Heavier Than Air

Jim knew about the play, had listened to Sandburg dither on about the controversy, the importance of free speech, then later, heard almost every line read aloud from the script. Blair had no speaking parts in the production, but apparently, it was important that he still practically memorize it.

Jim did not appreciate the finer points of the show. "Chief, I've got no beef with the whole gay thing," he said, waving a frustrated hand around to illustrate his point. "But, you know, the story doesn't really make any sense to me."

"It's an allegory, Jim," Blair explained patiently, one hand on his roommate's bicep for emphasis. "No, it's not "Cats," but it's still important that this kind of theatre gets made."

"I never said I understood "Cats," either," said Jim, grumbling. And who paid good money to see something you had to figure out on your own? Jim did that for a living, and had no particular wish to do it in his off time. There was no way on god's earth he couldn't not go, though, not with Sandburg having some kind of unexplained part in the thing, so on opening night, Jim rushed to the theatre. Late, of course, but better late than never.

Blair had implicitly instructed Jim not to come backstage, so Jim did not, sorry, though, that he had had little time other than to say, "Break a leg," rather foolishly on the phone before the show. But he was there now, right? And that was all that mattered.

The house lights went down in the small place, and Jim noted the crowd with interest. Mostly artsy types, he thought, on-the-edge dressers. A few of them looked back, also with interest. These seemed to be mainly beefy-looking men wearing various leather accoutrements. Jim stopped looking around and stared pointedly at the stage.

The show itself was excruciatingly indecipherable, at least to the bigger man, who sat with his mouth open at the frank language and even franker outfits. God, what in the world would Blair be playing in this? He was almost afraid to ask. At intermission, he actually wondered if perhaps he had missed his roommate somehow, though Blair had admitted to having an onstage part.

"I know it's taking a lot of my time," Blair had said, "but I promised Marc Allen I would do this. He was one of my students, Jim. How could I say no?"

Easy, thought Jim, looking down at his program. There was an adult warning on it. Blair had said the play had even had to refuse public money due to the controversy. Jim assumed it was the gay theme that was the controversial thing. He had seen everything in his line of work, so it really didn't seem like such a big deal to him.

It was nearly the end of the play, surely, Jim thought, as he kept checking his watch. Where the hell was Blair? The program was announcing this as the last scene. Did Blair have some kind of last-minute appearance? Jim looked up at the stage, and then saw, descending from the rafters above, some kind of figure. Heavy angel wings were the first things revealed, full, white downy ones, attached to the shoulders of a beautiful, hairy, naked young....

Shit! Jim Ellison's mouth dropped open as he leaned up with the rest of the audience. They were sucking in their breaths with a satisfied "oh," while Jim just stared, transfixed, as his roommate, face overly-made up, floated to the stage with all the grace of an idealized Gabriel.

There was another long moment as Jim tried desperately not to zone. Sandburg was naked. And with Jim's sight, that might nothing was left to the imagination. He was naked. Blair, his I always wear a robe and duck sheepishly whenever I see you in the bathroom roommate, was standing there stark naked in front of several hundred strangers. How had that come about, exactly?

Blair's long hair hid part of his face; he was supposed to be dead, Jim realized. A fallen angel, heavier than air and no longer supported by heaven. His skin was very white, his lips red, his body slender yet sturdy, as perfectly formed as the slanting cheekbones on his face.

His thighs aren't as hairy as I thought they'd be, Jim thought inanely. Then he looked between Blair's legs. Total nudity, he thought. That must have been the reason for that lack of public funding, although, Jim thought privately, perhaps they should have seen a dress rehearsal first. He quickly clamped down on that thought, also told the rest of his body to behave as well. He wasn't sure he should find the thought of a dead angel that erotic, particularly when said angel looked amazingly like his best male friend and roommate. Then he had to look between Blair's legs. Had to? Like he hadn't been for some time now. And yes, there he was, half-hard, beautiful and thick. Full. Jesus. Jim had to wipe a bead of sweat away from his forehead; must be the suit jacket he was wearing. Too warm for a place like this, he thought.

Then it was over, Blair had vanished, people were clapping and crying, and even whispering about the beauty of the unknown angel. A man came out on stage and bowed, more people followed, but Blair was gone. By the time another man had made a plea to help fund the arts and the local AIDS charities, Jim had slipped out of his seat, woozy, dazed, trying to find his way backstage while most of the cast was still out front.

In the dark, he tracked Blair's voice. The younger man was apparently receiving congratulations from a stage person, then the person was gone, and Jim opened the door of the dressing room and simply stood there.

Blair had not taken off his wings. Instead, they hung heavily off his smooth shoulders, thick white layers of silky, ruffled down. Jim had no idea what they were made out of, even though he was sure it wouldn't take him long to figure it out. As far as he was concerned they looked damn real. And when the rest of the angel turned to look at him, blue eyes darkened with kohl, features highlighted for the stage lights, Jim realized that for a moment he didn't know who Sandburg was, either. The robe the young actor had been holding in front of him had slithered to the floor, and for a moment they just looked at one another, a naked creature from another world, and a cop from Cascade, human and realizing it.

The moment that passed between them was unbelievably eternal. The far-away cries of the audience made it even more surreal, and then Jim was closing the door behind him, locking it to protect his roommate's nakedness.

Blair, who ordinarily would have been jerking about in pure adrenaline excitement, only took a deep, unsteady breath and said, "What did you think?"

"I think," said Jim, feeling himself totter forward on very shaky legs, "that I've never seen you naked before."

That was not the critique Blair was expecting, but hell, he could go with the flow here. Feeling a smile play about his made-up lips, he said, "Really? Are you disappointed? 'Cause these wings aren't mine," which really didn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense, but somehow Jim understood it anyway. And then Blair understood why Jim had to reach out, had to run a big hand down the softness of those feathers, had to let a thumb of that hand trail along the student's bare shoulder. Then Jim's other hand was in between Blair's legs, cupping his genitals, and Blair squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to gasp before he opened them again just in time to pull Jim close and feel that hot mouth come down on his.

Wrapping his arms around Jim's shoulders, Blair felt Jim grab his curls, absolutely devouring Blair with a hunger that surely even angels had only dreamed about. And Blair was going, "Yeah, oh yeah, Jim, oh yeah, it's so good," and they were falling on the dressing room sofa, mashing Blair's white wings, until Jim had scrabbled enough at his own clothes to get that white hot penis out and do a little divining of his own.

Then Blair, who had previously never imagined being ravished in quite this manner, broke away from Jim's mouth long enough to fumble for lotion, and when Jim saw what that was suggesting, he nearly went blind from the desire. "No, Sandburg, we can't," he said, nipping wildly at Blair's bare chest, pulling at the hard nipples with his lips, skimming a big hand over the slender ribcage and doing nothing else but watching as the hand with the lube and a condom came closer.

Damn, thought Jim, does he always carry that stuff within reaching distance? He looked back down at Blair's face, which was flushed and needy, eyes half-lidded as he lifted his hips and thrust pitifully at his roommate, asking very obviously for exactly what he wanted.

And Jim, who had always thought this would follow long wordy negotiations, found himself slicking up his pulsing cock and then parting Sandburg's quivering thighs to look and see just exactly what was under there. The reward was great, of course. Because there in the succulent darkness of the underside of Blair's curves was the tiny hole, hot, throbbing, calling out to Jim (in a timbre only a sentinel could hear, of course, he thought, and only this sentinel at that). Casting desperate looks at Sandburg, Jim gently moved toward the inside of the fallen angel, slick and careful, and Blair's jerks and moans told him he was ready for the next part of the journey. Blair looked so spectacular all laid out in front of him like that, chest flushed, nipples straining; Jim was straining, too, and when Blair opened his legs up ever wider, throwing one firm calf over Jim's shoulder, the bigger man just about did not make it.

"I love you," he said, panting, hoarse, as he touched the tip of his dick to Sandburg's opening.

"I know," said Blair. "Show me, Jim, show me. I want you inside of me," and what could you say to that? but press a little harder. Blair's face contorted, he put the whole of his full lower lip into his mouth, and Jim breathed, shaking, trying to stop, but the student wouldn't let him, shoved his pelvis up for more. "Take me," he said, bucking, so Jim continued, nearly dying from the effort he was putting forth so boldly; the effort to make sure that this was good for Blair, because that was the only way Jim wanted it. If he had to fuck an angel, he wanted to be damn sure he did it right. Even if said angel was buck naked and all spread out and looking like he had gone to one pre-Christian bacchanalia too many.

Then Jim was in, filling Blair, stretching him, and Blair was squeezing his ass really tight, begging Jim to move, so he did, gently at first, then going with the apparent and urgent need of his young lover. And outside, as the final curtain calls were going on, the applause of the audience reached its climax just as Jim and Blair did, Jim further filling up Blair's insides as the student's beautifully wide cock made a nice fountain effect for appearances.

Jim collapsed on him then, really doing some major damage to those feathers, and Blair just held him, sweaty, sticky, and Jim was just sorry that he hadn't had a chance to swallow some of Blair. Because he would have really liked that. Trying to get a remnant, he reached down between them and cleaned Blair's cock off with a finger, then brought the finger up and sucked the liquid greedily. Underneath him, Blair's eyes got hot again and he pulled him to him urgently.

"I want you forever," the student said.

"You got me," said Jim, hoarse, embarrassed from all this sentiment and semen-licking and the general unexpectedness of fucking angels in a backstage dressing room.

Then Blair said, "I've got to get these wings off, man, they are killing my back," and Jim helped him scoot over and up until they could get the things undone and peeled off of the naked actor.

"I guess it's official," Blair said, laughing a little nervously now as Jim immediately resettled around him, cuddling him on the rather ill-used sofa. "I'm a fallen angel now, huh?"

"I'm sorry," said Jim, hoping that he shouldn't be.

"No way," said Blair, taking Jim's hand in his and looking at him very sternly. "No way. I have wanted this for so long now."

"Really," said Jim, rubbing a finger along Blair's bare collarbone. This was just really incredible, he thought. Way too much to take in at one time.

"Yeah, are you surprised?" Blair looked uncertain for a moment. "I mean, you want it too, right?"

"No, Sandburg, this was just my way of saying how much I liked the play," growled Jim.

"Wow, I'm impressed at your critical skills," said Blair. "And the way your cock fills up my ass," but he whispered that last part, and Jim could hear the emotion in his voice.

"Chief," he said, rubbing the unruly hair back from Blair's face, and then they had to cuddle for a while even as the knocking began on the door.

"My public," said Blair, and Jim bent down to give him a long, heart-melting kiss.

"Get dressed," said the bigger man. "I want to take you home."

"There might be a cast party," Blair said.

"Would you rather go there?" Jim asked, zipping himself back up, and Blair got to his feet, messy, hot. Wonderfully naked.

"No," he said, also apparently a bit shy. "Not tonight."

"Cause I don't mind," said Jim. "Although I'd rather just take you home."

"Upstairs in your bed?" Blair whispered.

"Any place you want," Jim said truthfully

"Over the kitchen table? 'Cause I've always had this thing about that," admitted the flustered student. He was so high with excitement he felt like he was breathing rocket fumes.

"I'll fuck you outside in the road if you want," growled Jim, and swept away by the boldness of the evening, Blair said, "Forget my public, can we do it again, Jim?"

Growling once more, Jim just pushed Blair up against the wall of the dressing room and as the over-energized student sank against the cool paint, Jim worked his way down that body to reacquaint himself with Blair's cock, which was suddenly interested in business again. When the knocking resumed at the door, Blair called out, "Coming!" and gave into Jim's eager mouth, which was working major miracles in the area of his groin.

Rubbing Blair's silken flesh, feeling the ridge with his thumb, the slit with his tongue, Jim thought, now this is manna from heaven. This is what I want to feed upon for the rest of my days. And as Blair writhed helplessly above him, Jim holding him there in place as he moved, Blair's head tossed back and forth as Jim pulled the hot bitter liquid out of Blair once more. This time when the angel collapsed, Jim caught him, cradled him very close.

"You got clothes?" he asked. "Not that I want you to wear them, but we got to get home, Chief. I might not be responsible what I do to you if we don't."

"I love you, Jim," said Blair, reaching an arm up and around Jim's neck.

"I love you, too," said Jim, and he pulled Blair to his feet, again had to stop to let his big hands wander all up and down Blair's smooth sides. Blair's mouth pressed against his and they kissed again, lips parted, tongues still searching for tastes and more, until finally Jim was groaning, said, "Home."

Regretful of having to let Blair go, Jim kept a hand on him at all times while the two of them hunted up Blair's things. Threw them into his backpack, said fuck it to the makeup (hell, I'll drive to Tacoma to get cold cream if I have to, thought Jim) and then he and Blair, the latter finally back in jeans and a tee, hurried out through the confusion of the backstage area toward the back door.

There, a slender man with a expression of rapture on his face stopped them and said, "Blair, you were brilliant. What guts!"

"What everything," said Jim, pulling Blair to him as they headed toward the door.

"I can't believe you said that," said Blair, wearing a really big smile, and then they were at the truck.

"Shit, I forgot my wings," said the angel.

"Were those yours?"

"No, but I thought they would be a great souvenir, you know? I'd be glad to pay for them."

"Stay here," said Jim, kissing Blair hard, and Blair just sat there, pulse racing, until the detective came back out, rather incongruously holding a worse-for-wear pair of thick white wings.

"Your wings, Sir," he said, presenting them with the Ellison version of a flourish.

"They're heavy," Blair said, as they settled into the truck.

Not as heavy as what I feel for you, Jim thought. He thought of days ahead, of Blair naked in the loft, disheveled, ravished, ravishing. Oh yeah, he thought. This play was definitely a keeper.

Next year he'd make sure he became a patron.

The End