Blue
Author: Layna
Title: Blue
Series: Flavor of the Month
Pairing: Blaine/Blaine (with recalled Blaine/other/other/other/etc)
Rating: NC-17.
Warning: At least one female other; Blaine's pretty equal-opportunity.
Archive: Yes, at KCFC and Layna's Lounge, if you please, dear
Fox.
Feedback: Always welcome! layna@teamandersen.net is the place to send it.
For Fox, my wonderful beta, who hardly insisted on anything.
For Doug, who continues to encourage me to write.
For Master Ruth, because she's Master Ruth and she knows about this stuff.
And for Hiper Bunny, because Blaine's her kid, too.
The first rays of the sun, tinged with blue, were piercing the
horizon as
Bail
Blaine Garu, Spare Prince of Eab Nanoorn, slipped into his room.
At this
point in his life, it was less of a problem to be away for four
days than to
be caught returning, so he kept the seaside door to his rooms
well-oiled and
the servants well-bribed. What his mother did not know would not
hurt her,
and it would certainly make his life easier. Thank all the
little gods she
didn't read the holotabs.
He ran a hand through his hair, shaking loose a hail of glitter.
He needed
to spend some time on his hair. Tomorrow. Right now, undress and
wind down
and let sleep carry away the exhaustion and the ringing in his
ears.
Blaine toed off his shoes, little blue boots with heels; they'd
been a lot
more comfortable when he'd left the house. Socks. Somewhere
between
Barricades and the first party after the show, he'd lost his
socks.
He pulled his shirt off over his head. More times than he could
remember, in
the last few days: hands up and a tug and a faceful of sky-blue
silk, and
then someone or other looking really pleased. This time,
himself, reflected
in the slightly clouded full-length mirror that had been in
these rooms
since the rooms had been there: himself, pleased, sleepy, with a
little of
yesterday's eyeliner. That had always been a good look for him.
A few buttons and his pants, very deep blue, very soft, very
much in need of
repair or replacement, fell to the floor. He stepped out of
them, and knelt
down to recall the past few days.
Sasha. Sasha's beautiful, strong, slender hands. Two silver
rings, very
smooth, each a very distinct sensation in his mouth as Sasha fed
him sweet
fruit pastries with a kind of gentle insistence.
He sucked his finger, recalling the sweetness, and traced a tiny
circle
around each of his nipples. Jorge had been so amazed by that. It
was hard to
believe anyone on Eab Nanoorn hadn't at least heard about the
extra one at
this point, but fun to see the look on Jorge's face. Even more
fun to feel
Jorge's tongue, and then very carefully his teeth, on each
nipple in turn.
They were rather tender now, pinker than usual: it was hard to
keep track of
exactly who had nibbled them, and when and where.
He reached down. Amazing that his cock, pink and curved, was
still
interested after the last few days, but then it nearly always
was,
especially for the hands that knew it best. He took a deep
breath and
stroked, closing his eyes for a moment. Very good, solid in his
hand. He
kept stroking, remembering.
Dahlia, from way up north where they gave the boys flower names.
Tall and
pale and incredibly tight, against the wall behind the club,
biting his hand
to keep quiet while Blaine fucked him because his friends would
never have
let him hear the end of it. As if everyone hadn't known the
moment he walked
back in, blushing, with his red hair falling down from what had
been a neat
coil on top of his head. Blaine had silenced his friends by
convincing one
of them to join him outside next and making him scream.
The two dark men at the show, back in the corner, who'd looked
at absolutely
nothing but each other through the whole thing. Strobe lights,
explosions,
Blaine dancing on the table: they just kept looking at each
other. It made
Blaine want to follow them wherever they went afterwards, to
watch.
He sucked his finger, slicking it, and slid it up inside
himself. A flare of
soreness reminded him that he had played quite a lot of "How
Many" over the
last few days; played and lost, which was the way he liked it.
That was what
had happened to those socks. His good blue socks. Perrin won
them; he had a
clear memory of her striding out of the back room, laughing,
swinging them
over her head: the only clothes of his that could possibly have
fit her. The
soreness felt sort of good, actually; he added a second finger,
breathed a
little faster, and kept stroking.
Those twins, Sun and Moon they called themselves. Skies only
knew where they
came from. Even if they'd been able to keep from laughing when
they'd
introduced themselves he'd have known nobody's actually named
Sun and Moon.
He'd been disinclined to mention it, though, when he was on his
knees with
one (hard to say which, but definitely the one who curved
slightly to the
left) in his mouth, the other in his ass, apparently trying to
meet in the
middle. They were very blond and smelled like peppermint and
curled up
together like puzzle pieces afterward, on top of a heap of blue
pillows at
Nalla's house. Blaine had rested a few moments, then got up and
left them
both asleep, dreaming their identical dreams.
Later, Jules, the dark-eyed boy who could both sing and cook:
nothing
sexual, not from him, but the warmest hug. He'd asked Blaine if
he was ever
going to narrow things down to one person, and Blaine had
laughed and
pointed out how unfair that would be to everyone else, how
selfish. He'd
told Jules his blond friend had gone outside to see the band
play, and
fondly watched him walk away. True love, if the blond ever
figured it out.
True love. He looked up at the mirror and saw himself, flushed,
sweating,
panting, bluest eyes, and went right over the edge.
The small blue towel, then, so soft, and a tall glass of water
from the
cooler by the bed; going to bed thirsty was never a good idea,
and the water
felt so good going down, so cold. Gods, and so many things to do
in the next
few days: his brother's wedding, and if he had to be there, he
might as well
look good, rested, fresh. Planning the party, and picking up
some kind of
bodyguard from the spaceport: someone to follow him around and
tell his
mother what he was up to, probably, but that was just too much
to hold in
his head just now. He dropped into bed, asleep almost as soon as
the
coolness of the pale blue sheets registered against his skin,
asleep and
dreaming of nothing at all.
-end-
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