Notes: Possibly contaminated by plot. Another IRC story, written for crit, who made a special request.

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It's not every day that your roommate flops down next to you, wearing only a towel, and says "It's been so long since I've gotten laid I think I've forgotten what it feels like."

Well, not when your roommate is Blair Sandburg, who usually says "Hey, Jim, I met this woman..."

But it's not every day you look at your roommate, and instead of saying "Yeah, Chief, me too" you say "I can take care of that for you, Chief."

And he looks at you and sees you're not kidding.

And then next thing you know, you have his towel-wrapped ass in one hand and his legs are wrapped around you and you're hanging onto his head with the other hand and then you've made it to his bedroom--this place is a mess, you think, but you don't care.

Because he's utterly and completely fuckable, that's what he is, and you're both going to remember what it feels like to get laid.

He reaches over his head and digs in the nightstand, and then there's lube in your palm, lube and a condom, and you reach down between his legs and cup his balls before sliding a slick finger back, lower, into him, and he gasps, and so you kiss him.

And you keep kissing him, and stretching him, and then you've got the condom on and you're--fuck, you're in him, and he arches underneath you, those strong arms flung out, the muscular curve of his neck taut and his mouth and eyes open, as if in wonder.

You can't not move, so you move, and he moves, and it's been a long time, a very long time, since anything felt as good as Blair Sandburg does when you're inside him and over him and looking down into half-lidded blue eyes. You want him to feel like he's never, ever, gotten laid before, like this is it, like he's never going to get laid by anyone else, ever again, and so you move your hand to his cock and he begins to shake underneath you, like he's about to fly apart--but he's not flying apart, he's coming, coming hard, and he's taking you with him.

Afterwards, you curl up behind him and dare to put your hand on his hip, and he shifts back against you. "Was nice," he says, drowsily. "I remember now."

"Good," you say, hoping he'll go on, hoping he'll just leave it be.

He presses back against you, harder, and you slide an arm around him. "I might need frequent reminders," he says, and falls asleep before the smile gets all the way across your face.

End