Thanks to all of you who sent feedback on "Wood" and "Bronze." The next two are Jim's POV, and at this rate, it'll take me all year to finish this off, between all the other fandom stuff I've got going. Kudos to all who recognized the source of the line of verse. Susan Cooper's lovely series of children's books, The Dark is Rising. Once again, this is for my friend, beta, and critic, Little Miss S, who is always demanding more bedtime stories. And again, hugs to Aithine for catching a few more errors while taking a sneak peek.
"Wood, bronze, iron..."
NC-17, m/m
Language, sex, sap.
Jim thinks about Blair--okay, so these aren't heavy on plot. *g* What can I say, it's all been done before. This is my version.
The characters aren't mine, but the words are. I'm just taking them off the shelf for a little fun, and promise to put them back neat and clean. Suing me is probably pointless, seeing as I've got a five-digit student loan debt. Once again, send rotten vegetables, offers of marriage, and everything in between to Tiriel –feedback is like a drug for me. I craaaaaaaave it. *g*
Iron
By Tiriel
I am the luckiest man alive. I am in love with an amazing man, and we are partners in every sense of the word. There are a lot of things about him that I love--his enthusiasm, his passion, his patience--but I think one of the first things I loved about him was his strength. Not the lifting weights big muscles kind of strength, although he's not physically weak either, but rather a strength of will, of character, that few men I've ever known have had.
He can seem flighty or impulsive at times--hell, we were making love the same day he realized he loves me--but he's not. He just thinks things through so quickly that half the time I think he's not even conscious of it. In a very odd way, he's the most stable man I know. He's my anchor. He's helped me so much, with my senses for one thing. Let me give you an example. I saw a shade of green on the way home today--on a billboard of all places--that reminded me of something I hadn't thought of in years.
Once, when I was about ten, it snowed in April. Definitely unusual for Cascade, which is one of the reasons it was memorable. The snow was melting, and there was a fog hanging maybe a hundred feet off the ground that was kind of glowing. You could tell that the sun was out behind it. Well, you know that yellowish shade of green that you see in the spring? That shade of green was reflected off of that glowing fog and it was like the whole world was that color. It was beautiful, and I've never seen anything quite like it since. So I stood outside, staring at it. I think I zoned, because I have the vague impression that I saw the individual water droplets that made up the fog and the tiny reflections of the world in them and the next thing I clearly remember is that it was afternoon and the fog had burned off and I was hungry and cold as I walked back to the house. I remembered that today. I couldn't even experience memories like that before Blair, much less the reality, for fear of getting lost. Now, if I do, I know that he'll always be here to bring me back.
I have loved him for so long that sometimes it's hard for me to believe it when I wake up next to him. I'd been with men before, but somehow those relationships had always felt lacking. So I always assumed that the person I settled down with would be a woman. For a while, I thought it was Carolyn. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be Blair.
I was attracted to him from the beginning, but he was so blatantly straight that I didn't think I would ever have a chance, so I didn't think about it much. Then I realized that it was love, and after the fountain I realized that, no matter how I tried to fool myself into believing otherwise, he was the one. Male, straight, whatever, he was it. I was in love with him, and doomed to live with him and have only half of what I wanted. It hurt, but at the same time it was good and I got used to it. In time, it was like the stiffness that a muscle pull gets when you take a hot shower--it's not comfortable, but it's better than the pain that was there before. You welcome it. Loving Blair, wanting Blair, and only having his friendship, his partnership, was better than wondering if there was anyone out there that I could be with forever, or if I was too anal, too hard to live with for anybody.
Then, sudden as that garbage truck that could have killed me the day Blair zoomed into my life, we were together. I've loved every second of it. Every day he amazes me. Like today. We were at a crime scene this morning, a murdered hooker, and it wasn't pretty. Cops, paramedics, people who deal with death and pain and evil and ugliness every day, they tend to get numb. They make jokes that would sound sick and cruel to most people. They separate from the fact that the dead were people with lives and loves. If they don't, it's just too hard. But not Blair. Sure, he went into a long explanation of the role of prostitution in various cultures, but it wasn't...academic. He wasn't distancing himself from it. Sometimes I think he's stronger than all of us. Nothing breaks him. Most people see him and make other assumptions. They don't see the iron underneath.
For example, there's what he said at the scene today.
"You know, I used to know this woman at Ranier who joked that she'd get more respect as a prostitute than she did as a grad student. Now in the US, that isn't true, which was the point of her joke, actually--she also had a long and fairly complicated theory about how her advisor was actually either a reincarnated Nazi war criminal or Keyser Soze--but in some cultures..."
Well, you get the idea. Even at a crime scene, surrounded by jaded cops, he's a teacher, and his own force of nature. He brought smiles into that room that had nothing to do with sick jokes or dehumanizing a crime victim, and he probably wasn't even aware of how remarkable that was.
It's not modesty, either. He really doesn't know how incredible he is, and he definitely has no idea of his own strength. If I could give him something, it would be for him to see himself as I see him, even for just a moment, for him to truly know the iron he's made of.
There's his strength of spirit, and there is a physical strength to him, too, that most people never see. His muscle is lean, functional, but it's definitely there. When we made love today, after we had finished our work and showered off the last of the smell of this morning, it hit me all over again. You'd think that when we see things like that as often as we do that you'd get over it, that you wouldn't need to come home and fuck just to prove you're still alive. And maybe we don't need to. Maybe we just want to. Whatever the reason, after a day like today, we just know, and after we've showered, we head straight to bed.
I was lying naked on the bed, waiting. I tracked his progress from the bathroom as he turned off the shower, squeezed the water from his hair, dried off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and headed for the bedroom. I heard him drop the towel when he was about halfway up the stairs.
"I'll pick it up later," he said softly, knowing I would be listening.
Then I could see him, more and more of him as he climbed each step. He was already hard, which was good because I was already ready. Sometimes I like to surprise him like that. The combination of lust and joy in his eyes when he realizes what I've done just takes my breath away.
He reached the bed and knelt between my spread legs. For just a moment, I took it all in--the heat of his body, the slight moisture in the air around him as the dampness from his shower evaporated, the air currents in the room changing with our breathing, the smell of his shampoo, the darkness of his dilated eyes, and the thump of his heart. Then I sat up and kissed him, one hand on his cheek.
"Love you," I said, leaning my forehead against his, "Love you so much. And, Blair," I let my voice drop to a low growl, "I want to wake up tomorrow remembering this."
The understanding dawned in his eyes, that look I just can't get enough of, and he pushed me back onto the bed. He took hold of my legs, pulled me closer, and entered me in a series of slow, smooth thrusts, just a little deeper each time--in deeper, out almost all the way, in deeper, out almost all the way, in deeper, out almost all the way--until I thought I'd shout. When he was finally sheathed completely in me, he paused for just a moment to allow us both to enjoy the sensation, and then we were off. He always gives me what I need, and I like to think I do the same for him. The pace was fast and furious, every hard stroke making me feel more and more open.
Then I reached that place where I was filled with a tingly sense of well-being and it was almost like I was floating. In that moment of beautiful calm, I looked at Blair. I saw him straining above me, head thrown back, every muscle on his lean frame moving under his skin. That's when I really started thinking about his strength. It was like the moment shifted into slow motion and I had all the time I needed to contemplate. Then the world snapped back to regular speed and I wasn't floating anymore, I was submerged in pleasure as we came.
Now that we've showered again, had dinner, and are sitting on the couch just like any normal night, I've found myself thinking about it again, and I've just thought of something else. It makes sense for him to have this inner strength, this iron core I've been thinking about. The Sentinel protects the tribe, but the Shaman is its backbone.
"Have I ever told you, Chief, that you're the strongest person I know?"
And he's looking at me with love and I'm pulling him closer and maybe we'll go to bed early tonight.
THE END