Summer's day
"I could fuck you."
Jim grunted.
"Just a thought," Blair added, still staring at the sky.
Jim grunted again, and blew irritatedly at a grass stalk that kept drifting onto his face.
"Of course, you *could* fuck me," he said thoughtfully.
Jim swiped at the piece of grass that had drifted down again, brushing ticklishly against his cheek, and yanked it up by the roots.
"Murderer," Blair observed mildly. He plucked the stalk, root and all, from his hand, and flipped it away. He sighed contentedly, and tipped his head back against the tree to watch the clouds.
"Islands."
"Hunh?"
"Islands floating in a pink sea. That one's got a city, and there's an immense bay," he waved a hand widely, "sweeping round to reach out to those little islands off shore."
"Sunstroke." Jim observed to the grass. "Either make sense or shut up," he added kindly, opening one eye up at his delusional partner.
"Clouds. Sky. Island. Ocean."
"All very serviceable words, Sandburg. I repeat. Make sense or--"
"Shut up."
"Yeah."
"So the fucking's off then?" The voice was just the wrong side of mischief to be truly disconsolate.
"Everything's off," Jim mumbled, trying to get back to that pleasant dreaminess that had eased the blistering pressure of the afternoon sun.
"If everything was off, I can pretty much guarantee we'd be fucking."
Jim opened both eyes, winced at the bright light, and closed then again. "Whatever you say, Sandburg."
He could almost see the shit-eating grin on Blair's face, "*Really?!*"
Jim held up a warning hand, eyes still shut, "Sandburg, Blair, lover mine and demon incarnate, if you don't let me enjoy the one sunny day we've had this year I will be obliged to Do Something."
Blair sat up. "Really? Promise? And will it involve spanking, Huh? Huh?" He almost moved fast enough, and grinned admiringly into Jim's face. "That something you learnt in the Rangers, cap?" And then "yow!"
"I don't think I was ever forced to tickle someone to death in the Line of Duty," Jim said dead pan, "But I was taught *all* the ways to kill a man."
"-- or *whoop*-- woman--" Blair chastised as best he could between yelps as Jim found and worked yet another vulnerable spot.
"Or woman... although I understand that *this*," and he ran a gentle finger behind Blair's balls, "Is considered particularly unfair to women."
"Huh?" Blair said, confused.
"Not having them." Jim was pretty much losing the thread here too. Blair took the opportunity to tug at Jim's shirt, letting raw sunlight hit the winter pale skin. Jim rolled his shoulders, settling suffocatingly onto Blair's body. "That's good. Mmmh." A shiver ran down his back as his skin soaked up the heat.
"Mmmphf!"
He tucked his chin into Blair's hair and murmured sweetly, "Is there a problem, Chief?"
A hand swatted at his back, whilst the other slid into his shorts. Jim jerked as a cold, cold hand rested on his skin. "Chrissakes, it's *June*. How come your hands are always cold?" He leaned back a little and smiled at the red faced scruff that emerged.
"Cold hands, warm heart."
"Cold hands, bad circulation," he countered.
"Kiss me?"
"That's not an answer," but he did anyway.
"Hands warmer now," Blair said idly, a few minutes later, now resting on top of Jim, enjoying the heavy, sweat-inducing weight of Jim's arms on his back.
Jim just smiled. "Kiss me?"
"I always liked the idea of you in shorts," Blair mentioned, some time later.
Jim didn't answer, still waiting for his lungs to catch up with the oxygen being gasped into them.
"Though I can't say I ever saw *paisley* as your thing..."
Jim blinked at the same moment as Blair laughed. "Not your *thing* thing, you know, just your, um, fashion, or not, thing." He pinged the elastic waistband of said paisley shorts. "Not this thing." And again. Jim's hand came up to grip his wrist just as Blair went to 'ping' something else, and Jim dropped his grip.
Blair sighed, stroking Jim idly, head resting on firm stomach muscles, one eye open to admire the view. "I'd blow you, really I would, but I'm too comfortable."
Jim grunted, and twitched his hips into closer contact with Blair's hand.
"Hey! watch what you're doing to the pillow!" Blair lifted a little and prodded at Jim's tummy, as if fluffing it. He blew a hank of hair out of his face, and actually felt Jim twitch in his hand. He smiled, slowly, and blew again. Darn that hair, huh.
Jim's hand slid into Blair's hair, and started stroking in time with him, little catches in his breathing telling Blair everything he wanted to know. He softly blew again, and admired the way his breath barely swayed the hairs on his arm, and still managed to drag another little choke out of his partner's throat.
"I... love... you..." he whispered, breathily, and Jim groaned and came without warning, each word both tangible and intangible, and overwhelming. Blair lazily worked the sticky stuff into Jim's skin; and Jim slowly fell asleep in the sunshine.
Pages last updated 18/09/2004.