Jim woke up to the sound of flowing water.
He'd slept like the dead. He was tired, he thought, from a long week at work; and from the drive to the cabin (the latter part of which had been pretty twisty); and from the nervousness of knowing he was going to be sharing a bed with his partner (back when he thought his partner was straight)...but these were rationalizations, and he knew it. He'd slept like the dead because he'd had the orgasm of his life, and because something about the nearness of Blair's heat and breathing and heartbeat calmed him to sleep like nothing else ever had.
So when he woke up with Blair curled against him, incipient erection nudging him in the hip, he wasn't exactly inclined to contemplate the sound of water.
He had better things to contemplate.
Like the fact that no, he hadn't dreamed it; they really had fallen into bed together. Granted, by the time they got to bed they were in a state of post-coital wonderment; they'd stood a moment under the shower, rinsing chemicals away, then towelled half-dry and tumbled into bed damp, and Jim at least had fallen asleep what seemed like only seconds later.
But his desire for Blair wasn't unrequited, and that thought filled him with a quiet elation.
And with no small amount of desire himself.
He rolled Blair onto his back; Blair murmured a half-hearted protest at losing his partner's warmth, but didn't seem to wake. Jim felt absurdly tempted to rub his hands together with glee, even though Blair wasn't awake to see the gesture; he was just looking so forward to this. He'd been imagining this for three years.
Jim bent and breathed gently over Blair's erection, which quivered enticingly, stiffening. He ran his lips along it - silky, smooth, warm in its nest of wiry curls - and Blair gave a soft sigh. And then Jim lifted it with one hand and guided it into his mouth, and Blair awoke. Immediately. With a groan they probably heard in Cascade.
Had Jim not been so engrossed in the taste and smell and feel of Blair, he might have been embarrassed that their hosts could undoubtedly hear this - but he shoved that thought to the back of his mind and returned his attention to his partner.
Whose hands were wrapped in the blanket, whose heart was pounding like timpani, and who was thrusting into Jim's mouth. So Jim held still and let Blair move for a minute, savoring the rhythm, the pulse and sway of it, the friction. He felt tears coming to his eyes, and remembered that giving head had always brought tears; not out of any outpouring of emotion, necessarily, just a physical reaction to the feel of cock nudging the back of his throat. God. It had been so long.
And then he decided enough was enough, and stilled Blair with one hand, and with the other reached around and ghosted a line along the cleft of his ass, and Blair stiffened and pulsed into Jim's mouth, a quiet "oh" ringing in Jim's ears.
As Jim wiped his eyes it occurred to him that there might be more to his tears than physical responses, but he pushed that thought away for another time.
He pulled himself up to Blair, who was lying there with his eyes closed and a blissed-out look on his face, which made Jim grin. Blair opened one eye, seemed to consider saying something, seemed to think better of it, grinned, pulled Jim close for a kiss and ran one hand down Jim's body to take firm hold.
Within a minute Blair was licking Jim's ear, both hands busied with stroking and pulling, and Jim was biting his lip not to whimper aloud. "You like that?" Blair whispered, and Jim felt himself grow harder in response to Blair's voice. "You like my hands there?" And then - imp! - his hands stilled. He was, Jim realized, waiting for a response.
"Yes," he gritted. "Don't stop."
Blair laughed quietly, hands returning to motion. Fingers traced over his balls, brushed his thighs, circled the head of his cock, touched the tiny indentation, smoothed the pearl of liquid there. "Now that we're not in the water I can feel how hot you are," Blair murmured, and Jim's mind returned to the hot tub, and in that instant he had an epiphany.
He knew what the sound of rushing water was: it was their hosts, draining the water out of the hot tub. The no-longer-clean water. The water they'd christened the night before.
The memory of their hot-tub tryst and the reality of Blair's hands (two? eight? ten? twelve?) teasing his cock were, combined, too much to bear: Jim bit back a shout and spurted all over Blair.
Some minutes later, snuggled together and impossibly sticky, Jim ventured speech. "Blair?"
"Mm-hmm," Blair said.
"I think they're draining the hot tub."
"Mm-hmm."
Jim could feel himself flushing. "We got it dirty."
"Mm-hmm."
"Not very good guest behavior."
Blair turned to face him. "You're - you're embarrassed!" He sounded gleeful.
Jim tried to scowl and failed miserably.
Blair's expression changed suddenly. "You're not...ashamed, are you? Of me, I mean."
Jim was horrified. "God, no! Are you out of your fucking mind?"
"Are you sure? I mean, this is a big change from..."
"...from the idiots I usually date?" Blair looked unconvinced. "Blair - " Jim took a deep breath. "It's been a while, but I've done this before," he admitted. "And I've wanted this - wanted *you*—all the time we've known each other."
Blair exhaled hard. "Okay. Good. I mean, me too. I was just - worried that maybe you were freaked out about it."
"I'm not freaked out about you; I'm freaked out about the fact that Susan is, as we speak, draining come-spattered water out of her formerly-clean hot tub and crowing with Katie about how much more convenient lesbian sex is," Jim said.
Blair's eyes widened. "You're kidding. They're really talking about us?"
Jim listened for a second. "Not kidding. Katie just said, 'yeah, the only time we had to clean this thing after sex was when you bought the raspberry-'" Jim flushed. "Never mind. Too much information."
"No way, man, keep going! I want to know!"
But Jim silenced him with a kiss. They'd face their hosts later. First they had to shower. And before that, they had to kiss just a little longer...
The End