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James Ellison was in a bad mood ("Nothing new about that!" shrieked a small part of his brain, which only contributed to his surliness). He hated this time of the year; slush and snow and cold and relentlessly cheerful music blared from relentlessly decorated stores staffed by relentlessly perky clerks and jammed with relentlessly frenzied shoppers. It was enough to give a Sentinel a migraine and a half. He viciously twisted the key in the lock of his front door and shoved it open, hoping for nothing more than blessed peace, a very-bad-for-him dinner of highly caloric foods, a beer, and a football game on TV. Instead, he sneezed. Explosively. Then sneezed again, this time taking the top of his head off. "Bless you." When his eyes focused, Jim managed to focus on the person who had spoken: his roommate and source of many unfulfilled pornographic fantasies, Blair Sandburg -- who was standing precariously on a chair and hanging something from the rails of Jim's loft bedroom. Evergreen wreaths. Oh, joy. "Sandburg, what in the hell are you.... you... oooh... ah-CHOOO!" "Bless you!" Blair turned this time, frowning at him. "What's the matter, you coming down with something?" "It's.... it's... oh, shit... the -- theaahhhh-CHOO!" Jim bent over to sneeze again then looked up, glaring at his roommate. "It's the wreaths, Einstein!" Blair stood still for a moment, regarding his nearly-incapacitated roommate -- and source of many unfulfilled pornographic fantasies -- then stepped off the chair and walked to him. Helping him to stand up straight, he patted the bigger man's shoulder soothingly. "Jim. It's not the wreaths," he said, helping Jim out of his coat and hanging it on the hook by the door. "Ye-yess it is..." Jim stuttered, batting away the younger man's helpful hands. "I can smell... ahhh... ahh..." avoiding another earth-shattering sneeze, Jim pressed his finger firmly up against his nose. It didn't, however, stop his glare at his partner. "It's not the wreaths, Jim," Blair insisted gently. "It can't be." When Jim tried angrily to interrupt, Blair overrode him. "They're fake, man. Fake. I wouldn't bring real evergreens into an enclosed environment like the loft, not with your senses." Fake. The wreaths were fake. Blinking against the tears still swimming in his eyes, Jim focused on the hangings and realized Blair was right. They were fake. Then what...? "I think we've got something else going on here," Blair was saying quietly, still rubbing Jim's shoulder soothingly. "I didn't do any decorations last year, because, well, I hadn't been living here that long and we were both pretty busy. But this year I thought I'd cheer the place up a bit." "Cheer it up?" Jim snarled, once again shaking off the hand on his shoulder and stalking into the kitchen for a beer. "More like cheapen it up. Clutter it up." Twisting the cap off the bottle, he chugged half of it down immediately. Blair crossed his arms and leaned against the island, studying his partner through narrowed eyes. "What?" Jim barked. "Don't look at me like that, Sandburg. I feel like some lab rat under your microscope. I didn't ask you to quote-unquote decorate the place, did I?" "Yeah, we definitely have some issues to resolve here," Blair murmured. He ignored the poisonous glare shot at him and continued thoughtfully. "I think I see where this is headed, too. How long has it been since you actually celebrated Christmas, Jim?" "What the fuck difference does that make?!" Jim bellowed, throwing the beer cap into the garbage with rather unnecessary force. "Look at yourself, Jim," Blair said, still in the same low, even tones. "You're flying off the handle here. You're having a psychosomatic allergic reaction to something that cannot possibly affect you. You've been a snarky, grouchy bear for the last month. I think you need to figure out why all this is happening." "Goddamn psychology minor," Jim muttered, stalking into the living room. ...Which was a mistake, as the first thing he saw upon leaving the kitchen was the Christmas lights adorning the balcony windows. He sneezed again, nearly spilling his beer. Blair was instantly at his side, solicitous, patting his back, speaking to him soothingly. With a sigh and a grumble, Jim allowed it, damning himself for a weak fool. "Chief, I'm sorry, but I'd really rather you hadn't done all this," he finally said aloud, waving at the loft in general while trying to keep the whine out of his voice. "I just don't like the holiday, okay? The artificiality, the forced cheerfulness, the overdone consumerism-gone-nuts. I would have thought you would agree with that! And anyways, aren't you Jewish?" Jim interpreted the twist to Blair's lips as a grin being forced back, and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's true," Blair said, his voice holding only a hint of the mirth he was obviously feeling. "The holiday has become secular and completely over-commercialized, not at all what it was intended to be." After a beat, Blair continued, more slowly, looking at Jim shrewdly. "Which was, of course, meant to celebrate a birth, to be a time of reflection, of giving thanks, of being with family..." Jim sneezed and Blair let the grin he had been holding back blossom. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, Jim noisily blew his nose while glaring at the younger man, who was attempting to maintain a contrite expression and failing miserably. "Okay, what," Jim finally said, defeated. His mirth fading at the look on Jim's face, Blair smiled in apology at his partner, fortunately unaware of what said smile did to said partner's heartbeat. "It's because of what happened in your family, isn't it?" he asked quietly. "That's why you hate all this stuff. I should have thought about that. I'm sorry, man." "Awww... Chief," Jim said softly, hanging his head. He sighed. "Okay, I suppose you're right. It's... it's hard to have a good time with your family when you basically don't have one." Raising his head after a moment, he studied Blair's sympathetic expression, realizing to his chagrin that everything Blair had said about his mood was true. "You can keep the decorations up. I don't mind," he finally said, a tacit apology, and forced a small but genuine smile. Blair reached up and touched Jim's cheek gently. "You know, I consider us family now," he whispered, then quickly clamped his mouth shut as if to catch or recall the words. Over the lump in his throat, Jim chuckled weakly and said, "What kind of family, Chief? The Bunkers? No, I got it, the Connors." Blushing slightly, Blair shook his head firmly. "Uh-uh, no way, man, I refuse to be Roseanne!" Firmly pushing aside his melancholy, Jim reached for Blair. "Oh come on, Sandburg, at least you got the hair for it!" Blair danced out of his way, laughing, but Jim was quicker, and soon had him trapped in a corner of the loft, both of them breathless from laughing. The noogie Jim had intended on pressing into his partner's head morphed somehow into a caress, as he looked fondly down into Blair's beautiful, flushed face. "Thanks," he said, noting without surprise that the bad mood and the headache he had come home with were gone. "Welcome. Tell you what, we'll make our own traditions. Hey, Jim?" Blair asked huskily, licking lips suddenly gone dry. Jim caught his breath. "Yeah, Chief," he murmured, nearly zoning on the scent and feel of the man pressed against him. "Family... traditions..." he continued, sweeping Blair's hair behind his ear. "Jim?" "Yeah?" "I'm tired of waiting." "Oh?" "I'm going to kiss you now." "Oh. Okay." One of Blair's arms snaked around Jim's neck and gently pulled the taller man down. Hesitating only an instant, Jim allowed his head to be lowered, and suddenly his lips hovered over Blair's. Each man had his eyes open and locked on the other's, searching for signs of reluctance, fear, revulsion... but all either of them saw was anticipation and a fiercely gentle love. Blair gave a small gasp of wonder and delight as their lips met. It should have been different, Jim thought giddily. It wasn't what he had dreamed of. It was better. Impossibly soft lips caressed his sensuously, and taste... oh, God, the taste... One of Jim's hands was still tangled in Blair's hair -- the other was resting on his shoulder. Blair had one arm still around Jim's neck and had wrapped the other around his waist, and as heads tilted and lips parted and the kiss deepened, hands clenched and bodies tried to crawl into each other, and someone -- Jim wasn't sure if it was him or Blair -- moaned, the sound only increasing his incredible arousal -- and someone knocked on the door. Their lips didn't want to let go. It was as if someone had super-glued Blair to Jim at the face (and chest and hips and legs and groin and boy-howdy wasn't THAT one good) and not only didn't he mind, he didn't care. Whoever it was knocked again, and the moan this time came from both throats as tongues were withdrawn and mouths parted. Blair's expression gave new meaning to the term 'shell-shocked' and Jim was pretty sure it was mirrored on his own face. "Wow," Blair whispered, still clutching Jim. "Yeah," Jim replied, noting Blair's heartbeat and respiration were off the charts. Well, hell, so were his. There were magnets in their lips. That was the only explanation Jim could imagine to explain why his head began descending once again towards Blair's. The persistent guest knocked again. "Damn," Jim said. "Let's just ignore whoever it is," Blair countered breathlessly. "C'mon Ellison, I know you're there, open the damn door," Simon bellowed from the hallway. "Fuck." They said it simultaneously, then both chuckled, and reluctantly hands loosened on clothing and skin. "Go into your room, but flush the toilet first," Jim instructed, breathing deeply to try and calm himself. All it did was make him harder as a wash of their pheromones swept through him and he staggered. Blair steadied him, then sped away on stockinged feet, realizing instantly what the strategy was. A few seconds after the French doors closed, Jim pulled his shirttails out of his pants and opened the door. "Sorry, Simon," he said, making a show of tucking his shirt back in. "Isn't the kid here?" Simon said, looking around the loft. "He's in his room," Jim said, deliberately turning his face away so that Simon couldn't see any blush -- or kiss-swollen lips. "What's up? You want a beer?" "No, no..." Simon said, frowning. Jim hoped he wasn't suspecting anything. "I just came by to drop this off. For Christmas. I'm leaving early in the morning, you know." "Oh, yeah," Jim said, accepting the wrapped gift. It was shaped like a bottle and sloshed, and he grinned. "Gee. I wonder what it is? Thanks, Simon." Simon chuckled. "Busted. It's for you and Sandburg. I think you'll like it. And I want you both to take some time off this holiday, all right? You've got the time. Use it." Rolling his eyes, Jim said, "Yes, sir. Actually --" he coughed a bit, setting the bottle carefully on the counter -- "I was going to request it. This year. Because you're right. Do you need a ride to the airport?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly. Simon opened his mouth to reply, the puzzled look still on his face, but was interrupted by Blair coming out of his room. Instantly, the mood changed in the loft as Jim's eyes seemed drawn to those of the younger man. Simon's frown became thunderous. Jim figured that if he could tear his eyes from Blair's, he would be able to see smoke coming out of Simon's ears. Blair came to stand on the opposite side of the island from the two men, barely acknowledging Simon's presence for all he spoke to him. "Hi Simon, sorry, I was... I mean, I didn't hear you knock." Simon Banks was a Captain, a former detective, a college graduate. He didn't need a hammer to his head. The frown slowly disappeared, replaced by a blink and a knowing grin. Neither member of his best detective team seemed to notice. "No, Jim, I've got the airport covered. But thanks for the offer. Now I need to be going. Merry Christmas, you two." Turning he walked to the door, realizing as he reached it that neither man had moved. The grin became incandescent. "Yeah, it's gonna be a good one this year," he muttered. "I can see my own way out, don't worry about me, happy holidays, gentlemen." Laughing, he closed the door behind him. Jim could hear him laughing all the way down the stairs to his car. "I think we blew it," Jim said ruefully to his partner. "I think I don't care," Blair replied, the gleam in his eye the only warning Jim had before the shorter man was around the kitchen island and pushing Jim back against the counter. "Goddamn, Ellison, why didn't you tell me you could kiss like that?" "You never asked," Jim had time to gasp before his mouth was taken over ruthlessly by Blair's. This kiss had absolutely nothing tentative about it; it was strong and demanding and Jim loved it. His cock went 'spung!' and somehow his hands found their way back into Blair-hair to hold on tightly. When they began actually humping each other against the kitchen counter, a last shred of sanity appeared to rescue the laminate and they managed to pry apart. "Couch," Jim gasped, and Blair, beyond speech, nodded, grabbed Jim's hand and yanked him into the living room. They reached the back of the white sofa before rationality fled; Jim wrenched Blair around and took his mouth with a demanding moan and Blair wrapped his arms tightly around Jim and both attempted to excavate each other's tonsils, and they lost their balance and ended up falling over the back of the sofa with a whump (which was much better because now they were horizontal on a soft surface and Jim decided this was great) and Blair's mouth left his and began chewing its way towards his neck and someone knocked on the door. "Ignore it," Blair growled, latching onto Jim's throat. Eyes rolling back into his head, Jim whimpered again. "Oh, Christ, it's Mrs. Dunleavey. I can smell those butter-nut cookies she makes." Blair let go of his neck with a sigh and dropped his head back on the couch. "Shit." Disentangling himself, he reluctantly climbed off the couch and smoothed back his hair. "You stay there," he ordered Jim, "and don't even think about moving. I'll be right back." Muttering something about 'Grand Central Station' Blair staggered to the door. Jim watched appreciatively from the back of the sofa, grinning. He had never seen this demanding, dominant side of Sandburg and he thought he liked it. Laying his head back on the sofa, he let his mind drift on thoughts of restraints and forceful lovers... "MRS. D!" Blair bellowed as he opened the door. "HOW NICE TO SEE YOU!" "Hello, Blair dear," the small, bent woman replied, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss Blair's cheek. "I have the cookies I promised you, and a fruitcake for Jimmy as well. Is he here?" Jim popped his head over the back of the sofa and grinned. "HI, MRS. DUNLEAVEY!" he yelled, waving. "Oh, hello Jim dear. My, I hope I didn't bother you boys. I just needed to drop this off." "NOT A PROBLEM, MRS. D!" Blair yelled. "AND I HAVE THAT APPLE CIDER YOU WANTED TOO!" "So thoughtful of you, Blair!" she said, relinquishing her two bundles. "The stuff they sell at the store is just not as good, you know. When I was a girl, we used to drive out to the orchards..." Flopping back on the sofa, Jim grinned ruefully. It was a plot, he just knew it. When Mrs. Dunleavey began talking about her girlhood, she could keep yammering all night. Maybe he was being punished for being such a Scrooge these past several Christmases. But no more, he thought, grinning. Now, he had a family -- in the unlikely personage of one Blair Sandburg. He, Jim Ellison, poster-boy for straight America, was not only contemplating a homosexual relationship, he was eagerly looking forward to it. That is, if it ever started. Mrs. Dunleavey seemed to be winding down, but voices in the lobby made him groan and pull a sofa pillow over his face. As the voices neared, he reluctantly got off the couch and straightened his clothes and hair. Blair threw him a puzzled look, which turned to panic as he heard the elevator doors open. "It's Joel and Rafe," Jim said with a wry smile. "Shit," Blair said, well aware that Mrs. Dunleavey would never hear him. "I'm never getting into your pants tonight, am I?" he moaned. Draping his arm around Blair's shoulders, Jim squeezed him gently. "MRS. D! LET ME INTRODUCE TWO OF OUR CO-WORKERS TO YOU!" he yelled at the tiny woman. She turned, expectant, to see a puzzled, large black man and a grinning, dark-haired white man standing in the door. "Oh, my, I've interrupted you and your guests," she said, fluttering. "NO, IT'S ALL RIGHT," Jim reassured her, introducing Joel and Rafe to his and Blair's elderly neighbor. Catching on quickly, both detectives bellowed cordial greetings. The odd conversation continued for a few more minutes before the little woman left, clutching her half-gallon of fresh apple cider tightly and blushing from the kisses bestowed upon her by both residents of the loft. "NICE... I mean, nice lady," Joel said, having trouble switching gears. "Yeah, she's a real peach," Jim said shortly, closing the door but NOT offering to take either man's coat. "What do you want?" Rafe looked at Joel, and both looked at Blair, who simply crossed his arms over his chest and looked at them. Joel looked at Rafe again. "Sorry if we interrupted," Rafe finally said, hesitantly. "But we got a bit of a crisis going." "Simon said neither of you had pulled the Christmas Day duty, and Mike Polen, from burglary? He sprained his wrist and can't play when we go caroling at the children's hospital," Joel said, looking between the two men, frowning in puzzlement. "So we were hoping Blair... and you too, Jim... could come and help out...?" Slowly, as Rafe looked between the two of them, he came to the realization that neither man was paying the least amount of attention to either him or Joel. Instead, their eyes were locked on each other, and the hunger Rafe saw took him aback. A grin began to form on his face that was lovely to see. "Okay, yeah, we can do that," Blair said quickly, and Jim agreed, equally quickly. Rafe figured that at that moment, he could ask them to jump off the Narrows Bridge and they would have agreed without comment. "Great!" Joel said, clueless and confused. "We're going to meet at the hospital, in the front lobby, at 2:30." "Bring your guitar, Blair," Rafe added, then grabbed Joel's arm. "We've really got to be going now, don't we Joel? Lots of stops to make." "Huh? But... but..." Winking at Blair, Rafe hustled Joel out of the loft, whispering in his ear as he did so. Jim could have listened in had he wanted, but Blair's parted lips had caught his eye and all he could do was stare, hungrily. "Are they gone?" Blair whispered as the door snicked shut. Reaching out, but never taking his eyes from his partner, Jim flipped the deadbolt. "Yeah," he said. One step and he had Blair in his arms, almost throwing him up against the wall next to the door and he was grinding his now-aching erection into Blair's as he buried his face into the younger man's neck. "Oh yeah... yeah..." Blair was mumbling as Jim gently bit and worried at his earlobe. "Want you so bad..." "Need you Blair... need you..." Jim muttered, sticking his tongue in Blair's ear and hearing the other man hiss in sensation. Blair wrapped his legs around Jim's waist and squeezed, trying desperately to crawl into Jim's mouth, which was now fastened tightly on his, and their bodies began moving, unconsciously, sending surges of electric sensation up and down two spinal columns and two cocks swelled even further, and two throats moaned and whimpered and someone knocked on the door. "GO AWAY!" Blair bellowed, ripping his mouth from Jim's. "Blair? Sweetie?" A woman's voice responded from the other side of the door. "Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck..." ---------- Naomi Sandburg wasn't stupid. She played stupid from time to time, when it suited her, but she hadn't borne and raised a genius child without reason. She had recognized her son's voice, and known he was standing near the door, and heard the murmurs and rustles and then receding footsteps. She expected to have interrupted her son while he was entertaining. So it was a surprise to find him opening the door for her, looking quite disheveled but alone. "Mom!" he said, his voice torn between irritation and pleasure. "Why didn't you call? Where have you come from?" Hugging him tightly, Naomi beamed. "Hello sweetie, oh it's good to see you! I'm sorry I didn't call, but I'm only here for a moment. Really." A muted groan from somewhere in the loft made her frown and look around. "Was that Jim? Is he okay?" As she spoke, Jim Ellison walked down the stairs from his loft bedroom, obviously having just changed into the sweats and t-shirt he wore. His hair was mussed and his face flushed -- rather like Blair's, now that Naomi thought about it -- and his smile as he greeted her was somewhat forced. "Naomi. How... wonderful to see you again." She eagerly embraced him, saying, "Oh Jim, hello! I can only stay a moment, but I wanted to see if I can come back for the holidays. I'm heading up to Vancouver to see Millie, you remember her sweetie, she's..." Suddenly, the penny dropped, and Naomi's voice staggered to a halt. Her son and Jim were looking at each other as if they were each laid out in a feast... and neither had eaten in years. "Oh. Oh, my." Blair wrenched his eyes from Jim's and looked -- really looked -- at his mother's face, which at the moment was imitating a fish's. "Damn. Look, Naomi, it's not..." "Oh finally!" she cried, and threw her arms around her son, hugging him joyfully. "What took you so long? Come here, Jim, let me kiss you again, I'm just so happy for you...!" Jim allowed himself to be hugged and kissed again, looking over Naomi's shoulder at Blair in puzzlement. "Uh, Naomi, you're happy... for... us?" Blair closed his eyes in defeat. Smiling the trademarked impish Sandburg smile at the big man, Naomi glared fondly at him. "Jim, Jim... I was beginning to despair, you know. But now... you're together... and it's Solstice...and... and... I'm just so happy for you!" Jim swallowed heavily, and tried to catch Blair's eye... failing miserably. "Well... uh... yeah... uh... excuse me for a moment would you Naomi?" He fled to the bathroom. ---------- From his position, huddled miserably on the toilet seat behind a locked bathroom door, Jim tried to figure out where in his life he had messed up so badly that he deserved an evening like this. He could hear Blair and Naomi talking in the other room, but refused to listen in. "All I wanted," he thought to himself, "was Blair. Well, Blair, naked. Well, actually, Blair naked in my bed. But that's not so bad, is it? After all... I lo... I lo...Shit. I can't even think it." Shortly, a soft tap roused him from his litany of woe; Blair at the door. "Jim? Um... Mom's getting ready to leave... You gonna be much longer, man?" "No, no... I'm coming out," Jim said, rising and flushing the toilet unnecessarily. The pun implied in that statement suddenly caught him and he choked back laughter. Slightly hysterical laughter, true, but laughter nonetheless. He opened the door to see Blair's anxious face waiting for him, and was struck anew at the beauty of the man. It was obvious that Blair was just as nervous about being 'a couple' around his mother as Jim was, and that reassured him. Before Blair could turn away, Jim gently tucked a wayward lock of hair behind his ear, and both men smiled at each other sweetly. "Whatever happens," Jim thought happily, "I'm going to be his." It was a slightly subdued Naomi who bid Jim and Blair goodbye, confirming again that it was fine to return to the loft in two days, at Christmas. Then the door was opened and she swept out of the loft, leaving two breathless men behind. Slowly, deliberately, Jim turned the deadbolt and put the chain on the door. Then he reached out and touched the switch that controlled half the lights in the loft, plunging it into semi-darkness. He turned his back on the door and faced the man who -- he hoped! -- would soon become his lover, and found Blair standing mid-way from the door to the couch, fidgeting nervously. "Kinda killed the mood, didn't she," Blair said softly, looking down at his argyle-clad feet. "We can get it back," Jim replied, but made no move. "Do you want to?" "Hell, yes." "Oh, good." The Sandburg Smile was back, brilliantly illuminating Jim's heart. "I -- uh..." "What?" Jim took one step forward, and stopped again. "I -- I don't suppose... I mean, do you... have you...uh...?" Blair looked hopefully at him, and Jim took another step. "Nope, never, and not a clue. You?" "Nope. Me either." "Guess this is one of those 'learn as you go' times, then." Jim took another step, and Blair backed up nervously. "I think I can wing it," Blair breathed, taking another step backwards and staring at Jim's mouth. "We've got really good incentive," Jim growled. "Yeah," Blair agreed, taking another step backward, unconsciously heading to the loft steps. "Blair?" "Yeah?" "I'm tired of waiting." Blair stopped and looked briefly surprised, then grinned widely. "Me too." Turning, he pelted up the stairs, pulling his shirt over his head as he went, Jim hot on his heels. Laughing, they tumbled together on Jim's bed and bounced, arms and legs already wrapping firmly around each other, mouths already fused. It didn't take long for bodies, denied satisfaction all evening, to return to previous levels of arousal. Moaning, they explored each other, gentling touches to caresses, tasting and feeling areas they had not been able to earlier. Jim began cataloging the differences between having Blair -- a hard, hairy man -- in his arms instead of a woman, but abruptly lost count when Blair yanked his shirt up and began licking his chest. Quickly the shirt was ripped off and tossed somewhere, and suddenly they were naked from the waist up, and it was really, really good. Jim ran his hands down Blair's back, letting his sensitive fingers seek out places that made his partner squirm. Blair finished exploring the massive edifice of Jim's chest and moved back up to his mouth, rolling them so he was mostly on top. Jim moaned as Blair's tongue slipped between his lips, and his hands dipped below the waistline of Blair's sweatpants, to cup his ass. Suddenly, all movement ceased. Panting, Blair peeled his mouth away from Jim's and looked down at the older man, uncertainty warring with passion in his eyes. Jim kept his hands where they were, but sought -- something -- in Blair's face to reassure him that the feelings were mutual, that this step would be welcome. "You look like some wild, debauched sprite," Jim whispered, and Blair smiled. "Debauched by the most amazing satyr in the forest," he replied. "I think we're both wearing too many clothes, don't you?" "Oh, absolutely." Jim slipped Blair's pants down over his butt and pushed them down to his knees, then rolled over so that Blair was flat on his back and Jim could remove the pants all the way. What he saw astounded him... Blair was more beautiful than he had ever imagined. Using one hand, he drew a line down Blair's chest, past a tightly nubbed nipple, through darkly curling chest hair to the evidence of the younger man's arousal, which was pearled with a drop of pre-come. Jim touching his finger to that made Blair arch and hiss; but Jim putting that damp finger in his mouth to taste nearly made Blair come. Desperate to hold himself off, Blair began playing with the drawstring of Jim's sweats, loosening it and pulling it down off sculpted hips. With a sultry smile, Jim helped, pushing the loose pants off and lying back. Blair took the invitation and heaved himself over Jim, mimicking the other man's actions before stretching himself out on top of Jim's body, his legs falling to either side, his cock suddenly brushing against its mate. "Oh God..." Jim groaned, his eyes closing as he fought for control. "This... this is good... oh, man... Jim..." "You taste... Chief, you taste so good, can still taste you, want you..." "There. YES! There! Ohhhhh..." Lifting himself on trembling arms, Blair looked down at Jim's face, twisted in passion, then looked further down, to their bellies, where their cocks rubbed against each other. The sight made his mouth go dry and his balls tighten. A gasp brought his eyes back to Jim's face, where he found Jim staring at him with an undefinable expression on his face. Their eyes locked, then suddenly their bodies took over. Jim arched and thrust, grunting in pleasure, and his hands locked over Blair's back, pulling him down. Blair's arms gave way and he found himself once again drowning in Jim's mouth, lost in sensation, reaching... The need to breathe broke the kiss, and Blair gasped into Jim's neck. "Good... this... oh God Jim..." "Blair..." Jim was almost there, it was coming like a freight train, he couldn't have stopped it for trying and he didn't want to try. His back arched; his face went rigid with ecstasy; he shouted "BLAIR!" and came explosively. When he felt the hot pulse of semen against his belly, Blair's eyes rolled back into his head, he whimpered and everything grayed out as he climaxed, adding to the mess of semen and sweat between them. Then he collapsed into Jim's shoulder. "I love you," he murmured, half-unconscious, and Jim smiled angelically, saying "I love you too" in groggy reply before passing out, and someone knocked on the door. But nobody answered.

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