Nothing On

by Francesca

Author's disclaimer: Not mi..<snore>

Author's notes: Ok, this isn't quite a PWP, it's more of a PALP — Plot, A Little Plot. Still, nothing huge or heavy here, really. It was just floating around in my head. I promise Cycles and a new Nature next. Um, really. Thanks to the Lady of Shalott and to Owlet for betaing.







"Oh, come on, Chief, I like — "

"It sucks, Jim."

"Okay, okay, okay."


"Wait — this is okay — this is a documentary on — "


" — Hey!"

"I am not watching a fucking documentary on red ants, I don't care what the fuck you say is interesting about it, just no," Jim said, testily.

"Okay." Blair raised his hands defensively. "Your TV, man."

"I used to think so," Jim muttered. "Don't you have a date with Madeline?"

"I did. She canceled."

"I'm sorry."

"I'll bet you are," Blair said, grinning at him. "This sucks too, by the way," he added.

"Jesus Christ, don't you like anything?"

"Sure. I like things that don't suck."

Jim flipped the television off with a disgusted flick of the remote control.

"Hey, look, it's not my fault that there's nothing on tonight," Blair objected.

"No," Jim grumbled.

"You're not saying that like you mean it."

"I would have watched the cheesy horror thing, but whatever."

"I'm saving you from yourself."

"Thank you."

"You're not saying that like you mean it," Blair said, and Jim threw a sofa cushion in his general direction.

"Look, Sandburg, what do you want to do? It's Friday night, it's 9:00, we've got an evening to kill — you want to play cards or something?"

"Well, I would," Blair said, "but you know, most card games for two people suck."

"I should have figured." Jim rolled his eyes.

"No, I mean seriously, the good card games — poker, bridge, pinochle — are for more than two players. We could play Scrabble, though," Blair suggested brightly.

"Up yours."

"I like Scrabble," Blair protested.

"Oh, so Scrabble doesn't suck?" Jim inquired with great politeness.

"Of course Scrabble doesn't suck," Blair explained, as if to a small child.

"Well, I don't want to."

"It was just a suggestion."

"You'll be spelling 137 point words and laughing at me all night," Jim grumbled. "I need that like a hole in the head."

"All right, all right, it was just a suggestion." Blair sighed and stretched out on his part of the sofa. "There must be something fun we could do."

"You'd think so," Jim sighed.

"We could just talk, you know," Blair suggested, twisting around to look at him. "Have a conversation, like."

"I'd rather play Scrabble," Jim snorted.

"Fine — you suggest something then." Blair locked his hands behind his head. "Your call."

Jim looked at Blair for a long moment, and then coughed. "Well..."

"Well what?"

"You want to, uh — "


"Forget it," Jim said, shaking his head.


"Forget it."

"Come on, what?"

"Nothing, just — I mean, I just thought we could — ahhh, nothing."


"You know..."

"Uh, no?"

"You know. Just — maybe — just hang out and growmerround."

"Hang out and grow brown?"

"Just forget it and shut up!"

"Did you say grow brown?"

"Yeah, that's what I said," Jim snorted. "Hang out and grow brown. Like a fucking old banana — me in a nutshell."

"A banana in a nutshell?" Blair frowned.

"I hate you," Jim said earnestly. "I've always hated you. And I hate you more each minute."

"Jim, are you drunk or something?" Blair asked.

"Am I drunk?" Jim asked, staring hard at Blair.

"You want to grow brown like an old banana in a nutshell," Blair mused, getting up. "Hang on, I have to pee — but don't move, I'm enjoying the fascinating oddity of this conversation."

Jim flipped him the bird.

Blair went to the bathroom and closed the door, and after a minute Jim heard the loud flush of the toilet, shortly followed by Sandburg's yell of "Hah!" Jim laughed softly to himself, let his head fall back against the sofa back, and waited for his partner's triumphant comeback.

"GROPE AROUND!" Blair said, reappearing in the living room. "That's what you said, isn't it?"

"You're a genius," Jim deadpanned, slouching deeper into the sofa cushions.

"Grow brown — grope around. I got it now!" Blair looked utterly pleased with himself.

"Yippie," Jim said.

"Hey, come on, I wasn't expecting it," Blair said, falling back onto the sofa. "I mean, you've never — hell, it sounded like grow brown, okay? What do you want from my life?"

"I just wanted to watch some fucking TV," Jim growled.

"You really want to hang out and grope around?" Blair asked curiously.

"It was just a thought," Jim admitted. "I mean, there's TV...and cards...and..." He trailed off and waved his hand in explanation.

"You put groping after TV and cards?" Blair boggled.

"Well, I mean it's only 9:00, you know?" Jim mumbled.

"After TV and cards?" Blair repeated incredulously.

"And we're here, right — do you have a better idea?" Jim asked defensively.

"I don't know if I could grope someone with those kinds of priorities," Blair mused, frowning.

"Whatever," Jim said, shrugging. "There's always the cheesy horror thing."

"But you want to grope me?" Blair asked.

Jim considered. "I could grope you, yeah."

"What, I'm gropable or something? You consider me gropable?"

Jim considered. "Yeah, you're kind of gropable. I mean, you look it."

"I look it?"

"To me, you look it. Gropable. Yeah."

"What is that, your idea of a compliment?"

"I guess so."

"Hmmm." Blair nodded at this, then crossed his arms. "And what makes you think I'd do it?"

"Do what? Grope around?"


"Well, I mean, you would, wouldn't you?"

"Well, yeah — but what makes you think so? What am I, wearing a sign that says, 'Hi, I'm gropable?'"

Jim grinned, and nodded, and pointed at him — and Blair made a face at him. "Very funny."

"Look," Jim said, sighing, "you just are, okay? You're — you know — you're very cute."

"I'm cute?" Blair groaned and let himself fall over sideways on the couch.

"What, you want me to say that you're a thousand pounds of he-man? Lemme break it to you, Sandburg: you're not." Jim shot him a look of half affection, half sympathy. "You're pretty cute, though — you're cute as a button, actually — and barring anything on TV, I'd sit around and grope you for a while. Now, I don't know whether you'd want to grope me, that's a whole 'nother question, I grant you."

Blair laughed. "You are drunk."

"I am not."

"Hmmmph!" Blair hmmmphed. He looked searchingly at Jim for a moment and then said, "Yeah, I'd grope you. I'd totally grope you. I mean, I'm not stupid — there's just, like, a lot of you there to grope. In the grope-o-rama sweepstakes, I'd be the winner, wouldn't I?"

"I wasn't proposing a sweepstakes, Sandburg," Jim said irritably. "I was just thinking, two adults, nothing on TV, I hate Scrabble, you're cute as a button — why not, is all."

Blair sat up. "Yeah, I see that."

"That's all I was thinking," Jim explained.

"Better than conversation," Blair conceded.

"It is, right?"

"Yeah. Right. Well, okay."


"Okay," Blair confirmed, nodding. "It's a plan."

"Well, okay." Jim got up and switched off one of the two lamps lighting the living room.

"You know," Blair said, as Jim moved to the other lamp, "I never figured you for this sort of thing."

Jim turned off the light, and now the living room was in darkness, a darkness broken only by the reflected light from the bay outside the balcony doors.

"What sort of thing? The occasional, low-pressure guy-grope?" Jim's voice was deeply amused.

"Yeah, exactly." Blair watched as the large, dim, Jim-shape crossed the room toward him.

"Well," Jim said, "let's see. My life. Prep school, army rangers, warrior tribe — " and Blair burst out laughing, and raised his hands and said, "Okay, okay, forget I said anything."

"Forgotten." Jim said, dropping onto the sofa next to him. "Though, you know, mostly there was no trouble getting a good card game going," and Blair laughed harder, and clutched at his stomach.

"You mean the good card games, right?" Blair sputtered, trying to breathe.

"Right," Jim said, grinning. "The good ones. Poker and pinochle. The ones that don't suck," and now he was laughing too, and they just sat there for a moment in the darkness, laughing their asses off.

And after a while Blair reached out and grabbed a fistful of Jim's sweat shirt and said, still hiccuping a little, "C'mere," and Jim did, leaning over him, and it only really took a moment for them to melt into each other comfortably.

"This okay?" Jim asked, sliding one hand into Blair's hair.

"That's fine," Blair answered, settling backwards into the corner of the sofa.

"Lemme know if I'm pulling too hard."

"If you hear me screaming, you're pulling too hard."

Jim laughed. "Gotcha," he said, and he found Blair's mouth just as Blair worked his hand up under the back of Jim's sweatshirt. And as they realized that they weren't crushing each other or pinching or poking or pulling hair, they relaxed further still, and it was warm, and soothing, and a treat for the senses, heightened or not.

Jim had one hand on Blair's head, keeping his hair back away, off his face. His other arm was wrapped around Blair's waist. Blair had worked both of his hands under Jim's shirt, and was stroking and caressing the broad, smooth chest, the broad, smooth back. Jim murmured his appreciation into Blair's mouth, and Blair smiled and anchored Jim to him by hooking one denim-clad leg over the back of Jim's thigh. And they lay there for a while, just making out in the darkness, feeling slightly drunk on creature comfort, on the heat and pressure and taste of another human being's body.

"Better than TV," Blair murmured into Jim's ear after a while. He licked a circle around it, and Jim shuddered.

"Better than conversation," Jim answered softly, sliding a warm hand down Blair's back and taking Blair's mouth again.

And then later still, while Blair was massaging Jim's nipple, he heard Jim groan softly, and felt Jim drag his erection hard against his hip, and he blinked and thought, "Shit! He's going for it!" and the idea excited him, and he suddenly realized that this could be more than groping, that there could be an orgasm at the end of all this — and hell, he wasn't going to be left behind calling for backup! — and he pulled Jim around and got half on top of him, into a position where he could move better against him.

And Jim seemed to understand what he was doing, and squirmed around to accommodate him, still glued to his mouth, still clutching him tightly, still going for it himself — and then suddenly they were there, somewhere else, and things began to spin out of control as they moved abruptly beyond groping, beyond creature comfort, kissing now with urgency, touching each other with hard, deliberate sexual purpose, and now Blair's hand was roughly grasping Jim's cock through his pants, and Jim was grunting and grabbing at Blair's ass, and they were vibrating, shuddering, heaving and thrusting against each other instinctively, forcefully.

And Blair was moaning, because shit, he was getting there, he was getting there, he was going for it, and it was there, almost there, it was on the map now, in the cards, and he could see it coming, it was coming, and Jim was gasping raggedly underneath him, gripping him with bruising iron fingers and thrusting up powerfully, up hard against his palm, getting off on this, on him, getting off, and the fucking earth was shaking — he could feel it, see it — shit! — and Jim murmured, roughly, "Come on, Sandburg — come on, baby," and that did it, that and one more thrust against Jim's hip did it, and Blair gasped excitedly and came in his jeans, the orgasm smashing into him and sending him reeling. And he heard Jim's stifled yell from beneath him and clutched at him tightly, wanting to feel him shaking, wanting to be there with him while he rode out the shock of it.

And then they lay there holding each other in the darkness, both breathing hard.

"Wow," Blair said, after a while.

"Yeah," Jim answered, absently stroking Blair's hair.

"So, will you respect me in the morning?" Blair asked, grinning into the darkness.

The answer floated back to him. "Who says I respect you now?" and Blair whacked Jim's chest hard with the palm of his hand. It was like hitting a mountain.

"You should talk," Blair returned, grinning. "Face it, Jim, you're an easy lay. I got further with you in two hours than I've gotten with Madeline in two weeks."

"And you're willing to admit that in public?" Jim teased, and Blair heaved himself up off Jim's chest.

"You suck," Blair pronounced with mock dignity, and Jim laughed at him. "I'm going to take a shower now."

"Leave me some hot water, willya?" Jim said, stretching out on the sofa.

"Okay," Blair said, agreeably. He turned toward the bathroom and then stopped and squinted back at Jim through the dim light. "Hey, this was fun, you know?"

"Yeah," Jim said quietly. "It was. Thanks, Chief."

"Thank you," Blair said, and went off to take his shower.  


"You look nice," Blair said, as Jim came down the loft stairs wearing a jacket and tie.

Jim fiddled with the tie. "You think so?"

Blair rummaged in the fridge for a beer. "Yeah. Where you going?"

"Date with Joanna Phillips," Jim replied.

"The redhead from the D.A.'s office?" Blair asked, straightening up, beer in hand.

"Yeah," Jim said.

"Good going," Blair said appreciatively.

"I'm taking her to that new steakhouse on Third."

Blair nodded at him. "Cool."

Jim looked at Blair, who was dressed in his normal jeans and t-shirt, and frowned. "What about you? Don't you have a date with Madeline?"

"I did," Blair said, shrugging. "I canceled." He looked uncomfortable for a moment, and then said quickly, "I just felt like staying home. I thought — I thought I might see if anything was on." He gestured nervously toward the TV with his beer.

"Oh," Jim said. "Oh." He hesitated for a moment, and then went over to the coatrack and pulled his jacket off the hook. "Well. I'll see you later, then, right?"

"Yeah," Blair said, loping off toward the sofa. "I'll be here."

And when Jim got home the loft was dark, dark save for the black and white flickerings of the television set.

"You're home early," Blair said, glancing over at him.

"We had dinner," Jim said, taking his overcoat off and hanging it up. "A couple of drinks. Then we called it a night."

"Was it fun?"

"Yeah. Fun." Jim pulled his tie off and came to sit next to Blair on the sofa. "What're you doing?"

"Just watching TV," Blair said, staring resolutely at the screen.

"What's on?"

"Nothing much," Blair said. "Citizen Kane."

"I've seen it — Rosebud's the sled, right?"

"Right," Blair said, nodding.

They sat there together for a few minutes, watching Orson Welles tottering around Xanadu and smashing things.

"He looks like he's had a bad day," Jim commented, and Blair laughed.

"He's had a bad couple of years," Blair explained. "Plus he's had to listen to some very bad opera."

"Well, that'll do it to you," Jim said. He watched the movie for another minute and then asked, with forced nonchalance, "What else is on?"

Blair hesitated for a moment, and then picked up the remote control and flipped the channel. "Hmmm. The Maltese Falcon."

"It's not the real falcon," Jim said quietly.

"I know," Blair replied, deliberately not looking at him.

"What else is there?" Jim asked. Blair took a deep breath and flipped the channel again.

"Saturday Night Live."

"Oh, please," Jim snorted.


"Local news?" Blair glanced at Jim for approval — and Jim was staring at him, and then Jim reached out and pulled the remote control from his hand and switched the television off, throwing the living room into darkness.

"C'mere," Jim murmured, and then Jim reached out for him, and Jim was tugging on his arms, was pulling him over, pulling him close, and Jim's hands were running over his chest, fingertips seeking his nipples — and shit, they were off and running.

Blair leaned forward, seeking Jim's mouth; he found it and groaned his pleasure into it. He felt Jim's tongue slide into his mouth, felt more than heard Jim's answering groan. And then Blair was frantically trying to undo the buttons of Jim's dress shirt, and he could feel Jim's hands on his face, Jim's mouth on his face, and he stopped and lifted his arms when he felt Jim tugging on his t-shirt, stopped and let Jim pull the shirt up over his head.

Blair was cold for a moment, and then he was pressed up against a lot of warm Jim, and he felt better. And Jim was fucking manhandling him — Jim's hands were carding through his chest hair, pinching his nipples, running up his arms and down his back and squeezing his ass and Blair just let his head fall back and tried to get enough air, just tried to get enough oxygen into his body.

And then Jim was fondling Blair's cock through his jeans, groping him, stroking him with his hand, and Blair was moaning and clutching at Jim's muscular shoulders.

And then suddenly Jim stopped and muttered, roughly, "You want it, don't you?"

"Yeah," Blair gasped in reply.

"You want it," Jim repeated, pushing Blair flat down on his back and Blair hissed, "Yeah. Yeah. I want it," and then Jim was tearing at the buttons of Blair's jeans, yanking them down over his hips. "I want it, I want you," Blair whispered breathlessly, and then for the first time Jim's warm hand was on his cock, actually on his cock, he was bare and naked in Jim's hand, and he was lying there on the sofa with nothing on and Jim was above him, kissing him gently and masturbating him furiously.

And all Blair could hear were his own strangled cries of pleasure, and all he could feel was Jim's tight hand on his dick, and he felt dizzy, and drunk, and fucking terrific, and the whole world was centered around his groin, the whole universe was being powered by the tingling waves of pleasure flowing out from his cock.

And Blair cried out, "Ohhh, Jim," and Jim hissed, "Hang on, Sandburg," and Blair choked, "Can't — " and gasped and came hard, squeezing his eyes shut. And Jim's hands milked his dick, and then traced soothing, sticky patterns over his hips, over his abdomen.

And when Blair thought he could speak in coherent sentences, he looked up at the dim, looming Jim shape and said, softly, "You can fuck me if you want," and Jim's hands tightened suddenly on his hips and he heard Jim mutter, "Jesus," and Blair laughed and said, "You can, if you want to — do you want to?"

"Jesus," Jim muttered again.

"Come on," Blair said, "I know you want to — " and suddenly he became aware of Jim's labored breathing above him, and then Jim was holding him, pulling him off the sofa, lowering him gently onto the floor, and Blair blinked and thought, "Shit! He's going for it!" and the idea excited him, and he suddenly realized that this was all well beyond groping, here, that Jim was about to fuck him right there on the floor in front of the television set — because, hell, he had just offered, hadn't he?

He had, yes, and he whispered, "Lubricant," just in case Jim was horny out of his mind and not thinking clearly.

"Sandburg," Jim whispered back, kneeling beside him on the floor, "are you sure about this?"

"Sure. Yes. Lubricant," Blair whispered back. "My room, top desk drawer, left side, if you haven't got — mmmmmph," and Jim was kissing him again, and he opened his mouth and let Jim fuck his mouth with his tongue, let Jim tug gently at his hair and whisper red-hot endearments into his mouth.

And then Jim pulled back finally and whispered, "Lubricant."

"Right." Blair nodded at him. "Top desk drawer — "

" — left side, gotcha," Jim murmured, and then he was gone, and Blair could hear him rummaging around in the desk, and frankly, without Jim there he felt slightly silly lying naked on the living room rug — but oh, well, what the hell, right? He wiggled his toes and looked up through the gloom at the ceiling, which seemed very very far away suddenly, and told himself that life was an adventure.

And then Jim was back, looking rather like the debauched hero of a nineteen forties film: jacket on, dress shirt open, pants unzipped. Carrying lubricant.

Jim knelt down on the floor beside him and Blair thought about telling him to lose the jacket, at least — and then he decided he liked it, and said nothing. And then Jim was bending over him, and touching him in intimate places with cool, lubricant slicked fingers, and Blair shivered and instantly got hard again.

"Deep breath," Jim whispered, placing a gentle, steadying hand on Blair's abdomen. Blair took a deep breath and Jim pushed a cool, slick finger inside him. Blair moaned softly into the darkness. "You're okay," Jim murmured, "You're okay, I won't hurt you, never hurt you."

"I know," Blair hissed, arching his back and closing his eyes. "Give me more."

"Can't yet," Jim replied huskily, sliding his finger in and out of Blair. "You're too tight." He fucked Blair rhythmically with his finger, breathing hard as he watched his partner's face contort with pleasure. "Jesus, Sandburg, how long has it been since you've done this?"

"Tell me you want it," Blair murmured.

Jim blinked. "What?"

"Tell me you want it, tell me."

"I want it," Jim slid his palm up Blair's stomach to his chest, caressing him.

"More," Blair whispered.

"I want it," Jim said feverishly, sliding a second finger into Blair. "I want you."

Blair sucked in a deep breath. "God, hurry."

"You're not ready." Jim frowned.

"Can't wait — "

"You're not ready, Sandburg!"

"Jim, please — "

"Blair — "


"Jesus!" and it was all just too much, too much, and he was still fucking wearing his jacket, but he couldn't help it, because he was still wearing his jacket but Blair had nothing on, nothing on at all , and he had his fingers up Blair's ass and Blair was begging him —

— and so shit, Jim pulled his cock out of his pants, and grabbed Blair's legs with strong arms and shaking fingers, and pulled them up, up over his shoulders, and pressed into him slowly —

— and groaned —

— because oh, god, it was good, it was good, it was so good —

— and he just slid home, home into Blair, and just stayed there for a moment, gasping, half-unable to believe it —

"oh jim, oh jim, oh jim" —

— and it was like he had never heard his own name before; he had never heard his own name before —

"jim, please..."

— Jim: his name was Jim —

— and he pulled back slowly and then pushed forward gently into Blair, rocking slowly, savoring each slow, tingling drag of Blair's body against his cock, savoring each wet, heaving gasp of pleasure from Blair underneath him, determined that Blair should feel only pleasure, only pleasure, pleasure like he was feeling —

"oh. oh. ohhhh...jiiiiiim..."

— and he had never felt so invested in someone else's pleasure before —


— and he let his head fall backwards, and he gave Blair more, he gave Blair everything, and he knew by the way Blair's cries changed that he had hit Blair's prostate, and he knew by the way Blair's cries changed that Blair was fast approaching orgasm, and he could feel Blair's body around his cock, could feel every bit of it along every nerve, and he was gonna come, gonna come (Blair was coming, shaking, moaning — god!) come come coming now ohhh inside Blair deep...

And the world blasted red behind his eyelids, and he felt blown back, thrown back, and he held still for a moment deep inside Blair and then he pulled himself out of Blair almost roughly and fell on his side, because he couldn't be vertical, because he couldn't sit up any more, couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Jesus." Blair's voice was small, stunned, coming from somewhere over there, wherever Blair was. "Jesus."

It took a moment for Jim's brain to connect with his mouth — he felt his lips moving, but it took a moment to get the sound. Eventually he got it all working right. "You okay ?"

"Yeah," Blair said dazedly from somewhere over there. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm good. You?"

"Good." Jim confirmed quietly.


Jim reached out blindly and felt something — a limb — Sandburg's leg, and he pressed his palm against it. It was warm and sort of lightly hairy, and he latched on to it — it meant Blair was really there, on the floor, too.

"Just offhand," he heard Blair say, after a moment, "we're well beyond groping, now, here, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Jim admitted.

"I mean, I didn't go to prep school or anything — "

"Shut up, Sandburg," Jim said, grinning stupidly into the carpet.

" — and I was never in the army — "

"It wasn't like this in the army." Jim opened his eyes — God, he really should get the carpet cleaned.

"I should hope not," Blair said. "Otherwise, I gotta tell you, you guys have been advertising that puppy all wrong."

"Shut up," Jim repeated, twisting his head up to look at Blair. Blair was lying on his back in the darkness, laughing at the ceiling, and Jim started laughing too.

He watched as Blair pushed himself up on his elbows, still laughing, and then sat up with a grunt that momentarily wiped the smile off his face. "Ow." He shifted around uncomfortably.

"Been a while, huh?" Jim asked, gently rubbing the part of Blair's leg he was touching.

"You could say that," Blair said, looking sort of rueful. "First time, actually."

And suddenly Jim was sitting up, and Blair looked startled, and raised his hands, and said, "Hey!"

And Jim yelled, "What the hell — "

"Jim, calm down!"

" — do you think you're doing, are you out — "

"Jim, relax, man!!"

" — of your mind — for God's sake, Sandburg! you could have — "

"What would it have accomplished — "

" — SAID something to me — "

" — except freaking you out even more than you are now?!"

" — I could have hurt you! — "

" — wouldn't — couldn't — Jim, man, calm down, you're gonna — "

" — You should have said! Jesus H. — "

" — hurt yourself, you're gonna pop a vein or something — "

" — Christ!, you really should have said — "

"Jim, really, what's the diff — "


"YOU WOULDN'T HAVE FUCKED ME AT ALL!" Blair yelled, looking surprised at himself. "You lying bastard — I know you — you just wouldn't' have — not ever — and now you have and so just SHUT UP already!"

Jim shut up and Blair glared furiously at him until he was sure that Jim was going to stay shut up.

"I mean, why the hell did you come home, anyway?" Blair demanded.

"I live here," Jim said tightly. He knew it was an irrelevancy and Blair took it as one and ignored it.

"You could have had Joanna — you could have fucked Joanna." This was true, Jim thought. He could have had her, she'd been sending out signals — she'd been sending out signals for weeks.

"I wanted you more than I wanted her," Jim said quietly, turning away from Blair.

"So okay — okay," Blair murmured, and Jim jumped because Blair's hands were suddenly on his shoulders — Blair had crept up behind him and was gripping his shoulders. "So, okay, then, right? What's the problem?"

"I would have wanted it to be better."

"You wouldn't have let it happen at all," Blair insisted firmly. "You would have stuffed it all back down and buttoned it back up — and I couldn't — I mean — I wanted you."

"I know," Jim said, and it was almost a groan. "I know. I knew — I knew you wanted me. And — I mean — no one's ever — not like that, not that much." He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. " I don't understand it, but I'm — hell, I'm not complaining, here, really I'm not."

Blair sighed too and let his hands fall off Jim's shoulders. "Jim, I — I never — I mean what just happened now, you know, that wasn't the thing that — oh, hell, I'm not being clear."

Blair stopped and took a deep breath. "It's like with Madeline, I — I was working it so hard and I didn't even — I mean, I didn't — I didn't care. I didn't care. I never — I never had sex with anyone where I cared and — I mean, I never did before yesterday, and that's pretty sad, you know? But I mean, after yesterday, I — I can't go back. I can't go back, Jim."

He stopped and met Jim's eyes. "And maybe I'm not playing fair, but I don't care, because I do care, here, and I know you and I'm not gonna let you go back, or pretend like this can't happen — because — because — " and Blair stopped and laughed bemusedly, "well, because it can. Hell, it just did!"

Jim blinked. "Yeah, well, you're not playing fair."

"I. Don't. Care," Blair said with slow deliberation and a wide smile. "In fact, I don't give a flying fuck for fairness, here."

And Blair's good humor was contagious, and Ellison found himself grinning back at him. "You're mighty high-handed, there, Sandburg."

"Hey, you opened the door with your 'low-pressure guy grope' bullshit," Blair countered. "I just shoved you through."

"Door," Jim snorted. "More like Pandora's box."

"Hey, look, " Blair objected, "if it were up to you we'd've watched the cheesy horror thing, and then where would we be? Nowheresville."

Jim covered his face with his hands. "I'm in over my head," he groaned. "I'm in way over my head."

"Don't look to me for sympathy," Blair said, edging closer to him. "I'm short — I'm in over my head all the time." He put a reassuring hand on Jim's back. "You get used to it."

"You had lube, dammit!" Jim objected confusedly, apropos of nothing.

"Yeah," Blair confirmed. "I had lube. Lube's great for not breaking condoms, which are great for not getting women pregnant, which I generally don't want to do. I mean, hell, I've got tampons in there somewhere — just in case, you know? Women appreciate it. That desk's a fucking pharmacy — so what?"

"I am so in over my fucking head," Jim moaned.

Blair leaned forward and kissed him softly, and then whispered into his mouth, "Jim, I love you. Grow brown with me — what do you say?" Jim hesitated for a moment, and then kissed him back, clutching Blair's bare shoulders in his hands. And then he pulled back after a while, and tilted Blair's head back, and began kissing his throat.

"Oh yeah," Blair murmured. "Oh yeah." He could hear his heart rate rising, feel himself breathing faster — hell, it was starting again. "So Jim," Blair said with a wide smile, "I just have to ask — where exactly do you rate this vis a vis TV and cards?"

The End