Sunday Morning - Maaaaa
Jim woke as he felt Blair’s cock wiggle against his thigh.
He perceived the morning’s barely-dawn light against his eyelids and the almost-day warmth of the sun on his skin. He opened his eyes slowly and looked downward. The view that went along with the movement of Blair’s cock was obscured by the back of Blair’s head, which was comfortably tucked just under Jim’s chin. Blair’s hair fanned out in its usual morning disarray, further thwarting Jim’s effort to visually assess the situation.
So he closed his eyes again and let his sense of touch take over.
The warmth of Blair’s cock registered at just above average body temperature; it felt slightly sticky and wrinkly, and the flesh rippled indecisively against Jim’s right thigh. His balls hung slack along the outer side of Jim’s thigh, seemingly uninterested in what Blair’s cock was doing.
Jim snorted softly and lazily caressed Blair’s right arm as he searched for whatever other Sandburg body parts might be in motion. Even when asleep, some appendage or muscle or miniscule ligament was usually moving.
Jim started with Blair’s toes. Often, as he slept, one of Blair’s feet would seek out the edge of the sheet. This entailed his leg and lower torso twisting and straining until the fabric edge was located. Then Mr. Simian Toes’ toes would grab the sheet’s edge and work it between his large and second toes, at which time his leg and torso stilled, and his ankle would sway, causing the material to slide back and forth between his toes, eliciting a content, delighted sigh from the toes’ owner.
At the moment, Blair’s right leg was lying atop Jim’s right leg, thigh on thigh, the back of Blair’s knee crooked along the top of Jim’s knee, his calf resting partially along Jim’s calf and partially on the mattress. Two of Blair’s toes were twitching, tickling the lower part of Jim’s left calf, just above the ankle. Blair’s left leg was still, nestled snuggly against Jim’s right leg.
Blair’s left arm was above his head, armpit to Jim’s shoulder, with his hand somewhere behind Jim’s head. Blair’s right arm was thrown across Jim’s belly; his right hand under Jim’s ribcage in a loose embrace. Sometimes, as he slept, Blair’s hands would flutter in dream induced gesturing, as often as not accompanied by Blair’s lips mouthing wordless lectures. Neither arm was moving just now, but there were definitely fingers probing fretfully at the flesh on Jim’s back, as if they were trying to latch on and frustrated at the inability to do so. Blair’s mouth quivered a little against Jim’s chest with the regular snuffling of content sleep and a tiny string of drool formed at the corner of his mouth and dribbled onto Jim’s flesh in a gooey little puddle.
All in all, things were fairly quiet for the perpetual motion machine.
The one other part of Sandburg’s body pestering Jim was the nerve area surrounding Blair’s pierced nipple. He could feel down under Blair’s warm flesh; could feel the twittering of the nerve endings where the cool, thin strip of steel lanced through them. He could feel the damage, the scarred tissue, which accounted for the tendency of Blair’s pectoral muscles to periodically spasm. He wondered for the umpteenth time what had ever possessed Blair to have it done.
The thought evaporated as Jim once again returned his attention to Blair’s dick nudging invitingly against his thigh. The organ was flaccid and still jiggling restlessly. The faint scent of pheromones and semen, a leftover reminder of their very early morning cock-to-cock slip ‘n slide, brought a smile to Jim’s face. His own dick seemed content to lie peacefully at ease for the time being, so Jim hunkered down with Blair sprawled over him, and drifted back to sleep.
The next time Jim woke, it was because he sensed Blair waking up. Actually, sensed was probably giving undue credit to his finely honed sentinel skills, since Blair was making it almost impossible not to make Jim aware of the fact.
Blair woke by contorting suddenly, digging his elbow into Jim’s abdomen, just below the navel. His head jerked upward, clocking Jim’s chin with a dull thud. A mouthful of hair was Jim’s reward for opening his mouth to try and utter a lusty good morning. Instead, a gruffly muffled ‘watch it, Sandburg’ was all he managed to get out before Blair pushed off him, his left foot barely missing leaving an unwanted footprint on the Ellison family jewels.
Jim rubbed at his jaw and instinctively drew his legs up to protect his assets. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Blair executed a nifty little tuck and roll which maneuvered him clear of Jim’s reach and any possible reflexive retaliatory action. He landed in an upright, cross-legged sitting position in the upper left corner of the bed. Blair then proceeded to stretch and scratch, shake his curls, and splutter incoherently for several seconds before opening his eyes.
Peering at Jim blearily, Blair yawned and rubbed his stomach, which chose that moment to emit a hearty rumble.
“Mornin’ Jim,” Blair muttered, his slurred words barely audible over his stomach’s growling.
Jim rolled to his side and laid his head on his outstretched arm. His eyes glued themselves to Blair’s midsection in mindless fascination at the movement of Blair’s fingers as they played across his abdomen, trying to stifle his stomach’s outburst. Blair had strong, talented fingers that could nimbly coax soothing strains from a guitar, offer guidance or comfort by a single touch, or elicit incoherent moans from Jim’s lips as they stroked Jim’s body in indecent pleasuring. Jim watched Blair’s fingertips as they swirled and rustled the soft, curly hair below his bellybutton. He watched each tiny hair as it was pushed flat and then sprang up when the whorls of Blair’s fingerprints played across them.
“Jim?” Blair asked with a hint of amusement. “Jim, man, come on. Come out of it. Come on,” he crooned in a forceful whisper.
Jim blinked and Blair’s face swam into view. He blinked again, then once more. He grinned sheepishly at Blair, who was now lying flat on the bed, his face a few inches from Jim’s. Blair had one hand on Jim’s cheek and he was rubbing it with just enough vigor to make the fuzzy morning stubble warm with friction.
“What did it, Jim? Morning breath zone you out? Or my tummy’s lyrical gurgling?” Blair teased. He kissed the corner of Jim’s mouth, erasing the dazed look from Jim’s eyes.
“Just you,” Jim whispered shakily. “Jesus, Blair, sometimes all it takes is just the nearness of you.”
“Whoa, big guy,” Blair replied. “That’s pretty damn heady. ‘Specially for so early in the morning.” He leaned in and kissed Jim quickly with a loud smacking noise before springing to his feet. He began bouncing on the bed, wobbling Jim onto his back and into a more alert frame of mind.
“Sandburg,” Jim growled as he made a snag for Blair’s ankle.
Blair hopped backward, evading the grab.
“What have I told you about standing on the bed?” Jim groused in a stern tone.
Blair bounced again and shrugged his shoulders as he scrunched his forehead into a thoughtful frown.
“Hmmmm,” he ventured after a moment. “You tell me, ‘what have I told you about standing on the bed?’” Blair mocked daringly in a gruff voice. “To which I reply…?” he prodded.
Jim grinned and his eyes crinkled merrily. He wormed his butt into a comfy position and looked up at Blair.
“To which you reply,” he retorted in a whiny, nasally, girly tone of voice, “Jiiii-iiiim, I weigh just as much standing on the bed as lying on the bed, so what’s your beef?” Jim reverted to his normal voice and prodded back teasingly, “To which I reply?”
“You reply,” Blair said as he took another half step away from Jim, “I’m not talking about your lard ass Sandburg, I’m talking about you falling off the bed, taking a header over the railing or down the steps, finding a loose spring that will catapult you up and through the skylight…”
Jim interrupted in a disgruntled huff. “I have never said you have a lard ass, Chief. I’ve always said you have a damn fine ass.” Jim placed a hand over his heart as he affected a long-suffering southern drawl. “I’m crushed; hurt to the marrow, cut to the quick, that you would take my concern for your well being and…”
Blair laughed as he deftly stepped over Jim and onto the floor. “You are so full of it, Ellison,” he answered. “Look,” he said, and waited until Jim turned toward him, rolling onto his side. Blair pointed first to the edge of the steps and then to his feet, which were a full six inches apart. He waggled his hand between the two points. “See?”
“Gimme a break, Chief. Someday, mark my words,” Jim replied without a hint of amusement in his voice. He looked pointedly at Blair. “No more monkeys jumping on the bed, got it?” he requested in exasperation.
“Bite me,” Blair answered as he turned and started down the steps.
“Sandburg, get you ass back here,” Jim bellowed.
Blair stopped on the third step and peered over the railing. “Yeeeee-eeees?” he asked snidely.
“It’s Sunday morning,” Jim stated, arching one brow.
“Uh-huh,” Blair replied, raising both brows. “And?”
“And,” Jim growled sweetly as he raised himself up on one elbow, “It’s naked, stay in bed all day Sunday, right? So, get your ass back up here.”
Blair bobbed up and down, covering his penis with both hands. “Come on, man, I’ve gotta pee. You might have a super size sentinel bladder, buddy, but me? Not so much. Plus I’m hungry, man, hung ga ree,” he added and his stomach emphasized his point by emitting a low rumble.
“You’ve got two minutes,” Jim warned. He flopped onto his back, nonchalantly stretched his arms up, then folded then neatly behind his head and closed his eyes.
“What!” Blair exclaimed.
“One,” Jim purred.
“Counting? You’re gonna count?” Blair yipped as he started down the steps once again.
“Two,” Jim continued.
“Sonofabitch,” Blair cursed as he raced down the stairs.
Jim stopped counting aloud as he tracked Blair’s movements through the loft.
Blair hissed as his feet hit the cold floor and he mumbled a few creative obscenities as he hotfooted his way toward the bathroom. He finished his business quickly, and made a hasty detour into the kitchen. Jim listened as Blair rummaged around in the refrigerator, pawed through a few drawers, and banged through every cupboard, no doubt leaving every door hanging open, before making a beeline for the stairs.
Jim hurried Blair along by periodically calling out the count. He skipped ahead, shouting “One hundred ten!” just as Blair made it to the bottom step, to see how fast Blair would hustle.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Blair chanted breathlessly as he sprinted up the stairs. He dove over Jim and landed in a semi-controlled tumble, carefully cradling his haul from the kitchen against his torso. “Made it,” he puffed, letting out a slow breath and grinning at Jim. He unfolded his arms, and placed two bottles of juice, two granola bars, and a red-topped container on the bed. He picked up one of the bottles and shook it, wiggling his hair, nipple ring, cock, and the entire bed, in the process. He twisted the top off and chugged the orange juice, draining the bottle in several long gulps. He handed the empty to Jim, along with the other bottle, and then steadied the container between his feet as he pried the lid off.
“No coffee?’ Jim complained with a mock pout. He took a swig of his juice and set both bottles on the nightstand.
“You are such an asshole, Ellison,” Blair answered as he popped a slice of mango into his mouth. He plucked another slice from the container, leaned over, and slid it into Jim’s open mouth. Jim’s lips closed over Blair’s fingers and clamped down for a second. Blair withdrew the digits slowly, letting Jim suction off the excess juice.
“Mmmmmm,” Jim hummed, enjoying the mingled taste of mango and Blair.
Blair grinned and gobbled up another piece of fruit before tearing open one of the granola bars. He took a few quick bites and spoke out of the corner of his mouth as he munched.
“So, what wouldja’ve done if I hadn’t made it back under the wire, huh? Huh? What?” Blair inquired with a cheeky grin as he tossed the other bar to Jim, and poked Jim’s flank with one of his toes. “Huh? Huh?”
Jim pursed his lips and regarded Blair thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes to blue cat-like slits. “Oh, I dunno,” he replied lazily, as he opened his bar and downed it quickly. “I suppose I would’ve come down after you, wrestled you into submission, bent you over the nearest piece of furniture and screwed you silly.”
Blair’s mouth dropped open, and a few crumbs slid out and fell onto the bed. He tossed the half eaten granola aside, letting it land on the floor. He hastily swiped the back of his hand across his lips and, at the risk of re-starting the no standing on the bed debate, jumped to his feet. He tried to hop off the bed again, but Jim managed to stop him this time by latching on to one of Blair’s ankles in a vise-like grip.
“Leggo Jim. Lemme go. You are such a prick!” Blair griped as he jostled his leg, trying to loosen Jim’s hold. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve had this hard-on fantasy of you pinning me face down over the arm of the couch and screwing me silly? Let go,” he pleaded. “Give me a head start, but not much, count faster this time,” he begged as he increased his effort to get off the bed.
“Nuh-uh, no way, Kimosabe,” Jim said with a chuckle. He tightened his grip and gave Blair’s leg a firm shake. “We’ll play countdown some other time,” he added with a leer.
Blair stuck his tongue between his lips and blew a messy raspberry toward Jim. He planted his free foot firmly on the mattress and tested his freedom once more by giving the captive ankle a hard jerk. Jim’s arm absorbed the shock and he held tight.
“Rats,” Blair moaned in defeat as he plopped his ass onto the bed.
Not falling for Blair’s easy surrender, Jim loosened his hold and immediately shoved Blair onto his back in a preemptive strike. Blair countered quickly, and made a futile attempt to scootch to the end of the bed, intent on making a break for the stairs.
Jim was too fast for him, though, and within seconds, he sat atop Blair, straddling his midsection. He captured Blair’s wrists, one in each hand, and forced them up over Blair’s head, pinning them to the sheets. Jim loomed over Blair, panting and laughing, and then leaned in close. He puffed warm breaths smelling of last night’s beer and taco-stale air against Blair’s neck. Jim’s cock took an interest in the tussle, jabbing playfully at Blair’s belly, as his diaphragm expanded and contracted.
Blair thrashed about, laughing breathlessly, making as if he really wanted to get away. He arched his neck and shook his head back and forth, writhing and groaning. His cock was already in the game, good to go, bobbing up and down, nudging against Jim’s thighs and butt.
“What’ve I gotta do to keep you in bed this morning, Sandburg?” Jim rasped as he smiled against sweaty skin. He curled his lips around Blair’s Adam’s apple and mouthed, “Tie you up?” in a playful whisper.
Blair’s movements slowed immediately. He sucked in a deep shuddering breath, as if he’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
Jim straightened up, keeping Blair held down. His gaze met Blair’s in a questioning look, his eyes shifting back and forth over Blair’s flushed skin and half-lidded eyes.
“You’re kidding?” Jim asked. “Really?”
Blair whetted his lips, and his eyes played tag with Jim’s for the length of several heartbeats. He took a few more deep breaths, gulped nervously, and then slowly nodded.
“Well, um, yeah, I’ve thought about it,” Blair answered.
Jim looked around, not sure what to do, how to react, where to find his handcuffs, or a length of rope, or his bathrobe tie…
Blair chuckled and fidgeted for a moment. He quickly regained his composure, though, as he watched Jim’s expression change rapidly from dumbstruck to anxious to a look of what the hell can I use to hogtie my lover and how soon can I get my hands on it.
“I’ve got something you could use,” Blair offered helpfully.
Jim looked at Blair, eyeing him curiously. “You do?”
Blair wiggled his hands and shifted his hips, urging Jim to let him up.
“I told you I’ve thought about it,” Blair reminded him.
“Oh,” Jim said. “You’ve thought about it, thought about it, not like, just now, thought about it.”
“Yup,” Blair agreed cheerily, wiggling a little more emphatically. “And if you’d move your ass, I could show you.”
Jim hesitated for a moment, and then released Blair’s hands. He shifted upward, into a sitting position, still on top of Blair.
“This better not be some sort of trick, Chief, just so you can hop off this bed and hightail it downstairs because you think I’m gonna play countdown, because so help me, if it is…” Jim warned. His voice trailed away, leaving what they both knew was an empty threat hanging in the air.
Blair touched a finger to his chest and dragged it dramatically back and forth in an X. “Cross my heart,” he vowed solemnly, shaking his head. “I don’t even need to leave the bedroom.”
Jim capitulated with a menacing nod and a goofy smirk. He slid off Blair and settled on his back on the side of the bed away from the stairs. He relaxed a little, but didn’t let down his guard. He wanted to be prepared to pounce should it turn out Blair’s heart crossing was a clever ruse.
“Ewww,” Jim griped as he lifted his hips and reached under his back. He peeled several slices of mango from his backside and dragged his hand, dripping with fruit juice, out from under his body. “Great,” he sighed, “just great.” He caught sight of the tipped over container a few inches to his left, grabbed it, and dropped the fruit into it. He leaned over the edge of the bed and set the container on the floor. He snagged one of Blair’s tee shirts from the pile littering the area between the bed and the wall and used it to dry his hands.
Just as Jim rolled back over and repositioned himself on his back, Blair launched himself crossway over Jim’s stomach in a full body press, nearly propelling himself over the edge of the bed.
“What the…” Jim oompfed as Blair landed on his solar plexus, momentarily knocking the wind from his lungs.
For a moment, Jim assumed he’d been duped and that Blair was going to try to pull off one of his pitiful wrestle-mania holds on him. But apparently Jim was just an obstacle in Blair’s path to whatever it was he was now rummaging for under the bed.
Jim closed his eyes and covered them with a forearm, making a concerted effort not to think about what was under the bed. Up until Blair had moved lock stock and barrel into the upper bedroom, the entire area…including the polished, dustless, empty floor beneath the bed…had been his domain. Now there was an imaginary line that divided the territory under the bed into Jim’s side and Blair’s side. It had started out as a fifty-fifty split, but Jim was lucky if his ‘half’ extended even six inches inward from his side of the bed before running into Blair’s clutter. A shivering cringe ran the length of Jim’s arms as he heard the dust bunny orgy taking place atop the mess he was too much of a coward to look at.
“Almost, almost, shit, I can’t quite reach it,” Blair was mumbling to himself as he slid a little further over the side of the bed.
Jim’s mind snapped back just in time to prevent Blair taking a nosedive. He grabbed the only part of Blair that was available to latch on to…his ass. He palmed a cheek with one hand, curled four fingers into the crack, dug his thumb into the fleshy part, and squeezed.
Blair squirmed just enough to help Jim secure his hold, and then continued his search. Two minutes later Blair whispered a triumphant, “Yes!” and worked his way back up, pushing and sliding his way over Jim until he was kneeling next to him. He craned his neck back, shook his hair out of his face, grinned at Jim, and held up his prize.
“Duct tape?” Jim deadpanned. “You want me to tie you up with duck tape.”
Blair slumped against Jim, bumping him forcefully with his hip. “No-ooooh,” he replied, giving Jim an exasperated look. “It’s bondage tape.”
“Bondage tape?” Jim tried to keep a straight face. “Right.”
If looks could say ‘You are such a dick, Ellison’, that’s what Blair’s looks would have said, if he hadn’t decided to say it instead.
“You are such a dick, Ellison.”
Blair began picking at the roll of tape. He divided his attention between peeling off a length of it and explaining the difference between duct tape and bondage tape to Jim.
“First off, this tape is black, shiny black, not battleship gray, which should have been your first clue that this is not, no way, no how, duck tape. Second, listen closely, ‘cuz this is the key,” Blair tilted his head toward Jim, indicating he should pay close attention. “This tape adheres to itself. It doesn’t stick to hair or skin, watch.”
By this time Blair had unraveled a fairly long piece of tape and was having a bit of trouble tearing it off. He held up a finger toward Jim, signaling him to hang on for a second, as he bent forward and tried to use his teeth to rip the strip free. As he tugged at it with his mouth, the tape began to twist, folding onto itself. Blair continued to gnaw, while at the same time trying to jiggle the tape so that it hung loose. His hair managed to get in the way, and it was only a matter of seconds before a sliver of the tape had adhered itself to a corner of his mouth and his hair was caught in the strip which was now spiraling freely. As he attempted to work the tape off his mouth with his tongue, a portion of it ended up stuck to his chin. Blair found he was several pairs of hands short of being able to effectively deal with the tangled mess. He alternately pulled at and stretched the tape, and when he finally succeeded in ripping the strip from the roll, he ended up with three fingers, a few toes, more hair, and the tip of his dick woven into an adhesive jumble.
Jim leapt to Blair’s aid. “For cryin’ out loud, Sandburg,” he sympathized as he boldly entered the fray. He stilled Blair’s hands, gently pried his hair from the mess and then tugged the remainder of the tape off Blair’s face. He patiently unraveled the remaining disarray, balled up the strip of tape and tossed it off the bed. He held his hand out to Blair, wriggling his fingers. With a sigh of defeat, Blair placed the roll on Jim’s flattened palm. Jim set the confiscated item next to him on the bed.
“Crap,” Blair complained as he rubbed at his chin and mouth. He hung his head dejectedly and mumbled, “I really thought that’d be fun.”
Jim smiled. He slid his hands through the disheveled curls surrounding Blair’s head and cupped Blair’s face gently and leaned in close. “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered against Blair lips, not having the heart to tease Blair about the sticky non-sticky tape. “We’ll try it again some other time.” He pressed his lips against Blair’s and kissed him softly.
“Yeah?” Blair answered around the kiss.
“You bet, Chief, anything you want.”
Jim let his hands drop to the top of Blair’s shoulders, never breaking the kiss. He slid his hands down Blair’s arms and maneuvered them both so that Jim was once again on his back, with Blair still on his knees. With soft nudging from his hips, Jim guided Blair until he knelt between Jim’s splayed thighs. Blair bent forward, hovering over Jim’s chest. Their cocks hardened and filled, and found each other in the familiar warm territory between their bodies. They bumped against each other, writhing and straining to reach their perfect unique rhythm. Blair opened his mouth and Jim's tongue slid in. Blair sucked it in deeper, and sealed his lips tightly around Jim’s. Their cocks jerked as the warm, moist sensation added urgency to their movements.
Jim orchestrated their movements, urging Blair’s hands onto the solid muscles of Jim’s chest. He arched his back slightly, and his hands fell away from Blair’s arms.
Blair broke the kiss, inch by inch. His lips ghosted over Jim’s in feathery pecks and nibbles before he eased himself back so that his butt now rested on Jim’s upper thighs. Blair shut his eyes and scrunched his face into a portrait of intense, lust-filled concentration. Their cocks stood straight against each other, throbbing and hot; and they rocked gently, then not so gently, as Blair squeezed Jim’s chest and toyed with his nipples.
With Blair suitably distracted, Jim picked up the roll of tape. He snuck it between their bodies and deftly peeled off a length that would meet his needs. He ripped the strip from the roll with ease and switched from stealth to pounce mode in the space of a heartbeat.
One moment Blair was lurching and quivering in an orgasmic stupor on top of Jim. The next moment he was lurching and quivering in an orgasmic stupor lying on his back with his wrists securely bound together and strapped to the railing, his arms extended over his head.
Blair gasped and his eyes snapped open.
A predatory grin slithered across Jim’s face as he reversed positions with Blair, climbing on top. He grabbed his cock and Blair’s, held them tightly, and began pumping steadily.
“What thefuck, Jim,” Blair whispered. “I thought you said…”
“Shhhhh,” Jim whispered back. He leaned over and kissed Blair. “What I said was some other time, and it is some other time.” He kissed Blair again before Blair could respond. “And I said anything you want, Chief, this is what you want, isn’t it?” he reasoned as he continued to stroke them both.
Blair nodded. “Oh yeah.”
He closed his eyes and smiled blissfully, tied forever to Jim.
Email the Author
Back to Story Index.
Acknowledgments: This story was originally written for the LiveJournal 2005 TS Secret Santa Challenge. Beta'd by Spacepixell. Any remaining mistakes are mine. Thank you to Akablonded for the cover art and to Patt for the ending art.