The Gift - Lisa, Duncan's Twin

Reminded again that he was not a cop, Blair Sandburg slammed the observation door closed and headed for the stairs. He was so fucking pissed off, it was a wonder he could even see where he was walking through the red haze which clouded his judgment.

Down the stairs and out the front door in record time, he looked in both directions trying to decide where to go. He had ridden in with Jim that morning, so driving anywhere was out, as was taking a cab since he only had about twelve dollars in his pocket.

An idea, a delicious, dangerous idea flickered through his subconscious. He needed a drink, a stiff one. And a cock, a very stiff one. Remembering a gay bar three blocks away, Blair set off with a purpose in mind.


Pokie’s was crowded, and looking at his watch, Blair realized it was nearly five, and would only get more crowded as the work day ended. Stepping up to the bar, he tried to catch the bartender’s eye, but the guy was busy and ignored him in favor of what Blair could only assume were regulars.

Frustrated, Blair called out loudly, “Who’s a guy gotta suck around here to get a drink?”

A chorus of “me’s” rose up around him, and the bartender finally smiled and came over to help him.

“Tequila shot, Cuervo Gold,” Blair ordered.

Waiting as the bartender grabbed the bottle, Blair felt someone move in close behind him, pressing against his body in an eerily familiar manner. He pushed his ass back and felt a throbbing hardness rub against him. Fingers traced up his back and moved the hair from in front of his ear, and he felt the warm breath against his neck.

“Buy me one of those, and I’ll suck you,” Jim offered.

Stiffening, Blair tried to turn around, but Jim’s hands held him steady.

“Yes or no?” Jim asked, hoping he hadn’t been wrong, but the pheromones Blair was putting off couldn’t be misleading him.

“Another,” Blair told the bartender, and two tequila shooters were lined up on the bar, a bowl of lemons and a salt shaker within reach.

Blair watched Jim’s long arm reach out and grab the salt shaker, and Blair automatically lifted his left hand and licked the base of his thumb. Jim sprinkled the salt on the wet patch and then lifted his hand and waited for Blair to wet his skin.

Sensually, Blair sucked in Jim’s thumb, sucking loudly for a brief second before Jim growled in his ear.

“I’ll fuck you right here if you keep that up, Chief.”

Contemplating how serious a lewd and lascivious ticket would be, Blair reluctantly released Jim’s thumb with a loud smack of his lips. They were drawing a large audience, but neither cared.

Jim sprinkled salt on his wet thumb with a shaky hand; then he slid the plate of lemon wedges closer and picked one up for Blair and then himself. They both picked up their shot glasses and in wildly synchronous movements, licked the salt, slammed the shot and sucked the lemon.

Dropping the glass and the lemon, Jim spun Blair around and kissed him. Hard and deep, tongues fighting to taste everything, they kissed lustily amid applause throughout the bar, but neither heard the ruckus; they were too lost in each other.

Blair’s hands found their way around Jim, pulling him closer, and Jim tried, but other than being inside each other, there was just no way to get closer. Gripping Blair’s ass in tight fists, Jim finally pulled away and their eyes met.

“Yes or no?”

“Fuck yes!”

“Good answer.”

Grabbing Blair’s hand, Jim practically dragged him from the bar to the waiting truck parked askew in front of the bar, where Jim had first heard the fateful phrase and made his decision.

And silently, as he quickly drove them home, Jim thanked whatever deities that had given him the heightened senses. They were the second best gift he’d ever received. Blair was the first.

The end.

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