Whisper Sweet Nothings



He'd never met anyone with a recovery period as short as Sandburg's.

One minute he'd be plastered all over Jim, hands clutching, mouth trying to decide if it was kissing or eating Jim's shoulder, his skin tasting of salt and electricity as he came with a tight, violent spasm, then, with a pause as long as it took for one, two, three breaths, he'd start talking.

Never about the sex; sometimes about Jim.

Jim would have accepted it philosophically and tuned him out -- he liked time to bask and dwell, even if Sandburg didn't -- if it hadn't been for the fact that the monologue always started with, "Hey, Jim, I've been thinking…"

That wasn't Sandburg's customary hop, skip, and jump from subject to subject; that was a nervous tic.

Which got him thinking that he'd like to know what Sandburg would do if he couldn't talk right after he'd come.

He wasn't going to gag him even though he was fairly sure Blair would let him. He still had nightmares of finding Blair tied, a slash of yellow silencing him, Blair's eyes wild and scared.

But he could… yeah. Worth a try.

So the next time, just as Blair's mouth opened with the fourth breath, Jim kissed him, not letting Blair speak, pushing the words back and persisting, until Blair's face was snug between his palms and Blair's tongue was slowly, sweetly sliding and curling and tasting, and it was good enough that when it stopped it was Jim who was talking in fragments between more kisses, just there on the beguiling point of Blair's jaw, hands threaded in the tangled, damp hair, and Blair who was listening, and Jim told Blair, told -- and he'd wanted Blair to say it first, dammit, wanted the three words spoken by Blair, leaving him the easier two in reply.

Who knew Blair felt the same way?

So, all in all, finding out why Blair chattered in such a safe, scripted way in the aftermath, when tenderness and reassurance were the expected payment and tip, wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

But as he heard his words repeated back to him on a rising note of relieved, gratified pleasure, Blair's mouth shaping them with a stammer as if they were new words, unfamiliar, fresh, he decided it wasn't the worst, either.




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