Wiping steam from the mirror, Jim Ellison took one look at his reflection and muttered direly, "You're dead, Sandburg. Dead." He looked down at the assortment of bottles, jars, and tubes on the vanity counter of the hotel room. "I'm going to take you up in a chopper, hang you out the hatch by a rope, and bounce you off of every building in Cascade. No.... in Seacouver; they have more buildings."
Beside him, dressed only in a towel, like him, Blair arranged his own array of containers and said defensively. "Dr. Merriweather has done more for the rights and protection of abused women and children than anyone else in this country. Half of the legislation designed for them was initiated by her or her group. Being her bodyguard is an honor."
"No, first, I'm going to tell Sam *why* he forgot her birthday, *then* I'm going to take him up. Maybe Chicago. Lots more buildings," Jim told the reflection in the mirror, running his hand over his jaw to test how close his shave was.
"She's always gotten hate mail, but this guy has actually tried to get her. And came damned close the last time." The grad student, too, tested his jaw, grimaced, and began to lather up to shave.
"Spiders. Maybe spiders in his clothes, big furry brown ones, then Sam, then the helicopter. Miami. No, not enough *big* buildings in Miami." With a grimace of distaste, he opened the first jar, dipped in fingers in the liquid, then spread it over his cheeks.
Shuddering, Blair hesitated mid-stroke, but went on gamely. "This woman's conference is important Jim. And males would stand out like sore thumbs. It's not my fault that the only female officers qualified were ill or deskbound for the duration."
Deciding that it was going to take two coats to cover the shadow of his beard - Sandburg was going to have to slather the stuff on with a trowel - Jim checked the book open on the counter next to him and snarled. "They're going to find spider bitten, flame broiled pieces of him all over... I got it, Seattle. Close, lots of big buildings. I can even drop what's left of him on the Needle."
"Damn it, Jim," Blair burst out loudly, putting down his razor. "I only volunteered myself. How was I supposed to know that Simon would assume you would do this, too!"
For the first time since getting out of the shower Jim looked at the other man directly. In contrast to his previous tone, he said very, very gently, "You're my partner, Sandburg. When one speaks in the line of duty, he speaks for both, as far as the department is concerned." Sighing deeply, he shut off his grumbles, scanned the book again, and asked conversationally, "Which color shadow do you think would be better for me?"
Checking out the book himself, Blair read out loud, "Police Undercover, Vol 8, Camouflage Techniques in Feminine Settings for Male Officers." Unsuccessfully stifling a grin, he said as seriously as possible, "Hey, cool. A how-to for make-up for guys. RuPaul could use this."
"He'd be under the section for dressing like a hooker. Do *not* go there, Chief." Second layer of foundation on, Jim touched on some eye shadow, wiped it off with a cream covered tissue and tried again. Nodding in satisfaction, he put on eyeliner, then began to fumble with the mascara.
"Hey, give me credit for some taste, here." First layer of foundation on, Blair studied the effect in the mirror, brushing back his hair into a jeweled banana clip as he did. New bangs feathered over his brow, and the fall of curls down the back of his head shone with the highlights he'd had the hairdresser put in.
Throwing down the mascara because he couldn't get it close enough to his lashes without blinking, Jim reached for his wig and began fitting it on. It was the same shade as his natural hair, but was shoulder length, curling under. "At least you get to use your own hair. I hate these things; they're hot."
"At the moment, I'd rather have to wear the wig. Do you have any idea how long it took me to shave my legs?" Blair slathered on more base, and blended it into his hairline.
"Could be worse, Chief. If the climate were warmer you'd have to shave your pits and chest. You'd need hedge trimmers, I think." Jim tried again at the mascara, fanned through the pages of the book, and put the tube down. He picked up a lipstick pencil and began outlining his mouth. In the mirror he caught Blair staring at him, an odd look on his face. Pretending not to notice as Blair shook his head, then put on his own shadow and eyeliner, Jim began to fill in the outline of his lips.
"Nice color, man. Mind if I...." Blair said, reaching.
Slapping at his hand, Jim said, "Un-scented, hypo-allergenic makeup isn't cheap, sailor. Get your own." He finished, blotted it, and reached for the blush. Regarding his image again, he decided he didn't need the book to know where that would look best, and swept it over his cheekbone, lightly. Then he stepped away from the double vanity.
"Be that way," Blair grinned, using his own blush. "See if I help you with that mascara. You need all the help you can get, what with... boy, talk about invisible lashes." He leaned forward, opened his eyes exaggeratedly, picked up the mascara and began to brush it over his own.
"How do you *do* that?" Jim watched, bemused.
"C'mere. Let me help." Jim leaned forward, letting Blair take his chin in his fingers. "Now blink when I say so. Blink. Blink." Doing as he was told, Jim felt his lashes go through the brush, the pigment catch, cling, making them feel heavier. Blair's fingers burned his skin, as his scent wrapped him in its tendrils.
With a tiny mental shake, he straightened as Blair dropped his hand. "Nice perfume," he said casually, dropping the towel, and putting one foot on the edge of the chair. Taking one of the stockings from the stack of clothing there, he rolled it onto his fingers, and bent to draw it over his foot. "Patchouli and sandlewood - feminine, but not flowery."
The accelerated breathing of his partner caught his attention, and he looked up to see Blair staring at him again. "Sandburg?"
"Why a garter belt, Jim? Blair's voice started out slightly squeaky, but firmed into his usual tones.
"For the same reason I wear boxers. I hate being... ah, I don't know... constricted. Panty hose look like they could do some serious damage to a guy." He looked down at the black satin panties and garter, then finished putting on the stocking. It was trickier than Carolyn had made it look, but he seemed to be handling it all right. Hooking the first one into the belt, he switched legs and put on the other. He swirled his hands over the nylon, enjoying the pleasant feel of it sliding under his fingertips. But this time, the nylon was on *him* and he was feeling it from both sides, and the glide of skin under and over nylon was the most sensuous, arousing, perfect.... He drifted away into the zone, slowly stroking his calf.
The idle motion was stopped by hard, strong fingers covering his own. "Jim, let go of the sensation, listen to me instead, let go, let go."
With a deep sigh, Jim did as he was told, letting Blair peel his hands away. "Sorry."
"Don't be," Blair said thickly. Wrapping his fingers carefully around Jim's ankle, he added, "I like that, myself. It's easy to understand why you'd zone on it." Jim lifted his head to look his roommate in the eye, and was held by the emotion there: confusion, surprise, and... arousal?
Blair broke the gaze, focusing instead on where his hands rested. As if with a mind of his own, they began to drift up Jim's leg. Holding his breath, goosebumps skating up just ahead of the tantalizing touch, Jim tried to marshal his skittering thoughts. He'd sworn never again... too messy to get involved... don't want a relationship....
Blair reached the top of the stocking, and looked directly at where Jim's erection was lifting the fabric of the panties, reaching straight for the man kneeling in front of him. Jim knew, that like always, he would go where his guide led, and took a deep breath. Blair looked up at the sound, rising as Jim leaned down, mouth already open and wet.
"HEY YOU TWO! Hurry up in there; we don't have all night!"
Part Two
Banging on the door of the hotel bathroom, Simon Banks yelled again, "I said, hurry up in there!"
He started to open the door, but as it cracked open, he heard Jim shout back, "We're doing the best we can. Unless you know how to do up one of these bust-uppy-way things, you're being no help, here."
"Bustier - boost-ee-ay," Blair enunciated clearly.
Deciding he did not need to know more, Simon eased the door shut again, and went back into the main room of the suite. Sniffing appreciatively at a new cigar, he chortled evilly, already anticipating the uses he could make of this assignment's fallout. Ellison was going to have to stay on his good side for a long, long time. Contentedly, he sat, looking over at Taggart who was paging disinterestedly through a magazine. "Five dollars says Ellison looks like five miles of bad road."
Without looking up, Joel countered, "No deal. Unless you want to go double or nothing he can't go through with it at all."
Amusing himself by trying to blow smoke rings, Banks answered contemplatively, "No, he'll go through with it. Bitching and moaning every step of the way, but Merriweather's life really is in danger and this is the only way to get someone next to her. Ellison won't risk an innocent woman for dignity. Not after he thinks about it, anyway."
Solemnly Joel nodded, eyes still on the mag. "Maybe we should go easy on Blair, you know? The guys give him enough of a hassle as it is."
The two of them thought about it, then said simultaneously, "Nawwww."
"Kid can take care of himself," Simon said thoughtfully.
"And Ellison will pound anybody who messes with him into cream," Joel added.
After a minute of quietly thinking about that, Simon asked, "Can you get pictures? With the surveillance equipment, I mean, without compromising them as evidence?"
There was more quiet, then Joel answered. "No. But I could pull a snappy off the security cameras, maybe."
"Well, a little insurance couldn't hurt," Simon said reflectively. "It's not like we'd have to show them to anyone or anything."
"No, couldn't hurt."
Silence reigned, though the smiles in the room spoke loudly.
When the sound of the opening bathroom door echoed through the room, they grew, were stifled heroically, but started sneaking out around the edges of the straight faces both men were trying for.
Trying for nonchalant, they looked up together, then dropped their jaws into their laps.
Jim was wearing a black, long-sleeved brocade dress in a style reminiscent of the fifties that had a high shawl collar that accentuated his bare shoulders and long neck. It was nipped in at the waist, to fall in full folds to just past his knees. He glided over to the dresser in strappy high-heeled sandals, picked up a short three-strand pearl necklace, and fastened it around his neck. A matching ring was fitted over one manicured, tastefully pink-nailed finger, then one earring fitted into an ear. The other ear was hidden by his hair, for the wire, and he turned to Blair as he placed a large black hat with veil onto his head.
Dressed in a mandarin-collared long-sleeved sheath of dark blue, Blair wore no jewelry except for a silver dragon perched on the cup of one ear. The dress was tight all the way to mid calf, but had a slit that ran from the hem to the thigh. Though both his ears were exposed, he had gone for the hidden in plain sight technique. No one would look at the bugged ear with the brightly jeweled comb in his pulled back hair and the dragon with the matching stone hanging from its tail, attracting the eye. Like Jim, he wore strappy sandals, and he put out a hand to balance on his partner's arm as he adjusted one buckle.
They were both gorgeous; Jim in a sleek, elegant way that screamed Katherine Hepburn or Lauren Bacall, and Blair so exotic that any man would love to have him draped over his arm. Neither paid the slightest attention to the other occupants of the room as they finished dressing for the assignment.
Taking his weapon from the top of the dresser, Jim put it in the shoulder holster hidden under the shawl collar of the dress, checked his backup and put it and his badge in a handbag. "Does anyone on Merriweather's staff beside her know that she's being guarded?"
Reaching over the bed, Joel punched Banks on the upper arm and pointed to Jim. "Uh, yeah." Banks sputtered for a second. "Her daughter's been filled in on the whole thing." Gaining confidence, he stood, adjusted his belt for some obscure reason, and went on. "She's a bit nervous about you two, uh, dressing, I mean, wearing, uh... being undercover. Not sure how the women in the conference will handle it if they find out."
"No problem." Blair looked over the contents of his bag and pulled out his wallet for a second, as if to assure himself he hadn't forgotten it. "We'll tell anyone who asks that we're pre-op transsexuals. It's enough of a validation they won't be too upset." Grinning suddenly and widely at the big captain looming over him. "And a few will be really, really *interested,* if you know what I mean."
"Down, Sandburg," Jim ordered. "You're on duty, remember? Ready to go?" The last was directed to Banks.
"Uh, yeah, sure."
Swaying gracefully, Jim walked across the room, and waited expectantly at the door. Hurrying, without knowing why, Banks met him there, opened it for him, then let him precede him down the hallway. Behind him he heard Sandburg say approvingly, "I told you if you practiced first, those heels wouldn't be a problem."
Pausing so his partner could catch up, Jim said, "I've been meaning to ask - where'd you learn all this, Sandburg?"
"Dated a theater major in grad school. She dragged me into helping her with her productions, backstage. Picked up all kinds of things."
"I should have known," Taggart mumbled, walking alongside Banks. "Wouldn't have volunteered if he didn't know what he was doing."
Flashing a smile over his shoulder, Blair said, as the elevator doors slid apart, "Not always, Joel. But I'm always willing to learn."
Tucking one hand into the crook of Sandburg's arm, Jim pulled the smaller person onto the elevator, "Well see about that, now won't we, partner?" To Banks confusion, they both laughed.
Part Three
From the start the conference was a disaster. Everyone was on edge with the increasingly violent threats being levied at them, several foreign contingents had their visas revoked at the last second by their governments, citing those threats, and the keynote speaker cancelled. The debate over whether or not it was because of the threats had the already fractured populous divided into growingly strident camps. To make matters worse, the hotel staff weren't exactly happy with the situation, several of the uniformed officers had to be removed for less than complimentary attitudes toward the attendees, and the security system was antiquated, at best.
Pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes tiredly, Banks thought to himself, //As if that isn't enough, Sandburg and Ms. Becca Merriweather have apparently decided to hate each other's guts. Dr. Merriweather has plowed right through this entire day, doing her best, Jim and Blair being practically her right and left hands, giving her every bit of support they can, and this ditz of a daughter can't think of anything but getting Jim naked. Blair's doing his best to keep her out of Jim's way, and she's giving him all kinds of grief for it instead of appreciating their help for her mother.//
On the security monitor he watched as the quartet sat at their banquet table. Or rather, tried to. Jim graciously waited for Dr. Merriweather to sit, and Blair, anticipating Becca, attached himself to his partner, making it clear that he intended to sit next to him, no matter what. Becca obviously wasn't happy with the arrangement, and was probably voicing it in that loud, squeaky, obnoxious voice of hers. Wincing for his hypersensitive detective, Banks considered turning the sound to the listening devices back up, but couldn't make himself submit to the torture. The expression on Taggart's face under the headphones was too discouraging.
Reluctantly letting go of his last intent to hold the dressed-in-drag thing over Jim's head - he'd surely been punished enough for his partner's good deed - Banks almost missed it when the action started. As it was, all he caught of the first part was Jim freezing in place, wearing the intent look Banks recognized his "sentinel" one. Beside him, Blair was just as intent, but on Jim's face.
Hastily Banks called out, "Places, people. Something may be up," and spun the dial of the sound equipment in time to hear Jim instructing Blair in that soft Texas lilt he had affected, "...distraction of any kind. There's at least three and they're ready to move."
Blair nodded, looked around assessingly as Jim rose and sashayed away from the table. Becca Merriweather whined, "Jamie, honey, *wait.*"
Later, even after looking at the tapes a half dozen times, Banks would never be sure if what happened next was accidental (as Blair claimed) or deliberate, (as Ms. Merriweather claimed). In either case she made a move to follow the cop, Blair half-rising, grabbed at her, caught the back of her head in his palm, and pushed her forward.
She fell face forward into her plate, and came up wearing a mash-potato mask. To Blair's credit, he immediately apologized and tried to wipe some of it off with his napkin. Incensed, she scraped a handful of food off her face and flung it at Blair's head. He ducked nimbly, and it went sailing over the space between the tables to land squarely on the side of the head of the woman most vocally opposed to Dr. Merriweather's policies. She shrieked and whirled to glare at Becca's table. Then hurled *her* food, dish and all, at the occupants. It didn't hit anyone, but the contents splattered everyone and Blair stood up, hooting with laughter. Tossing food deliberately in all directions, he made a target of himself that the women were glad to use.
Meantime, Jim had simply walked up to his target who was dressed as a waiter, smiled at him pleasantly, and cold-cocked him. His three accomplices, torn between watching the food that was spontaneously erupting all over the place at the other end of the hall, and watching their boss be accosted by the tall beauty, missed seeing the punch. They rushed over to 'help' the woman and collapsing man, which allowed Jim to take out one more.
Banks and the rest of the assigned security force crashed in at that point, sending the remaining two into flight. As the cops dodged, splashed and skidded in flying food, Jim ran after one of them, somehow eluding every morsel of debris in the air and still staying in his high heels. Catching the running man by the collar, Jim slammed him into a table as the remaining one slipped and belly flopped, toboggan style, right into Banks waiting arms. Picking up his most recent catch, Jim strong-armed him over to the others, deftly twisting and turning, using the goon as a shield so that nothing hit him.
By this time the food had run out, the occupants of the room were laughing so hard they were all literally in each other's arms, crying. The bad guys were all trussed up, and the *only* person there still immaculate was Jim. Everyone else wore a generous coating of former groceries. Banks looked down at himself, then glared at Ellison.
Before he could speak, Jim raised one eyebrow, pursed his lips prissily and smoothed his skirt. "Just because they call us 'pigs' gentlemen..." he began, the grin he was suppressing ducking in and out at the corner of his mouth.
Behind him Blair snuck up quietly, carrying a tray filled with assorted pastries and pies.
"..doesn't mean we have to wallow in our food." Deadpan Simon took the tray and offered it to the other officers who took items from it and began to advance on the well-dressed man. Jim bravely stood his ground. "Hey! It wasn't that bad a joke."
"Yes, it was," the cops chorused and launched.
Jim stood still for it, cracking one eye cautiously when he thought it was all over. Dipping a finger into something on his chest, he said thoughtfully, "Chocolate. How am I going to get *that* out of this dress?"
His fellow cops assaulted him again, all of them laughing.
Part Four
Stepping out of the shower, Jim lifted his arms over his head and stretched until he almost thought his fingers were going to brush the ceiling. Scratching at his ribs, he grumbled, "How do women stand those things!" He malevolently eyed the bustier sitting innocently on the nearby chair.
Carefully wiping cold cream from his eyes, Blair commiserated. "It was the high heels that got me. My toes are going to be celebrating their freedom for days." Complaining about needing to wash his hair again, Blair had jumped into the shower first, and now was standing at the vanity, dressed only in a towel, wiggling his toes, happily.
Drying himself, Jim looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "I would have thought that thong thing you were wearing would have been the big problem. How tight was it, anyway? That sheath was closer to you than your skin, and there was no sign of, um, your male attributes."
Grinning, Blair told the mirror, "Let's just say I had no problem pitching my voice higher, okay?"
With a snort of laughter, Jim said thoughtfully, "Always wondered how transvestites managed that."
In mock-disgust, Blair threw a messy tissue at Jim, then looked at where the dress he'd been wearing was crumpled on the floor. "Seriously, though, it wasn't that bad. You were right; going out there with our heads up and acting like ladies made Simon and Joel *treat* us like ladies." He grinned again, wickedly. "For a minute I thought Simon was going to kiss your hand, you had him so off balance."
Under his breath, Jim said, "Would have served him right. I can't believe he and Joel had a bet as to which of us would look the worst."
"Ah, come on, Jim," Blair said placatingly, "how would you have reacted if it had been the two of them in drag?"
Wanting to hang on to his disgruntlement, Jim said reluctantly, "Okay, me, I can see. If you hadn't picked out the dress, I would have probably looked as bad as they expected me to. But you? Sandburg, you looked gorgeous as a bum; I can't imagine you not cleaning up beautiful."
Startled, Blair swung around to face his partner directly. "Me? Come on, Jim, it wasn't me *Ms* Merriweather was drooling on."
"So her taste is as bad as her voice." Jim shuddered delicately, feeling in memory her high-pitched nasal whine grind away at his nerves again. Pushing it away the sensation, he remember the other one he'd fought all day long, and drifted closer to his roomie. "But it did help me deal with other little problem I had."
Reaching out quickly, Blair put a hand one of Jim's biceps, "Your senses? Those cosmetics...."
"You, Chief. You. That slit up the side of your dress? I knew you wearing something under it, but you looked totally naked. If it hadn't been for Ms. Merriweather sticking to us like a tick, I would have slid my hand up your leg, just to make sure."
Eyes going big, Blair visibly swallowed. "You would have?"
"Oh, yes. In fact, the only good thing about wearing a dress as far I'm concerned, is that, for once, I didn't have to worry about anybody seeing the hard-on I was sporting. Though I did keep thinking, all I have to do is raise my skirt...."
"Jim," Blair half moaned, half whispered. He stood transfixed, but shaking, heart pounding loudly in Jim's ears.
Slowly, Jim backed off. "Am I misreading things, here, Chief? Earlier...."
Blair launched himself at Jim, wrapping both arms tightly around him. "No," he said against the bigger man's chest. "No! I just...." Unable to keep talking, Blair rubbed himself on his lover, knocking away the towel.
With a start, Jim realized Blair was totally aroused, to the point of being on the verge of coming. Wondering how he could have missed it, he lifted, raising Blair to set him on the edge of the vanity. Opening his thighs, Blair pulled Jim in between his legs, hooking one ankle of the back of Jim's knee. It brought both aching cocks into alignment, and Jim moaned even as Blair's mouth found his. He swallowed Blair's deep sigh of completion hungrily, inhaling the rich scent of semen, feeling it hot and heavy between them. His own come spilled as quickly, and they held onto each other, barely staying upright.
Nothing in his life had prepared him for how right it felt to hold that smaller body against his own. Cheek nestled in the curls over one ear, the bristle of Blair's chin on his collar bone, the strength in the arms curled around his waist - he could never have believed how good it was. Glimpsing their reflection, he decided it looked as right as it felt, and unselfconsciously began to rock ever so slightly.
Like a sleepy cat Blair stroked his face over Jim's chest and snuggled into the rocking, his erection renewing itself slowly. "It can't be this easy," he murmured.
"It's not." Jim agreed. "But later, we can remember how it felt. It'll help."
Pulling back enough to be able to look into his face, Blair studied him for a moment. Jim did nothing to hide; what he felt was plain to be seen, but he couldn't find words to go with it. And Blair, with that uncanny knack he had of hearing what wasn't being said, only smiled and reached up for a kiss.
Sweetly, gently their lips touched, let go, touched again. They shared a delicate nibble, then Jim questioned with a tentative tongue-tip. Blair answered by opening his mouth, shyly, barely. As Jim slipped into the welcoming haven, they both moaned, their rocking becoming more urgent.
It wasn't going to take long again, Jim dimly recognized, considered for split second whether to try to slow down, then quit trying to think and enjoyed the compact body writhing over his. He brought his hands down to Blair's bottom, to bring them into firmer contact, and began thrusting in earnest. They were close; he could feel both of them growing that extra bit harder, longer, that came just before the end. Blair's fingers were digging into his back, trying to get them even closer, and he had to break the kiss to drag in air.
"Hey, in there! Are you going to take all night?!" Simon banged on the door, shouting.
Jumping nearly out of the room, Blair stifled a screech. Jim froze, bit his lip, and choked out, sounding only pissed, thank god, "We're moving as fast as we can."
To his surprise, Blair leaned back into their embrace and licked his neck. "Oh, yeah. Definitely as fast as we can." He went back to pumping, as if they had not been interrupted.
"You two aren't the only ones who need it, you know. Get out of there." Simon sounded disgruntled and rattled the door knob.
"But we're the only ones who're going to get it," Blair answered him, quietly, only for Jim's ears. He made a sound that was half laugh and half groan, brought both legs up around Jim's waist, and began frenetically moving, oblivious to the rest of Simons' complaints. Jim braced him, unable to stop, himself.
"Are you two coming or not!"
"In a fucking second, Simon!" Jim shouted back, and did, holding his cry of pleasure to the merest of whimpers, deep in his chest. Blair gave only a breathy 'oh' and shot, his semen adding to the slick between them.
"Well, don't take all night! I'm beginning to feel like the Tin man here, slowly rusting in place. Damn, I'm going to have to use a chisel to get this gravy off me."
"But I *want* to take all night," Jim whispered in Blair's ear, trying not to pant.
"Oh, man." Blair breathed back. "We just did twice already. I haven't been this fast - coming and going - since high school."
Lethargically Jim took a damp cloth from the sink and cleaned both of them up, staying as much in contact as possible. "I don't think I ever needed so little time to recharge. And I still want to. You?"
The renewed pounding at the door interrupted Blair's reply and they tore away from each other, picking up towels to wrap around their waists. Waiting until Jim was ready to open the door, Blair squirted a blast of perfume into the room to cover their scent, and began combing his hair as if that was what he had been doing all along.
"About damn time. What the hell were the two of you doing that took so long?" Simon brushed past Jim, who wisely stepped out into the main room of the suite. "Do that in your bedroom, Sandburg. Give someone else a crack at the shower."
Catching Blair's eye, Jim said calmly, "Sharing make-up hints. You know, creamy versus powder. I think we both decided on cream."
Scooping up a pile of clothes, Blair scooted past the captain, hiding his wide grin in the action. He shut the door on Simon just as he turned to say something, eyes wide.
"Jim, that was..." Blair started.
"Mean? Disrespectful? Rude? All of the above?"
"Perfect." At Jim's questioning look, he added, "Just because I can understand their attitude doesn't mean I want them to get away with it. Now, what are we going to do for Joel?"
With a hand on the small of his lover's back, Jim steered Blair toward their room. "I'm sure we'll think of something, Chief. In the meantime, the better question is what am *I* going to do for *you*?"
Blair stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder, and licked his lips. "I don't suppose you'd put those stockings back on first?"
Pretending to consider the request, Jim nodded his head. "If you'll wear the thong. Deal?"
"Deal." And they both ran for the bedroom. finis