This story is rated NC-17 (adults only). It includes explicit male/male sex. If this is what you came for, scroll down. If it isn't, hit the Back button.




















by Resonant

"Sandburg." Jim's hand came down on Blair's, stopping him from pulling his zipper down any further. Jim sounded so scandalized he almost laughed. "You're right in the window."

"It's not like anybody can see us."

"I could. If I was standing on the fire escape across the street, I could look right down through the window and see you. In fact, maybe the next time I go check on Miss Agnes and Miss Hazel, you could give me a little show ... mm." His hand tightened over Blair's cock, which had given a really obvious twitch under the jeans. "Like that idea, do you?"

It turned Blair on so much he could hardly even get the "Yeah" out.

"You're serious." Jim looked closely at him. "You'd really do that?"


There was a little silence. "Now?" Jim said.

"All right, Jim." Blair felt self-conscious speaking in an empty apartment, and he had to fight the twin urges to whisper and to shout. "Can you hear me?"

There was a flash of light from the fire escape across the street.

"Can you see me OK? Because I could open the doors if you need me to." There was no reply.

"Oh. Sorry. One question at a time, right? Do you need me to open a door?" Two flashes. "You can see me OK, then?" One flash.

Blair moved to unbutton his shirt. Jim is watching me through this window, he thought. It seemed a little unreal. He wondered if Jim could tell how nervous he was.

"Jim, man, this is weird, I feel weird." There was no reply. "You still there?" One flash.

The shirt was unbuttoned. Blair considered making a big striptease production of it, but that seemed silly. He shook it off his shoulders and dropped it on the floor.

Now I'm standing in front of a window with no shirt on. It was half like being alone and half like having Jim there. Blair fought the urge to say "Still with me?" again, but he wanted to break the silence.

"I halfway feel like you're not there at all, but then it's like I can feel you looking at me," he said to the empty room. He imagined all the times he had taken his shirt off in front of Jim. While they were camping. Changing clothes. "Did you used to watch me? Before?" One flash. "I used to watch you. There's this spot right at the center of your breastbone -- that's a beautiful spot, man."

Blair realized he was rubbing his thumb over that spot. He moved his hand up over his chest, through the rough hair, tracing the ridge of a pectoral muscle, then moving inward to gently pull the ring. "You'd look really hot with one of these," he said, pulling it out a bit and just holding it there, so that only the slight involuntary motions of his fingers moved it. "But I don't know if it'd be worth it to mess up that sculptural look you've got going there. I wish you could try it once, Jim, you would not believe how it feels."

Blair tucked his other hand absently into the waistband of his jeans. "When I first got it, I couldn't stop playing with it. I was half hard all the time for like a week before I learned to keep my hands off." It no longer seemed quite so strange to be talking to an empty room.

"Guess I should get on with it." Blair rubbed his thumb firmly over his fly. "Is this doing anything for you?" There was a longish pause, and then one flash. Blair grinned. "It's doing something for me, I'll tell you that much." He unbuttoned the top button. "You can probably see that for yourself." He was surprised by a single flash. "Um, Jim, rhetorical, man."

Shit, he'd forgotten to take his mocs off. That was stupid. He toed them off. "Sorry," he said with a nervous giggle. "I should've planned ahead." He shook his head. "Listen to me stalling." He took a deep breath and unzipped his jeans.

"Hey, Jim, just out of curiosity, can you smell me over there?" There was no hesitation before the light flashed once. "Wow. Pheromones and all?" One flash. "Wow."

When he began pushing the jeans off, he almost felt he could hear Jim's inhalation of surprise. He grinned. "Well, I figured, why put underwear on if you're just gonna turn around and take it off again? Plus, you know, everybody on the planet looks like an idiot taking their shorts off. Thought I'd spare myself the indignity." His fingers were idling combing through the hair in the vee of his open fly. "And I'm stalling again, aren't I. Don't answer that." Blair began to push his jeans off, but was startled by two quick flashes.

"No? No what?" He frowned, then smiled again. "You want me to leave 'em on, Jim? Is that what you're telling me?" Brief hesitation; one flash. "You got it."

He hooked his left thumb into his open fly and used his right hand to begin a steady, overhand stroke. "This is how I do it," he said. "Efficient. Get your fingers in that little spot, you know that spot." His voice was roughening. "It's hard not to go too fast." He removed his right hand and brought up his left.

"If I use my other hand, it feels like somebody else." This time he put his thumb on top instead of underneath. "This is how you do it, feels a little bit like your hand, I can almost imagine ..." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. "At least this is the way you do me, don't know whether it's how you do yourself. You gotta let me watch you sometime, man, that would be so hot --"

Across the street the light came on, then, after a slight delay, went off again. Blair laughed breathlessly. "You'd probably agree to anything right now."

He was still stroking his cock slowly with a light, slightly clumsy lefthanded grip. Three fingers of his right hand were splayed out at the base. "Just starting to get wet now," he said, rubbing his thumb over the head and sighing, then began alternating: a few strokes, a thumb rub, a few more strokes. "This is what I do -- if I want to draw it out," he said breathlessly. "Probably sound interesting to you -- if I stopped talking you could probably hear --"

Then he was silent for a moment, listening to the dry brush of his hand on his shaft, the faint wet sound of his thumb over the head. "Mm," he said. "I can hear it. Turns me on."

He was moving a little faster now, but suddenly he stopped, panting. "Friction, man. If anything's wet, everything's gotta be wet." He brought his hand to his mouth. "Should have brought that bottle of oil out, that'd be hot, huh, Jim?" He licked his palm and fingers, sucked his thumb into his mouth -- not suggestively, but quickly and efficiently. He returned to the stroke, sighing as his fingers slid wetly over his skin.

"Until we started fooling around, I never noticed how hot my skin is," Blair said roughly. "Like how it feels to touch you, Jim." Quick inbreath. "Aw, man, I just thought -- you gotta let me do this to you in front of a mirror sometime, man -- let you see how hot you look -- you could do me, too -- I could watch -- cool --"

He widened his stance a bit. "Mm, getting good now -- I gotta switch hands, Jim --" He licked his right hand and wrapped it around his cock. His left hand braced the base, then wandered down to his balls inside the jeans, brushing them gently and then rolling them in his palm.

He was breathing hard now, eyes half-shut, mouth open, hissing through his teeth. "Close, now, Jim -- do you need me to slow down, 'cause I'm close --" Two quick flashes. "Yeah, yeah, good, I would've tried for you, Jim, but I don't know if I can --" The muscles in his forearm tightened as he gripped harder, stroked faster. His eyes fell shut as he started to come. "Watch me, Jim, don't -- don't go anywhere --"

Jim reached out a hand and was surprised to touch iron instead of skin. He blinked and remembered that he was on Miss Hazel's back stairs only when he heard the sharp crack of the flashlight hitting the pavement three stories below.

He reluctantly pulled his sight in, pulling back from the picture of Blair, bathed in warm lamplight, sinking slowly to the living room floor with his eyes closed and his wet hands tracing patterns on his abdomen ...

Not a zone, this, but a strange distance. He'd been so caught up in Blair's orgasm that he was surprised and disoriented to come back to his own body and find it still tense and ready. It felt less like desire than like some strange kind of flight reflex. His hands were shaking.

Well, he couldn't very well go down the metal stairs in this state or he'd break his neck. He'd just have to go back inside and hope he didn't run into Miss Hazel or Miss Agnes in the hallway. He had a curious lump in his throat.

When he opened the loft door, the scent washed over him like a wave and he stood, hand scrabbling to grip the doorframe. His hearing had slid up to encompass Blair's still-racing pulse, and now he heard the hiss of Blair's hair as he turned his head to look at Jim., stopped short in the doorway.

Blair must have found something to wipe his hands on, but he hadn't washed them; they were dry but richly scented. His eyes were half-lidded, his cheeks flushed. Jim didn't know how to touch him.

And he knew, he understood; he scrambled up and all but ran across the room, wrapping Jim up in his arms, and Jim's hands went to fists on Blair's bare shoulderblades, and Jim murmured in Blair's ear, senselessly, "So far away, so far -- " and Blair whispered back, "No, you weren't, you were right here, sh, you're right here ..."


Feedback me at

Read the story notes

Read "Anoint"

Read "Midnight Oil"

Read the rest of the "Six Weeks" snippets:
"Cold Feet"

Back to in medias Res

August 11, 2003