Tabling the Discussion
by Deana C. Jamroz
"Hello, 852 Prospect. I'm back!"
The rich, intoxicating, and extremely intoxicated voice of anthropologist Blair Jacob Sandburg filled the empty corners of Apartment #307 and the ears of his partner and lover, Jim Ellison. The young scientist slowly and carefully unwound the six-foot-long, multi-colored scarf from around his neck, then hung it on the floor, having missed the coat rack by mile.
"Here, chief, let me have your coat," the big detective grabbed at the left sleeve of the parka as his enthusiastic young soulmate danced through the living room toward the balcony. The smaller man eluded him, wriggling away like a litter of puppies on ice.
This love business could be damned tiring on a grownup, particularly if you were involved with a 'youngster.'
"God, what a day this has been ..." Jim grimaced as Sandburg once again gave him the slip.
"What a rare mood I'm in. It's almost like being in love!" Blair sang at the top of his lungs through the now opened French doors. The city of Cascade and the bay before him were largely unimpressed and silent.
Except neighbor Bill Jensen in #407, who yelled back through a window overhead: "And we're thrilled for you, Sandburg! Now can you pipe down and let those of us who have to be up in a few hours try to get some sleep?"
The succinct, somewhat scatalogical reply formulating on Blair's lips was snatched from completion by a strong set of protective arms yanking the squirming smaller man back inside.
"Oh, man, how did I get here?" a dizzy Sandburg wondered at the cosmos at large. The cosmos' interrim gatekeeper answered.
"Remember, Darwin, you called me from Brittingham's? Where you and a few TAs were celebrating?"
The flushed face looking up over his right shoulder, nearly bumping into Ellison's, became incandescent, awash with unspoken feelings for the big man steadying him.
"That's RIGHT! I won, I won! Blair Sandburg is the winner of a very presgiti .... prestitig ... " The speech-challenged bundle of energy squirmed frenetically in his bigger lover's embrace.
"Prestigious, Sandburg?" Jim offered.
"Yeah ... presgit ... what you said. A very important award. The Genneth Korman Brant. The Benneth Gorman Krant. The ... you know ... a Grant." Spoonerisms be damned, full speed ahead. "Look, Jim, it's $500! We're rich!"
Sandburg struggled to get the letter of acknowledgement out of his zipped coat pocket to wave it in front of his partner's smiling face. Jim gently grabbed
the official-looking paper and scanned it.
"Sandburg, it's not $500. Jesus, Blair ... it's $5,000! That's terrific! Congratulations, kid! You're a man of means!"
"Means? I know what it means." A statement said with the undeniable conviction of the terminally drunk.
"It means we finally DO it, Jim Ellison. Let's go, Jimmy. Drop 'em! Your Guide wants some of that Sentinel sugar!"
As Sandburg began to struggle unsuccessfully out of his coat and pants, Jim couldn't help the belly laugh erupting from his oversized frame. Here was the love of a forty-something cop's life finally deciding to take the step he'd been earnestly praying for over the last few months since they'd finally found one another. Up to this point, the pair had kissed insatiably, bumped up against one another furiously, sucked one another off daily (with matinees, when opportunities presented themselves), and cuddled until they were fairly comatose.
Big steps like this, however, took more time, particularly when one of the partners was a virgin on the male/male side of lovemaking.
But Jim Ellison, ex-Army Ranger, Cop and Sentinel was nothing if not patient, motivated, and goal-oriented.
Now, here was the object of his intense desire and unmatched love, having dropped 'trou' and boxers, holding a splendid, moist-looking, rosy-headed dick in his hand, waving it temptingly.
"Jimmy, here's some Blair bait. Wanna bite? What d'ya say?" Sandburg teased and swayed his hips provocatively, rubbing his perfectly round bottom across the edge of the table as he continued the comically seductive motion.
As Ellison began to unbutton his own shirt, he asked, "Why today, Sandburg?"
"Because now with the ... you know, money ... I can start to ... pay you back ... to help with ..."
Whatever other words Blair was struggling to say were swallowed up by a kiss of unspoken acknowledgement and unhurried tenderness.
When they came up for air, Jim scolded Sandburg, crushing him further in a bearhug. "For a smart guy, you're really a dope, you know that? Get this through that mop top. No 'yours.' No 'mine.' 'Ours.' We're in this together for the duration. Forever."
"Forever?"
"Yeah. Or 48,000 miles, whichever comes first!"
An honest-to-deity giggle erupted from the tipsy Blair. It rumbled in the crook of Jim's muscular neck where Sandburg's head was now nestled.
"That's right. Of course," Jim continued as he efficiently stripped his partner of the winter jacket and multiple sweaters, "this offer may be void where prohibited by law."
In an instant, the Sentinel's face changed. The playful look was gone, replaced by one of unquestionable hunger and need. Heightened senses began to fixate on all the changes in the now mostly naked, lithe body pressing against him. An alcohol-permeated body that somehow slithered away from Jim and down onto the kitchen table, naked, leaking, and laughing at some hidden joke that only inebriates could understand.
"Here, Sentinel, Sentinel. Nice Sentinel. Big Sentinel. Here's a bone for the Pretty Sentinel." Blair swung his hips across the table making his stiff cock dance an impromptu Macarena.
"Hey, where ya goin', man?" A blur of movement brought Jim back with Blair's long, fuzzy scarf in tow.
"Well, if we're going to 'do' it, as you so elegantly put it, Darwin, I can't afford to have you falling off." Jim proceeded to wrap the long piece of clothing around Blair's waist, tieing his smaller lover securely to the table top.
"Oh, adventures in bondage!" Blair gasped.
"Quiet, chief!"
"Make me, big guy!"
Jim's hot, willing mouth took in all of Blair's lethal erection, as the detective's long, wet fingers gently probed between the cleft of his ass. The initial penetration into previously untouched territory took the young anthropologist's breath away.
Sandburg began to quiver uncontrollably as the nubby texture of the woolen scarf holding him down rubbed against him. The friction of the undulating movements beneath Jim almost caused the bigger man to spontaneously combust.
While continuing the rhythmic sucking of Sandburg's shaft, Ellison fingerfucked that beautiful, tight ass, probing, scissoring, stretching. When three of the Sentinel's fingers fit into the snug passage, he knew his Guide was ready. More than ready.
"Say something, chief?" He demanded, hearing a groan above him.
"You son-of-a-bitch, Ellison! Finish what you started, or, I swear to God, I'll kill you in your sleep!"
"Nice talk! You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"No! I suck your dick with it! Now fuck me!"
The sounds of a condom package being opened and rolled onto Jim's substantial cock were lost on Blair, now writhing on the table surface made slippery with sweat, saliva, and pre-cum.
"Since you asked so nicely, I'll oblige." With that, he lifted his mate's uncoordinated legs up, exposing the beautiful rosebud opening that seemed to be winking at him. Jim rubbed the head of his spitting cock across it, and heard Blair whimper.
Pushing slowly, purposefully forward into the impossibly tight tunnel of flesh, the taller man stopped after he heard the ring of muscles 'give.' He was relieved that Sandburg seemed to be in no pain. Just the opposite. Pleasure. Waves and waves of pleasure that produced dizzying sensations for both of them.
Sandburg literally howled: "FUCK ME. NOW!"
The words melted what was left of the Sentinel's brain. With that, he pushed into the deepest recesses of his Guide's passage, pulled out, then pushed in again. And again. So many times, that he lost count. So many times, that Blair lost his ability to make any sense. When the end came in a joyous mixture of sensual noises and askew limbs, the force of it would have thrown them off the table, but for the six-foot tether.
The lovers slowly returned to reality, still coupled in afterglow and afterlust. Finally, Blair spoke.
"You know, big guy," he chuckled, touching the wet edge of the semen-soaked scarf, "it's going to be tough wearing this from now on without remembering how we used it tonight."
"Think that's bad? Wait until tomorrow morning, when I'm trying to have my Cheerios on this table. Oh, well, Sandburg," the Sentinel purred to his Guide, as he began licking the still-bound younger man to attention for a second (but not necessarily last) time, "it's going to bring a whole new meaning to 'Breakfast ... the most important meal of the day!"
End