Archive of Our Own ^beta

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

Author's homepage: http://www.mindspring.com/~kadru/index.html

Disclaimers: I make no financial claims to Jim or Blair yada yada because they're owned by UPN and Pet Fly. Please don't sue. I'm just taking them out to play with. I will put them back where I found them, in much better shape than UPN left them. (Filthy bastages!)

Warnings: hardly any, a few dirty words

Summary: Blair gets a tattoo!

Notes: Not related in any way to the Loving You Less Than Life series. This hasn't been even remotely beta'd. As you might guess, I treated myself to a birthday present of a brand new tattoo! And while I was trying not to think about how much it hurt, my subconscious devised this little story. It's all goodness and light -- hardly any angst -- no one gets killed. I wrote it in good fun and I hope you like it.

Jim sat down at the sofa and looked over at his roommate. Blair was so focused on his book that he didn't even notice him. His long curly hair fell down like a shield around his face, and Jim could barely see the glint of light off his glasses. Looking down, Jim recognized the book; Blair had been reading it off and on now for several days. From what Jim could tell by looking over Blair's shoulder, the book was mostly illustrations of artwork of the Pacific Northwest Native Americans.

"Hey, Chief, you finally started reading picture books?"

"Huh?" Blair looked up, almost dazed as his mind processed what Jim said. "Oh, this. Yeah . . ." His mind wandered off again as he returned to gazing at the book.

"What is it?"

Blair lifted his head again, coming back to earth slowly. "This? It's a book on the drawings and carvings done by the Northwest tribes."

"Why are you so intense with this stuff?"

Blair thought for a moment, obviously gathering his courage as he closed the book around his finger to hold his place. "Uhm, Jim . . . I, uh . . . I want to get a tattoo."

That smug, big-brother look that Blair hated so much lit across Jim's face as he blurted out, "I believe I told you I'd kick your ass if you ever got a tattoo."

"I know. That's why I asked. I want to get a tattoo."

Jim was slightly taken aback. "You're really asking me?"

"Yes."

"Blair, I . . . I'm teasing. You can do whatever you want. I just don't like them, that's all."

"What don't you like about them?"

"For one, they're permanent. If you decide you don't want it anymore, you're stuck."

"I can see that. But Jim, I'm not scared of losing that kind of control over my body. Besides, it is permanent. That's what I like about them. There's nothing in this world that's permanent. But a tattoo will always be with you, even when the whole world changes around you. I can lose all of my hair and I'd still have this tattoo."

"Yeah, but Chief, come on. There's nothing uglier than an old tattoo. And they aren't all that attractive on a person to begin with."

Blair seemed to suddenly deflate. "I had a feeling you'd say that." Blair closed the book and set it down on the coffee table.

"So, what? You're not going to get one because I don't like them?"

"Well, no. I just don't want to put something on my skin that you're not going to like."

Jim stared at Blair, letting what he said sink in. When Blair saw the shocked expression on Jim's face, it made him replay the last sentence in his mind and as he understood exactly what he had said his own eyes grew wide and his cheeks suddenly flamed with embarrassment. Jim's heightened senses could feel the heat rising from his blush and could smell the scent of fear and sudden sweat.

Blair bolted. "I need to use the bathroom." He scrambled into the room and shut the door. Humped over the sink, Blair peered into the mirror. /Stupid stupid stupid that was so fucking stupid I can't believe I let that slip I've been so careful oh goddamn what am I going to do?/ He took a deep breath. /I shouldn't have even thought about a tattoo. I shouldn't have brought it up. I should have just faced facts and gotten a tattoo on my own because it isn't the tattoo on my body that Jim doesn't like, it's the penis that's attached to it./

Jim remained on the sofa, slowly rubbing the tips of his fingers together. For a long time, he had caught subtle whiffs of pheremones from Blair, noticed the change in heartbeat and the biological signals of arousal. All this time, he just thought Blair and his overactive brain had conjured up the image of one of his many female prey. /No, Jim. All this time, he's been thinking of you./

Neither of them spoke much about the tattoo after that. Blair came out of the bathroom, a little jumpy, and Jim gave him some leeway. But even giving him room made Jim nervous. He didn't want to give Blair the impression that he was trying to put distance between them. The next afternoon, after a late lunch in Chinatown, Jim said over the fortune cookies. "You know, Blair, it still bothers me that you want a tattoo but you won't get it because of me." From across the table Jim could sense Blair begin to panic. "Chill out, okay? Just listen to me." Jim took a deep breath. He had been thinking all day what to say, and his practiced lines fell into place. "I've lived all right with your long hair and all your hippie stuff and even that gross seaweed breakfast drink. It's been okay. And, I mean, you and I are so different in almost every way but we some how make all this work. I don't want you to start changing just to fit me. I like you. I like all this weird stuff you do because it's you. So if you want a tattoo, then I think you should get it."

Blair stared at him. He was expecting Jim to bring up the other subject, that Blair really didn't want to make his body any less attractive to Jim, and all the implications that brought with it. "Okay."

"Do you know where you want to get it?"

"At this tattoo shop down by the university. Some of my friends had gone there and--"

"No, I mean, where on your body?"

"Oh. On my arm. Right here." Blair pointed to his left bicep.

"What are you thinking about getting?"

"A Native American carving of the wolf. Like the ones from the tribes around here."

"Why a wolf?"

"It's sort of the symbol of the teacher. The wolf came to man with tales of creation and the stories of the gods. I kinda thought it'd be appropriate, living here and wanting to get my doctorate and all."

"Yeah, that'd work. Will you show me the picture tonight?"

"Sure."

"What about money? Do you know how much it's gonna cost?"

"About $100."

"$100? Do you have that?"

"I've been squirreling some away."

"You couldn't help pay the cable bill, but you can spend $100 on a tattoo?"

Blair closed his eyes, then said after a moment. "If you want me to pay the cable bill, I can. I can get the tattoo next month."

Then Jim felt guilty. "No. Get the tattoo. I want you to."

Blair, feeling more at ease by Jim's encouragement, decided to touch on the 'other' subject. "Uhm, it won't gross you out . . . or turn you off or anything."

"Chief, when would I ever see it?"

Blair fell silent, and remained silent as they walked out of the restaurant. /Now how in the hell do I interpret that remark?/ he asked himself.

Later that night, he showed Jim the wolf image. The image was mostly black lines and circles in the shape of a wolf howling with red bars and spirals inside. Jim just grunted. "I think it's you." Blair set the book aside and went into the kitchen for a beer. Jim followed him. "Hey, Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I go with you, when you get it?"

Blair smiled in spite of his recent nervousness about his sentinel. /Jim wants to be around me./ "Yeah, sure. I think that'd be great."

Jim smiled back. /Yeah,/ he thought, /I think it would be . . . okay./

The city was quiet that night. Too quiet for Jim, who had begun to let the city noises drown out the sounds of Blair's heartbeat and of the soothing, ocean-like rhythm of his breathing. Now, it was all he could focus on. For too long, he had let these sounds comfort him into a restful sleep, for so long that he now wanted and needed those sounds to truly relax. And Blair's heartbeat followed him while they worked during the day, like a security blanket, as Jim relaxed more and more of his rigid defenses. He wasn't too sure how long ago it happened, when he had started thinking about Blair, and about how much he enjoyed his company, and even more, how much he enjoyed Blair physically -- sound, smell, presence.

The thought of sleeping with another man didn't totally repulse him. There was a steady, homoerotic undercurrent in the barracks, and he had messed around. It was a tension release mechanism. But he had been trained from early childhood -- boys will be boys, but men will fall in love with women.

As he stared at the ceiling, he thought about his relationship with Carolyn. /Did I really love her? Sure, the sex was good. But I never wanted to be . . . around her./ A few minutes later after his emotions had processed, he was ready to say. /I like being . . . around Blair./

Blair took the book with his wolf drawing into the tattoo shop. He wanted to meet the artist first, find out the cost, and check to see that his drawing would work. When he got back to the loft, Jim could sense a change in his personality -- the bounce was back. "Well?"

"I'm gonna do it. This Saturday. At 3 o'clock."

"Can I still go?"

"Yeah." Then Blair felt like teasing. "You wanna get one?"

"Me? Hardly?"

"You know Jim, I never understood how you could make it through the Rangers and not get a tattoo."

"Sailors get tattoos. Infantry don't."

"Now that is a load of bull and I won't even go there."

That Saturday, as they walked into the tattoo shop, Jim leaned close to Blair's ear to say, "Are you nervous?"

"I'm about to pee in my pants."

Jim couldn't help but laugh. "You know it's going to hurt like hell."

"Shut up, man. You are like so not helping."

Blair stepped up to the counter toward this slightly overweight man, a little older than Jim and with a long blond beard. His arms were covered in tattoos. "Hey, Lou. You ready for me?"

"Been ready all day, Blair. Been doing nothing but trinkets and anchors. Typical weekend fair. Buncha white-bread suburbanites drinking too much beer and daring each other to get a tattoo. Nothing but anchors and ankhs and shit." He looked up at Jim. "Speaking of white-bread -- who's your friend?"

Jim ignored Blair's inconcealable grin as his eyes narrowed dangerously at the tattoo artist. "Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade P.D.," he answered in his dark cop voice.

Lou wasn't even phased. "Pffffff," he blew from frowning lips. "Excuse me -- I meant to say stale white bread."

Blair planted his hand on Jim's chest. "Down, Jim. Down." Then to the other man, Blair raised up both hands. "Lou, come on. He's my roommate."

"Ah, Jim, I'm just giving you shit. What department?"

"Major Crimes."

"You know Ryf?"

Jim's face went blank. "Yes."

"Did a nice one for him about a year ago. What about Brown? He still there?"

"Ryf has a tattoo? Where?"

Lou leaned onto the counter. "Put one on his dick last year."

Jim's jaw stretched out as his eyes squeezed to slits. Lou couldn't help but snicker. "Jim, he's joking," Blair said to defuse the moment. " Ryf and Brown came by when his apartment building was torched." Then to Lou, "Come on. Cut me some slack here. I have to live with this guy."

"Sorry, Jim. Cops have hassled me all my life. Can't help but hassle you back." Then he turned to Blair. "All right, kid. I told you the routine last time. I'll need you to sign this waiver, checking off all these points, and I'll need to make a copy of your driver's license." He took Blair's license, handed him the paperwork, then went in the back to make the copy.

When Blair began to fill out the paperwork, Jim pushed him aside and started reading the fine print. Blair had to push him back. "Jim, go look at the wall or something. Here," he pointed, "go pick out a panther tattoo for yourself."

Jim pushed Blair back to finish reading the waiver, adding, "I already have one too many panthers to deal with. I don't need two."

Blair just waited. Lou came back and handed him his driver's license when he saw Jim proofing the paperwork. "What? Is he your big brother or something?"

"No, he's my blessed protector."

"Is he going to hold your hand while I work on you?"

Jim stepped back and handed Blair the waiver to sign. "Yes," he answered, "I am."

Blair tried not to laugh. Lou was really working Jim like a pro. "Here, Jim, look at these." It was a large photo album. "These are the tattoos Lou has already done. "It should make you feel better."

"You got the design, kid?"

"Yeah. I made a photocopy like you said." He handed him the sheet. "And I brought the book for the colors."

"Well, then, come on back." He motioned with his arm. Jim followed Blair close behind, hovering over him. "Take off your shirt, kid, while I make the transfer, then sit right here in this chair." Blair began to unbutton his flannel shirt, gradually revealing his chest to Jim. "You okay, there, Jim?"

"Am I okay? I'm not the one about to have a bunch of needles stuck in me." He saw Lou over by the copier and he whispered, "But I'd like to get this guy alone one night."

"Jim, stop. He's about to put a permanent drawing on my arm. I don't want him to screw up, okay?"

"Whatever, Chief."

Lou returned with what looked like wax paper. "Okay, Blair, what arm do you want it on?"

"This one."

Lou pulled out a small, black, wooden stand, then placed a towel on it. "Here. Put your arm up on here." Blair did so, and Lou sprayed him with an alcohol solution. "Okay, stay real still." Carefully, he set the transfer onto Blair's arm, then peeled it back to reveal a blue outline of Blair's new tattoo. "There. Is that about where you want it? I can make a new one if you don't."

Blair peered at the wolf, then back at Lou. "I think so."

"Don't think, man. Know. There ain't no going back." Then he said, "Show Jim."

Blair turned his arm to Jim. "Well?"

Jim stared at the blue outline, realizing that he would now see this image on Blair's arm for as long as he knew him. Then he thought further. /Blair is my guide. I may see this image for the rest of my life. Blair . . . I will see Blair for the rest of my life./ His expression relaxed and he said, "I like it, Chief. I really think I like it."

At the sound of Jim's voice, Blair's face softened, and the warmest, most tender grin spread across his lips and his blue eyes began to glow. But Jim didn't notice the visual signs -- all he could sense was the intense, syrup-like smell of Blair's pheremones pulsing from him. The smell was both electric and telling. Jim studied Blair for a moment, at his long hair, handsome face and bare chest.

The sudden buzz of the needle jarred him back to reality. Lou positioned Blair's arm, then grabbed the bicep muscle in a firm grip to stretch the skin taunt. "Now, Blair, I want you to remember something."

"What?"

"Don't forget to breathe."

Jim sat down on a stool and watched. Lou pumped his foot down on a small pedal to start the needle, buzzing it a few more times, then dipped the needle into Blair's skin for the first time.

Blair's entire body went very rigid and his eyes grew wide as he sucked in a sharp breath. Jim immediately shot up off the stool to stand over him. Lou stopped and asked, "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," he whispered through clenched teeth.

"You sure?"

"It just hurts like hell."

Lou pointed to a sign on the wall that read, YES IT FUCKING HURTS!

"Are you feeling dizzy?"

"Yes."

"It's a head rush. All part of getting a tattoo. Happens to everyone. Just don't forget to breath like I told you. It'll pass real soon. Now you have a black line on your arm. You can't stop now."

"I know. It's an initiation."

"A what?"

"An initiation. Like in most primitive tribes."

"You know about this?

"Yeah, I'm an anthropologist."

"Then you know most of these tribes do this with sticks and seashells. Your little tattoo would take a long time for those guys, and it would hurt a hell of a lot more."

Blair breathed deeply one last time. "Yeah, I know. Let's get this show on the road."

Each time Lou brought the needle to Blair's skin, his entire muscular frame would tense and his eyes would squeeze shut. Jim paced like a cat, back and forth. The rich pheromone smell had been replaced by the spicy smell of adrenaline and the acrid stench of straining sweat. Blair was obviously in pain and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

But his pacing was getting on Lou's very last nerve. Finally, he paused. "Jim? You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay."

"What?" Blair began. "Is this bothering you?"

"Yes, it's bothering me."

"Jim, I can't believe a needle would unnerve you like this. You're not the one who passes out in the autopsy room. And you were trained as a medic by the Rangers, weren't you?"

"It's not the needles, Chief, it's your face."

"My face? What's wrong with my face?"

"No," Jim faltered, "not your face. I mean, the look on your face."

"What's wrong with how I look?" Blair began to really take offense.

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean . . . hell, forget it, I need some air." Jim left in a hurry.

"What's his problem?" Blair asked out loud, turning to Lou.

But Lou was only staring at him with a serious expression. "Blair, you didn't tell me he was your roommate roommate."

"My what? No, Jim and I aren't . . . together."

"Could have fooled me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've seen a lot of guys freak out like that when their lovers are getting worked on. He can't stand seeing you hurt."

Blair let the thoughts sink in. "You ready to go again?" Lou asked, and Blair simply nodded. But when Lou set the needle to Blair's skin again, and he let out a soft groan, Jim was suddenly back in the room. Lou turned off his needle. "Jim? How about grab that chair right there."

"Why?"

"I need you to do something. Just sit down, right here beside Blair." Jim did so warily. "Now, Blair, give him your other hand."

"Why?" Blair asked.

"Just do it. Now Jim, I need Blair to relax."

Jim took Blair's hand in his, unsure of Blair's reaction, unsure of his own. Easily their fingers curved into each other's palms, and their thumbs rested against each other. When the needle hummed again, Blair's muscles tightened, causing Jim to place a second hand on his. For the rest of the session, Jim held his guide's hand, and Blair fell into the sensation of Jim's strength and concern grasping him as the needle burned his arm. By the time it was over, Jim had pressed the back of Blair's hand to his lips.

Lou stopped the needle for the last time, then said with a smile, "You made it, kid." Blair's body slumped with relief, but then, the realization that he had done it, that he had gotten his first tattoo flooded his senses with a rush. He reached for his arm when Lou stopped him. "Hold on. Let me clean it off." He spritzed Blair's new tattoo with the alcohol again, and Blair nearly stood up straight in pain.

"Holy shit!"

Unable to stop from snickering, Lou said, "Yep, some people say the alcohol hurts worse than the needle. Sit back down and let me finish." Then Lou smeared vaseline across the wolf and applied a gauze bandage. "Now, listen, both of you. Leave this bandage on for two hours. If the bandage sticks, just wet it a little. Wash it gently with some soap and water, but don't scrub it, and don't put it in the direct spray of the shower. Got that?"

"Yeah."

"Now, don't put any more vaseline or neosporin or any of that stuff on it. Just put a little hand lotion on it for the next two weeks and don't let it dry out on you. Also, keep it out of the sun . . . yeah, I know, like we have any sun in Cascade. Anyway, don't get into salt water or chlorinated water, either. And when it starts to scab over, and it will, whatever you do, don't pick at it. Keep your dirty hands off." Then Lou eyed Jim. "Think you can make him do this?"

"Oh, he'll do it, all right."

Lou just smiled a knowing smile.

Jim had to practically drag Blair home. The adrenalin from the day's session continued to pump through his veins. "Come on, Jim. Let's show Simon!"

"Later, Chief. I don't know about you, but I want a beer right now."

"We can go get a beer somewhere!"

"We have to get you home so you can take care of your arm."

"But, Jim, he said we had two hours."

Jim released a defeated sigh. "Fine, we'll go for one hour, but then I'm taking you home."

Blair just bounced back and forth on the passenger seat of the truck. Two beers later, they were back at the loft. Blair rushed into the bathroom to pull the bandage away. Jim went into the kitchen to get another beer, but his sentinel ears picked up on Blair's pitiful chain of "ow ow ow ow ow." Without opening the bottle, Jim rushed to the bathroom.

"What? What is it?"

"Nothing. The bandage was stuck to it." Blair held up the gauze, and Jim saw the bloody outline of the howling wolf.

"Is that your blood?"

"Yeah." Blair dropped the bandage in the trash and started cleaning it, wincing as he touched it. When Jim felt reassured that Blair wasn't really hurt, he left the bathroom, picking up his beer and sitting down on the sofa. After a few minutes, Blair came out, wearing only his jeans. He sat down beside Jim to watch t.v., every so often examining his new wolf with pride.

Finally, Jim turned his attention away from the television to look at the new, permanent mark on his guide's body. While Lou had been working on him, Jim thought about what the artist had said, that tattoos were a form of tribal initiation. Blair's whole life focused on primitivism. Of course he needed a tattoo, and Jim was foolish to stand in his way. And deep down, he really liked the design, and even more, he liked the thought of seeing it on his guide for the rest of his life.

Without really thinking about it, Jim reached his right arm around Blair's shoulder, feeling his bare skin. Blair didn't flinch, but only looked over at his sentinel with relaxed eyes. Jim lifted his left hand to hover over his tattoo, his fingertips wanting to touch it but afraid of hurting him. Finally Blair said, "You can touch it, if you want."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"A little. But I'll let you touch it."

Jim's fingertips traced the outline, along the skin that wasn't marked. His fingertips were smooth and cool against Blair's skin, and Blair couldn't help but close his eyes and slip into the pleasure of Jim's touch. When the familiar pheromone scent reached Jim's nose, he let it fill his lungs, and he opened up his hearing to experience the rapid beat of his heart and the pulse of his blood surging. Only then did he notice a second scent, very much like Blair's, but more familiar.

He realized it was his own pheremones he was smelling.

At the base of Blair's tattoo, Jim opened up his hands, laying his open palm flat against Blair's arm and drawing it downward, feeling the dry, coarse zing of the hair on his forearm, further down, until he reached Blair's hand. Blair opened his hand, spreading his fingers wide so that Jim's fingers could slip between them, clasping them in a firm, warm grip.

Their eyes met. Jim let go of Blair's hand, only to feel his guide place it on his inner thigh, claiming him. With his thumb, Jim traced the outline of Blair's lips. "Blair?"

"Yes?"

"Can I . . . kiss you?"

"Y-y-yes."

Jim smiled at Blair's sudden nervous stutter, and he leaned in close for the first, tentative kiss. Blair's lips were soft, moist, with a slight burn of stubble from his chin and upper lip. But their second kiss was more heated, lips opening, greeting, then falling in. In the rush of coming together, Jim pulled Blair tight, hugging him to his chest until Blair squirmed suddenly, whispering, "Tattoo, Jim, tattoo."

Pulling back, Jim realized he was crushing Blair's sore arm against his chest. "Oh, sorry, Blair. I'm sorry. I forgot."

"It's okay, Jim. It's okay."

Carefully, Jim pulled him to his chest, hugging him tightly, then bending down to reclaim the lips of his recently marked guide. After another long kiss, Blair remarked, "I should have gotten this tattoo a long time ago."

Jim just smiled. "It's not going anywhere, Chief," he said, then kissed him on his forehead. "It's going to stay right here forever."

FINIS