Tan Lines

by

Deirdre

Jim Ellison dropped the keys into the basket on the table beside the door, and they landed next to Blair's with a gentle chiming *chink* sound. Compared to the warmth of the summer day outside, the loft was cool and quiet; he could feel the teasing whisper of a breeze coming in through the open balcony doors, bringing in with it a myriad of scents--sea, humanity, the potpourri of human life in a big city. Jim wiped the sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck; it felt good to be back inside, though he liked the heat--it never failed to surprise him whenever a day like this happened, given Cascade's generally cool, damp climate.

"Sandburg?" He called out, heading for the fridge, noting Blair had been through the kitchen already. Jim noticed that Blair had collected some apple peels and placed them on a kitchen towel, along with some orange peels, which tickled his nose with their astringent acidity. Absently, he rubbed his nose as he passed them, sitting in a neat little pile. Blair saved organic scraps for composting, not that he had any use for them. Mrs. Benetti, on the second floor, did though, and Blair always thought of her. It was a typically Blair-type thing to do, as he was always going on about composting, recycling, giving back to mother earth. Naomi's influence, he supposed. It wasn't entirely without an ulterior motive--Mrs. Benetti gave them fresh herbs in return for the scraps, something that made Blair's culinary sensibilities practically dance a jig in happiness. Jim didn't fuss too much about finding the occasional pile of scraps. After all, the fresh herbs *did* taste better to him than the dried.

No answer. The note on the fridge door caught his attention, as had been intended. Blair had taken to leaving notes on the fridge, as it was generally the first place Jim headed after getting home. Predictable? Yes, he acknowledged ruefully, he was a man of habit, something Blair often teased him about. At first, he'd bristled about Blair's jibes, but as time wore on, he'd gotten accustomed to them, and they were simply background noise, simply Sandburg. He saw nothing wrong with habit, but if Blair wanted to give him a poke or two about that, he'd take it--as long as Blair didn't get mad about his jabs at his roommate's own habits. It had taken him a long time to realize that Blair wasn't intentionally sloppy--his mind was always on so many other things that picking up towels, or hitting the hamper, or cleaning up his scattered things simply never occurred to him. Jim had adjusted to this, as he had with so many things related to Blair's behavior.

Blair's dark, bold, slanted writing informed him that he'd been to the store, there was beer in the fridge, along with a turkey and swiss on rye deli sandwich, and he was up on the roof, studying and getting his vitamin D for the week. In addition, there was a very disparaging comment about the usual lack of sunshine in Cascade, and his seizing the opportunity for sunshine whenever it came his way. A little phrase caught his attention, scrawled in at the bottom: Carpe sol. Jim wasn't sure the grammar was correct, but his Latin was rusty, years behind him, and it could be, for all he knew. Blair's notes were like his speech, often filled with obscure asides and odd references, sometimes peppered with phrases in foreign languages. When Blair had first moved in, and started leaving him notes for this or that, the oddness of the missives had often left him puzzling, making him wonder exactly what went through the younger man's head. Eventually, he'd given up trying to figure out Blair's tangential mind, and had just gone with the flow. It had simplified his life tremendously.

Jim scanned the note quickly once more, and his mouth crooked in a grin. Blair was *always* complaining about the lack of sunshine, and therefore warmth in Cascade; nothing new. //Maybe he was a lizard in a previous life, lying around on rocks and soaking up the sun// he thought, and the thought of his partner as a little green gecko, scurrying here and there on quick feet, eyes bright and alert, made him snort with amusement.

He sat down at the table with the sandwich and a beer, and looked over the paper Blair had left folded neatly for him, comics face up. Jim could hear Blair's deep, laughing voice in his head, telling him to lighten up, to read the *good* stuff first. So he grinned at the comics before he went on to the news.

With the paper read and the sandwich and beer polished off, Jim stretched luxuriously, feeling muscles shift, tendons stretch, joints pop. Saturday afternoon, and it was all his. Nothing pressing at the PD, chores done for the day, nothing screaming for his attention. He could watch the tube, but decided against it; the day was simply too nice to remain cooped up indoors. Warm, sunny days like this were a relative rarity in Cascade, and he should take advantage of it while he had it. It called for physical activity. He could always get Sandburg to shoot some baskets, maybe go pitch the softball around a bit. Go to the batting cages, hit a few. Sandburg needed to get out and move, to expel some of his restless energy; his studies would be more effective for it.

//Yeah, tell yourself that, Ellison. You just want him to spend some non work-related time with you.// He gave a mental shrug. It wasn't a new observation to him; he *did* like to spend time with Blair. Blair was intelligent, amusing as hell, and generally, a good companion. It didn't seem to matter that he already spent most of his waking hours with Blair; he always seemed to crave just a little more. There were times, of course, that he simply wanted to be by himself, and when those times came, he took off and spent the day out in the woods alone, absorbing the quiet strength of nature, reconnecting with the pool of stillness within. Reaffirming his place in the vastness of the universe. Finding the quiet. It was something he'd done for so many years, that he'd forgotten when it had suddenly become important to do so.

But it seemed the driving need for solitude had lessened, and the urge to separate himself from everyone was not as strong as it once had been. On occasion he and Blair would just sit quietly reading in the loft at night, no TV, no music, and the peace he felt at those times was so profound it was almost religious. He would look up to see Blair silent, his glasses sliding down his nose, completely absorbed in what he was doing, and that sight gave him almost as much comfort as the quiet of the woods.

No one who knew the usually kinetic Blair would ever expect him to have the ability to sit and radiate stillness; it was a secret part of Blair that Jim alone knew, and treasured as his own. And if Blair happened to glance up at the same time, his blue eyes warming, and smile softly at him, then somehow, it was a much better peace than the woods offered. Quiet happiness would settle over him, and he would feel content.

Jim cleared away his mess, and went upstairs to change into a muscle tee and shorts. He wasn't disturbed by how much Blair had come to mean to him. Well, he amended, not now. At first, it had scared the hell out of him when he realized just how deeply Blair had buried himself into his life. No one had ever been able to do that; he'd not let anyone as close as Blair, not even Carolyn. But somehow, Sandburg had done it, breaching his barriers and entrenching himself completely and thoroughly into his life. And for whatever reason, he'd allowed it.

He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled on socks and running shoes. //Yeah. Whatever reason. Like you don't know.// Like you don't enjoy his easy, casual flirtation, his invasion of all your personal spaces, the fleeting touches of his hand. Like you aren't warmed by his merry laughter, soothed by his soft, deep voice. Like his scent hadn't come to mean home, comfort, centeredness. //Right.// He rose, then bent and smoothed the comforter once more.

Like you wouldn't want to see him on your big, lonely bed, naked, erect, thighs spread and knees bent, his skin flushed, eyes huge and dark, beckoning you. His soft mouth curved in invitation, his hair curling wildly on your pillow. Wanting you just as much as you want him. Wanting you to cover him with your own body, taste his soft, spicy skin, wanting him to.... //That's counterproductive thinking, Ellison. Get back on track. But hell, what a visual.// He picked up his Jags baseball cap, put it on, and started down the stairs, willing his tightening flesh to behave, to stop its leap of pleasure at the picture his mind could so easily conjure. And had so easily, repeatedly, in the time they'd lived together.

It didn't make it easier knowing in the past year or so, he'd been catching signs of a returning interest. Occasional and subtle at first, but gradually, growing stronger. Small things, nothing blatant. A sidewise glance of those incredible eyes. A touch that lasted a little longer than it should. Standing or sitting just a bit closer than he had before. Blair had never been as touch-oriented with him as he had with Blair, but that had been changing. And he liked it, liked knowing Blair felt secure enough in their relationship to touch him, to get closer to him. Hell, he just liked the feel of Blair's warm hands on him in those almost-caresses, or the casual brush of shoulder or hip. The most telling evidence of Blair's changing feelings toward him was the scent that often rose to him, spicy, musky, redolent with pheromones, the one thing Blair himself had no control over. It wasn't all the time he was around Jim, but often enough he'd definitely noticed.

//So you know Blair has grown to desire you. You've caught his scent, his rising temperature, the spike in breathing and heart rate sometimes when he looks at you. Classic signs of sexual interest. These damn senses don't lie about things like that. So what? He's not offered anything, and you've not asked. And you won't. Better to pine a little, burn a little, than to blow things all to hell asking for what he's obviously not ready to give. Its just physical attraction.// But even as the thought curled through his mind, he knew himself a liar. It would be simple if it were only that; he was experienced at shunting aside mere physical drives. These feelings he had for Blair ran bone deep, so much more complex and involving than simple lust. So much *more* than anything he'd ever allowed himself to experience before.

He stuffed sports equipment into his gym bag, carried it to the door, and set it on the floor. He went into the kitchen, got a bottle of water. If Blair had been up on the roof any time at all, he'd probably be thirsty; he might appreciate a drink. Picking up his keys on the way out, he stuck them in his shorts pocket, and let the door close behind him with a soft snick.

The elevator was down for repairs again. No great surprise. He turned to the steps, taking them two at a time, just for the pleasure of feeling his muscles stretch, his finely-tuned body work for him. Who needed the Stairmaster at the gym? His was free. His mouth stretched in a little smile, and his blood hummed pleasantly through his body, reminding him he was alive, and well, and everything was pretty much all right with the world as he knew it. James Joseph Ellison, ruler of his own little corner of known reality.

He opened the door to the roof, and stepped out into the warmth of the afternoon. The door was silent, without its usual creak; evidently, they'd oiled it. //Fix the door, but not the elevator. Typical.// He let it close behind him noiselessly.

The sky was somehow bluer on the roof than it had been looking out the window. No real clouds, just those occasional little wisps of white arching across. His mind searched for a name he'd learned in high school science class, then gave up as the common name came to mind: mare's tails. Apt. A soft breeze tickled across his almost-bare shoulders, providing a little bit of cooling from the unrelenting sun. Up this high, the sounds of the city, quieter on a weekend anyway, were softened, muted. Nice. Maybe he should come up here more often.

He didn't see Sandburg, but then again, he was at the far entrance to the roof, closest to the street. Blair would probably be on the side of the roof closest to the ocean, the one furthest away from prying eyes. Not that there would be many eyes to see; the nearest building of the same size was three blocks away. His feet, clad in running shoes, were silent as he crossed the roof, looking for Sandburg.

Jim saw the corner of the blanket, held in place by a couple of open books, their pages ruffling slightly in the breeze, as he came around a ventilation duct. Ah. Sandburg. The sunlight glinted off the lenses of his discarded glasses, placed carelessly on his worn backpack. //So much for study// Jim thought. //Just out for the sun, now, evidently.// He came forward until he could see his roommate, mouth opening for a little buddy-buddy teasing.

Jim closed his mouth, whatever he was going to say evaporating like water in the Sahara. He went still, unable to move.

Blair was sunning himself, all right. Naked.

Jim had seen a lot of naked men in his life before; the communal nature of both the army and the police, with their showers and locker rooms had left him with little embarrassment regarding nudity, either his own, or others. He had seen men, both friends and lovers, in various states of undress before, all shapes and sizes, and thought nothing would surprise him.

He'd just never seen Blair naked before.

How often had he been amused by Blair's modesty? Blair wore multiple layers of loose clothing, even during the summer. Coming from a shower, he'd be bundled up either in towels or that huge ratty blue bathrobe Jim had been certain he'd scrounged from the reject box at Goodwill, and even if he got up in the middle of the night and found Blair up, the younger man was always dressed. He slept in tee shirts and boxers, generally oversized. Even when he'd had to tape up Blair's ribs, his partner had pulled on clothing as fast as was possible when they were finished. Jim had never been around a man who was so secretive about his body.

God only knew why Blair was so obsessive, but the quirk had served only to make Jim more curious about what Blair's body looked like than if he'd just been carelessly normal about it. Jim had begun to wonder if Blair was somehow deformed, hideously scarred, or sporting some freakish growth that made him worthy of being on the X-Files, that damn show he loved so much. No, no, and no. He was simply...perfect. It was like opening a battered old box, splintery and worn, and finding a gem of exceeding value within, impeccable, without flaw.

Blair lay on the blanket spread out on the roof, on his stomach, arms relaxed at his sides, palms up, the fingers curled slightly, his legs open, his face turned toward Jim. He was asleep, his face soft in repose, lush mouth parted slightly as he breathed slowly and evenly, his long dark lashes fanning over his cheeks. The heavy, thick mass of curls had been restrained with a covered elastic band in order to expose more skin.

The sun had darkened his pale olive skin to the color of honey, and it looked smooth and soft, sheened lightly with sweat from the heat of the sun. Eminently touchable; his fingers almost itched to move along the surface, to test and judge if it felt as good as it looked. Jim's eyes swept along the expanse of Blair's back, over the surprising breadth of shoulder, down the indention that marked his spine, to the dip of his lower back, and the perfect curve of buttocks. Blair's legs were smoothly muscled, thighs and calves strong, and his feet small and somehow vulnerable looking. His arms were also muscled, though not in the defined way his own were. Slim, but not thin, compact and sturdier than he first appeared.

Tan lines. Jim could see easily where Blair had worn a suit previously, a band of pale skin that caught his attention, just like the flash of a white-tailed deer disappearing into the woods. And not a very large band of white, either. Glancing over to the edge of the blanket, Jim could see a black Speedo wadded up, discarded beside those god-awful big cargo shorts Blair favored, and Jim's own ratty old Jags jersey, which had to swallow the smaller man, as it was oversized on him. Somehow the thought that Blair even owned something as minuscule as that swimsuit, that he actually *wore* it was almost more erotic, more arousing than seeing Blair without anything on at all. Almost.

Jim's eyes ran over the sleek lines of his partner once more, greedily imprinting the picture on memory, storing it away for the quiet of night, when his mind wandered, when his hand caressed his own flesh, when his heart ached to hold something more substantial than thought. Unthinking, he squatted down beside his sleeping friend.

The flood of heat through his own body was not surprising, nor unwelcome. Jim shifted a little, trying to accommodate the powerful rush of blood that surged into his groin, causing him to grow, lengthen, fill. Opening his knees a bit helped, as did the quick adjustment to position himself away from the center seam of his shorts. He was exceedingly glad he'd worn the looser ones instead of the bicycle shorts; the hug of lycra would have left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Still, though, the sweats material gave away far more than he cared to reveal about his arousal.

Arousal. His body sang with it, swiftly-pulsing blood carrying the message of his desire to all parts of his body. He could feel his nipples tighten fiercely into hard little points, rubbing almost painfully against his tee shirt, feel his skin flush, his breathing and heart quicken, his mouth dry. It was wonderful, the way his body responded with wanton abandonment to the simple pleasure of seeing his partner, his friend, his Guide, lying naked before him, as he'd dreamed so many times before.

He could no more stop the movement of his hand than he could stop the spin of the earth. He reached out, ran his hand from mid back to just below the sweet curve of ass, not actually touching, just skimming a few millimeters above the surface of the skin, feeling its warmth, its *aliveness.* In addition to the heat bouncing up to caress his fingertips, he could scent Blair, and the smell tickled his nose, crawling along his nerve pathways to lodge in his brain. A unique mix of herbs, sweat, and the spiciness of Blair himself. His reaction was almost Pavlovian; the warm scent went straight to the more primitive parts of his brain, and his body responded on the most basic levels. He could get lost in it, letting it curl around him, becoming a part of him, never to be forgotten, as singular as a fingerprint, never duplicated by another living being....

"Jim, man, if you're gonna put your hand on my ass, it better have some suntan oil on it."

Blair's soft, sleepy voice roused him from his reverie, made him suck in a quick, surprised breath, made his body jump slightly in startlement. He'd been so absorbed in cataloguing how Blair smelled that he'd not noticed the slight hitch in breathing that signaled Blair's shift from sleep to wakefulness.

//Oh, shit.// Jim's eyes flew up to meet Blair's. Blair's eyes were half-closed, almost hidden by long lashes, their light blue-green mutability all the more startling against his tanned skin. The expression in those large eyes was primarily amusement, though he'd not discount the lazy glint of interest. He was frozen, unable to move, as Blair blinked slowly, and came to full awareness. Blair's eyes moved slowly over him, from baseball cap shadowing his eyes, to his suddenly-flushed cheeks, over his lightly-tanned shoulders, down his carved chest and belly, lingering for a few seconds longer over the erection that threatened to split his shorts, then over his long tanned legs, to his feet. Heat, heavy and substantial, moved through Jim, following the slow, assessing look, almost like a physical caress. His lungs seemed to compress, making breathing problematical.

Then Blair smiled at him. Not the carefree, megawatt, happy as hell just to be alive smile. This one was private, for him alone, reeling him into a circle of complicity that involved only the two of them. A smile that made his body throb with need. A smile of seduction.

He felt his own mouth smile in return, allowing himself to be drawn into that intimate space, pulled in by the promise of the eyes, the curve of the lush mouth. Desire curled deep within his pelvis, spiraling tighter and tighter. //For once in your life, Ellison, don't think, don't analyze, don't judge--just feel.//

Blair slowly drew up his arms, folded them, laid his cheek on them. "The suntan oil is right there by the backpack," he offered, his soft, deep voice wrapping around Jim like a sweet embrace. "Mind putting some on for me, man? Don't wanna fry."

Jim glanced around, saw the little brown bottle. He picked it up; it was already warm from lying in the sun. There it was, an invitation couched in terms he could interpret either way. A moment of indecision, then he sat, and pulled off shoes and socks, not wanting to accidentally scrape Blair's skin with the edges of the soles. Blair watched him silently, the remainders of that heart-stopping smile curving his mouth.

He knelt at Blair's side, popped the top of the bottle, and placed a line of oil along the indentation of the younger man's spine. It pooled there, shining, the scent of coconut rising strongly, tickling his nose a bit with the man-made smell of the tropics. Jim trailed his fingers through the slickness, then took a deep breath and began spreading it around Blair's shoulders. Blair's contented sigh sifted back up to him, and Jim felt himself relax.

Blair's skin was pliant beneath his hands, smooth and elastic. Warm from the kiss of the sun, heating even more from his touch. Finally, to be allowed to put his hands on Blair for longer than it took to give a friendly pat--the sensation was heady, made even more so to realize that Blair had invited his touch. That Blair was lying naked before him, not scrambling to cover up what was admittedly a body he'd coveted for a very long time, only added spice to the sensation. The strong muscles in his shoulders moved beneath Jim's hands, and he kneaded them into relaxation. Over the curved bow of ribs, his touch firm, so as not to tickle; he could feel a bump along a couple of the ribs, where they'd been broken before, and healed imperfectly. He ran his thumbs down the spine, feeling the intricacies of bone that formed the architecture of Blair's body.

Jim stopped at Blair's waist, his hands spanning the narrow width of it, his fingers barely moving over the smooth skin. Just below the sharp jut of hipbones, tan faded into paleness again, a sharp line of demarcation. Jim paused, considering. It was more than just a demarcation between tan and not-tan. If he kept his hands where they were, in the brown area, he and Blair remained simply friends, this spreading of oil on Blair's skin just that, nothing more. If he ventured lower, to smooth over the tender white skin, to knead the round firm ass as every cell within him demanded that he do, then it became more than friendship, a move that could only be construed as belonging to a lover. It was a demarcation of their relationship, that sharp line that ran just below the curve of Blair's waist, and he stroked along it absently with his thumbs as he thought, weighing his options.

Then Blair made a little sound, and his hips lifted fractionally into Jim's hands. Jim's eyes flicked to Blair's face. The remarkable eyes opened halfway, looking back at him slyly, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a quirky smile. Never taking his eyes from Blair's face, Jim let his hands slide downward, to cup and mold the globes of Blair's ass in his hands. Any resistance, any hesitation, and he'd stop, back away....

A soft sound escaped his partner, one that Jim could only describe as a purr of contentment. Blair's body gave a little feline ripple beneath his hands; he was reminded of stroking a boneless, lazy cat. A small shift, and Blair opened his legs a little wider, inviting more touch, his eyes closing slowly again, his mouth curving happily.

Sweat beaded on Jim's upper lip, along his hairline, down the center of his chest, collected at the small of his back, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the day, but rather, the warmth, the compliancy of the sweet body beneath his hands. Was it really this simple, the fulfillment of his erotic dreams for the past three years? Had all he needed to do was to simply reach out and offer his touch to Blair? His head spun a little, and he remembered to breathe. All that time, wasted with longing....

Jim let his thumb trail slowly through the dark cleft. Blair jumped a little as he passed over the opening of his body, so much warmer than the rest of his skin. He could feel the moistness of sweat, the heat of Blair's body as his temperature shot up, and the scent of anticipation, of arousal, washed strongly over him, almost dizzying. Blair's heartbeat sped up as he trailed his thumb down the sensitive perineum, and the younger man bent one leg outward, making room, Jim knew, for a growing erection. The knowledge that Blair responded to him made him smile, and he slid his hand down to cup the heavy scrotum, feeling the shift of the firm ovals beneath thin, silky skin.

"Oh..." Blair's voice was breathy, half surprise, half plea. Jim bent, pressed a kiss to his left hipbone, trailed his mouth over to place a wet kiss to the base of Blair's spine. Sweat, lotion, *Blair.* The tastes and scents washed over him, and he sorted through them, eliminating the lotion's taste, leaving him only with the essential flavor of Blair. He wanted to venture lower, to lick and taste the muskiness of Blair's ass, to plunge his tongue deeply in him and possess him with his mouth, but wanted more to kiss the sweet mouth that had tormented him, had figured prominently in his dreams for the past three years.

Pulling back, he slipped his hands beneath Blair's legs and quick as thought, flipped the smaller man over onto his back. Blair gave a little surprised squeak, landing with his legs spread to either side of Jim's thighs, his arms outflung, his eyes wide and startled.

"God Almighty," Jim said softly. Blair was beautiful. It wasn't a descriptor that should have fit someone as masculine as his partner, but somehow, it did. He watched for a moment the deep rose color that bloomed over Blair's cheeks and throat; it was enticing, as he'd seldom seen his normally self-possessed friend blush. Blair made no effort to cover himself, nor made any move to hide his very obvious reaction to Jim's touch; his chin lifted a notch, almost defiantly. The light that flashed through his big eyes was almost a dare, before settling down into a slow-burning fire.

Jim let his gaze move like a caress over Blair's shoulders, as broad as his own, smooth and glistening with sweat, over the muscled chest, rough with dark hair, such a contrast to his own sleekness. Almost hidden in the soft-crisp hair were two cinnamon-colored nipples, the right threaded with a little silver hoop; he could see them swell and rise beneath his gaze, growing hard and stiff, bringing the ring into sharp relief.

The swirl of hair continued down the taut belly, firm, but not hard and defined like his own; Blair ran almost daily, but didn't see the point in weightlifting. Exercise was something he did because he thought he should, not because he liked it, as Jim did. Light winked off the little silver ring piercing his navel; it caught Jim's attention for a long moment; he'd never before seen one on a man. Somehow, though, it seemed so perfectly like Blair to have it, a little bit of exotica that suited him.

Firm and full, Blair's erection curved up over his belly, throbbing slightly from the blood engorging it. Beautiful, utterly male, thicker than his, though perhaps not so lengthy; perfect. He wanted to touch, to hold the weight of it, to span its width with his fingers, to feel the hot, silken skin, run his thumb over the rosy, wet crown, taste the bitter essence of him on his tongue.

Jim realized he was kneading Blair's thighs where he'd held them, and turned the movement into a caress along the sensitive skin along the inner surfaces, a touch that made Blair shiver beneath him. He ran his eyes back up Blair's body, up to the face that watched his so raptly.

"You look hungry," Blair said softly. "Are you hungry, Jim?"

Jim took a deep breath. Musk flowed into him, permeating every cell, setting them all afire. He closed his eyes a moment, savoring. His eyes flashed open, locked onto Blair's intensely blue-green ones. "Starving," he replied, his voice deep, husky with need. "I went beyond hungry a long time ago."

Blair's hands seized the soft fabric of his tee, closing into fists, and hauled him forward with surprising strength; Jim always forgot exactly how strong Blair was. Jim had scarcely time to register Blair's firm body beneath his, the strong thighs closing around his own hips, before he was nose to nose with his partner, breathing his breath, lost in those changeable eyes.

"Then taste," Blair whispered, and covered Jim's mouth with his own.

It was like leaping naked into a live volcano.

Blair didn't kiss him; Blair consumed him. Sensation battered at him: heat, wetness, the stroke of tongue over, under, along his own, touching every single inner surface, the suction as Blair pulled his tongue in and suckled hungrily at it. The small, desperate sounds Blair made in the back of his throat. The harsh rasp of breath on his cheek as they sought to take in enough air. The strong scent of arousal from the both of them, their different chemistries blending into a mixture that made his head spin with the strength of it, the tang of sweat, the scent of coconut, and far away in the background, the rising smells of the city far below them. Blair's mouth was by turns soft, then hard, the texture of his lips like velvet against his own. He tasted of tea, of long-ago apples and oranges, of Jim's own mouth, and the warm taste of himself, Blair. Dimly he was aware Blair had seized his cap and flung it away, and one hand stroked over the short hair at the back of his head; the other remained fisted in his shirt, holding him as close as his legs locked around Jim's waist did.

Jim's arms slid around Blair, pulling him even closer, his hands sliding over the warm naked skin, digging in, leaving marks from the strength of his passion; he could feel the bruises start to rise beneath his sensitive fingertips. He could feel Blair moving rhythmically beneath him, feel the maddening scrape of all that soft hair against his skin even through his clothes, feel the bunch of strong leg muscles pulling Jim's body to his. Almost above all, he could feel the insistent, heated length of Blair's erection against him, sliding along his own, rubbing against his belly.

Blair released his mouth, gasping for air, small whimpers escaping him. He scrabbled at Jim's back, trying to pull off the tee shirt, his short nails scratching. Jim wiggled, trying to help Blair get the shirt off, loath to let his body lose contact with Blair's, but knowing that if he did, the contact would be that much sweeter flesh to flesh.

They worked it off, and Blair flung it away somewhere. Jim felt an almost electrical shock of awareness as his bare chest pressed closely to Blair's. In an instant, he realized he could feel Blair's heart beating hard against his own, feel the gasping rise and fall of breath, the zing of blood racing beneath Blair's skin. He swore he could feel each individual hair tickling along his skin, and as furry as Blair was that stimulation was almost overwhelming. Blair's nipples were like little pebbles against him, and the ring scraped smoothly on his skin. Vision and hearing tunneled, narrowing down, greying out, submitting to the overwhelming pleasure of touch....

Jim grunted as Blair bit his shoulder, hard. He sucked in a big breath, blinking, the sharp pain snapping everything back into focus.

"Don't drift," Blair said huskily into his ear before licking the stinging place on his skin.

Jim shook his head, a minute movement. It had been so easy to relax, to let his control slip. But Blair had sensed it, caught it, caught him, bringing him back. It was a comfort to know that even in the sweet moment of passion, Blair watched out for him, kept him safe. //I'll always be safe, as long as Blair is there at my side, Guiding me through this sea of senses...//

Blair slid his hands along Jim's hips, strong fingers slipping beneath the soft fabric of his sweatshorts, kneading the firm flesh, and Jim made a deep sound of pleasure. To finally have Blair touch him had been the fuel for many a fantasy.... He lifted his hips a little as Blair tugged at the waistband, pushing and pulling until they were down on his thighs. Blair then snagged them with his feet, and pushed them down to Jim's ankles, where Jim could kick them off.

God in heaven. Naked. Together. Blair's body was hot, sweaty, sliding beneath his with a sexy undulation that turned his blood into fire. Blindly, he placed wet, sucking kisses wherever he could reach, whatever skin he could feel--face, mouth, throat, neck, shoulders. Sweet, spicy, salty--tasty Blair. The frantic, urgent sounds Blair was making were a condiment, making his pleasure all the more intense. Jim slid down a little, nibbled on sharp collarbone, bit the point of shoulder. Buried his nose beneath Blair's arm, where his scent was strong, licked the tender skin there. Dragged his mouth over to capture a turgid nipple and suckled slowly, contentedly for a long moment before releasing it and licking his way over to the other. Blair's deep moans of delight registered, then slipped away from his consciousness, just another thread in the erotic tapestry he wove. He opened his mouth and breathed on the ringed nipple, feeling the heat rise from it, before settling down, capturing it in his mouth.

Blair had been moving without pause beneath him, his rigid erection pushing hard against his skin, leaving a moist, sticky trail, his hands alternately smoothing and clutching hard at his flesh, but when Jim began to suck, his free hand reaching down to cup and squeeze a firm buttock, Blair thrashed uncontrolled beneath him. Jim took the little ring in his teeth and pulled tightly. Blair went absolutely still for a second, and Jim could feel the orgasm begin its rush through the taut body beneath his before Blair convulsed and arched beneath him, his heels digging into the backs of Jim's thighs, his hands clutching at shoulders and neck, wailing loud enough to wake the dead. Jim felt the spread of wet heat over his belly and chest, and let Blair ride out the spasms, licking at the hot, swollen nipple as he did so.

//Perfect, perfect...so damn *good*...just like I'd always dreamed...// Jim's arms closed more tightly around Blair for a moment, absorbing him, imprinting the feel of him on his skin, burying his nose into his chest, savoring the scent of him, listening to the heart thundering in the confines of his chest, the blood thrumming along his veins. Every sense was filled with Blair, and it was better than he'd ever hoped it could be, *more* than he'd ever dreamed. He could swim in Blair, lose himself in Blair, be consumed and filled to overflowing with him, and still never have enough. It would never be enough, never, and yet he knew if Blair never loved him again like this, never gave him this gift again, he would be profoundly grateful for this one moment that had changed his life, forever. //So much more than sex...it's everything...friendship, love....God, yes, I do love him...//

A moment, and Blair subsided beneath him, sliding into a lax bonelessness that spoke of his complete satiation. As his legs unlocked from Jim's waist and slowly slid to lie open on either side of him, Jim leaned up on one elbow, their bodies parting with a sticky sound, the bleachy scent of semen swirling strongly around him, mixing with the sweat and musk already filling his head. Blair lay panting for breath, his eyes closed, his flushed face turned to the side, the big tendon in his neck in high relief, a sight that made Jim want to move upward and nibble and suck on it, leave his mark of possession on the smooth skin.

Long lashes fluttered open, and Blair turned his head to look at him, still fuzzy from the power of his orgasm. His full mouth, swollen from kisses, curved in a very satisfied smile. All his thrashing had loosened his hair from its ponytail, and it was a tangled mess, curls sticking to his sweaty face and throat. Jim realized he still gripped Blair's ass, made his fingers loosen, and brought the hand up to tenderly smooth the hair from Blair's face.

"Oh, man," Blair said, his voice harsh. He stopped, cleared his throat, and began again. "Phenomenal. Absolutely...phenomenal."

Jim laughed, a low sound of happiness. With a smooth movement, he hitched himself up so he could place a kiss on Blair's mouth. It wasn't enough; he went back again, teasing open Blair's mouth, tasting him deeply. After a moment, Blair's lazy compliance with his aggressive kiss moved into active, happy participation, and Jim's body reminded him forcefully, and painfully, of his unsatisfied state. Instinctively his hips began a slow thrust against the inside of Blair's thigh, and he moaned with the sensation of his sensitive flesh scraping across Blair's hairy skin.

Blair's hands came up to his shoulders, and pushed him off, to the side. For a heartbeat, Jim was confused--was Blair rejecting him? A quick, panicked look into the much-loved face reassured him immediately; Blair's face fairly shone with sensual intent. He let Blair tug him onto his back, and made himself lie still as Blair settled between his open legs, though he itched to touch him, direct him.

The light-colored eyes studied him intently, green to blue to a mixture of the two as he considered. With a grin, he reached over and picked up the bottle of water Jim had discarded beside his backpack. He twisted off the lid, sat back on his heels, and took a big swallow. The movement of his long throat was mesmerizing. Taking another drink, Blair leaned forward, pressing his mouth to Jim's. Jim opened to him, and the water trickled into his own mouth, warm and tasting of Blair. He swallowed, and sucked on the offered tongue, gleaning the last of it from Blair's mouth.

Blair pulled back, tipped the bottle, and poured a little pool of it into the hollow of Jim's throat. Leaning forward again, he lapped it up, his rough tongue swirling over Jim's skin, causing Jim to moan softly. Blair made a small, satisfied sound, then poured a little stream of water over Jim's left nipple. Already up and sensitive, the feeling of water sliding over turgid flesh made Jim start, and arch upward.

"Oh, we like that, do we?" Blair's voice was smug, pleased with himself and the reaction he'd drawn from Jim. He poured a little bit more water over the other nipple, and Jim let another moan escape. He felt hypersensitive; his nerves fairly sparkled in response, sending lightning shooting through him. His skin felt abraded from rubbing against Blair's hairy body, though he knew it was not, every sensation, no matter how small, was magnified, amplified. He sought the dials, saw them in his mind's eye, and nudged tactile down just a bit, until he didn't feel as if he would explode from the caress of water on his skin, trickling down his sides onto the blanket.

"I can see you do that," Blair said, tilting his head slightly to the side and studying him intently. "Turning down the dials, I mean. You go inside yourself, and then your body relaxes."

"Had to--too much right now," Jim replied, and his voice sounded a little rusty, unused.

"Do I need to stop, let you regroup?" Instantly Blair went from playful lover to concerned Guide, the transformation almost startling in its speed.

Jim blinked, refocused. "If you stop, I'll be forced to kill you."

"Hmm. Since you probably know ninety-seven ways to kill a man with a paper clip, I'd be foolish to cross you, wouldn't I?" He grinned again, trailed his fingers over the crease where Jim's thigh met his body, and Jim shuddered in response at the light, teasing touch.

Blair poured more water over Jim's chest, and rubbed, cleaning off his own drying semen. Every time Blair's fingers happened to move over his nipples, Jim jerked, and a quick glance upward confirmed his suspicion Blair was doing it intentionally. Blair met his eyes, winked, then tweaked one of the taut buds sharply, sending fire coursing down his body, into his groin, already throbbing and engorged.

Busily, Blair moved downward, splashing more water onto flat, sculpted belly, clever fingers making liquid trails of fire across his skin. Jim wriggled beneath him, trying to get those quick, teasing touches to deepen, to move to the one part of his body Blair was studiously avoiding. The water tickled as it slid down his sides, and he shifted a little more. Blair leaned over him, lapped at one glistening trail, followed it back up to his navel. Covering it with his mouth, Blair sucked at the water there, his tongue sliding in and out of the little indention, the suggestive motion making Jim buck beneath him and let out a low moan.

Jim could feel his erection brushing against the skin of Blair's throat, leaving a little trail of pre-ejaculate over the sweaty skin. His hands clenched into tight fists; he wanted nothing more than to knot his hands into that messy tangle of curls and pull Blair down so he could slip between the full lips, thrust into the heated moisture of his mouth.... But he would not--it was Blair's show, played out at the pace he chose, and he'd waited so damn long for this, he'd not ruin it by trying to seize control from his partner, no matter how much it made him ache with the need.

Blair laughed, a low rumble, and the vibrations against sensitive skin made him gasp and press closer.

"So difficult, for you, isn't it?" Blair asked with his usual, astonishing perceptiveness; Jim had often wondered if Blair read his mind. Blair's fingers smoothed over tender skin covering his sharp hipbones, his thumbs making little circles on his flesh; whenever Jim bucked upward, the strong hands held him down. "So alpha, so always in control," he murmured.

Jim didn't feel in control; he felt it slipping from him, spinning away, a leaf caught in an errant breeze. Blair controlled him. Blair had always controlled him, he might bitch, and loudly, about what Blair wanted to do, but ultimately, Jim knew he'd always acquiesce to him, always trust him, always believe in Blair. It had always been that way between them, from their first meeting, and, he suspected, would be that way until he took his last breath. And it was all right; it was as it should be, as it was meant to be.

"Let it go, Jim. Let go of all that control, for just a little while. I won't let you fall away--I'll catch you. I'll always be here to catch you," Blair crooned softly, in those low, modulated tones that brooked no argument. His hands moved smoothly over Jim's skin, the fingers of one hand ruffling through the soft curls at the junction of his legs, the other slipping lower to cup the heavy sac, weighing and caressing tenderly, a move that forced a low, shuddering sigh from Jim's throat.

Jim closed his eyes, and the sun was bright red through his eyelids. It was too much to see Blair, kneeling between his outspread thighs, flushed, his eyes sleepy-looking with desire, his mouth red and swollen from kisses, his hair a tangled halo of browns and reds, the sunlight limning his sweaty shoulders. How often had he thought of this, wished ardently for it, in idle imaginings, and technicolor dreams? Now that it was real, in the flesh, it was too much to take in, to accept.

Blair's fingers curled around him, curving around the heaviness of his erection, and Jim gasped from the sudden sensation. Jim's eyes flew open again, in time to see Blair's face, half-hidden by a curtain of hair, lean slowly, slowly toward him, wide, lush mouth parting, opening. Fire raged along every nerve, tingling and burning, anticipatory flames. He couldn't breathe for a moment, waiting, just hanging on that precipice by his fingertips, yearning for that first touch of Blair's soft lips on him.

When that touch came, he sighed with the pleasure of it. A gentle kiss, then a flick of warm, wet tongue across the broad, slick crown, gathering the juices there, sampling, tasting. Unbidden, Jim's eyes popped open, unable to deny the need to see, as well as feel what his desires really looked like. He met Blair's eyes, half-shadowed by the long lashes gazing back at him, pupils huge in spite of the brightness of the day, luminous. Desire. Hunger. Passion. Lust. And something more...something rich and deep, as deep and encompassing as the universe. He felt his eyes widen, and then Blair smiled at him, a slow, sensual expression that made his blood turn molten.

"You taste good, Jim," Blair murmured softly, his breath whispering across wet flesh, making Jim jerk hard in the firm grip. "You make me hungry, too...."

Jim reached down, ran his fingers through the unruly mop of hair, pushing it back so he could see Blair's face. He ran a thumb over Blair's mouth, then brought his thumb up to suck at it ruminatively. Blair's taste, his taste, in a potent, aphrodisiac mix that almost made his head spin with its strength. Passion looked like Blair, smelled like Blair, tasted like Blair. Everything narrowed down to only the two of them, to their rapidly beating hearts, the blood singing sweetly in their veins, the quickening rasp of breaths, the darkbright emotions coursing between them, joining them, connecting them together.

"Yes," he said, and it came out as a ragged, breathy whisper. "Yes...."

Yes to everything. Yes to the passion, yes to the love, yes to surrender. To the clever, strong hands stroking his thighs, easing them further apart. To the silken, teasing brush of long curls against his skin, trailing over his groin, mixing with his own shorter, coarser curls there. To the breath that coursed hotly over tender, sensitive flesh, flesh that ached, throbbed hard. To the wet, incredibly warm mouth that slipped over him, making him cry out and gasp, setting him aflame. Yes. Yes. Yes.

God, yes. Thought, or gritted out in need? It made no difference. Jim arched, helpless against the wash of sensation, and Blair pushed him back down. Such a sweet mouth, the lips full and soft, moving firmly over him, a wonderful, talented tongue that swept over the thin, sensitive skin, seeking out all those places that fed fire into his blood, never still, swirling and moving over his flesh in an erotic dance.

A knowing, skillful dance. Jim's eyes opened. Experience. Blair moved with the self-assuredness of experience; no tentative fumbling, no hesitancy at all, setting a rhythm that was mind-bending. When Blair's free hand slid down to caress his sac, then trace over the tender, sensitive flesh of perineum, Jim couldn't contain the long, low moan of pleasure, nor stop the tangling of his fingers in the long curls that swept against his skin, warm and silky, a million tiny caresses.

Jim made himself look down, to see if the reality was as sensuous as the dream. //Better...so much better than anything...// His strong hands were knotted in Blair's hair, curls trailing down over his wrists. One of Blair's hands gripped the base of his cock, moving up and down in rhythm, and though he couldn't see the other as it disappeared beneath his body, he could feel Blair's fingers tracing through his cleft, finally stopping to rub across the tightly-closed opening of his body, sending sensation sparking through his groin. He could see his flesh, red and slick, each vein pulsing with the beat of his heart, sliding into and out of the moist heat of Blair's mouth; mesmerizing. Blair's face was soft and intent at the same time, concentrating wholly on giving Jim pleasure.

And oh, he was. Pleasure was too weak, too simple a term for what Jim could feel moving through him, gathering strength, whiting out all upper thought processes as it took hold of him. He made himself let go Blair's hair, scrabbling at the blanket until his fists knotted into the material as the energies began to coalesce, to focus, to demand he free them. Blair's stroking finger popped into him, breaching the tight ring of muscle, plunging deep inside to bump against that sweet spot within him, and it was all he needed. His coming seized him in its teeth, shaking him as an animal might, and he didn't fight it, but surrendered to it, let it take him where it would. He bit his lip to keep the cry within him, but it would not be silenced, and it escaped him, hoarse and rough. It drew his hips up in an arch that thrust him deep within Blair's welcoming mouth, and he was aware of the strength of Blair's hands pushing him back down, of the muscles in Blair's throat working as he swallowed rapidly.

//Oh god...ohgodohgod...ohmigod...// Rational thought came back to him in snatches, and he slowly became aware again of where he was, and what had happened. //We did it. We really did it...and hell, what a ride.//

Although he was certain the smile on his face was as goofy as it was sated, he couldn't help it, nor did he care. This was the best thing Blair had ever given him; the fulfillment of a desire long savored, the gift of his body, and more importantly, the sharing of something deep within him.

As his breathing slowed, and he drifted back toward normal, he became aware of a tickling over his belly. He reached down to feel Blair's head pillowed on his abdomen, the tangled hair causing the tickling sensation, breath soft as it skated across his skin. Blair's fingers stroked lightly, almost absently, across the taut flesh over his hipbone, and Blair's body was warm and heavy against his own, sweaty, smelling of the two of them, the scent of passion. //As it should be. This feels so...right. It *is* so right.//

Jim tapped Blair's shoulder, and Blair shifted a little to look up at him, and the wide mouth stretched into a soft, lazy grin. The light that shone in his heavy-lidded eyes made Jim's solid, stolid heart give a little flip. More than satisfaction. More than friendship...more than he had ever expected. Everything he'd ever wanted.

He started to speak but his voice came out a harsh croak. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Why?"

Blair shifted, then placed a kiss on Jim's navel before working his way up Jim's body to rest against his chest, head pillowed on his shoulder. "It was time," he said simply, and the reasonableness of his tone brooked no argument, squashed any debate.

Not that he'd debate. What man was foolish enough to question finally obtaining what he wanted? Practical man that Jim knew himself to be, he wouldn't. Sometimes, timing simply was everything. And he could accept that.

~finis~

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