How had this happened? It was a rhetorical question. Blair. He'd come up with a new test, which was why Jim Ellison was currently handcuffed to one of the metal kitchen chairs. Blindfolded and with the white noise earplugs on full. Barefoot and shirtless. Just as long as he doesn't take pictures and distribute them around Major Crimes.
He was pretty skeptical about this test. After all, how the hell was he supposed to learn anything without being able to see or hear? Apparently, Blair thought he should be able to process more through his sense of touch. Which was why he was handcuffed to the chair. 'With your hands out of the way you'll be able to focus more of your body.' Jim shook the cuffs, feeling the low thrum of the chain sliding across the hollow center post. Ditto for the blindfold and the earplugs. The later Blair had had to pull out once to explain when he decided about the shirt and shoes. 'Let's make this easier. You can learn to deal with the filtering effect after you've got the basics down.'
So now Jim Ellison was waiting handcuffed with his shirt pushed down to his wrists waiting to give Blair a play-by-play based on heat change, wind currents, floor vibrations and smell. As if the damn blindfold wasn't annoying enough. Where _did_ the kid get this thing? At first he'd thought it was from some magic set, as it was sort of quilted and satin on one side and velvet on the other. Now he could tell that between the two layers of fabric was a core of thin leather. 'Hey, can't have you cheating!'
"You are walking from the kitchen." More specific. As he concentrated, he really could track Blair. It was almost like he could see him eat the apple though he had only smell as evidence. "Okay, Darwin. Did I pass?"
He'd expected the earplugs to be removed. He did not expect the flutter across his bare bicep. "Okay, so the test isn't over." After identifying what seemed to be more than the entire contents of the loft, he was sure the test was over.
Heat. He definitely felt heat, but he couldn't identify the source. It wasn't a candle, or a mug of tea, or even an electric blanket. He should know now. What is that smell? Actually, as he thought about it, it wasn't new; just stronger. So was the heat. No, it's getting closer. Both. It was hard to separate but it was getting closer, faintly sidling forward. Then he felt a soft thud. What did Blair drop? One of the couch pillows would have made more of a breeze. And been louder.
Smell. Before he could place it, he felt the hot fluid hit his chest and start to run down his skin.
Jim sat up, grabbed some tissues and then headed downstairs for a shower.
End.
"Jim, I've got a short test to run." Blair finished carrying plates into the kitchen were Jim was already manning the sink. "Ten minutes, fifeteen tops."
"What is it this time?" Jim had learned not to protest these little interuptions into his routine. In the end he almost always gave in anyway, so why bother fighting?
"I've been thinking that we've been overfocusing on some of your senses. Letting others slide." Blair finished toweling the last of the dishes. "Take a seat at the table, and I'll get the stuff."
"Where _did_ you get this blindfold?" Actually, Jim often wondered where things for tests came from, including the ideas on occassion. More than occasionally.
"From a store. It's not like I have time to make everything." Blair waved hands in front of blindfolded Jim to make sure it was on firmly.
"Roll up your sleeves and put your arms on the table, backs down."
"So what is this test?" Jim flinched at the sudden sensation. It took a moment to recognize the acrylic plush being rubbed across his arm. "Stuffed animals are rarely weapons, Chief."
"Never know. Besides, not every test has to be cop stuff." Blair pulled out a few more objects out, plopping them into his lap. Jim still wasn't very good at seperating heightened sense-data without concentrating. "It's not like that is your whole life." He gently shook out the suede pompom, bringing it into contact with Jim's other arm moments after removing the piece of fun fur.
How big is that bag of tricks? Jim was still trying to figure out what had small metal studs, and that was after a Koosh and before the crepe de chein. Which was the last straw. "Chief, shouldn't I be touchingthe objects for this test."
"Uh, sure." Blair dropped some things into Jim's open right hand.
"Nuts?" Jim rolled the small metal bits in his hand, and then sat them down as a pile. Fishing swivels, ribbon, M&Ms and Skittles. "Thought you said ten minutes?"
A chair pushed back, footsteps, a tightness and then the blindfold was off. "Sorry." Blair gathered up the stuff and retired to his room.
End.
Seeing was not believing. As a matter of fact, seeing was disbelieving, because what Blair Sandburg was seeing was simply impossible. There was no way that Jim was kneeling naked in the loft, arms behind his back and close to his ankles.
That fact firmly in mind, Blair looked at the tableau before him. As if his roommate and best friend were simply a sculpture. The pose was one of submission, of supplication. Back straight, shoulders square, head lowered. Silently, Blair walked closer. Noticing the bonds. Stark against the pale skin. He stepped directly in front of Jim, virtually searching for chisel marks.
Eyes opened. Looking upwards at Blair.
Jim stretched forward, unbuttoning the fly with his lips and teeth. Blair closed his eyes, unable to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. Blindly resting his hands on, grabbing the shoulders before him. Rocking from his uncertain hold as he was drawn in and out. His orgasm was torn from him.
Shit. Blair looked down in the dark to see his hand still wrapped around his softening cock. Palm on top, outer fingers trailing the underside. Grabbing some tissues, tears silently started down his cheeks.
"What's taking so long?" It was really a silly question to ask, least of all because Blair would take exactly as much time to set up one of his tests as he needed. Like I could hear the answer. "You getting a kick out of this, Sandburg?" Think he uses the whitenoise earplugs to cover him laughing his ass off. Not that he really thought that. Maybe back at the beginning he would have. Before Blair had risked his life countless times. After that, what was straddling one of the kitchen chairs handcuffed, blindfolded and deaf?
First sample. Jim opened his mouth to the tongue depressor, sorting out the flavor of the wood. "Mashed carrots?" If you try strained spinach, the test is over. "Still mashed carrots." Another depressor load. "Blair, they're carrots." Calm down. He must be going for something. What if? "It isn't the carrots themselves." He focused more carefully, finally catching it. Trace compounds he generally tuned out if he was going to have any peace.
How many opened jars of peanut butter are in the kitchen? Jim faltered as the small morsel was pushed into his mouth, the tip of Blair's finger pressing on his lip. Apple. "Bradburn." Another piece pushed in. "Granny Smith." Another. "Macintosh." Another. "Blair, don't eat the rest of this one, okay?" He found himself being tapped under the chin until he spit it back out. In a moment a straw was stuck in his mouth and then he was tapped on the side of the cheek. Spit. "Okay, Blair, that's enough. It wasn't poisonous or anything." Not that they should buy any more from that orchard.
"Blair, really I'm okay." Oh, next part of the test. Trust the kid to slip in some of his sticks and leaves. In this part it was identifying blends and strengths of different brews. "And I bet you think this is good for whatever you believe is currently ailing me?"
Strawberry. Jim rolled it around, feeling the seeds against his tongue, before chewing it slowly and swallowing. Another berry. Again he rolled it around his mouth, sucking on it until it was pulp. Again, this time catching a finger in the process.
Jim woke up, drawing the index finger from his mouth. Man, I need some more interesting dreams than Blair's test of the day.
Blair was splayed against the couch, head lolling back and legs spread. Tonight, alone in the loft, with half a dozen projects demanding his attention, his thoughts clamored in his mind.
If it had been one, or even just a few dreams, he could have ignored them. But it wasn't, and they weren't just any dreams. In each and every one Jim Ellison starred, bound or chained. The things he imagined that mouth capable of... Fortunately, for his sanity, the dreams weren't completely one sided. "He's still bound. Even if you are sucking him off, instead of fucking his mouth." Blair pushed off the couch, wincing as jeans pinched hardening flesh.
Anyway, if that didn't make his nights bad enough, Jim kept wandering the loft nearly naked, as if he had no sense of smell. Sure, Jim probably assumed it was because Blair was in between girlfriends. "Which is his fault." Or rather the dreams' fault.
Blair had always liked the swell of women's breasts and their other differences. But with his last he kept comparing her with the hard bulk of his roommate. "And found her lacking." He knocked his head against the wall. She had a figure that had been gracing Indian temples for thousands of years. All curves and swivel, and still Blair wanted Jim.
"Fine. I've got to get this out of my system." Since there was no way that Jim would want him, Blair would have to use his imagination. After all, that was what got him into trouble, right? Grabbing one of the chairs from the table, he positioned it just so, giving himself plenty of room.
Shaking himself out, he took a couple of deep breaths, before starting a gentle sway. Going slow, he teased himself as if he had an audience. Keeping his eyes on the chair, he slipped first one and then another button through the holes. Flinging the outer shirts away, he pulled the last tee out of his pants. Pushing it up, he circled his navel with a thumb before carressing his chest. When he finally stripped it away he was hard; he could barely move more than to rock his hips. Rubbing a hand over the strained fly, he then worked to free his cock. "Yes." He pumped it a few more times before regaining enough control to continue by stripping down his jeans. Hands sliding up and down his thighs and ass, his dance became more frantic. Finally pulling his underwear away from his weeping cock, Blair cupped a ball in his hand. Rolling one and then the other, back and forth until he thought he'd burst, Blair feathered his fingertips up his belly to pinch his nipples. Then! as suddenly as every thing else had been slow, Blair gripped his cock. Thrusting madly, Blair came hard, dropping before the chair.
Out in the truck, Jim blinked. He had come home early, the stakeout successful almost before it was completely in place. As he had parked the truck, it had occured to him that Blair might be taking advantage of the empty loft. I should have left when it was clear that he was. Turning the key in the ignition, he pulled back out. He needed to think some about this little show. And his reaction to it.