Blair came out of the club, ears buzzing, slightly drunk. He detoured very carefully around a discarded soda can on the sidewalk and grinned at himself.
Okay, maybe a bit more than slightly, and there was no way he'd have been fit to drive, but he wasn't falling over drunk; just nicely mellow.
He hummed along with the music he could still hear spilling out of the club doors as someone else left. The lyrics escaped him but he didn't care. He could hear them in his head, even if they got lost when he tried to voice them.
He passed the opening to the alley that ran down the side of the club, not looking down it, because things happened in there that really weren't his scene. Needles, sex… well, sex was, but not the way they did it there, cold transactions against colder brick.
A sound from the alley, a scrape of boot on concrete, had his head turning despite his best intentions, caution overriding both alcohol and scruples. If he got jumped and mugged, Jim would never let him hear the last of it.
Darkness. Empty, as far as he could tell, but he couldn't see far; there were lights at intervals on the wall, but they were never left to shine for long.
A deeper patch of shadow shifted and resolved into a long, lean shape.
Dressed in black jeans with a leather jacket hanging open over -- oh, shit. Blair swallowed down a whimper, remembering….
"Jim?" His voice had been awed. "This is yours?"
The black mesh T-shirt slipped off the hanger like oil, liquid, darkly glistening, and Blair caught it, held it up. "Man, I can so not see you in this!"
"Would you like to?"
"What?" Blair turned and stared at Jim. "Seriously?"
Jim walked across the room and took the T-shirt out of Blair's hands, grinning. "No. It's just something I wore undercover when I worked Vice."
Blair pictured Jim, a few years younger, stalking across a bar, ass in leather, the cut, stark lines of his chest blurred enticingly by the mesh. "You were lucky you weren't the one who got arrested."
Jim chuckled, but the sound was strained. "You have no idea how close I came some nights."
"Oh, man." Blair shook his head, smiling, unable to really feel shocked. It wasn't as if Jim, on duty, would have actually gotten hauled off in cuffs, after all. Unless it was something he'd had to do to keep his cover intact? "Staying in character, you mean?"
"Not exactly." Jim squatted down beside the box he'd been emptying, dropping the shirt on the coffee table, and took out some dog-eared paperbacks.
Blair shifted forward on the couch and nudged Jim's arm gently with his knee. "Tell me?"
Jim sighed, threw the books back in the box, and leaned back against the couch, his head close to Blair's leg. "It was all about temptation, Chief. You learn to ignore it and stay a good cop who doesn't get far, or you try to do your job more effectively and risk becoming what you're trying to stop."
"What were you trying to stop?"
Jim's shoulder hunched up in a shrug. "It varied."
"When you were wearing that shirt," Blair elaborated.
"Oh, God…" Jim's eyes squeezed shut. "Mostly I was just trying to get laid," he admitted.
Blair ran his tongue over dry lips. "Jim… this shirt… it's not … I mean…"
"Just say it, Sandburg," Jim growled.
He wanted it blunt? Fine. "Who were you trying to attract? Men or women?"
Jim's eyes opened and his head tilted back enough for Blair to see the indecision on his face fade away, replaced with wary defiance. "Who do you think?"
"I think I want to hear you say it."
Jim turned to face him, kneeling and resting his arms on the couch cushion. "Men. Wearing that? Men. Always. The right kind. The ones who'd see me in it and see what I wanted and maybe, if I asked nicely, give it to me."
He could still feel that supple slither of material against his palms. He wondered what it would look like, feel like, stretched out tight across Jim's chest, warm skin under it, pale and waiting, on display but covered.
He pictured Jim kneeling, just as he was now, wearing nothing but that shirt, the upward thrust of his cock framed by the mesh.
Jim's mouth twisted with a sardonic amusement. "That was usually part of it, yes."
Blair felt himself flush, his tongue tripping over his words. Temptation? It was right there, kneeling at his feet. "S-So what do I have to do to get to see you in it?"
"Stop stammering, for a start." Jim looked abruptly bored. "Forget it, okay? It's not something I do these days and you're not exactly my type if I decide to change my mind."
A flicker of anger that Jim would dismiss him that easily after, yes, after teasing him, chased away his nerves. He tapped a finger against Jim's jaw, hard enough to jerk Jim's head to the side. "Suppose I told you that you were mine, and that was all that mattered?"
Jim's eyes widened and he exhaled sharply, a shiver running over him, leaving him pliant, his position subtly changed to one of waiting readiness -- then the mask of disinterest was replaced. "Play vanilla games with one of your dates, Chief; I'm not available."
"I can see how it's too risky," Blair said slowly. "You don't have any cover story now and the repercussions… God. And back then you didn't have the senses to trip you up…But you want it, don't you? You've been hard since you touched the shirt, since you saw me holding it."
"Since when do you check out what my dick's doing?" Jim demanded.
"Hard to miss," Blair said dryly. "You look like you're about to burst your zipper."
Jim didn't look down at the trapped erection pushing up against his jeans. Blair did. Nice…
"Well, this has been illuminating, but --"
"You get up from your knees before I say you can and I'll make you wear it under your sweater to work tomorrow, touch dialed up," Blair said calmly. He didn't feel calm. He felt…exhilarated. Terrified. Ready to fight and fuck and all because Jim, after a moment, had settled back down into position, his lips parted, his eyes stunned.
"I might anyway," Blair said. "Just knowing it was next to your skin would turn me on and you'd know, wouldn't you? It'd make everything you were experiencing just that bit more intense."
"No," Jim said thickly, hoarse. "It would make it unbearable."
"Oh, I think you'd deal," Blair told him. He drew the fingertips of one hand over Jim's face, brow to chin, a rough, possessive, careless caress, and then pushed his fingers flat against Jim's mouth. "I think you'd be my good Jim, don't you?"
Jim turned his face away. "Don't do this to me."
"Why not?" Blair demanded, slapping his palm against Jim's jaw --gently because old habits died hard -- and making Jim face him again. "You want it; I want to give it… why not?"
"Because it's not in you, Blair," Jim said harshly. "I don't know why the fuck you think it is, but it's not --"
He got to his feet, towering over Blair. "This ends here, and if you ever mention it again, you'll be looking for somewhere else to live, you got that?"
He kicked the box. "Put that in the storage room. I want it gone by the time I get back."
The door slammed behind him a moment later and Blair was left to stare at the T-shirt, rub his aching cock through his jeans, and wonder just how many times Jim was going to turn his life around.
He packed up the box and replaced it in the basement but he left the T-shirt on a hanger in Jim's closet.
Jim stared at him for a long moment and then stepped back into the shadows, leaving Blair with a choice he'd made three weeks ago when he'd jerked off to the image of Jim kneeling, mouth open, Blair's dick filling it, rubbed over the lips, bruising them red and soft, painting them white with come, candy-cane lips for Jim to lick clean and Blair to bite dirty again.
He followed Jim into the darkness, Jim's hand reaching back to take his and guide him. Jim's hand was shaking and hot, his grip desperately tight.
"I want to see you in this when we get back," Blair whispered into Jim's ear. "You don't get to take it off until I say you can."
"You want to give me orders?" Jim's voice was quiet, contemplative, at odds with the convulsive clasp of his hand. "Tell me what to do?"
Blair nodded, knowing Jim could see him, exposed by that knowledge because Jim's face was a pale blur to him, no more.
"Earn it," Jim said. His hand dropped away. "And if you ask me how, I walk out of here and this shirt goes in the first trashcan I pass."
It was like a riddle. How do you earn the right to give orders?
By never doubting that it's yours to begin with.
Blair put his back against the wall, hoping his feet weren't planted in anything worse than rainwater, and drew his zipper down with a decisive rasp. "I've got plans for your mouth, Jim, but none of them include you using it to talk with. And all of them need you on your knees."
Jim didn't move.
"Kneel down," Blair said not letting himself see an immediate future where Jim did anything else. "And open your mouth."
Jim did it. Blair bit back an astonished whimper and ground his ass against the grit and flake of the bricks behind him, needing to express his shock and rising arousal in some way. He drew his dick out, hard and hot in his hand, the cool, damp air like a kiss, and ran his fingers through Jim's hair, down to the base of his skull.
Then he curved his hand around the nape of Jim's neck and brought Jim's mouth just where he wanted it, where he could rub the head of his dick across those stubbornly closed lips and force them open, no words now, none, because Jim knew what Blair wanted and he was damned if he was spelling it out.
His breath hissed through his teeth and he stared blindly down at Jim's dark hair, feeling it, soft and short, brushing against his thumb as it made restless, jumpy circles against the taut skin of Jim's neck.
"I want to tell you to get me wet enough that I can fuck your ass with it, your hands against this wall, your pants around your knees," he told Jim. That got him a moan and he slid inside Jim's mouth into the waiting heat, Jim's tongue flickering, teasing, urgent, lapping at his dick like it was melting ice cream and he wanted to catch every drip.
"Want to put -- God, yes, there, that's good, that's my good Jim -- put bruises on your hips from my fingers and on your ass from my thumbs digging in when I really start to hammer that ass of yours."
He hadn't known he could talk like this. He wasn't sure how he was doing it when Jim was sucking now, quiet and intense, his nose nuzzling the hair on Blair's belly every time Blair's dick went deep enough to allow it.
"You'd feel so fucking tight because you wouldn't be able to spread much for me. I'd let you make up for that when we got home, let you spread your legs as wide as you could, hold it like that while you begged me to fuck you again, your hole still wet, all those bruises starting to show."
And he was guessing here, taking it as far as he could, ready to retreat if he was going past what Jim wanted, not that he was going to actually…
"Jim, get your fucking teeth out of my -- God --" He panted through a wave of pain and lust and then grabbed as much of Jim's hair as he could, wishing it was longer, and tugged Jim's head back, so the curve of his neck was a strained, pale bow. "That hurt," he said evenly. "And I didn't like it." Mostly true. "Want me to come on your face, instead of down your throat, make you walk home with my spunk dripping down your --"
"You're wet enough now," Jim said, his voice barely recognizable. "I want you to do what you said you would. Fuck me against this wall. Hard."
Blair was silent, stranded on the other side of safe. Fuck Jim bare, no lube? No way. He couldn't do it, he couldn't --
His hands fell away, slamming against the wall in frustration and disappointment and then Jim's hand pressed something into his. He explored by touch; a condom and lube, a lifeline.
He cupped Jim's chin, tilted it up so Jim could see him and let his mouth shape a thank you and then said aloud, "You want my cock, you can ask nicely. Say please."
Jim smiled, his face illuminated by the headlights of a passing car, his eyes hazy as the quick smile faded, slipping easily back into the place Blair had made for him. "Please," he repeated obediently. "Please, Blair…"