Goodnight, Sweetheart

Jim was in the space between awake and asleep, warm and tired and almost, nearly, closing down thought for the night.

Choosing that moment to realize that he hadn't kissed Blair goodnight, hadn't even touched him apart from an accidental, incidental contact or two as they got settled under the covers, was enough to banish drowsiness.

He lay still, thinking about it. No kiss. They hadn't argued; they weren't tired; they were just… used to each other now, maybe.

He turned that over for a while and couldn't hate the idea.

Still wanted to kiss Blair in and out of season, oh, hell, yes. In fact, maybe he'd just roll over and -- no. Waking Blair for no better reason than to kiss him -- and Jim didn't want to follow through with it; just not in the mood for sex -- well, that could get nasty. Blair could be surprisingly eloquent with his elbows.

He'd do it in the morning. Blair would still be there, curled in on himself, his hair falling over his face, his skin sleep-salted with sweat, musk-scented in all the dark, hidden places Jim's hands and mouth had discovered, explored, conquered.

He could kiss Blair plenty in the morning.

With a satisfied grunt at a problem solved, he rolled over and planted one on Blair's bare shoulder anyway, light and quick, so that Blair's only response was a sigh and a sudden, sweet fall into sleep, his breathing evening out before Jim had time to settle back down.

Blair asleep beside him in a bed Jim didn't think of as his these days… yeah, he could get used to that.

He just never wanted to take it for granted.

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