"I suppose it's a good thing that you're hesitating now, instead of
after you get out on the street," Simon concluded, leaning back in his
chair.  Jim and Blair sat across from him in the chairs in front of his
desk.  "I have to say this really took me by surprise, Blair.  I thought
you were fairly committed to the idea of becoming a cop."

     "I was.  Maybe...maybe I still will.  I just don't feel right about
it.  I don't feel sure that I can kill someone if that's what becomes
necessary."

     "If you have to shoot someone fatally, Sandburg, it'll be for a
compelling reason.  And hopefully, it isn't something that'll happen
frequently."

     "I'm really sorry to back out like this now, but I'm just not
ready."

     "I think we have to realize, sir, that Blair didn't make a decision
to become a cop.  We made that for him--circumstances dictated that
he change jobs," Jim added.  "I don't find it too surprising that someone
who hates guns needs some time to adjust to the idea of carrying one,
let alone possibly having to use it."

     "No, I suppose not."  

     "So can he go back to observer status?"  Jim asked.

     "That could be a problem.  The chief okay'd Sandburg going
through training and becoming a detective.  But after everything that's
happened, there's going to be a lot of attention focused on the two of
you, and Blair doesn't have a valid reason to ride with you anymore."

     "No research," Blair added, nodding solemnly.  "So I'm out
unless I become a cop?"

     "I'm sorry, Sandburg, but that's the way it shakes down now." 
Simon slid forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk.  "Look,
take a few steps back from this, think about it, and if you change your
mind, well, you can always pick up where you left off."

     "Thanks, Simon.  I want you to know I appreciate everything
you've done--all the allowances you've made...I know Jim and I have
made things...*complicated* for you sometimes."

     "The master of understatement strikes again," Simon quipped,
chuckling a little.  "I wish I could figure out a way to put things back
the way they were with your ride-a-long authorization, but I know it
would get pulled as fast as I signed it."

     "Well, I understand that.  I don't like it, but I understand it."

     "I guess this means I'm back to flying solo then."  Jim was about
to stand up, when Simon spoke again.

     "Not necessarily.  I can assign you a partner, Jim."

     "I have a partner, sir.  Whether he has a badge or not."

     "Jim, look, in theory, I agree, but--"

     "Is there a problem with my working alone, sir?"  The second
use of "sir" in what had been a friendly discussion seemed to signal
Simon that his best, though most temperamental, detective was
thoroughly pissed at the situation, if not him.

     "If that's what you want, Jim."

     "I guess we're done here, then?"  Jim stood up, and Blair
followed suit, a bit surprised at Jim's sudden shift in demeanor.

     "We're done," Simon confirmed, a note of sad finality in his
voice.  Seeing his favorite team trudge out a bit dejectedly for the last
time wasn't doing much for his morale.  "If I could change this
situation, I would.  But I'm not the last word where Sandburg's status
here is concerned."

     "We know that, Si--" Blair was cut off by Jim.

     "All I know is that Blair gave up his professional life to save my
ass, and in the process, it saved this department a hell of a lot of
trouble.  And he's still getting punished for it."

     "This isn't about punishing Sandburg.  If it were, he wouldn't
have been offered a detective's badge.  This is about what we, as a
department, can continue to get away with.  When Blair was
just...*here*, doing his thing every day as an observer, it was no big
deal to gloss over it and stretch the authorization.  But now that so
much attention is focused on him, and on his status, both with the
powers that be upstairs and the public, we can't slip it by the
administration anymore.  The party's over.  Making him one of us was
the only way."

     "Let's go, Jim.  I think we both know that Simon's done all he
can for this situation."

     Jim headed for the door and opened it, walking back out into
the bullpen without further comment.

     "This isn't my call, Sandburg," Simon said to Blair.

     "I know, Simon.  It's just...there's a lot of adjusting to do...for all
of us.  It's hard for everybody, including Jim.  Cut him some slack,
huh?"

     "You know it," Simon responded, smiling a little.  "Good luck
to you, Blair.  I hope you find something that works for you."

     "Me too.  Thanks for everything, Simon."  Blair headed toward
the door.

     Jim was at his desk, typing something into his computer, his
face like a storm cloud.

     "This isn't Simon's fault, Jim."  Blair sat on the edge of the desk,
facing his lover.  

     "He's not exactly busting his ass to help us out here, Chief."

     "He did what he could.  I'm the one who couldn't play along.  So
if you're going to get pissed off at someone, I'm the one who deserves
it."

     "No, you don't."  Jim reached up and rested a hand on Blair's
knee.  "But if this department wanted to pay you back for keeping their
fat out of the fire, they could at least let you have your observer status
back."

     "Observing *what*?  Simon's right--there's no justification for it
anymore."  Blair took off his ID and handed it to Jim.  "I better get
outta here.  I'm not authorized anymore."

     "Park it right there."  Jim pulled out the other desk chair and
Blair sat down as directed, then shifted a little in the chair.  "You okay
there, sweetheart?"  Jim whispered, smiling softly at Blair.  The other
man flushed from his neck to his hairline, both at being asked, and at
the soft smile from Jim that had been reserved for their bedroom.

     "Yeah, just...uh...*remembering* yesterday," Blair whispered
back, looking back at Jim with pure love in his eyes.  "I love you," he
said low enough so only Jim could hear it.

     "We're gonna be okay, baby.  I promise," Jim murmured,
squeezing Blair's knee.

     "Not if you keep calling me 'baby' and 'sweetheart' here.  I'm
gonna jump your bones right on the desk, man," Blair muttered.

     "If you're thinking that's a threat, Chief, you're way off base,"
Jim quipped, laughing a little.

     The rest of the day passed uneventfully, Blair helping Jim catch
up on paperwork.  Neither man said very much about the obvious--that
this would probably be the last day they could stretch the rules for Blair
to spend the day by Jim's side--literally--sharing his desk and his
personal space like a Siamese twin.  Still, both felt a certain sense of
melancholy as they headed out for the evening.  Blair had decided
against long, dramatic good-bye's, since he certainly planned to stop in
to the bullpen from time to time to see Jim, even if he did find another
job elsewhere.

********

     Jim watched Blair in the kitchen, making a very interesting-looking salad, 
tossing it with his usual panache, and throwing in a few
more chopped veggies.  Hauling himself up out of his chair at the end
of the table, where he was borrowing Blair's laptop to read some e-mail
(his own computer in the upstairs bedroom too far away from Blair for
his tastes), he moved over to stand behind his lover, wrapping his arms
around him.

     "I thought you were hungry," Blair said, grinning as he
continued working on the salad.

     "I am."  Jim took a gentle but assertive hold of Blair's right
wrist and brought the hand up to his mouth, sucking the index finger
into the moist heat to the second knuckle.  After licking it thoroughly,
he released it from his mouth and smiled, his face next to Blair's.  "I
like that salad dressing."

     "Geez, Jim...if you want to eat this, you probably better let me
finish before--"

     "I want to eat this all right."  Jim slid his hand down the front of
Blair's body and squeezed the bulge in the jeans he was wearing.  

     "Oh, man," Blair groaned, giving up all pretense of playing with
the salad, leaning back against Jim, letting all his attention focus on the
hand that was massaging his rapidly engorging cock, straying down,
rubbing over his balls...

     "Turn around, baby."  Jim backed off and Blair turned, stunned
to see Jim lowering himself to his knees and unfastening Blair's jeans. 
As soon as he had them open, he eased them, and the boxers beneath
them, down Blair's hips, giving another tug until they fell around Blair's
ankles.  

     Bracing himself on the counter, Blair gulped and tried to suck
in a few breaths as Jim's hand cupped and rolled his balls gently but
firmly, the other hand wrapping around the base of his cock right
before Jim engulfed it in his mouth.  Jim's hand strayed from his balls
around the back to rub and massage his ass, fingers dancing along the
cleft there, one finally brushing back and forth over the slightly tender,
sensitive pucker there.  

     "Oh my God," Blair gasped, bracing himself on Jim's shoulders
with both hands, not sure which sensation he wanted to maximize
more; the straying finger probing his tender center or the hot mouth
working his cock determinedly.  "Put it in me," he panted, trying to
push down on the finger.  

     His own mouth busy with other things, Jim raised the straying
hand up to Blair's mouth, waiting for the other man to lubricate it with
his own saliva.  Blair complied willingly, and Jim pulled the finger free
and moved it back around to its original destination.  With teasing little
motions, he eased it inside Blair, feeling the younger man shudder and
squeeze the broad shoulders he was leaning on for support.

     Blair's hips were rocking, loving the feeling of Jim's finger
rubbing assertively against the sensitive walls of his passage,
speculating what it might feel like to be taken again tonight, maybe a
little more slowly this time...a long, slow fuck in his tender hole,
maybe on his knees with his ass in the air...

     With a loud cry, Blair came in wracking shudders that filled
Jim's mouth with his completion, the other man swallowing rapidly,
keeping up the pressure with the questing finger until the spasms he
could feel inside his lover settled down a bit.  When Jim released the
spent cock, he caught Blair as the smaller man collapsed into his arms.

     "Appetizer," Jim murmured into the curls, cradling Blair
lovingly against his chest.  "You taste good, baby," he said, kissing
Blair's parted lips.

     "That was *so* great," Blair concluded, sighing in contentment. 
"Jim...I want to do it again--long and slow.  I want you in me again."

     "You're still sore, Chief."

     "Your finger felt so incredible...it would be *intense*."

     "Not yet, sweetheart."  Jim kissed Blair's hair, rubbing his back.

     "Jim--come on, man, you've got a real boner going here, and I
want it--why not?"

     "Because you're already tender and a little swollen from last
night, and I won't risk tearing you.  Period.  End of discussion."

     "You're hard and I want--"

     "Blair, listen to me, baby."  Jim took Blair's face in both hands
and looked him in the eyes.  "You remember how it felt last night?"

     "Yeah, Jim, real well--that's why I want it again."

     "Think about the intensity of it, the initial pain, how sore you
are now.  What are you going to feel like after we go at it again?"

     "Sorer--but I don't care."

     "You will when it's over."  Jim took a deep breath.  "I love you,
Blair.  I won't risk hurting you.  And if I get carried away while we're
doing it and thrust too hard or move too fast, I could tear you or really
hurt you.  I know you don't want that, and I also know that I *won't*
risk it."

     Blair looked at him for a long few moments, obviously
frustrated, but then other emotions seemed to pass over his features,
softening them immensely.

     "Nobody's ever loved me like you do," Blair said in a strained
voice, his eyes filling just a bit.  "Here I am, practically begging for it,
and you need me, and you won't take me because you don't want me to
be hurt."  Blair shook his head.  "I love you so much, man.  You're just
never gonna know what this means to me--as much as I wanna strangle
you for it right now," Blair added, laughing.  Jim finally chuckled a
little as well.

     "You're everything to me, Chief.  I'd never hurt any part of you. 
You know that."

     "Yeah, I always knew that.  But this is really...amazing."  Blair
finally tore his eyes away from Jim's and let them stray down to the
miserable bulge in his lover's pants.  "But there's nothing wrong with
my mouth."  Blair flexed his eyebrows.  "Let me take care of you,
James," he said in a low, husky voice.  

     Jim's gulp was almost audible to non-sentinel hearing as he took
in the smouldering look in the younger man's eyes and let the rich
texture of that deep voice wash over him.  Standing unsteadily, Jim
hung onto the edge of the counter, leaning his butt against it, while
Blair stayed on his knees, slowly unzipping Jim's fly, never losing that
simmering eye contact.  

     Face still flushed from his own climax, eyes dark with desire,
Blair licked his full lips, slightly reddened from kissing, as he freed
Jim's cock from the confines of jeans and boxers in one smooth
downward pull of fabric.

     Smiling devilishly, he snaked his tongue out to tease the
weeping slit, then ran it up the underside of the hard shaft.  

     "I love this monster," Blair whispered.  "Love it sliding in and
out of me, taking me," another lick, "owning me."  With that, Blair
engulfed the top half of Jim's erection into the wet heat of his mouth,
working the base with his hand, using the other to roll the heavy balls
gently.  

     Jim freed one hand from its death grip on the counter to thread
the fingers through Blair's hair, mesmerized by the sight of those
perfect lips around him, and the unspeakable sensations of Blair's
mouth sucking him, tongue teasing his slit.  With a hoarse cry, Jim
reached his climax, then braced himself with both hands to stop
himself from crumbling to the floor in a heap on top of Blair.  

     Blair simply smiled, ostentatiously licking his lips again to
retrieve any escaped drops.  Standing, he wrapped his recovering lover
in a strong embrace.  

     "Your mouth should be registered as a lethal weapon, Chief,"
Jim muttered against Blair's ear, still catching his breath.  

     "*My* mouth?  Hey, turnabout is fair play, man," Blair retorted,
pulling back to smile up at Jim.  "Maybe we oughtta get washed up,
huh?"

     "Yeah, this definitely smelled better while it was happening
than it does now," Jim observed, drawing a chortle out of Blair.
"Suppose all the lettuce is wilted by now?"  Jim asked.

     "*My* lettuce is wilted, but the salad's probably okay," Blair
retorted, snorting a little laugh.

     "Hungry?"

     "For food?  Yeah, definitely.  Time to refuel."

     "How about if I make dinner, huh?  You did the salad.  I'll
throw a couple steaks on the broiler, open a bottle of wine.  We can eat
in front of the fireplace."

     "On lots of big pillows," Blair added.

     "Okay.  Let's go get cleaned up and then eat.  I'm starved too."

     Dinner was consumed hungrily, with little pieces of meat and
salad fed to one another, accompanied by lingering sucking on fingers
and prolonged kissing to share every flavor.  The evening ended on the
couch, lazily channel surfing, accompanied by a little lackadaisical
fooling around that wasn't really leading anywhere.  By midnight, they
were back in the upstairs bed, and after a little mutually satisfying
humping that brought about somewhat unspectacular climaxes out of
their sated bodies, both men fell into a deep sleep, twined around each
other.  

********

     "How'd the second interview go, sweetheart?"  Jim looked up
from the evening news, having arrived home about a half hour before
Blair did.  The younger man was interviewing for a manager's job at a
popular, rather huge, local bookstore.  It wasn't exactly his field, but
Blair had been enthused about the chance to at least work in a pseudo-
educational environment.
     
     "It didn't."  Blair dropped into the other corner of the couch. 
"The district manager--the guy doing the interviews?"  Jim nodded and
Blair continued.  "His dad is on the faculty out at Rainier."  Blair let out
a long sigh.  "He said that since the store manager is going to be
handling deposits that can be upwards of $15,000 on a good day, he
can't in all good conscience hire someone who was dismissed from
their last position due to fraud."

     "That's absurd, Chief.  You weren't caught with your hand in
somebody's cookie jar."

     "No, but I still did something fraudulent to obtain financial
gain.  That's a close cousin to having your hand in the cookie jar when
it comes to getting hired in a position of any kind of *trust*.  So that's
that."

     "You didn't do anything wrong.  I wish you'd quit talking like
you actually *did* falsify the dissertation."

     "It's just semantics, Jim."  Blair shrugged.  "Oh, well.  Hand me
the classifieds, will you?"  Blair gestured toward the partially read
newspaper in Jim's lap.

     "This jerk seriously thought you'd steal out of the till?  I can't
believe that.  What an asshole."

     "Can we just drop it?  I've got a headache and I don't feel too
great."

     "What's wrong?"  Jim asked, concern plain on his face and in
his voice.

     "I just feel headachey and nauseous.  I think it's just...you
know...   I used to get panic attacks when I was a kid, and I got pretty
upset after talking with that guy today...  Then I got this nasty phone
call from the bank because my account's overdrawn...  It's just been a
sucky day all around."  Blair's next intake of breath was shaky.  While
staring straight ahead, Blair muttered, "Just make it go away for a
while, okay, Jim?"

     The shaky little plea broke Jim's heart into a million pieces.  He
slid across the couch and gathered Blair into his arms, rocking slightly.

     "I'm here, baby.  It's okay," Jim crooned into the curls under his
chin.  Releasing Blair's hair from its tie, he loosened it and moved his
fingers carefully around the base of Blair's skull, looking for the
pressure points that would help his headache.  "Why don't you take a
break from pounding the pavements for a few days, Chief?  I can cover
the bills as long as necessary.  You'll find something.  You're too
damned talented not to find something really *good*."

     "It's not looking hopeful right now," Blair managed, his voice
breaking a little on the last couple of words.  

     "Try to relax, Chief.  You're all tied up in knots here."  Jim
rubbed over the tense back with his free hand, the fingers of his other
hand still working on massaging Blair's scalp.

     "Head's better," he mumbled.

     "Good.  Everything else is going to get better too, I promise
you, baby.  I promise."

     "He talked to me like I was...some kind of...*petty thief*," Blair
said brokenly.  "It was so damned...*degrading*."

     "This probably has nothing to do with the diss, Blair.  He found
out about that microscope incident when you were a kid."  Jim knew
using humor with Blair right now ran the risk of hurting him more, but
he truly hoped it would do just what it did.  Blair laughed out loud.  It
was watery and weary, but it was a laugh.

     "I knew that'd come back to haunt me, man," Blair retorted,
winding his arms around Jim now, settling in for a nice long cuddle.

     "I'm not making light of your situation, sweetheart."  Jim kissed
Blair's hair, patting his back lightly.  "I hate seeing you hurting, for any
reason."

     "I know," Blair responded, letting some of the tension drain out
of his body, leaning heavily against Jim, letting his lover take away
some of the stress and the worry with the gentle embrace and the slow,
languid movement of hands rubbing his back.  "It just sort of
snowballed today, and I didn't handle it very well."

     "We're going to deposit some money in your account tomorrow,
so that'll take care of that."

     "Jim--"

     "Look, this isn't *my* money and *your* money anymore.  It's
*our* money. *Our* life. *Our* bills."

     "My charge card isn't *your* bill, Jim."

     "Oh?  So the dinners you treated me to and the Jags tickets you
bought and the paint you bought for the loft--none of that had any
effect on me?  We haven't been counting 'who paid last' for years now. 
We've been living more like a married couple than I ever did with
Carolyn.  Everything's overlapping and coming out of different sources--
whoever happens to have more loose money at the moment, pays. 
Whoever happens to have time to stop at the grocery store, buys the
food.  Whoever picks up the dry cleaning, pays for it.  So since when
are your bills all exclusively your own?"

     "But I don't have anything left.  I'm in debt, and then I lost this
grant for another project I was working on, and I've got a bill piled up
for expenses that they're not going to pay--"

     "Blair, *we* are okay.  We have money in the bank.  We just
need to move some of it around so we can both get our hands on it
when *we* need it.  Look, this is part of being a couple--at least it's one
of the parts *I* like--not drawing lines of 'yours' and 'mine' on
everything.  I want you to lay out the bills, and we'll figure out which
ones need to get paid right now, what can wait, and we'll work out a
new budget that includes the bills you were paying on your own before. 
Then when you get another job, we can look it over again and decide
what part you'll pay and what part I'll pay of the overall budget.  Sound
reasonable?"

     "Sounds like you getting screwed for all my debts."

     "It *sounds* like being married.  And I like being married to
you, Chief."

     "Even if I'm draining your bank accounts dry?"

     "You aren't going to drain them dry, baby.  Not unless you have
a huge gambling debt you're not owning up to."

     "Well..."  Blair let Jim tense up before he laughed.  "Gotcha."

     "Smart ass."

     "Payback for the microscope thing, man.  Except..."

     "What?"

     "I do kinda owe my...uh...the guy who...uh...placed...uh...a bet
for me..."

     "You owe money to your bookie?!"  Jim demanded, dislodging
Blair from his comfortable spot against him.

     "Only $150," Blair defended, eyes going wide, looking
altogether too panicked for Jim's tastes.

     "We'll pay him in *cash*."  Jim pulled Blair back into his arms
and soothed away the newly inflicted tension.  "So...did you win
anything betting with this turkey?"

     "How do you think I paid for those Jags tickets?"  Blair retorted.

     "Oh, man.  I do *not* want to know that you treated a detective
and two PD captains to a basketball game on your ill-gotten gains." 
Jim rolled his eyes at the thought that Simon, Joel, Jim and Blair had
all enjoyed the fruits of Sandburg's foray into playing the ponies.  "We
pay this off, but the only betting you do from now on is legit, at the
track--got it?"

     "Got it.  I'm sorry, Jim.  It's just that Robert sometimes has this
*sure thing*, and he clues me in, and--"

     "I don't want to hear it."  Jim squeezed Blair a little.  "Hear no
evil, see no evil, etc.--you know the drill," Jim added.

     "It was only one bet, Jim--well, two, counting the Jags game. 
And I only did it when I was, like, out of money completely."

     "At least it wasn't a habit then."

     "No way!  I couldn't afford to do that more than once in a while. 
And I knew it was risky."

     "You feel like you're ready for a nap," Jim commented, smiling
as he enjoyed the warm weight of his lover nestled in his arms, relaxed,
his breathing almost even, close to sleep.

     "Love you, Jim," Blair mumbled, snuggling in closer, taking
Jim up on the nap idea.

     "Love you too, my sweetheart.  With all my heart," Jim
whispered, holding Blair close and vowing that he wouldn't stand by
and let the world rake over the coals again this precious man he loved
so dearly. //Enough is enough.  This is going to end, and I'm going to
end it,// Jim resolved.


********

     Spending most of the day alone at the loft wasn't Blair's idea of
a good time.  He'd finally rooted out the last of the stuff from Rainier,
reducing the stack of cartons down to one small box of personal
effects, filing the significant notes and research materials in his own
haphazard system in what was fast becoming his office, now that he
slept upstairs most nights.  Unless of course, the excitement overcame
them and Blair's bed was handier.

     Jim was doggedly going to work every day, but not really
deriving much satisfaction from it.  Blair knew he was to blame for
that; that if he had gone ahead with the rest of his training and gotten
his badge, everything would have been easier.  Still, he couldn't
reconcile himself with the "shoot to kill" policy, and he knew that
could be deadly in a crucial moment.

     When Jim came through the door with a spring in his step and a
smile on his face, Blair was more than a little surprised.  The last
several nights, it had taken plenty of cajoling and more than a little sex
to put that smile there.  Tonight, Jim was a happy man, and Blair knew
there had to be more behind it than the smell of the teriyaki chicken
cooking in the oven--though that was a favorite food.

     "You're in a good mood," Blair commented, stopping his task of
finishing setting the table to be hugged and kissed thoroughly by this
happy pod person who had taken over Jim's identity.  "Which is cool,
because I just got a kiss-off letter from Merriweather, Incorporated." 
The corporation had been looking for an anthropologist to train and
coordinate their overseas personnel.  It would have involved a little bit
of travel on behalf of the huge financial management firm, but mostly
Blair would have been in a cushy office in downtown Cascade, or in a
conference room teaching executives how to mingle with the natives of
whatever country they were visiting.

     "I'm sorry, Chief," Jim said, genuinely regretful.  It was the first
job Blair had been truly enthused about.  "Was it just one of those form
things?"  he asked, wondering if they had cited the whole sentinel
disaster as a reason for rejecting someone who would have been ideal
for the job.

     "Pretty much."

     "Okay, Chief.  Let's see it."  Jim held out his hand, and Blair
disappeared into his old room and returned with the letter, handing it to
Jim.  The other man read it quickly, grimacing slightly at the short
paragraph that noted that Blair's discharge from Rainier under
circumstances which brought his ethics into question were a source of
concern, as Merriweather Inc. was entrusted with millions of dollars in
client funds, and it was necessary for their staff to be above reproach,
and without previous record of fraudulent professional conduct. 
"Ouch," Jim said quietly.  "Dammit."

     "I'm not really surprised," Blair said, taking the letter back and
putting it in the envelope.  Then he tossed it in the kitchen waste
basket.

     "But disappointed, huh?"  Jim came up behind him, rubbing his
lover's shoulders with two strong but gentle hands.

     "Yeah," Blair responded, his voice a little strained.  "It's been
weeks, and...*nothing*.  I just...I'm gettin' kind of nervous here, you
know?  Guess I gotta lower my sights.  Maybe look for something
hourly...I mean it, Jim.  There's no disgrace in waiting table somewhere
or working in a store or something.  I need a job.  I don't want you
paying my bills forever.  It's not right."

     "We already settled that issue, sweetheart."  Jim wound his
arms around the smaller man, pulling him back firmly against him. 
"But I understand you don't like not paying the bills with me, right?"

     "It's not anything personal--it's just...I don't like being so
damned dependent."

     "I know, baby.  I know."  Jim kissed Blair's temple.  "But that's
not going to be a problem much longer."

     "It's not?"  Blair looked back at his lover, surprised to see the
grin back.

     "Nope.  We're both going to be very busy for quite a while. 
And then we're going to be reasonably wealthy, if all goes well."

     "We are?"

     "Yup."

     "Okay, Jim.  Give.  What's going on?"  Blair moved out of the
embrace and turned to look Jim in the eyes.

     "The Beacon Pointe Inn."

     "The Beacon Pointe Inn.  What is that?"

     "It's a run-down motel built on a bluff in a small town in Maine,
that shares the plot of land with a lighthouse, which adjoins an equally
run-down two storey house with great potential."

     "You lost me."

     "Well, Stephen called today.  A friend of his in Augusta heard
about this real estate deal, and thought it sounded like a tourist trap
waiting to happen.  Apparently, it's been let go, was never marketed
very well--it's sort of in the middle of nowhere, so it's not like on the
beaten path for tourists...anyhow, the old guy who owned it, died a
couple years ago, and it's been tied up in probate.  Now it's on the
market for a ridiculously low price."

     "And this is relevant to us because...?"

     "Because I want us to buy it and move out there and fix it up
and see if we can make a go of it."

     "You want to quit being a cop so you can be an innkeeper."

     "No, I want to quit being a cop so we can start a new life
together, doing something that will build a future for us, maybe give us
a better life than we have now.  And I want us to start over, fresh,
somewhere we don't know anyone."

     "Jim, I love you for wanting to do this for me, but I'll find
something.  You're meant to be a cop, and I don't feel right about--"

     "Blair, I'm tired.  I don't look forward to going to work
anymore, and I want us to do something together.  You're miserable
and your job options here suck, and you're constantly taking the rap for
something that was never your fault.  Shit, we fall into bed at night and
we don't make love.  We *escape* using sex because our lives suck."

     "Well, if I wasn't depressed before, I think I'll just grab the
Ginsu and commit hari kiri now."  Blair walked to the oven and took
out the pan of chicken.  "Jim, running away never solved anything."

     "We haven't run away.  You've faced up to the undeserved
disgrace for months now.  I've gone to a job that holds less and less lure
for me every day.  Don't you think we deserve something slightly better
than that?"

     "Yeah, I do.  I'm just not sure this is it."

     "Look, Chief, why don't we take a trip out there and have a look
at it?  If it doesn't feel right, we can scratch the idea.  But if it does, let's
at least keep an open mind."

     "You really like this idea?  You're not just doing it for me?"

     "I'm doing it for both of us, sweetheart.  So we can both be
happy, and so we can do something together that we enjoy."

     "Okay.  Let's go have a look at it."

     "Great."  Jim pulled his lover in for a tight hug.  "I love you,
Chief.  Always."

     "I love you too.  Longer than always."

     "You had to go one better, didn't you?"  Jim teased, patting
Blair's butt before he let go.

     "I've always been an overachiever.  Sorry, man," Blair quipped
unrepentantly as he started dishing up the chicken and rice.

********  

     The flight from Cascade to Bangor International Airport was
long, dull and uneventful.  With only one smooth change of planes
along the way, the two men had killed most of their time either
reading, napping or just visiting about their plans for when they
arrived.  Jim had spoken to the real estate agent on the phone and
arranged for him to meet them at the airport and drive them out to the
tiny coastal town of Gull Coast, the site of the currently-defunct
Beacon Pointe Inn.

     With their bags collected from baggage, the two men stood out
in front of the airport, waiting a bit impatiently for the sight of a black
Chevy Tahoe.

     "Wonder if he left without us?"  Blair speculated, as they had
experienced one delay back in Cascade that had cost them about thirty
minutes.

     "I doubt that, Chief.  He probably called to see if the flight was
on time or not."  Jim paused, giving what Blair could tell was a
sentinel-scan of the parking lot.  He must have found at least one black
Tahoe, because he was fixed on something for a moment before
shrugging.

     "It's cooler here than it was in Cascade," Blair commented,
breathing in the mild, pleasant air of the late June day.  

     "When we get out to the coast, it'll probably be even cooler." 
Jim made another sweep.  "He just turned in.  Give him about three
minutes," he announced.

     "How do you know for sure it's him?"

     "He looks like a realtor."  Jim grinned.  "And he's got the
company logo on the side of the truck.  Mr. Tax Write-Off."

     When the four wheel drive did arrive at the curb near where
they stood, its driver got out and hurried over to greet them.  A portly
middle-aged man in his fifties with receding gray hair and a ready
smile, he was dressed in a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tie, and
dress pants.  His suit coat hung in the back of the truck.

     "Wes Donnelly," he said, shaking hands with Jim.

     "Jim Ellison.  This is my partner, Blair Sandburg."

     "Hi, Wes," Blair shook the other man's extended hand.  

     "You two would be investing together, then?"

     "Definitely a joint project all the way," Jim spoke up before
Blair could get his mouth open.  If this happened, the money,
technically, would be Jim's.  Blair had managed to work his way
through most of his own savings once his income had been curtailed.

     "Great.  Let me give you guys a hand with your bags.  You want
to stop by your hotel first or head right out to the property?"

     "You said you'd made reservations?"

     "There's a nice inn about thirty minutes from Gull Coast.  That's
another reason I think this property could be a great investment--there
isn't very much in the immediate area for good lodging, but the fishing
there is great, and Beacon Pointe Bluff, where the lighthouse and inn
are located, overlooks a small beach.  It's pretty deserted right now, but
I imagine you two could change all that if you got the place up and
running."  Once all three men were in the truck, Wes started the engine. 
"I hope they have another room.  I thought it would be just you, Mr.
Ellison, so I only booked you one room."

     "We can share," Jim responded.  "No problem."  He winked at
Blair in the rearview mirror, as the other man was in the back seat. 
Blair rolled his eyes and smiled in response.  

     "Thanks for being such good sports about it.  I honestly don't
know as they'll have another room.  There's a fishing contest going on
this weekend, and most of the local places are full.  You boys into
fishing at all?"

     "Definitely.  We've got some friends back home who are really
avid about it too," Blair responded.  "So how far to Beacon Pointe
Bluff?"

     "About an hour.  Mostly highway until the last fifteen miles or
so."

     "I've got to be honest here, Wes.  This is one of those deals that
sounds way too good to be true--low price, tourist potential.  What's the
catch?"  Jim asked.

     "I'm not sure there *is* a 'catch'.  There are some problems.  For
one, the old guy who ran the place before let it go.  It did a pretty fair
business about twenty years ago or so, but for the last seven or eight,
the buildings got run down, the service was lousy, things weren't
clean...people just didn't go there anymore.  It's off the beaten path, so
you would need to advertise, and Gus had no sense of marketing.  He
was a nice old guy, but he kind of lost it after his wife died, and he
didn't much care about the place.  And we've had some vandalism in
the keeper's house.  That's not too uncommon."

     "How bad is it?  Are the walls intact?"  Blair asked.

     "Mostly spray paint, a few broken windows, beer cans on the
floors, God-knows-what on the one bed that's left in there.  You know--
standard teenage stuff.  Needs to be gutted and cleaned and painted, but
the structure is fine.  The place was built in 1887--the lighthouse and
the keeper's house.  The motel was put up in 1936 by Gus's uncle, who
left him the place.  Did a good business in the old days, I guess."

     "So what's the set up for modern conveniences out there?"  Jim
asked.

     "Well, Gus liked his TV, so you've got a satellite dish out back
that's damn near as big as the lighthouse."  Wes chuckled.  "You could
probably give your guests satellite TV by running a little bit of cable to
the motel.  The lighthouse is automated.  The Coast Guard maintains it,
so you don't have to do anything with it--except capitalize on it to draw
in tourists.  It needs some work, but everything's structurally sound, so
the lighthouse just needs cosmetic stuff done like paint and cleaning--
for the Coast Guard, it doesn't have to look pretty to work."

     "Things like plumbing, wiring, heat--that's all in good repair?" 
Jim asked.

     "The plumbing and wiring were updated in the '70s.  The
furnace is a big old dinosaur, but it works.  I was out to the keeper's
house a couple times when old Gus lived there, and it was always good
and warm in the house.  Plus, you've got a couple fireplaces."

     "So what's nearby that tourists would be interested in?"  Blair
asked.  

     "For one thing, you're not too far from Acadia National Park--
that's a big draw.  Plus you're day-trip distance from Bar Harbor, Deer
Isle--and there's an Indian reservation open to the public around here..."

     "That must be the Passamaquoddy tribe," Blair commented, and
Wes glanced at him in the rearview mirror, smiling, a bit surprised.

     "I couldn't quite remember the name--you're familiar with
them?"

     "Only vaguely.  I studied Anthropology for a while," Blair
dismissed with a little smile, trying to keep the slight wistfulness out of
his voice.  He had no interest in making Jim feel worse or guiltier
about the death of his academic career, but there were still times it
saddened him to talk about it in the past tense.

     "Well, you'll probably want to check that out then.  You still in
college?"  

     "No, I got my Master's several years ago," Blair responded.  

     "I was going to say--you're not all that far from the University of
Maine out here."

     "That won't really be a consideration," Blair said.  "Besides, I'll
be concentrating my efforts on the inn--if we were to take it," he added,
not wanting his first statement to sound too dire in front of Jim."

     "You said the bluff overlooks a beach--who owns it--or is it
public?"  Jim asked.

     "The stretch beneath the bluff belongs to the motel.  There are
probably 150 steps down to the beach, and it's not all that large, but it
gets a few stragglers in the summer.  Wouldn't be crowded like the big
beaches are."

     "I understand there are some pretty good hiking and camping
opportunities out here too," Jim added.

     "Oh yeah.  Hey, if you want to check in the glove compartment,
there's a visitor's guide to Maine you can have if you want.  I have a
bunch of them back at the office."

     Jim found the book and thumbed through it as they chattered
away more about Beacon Pointe Inn's potential, and the characteristics
of Gull Coast, and the tourist trade in Maine.  The drive went by fairly
quickly, and as they rattled and lurched down a horribly worn country
road with a view of the ocean, Jim was convinced that Beacon Pointe
Inn would have to be some sort of paradise to lure people into enduring
this ride.

     The realtor maneuvered the truck through the trees, following a
narrow gravel road that led to the Inn.  Finally, pulling out of the trees
into a mostly cleared area, they found themselves atop Beacon Pointe
Bluff, and on the scenic grounds of Beacon Pointe Inn.

     The grounds *were* quite lovely, despite the overgrowth and
proliferation of weeds and wildflowers where a lawn should be.   There
were a number of mature trees on the spot, giving lovely shade to the
keeper's house and the ungodly ugly building that was the motel.  There
was no such thing as a parking lot, though Jim suspected that
somewhere under the weeds there was probably a bunch of cracked
cement near the actual motel.  

     The view, however, was spectacular.  As the three men strolled
across the weedy ground, the ocean was in plain view, the lighthouse
standing out in stark white relief against the bright blue summer sky. 
With Wes a bit ahead of them, Blair whispered in a sentinel-low voice:
"You know, they call lighthouses 'sentinels by the sea'."  

     Jim looked down at his lover and smiled, sliding an arm around
Blair's shoulders and giving him a squeeze.  

     "Well, let's have a look inside."  Wes sounded like he was
bracing himself as he made his way, somewhat cautiously, up the
rickety steps to the porch of the white frame structure with the peeling
paint and three boarded-up windows.  It had been an attractive, though
plain, two story structure with a huge porch and upstairs balcony above
it the same size.  Both spots had wonderful views of the lighthouse and
the ocean.  The lighthouse was a good distance from the house, reached
by a long wooden walkway.  The structure was perched almost on the
edge of the bluff.

     Wes led the way inside the house, turning on a sickly yellow
light in the foyer.  With the word "fuck" sprayed across the coat closet
door, it was apparent the vandals were nothing if they weren't thorough.

     "Sorry about the graffiti.  You know, there's a really good
painter in Gull Coast--Hank Ashford.  His rates are reasonable, and he
does good work."  Wes led them through the small foyer into the living
room.  It was a large, square, plain room with a two large, boarded up
windows, a worn-looking hardwood floor and more graffiti on the
walls.  The dining room was no better, except its window was still
intact.  Jim mad a mental note that a cat could be thrown through the
cracks in the window casements, and figured new windows would be a
must to make the place halfway habitable in the cold weather.

     The kitchen was large and sunny, with a huge window
overlooking the ocean.  A window, of course, missing two panes of
glass.  Blair kicked a couple beer cans out of the way as he approached
it to take in the view.  Neither of them felt brave enough to open the
appliances, and Wes seemed disinclined to do so either.

     There was a sick attempt at a half bath just inside the back
door.  The putrid fixtures would probably be replaced before the front
windows were.  There was a room at the back of the house that could
be used as a bedroom or den.  

     Moving up the threadbare, but somewhat carpeted stairs, Blair
did note that beneath several layers of paint lay a wood banister on the
open staircase, which, if restored, could add a bit of character to the
living room.  Jim swallowed the reply that *windows* would add
character to the living room as well.

     Upstairs was a full bathroom, and three fairly large bedrooms,
two of which shared the balcony.  The third and smallest bedroom had
a splendid view of the ocean, but then, all the rooms did, as the house
was set not far from the lighthouse, in the middle of a spot where the
bluff jutted out from the rest of the coastline.

     The walls were painted with graffiti in almost every room,
numerous windows were missing, and the signs of vandals, party-goers
and squatters could be found.  All in all, Jim had seen better looking
specimens among Cascade's condemned buildings.  

     But neither of them had ever seen a view like the one offered
through any window of the dump they were considering.  

     "Is the motel any better than this?"  Jim asked, looking at a
curious brown spot on the ceiling, wondering if he really wanted to
know what it was.  Wes seemed to read his mind.

     "The old roof leaked.  Gus had to break down and replace it
about six years ago, because it was dripping right on his head at night
while he slept."

     "What's that back there?"  Blair pointed to an old building he
was looking at through the dirty window.

     "That's the oil house.  It isn't in use anymore since the
lighthouse is automated.  But it could be some good storage space,
cleaned up."

     "Let's have a look at the motel," Jim suggested, leading the way
downstairs.  Unsure yet how he felt about undertaking the project of
restoring these unsightly buildings, but having fallen in love with the
view and the soothing sounds of the ocean below.  This might truly be
a slice of heaven for someone with sentinel senses.

     The motel was an L-shaped, paint-thirsty structure that had
been white before the ravages of time and disrepair had their way with
it.  There were about fifteen units, only a couple sporting broken
windows.

     "Wouldn't wanna take a shower in this place," Blair whispered
for Jim's ears only as they approached the unit that boasted the sign
"Office" over the door.  Noting its uncanny resemblance to the
notorious Bates Motel, Jim stifled a laugh, swatting Blair's butt when
the realtor wasn't looking.  Blair paid him back with a casual backward
swing of his hand as they walked into the building, brushing over Jim's
groin.  The image of a naked Blair, bent over the front desk, was not a
welcome one as Jim tried to think of something sexless to counteract
what his fantasy and Blair's mild grope had done to his groin.

     "So, was Gus into taxidermy or anything?"  Jim asked, and Wes
laughed as he led them into the back office, which really was a dead
ringer for the one featured in the movie "Psycho".  All that was missing
were the stuffed birds.

     "Well, gentlemen, this is the office--the administrative hub of
the Beacon Pointe Inn," Wes quipped, gesturing around at the small
room.  "There's a bathroom here--it's basically the same as the other
units--very small sitting room--which is the front office here--the
bedroom, which is the back office, and a bathroom, right over there."

     "Any holes in the wall?"  Blair joked, carrying on the "Psycho"
theme.

     "Not that I know of, but then I never saw Gus dress up like his
mother, either, so I guess that explains it."

     "I'd like to have a look in all the units, get a sense of how much
disrepair we're dealing with here.  Do the bathrooms work?"  Jim
asked, walking back out onto the continuous porch that stretched in
front of all the units.

     "Yes.  I checked 'em all when we got the property, and we had
an inspection done.  All that's on file back at the office.  The fixtures
are a little grungy, but some elbow grease might do the job."

     A walking tour of each and every unit proved that it was in
much the same shape as the house--structurally sound but dirty,
unkempt and occasionally vandalized.  Jim reserved final judgment, for
his part, until they saw the information on the inspection, but the
thought of spending some long days doing menial labor with Blair to
build up what could be a thriving business and a beautiful home,
appealed to him greatly.

     Blair couldn't help but notice the view, and contemplate the
possibilities of sitting out on the balcony at night, after they'd made
love, watching the ocean, hearing the waves crash on the rocks below... 
And of course, long days of working side by side with Jim, fixing the
keeper's house up into a home, turning the motel into something
popular again--it all had a certain appeal he couldn't deny.

     The real estate office, a storefront in the tiny downtown
business district of Gull Coast, was a ten minute drive from the Beacon
Pointe Inn.  The rest of the businesses there included a general store, a
small restaurant, a gas station, an antique store, a video rental store
(camouflaged with the same "old New England" look of a white-painted 
wood front), a pizza place (similarly disguised), a clothing
store and a bank.

     Wes pulled out all the paperwork, giving Jim and Blair plenty
of time to peruse the inspection report, review the room sizes, and talk
over the price. 

     "I think we need to talk this over.  It's a big move for us--from
Washington.  Total career change...we'll get back to you in the morning
with a decision, Wes," Jim concluded.

     "Take your time, gentlemen.  I have an extra car--it's kind of a
jalopy--but you're welcome to borrow it while you're here if you'd like
to move about on your own."

     "That's really great, Wes," Blair responded.  "We need
directions to the Inn, though."

     Wes described the route, and handed them the keys to the blue
1985 Chevy Impala parked behind the building.  

     "You wanna grab a pizza or something before we head back to
the Inn?"  Blair asked as they loaded their bags into the back seat of the
car.  

     "We could do an early dinner at The Boat House over there,"
Jim waved a thumb in the direction of the small restaurant sandwiched
between the general store and the video rental place.

     "Get a look at the locals, huh?"  Blair asked, smiling.

     "Come on, Darwin.  You can look 'em over and tell me what
we'd be getting ourselves into here."  

     The Boat House was a small restaurant, housing about fifteen
wooden tables with chairs that were built to resemble old barrels with
red vinyl cushioned seats about midway down from the top.  The walls
were covered in a kind of rough-hewn barnwood, its greyish surface
decorated with fishing nets, shells, a couple of stuffed mounted fish
and a few seascape paintings.  It was no surprise that the waitress was
dressed in a navy blue skirt and a sailor's blouse with a red tie.  A cute
blonde a few years younger than Blair, she smiled pleasantly as she
approached the two of them standing just inside the door.

     "Two?"  At Jim's nod, she led them to one of four available
tables, placing menus in front of them as they sat.  "Would you like to
try one of our Captain's Specials?"

     "What are they?"  Blair asked.

     "Our owner likes to experiment with cocktails--he makes some
really wonderful combinations with fruit juices.  The one he made this
morning is called a Lighthouse Flare.  It has a real kick to it, but it's
great."

     "Which one of us is driving?"  Jim asked.  Blair could see the
interest piqued, and couldn't deny his sentinel a new taste experience. 
Besides, he could wheedle just one sip.

     "I will.  You have lemonade?"  Blair asked.

     "Freshly homemade," she replied, making it a point to make
significant eye contact with Blair.  

     "You want to split a shrimp cocktail?"  Blair asked Jim,
purposely turning his attention from the appreciative once-over of the
young woman back to his lover.  Jim smiled slightly.

     "Sounds great, Chief."

     "One Captain's Special, one lemonade and a jumbo shrimp
cocktail to start?" she summarized, looking distinctly disappointed at
Blair's blatant lack of interest beyond his usual pleasant courtesy. 
When they both nodded, she added.  "I'll be right out with those.  Let
me know if you have questions on the menu."  She headed back to the
kitchen and disappeared behind a swinging door.

     "Another heart broken," Jim said, snickering a little as he took a
look around at the occupied tables.   There was a young family with
two small, thankfully well-behaved children, an elderly couple, two
middle-aged women talking a mile a minute, two other couples, and a
table of five teenagers eating off what looked like a seafood pizza in
the middle of their table.

     "Nice place.  Bet our customers would love this.  Wonder if
they have room to expand when we start luring them in?"  Blair
commented, flexing his eyebrows.

     "What do you think of the Bates Motel anyway?"  Jim asked,
both of them pausing as Lisa, the server, placed their drinks on the
table and set a huge shrimp cocktail in front of them.  

     "Ready to order?"  Pad poised, she waited while the two men
glanced back at the unopened menus.

     "What do you recommend?"  Blair asked, more interested in
spending their time talking about the inn than analyzing the menu.

     "If you like seafood, we have a Sailor's Feast you'd really love. 
Scallops and shrimp in a casserole dish with deviled crab, crab legs and
a small lobster tail."

     "Sounds like small fortune," Jim quipped.

     "Actually it's just $17.95.  You'd probably pay more in the city,
but around here..."  She shrugged slightly.

     "Are they those really big scallops?"  Blair asked.

     "Huge.  The shrimp aren't as big as these guys," she said,
pointing at the appetizer, "but they're a decent size.  It's a really good
platter."

     "Let's do it," Jim said, tossing his menu aside.  Blair did the
same, and happy to have made at least one big sale, Lisa returned to the
kitchen.  

     "This looks *great*."  Blair plucked one of the big shrimp and
dipped it in the sauce.  He noticed Jim's eyes fixed on him as he took
the first bite, then licked the sauce off his lips.

     "I see something that looks better," Jim said quietly, picking up
his own shrimp of the shared dish and dipping it.

     "Don't do this, man.  I don't think the locals are ready for me to
jump your bones right here in the corner," Blair said, laughing a little.

     "Might be a good gimmick--the gay innkeepers," Jim joked.

     "Yeah, right.  Why do I feel like this place wouldn't be too
tolerant of that?"

     "Like two men moving out here together and buying the hotel
and living together in the keeper's house isn't going to set off a few
warning bells."

     "I guess we're gonna have to face that wherever we end up. 
Might as well be here."  Blair chewed on another shrimp.  "Does it
worry you--coming out?"

     "Well, frankly, 'coming out' is just announcing we're having sex. 
We already live together, so if people want to make something out of
that, let 'em."

     "I worry about harassment sometimes...that it could get
dangerous."

     "I know.  It's crossed my mind too.  I guess all we can do is
watch our backs and hope for the best."  Jim leaned back in his chair. 
"You know, Chief, we should probably be talking about whether or not
we want to take the plunge with this place."

     "Well, we're not too far from Bangor, and this place has the
basics--pizza, video rental, restaurant," Blair mentioned, smiling as Jim
laughed softly.  "The view is magnificent."

     "The view...the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks...it's
pretty incredible out there."

     "I never really thought about the fact that it's probably an
incredibly soothing place for a sentinel."

     "Think we can get the place whipped into shape in a couple
months?  Catch the fall tourist season?"

     "I think it's mostly scrubbing and painting...  I think we could do
it, Jim.  And I think we could make a real go of it.  But what bothers
me is whether or not you're going to be all that happy with doing this
instead of being a cop.  Jim, it's what you *do*."

     "Listen to yourself, sweetheart," Jim responded softly.  "It's
what I *do*.  Not what I *am*.  What I *am* is in love with you.  I
think we could have a pretty nice life here--doing something together,
something that we can both get into and enjoy.  Plus, frankly, I think
it's a hell of an opportunity."

     "I love you too," Blair responded, seeming to have stripped
away all the other words and homed in on that part of Jim's oration. 
"That's why I want to be sure you'll be happy here."

     "I'm as sure I'll be happy as you are sure that you'll be happy. 
We just have to take the chance if we're going to do this.  If it all fails,
we'll go somewhere else and do something else."

     "What if you miss being a cop?"

     "What if you miss being an anthropologist?  You're coping. 
You've had to.  I'm doing this voluntarily because I'm ready for a
change.  So I would think my adjustment would be a hell of a lot
easier."

     "But I don't want you to do this in order to punish yourself or
even the score somehow so we're both miserable."

     "Starting a new life with you isn't being miserable, Chief.  I like
this idea.  I think it could be fun.  But I don't want to do it if you're not
enthused about it too.  When we make a new start, we should both be
excited about it, because it's going to be a hell of a lot of work."

     "I really liked it out there.  I know it's a mess, but I loved the
setting, and I'd love living there with you."

     "Me too, baby.  So it's a go?"  Jim asked, smiling.

     "Yeah, it's a go."

     Excited with their new plan, the two men devoured their
seafood meals and stopped by the real estate office, catching Wes just
before he left, to make an offer on the Beacon Pointe Inn.

********

     Blair was naked, lying on the bed on his stomach, his knees
tucked under him and his ass high in the air, waiting what seemed like
a lifetime for Jim to locate the lube in his travel bag.   Catching and
returning Blair's little smile, Jim returned to the bed with the lube
finally in hand, and ran a hand slowly over Blair's back, ending in an
appreciative caress of the upturned ass.  The strong thighs were spread
wide in invitation.

     "You look like you're ready, lover," Blair said, eyeing Jim's
erection, which had endured a partial blow job in the bathroom at the
Seaside Inn after their shower and was quickly losing its patience.  "I
really want you, lover."

     "You've got me.  Always."  Jim climbed onto the bed and kissed
one of the offered cheeks.  Seeing that Blair wasn't interested in
prolonged preliminaries, Jim coated his fingers and carefully prepared
him, lubricating him well, stretching patiently.  Blair accepted all three
fingers with enthusiasm, rotating his hips and groaning with each
motion.

     Coating his cock, Jim lined it up with Blair's center and pushed,
stopping at Blair's little indrawn breath.  

     "Relax, baby.  Tell me when to move."

     "Just slide in slow and easy, okay?"  Blair asked, his voice a
little strained.

     "Holler if you want me to stop, sweetheart." Jim pushed the rest
of the way in, using one long, slow slide until his groin rested against
the fleshy mounds of Blair's ass.  "Breathe, baby.  Relax."  Jim rubbed
Blair's back the way he always did when he wanted the smaller man to
relax, then reached for Blair's cock, surprised to find it already rock
hard and not faltering in the least.  Blair certainly hadn't lied about
wanting this.

     "Move, Jim." 

     Unable to ignore his own needs any longer, Jim began sliding in
and out of Blair's body in moderate, but regular strokes.  

     "Ugh...oooh...yeah, that's it...oh...come on, Jim, harder..."

     Jim angled his strokes and nailed Blair's prostate, making the
younger man scream and clutch at the bedclothes.  Deciding to prolong
this session, Jim didn't nail the little gland with every stroke.  He let
Blair wonder when the next electric jolt of pleasure was coming, every
time getting the same wild cry and clutching of bedding as a reward.

     "God, Chief...you're so tight...incredible," Jim managed, not
really able to wax poetic when he was so close to the edge himself, but
wanting to give Blair something, some tiny indication that he was
deriving unspeakable pleasure from this act.

     "Give it to me, Jim.  Come on...oooh!  Yeah...like that!"  Blair
cried out again as Jim made a project of rubbing over Blair's prostate,
picking up the speed and force until, with one long scream, Blair came,
and Jim joined him, their cries and grunts of pleasure mixing into an
undiscernible symphony until the shared orgasm waned, leaving Blair
spent and exhausted, but thoroughly sated, and Jim draped lifelessly on
his back, crushing him into the mattress, in no hurry to pull out of the
hot tunnel where his cock was housed.

     "Jim?  I gotta breathe, man," Blair finally gasped, and Jim
wrapped strong arms around him, pulling them both onto their sides,
managing to stay inside Blair during the transition.  

     "God, Chief...I love your ass," Jim said, knowing it was a far cry
from a declaration of eternal love, but they'd made those, and right
now, the foremost thing on his mind was that fucking Blair through the
mattress was the most physically fulfilling, mind-blowing sex he'd ever
had.  If he had only one more day left to live, he knew what he'd want
to do with those last 24 hours.  

     "You're saying I'm a good lay?"  Blair asked, looking over his
shoulder, grinning.

     "The best I ever had, baby.  I could fuck you forever," Jim said,
laughing a little.  "Not too romantic, is it?"  Jim stroked a sweaty flank,
and groaned as Blair squeezed him with what had to be tired internal
muscles.  "Unless you want to get it again, Chief, don't do that."  Jim
actually felt Blair shudder a little in reaction to that.  

     "You think this makes me weird--loving to get fucked until I
can't sit down without squirming?"  Blair had a little laugh in his voice,
so Jim grinned too, figuring the other man wasn't truly worried about it
even if it *did* make him weird.

     "Lots of people like it rough--or lots of it."

     "I don't like it *rough* exactly.  Which is good because getting
you to get rough with me would be, like, *impossible*--you big old
softie, you."  Blair reached back and slid his fingers into Jim's hair,
rubbing the scalp a little.  "You take such good care of me, man.  I love
you so much for that.  You could really take advantage of me when I
get that crazy.  But you don't."

     "So you're in the 'lots of it' category?"  Jim smiled, kissing
Blair's shoulder.

     "Yeah.  I guess so."

     "I'm gonna have to try it pretty soon.  Find out what all the
hype's about."

     "Just let me get a finger in you and rub that little pleasure
button, and you won't be wondering anymore."

     "Promises, promises."
     
     "Later?"

     "If we've got any ammunition left."  Jim chuckled a little,
rubbing Blair's hip as he carefully eased out of him.  "Real sore?"

     "Nah--well, just in a good way, man."

     "Good."   Jim moved a leg between Blair's, the big man's thigh
nudging Blair's sensitive balls.  "Did I mention that I loved you?"

     "You better," Blair shot back, chuckling.  "I love you too, stud
boy."

     "You should talk, you bottom slut," Jim teased.

     "Bottom slut?  You learn that in Vice, man?"  Blair asked,
laughing.  

     "You think I'm so vanilla I never heard anything about how the
other half lives?  Huh?  Is that what you think?"  Jim started dancing
his fingers over Blair's ribs, the other man yelping and wiggling under
the tickling.

     "If I'm a bottom slut, what does..."  Blair trailed off to laugh. 
"What does that make you?"  He laughed harder then, Jim tickling him
mercilessly.

     "Lucky," Jim shot back.  Both of them burst out laughing at
that, the tickling not even necessary anymore.  "And your initials are
*still* B-S," Jim gasped.

     "You're a cocksucker," Blair returned, still wheezing.  When
there was a slight sign of recovery, Jim started up the tickling again.

     "And an ass-kisser," Jim supplied helpfully.

     "What's it like being on top?"  Blair asked, recovering a little of
his breath. 

     "Hotter, tighter, more intense that anything you could imagine."

     "Wow."  

     "Good answer, Chief."  Jim hugged him tightly from behind,
kissing his cheek, moving his leg a little between Blair's legs, a sort of
lazy rubbing that just felt good as an end in itself.

     "Mmm."  Blair moved his own leg a little, clearly liking the
sensations.   "Hey, let's go sight-seeing tomorrow."  Blair wasn't
surprised by the groan that followed that suggestion. 

     "If we're gonna live here, Chief, we'll see plenty of it all the
time."

     "It'll be good research for our business," Blair wheedled, then
smiled when he could feel a relaxation in Jim's embrace that meant
he'd won this round.

     "Someday I'm going to figure out how to say 'no' to you."

     "No you're not.  You love me too much for that," Blair said
smugly, still smiling and running gentle fingers down Jim's cheek.  The
other man grabbed the questing hand and kissed it, fingers and palm.  

     "You're right.  I do."

     "I love you too, you know."

     "I kind of figured," Jim responded, making Blair laugh again.

     "Kind of stating the obvious, isn't it?"  He squeezed Jim's cock
while it rested inside of him.

     "I know you had fun, baby, but you have to let me have it back
now."

     "Party pooper."  Blair relaxed as Jim eased out of him.  They
shifted positions and snuggled into each other's arms.  

     "I think we're going to like living here," Jim opined, holding
Blair tightly against him.  "Whole new start."

     "If this is what the ocean air does for you, I'm all for it, man." 
Blair kissed Jim's chest and sighed contentedly.

     "You do that to me, Chief.  The ocean's got nothing to do with
it."

     "Whoever said you weren't good with words was an idiot," Blair
remarked, stifling a big yawn, snuggling more tightly against Jim.

     "They come a lot easier when I don't have to make them up--when 
it's the truth."  Running his hands slowly up and down Blair's
back, Jim let out his own contented yawn.  "Mmm.  You feel good." 
He squeezed the body in his arms a bit harder and buried his nose in
Blair's hair.

     "I think I'm going to really enjoy growing old with you." 

     "That's a beautiful thing to say, sweetheart."  Jim kissed the hair
under his mouth.  "What makes you think of that right now?"

     "Just because...  This is the first relationship I've been in where
I liked the cuddling part as much as the sex.  So when I'm old, and I
can't get it up anymore, I'm still going to like being in bed with you."

     "You're always going to be able to get it up, Chief.  Besides,
imagine when I lose all my teeth what a turn on it will be to have me
gum you while I'm giving you a blow job."  Jim smiled devilishly.

     "Jim, that is *so gross*.   I can't believe you said that," Blair
was laughing as he spoke.  "Oh, man.  I gotta work on some kind of
meditation or something to get *that* mental image out of my head."
     
     "Yep," Jim wrapped his lips around his teeth to do his toothless
impersonation.  "Just call me 'Gums Ellison'."  And with that, he dived
into the warm spot between Blair's neck and shoulder, "gumming" at
his neck while the other man wriggled and protested weakly, laughing
like an idiot.

********

     The initial offer on the Beacon Pointe Inn was countered with a
higher figure, but was still considerably lower than the original asking
price.  Both men decided to take the counter offer, setting in motion
the flurry of activity necessary to wrap up their life in Cascade and start
their new lives on Beacon Pointe Bluff.

     Jim entered the Major Crimes bullpen thirty minutes late,
smiling cheerfully, giving his co-workers reason to tease him that he'd
been hanging around Sandburg too long--after all, none of them had
ever seen Jim Ellison *bounce* before.  

     With a light tapping on the door frame, Jim stuck his head in
Simon's office.  The captain was at his desk, working on his computer.  

     "Got a minute, Simon?"

     "Sure.  Have a seat.  Coffee?"

     "Yeah, great."  Jim waited while Simon poured and then
accepted the cup.  "Thanks."

     "I figured you might need another cup of coffee, seeing as how
you got a slow start this morning," Simon said, flicking his eyes briefly
toward the clock on the wall, though he still smiled slightly.

     "Sorry about that.  I got...held up at the last minute." //With
Blair, fresh out of the shower, parading around naked until I threw him
on his old bed and had my way with him...or maybe he had his way
with me...//

     "So what's up?"  Simon's innocent question brought a little flare
of heat to Jim's face as he realized his pants were in danger of tenting
at the memory of that warm, slightly damp, naked body writhing under
him.

     "Uh...I wanted to talk to you about this personally, before I
made it official.  Simon, I'm resigning, effective Friday."  It was
Monday morning now, and even as it was, Jim didn't like losing almost
a week out of his new life.  Still, some notice was only a courtesy.

     "Resigning?!"  Simon's eyes bugged.  "Why?  Is it Sandburg?"

     "Well, it's a little more complicated than that.  Yes, in part, it's
because of Blair.  Working here without him...just isn't the same.  It's
not where I want to be anymore.  I guess I realized that I'd rather be
doing something entirely different with Blair than being a cop without
him."

     "Aren't you hanging an awful lot on the kid?  I mean, what
happens when he finds some nice girl and--"

     "That's not going to happen."

     "Really?"  Simon snorted derisively.  "I know his track record
for settling down isn't too good, but you never know."

     "We already *are* settled down."

     "We...?"

     "Blair and I are together.  I mean, we're more than friends. 
We're life partners."

     "Since when?"

     "Since he quit firearms training a couple months back.  There
are no decent jobs for him around here, and the ones that do come up,
someone knows the score about the whole mess at Rainier.  He's been
treated like a common petty thief by one or two employers, and been
passed over by several others he should have at least gotten to the
interview stage with."

     "I think the fanfare needs to die down first, Jim."

     "It's always going to be part of his academic and employment
records--being dismissed from Rainier for submitting fraudulent
research.  And I'm not willing to watch him raked over the coals any
longer.  It's done.  We're starting over somewhere else."

     "Somewhere else?  You're moving?"

     "To Maine, Sir."

     "Maine?"

     "Gull Coast, Maine, to be exact.  Beacon Pointe Bluff, to be
specific.  It's a bluff overlooking the ocean, and there's a lighthouse, a
keeper's house and a motel there.  We're going to get the place up and
running and see if we can't make a go of it as a tourist trap."

     "Okay, Jim, just slow down."  Simon frowned as he leaned
forward in his chair, arms on his desk.  "You're quitting?"

     "Yes."

     "You're making it with Sandburg?"

     "Whenever I get the chance."

     "Too much information, Jim," Simon waved an admonishing
hand.  Jim shrugged in silent apology.  "You want to quit being a cop
so you can be an innkeeper in Maine."

     "That's a fair summary, Sir."

     "So you're going to give up your career and your life here just to
make Sandburg happy?"

     "He gave up his future to make my life easier.  What's wrong
with me giving something up for him to do the same?"
     
     "You're paying him back for his dissertation by giving up what
you love to do?"

     "I'm not 'paying him back' for anything.  Look, this may fall into
the too much information category, but I love Blair, and we're
committed to each other.  And like any other couple who care anything
about each other, one can't go on being content and happy when the
other one is suffering.  Blair hasn't asked me to quit--he encouraged me
*not* to.  But he's miserable here.  And all the cop jobs in the world
aren't going to offset that in my book.  So what we're doing is starting a
new life, doing something we're both enthused about."

     "Running some kind of...bed and breakfast?  Forgive me if the
mental picture doesn't form in my mind."

     "I can help with that part of things, actually."  Jim handed
Simon the envelope of photos he'd brought into the office with him,
just developed from the roll of film he and Blair shot during their brief
visit to Maine.  Walking around to stand by Simon's chair, Jim gave a
running commentary as the captain looked through the photos.

     "That's the lighthouse, obviously.  It's connected to the back
deck on the keeper's house by a long wooden walkway.  It's automated,
so we don't have to do anything with it.  It belongs to the Coast Guard
anyway."  

     Simon looked through a few more vantage points of the
lighthouse, then paused on a picture of the dilapidated keeper's house. 

     "The house needs major work, but it's structurally sound.  It's
got nice spacious rooms, and the view out any given window is
outstanding."  

     Simon stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the motel itself. 

     "Don't tell me--you hired a manager named Norman Bates to
run the place."

     "That's funny, sir," Jim said, grimacing a little.  "Like the house,
it needs cosmetic work, cleaning up.  But we're only a short distance
from outstanding fishing, hiking--and the Acadia National Park is close
by.  There are nature trails, and a beach below the bluff that you can
reach down about 150 steps."

     Simon paused on a shot of Blair posing next to a large wooden
sign that featured a giant red lobster, with one claw pointed to the left,
directing visitors to "Uncle Mike's Lobster House".

     "There's great seafood there--I guess Uncle Mike's is one of the
best.  It's about ten miles outside Gull Coast, right on the water.  Blair
and I didn't get there this time around, but it's one of the first things on
the agenda when we get back."

     With a sigh, Simon went on to the next photo, which featured
Jim holding a white t-shirt up in front of him, emblazoned with a big
orange crab and red letters that said "Crabs Do It Sideways".

     "Blair bought me a souvenir at the Bangor airport."

     "Why does that not surprise me."  Simon moved on to the next
photo, which showed Jim standing behind Blair, arms around him, chin
on Blair's shoulder, both men smiling brightly as they stood in front of
the Seaside Inn.  

     "We saw another couple taking pictures, so we offered to take
some of them if they'd take some of us.  The rest of the shots are
mostly Blair and me."  Jim accepted the pictures back from Simon.  

     "Well, looks like you've got your work cut out for you, anyway." 
Simon sighed.  "How about I put you on a leave of absence?"

     "Simon--"

     "Just hear me out, Jim.  If you're on a leave of absence, you can
still be reinstated if something falls through and you want to come
home.  If you resign, then it becomes a matter of re-hiring you, and
budget issues could prevent that."

     "I don't envision myself coming back, Simon."

     "Humor me."

     "I know you don't think I'm serious about making a go of this
project, but I am.  So is Blair.  It has some real potential."

     "Even projects with potential sometimes fail.  Look, Jim, you
and Sandburg have been through a lot in the last several months.  Take
the time to go try this out.  But if it falls through, you can still come
back to work."

     "Fair enough," Jim said, nodding.  "Look, we're going to have a
little dinner party with our friends here before we take off.  I hope
you'll join us for that."

     "Wouldn't miss it," Simon said a bit sadly.  "Won't seem the
same without you two troublemakers around here."

     "Leaving the friends we have here is the downside.  But the
bright side is that we have room to put you all up when you come out
to visit us.  That is, if we aren't booked solid, of course," Jim added,
smiling.

     "I'll make my reservations early," Simon replied, chuckling a
little.  

********

     Jim completed his final week at the PD, with Blair spending his
days rooting out the loft and packing.  Jim joined that project at night,
the two of them falling into bed in the small hours of the morning, too
tired to move, let alone mess around.  

     The dinner party was hosted in what was a fairly sterile-looking
loft.  Jim reflected that it resembled how it looked before Blair moved
in with him.  Pristine and nearly barren except for the furniture--which
would also be moved with the rest of the neatly stacked cartons on
moving day.  The loft was quickly snapped up as a rented apartment by
Rhonda's sister and brother-in-law, a newly married couple in search of
a unique dwelling while they saved up to buy their first house.  

     "Smells great, Blair," Joel said, inhaling deeply as he walked
into the apartment with Simon and Daryl.  

     "This one's Jim's show.  That's the famous Ellison spaghetti
sauce you're smelling.  I'm on salad detail."  Blair closed the door
behind the first of their three guests.  "Hey, Daryl," he greeted, a little
surprised to get a sullen, somewhat non-descript response.  

     "Help yourselves to the snacks," Jim said, fussing over his pot
of sauce in the stove, favorite printed apron in place.  

     "Geez, Jim, the place looks like it did before you got your
roomie," Simon observed.  "Must be all that junk in here was
Sandburg's, huh?"

     "They were joint acquisitions," Jim defended, smiling now that
his lover was back in his space, completely in his way and totally
welcome there as he checked on the vegetables simmering in the pan
next to the sauce.  It took Blair a moment to realize that Jim had ceased
stirring and was looking down at him like a lovesick sap.  Uncertain
how Jim would feel about being kissed, tweaked or groped in front of
their guests, Blair just grinned up at him and made sure he lingered
there longer than necessary, his body pressed against Jim's side.

     "Daryl and I are taking a trip out to UCLA next week, to meet
with an academic advisor, and take a look around campus," Simon
said, munching on cheese and a cracker.  "Why don't you tell Blair
what they've got lined up on the itinerary?"  Simon prodded his
somewhat sullen son, who was chewing on a carrot stick from the
veggie tray, staring at Jim and Blair as they remained glued to each
other at the stove.

     "It's nothin' much, just a tour," Daryl replied, a bit lackadaisical.

     "Getting excited about the big move?"  Blair asked, wondering
if it was bothering Simon that there seemed to be a mass exodus of
people out of his life all at one time--Daryl off to college, Jim and Blair
off to Maine...

     "No big deal," Daryl said, shrugging.  There was another knock
at the door, forestalling what looked like an impending attitude
adjustment statement from Simon.  

     Megan, Rafe and Henri all came in, Rafe carrying a large 
gift-wrapped package which he set against one of the barren walls.  In the
flurry of greetings, Daryl slipped out to the balcony.

     "What's up with Daryl?"  Blair asked Simon as the taller man
helped himself to some beer from the refrigerator.

     "I told him about you and Jim.  He's having a few...problems
with the concept," Simon admitted quietly.

     "How about you?"  Blair probed.

     "To be honest?  I don't understand it, but it's not my place to
judge it one way or the other.  Daryl seems to feel differently on that
point.  I'm sorry he's being so rude."

     "It's not all that hard to understand, Simon."  Blair paused,
tucking his hair behind his ear, letting out a long breath.  "You meet
somebody, and you live with them, and you find out they're the other
half of your soul, and the...*details* don't matter.  And gender turns
into a *detail* when you really, really love someone."

     "I didn't raise Daryl to be homophobic.  Hell, I don't consider
*myself* homophobic.  I just--"

     "It's different when it's your friends and not a theory, right?  It's
okay, Simon.  I understand--really.  And I'm sure Jim does too.  We've
got to be discrete in public if we want to walk around without being
harassed, but in our home, we don't want to censor who we are.  So our
friends need to know the score."

     "You're planning a little announcement tonight, then, I take it?"

     "Yeah.  Everybody knows we're moving, but we want them to
know about us, how things have changed.  Maybe it'll make people
understand better why we're content to ride off into the sunset
together."

     "I'll talk to Daryl.  I know he still thinks a lot of you--"

     "Let me talk to him.  Maybe if he sees I haven't sprouted wings
or started painting my toenails, he'll feel better about things."

     "All right," Simon responded, chuckling.  "I have your word on
the toenail thing, right?"

     "Scout's honor," Blair responded, raising his hand in a mock
oath.

     "The view really is spectacular judging by those photos,"
Megan commented.  They had all adjourned to the living room with
dessert, a large decorated sheet cake that Megan had brought bearing
the message "Good Luck Jim & Blair".

     "You have to see it to believe it.  I hope you'll all plan on paying
us a visit after we get things fixed up," Jim said, leaning back in the
cushions, one arm behind Blair on the back of the couch.  The way they
sat was a good forerunner to their announcement, which they had yet to
make.  "There's something else you all should know.  That we'd like
you all to know."  Blair made a quick glance over toward Daryl, whose
expression was somewhat unreadable as he sat there, picking at his
cake.  "Blair and I are a couple."

     "A couple of what?"  Henri interjected, bringing a few laughs
from everyone, Jim and Blair included.

     "A couple-couple," Jim responded, still smiling, sliding his arm
down to put it around Blair's shoulders and squeeze.   
     
     "That's the announcement?"  Rafe asked, looking as if he
genuinely expected something more.

     "Yeah, that's pretty much it," Blair replied, smiling uncertainly.

     "This is a new thing then?"  Rafe persisted.

     "You owe me 50 bucks, pal.  Pay up," Henri extended his hand
toward Rafe, who simply gaped at the other cop, and then at the happy
couple.  

     "You're sure you didn't do anything before now?"  Rafe asked
again, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

     "You two had a *bet* on us?"  Jim asked, raising his eyebrows.

     "Yeah, one you just lost for me, Ellison," Rafe responded,
counting out two twenties and a ten and handing it to Henri.

     "Hey, we should get a cut of that, man," Blair spoke up, amused
to no end that Rafe had thought they'd been doin' the big nasty for quite
some time already.

     "I'll put it toward my plane ticket to come out and visit the
happy couple.  Thanks, guys."

     "Is anyone here surprised by this?"  Jim asked, a bit frustrated
that after spending all evening tensed up to make this big statement, his
friends all acted like it was no big surprise.  There was a silence as
everyone looked back and forth.

     "I was," Daryl spoke up, then got up and walked out, slamming
the door of the loft behind him.

     "Daryl!"  Simon bellowed after his son as the door slammed. 
"I'm sorry about that.  Dammit."  Simon got up and headed for the door.

     "Simon, let me."  Blair was on his feet and making a run for the
door right behind the teenager.

     "I don't think he's gonna listen to you, Sandburg."

     "Maybe not, but I'm not going to be here that much longer, and I
don't want to leave things like this with him...not if I can help it."

     Blair hurried out into the hall and then to the stairs, figuring
Daryl wouldn't wait for the elevator.  When he emerged in the parking
lot, he spotted his angry friend leaning against Simon's car, his arms
crossed over his chest.

     "Daryl?  You want to tell me what that was all about, man?" 
Blair asked, approaching him.

     "I don't want to talk about this with you."

     "You're upset that Jim and I are together.  I gathered that."

     "Gee, you'd make a great detective," Daryl snapped
sarcastically.

     "Why?  I mean, your dad isn't exactly throwing us a wedding
shower or anything, but he's been pretty cool about it.  I'm not
criticizing you--it just puzzles me.  Why are you so angry with us about
this?"

     "I just don't get it."

     "Get what?"

     "How you can *do* that...with another guy."  Daryl shook his
head.  "I mean, I'm not saying that people shouldn't be able to do that if
that's what they want, but..."

     "You have any other gay friends, Daryl?"

     "You're not gay."

     "There are some people who would disagree with that
assessment, but I never liked labels much either.  Is that what's
bothering you?  Labels?"

     "You're right..."  Daryl paused, then noting Blair's confused
expression, added, "I don't have any gay friends."

     "So maybe gay is okay as long as it's not a reality?"  Blair
smiled.  "I just had a similar conversation with your dad."

     "He was acting like he was totally cool with it."  

     "Maybe because he wanted you to be okay with it.  We're
friends, Daryl.  We have been for years.  He probably didn't want to see
something happen to destroy that.  And I don't either.  I really wish that
me loving Jim *that way* wasn't the thing that was going to destroy my
friendship with you."

     "It's just...*weird*.  I mean, did you just, like, *turn gay* all of a
sudden?"

     "We fell in love.  'Turning gay' wasn't really an issue.  I've
always liked women, and truthfully, I've never been against checking
out a good-looking guy, but I never did anything about it.  So maybe it
would be more accurate to say that I'm bi.  I don't know if I can stick a
label on Jim.  Neither one of us have been in a relationship with a guy
before."

     "Doesn't it gross you out?"

     "The sexual part of it?"

     "Well...yeah.  I mean, I know how it works, because I read
some stuff on the 'net about it."

     "Well, I don't know as I'd take that as an authority on anything,
but no, it doesn't gross me out.  It was new and different--and let's face
it, Daryl--some people wouldn't be able to change orientations even for
love.  We're all different.  We all have different outlooks and desires
and needs and instincts."  Blair sighed.  "Does it make you sick to see
Jim and me together--acting like a couple?"

     "It's just...weird.  I mean, when I see that, it's usually guys who
are...so...*gay-looking*."

     "Gay looking?"  Blair smiled then, nodding a little.  "So what
makes someone look gay?"

     "I don't know, man, but I know it when I see it."

     "You do, huh?"  Blair nodded.  "You didn't know about Jim and
me until your dad told you.  Daryl, look, there are people who dress in
extreme styles or behave in an extreme manner in all walks of life--gay,
bi, het...  I guess my point is that the reason you associate two guys
being love with an extreme is because those are the people who are
trying to draw attention to themselves.  Who want to wear their identity
and their lifestyle like a badge--and I think that's great.  They're
confident enough to be what they are and display it proudly.  But not
all gay men dress up in leathers or cross-dress or hang out in gay bars. 
Just like not all your friends who like Goth walk around dressed in
black with fifteen body piercings.  Some people are flashier about their
style than others.  That's all.  Being gay doesn't automatically make you
dress or act differently.  I'd be willing to bet that the gay men you've
seen that you consider to dress 'weird', would dress to display whatever
their lifestyle choice was.  So that's a trait by itself--that desire to set
yourself apart through your personal style.  It's not a gay issue, really."

     "It just feels really...strange.  I mean, to think about you and
Jim...you know..."

     "It seems funny to think of your parents doing it, right?"

     "Don't take me there, man," Daryl responded, holding up a
forestalling hand.

     "Okay then," Blair said, laughing.  "You don't condemn their
relationship.  You just don't want to dwell on the details.  You can do
the same thing with us.  It's okay to be grossed out by something that
isn't your scene.  It's the tolerance you've gotta work on."

     "So you're not mad that I don't like the idea?"

     "If you don't like it because the mental image grosses you out,
then no, I'm not mad.  If you don't like it because you think Jim and I
loving each other somehow makes us bad people, or that gays are
automatically disgusting, then I would be really hurt, really
disappointed, and we wouldn't have much more to talk about."

     "I don't think you're bad people, Blair.  I never thought that.  I
just...it *does* gross me out.  I can't help it."

     "That's fair enough.  Jim and I won't tell you anything you don't
wanna know--we'll respect your boundaries."

     "I can't believe you're so cool about all this.  If I were you, I'd be
really pissed off at me right now."

     "I'm disappointed that you can't feel happy for us, but I
understand it.  I just want you to feel free to ask me anything you want,
if you ever change your mind and want to know more.  Not that you'll
necessarily feel any more *interested* by the idea, or not that it'll ever
*turn you on*, but maybe if you do have a friend in an alternative
lifestyle, it'll help you learn to relate to other people in like situations."

     "Why Maine?"  Daryl asked.  Blair got a slight inkling of part of
Daryl's hostility.  Aside from any misgivings he had about male-male
relationships, he was making a pre-emptive strike.  Severing the ties
with Blair and Jim before they could sever them with him.

     "It was a good opportunity.  The last few months have
been...well, they've been *hell* for me professionally.  I can't get a job,
I've been turned down for anything good I've applied for.  People have
thrown the fraud thing back in my face so many times that I'm
beginning to feel like some sort of felon.  I need a new start, and Jim's
giving me that."

     "He doesn't wanna go?"

     "I think he does more and more every day.  I think Jim's ready
for a change."  Blair nudged Daryl with his shoulder.  "There are
phones, email--even those nifty things called airplanes that take people
on vacations to visit their friends.  You're gonna be so busy come fall
you won't even know we're gone.  You'll be gone yourself."

     "Just to California.  That's closer."

     "Still pretty far away."

     "You'll keep in touch?"

     "You know it."  Blair smiled, and Daryl returned it.  "Maybe we
should get back inside, huh?"

     "Yeah, I guess.  I'm sorry about the way I acted before."

     "No apologies necessary, but thanks.   We better get in there. 
Rafe and Brown have probably made a bet on how long we'll be gone."

     "No doubt, man," Daryl replied, laughing as they headed back
toward the building.

********

     "I'm really going to miss those guys," Blair said, lingering in the
living room, hands full of dirty cake plates, looking at the big framed
photo leaned against the wall.  Naomi had taken a photo of the whole
Major Crimes gang when Blair was invited to become a detective, and
Simon had called her and asked her to mail the negative, which he'd
had made into an 11x14 matted, framed picture for the wall.  The
whole bullpen gang had contributed toward the expensive framing.

     "Second thoughts?"  Jim asked as he started piling plates in the
dishwasher.

     "No.  You?"

     "None," Jim responded, smiling.  "I'm going to miss everybody
too, but I'm really anxious to go.  I think it'll be good for both of us."

     "Simon insisted on you taking a leave of absence.  I think that
was a good idea--in case things don't pan out."

     "They'll pan out, sweetheart.  I have a good feeling about this." 
Jim paused.  "Did you reach Naomi yet?"  He waited as Blair set the
dirty dishes he'd been carrying on the counter.

     "Not yet.  But then, I haven't tried for a few days."

     "You didn't leave messages?"

     "No."  Blair took a deep breath.  "You know, I forgave her for
everything--I really did.  I know she meant well.  It's just...sometimes I
just...feel so *angry*.  I don't know who to be angry *at*."

     "You're not letting yourself be angry at your mother for sending
the dissertation to Sid Graham, is that it?"

     "Maybe," Blair admitted, leaning on the counter with both
hands.  "I just really hate not being able to let go of that.  I know she
didn't mean to cause any trouble--"

     "Chief, the chain of events she set in motion shattered your
professional reputation.  Even if you forgive her, it's okay to be angry
about it."  Jim took a hold of Blair's shoulders, rubbing them gently. 
"You've been through hell over this, sweetheart.  It doesn't mean you
hate your mother or you're a bad person if you're angry."

     "It's just that when I talk to her now, this...*thing* is there.  I
mean, Jim, it felt like such a...*betrayal*, and I know how much it
would hurt her if I told her that's how I felt.  I know she didn't mean it
that way, but my diss was something private...it was *mine*.  And she
just took it and exposed it to the world.  I was going to go through it
and revise it before I ever let anyone else see it--you, my committee,
anybody.  It was my raw feelings about the whole thing, and I didn't
censor myself a whole lot.  Thank God I didn't say what I really felt. 
Talk about a story on the noon news."

     "I've seen some of the stuff you've written, Chief.  I'm sure even
at its roughest, it was good stuff.  Hell, Sid Graham wanted to pay you
a mint to publish it."

     "It's not whether it was good or bad in terms of quality.  It was
still...*personal*.  I just felt so damned...*exposed*.  I know you bore
the brunt of most of that part of things--feeling exposed or exploited. 
But there were parts of that diss that quite frankly came off sounding
like starry-eyed hero worship rather than objective research.  There
were times I was so stunned by what you could do, by what it all
meant, and I started sort of spilling some of my feelings into it, my
reactions, my thoughts on the importance of what you were...it was
stuff that I would have blocked and deleted before I ever turned in a
draft.  I was thinking out loud, working through thoughts and feelings
and then all of a sudden some *stranger* is reading it and sending
excerpts to the press."

     "Have you explained to Naomi why you're still hurting about
this?"  Jim asked gently, sliding his arms around Blair from behind.

     "No.  Jim...she just wouldn't understand, and she'd feel bad or
guilty or miserable about it, and I don't want that."

     "So you feel bad and miserable instead?"

     "Telling her won't make me feel better."

     "Maybe it will.  You said it's like there's something between
you.  This is probably that something.  The feelings you still have about
this mess deep down inside of you."

     "I'll think about it.  Meanwhile, I'll e-mail her the new address. 
Even if she's traveling, she'll get it--at least eventually."

     "Let's get this crud in the dishwasher and then turn in, huh?" 
Jim kissed Blair's cheek and hugged him tightly from behind.

     "I'm really excited about the inn, Jim."

     "Me too, baby.  I think we made a good decision here.  No more
stalling.  Time to scrape some petrified frosting."  Jim patted Blair's
butt as he moved away, going to the living room to pick up the rest of
the rather unsavory looking used dessert dishes.

     "Jim."

     "Yeah, Chief?"  Jim looked up, piling dirty plates up his arm
like an experienced waiter.  Blair made a mental note to ask about that. 


     "I love you."

     "I love you too, Chief."

********
      
     Jim glanced over at his lover, smiling at the vision of the
perfect profile in the repose of sleep.  They'd been up most of their last
night in the loft, making sure everything was cleaned out and packed,
then making love one last time in the place where they'd made love for
the first time.  Going to sleep at four and getting up at six wasn't a kind
schedule.  Now as the jet carried them to Bangor, the younger man was
letting the busy night catch up with him.  

     Casting a surreptitious glance around to see that the other
passengers were either looking out their windows, napping, reading or
generally not interested in their fellow travelers, Jim leaned over and
kissed the smooth part of Blair's cheek, above the hint of five o'clock
shadow that was starting to show up.  The full lips curved into a smile
in response.

     "We'll be landing in about ten minutes, sweetheart," Jim said
softly, watching as Blair finally gave in and opened his eyes,
straightening in his seat and looking up at Jim a bit blearily.

     "How long did I sleep?"

     "I'm not sure.  You were awake when I dozed off."  Jim laughed
a little, thinking of how he'd been out like a light when they settled in
for their final air trip.  

     "We're almost there," Blair contemplated, then smiled broadly. 
"I still can't believe we're really doing this!"
     
     "I can't either--but I'm glad."

     "Are you really?  You don't regret leaving the PD?"

     "Well, if the business goes belly-up in six months, ask me again
then, but right now, no," Jim responded, chuckling a little.

     "We can make a go of it.  I just know it."  Blair laced his fingers
with Jim's where their arms rested next to each other on the plane seat
armrests.

     "We'll have some significant cleaning to do before we can even
*camp out* in the keeper's house."  Jim rolled his eyes.  "Well, at least
we have reservations at the Seaside Inn for tonight.  I mean, we've lost
three hours just moving from one coast to the other."

     "Yeah, the sun's going down already."

     "Wes said he left a 'welcome wagon' kit with some cleaning
supplies in the motel office.   So after we get a good night's sleep
tonight--" Jim smiled when he saw Blair's disbelieving look, knowing
that the minute they hit the sheets, sleep would be quite far down on
the agenda.  "Okay, after we grab a nap, we can drive out there and get
started."

     "I hope the furniture comes soon."

     "Me too.  If not, the sleeping bags should have arrived at the
Gull Coast post office box by now."  Knowing the furniture was more
than likely to take a couple days getting there, they had shipped two
sleeping bags to the post office box address they'd established in Gull
Coast.  The truck was being shipped by freight, across country, so there
was a rental car waiting for them at the Bangor International Airport.

     The first thing both men wanted when they arrived at the
Seaside Inn, exhausted and jet-lagged, was a hot shower.  Next on the
agenda was food.  Since they opted to order room service before
stepping into the shower, they had to be content to behave themselves
and save the fireworks for later.  As tired as they were, neither seemed
to mind much, just enjoying the comfortable intimacy of bathing
together, the stresses of the move partially relieved just in the
togetherness and normalcy of their shared shower routine.

     The meals arrived fairly promptly, and they ate in their robes,
Blair's hair hanging damp on his shoulders, drying naturally.  Jim kept
stealing little looks at it, delighted at the "fuzzies" that seemed to form
like curls on the curls when Blair let his hair do what it wished without
taming it.

     "I think we're going to form scales living here," Blair observed,
finishing up his plate of orange roughy.

     "I would think that would make you happy, Mr. Health-Conscious."  
Jim nudged Blair's foot with his own where they shared
space under the small desk they were using as a table.  "Why are you
sitting way over there?"  Jim asked his partner, his face and tone
serious, despite the humor in his eyes.  Blair was sitting so close to him
that their arms were bumping against each other with each bite.  Jim
wrapped a big arm around Blair's waist and hauled him out of his chair,
Blair helping a little with his feet, and not resisting the move that put
his butt right in Jim's lap.  "That's better."  

     Blair happily wound and arm around Jim's neck and plucked a
parsleyed potato off his lover's plate, feeding it to him.  

     "Let me know when your leg goes to sleep," Blair said, taking a
drink of his water.  

     "It won't.  It doesn't want to miss a minute of being squashed
under your butt."  Jim gave Blair's thigh a little pat and found another
little bite of fish to feed to his lapful.  

     "You know, I've been thinking...maybe we ought to try getting
some sleep tonight.  I mean, we're sitting here buck naked except for
these robes, and all I can picture is curling up with you and sleeping for
a week."

     "Yeah, I'm pretty wiped out too, Chief."  Jim ran his hand up
and down Blair's back.  

     "I just had an unnerving thought."

     "What?"

     "We don't know the first thing about running a motel."
     
     "You didn't know the first thing about riding with cops either,
but you figured that out.  I didn't know the first thing about being a
sentinel, but we handled that one together, too.  How hard can running
the Bates Motel by the sea be?"
     
     "Don't call it that, man.  It's creepy."  Blair actually shuddered a
little.

     "It won't be after we fix it up.  Of course, I noticed the shower
curtain was missing out of that first cabin..."

     "Jim!"  Blair swatted him playfully.

     "Sorry, Chief.  I couldn't resist that one.  You ready to call it a
night?  Maybe watch some TV in the sack?"

     "Sounds great.  Have we got HBO or anything here?"

     "Nope.  I'm not even sure we've got cable."

     "Yeah, well, that's okay.  We'll fall asleep on it anyway."  

     After brushing their teeth and completing any other last minute
ablutions, the two exhausted men crawled into the bed, snuggled
together in the middle of it and turned on the TV.  Still undecided on
what to watch, Blair dozed off while Jim was channel surfing, and Jim
nodded off, mid-click, finger still on the remote.

     Eight hours of solid sleep worked wonders, putting both of
them back in action to make their first pilgrimage out to the Beacon
Pointe Inn.

     Wes had made good on his promise, having left a large carton
of sponges, paper towel, various cleansers and a couple different kinds
of insecticides on the counter in the motel office.  Deciding there was
no time like the present, they hauled the complimentary supplies, as
well as some of their own picked up from the general store in Gull
Coast, up to the keeper's house and unlocked the front door, walking
inside to the same graffiti-riddled, litter-strewn hole they'd seen a few
weeks earlier.  It was hot and stuffy, a miserable contrast to the cool
ocean breeze that tempered the warm July sun outside.  

     "You think we kind of romanticized this in our minds over the
last couple weeks?"  Blair asked, wandering into the large, square room
that was the living room.

     "At least Wes handled getting the windows replaced for us.  I've
got to call him and let him know we're in town.  He's got the bills from
the glass company."  Jim opened one of the new windows, which
blended quite well with the old originals.  But then, there were a lot of
historic dwellings in these old coastal towns, and the local craftsmen
were probably quite skilled at blending the old with the new.

     "If we start accepting these as subliminal messages, we'll never
leave the house," Blair quipped, looking at one of the spray-painted
"FUCK YOU" declarations on the living room wall.

     "Tomorrow we go to the paint store."

     "Is there one?"

     "Okay.  Tomorrow we go to the general store and see if they
have paint.  Lots of it."  Jim sighed and looked around.  "We'll have to
go into Bangor for that, I imagine.  Unless we want everything white."

     "Yeah, and we've got the exterior to do too."

     "Well, let's get to work."  Jim started unpacking the box of
cleaning supplies.  "You want to split up?  I'll take one floor, you take
the other?"

     "How about I take this half of the room and you take that half?" 
Blair suggested.

     "Even better."  Jim landed a quick kiss on Blair's temple as he
passed him, push broom and trash bag in hand.  "Floor first."

     "Oh, yeah," Blair agreed, finding similar supplies and going to
work.

     A full day of hard work produced several trash bags piled up in
front of the house.  Inside, the floors were free of debris, the kitchen
floor had been scrubbed, and the bathroom fixtures scoured and
restored to being usable.  With only a couple of days to spare before the
furniture arrived, they had driven themselves to exhaustion mopping
and polishing the hardwood floor in the living room, which had
thankfully escaped any permanent damage from the vandalism.  They
washed down the walls and cleaned out any multi-legged vermin that
lurked in the room's corners.  The windows let in fresh ocean air, and
even more light after they were scrubbed inside and out.  

     By the time dusk was approaching, the living room was
habitable, sleeping bags spread on the floor and other supplies spread
out on a couple of makeshift "tables"--empty cartons turned upside
down.  Thankfully, Wes had kept his word and arranged for the
electricity and the phones to be connected.   

     So by the light of a single, grimy, bare bulb, Jim and Blair sat
among the graffiti messages on their polished hardwood floor and ate
the frozen dinners they'd heated up in the microwave they'd paid way
too much for in the general store.  Neither seemed willing to wait the
uncertain amount of time for their own microwave, and unless they
wanted to stop their work and drive back into town for dinner every
night, they needed a clean way to cook their food.  The stove top and
oven were a cleaning task they were going to draw straws for the next
day.

********

     The next several days were a blur of scrubbing, polishing, and
finally painting.  Jim also undertook a couple of more complex tasks,
like installing an alarm system in the keeper's house, as well as the
office of the motel, where they assumed the money would be kept most
of the time.  

     Blair made a trip into Bangor and spent a small mint on rugs to
warm up the bare floors throughout the house.  They had some on their
way from home, but home being a relatively small amount of floor
space compared to their new dwelling, it was obvious more rugs were
needed.   He also made a side trip to one of the big discount stores
there to pick up some blinds for the windows and stock up on more
cleaning supplies for the next major project: the motel itself.  Except
for a miserable lack of decent furniture, the keeper's house was in fairly
good shape.  It was cleaned, painted and now would be equipped with
floor and window treatments of a sort.  Blair fervently hoped the
furniture would arrive that day, but if not, it was due the next.  

     With the truck bed laden with supplies, he headed back for Gull
Coast.  Jim had expressed sentiments to the effect that he wasn't sure if
getting the truck there was a curse or a blessing right before sending
Blair into Bangor with money to load up on accessories for the house. 
Instead of a mere trunk, Blair had the whole bed of a '69 Ford pick-up
to fill.  And he'd done a pretty fair job.

     Gull Coast was a very pleasant little town to visit.  The narrow
streets, wide enough for two cars but often not lined down the middle,
were flanked by buildings that either *were* historic or had been built
and maintained to appear that way.  There was the predictable
preponderance of gulls in the logos and signage of many of the local
businesses, but that only added to its charm.  There were parts of the
business district that were in view of the ocean, and on any given day,
the docks seemed to be a hub of activity, between ferry boats and
private recreational boats, not to mention fishing boats.

     Finding a spot in the small parking lot that served the general
store and a few other businesses, Blair made his way back to the store
in the hopes of picking up a few more groceries of a healthier nature. 
The battered old refrigerator at least worked, so until their own was
delivered, it would certainly provide shelter to some salad ingredients
and a few fresh meats.  They planned to move it, and the other worn
but serviceable old appliances, out to the first cabin in the motel, which
they would convert into a kitchen and dining room.  Neither of them
seemed enamored of the idea of serving their guests breakfast in their
own dining room every morning, so the decision had been made to
move the operation out to the motel itself.

     Dressed in khaki shorts, a white t-shirt and his favorite white
Nikes, he blended well with the overall "look" of the locals, as well as
the tourists--except, of course, for the wild mane of curls that hung
quite long down his back.  He hadn't cut it significantly for many
months, and given Jim's attentiveness to it when they were making
love, he didn't mind growing it down to his butt if that's what turned
Jim on.

     He gathered up some foods, stashing them in the carry basket
he picked up just inside the door.  Depositing the full basket at the cash
register for check out, he was surprised to see a very familiar name on
a book, about ten copies of which were featured on a small brass book
rack near the register.  

     BORNEO: YESTERDAY AND TODAY by Dr. Eli Stoddard

     "I didn't know you carried books here, Tillie," Blair
commented, picking one up, stunned to find a hard cover,
academically-oriented, new book on the counter of the general store in
this one-horse town.  The elderly woman behind the counter smiled as
she rang up his purchases.

     "Eli vacations out here every Autumn since he retired from
active teaching. He's a lovely man."
     
     "I know," Blair commented absently.

     "You know him?"  she asked, curiosity obviously piqued.

     "I had him for a class a long time ago," Blair dismissed, adding
the book to his purchases.  "Small world, huh?"

     "Indeed.  Your name is Blair, right?"

     "That's right," Blair responded, smiling to think she
remembered him.  He'd introduced himself the first time he'd shopped
there, since Gull Coast was really their only contact with other people
given the inn's remote locale.

     "Would he remember you?"

     "I doubt it," Blair lied, laughing a little.  Accepting his bags,
Blair returned to the truck and loaded them in the passenger seat.  

     "Dammit, Eli, of all the places on earth, you'd have to pick here
for your vacations."  Blair shook his head, sadly reminded of his
current status in the academic world, and wishing with all he was
worth that he'd never have to face his old mentor and see the reproach
and disgust in his face.  Eli was a wonderful, kind man.  But he was
ethical in the extreme, and an academic disgrace like the one lurking in
Blair's recent past would ensure the younger man of "persona non
grata" status with his former role model.

     Getting back in the driver's seat, he headed for home, suddenly
very needful of a big Jim-hug and some doting as only Jim could dote.

********

     Jim leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.  After two
hours of squinting at Blair's laptop screen, he'd located a few
innkeepers' associations, sent off e-mails for more information, and had
taken notes from a few of the more informative sites, gleaning
information on setting up and running the kitchen, room rates in the
area and various other tidbits.  

     "Honey, I'm home!!"  Blair called from the front door, a little
laugh in his voice.  Jim hauled himself out of the chair and headed out
to the living room from the big kitchen which now housed their
rectangular table from the loft.  The furniture had arrived moments
after Blair left, and the movers had taken little time to unload it, as
well as to stack their belongings in carton towers in the living room.

     "Thought you drove back to Cascade, Chief," Jim needled as he
met his lover at the door and kissed him on the mouth, lingering there a
little longer than originally planned.  "Mmm...peaches."  Jim slid his
arms around the smaller, firm body and kissed Blair again, longer and
deeper this time.  "And ice cream."

     "Peach cobbler at the restaurant in Bangor.  I stopped to grab a
sandwich, and it looked so good..."

     "Good.  It'll put a little of that fun fat back on you."  Jim patted
Blair's butt, not releasing him from his arms.

     "*Fun fat*?  When the hell did I have fun fat?  And if I did,
when exactly did you notice it?"

     "Before you started going to the gym with me last year.  You
had this cute little ripple of fun fat right here."  Jim tweaked at Blair's
side.

     "I did *not*."

     "Yes, you did.  Who's the sentinel here, anyway?"

     "Fun fat," Blair repeated, snorting derisively.

     "We got any money left?"  Jim asked, still not releasing his hold
on Blair.

     "The furniture's here!  Man, I'm *so* glad to see this stuff." 
Blair wriggled free of the embrace and moved from one stack of
cartons to the next, then ran his hand along the back of one of the blue
couches.  They didn't really fit the motif of a New England inn, but
they represented home.  "Feels like home now."

     "Yeah, it does, doesn't it?"

     "Wait'll you see what I got.  We'll have to move some stuff out
of the way, but still, it's gonna look great.  Oh, man, finally--the rest of
our *clothes* are in here."  Blair found a carton labeled "Clothes--Blair", 
opening the flap and pulling out a couple favorite shirts.  

     "You want to show me the stash in the truck?"  Jim prodded.

     "Oh, yeah, right.  Come on."  Blair led the way outside, yanking
back the tarp in the back of the pick-up to expose his wares.  "I got a
few rugs, some stuff for the bathrooms, the blinds we decided on and
some other stuff.  I want to get some plants too, but I figured those
could wait."

     "Geez, Chief, are there any rugs left in Bangor?"  Jim groused
as he pulled one large, rolled up rug out of the truck bed.

     "One or two ugly ones," Blair retorted, never missing a beat.  

     "I found a couple innkeepers' associations on the 'net, sent some
e-mails to them.  Picked up a few good tips on a couple of the sites,
too."

     "Great.  Hey, you know, I was thinking, we should do
something unique with the decor in those rooms--something really
cool."

     "Something we can charge higher rates for," Jim responded.

     "That too," Blair agreed, laughing.

     The two of them soon had the truck unloaded, and almost two
hours later, the various rugs were in place, the downstairs half bath
adorned with the new blue accessories Blair had picked out, the
upstairs bathroom equipped with their old standbys from back in
Cascade.  

     A flurry of unpacking ensued, which transported all the clothing
into drawers and closets, many personal effects and nick knacks on
shelves and table tops, and several wall hangings in place.  Books were
placed on the built-in shelves in the living room and lamps were
positioned on tables.  

     By the time dusk settled over them again, the once grimy,
disheveled keeper's house looked suspiciously like home.  Tired as he
was, Blair was determined they'd eat something decent for a change, so
the two of them made a salad and grilled a couple of steaks on the gas
grill Jim had found outside and cleaned up for their use.  Setting up
dinner on their own kitchen table felt great, and as they settled in to
eat, chattering about their day, the warm familiarity of their past life
mingled with the hope and promise of their new beginning.  

     Still, there was something just...*off* about Blair's demeanor. 
He'd been cheerful, but almost artificially so.  Jim studied him a
moment longer, watching him a bit surreptitiously as the younger man
pushed his food around, not really eating anything.

     "You want to tell me now what's been bothering you, Chief?" 
Jim asked.  Blair looked up from his food, and didn't even bother with
the pretense of a denial.  He just got up from the table and disappeared
into the small back bedroom they were setting up as a den, and
returned with a hard cover book, laying it down on the table.  Jim
recognized the name--one of his earliest rivals for Blair's loyalty--Eli
Stoddard.  "This was the expedition you were supposed to go on with
him, right?  He's just put the book out now?"

     "He was there almost two years," Blair responded.

     "Blair...I don't know what to say.  I'm so sorry."  Jim realized
that Blair's name would have probably been on the cover of this book
with his mentor's if he hadn't turned down the offer, and that Blair
would also still be enjoying the respect of his colleagues if he hadn't
cast his lot with Jim.

     "What?  Why?"  Blair frowned, looking puzzled.

     "If you'd been with him, you'd have probably co-authored this. 
And you wouldn't be in the mess you're in now academically."

     "Jim, that's not why I'm upset.  How many times do I have to
tell you that I made the right choice?  I love you.  I'm not, nor was I
ever, in love with Eli Stoddard," Blair concluded, laughing a little as if
the thought were probably the most ridiculous thing he could imagine.

     "I didn't mean you were in love with him.  Just that your career
is toast because of me."

     "Not because of you."  Blair exhaled and slumped back in his
chair.  "Because of my mom.  You know, I've had such a hard time
working through this, and resolving what I was feeling.  I've tried so
hard not to hang *blame* on her, because I was afraid if I did that I
couldn't forgive her.  Now that I'm facing the reality of all of it, I don't
know if I can."

     "You will, sweetheart.  You don't have it in you to stay mad at
someone you love.  I'm living proof.  Look at the shit you let me get
away with."

     "Yeah, I'm so abused here," Blair responded, laughing softly. 
"If I were anymore spoiled, I'd be giving off an odor."

     "You think I spoil you?"

     "That wasn't a complaint, man."  Blair was still grinning.

     "How?"

     "How do you spoil me?"  Blair asked, and Jim nodded.  "Oh,
man, I don't know how to put it into words exactly, except that I just
feel...really...*treasured* with you.  Just the way you treat me, I guess. 
The little things you do for me.  Just...*everything*."

     "Could be because I love you, you idiot."  Jim reached over and
took a hold of Blair's hand.

     "I think that's probably it," Blair replied, lacing his fingers with
Jim's.

     "So this thing about your mom--that's what's eating you?"

     "Well, yeah, but not entirely."  Blair took a deep breath and
then forged ahead.  "I bought this book at the general store in Gull
Coast.  Eli vacations here every Fall, so that's why they stock his
books."

     "Ah," Jim nodded.  "You don't want to see him."

     "I know it's stupid, but I just can't...*face* him.  Everybody
else...well, I can handle that.  But he was always so proud of me.  And
he'd make this big deal out of the things I accomplished.  Every time I
got something published in a journal, I'd get some nice note from Eli
saying something like 'keep up the great work', or 'good job, Blair--you're 
making the old teacher here look good'.  It always meant so
much to me.  Losing his respect is just..."  Blair bit his lip.  "It just hurts
more than any of the other...*stuff* about all this.  And now he's going
to be right here, under my nose.  I can't avoid town until winter." 
Blair's voice came out a little shaky and strained.  
     "I'm sorry, sweetheart.  I thought we'd be getting you away from
all this shit by moving out here."  Jim shook his head.  "Instead, we
walked you right back into it, only worse."

     "I'm sorry to whine about this.  I really don't mean to.  I'm happy
here--and our life is like, *perfect*.  This was just...unexpected."

     "You don't have to make excuses for feeling badly about this,
Blair.  I know you love me and I know we've got a good life here that's
just going to get better.  That doesn't stop you from hurting about what
you've lost.  I just wish I could make that pain stop."

     "You do.  You can.  Maybe you could just hold me for a while,
huh?"

     "You know what a chore that is for me, Chief."  Jim smiled and
pulled his partner out of his chair, draping an arm around him as they
headed toward the living room, which now had a very familiar feel to it
with their old furniture and accessories in place.  Jim sat on the couch,
stuffing a pillow behind his back, leaning against the arm.  After some
shifting and jostling, Blair was curled up in his arms, head on his chest,
holding on for dear life.     

     "When I saw that in the store, all I could think about was this. 
That I wanted to be with you."

     "I'll always be here, baby.  Anytime you need me.  And if this
Stoddard character has anything rude to say to you, I'll send the old
bastard flying back to Borneo without a jet."  Jim smiled as he felt a
little laughter rumble through his lover.

     "I hope this never ends."

     "What?"

     "Us.  Like this.  I never want to be without you."

     "You won't, baby."

     "I mean *ever*."  Blair let a long pause go by.  "I don't want to
be the one that's left...someday."

     "Me either, sweetheart.  We'll hang in there for each other as
long as we both can."  Jim slid a hand into Blair's hair, rubbing gently
at the back of his head.

     "I just realized again today how much I need you.  I mean, when
I felt so bad, the first think I thought of was that you could make it
better.  That I needed to spend some time like this, with you."

     "You know me, Chief.  I'm too ornery to die."  Jim squeezed his
lover tightly.  "And I love you too much to leave anytime soon.  When I
do, it'll be because the old carcass just tips over.  Even then, I won't
ever really leave you."  Jim let his eyes drift shut and just soaked up the
warm weight of Blair in his arms, wishing they were cuddling for some
happy reason, and not because Blair was facing yet another disgrace
from the world of academe.  He felt a little needle of pain stab at his
heart when he noticed how shaky Blair's breathing was.  "Honey, it's
okay if you need to cry.  I understand," Jim said softly, rubbing Blair's
back, sorry that Blair was miserable enough to cry but glad he was
letting it out as the first tears flowed.  "You never heard back from him
after what happened, did you, baby?"

     "We were...supposed to...write an article together.  He sent...my
notes...back to me.  No note...no ex-explanation...*nothing*."  Blair
worked hard to swallow, but the tears insisted on coming anyway,
hitching his breathing and breaking his words.   "He published it...on
his own...without my...input."

     "He never called you, never gave you a chance to explain?  That
son of a bitch."  Jim stroked Blair's hair, then kissed the top of his head. 
"Shhh.  It's okay, baby.  I'm right here.  I'm so sorry, Chief."

     "I c-can't...st-stop..."

     "You don't have to.  I want you to let go of it.  Let it all out,
sweetheart.  I've got you."  Jim wrapped his arms tightly around Blair,
making the embrace as secure and sheltering as he could, resting his
chin on the top of the soft curls.  "You never told me about Stoddard,
baby.  Why not?"

     "Because...you'd feel...bad about it...and it's not...your f-fault. 
And I'm so damned *mad* at Naomi!  I don't want to be.  I've tried so
fucking hard not to be mad but I am!" Blair shouted into Jim's chest,
still crying.  "Sh-she betrayed my...t-trust and...and she...she..."  Blair
trailed off into tears.

     "I know, baby.  I know.  We both know she didn't mean it, but
we both know what it cost you."

     "If she'd just...left it...alone.   Even if...I couldn't publish...at
least it would...it would have been...*my* choice."  Blair shook his
head.  "I love my mother...I just...I don't want to be...angry with her."

     "It's okay, sweetheart.  You can love someone and be pissed off
at them at the same time.  She didn't mean to mess everything up, but
she did.  And she took liberties with something very personal to you--your 
dissertation.  All that was wrong, and it hurt you--terribly."

     "It hurt us both."

     "You stopped the hurting for me.  You took it all on you.  But
the thing is, baby, when you hurt, I hurt too.  It kills me to see you in
any kind of pain."

     "What am I gonna do about Naomi?"  Blair asked miserably. 
Jim wasn't sure if the question was rhetorical or if Blair expected
suggestions.

     "Tell her how you feel.  Be honest.  Put your cards on the table. 
You and your mom have always been open with each other.  You've
been trying to hide this from her, and that's what's tearing you two
apart."

     "I just don't know if I can get past this.  She ruined my
professional life, Jim.  I didn't want to let go and...feel this anger
because I thought if I did, I'd never be able to put it in its place."

     "You will, sweetheart.  Eventually.  Maybe the secret is time. 
Maybe you just need to let it lie a while, let yourself be angry, and let
nature take its course.  I think if you let it have its way with you for a
while, and go ahead and be mad about this, you'll feel better sooner."

     "I tried to chalk it all up to fate--that it was meant to happen. 
But I can't deny this...feeling inside of me that if she had
just...*listened* to me...if she hadn't interfered...everything would be
okay."  Blair had calmed to a few quiet tears now, the storm having
passed.  

     "And then I took everything out on you and didn't blame her
either."  Jim kissed Blair's hair again.  "God help me, Chief, I hated that
dissertation--the exposure it involved--and I didn't want you to publish
it.  But I never wanted things to end this way.  And if publishing it was
what it took for you to get your degree, I never would have wished
failure on that."  Jim shook his head.  "Life is so fucking ironic.  All I
wanted was to figure some way that wouldn't be published.  And now,
all I want to do is go back and revise history so it could be."

     "I should have quit when I fell in love with my subject.  So
much for professional objectivity." 

     "Your subject loves the hell out of you, too.  I just wish you
didn't have to give up so much.  It's not fair."

     "I'd give up anything to be with you.  I never, ever, regret or
resent that part of this--denouncing the diss, choosing you over it.  That
was totally *right*.  I just feel so angry sometimes at my mom for what
she did, and so frustrated about...all of it.  It never should have gone
down that way."

     "No, it shouldn't have.  But I meant what I said.  You don't have
to take any shit from Stoddard or anyone else.  This is our home, and
we're starting a new life here.  You don't have to answer to those
people anymore, Chief."

     "You gonna beat Eli up for me?"  Blair asked, smiling up at
Jim, whose heart melted at the sight of the wet, flushed face and those
big pained eyes that finally held a little trace of humor.  

     "And anybody else who hurts you.  Get up here."  Jim
encouraged the younger man to move up his body so they could share a
prolonged kiss.  Jim then set about the task of kissing his way across
the wet cheeks, kissing and licking at the sore, puffy eyes.  

     "I love you," Blair said softly, snuggling back against Jim.

     "I love you too, sweetheart.  How about a little walk along the
beach?  We've got moonlight, mild breeze, total privacy..."  Jim flexed
his eyebrows a little.

     "Sounds incredible," Blair agreed, smiling a little as he moved
off Jim and extended a hand to pull the larger man to his feet.  Hand in
hand, they made their way outside, walking to the edge of the bluff
where the long set of wooden steps led to the isolated strip of beach
below them.  

     They'd spent a few pleasant afternoons in the sun down here,
done a little swimming, and Jim had even had his surfboard out a time
or two when their renovation work permitted, but they'd never managed
to make it down for a moonlight walk.  The most likely cause was that
after a long day of working on the Inn, neither man had the desire to
spend the evening on his feet, taking long walks.

     "It's really beautiful out here.  Peaceful...private," Blair
commented, looking out at the water as it lapped at the sand lazily,
almost seductively.  "I kind of like living in a vacation spot."

     "It has its moments.  This is one of them."  Jim stopped and
turned to face Blair, reaching behind him and freeing the long hair
from its loose restraint.  "You're growing it out long."

     "You like it that way?"  Blair asked, smiling up at his lover as
he played with the long strands, letting them slide through and wind
around his fingers.  

     "Oh, I can take it or leave it," Jim said, burying both hands in
the soft hair and pulling Blair up for a kiss that seemed to go on
forever, leaving both their mouths swollen and hearts pounding.  

     "How long do you want it?"

     "All night," Jim responded, swooping in to nibble at Blair's
neck.

     "I meant my hair," Blair responded, laughing.

     "Oh--well, when you start tripping over it, you can trim an inch
or so off the bottom."

     "You're all heart, man."  Blair pulled Jim down for a kiss of his
own, claiming his lover's mouth with a hungry passion.  Jim's fingers
were working the buttons on Blair's short sleeve shirt as they kissed,
sending the fabric on the breeze a few feet away from them, hands
fumbling for the belt at the front of Blair's khaki shorts.

     Not planning to be the only naked guest at this party, Blair
grasped the bottom of Jim's t-shirt, and insistently pulled until the
larger man let go of Blair's zipper and stepped back to be divested of
the shirt.  Both of them dove for the zippers now, getting in each other's
way, infinitely less efficient than if they'd each unfastened their own. 
Still, undressing each other was half the fun, and neither of them was
about to pass that up.

     Finally naked, bathed in moonlight, the two men explored each
other with eyes, hands and mouths, making love as if they'd never seen
each other before.  And truly, awash in blue-white moonlight and
accompanied by the sounds of the water, neither had ever seen the
other in quite the same way.  

     Going down on their knees, never breaking the kiss, both men
reached for the other's hardening cock, spending long moments just
enjoying the simple pleasure of a shared hand job.  When they began to
sway a bit, as if to go down in the sand, Jim held onto Blair's shoulders,
keeping him upright.  Gathering and shaking off their strewn clothes,
he made a very makeshift bed on the sand, then lowered his lover onto
it, satisfied that Blair would be saved having sand in any undesirable
places.  Places he planned to explore at length this night.  

     Blair looked up at the large man looming over him, nothing but
love and tenderness in the chiseled features.  Jim could do cold and
foreboding very well, but he'd never been good at giving Blair one of
those looks.  Blair reached up and traced the strong jaw, smiling.  Jim
had almost always been just a big pussycat with him from the day they
met.  

     Lowering his head to the inviting chest beneath him, Jim began
paying homage to every inch of Blair's body with lips and tongue. 
When he'd left nipples erect and aching, cock hard and straining, and
unintelligible sounds of pleading came from Blair's passion-heavy
voice, he reached under the strong thighs and pushed upward, Blair
holding onto his knees and pulling his legs up and wide apart, opening
himself completely, his breath coming out in little gasps.

     His eyes on the prize now, Jim moved down to lick and suck at
the heavy balls, rubbing the undersides of Blair's thighs with his hands. 
He slid his tongue down to Blair's perineum, licking hard there,
knowing it would make Blair crazy, trying to motivate the devil tongue
to move back farther or to take his now-aching cock into the hot
moisture of Jim's mouth.

     After dancing along the tender skin above Blair's center, Jim's
tongue made its move, teasing the entrance with just the tip in light,
flicking motions.  

     "Jim...please...have you got stuff?"  Blair managed.

     "Damn...it's up at the house."

     "You are *not* leaving me here to go get it.  Use spit."

     "We're *not* using spit.  At least, not unless it's attached to my
tongue."  Jim smiled, leaning back in to resume his work on the little
pucker, licking in earnest now, reaching up to grab Blair's cock and
pump it at the same time he darted his tongue in and out of his lover's
body.

     Blair was moaning now, writhing in time with Jim's motions,
the inventive tongue making him forget entirely about having anything
else invading that opening.  With a cry of Jim's name, he climaxed,
bathing Jim's hand and his own belly.  

     Moving up to smile at that flushed, sensuous, sated face, Jim
snaked his tongue out to lick his lips, making Blair groan and smile at
the same time.

     "Come on up here, man.  I've got some work to do."  Blair
reached out and Jim moved up as directed, his cock right over Blair's
mouth as Jim braced himself on all fours in the sand.  Blair's hands
were roaming over Jim's thighs now, moving up to knead and massage
firm buttocks as his mouth engulfed the hard cock above it, sucking in
earnest, encouraging Jim to move with him, to thrust into his mouth.  

     If Blair could have smiled, he would.  If there was one thing he
enjoyed, it was making Jim crazy, making him let go, lose control,
scream like a banshee and come like a geyser.  Kneading a buttock
with one hand and using the other to probe and tease the tight hole
while keeping up the steady sucking motion earned him just those
results.  Jim was sweating, grunting, shouting out Blair's name and
other various nonsensical things, rocking hard now, barely able to
control his thrusting, but somehow managing not to bruise his lover.

     Jim looked out at the ocean through hazy, foggy eyes, his senses
free to open up out here, to listen to the wet, slurping sounds of Blair
sucking him, to feel the stimulation with every nerve ending, nothing
but the occasional ripple of water to distract him until he felt the
moment of his climax building.  And then he was moving faster, Blair
was sucking harder, milking him as he shot into his lover's waiting
throat.  As he was coming down off the high, he felt and heard his cock
slide out of Blair's mouth with a loud, wet "pop" that wasn't totally
accidental.  Panting, he looked down at the devil between his legs, and
found him smiling guiltily, licking a little drop of come off his lip.

     Finding a few remaining shreds of strength, Jim moved back
down and gathered Blair in his arms, moving them so Jim lay on the
bed of clothes, and Blair sprawled on a bed of Jim.  He reached up and
pushed the long hair back, letting it tangle around his hands.  He ran a
thumb along a kiss-swollen lip.

     "That mouth's going to be the death of me yet, baby," he said,
watching the full lips closing around his thumb, the sultry eyes issuing
a raw, lustful invitation.  There was more where this came from, and it
was all waiting for them up at the house, where the coveted tube of
lubricant lurked in their bedroom.  And under the couch.  And in the
kitchen cupboard.  And in the motel office desk drawer.  And in the
bathroom.  And even on the workbench in the almost-never-used
basement...except for one day when it had seemed just too damned hot
in the house to do it anywhere else...

     "I love you," Jim said, free his thumb and pulling Blair into a
tight embrace.

     "I love you too.  A lot."  Blair squeezed back, settling against
Jim's chest for a little post sex nap.  The two men indulged in a little
light doze, then pulled on their damp, rumpled clothes and made their
way up to the house, wondering how far they'd get and which tube
would be the lucky winner that night...

     Later that night, settled in their bed, Jim relaxed and let his
senses wander as they wished, looking through the large bedroom
window, seeing only the midnight blue blanket of the night sky studded
with a panorama of stars, the moon reflecting off the ocean in shining
blue-white highlights.  The water lapped the shoreline, occasionally
lifted by the wind to crash against rocks.  The infrequent beam from
the lighthouse swept over the terrain Jim could see in the dark simply
by looking at it a moment.  He'd have never dared let himself go this
way back in Cascade, for fear of a siren or car horn or something
slicing through his brain like a razor.  But out here, the only sounds
were the ocean, the wind in the trees, Blair's heartbeat steady against
him and the consistent chirping of crickets.

     Jim looked down at the sleeping face on his chest, wishing he
could erase the little lines of worry he saw marring the perfect, smooth
forehead.  Starting over was scary; there were times Jim had more than
one line of worry in his own forehead, wondering if they could possibly
make enough money to run this place, and to continue indulging in
luxuries they had learned to enjoy--like groceries and utility bills.  It
would be hard to pack up and move yet again, to go find menial jobs in
some other unknown place, but if that's what it took that's what they'd
do.  Hopefully, more than three guests would sign up to visit the
Beacon Pointe Inn.  

     Stroking Blair's hair, watching him sleep, Jim felt a little stab of
pain, like he so often did, at what price Blair had paid for the position
he know occupied, tucked in Jim's arms.  Jim had certainly made it
clear that he couldn't have that spot while the whole misery of the
public exposure of the dissertation had been raging.  Blair wanted that
place badly enough to sacrifice everything he had to give to get it.  

     "You deserve so much more than this, angel," Jim whispered,
too quietly for the now-sleeping Blair to hear him.  He knew as well as
Blair did that their love, their relationship was right and worth saving. 
That Blair would not have been happy with an empty set of letters after
his name if it had cost them this.  Still, he ached almost physically for
the loss Blair had suffered, and would have given anything he had to
make that loss go away, to give Blair back his professional reputation...
to take some pompous old shit like Eli Stoddard and kick his ass from
Gull Coast all the way back to Cascade for hurting Blair.

********