Performance Art
by Mab
There was a vertical beam nearby, with a light attached and angled down towards the platform. Jim half stepped, half jumped up, blinking as the light suddenly shone into his eyes. A motion sensor, he guessed, as Blair ignored any urge to show off and simply sat at the edge of the platform and then pivoted on his ass to bring his legs around before gracefully standing up beside Jim. They stood together - `Hail Caesar, we who are about to die the little death...' That was what Blair had joked just before they stepped out into the open space where their audience sat in a buzz of conversation and anticipation.
It was summer, and he wasn't really cold, even if he was nude; naked even, in the pale electric glare of the unshielded bulb. It washed out the colour of Blair's skin and hair, and cooled the warmth of Blair's blue eyes, which were big and dark despite the light. Jim reached for his hand and stared without seeing across the rows of seats carefully arranged around them. The watchers were an irrelevancy. All that mattered was the warmth of Blair's hand in his, the signature of his body heat radiating out to warm Jim.
Blair turned to him, disengaged his hand so that he could snag an arm around Jim's waist. "Show time!" he rasped, in a quietly comic imitation of a carnival barker. His eyes danced, even as his skin goose-pimpled a little. Yes, he was nervous, even anxious, but their audience sparked something in him; the observer enjoyed being observed, the voyeur viewed. Jim put his hands into Blair's hair, let the strands drag across his fingers, felt the warmth the mass drew from Blair's skin, and warmed his hands in it as if from a fire. Blair framed Jim's face in his hands and drew him down to kiss him, sweetness and heat; something that Jim could have spent a very long time enjoying. He liked Blair's kisses, the way that lush, clever mouth spoke to him without words. But pacing was all - they'd set the scene, now their audience expected action.
They stepped back to the mattress placed roughly centrally across the platform. It was covered with a buff coloured fitted sheet. Some of the earlier acts of the evening had placed baskets of props alongside, but there was nothing else there now besides a small tube of lubricant. The crackle of the plastic cover underneath the sheet sounded loud and distracting in Jim's ears; he felt for a moment weirdly as if he could travel up the cone of light around them to feel the heat of the bulb that lit them, but Blair's hand on his skin brought him back to himself and to Blair.
Blair hadn't bothered with his usual discreet hand to the small of Jim's back. His touch was proprietary, his hand spread across Jim's ass, a harbinger of things to come. They lay down, Jim on his back. Blair sat straddled over him and ran his hands across Jim with loving greed, smoothing, ruffling, pinching. Jim watched the flex of muscle and the shine of skin, the way that Blair's hair trailed across his face. Blair lowered his head to suck and lick at Jim's nipples, while Jim held his head, the fine kinked strands of hair against his palms just as exquisite as the warm, moist play of Blair's tongue. When Blair sat upright again, Jim reached out to touch his chest and torso, slowly running his hands across the dark T-zone of hair, while Blair stroked the fine dark hair on Jim's forearm as if he was petting a kitten. The soft touch never faltered, even as Jim leaned up on one elbow the better to grasp Blair's erect cock. Jim's own cock was trapped under Blair, teased and almost released sometimes by Blair's movement, but never quite freed. Blair settled more heavily against Jim's hips, tilted his own hips back and forth against Jim's grip on his cock, while Jim gasped at the friction and slide of hairy, sweaty skin pressing on his own hard-on. "Yeah," Blair murmured, "yeah."
He wanted - he wanted to see Blair lift himself just a little and sink onto Jim's cock - Blair was limber, he could hold himself so that Jim could watch his body slowly join with Blair's, but that wasn't the deal for tonight. He placed his hands on Blair's hips and pushed up just a little. "Now," he said. `Do it, get it over with, never stop doing it.' Those were some options, but he was silent. The audience could watch them, watch this, but they wouldn't have his words; not words that were only for the two of them.
Blair leaned over and pecked the tip of Jim's nose. "Smart ass," Jim muttered, because those words weren't important. And then Blair swung around to kneel on the mattress beside Jim and deftly rolled Jim to his side. He faced away from the watchers now, and he stared at unadorned black painted walls. There was a cobweb in the left hand corner near the ceiling. Blair's fingers prepared him and he wondered what the watchers thought of this: nothing special in the repertoire offered by this place, really no more than a palate cleanser, a small entr'acte until more exotic offerings. But, god, it was special to him as Blair's fingers entered and teased him, as his other hand stroked Jim's head and he whispered reassurances and promises and chuckled in amused anticipation at the way that Jim rocked gently back against his fingers for everybody to see.
Blair took his fingers away, and Jim sat up, twitchily aware of the gaping slickness within him. All around were currents of air with their load of cigarette smoke and perfume and body odours, shifted by air-conditioning and fans to taunt his nose and run down his skin; and closest and strongest was the current of Blair's scent, shampoo and deodorant, pheromones and musk. He turned and, still on his knees, caught Blair up in his arms and kissed him again, sighed into his mouth at the touch of hard cocks pressed together skin against skin. Blair's hands grasped his shoulders. "You ready?" Jim nodded in one short affirmative. Blair whispered, "Yeah, we'll show them," and smiled as Jim moved to all fours, set in profile to the crowd.
Blair scattered a few kisses down his back and his ass, little brushes of his lips, while his cock brushed and rubbed against Jim's skin. “Come on,” he muttered, heard the echo of his command in a woman's voice that rose somehow above the quiet chatter, the clink of staff handling glassware at the bar. Blair held one hand on his hip, as he guided himself into Jim, slowly, so slowly - showing off to the watchers, Jim knew that, while indulging in gently torturing his lover. Drawing it all out, a long slow slide back and forth, and Jim impatiently pushed back, protested against the wanton teasing. Blair took the hint and settled to the rhythm that worked best, while Jim shut his eyes and let pleasure run through him like a spring tide.
He knew Blair was getting close when the breathy, wavering grunts began. Rough noises, not quite long enough to be counted as moans. "It's okay," he said, and Blair took that as the signal he intended, and bent forward to drape across Jim's back, trusting that Jim would hold them both steady. He was braced for so many things, as tension coiled in him - the awkwardness of Blair's weight, the sticky heat of their skin sealing together. Blair's recently shaved jaw rubbed against his skin as he nuzzled and kissed Jim's back, `it's me, it's me, touching you, so good, is this what you wanted, is this what you need?' Nothing spoken but everything expressed.
Blair's hand, damp with sweat and saliva, wrapped around Jim's cock. Jim held them both up on trembling arms and legs as Blair dragged more pleasure out of him, as the muscles of Jim's face drew back in a silent rictus, and he shivered and came. Blair was still moving, one arm gripped hard around Jim, his free hand still cupping Jim's softened cock. Then that hand moved to convulsively grab at Jim's thigh, and Jim felt a long, deep groan vibrate against the skin of his back and shudder deep into him. Blair was still eventually and he pulled away and out of Jim. He turned to look at Blair, who looked as debauched as you might expect with his heaving chest and dishevelled hair. Blair's smile was sweet, and he reached out a hand to Jim. They stood together, and stepped down from the platform without acknowledging the scatter of applause.
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