Note: I get "Hello Time Bomb" playing in my head every time I see these
two guys together, but damn they're hot. ;-) And yes, I know Blake
is a huge mistake for Ted. Addicts always are. I was rewatching my tape
yesterday and wondered two things: 1) Why do we see all of Brian's sex
scenes with strangers and Blake doesn't even get to take his jacket off?
and b)What the heck was Ted thinking? I still don't have any
good answers, but I had to write this anyway just to get it out of my head.
Thanks to Nicole and Bone for being kind enough to read this and point
out exactly the right things.
---------
Although it's the most difficult thing he's done all week, Ted pulls his mouth away from Blake's and tries to talk some sense. Into Blake, himself or both of them, he doesn't know. It doesn't matter. His mouth's on autopilot as the self-preservation portion of his brain tries to assert itself. Saying they should take it slow and be sure of their feelings is all well and good, but Blake's looking at him with these great big vulnerable eyes and fear of rejection is written all over his beautiful, tired face. And if there's one look in all the world that Ted can recognize at fifty paces, that'd be it.
He knows what it feels like to know what the answer will be before the question's even asked. No. Sorry. You're not my type. Just what he said to Roger, and he still regrets that. Not kicking him out of bed, so much as hurting him. Rejection never goes well, and it always, always hurts. He's hurt Blake enough--and vice versa when you consider The Coma, but when he sees how sorry Blake was for that...well, he doesn't. He shoves The Coma into the past where it belongs and looks at the present, at how empty his bed is and how lonely he gets.
He wants Blake and Blake wants him and there they are, so... "Oh, fuck it."
No matter how good it may be, porn just doesn't compare to an actual human body in your arms. An actual human body like Blake's. Warm breath...hard muscles...hungry mouth...smooth skin over a flat stomach...strong arms, thinner than Ted remembers from that first aborted night together, but when they wrap around him he really doesn't care. Being held, being wanted, being...*needed*, can it be that? He thinks it is...
...when he bothers to think. And as he shoves Blake's jacket off his shoulders and strips his t-shirt over his head, thinking holds little appeal. He'd like to just shut his brain down and devour this boy, and he tries...he does try.
Blake's mouth is hot and wild on his...almost desperate and elation fills Ted that anyone could feel that way with him--about him. It's like the rush of a particularly potent drug, without the danger of overdose. No way could he ever get too much of *this*. He might not even get enough, before Blake gets straightened out enough to realize that he can do better than Ted. Yeah, the thought's there. Always in the back of his mind, even though his experience with Dale made him realize that maybe, just maybe, he's not the pathetic loser he used to think he was. He's found an inner strength--and he also owes that to Blake in a twisted black-humor kind of way, because without The Coma... Well, it changed him. Made him think--and the Roger debacle notwithstanding--made him grow. At least a little bit. He didn't go from being Clark Kent to Superman, but he did realize he'd never get his own Jimmy Olsen in Michael. Maybe it wasn't meant to be, maybe they're better off as friends. But that's Michael.
And this is Blake. Blake who is writhing on the bed under Ted, wiggling out of his jeans like a snake shedding its skin and tearing at Ted's clothes all at once, like it just can't happen quick enough. Like he needs Ted *now*, this very minute, and Ted can relate. Oh, he can so relate to that. Even though he's had Blake--and in his book familiarity does not equal boredom, take *that* Mr. Kinney--he hasn't had every bit of Blake. He hasn't sucked up every last morsel of his being until there's nothing left.
He wants to, but he won't. He cares about Blake, even though he's almost scared of him sometimes. Not physically frightened, but wary of what he's capable of, what he's missing, what feeds his addiction.
Another kiss and he wonders if he'll ever get enough of Blake's mouth, his thin red lips and slightly crooked teeth and how his tongue darts around like he just can't decide what he wants.
He wants Ted. The hand on Ted's dick proves that and Ted pushes into Blake's grip until it almost hurts, and then his voice, a soft whisper drifting over Ted's cheek saying, "Fuck me."
Ted has to close his eyes and take a deep breath and think about tax returns, quarterly reports, and whether the Fed will lower interest rates again. Anything to keep from coming in Blake's rough little hand. He's mature enough to wait. He's had plenty of practice at waiting. The urge to come fades back and he can open his eyes and look at Blake's hopeful face.
Hopeful. Hope. Want. Need. Oh, fuck, what has he done? He's got it so bad. That's *him* as much as Blake. He doesn't know what's going on in Blake's mind, and maybe he's just projecting all his pent-up feelings onto the blank slate of Blake's arousal.
"Ted, please." And it's still a whisper, but demanding. Need it, need it, now, need it...need *you*, Ted Schmidt. Now.
And Blake's reaching for the condoms and lube and he's getting them both ready, and all Ted can do is kiss him. Kiss him as hard and deep and long as he wants to fuck him. It's Blake and he should *know* better, but he doesn't because his body is screaming at him. Want him, have him, here he is. All this can be yours, Ted, just fucking *take* it. And so he does...slow, slow, and a whisper of encouragement. Harder, harder, faster, hips pumping, cock sliding impossibly deeper, Blake's knees up around Ted's ears. The slick slap of flesh coming together and harsh breath ringing in the silence of the bedroom, and Ted's not thinking at all anymore. Nothing in his brain, but now, now, and yes.
Yes. Oh fuck, yes. He's completely surrounded, wrapped up in Blake--his sharp scent, his raspy breath, his sweet skin and his surprisingly tight ass. He reaches down and takes Blake's cock in his hand, hot and slippery with clear thready drops--and then stroke, pull, stroke and he's shooting over Ted's hand and onto his belly. He comes so quietly Ted almost wonders if he passed out or something, but then Blake's eyes open and one last whisper--"Thanks"-- pushes Ted over the edge and he's coming, gasping through the rush of his own orgasm.
And when he can catch his breath and a coherent thought, he chuckles. "No, thank *you*, Blake."
He cleans them both up and feels Blake's eyes on him the whole time. He can't settle on how that makes him feel exactly--some weird mix of worry and pride and lust and exhilaration. It's crazy and he's not ready to give it up. Not ready to give Blake up, even though the self-preservation part of his brain--which sounds increasingly like Emmett--is telling him not to get too comfortable.
He ignores it as he slips under the covers and settles down with a warm sleepy Blake in his arms.
The End.