Dry Clean Only

By K9


I'm his favorite, okay?

No matter what he'd have you believe, *I* am the one he favors when he's trying to impress.

I'm the one he reaches for when he wants to catch Sandburgs eye, the one he feels makes him look drop dead sexy. And I have to say he's right...I do.

I hug in all the right places, accentuate all the right things, cling to all the bits that make Sandburg choke, then of course he always pretends he's got a frog in his throat or hay-fever.

It's a lazy Sunday morning and Jim has just struggled out of bed. I've heard him tossing and turning all night and I know why, his little curly haired buddy downstairs was obviously jerking off and poor Jim was getting all hot and bothered.

I really don't understand them you know. Jim spends hours in front of the mirror bemoaning the fact that he's hit forty, he has middle aged spread <Snort, yeah..sure> that he's losing his hair, that maybe his sex drive has moved down from Formula one to a Sunday afternoon putter along country lanes and that Sandburg could never, ever, *want* him.

Then, I get Sandburg up here when Jim's not in. He tells the mirror that it's not fair, he's too short, his hair has an intelligence all of its own, he's got a 'girly mouth' and why did God make him so unattractive to the only man he really wants?

Occasionally, the word 'pathetic' leaps to mind.

Anyway, as I said, it's Sunday morning and Jim's woken up after a restless night as horny as hell, so what does he do? He reaches for me.

Slipping me on, he wriggles that very fine tight, muscular ass until I'm as snug as a bug, clinging like gum to your best pants.

He looks at us in the mirror and sighs.

"Ellison, this is *so* juvenile," he mutters to himself. Running his fingers across my surface, he admires the scenery.

And though I *do* say it myself, I look pretty damn good!

Taking a deep breath, Jim lopes down the stairs only to find...major shock...Sandburg in the kitchen.

Well, I'll be polyester pants with stay pressed creases, what a surprise.

"Oh Chief, I didn't know you were up," he says.

Ellison, don't give up your day job, acting is *not* for you.

"You usually complain that I make too much noise, Jim. But rarely that I don't make enough," Sandburg laughs.

Okay, so he's not quite as dumb as he looks. What? Jealous? Me?

Suddenly Sandburg looks up and spots *me*. I see a flush work up his face and the words that are usually only too eager to escape seem to dry up.

Man, have I got 'it' or have I *got* it?

"Is it me, or is it really warm this morning?" Jim says *so* casually, "You think we're actually going to get a summer this year?"

All this time he's strolling around, showing me off and Sandburg's trying to surreptitiously wipe the dribble from his chin.

"A w..what?" the curly one stutters.

"Summer. You know, that very short period of time in the year when that orange ball appears in the sky and the temperature rises above freezing?"

Hah! Old mop head is *way* gone, like he's thinking about summertime? The only 'rising' going on here is in his shorts.

I can see it from here, jeez, the guy's a *slut*.

"You okay, Blair?" Jim asks.

Goddamn, that's done it. He knows only too well that when he calls him 'Blair' in that soft, sweet voice, the kid has one of those 'boner moments'.

Ack, it's disgusting, I swear if he comes in his shorts, I'll pass out.

"I, er..I'm fine, Jim," the little tease pouts.

'Jim Junior' finally stirs from his slumber.

Oh no, nooo...for God's sake Jimbo, not *now*! I'm looking *so* good if you let that happen, I'm gonna get all bent outta shape.

Jeezus, he's just shot my super smooth outline to *hell*.

Oi... Jim Junior, calm down huh? What do you see in that guy anyway?



Jim's walking over and standing in front of Sandburg, who at least has the grace to go beet red, a color which is *so* unflattering on him. He suddenly reaches up and touches the little guy's face, "Why are you blushing?" he whispers.

Oh gimme a break. Why do you think?

"I...I don't know," Sandburg stumbles over his words.

Man, that is *so* coy I could hurl.

"Talk to me, Blair," Jim says in that low growl.

For God's sake Ellison, if you want answers, interrogate him...go find your night-stick or something, just quit abusing my lycra.

"I...I love you Jim," Sandburg spews out the words so fast he almost chokes.

Ugh, I think I'm getting a sugar rush.

"I love you too, Blair," Jim replies.


"You do?" Furby boy turns those big soft blue eyes up towards Jim and my close weave, stays-in-shape, always fits you like a second skin surface gets bent outta shape *big time*.

"Always have," Jim smiles as he bends down to kiss his teddy-Blair.

Suddenly I'm in very close proximity to a pair of cheap cotton Taiwanese imports.

Man, talk about slumming it.

Hey, Jim junior? Take it easy, deep breaths.

#Ass...ass# Junior grunts as he begins to point the way home, #Pretty ass#

He's not big on conversation, Jim junior.

Things are really hotting up, they're all over each other, kissing, slobbering, humping.

It's okay for 'Mr Far Eastern' here, as white cotton he's machine washable, but me? I'm black lycra...I *stain*.

"Let's get outta these damn things," Jim groans suddenly and I feel his hands slip beneath my surface.

Well, I like that. He uses me to seduce the guy then just *tosses* me away when I'm no longer needed. That's gratitude for ya.

I get hurled through the air and land unceremoniously on the back of the sofa, alongside Fu Manchu, the white cotton menace.

Meanwhile, Jim and his furry little buddy are rolling around on the floor..*naked*...grunting and moaning.

It doesn't take long before Jim's rather sizeable equipment is otherwise engaged, hell, better Sandburg's ass than my lycra I guess.

So, here I sit. Unwanted, discarded, no longer needed for his pretty pathetic seduction technique, forced to watch this unspeakable spectacle of lust and debauchery. Well, I would if they'd stop rolling around the corner out of view.

It all comes to a fibre splitting crescendo with that immortal declaration of undying passion, 'For God's sake, harder. Jim, fuck me harder.' Who said the little Ewok had no class?

"Jim?" 'Bambi' gasps at last, as they both scrape themselves off the ceiling joists, "Man, I *love* those black boxers. Don't *ever* throw them away, okay?"

Jim grins, "Okay, it's a deal I promise to wear them whenever I want you hot and steaming."

"Well, you'll have to wash them *occasionally*," Sandburg purrs. "Lavish a little love and attention on them."

See, now didn't I always say that Blair was a nice guy? I think cheap cotton can be kinda kinky on the right ass.


The End