Disclaimer: Pet Fly made me do it. How could I not, after Jim did this over and over again? It was driving me mad; I had to respond.
Notes: This contains no spoilers, but the straw that broke this camel's back was the kissing in "Dead End on Blank Street".
Dedication: To the Ping Gang, who've listened to me giggle about this far too many times.
Summary: Blair makes some observations about Jim's kissing technique.
Warnings: Kissing, and shameless use of a Mary Sue for comedic value.
With one last kiss, Mary stepped away and picked up her purse. Turning at the door, she looked over her shoulder, smiled at Jim, and said "Call me!" before leaving.
"What?" Jim demanded, glaring at the roommate whose early arrival home had messed up his date.
Blair shook his head and sauntered across the living room into the kitchen, still snickering.
"What's so funny, Sandburg?" Jim asked again. "And get me a beer too, will you?"
Blair knocked the fridge door shut with his hip, ignoring Jim's wince, and tossed one of the bottles in his hands to Jim. "Man, it's just--" Blair stopped, and Jim watched with concern as Blair moved out of arm's reach with exaggerated care. Blair grinned. "It's just that you kiss like a turtle."
Jim put his beer down to stare at his roommate. Turtle? He shook his head. "Chief, there's uninhibited and then there's bestiality, okay? If you've been kissing turtles, I don't want to know."
Blair rolled his eyes. "Please. I mean you-- well, you stand like way back and stick your neck out and, man, you look like a turtle when you kiss." Jim frowned, baffled. "Like this, see? You keep your distance from her body," Blair set down his own bottle, moved to stand about a foot away from the post that divided living room from kitchen, and braced both hands against the wood, "and you poke your head forward until your mouth is close enough to kiss." He matched action to words, using his arms to keep his shoulders in place while he brought his face closer to the post and stuck out his lips.
"I don't do that," Jim snapped, feeling his face heat. "And anyway, that doesn't look like a turtle."
"It does on you," Blair said, letting go of the post and retrieving his beer. "You've got that long neck with no hair to cover it."
Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "How do you kiss?" he asked defensively.
Blair smirked. "Kissing is a full-contact sport, man. You've gotta get your whole body involved."
"That's not kissing," Jim said, "that's necking."
"Well, exactly," Blair said with a laugh, toasting Jim's answer with his bottle.
"That's ridiculous." Jim shook his head, trying to picture it.
"Less so that looking like a turtle!" Blair was practically in hysterics now. "I mean, man, if she's out with her girlfriends and they see you doing that, it's gonna be over. Your image is toast-- Hey!"
Jim put down his beer, plucked his friend's bottle out of his hand and set it down as well, and, telling himself that he was motivated purely by a desire to prove Blair wrong, leaned forward and kissed the other man on the mouth.
Blair leaned into him, perhaps reflexively, and Jim opened Blair's lips wider, deepening the kiss. He brought his hands up to cup Blair's face and tilted Blair's head back. In the back of his mind, he noticed with surprise that Blair was actually quite a few inches shorter than he had expected.
Then Blair pulled back and said something that came out as "mmm" but probably meant "enough". Jim released him, feeling that he had made his point. He opened his eyes and was about to say so when Blair wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed him back.
At least, Jim assumed that this was Blair's idea of a "kiss". Blair's tongue was in his mouth, but Blair's hands were in his hair and down his back and up under his shirt and Blair's thigh was pressing between his legs. There was definitely full-body contact going on, with a bit of writhing throw in for good measure. The next thing Jim knew, he had been backed several steps until he was pinned against the couch, panting.
Blair pulled his mouth away just far enough to speak, leaving his lower body propped against Jim's thighs. "Now, that's a kiss," he said. His lips almost brushed Jim's skin.
"It's not," Jim insisted, discovering that he still had a little air in his lungs after all. "It's making out." Blair's left hand, still inside Jim's shirt, trailed slowly up Jim's spine. "Definitely making out," Jim repeated with a gasp. "See, this," he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Blair's, opening his mouth to let Blair strengthen the kiss. Their tongues met, caressed, and reluctantly drew apart. "--is a kiss. This," and he let his hands roam eagerly down the muscles of Blair's back, down to his hips, "is making out."
"Ah," Blair whispered. "It's all so clear now."
He kissed Jim again, and then they continued making out.
Mary never got that telephone call. After all, who wants to date someone who doesn't mind being kissed by a turtle?
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