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When Jim brushed by him to go upstairs, Blair rubbed his eyes and leaned
against the kitchen counter. He didn't need to deal with Jim like this--he
really didn't. He was still angry with Jim, and tired, and had had a
few too many irritatingly gushy freshmen girls in his office this morning.
He didn't need Jim acting like--like some nutjob on top of it all.
Not that Blair himself had been acting all that sane.
But Jim had hit him. He had a right to be angry.
Then again, he'd given damn near as good as he'd gotten before he realized that Jim wasn't fighting back.
That was fucked up. Jim never just--took it. Their relationship was built on Blair pushing and Jim fighting back and then one of them would win and they'd go on. That was how it worked. He pressed his fingers into his temples and tried to will away his headache, without success.
If he had a headache like this--oh, hell. He should have noticed, should have been less concerned with getting Jim to say "OK, Chief!" and suck him off and more concerned with how utterly fucked up Jim would have to be to just--
--well, to just--
--well, whatever Jim had been doing.
Jim must have one monster of a headache. Jim, given emotional stress, usually got blinding headaches. And if this wasn't emotional stress, Blair thought, I'm a baboon.
"Hell," he muttered, and headed for the bathroom to fetch a damp washcloth.
He went upstairs and soothed Jim's headache and agreed when Jim said "I'm fucked up, aren't I?" and then he'd kissed him, pressing him down into the bed, and Jim hadn't objected, not really, not like he had before. Jim had sounded confused and a bit nervous, but not particularly stressed or upset.
Boxing match! Blair thought, or maybe time to get laid. And he'd kissed Jim again, sliding his hand down that beautiful body.
And Jim had shattered.
Blair hadn't expected that. He'd never known Jim to shake like he was going to fly apart, or to cry. Jim dealt by hitting things, or pushing Blair around, or getting quietly and thoroughly drunk. Blair had seen him hold people he loved while they died, seen him in naked grief and pain, and thought he knew him.
Blair honestly thought he knew him.
Maybe, Blair thought, Jim honestly thought he knew himself.
He ran his hands over Jim's back, which felt small, although the bone and muscle were as solid as ever. Jim felt small, broken down, fragility given form.
Blair held him close, closer than he'd normally dare, afraid of what would happen if he let go. "I've got you," he said, over and over. "I've got you, I've got you--it's OK, Jim, I've got you." He could feel Jim's tears sliding over his skin, following the path Jim's hand had taken earlier--down his side, over his hip, and then he knew.
He'd never had a chance in hell of making this into a boxing match.
He'd thought he could. He'd wanted to. Jim had hurt him for no damn good reason; he'd tried to fight back and been met with fear--half-surrender, half-terror. He'd thought he could change that, bring Jim out fighting and that would be it, it would be over with--they'd have what they wanted, both of them, end of story.
And he'd kept pushing long past the point when he should have stopped. But he hadn't known. If he'd known, he would have stopped.
He eased his grip enough to slide his body off of Jim's, to lie next to him instead of half on top of him. This quieted Jim a bit, made him tremble less, and that was a relief: Jim was responding to changes in his environment, he hadn't zoned, he wasn't going into shock or anything.
This is fucked up, Blair thought, but at least it's not totally fucked up.
Gently, he turned Jim over onto his side, and spooned up behind him, pulling Jim back against his chest. Something about the way Jim felt under his hands, shivering and pulling away, reminded him of the summers he'd spent in India with Naomi, the summers he'd learned to fly the fighting kites.
He'd made them himself, out of paper and bamboo, and he'd made the manjha himself as well, coating the thread in the resin and rolling it in ground glass. He'd lost more kites than he could count--their manjha cut, falling to the ground to be claimed by other boys, or soaring off into the distance. But he'd won some, too.
It had been very windy the first day he won a kite, and when he'd picked his trophy from the ground it had fought him, shaking in his hands, trying to fly again.
And he'd let it go.
The wind had taken it, whipped it away and he'd chased it, but it was too late--it dipped to the ground and snagged and tore.
He was damned if he was going to lose this one.
Jim was tense in his arms, and Blair tightened his grip. "You're going to be fine, Jim. Stay with me here. You're going to be fine." Jim didn't answer. "C'mon. Do your breathing, buddy. Stay with me."
Slowly--too slowly for Blair's taste--the shudders decreased, becoming a low-level shiver, until Jim finally tilted his head back and drew in a deep breath. "Hey," Blair said, gently, "you OK?"
"No," Jim said. "I'm not fucking OK--why don't you leave?"
"No," he replied. "I'm not fucking leaving. There's no way in hell I'm leaving."
"Blair--"
"No. I'm ignoring that request."
"Why?"
"Because I'm scared." He tugged Jim closer. "Because I'm scared out of my fucking mind that if I let you go you're going to shut down or jump off the fucking balcony."
"I'm not going to--" Jim sounded choked. "I wouldn't."
"I'm not risking it."
"Blair--"
"I love you, you asshole, and I'm not going to lose you because you're a temporary basket case."
Jim tensed again, pulling away. "Just--you can stay, but let me go."
"No." He's had his string cut, Blair thought, panic beginning to creep in. He's had his damn string cut--I can't let go. He leaned forward, touching his forehead to Jim's back. "Listen to me. I need you to do something." Jim jerked in his arms, but didn't try to escape. "I need you to calm down and pay attention to yourself. What is your body telling you? What are you thinking? What do you feel? And I need you to tell me."
"It's none of your fucking business--"
"I'm making it my business."
Jim didn't answer.
"Look--Jim, you're scaring the hell out of me, here."
"You think I'm not scared?"
"I know you're scared. So calm down, and just...get in touch with yourself, OK?"
"I am in touch with myself. I know I'm fucked up. I hurt you for giving me a perfectly adequate blowjob--"
"'Perfectly adequate?' Maybe my cocksucking technique is a little rusty."
Jim made a noise that might have been a laugh. "You, uh--Chief?"
"Yes?"
"You've...done that often enough to have a technique?"
Blair smiled against Jim's back. "Yes."
He could feel the muscles under Jim's skin shift, and then Jim took a deep breath. "Did you like it? With me?"
"Yes."
"Until I freaked out."
"Yes."
Jim fell silent again, and Blair waited. Jim wasn't trying to get away--that was something. Jim was functioning again. He could wait.
"Why do you like it?"
"That's...kind of hard to explain, Jim."
"Well--it's--I don't--"
Blair sighed. "I just like it, Jim. If your partner is reasonably hygeinic, it tastes good. It's fun. And I love being in control."
"In control?"
"Mmm-hmm. The way someone sounds when I curl my tongue, the way they jump if I flick my tongue just under the head, how it feels when I make them jerk under my hands and come in my mouth--I love that, Jim. It feels fucking fantastic to be the cause of that kind of thing."
"You like it when guys--come in your mouth?"
Jim sounded faintly outraged, and Blair grinned. "Yeah."
"You--"
"Let me guess. You've always secretly felt you were doing something really nasty by coming in someone's mouth."
"Um."
"News flash. Some people, me included, like the taste."
"That's...that's just..."
Blair propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at Jim, who turned his head and stared up at him. "Just what, Jim?"
"I don't know."
Blair smiled. "You want to know what it was like to suck you off?"
He watched as Jim closed his eyes. "I'm really fucked up. I know that. I don't want--this is fucked up."
"It's a yes or no question."
Jim swallowed and turned his face away. "Yes."
Blair bit his lower lip, then grinned again. "You looked scared after you said it, like you didn't know how I was going to react. And then...you closed your eyes when I unzipped your jeans and you were already hard, and you hissed between your teeth when I touched you. And you tasted fantastic--I mean, you wash, and you don't use any weird chemicals, and so you smelled good and you tasted...just...and you looked so good. I mean, you're fucking beautiful, Jim. And your cock's like the rest of you--smooth and hard and...look, Jim, I've seen a lot of cock, and trust me, you have nothing to be ashamed of." Blair could feel himself getting hard, and almost let go of Jim. He wasn't sure if Jim could deal with that--with another man's penis hard against his back. He cleared his throat and continued. "Some people say the skin is velvety, but it's not, not really. It's different. It's something else altogether. And then I slid my hands under your hips and tasted you and...well, it had been a while, OK? And I loved having you in my mouth, even though I had to remember so much--because I knew that you trusted me, because you were letting me, and you wouldn't let just anyone. And I wanted to make it good for you--better than anything, because I wanted it to happen again."
Jim made a small noise that from another man might have been a whimper.
Blair sighed and leaned forward once more, so that when he spoke, his mouth brushed Jim's neck. "I really, really wanted it to happen again. So, I started with my tongue--"
"Do you still?"
Blair stopped. "What?"
"You said you wanted it to happen again. Do you still?" Jim's chest was rising and falling rapidly under Blair's arm, but he didn't move.
"Yeah. Even though you're an asshole. Yeah, I do."
Jim turned, pulling away slightly and shifting onto his back, not leaving Blair's arms. "Would you?"
Blair froze.
"Blair?"
Blair looked down at his roommate, and said warily, "Not if you're going to do what you did last time. And not if it's not going anywhere. I think we've fucked up enough without adding another blow job to the list."
"I won't do what I did last time."
Blair just raised his eyebrows.
Jim moved one hand and touched Blair lightly on the chest.
"I won't."
Blair nodded slowly. "Are you sure?"
Jim closed his eyes.
Blair waited.
"Yeah," Jim said, finally, his voice hoarse. "I--you--you're hard, and I like it. I don't want to, but I do, and--yeah, I'm sure." He opened his eyes again and looked Blair full in the face. "Let me go," he said, "and I'll prove it to you."
Slowly, Blair opened his arms.
Jim exhaled, the sound loud in the silent room, and then he reached over and slid his fingers over Blair's jaw, into Blair's hair, and leaned up--up--and kissed Blair, softly, on the mouth.
End