him questions that Jim had ignored took longer than it should.

Blair's eyes widened as Jim approached, but he didn't speak until Jim, his face as red as the strawberry Twizzlers he'd watched Blair suck and chew on, an incitement to riot in itself, reached up to yank the label off his T-shirt.

"Leave it on," Blair said, the words so firmly spoken that Jim reacted as if they were an order, old habits kicking in. "God, Jim…" Blair looked up, his hands gripping his knees tightly, either to stop them shaking or to keep from reaching out. "Are you sure about this? Because I can walk away from the candy if I try, but you…I don't want to leave you and if we screw this up, it's going to get sticky. Messy."

"We won't screw it up," Jim said with more confidence than he felt.

Blair nodded slowly, his lip caught between his teeth. "If you say so."

"Just like that?"

Blair held out his hand and Jim hauled him to his feet. "I'm easy to persuade when it comes to you."

Jim let himself get walked back and pushed down onto the couch, with Blair straddling his lap, utterly unself-conscious, as if this were a position Blair found himself in every day. Jim exhaled, Blair's weight reassuringly uncomfortable. Not a dream, then. In dreams, seducing Blair was always so perfectly smooth that even gripped in sleep, Jim knew that it wasn't real. Nothing was simple and easy when it came to his relationship with Blair; it was hedged with secrecy and evasions.

"God, you look…"

"Good enough to eat?" Jim suggested hopefully.

Blair snickered and took the label off Jim, letting it flutter to the ground, its job done. "Oh, yeah." He ground his ass gently against Jim's groin and the trapped hardness there. "Though that doesn't feel bite-sized. More like one of those giant, economy-sized --"

"It's just average," Jim said hastily. He liked to think it was a little more than that, but he'd prefer Blair to be pleasantly surprised than disappointed.

"Let me be the judge of that," Blair said and kissed Jim right on his open mouth, lips parted to say something that was licked away by the velvet stroke of Blair's tongue, tasting rich and sweet.

The kiss ended before Jim had gotten used to the idea that Blair was kissing him, which meant that it had ended too soon. Before he could protest or grab at Blair and haul him closer, Blair had melted to his knees, his hands on Jim's thighs, pushing them wider.

Oh, God. How long had it been since someone had blown him? How long since someone with a smiling mouth had kissed sensitive, shivering skin and left it heated, flushed? Jim heard the teeth of his zipper yield to a slow, firm tug with a metallic whisper of surrender, then Blair slid three fingertips into the gap he'd created, teasing them both, because Jim's pants were still buttoned and belted. Blair couldn't reach Jim's cock through the zipper-aligned slit in his shorts -- didn't really seem to be trying to -- but Jim felt it react as if it'd been squeezed and pumped, just from the drag of fabric over it as Blair rummaged around, fingertips skating over Jim's stomach and tweaking the hair clustered thickly low down. Blair's fingers moved, curious, claiming, and Jim sucked in his stomach to give them more room and arched his hips imploringly, as ready to surrender as his zipper.

"Greedy," Blair said, his voice a husky whisper. "Bad Jim. Maybe you need spanking. My hand on you, not my mouth."

Jim closed his eyes and clamped his lips closed before he agreed that he was and he did -- although it'd be unfair to be punished for something as much a sin as breathing. Blair had been joking, of course -- at least nothing about him said otherwise -- but it served to bring home to Jim the undeniable fact that he might have begun this, but Blair was the one leading the way.

And Jim would follow eagerly. He saw himself allowing Blair to act out a score of fantasies, indulge every kink and fetish either of them were willing -- brave enough -- to admit to. Saw it and felt a light sweat break out over his body, a chill, a thrill run through him. Blair glanced up, a curious glint in his eyes, but he didn't comment. Jim could almost hear a question being filed in a drawer marked 'bug Jim about this later'.

"Maybe you do get my mouth," Blair mused, "and I get…hmm." He reached back, made a long arm, and snagged a bar of chocolate, a thin rectangle small enough to fit in his hand.

Jim wasn't sure that he liked where this was going. Food was food; sex was sex. He didn't like mixing the two. Whipped cream and sweaty skin weren't much of a turn on, and Blair was too damn hairy to get smeared in anything sticky. Even so, when the bar, still wrapped, was pressed into his hand, he took it.

"Your hands are warmer than mine," Blair said absently, his attention returning to Jim's groin. "Make it melt." A mischievous smile curled Blair's lips. "You're good at that."

Jim considered protesting, even refusing, just to prove to himself that he could, but Blair chose that moment to deftly tug down Jim's pants and boxers. Jim cooperated, raising his ass automatically, but the lick of air over his heated, tumescent flesh made his hands clench into fists as he gasped. The chocolate, already gooey on the surface from the warmth of the room, yielded obediently to pressure, turning malleable within moments. He worked it to a soft squishiness with a ferocity that was a reflection of his own emotions. Blair was staring at what he'd revealed, his breath the only thing reaching it, each slow exhalation caressing Jim's dick. Most men wouldn't have been conscious of the stirred air as Blair breathed in and out, slow and deep, but this turned on, Jim couldn't stop his senses from flaring, like tiny flashes shed from a sparkler, intensely bright and leaving an afterimage. Being breathed on was too strong a sensation to be ignored with Jim's skin prickled into over-sensitivity, but at the same time maddeningly not enough. He craved a touch, even if it would hurt, no matter how gentle Blair was, until his senses readjusted and Blair's hand began to feel good against his swollen, throbbing --

"Touch me," Jim said through gritted teeth. "Now."

Blair gave him a startled glance; not surprising as Jim's voice had been edged like glass. Jim swallowed and put some measure of apology into his next word. "Please?"

Blair took the chocolate from Jim's hand, a furrow of mild irritation between his eyebrows, as if Jim had ruined the mood. If Jim hadn't been able to smell the musky heat rising from Blair with every shift in position, he might have apologizing again, but he could, so he stayed quiet. Safest.

The chocolate felt gritty and sticky against his skin and he squirmed, not enjoying this much and refusing to look down. His dick was still hard, but it wasn't until Blair licked it, a slow, luscious swipe, that Jim felt connected to it again.

"Relax," Blair said. "I'll clean up after myself."

After that, Jim felt that they were back on track. It might be a track heading for a cliff or a collision with an oncoming train, but they were moving. Or Blair was; Jim didn't know Blair's mouth well enough to fuck up into it, much though he wanted to toward the end, and he held still, his hands running through Blair's hair, or holding Blair in place for a moment to trace the shape Blair's lips made when they were shaped and opened by the thrust of Jim's cock.

Around them, the quiet room absorbed his muttered murmured words of praise and encouragement, soaked up the succulent, appreciative sounds Blair was making as he licked Jim's dick clean.

When he held up his hand to Jim, the palm streaked with chocolate, Jim was too mellow to protest. He circled Blair's wrist with his hand and applied his tongue to Blair's skin, as Blair continued to suck him, his tongue darting here and there, his teeth skating lightly.

Jim was so hyper-aware of Blair that he could feel the lines on Blair's palm like grooves against his tongue, even through the layer of chocolate. He wanted the salt-clean taste of skin, not the cloying sweetness, and he licked and swallowed, lapping and sucking at Blair's fingers. With Blair's mouth taking him deep, it almost felt as if they were lying in bed, head to toe, their mouths full of musky, silk-sheathed hardness. Almost. Close. God, maybe they could -- no.

Too late to change what they were doing; Blair was making breathy, frantic whimpers now, busy though he was, small grunts of desire and arousal, making Jim wonder if Blair was going to spill right then into his pants, come without being touched, so fucking turned on that he couldn't wait for Jim to stroke him, squeeze him…

That thought made Jim suck Blair's fingers harder, his tongue flickering around and over the two wedged in his mouth, and he felt his climax rise and engulf him, inescapable, inexorable. He shot, his balls tight and high, and felt Blair swallow convulsively, choke, and swallow again, gamely handling the end result. Jim closed his eyes as his cock jerked again and again, less spunk emerging but the pleasure continuing, wracking his body until he was left drained, limp, castaway.

Blair took his mouth off Jim's dick and drew his fingers free. He rested his head on Jim's knee and Jim patted it clumsily, a token caress, uncoordinated, but sincere.

"Do we blame that on the candy?" Blair said eventually, the tension in his voice under the elaborately casual tone enough to bring Jim out of his fuck-dumb state and into something resembling normal.

"Don't tell me that you didn't want to do that last week, or the month before that, or --"

"I get the picture," Blair said. "I did from day one, I guess, but what about you? Want me to come up with a theory about Sentinel libidos and excess sugar you can use to make yourself feel better about this?"

Did he want an out? Jim couldn't help feeling touched that Blair had offered and at the same time annoyed as hell that Blair could be dense enough not to see --

"I want you in the shower with me, Sandburg. You said you'd clean up after yourself, and I can tell you right now that you did a sucky job of it. I've got chocolate in places I don't want to think about and I sure as hell don't want you licking. That stuff dribbles when it melts, or didn't that occur to you?"

Blair was smiling again, smiling wide. "A sucky job of sucking? Really?"

Cute. Jim patted Blair's cheek and couldn't seem to take his hand away. He'd have liked to blame it on sticky fingers, but he knew it wasn't that. "No, you did that just right. Blew my head off."

"Hmm." Blair was still smiling. "Okay."

"So do we shower?"

Blair turned his head and gave the candy bowl a speculative look. "Just one more?"

"Not a chance." Jim stood and swept Blair off to get scrubbed. "I've got plans for you, Chief."

They involved Blair on his knees in front of the couch again, this time with a bucket of soapy water, but he didn't go into details.


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