One Over Easy With A Side Of Toast by akablonded

One Over Easy With A Side Of Toast - akablonded

Monday, March 15th. The Ides of March. Day 11 of officially being a couple, a twosome, an "us." After three years of "not."

In the short space of 11 days, Jim Ellison, gold shield detective, former Army Ranger, Covert Ops poster boy, and Sentinel of the Great City of Cascade, WA, had made love to, gone down on, done the nasty with, jerked off, humped, shagged, bagged, fucked, plucked, sucked, done the horizontal mambo with, topped, bottomed, and possibly even inbetweened one Blair Jacob Sandburg, anthropologist, Rainier University teaching fellow, partner, police consultant, roommate, Guide and Shaman of said Great City.

This the pair had accomplished on every possible surface in and out of Jim's loft: on beds, big and small; flooring, hardwood and ceramic; rugs, area and outdoor; tile, wet and dry. They exercised their dueling libidos on all the furniture and flat-topped objects available that could bear their combined weight (excluding Blair's big stapler). One particularly harrowing, dead-of-night boff involved a wrought iron chair on the loft's balcony. This escapade caused not only Major League sniffles for Sandburg, but also nasty ivy-patterned bruises on Ellison's muscular ass.

And all of these domestic 'sexploits' didn't even take into consideration vehicular adventures in Jim's truck and Blair's Volvo. There, a particularly enthusiastic session of lovemaking in the smallish front seat forced several important body parts to hang out of the windows.

Jim Ellison was astounded at how right being part of an "us" felt to him, considering his track record. A lifetime of fear-based reactions (just ask Sandburg), pretty much guaranteed that he would stay a loner. His one experience with marriage had been certifiably disastrous. (No, the Titanic was disastrous. There wasn't a word to describe what being wedded to, and divorced from, Carolyn Plummer did to his psyche, his libido, and most awfully, to his heart.)

But that was B.S. Before Sandburg.

Blair Jacob Sandburg. Anthropologist, behaviorist, linguist, ethnologist, part-time psychologist, full-time bedwarmer/snugglebunny, and Guide to this Sentinel. No doubt about it, a true Renaissance man. And the man who brought Jim Ellison back to life. Slowly, inexorably, the former hard-assed, hard-headed Major Crimes ace changed, and changed for the better.

Blair Sandburg awakened the lover that Jim Ellison was meant to be.

Of course, there was another part to the equation: Ellison's Platinum membership in the "Glands R Us" club. Simply put, young Mr. Sandburg was like sex on a stick, and Jim couldn't get enough. Just walking within two feet of Blair necessitated Ellison's touching him, kissing him, fondling him, or trying to turn him into a helpless, erotic mass of love putty. Blair was down with this new, hormone-driven arrangement, knowing that love fueled the engine.

On their second day together, while naked, wet, and leaning over the back of the sofa, Sandburg had waxed philosophically: "Hey, for you, big guy, any day, any way." The wiggling eyebrows matched Blair's twitching butt.

On the third, the irrepressible Sandburg shared a bon mot he'd once overheard: "I'd fuck you standing, I'd fuck you lying, and if I could, I'd fuck you flying." (Ellison howled and snorted Michelob through his nose.)

In short, the two did it almost everywhere, except for the dining room table. It was only place where lovemaking or any one of its variations had been neither attempted nor encouraged. For whatever reason, Jim didn't feel especially comfortable getting off at the same place he happily munched his breakfast Captain Crunch, wolfed down lunch hoagies, and savored dinner lasagna with a side of garlic bread.

But, never say never. (Ellison had never come up against anyone so single-minded, so focused, and so formidable as Blair Sandburg.) So, at 7:10 AM on Day 11, Blair sat at said table munching a piece of cinnamon toast, wearing only black-rimmed eyeglasses and his oldest pair of elastic-challenged boxers. Absentmindedly, he nibbled while final-editing a seminar paper scheduled to be delivered later that day. Jim walked out of the bathroom drying close-cropped hair and was stopped dead in his tracks by the picture in front of him. There sat his Guide, the keeper of Ellison's heart, sunlight kissing the remarkable face like a jealous lover. The effect was a treat for even the most world-weary, jaundiced eye.

It made the Sentinel drop his towel, both figuratively and literally.

It made the Sentinel want.

Blair looked up and smiled warmly at his partner, standing in the hallway: tall, proud, naked -- and seemingly as hard as diamonds.

A soft "morning" slid invitingly over Sandburg's full, moist lips. "See anything you want for breakfast?"

With that tease, Blair rose from his chair, carried his dishes over to the sink, and stood next to the counter, waiting. Slowly and sensually, Blair ran his talented tongue up and down the last piece of toast for the pure pleasure of it. The fact that it seemed to press all of Jim's considerable buttons was icing on the cake.

Ellison closed the distance between them in four, long quick strides. He wrapped himself around his partner, bent his head down, and began milking that marvelous mouth until the lips turned the color of ripe strawberries.

When the two men broke for air, Blair almost purred. "You know, Jim, you really have to eat something this morning. Remember what 'Auntie Mame' said ..." alluding to the old movie he'd gotten Jim to sit through, with the proviso of unlimited sexual favors, "... life's a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death."

"I don't want ...' toast, ' Banquet Boy,'" Ellison growled back. "Come here." The Sentinel hoisted his Guide off the floor and carried him to the oversized table. He quickly stripped Sandburg's threadbare shorts off, throwing them into a corner of the room. The second shared kiss of the day was noisy, sloppy, and filled with wild, unbridled promise. Jim considered how edible his little Professor looked. There was nothing on earth so mouth-watering as this wonderful, generous, exuberant, long-haired, funny imp spread out in front of him.

More practical matters reared their heads. Where was lubricant when you really needed it? What was handy in the kitchen area? Honey? That would seriously jeopardize Jim's relationship with the little wide-eyed, plastic squeeze bear he'd had for ages. Olive oil? No, the extra virgin had been used on Day 4. And so had the olive oil. Ellison, you're one funny son-of-a-bitch. Jim's eyes finally lit on an acceptable solution: Grade A, country-fresh, artery-clogging, calorie-laden butter. Butter smeared all over delicious hot buns was just the ticket ...


Some little while later, Jim cradled his thoroughly used lover in strong, comforting arms. Both men sighed contentedly, needing a little down-time after the explosive, highly-vocal and slippery encounter.

"Sandburg, make sure you get some Land O' Lakes when you shop this week ..."


Before leaving for the police station at 8:30 AM, the big detective took his partner's eminently practical advice. As Ellison drank a glass of pulp-free orange juice and 'noshed' on cinnamon toast thoughtfully prepared by his lover, he turned his thoughts toward the future. If the Sentinel and his Guide were together for another 50 years, give or take, they were probably going to need a house. Nothing big and ostentatious, but one with a yard for the garden Sandburg would want to plant, a garage for at least two vehicles, and lots and lots of rooms. For two offices, for a home gym, a guest room for when Blair's mom, Naomi, visited, and all the new furniture, each with inviting surfaces needing to be broken in properly ...

As Jim Ellison drove off to work, energized, satisfied and happier than any one man had a right to be, he knew two things for certain: 1) he loved Blair more than life itself and 2) breakfast WAS the most important meal of the day.


The end

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Notes: This is one of my oldest stories (written in the last century!), and yes, and I'm using food for purposes other than nutrition. Needless to say, I still love these guys.