Disclaimers:
Summary:
Warnings:
Notes:
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by
Blair threw another log onto the fire and watched as the resultant shower of sparks lit up the night in a miniature iridescent fireworks display, settling down in seeming slow motion onto the bed of glowing embers beneath the wood. The heady scent of woodsmoke and burning pine filled his nostrils, and he breathed it in deeply, feeling almost giddy on the mingled
fragrance of fire and forest and crisp, clean outdoors air that surrounded him.
"Nice, isn't it?" Jim's voice was a low murmur in his ear, and Blair looked back as his partner settled behind him on the needle-strewn ground, one hand resting lightly on the curve of the smaller man's hip as their bodies came together. Jim's long legs stretched out to either side of Blair's body, enclosing him possessively.
Blair smiled and leaned back against his lover's chest, inhaling deeply as the scent of Jim mingled with that of the fire. It was
a familiar scent, subtle and warm. "It's always nice to get away," he replied. He sighed then, a heavy sound that seemed to reach down to his toes, and stretched luxuriously, trusting Jim to hold his weight as he leaned back. He heard Jim chuckle deeply in his ear, and the hand on Blair's hip slid forward around his waist, holding onto him tightly.
"You certainly haven't had any trouble adjusting to the mood of things, Chief."
The words were wry and colored with amused affection. Blair grinned and leaned his head back against his partner's shoulder, resting his hand on Jim's and threading their fingers together. The arm around his waist tightened fractionally in response.
"We don't get the chance to do this very often," Blair said in a slightly defensive tone, letting his gaze drift to stare into the
shadows of the night-cloaked woods. The trunks of the trees looked almost purple in the fading light--not true darkness, not yet, but it was falling fast. Although it probably wasn't that dark at all, to Sentinel-vision. "You know, just getting away from it all, not having to worry about being called in on yet another life-saving expedition in the name of peace, justice, and
the American way..."
"Yeah," Jim said, leaning back against the shallow bluff behind him and pulling Blair back to rest against his chest. "I know." His voice was subdued.
It was something that they each had to deal with a thousand times
a day--the desire to touch each other, to connect with one another in a way that transcended the intimacy of mere friends or
co-workers or even partners. It was a desire that had to be relentlessly squelched as they worked together in the field, or the office, or when they went out with their friends. Not that Blair honestly believed any of their friends would ostracize them
for engaging in a homosexual relationship--not *really*--but Jim was adamant that no one should find out about them. At times, the stress of constantly *pretending* grew to be damn near debilitating.
"I think Simon knows, man," Blair said softly. The familiar feel
of his lover's hard chest supporting him was warmer even than the
fire, and he relaxed into it, silently reveling in the fact that he had the freedom to do so.
"Don't even think it, Sandburg." Jim's voice was soft.
Blair let his breath out in another heavy sigh, but this one was frustrated. "I don't really think it would matter to him. He's our friend, Jim."
"And I keep telling you--it's not a matter of bigotry. There are
no-fraternization laws that state partners cannot be romantically
involved. If anyone ever found out about us, they'd split us up faster than you could blink."
Blair had to suppress a shiver at *that* idea. "I still don't think it would matter to him," he pressed, relentlessly. "I mean, he *knows* we work well together. What's it matter if we happen to work well together in *all* areas of our relationship?"
He let his voice take on the faintest hint of cheekiness, knowing
that Jim would hear it. It wasn't in his nature to have a serious conversation without resorting to some manner of teasing to lighten the mood.
Jim's answering chuckle was rueful. "You're probably right," he said after a moment, graciously granting the point. "But I didn't drive us all the way up here so we could discuss Simon's views on homosexuality in the workplace. So can we please talk about something else now?"
There was a deepening huskiness in Jim's voice that made Blair tense without warning, and a warm flush moved through his body in
response to the quietly voiced question. *Just like Pavlov's dog,* he couldn't help but think, and the thought made him chuckle inwardly. Jim's fingers were rubbing lightly at the side
of his right leg, nails rasping softly over the material of his jeans. Such a simple thing, but the intent behind it spoke volumes to Blair. He felt his heartbeat speed ever so slightly, and his fingers tightened fractionally around Jim's. Talk about subliminal conversations.
"Are you trying to distract me?" he asked with a small smile, running one hand over his lover's own jeans-clad leg. Jim's muscles shivered under his touch.
"Is it working?" There was a definite lilt in Jim's voice now, a
grin struggling not to surface through the words. He smoothed his palm over Blair's leg lightly, back and forth, until the patch of skin under his hand warmed to his touch. Blair couldn't
suppress a slow shiver as the first slow quickening began to grow
in his groin.
"Yeah, maybe," Blair replied, feeling faintly breathless. The darkness around them was nearly complete now, broken only by the strange flickering patterns that the firelight made as it washed over them. It was easy to believe that they existed inside a nimbus of light at the center of the universe, cut off from everything and everyone, existing only with each other, for each other, here in this moment. Blair felt a wave of exhilaration; it was something he could never get enough of--that Jim was holding him like this, touching him like this, loving him like this. Just the thought of it, the freedom of it, was enough to give him a private thrill. Because Jim loved him. Jim *loved* him. It was enough to give one geeky anthropology student delusions of severe grandeur.
Jim's hand moved slowly along the inner curve of Blair's thigh, and Blair let his legs fall open without thinking, his breath hitching as Jim's other hand burrowed up under the front of his shirt. The feel of warm fingers against his skin was intoxicating, and for a moment, everything but the crackling of the fire and the warmth of Jim's body behind him blanked out, leaving him adrift in a kind of free-floating limbo where every synapse in his body was poised to react to the slightest stimulation.
"Breathe," Jim's voice whispered in his ear, and he sounded faintly amused. There was something about being touched this way, outdoors, away from the loft, that set Blair's nerves on fire. He felt open in a way that he rarely experienced, exposed,
and it thrilled him, exhilarated him, sent his mind spinning and his cock straining against the confines of his suddenly too-tight
jeans. The hand on his thigh rode up a bit, massaging gently, and he whimpered.
"Shh," Jim soothed, and he slid his fingers up the curve of Blair's ribs to stroke lightly at the smaller man's collar bone, tracing delicate whorls over the skin. His lips pressed briefly against the side of Blair's throat, then lifted away, heated breath warming the skin there. "I've got you."
And the words seemed to speak directly into Blair's mind, into his heart, into his soul--*I've got you.* Of course Jim had him,
had always had him, even before they became lovers. Even before they became friends, or partners, or random acquaintances thrown together out of a bizarre twist of destiny, or fate, or cosmic karma, whatever the hell theology they might choose to attribute to the fact that they'd found each other, against all odds, in a world of bustling chaos, of pandemonium incarnate--whatever miraculous convergence of the fates had allowed for them to be here together, now, in this moment.
"I love you," Blair whispered, not sure if he'd spoken loud enough for Jim to hear. But of course Jim heard--he always heard, even the things that Blair would have preferred to keep hidden, with those wonderful ears of his, those wonderful eyes, that wonderful...mouth...that was now sucking all the blood to the surface of Blair's throat in a flurry of delightful suction against the side of his neck. Blair let his head fall back and moaned deeply, kneading his fingers into the hard coiled muscles of Jim's thighs like a cat. Jim's right hand was rubbing over his crotch now, tracing the length of his erection through the fabric of his jeans from root to tip, over and over, hard palm sliding over the hardness trapped within, until Blair's hips were
rolling smoothly in time with the repetitive motion, and his breath was hissing out between his teeth in small, whistling gasps.
"Jim," he whispered, and the word turned into a strangled groan as Jim's fingers closed around his nipple ring and tugged lightly, joining the same repetitive cadence as the hand on his groin. Blair could feel teeth against the sensitized skin of his
neck, and the low, rumbling growl that Jim made seemed to echo in
through that one point of contact to shudder through every nerve ending in Blair's body.
And, just that simply, he was lost. Blair gave up control with a
low groan and stretched back against Jim's body, letting the other man support him, giving himself up to the hands that touched him, stroked him, ruled him. The pleasure moved out through his body in warm, tremulous waves, and Blair shut down his brain and just *felt* it, existing in the moment, this one bright, shining moment where Jim was his and he was Jim's and they didn't have to pretend that it was otherwise, that it had ever been otherwise, and *god*, this was good, this was so fucking good, he felt like his brain was about to implode from how very very good it was, and god help him if Jim wasn't...if Jim didn't...
"*God*," he said, or thought he said, as Jim's fingers moved at the clasp of his jeans, and then the zipper was sliding down, and
he was pressing his hips up into Jim's hand in silent entreaty, or near-silent entreaty, as the whimpers slid past his lips in an
agonizing torrent of need and want and damn it, if Jim didn't touch him soon he was going to--
Then Jim's hand was on him, really on him, fingers closing with calm familiarity around the hardness of his erection, and Blair cried out, his entire body shuddering as Jim stroked him, hard, thumb sliding over the slit at the head of his cock just the way he liked it, and the joy of that touch rocketed through him, fucking *seared* through him, branding him, and Jim's hand was hot against his skin, where it touched him, where it fucked him, so hot it burned. Blair moaned again, not caring what kind of sounds he was making, aware only that they were increasing in volume steadily as Jim continued to work him, and he could feel Jim's smile against the skin of his neck, through the lips that pressed against his skin, the tongue that traced a path of blazing white fire up to the back of his ear and then sucked the lobe of his ear up into that mouth, that amazingly talented mouth...
Jim's arm tightened around his chest just a moment before Blair felt his breath catch the final time--god, if the man didn't always know before he did when the ride was about to come to an end--and for a moment Blair fought it, just dug in his heels and *willed* it not to end, but then he threw back his head and *howled*, the scream ripping from him as the world hazed to black
and white around him.
It took a few moments for him to get his bearings back, and when he did, he found that he was on his side with his head pillowed on one of Jim's arms, with Jim's body strong and fortifying behind him. Jim was lapping softly at the skin behind his ear, making pleased little humming noises as he held the smaller man tightly against his chest, one thigh draped possessively over Blair's hip.
"God, you're beautiful," Jim said softly, and the words made Blair shiver deeply.
Blair wanted to say something in reply, but he was distracted by the slow, insistent movements of Jim's groin against his ass. It
was readily obvious that Jim had not shared in the mind-blowing orgasm that had just remade the fabric of Blair's world. Blair pressed his hips back on Jim's next slow thrust and was rewarded with a low, strangled groan which Jim did his best to smother against his lover's hair.
Blair smiled slightly. "How do you want me to do you?" he asked,
keeping his voice low. His smile deepened as he felt the subdued
shiver pass through Jim's frame behind him. "Anything you want, Jim," he insisted, lowering his voice even further. His hand stroked gently over Jim's arm where it draped across his chest. "*Anything*."
The movements of Jim's hips grew bolder, more demanding, and Blair arched his neck against the low sounds that Jim was muttering against his skin. He felt hot, excited, almost more so
than when Jim had been coaxing him to the brink of orgasm. This was his area of expertise, after all--the realm of words, of words as weapons, as tools to bring about an intended goal. Just
as Jim could bring him to screaming orgasm through nothing more than the touch of his hands, Blair's particular talent hinged around the effect that the sound of his voice had on Jim's libido.
"Do you want me to touch you?" he asked, letting his hand slide up along Jim's arm to cup over the back of his neck, pulling Jim's head up against his so that he was practically whispering in the older man's ear. "Is that what you want, Jim? My hand? My hands are aching to touch you."
Jim made a low noise in the back of his throat and rubbed his face roughly against Blair's. His breathing was heavy, rasping in the younger man's ear.
"Or maybe you want my ass? God, Jim, do you know how long it's been since you've taken me that way? I'm getting hard again just
thinking about it. Nothing feels the same as when you fuck me, Jim--nothing feels *more*. It's like I'm utterly possessed by you, like you own every part of me. I can't tell you how hot that makes me."
Jim's hand clenched in the front of Blair's shirt, crunching the heavy plaid fabric as his body strained forward, desperately asking for Blair to do something--to do anything--to ease his need. Blair had to bite back a groan at the feel of the tremors that were now moving steadily through Jim's body, transferring directly into his own. He loved it when Jim got this way, so pure in his need, so utterly open about the things he wanted Blair to do for him. There was something undeniably raw about it--hell, Jim was fucking *pre-verbal* now, letting his body do his talking for him. Blair had to moisten his lips with his tongue and clear his throat before he could find enough breath to
continue his monologue.
"Or maybe you want my mouth," he said, and now his voice was barely audible, a ghost of a whisper past his lips. And damn, if
he wasn't hard again after all--he slid one hand down his belly and stroked lightly at his newly re-aroused flesh. "You've always said that you love my mouth, Jim."
"You have a beautiful mouth," Jim whispered, and the effort behind the words was obvious.
It was enough. Blair rolled over and pushed Jim onto his back in
one smooth motion, resting on his side between Jim's spread thighs so that he could still reach his own insistent cock. Without pausing for breath, he unfastened Jim's fly with trembling fingers and freed the straining erection within. Reverently, he smoothed his fingers over the sides of the flesh in his hands, cradling it lovingly, and before Jim could even draw in a strangled gasp of protest at the delay, he bent down to
swallow his lover whole.
The taste of Jim was liquid fire on his tongue. Blair closed his
eyes in ecstasy as the flavor exploded through his mouth, sweet and bitter and salty and *Jim*, and he sucked hard, barely aware of the sounds Jim was making, of the hands that clenched to near pain in his hair, the hips that strained against him as he tried to hold them down against the forest floor. Somewhere behind him, the fire continued to burn, a dull heat at his back, but it was secondary to the heat that burned right below him, in him, through him, more real than anything that existed around him. The only thing that mattered in this moment was Jim, the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste. It was ecstasy, it was addiction, it was nirvana incarnate, and he couldn't get enough of it, never enough of it. It was like looking into his heart and seeing the shape of his soul.
The hands in his hair were tightening now, and Blair finally gave
in, releasing his hold on Jim's hips and dropping one hand down to stroke at his erection, using the same familiar motion that Jim had just used on him, and the memory made him moan around the
hot flesh in his mouth, the flesh that slid past his lips with ever-increasing urgency as Jim's fingers in his hair tightened in
silent demand and held his head still, held him immobile as those
strong hips stroked up into him. *Yeah, that's it, Jim,* Blair thought in silent encouragement, trusting that Jim would somehow understand the words he couldn't say. *Use me, fuck me, love me.
Come on, Jim, do it, do it, doitdoitdoitdoit...*
And Jim was riding him now, really riding him, and Blair relaxed his throat muscles, determined to take anything that Jim could give him, as Jim slid deep into him over and over again, and Blair squeezed his eyes tightly shut, using his free hand to snatch up a handful of his own hair and tangle it up in his fingers and wrap it around the base of Jim's erection, fucking Jim with his hair and his mouth and his hand, and then Jim was coming, coming deep in his throat, and oh *god* it was good, it was so fucking fucking good...
Blair's second orgasm hit him head-on, and the cry seemed to bubble up out of him into Jim's cock and right up out of Jim's lips. Jim was screaming Blair's name, and there was something undeniably *raw* about the way he did it, something *real* that was missing from their day-to-day lives of obligatory make- believe, and in this moment there was nothing, nothing but the two of them together in this one, bright, and glorious union of truth and ecstasy and love, heart and soul and mind and body all wrapped up together in the joy that sang between them.
Blair snorted on a fluttering laugh as he collapsed bonelessly across Jim's lap, his cheek resting in the hollow of the other man's hip. The cool metal of Jim's zipper pressed insistently against the bridge of his nose, but he couldn't bring himself to move.
"Something funny, Chief?" Jim said, with a note of wry humor in his voice. His fingers played idly with the hair at the nape of Blair's neck, sending little thrills of residual pleasure shooting over the surface of the other man's skin.
Blair couldn't contain the grin that continued to spread across his features. Taking a deep breath to help sort out his disjointed thoughts, he replied, "I was just thinking how my mind
tends to wax fucking *poetical* when we have moments like these."
Jim chuckled softly, a low vibration that carried right up into Blair's cheek where it pressed against his side. "I really do not want to know. It's hard enough following your trains of thought when you're supposedly coherent and relatively sane--I don't think I'd have a chance in hell of deciphering what goes on
in your head when you're a hair's breadth away from an orgasm."
Blair laughed outright at that. "Welcome to the Sandburg Zone, man."
Then Jim's hands were tugging him up so that they were lying side-by-side, and damn if this wasn't even better than the sex had been, or at least as good as the sex had been, this post- coital cuddling that Jim seemed to crave so very strongly every single time they made love. It was something that Blair would never grow tired of, and was fast becoming addicted to. He curled in against Jim's chest without having to be urged, and Jim's arms moved around him, holding him close. Jim cupped one hand at the back of Blair's head and tucked it under his chin, and Blair sighed happily, feeling surrounded and loved and sated and utterly, bone-wearyingly spent.
"I love you," Jim said, and this, too, was a part of the ritual. A reminder, a reaffirmation that this wasn't just for kicks, that
there was more going on between them than just two bodies drawing
together for warmth on a cool spring night.
Blair couldn't suppress the shiver of joy that passed through him
at the words. No matter how many times he heard them, they never
ceased to give him a thrill. He smiled against the skin of Jim's
neck and kissed him softly in the hollow of his throat. "I love you, too, Jim. Always love you."
Jim's arms tightened around him, and Blair let himself relax into
the embrace. Behind him, the fire still burned fitfully. Maybe in a little while they'd get up, clean themselves up, maybe cook up some dinner. Afterwards they might sit together in front of the fire, maybe make love again, or just hold each other and watch the moon climb the sky above them. And then, finally, they'd fall asleep together inside Jim's big sleeping bag, his head on Jim's chest, lulled by the cadence of the heart that beat
beneath him. That was the joy of being on vacation--not having any particular plan, no rhyme or reason to the rhythms that flowed between them. And, best of all, not having to pretend. For as long as this weekend lasted, he could touch Jim whenever he wanted, however he wanted, be as vocal as he wanted about the love that he felt for this man.
And suddenly it didn't seem to matter so much that they couldn't express their love for each other publicly every day of the week.
That they had even managed to find this kind of happiness at all was pretty fucking fantastic. No matter what they managed to get
away with in front of their friends, it didn't change the way they felt about each other. The love, the passion, the *magic* was still there, still real. And no one could take that away from them.
A moment. A weekend. A lifetime. It was all the same, actually, when you cut right down to the heart of things.
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