Archive of Our Own ^beta

Author's webpage: http://www.asan.com/users/pongo

Author's disclaimer: Love is in the public domain. So is sex, if you believe Mr. Starr. I don't own anything that isn't in my apartment, and last I checked, Jim and Blair weren't here with me.

"There's nothing wrong with me that a little peace and quiet wouldn't fix."

"You want me to go? Is that it? Cause man, I am so gone."

The door slammed and Jim flinched as the hinges wheezed shut. A small cloud of rust settled to the floor and Jim let himself spend a few seconds wondering whether it was worth getting out the dustvac for it. Maybe he should just replace the hinges altogether. The iron looked good, but Blair was right--Cascade was too damp for iron fixtures to last very long.

The door opened again and he looked up at Blair, taking in his backpack, slung over one shoulder, and his flannel shirt. The shirt was the one he'd bought Blair to replace the one that got torn up on the last stakeout. That was only a week ago and Blair had already lost one of the buttons.

"You are such an asshole."

"What?"

"You're not even going to stop me, are you?"

The anger fired up again, the flare of it reassuring, burning out the rust stains on the floor. "Stop you? What--are you some kid running away from home?"

"I'm not a kid, dammit."

"Right Sandburg. You're the fucking paragon of maturity. So what are you waiting for."

"I'm not waiting for anything."

"Well, you're letting a draft in here, so go if you're going. Unless you need help crossing the street..."

"Asshole."

"Yeah, whatever. Send me a postcard from where-ever."

"Right. Fine. Be that way. Carolyn was right. You have some major intimacy problems, man."

Intimacy seemed to be the least of his problems this week. And it was a little hard to justify arguing with Sandburg about whatever they had been arguing about this time--and it struck him as only mildly unusual that he *couldn't* remember what it was--when they had to go out and prevent Lee Brackett from gassing most of Cascade. And all of it as a damned
diversion. That was what bugged him the most. It was one thing for a guy to have some sort of maniacal plan, but Brackett turned out to be just an ordinary thief--not that Jim really wanted to deal with any real creative psychos, but if you had to jump on top of a jet plane like some James Bond stunt guy, one who actually bruised because the plane was pretty damned hard and you weren't meant to ride on the outside of it--the least you could expect was to have a real reason for it. But Brackett was just a nuisance, plain and simple, and dammit, he still couldn't remember what the hell they'd been fighting about and it was driving him crazy. Not that it mattered anymore, since Sandburg had already been in "make nice" mode when he begged and pleaded for a guest speaker... which, come to think of it, was what had started the whole Brackett mess.

It hadn't even been much of a fight, not on the Sandburg-scale. Sometimes, Sandburg really pushed the right buttons and he found himself saying a few not so great things to the kid--things he wished he could take back- and Sandburg would make more of it than he should and slam a few doors on his way out. Sometimes, Sandburg even spent a few hours godknowswhere, just not at the loft, and when he came back he always had that look on his face like he wasn't sure he was welcome. This time, they hadn't even really moved into the post-fight "making-up" stage--the part he always liked because it usually meant Sandburg making one of his favorites for dinner.

The bathroom. That was it. How hard was it to turn off the faucet all the way so it didn't drip all night long? The kid whines all the time about getting a new hot water heater and then he leaves the goddamn faucet running all night every night for nearly a week.

It had started with the bathroom, anyway. And he wasn't sure how, exactly, it had become something else, but it had. At least Sandburg hadn't said anything more about it. They'd been too busy to talk about it during the case, and Sandburg hadn't moved out, which was good, but neither of them had had time to fix the faucet, either. Now the question was whether the dripping was worse than the ache in his back and if it was worth waiting for Sandburg to get around to fixing it. Maybe he'd leave a wrench on the kid's pillow.

"Um...Jim?"

"What now?"

"Whaddya mean, 'What now'?"

"You just have that--nevermind. What is it." No sense starting another fight when they hadn't even finished the last one off properly.

"I was just wondering...Whaddya think Brackett meant by the 'guide'?"

"I don't--The guy's crazy, Sandburg. Who the hell knows what he was thinking?"

"You really think he's crazy--like insane crazy?"

"No. Not really. I just don't feel like spending the rest of the night worrying about what was going through Brackett's head."

"Oh. Sorry. I--yeah. Nevermind then."

Jim sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair. But he could still feel Sandburg looking at him, thinking. It was something about the way he breathed when he was thinking. Not quite as obvious as hearing gears grinding, or anything, but the kid's breathing settled into a different pattern when he was puzzling over something.

He was damned tired, and his legs ached slightly, like he'd been out running. It was just residual tension from crossing that bridge and holding himself so still. Already, he could feel the quiet of the loft seeping into him and he knew he could fall asleep here if Sandburg let him. Which he clearly was not going to do. He sighed again and opened his eyes just enough to see that the kid really was still looking at him, chewing on his lower lip while those gears grinded some more.

"All right, Sandburg. I give. What do you think he meant?"

The heartbeat sped up just slightly and Jim listened as Sandburg stood up, did something that made his shirt rustle--a soft flannel-y sound with a slight static crackling. Then Sandburg sat down again and Jim could hear him pull his legs up under him, the sound of wool socks dragging across the sofa sending a vivid picture of Sandburg's position.

He almost spoke again, about to say Sandburg's name, when he heard the sharp intake of breath that meant the kid was about to say something.

"I don't know."

Jim waited, but there was only silence and more of that flannel sound. He opened his eyes, finally, slightly curious about what the hell Sandburg was doing with his shirt.

Sandburg was sitting, legs pulled under him, hands on his lap, and he was running his fingers across the row of buttons on his shirt, starting at the top and sliding down and over each button. Seeing it, Jim caught that other sound, the one he'd ignored because he couldn't quite place it--Tagua nut on flannel--a soft hushed sound and then a button popping and then another soft hushed sound. It would have been annoying, but for the regularity of it.

"And...?"

Sandburg looked up, his fingers stopping over the last button and hovering there. "That's it. I don't know what he meant. I just don't know."

"And it matters?"

"Hell yes, it matters." Sandburg's voice was low, quietly angry. He'd been like this since they got home from the station, the euphoria of catching Brackett replaced by this irritability.

"Oh." Jim said it, thinking he should maybe say something else--something helpful--but he didn't know what to say. So Brackett called Sandburg a guide. "So he called you a guide."

"Not a guide, Jim. The guide. Like it meant something, you know?"

No. He really didn't. But clearly, he couldn't say that because it meant something to Sandburg. "The guide then. Like an Indian guide, maybe."

"An Indian guide?" Sandburg sounded doubtful and Jim shook his head, grinning slightly at the image of Blair Sandburg as an Indian guide. The kid couldn't find his socks in that black hole of a bedroom, much less track a meal down. Well, maybe Chinese food, but nothing that was still walking.

"I don't think he meant like an Indian guide."

"Fine then, Sandburg. What kind of guide do you think he meant?"

"I don't know."

"Great. Well I don't know either. And I'm hungry, so I'd rather talk about what you want on your pizza."

"Pizza?"

"Unless you're cooking..."

"Nah, pizza's fine. Just mushroom and...you ordering from that good place?"

"What good place?"

"The gourmet place on Fifth."

Jim was already at the phone trying to remember which place was on Fifth. "Oh. The one with the strange sauces?"

"Yeah. Get me a mushroom and pineapple and pine nut."

He grimaced, but made the call anyway.

Sandburg didn't say anything more about Brackett until after the pizza was on the table and then he started in again, picking up as if they had never stopped talking about it.

"Maybe he just heard you call me 'Chief'?"

"And..."

"And he was thinking Indians or something."

"Maybe." Jim nodded, trying to decide whether he could fit in another piece. The gourmet stuff was never as good reheated and he stopped eating cold pizza for breakfast when he left Vice and started to live a normal civilized life again. He took another piece, pulling off the pineapple and piling it onto Sandburg's plate. Sandburg automatically popped the pieces into his mouth.

"But you don't think so."

"I--Chief, I just don't think he meant anything by it. He read your goddamn senior paper or whatever it was. Maybe you used the word somewhere in there."

"No. I definitely didn't use it."

"Fine then. He made it up. If he made it up then it doesn't mean anything. He could have called you a--a--"

"See, but he didn't. He picked that word. And he said it like it meant something. Like...like I was supposed to know what it meant."

Finally, Sandburg was starting to make sense. It wasn't the word that was bothering the kid. It was that Brackett sounded like he knew something that Sandburg didn't, and the kid liked to think he was the expert on Sentinels. Great. That meant that he wasn't going to rest until he knew what Brackett meant. And if he couldn't give Sandburg a good answer, they were going to have to arrange a visit to lockup and interrogate the bastard and if Brackett caught on that it was important, it would probably take extreme measures to pull it out of him. Not that the idea was a bad one. Jim could see enjoying bashing his head in a few times, just for making him climb up on that goddamn plane. On the other hand, it seemed like a lot of trouble to go through because of one probably meaningless remark.

Realizing suddenly that it was going to be more work for him if he didn't figure out what Brackett meant, and now, he decided he had to at least put on a good show of thinking about it. And if Brackett wasn't talking out of his ass, maybe, just maybe, he was onto something that they were better off knowing about than not.

"Maybe it has something to do with the panther."

Blair perked up, setting his slice back down on the plate. "You think so?"

"Maybe. Yeah, sure. Spirit Guide. The Guide..." He didn't offer anything more because he didn't know what the connection was, aside from the words. He didn't even think there was a connection, since he didn't really think of the panther as a spirit anything. It just creeped him out to think about it at all, so he usually didn't. Sandburg was the one who wanted to harp on every dream he had like the kid was channeling Jung or something.

Sandburg nodded, picking his pizza back up and catching a piece of pineapple just before it slid off the slice. Sandburg didn't seem to notice the juice running down his stubbled chin and Jim resisted the urge to wipe the kid's chin for him, instead just making a napkin motion until Sandburg caught on.

"Nothing better than good messy pizza."

Unless you were the one who had to do the dishes later with a putty knife to pry the dried cheese off the plates. But the kid was happy with it and seemed to have forgotten that he wanted to move out last week, so it was worth it. The day the kid did move out would probably be the day Jim Ellison moved back to paper plates and cold pizza for breakfast.

"J-im."

"What?"

"I said did you notice the way he kept looking at us?"

"Who?"

"Brackett. Who do you think?"

"Looking at us? When?"

"The whole time, man. He kept--I don't know. Just giving me this strange look. Like he knew something. And he..."

"What?"

"Well, you know. That whole wire thing."

"Fucking 'top of the line' my ass."

"No. I mean, the strip search thing."

"What strip search thing?"

"The--when he wanted me to--you know."

Oh. That. He had been hoping that Sandburg hadn't caught that part. The kid had a remarkably clean mind, considering his interests in anything in a skirt.

"So what about it?" He hoped he sounded disinterested.

"Nothing, I guess. I just thought, well, maybe it was connected. To the guide thing."

"Mmm. Maybe."

"Like...Brackett seemed kind of smirking about it."

"Yeah, well. Carolyn set us up to look like a couple of amateurs playing secret agent and he pulled the wire and saw the tin cans at either end. Of course he was smirking."

"No. I mean, yeah. I guess that was it."

"You done with the pizza?"

"Yeah. I couldn't eat another piece on a bet."

"I'll clean up then."

"No. I'll do it."

"'sokay, Sandburg. I've got it."

"No. It's my turn. Besides...I didn't--I owe you--you know."

"You don't owe me, Sandburg. Now let go of the damned plate."

"Fine. Whatever."

"Turn on the TV and find the game, okay?"

"Right. Fine."

The Jags lost the game and Simon called with an update on Brackett a few minutes past eleven. Brackett had apparently hired some big-wig law firm, but the judge was a hard-ass with a well-known bias against guys who rolled in with big defenses, and Brackett was definitely going away for at least a few years.

He looked over at Sandburg to tell him, but the kid was asleep on the sofa.

Might as well let sleeping guides lie. He smiled, thinking about Blair Sandburg as a guide. No--as the guide. The Guide. It suited the kid, somehow. It had kind of bothered him from the beginning, that he had some kind of title--The Sentinel. Sandburg seemed to love it. He'd looked at some of Sandburg's notes and it was "The Sentinel this and The Sentinel that" and he knew it was because Sandburg was protecting him, but it made him uncomfortable to see it--maybe more than if his name were there because "The Sentinel" sounded like someone else. It certainly wasn't who he thought he was. The Detective. Or James Ellison. Or even Mr. Ellison. Not The Sentinel. That was the name for that guy running around with a bow and arrow in Peru. It was--what Sandburg said. The name of a primitive throwback and it didn't belong in Cascade, even if he could put it all to more high-tech use avoiding electronic land mines instead of the old-fashioned kind. It sounded stupid when he thought about it. Not creepy like the panther. More like the name of some comic book superhero. The Sentinel and his trusty Guide Sandburg. Okay, so it sounded even more like a comic book when he put it together, but it was a good kind of stupid. Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

Except Butch Cassidy really was as butch as his image. While Jim Ellison, as Lee Brackett knew...hell, as everyone in the PD knew--everyone but Blair Sandburg, anyway... Jim Ellison was a little, oh--how did Jack put it? "The Village People already have a traffic cop, Jim." Yeah, Jack was always a funny guy. Pegged him from day one but the guy had balls. Never even twitched. Just insisted that he take out the earring and get with the program. Yeah, and what had it got him? Jack was gone and even on the program, the new, "improved" Jim Ellison was never convincing enough to keep a woman for very long. Not even Carolyn, and he'd tried damned hard to be butch enough for her. And then she had the gall to bitch him out about being cold. She couldn't even admit that it was the strong silent thing that turned her on in the first place, and if she was fooling herself, then they were both fools in the end. And maybe it was good they found out sooner than later. Everyone caught on eventually.

Except the Guide. Jim looked over at him, wondering if it was fate or just dumb luck that his Guide was both clueless and the best piece of ass to come along in years. "Straight, but not narrow," as the kids said nowadays. The kind of partner you could come out to.

And maybe he should. Maybe they could talk about intimacy issues. See if Blair Sandburg was really as interested in knowing all about his Sentinel as he claimed.

"Jim."

"What, Chief?"

"Hmmm." Sandburg stretched out and kicked him in the leg and Jim lightly stroked the outstretched calf, opening up his senses until he could trace each muscle through the denim and even count the hairs if he cared to. The kid was pretty when he was asleep. Prettier than Redford, anyway. Of course, he was pretty when he was awake, too. But when he was awake there was that awesome intelligence behind his eyes that made Jim feel small for not being as interested in as many different things as Sandburg. It was like the kid looked at everything with interest, and Jim had to admit to himself that, since Peru, not that much had really interested him anymore. Not too many people and not too many things. The Jags on a good night. Sandburg when he wasn't being annoying. Hell, even when he was annoying. The Cascade mountains. Fishing. Fighting crime when the cases were interesting. But Sandburg opened his blue eyes up and everything he could see was equally interesting to him, even the paperwork that bored most cops to tears.

And Jim could admit that maybe that bothered him... just a little. So it was Sandburg the Guide today. Tomorrow, the kid might decide to take up some other project. Maybe pick up where he left off with Larry the Barbary Ape.

The sudden movement startled him.

"Jim!"

"What is it, Chief? Nightmare?"

"No. Man, I just--" Sandburg sat up and rubbed at his eyes and then blinked a few times and Jim felt himself strangely close to blushing at the way Sandburg was looking at him. A kind of naked interest, wide-eyed and intense. "I figured it out. I can't believe I... Wow."

"What--the Guide thing?"

"You used to work in Vice, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"What did you do in Vice?"

Jim got up and headed for the fridge, wanting a beer and to step outside the glare of those eyes. He grabbed two beers and took the long way back to the sofa, thinking as fast as he could and trying to decide what to say while berating himself for not worrying about this before tonight.

"I was a cop in Vice. I did--"

"Cop-stuff. Yeah, but what did you do?"

"What's this got to do with being The Guide?"

"What did you do, Jim?"

"I--"

Sandburg reached out for the beer and took a swig of it and then blinked again as if he still wasn't quite awake yet.

"What did you do in Vice?"

"I arrested people. What the hell--"

"So you just went around arresting people. Which people?"

"C'mon, Sandburg. You know as much about Vice work as you do about Major Crimes. Hell, I introduced you to the booking clerk so you could conduct one of those little interviews of yours."

"Yeah, I did do an interview. And I asked to see your file from Vice. But they wouldn't let me. Said it was confidential."

"Well good for them for following policy for once." Jim drank some more of the beer, feeling it hit him harder than it should to know that Sandburg had asked for his file. He would have to go down and thank the clerk personally for that one. Maybe send her flowers or something.

"So this is a secret, I guess."

"I didn't say it was secret, Sandburg. I just want to know why you woke up burning with curiosity about the job."

"You used to wear an earring."

"I--" Jim almost denied it, but Sandburg was kneeling on the sofa and scooted up and grabbed his ear, fingering the still-open hole like he'd never seen one before.

"I bet you could still wear an earring in this."

Jim didn't say anything. He'd made sure the hole stayed open, all these years, not even sure why. It meant wearing an earring even after he pretended to take it out, and Jack had never noticed that he wore it off duty, or maybe that was all he really cared about back then. Jim had never asked.

"You'd look--nice with an earring."

Jim didn't say anything to that either. Didn't even know what to say to that.

"Put it on."

He stood up and started to move to the stairs, realizing when he was half way up them that he was going upstairs to get the damned earring and put it in. He didn't know why he was going to do it. Because Sandburg asked- no, ordered him to put it on.

He moved on automatic, opening up the small wooden box in the bedside drawer and ignoring the wedding ring, his dogtags, and the cuff-links that Daryl had bought him for Christmas back when the kid was cute and thought Jim was "cooler than my dad." He put the earring on, wincing slightly as the post scratched his thumb when he pressed it through the hole. He could actually feel a twinge of pain as the post broke through the skin and he shivered at the oddness of it, sliding the crown onto the back of the post before the feeling of oddness could turn into a zone. All the way back down the stairs he could feel the earring, and it was like that little piece of gold was throwing his whole body off balance. He had to hold on to the railing going down, and when he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, he didn't know where to go from there and so he just stood there and waited.

Sandburg had stood up and was looking like he wasn't sure what to say. "I -"

"It looks stupid."

"No, man. Hold on. It looks--it's just different, that's all." "I'll--" He turned to go back upstairs and then stopped, realizing that he could take the earring off downstairs. It wasn't like getting undressed. It was just a piece of jewelry.

"No. Leave it. I--"

Jim dropped his hand back to his side and clenched it into a fist, then opened it, suddenly wishing for a beer to hold.

Sandburg seemed to hear his thoughts and closed the distance between them, holding a fresh bottle of beer out to him.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Jim took a drink and watched Sandburg watching him again.

"So what's this have to do with the Guide thing?"

"It doesn't."

"Oh."

"I just went to sleep kind of thinking about all the things Brackett knows about you. Stuff I don't know. Stuff about the Rangers and covert ops and Sentinels--"

"Chief, he doesn't know crap about Sentinels."

"Maybe, maybe not. But he knows stuff about you."

Jim nodded and drank some more of the beer, swallowing past the lump in his throat at that word Sandburg kept repeating. "Stuff." Such a damned vague term it could mean anything at all. What kind of mustard he liked on his sandwiches. How much cream to put into his coffee. His favorite color. All the things Sandburg already knew about him.

"So I woke up and realized that I know things about you that he doesn't."

"Hmm."

"And that's a good thing, Jim. Relax already. You look like you're going to have a heart attack or something. Maybe you should think about taking up Yoga or something. Especially if you're not going to lay off those Wonderburgers."

"Hey, I'm in great shape, Chief." The words popped out of Jim's mouth and he blushed when Sandburg smiled and looked at him with that wide-eyed interest. Almost appraising him--his gaze stopping on that earring before working its way back down to eye level again.

"You certainly are, man. I'm not arguing with that. But you're gonna break the neck of that bottle if you don't ease up a little."

Jim looked down at the bottle in his hand and forced himself to relax his hand until his knuckles got some color back in them.

"So was that your big insight, Chief?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I guess."

"Good. 'Cause if it's all right with you, I'm going to get ready for bed."

Jim didn't wait for an answer before passing Sandburg and heading for the bathroom. He was undressed down to his boxers and trying to decide whether to take out the earring or not when he heard the inhalation that meant Sandburg was getting ready to say something again.

"Don't take the earring out. Jim--you hear me?"

He stuffed his clothes in the hamper, stopping to pick up one of Sandburg's stray socks and a very soggy hair towel. The kid was a mess.

He stepped out of the bathroom and Sandburg breathed in again, this time giving him just enough lead time to wonder what the kid was up to now.

"Is that a surveillance device or are you just happy to see me?" Blair said.

Fuck.

"I guess it was just a wire after all, man," said Blair quickly, defensively. "Sorry."

"Sandburg--"

"You know, Ellison, you're very sexy when you're blushing and nearly naked."

"Sandburg, I--"

"Yeah, what?" Sandburg was waving his hands in the air like he was calling in a 747. "You think I'm like the most unobservant police observer on the planet, man? I notice things. Like, did you know that Ryf always forgets to take the tags off his shirts? Check it out tomorrow. Under that $300 suit he's wearing one of those little plastic thingies and he doesn't even notice. I bet with those senses of yours you could probably even hear it scraping against his collar.

"And Taggart?--You do not even want to know all of his weird habits. I mean, the guy aligns his stapler with the edge of his desk and he flips if you turn it around the other way. I've seen the guy get concentrate harder on his supply placement than he does defusing bombs! And Simon, man, did you know that he clips the ends of his cigars in exactly the same place every time? Like, if he gets an eighth of an inch too much he can't smoke it? Detectives are all obsessive-compulsive with like these huge blind spots."

The sudden burst of nonsense just as suddenly stopped and Jim found himself standing just outside the bathroom with Sandburg standing at the foot of the loft stairs with a look that said Jim would have to say the magic word to get upstairs.

"So what's my blind spot?"

"Not what. Who. And the answer is me."

"I can see you just fine, Sandburg. And hear you and--"

"I know. I know. But you don't know what the hell you're looking at. What to notice. You need me to focus you. To direct your senses."

"On you."

Sandburg nodded and smiled. "Yeah. Exactly."

The kid--man--was pretty when he was sleeping, but he was beyond beautiful when he was excited. It was like watching a fireworks display at the very end when everything's going off at once.

"So Guide me, Chief. What should I be noticing about you. Exactly."

He walked toward Sandburg but stopped when he was close enough to feel the heat from his body radiating outward. Funny, how that redefined the whole concept of personal space.

"My heart's beating fast. I bet you already noticed that, though."

"Yes. It is."

"And I'm sweating but I swear it's not warm enough in here, so don't go thinking about adjusting the thermostat down any."

"I won't."

"Okay." Sandburg took a deep breathe and when he spoke again, his voice changed into that low even range that seemed keyed to bring Jim out of zones. It was his "relax" voice, but it was having the opposite effect now, as Jim felt his body start to tense against it, against the power of it maybe. The fact that he recognized it as the voice that made him put the earring on and the same voice that could probably make him do anything the man behind it wanted him to do. The Guide voice. Low and even and certain, absolutely sure of itself. "Okay. Listen to my voice."

And Jim did.

"Tell me what you see."

"Blair Sandburg."

"C'mon, man. You know how this works. Give me details. What do you see."

"Fireworks."

"What?" The Guide voice broke and Jim blinked at the sudden sharp sound of it.

"Too many things at once."

"Oh. Well, focus on something specific then. What do you see?" The Guide voice was back, and Jim focused.

"Brown curls, red highlights, blue eyes, dark circles under them--"

"Hey. Not so critical, okay?" And Sandburg laughed, the laugh still in that Guide voice, low and throaty.

"A perfect nose. A mouth. The most perfect mouth. Lips..."

"Jim. Jim. Listen to my voice. Don't zone on my now." Jim heard the words but what pulled him out was the pink flash of tongue that licked those lips, adding a shine to them before darting back into that mouth--the dark pink and flash of white and Jim steadied himself on that image, stepping forward without really thinking about it, until he was standing over Sandburg, looking at the top of his head, tracing the uneven part of his hair, noticing the way the light made Sandburg's hair look redder on the top, with gold strands in there too.

"I'm not zoned."

"Good. Okay. Cool. Now--"

"Upstairs."

"Yeah. Right. Okay."

"Up the stairs, Chief."

"Are you-- I mean I can--"

"Do you need help with the stairs Chief?"

"Nope. I got them. Okay. Just--well, follow me, I guess."

Jim watched the sway of Blair's ass moving up the stairs, noticing his head tipped down as if he was watching his step. The sway stopped at the top and Jim raced up the stairs to join Sandburg before he could change his mind.

"The bed?"

"Unless you prefer the floor, Chief."

"Um--no. I--"

"It's okay, Chief. Relax before you hurt something."

"I-'m relaxed."

Jim nodded, far from convinced, but not moving from where he'd pinned Sandburg against the railing by the bed. A little move forward and Sandburg would have to sit down on the bed. But Jim didn't move. "No commitment here, Sandburg. So you figured something out and you want to test your theories. Fine. If you're done testing them, just say the word."

"This isn't a test, man."

"Isn't it?"

"No. It isn't."

"So what is this, then? A little harmless flirting? No harm, no foul?"

Jim listened to Sandburg's heart, wishing he could do more than count the beats of it and measure the flow of oxygenated blood moving through Sandburg's veins.

"I'm not a tease, man."

"Whatever you say, Chief." And he moved forward, forcing Sandburg to sit down on the bed. The heartbeat got faster and he waited a few seconds before climbing on top of Sandburg, straddling his hips without sitting down. "Still no commitment, Chief. Just say the word."

"Please."

Jim lowered his body slowly, reminding himself that whatever experience Sandburg had, he was no shrinking violet, and he was not a virgin. And, despite his protests to the contrary, he was a tease.

"Is this what you want?"

Sandburg nodded and raised his hips slightly, a movement that only a Sentinel might notice.

"You want me."

"Ellison, do I have to draw you a diagram?"

"So you want me, then." Jim grinned at the obvious frustration in Sandburg's voice.

This time the lifting hips were less than subtle, and Jim pressed down into the bulge there, tipping his head slightly to catch the subtle change in his partner's breathing. The soft moan that grew louder as he rested more of his weight down on the body pinned beneath him.

Then Sandburg was edging out from under him, moving backwards on the bed, and Jim didn't have time to apologize, to say something to make it all go away and back to normal, before Sandburg was reassuring him.

"I just wanted more space. For us. On the bed." And he reached up, sitting up a bit so that he could reach out and grab Jim's hands, pulling him forward.

Jim straddled Sandburg again, pressing down forcefully this time, enjoying the hard pressure of denim straining over an erection. The not quiet this time moan as Sandburg bucked up against him.

"Did you just figure me out--tonight? Because of Brackett?"

"Jim, I am so far from having figured you out."

Jim didn't answer, temporarily distracted by the rush of heat to Sandburg's cock, and the secondary pulse there that beat time with Sandburg's heart.

"Yeah. I did just figure it out."

"Hmm."

Sandburg's voice overlaying the beat of his heart and the rhythm of his breathing made his body sound like music and Jim suddenly wanted to tell Sandburg what it sounded like but knew that he didn't have the right words for it and it saddened him to know that it couldn't be shared, with anyone, because he wasn't just a Sentinel. He was The Sentinel. Alone, even here, with his Guide.

"It just suddenly all fell into place. All the things I've, um, observed."

"Because of Brackett? I'll have to pay him a visit. Thank him."

"The way he looked at us. The way he looked kind of--I don't know. Just something about the whole setup. Like I was missing something and you weren't. Some Guide I am."

"You're doing fine, Chief."

"Maybe you should take my clothes off?"

"You take them off. I'll just watch."

"Whoa. Yeah, I am so far from figuring you out. Like this?"

Sandburg unbuttoned his shirt, the Tagua nut on flannel adding another layer of sound, Then the cotton fibers of Sandburg's t-shirt snagging on his chest hair, scraping over his stubbled chin, catching those curls in a static field that drew fine curly hairs in a fanned pattern over the yellow sheet.

Jim grabbed hold of Sandburg's wrists and pinned them above his head, deciding that he did want to undress Sandburg. He couldn't just watch. He wanted to feel him and lean in and smell him and taste him. Definitely taste him.

He had to lift himself up off of Sandburg to remove his jeans and socks and Sandburg cooperated, leaving his arms up above his head. Jim inhaled the warm scent of sweat and the stark coppery scent of Blair's arousal, one beaded drop of come wetting the dark hair above Blair's boxers. Jim roughly pulled them down, lifting Blair's hips up and ignoring the sound of the elastic ripping slightly as he forced it too quickly over Blair's hips and down his legs. He threw the shorts next to the bed and lifted Blair's hips up again, this time just to watch them rise, relishing the high of knowing that he did this to Sandburg--rendered him quiet and on his back and just waiting for Jim to do something. And this time looking at Sandburg was not fireworks because he couldn't help but focus on the hard length of Blair's cock resting heavily on his belly, leaving a growing trail of beaded moisture on his skin that Jim ran his finger through, pausing to brush the dark pink cock and make Blair twitch with desire, then tracing the vein along his shaft, focusing on the wet silk stretched over steel and wondering if cocks were always this beautiful or if it was just his senses making Blair indescribably wonderful--worthy of poetry if he could write it, and certainly worthy of worship.

He shifted until he could rest his head on Blair's thigh, realizing he still hadn't properly kissed Blair's perfect mouth but captivated, now that he was still close to it, with this other perfection.

He licked just the tip of it, then sucked the whole of it into his mouth, relaxing his throat and inhaling musk and pheromones and just enough oxygen to stay conscious over the intoxication of pheromones that were making him dizzy with the pleasure of this act. Above him he heard Sandburg moan and then start to take hitching breaths and in between breaths Sandburg was talking, talking, spilling words over words and Jim could just make out his name and several pleading phrases and some of the words were in English, but not all of them, but Jim didn't have the will to listen to anything but the sound of moaning coming from his own throat as he felt Blair tense up, and then let go, coming in his mouth and down his throat.

Breathing deeply again, Jim still felt like his senses were overwhelmed by Blair's body so that he felt a little giddy with it, or maybe just with the fact of having just done that to his partner. His best friend, actually. The guy he was pretty solidly in love with. His Guide.

Flowers for the booking clerk. Maybe daisies. And a dozen roses for Brackett. With no note. Just signed "Jim." Let the psycho sweat it out for a while, just wondering. Jim grinned, could feel himself grinning a little madly, but couldn't stop. It was just too much fun. Kissing the soft spot where Blair's hipbone began to crest, and the soft line of curly hair, crisp and dark and neat, arrowing to the denser hair at his cock, now soft and wet and slick with come and sweat and spit. God, if he was ever going to explore the rest of Blair's body he would have to get over the wonders of Blair's cock. He tore his gaze from the pink crown of it, following the trail of dark hair upward, pausing to kiss Blair's navel, the soft swell of flesh above his hips, the sensitive skin along his sides that goosebumped as he ran his tongue over it to lap a trail of sweat running down Blair's side. Salty and strong and slightly sweetly soapy--and he remembered that Sandburg had showered when they got home and he could taste the soap, faintly, everywhere, a thin sweet faint taste over the oils of Blair's skin, the sweat-salt and sweat like a--like a Margarita, actually. And Jim found himself grinning again, getting drunk on the idea of Blair, and the taste of him, and the fact that he was tasting him.

He made it up to the flat brown nipples and licked the whorls of hair until they were flattened against the lighter skin, and he blew on them until Blair, quiet except for his even peaceful breathing, moaned again and shifted back and forth, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted the sensation. Jim blew again and watched as Blair decided, yes, he did want this, and Jim felt the flow of blood as it coursed back down into Blair's cock again, making him half-hard again.

He decided to come back to these nipples later, intrigued by the hard edge of bone and the soft indentation of neck. He licked the pulse beating there and then, at last, found Blair's mouth. He kissed him, tasting the beer and Blair and licked Blair's wet lower lip before pulling back.

"I'm gay."

Blair actually giggled, his eyes widening slightly. "Really?"

Jim nodded.

Blair laughed and lifted his head to kiss him lightly on the mouth, then again on the nose. "I kind of guessed that already."

"I thought I should say it. Because--"

"Yeah. It's cool. I didn't have any illusions that I, like, seduced you into playing for the other team or something."

"Okay. Good then."

"Good doesn't even cover it."

For a moment they just looked at each other and then Blair smiled and pulled a pillow under his head and seemed to relax.

"And you are--"

"Hmm. Blair Sandburg. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Blair offered his hand to shake and Jim slapped it lightly. "Are you always like this in bed, Chief?"

"Like what?"

"Silly."

"I don't know. Maybe I am. I can be serious in bed. I think. Blair Sandburg, all intellect, all the time. So, where'd I put my notebook..." Blair mimed scribbling notes in his hand and Jim leaned over and kissed him, feeling like maybe he did need to be introduced to this Blair Sandburg, because he wasn't anything at all like his Blair Sandburg. His Blair didn't make a habit of-- well, of lying naked in Jim's bed for one thing.

"You date women."

"You noticed that, huh? Maybe you should be the observer."

"I just guess I don't have very good gaydar or something."

"That, my good man, is why you need a Guide. The Guide. At your services. And, after tonight, I'd be willing to play every position on your team including head cheerleader if you promise to do that to me again some time."

"Oh. Sure, Chief. Any time. Just say the word." No commitments. No promises. So he was maybe a little more interesting now.

"Hey."

"What?"

"Jim, man. Don't look so--crushed. Although I'm flattered, I guess. I meant I want to do it again some time soon. Like--"

"Blair, it's fine. On your terms. All of it."

"Jim-- Listen. Soon as in: give me at least a few minutes to recover from the last performance, okay?"

"Oh. Sure..." Jim touched Blair's forehead and smoothed away the damp strands of hair sticking to it, letting his hand rest in the warm mass of curls falling against Blair's neck. He was so damned pretty. Too pretty, almost. But not delicate or feminine. Very definitely masculine, so he wasn't sure why pretty seemed to be the right word. It just was. Maybe it was the long hair. Jim traced the outline of Blair's Adam's apple and the rough start of hair just below his collarbones. "I'm not sure about you in a miniskirt, Chief."

"Oh, don't knock it till you've seen it. Mini-skirt, pom-poms, the works. But I have to warn you, Simon has a hard enough time dealing with the hair, I'm not sure I want to push him, you know?" Blair laughed and then got quiet and Jim could hear the gears turning again. "Hey, I hadn't even thought about that. Does Simon, um--"

"He's figured enough out and the rest he really doesn't want to know."

"Cool. Cause I really didn't want to like, come out, or whatever, at the station before I've done it elsewhere, you know?"

"Yeah. I get that. Wait-- so you're not out? At all?"

Sandburg laughed at that. "Hell, I didn't even really know I had a closet until a few minutes ago. Although my room is pretty damn small compared to this place."

"So are you saying that I really, ahem, seduced you?"

"Kind of. Look, don't look so worried. I'm not a minor and I hadn't exactly taken the heterosexual pledge of allegiance or anything."

"I must've missed that day at school."

"Homeroom really sucks, man. I really wish *I'd* gone to private school."

"Kiss me, Chief."

"Okay. But can I, um--I mean, if you're still interested..." Blair's hand closed around Jim's cock before he had a chance to prep for it and he almost came from the shock of that warm damp hand closing around him. He gasped and Blair frowned, removing his hand quickly. Jim put the hand back and smiled reassuringly, he hoped.

"Interested is putting it lightly, Chief."

He was still almost painfully hard, and maybe it was the pheromones in the air, but even talking hadn't affected him.

"Okay. Let's see." Blair sat up and Jim was nervous for the first time, realizing that Blair might decide he wasn't really into men, even now. "I just don't know where to start, here. You are just... Damn. Unreal. Fantastic. Like Galatea...the one that--"

"Pygmalion brought to life. I pick up a book now and then, Chief."

"Wow. All this and muscles too."

And the hand still lightly clasping his cock squeezed and he lifted his hips to get more of the stimulation at the same time that he resisted turning down his dials, thinking he might not be able to stand anymore of that touch but wanting it anyway.

"Smart-ass. Galatea was-- a woman, you know." He could barely talk, much less think, but talking was better than counting backwards from one hundred, and he wanted this to last, still not sure that it wasn't a one time thing. And if it was a buddy-fuck, or an experiment, this had to last. Had to be--another squeeze and he moaned--good. Ah, God it was good.

"Okay, then you're like Michaelangelo's David, okay?"

"Okay." Whatever. He could feel it building up inside of him, the flow of blood making him even harder, the tightening in his legs and balls. Suddenly, the hand was gone and he moaned and then screamed so loud his voice sounded raw in his ears, echoing back at him, as a warm wet mouth closed over his cock.

He closed his eyes and saw bright flashing lights against the insides of his eyelids, like fireworks. And then he opened them in a panic, knowing he was about to come and not able to form the words to warn Blair.

And it was too late because then he exploded in one long burst, the mouth around him becoming painfully hot, his skin suddenly sensitized so that the sheets hurt, but the part that mattered felt so excruciatingly good that the rest hardly mattered and he sank into the sensation, not worrying for once about zoning out, figuring it was safe here, and it felt too good to worry about zoning or breathing...

"Jim, just listen to my voice, babe. Come out of it so I know you're okay. Jim?"

He opened his eyes to darkness and opened them wider until the little light in the room illuminated his Guide, casting a strange and wonderful glow around his head. Pretty, hell. He was beautiful.

"Jim?"

"Yes." His throat was tight and hoarse and he guessed that he screamed a little at the end. He swallowed and sat up, reaching for the glass of water that hadn't been there a few minutes ago. But, judging from the darkened loft, he didn't really know how long he'd been out. "Thirsty?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Blair reached for the glass blindly and Jim carefully placed it in his hands, helping him raise the glass to his lips in the dark and watching the water slide over those full lips and into that blessed mouth. Blair took a long drink and then handed the glass back in Jim's general direction. Jim took it and set it back down.

"Should I stay up here?"

"Do you want to?"

"Do you want me too?"

"If you want to. Yeah."

"Are you sure? 'Cause I can go back to my--"

"Closet? I don't think so, Chief."

In the dark, Jim watched as Blair smiled and shook his head.

"Man, I can't even believe the things I say sometimes."

"You're kind of cute when you're..."

"brain's trapped between my legs? Not my best moment, man."

"Not your best image, either, Chief." But it was definitely the Blair Sandburg he knew. And loved. "I love you."

"Yeah, I guessed that. I love you too."

Jim leaned over in the dark, finding Blair's lips without effort. He could still taste himself on Blair. Sandburg's hands were everywhere at once, soothing and stimulating his still too-sensitive skin. He could already feel his body recovering, already wanting Blair, wanting to take him, to be inside him this time, or the next. They kissed and he pulled Blair against him, wondering how he was going to deal with tomorrow and the normal everyday things like making breakfast and yelling at Blair about the bathroom. That, at least, was reassuring, because he didn't expect big changes out of this. Just not having to lie alone at night when it never really got dark enough to blot out the empty space in the bed, or dark enough to disguise the fact that it was not who he wanted beside him. And now here he was. "I love you." He said it again, finding the words came easily, finally, and that made him suspicious, made him want to clarify things. I love you didn't say it. It didn't say, "I, Jim Ellison, would put on the cheerleader outfit and spell your name out in the bullpen" or even, far less traumatic to think about, "I would give my life for Blair Sandburg." Or that Blair Sandburg was his life. But there it was. He had never been good with words.

End.