Cloudbusting Teaser
by Mab
The little shit! The lying bastard! No matter that it was a lie of omission. No wonder he'd been spending that time with Naomi. Jim had imagined cosy mother and son chats, a ravelling up of all the frayed ends of the last weeks. Free meals presumably, given that he knew that Blair was even more short of money now.
Maine. Jesus, could Blair go any further if he tried? Jim tried to hear past the panic roaring in his ears, to think past Blair's damning judgement of himself, 'a fraud, an admitted liar, a person of doubtful probity', the gentle suggestion that it was kind – fuck that - kind of Jim and Simon to offer the badge.
“I wasn't being kind, Sandburg,” he snarled. No, he was being desperate, because hadn't he seen this coming since the press conference? Now that the press was off their backs, surely Blair wasn't going to let this stand? Except that yes, he was, because of Jack fucking Kelso and his hints of doom. Jim could kill him, cripple in a wheelchair or not.
Blair was saying, “I can't stay living in your home and, and trailing around after you all the live long day,” and why the hell not, Jim fumed. It was Blair's home, and Jim had no problem at all with Blair 'trailing around'. Even at his angriest, there had been perverse pleasure in the knowledge that he could turn around, and see Blair nearby. Persistent little bastard that he was.
“I don't want you to go,” he said.
“You don't get a say, Jim. It's over.” And Blair was walking away. Payback's a bitch, Jimmy. All the times that angry, or desperate for space, he'd walked away from Blair - here it was, payback for accusing Blair of selling him out. Go for the brass ring, Chief. And Jim finally, finally had his brass ring figured out, and lost in the same moment.
“The hell it is.” And he pushed forward as fast as the cane would let him and closed a steel grip over Blair's arm.
Blair turned, startled. “Let go.”
Jim just hauled him that much closer. Blair said, “Jim, this is stupid.” Jim had to disagree. Stupid was what had happened before now. He let go of the cane. He didn't need it. He did need to get a better hold of Blair, and he wrapped fingers under Blair's hair, around Blair's nape.
“I don't want you to go.” He held onto him, warmth and scent, and all the things that were Blair. “Don't go,” he breathed and bent his head to nuzzle at Blair's hair. Would he cut it for some little nowhere community college? Blair jerked under his hands, and Jim moved a hand to Blair's back, dragged the shirt up to lay a steadying hand against the smooth skin of his back, stroked just under the waistline to feel gentle crinkle of body hair. Blair made a small, desperate sound, and lifted his hands to caress Jim's head, run fingers through his hair, and Jim liked that, liked Blair's hands on him. He hummed in approval, and gripped Blair's hair to pull his head back. He wanted to kiss him.
God, he really did want to kiss him, needed to kiss him, needed to do anything that would keep Blair by his side. Blair kissed him back, thorough in wanting. It wasn't enough. Jim pulled at the hems of Blair's clothes, dragged them off. Blair said nothing, and Jim wondered what had happened to his vocal friend. Then Blair shivered, and Jim enveloped him once again, touched muscle over bone, square shoulders, set square, Jim's measure of more than he'd realised.
He walked them towards Blair's door, leaning on the other man a little. “Your bed's closer.” Blair's answer to that was another kiss and a movement of his hips that made Jim catch his breath. “Oh yeah, come on, Chief.” And the two of them headed for the tiny room that had been Blair's for nearly four years. Blair threw himself down, worrying about clothes second. Jim took off his own things, careful of his still painful leg, and cursing it as he lay down. But it was Blair's warmth he lay upon, Blair's strength he rested on, and he wanted more kisses, more of Blair's warmth and strength.
Jim shoved an arm underneath Blair, gripped and held, as Blair moved under him and Jim moved back. He watched Blair work for it. That was his Blair, always focused, until he was sidetracked by his own sensuality into new focus. And that focus was Jim and pleasure given and received, Blair's hands making him shiver as they travelled up and down his skin. The two of them panted, hunting for breath, for a tighter grip on the other, for that last necessary moment of friction, and when Blair cried out, Jim let himself go, not such a hard thing when he could hold on to Blair.
When it was over, Blair shoved himself up his pillows, Jim shifting a little to allow it. Jim knew that he must be heavy on Blair but he didn't want to move. Instead, he settled his head on Blair's chest, regardless of the impossibility of finding a comfortable way to do that on the small bed. He listened to Blair's heart as its rhythm slowed, lifted his hand to gently rub the pad of his thumb over Blair's nipple, smoothing the hair around it.
Blair had tried to leave him once before. Jim had told him not to go, laid hands on him, and Blair had stayed. “Don't you go,” he whispered.
Blair's heartbeat speeded up again. “You know that I have to.” His hands gently cradled Jim's head, and Jim couldn't stay there a second longer. He pushed himself up, trying to ignore the spike of pain from his leg, and picked up his discarded clothes. Even in total disaster, he couldn't leave things where they didn't belong. He left Blair's room, put the dirty clothes in the hamper, decided that there was more wear left in the pants, and took them and the shoes in one hand before he retrieved the cane.
He suspected that his doctor wouldn't approve of the way that he'd returned to his loft space in the last week, but he'd been sick of bunking on a mattress in the living area. He took one stiff-legged step, and then leaned hard on the cane. His leg was sore. He bundled his pants around the shoes and threw them up the stairs. Yeah, three point shot…Then he turned to sit on the stairs, and pushed himself up backwards with his hands and good leg. Dignified it wasn't, but that didn't matter right now. He reached the top and just sat there, naked, back against the wall.
He'd been working so hard to put the anger away. Now, he gathered it all up again. Blair wanted to leave, wanted to play the martyr? Let him, then. Jim had lived without him before, he could do it again. He shut his eyes.
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