by Francesca

Disclaimers: Nothing's mine but the words; everything else belongs to Pet Fly. No infringement is intended, and I'm not makin' a dime. (Who needs money when you've got love?) (Well, okay, but I'm still not making any money!) Please go away if you're under 18!

Summary: A PWP.

Warnings: None.

Notes: Yes, this is clearly the month that I do all the things I swore I'd never do. I don't do angst, and I don't do PWPs. Except when I do, okay? But I am not going to do a rape story and I am not going to do a "Blair used to be a prostitute story!" I'm not! Really! No! Please! Help!

"You just don't listen!" yelled James Ellison, heatedly, shaking his finger in Blair's Sandburg's face. "I can't work with you if you don't goddamn listen!"

Blair was equally outraged, and was bouncing angrily on the balls of his feet. "You're impossible!!" he retorted, and he thumped furious hands, hard, against Jim's chest. "Do you have any idea how impossible you are! Not to mention totally fucking crazy!"

Jim threw his hands up and strode out of the bullpen furiously; he crossed the hallway and banged into the men's room. Sandburg was on his heels.

"You ask the impossible of me!" yelled Sandburg, slamming the door behind him.

"I ask you to stay put! It's all I ask! A simple order!" retorted Ellison, whirling to face him.

"An impossible order! I can't goddamn do it!" Blair crossed his arms and glowered at Jim, challenging him with his eyes.

"You can't sit in the fucking car?" asked Jim dangerously, taking up the challenge, stepping closer, glaring back.

"No, I can't sit in the fucking car! Not with shots going off! Not with you maybe getting killed! No, I can't, Jim, I can't do that!" said Blair, and his angry face was inches away from Jim's, and the tension was thick between them, and neither of them were backing down. They were at an impasse.

Then Blair frowned and he really looked at Jim for a moment, and then he tilted his head up and kissed him, and Jim felt the sudden, surprising warmth of Blair's lips —

(soft, warm, good)

— and then the lips were gone, and Ellison blinked and saw Sandburg's face in front of him, and he said, "What the fuck was that?"

"I don't know," replied Blair, shrugging, lips suddenly curving up into an amused smile. "I just wanted to see what would happen."

"You wanted to see what would happen?" Jim yelled, unbelievingly.

"Yeah," said Blair, grinning. "Yeah," and Jim just stared at him for a second, and then he grabbed Blair's shoulders and searched out his mouth, and his senses swirled as he again felt Blair's lips against his —

(warm, good, god!)

— and as Jim pulled back he slid a hand against his partner's cheek, and he stared at Blair, and swallowed, and said, "So what happened?"

Blair laughed, shook his head in delighted amazement. "Well, I don't know about you, man, but it's like — I feel like — I'm getting, like — Tahiti, here!" and then he launched himself at Jim and wrapped his arms around Jim's neck, and Jim slammed forward and crushed him back against the closed men's room door. He ground his body against his partner's, and his lips found Blair's face, the softness of his earlobe, and then Jim paused to kiss and suckle the smoothly textured flesh just below it before moving back to Blair's mouth —

(and the sand was white and the ocean was deep blue, stretching away toward the horizon, and the sunlight warmed his face)

— and he felt Blair's hands glide over the nape of his neck, running lovingly over his hair —

(and a bright white seagull cawed, swirling gracefully against the blue sky, and he stepped down across the warm white sand toward the ocean, and the churning roar of it was loud, so loud, in his ears)

— gripping his shoulders, holding him tightly, and Blair's fingers were strong and he was delicious and Jim had only a moment to savor the warmth and flavor of his partner's mouth before —

(he was in the water, and it was so warm, and the waves churned, and he began to swim, feeling carried by the water, surrounded by the water, one with it)

— and he knew it was Blair's mouth that drew him, and Jim caressed his partner's head and tilted it back slowly, gently to get better, deeper, access, and he explored Blair's mouth, loved Blair's mouth, loved the hot, wet, sexiness of it, loved the way Blair was writhing against him, loved that he could sense his partner's rising excitement, and he could have stayed there forever, swimming, but —

— his head jerked up as he heard the knock on the door, which was being held closed by his and Blair's substantial combined weight. Jim looked at Blair, but Blair had closed his eyes and was inhaling violently, still lost in the kiss, still swimming. Jim yelled, "Hang on a fucking minute!" and then nudged Blair, who opened his eyes.

"Listen," he said in a heated whisper. "Get your stuff. Leave quickly. Take the elevator. I'll meet you home," and Blair looked at him and blew out a breath and nodded, once, to show he understood, that he was ready.

Jim stepped back quickly, and Blair grabbed the handle and hurled the door open and strode out past a surprised Detective Brown, yelling back over his shoulder, "You are such an asshole!"

"You want to get killed, it's your funeral!" retorted Jim loudly. He turned to the sink and washed his hands and face in cold water as Brown walked in and let the door shut behind him.

"Don't be so hard on the kid," said Brown, moving toward the urinal.

"He has to learn," said Jim, reaching for a paper towel. "If he keeps putting himself into dangerous situations, he's gonna get hurt." Jim crumpled the used paper towel, tossed it in the trashcan, and stepped out into the hallway, crossed back to Major Crimes.

"Where the hell is he?" asked Jim, exasperatedly, looking around the bullpen for the man he knew wasn't there.

Rafe looked up. "He just left."

"I'll kill him, I really will," said Jim, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. "Tell Simon I had to leave."

"Will do," said Rafe, and Jim walked angrily down the hallway, and pushed through the door to the stairwell — and once through he began running, taking the steps two at a time, down and down to the garage.

The parking spot next to the truck was already empty, and Jim quickly started the truck and took off. He sped across town with a light heart; he was nervous, he was excited — he was, he reflected wryly, probably out of his mind — but he didn't care.

He was going to Tahiti.

He parked sloppily, but he was distracted by the sight of the Corvair, parked several spaces ahead. He jumped out of the truck, pushed quickly through the glass door of his building, and considered the elevator momentarily before opting for the stairs.

The door to the loft was ajar, and he quickly strode in and slammed the door shut behind him. And then Blair was there, Blair was in his arms, feeling hot, heavy, substantial. This time Blair pushed him against the closed door, and he felt Blair's fingers scrabbling at the hem of his sweater and then Blair had grabbed both the sweater and the underlying shirt and was yanking them up, over Jim's head, and they turned inside out and flew through the air and landed on the floor.

Jim ran his hands down the sides of Blair's body as Blair gripped his biceps, bending his head to kiss Jim's chest. Blair's warm, wet mouth found a nipple and he sucked, sliding his hands down to caress Jim's sides, and Jim let his head fall back, overwhelmed by the sensation. He groaned as Blair turned his attention to Jim's other nipple, circling it with his tongue.

When Blair lifted his head Jim grabbed his shoulders, and then began working to remove Sandburg's many layers of clothing. Blair, shining with excitement, let him do it.

"Bed," Blair said.

"Mine's bigger."

"Mine's there," and Jim found that to be a pretty compelling argument. He pulled the last shirt over Blair's head and then began propelling him backward, through the door to his room, toward the bed that was there.

"You know what you're doing?" Jim asked, nimble fingers unbuttoning Blair's chinos.

"Yeah, you?" replied Blair, pushing Jim's hands away, stripping his pants and underwear off quickly.

"Yeah," said Jim, unzipping himself, and then his breath caught at the sight of Blair naked, Blair hard, and his hand stopped still.

Blair smiled and lay down on his bed, waiting, inviting.

"You're fucking beautiful," said Jim, frankly.

"Move faster," said Blair, urgently, and Jim blinked and quickly got out of his clothes. "Oh man," Blair said as Jim crawled next to him, "how did we miss this?"

Jim ran greedy hands down Blair's torso — across his chest, down his sides, across his abdomen, and then reached down to slide an appreciative fist over Blair's erection. "The women?" he asked, feeling his own cock jump sympathetically as Blair moaned.

"I like women," admitted Blair, arching into Jim's hand. "I like men. I love you, man — god, please don't stop."

"How much?" teased Jim, beginning to stroke him, delighted at his partner's sexual responsiveness.

"Very much," said Blair raggedly. "Maybe too much. God, I could come just looking at you, just from being here with you," he whispered, reaching out to roll Jim's nipples between his fingertips.

"Could be the novelty factor," said Jim, running a hand over Blair's abdomen. "I'm possibly the only person left in Cascade that you haven't slept with."

"Mmmm, maybe not an accident, that," said Blair, panting. "Repression. Sublimation. Theory: if I can't have you, I'll have everyone else. Oh god," he moaned suddenly, pinching Jim's nipples as Jim stroked him harder, faster, more intensely. "You're good — god, you're so good!..."

"Considering I'm out of practice," whispered Jim, fighting for concentration as Blair's hands circled and smoothed his tortured nipples and slid down his muscled chest. "Maybe not an accident either," he added, closing his eyes. "Theory: if I can't have you, I'll have no one else," and he tightened his grip on Blair's erection possessively.

"Good," hissed Blair. "Good. No one else. Touch me, Jim," he said, letting his head fall back, spreading his legs unselfconsciously. "Touch me — touch me, please," he begged, and Jim felt a primal, all consuming desire grip him as Blair spread himself open for him, and it was all happening so fast, so very very goddamn fast — and the plane was speeding, just speeding to Tahiti because hell Blair was a world traveler, wasn't he? —

(oh yeah)

— and Jim could read ever moan, every twitch, every thrust — he could gauge it all and read Blair like a map and he was already varying the speed of his strokes — raising the stakes while refusing him the orgasm — not yet! not yet! — he was going to make this so good for Blair, he was going to make Blair, yes he was, absolutely, going to make him and make it good and if he hadn't been the first he was going to be the last, the very last, because Blair had taught him to control his senses, and they were under control, he had them under control now and it was a good thing that Blair had already done so much, already taught him so much, because he was going to use his senses to drive Blair Sandburg out of his brilliant goddamn motherfucking mind.

He looked down at Blair's body, at the beautiful body which was exposed to him, offered to him, muscles tight and twisting, clenching, writhing as he thrust his hips up, at the hard, smooth, purpled cock in his fist, at the nimble, square fingers pulling at the silver nipple-ring, at the whorishly wide-spread thighs, at the dark, pink-brown pucker beckoning for his touch — and Jim reached for the drawer of Blair's bedside table, and he was excited and he yanked too hard and the drawer came flying out of the table and crashed upon the floor, and he clenched Blair's cock tightly at the base, to stop him from moving, to stop him from coming while he leaned off the bed and felt blindly in the drawer on the floor, searching for lubrication — and he blinked, startled, because there didn't seem to much of much in this world that wasn't in that drawer, and his hand fished quickly through the condoms and the handcuffs and some leather something and little metal thingies and something that felt like Saran Wrap and the headphones and the barf bag and the peanuts and the goddamned inflight magazine and his hand finally closed upon a tube of lubricant, and he sat back up and unscrewed it with one hand dexterously and squeezed a bit out on his fingertips before letting the tube fall to the bed.

He began stroking Blair's erection again as he ran strong, slick fingers across Blair's ass, then returned to massage his opening, circling, circling the ridged flesh firmly, gently, and Blair was bucking, helpless, moaning his name — but Jim wouldn't let him come, not yet, not yet, because he did have something to prove when all was said and done — and then he probed the guardian muscle with one finger and pushed in, slid in deep, as deep as he could into that burning hot space, penetrating Blair, Blair's beautiful body — and Blair thrust back, began fucking himself wildly on Jim's finger — then fingers — and Jim gasped and wrenched his dials down, because watching his partner (lover?) fucking himself so eagerly, watching his own fingers slipping in and out of Sandburg's body (in and out of Sandburg's body), feeling the soft sponginess of Blair's prostate against his fingertips — this had suddenly pushed him to the very edge of his own pleasure and he had to forcibly hurl himself away from that edge, had to dial everything the fuck down, or he would come, and this was not what he wanted. Yet.

But Blair was begging now — not with words, he was long past words — but with his pleasure-confused body, with incoherent pleading screams, and Jim thought, suddenly: "okay" and changed his grip on Blair's erection so that Blair could thrust into his hand as he pleased, could get himself off finally, and when Blair realized that he had been given permission, his body became a blur — explosive, rocking, pounding — and then he was coming, spraying white-hot semen over Jim's fist into the air, and Jim's stomach tightened sympathetically and he actually felt a little guilty because Sandburg was coming so hard, so hard that Jim was a little afraid for him, and he thought suddenly that he'd overdone it, that Blair might hurt himself, because it was taking so long, and he was still so tense, stretched so tight, so taut, taking so long — before Blair finally gasped and relaxed and exhaled and melted back down onto the bed.

Jim milked Blair's cock lovingly, reassuringly, as Blair sank back into the bed, still shuddering, and his fingers were still in Blair's ass and he continued to fuck him gently, in and out, feeling the echoing spasms ripple through the muscle. He looked down at Blair and Blair looked up at him through pleasure-fogged eyes and Blair was gone, Blair was there, Blair had arrived and was buying souvenirs and writing postcards, and Jim milked his cock and fucked him gently with his fingers, caressing him inside and out, taking possession, touching what was his, handling what was his, because Blair was his now, and Jim felt Blair's body tremble and open for him, thrum for him, respond instinctively to him because Blair was his now. Blair knew him now, Blair's body knew him now, Blair knew his hands now (and his mind now and his heart now) and Blair would not be able to go back. He knew Blair and Blair would not be able to go back. He would see to it that Blair couldn't go back. He could see to it.

Because Blair was his to love and keep and touch, his to handle, and he could certainly handle Blair, he was perhaps the only one who could handle Blair. And as he looked down into Blair's pleasure-fogged eyes, he wondered if Blair had known. How much Blair had known. When Blair had known. Maybe not an accident, that. And Blair shivered under his hands, and he was pleasure-fogged, waterlogged, and Jim hadn't let up, wouldn't let up, because he liked Blair like this, and Blair was his to keep like this, Blair was his to keep and handle and he would handle him, always, he could handle him because Blair was his now, his now —

(and it was time, now)

— his to keep and touch — (and if he hadn't been the first he was going to be the last) — (make it good) — keep and touch and handle — (Blair knew his hands now) —

(and he looked at Blair and slowly turned his dials up)

— handle Blair — (control his senses) — (can't go back) — (control) — (the very last) — keep and touch — Blair — (pleasure-fogged and waterlogged, so fucking beautiful) —

(and Jim gave himself permission)

— love and keep — (taking possession) — (touching his) — Blair — (make this good for Blair) — (Blair taught him) — (control) — handle Blair — ("I ask you to") — love Blair —

(and the world swam and turned white as the dials spun up, way up)

— ("I just wanted to see what would happen.") —

(white blue ocean hotsoveryhotitwasin)

— (out of his goddamn motherfucking mind) —


— THE END —  

The End