Tree Topper

by Jane Davitt


"Ow! Owwwww."

"Hold still, Sandburg."

"That's my hair you're pulling, Jim, and it likes being attached to my freaking head, okay?"

"Two words. Pine sap."

Sticky didn't cover it. The stuff was lethal. And woven, along with a pound or so of pine needles, into the back of Sandburg's hair.

Blair was silent for a moment. Then, his voice considerably meeker, he asked, "Is it bothering you? Touching and smelling it, I mean? Because I can do this myself."

"I think you proved you couldn't when you hogged the bathroom for an hour and didn't do much more than clog up the drain." Jim sighed. "How the hell did you do it, Sandburg? Simon and I put that tree up and it was solid. Not a single wobble."

"I told you, Anna wanted the doll at the top." Blair relaxed, leaning back against the couch between Jim's spread knees, his shoulders brushing the inside of Jim's thighs. Jim watched his hand clench around a handful of hair and eased off a second before Blair's agonized squeak.

"Sorry. Okay, she wanted a doll. The tree was full of them."

"She wanted that one. Said it reminded her of her little sister, the one who died."

"Yeah. I know." Jim curled a strand of hair around his finger and let it spring free in a silky, damp spiral. "Forget it. Not much was broken, and the kids got a kick out of your Wicked Witch impersonation."

Blair wriggled his toes. "No silver slippers. Or ruby ones, either, but yeah, when it fell on me it felt like it weighed as much as a house."

Jim picked up the comb and ruthlessly attacked a particularly glutinous blob of sap.

"Ow!"

"You're such a baby."

It hadn't sounded that indulgent in his head. He picked up the scissors and sheared away the knot instead.

When the last needle had been combed out, he surrendered to an impulse and gathered the hair into his hands and pulled it aside. A single needle, darkly green, lay against Blair's nape. He blew, a short, mischievous puff, and felt, saw, and heard a sensual shiver run through Blair.

"Oh, man…" Blair tipped his head back and Jim had edged forward…The curved weight of Blair's head came to rest against Jim's groin, and even with all that hair and a couple of layers of clothing, Blair had to be able to feel --

Blair rolled over to his knees between Jim's legs and ended up with his face inches away from a denim-covered erection. He stared at it in silence while Jim felt heat wash over him in a shamed, exultant wave.

Blair licked his lips and reached out, his fingers as careful as Jim's had been, and unzipped, undid, exposed.

Then he made his mouth the star at the top of Jim's own personal Christmas tree and kept it there until Jim groaned, arched up, begged, sap-sticky hands caught in the tangled curls.

Much pleasure thou can'st give me...


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