Nothing Else Matters
by Trekker

They were kissing before they even made it through the door; hot, desperate, not-quite-coordinated kisses, that, more often than not, landed off target leaving wet warmth on their jaws and cheeks. Someone’s tooth had caught someone’s lip and a faint taste of blood mixed with the taste of skin and sweat. Blair had one hand up Jim’s shirt, pressed between damp skin and damp cloth by Jim’s back and the door. His other hand was fumbling with his key. Above the sound of their panting breath he could hear it scrape and slide over wood and metal, and finally, rasp into the lock.

With a soft sound of triumph, he turned the knob, and Jim, unprepared for the firm surface behind his back’s sudden disappearance, staggered one long step backwards, pulling Blair with him into the loft.

For a moment, they both stood still, trying to find their center of balance before they both fell. In that moment of stillness, they held each other up, Jim with his hands knotted in the front of Blair’s T-shirt, Blair clutching Jim’s biceps.

Blair felt Jim’s muscles loosen and flex as Jim let go of his shirt and ran his hands down to grab the hem and pull it up. He let go of Jim’s arms long enough to let him peel it off. He reveled in the pleasure of finally getting the clammy, dirty fabric away from his skin... at least until that pleasure was blown away by the far greater feeling of Jim’s mouth latching onto his nipple as Jim pushed him gently back against the door.

“Ah, Jim,” he said.

His world came down to suction, heat, and a wet soft tongue.

He couldn’t think what to do with his hands, so he just let them hovered uselessly near Jim’s shoulder until Jim started to pull away, and then he made a decision, pressing his palms against the back of Jim’s head and guiding him back where he wanted him. Jim’s hair was clumped in short hard spikes, and he could feel the ruffled indentation left behind by his Jags cap.

Jim appeased him for a little while, lavishing attention on Blair’s nipples until they were both peaked and achingly hard, and then he tugged out of Blair’s grip and stood up straight, stepping in close to press the full length of his body against Blair’s and take his mouth again in a long, deep kiss.

When they finally came up for air, Blair gasped, “Take off your shirt.”

Jim stepped away, stripped off his shirt and dropped it behind him, then returned to his place, pressed against Blair’s chest, only now it was better, skin to skin, the heat rising off of both of them to mix with a fresh layer of sweat. It was like they were their own climate zone, a tropical rainforest in the middle of the Pacific Northwest.

Blair gasped as Jim pressed the heel of his hand over his jeans-clad erection and buried his face against the side of his neck. He was torn between two sensations, the hot-cold susurration of Jim’s breath on his shoulder, and the rough hand stroking and squeezing his dick. No woman he’d ever been with had been quite so assertive about touching him there, and Jim’s ruthless abandon turned him on beyond belief. In seconds, he was humping Jim’s hand, trying to find Jim’s rhythm, but it remained elusive. The poster behind him squeaked as his sticky skin caught and dragged against it.

“Jim, please,” he panted. He needed more, just a little more...

But Jim wouldn’t give it. Blair groaned in despair and dropped his head back against the door when Jim pulled away again.

“Come *on*, man.”

“Hold your horses, Sandburg.”

Blair forced his head down just in time to see Jim kick off his other shoe and finish unzipping his jeans. He could only think, ‘oh,’ dumbly and watch as Jim shoved his pants and boxers down to his ankles in one fluid movement, then stepped out of them, totally nude except for one sock.

‘oh, *yeah*,’ Blair’s brain amended as Jim reached out and began to unbutton Blair’s own pants. All Blair managed to vocalize, though, was a heartfelt moan.

His jeans made it down below his knees, and his boxers to about midthigh, but that was enough for Jim, apparently, because he wrapped his arms around Blair’s abdomen and pulled them flush together. Their cocks would have been aligned if they’d been the same height, but they weren’t, so Jim’s ended up pressed against Blair’s stomach and Blair’s against Jim’s thigh. He couldn’t help but rub a little against all that smooth skin and hard muscle, and Jim answered with a rub of his own, and soon they were thrusting against each other in earnest, each with their face tucked against the other’s neck.

Jim was breathing harshly into Blair’s hair, cooling the sweat and making him feel chilled and burnt at the same time. It was still not quite enough for Blair, but it seemed it was enough for Jim, because he gave one more thrust, hard enough to bump Blair back against the door and up a little, and Blair felt the poster catch on his back and crease at the same moment he felt the hot rush of Jim’s come on his ribs.

“*God*, Jim,” he said, suddenly and explosively finding words again, for a moment, anyway, before Jim’s mouth crashed down on him, and Jim’s tongue pressed possessively against his own, preventing him from speaking even if he had wanted to anymore. He strained against Jim’s leg, struggling for just a little more contact, and then *finally* Jim’s hand wrapped around him, almost tight enough to hurt, and Jim’s other hand pushed between his legs to cradle his balls, and this time the rhythm was easy to find, fast and wild and so alive. His hands clutched at nothing behind Jim’s back, and his hips developed a mind of their own, and he had to breathe frantically through his nose because between the kissing and all the blood in his body being in his dick, there just wasn’t enough oxygen getting to his brain. Every breath brought with it the scent of fear sweat, sex sweat, semen, dirt, and gun powder, and then the scents, the sounds, the tastes, the feelings, all converged in one white hot instant and it was just too much and he came all over Jim’s hand.

Immediately, Jim’s arms were around him, to hold him up when his own muscles would have simply given up and dropped him to the floor. He panted for awhile, resting his forehead on Jim’s shoulder. Jim’s hands gently roved up and down his back, soothing him as his body slowly put itself back together.

“Damn,” he muttered, as soon as he felt confident in his ability to stand on his own, “That was...”

Jim turned his head and kissed him on the cheek, then gathered him into a close, tight embrace. They were both hot and sticky, and wherever bare skin touched bare skin, they seemed to be fused together.

“Love you,” Jim said.

“Me too.”

And then, for a long time, words were unnecessary and the two men simply held each other, giving and receiving, loving and loved, safe at home in each other’s arms.

The End
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