Author's disclaimer: The boys don't belong to me and never will, no matter how many falling stars I wish upon.

Author's notes: Thanks to D for read-throughs. :) A little dark corner of my brain keeps screaming things like "Sophomore Jinx!" and "Why are you posting again so soon!" So I most sincerely hope that this fic doesn't flop, and that you all can bear with me as I post frequently for a few weeks. I have a lot of stories on my hard drive. :) Thank you, and enjoy! (Warning: this is sappier than UB, by far. But still good, I think ;-)

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
i like my body when it is with your body It is quite so new a thing....
i like to feel the spine of your body
and its bones and the trembling firm-smoothness and which i will again and again
and again kiss
ee cummings
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Jim and I held onto each other pretty tight after we made love for the first time since I'd died. It was like making love for the very first time all over again, and I had explored and delighted in the strength of him and the wonders of his skin, and he had delighted in me--kind of literally, I thought with a grin as I flopped across the mattress, then rolled onto my side to look at him. He'd tucked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes as he struggled to control his breathing, so I leaned over and pinched his chest. He was defenseless; it needed to be done.

He opened one eye and glared at me evilly, making me grin, which made him laugh. But then he looked away again, stared at the ceiling so intently that I wondered if maybe he was seeing more than a smooth white surface...maybe the secret of life was hiding up there.

I looked. Nothing. But maybe that was just because I don't have Sentinel senses, so I said, "Hey, Jim. What do you see?"

He was frowning. "You know, I never noticed it before, but it looks like the last time we painted this ceiling, someone took their corner and painted words, then covered them up again. I can see the shapes of letters, but can't quite--"

I must have jumped a little guiltily because he looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Sandburg?" he asked, danger in his voice, and I smiled, patted his shoulder. Rubbed his stomach a little. Stroked his thigh.

No good. He just kept glaring, although Little Jim showed a little enthusiasm for my distractions.

"I, uh...that was my corner, Jim. But I swear, I only painted tribal names. It was Joel who painted all the curse words."

He stared at me a little longer, then shook his head and grinned. "I should have known it would be you and Joel."

I agreed, but wasn't really interested in the ceiling. His skin was a much more inviting expanse of white--"We need to get you out in the sun, Jim, you're pale like fish bellies"--and his mouth formed much more interesting words than were on the ceiling when I kissed him just below his navel.

Sometimes I wish I had Sentinel senses--usually when Jim looks like he's going to pass out because his dessert is perfect. Sometimes just on warm spring days when the sky is clear and he can see the water from the balcony, or hot summer days when he can smell ice cream from the truck that patrols our neighborhood in search of little teeth to rot.

I'd like to be able to see him as clearly as he sees me.

I think that's the basis of it all, that I would like to know Jim as well as he knows me. But if I said anything to him about it, he'd laugh at me and say that he wishes he had my mind. I know him better than anyone has ever known him, he'd tell me, know so many of his little secrets, and I know that he feels like he knows me physically but hasn't scratched my surface emotionally.

But no one in my life has ever cared so much, has even wanted to scrath the surface, and that's what matters to me. Maybe that's what matters to him, too.

"Jim," I said when he had come for me again and I was curled back up beside him. I rested my weight on my elbow and looked at him. "Jim, you know how I feel, right?" I wasn't really expecting any response, thought that maybe he'd say, "I know, Chief," and that would be enough. But he didn't say anything at all, just looked up at the ceiling like before, even less responsive now.

"Hey, man," I whispered when he just continued to stare, not saying anything. He smiled a little when he heard my voice, so I knew he wasn't zoning, but otherwise he was just playing statue and making me feel like a visitor in a museum. There was practically red velvet roping him off; I could almost hear the bored, tired security guard saying, "Please do not touch the artwork, sir. It's very valuable." So, because I'd always hated security guards, I reached out and touched his chest.

His warmth against my hand was actually a surprise--maybe a part of me had been expecting to come into contact with cool, perfectly carved marble. The warm pliancy of a healthy, strong body is so different from the feel of stone, so much better. For a moment I felt like it was the first time I'd ever felt the heat of another human body, but the moment passed quickly so I said his name again. And again. And again. No one had ever said I wasn't persistent.

Finally, he looked at me, his eyes so purely blue that I was startled. "Don't," he said, "ask me how I'm feeling." His voice was a low and sexy growl, and when he grinned I blinked, surprised. "If you do, I'll throttle you, Chief," and I took that as Jim returning my sentiments as best he knew how, and I laughed.

"All right, I get it. We're macho. Feelings equal death and all that." I edged a little closer to him, right up against his side, and let my fingertips play on his chest, thumping out the rhythm of a poem that'd been stuck in my head for months. We stayed silent like that for a while, but I was just doing it so that when I pounced, he'd be unprepared.

Finally, I sensed that he was on the verge of napping, so I said, "Hey, Jim. What are you thinking?" and then, before his eyes even opened, I rolled away from him.

"I gotta learn to be less specific with you, huh?" he said, and then he caught me just before I escaped the bed. He pushed me under him and pulled the blankets up over both of us, then looked at me like I had two heads and he wanted to chop them both off.

"Hey, I didn't ask what you were feeling," I said as fast as I could, because I like both of my heads just where they are. Jim just grinned and then annoyed me by sighing, closing his eyes, and tucking his head into my shoulder. Like he was just going to collapse over me and then drift off.

I'd had a strange day between hunting for Megan's umbrella and then dragging my stuff out of the closet and putting it all back in place, and I wanted him to talk to me for a little while, dammit. So I reached up and cuffed him on the side of his head, not hard enough to hurt him--like I ever could, physically--but hard enough to get his attention. Playfully, he yelped, and then we tussled until he had my wrists in his hands and held up by my head.

"Jesus, Chief," he grumbled as he settled me to his liking and then covered my body with his own again. "It'll be as embarrassing as all hell to book you for spousal abuse, you know."

"I don't recall that you've made an honest man of me," I shot back, grinning, but a change came over his face. Oh, God, I thought desperately, please don't let him get all broody--

But God must not have been listening to short Jews with too much hair that day, because Jim did exactly what I *didn't* want him to do.

"I'd marry you if we could, Chief," he said, so intense, so willing to give me anything I wanted. I tugged my wrists free of his grip and caressed his face, his shoulders, and smiled.

"Never going to be possible," I said, because I believe in change but know that it takes time. "So, no reason to worry about it."

"But I know--" he said, then seemed to fish for words. "I know you feel insecure sometimes, and I just want you to know that I'd do almost anything, if it meant that you would understand..."

My heart turned over in my chest. The man can be so dense, so stubborn, a real grade-A jerk, but there's this sweetness buried inside him. I go crazy sometimes looking for it, to this day, and when he just opens up and shares it, the feeling is intense.

"I do know," I whispered then, and dragged him down for a kiss. "I swear, Jim, I do know. And I nailed all my stuff to the walls this time. Can't get much more committed than that."

He chuckled a little but said, "If you want to do one of those ceremonies, the unofficial weddings? I could do that--"

"Not if you want me to still be your ride-along," I said. "And it's not necessary. That whole honest man comment was off the cuff--so to speak, since at the time I wasn't wearing a shirt and your cuffs were most definitely not involved--" I paused to whisper several rather naughty things in his ear to make him shiver and maybe forget a little that he had wanted to be serious. "Don't worry," I told him when he just kept looking at me with a somber expression. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Jim studied me for a minute like maybe he thought I was obfuscating again, then he smiled and his gaze softened. "So I'll just book you for domestic assault," he said, "and we'll leave it at that."

I laughed, which felt good with the way we were pressed together, ran my hands up his bare back lazily, enjoying the scent of his skin, mapping the ridges of his spine. I'd missed being naked with him in the month or so since the whole fiasco with Alex began, and he'd missed it too, judging by the way he tucked his head against my shoulder again and gently nibbled at my neck. He gradually let more of his weight rest against me, until I could feel his dick press against my hip, mostly soft but still substantial.

I wanted to stay like that forever, but we had a mission for that afternoon--two, actually.

"Jim," I gasped when he licked my neck; he took the gasp as encouragement and nibbled on my ear. "No, wait," I said, and pushed at his shoulders. It should have been like pushing at a mountain but Jim moved back immediately, stared at me with a little hurt in his eyes, and maybe a little fear.

What does he have to be afraid of, I wondered, and almost panicked thinking that maybe something had gone wrong with his senses--and then realized that no, it was just his own brand of insecurity coming to the surface. Like the kind a big cat might have if its master knocked it from his lap.

I grinned at my own analogy and said, "No, no no. We've just got to bring Megan her umbrella. I promised we'd do it today, since there's rain on the forecast tomorrow."

"There's rain on the forecast every tomorrow in Cascade," Jim growled. "I told you to move your stuff upstairs--and by God, I meant it--and you made plans with Megan?"

"Not plans, so much," I said, patting his back, "as an errand. And I'm all moved in, so--"

"I told you to move upstairs," Jim told me, and I looked at him, knowing my face was blank with surprise. All of my stuff was in its regularly assigned places, and I had indeed gone upstairs with him, so what did he--

Oh. He meant, you're moving upstairs. As in sleeping in his bed every night instead of sometimes sleeping downstairs because he seemed to need space or because I had studying to do and didn't have time for even a little make-out time. As in putting some of my clothes in his dresser. As in never having to so much as sit on that futon again. Great!

But why?

"If this is about the marriage thing," I told him, "forget it." Then I tried to wiggle free of his hold. He merely grabbed my wrists again--which I was getting damned sick of; if he was going to play alpha why didn't he just take it all the way? But he just held on with the skill of a trained warrior and the instinctive grace and care of a big man who doesn't want to hurt what he loves.

"This isn't a wedding thing," he assured me, and I believed him because Jim just...didn't lie to me. "This is a...priorities thing."

Does that mean I've moved to number two behind work, I wondered, above the need for space? Amazing.

I must have said it out loud, or the bond between us was stronger than I'd imagined, because he said very quietly, "You're number one. I think you've been number one for a very long time, and I just didn't see it."

"Ohhhhh...." I said, and then I twisted free and got up on my knees. I leaned over the railing and shouted in the general vicinity of the trash can that was Umbrella Bones' temporary quarters, "Hey, did you hear that, Bones, my friend? I'm number--"

That was all I got to say because I was trapped beneath Jim again, and we were both laughing. "That's priority number two," I told him between chuckles. "Giving that umbrella either a good home or a proper burial with last rites and everything. It was a good, true friend and companion."

Jim was laughing like he rarely did, really into it, really amused by me, and I ran my hands over his short hair, smoothing it down.

"Come on, Jim," I said when he was relaxed over me again. "Let's get a move on, get rolling, shake a leg--"

"I'll shake your leg," he said, and then proceeded to do so in a way that made my eyes roll back in my head and my body go limp.

"Right," I said slowly as I came back to myself. "That umbrella's been around a long time and the rain isn't due until tomorrow--"

"If Megan wants to live like the natives," Jim interrupted, "she'll forget that she ever knew what an umbrella was." Then he licked a path through my chest hair to my belly button, mimicking what I had done for him earlier, and I nearly flew off the bed despite the fact that I was drained--and I agreed with him wholeheartedly. I'd have agreed to anything he said, just so long as he kept going. Megan and the umbrella would wait until tomorrow.

Or maybe next week. Who knows? Maybe never, the way Jim and I were going. The way I hoped we'd go for a good, long time.