opened the letter, read it twice and blinked. Jim who had been hovering, always
alert to the slightest change in Blair's heartbeat, came rushing over.
"What is it?" he demanded
anxiously. "The third paragraph made your pulse rate double."
surprised," Blair said weakly, absently reaching out to stab a potato with a
fork. Jim and he were cooking Thanksgiving dinner for just about everyone they
knew, despite the fact that the table only seated four, and they'd been up since
dawn, peeling, basting, roasting and, when the sex was over,
"Tell me, lover," Jim insisted, his hands clasping Blair's face
gently but urgently and leaving a smear of cranberry stuffing on Blair's cute
button nose. Jim leaned in, licked it off and the letter fluttered to the floor
as they embraced fiercely, passion burning high, Jim's smoky blue eyes alight…..
no, that was the turkey fat igniting.
After beating out the flames, Jim
picked up the letter and raised his eyebrows. "May I?"
"Sure," Blair said
glumly. "But don't blame me if you have no appetite afterwards."
tell when Jim got to paragraph three. The Big Guy ™ choked on the beer that had
appeared in his hand and sprayed a fine mist of Bud over the increasingly limp
"What is this?"
"I wanted to look into my
past," Blair explained. "I've always been perfectly fine with not knowing who my
father was, but since we, you know, started having the hot monkey
Jim wiggled his eyebrows, momentarily distracted. "Oh, yeah," he
breathed. "I know, sweetheart. Twice a day and three times on weekends… I'm a
"Me, too," Blair said loyally. Even if we're getting through as
much Preparation H as we are lube. "But since thathappened, I've found myself
wondering where I came from, who Dad was, if he's passed something down to me
that could explain why we caught the you-know-what."
Jim glanced at the
letter and his lip quivered. "But this," he said unsteadily, "this says
that I …" He broke off, his eyes filling with
That happened a lot these days. They got through a lot of tissues,
"That you're my father, even though you're only seven years older
than me. I know." Blair patted Jim's muscular arm consolingly. "And also my
Jim frowned. "Is that even possible? I mean one or the other,
sure, but… both?"
Blair turned his head to the doorway, as it filled with
throngs of guests, all merry and smiling, unaware of the emotional turmoil into
which they had just walked. "It could have been worse; you could have been my
mother, too," he threw over his shoulder.
Jim sighed and stole a Brussels
spout, chewing it moodily. Ah, well. Let society say what it liked -- his love
for Blair and his delectably dimpled ass was pure and spiritually approved and
they both knew it.
And it wasn't like they could get pregnant, after
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