Notes: Hey, everyone. :-) This is my third story, but my first posting to SXF. I'm one of these folks who do not get UPN, so for me, the travesty of the cliffhanger simply does not exist. I've not seen it, so its not real. Period. In fact, I've not seen the entire season, so their growing estrangement is not real for my corner of fanfiction. I can make them friendly and happy with a clear conscience. :::Makes a rude noise in the direction of Bilson, Valentine, et al::::

Summary: Our guys. Too much wine. Love, lust, and hopeful thoughts.

Warnings: None, that I can think of. I don't do death stories. No one dies in this story, either on or offscreen. No vehicles are wrecked, nor personal firearms dropped. No one gets kidnapped, placed in peril, and no BoTW appears in spandex. Small household appliances may or may not survive; it depends on how much energy is in the loft. Farm animals escape unscathed.

Blair drifted in the soft, warm, fuzzy place somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, content. He moved slightly, curving into the warmth of a long, lean body, and his mouth quirked in a dreamy smile. Anika. Beautiful Anika. He rubbed his cheek against the smooth skin between her shoulderblades, mindful not to rub too hard; how many times had women pushed him away, disliking the scrape of his heavy morning beard? His lips pressed a sleepy kiss to the softness, and he shifted a little again, making room for the beginnings of an early morning erection that wanted to settle between the muscular cheeks of her ass.

Sweet Anika. Even without opening his eyes, he could picture her; the contrast between his pale skin and her night-dark one exotic, exciting. He'd called her Hippolyta, after the queen of the Amazons, and although she hadn't gotten the reference, she'd understood well enough the compliment. He'd felt like Sir Edmond Hillary, standing at the base of Mount Everest; as the center of Rainier's women's basketball team, Anika was at least six inches taller than him, and probably forty pounds heavier. With the face of an African goddess, and what seemed like a thousand long skinny braids, he'd been enraptured with her, astounded when she'd actually gone out with him, and finally, unbelieving and ecstatic when she invited him into her bed. They had a mutually beneficial arrangement; when one or the other felt like expending a bit of extra energy, a quick phone call brought them together. Nothing serious, nothing permanent. It was the way they both preferred, and the spontaneity made it enjoyable. No promises, no commitments, just a mutually pleasurable tumble.

Without opening his eyes, he slid his hand around her, marveling again at the softness of her skin; it was like the finest silk, like a Chinese emperor's robe. He wanted to feel the gently rounded curve of her breast in his hand, to run his thumb across a nipple that he knew would harden like a diamond beneath his touch.

His hand slid over a heavy pectoral, as smooth and as hard as marble beneath warm skin.

Blair opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. Light was like a laser, slicing into his retinas, carving painful paths into his brain. With a gasp, he closed them, cursing silently against the pounding in his head that seemed to beat in time with his pulse. Nausea swirled over him, and the taste of too much wine the night before in his mouth made him swallow convulsively, straining to keep from vomiting all over himself and Anika. Not the best way to say good morning.

Slow, deep breathing helped. Eventually, the nausea cleared, although the pounding in his head refused to leave him be. He decided to try again, and opened his eyes again, just a slit. The light in the room was fierce, but bearable this time, and he forced himself to open his eyes. He could only focus on the smooth skin before his face; the texture swam in and out before he got a grip on his visual abilities.

It was a moment before his blurry brain would work, and another before he realized that something was very odd.

The color of skin so close to his nose was wrong. It was pale, as pale as his own. Then his fingers reported in, and he registered another discrepancy. No soft, warm, feminine breast beneath his hand, but hard, firm muscle like his own. He blinked slowly, owlishly, feeling as if someone had glued sandpaper on the insides of his eyelids. His brain, generally working at transwarp speed, refused to cooperate, refused to factor in the differences and tell him what was wrong.

Unsolved mysteries grated against his mind, refusing to leave him be unless explored and data categorized into neat little files. Blair pulled away slightly from the intoxicating warmth of the body next to his, made himself look, really look at who lay beside him. Shoulders and back like the Himalayas. Arms long, heavily muscled, as were the thighs his own pressed so closely against. Hard, muscular ass, narrow waist. Further up, much further up, a long, strong neck like the column of a Greek temple. Dark, close-cropped hair on a well-shaped head.

The world suddenly ceased to spin.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed. He knew that body, the shape of that head. He'd just never seen them up close like this, or at this angle.

Or naked.

For long seconds, Blair stopped breathing. He finally remembered to do so, and wondered if this might be among the last few moments he would. He was naked, spooned up to an equally naked Jim Ellison, the scent of sex still faint in the air, the dried evidence on his own belly, and as soon as Jim woke up, as soon as he realized what they'd done--Blair didn't even want to contemplate what the reactions might be, certain they'd be distinctly unpleasant. //What have I done? I've ruined everything.// Shock, and its companion, fear was a metallic taste heavy in his mouth, and his beginning erection made a strategic retreat.

Very carefully, he removed his hand from the smooth, broad chest, and slowly began working his body away from Jim's. Jim moved slightly as he pulled away, but the tenor of his breathing didn't change, nor did his big body lose the laxness of sleep. Not for the first time, Blair wished he had Jim's Sentinel abilities, this time to allow him to gauge the depth of sleep, to see how close Jim truly was to awakening.

After an eternity of minute maneuverings, he was at the edge of Jim's big bed, his stomach aching and churning from the tension. Moving slowly, painfully, he levered himself up to a sitting position. The room spun in a maddening whirl, and he clutched his hands to his head, threading his fingers through his hair in an attempt to keep his head connected onto his body; it certainly felt as if it were going to pop off and go bouncing across the loft. //Oh, gods, what happened here?// He swallowed again, fighting another wave of nausea.

//Okay, Sandburg, you're the scientist here. Put all your expensive training to use. Gather data, analyze, hypothesize.//

He was wearing one red sock, on his left foot. Blair fixated on it a moment before he realized it was one of a pair of his lucky socks. He raised his head slowly, carefully, and looked around, wincing at the pain the movement caused. Clothing, his and Jim's, lay scattered everywhere. His other red sock lay draped over the shade of the bedside table lamp. His jeans hung half-on, half-off the rail that encircled the loft. His black and white plaid flannel shirt lay over the top two steps of the stairway, and his red tee shirt peeked out from beneath the corner of the bed. His shorts--where were his shorts? His bleary eyes searched the floor, and finally found them over by the dresser, a wadded, brightly-colored heap of silk.

A vision came to mind, astonishing in its clarity: Jim easing him backward onto the bed, mouth on his neck, the fierce sucking making him moan with delight, long fingers teasing his nipples, tweaking the silver ring in the right, the other hand reaching for the elastic of his boxers. He remembered opening his eyes, and watching as Jim kissed down his body, tugged at the silver navel ring with his teeth, then pulled off the shorts and flung them over his shoulder with a careless panache that had made him laugh wholeheartedly at the sheer abandon of the action. Then Jim had pressed his hot mouth to the inside of his thigh....

Blair came back to himself with a start that made his stomach lurch. With a sense of misgiving, he moved his left leg to the side, and saw a reddened mark halfway up, and another in the crease of his groin, next to the soft weight of his scrotum. Feeling himself flush, he pressed his hand over his mouth. Jim had...Jim had...his mind couldn't form words to admit it, but the pictures in his head, gloriously technicolor, supplied it: Jim had gone down on him, his mouth a heated heaven, his velvet tongue knowing and so skillful Blair had shrieked with pleasure....

He had to get out of here, out of Jim's bed, out of his bedroom. He had to have space, room to think. Moving like an old man, he stood, shakily, willing the room to stop spinning. //Oh, damn, too much wine.// Force of will made him move, start to gather up scattered clothing. Silent. He had to be quiet. //Don't wake up Jim.// Maybe, if he removed all traces of himself, Jim would never know he'd been here, would imagine that he'd dreamed all of it....

//Sure. Delude yourself, Sandburg. Like a Sentinel wouldn't smell you all over his sheets, and pillow and...his body.// He stifled a moan as he bent to pick up his shorts. His head felt like it was going to implode. Explode. Something terribly messy, at any rate, involving very expensive special effects. He needed aspirin, and tea. It became his mantra as he moved slowly, painfully. Aspirin. Tea. Aspirin. Tea. Aspirin. Tea....

At the staircase, he stopped and turned, leaning against the cold, rough brick wall for support, and looked back at the bed he'd shared with Jim. Jim lay there curled on his side, sleeping, still except for the steady rise and fall of his breathing. Blair felt his own breath catch a little; Jim was absolutely beautiful, a work of art, perfection, all smooth lines and planes of masculine flesh. Unflawed. Surprisingly soft, silky skin overlaying heavy, hard muscle. He remembered how that warm flesh had tasted, how it had felt against his own skin....

Blair shook his head and immediately regretted it. He clutched his head, dropped the bundle of clothing he'd held in front of him, swore silently, and picked it up again. The urge to just give the clothing a toss, to climb back into that big bed, curl up against Jim and say to hell with the consequences was strong, compelling. Jim's warmth was intoxicating, and Blair felt cold, so cold he'd never get warm again. Longing for the man in that big, warm bed crested over him like a wave, followed by regret so bitter he could taste it in his mouth. Blair blinked slowly, then turned and began working his way down the steps, moving carefully, catching himself once when he stumbled.

He made it to the bathroom in time to avoid vomiting on the loft's wooden floors. He emptied his stomach into the toilet, and crouched there, shivering, miserable, until he was strong enough to get up. Staggering to the sink, he splashed his face with cold water, and forced himself to brush his teeth; his mouth tasted like a sewer smelled. Finally, he dared to look in the mirror.

//What a god-awful mess.// His face was drawn, pale, a bit greenish. Dark, early morning beard made his paleness even more startling, and his normally clear, bright, blue eyes were dulled, pained, bloodshot. His long, sable curls hung lankly around his face; even their bounce seemed subdued.

//What the hell...?// His slender fingers probed at a bruise on his throat, a purplish place almost the size of a silver dollar. He closed his eyes in denial, but when he opened them again, the mark was still there, obvious, blatant against his fair skin. Another one lower down, on the curve where neck met shoulder. Marked. Jim had marked him. He couldn't help the shudder of pleasure at the remembered nip of teeth, hot suction of mouth....

//No. Not now. Stop it.// Deliberately, he turned and began the shower. Just before he stepped in, he remembered he still had a sock on, and balanced awkwardly on one leg to pull it off. He glared at it balefully. //Some luck you brought,// he thought, before he tossed it onto the pile of his clothing.

He leaned into the hot spray, letting it pound on his bent neck and head, pulling his hair into a wet curtain around his face, hiding him from the reality of his life, if only for a moment. After a little while, he roused himself and shampooed. He had dried semen on his stomach, and his fingers slowed their mad scrub of his flesh as he had a flash of Jim pressed against him, thrusting against his groin, making deep, low sounds of pleasure, then a final cry as he came with a warm gush against his skin....

Realization of what had happened last night made him shake. //Oh my God. I slept with Jim. No, get it right. Screw the euphemisms. I had sex with Jim. A man. I had sex with a man. I had sex with Jim. // Blair leaned his forehead against the cool tiles. His thoughts spun like a top, emotions whirling right along with them. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to be elated that he'd actually been that close, that intimate with his best friend, or horrified by it and the changes it would bring to their relationship, changes as inevitable as day following night. //And we had such a great relationship--symbiotic, in tune with one another, almost one mind in two bodies. What will this...how will this affect it? But oh, how sweet it had been....//

Then there was the whole male/male dynamic to factor into everything...he covered his face with his hands. It was one thing to think about something in the quiet of the night while in the solitude of his own bed, to wonder how it would be, how it would feel, how it was done, but quite another to wake up and realize he'd actually done it, and with so little actual recall. He had only bits and pieces of memory, and most of that fuzzy, indistinct, like looking through a fogged up window. He could recall distinctly the pleasure of Jim's mouth on him, and the resultant orgasm that had ripped through him, making him wail like a Gaelic banshee. He felt heat creep up his throat, even beneath the shower's spray. Dear God in heaven...he could recollect rolling to his belly, rubbing his ass against Jim like some big, wanton cat, inviting his partner to....

His hand slipped backward to run his fingers down along the cleft between his cheeks, a tentative touch. No. He would be sore, he was certain, if they'd actually done it. He let out a quivering sigh. //Concentrate, dammit. Remember...// Jim had, to his credit, gently turned him, ignoring his protests, and rubbed himself to orgasm over his belly. Blair could feel again the strength of Jim's arms around him, the weight of him as he melted into him afterward, sweaty and heavy and so welcome....

"Oh, man," he murmured. The remembered strength of his desire floored him. Three years ago, he'd never had thought it possible to want a man, and to want him with the degree of need he'd felt last night. It had been overwhelming, tornadic, a revelation. Blair Sandburg, an avid pursuer of all that was warm and female since his passage from childhood through puberty, so turned on by a man that he'd practically begged to be taken, possessed.... //Does this change me? Does it make me any different from what I was before? Am I still the Blair I always thought myself to be? I feel pretty much the same, but I'm not sure I know the Blair who locked his legs around Jim's waist and hung on for dear life....//

The shower was getting chill. Wonderful. He'd used up all the hot water...again. That would be sure to go over well. He hoped Jim slept longer, long enough for the hot water heater to fill again. Hell, he hoped Jim slept all day. He'd live longer that way. //Oh, c'mon, Sandburg. You know he wouldn't really lay a hand on you in anger. He's your Blessed Protector. His boy scout heart wouldn't let anyone, not even himself in a rage, hurt you. No, what he might do is worse than physical pain. What if he regrets our actions so much he decides he can't stand to look at you and makes you leave? That would tear the heart right out of your chest, just like some Aztec sacrifice....//

His thoughts were a muddled jumble, and he was certain he needed to straighten them out. He towel-dried his hair, and wrapped another around himself before gathering his things and going back to his room. His own small, rumpled bed beckoned him, and the urge to just crawl under the covers and pull them over his head was very strong. He dumped his clothes into the floor at the foot of his bed, and firmly resisted its siren call. Odysseus would have been proud of him. It was ten o'clock in the morning, and time to face the day, and consequences. With a sigh, he sat down and pulled on a pair of heavy grey tweedy socks, then a pair of old sweatpants, and finally, a huge sweatshirt. It was one of Jim's that he'd "liberated" to join his own wardrobe, black, with the Cascade PD insignia over the left breast. He pushed up the sleeves; although it had fit Jim, on him, the sleeves were too long. He liked it, though; it was warm, and he was almost always cold in this damn wet, chill climate. //It's not because it was Jim's, not because he'd once worn it, not because it had touched his skin--such soft skin....//

Frowning, Blair began to pick out his hair, resolutely ignoring the fact that even his hair hurt, He did feel a little more human, though; the shower had helped, and although his head still pounded with ferocity, his stomach had settled to a slight occasional roll instead of the crazy Tilt-a-Whirl it had been. Finally satisfied he'd gotten all the snarls out of his long hair, he threw the pick to his dresser, wincing at the soft clatter of plastic against wood, and went out into the kitchen.

Aspirin and tea. Blair drank down a glass of water with the aspirins, knowing it was dehydration that made a hangover so miserable, and waited for the water to heat for his tea. He wrapped his arms around himself in a self-comforting gesture, but it didn't help much. He was royally fucked; his whole future was now unsettled, unsure. He had, for the first time he could ever remember, a home, a base, stability. Now, he stood to lose it all--home, dissertation, and most importantly of all, friend. All because of one mistake...but what a mistake it was. //Trust me to go for the wild, grandstanding gesture. If you're going to do it, make it spectacular. And oh, how it was....//

The water was ready, and he made himself a mug of mint tea to calm his stomach. His fingers were cold, and he wrapped them around the heated mug to warm them. Wandering into the living room, he glanced around at the mess. //The criminal returns to the scene of the crime. A cliche, but seemingly too true. All I need is some of that yellow tape with 'crime scene' emblazoned on it for the picture to be complete. Oh, let's not forget the image of Simon, face like a thundercloud, chewing on that ever-present cigar. Yep, that's the picture, now.// Two wineglasses sat on the coffee table, the dregs of ruby wine still in them. An empty bottle lay on its side, and another, half empty, stood beside it, balanced precariously on his teacher's copy of the Anthropology 101 textbook. The pillows from the couch were strewn haphazardly around, and Jim's expensive white running shoes were mixed and matched with his black canvas Converses. Magazines were in colorful, glossy disarray on the rug, knocked to the floor, he remembered, by a flailing leg; his own, he thought. How the wine bottle had remained upright was a miracle. If it had spilled and stained the rug, there would have been holy hell to pay.

With a sigh, he set down his mug of tea half-finished and began to straighten the room. No use in leaving it to aggravate Jim, who definitely preferred his habitat on the neat side; a reflection of years spent in the military, he decided. He moved slowly, but gradually picked up speed as he worked quietly, making as little noise as possible. After he was finished and the living room returned to pre-fiasco state, he was tired again. It had been a long time since his last hangover; he'd forgotten how much it took out of him. He settled into the corner of the couch and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He rubbed at his eyes wearily. How had things suddenly become so complicated?

It had started out innocently enough last night. They'd wrapped a case, one that had taken weeks of dog-steady work, and the criminal was in custody. To celebrate, Blair had wanted to go to dinner, and Jim had agreed, had actually thought it a pretty good idea. Jim had won the coin toss, and they'd gone to Farelli's, a new Italian restaurant that he had been wanting to try. Blair had felt cheerful and expansive enough that he'd not even griped at Jim's choice of fettucine Alfredo, although he knew very well it had one hundred grams of fat per serving. Once in awhile wouldn't hurt Jim; he'd been pretty good to watch his diet lately, and besides, they were celebrating. A couple of glasses of wine for each of them. They'd relaxed, laughed, had a really pleasant evening together without a single cross word between them.

Back at the loft, he'd opened another bottle, and Jim had joined him. They'd drank, talked more, teased, and Jim's stone defenses had slowly come down, rock by rock. Blair had been gifted with glimpses of the unguarded Jim before, but so infrequently that he'd treasured each one like a rare jewel, and kept them safe in memory. Without the self-built, protective walls, Jim's eyes lost their laser sharpness, became softer, warmer, infinitely more accessible. His face changed also, losing the hard edge, the lines of tension, shifting chameleon-like into someone younger, open, friendly. The change had been startling, and Blair had been enchanted. He liked this Jim, the laughing, teasing Jim, the Jim who'd let go of his rigid control. The Jim who let his eyes linger on Blair a little longer than was socially acceptable, whose gaze was intimate, almost...inviting. The Jim with the loose, casually open body language that made his own body respond with a fierceness that had surprised him.

Although he'd sworn on the name of every god he knew that he'd never do it, the urge to touch had been overwhelming. Without conscious thought, inhibitions freed by wine, he'd leaned forward, and slid his hand onto Jim's thigh, squeezing just a little. For an infinite moment, Jim had been absolutely still, his pale blue eyes locked on the slender hand caressing his leg. Just as Blair had thought he'd misread the signs, and was ready to pull away with profuse apologies and pleadings for his continued existence, everything changed. Jim's wide, mobile mouth had curved, a tiny bit, and he'd shifted his leg slightly outward, deliberately opening himself to Blair's exploration.

Blair had thought he'd died and been given the Key to Heaven with all its treasures. Coming from such a quiet, subtle man as Jim, it was a blatant invitation, one he thought he'd never get from his serious, straight-laced roommate. His hand had trembled in both need and nervousness as it slid slowly upward over the hard, denim-clad muscle, coming to rest lightly on the crotch of Jim's jeans, stroking gently. He had felt a burgeoning heat there, a rise of hot flesh confined beneath the heavy material. He'd looked up, and found Jim's eyes on him, lids heavy, half-closed with pleasure, darkening with desire. Jim had raised a hand, slid it into Blair's thick curls, and had used them to pull him forward. And that was when Blair had known himself irretrievably lost.

For the first year they'd lived together, he'd realized a slowly growing sense of respect and friendship, the forging of a connection between them. Jim/Blair. Sentinel/Guide. Their second year had only deepened their relationship, made them more aware of their interdependence, locked them closer together, closer than brothers, almost intimate, beyond simple friendship, into something almost spiritual. Then in their third year, Blair had realized their intimacy had, for him at least, evolved into a physical need. He'd finally realized he loved Jim, and that he'd wanted to touch him, to give Jim the gift of his body, wanted to receive Jim's own in return. He wanted them to share with one another completely, on every level possible. It had been startling, and disturbing; he'd really never before wanted another man. Oh, he'd had stray thoughts, passing fancies, but who hadn't? He'd never acted on them, just allowed them to wash over him, then slip away, like the tide on the beach. Harmless.

In the past six months, the thoughts had become a little more persistent, had become more vivid, clearer, and had revolved around one individual specifically. The individual currently sleeping in the loft above, his best friend. Lying in bed, in the still, cold hours of early morning, he'd begun wondering what it would be like, to touch Jim, to stroke that soft skin overlying the tensile strength of muscle, to taste his mouth. Idle thoughts, whipping through his fertile imagination, making him burn with curiosity.

And now, he knew what it was like. The curiosity had been satisfied, but the burn had only increased. The reality of his attraction was startling; the fact he'd reveled in Jim's touch, in a man's touch, in the physicality of the act as opposed to the intellectual, threw him. He'd loved it, more than he'd thought he might. More than gave him comfort; it was at war with what he'd always known of himself. What did it mean when he was so willing to overthrow a lifetime's belief about himself, to roll over for Jim to take him? //It makes you a man in love, willing to give his beloved the gift of himself,// whispered the small, still voice within him. //It means simply that, no more, no less.

But what if the beloved doesn't share the same feelings? What if the beloved regrets everything? What if you've wrecked everything, ruined the sweetness of the relationship you already had? What if....

Stop it. Some people shouldn't be allowed time to think.//

He heard a muffled moan from the loft, and looked up, torn from his thoughts. Jim was awake, and evidently suffering from a hangover just as bad as his own. No, worse; incredibly acute Sentinel senses had to render it a hundred times worse. The bed creaked as Jim moved, and Blair heard the thump of his feet as they hit the floor, accompanied by another, louder moan.

"Dial it down, Jim," he said softly, knowing that he'd be heard. "Dial down everything you can. You're gonna feel like hell even with them down."

Blair's eyes widened a bit as he heard a soft, steady stream of hoarse curses. //Well, I haven't heard that one before--or that one, either.// He wasn't aware Jim could swear so creatively, then remembered he'd spent years in the military, where cursing was considered a fine art. Still, it was impressive, and he filed back the best of them to use for himself, his mind automatically categorizing them for possible use as research for a paper. //Reflections of Military and Police Service On the Swearing Habits of Sentinels, by Blair Sandburg. Oh, man, you are one messed-up individual.//

His eyes flicked to the stairway as Jim stumbled down, holding onto the railing as if for dear life, clutching his head with his other hand. Blair swallowed. //Oh, dear gods.// Naked. Jim was naked, and the sight was so arousing that he turned his head away, closing his eyes, willing the vision away. Only when Jim teetered into the bathroom and closed the door, only when he heard the shower start, did Blair open his eyes again. He felt lightheaded, and his heart was pounding far too quickly for its own good. Jim seen with sober eyes far outweighed Jim seen with drunken eyes. He didn't think it possible for remembered perfection to be topped, but one glance had proved him wrong. //He's perfect, and he honestly has no idea how physically beautiful he really is.//

He shifted slightly to allow for the expansion of certain unruly body parts; in spite of feeling generally lousy, his libido remained cheerfully, fiercely insistent. He grabbed a throw pillow and held it to his face tightly, and let out a frustrated yell that did nothing to help either the pounding in his head or the matching one in his groin. //No, no, no. Listening to you, my fine friend, has already gotten me into more trouble than I know what to do with.//

The bathroom door opened, and Jim emerged with a cloud of warm steam, towel slung low around his lean hips. He looked bleary, but better than Blair himself had looked at the same stage of wakefulness. Little wonder; his size would allow him to drink more with fewer effects. But then again, perhaps his Sentinel abilities factored into it in some fashion he didn't know about; he actually had little practical knowledge of how deeply Jim's powers really ran. "Did you say something?" Jim's voice was hoarse, husky.

"No, Jim. Not a thing." Blair hated how small his voice sounded. //Gods help me, give me strength. I can't be weak, not now.//

Jim waved dismissively at him and wound his way back upstairs, a little unsteadily. Blair's eyes widened as the red towel came sailing over the loft rail to land with a soft, moist plop on the floor. Totally weird, totally out of character, but then, the past twenty-four hours seemed to have been spent in another dimension. Blair made himself get up, go over and pick up the towel. He looked upward, but could see nothing from his angle.

"Jim? Man, are you okay?"

No answer other than the sound of dresser drawers opening and closing. Blair shook his head and went to hang the towel over the shower curtain rod. //Well, it's almost showtime. Let's see how the little drama of Sandburg and his overactive libido plays out.// Truthfully, he wasn't certain what Jim's reactions would be. Anger? Possibly. Dismay? Perhaps. Indifference? Not bloody likely. He had made a pass at Jim--but it had been accepted. Accepted while intoxicated, but accepted, nonetheless. But Blair had enough experience to know things always looked different in the harsh light of day, when desire was just a sweet memory, not a demanding physical imperative. With a sigh, he moved back into the kitchen, simple human courtesy making him prepare the tea, and have the aspirin and water set out. That done, he sat down and folded his hands together on the table to await his fate.

He didn't have long to wait. Dressed in sweat pants and an old, loose black tee shirt that did nothing but emphasize his hungover paleness, Jim came down the steps a little steadier than he had originally. Jim sat down at the table, rubbed his face gingerly with his hands. He spread his fingers slightly, and one pale blue eye glared out at him.

"Hair of the dog that bit me?" he asked sourly.

"No, man, just aspirin and tea. But it helps. Hair of the dog is an old wives' tale. It doesn't really work, you know, based on..." Blair realized he was about to go off on a tangent, his nervousness manifesting itself in babbling. He closed his mouth abruptly with an almost audible snap, knowing how it could irritate Jim at the best of times, and this really didn't look like the time to make Jim testy.

Jim sighed with resignation, and took the aspirin and water. He hesitated with the tea, but then sipped at it while Blair fidgeted slightly in his chair, controlling the worst of it by sheer force of will.

"You look like hell." Jim's voice was rough, but a half-grin tilted his mouth. "Just about like I feel."

Blair's curiosity, never still, made him perk up a bit. Information was a drug to him; he craved it in all its myriad forms, but especially so when it pertained to Jim. He wanted to ask how a hangover affected Jim's Sentinel senses, if indeed it did, how different his reactions were, and at least a half a dozen other things, but stamped down firmly on the raging need; this simply didn't seem the appropriate time to hammer at Jim with a barrage of questions. Jim sipped his tea slowly, and Blair was acutely aware of the sharp eyes watching him, missing nothing, and Blair had the uneasy sensation of being pinned, like a butterfly to a collector's board. If Jim was surprised at Blair's restraint, he said nothing.

Unconsciously, he sucked his lower lip into his mouth and nibbled at it, a bad habit left over from childhood. He suddenly became aware of an increased scrutiny and looked up into eyes that were darkening, pupils widening in interest. Surprised, he stopped his nervous gnawing of his lip, and Jim's gaze locked onto his mouth. Something hot passed though those eyes...what? Desire, anger, lust--he was uncertain. Jim's control over his expression was amazing; even as well as Blair knew him, sometimes he was still unable to judge what went on behind that quiet, composed face.

Jim set down his mug and stared into its depths. His long fingers turned the mug in quarter-inch increments, an idle movement out of keeping with his normal behavior; usually the very picture of self-containment, Jim never fidgeted. Blair wanted to say something, anything, to break the growing silence. It was approaching the point of discomfort, but he wasn't quite sure what to say. //Come on, man. Do something. Anything. This is driving me crazy. But please, don't make me leave. I know what I did changes everything, but we can work this out. We have to work this out--the alternative is...inconceivable.//

Jim drew something from the pocket of his sweats, and held it up, letting it dangle from his fingers. A necklace of colorful, handmade Peruvian beads with a rune pendant in the middle of them, threaded onto a leather cord. His necklace. Blair's hand automatically went to his throat; he'd been wearing it last night, and he'd been so busy contemplating the complete upending of his world, so turned on his ear by the recent events that he hadn't noticed it missing. Warmth crept up his throat, blossomed over his cheeks.

"I found it in the bed. I must have pulled it off when I gave you that," Jim said, and indicated the bruise on his throat.

//Heads up, folks. The tour bus has now entered the Twilight Zone. To your left is Rod Serling....// Jim's voice was calm, matter-of-fact. No anger, no recriminations. Blair could feel his blush deepening, if it were possible; at this rate, he'd have no blood left in the remainder of his body. He tried to think of something to say, something witty, clever, and off-putting, but his mind had decided to go on vacation without giving him notice. His mouth opened, then closed, silently.

"Pretty good imitation of a goldfish," Jim said. "Needs some work, though."

Blair looked from the necklace to Jim, and back again, helpless. It was too freaking weird. The pessimistic part of him, the one with the currently loudest voice, had half-way expected Jim to be upset. He was completely nonplused by this quiet, non-accusatory Jim. It was as if he'd been asked to take a chemistry test after studying for a sociology exam; his mind simply refused to track.

Jim rose from his seat and circled around behind Blair. Blair held himself very still, fighting the urge to either jump up and flee or to curl protectively into a little ball. Neither would do any good. Jim was significantly faster and stronger than he was, and resistance to that physical superiority was, as the Borg would say, futile. He knew Jim would cut off his own arm before raising a hand to him, but still, the proximity made him a little nervous; he was unsure of his own reactions. He had the irrational desire to fling his arms around Jim and bury his face into the broad chest, but wasn't sure how that would be received; perhaps not as well this morning as it had been last night. Besides, a part of his mind, the curious, clinical part, wanted to know what Jim's next move would be, his next reaction. Those to this point had been so far out of his range of experience that he had ceased trying to speculate future ones and could only go along for the ride and make notes.

The necklace passed before his face; Jim was evidently going to tie it back on for him. Blair swallowed hard as the cool beads settled on his throat, and he felt the brush of Jim's warm fingers on the back of his neck beneath the still-damp fall of his hair. The juxtaposition of the two sensations was startling, and he couldn't prevent the fine tremor that ran through him. It didn't help that he could feel the heat of Jim's body behind his. The sheer presence of the man, the quiet strength of his personality, like a force of nature, made him want to lean backwards, press himself into that harnessed power and draw from it. //Oh, Jim....//

Blair felt Jim's fingers tying the leather cord into a knot, then they moved to touch the glaring purple mark on his throat, a gentle caress that made Blair's eyes widen. "Jim?" The name escaped unbidden; he'd been determined to remain silent, to give away none of the turmoil he felt.

"I'm sorry about this. I just got a little carried away. It should fade in a couple of days, though." Jim's voice hesitated a moment, then began again. "Are there any others?"

"Um, yeah," Blair replied, his voice sounding odd and shaky to himself. //It's finally happened. I've been kidnapped by the greys and transported to some distant planet populated by clones of everyone I know. No, better yet, I'm in an alternate universe. It's the only logical explanation. I am not sitting here with Jim calmly discussing hickeys that he gave me when we slept together. Nope. It's just not possible.//

"I'm not surprised. I thought I probably had given you more than just one." Jim's sensitive fingers stroked over the place once more, then released him.

Blair felt the quiver of an incipient hysteria rising within him. He bounced out of the chair, and took a half-step away to regain some control over himself. Jim this close was too overpowering, robbing him of the ability to form a complete, coherent thought.

"Jim, what is this?" He gestured between the two of them, the movement encompassing them both. "You want to tell me what's going on? I'm really contemplating looking for the alien space ship that picked me up and deposited me in this alternative universe. It's getting extremely weird here."

Jim stood up a little taller, and crossed his arms over his chest. If the gesture was meant to be intimidating, it had failed; to Blair, it had a curiously self-protective air about it. "What do you want me to do, Blair? Deny what happened?" His voice was patient, and Blair was faintly surprised; he knew Jim didn't suffer fools gladly. //Or at all.//

Blair felt himself twitch. //Oh, damn, damn, damn.// "How much of it do you remember?"

"I remember a lot more than I forgot." Jim's voice deepened a little, and Blair's breath caught. //God help me. If his eyes were any more intense, I'd be fried, like a lightning bolt from Zeus.// He was trapped somewhere between dread and a quick, hot flash of passion brought about by the husky timbre of Jim's voice and the heat of that blue stare.

"How can you stand there so calmly?" Blair heard his voice rise a little, and stopped. He forced himself to take a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. He knew he looked like a guilty perp, his glance flying everywhere, landing on nothing in particular, especially not Jim. "I made a pass at you. I...hell, Jim, I...."

"What, do you want me to punch you? Would you feel better?"

"Yes. No. Maybe. No." Blair moved into a pace, trying to collect his disordered thoughts. "Jim, we had sex last night!"

"Maybe you had sex, Blair. I didn't."

That stopped Blair in his tracks, as effectively as a bullet. He could feel his face mirror his astonishment as he turned his gaze to his partner. Heat had faded, and Jim's face was soft, reflective, and the blue eyes //blue like a summer sky// were filled with a gentle sadness. The expression caught at him, twisted something within, caused him to ache somewhere deep within, somewhere suspiciously in the region of his heart.

"I didn't have sex, I made love. There's a difference, and I'm sorry you didn't see it."

Blair suddenly had a feeling of free-fall, as if he were transported back in time to Peru, tumbling head over heels through thin air, unable to stop himself, helpless in gravity's grip. His heart gave a little roll and thump; he was certain Jim had heard it. His mind blanked; tabula rasa, every possible thought wiped away by a careless, unseen hand. For a long, tension-fraught moment, they stood there, staring at one another, Jim obviously waiting for a response, and Blair completely unable to formulate one.

Jim's eyes paled to almost grey, and Blair watched helplessly as the ice sheeted over their previous warmth. His wide, soft mouth hardened, lips thinning. Jim then turned away and moved into the living room. Blair wanted to release a huge primal scream and pull his hair, but neither action would help either his pounding head or the beyond-bizarre situation. His mind kick-started back to action, and Blair felt nauseous as his own action, or more accurately, his lack of action, slashed at the soft underbelly of their tentative new relationship. He passed his hands over his face, noting idly their trembling. //Sandburg, you may have just fucked up beyond any possibility of repair.//

Jim sat down on the couch and picked up the TV remote. He began flipping rapidly through the channels. Although he looked perfectly normal, his face composed, Blair knew that he was not; Jim never channel-surfed like he himself did--the flashing images drove his senses a little crazy. He was covering, upset; Blair knew Jim didn't work openly with complex emotional issues. While he dealt with physical or logical things in a straight-forward, active manner, emotional issues made him withdraw, do all the work internally, alone. //Oh, no you don't. You're not going to push me away, this time. You're not going to hide behind those walls again. I've seen how you were without them, and by God, I want to see that again.//

Steeling himself, Blair strode purposefully to the couch. This was important; they couldn't just simply fluff it off as another meaningless argument between them. This cut to the very quick of their relationship. It would either destroy it or move it to a higher level, but it could not be ignored, left to fester. Blair hated confrontation, but when it was in his face, he had to acknowledge it, and do something about it. //And if seducing your best friend, a guy friend, isn't an important issue, I don't know what is.//

Blair felt a flash of impatience as his partner steadfastly refused to acknowledge him. "Jim...."

"Drop it, Sandburg," Jim said, not looking at him. So it was Sandburg again. A small sense of loss washed over him. Blair remembered Jim's soft voice in his ear last night, how he had made his given name into a deeply sensual auditory caress that had left Blair trembling....

"I won't!" Blair snatched the remote from Jim's hand, whirled long enough to shut off the offending TV, then bounced it into the yellow armchair, out of Jim's easy reach. "Dammit, we've got to talk about this." He drew a deep breath, pitched his voice lower, softer, pleading. "Please, Jim."

Jim turned his eyes on him, and Blair thought for a moment he saw a flicker of what...pain? Then it was gone, wiped away as if it had never been, and the Ellison mask settled firmly back onto those chiseled features. Blair grieved for the loss of the easy, unguarded Jim, the friendly Jim, the Jim who had touched him with such tenderness, such reverence.

"So, talk," he said. Jim's voice was cool, casual. Too casual; Blair knew him better than that. Jim responded to stress in one of two ways; either he blew up and yelled, or he became very cool and quiet. The yelling Blair could deal with; he had a temper and a sharp tongue of his own, and wasn't afraid to let either loose. But the quietness he had little defense against; once Jim started withdrawing, building those walls, Blair was pretty much helpless until Jim himself had dealt with whatever had bothered him, and was willing to come out. //And man, this looks like major wall-construction time to me, and whose fault is it? Yours, Blair, all yours.// Blair moved aside magazines and sat on the coffee table, so close that their knees almost touched. Jim shifted slightly, moving fractionally away, and Blair found himself unaccountably hurt by the action. With the ease of long practice, he pushed away the unwelcome emotion; he would deal with it later. Not knowing what to do with his restless hands, he combed them through his hair, then clasped them tightly between his knees.

"The thing is, I'm not sure how to begin," Blair said, his nervousness manifesting in a shaky chuckle. "They always say to begin at the beginning, but sometimes, the beginning is so vague that you really don't know exactly where it really begins at all, only that somewhere..."

"Sandburg," Jim interrupted, not unkindly. "You're talking in circles again."

"Um, sorry, Jim. I'm just a little freaked here, is all."

"That was never the intention." He paused for what seemed to be a very long time. "If you wish, it never happened." Blair looked up into those incredibly blue eyes, and saw the ice had melted, if only a little bit. He swallowed heavily. Jim was giving him an easy out. Just deny that it had ever happened. Get on with their lives as they had been, ignore the passion they'd felt, suppress what it had been like to slide against one another, skin to skin...Blair blinked, and came back to himself. He could never forget that, go on as if nothing had happened. This was something they had to work out if they were ever to be easy with one another again.

"No, we can't deny it. I...don't want to deny what happened. I'm not freaked about that...well, not really, anyway. I mean, even inebriated, it has to score somewhere really close to the top of my top ten list of sexual experiences, and I'm sure if I remembered everything, it would be, like, the apex, the very top, number one..."

Blair cut himself off as he realized he was babbling again. He ran both hands over his face, then looked back up. Jim was quietly watching him make a total idiot of himself, and Blair saw the faintest hint of amusement slide quickly over the planed face.

"Shit, man. It's not funny!" Blair felt a quick heat travel through him, not precisely anger, not exactly embarrassment, although if pressed, he'd admit the latter would win out. His face was hot, and he knew he was blushing. He never blushed, and the realization that he was blushing again, for perhaps the tenth time today made his cheeks even warmer. He wanted to get up and pace, to work off the excess nervous energy, but at the same time he wanted to stay in close proximity with Jim, almost afraid his partner would bolt.

"I'm sorry. You're right. It isn't funny. You want to try again, slower this time?" No sarcasm in the soft voice, and Blair sighed.

Jim's tolerance for obfuscation was remarkably low, and Blair knew he'd be much better off not to try any fancy verbal soft-shoe. The truth, then, in all its frightening glory. "I guess that I'm just scared," he finally admitted.

"Scared of what?"

Blair made a sweeping motion encompassing everything around them. "Scared of losing everything, man. Scared that I've lost your friendship, your trust in me. Scared that you'll hate me for making that pass at you and completely fucking the status quo. Scared that you'll make me leave you." Blair heard the falter in his voice, but pressed on. "Scared that you'll need help during a zoneout while you're out on the street, and I won't be there to help you. Factor into that various free-floating anxieties about nearly everything else I haven't covered, and I'm just...."

"Blair." Blair looked up from his intense study of his own sock-clad toes, into Jim's face. There was no censure, no anger, no judgment. Hope began to blossom in slow-motion deep within him; maybe they could work this out between them....

"Don't you think that if I didn't want you to touch me that you would have been able to? Give me some credit with being able to defend my own honor." Blair blinked at the slight undercurrent of dry amusement in Jim's voice. "What happened between us was by mutual consent. There's no blame to be placed anywhere. Honestly, I don't regret anything. If you're upset about it, then it's over, and nothing else will ever be said about it. We'll continue on as before. It's entirely up to you. Your call."

//My call. Damn. He just dumps it all in my lap, gives it all to me to decide. Well, I'm not going to do it.// "That's a cop-out, Jim. I just can't arbitrarily make decisions of this magnitude when they involve the two of us. It isn't all me--we're partners. What affects one, affects the other. You have to tell me what you think. We have to decide together."

Jim was silent a long moment, gazing at his folded hands with such intensity that Blair began to wonder if he was at the edges of a zoneout. He had started to move forward, to ground Jim with his touch, and his mouth had opened to begin the gentle litany of retrieval when Jim stirred. Satisfied Jim was all right, Blair settled back.

"What do I think," he said thoughtfully, making it into a statement. "You were honest with me, and I should return the favor. It's the least I can do." He sighed softly, then cleared his throat and Blair found the nervous gesture endearing, coming from one normally so centered. "For most of my adult life, I've realized that I liked--was attracted to--both men and women. It's not something I advertise--God knows I've spent most of my career in two of the most rigidly heterosexual systems in existence--the military, and the police. If you want to survive in either place, you learn the very fine art of discretion. Public life versus private life."

Keeping the astonishment out of his expression was one of the most difficult things Blair had ever done. Jim, bisexual? Blair wanted to take a moment and check his surroundings--the world had surely tipped on its axis. He'd never thought of Jim in that context; the big man's attitude and body language fairly screamed straight, heterosexual male. //So much for your observational skills, Sandburg. You've known the man for three years, and never noticed that his door swung both ways. Good going. That's not really fair, though. Jim broadcasts only what he wants to show--his command of self is that strong.//

Jim looked up from his hands and out the balcony door, his gaze skimming over the sparkling blue water. Blair knew he was hearing something Jim had held secret for many years, and was sincerely honored to know Jim trusted him enough to tell him. It had the air of some sort of holy ritual, something shared perhaps over a flickering campfire, or in the hot, steamy confines of a sweat lodge. He ached for the pain this confession had to cause such an intensely private person as Jim. The urge to comfort was strong, and he placed a hand on Jim's knee to let him know he wasn't alone. The comfort of human touch, so powerful. The look Jim flashed toward him was one of understanding, and gratitude.

"I'm not sure when it began. Probably it was there from the beginning, when you weaseled your way into that hospital exam room wearing that stolen doctor's coat. I was angry when I found out you'd been...creative...with the truth, but inside, I admired the big ones it took to do something like that." Jim gave a small smile and shrug. "But anyway, I know that I've been attracted to you for, God, ages."

"You have?" Blair was astounded. He knew Jim considered him a good friend, possibly his best friend, but the idea that Jim desired him, and had desired him for a long time floored him. Jim had never given any indication, any reason for him to suspect the big man held a passion for him. Sure, Jim had touched him a lot; pats, rubs, affectionate cuffs, but he'd not thought much of them. Jim seemed to touch everyone, and Blair had always dismissed it as something to do with his Sentinel abilities, perhaps a means to anchor himself. Jim was ferociously intelligent, and could be as articulate as he chose to be, but communicated a great deal on the level of simple touch. He'd never had any reason to assume that the attraction was anything but one-sided; he'd thought of himself as foolish to want a man so obviously straight as Jim. As for last night--he'd done a mad rationalizing tap-dance for that--he'd thought of last night as a fluke on Jim's part, a momentary loss of judgment, possibly brought on by a long dry spell of not dating, of celibacy. Simple hormonal response, unleashed by lowered inhibitions caused by the amount of wine they'd both had, coupled by a seriously sexual advance on his part. //So much for your scientific analysis, Sandburg.//

"And why wouldn't I be? You're intelligent as hell, funny, loyal, brave beyond expectation, a partner I can trust. And that doesn't even mention the physical part." Jim's eyes moved from the window to flick over Blair's body, and even though the look was quick, it was intense. Blair felt a heavy heat move through him in response, and caught himself just before he swayed imperceptibly toward his partner.

"I know you're straight, Blair. I've never smelled the scent of a man on you, or heard you make any mention of dating men. I've seen you turn down men's advances before. How could I have made any moves toward you, knowing how you felt? It would have killed me, absolutely killed me, to have you turn me down." He was silent a moment. "I think you would have been kind about it, probably sympathetic and understanding, and that would have made it worse, because then, it would have been pity, and you know how I won't tolerate that. So I kept quiet. Your friendship meant more."

Blair patted Jim's knee. Again, he wasn't sure quite what he wanted to say, so he remained quiet. Unbidden, his thumb rubbed against the soft sweatpants in small circles. It was an unconscious calming mechanism, one he used frequently while monitoring Jim for zoneouts, a way to ground him. Blair didn't mind using it now; in truth, it seemed to help him as much as it did Jim.

"So when we got home last night, got a little wine in us and loosened up, no one was more surprised than me when you reached over and touched me. I swear I heard the Hallelujah Chorus at that moment." Jim's solemn face gentled, his eyes softening with memory, his mouth curving in the smallest of smiles. "It was like Heaven had opened up and the angels smiled down at me. I don't think I'd ever been so happy." Jim's big hand slid over Blair's, and Blair was shocked at how cold it was.

Blair was touched. //This big, tough guy who faces down heavily-armed lunatics without an eyeblink is afraid. He's afraid that I'll reject him. He's being so brave, laying everything out on the line, knowing that I could still do it, just claim it was nothing more than a lot of foolish, drunken groping. I could hurt him so badly. I'd never do that to you, Jim. Never.//

"And now?" Blair asked gently.

"It depends," Jim said evenly. "Whatever happens, the feelings won't change. What's done is done, and all that's left is to decide how to handle it. I would never ask anything that you're not willing to give. Alcohol makes people brave--it makes them do things they'd never ordinarily do. I understand that."

Blair turned his hand beneath Jim's own, and squeezed the cold fingers. He felt overwhelmed; Jim's revelations had been totally unexpected, and he needed to think for a moment. He'd been living with unrequited love for so long, had become so accustomed to its bittersweet tang in his life, that he was quite uncertain what to do now that his sweet, private dreams had burst into reality. In truth, he'd never expected to reach the point where he'd have to do something about it; it had always had the flavor of an impossibility. A quiet little obsession. While his mind began a mad dance to catch up, his body had no such compunctions; he had the definite beginnings of an erection. //Not now--I need all the blood to my brain to think this through.//

"I don't want you to move from this couch. Please. I've just got to move while I think. Promise me you won't run?" Blair peered anxiously at Jim, needing him to understand, to agree. After a moment, Jim nodded, and gave Blair's hand a squeeze before releasing it.

Blair gave him a small smile as he stood and moved into a slow, easy pace, the antithesis of his roiling mind. There were so many factors involved here that he could quickly lose himself in them, could spend way too much time analyzing, comparing, quantifying...it was the scientist in him, and if he let the scientist take command, he'd lose track of what the human, the man in him wanted. He was making things much too difficult. Jim wanted him, and unless Blair was seriously mistaken, there was much more at stake than mere physical attraction. That, Blair was fairly certain, Jim could have shunted aside; this ran much deeper for him. As for himself, he loved Jim completely, and had, for a long time. //Are you a man who can reconcile himself to changing what you've always known? Can you alter a lifetime's beliefs of uncommitted relationships to give yourself wholly to another? Even if that other is a man, like yourself? Be truthful, Sandburg--had anything ever felt quite so...right? //

It was really so simple.

Blair stopped his pacing as he passed behind Jim for the third time. He could see the older man tense slightly, preparing himself for Blair's decision. Blair placed his hand on the back of that proud neck, stroking gently; Jim's skin was smooth, and flushed beneath his fingers. He leaned forward, and placed his mouth close to Jim's left ear.

"It may have taken wine to make me brave last night, but I'm not drunk now. I know what I wanted then; I know what I want now," he whispered, and pressed a kiss to the soft skin beneath Jim's ear. "Both are the same."

He felt Jim's startled jump, heard the increasing respirations, felt the sudden hammer of Jim's pulse beneath his fingers. "Blair?" Jim's voice was uncertain, and the hopefulness, the longing Blair heard caused a wave of love, of tenderness roll through him.

Jim slid his fingers around Blair's, and tugged slightly. Blair came around the couch, and resumed his place on the coffeetable, holding Jim's hand.

"Think very clearly about what you're offering," Jim said quietly. "It's serious, not some youthful experimentation. I won't be treated like that." The unsaid word, again, hung between them, and Blair filed it back for future investigation.

"I can analyze this to death, given the opportunity. I know its different than what I've always done. I've always been with women; I've defined my sexual self around them, with them, through them. But now...now, I want to be with you. This isn't something that just happened because I had too much to drink, Jim. This isn't just experimentation--I'd never do that to you, man. You've gotta believe that." Blair hoped the sincerity he felt was visible to Jim, hoped his friend could see it in his eyes. "Somewhere in the past six months--hell, honestly, in the past year--it ceased being about gender issues. It became about the person. It wasn't easy to reconcile with everything I'd believed about myself, but when it finally became clear that I cared for you as a person, it just didn't seem to matter that you're a man." Blair smiled, briefly. "I know that probably sounds confusing, and it was. But its not now. I can't believe I made something so simple so complicated."

Jim was closer now; Blair could feel his partner's breath on his cheek. "What's so simple?" he asked.

Blair closed the gap. His mouth brushed Jim's. "Love," he replied, so quietly that even he himself didn't hear it over the pounding of his heart.

But Jim did. Gently, he pulled his hands free and cupped them around Blair's face. Blair closed his eyes at the pleasure of Jim's thumbs stroking lightly over his cheekbones, the long fingers slipping into his hair, Jim's breath warm against his mouth. "Please," he said softly, and quivered with desire as Jim's mouth opened beneath his.

It wasn't the animal passion of last night; it was better. Soft, gentle, promising. Giving. Generous. Jim's mouth was hot and sweet, and Blair felt the pleasure building, the desire growing greater, sweeping along his blood, bubbling like champagne. It would take so little to ignite, to give himself over to it completely....

He made a sound of protest as Jim pulled away. Opening his eyes, he could see Jim's eyelashes flutter, and then open. He looked unfocused, a pink flush colored the sharp cheekbones, and Blair could see the effort it took to bring himself back from the alluring call of his senses.

"I've got to know its for keeps, Blair," he said, his voice husky. "I won't...I can't share. It's not in my nature, and it's too important to me. Commit to me, to what we have, to what we can become together. It's all or nothing."

Jim slid off the couch, a movement as graceful as flowing water. He knelt before Blair, between Blair's knees. A strong arm went around him, encircling his waist in a grip that was surprisingly light and gentle for someone of his strength. Jim was so close, almost nose to nose; Blair could see the shifting, myriad shades of blue and grey in Jim's eyes, succumbing quickly to the black of the pupil. He could feel the heat of Jim's body through his sweatshirt, feel the heavy pounding of Jim's heart against his own, the rapid rise and fall of the broad chest as his breathing became more uneven, more ragged. Jim's free hand moved to splay across his stomach, long fingers making idle circles that made his stomach shiver in response. Blair smiled, curled his left arm around Jim's neck, and let his right hand stroke over the strong square jaw, and down the long, graceful neck. The skin was so soft, and he ached to press his mouth to its warmth, savor the taste that was slightly sweaty, slightly musky, entirely masculine, and uniquely Jim.

"It's all," Blair whispered into Jim's ear, then slid his tongue over the outer curve, "It's everything," a swipe at the earlobe, "mind," he sucked the bit of flesh into his mouth for a second, "heart," the suction evolved into a nibble, "body," his tongue found its way to the soft skin beneath the ear; Jim tasted faintly of salt, of soap, "and soul. All yours, Jim."

The shudder that coursed through the big man, and the tightening of the arm around his waist made his body come to aching attention, but it was the soft sigh sifting through his hair that melted him. The sound spoke volumes that this quiet man could not; it was a reflection of the deep, true emotions that ran so strongly beneath a stoic exterior, hidden from all but him. Finding Jim, befriending him, and finally, loving him had been a stroke of rare luck; he was a treasure chest of emotion, waiting for the right one to unlock the rusty lock, to throw open the lid, and to plunge into the bright, bright riches hidden there. //Blessed,// Blair thought, //I'm blessed to be the one with the key.//

Blair turned his face, seeking. Jim was there, his mouth covering his, lips soft and warm, opening, inviting him in. It was too sweet a temptation to resist, and with a muffled whimper, Blair accepted the invitation. Heat. Wetness. The taste of mint exploded across his awareness as he stroked his tongue along Jim's, ran it over smooth, perfect teeth, touched every soft inner surface he could reach. He was light-headed, dizzy, drowning, and ecstatic. He drew back just enough to gasp for air, his breath mingling moistly with Jim's, before going back for more.

It was awhile before he realized he felt Jim's hands moving beneath the sweatshirt, stroking his skin, kneading his flesh, curving to rake through the body hair. When the talented fingers feathered over his nipples, flicking the little ring threaded through the right one, Blair jerked, and broke away with a moan.

Blue on blue, darkened with passion. Their breathing was harsh in the quiet of the loft, the scent of musk, of arousal growing stronger. Jim pushed up the sweatshirt, and eager, Blair raised his arms to make it easier for Jim to remove. Jim let it drop unheeded to the floor, and Blair watched, hungry, as the tip of Jim's tongue flicked out and ran over the wide, soft mouth as he looked at Blair. He wanted to capture it, suck on it, taste it, feel it slip along his own again. He shivered with both the chill of the air, and the heaviness of the other man's gaze. It was like a physical caress, and feline, he arched unconsciously into it.

Jim leaned in, brushed a kiss across his mouth. Blair started to respond, but the light touch was gone. He tilted his head back as he felt he elusive touch on the skin just above his Adam's apple, and then the light rake of teeth across the firm bump of it, enough to make him moan softly. Then the flick of tongue across the hollow at the base of his throat, and the nip of teeth across the jut of angular collarbones.

It was a slow, tantalizing trip, inexorably downward. Blair squirmed, and his hands closed over the broad shoulders, fingers digging into warm flesh, urging him to continue, faster. It was like trying to move a mountain; Jim would not be moved until he was ready. The moan that escaped him when Jim's mouth finally settled over his right nipple, sucking gently, was low, guttural, brought up from so deep within him that it turned him inside out. Pleasure, hot and pounding, shuddered through him, centering in a hard, aching cock that threatened to burst through the soft confinement of sweats. He was in heaven, and he was in hell. Jim's strong hands held him in place; he couldn't move, couldn't thrust against him as he wanted to, needed to. He wanted touch; a single stroke of hand would bring release, he was so close. He would have promised his soul to the devil if he could just come....

Jim pulled away, and Blair wailed in protest. The devil had bright blue eyes.

The big hands on his flesh turned gentle, soothing, the kisses slower, less incendiary. The blood slowed its pounding in his ears, and his harsh, ragged breathing began to slow. He buried his hot face in Jim's neck. It had taken so little to bring him to the brink; he didn't think he'd ever been so quick to respond.

"Hell, Blair, you're so responsive...." Jim said, his voice deep and rumbling.

"Surprised me," Blair murmured. He could think once more, actually piece together words; it had been beyond him before, drowned by physical imperative. "Don't leave me like this, man...please."

"No, I won't. But not here. I don't want you on the floor. Upstairs."

Blair could hear the thread of need in Jim's voice, but was still amazed at its calmness. Jim was flushed, his eyes bright and glittering, but still so much in control... "Iceman," Blair muttered.

Jim took his hand, brought it to the hard, heavy length of him, throbbing beneath soft cotton. "Does this feel like ice?"

Blair's eyes closed a moment, then opened again . "No," he said, and the heat that built in him made his throat dry.

"This is what you do to me," Jim said, his voice low, deep. "This is what I have to deal with every time you're around me for more than five minutes, every time I smell you, every time you look at me with those big blue eyes. Every time I hear you laugh. Every time you touch me. Every time I go to bed at night, all alone. Why do you think I touch you every night before I go upstairs? It's to get the scent of you on my hand so when I jerk off, I can pretend it's you stroking me...."

Too much; too much. Blair could feel the blood pounding within him, the desire rising up within him, hot and fierce. He pulled his hand free of Jim's, and ran it down inside the front of his partner's sweats. His fingers curled around the heavy thickness, such soft, velvety skin over steely hardness. Slick and weeping. All for him, all because of him. The knowledge that he had brought the response, that he had fed the desire, was intoxicating, and he felt as if he were flying. His fingers tightened a little, and gave an experimental pump.

The reaction was more than he'd hoped for. Jim seized him, fingers strong, almost bruising, and claimed his mouth. No tenderness, but possession; their teeth clicked together with the force of it. Blair felt his jaw stretched, almost painfully, as Jim dove in, seemingly seeking to climb within, to take up residence in his body, to possess him from within. Three more pumps of his hand, and Jim's body, already tight as a piano wire, threatened to snap as he arched toward Blair. Warm wetness blossomed in his hand as Jim came, one hand clenched tightly in his hair, the other clutching his shoulder, fingers digging deeply, his cry caught, muffled in the joining of their mouths.

The pain was inconsequential, the bruises he knew he'd have the next day unimportant. Blair was exhilarated; he felt almost like a god, powerful, omnipotent, beneficent. Jim sagged against him, chest working like a bellows, his breath harsh against Blair's throat. The strong hands clutched at him convulsively as he shuddered through his orgasm, then gentled on him again, stroking his shoulder, twining through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I didn't mean to hurt you...it was just too much...."

"I'm not fragile, Jim. I won't break, I swear." Blair's fingers had not ceased their stroking, and he could feel the twitch of the softening flesh at his quiet words. He pulled his hand out of the sweats; it was glistening and sticky with Jim's come. The scent was musky, bleachy, and experimentally, he flicked his tongue out for a taste. Somewhat bitter, but not unpleasant; he had tasted himself in the mouths of women he'd slept with, and it was not much different. Aware he had Jim's undivided attention again, he slid two fingers into his mouth and sucked, letting the taste of Jim's essence roll through him, bitter, yet incredibly sweet, because it was Jim on his tongue.

Jim moaned, the sound low and visceral. His hand covered Blair's, pulled the fingers from his mouth in a slow glide. Bringing Blair's hand up to his mouth, he licked across the palm, and Blair shivered from the sensation of the warm, wet tongue dragging over his skin. Jim smiled at the reaction, then leaned in and licked across Blair's lower lip. The action was so sensual that a soft, breathy sigh escaped him; why was he so surprised at Jim's savor of the physical?

Pulling back a little, Jim ran the backs of his fingers down the center of Blair's chest, ruffling the hair, continuing down until he came to the navel, circling it with a long finger, flicking the little silver ring there. A moment's hesitation, then he slipped a finger just inside the waistband of the sweats, tugging slightly at the elastic.

"I want to see you naked in my bed. I saw you there last night, but I want to see you there again, while I'm sober and can appreciate it."

Jim flowed to his feet, held out his hand. Without hesitation, Blair took it, and rose to stand before him. Jim reached out, brushed the hair from his face, ran a thumb along his cheekbone. How such simple touches could make his blood simmer was beyond Blair, but he let it happen, unquestioning.

"I need to clean up," Jim said. "Just a few minutes, okay? I can't stand being sticky. Go on up, and I'll be with you in a bit."

Jim leaned in and pressed a kiss to Blair's mouth, sweet, not demanding.

"Are you going to be all right with this, Blair?" Concern shone in the warm eyes.

"Yeah," Blair said, and his voice sounded rusty. He cleared his throat, tried again. "Yeah. More than all right." He raised a hand, ran it over Jim's throat, down the center of his chest, simply because he could, simply because he'd been granted the right to touch. Simply because he liked to touch Jim.

The soft smile he received in return made him feel warm. Jim patted his cheek gently, then turned away. Blair watched as Jim pulled off the tee shirt on the way to the bathroom, watched the way the muscles rippled beneath the skin. He watched until the door closed, then swallowed, hard. It was difficult to make himself go up the steps; each one seemed to make his body weigh heavier and heavier. It wasn't apprehension, or nervousness, not exactly. He wanted this; he loved Jim, he wanted to be with him, he wanted this level of the relationship. His heart agreed fully, his body ached with need, and his mind was in full agreement.

Almost.

It wasn't a gender issue; he was comfortable with the seeming fact that he desired a man. It was...it was... Blair pulled back the comforter, fluffed the pillows. Jim had changed the sheets, and they were pale blue instead of white, smooth and cool-looking. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and pulled off his socks.

It was Naomi. Blair frowned, tossing the socks to the floor. He knew he was very much his mother's son; her restlessness was, to a great degree, his. It had kept him traveling, moving from place to place, nowhere really his. He'd passed through so many places, so quickly, they'd scarcely had a chance to leave their mark upon him. No place had ever been home. No one person had ever been special. He'd never seen a real, workable relationship in his entire life. The men Naomi took up with either tired of her flightiness and tossed them out, or Naomi would start feeling confined, pack Blair up and leave, off to find someone or something else. If it got tough, if real life became inconvenient, they'd spirit off to find something less rough. It was, in some aspects, a fairly idyllic existence, full of adventure, travel, new people just waiting to be friends. But it was not conducive to learning about trust, about hanging in there even when the going was rough.

//But you never really learned to trust anyone with your heart, either, did you, Blair. It was always detach with love.// He sighed, and brought his hands to his face. With a start, he realized that although he'd wiped off his hand, he could still smell the scent of Jim on it. Jim. Big, logical, practical, anal, emotionally-closed off Jim. His complete and polar opposite. Jim played by the rules; Blair saw them as a starting off point. Jim was ethically simple; usually things were pretty much black and white with him, while Blair saw infinite shades of grey. Jim was rigid, while he was flexible. Opposites. How they managed to mesh so well had always been a mystery to him.

//It's a matter of trust. Jim trusts you with his life, his sanity, and now, his heart. Do you trust him as much? You love him, but do you trust him? You've never had anyone to stay in your life, no one to trust with the safekeeping of your heart. You've never learned how to stay. What's to keep you from someday deciding you're confined, and wanting to escape? It was easy to commit to school, but can you commit to your life with Jim? It's two completely different things. You've never committed emotionally to anyone before--what if you fuck this up? It will hurt him so much if you do...//

Blair jumped a little as he realized he was no longer alone; Jim was at the top of the steps, leaning against the brick wall, arms folded easily against his chest. //Damn...I can never get over how fast, how quietly he moves.// He was in his white robe, and his short hair was still dark from his shower. His expression was thoughtful, serious. Blair saw Jim tilt his head slightly, in the pose he assumed when he listened intently to something beyond Blair's own sense of hearing.

"I can hear your heart racing from here," he said softly. "You don't have to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Blair denied instantly, then grinned ruefully as Jim turned an unbelieving look on him. He knew better than to try and fool someone who could hear his heartbeat and breathing, and smell his changing body chemistry. "Not of that, anyway," he added, as a qualifier.

"What of, then?" Jim pushed off from the wall and began moving toward him. Blair watched him, his throat drying again. It was like watching the smooth glide of a predator, silent, graceful, deadly in its intent. The only thing that kept it from being intimidating instead of arousing was the blue eyes, unguarded, warm, gentle, promising much.

The side of the bed dipped as Jim sat down beside him, his body close, so close he could feel the warmth radiating toward him. Always chill, he leaned naturally against the heat. Unconsciously, he rubbed his cheek against the big, terrycloth-covered biceps. Jim's hand came up to smooth back the tumble of curls, stroking through them. Blair knew Jim wouldn't press; unlike himself, Jim was a great respecter of personal thoughts, and would leave him alone until he was ready to talk about whatever bothered him.

"What if I can't do this?"

The gentle fingers stopped their movement. "Then we don't do it. I told you before, I don't expect..."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Blair couldn't help himself; he bounced up and stood before Jim. "I'm talking about the whole thing." His hands moved in big arcs, unable to keep still. "What if I fuck this up? What if I can't stay the distance? What if I get restless? What if, God help us, I decide to 'detach with love' and move on? I don't have the best track record--I don't know how to make a relationship work...."

"Blair."

Blair stopped in mid-tirade at the quiet voice. He shoved his flying hair out of his face and took a deep, calming breath. The mantra came to him automatically. //I am calm. I am centered. I am calm. I am centered.//

"Blair, how long have you lived here? Three years? You've made it work for that length of time. It's been a working relationship, and a damned good one at that. I'm not saying it's perfect--we fight over stupid things, our needs are different, and sometimes, I'm just a jerk--but it works. Somehow, it always does. You've made it for this long--don't give up on us now when we're just really starting out." Jim reached out and stroked his hip, a soothing motion. His eyes were very serious, steady on him, and Blair could see the encouragement, the faith, the trust in him, reflected in those summer sky eyes.

"I just don't want to think that I could hurt you like that." Blair's voice sounded small, even to himself.

"Then you won't. What we have is special. I'd like to think it's forever. I'd like to think it's worth working for, fighting for. You say you don't know how to make a relationship work? Blair, you've remade my entire life. You've made me work again. If you can take someone who was headed on a self-destructive, downward spiral, and make him enjoy living again, you can do this. We'll just take it a little bit at a time, if that's what you need."

Blair thought of rootlessness, of having no one special, of having no place to call home. He thought of loneliness, and emotionally void sex. He thought of waking up every morning with someone he loved, sharing with him; he thought of security, of trust and faith. //I can do this. If it's just a little bit at a time, I can do it. I can learn to trust. Jim's given me everything I always longed for while I was growing up--I can surely give him this.//

"All I need is right here," Blair replied. His smile wobbled a little bit, but it was honest. He reached out, ran his fingertips over the curve of Jim's ear, down over the razor-sharp line of jaw, and finally, over the wide mouth that smiled at him in return.

Blair reached down, loosened the tie on the robe, and pulled it free. He grasped the edges of the garment, and eased it over Jim's shoulders. A shrug, and Jim's upper body was free of it. Blair sucked in air in appreciation and let his hands trail over the broad shoulders, the defined pectorals and biceps. Part of it was a genetic gift, but the greater part was hard work on Jim's part; Blair knew how much time his partner spent in the police gym and on the track. It wasn't vanity that made Jim put in so much effort--Blair was certain there was not one single vain cell in Jim's body--but rather, Jim's practical nature. Jim knew he had to be strong and fit for the job--criminals were seldom found behind a desk simply waiting to be picked up, and Jim was almost forty. What came to him easily in years past, at Blair's age, required more effort now, although Blair was more than willing to admit Jim's physical superiority over his youth.

Jim lay back onto the bed, stretching, showing himself off shamelessly. Muscles rippled in arms, and chest, and abdomen, moving smoothly, like water. //All right// Blair thought, amused, //so much for lack of vanity, now.//

"Courtship display, Jim?" he murmured, trailing a finger down the cut abdomen, watching the jump of muscle beneath skin, until he came to the fold of robe that scarcely hid the rapidly-swelling cock.

"I work with what I've got," came the flip reply. "Some of us aren't the brainy kind, so we're reduced to pathetic flexing and posing."

Pathetic? Oh, no, never. Blair cleared his throat, and wondered when the room temperature had risen so dramatically. He flipped aside the part of the robe still covering Jim's legs, and felt the blush begin a slow, inexorable climb up his throat, and into his cheeks. His own cock twitched, filling again, lengthening beneath his sweats simply from the sight before him. Beautiful. Clothed, Jim was enough to make his mouth water, but naked, Jim was splendid. Smooth; no body hair to disrupt the flow of skin, to obscure the definition of muscle beneath. A fine line of dark hair began below the indention of navel, spreading to encompass pubic area in soft curls. And at the juncture of powerful thighs, an organ of beauty, firm and full, curving up over the flat belly, the plump ruby head slick and already weeping.

There was a decidedly sudden shortage of oxygen in the room.

"One of us still has clothes on," Jim said, voice amused, and Blair jerked his eyes up to look into Jim's warm ones. "It's a lot better if we're both naked."

"Amen to that," Blair breathed, and stripped out of the sweats so fast he thought he'd pull something in the process. Jim shifted, moving up into the middle of the bed, rolling to his side, cradling his head in his palm, seemingly at ease, relaxed. Blair envied him his composure; he found himself trembling a little as he slid into bed next to him. The blue of his eyes was bright, deep, startling; Blair had noticed on more than one occasion when Jim concentrated intently on something, his eyes shifted color, seemingly becoming incredibly more blue, if possible, their paleness morphing into something between turquoise and lapis lazuli. To have the intensity of that gaze on him, to be the subject of that complete focusing of attention was enough to make his heart speed up, his breath come a little quicker. It was almost like a physical caress, a touch to his hair, his eyes, his mouth. It was deeply, vibrantly sexual, and Blair felt himself responding, felt the quick dance of hormones through his blood, the throb of blood shifting, collecting low in his body.

"You have...the most amazing mouth," Jim breathed. "It's just made for kissing...." He leaned in, slowly enough for Blair to pull away, if he chose. Blair couldn't move even had he wanted to; Jim's pull was magnetic. Jim leaned lower, and the brush of his lips against Blair's, a slight, almost-there touch, was like an electrical tingle; their breaths merged, mixed, and became one. With a soft sound of need, Blair surged upward that millimeter that separated them to connect.

Blair twined his arms around the big man's shoulders as Jim turned with him, tucking him beneath, sliding a long thigh between his. Perfect. Covered, surrounded, entwined, it was good, better than he'd ever imagined it while lying alone in his cold, small bed, wondering. He opened himself up to the experience, wanting to remember forever the taste of Jim's hot mouth, the strength of the arms around him, the smooth warmth of sweat-sheened skin sliding along his, the small pleasured sounds Jim made as his hands moved restlessly over soft skin, the feel of Jim's hard erection pressing insistently into his flank. He gasped for air as Jim released his mouth to nuzzle and nip at his throat.

"Perfect...so perfect...its good...oh, Jim...." Blair wasn't aware he'd actually spoken, that the words had actually left his mind until he heard the growled agreement against his throat before Jim's teeth nipped, then his mouth closed over the place. The hot voraciousness of Jim's mouth as he sucked, marking him as his, drew a long, helpless moan from Blair; it was a primal, territorial move on Jim's part, and the expression of satisfaction as Jim lifted his head and looked at his work made something deep inside Blair respond.

With a strength that surprised him, Blair pushed Jim hard, rolling them both until he landed on top, his strong thighs clamped around Jim's hips, hands on Jim's biceps, pinning him. He had no illusions of being able to hold Jim in this position if Jim didn't want it; Jim was simply too strong and too well-trained in arcane Covert Ops moves to allow someone to gain and maintain a superior position. He saw the surprise reflected in Jim's eyes, followed in an eyeblink by speculation, and then by a fiery pleasure, the pupils visibly expanding, the black eclipsing the blue. The sudden flip from aggression to willing submission was startling, given Jim's assumed position as alpha male, and more arousing than anything he'd ever seen.

Blair wanted to crow with triumph, but found better things to do with his mouth. The curve of ear called to him, then the firm flesh of earlobe, both equally tasty. Jim squirmed beneath him as he kissed and nibbled down the long, graceful neck, seeking just the right spot.... There. Just above the place where neck flowed into powerful shoulders. Blair nipped hard, feeling Jim jerk beneath him, then covered the place and sucked hard at the skin. He could feel the area warm, as blood blossomed into a red mark of possession. Jim moved a little beneath him, and strong hands kneaded his thighs, but he made no effort to stop him, to buck him off. Blair rocked back to look at his handiwork, a bruise just as large as the one Jim had given him. This one would be covered by the collar of a shirt; Blair had been very selective as to placement. Still, it was in a prominent enough place that Jim would see it in the mirror, and know Blair had claimed him as his own.

"Mine," he said softly.

"Yours," Jim replied. He reached up, caught one of Blair's hands, and placed it flat on his own chest, covering it with his bigger, broader one. "I've always been yours, even before I met you. When I saw you in the hospital in that stolen doctor's coat, I knew it for certain. I'd just been waiting for you to find me."

Blair smiled. "And this from a man who proclaims all New Age ideas as 'bullshit,'" he teased. "What a hypocrite." He ran his hands slowly over the broad, warm chest. His fingers circled the flat, pale brown nipples, and when he finally rubbed his fingers across them, he smiled again as Jim hissed and arched a little; it took so little to bring them up to attention. "But you're my hypocrite," he murmured, and bent to taste them.

He might not know exactly how to make love to a man, but Blair knew he could give pleasure, and Jim was so receptive that it was a joy to touch him, to taste him. Alternating suction with little nips brought low moans from rumbling up deep from within Jim's chest, delightful to hear. He knew what he liked, he knew what combinations of fingers, lips, and teeth on his own flesh made him squirm with pleasure, and he mapped them out on Jim's neck, chest, and ribs, rejoicing in the vocal response he was able to elicit. He laughed softly to himself against a tight nipple; who would have thought a man so quiet could make such rich, aroused sounds? Jim's hands moved restlessly on his skin, hot, almost feverish in their touch, running through his hair, stroking along his cheek and jaw, over arms and shoulders.

Perspective shifted in a dizzying rush as Jim turned them. Jim's hot eyes fastened on his, and his big hand slid between them, closing around Blair. Blair squeaked at the suddenness, but then moaned as Jim began to move, fingers skillfully driving his arousal higher, until he squirmed and wriggled helplessly beside him. It was odd to feel a hand bigger than his own squeezing and stroking him, but also so good; Jim seemed to know exactly how to touch him, how to bring out his best response, how to tease him, how to draw out his breathy sounds of desire.

"I want you," Jim breathed into his ear, the whisper laced with such longing, such need, that Blair swallowed, hard. The stroke of Jim's hand on him, the broad swipe of tongue over the skin just behind his ear, the heat radiating from the big body twined around his conspired against him, turning his brain to so much grey mush. Denial never once occurred to him, and instead, he felt a bright, burning excitement sweep though him. He shifted, feeling a bolt of pleasure slice through him as his cock rubbed against Jim's warm, sweaty skin. It wasn't enough; he wanted more.

The need for more, the willingness to share all he was with Jim made Blair roll to his side, presenting his back to his lover, and draw up his knees to his chest. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and willed the sudden anxiety to leave him with his exhalation. He wanted to feel Jim around him, within him, to be with him on the most primal level, but it was a new experience, and he couldn't help the tremor that coursed through him.

The sound Jim made was a cross between a breathy "Oh," and a moan. Blair felt the hot hands smooth over his skin, touching him lightly, gentling him. Unconsciously he arched back into the soft touch, his skin hungry, seeking more of it. Jim moved his hair off his neck, and kissed him there, a free hand sliding down to caress his left buttock.

"I want you like this, yes, but not now--not until you're comfortable with it. Not now." Blair shuddered as Jim's fingers slid along the cleft, pausing to press lightly against the opening; his body bucked backward, seeking more stimulation, making a low sound of disappointment when no more was forthcoming. "Not yet, Baby, not yet." Jim moved his hand, smoothing it over Blair's hip. "I want you inside me."

Blair let Jim turn him to his back. He knew his eyes were wide as he looked up into the loved, familiar face that kept surprising him. "You want me to...?" Amazed, he watched the slight flush of pink color the high cheekbones, the blue eyes grow warmer, and the mouth curve into a welcoming, assenting smile. After the initial shock wore off, pleasured anticipation rose up within him, riding a hot, hormonal wave. Carnal possibilities flashed across his mind, burning, intense. "Oh, yeah."

Jim turned away a moment, presenting his back to Blair. Too much of an opportunity to waste; Blair placed a line of wet kisses along the indentation of Jim's spine, while his hand roamed lower, fingers painting patterns of desire over taut flesh. He grinned in devilment as his hand closed over a firm buttock and squeezed proprietorily and felt Jim jerk and fumble with something in the nightstand in response to his quick touch. Jim then turned back, leaned in for a deep kiss, and Blair felt Jim's hand slide over him, slick and chill. Blair thought the top of his head would explode, and he pushed eagerly into the hand, unable to help himself. Only a couple of thrusts, then Jim squeezed him gently and released him, shifting. Blair opened his eyes and watched as Jim settled onto his back. Jim reached behind his head, snagged a pillow, and slipped it beneath his hips.

Blair slid over, going to his knees beside his lover. Avidly he watched as Jim wriggled a little bit, found his position of comfort, and drew his legs up, letting them fall open. Blair knew at that moment, his heart was going to explode right out of his chest. He could feel it pounding in his head, his chest, and in his cock, a hard, thrumming sensation like drums. Jim's face turned toward him, flushed with need, softened by passion, his eyes darkened by desire, and shining with love and trust. That trust was almost Blair's undoing; his fingers closed around himself tightly, short-circuiting the need to come, and he willed himself to take a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. A moment to close his eyes, to regain control, and then he had it once more. He moved between Jim's wide-spread knees, hands going to stroke the backs of Jim's taut thighs.

"Now," Jim said thickly. "I want you now."

Blair let his fingers trail along the insides of Jim's thighs, brushing along the heavy weight of scrotum. He smiled at the jump Jim's body made, and leaned forward to blow a warm breath across the sensitive skin. The need to taste became important, and after only a heartbeat's hesitation, he leaned in and ran his tongue from the base of the thick erection lying on Jim's belly, all the way to the tip. The flesh was soft, velvety, hot, and he opened his lips and slid them over the moist head. Jim's taste exploded across his questing tongue, the very essence of Jim, and he decided in that moment he could learn to love it, even crave it. Jim's body shuddered beneath him, and his fingers, busy caressing and gently rolling the full sac, felt the minute tightening and lifting, the sign he needed to back away before it ended too soon.

He straightened, letting the hard flesh slip slowly from his mouth and looked into Jim's eyes; they were wide, and the need was like a live thing. Blair smiled, and let his fingers slide down to press against the entrance to Jim's body. Gently he pressed one fingertip there, and was surprised when Jim's body opened easily, slick, hot, and eager for him.

"Jim?" Puzzlement colored his tone.

Jim grunted as Blair slid his finger all the way in. "You don't think it takes me that long just to take a shower, do you? I'm ready for you."

The idea that Jim had thought about him, had wanted him, had prepared himself for him, was heady, dizzying, powerful. A wild mix of tenderness, love, and lust rose up within him, making the edges of his sight fuzzy. His body demanded he act, and he withdrew his testing finger, and snugged himself in closer to the willing body open to him. He placed himself at the entrance to Jim's body and pushed. Slight resistance; he pushed a little harder. Jim's soft intake of air made him pause, and glance up into his lover's face, worried he was causing pain. There was discomfort reflected there, yes, but anticipation so great it made his heart give a little gallop of excitement. The blue eyes flashed open, looked directly into his.

"Do it, Blair. Push. I want to feel you inside."

Blair pushed, and the resistance gave way, Jim's body opening for him., and his gasp matched Jim's. Blair paused again, letting Jim become accustomed to him, feeling Jim's body ripple around him, then eventually relax. Blair could feel himself sweating with the effort to go slowly, and he loosened his hard grip on Jim's thigh long enough to push the hair out of his face. The long legs around him tightened, encouragingly, and with a low moan, Blair sank in, deeply, in a long, slow glide, until he was seated firmly against Jim, his hips flush against the muscular curve of ass, their bodies as close and tight as was possible. He could feel the flutter of inner muscles as Jim sought to accommodate him, to accept his length and width. It felt so good, so perfect, Paradise obtained, and he was almost afraid to move, to breathe, lest he break the spell, wake up from a dream.

Jim hooked one long leg over his shoulder, curled the other beneath Blair's other arm and around his waist, tightening around him, pulling him closer, deeper. His muscles contracted, and Blair gasped, his eyes opening wide, stilling the urge to drive mindlessly into the silken, heated depths. No dream then, but the heady, powerful sensation of reality, enough to rock him to his foundations.

"You feel so good," Jim said breathlessly. "So good. I knew you'd feel like this."

Blair looked down. He was joined to Jim, made one flesh. //Oh, my God. I'm inside Jim. I'm really doing this...I'm really loving him.// Emotion rolled and tumbled within him; love, lust, gratitude, simple wonderment. //And he's right--it feels so good...So perfect, like we were meant for one another....//

Jim reached up, cupped a hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him down as he curled up. Blair felt the ripple of strong abdominals against his belly, felt the heat of Jim's hard length trapped between them. Jim's mouth covered his, hot and needy, and Blair caught fire. He braced himself, and gave an experimental thrust. Jim's body rose to meet his, and he began moving, slowly, leisurely, fighting down the urge to pound mindlessly, as his body screamed at him to do. A ballet a deux; they seemed meant to move together, and they did, as fluidly as if they had done this hundreds of times, as if they had been designed one for the other.

Blair broke away from Jim's mouth to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. He closed his eyes, flung back his head, concentrating, letting the sensation, the pleasure roll over him, though him. It was unbearably perfect, the way Jim's legs clasped him, the velvety tightness surrounding him, welcoming him, squeezing him, the way Jim's hands traced erotic patterns over his face, mouth, neck, shoulders, the rising sounds of pleasure he made, the scent of sweat, and musk, and semen.

He opened his eyes, and looked down into Jim's face. Gone were the stone walls. His face was younger in his passion, soft, vulnerable. Ecstatic. A small smile curved the wide mouth, a secret smile of pleasure he'd never before witnessed. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. As if he felt Blair's rapt attention on him, Jim opened his eyes. They were black, the pupils so huge the iris was a small, pale ring, and so deep, he couldn't help the headlong tumble into the depths. He was lost.

Primal need thundered through him, seizing and shaking him, and he gave into its strength. He could feel the passion running hotly through him, beginning to build, a sweet burn down his spine. His body moved of its own accord, quicker, harder, his thrusts becoming uneven, ready to release, to pour himself into Jim. The drive was upon him then, and he had no control, no way to stop himself, and no true desire to do so. All that mattered was the need to pound into the willing body struggling to meet his, to empty himself deep within the one he cared for more than anything or anyone else. He shook his head, both in denial, and in an attempt to clear the sweaty hair from his face.

"No," he gritted out. "Too soon...oh, Jim, I'm sorry..."

"Let it go, Baby, let it go," came the breathless reply.

Blair was aware peripherally of Jim's hand sliding between them, and a moment later, Jim's body convulsed beneath his, legs tightening around him, his body clasping around him tightly, rhythmically. Wet heat spread between their bellies. And then Blair was there, at that point midway between pain and ecstasy, exploding, his body arching backwards as he spasmed, emptying himself, his cry of passion ripped roughly from him.

His arms gave out, and with a last shudder, he slid into Jim's embrace. Jim shifted a little, rearranging his legs, his strong arms sliding around Blair, holding him tightly. Blair tingled, his blood still rushing through him, his heart still pounding ferociously. He grieved for the loss of connection as he softened and slipped from Jim's body. When Jim moved slightly again after a moment, Blair knew he was beginning to be heavy, uncomfortable, and rolled them to their sides. He shifted a bit, scooting up. Jim's face tilted up, wordlessly, and Blair covered his mouth with his own, a sweet, tender kiss, a kiss of love and trust. He smiled softly at Jim, and settled Jim against him, feeling warm and complete.

Blair floated, wrapped in contentment. Jim lay curled around him, his head on Blair's chest, his ear over his heart. Blair could feel Jim's breath feathering through the hair on his chest, the rhythm regular, steady, and he could tell his lover was drowsy, almost asleep. One brawny arm wrapped around his waist, the hand sweeping over the curve of his lower back, a slow, gentle, repetitive motion that was soothing. Blair's leg lay over Jim's hip, holding him close. Blair stroked Jim's short, silky hair, still damp with sweat at the base of his skull. For a moment, he wished it was longer, so he could thread his fingers through it, then dismissed the thought; Jim wouldn't look right with longer hair.

"Mmm," said the owner of the hair in consideration. "Feels nice."

Blair smiled at the sleepy voice. "You like?"

"Yeah. Lots." Jim's voice was drifting, slowing, syllables stretching as he slid closer to sleep. "Needed you here. B'long here...always...."

"I'll always be here," Blair said softly. "Always. I promise. You're the keeper of my heart. The one I trust above all others."

Blair almost didn't catch Jim's last quiet, sleepy words.

"...love you too..."

It was more than about love. It was about trust.

~~~~~One year later~~~~~

Blair lay back crossways in their big bed, and stretched with sensual luxuriousness. He smiled in anticipation as he heard the light sound of Jim trotting up the steps; for such a big man, he moved so quietly, so gracefully, and Blair was reminded of the fluid, feral strength of Jim's spirit guide. He watched as Jim crossed the bedroom floor, clad only in a bathtowel. Jim stood at the side of the bed, his arms folded loosely over his chest, his head tilted at a speculative angle.

"This is a new look for you," Jim said, and grinned, blue eyes bright with amusement.

"Hmm. Do you think?" Blair raised one leg and waggled the foot lazily in Jim's direction. He was naked, except for his pair of red lucky socks, and already erect; he'd spent most of their evening out in a half-aroused state, and now home, in their bed, had let his mind fill with images that had brought him to aching fullness.

"I find thinking around a naked Blair pretty damned impossible." He jumped a little as Blair smiled and ran his foot up his leg, beneath the towel, toes wiggling just a bit.

"I'll be sure and be naked the next time I ask you for a loan to get some outrageously priced research book, then. I'll just drop all my clothes in the middle of the bullpen and..." Blair's other foot nudged at the place where Jim had tucked in the tail of the towel, and managed to untuck it, sending it slithering to the floor. Seeing Jim naked always did wonderful, dangerous things to his cardiovascular and respiratory system, and his body gave a little involuntary wiggle of anticipatory delight that never seemed to fail to turn Jim on.

He wasn't disappointed in Jim's response. Blair watched as Jim's eyes darkened, and he hummed softly in appreciation as he watched his lover's cock, already half-hard, come to full attention.

"No nakedness in the bullpen. I'd be hard-pressed to defend you from bunch of horny cops after they saw what I'd been hiding from them."

Blair ran both feet up and down the fronts of Jim's thighs. "Really? Maybe I should give this idea serious thought. Simon makes a lot more money as a Captain, right? I've always kinda suspected he might like me...in some cultures, insults and yelling are considered a sign of courtship...."

Blair gave a yelp as Jim seized his ankles and pulled him to the edge of the bed. "Don't even think it, Professor," Jim said, then placed a kiss on each leg, just above the cuffs of his socks. "So tell me--what's the significance of the red socks? I didn't think you had a clothes fetish, but hey, I'm willing to work with it."

Laughter bubbled up from his chest. "All right! I've got this yellow rain slicker and galoshes that I've been dying to try out with you--you won't mind if I get excited and yell out, 'Thar he blows!' will you?"

Jim's delighted laughter warmed him. "Looking forward to it, Sandburg. But tell me about these, first. We can play out your Ahab fantasies later."

Blair didn't protest as Jim pressed his legs slowly, gently back toward his body, bending his knees, spreading them, opening him up. It placed him in a vulnerable, completely open position, and he loved it because Jim loved to look at him, exposed in this manner, everything visible, nothing hidden. It made him feel sexy, cherished, desirable. It also had the added benefit of providing his lover with complete access, never a bad thing, given Jim's unabashed appreciation of his body and utter willingness to show said appreciation in the most delightful ways. Jim released one of his ankles long enough to snag a pillow and place it under his hips to prevent back strain.

"Such a thoughtful lover," Blair murmured. His breath caught as Jim began placing soft kisses along his left calf, moving to this inner thigh. "Oh," he said when Jim came to a particularly sensitive spot, and stopped to nip it, then soothe it with a swipe of tongue. "Um, it's our anniversary."

"Yeah, that dinner you took me to at Farelli's gave it away. Then the walk through the park, all those slow, sweet kisses beneath that stone bridge...nice. You know I'm a pushover for romance." Jim kissed down his right leg, then stopped to nuzzle the crease where thigh met body. "But the socks?"

"What? Oh." Blair felt a little breathless. "Well, I woke up with you exactly one year ago today, wearing one of my lucky socks. I decided it was very lucky day for me--my own dies faustus, so to speak--and being the mushy guy I am, wanted to wear them to celebrate our being together."

"So you think wearing both of them will make you doubly lucky?" Jim's voice was muffled; he was scenting around Blair's groin, and the intimacy of that action never failed to make Blair achingly hard. He could feel the light touch of Jim's nose, his lips, the occasional flick of tongue as Jim married scent to taste.

"I can only hope," he said faintly.

Jim knelt on the floor at the side of their bed, and eased Blair's legs down so they rested over his own broad shoulders. Blair sighed happily and wiggled a little to get into a comfortable position. He loved this, the intimacy of it; as wonderful as intercourse was, as connected as he felt when Jim was deep within him or he within Jim, he liked this best. He loved the joyful concentration of his lover's face, the various combinations of lips and tongue and teeth that could either soothe him or drive him to distraction, the obvious enjoyment and relish Jim himself had for it.

Blair could hear himself making little helpless noises as that talented mouth seduced and tormented, everywhere but where he ached for it to be. Soft nibbling to sensitive inner thighs, wet, sucking kisses to tender perineum, light strokes of tongue across the opening to his body that sent him rocketing into the stratosphere with a strangled cry. Jim's hands weren't still, either; stroking over the jut of his hipbones, smoothing over his flanks, his touch firmer so as not to tickle, fingers dipping into his navel, skimming up over his belly, tracing the bow of ribs, combing through soft hair, circling, but not touching nipples. Blair moved restlessly beneath the sweet, slow assault. His hands went to touch Jim's head, and slid uselessly off the short hair, then he remembered himself and pulled away, to knot his fingers into the covers on the bed; Jim hated to have his ears or his hair, such as he had, pulled. Learning not to pull Jim's hair had been a particularly delicious lesson, and his arms automatically stretched up over his head, his hands clasping one another as he remembered the cool, slick feel of soft silk neckties knotted around his wrists, then tied to the rail around the loft that served as the headboard of the bed.

Jim raised his mouth from its leisurely exploration. "Want me to get them?"

Blair could feel himself flush at his transparency, but didn't move his arms. He closed his eyes, and shook his head firmly. "No...don't stop. It feels too good."

Jim's chuckle floated up to him, completely self-satisfied. //You're such a smug bastard...you know how good you are, don't you...// he thought fondly, then all rational thought was swept away as Jim's fingers tweaked his nipples, pulling at the little ring, and his hot mouth closed over the head of his straining erection.

Good, good, good...it was a moment before Blair caught his breath again, sucking air deeply into lungs that had emptied themselves in a violent exhalation. His hips lifted, sliding further into the slick heat, welcoming swirl of tongue. Pleasure wrapped around him, sweet and warm, and he felt his mouth curve into a smile. So good, the sensation of Jim taking him in deeply, throat and mouth milking him, making him want to melt.

One of Jim's hands slipped from him, and a moment later returned, to rub slickly over his opening. Blair moaned, and relaxed, and one of Jim's fingers slid into him. He moved down, seeking deeper penetration, then back up, into the welcoming warmth of Jim's mouth. He gasped again as the one finger became two, probing deeply within him. Jim let him set the pace he wanted, rocking down hard onto his fingers, then upward, into Jim's mouth, pleasure doubled. Blair knew he was in heaven; the long, sucking caresses of Jim's mouth on him, and the incredible feeling of Jim's fingers stretching him, filling him, probing deeply within him.

Blair gave himself over to the pleasure with sheer abandon, letting his body assume command, mind wallowing in sensation. He was vaguely aware of his rising cries, of his body bucking hard, and then the electrical tingle of his orgasm beginning, building, streaking through him, culminating in his body arching into a taut bow, pulsing out of his body and into the loving mouth of his friend, his partner, his lover, the one who meant the world to him.

Gradually, his muscles relaxed, and he settled into the hands that sought to receive him, cradling him. He was boneless, lax, helpless, sated. Slowly he unlocked his arms and hands, letting the tense muscles unclench. His blood pounded within him, singing along his veins, a sweet song of satisfaction and pleasure.

"Those little sounds you make drive me crazy," Jim whispered into his ear, then licked the soft skin beneath it.

Blair opened his eyes. He concentrated a moment on regaining his breath. He tilted his head back slightly so Jim could have access to his throat, and a soft moan escaped him as Jim sucked on his Adam's apple. "I've never been so grateful for an oral fixation in my entire life," he managed to say.

Jim's chuckle was warm against his skin, and tickled a little. "What can I say in my defense? You're very...inspiring."

Blair slid his arms around Jim, pulling him close, his hands moving lightly, gently over Jim's soft skin. He never grew tired of the feel of Jim's skin, the smooth movement of muscles moving beneath, all that power his to control. Shifting a little, he could feel the heated length of Jim's erection branding into his hip, and Jim rocked a little against him.

He welcomed the warmth of Jim's wide, soft mouth as it slid over his, the sweep of mobile tongue flicking over his own lips, teeth, and twining with seductive slowness around his own. The taste of his own essence was strong on Jim's tongue, and he sucked on it, gathering their joined flavors. Gentleness tumbled into passion within the space of heartbeats, and Blair felt shuddering desire sweep through him, a sparkling heat that burned. He could feel his own strong arms clasping his lover hard, his fingers digging in deeply over smooth skin and firm muscle, and knew he was leaving marks. Jim devoured the moans and whimpers that came from deep within his throat.

Blair twisted away to breathe, dizzy from lack of oxygen and Jim's closeness. Jim's arms tightened around him, almost bruising. "Need you," Jim said into his ear, voice heavy and ragged.

"I'm yours, always," Blair managed to say, and worked his hand down between them. His fingers reached his goal, and encircled that hot, hot length, rubbing a thumb lightly, teasingly across the weeping head. He laughed, a little breathy sound, as Jim's body moved in his embrace. "Where?"

Jim reached down, took Blair's hand from around him, and kissed the fingers and palm before pulling away far enough to give his lover a gentle push, settling him on the bed, away from the edge. Blair rolled to his belly with a sigh. His body was soft, loose, pliant, and he let Jim mold him into whatever position he desired, relaxed in the aftermath of orgasm. He turned his head to the side, reached up lazily to push the hair out of his face. Jim placed a gentling hand on the small of his back, and then he felt the slickness of his fingers as he worked a bit more lube into him. Blair made a contented sound as the long fingers worked, shallowly, then deeply within him. This made him feel loved, cherished; Jim was always so careful with him, thorough in his preparations so as not to hurt him. A moment, and Jim began stroking within him with purpose, angling his touch to brush across the little gland, sending bright, hot jolts of pleasure through him. His soft moaning began to grow louder, and his hips started moving backwards, seeking more; his filling cock brushed against the sheet, enough stimulation to make him gasp.

Then the wonderful, tormenting fingers were gone, breaking the slow rhythm Blair had built. He bit off a cry of frustration as he felt Jim rise up over him; it would soon be much better as he would be filled with something more substantial than fingers. The slick, broad head of Jim's cock pressed against the entrance.

"Ready?" Jim's voice sounded strained, and Blair could feel his lover trembling with need, waiting for him to give the word to proceed.

"Oh, yeah," Blair breathed, "Be with me. I want to feel you inside."

Jim moved, pressing himself closer. There was no resistance, no pain, just a long, slow, deep slide into pleasure, accompanied by Blair's low sound of contentment. Perfect. He'd never expected to love this as much as he did, the surrender of his body to another, the fulfillment of opening to Jim, the utter happiness of being filled by him. He'd had sex innumerable times, but he'd always held back a part of himself, never giving over to it completely, keeping a little part of himself separate and private. With Jim, he gave everything, surrendered everything, let all his barriers fall. He had never before loved the one he was with, and the difference was world-shaking. The pleasure was intense, but it was compounded, expanded immeasurably simply because it was Jim, the one he loved, filling him, moving deeply within him. In those moments, he was more alive than at any other time, swept along by the exhilaration of having Jim love him, possess him completely.

Jim's skin was warm and moist with sweat, his big body covering him, blanketing him with bone and muscle and sinew. Covering him with love and passion and lust. He felt his mouth curve into a smile when Jim finally came to rest against him with a little grunt, filling him full, filling his heart, filling his soul.

"Love you," Blair whispered softly, knowing Jim would hear him. Jim pressed warm kisses to his neck and ear. He shifted a little, sliding his arms beneath Blair's chest, bearing their weight on his elbows and forearms, giving Blair a bit of room to breathe beneath him.

Blair moved back into the cradle of Jim's hips, a nudge, a suggestion, and Jim picked up on it, and began to rock against him, sliding in and almost completely out, slow, smooth, controlled. Jim buried his face into the place where Blair's shoulder curved into neck, and Blair could feel the heat from his face burn his skin. Wonderful; so good, so perfect. After a few moments, Blair moved them into a harder, more intense rhythm that satisfied the both of them. A little shift, and then Jim was rubbing across that sweet spot within him, sending intense pleasure zipping along his nerves, caroming from one cell to the next, building, heightening, sparkling along every inch of him. Blair let it collect, let it roll over him, through him, and then he felt himself spasm, clench, convulse as he came, arching hard against Jim's strong body, thrusting hard into the sheets below him, his hands knotting into fists with enough force his nails cut into his palms.

Jim lost their rhythm then, and Blair felt him buck hard, and three or four hard, powerful thrusts later, Jim was coming with a jagged moan, filling him with his hot essence, holding his last thrust for so long Blair wondered if Jim were trying to crawl deep within him and take up residence.

Gradually, Jim relaxed, his body melting down over Blair's, and Blair welcomed the sweet, heavy weight of his lover. They stayed that way, hearts slowing, breathing easing, until Jim rolled to his side, pulling Blair with him, still within him, his arms folding around Blair, his face buried in the long soft curls. They were tightly entwined, and Blair had the sense that if Jim could have absorbed him into his own skin, he would have.

They lay quietly together for a long moment, Blair feeling soft and fuzzy, and so tired he could drift off to sleep easily, without effort. Jim's hands moved slowly over his skin, stroking lightly. Blair knew Jim loved him, knew it without doubt, without reservation. He could tell it in the way Jim touched him, the way the blue eyes looked at him, warm and gentle, the way Jim always held him tenderly after they made love, the way he took care of him in the life outside their bed, doing the little things that Blair often forgot to do for himself. He knew it even when they fought over the stupid things they did that annoyed one another. He knew Jim loved him, though Jim seldom said it.

But just sometimes, he needed to hear the words.

"Tell me," Blair said softly. "Tell me, Jim."

Jim curved around him more tightly, enveloping him, and he felt Jim's sigh of contentment rustle through his hair.

"I love you, Baby," he said quietly. "I love you, I love this, how we are together. How you feel, how we feel when we're together. Like I've finally found the missing piece of me. We fit."

"Yes," Blair replied, feeling something within himself warm, curl, expand until it filled him completely, "we fit."

When Jim finally softened and slipped from him, Blair sighed regretfully, and turned in the circle of Jim's arms. Jim smoothed the sweaty hair from Blair's face, pressed quick kisses to his closed eyes, cheekbones, and nose, settling at last on his mouth. Blair found himself smiling, and felt the returning curve of Jim's mouth against his. Then Jim settled against him, wrapping his arms around Blair, settling his forehead against Blair's throat.

"I'm gonna miss this so much," Blair said after a long moment. "It'll kill me. Jim, I..."

"No arguments," came the low rumble of Jim's voice. "We've been through this already." Jim's fingers stroked over his chest, taking any possible sting out of the finality of his words. "It's settled, Chief."

"It's eight weeks, man. Two whole months. I can't go that long away from you--we're practically joined at the hip..."

"It's done. You gave up Borneo because you loved me too much to leave me. Now, you're going to Chile because I love you too much to keep you here. The opportunity is too great to pass up. You can't afford to let it get away from you this time." Jim's hand settled on his belly, warm. "In three weeks, you're Dr. Sandburg. Two weeks after that, you go to Chile as co-leader of the expedition. Eight weeks there. In the fall, you start teaching part-time at Rainier, and working at the station as a paid consultant. This is what you've worked all these years for."

Blair shifted against Jim. "I know it is." He knew it well. Fortune had smiled on him; he was lucky to get a teaching position at Rainier, even if it was only part time. Dr. Evans was retiring the next year, and Blair knew if they found his work this year satisfactory, the place would be his. Simon had come through for him also, convincing the powers that be of his invaluable assistance, making a place for him within Major Crimes, with loan-outs to the other departments as he was needed.

He knew the trip to Chile was important to his career, and if he refused to go this time, he'd never be offered another chance, and the full-time position would go to another, who would be willing to make personal sacrifices. And, truth to tell, he really did want to go; his sense of pride demanded that he do this, to prove himself, to put all his education to work. He'd been so excited, even during the grunt work of planning, making sure supplies were ordered, getting everything set up, and Jim had watched him sweat and swear over details, quietly supportive and proud of the opportunity granted him. He did want to go. He just wanted to take Jim with him, somehow.

"I still think you'll fit in one of the packing crates," Blair said, and was rewarded by Jim's soft, deep laugh. "What are you gonna do for those two months?"

"I'll miss you," Jim replied honestly. "But I'll be fine. I've not had a zoneout in months. Simon knows what to look for, and he'll remember what to do if I need him. He's a good man, Chief, and a really good friend. Trust him. I do."

"I know. And I do. It's just...shit, I sound so maudlin. Like one of those Harlequin romance heroines." Blair drew a deep breath, blew it out in frustration.

"You'll never be confused with a woman," Jim teased, his hand sliding down to cup sticky genitals. "Too lumpy."

Blair chuckled, and felt some of the tension drain out of him again, as Jim had intended.

"You have to do this. You'll have to do this again, in the future. I knew that it was part of what you did, and now, I can accept it. I know you'll come home to me. Before, I didn't, but now, I know you will." Jim's sleepy voice was eminently reasonable.

I know you'll come home to me. Home. To me. Jim trusted him. Jim believed in him, loved him with a strength that was almost frightening. If the one he loved so much trusted him so much, how could he do anything less? The last, tiny part of himself he'd held back, the part of him so worried he'd do something to ruin what they had together crumbled, and washed away. He smiled, raised a hand, and stroked over Jim's soft hair.

It was more than about friendship. It was more than about love. It was about trust.

And he could do it.

~~~finis~~~