audrarose

The TS Ficathon is here!! Go to ts_ficathons for the master list!! This is my contribution:



Title: Touch You
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Character secretly a virgin. (I dare anyone to imply that the assignments weren't random. *g*)
Summary: It's snowing, they're running, Jim is sick, Blair is losing it. So of course they have to have sex. Twice.
Notes: Hated this prompt. Hated it. Luckily it was up to the author's interpretation. I used the word "virgin". Does that count? *g* Huge thanks to sori1773 and spikedluv (mortal enemy of the ellipsis *g*) for the beta. *hugs*

Touch You by Audra Rose

“No,” Blair said softly, coaxing the engine with a little more pressure on the gas pedal. “Come on, don’t do this.”

The hill was steep and slick with heavy, wet snow that dragged at the truck’s tires. Blair could feel the tread slipping on the pavement as the engine stalled. No.

“Come on. Come on!” he yelled, stomping hard on the gas pedal.

“You’ll flood it,” Jim whispered, his eyes shut.

“Thanks for emerging from your coma to tell me that, but I think I know what I’m doing. Fuck!” Blair slammed his palms against the steering wheel as the engine coughed a final time and died. The winter silence rushed in to muffle the last echoes of the dying motor and Blair’s shout, and the sudden quiet was shocking. Without the windshield wipers, falling snow crowded the glass in the darkness.

“It’s okay,” Jim said quietly, touching Blair’s wrist. Jim’s touch was like fire, and Blair wondered how high his fever would have to be for the tips of his fingers to burn with it. Blair looked over at Jim, who had closed his eyes again.

“It’s really, really not okay, Jim,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, but it still reminded him of rubber bands and sling shots . “I’m running out of ideas, here.”

“It’s fine.” Jim tried to swallow and Blair saw how difficult it was for him. “We’re only about six blocks away. We can leave the truck.”

Blair was shaking his head before Jim finished the sentence. “No way. Not out in the open like this. I’ll go see if I can find someone to help us start it –.”

“We’ll walk from here.” Jim sounded determined.

“You can barely stand!”

“It’s a blizzard, Sandburg. There’s no one out here. Besides, you won’t even be able to see the sidewalk.”

“Damn it all to hell,” Blair muttered, reaching over to unbuckle Jim’s seat belt. “Fine. But I’m going to help you, so don’t argue.” He reached into Jim’s shoulder holster and removed his pistol, holding it up to make sure the safety was on.

“No one followed us,” Jim said softly.

“Yeah? Well, I’m not taking any chances.” Blair shoved the gun into his coat pocket, then released the parking brake and let the truck drift backward as he turned the wheel. When he felt the tires bump the curb he pulled the brake back up with a little more force than was necessary and reached back to grab an over-stuffed backpack out of the well. He put the straps over his shoulders. “Sit there until I come around to your side.”

The world outside the cab of the truck was a wind-driven blur, and Blair had to stand still for a moment just to take in the shock of it. Blair knew they were in the middle of a quiet small-town neighborhood, but with the thickly falling snow and pressing darkness closing his world down to the few feet in front of him, he felt like he was on a stage, as if the world simply stopped past his line of sight.

With the first step he sank into snow over his ankles. It dragged at his boots as he held onto the truck and made his way around the front. He thought briefly of lifting the hood, but it would only have been for show. He had no idea what a functioning engine was supposed to look like, and Jim was in no condition to appreciate the gesture.

Jim was sitting upright by the time Blair made it to the passenger side door. They might be able to make it, Blair thought, but as soon as Jim stepped down onto the street his legs buckled. Only Blair’s arms around his waist stopped him from going down into the snow. Blair tightened his grip and pushed Jim against the side of the truck to keep him standing.

“You can’t do this, Jim,” he said, his voice ragged in the wind. “You have to wait here.”

“You can’t do this without me,” Jim countered. “Just give me a minute.”

They stood there, hanging onto each other and breathing harshly, for a few more seconds before Jim said, “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Before they’d taken 10 steps away from the truck, Blair began to feel desperately grateful that he hadn’t tried to make the hike alone. The world had swirled into invisibility; he couldn’t even tell if they were walking on sidewalk or street. He started to wonder if even Sentinel senses could find the path in the blizzard, and what the hell he would do if Jim wasn’t able to keep going.

Then he had to stop thinking, because bearing the partial weight of Jim’s body and the full weight of the backpack required total concentration. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, over and over until his brain became as numb as his hands and feet. When Jim stopped moving he stumbled at the loss of momentum.

“Don’t stop!” he yelled over the wind, pulling Jim forward, only realizing as they fell that they’d stumbled onto a flight of concrete steps. The snow cushioned his knees as he hit, and he knelt there breathing for a minute.

“Is this…?” Blair asked, staring blindly up at the house through the stinging snow. He felt more than saw Jim nod, and for a moment he was almost helpless with relief. He turned to help Jim, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Come on, buddy, just a few steps here, help me out,” Blair muttered, repeating an endless litany as they made their halting way up to the covered porch. The overhanging roof hadn’t sheltered the door at all - in fact, the wind had driven snow against it and Blair’s hand stung as he shook out the keys Simon had given him. Jim was leaning against the wall, his head down.

Blair nearly fell into the room, bringing a pile of snow with him. He found the mag-lite in his backpack and swung it around the room. That’s all the small house seemed to be, a few large, nearly empty rooms. He caught glimpses of a table, straight chairs, a rolled mattress on a bed. It has a roof, Blair thought. It has walls. It’s perfect.

He turned to grab Jim by the front of his jacket and hauled him through the door. Jim immediately sank to the floor, leaning his head on his knees as Blair slammed the door closed behind them and twisted the lock. Breathing hard, Blair knelt next to him.

“Stay with me, man. Just a little longer, then you can pass out in bed, okay?” The heat coming off Jim when Blair pulled the knit cap from his head was almost touchable – Blair was surprised he didn’t steam in the cold.

Blair dropped the backpack and started looking around the room with the flashlight held in front of him. “Okay, this is good, this’ll work,” he said, not sure who he was reassuring, Jim or himself. “Gonna turn up the heat, get you under some blankets, it’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. You still with me, Jim?” Blair asked as he searched for the radiator switch, heard the furnace start with an ominous rumble.

“Yeah, Sandburg, I’m here,” Jim muttered, as Blair pulled him to his feet. “Hate running,” he mumbled.

“We’re not running,” Blair answered, dragging him toward the wire cot and shoving the bare mattress over the springs. “You’re a witness. Think of it as protective custody.”

“So we have to drive practically to Idaho? Could’ve been in custody at home, maybe?” Jim was trying to unzip his parka with clumsy hands when Blair returned with two rolled sleeping bags he’d found piled beside the cot.

“With Beckett’s men trying to kill you and half the force down with this fever thing? No one to do the protecting, man. You’re lucky Simon’s got friends with a place out here. Not to mention me.”

“Lucky,” Jim whispered, and it didn’t sound as sarcastic as Blair would have expected. He shook out the sleeping bags, and realized Jim had started shivering while trying to unwind his scarf. Blair took care of it with efficiency, pushed Jim’s coat from his shoulders and tossed his gloves over toward the table.

“I’ll hang all this stuff up. Your shirt’s dry, but your pants are soaked. Better get them off.”

Jim had stood still beneath Blair’s ministrations up until that point, but growled, “I can do it, Sandburg,” as Blair reached for his belt buckle. Blair decided to pretend that he couldn’t understand Jim through the chattering of his teeth, and unbuttoned and unzipped quickly. He pulled the jeans down and made Jim sit on the mattress while he removed his boots and slid the jeans off his thighs. Blair decided not to think about what he was doing, either.

“There. Lay down.” He pushed Jim onto the mattress and piled the sleeping bags over him. “Better?”

“I’m late,” Jim whispered, and for a minute Blair was confused. “I need to testify.”

Oh, God. He was getting delirious. Blair reached out a hand and touched Jim’s forehead, knowing his ice cold fingers would feel good against that burning skin.

“You’re going to testify. In just a couple of days we’ll head back to Cascade and you can put those bastards away.”

Jim closed his eyes and Blair stood, pushing down his concern to look around the room. Not much – a stove, a sink in a miniscule kitchen, a door that turned out to lead to a small bathroom, another door that led to the shadowy back yard.

Blair set his flashlight on the table and considered turning on the lamp that hung over it, but then glanced out the back door. Like he hadn’t tipped any waiting intruder off by swinging his flashlight around, but still.

Blair moved back to Jim’s side. “Jim?” he said softly, bending over.

“Hmmm?”

“I’m going to go take a look out back, just to make sure no one’s been out there.” He pulled the gun from his coat pocket and set it next to Jim’s hand. “You keep this, in case you hear anything. Well, anything that isn’t me. Okay?”

Before he could turn away Jim’s hand closed hard around his wrist, harder than Blair would have thought he was capable of.

“Leave the truck where it is, Chief.” Jim was staring at him, his feverish eyes focused and hard. Blair figured he really shouldn’t be surprised Jim had picked up on his half-formed thought.

“It’ll probably start now -- Simon told us to pull it into the alley garage. If we leave it there it’s like a flashing neon sign, Jim! ‘Hey, we’re hiding out around here! Come kill us!’ ”

Jim sat partially up, still gripping Blair’s wrist. “The snow will cover it in half an hour. You’d never even make it back to the street. Leave it!”

“Okay, okay. Just the yard. Lay back down before you pass out again.”

“I didn’t pass out,” Jim mumbled. “Ten minutes, Sandburg. Then I’m coming after you. Just the yard.”

“Right, I got it. Be right back. Don’t shoot me.”

The wind took his breath the second he stepped out the door, flinging icy snow into his face. The idea of trying to go back and move the truck off the street suddenly seemed crazy, and Blair wondered it he’d even make it around the back of the house.

The cold was stunning. Think warm thoughts, Blair told himself. Sunshine. Deserts. The few seconds when he was helping Jim out of his clothes. Blair immediately pushed that thought away, disgusted with himself. It was one thing to lust after his roommate when he was healthy, but just wrong when the guy was almost out of his mind with a fever.

Useless fantasies, anyway – fully-formed but two years too late. Maybe if he’d been older or braver or who knows, less fucking worried about appearances, he could have taken what was offered back then; might still have it, now. It would have been so easy; just a simple step forward at a time when every word, every touch, every move Jim made had said share my bed, share my life. But he hadn’t been brave. He had pretended not to feel the warm weight of Jim’s want encircling him like a blanket, and had even half-convinced himself that he was relieved when it slipped away.

Except somewhere along the line the loss had just left him cold and aching, wanting something that obviously wasn’t available anymore, not to him anyway.

But there was no point in standing here staring uselessly out into the darkness, letting the hard edge of the wind scour him into nothing. The snow covered everything, any footprints long since obliterated. He couldn’t see more than three feet through the blizzard’s rush and the thought of stepping away from the wall to search the yard seemed the definition of insanity. He needed to get back to Jim.

The comparative warmth of the room couldn’t compete with the icy snow that had soaked the legs of his jeans, that had somehow slipped beneath his collar and soaked into his sleeves, and he felt like he was going to shake apart as he slammed the door shut, threw the deadbolt home.

“If there’s anyone out back, they’re going to get lost trying to find the house,” Blair said, through lips so cold he could barely form the words. “I think we’re okay for the night.”

Jim didn’t answer, hadn’t even moved since Blair had come back through the door. The low level panic he’d felt ever since Jim showed signs of the fever that had laid out half the force and most of the city peaked sharply.

“Jim?” he said, moving quickly toward the still form on the bed. Jim lay on his back, unmoving, his arm flung over his eyes, and Blair watched the slight rise and fall of his chest with only slight relief. In the dim light from the windows the shadows made Jim’s face look drawn, the clean lines gaunt and stark. Even when Blair laid an icy hand to his cheek he didn’t move, and the skin beneath Blair’s fingertips seemed molten.

Jim could die. The thought punched through Blair and left a hollow space behind. This fever had already killed, and Jim couldn’t take anything for the sky-rocketing temperatures and intense fatigue that came with it. Blair thought about their exhausting flight with a wince. Nothing like slogging for your life through freezing temperatures to bolster the immune system.

“Should have taken you to the hospital, no matter what you said about it,” Blair muttered, even as he realized they’d have been hopelessly exposed there with no one but himself to guard Jim.

Moving quickly he stripped off his snowy clothing, digging in the backpack for a pair of sweats that turned out to be Jim’s and far too loose, but he was too cold to search further. He was trying to find a sweatshirt so he’d be at least a little warmer as he sat at the table on watch when he heard Jim move.

“Blair?” Jim’s voice was frighteningly weak, and it brought Blair up short. He was beside the bed before he’d realized he’d moved.

“Jim, you okay?” he asked softly, as Jim lifted his arm to look at Blair through half-closed, unfocused eyes.

“You’re back?” Jim murmured, and god, that voice, for once completely unguarded and begging for reassurance, just pulled something apart inside him.

“Yeah. Right here,” Blair said through the tightness in his throat.

Jim seemed to collapse then, all the tension flowing out of him as he sagged back into the mattress and closed his eyes, whispering, “Good. That’s good.” Jim’s voice was thready with relief and worry and suddenly there was nothing that could have prevented Blair from crawling into bed with him. He pulled Jim’s shivering body close until Jim’s forehead rested in the hollow of Blair’s shoulder where he’d known, just known it would fit perfectly. He wrapped Jim in his arms, close enough to feel the fine tremor of his muscles, to rest his face briefly against Jim’s hair.

“What - ?” Jim shifted restlessly against Blair’s body but Blair just pulled him closer.

“Shh. Sleep. I’m going to take care of everything, I promise. Just sleep.” They were close enough that he could feel the exact moment when Jim gave in and dropped off. Blair stared into the darkness, his hand resting on the gun beside the bed.

***

Lately, most of Blair’s fantasies started like this. No decisions, no confessions, just a slow waking to warmth and weight pressing him down into the give of the mattress. The hard lines of the body above him were perfect for pushing up against, perfect for rubbing into with aching, sliding pressure, and Blair rocked up into that sweet heaviness with a groan. He was half-asleep but already hard and ready and god, just wanting Jim so badly -- even if his fantasies didn’t usually include this overwhelming, consuming heat it was still just so good….

Jim moaned.

That soft sound, uttered directly into Blair’s ear, shocked him into complete awareness. No fantasy. Jim was here; heavy in his arms, but it only took a second to realize that the low sounds Jim was making came from pain instead of passion. The heat that had slicked Blair’s chest with sweat was radiating off Jim with an intensity that pushed Blair immediately into panic. Jim was burning up.

Blair shoved Jim away, almost violently, hating himself. Stupid to fall asleep, stupid to let the radiator run until the room was practically a sauna, and just unforgivable to touch Jim like that, practically assault him like that when he was so unaware….

Blair stumbled to the kitchen and threw open the freezer. Of course, no ice, what the hell was he supposed to – and then his brain came on line. Snow. As much freaking ice as he could ask for just outside the door, and then he was filling a pan with big handfuls. He didn’t take time to find his gloves, just plunged his hands into the stinging white, wanting the pain, the punishment of it, taking it as no more than he deserved.

He viciously twisted the radiator dial to off and snapped on the light over the table, practically staggering his way back to Jim, who was moving restlessly, desperately, as if he was trying to get away from his own body. Crawling onto the bed, Blair pulled the sodden edges of Jim’s shirt apart, realizing that it was soaked with Blair’s own perspiration, because as high as Jim’s fever had climbed, his skin was frighteningly dry.

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Blair breathed, whispering nonsense words his mother had murmured through his own illnesses, things that were supposed to be reassuring but only loosely covered up the fear. At the first touch of snow against his forehead, against his neck, Jim tried to pull away, eyes still shut, and Blair had to lean over and push his shoulders back into the bed. More snow, against Jim’s chest this time, his abdomen, beautiful in the dim light of the lamp, and the sensation made Jim writhe beneath Blair’s hands. Blair couldn’t help but watch the water trickle over smooth skin, perfect skin, my god who had skin like that? And every second that he watched the rivulets of water trace the dips and hollows of muscle and bone he hated himself more for wanting to follow those trails with his fingertips, with his mouth.

Strong hands on his biceps now, painfully tight but Blair didn’t even try to pull away because he deserved the pain, deserved worse for the clawing desire that wanted out, even now. His body didn’t care that it had been a dream, that Jim was ill and oblivious, blindly reaching out for him. God help him, he still wanted, needed --

Jim’s eyes opened, tried to focus, the pupils so wide the blue was almost invisible.

“Don’t go,” he begged, and Blair wanted to curse. He couldn’t answer and Jim repeated the words, more wildly this time, blindly pulling Blair toward him. Falling against Jim’s body was falling into a personal hell of Jim’s legs tangled with his, Jim’s hands in his hair and Jim’s body pressed all along the length of his own. Blair was still soaked with sweat from the room and the dream and he wondered crazily why the moisture on his body didn’t just go up in steam from the contact. Torture not to reach out and hold Jim back, but at the same time he was incapable of pulling away from the anxiety he could see in Jim’s eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he bit out, willing himself to lie still, trying to think of something other than how Jim felt against him, hot and hard and perfect but – not aroused. That much was clear – whatever Jim wanted wasn’t sexual, and in any other world that would make a difference, but god, Blair was out of his mind with it, his cock seeping hard into the loose cotton of his sweatpants where they rubbed against Jim’s body. His brain couldn’t think past the idea of pushing that sodden material away, of freeing himself and rubbing his cock up against the smooth silk of Jim’s hip -- right there where the bone carved out a hollow that was the perfect place for Blair’s dick to slide against.

“Please,” he whispered, feeling desperate. He reached up to hold Jim’s face between his hands, not able to stop himself from brushing his thumbs across the perfect slope of Jim’s cheekbones, the soft skin at his temples. “Please, Jim – just let go of me, okay? I won’t leave, but I need you to let go…”

Jim’s eyes swept open, feverish and bright, before he tightened his arms around Blair, as if trying to absorb him through his skin. “Stay with me.”

God.

A sharp stab of heat, need like a fast-burning wick blazing through his body, and this was wrong. Inexcusable and incredible and he couldn’t stand it anymore because in seconds he was going to lose all control. He tried to twist away and felt Jim fight him, move against him in the other direction. The loose waistband of his pants caught and tugged, slipped and moved -- then a blinding, obliterating instant when the hard swollen tip of his erection slid slow and slick and bare against Jim’s beautiful, beautiful skin. No time for thinking, no time for grasping madly at any kind of control; he just cried out as if it hurt, clutched Jim to him as if he were going to disappear, and pulsed between their bodies in ragged, shaking spurts.

“Oh, god, Jim. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, his body still shuddering through the aftershocks, but Jim just pulled him closer, delirious, never noticing the sticky heat between them, the raw sound of Blair’s voice or the dampness on his face.

***

Jim finally woke up just before noon.

Blair had spent the hours since dawn remaining calm. He’d showered. Dressed. Watched the snow fall in endless sheets, sometimes caught in wind so strong it seemed like it was snowing sideways, until Blair had to admit to himself that digging the truck out of the igloo it most likely had become would draw a lot more attention to it than just leaving it there.

He’d read two chapters of Stoddard’s new text on Mayan burial rites, listened to the news on every single radio station until he had to conclude that hey, it was snowing! and drunk about a zillion cups of instant coffee. He was so fucking calm that by the time Jim stirred on the bed and said, “Sandburg?” in a voice like a cement-mixer Blair practically shattered his coffee mug with his bare hands.

“Jim.” That sounded good. Calm. “You’re awake.” Obvious, but calm.

“What time is it?”

“Almost twelve. How do you feel?”

“What are my options?” Jim muttered, closing his eyes again.

Blair realized it must seem strange that he hadn’t moved from his seat at the table, so he stood and took a few steps toward the bed.

“Well, ‘dead’ isn’t one of them anymore, for one thing.”

“Beckett’s guys?” Jim looked at the door in alarm and then back at Blair as if making sure he was still standing there.

“No, nothing like that. I think we’re okay. It’s a white-out, Jim. The news guy on the radio said the entire city’s shut down. I just meant – you were really sick.”

Jim was looking at him, his face unreadable. “That bad?”

Blair nodded. “Your fever broke around dawn. I don’t know how high it was, but you were really scaring me, there.” Less calm, that, and Blair swallowed to keep the waver from his voice.

Jim was really looking at him now, pale and drawn, but thankfully completely lucid.

Blair realized he was standing five feet from the bed, frozen there like a bad mime-in-a-box act, and he immediately turned back toward the kitchen.

“There’s instant broth. I think you should drink some if you can.”

There was silence from the bed, and Blair thought maybe Jim had dropped off again. Then he heard movement as Jim tried to shift into a sitting position.

“Hey, Sandburg, did we sleep together?”

The kettle clattered to the stovetop in a metallic jangle and Blair dove to right the mug.

“What?” Not calm at all, more a squeak than a word, and Blair was desperately grateful that he had his back to Jim.

“It’s just – You next to me. I remember that.”

Blair carried the mug over to Jim and handed it to him, carefully keeping their fingers from touching. Jim was trying to meet his eyes, but Blair just couldn’t look at him yet.

“You rested better when I was with you,” Blair said quietly. “You seemed to be…worried about something.” He forced himself to look at Jim, rumpled and moving slowly, as if testing his body to see what hurt. Blair tried to be clinical about it, searching him for signs that he was feeling better, but all he could see was the pallor, the bone-deep exhaustion evident in the hollowness of Jim’s eyes. For a minute, he thought he might be sick himself.

“Do you want some crackers with that?” Blair asked, dropping his eyes from Jim’s face, and turning back to the kitchen. “There’s some canned stuff, here – instant coffee, too. It’s not bad once you get past the first five cups or so…”

“This is fine.” Jim took one more sip and then set it on the floor. “I need the bathroom. And a shower.”

“Are you sure you’re up to that?” Blair was immediately concerned, moving to Jim’s side.

“Bathroom’s not negotiable, Sandburg,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the cot, then looking down at himself as if noticing what he was wearing for the first time. Blair let himself look, too – rumpled boxers, open flannel shirt.

“I wasn’t sure what to do,” Blair said, knowing he was about to start babbling but completely unable to stop it. “I tried to clean you up after – after your fever broke, but you were finally sleeping –“

“It’s fine, Sandburg,” Jim’s voice was amused. “But bathroom. Now.”

Getting Jim to the bathroom wasn’t as difficult as Blair had thought it would be. He remained calm with Jim’s hand resting heavily on his shoulder, didn’t react when he felt the warmth of Jim’s body in the cool of the room. He piled clothes on the counter while Jim was in the shower and barely glanced at the shadowed outline of Jim’s body behind the frosted glass.

When Jim emerged from the bathroom, dressed and clean in a soft sweatshirt and jeans and looking less like he was going to keel over any second, Blair started to feel like he might make it through this. Jim drank some water and even ate a few bites of canned ravioli, while Blair moved around the room like he was afraid Jim would break if he got too close.

“Do you want some more?” Blair asked, stirring the ravioli half-heartedly, and Jim shook his head, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Okay, Sandburg. Spill it. What’s going on?”

Blair froze in the act of stacking plates in the sink, and turned around to look at Jim, propped up against the headboard of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. Words stuck in Blair’s throat, and all he could manage was a strangled, “What?”

“You won’t look at me, you won’t come within ten feet of me -- what the hell?”

Blair swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Blair. Did we have an argument I wasn’t conscious for? You’re acting like I’m going to attack you or something –.” Jim stopped and looked up sharply, his face etched with sudden alarm. “God. Did I – do something last night? To you?” The words were tight, worried, and Jim was looking at him as if whatever he was thinking was causing him pain.

Blair shook his head, appalled at the idea, and stammered, “Nothing! Jesus. Of course you didn’t do anything.” Blair tried to make the words adamant, but shame made him look away at the last minute.

“Blair, look at me.” Jim was sitting forward, his fists clenched on the sleeping bag. “If I did anything – tried to…hurt you, or something -- I need you to tell me.”

Blair couldn’t take any more. In seconds he was next to Jim, sitting across from him on the bed with his hands tight on Jim’s shoulders.

“You were out of your mind, Jim. I’ve never seen anyone that sick – you were delirious and weak and I – I really thought you could die. But even if you were capable of it, you’ve got to know you’d never hurt me.” The last four words came out bitter and broken and Blair wondered how he’d ever get past this, because they were true. Jim would never have hurt him, would never have just taken something he wanted without thinking about Blair, and now Blair was going to have to live with what he’d done. He just wasn’t sure exactly how.

He looked up at Jim and raised his hands from Jim’s shoulder to his face, cupping his jaw, and repeated, “I know you, and I know you’d never hurt me.” When Jim didn’t react, Blair faltered, continuing seriously, “Because you’re a really good person. Way better than me. Really better.”

He watched Jim’s face change, watched something soften in Jim’s expression.

“Sandburg?” Jim’s voice was gentle, and there was a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

Blair looked at him blankly. “Well, there was the guys-with-guns-looking-for-us thing, and the you-almost-dying thing, so…no. Not really.”

“Lay down.”

“I don’t need to –.”

“Lay down before I cuff you to the bed.”

Blair found it impossible to say anything else with that image in his head, and simply did what Jim told him. He stretched out carefully and looked up at Jim, who still looked way too amused.

“What if –?”

“It’s your turn to sleep, Sandburg. I’m feeling better, I’m awake, and I’ll kill anyone who tries to get in. Satisfied?”

“Okay.” Blair closed his eyes, but he was never going to be able to sleep. Maybe never, ever again.

***

When Blair woke up it was late afternoon, and the weak light coming in from the windows made everything seem pale and washed-out. Jim had moved the radio next to the bed and was still sitting beside him, hands crossed behind his head and listening to a call-in show. He looked down when Blair moved, and folded his arms in front of him, sinking down a little lower on the pillow.

“So.”

“So?” Blair squinted up at Jim through one eye and thought that if Jim was going to smirk like that he didn’t deserve a longer answer.

“Feeling better?”

“Loads. Thanks.” Blair sat up and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “What are you listening to?”

“Crap.” Jim reached over and turned the radio off. “People are idiots. Is there anything to read?”

“I brought a book….” Blair said, uncertain.

“Great. Where is it?”

Blair nodded toward the table, and then looked back at Jim, who simply raised his eyebrows.

Blair got out of bed and picked up the book, finally looking up at Jim and wondering if perhaps he was still sleeping.

“Well?” Jim said. “Come back here.”

“You want to read this?” Blair asked.

“Actually, I’m kind of tired. Why don’t you read it to me?”

Blair stood beside the bed and looked down at him for a minute before automatically reaching out to check for a fever. Jim caught his hand and didn’t let go. “I’m fine Sandburg. I just want you to sit down. And read to me.”

And then Jim bent his leg, let it fall open in an obvious invitation. Blair looked from Jim’s leg to Jim’s face, saw his lazy, amused expression, and saw the invitation there, too. But there was something else, something serious, like Jim had seen something in Blair that made him think that this time Blair wouldn’t be too young or too afraid or too whatever. And Blair just knew that this would be the last invitation he would ever get.

Blair decided he’d made enough mistakes.

With as much calm as he could muster he sat down in the space between Jim’s legs, scooted back until he could lean back against Jim, and was rewarded when Jim moved forward to close the space.

“So what book did you bring?”

Blair showed him the cover. "Ritual Identity and the Mayan Diaspora.”

“We’re running for our lives and that’s the book you take with you?”

“Well…yeah.” Blair shrugged.

Jim settled his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes.

“Fine. You at least have to do the voices.”

“Do the voices?” Blair wondered if Jim was still delirious. “Jim, it’s an anthro text about Mayan burial rites.”

“I’m just saying, that if you’re going to read aloud, you should do the voices.”

Blair sat quietly for a second. “I’m just going to start, okay?”

Blair started reading where he’d left off, figuring Jim wouldn’t really care that he’d missed the introduction. After a few minutes Blair didn’t care either, and for all he knew he was doing the voices, was translating it into fucking Erdu, because he couldn’t even think with Jim’s thighs pressed tight against his legs and Jim’s chest rising with each breath, hard and warm against his back. And dear god, how was he supposed to concentrate with the scent of Jim’s skin, heated and clean, surrounding him and making his brain melt?

Luckily Jim wasn’t paying attention to the book. Jim seemed way more interested in nuzzling the back of Blair’s neck, in using his mouth to test the difference in texture between Blair’s hair and Blair’s temple. When Jim shifted closer Blair automatically leaned back, the words on the page blurring when Jim’s hard length pressed low and tight against him. He let the book fall, leaned his head back onto Jim’s shoulder and put his hands on Jim’s thighs, feeling the muscles tighten.

He felt Jim’s hands smoothing upward, mapping his chest, felt Jim’s tongue taste his neck and just gave into it; gave himself up to something new, something he’d wanted for so long, something – he took.

Jim stopped when Blair stiffened, and slowly relaxed back against the headboard. He brushed a kiss against Blair’s cheek.

“You don’t want this?” he asked gently.

Blair blew out a breath and leaned back against Jim’s shoulder. “I want this. God, I want this -- I want you. Have for a long time now.”

“Then what is it?” Still gentle, another kiss.

“Last night, Jim.”

He felt Jim’s body react, knew Jim would have pulled away if it were possible. “Jesus, Blair, you told me I didn’t –.”

“You didn’t!”

“Then what the – ?”

“I came on your stomach, okay?”

Jim froze, and Blair felt time spiraling out in slow, agonizing seconds.

“You –.”

“You were holding me,” Blair said, feeling the words tumble out like a car wreck he couldn’t stop. “I was dreaming about you, about us -- and when I woke up you were right there, on top of me, and I didn’t want to, but God, Jim, your body and your skin and the way you smell…. I wanted you so much and we were touching –.”

Jim’s hips bucked up once, hard and then Jim’s fist was in his hair, gripping tight enough to hurt.

“Sandburg?” The words came through clenched teeth. “Stop talking.”

Blair had expected anger, hell, maybe laughter, but not this sudden intensity and Jim turning his face so that they were forehead to forehead, Jim’s eyes tightly closed and breathing like he’d run wind-sprints.

Blair waited, holding his breath, but when Jim finally opened his eyes his gaze immediately dropped to Blair’s mouth.

“Did you kiss me?” Jim breathed, air against Blair’s lips.

Blair shook his head as much as he could with Jim’s hand tangled in it.

“Did you want to?” Soft words, softer brush of Jim’s mouth.

“Still want to…,” Blair whispered, and leant forward.

The first touch was light, exploring, getting used to the closeness. Blair brushed their faces together, came back to Jim’s mouth and licked a little, slid his hand into Jim’s hair to move him, change the angle.

The soft sound Jim made was wonderful, dizzying, and Blair pulled him closer, thought about turning around so he could hold Jim properly. Realized that Jim had closed his eyes and was leaning his forehead against Blair’s…and resting. Blair ran his hand down Jim’s cheek.

“Maybe…maybe you shouldn’t be doing this right now. After almost dying and everything.”

Jim’s mouth on Blair’s neck was addictive, and Blair could feel him smiling against his skin.

“I admit that anything truly…athletic might have to wait, but I don’t really want to stop, do you?”

“I can’t believe you’re even asking that.” He leaned his cheek against Jim’s head and rubbed, touched his mouth to Jim’s hair. “You’re not angry?”

“No.” The smile again, closer this time. “Except for one thing.”

Blair felt something inside tighten. “What’s that?”

“I didn’t get to see you.” A kiss, swift and searing against Blair’s lips and suddenly Blair was so hard it hurt. “I want to see you,” Jim said, his voice brushing over Blair’s body the way his mouth brushed over Blair’s face. “I want to watch you come.”

There was no coherent answer Blair could give, not when Jim was tightening his legs against Blair’s thighs, reaching from behind to run his hands over Blair’s chest. Surreal to watch Jim undress him, see Jim’s hands opening buttons, spreading his shirt wide before dropping to the waistband of his jeans and thumbing the button open, sliding the zipper down. Then those same hands slipped inside, encouraging Blair to lift up so Jim could ease jeans, boxers down his thighs.

Blair thought he should feel exposed, resting essentially naked against Jim’s fully clothed body, knowing Jim was staring down at his dick lying flushed and erect on his stomach, but with cold air on his skin and Jim’s strangled moan in his ear somehow it was just erotic, arousing beyond words. When Jim dipped his head and mouthed his shoulder, slowly beginning to explore, Blair wondered if he could come just from anticipation.

Jim’s hands were everywhere, touching, stroking, rubbing his nipples into hard points and making the muscles of his stomach jump. Jim’s breath was harsh on his neck, and he could feel the erratic pound of Jim’s heart against his back.

“Wanted this for so long,” Jim muttered, nipping at Blair’s earlobe with the edges of his teeth, and Blair couldn’t get to enough of him. He ran his hands over Jim’s denim-covered thighs, wishing he could just tear through to get to the skin beneath, but when Jim slid his hands down, palms hot against Blair’s cock, Blair stopped trying to reciprocate.

“Show me how to touch you,” Jim whispered, low and rough against Blair’s ear, all the while jacking Blair softly, teasingly, until Blair had to still those hands, entwine their fingers and guide Jim’s touch.

Like touching himself, but better, hotter, sapping his ability to think of anything but this moment, this heat. Blair didn’t even question when Jim pulled one hand away to slide it between them, curving it around Blair’s ass to press hot fingers there, right there at that spot just behind his balls that made Blair’s brain white-out. Pressure, touch, Jim’s fingers, his hands, rubbing just under the head of Blair’s dick, just at the opening of his body, just enough to make Blair come and come, past thought or control, until he felt like he was racing to keep up with his own orgasm.

He was only vaguely aware of Jim’s arms closing tightly around him, of Jim’s hips jerking hard against him once, twice – before Jim bent his forehead to Blair’s shoulder and shuddered.

Warm breath on his skin, shaky kisses on his neck, Jim saying something that could have been, “Fucking amazing,” before Blair pulled his head down to melt his tongue into Jim’s mouth, slow and sweet and deep.

***

Blair lay stretched out on his stomach, half asleep and wondering if it was worth it to summon the energy necessary to turn over. Decided no. Definitely not.

He heard Jim put the text down and make a noise of disgust. “This book is boring, Sandburg.”

“That’s because you’re not doing the voices,” Blair said, smiling without opening his eyes.

“That wouldn’t help.” Blair felt Jim’s hand in his hair, stroking idly, then it suddenly stilled.

“You’re really warm.” Jim’s fingers slipped to Blair’s forehead, hovered there. “Do you feel okay?”

Blair thought about it and decided that the fuzziness in his head wasn’t entirely post-orgasmic. “More or less.”

“Fuck, Blair.”

“Don’t freak. Aspirin works on me. Besides, given the alternative, I’ll take getting sick.”

“Take you being sick over you walking around here like an offended virgin? I guess I will, too.”

“That was you.”

“That was me what, Sandburg?”

“The offended virgin.” Blair let his smile grow wide as he listened to the incredulous sounds Jim was making. He simply pushed his cheek further down into the pillow, and watched the spots flutter behind his eyelids. “That makes me the evil cad who took advantage of your innocence.”

“You’re delirious now, aren’t you?”

“Possibly.”

An exasperated sigh, another soft stroke through his hair. “Go to sleep, Sandburg. Unless you’re worried that I’ll take advantage of you while you’re unconscious.”

Blair shifted to lay his head in Jim’s lap, rubbing close to the soft denim and hard muscle beneath.

“Actually, I’m counting on it.”

END