Fandom: The Sentinel

Title: Show Me

Author: Qlara 2002

Author's email: letterq@appleisp.com

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: J/B

Category: Romance/PWP

Status: Complete

Summary: Blair asks for something. Jim gives him what he wants. They both receive further motivation.

Warnings: m/m

Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own them, I'm just imagining the possibilities.



Show Me
by Qlara 2002

They tussle and wrestle on the bed as Blair fights valiantly toward surrender. Jim reaches for Blair's cock only to have his hand brushed away. Kisses Blair's neck, chest, and belly and feels hands on his shoulders pushing him back.

Blair lies back against the pillows spreading his arms and legs as if to offer Jim everything if he'd only just ask; or even better, have; or best yet, take.

"Okay," Blair says, resigned to the fact that in this one instance, Jim couldn't find a clue with both hands and a flashlight, much less his ass, which is rather the main point of tonight's exercise.

"Jim, do you know how long I've been wanting you to fuck me?"

"No. We've never…"

"Exactly. Which is why, Jim, I am now telling you in no uncertain terms that I really, very much, unreservedly want you to fuck me. Into oblivion would be nice, but I'll settle for into the mattress," Blair says, once again proving himself a man of many talents, including the ability to engage in light-hearted banter while appearing seriously wanton.

Jim sits back on his heels, caught in contemplation between how Blair does that, and what he's just asked. Blair, meanwhile, watches and imagines an internal dialogue inside Jim's head along the lines of - `We've made good progress here. Let's discuss further during next week's session.' Simultaneously it occurs to him that there just may be such a thing as too much therapy.

"How much?" Jim asks, carefully lowering himself onto Blair's body.

`Fifty-five bucks an hour, and thank God for student health insurance,' Blair thinks, even though he knows it's not the appropriate answer to the probable question. He's too busy multi-tasking, as a part of his brain registers the difference in their heights – Jim's question having been addressed to his forehead –his cock second-guesses the wisdom of rejecting Jim's earlier advance, and his ass taps out internal Morse code roughly translated as `Anytime tonight.'

"How much what?" Blair asks Jim's throat. And then Jim's gone, not into his head, but onto his knees and in between Blair's.

"How much do you want me to fuck you?"

"Umm, really, truly, deeply? Jim, I already said."

"Don't tell me, Blair. Show me."

"Oh, you want a little show, as in show don't tell," Blair says, seeing where this is going, and more than willing to go along on the ride. "I can do that. I can…"

Show everything and tell all. Hide nothing. Not that he could, not that he wants to, not that he can with Jim looking at him like that – hi-beams turned on and focused from the foremost front row seat.

"Show me," Jim says wrapping a hand around his own dick; palm down, knuckles up, still only half-cocked, but loaded for Blair. "We're waiting."

Blair begins to reach for his then realizes that the real star of tonight's show has yet to even make it out of his dressing room. At the thought of what he's about to do his cock hardens against his belly as if to get out of the way.

"Can you hand me the slick?"

Jim reaches into the bedside table for the bottle they'd previously used only to smooth the ride of cocks through hands.

"Just a little on the fingertips," Blair says, "Not too much."

"I'm no expert, Blair, but I do seem to recall hearing that there's no such thing as too much lube."

"Said by those who take the term `sliding into home' a bit too literally. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

"I'm guessing that we'll save the discussion of `how' for another night," Jim says, handing over the bottle in favor of handling the insides of Blair's thighs, and much less concerned with the answer to the question than he is absorbed in the fact that they feel so damn good.

"No comments from the peanut gallery, please, I'm trying to get into character," Blair says, watching Jim's hands between his legs, and spreading them wider. "But thanks for the motivation."

He rubs two fingers and a thumb together – one for his ass, one for just before, and one just in case. He doesn't know how much how much he'll have to give himself, or how much of a show Jim will need before he takes what's his to have.

One hand goes between his legs while the other plays with a nipple. He almost bites his lips between his teeth.

`No,' he thinks, `It doesn't feel that good yet. I'm anticipating, rushing, not being in the moment. What would Stanislavsky do?'

"Hey," Jim says, taking Blair's face into his hand, "Whenever you're done going over your lines."

`Fuck it,' Blair thinks. `Move over Marlon Brando. There's a new method actor in town. Oh, God. The image. Must floss brain – later,' he concludes, and begins by lifting his legs to his chest and his balls out of the way to stroke and tease the strip of skin above his hole.

`Now, this does feel good,' he thinks to himself. `This feels good, and I probably look nasty as fuck, and fuck, I've got to put a finger in right now.'

"Goddamn." Who said it? Take your pick, though intonation counts in this one. Blair says it in a tone of never-ending surprise at how good it feels. Jim says it in newly-found wonder at how good he looks doing it.

"Fuck yourself, Blair. Fuck yourself like you want me to fuck you."

And then, as if receiving a prompt from the orchestra pit – or Stanislavsky from the grave, or Marlon Brando from the buffet line - he does. He finds rhythm, place, pace, and moment as he first slips, and then pumps a finger in and out of his ass.

All he can feel is his ass. He's all ass, and a finger inside it. He could make himself come like this, but not tonight.

The next thing he feels is Jim's hand pulling his own away, Jim's fingers spreading him open, and Jim's mouth and tongue doing things that are illegal in several Southern states.

`I didn't think anyone could actually get their tongue in there. I'm impressed' Blair "thinks". `Please, impress me some more.'

But it was not to be, as tonight's serving of Blair came with nuts on top, into which Jim's nose was being firmly pressed. Bottom line – Jim was out of breath, and patience.

"Slick," Jim says to Blair.

`That's my name, don't wear it out,' Blair thinks to himself, relaxing on the pillows for a brief respite between performance and encore.

"Hey, Sarah Bernhardt – the slick, the lube, that overpriced stuff you made me buy from Ye Olde House of Attitude and Sex Toys because good ole lotion wasn't good enough anymore. Where is it?" Jim demands, fumbling through the sheets, and around a hard-on that could be used as a pictorial illustration of its' utmost glory.

"You mean this?" Blair asks, holding the bottle to his chest as if it were a bouquet tossed onstage.

"Sandburg, just hand over the lube, and nobody gets hurt."

"Good grasp of the obvious there, Jim," Blair says, handing over the bottle, as well as a pointed glance in the direction of Jim's erection. "Speaking of obvious things that could be grasped at this point," Blair says, multi-tasking yet again as he flips the bottle's lid, squeezes out a bit of it's contents, and reaches for Jim's dick.

"Would this be a good time to tell you that I've never done this before?" Jim asks, in the moment, and afraid that he's broken its spell, but facts are facts, and facts are real – as was the hand Blair wrapped around his cock.

"Does that mean that you've never done it, or that you've never done it in real life?" Blair asks.

"What's the difference?" Jim barely gets out, his mind and body too wrapped up and grasped in the space between Blair's hand and Blair's ass.

"There is no difference, Jim," Blair says, rubbing the point home. "If you've thought about it, you've done it, and I'll bet you've thought about it a lot. Do it the way you've thought about it. It's your turn – show me how you want to fuck me."

And just like that, Jim found a clue. And he didn't even need a flashlight.

"It's just like this, Blair. You're just like this, asking for it, begging. You want it so bad, even more than me, and we both know I'm gonna give it to you. That's it – one leg on my shoulder, one around my waist. Better hold on tight, I'm gonna fuck you hard, for every time I thought about this"

"Oh, God, just fuck me."

"And that's what you say. And that's what I want to do. I just want to have you whole. Ball you on the first stroke. But I want this to last forever, so I go slow - just push in a little bit, just like this, just the head of my cock. I know it'll make you crazy for more, and I want you crazy. I want you like you made me waiting for this. I want you to feel everything, Blair. Fuck," Jim shouts, all the way in, and deeper inside than he'd ever imagined.

Blair's full, then empty, then full again. Back and forth, and in and out, and it's the same damn place - having and wanting more.

There's a place deep inside that's waiting, anticipating, yearning. He can feel his body open. He can feel his legs wrapped around Jim's hips to pull and push him in, deeper, more, more.

"You want me crazy, you got me crazy. Fuck me, Jim, and Goddamn you if you ever stop."

God took quite a few bows that night.

"God, this feels good."

"God, why didn't we ever do this before?"

"God, you fucking better not stop."

"God. You're gonna make me come."

"Goddamn anyone who says this isn't right."

Goddamn. That's all she wrote.



The End