Disclaimer: Children, what are you doing in here? Get out of here! It features sex and love between two men, one of whom is a modern primitive, complete with the requisite body piercings which play a large part in this story, along with themes of bondage and slavery/submission. If you don’t like that sort of stuff, or know you are too young for it, how did you find this page anyway? And why are you still reading?
Oh, and I don’t claim to own Jim Ellison or Blair Sandburg, or any of the other recognizable characters; I’m just borrowing them for a little storytelling. They are all owned by UPN and Pet Fly Productions, and they can have them back when I’m done. I promise not to do any permanent damage to the people I don’t own, but everyone else is fair game. I do, however, promise to abuse my overactive sexual imagination. Enjoy. Send comments to address above.
Blair collapses on top of me. “I love you, oh, god, I love you, Jim,” he sobs into my chest. His slowly softening cock slips out of my ass. My chest is covered with my own come. I can hear his heart beating erratically, still shaken by the intensity of our lovemaking.
Blair. My Blair.
What am I for being in love with you? A fool? An optimist? It doesn’t matter; it’s too late now. Too late to save my heart; I’m gone, and Blair is with me.
Blair rolls to the side, and sits up. I smile up at him. He looks fantastic in the afterglow of sex. Not just to the eyes; he smells different. Warmer, somehow. “Jim, what would you do if you walked in and found me in bed with someone else?” he asks sweetly.
I sit up with a slight growl. I can’t help it. “Are you asking my permission, or just telling me your plans?” Blair looks away coyly, with a light, sweet laugh that goes right to my heart.
Blair looks at me again. “I just want to know how you’d react.” Blair isn’t deterred from the course of his interrogation by my glowering face. So I get out of bed, fixing pillows, trying to find something to do with my hands. “Would you just be angry, or would you do something? What would you do if you could do anything you wanted to? No laws, no fear of retribution. What would you do?”
I’m furious, angry enough to kill at just the question, but I don’t want him to know that. “Why are you asking me this, Blair? What’s the point?”
Blair sighs, and rests his head on my pillow. “It’s just a reaction to everything that’s happened, I guess. Every relationship I’ve ever had has been open, and none of my other lovers ever seemed to care what I did or with who. I like it when you’re jealous; it makes me feel wanted. Special.”
I plant a soft kiss on Blair’s lips. “You are special, and you don’t need me to go into a psychopathic rage to know it. I’ll tell you every chance I get.”
He smiles. There’s something hidden deep in his eyes. “Well, could you tell me now? The way I want you to?”
“What do you mean?”
Blair looks up at me. “I know you’d be angry. Tell me what you’d do. Just say it, Jim. Please?”
His eyes are pleading with me to play along, but I can see there’s a deeper level to this game. I don’t know if I want to go in that deep. But I have to, in the end. I’ll go anywhere he asks, do anything he wants. And those soft blue eyes are too much to resist.
“Anything I wanted? Like in the old days when might made right?” Blair nods. “Blair, I’d kill them, whoever you were with.” Blair’s eyes light up, which I find rather frightening. Not as frightening as I find the sound of my own voice, saying those words. But it’s true. Blair is mine.
Blair can’t take his eyes away from my face. I can smell the first hint of arousal coming from him. “Why did you need to hear that?”
Blair kisses me instead of answering. The day we came home from the hospital, Blair followed me upstairs and lay down next to me. We just cuddled the first night. The night after that, we throughly explored each other. It was hard; I kept zoning out on his taste and his smell. Last night, he fucked me for the first time. He wanted me to try it tonight, but I love the way he feels inside me. And, I admit, I’m a little nervous. I don’t want to hurt him by accident.
“Why does it upset you that you get violently jealous over me?”
I shrug. I don’t know what he’s going after.
“I love you, Jim. All of you. The feral parts, the anal retentive parts, the goofy parts. I’m okay with your anger. I’m okay with your strength.” With a smile, he reaches out to caress my shoulder, trailing the muscles down my arm, until he’s holding my hand. “Actually, I’m more than okay with it.” I let him pull me back to the bed. “There’s nothing wrong with who you are, Jim. I love you.”
I smile when he says that. I like the sound of it.
“Please, Jim, I want you inside me.” And now, his voice had dropped to that sensual, almost-Guide register that makes my cock stand instantly at attention.
“Blair--”
“Please, Jim,” he begs, and kisses me. I can hear desperate hunger in his voice, and it’s making my cock even harder. I’m not too scared to do this, am I? I hope not.
We’re kissing, and I can taste myself and Blair, all mixed together. The warm metal of his nipple ring against my chest is always a shock, hidden underneath the mat of fur on his chest. I want to do this, but I know I'm not ready. “Maybe later,” I suggest. “Maybe we could work up to it.”
He sighs, but accepts it. He loves me. He knows I’m still not entirely comfortable with male/male sex. He knows I’m trying as hard as I can.
“In most ancient cultures -” Blair is sliding his hands along my body as he talks. Every inch of my skin becomes incredibly hypersensitive to his touch, and if I don’t focus on my breathing, I will zone out on that sensation alone. But when he talks in that husky, needy way, I risk losing myself in his voice as well. So he mixes them together, touching me and talking to me at the same time. “It was accepted that when a warrior risked his life to fight for his tribe, he had a right to the property and people that he conquered. It gave the defeated a position in society, rather than just being destroyed. It was just a normal part of war. It was expected.”
“It is right and proper to take slaves for one’s country?” I chuckle.
“Exactly,” Blair purrs. He snuggles closer to me. His fingers find the entrance to my body, still slick with his come, and he begins stroking his fingers in and out. “A warrior had to be willing to die to conquer the enemy; and in fighting, he set the value of the slaves that he would take at the end: his own life.”
I can’t really concentrate on what he’s saying; I can smell his desire. The air is thick with it. Blair turns me onto my stomach, and spreads my legs. His hand never leaves me.
“And in the end, the boundaries of ownership were never really clear. How could you sell a slave you almost died to capture? What price could you ask for a slave who was worth your life?”
He slides his fingers out, and his penis nudges gently at me, trying to get in. I open for him, relaxing my muscles and accepting this rock-hard intruder that gives me more pleasure than I ever thought possible. His other hand goes around the front, and he starts stroking me in time with his fucking.
He takes his time, slowly moving back and forth inside me, and his hand on my cock does the same. “Doesn’t this feel good, Jim? Don’t you think I want you to make me feel this way?” I push back, welcoming him. His strokes come faster and faster, until he freezes, and then it’s like rain in heaven, warm and unexpected, but oh so welcome. I moan his name when I come, a few seconds after he does.
He kisses the back of my neck, and then sinks down to the bed. He snuggles up to me, cradling himself against my back. “I want to,” I whisper.
“We’ll work up to it,” he promises me.
Blair stretches lazily, and I can feel his damp sweaty skin pull away from my back. “I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” he whispers into my ear, “either that, or I’m going to put a little dog tag on one of my body piercings.” He wraps his arms around me, using my shoulder as a pillow. I turn my head a little, to face him.
“Couldn’t you just wear a set around your neck, like a normal person?”
“Maybe a little Tiffany’s heart that says, ‘Property of Jim Ellison,’ on my navel ring.” Blair says dreamily.
I laugh, and Blair pulls me closer. “Stick with a tattoo.”
“Okay. Where should I put it? Butt? Behind the ear? Or maybe on my bicep, a big heart that says, ‘Jim,’ with an arrow through it.”
He’s cracking me up. Through my giggles, I look at him and see his dark eyes staring at me. “You’re serious.”
He nods.
“Why?” I don’t understand him. Love him? Yes. Need him? More than the air I breathe. Understand him? Not at all.
“So I don’t forget who owns me,” smiles Blair.
So that’s what this is about. Blair moves his hand down to caress my new erection, and then his head follows his hand, to give it all the attention he can manage.
Now he’s got me thinking seriously about it. “If it’s for ownership,” I whisper, “it should be somewhere you can’t see it, like on the back of your neck or your shoulder.”
Blair pulled his mouth away from my cock for just a second. “That would hurt.”
“Isn’t that part of the fun?” I grin. “It would only hurt for a little while. And you wouldn’t forget it was there.”
He’s considering it.
He’s doing it.
“He sure looks good, all spread out like that, doesn’t he?” the tattoo artist says admiringly.
I frown before I remember she’s a friend of Blair’s, and knows all about us. He does look good, though. Blair is sprawled on the bench, his shirt gone. His ass is tightly sheathed in his favorite jeans, and he smells delicious.
“Jim,” Blair laughs. But I can hear his heartbeat, hear how delighted he is with his power over me, and we are both aroused by it. “Let the nice lady work.” He reaches out for my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine.
“What is this symbol anyway?” the artist tries again.
“My name.” I try to say it without too much gloating, a hint of pride leaks through. The artist looks down at Blair, who is trying to find someplace comfortable to put his slowly growing erection. I let myself smile a little. “The spoils of war,” I explain.
The artist smiles. “Hail the conquering hero.” She picks up her needle, and starts to work.
Blair gasps at the first touch of the needle, and clutches my hand so tightly I know he’s going to leave a bruise. Fine by me.
I’m holding Blair’s hair out of her way, as she tattoos my warrior-mark on Blair’s back, just underneath his left shoulder blade. Right where my hand rests when we sleep, curled up together.
She changes color, and starts inking in the circle. Blair hisses under his breath, and I can hear him controlling his breathing. He’s trying not to come. I give his hand a gentle squeeze, whether to encourage his self control, or to drive him over the edge, I don’t know.
Either way, he shoots me a look of pure lust, then buries his head in the bench again, waiting patiently for the artist to finish.
Finally, she’s done, and Blair springs off the bench, and wraps his arms around me. “Take me home,” he growls, hoarse with suppressed need, “now.”
Who can argue with such a command? Blair was right about the lines of ownership. He’s willingly wearing my mark on his body, and I will eagerly obey his every command.
“I love you,” I say to him, and claim a fast, hard kiss before I bundle him up and lead him out of the shop. We have some work to do.
Here ends the strand where these all these lives intersect. But they do go on, in other stories, in other places.