Archive of Our Own ^beta

Author's webpage: http://None

Author's disclaimer: Even though I hate to admit this, Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg are not mine. They belong to each other. Okay, okay, they also belong to Pet Fly, UPN and Paramount. I'm not making any money off of this story (snort). Sue me and you get a few pieces of artwork, a ton of zines, a car payment and a huge cat.

Nothing

"Just what the hell do you want?"

The tone of his voice stops me cold. I hate it when his voice cracks like that and I know that I'm the cause of his pain, his frustration. I can hear the "from me", unspoken but implied.

What can I say to him? I want to taste you, plunder your mouth until your lips are red and swollen? I want to hold you so tight that I cause you to lose your breath? I want to bury myself so deep inside of you that you'll need a crane to pull me out?

Instead, I watch him for a moment. Watch his anger transform itself into weariness and maybe a touch of fear. He looks so fragile, almost like a startled deer, trying to decide if it should stand in place or seek cover in the dense woods. Tell me, Chief, will you stay or will you flee?

I fold my arms across my chest. "I..." I shake my head and sigh. I want so much that I'm speechless. "Nothing." It's all I can say and like the coward that I am, I turn to look out the balcony doors.

I can feel the slight displacement of air as he slides off the sofa and steps closer to me. I see his hand reflected in the glass, reaching for me; feel the warmth as it moves closer to my back. Our reflections merge and his mirror eyes meet mine. It's strange; his face is expressionless. I guess I have taught him a few things after all.

I hear a sigh. I'm not sure if it came from him or from me. I guess it's him because suddenly his shoulders slump and he sinks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He turns and walks toward the door. He pulls his coat from the hook on the wall and opens the front door.

"Nothing is easy, Jim. Nothing is safe. And nothing is exactly what you'll get," he says quietly as he walks out the door.

What the hell have I done?

It after midnight as I walk by the cafes and bistros dotting the waterfront. Even though it's raining, the air is alive with the sounds of conversation and laughter.

I see a coffee shop up ahead. It looks empty, so I go inside. I nod to the tired-looking waitress as I slide into the red vinyl seat at the front of the restaurant. She holds up a pot of coffee and I smile.

I slip off my jacket and pull a dozen or so napkins from the dispenser. I wipe the rain from my face and hair and toss the wet napkins on the other side of the table. The waitress startles me as she places a cup of coffee and some cream on the table.

"The monks in Northern Africa were the first people to understand the value of coffee," I say to her. "It helped them sustain the energy to meditate and pray for longer periods of time. They even figured out a way to dry the coffee beans so that they could transport them to distant monasteries."

Yeah, I know I'm babbling, but I can't seem to stop myself. The waitress pats my shoulder, scoops up the wet napkins and walks away. I guess I should feel like an idiot, but I'm too tired and depressed to care. Congratulations, Sandburg, you're not only cold and wet but you've graduated to pathetic.

Ever since the diamond heist in the McCormick building, Jim has grown more and more distant. I've lost track of the number of times I've asked him what's wrong. He usually looks at me with a carefully neutral expression and tells me he has no idea what I'm talking about. Okay, a quiet Jim I can handle. It's the grunting and sarcastic Jim that makes me reconsider my non-violent philosophy. He has passive-aggressive tendencies that would delight and titillate a psychiatrist for about a year.

Rafe and Brown took me aside this morning and warned me that I had until the end of the week to do something about Grizzly Ellison. They walked away debating whether to shoot him or tranquilize him and throw him in a cage. Little do they know that I'd be the first person in line.

So begins operation Tranquilizer. I clean the loft until it sparkles. I even disinfect the friggin' vegetable crisper in the refrigerator. I prepare Jim's favorite wintertime meal, beef stew with dumplings, and I wait for the man to come home.

At 9 o'clock he walks through the door and grunts. I guess that must be Jim-speak for I'm sorry I'm late, I'm sorry I didn't call and what smells so delicious? I tell him to go wash up and that dinner will be ready in a few minutes. He grunts again and storms into the bathroom. Five minutes later he's sitting at the table and staring at the dumplings like he's just discovered a new race of sentient beings.

He looks at me suspiciously and asks what I did wrong. Naturally, my ability to construct a sentence, complete with a subject and verb, disintegrates. All I can do is stare at him stupidly and say, "Huh?"

His face is totally impassive, except for the twitching muscle in his jaw. Then, he just stands up and tosses the bowl of stew in the sink, which of course is a three point shot considering he's standing in the dining room. So much for passive-aggressive.

Forty-five minutes later, the man has accused me of everything except sleeping with Monica Lewinsky. At first I was royally pissed off. Now, I'm just numb from information overload.

I ask him what the hell he wants and you know what he says after all this bullshit? Nothing! He says nothing!

I love the guy but I was afraid to stay. He was getting close to saying the things that you just can't take back, you can't apologize for.

What the hell am I going to do?

Where the hell did he go? His keys and wallet are still in the basket. I'm afraid to leave in case he calls and I'm afraid to stay in case he comes back.

Two hours later, and I know that I can no longer stand here and wait for Blair to return. I sniff the air like a bloodhound. The rain has washed away his scent.

I climb in the truck and slowly drive through the neighborhood, up and down the streets. I shine lights in alleys, but I can't find him. A faint, familiar sound brushes my ear: his heartbeat. Following the steady rhythm, I track him to a coffee shop about two miles from the loft.

I sit in the truck and watch him as he stares into his coffee cup. Once in a while, he brings the cup to his lips and drinks the cooling liquid. The waitress walks over and refills his cup. He thanks her and then goes back to staring at his cup again. He doesn't smile. He doesn't flirt. He just drinks his coffee.

He looks like a man who has lost his best friend. He looks defeated.

I feel like an asshole.

Before I lose my nerve, I climb out of the truck and jog across the street. I walk into the restaurant and slide into the seat across from him.

"Hey, Chief."

I reach out to touch his hand but he pulls it away. He looks at me for a moment and then resumes staring into his coffee cup.

"This really isn't a good time, Jim. Please go," he says quietly. After a few moments, he looks up at me and I see anger fill his eyes. "Either you go or I do, but I really don't want to deal with you right now." His voice is louder this time and gets the waitress' attention.

"Do you want me to call the cops?" she asks.

He snorts and pushes his cup away, spilling the liquid on the table. "Like that'll do any good," he says sarcastically. "No thanks. I'm leaving anyway." He reaches into his pocket and realizes that he left his wallet at home. He slumps into the booth with a look of defeat that shatters my heart.

"Let me take care of it, Chief. Please?" I sound like I'm begging. I guess I am.

He looks at me for a moment and then tucks an errant curl behind his ear. "Why?"

I don't understand the question. "Why what?"

He laughs. "Why do you want to take care of my problem? Why did you bother to find me? Why are you here?"

His questions illustrate just how badly I've hurt him. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry is an easy word to say, Ellison. What exactly are you sorry for? Sorry you found me? Sorry you ripped me a new one for absolutely no reason except that you could? Sorry that you use me as an easy target?"

"Blair, please. I'm not good with words"

"Bullshit, Ellison. You were very eloquent earlier. Either explain yourself or leave."

Sandburg sits across from me, rock still, waiting for me to explain. His eyes fill with tears and his face is slightly flushed. I've seen Blair angry before. He rants. He paces. He lets everyone within earshot know how he's feeling. This Blair is dangerously quiet. I need to weigh my words carefully or lose everything.

"I'd like to explain. But first I want to say how sorry I am for the way I treated you. I don't know what happened, Chief. I got scared and I went on the offensive. It was wrong. I was wrong."

Blair folds his arms across his chest and gnaws on his lower lip for a moment. "What you said and did totally sucked, man." He looks at me for a moment before continuing. "So, what scared you so bad?"

I close my eyes and release the breath that I didn't even realize I was holding. Okay, I can do this. I open my eyes and stare at his face for a moment.

"Just scared. Scared of the truth. Scared that you wouldn't understand once you learned the truth. Scared that you'd leave."

He snorts and rests his hands on the sides of the table. "Well, Jim, you certainly did everything in your power to push me away." He brings his hands to his face and rubs his forehead. "This is insane." He lowers his hands and rests them on the table. "My life is good, Jim. I love living at the loft, being at your side." He reaches across the table and pokes me in the hand with his finger. "But I'm only going to say this once, so listen up. You treat me like that again and I will leave, and no apology, nothing, will stop me. Got it?"

"I understand, Chief. I give you my word." I don't give my word often. I hope Blair understands.

He's nodding his head. I guess he does. "Okay, I believe you. You said you were scared to tell me the truth. What do you mean?"

I take a deep breath and pray for calm. "I've fallen in love with someone."

His face pales and his heart skips a beat. "You're in love?" He starts to shred his napkin. "Do I know her?"

"It's not a her, Chief. It's a him."

"Him?" I think his voice actually squeaked. "Okay. I've wondered but I never felt it was my place to ask. Does he know?"

"The way I've been behaving lately, I doubt it."

He actually laughs at the comment. It warms my heart. "No kidding." He looks around to see if anyone can hear us and then leans in conspiratorially. "You want me to talk to him for you?"

I feel flushed. I think I just blushed. "Jesus, Blair. I feel like I'm in high school."

"Okay. Okay. Forget I said that. What do you want to do?"

I shrug my shoulders. It's now or never. "I want to take him home, tear off his clothes and suck his cock until he screams for mercy."

He looks stunned for a minute. Then, he shifts in his seat and grimmaces. "Way too much information for me here, Jim."

"I'm sorry, Chief. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

By the look on his face I can tell he doesn't believe me.

"Anyway, you asked me earlier what I wanted. It was a good question and I think you deserve an answer. I want it all. I want love and commitment and laughter and joy."

He's nodding his head in approval.

"I want you, Blair."

His head stops nodding and he gulps. "Me?"

"Yeah, you."

He's shaking his head now. "You want me, so you treat me like shit. That makes no sense."

"You remember the jewelry heist a few weeks ago?"

His forehead creases in confusion. "Yeah...?"

"They were drooling all over you."

"Who?"

"The clerks. The customers. And you? You were lapping it up, with your tongue hanging out. It took everything I had not to throw you over my shoulder and shout, 'Back off, he's mine!'"

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No, Blair, I'm not. I was and still am jealous and hurt and a lot of other things that I can't figure out."

He leans towards me and smiles wickedly. "You wanted to throw me over your shoulder?"

"Yeah, but that's not the point..."

"You wanted to shout, 'He's mine!'"

"I'm sorry I told you that."

"Yeah, well you've got to admit, it's a pretty vivid image."

"I just tell you my darkest secret and you laugh. I'm out of here." I get up to leave but before I can he grabs my arm.

"Hey, don't get all defensive on me, man. Okay, listen, I was flirting with them. It broke the ice, got them talking. Besides, it was fun."

"Yeah, well, how many dates did you get out of my case, Casanova?"

"That's our case and the answer is none. I was flirting, a very simple and harmless ritual. No one, except you, took it seriously."

"I don't like it."

"Well, that's just too bad, Jim. I like to flirt."

I rub my forehead and take a deep breath. "Okay, where does that leave us?"

"You vacillating between a jealous rage and Cro-Magnon man. There are a lot of very acceptable behaviors between the two."

"What would you consider acceptable behavior?"

"Dinner...a movie...good conversation...long walks on the beach. It's about romance and seduction. You might find that it's a bit more effective."

He's smiling at me. The tension hasn't quite left his face yet, but his eyes are twinkling. That's a good sign.

"You haven't told me how you feel about all of this."

"Honestly? I'm surprised. Monosyllabic grunting and bowl-tossing are not exactly what I'd consider courtship behavior."

"I'm sorry about that," I say sheepishly. That was not one of my finer moments.

"Hey, it was your favorite bowl." He shrugs his shoulders and rests his hands on the table. He starts to trace the scratches on the Formica surface with his fingernail.

I reach over and take his hand in mine. "Are you even a little bit interested in me?"

"More than just a little bit." He squeezes my hand, stands up and pulls on his coat.

I toss a ten-dollar bill on the table and follow him out the door.

He grabs my arm just as I'm about to step off the curb. "Just remember, Jim. I am not a cheap date. You're going to have to do better than a ten." He smiles and then sprints across the street toward the truck.

I stand in the street for a moment and shake my head. I have no idea what's going to happen next. All I do know is, it's gonna be fun.

I am so nervous I think I'm either going to barf or explode, maybe both. He wants me and let me tell you I want him. Bad. The ride back to the loft is tense but good. He catches me sneaking a peek at him. He takes a peek at me when he thinks I'm not looking. Jesus, maybe we are in high school.

We finally get to the loft and we run up the stairs to the third floor. He opens the door and takes a step back to allow me to enter first. I hang my coat on the hook and wait for him to shut and lock the door. I walk toward the kitchen, but he grabs my arm and pushes me against the front door. One of his hands is laced through the hair under my neck. His other hand is pressing against my lower back, molding me against his body.

I tilt my head back and gaze at his beautiful face. His blue eyes sparkle and a small smile caresses his lips. I kiss the tip of his nose and wrap my arms around his waist. "I guess I am a cheap date. Who would have guessed?"

He chuckles and kisses my forehead.

"You missed, Jim. My lips are on the lower part of my face."

"Actually, I was aiming for your nose."

It's my turn to chuckle. And then his lips are on mine and the last thing on my mind is humor. He forces my mouth open with his tongue and I can feel him exploring every millimeter of my mouth. I sag against him with a groan.

His hand's pressing against the front of my jeans and gently strokes my cock through the rough material. Okay, now he's opening my fly and caressing the tip of my cock with his thumb.

I can feel sparks of electricity travelling up my body.

Without warning Jim kneels on the floor and presses his lips against the tip of my cock. Oh yeah, that feels good.

A gulp later and my cock is in his mouth. Oh, god, I think I need to say that again. My best friend has my cock in his mouth. It's pressing against the roof of his mouth. Oh jeez, I think I'm going into shock. I think I'm going to hyperventilate. I think I'm gonna cum.

I try to push him away, but he digs his hands into my thighs. He pushes my cock deeper into his mouth. I wonder what tonsils feel like?

For a moment, I think he's going to swallow me and then I don't care as my body tenses up. His throat muscles are pulling the seed from me. I can't breathe.

"Jjjjiiiiiimmmm!"

Blair screams my name and I cum in my pants. That hasn't happened to me in a very long time. Creaming in my pants, I mean. It really is uncomfortable.

I gently lower my lover to the floor and cradle him against my chest. I rest his head against my shoulder and wait for him to catch his breath. The man in my arms looks up at me and smiles. I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful.

"I love you, Jim."

I kiss his forehead and hold him close to my chest. "I love you too, Chief."

Who would have thought that asking for nothing would, in fact, give me everything I hoped for and more?

End