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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