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Totally fic-spamming today; this one I thought up driving home :-)
550 words, no spoilers.
Snap to It
"If Ellison snapped his fingers, the kid would bend over, you bet he fucking would."
"Yeah…"
Jim was too far ahead of the whisperers to be able to take any official notice of them; not that he would have anyway. Let them gossip; it didn't touch him, and it didn't bother Blair. But he paused a few paces later, shook his head in pretended exasperation, and wheeled on his heel, going back the way he'd come, his body language screaming that he was a man in a hurry who'd forgotten something important.
As he passed the two men, he gave them a perfectly judged nod, blandly distant, allowing nothing to show in his face but a restrained impatience as he fitted names to voices.
Dundas and Hamilton. Good to know. He didn't plan revenge, minor or major, but it was information worth having. There had been something about that single word of agreement from Hamilton… something salacious, something dirty, as if he was picturing Blair in that position and getting off on it. Jim kept his face calm with an effort, his mood soured.
That evening, he still felt off balance, out of sorts, which translated into fumbling a fork so that it fell to the floor with an annoying clatter that made his teeth ache, breaking a glass as he washed it and, unforgivably, snapping at Blair pretty much every time he spoke.
Blair let him get away with it until after dinner and then, when they were sitting on the couch, Jim holding a book as a way of avoiding conversation, Blair patiently, remorselessly, got it out of him.
Jim felt a mixture of relief and guilt when he'd recounted it all. Sharing it lessened the sting, but he didn't want Blair to be hurt. Not that it was the first time it'd happened, and it wouldn't be the last. Speculation like this was part and parcel of the daily routine; few people escaped it. Jim had even participated once or twice himself. It was just that gloating appreciation that had grated on him.
Blair grinned, wholly unaffected by what had been burning a hole in Jim's gut all afternoon. "You snap your fingers and I drop everything -- literally -- and come running?"
His annoyance eased by Blair's amusement, Jim found a smile of his own. "Something like that."
"Show me," Blair said abruptly. "Let's test that theory."
"Blair…"
"Do it."
Jim shrugged and snapped his fingers once, the sound crisp and definite. Blair smirked and stayed where he was, heart rate elevated slightly, his eyes sparkling.
"Guess that shows them," Blair remarked a moment later with a conspiratorial wink.
"I guess it does." And he knew what Blair was going to do next, knew it, and wanted it, and his heart was beating faster, too, anticipation sweet and choking, like honey in his throat. Always so good when it was clear going in how they were playing it, when he was sure they were playing, not just fucking.
"Yeah," Blair said softly and lifted his hand up, his fingers moving into position.
Snap.
550 words, no spoilers.
Snap to It
"If Ellison snapped his fingers, the kid would bend over, you bet he fucking would."
"Yeah…"
Jim was too far ahead of the whisperers to be able to take any official notice of them; not that he would have anyway. Let them gossip; it didn't touch him, and it didn't bother Blair. But he paused a few paces later, shook his head in pretended exasperation, and wheeled on his heel, going back the way he'd come, his body language screaming that he was a man in a hurry who'd forgotten something important.
As he passed the two men, he gave them a perfectly judged nod, blandly distant, allowing nothing to show in his face but a restrained impatience as he fitted names to voices.
Dundas and Hamilton. Good to know. He didn't plan revenge, minor or major, but it was information worth having. There had been something about that single word of agreement from Hamilton… something salacious, something dirty, as if he was picturing Blair in that position and getting off on it. Jim kept his face calm with an effort, his mood soured.
That evening, he still felt off balance, out of sorts, which translated into fumbling a fork so that it fell to the floor with an annoying clatter that made his teeth ache, breaking a glass as he washed it and, unforgivably, snapping at Blair pretty much every time he spoke.
Blair let him get away with it until after dinner and then, when they were sitting on the couch, Jim holding a book as a way of avoiding conversation, Blair patiently, remorselessly, got it out of him.
Jim felt a mixture of relief and guilt when he'd recounted it all. Sharing it lessened the sting, but he didn't want Blair to be hurt. Not that it was the first time it'd happened, and it wouldn't be the last. Speculation like this was part and parcel of the daily routine; few people escaped it. Jim had even participated once or twice himself. It was just that gloating appreciation that had grated on him.
Blair grinned, wholly unaffected by what had been burning a hole in Jim's gut all afternoon. "You snap your fingers and I drop everything -- literally -- and come running?"
His annoyance eased by Blair's amusement, Jim found a smile of his own. "Something like that."
"Show me," Blair said abruptly. "Let's test that theory."
"Blair…"
"Do it."
Jim shrugged and snapped his fingers once, the sound crisp and definite. Blair smirked and stayed where he was, heart rate elevated slightly, his eyes sparkling.
"Guess that shows them," Blair remarked a moment later with a conspiratorial wink.
"I guess it does." And he knew what Blair was going to do next, knew it, and wanted it, and his heart was beating faster, too, anticipation sweet and choking, like honey in his throat. Always so good when it was clear going in how they were playing it, when he was sure they were playing, not just fucking.
"Yeah," Blair said softly and lifted his hand up, his fingers moving into position.
Snap.
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