Whiteout



It didn't snow often in Cascade and when it did, it soon melted to slush in the mild, damp air. Today, though, a week before Christmas, it was cold and clear and the flakes fluttering down were sticking.

Blair peered through the swishing wiper blades at the car ahead and sighed. "Traffic's not moving," he reported unnecessarily. "We’re stuck here."

Jim reached out and flicked a switch, stilling the wipers. Within a moment, the windshield was opaque, crystalline flakes clustering and clinging to the glass. The side and rear windows were already thick with snow as Jim had turned off the demister once they'd come to a halt, muttering about his battery being low.

"Uh, Jim… you need to be able to see. If that guy ahead of us moves even a few inches and we don't, I can guarantee we're not going to have a happy camper behind us. And I so don't want to bail you out of a fight."

That got a small smile from Jim, although Blair could name a couple of times when he had held Jim back, digging in his heels and talking Jim into something that passed for calm. And if that didn't work, well, he knew a few moves of his own these days. "I'll hear the engine noise change if he pulls forward, Chief."

"True, but why do you want to sit here blind?"

Jim turned and stared at him, a faint smile surfacing. "No one can see in. Even I'd have trouble. And I can tell that it's going to be like this for a while; I can hear the towers cursing up ahead as they try and hook up that broken-down car and the one that smashed into it."

"And?"

"And I seem to recall you saying you'd always had this kink about sex in public places. We're surrounded by people, Chief. In the middle of the street, in the middle of the afternoon. And I'm asking you to go down on me, right here. Your head in my lap, your mouth on my --"

"I know where to put it," Blair said hastily, his face heating. Pillow talk, whispered into the darkness, shouldn't be brought up at three on a Tuesday afternoon on their way home to do laundry and defrost the fridge amongst other mundane tasks. "That was a fantasy, Jim. A never gonna happen kind of deal. Come on… you're telling me you're serious?"

Jim shrugged, his face going blank the way it did when he was disappointed. He turned his head away to stare blindly out of the window, fingers tightening on the wheel. Overhead, the sun must have broken through the clouds, because the whiteness blanketing the truck windows turned to a golden glitter, in a way only nature could pull off without being tacky.

Blair took a deep breath, his mind racing. Jim could keep a straight face better than anyone but it didn't feel like this was a joke. He remembered what they'd been talking about before the fantasies got shared and shook his head. "Oh, man…This is you being spontaneous, isn't it? Jim, when I compared your routines to a coping mechanism used by children with learning -- "

"Or I could just feel like getting blown," Jim interrupted, his voice acidic. "That too simple for you, Chief?"

Jim still wasn't looking at him so Blair allowed himself one moment when his face showed his arousal -- because now that the shock was wearing off, he was getting… interested -- before clearing his throat. "No. Do you?"

"I did." It was clear the blame for the change was being put squarely at Blair's door.

"Lean back."

"I'm really not in the mood for a pity fuck, Chief. Just forget it." Jim was looking at him now, cheeks flushed with cold and temper, eyes ice-blue. He reached for the switch to flick the wipers on and Blair leaned across and stopped him, his bare fingers squeezing Jim's wrist hard.

"Lean back," Blair repeated. "Unbutton your jacket and unzip your pants. I'd do it for you, but my hands are freezing."

Silently, his mouth still hard, Jim stripped off his gloves, shoving them into a pocket, and did just enough to give Blair access to him, his cock rising out of the space made by a lowered zip, rigid enough to make Blair realize Jim had probably been thinking about this for a while as they drove.

Blair bent over awkwardly, glad that his hair was tied back out of the way, and Jim made a sound he stifled immediately; a throat-caught murmur Blair chose to think sounded anticipatory. Realizing that an angle only just bearable for a quick kiss wasn't going to cut it for what he had planned, Blair put a hand on Jim's thigh to steady himself and then wriggled so that he was lying across the seat, one knee drawn up under him. He propped himself on his elbows, giving his hands some freedom to move, and settled with his face close to Jim's cock. Jim obligingly turned sideways a little and ran the back of his knuckles lightly down Blair's cheek in what might have been an apology.

The first thing Blair did was sniff, the crisp, icy air acting like a block to the earthy, familiar scent of Jim's skin, naturally concentrated down here. Blair didn't approve of that lack of scent at all; even before he'd met Jim his research had made him aware of the importance of sensory input and the way humans underused and ignored what their bodies were patiently telling them. Arousal through scent cues was basic; he kept himself clean for Jim but not obsessively so; Jim had told him once that soap was a far bigger turn-off than sweat and musk. Knowing how closely linked smell and taste were -- as anyone who'd ever had a cold would agree -- he licked Jim's cock from bottom to top, finding it warm against his chilled lips, and sniffed again at the damp skin. Better.

Making sure Jim could hear him without needing to concentrate on one sense in particular, he continued licking; lavish, noisy wet swipes accompanied by a throaty hum of approval. He liked doing this, always had. Jim's hand settled on the back of his neck, clasping it lightly, and Blair rewarded him for remembering that Blair liked that by a swirl of his tongue across the head of Jim's cock followed by a suck with a smidgen of teeth.

This wasn't the time for subtle, he knew that, but this was something he'd never done in daylight, in a technically moving vehicle, and he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he could. The constant thrum of the engine mingled with the sounds they were making; a hoarse, muttered series of exhortations from Jim that were mostly Blair's name, repeated again and again, and a low mmm from Blair whenever his mouth was momentarily empty and he had breath to spare.

Blair. It was the name Jim always used for him when they were having sex, a sort of reverse pet-name, so that if it slipped out when they were with someone like Simon, Blair would feel illicit, complicit, his gaze sliding away from Jim's face, his dick aching pleasantly as it stirred awake, only to be studiously ignored.

Sometimes he thought Jim said it on purpose.

No. He knew Jim did. He just hadn't worked out if there was a reason prompting it; something Blair had done or not done. Difficult, when he didn't know how Jim saw it; reward or wrist smack -- or just the only way he could touch Blair like a lover in public.

Blair had noticed that Jim touched him for real a lot less at work now they were fucking and he knew why so he didn't comment or complain. He got compensated for the neglect when they were alone, Jim good naturedly letting Blair practically climb into his lap and crawl all over him, his own hands sliding inside shirts to get to Blair's skin. It took up the first five minutes after they walked into the loft until saturation point was reached and they'd split up, exchanging glances that were getting less embarrassed as time went by.

Blair had learned to accept that some things about being with Jim were weird and it came with the territory. He documented the compulsion to touch each other with a sense of futility, knowing the data was suspect, worthless, knowing he still had to write it down.

"Blair… God, Blair --" It was Jim's voice, edged with desperation that prompted Blair to skip to the end and begin a series of fast, rough attempts to get as much of Jim's cock in on the downstroke as he could. The arch of Jim's hips as he matched Blair's rhythm -- mostly -- weren't that helpful, but Blair's lips were numb and rubbery with cold and friction, and there was an agonizing crick halfway down his spine. He wanted Jim to come and if offering his mouth to be fucked did the trick, that was fine.

And also something he totally got off on, although Jim was generally on top or standing when they did that seriously.

"Moving," Jim said, the word taking a moment to register for Blair. When it did, he jerked up, striking his head on the steering wheel. Jim snarled at him without anger and a large hand smacked against the exact spot the wheel had and applied some downward pressure before disappearing to jerk at the gear shift.

Jim didn't need to say anything else. Blair wiped the back of his hand over his mouth -- man, he was dripping wet -- jacked Jim's dick three times, hard, to give his lips time to work themselves into a circle, and leaned in, timing it just right.

Jim came in three jolting, jerking surges, each one followed by a grunt that made Blair's untouched, aching dick throb. God, he really had to stop getting off on Jim to the extent that he was practically creaming his pants when the man went non-verbal on him. Grunting wasn't really that sexy. Except when Jim did it.

Belatedly, Blair realized they were moving and he still had his head in Jim's lap and his ass in the air. "God!" Squirming, he craned his neck and blinked at the white windshield. "Jim… you're driving and you can't see where you're going!"

"Shut up, will you?" Jim hissed. "I've got this sonar thing going on with the car in front -- oh, crap." Jim braked sharply, the truck fishtailing, throwing Blair against the wheel again. "Fucking idiot."

"Me? You?" Blair inquired, feeling he had a right to be sarcastic.

"Sit up, Chief. I can't do this. I've got to clear the windshield."

There were times to lecture Jim about how he could do more than he realized but this probably wasn't one of them. Blair got back in place just as the wipers cleared the snow and gave a smothered yelp as he saw how close they were to the car in front.

"Relax, Chief." Jim edged forward slowly enough that he could use both hands to fasten his pants and then gave Blair a considering look. "You're still--?"

"Oh, yes. Very much yes."

Jim's mouth curved in a smile. "Thought it was one of your fantasies and you'd go off like a rocket," he remarked.

"I'm starting to think it's one of yours."

"Maybe." Jim didn't sound too bothered about admitting it. Of course, given that he'd just come, he was most likely too euphoric to give a fuck about anything.

"We're going to be home soon."

"Yeah. So?" Blair knew he sounded sulky and it wasn't like they had this strict tit for tat thing going on when it came to sex, but he'd been close enough that he probably would've come if they'd had just a bit more time and he felt all jangled nerves and frustration.

"So I owe you."

Blair thought about that, stopping his stupid mouth from blurting out an assurance that no, they were cool. "Yeah. You do."

Jim continued smiling. "Then when we get back, I'm all yours."

Blair leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The snow had stopped and the dazzle of light on white all around them was blinding but that wasn't why he did it.

Jim's hand patted his leg. "Yeah, Chief. That's it. Dream up something good."

Knowing his dreams could come true made the journey endless.




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