Several long planning discussions later, Jim and Blair settled on
decorating each of the motels rooms with some sort of nautical motif,
with four of the nineteen rooms turned into "lighthouse" rooms, five
"fishing" rooms, four "oceanside" rooms (featuring seashells and beach
themes), three "staterooms" (all containing cruise ship decor, including
porthole-shaped mirrors), and three "nature" rooms (which featured
leafy green silk plants, earth-friendly natural fabrics in the spread and
drapes).  

     The room that was to be turned into the kitchen and dining
room proved a bit longer and more tedious a job to convert, but neither
man could honestly express regret at having to hire a carpenter to do
some of that work.  Both had spent enough long days painting,
scrubbing, rearranging furniture and hauling in new items that they
were happy to finally sit back and supervise someone else busting his
butt for a while.

     Jim and Blair gratefully devoured any literature they received
from the innkeepers' association they finally joined, relieved to find
some guidance as to how to set up the kitchen, and some ideas on
where and how to market The Beacon Pointe Inn.  The remote location
was going to be a strike against them in some ways, as those tourists
who wanted to spend all their time in quaint shops buying pricey
trinkets would have to drive fifteen minutes back into Gull Coast, and
then, one brief foray down the main street of town, and the shopping
trip would be concluded.  

     The best customers would be people who loved fishing,
relaxing on a little-known beach, hiking, nature walks, lighthouse buffs
and those looking to "get away from it all".  With those target
vacationers in mind, unable to afford the services of a professional, the
two men put their heads together to design a few adds for travel
magazines.  Jim demonstrated a real flair for putting together eye-catching
 ad designs to showcase the text and slogans they both devised. 
Blair took the ads on disc to a print shop in Bangor, where they were
made into camera-ready art, and then submitted them to the list of
publications they selected.  

     For a mere $85 per night, guests could stay in one of the newly
renovated "themed" rooms, enjoy a view of the ocean and a working
lighthouse, access to a beach utilized almost exclusively by The
Beacon Pointe Inn, fishing, hiking, and easy access to Acadia National
Park, which offered a host of activities to keep any nature lover happy. 
A short drive would take them to Gull Coast, or to  Uncle Mike's
Lobster House, where the manager had gotten to know his new regular
customers--the owners of the Beacon Pointe Inn--and offered a 10%
discount to guests of the Inn.

     Jim made the necessary calls to the Coast Guard and finally to a
building inspector to get the go-ahead to give lighthouse tours, which
would be a complimentary part of the guests' stays, but a paying
business for anyone else who wanted to wander out to Beacon Pointe
Bluff for a look.

     By the time August ended, The Beacon Pointe Inn was as ready
as it would ever be to book guests.  Blair nearly died of shock when he
picked up the phone in the motel's front office, having busied himself
with organizing the office supplies for the third time that week, and an
honest-to-God potential guest was on the line.  Jim, who was on his
back on the floor beneath one of the chairs opposite the front counter,
trying to figure if the rickety thing should be repaired or just replaced,
sat up to watch in fascination as Blair talked animatedly with the
caller, while he made excited, celebratory, though noiseless,
expressions toward Jim, pointing at the phone happily, as if to say
"We've got a live one!"

     "That's great, Mr. Hanover.  I just need your credit card number
to confirm your reservation...  Okay, we'll see you and your wife on
Friday, September 3rd....  Well, yes, I'm glad too.  It's probably because
we just now opened--but I'm glad we had a room available for the
Labor Day Weekend...  Right, that was one of our Seaside Rooms... 
Your anniversary?  Which one?"  Blair grinned at Jim, who had to
smile at Blair bonding on the phone with their first customer.  "Oh,
man, that's great.  We'll have to do something special for you guys
while you're here...  Great.  We'll see you then...  Do you have an e-mail
address that can take attachments?   Okay, I'll e-mail you a map and
directions.  The route to Gull Coast from Bangor is really direct, and
once you get to Gull Coast, we're easy to find...  Right.  Well, and if
you get hung up, just give us a call...Okay, thanks again."  Blair hung
up and jumped up in the air.  "YYEEEESSSSS!!!!"

     "First live one, huh, Chief?"  Jim got up and ambled behind the
counter, taking advantage of the frantic hugging he'd get in Blair's
overjoyed state.  He slid his arms around his lover's waist and lifted
him a couple inches off the ground, holding him there.  "Multiple
nights?"

     "Friday through Sunday night!"  Blair replied, still overjoyed. 
"It's their 25th anniversary.  We've gotta do something special, man."

     "We will, sweetheart."  Jim kissed the active mouth in the one
rare moment of stillness.  "It's official.  We have customers."

     "You think we'll get any more?  I mean, won't it be kind of
embarrassing if they show up and they're the only ones?"

     "Just a little," Jim agreed, laughing.  "We'll have to invite
everybody from Cascade to come out here and fill up the rooms."

     "We should do that anyway."

     "Can't afford airfare for all of them, and frankly, sweetheart, if
we can get paying customers, we've gotta take it."

     "They could pay their own, and we're bound to have some
rooms left--" Blair was cut off by the ringing phone.  "Your turn," he
said to Jim as the larger man released him and picked it up.

     "Beacon Pointe Inn...  For this weekend?  Let me check."  Jim
slid a couple papers around on the counter for the caller's benefit. 
"Yes, we do have a few vacancies left...  Our themes are lighthouses,
oceanside, fishing, nature and cruise ship...  Well, they have the best
view of the lighthouse, and all the stuff in the room is lighthouse-themed...  
Uh...yes, we do have one of those available.  When will you
be arriving...  Thursday night?  Okay.  How many?  One?  Terrific... 
Right, breakfast is included free of charge, and there are some great
restaurants not far from here for the other meals--plus, if you're hiking
or fishing or spending a lot of time outdoors, you can pick up food and
supplies at the general store in Gull Coast...  You do?  Great.  They can
direct you out here...  All right, Ms. Chandler.  We'll be seeing you
Thursday afternoon then?  Fine.  I just need a credit card number to
confirm that reservation."  Jim took down the information, smiling up
at his lover, who was literally bouncing where he stood.  "Thank you
for choosing the Beacon Pointe Inn."  Jim hung up and hugged Blair
again.  

     "I think we're the only place with vacancies," Blair said,
gathering the slips of paper to take up to the house to enter in the
computer.  Business would have to get better before another one was
purchased for the office.  

     "Hey, I don't care why they come, as long as they come. 
Besides, if they have a good time, they'll come back, and they'll spread
the word."

     "I loved it when you actually *checked* for a vacancy, man. 
That was too funny."

     "They don't need to know that we don't have a snowball's
chance in hell of filling up before the weekend."

     "Hey, we better read up on all those regulations for the kitchen, 
and start thinking about getting some food on hand for our guests."

     "All three of them," Jim reminded him.

********

     Blair padded down the hall, freshly showered and naked as a
jaybird, entered the bedroom and began digging around in the dresser
drawer for clean underwear.  Jim was already in bed, reading a book on
New England inns and bed & breakfasts.  He regarded Blair with a
serious expression.  

     "We never tried it the other way."

     "Huh?"  Blair turned around, holding a pair of pale blue boxers
in his hand.  

     "Uh...you know, sex."

     "The other way?"  Blair frowned a minute.  Then the dawning
came.  "Oh!"  Blair moved toward the bed, tossing the boxers on the
foot of it and sat there on the edge, still naked.  "I didn't want to
pressure you, and when you didn't mention it again, I thought maybe
you weren't ready."

     "I wasn't."  Jim set the book aside.  

     "But now?"  Blair asked, smiling a little.

     "I've been thinking about it a lot."  Jim looked thoughtful a
moment.  "I've gotta say, Chief, I've never been this relaxed in my life. 
I mean, I sleep like a stone--no traffic noises, no sirens, no voices--just
the ocean.  No set schedule--well, I mean we'll sort of have one when
we have to get up to put breakfast on for the guests, but it's much more
relaxed than it was back home."

     "I really love it here, too, man."  Blair paused.  "Hey, maybe we
could plan a really special evening, and--"

     "I was thinking about right here...uh...right now," Jim said, a
little nervously.  Blair climbed into the bed and snuggled up to Jim,
kissing the smooth chest under his lips.  

     "I love you."

     "I love you too."

     "I promise to make it really good for you, lover."

     "I don't doubt it, sweetheart."  Jim smiled down at Blair, who
moved to straddle him, claiming his mouth in a long, breath-stealing
kiss.  Jim felt the heat of Blair's naked groin through his boxers,
wondering how long it would take Blair to work his way down to them. 

     They spent long minutes just kissing, finally wrapping around
each other and rolling on their sides, never breaking the contact of their
lips.  When neither could do without breathing any longer, they
separated, and Blair began kissing his way down Jim's jawline to his
throat, licking and nipping at the tender skin there, finding a spot and
fastening his mouth on it, marking Jim as his own.  

     "Let me give you a back rub, lover," Blair suggested, hot breath
warming Jim's ear.  

     "You just want me relaxed so you can have your wicked way
with me," he retorted, kissing Blair's deliciously reddened, kiss-swollen
lips.

     "You have a problem with that?"

     "Absolutely not."  Jim rolled onto his stomach, utterly relaxed,
trusting Blair completely, feeling a little ripple of excitement in his
stomach at what was going to happen.

     Strong hands started kneading the muscles in his shoulders,
warm, moist lips occasionally dipping down to plant little kisses along
his spine.  

     "You're not nearly as tight as you used to be back home.  I
remember when I needed a jackhammer to get these babies loosened
up."  Blair smiled at the evidence of the good effect their new setting
was having on his lover.  Still, he couldn't help but wonder how long
Jim would be happy tinkering around the property and taking
reservations before he'd get restless.

     "Maybe the rest of me's loosened up too, huh?"  Jim asked,
looking over his shoulder at Blair with a devilish grin.

     "Better not be too loose.  Takes all the fun out of it," Blair
retorted, leaning forward to plant an awkward kiss on the side of Jim's
mouth.  "Raise up a little, love.  The pillows made it a lot easier on me
the first time around--takes the pressure off your back."  Blair stuffed
the pillows under Jim's stomach as he raised up to accommodate them. 
The younger man's breath caught in his throat at the sight laid out
before him.  That perfectly sculpted back and shoulders, tapering to the
firm midsection, sloping down to the swell of a perfect, firm, muscular
pair of buttocks that flowed into powerful legs.  

     "You still with me, Chief?"  Jim asked, puzzled by the total lack
of movement or sound behind him.  Just the thundering of Blair's heart
reached his sentinel hearing.

     "Always.  I'm always with you, love.  God, you're just
so...gorgeous."  Blair stroked the smooth skin of Jim's lower back.  "I
love you so much it scares me sometimes."

     "Pretty intense, isn't it?"  Jim agreed, thinking of his own
feelings for the man who was about to make love to him in a way no
one ever had before--or would again.  Only Blair.

     "Beyond intense," Blair murmured, pressing a kiss to the base
of Jim's spine, his hands stroking up and down the smooth sides firmly
enough not to tickle.  He brought them to rest on Jim's hips, moving
down to kiss and nibble at the firm cheeks.  He'd touched Jim here
before, even had a finger inside him when they did a 69 on occasion,
but he'd never had full, unrestricted access this way.  Jim hadn't offered
it, and Blair had respected that, knowing that his own first time
wouldn't have been pleasant if he'd been afraid of it or not ready
emotionally for it.

     Gently separating the firm cheeks, Blair began tickling the
sensitive skin near Jim's center with the tip of his tongue, smiling at the
shiver that ran through his lover's body.  He let the tongue dance
around the puckered opening, licking more firmly over the tender skin
of Jim's perineum.  

     "God, Chief..."  Jim gasped, hands clutching at the sheets as he
ground his erect cock into the pillows.

     "Now you know how it feels when you taste me, love. 
Incredible..."

     "Intimate."

     "Intimate."  

     They shared a little chuckle at saying the one word in unison.  

     Blair concentrated the motion of his tongue on the little pucker
itself, licking around it, finally darting it inside the tight ring of muscle.

     Jim let out a long, low growl at the incredible feeling of the hot,
wet invader that was claiming his center, teasing at the tight muscle,
bringing him to a painful hardness before Blair even got started on the
main event.  He mourned the withdrawal of the exotic tongue, but as he
heard Blair fumbling for the lube, he let the tingle of anticipation
spread through his aroused body.  
     "Just my finger first, babe.  Relax.  We've got all night."

     "Speak for yourself, baby," Jim responded, thrusting his hips
down into the frustrating softness of the pillows.  If Blair didn't get on
with it soon, Jim was seriously tempted to throw the smaller man on
the bed and take him instead, just to alleviate the raging hard-on that
was tormenting him for release.  

     "Whoa, something interesting's developing here, huh?"  Blair
teased, a hand slithering under Jim to pump the engorged cock a couple
of times.

     "If you don't fuck me soon, I'll kill you, Sandburg," Jim ground
out.

     "I love you too, light of my life," Blair responded, laughing at
the impassioned threat, and sliding a lubed finger into Jim gently but
firmly, bringing a groan from him that was both aroused and frustrated.

     "Oh, man, it's gonna be so good, lover.  This finger's not enough
for you, is it?  Look at that beautiful ass move.  You love this, babe. 
You know you love it.  You want more, don't you?"

     "You're quick, Sandburg," Jim shot back, thoroughly enjoying
the physical sensations, and at ease with the teasing banter between
them.  Leave it to Blair to take all the fear out of this act somehow.

     "Quicker than you think," Blair said, slowly sliding two fingers
into the tight passage, moving very slowly as this was the most
intrusion Jim had ever experienced.  "You ought to see my cock, lover. 
Hard and full and straining...ready slide deep into you."  Blair rotated
the fingers, leaning forward to kiss one of the writhing cheeks.  Then
he extended one skilled finger to nudge at Jim's prostate.  The larger
man cried out then, thrusting down on Blair's fingers to repeat the
experience.  Blair accommodated him one more time, before
withdrawing the two fingers to return with three.  Jim's motion seemed
to still a bit then.

     "Okay, lover?"

     "Yeah...just...fuller," Jim said, the added sensation of stretching
unnerving him a bit now, making him grateful, as Blair always was to
him, that his lover knew better what he needed than he did.

     "Want to go back to two for a while?"

     "No, just...take it slow."

     "You know I will, love.  Wouldn't hurt you for the world."  Blair
kissed the middle of Jim's back, then used his free hand to caress Jim's
lower back, soothing him into relaxing, keeping the fingers mostly still
in the taut channel.  

     Finally, he began moving them more aggressively, brushing
over Jim's prostate three times in rapid succession, a sure-fire way to
prompt Jim to loosen up and enjoy himself.  With his lover's hips
moving in rhythm with the invading fingers again, groans of pure
pleasure issuing from him, Blair slowly withdrew the fingers and
reached for the lube.  

     Coating himself liberally, Blair leaned forward and planted a
soft kiss at the base of Jim's spine.

     "I love you," he whispered.

     "Love you too, Chief."   

     "I'm coming in, lover.  Let me know how you're feeling, okay?"

     "Horny," Jim managed, grinning over his shoulder at Blair.

     "I think I can help with that," Blair responded, smiling wickedly
as he pressed his cock against Jim's center, then pushed carefully until
the head popped inside the tight ring, resting just inside Jim's body.  

     Jim was breathing heavily now, torn between wanting the
invader that felt too large removed and wanting it further inside him.  

     "More," he managed, his aroused body knowing better than he
did what it wanted and needed.  Blair slid further inside, the hard cock
pushing the lubricated walls to their limits.

     "Love you so much, Jim.  God, you're incredible.  I never...felt
anything...like this," Blair gasped, responding to the tight pressure on
his erection.  Sensing that Jim was relaxing more, Blair pushed ahead a
bit more, and was surprised when Jim thrust back, completing the
penetration so Blair's groin rested against the firm buttocks.  

     "Oh, man," Jim groaned loudly, the impressive system of
muscles in his back flexing as he pushed up a bit on his arms, moving
up to all fours on the mattress.  

     "God, Jim, feels so good," Blair murmured, kissing along the
part of Jim's back he could reach.  Then he tried very carefully pulling
back and thrusting forward again.  Jim groaned and grunted a little, but
before Blair could move again or analyze what the noises meant, Jim
thrust back against him, creating some motion of his own.  

     "C'mon, baby, let's move," Jim goaded.

     "Love you," Blair gasped, starting a slow, steady pumping in
and out of the incredibly tight channel, their shared moans filling the
room as the thrusts picked up tempo, adding the satisfying slapping
together of damp flesh to the symphony of sounds.  

     Blair angled his thrusts, nailing Jim's prostate several times,
loving the wanton screams of pleasure it dragged out of his normally
composed partner.  He grabbed hold of Jim's rigid cock, pumping it in
time with their thrusts.  Just as he felt his own orgasm building, Jim let
out a cry of pleasure as his internal muscles pumped and massaged
Blair's cock, dragging him along to his peak with Jim.  

     Jim slumped down on the bed, the last of the shudders running
through him as his equally boneless partner panted against him,
sprawled on his back, their bodies still joined.

     "Jim...lover...that was...oh my *God*," Blair opined, still not
moving off Jim's body.

     "Better than I expected.  And I thought it was going to be great,"
Jim agreed.  "That is, judging by the way someone I know carries on
when I nail his little pleasure nob."

     "The way *I* carry on?"  Blair teased.  He was startled when
Jim squeezed him with internal muscles.  

     "I love the way you carry on," Jim said, reaching behind him to
stroke at Blair's hair.

     "I love everything about you," Blair replied in a hushed voice. 
"You're my whole life, Jim."

     "And you're mine, sweetheart."

     "I should move now."

     "Just take it slow, remember?"

     "We just did it last night, love.  I remember."  Blair had a smile
in his voice, and Jim smiled into his pillow, only wincing a little at the
ache in his well-used passage as Blair slipped free of his body. 
"Okay?"  Blair asked, concern in his voice.

     "I know you were there, but I'm fine, baby."  Jim rolled onto his
back and pulled Blair down on top of him, their mouths finally meeting
in a prolonged kiss.  

     "Your muscles do get in shape down there, just like all the
others.  You won't be as achy every time."

     "At least we don't have to keep that discrete little pillow under
the seat of the truck anymore," Jim teased, slapping Blair's ass
playfully.

     "We do now," Blair corrected, reminding Jim that there was
another freshly deflowered male virgin in the house now.

     "Oh, you were planning to do this again?"  Jim needled,
massaging Blair's buttocks with both hands.

     "Maybe once or twice..."  Blair let a long pause go by, "a day."

     "*Every day*?"  Jim clarified.

     "I'm kidding, Jim," Blair said, kissing him again.

     "That's a little disappointing, baby."

     "It was really good for you?"

     "I'm lying in a giant wet spot, Chief.  Trust me.  It was good. 
That's one of the bigger wet spots I've ever created."

     "And you're willing to lie in it."

     "Not for long."  

     "Relax, babe.  I'll get us a washcloth."  Blair kissed Jim and
then got out of bed, hurrying down the hall to the bathroom, retrieving
a wet, soapy cloth and a towel.  When he returned, Jim was sprawled
on his stomach, looking about as relaxed as he ever had in his life. 
Blair sat on the side of the bed next to his prone partner and stroked the
rumpled hair back from the beloved face, smiling as Jim did.  "You
don't have any idea how much I love you, do you?"  Blair said, his
voice a little husky.

     "I think I've got a clue, baby."

     "No, you don't.   You're never going to know how much I love
you, or how beautiful I think you are.  Inside and out.  The way I just
feel this warm flood of...love all through me whenever I see you.  I
want you to know how much the gift you just gave me, means to me."

     "I think I have an idea of how much it means, baby.  I received
the same gift from you, remember?"

     "I'll remember as long as I live.  And longer."  Blair leaned
down and kissed Jim's temple.  Then he moved back to gently wash his
lover, waiting while Jim rolled over so he could clean off the remnants
of their lovemaking.  He leaned forward and lightly kissed the soft skin
just below Jim's navel.  He quickly washed himself and then tossed the
used cloth and towel in a heap on the floor, crawling into Jim's waiting
arms.  

     As they both drifted into the sound, peaceful sleep of the sated,
for the first time since everything had crashed down around his ears
back in Cascade, Blair couldn't think of a single thing in his world he
wanted to change.

********

     Blair set the small shrub, roots first, into the hole he'd finished
digging and started filling it in with dirt and peat moss, adding liberal
amounts of water as he went.  Though Jim had been hesitant to spend
the money to add shrubs along the border of the motel's porch, Blair
was convinced the place still looked too barren and unattractive, even
with a fresh coat of paint.  As soon as funds permitted, he was hopeful
to add shutters and other accessories to make the place a little homier. 
As for their own house, it still cried out for paint, there was a step
missing on the way up to the front porch, and "landscaping" consisted
of digging out the weeds and cutting the grass.

     Jim hauled the final box of supplies into the kitchen, then began
the task of unpacking the new dishes.  He was startled by a knock at the
open door of the dining room, smiling to himself at having the
experience of actually being startled by someone's presence. //Getting
so damned laid back now you don't even keep alert,// he chided himself
as he walked out into the room that served as the dining room to see a
man of about sixty years of age, dressed in a golf shirt, shorts and
battered athletic shoes.  The stocky man with the receding gray hair
took off his sunglasses and smiled.

     "I thought I heard someone back there.  There was someone out
front, but he looked a little busy to take reservations," he referred to
Blair, who was little more than a pair of feet and an occasional glimpse
of a pony tail among a menagerie of potted shrubs and bags of peat
moss.

     "You're interested in a room then?"  Jim asked.

     "Yes, if you have anything beginning today.  The resort where I
normally stay had a computer malfunction, and lost my reservation
somehow.  They're fully booked, so I'm in a bit of a bind."

     "I think we can help out with that.  The office is right this way," 
Jim motioned to the other man to go back outside through the doorway
where he stood, and they walked together to the motel office.  

     "You have a vacancy?  I'm happy to hear that--you're my last
resort...rather literally, I guess," he quipped, and Jim laughed, pulling
out the guest register.

     "Sorry about the old 'sign in' routine.  My partner maintains the
guest database on the computer up at the house, so we're still at the
stage of taking everything down by hand in the office."  Jim turned the
book around to face his guest.  "How long are you looking to stay?"

     "Well, for now, let's say a week.  I like your setting out here--I
might want to extend that to the rest of the autumn, if that's agreeable."

     "That's fine.  We only recently opened, so we have a little more
latitude with vacancies right now.  I'm sure we could accommodate you
for the Fall."

     "Great.  Oh, here's the plastic," he said, sliding his credit card
across the counter to Jim, who put it in the manual credit card slip
machine and imprinted it on the slip before really looking at the name. 
"You look awfully familiar.  Are you from around here?"  the man
asked Jim, as Jim continued to gape at the name on the card.

     "Uh...no.  We just moved here from Washington."

     "D.C.?"

     "No, Washington State."  

     "I just have the feeling I've seen you somewhere before--is
everything all right?"  he asked, noticing that Jim's eyes were riveted to
the credit card he still held in his hand.

     "Excuse me.  I have to check on something with my partner."

     "May I have the credit card back?"  

     "Oh, yeah, here.  Sorry."  Jim hurried toward the door of the
office and almost smacked head on into a sweaty, muddy, bedraggled
Blair.

     "Whoa, sorry, man.  I was just heading in for a shot of
lemonade  and a little air conditioning.  It's *hot* out there."

     "We have a guest," Jim said, trying to back Blair out of the
doorway to the office before he could see the man waiting inside.

     "Oh, sorry.  I'll just head up to the house and get something. 
Don't want to scare off the guests."

     "I need to have a word with you."  Jim took a hold of Blair's
arm gently but firmly and led him into the dining room next door. 
"You're not going to believe who just asked to book a room for a week,
maybe all Fall."

     "Who?"

     "Eli Stoddard."

     "Oh, shit."  Blair let out a long breath.  "What the hell?  We
need the money.  Book him," Blair quipped, and Jim smiled.

     "I'd love to--first degree criminal assholism."  Jim paused,
chuckling a little.  Then, his smile fading, "Are you sure you're okay
with this?"

     "He's going to stay in one of the rooms.  I don't have to bond
with the guy.  Besides, I can't wander around until the snow falls
avoiding him."

     "True.  Okay, if you're sure, sweetheart.  Because we don't need
anybody's money badly enough to make you miserable for three
months."

     "I'm sure.  I think I'll just go on up to the house and get
something to drink--"

     "Blair, hold on right there.  This is *our* business, and *our*
home.  He's the guest here, not you.  If there's something you want in
the office, you go get it and don't worry about him."

     "Jim--"

     "Chief, you go in there, head held high, and make yourself at
home.  You *are* at home."

     "You better get back in there before he thinks we don't want the
business," Blair motioned toward the door.  Jim grimaced a little and
leaned forward, kissing Blair's mouth quickly.  

     "I love you."

     "I know.  I love you too."  Blair forced a little smile as Jim went
on ahead into the office, and completed the paperwork for Stoddard's
reservation.

     Blair went to the sink in the kitchen and washed off his face
and hands, then walked back out on the porch that ran in front of all the
units.  Jim was just leading their guest out of the office, keys in hand.

     "Eli.  Good to see you again," Blair said, extending a hand
toward his former mentor.  He watched as the other man noticeably
paused, then shook his hand somewhat hurriedly.  

     "You work here now?"  Stoddard asked, giving Blair's
somewhat disheveled appearance a critical once-over.

     "He's a co-owner," Jim spoke up.  "My partner."  Jim's tone was
polite but icy.  He made it a point to slide an arm around Blair's
shoulders.  "I understand you were one of Blair's mentors during his
undergraduate work." //Might as well go for the old fucker's jugular,//
Jim decided.

     "Many years ago, yes."  He paused uneasily.  "If you two will
excuse me, I would like to see the room.  I'm a bit tired from my flight,
and it's been a rather hectic day so far."

     "Room 16."  Jim handed him the keys with an expression that
only stopped marginally short of a glare.

     "My bags are in my rental car," he said, holding out the remote
control that would open the trunk.  Jim just stared at him and as Blair
reached for it, pushed his hand back down to his side.

     "We don't have a bell stand here.  I'm afraid bags are the guests'
responsibility.  You can park your car in the parking area behind the
motel--it'll be closer to your room.  Now if *you'll* excuse *us*, we
have work to do to get ready for our other guests."  Jim rested a hand in
the middle of Blair's back and guided him into the cabin that was the
dining room/kitchen of the inn and closed the door, leaving Stoddard
standing on the porch with his remote control still extended.

     "Jim, he *is* a paying customer."

     "Fuck that.  I'm going out there and toss the old son of a bitch
back in his overpriced rental car and jam his luggage up his ass."  Jim
reached for the door, but Blair made a successful grab at his wrist.  

     "Jim, let it go.  Look, he's paying us to stay here.  And we're
almost out of money, in case you haven't looked at the checkbook
lately."

     "Yeah, well, we can put the loft on the market and I've still got
my retirement fund I can liquidate."

     "You are *not* liquidating your retirement fund, Jim.  No way,
man.  You want us to starve when we're old?"

     "I want us to live to *be* old, Chief.  That takes money."

     "Yeah, and Stoddard's got plenty of it.  I'll just keep out of his
face, and maybe if we don't openly insult him, he'll stay on for a while. 
We have a grand total of *three rooms* out of nineteen filled for the
weekend, man.  We can't afford not to accept this."

     "I won't stand by and let him be rude to you."

     "Guests in hotels and motels and inns can be real assholes.  He
isn't the first one and he won't be the last.  You can't beat up every
guest who says something sharp to me or we'll be out of business in a
year."

     "All right, fine.  He stays.  But I'm not promising not to put the
old shit in his place if he gets on your back."

     "The only man I want getting on my back is you, lover.  Now
how about helping me plant the rest of these shrubs.  I'll help you with
the kitchen later.  More fun working together, right?"  Blair slid his
arms around Jim's waist, smiling.

     "You're the best, Chief.  Even if you do stink like hell right
now."

     "Sorry, man," Blair said, laughing and backing away.  "Oooh,
yeah, rancid," Blair agreed, sniffing at his own armpit.

     "You could kill yourself doing that, Sandburg.  Come on, let's
go plant some shrubs."

********

     Waking to the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom,
Jim got out of bed and made his way down the hall.  The door to the
bathroom was open, and Blair was sitting on the floor across from the
toilet, looking more than a little wrung out.

     "What's wrong, Chief?"  Jim crouched by his partner, snagging
a washcloth and sticking it under the faucet.  

     "Man, I was just so nauseous when I woke up, and
then...*wham*."  
     
     "You don't feel feverish--just a little clammy."  Jim withdrew
the hand that had felt Blair's forehead and bathed the pale face off with
the washcloth.  "Think you're done?"  Jim asked, gesturing toward the
toilet.

     "Yeah.  I still feel shaky in there, but nothing more's gonna
happen."

     "Let's get you back into bed."

     "What about breakfast?"

     "You're hungry?"

     "Oh, God, no," Blair responded, putting a hand over his
stomach.  "I mean we have to fix it for--"

     "I'll do it.  You need to get back in bed and sleep a little while."

     "Don't poison him, Jim."

     "Why not?  We've got plenty of room to bury the bodies out
back."  Jim helped Blair to his feet.  "Remember that movie, 'Motel
Hell'--the guy had this head garden out in back?"

     "Geez, Jim, I never would've pictured you into B-horror
movies."  Blair chortled weakly as he leaned into Jim for support,
relieved to see the bed again.  

     "One of the vices of my youth," Jim quipped, tucking Blair back
into the bed and sitting on the side of it.  "How do you feel now,
sweetheart?"

     "Queasy.  Tired mostly."  Blair smiled as Jim stroked a couple
of loose strands of hair away from his face.  

     "I can call down to the inn and tell his majesty that he's on his
own for breakfast.  I don't want to leave you if you feel shaky."

     "I'm not moving out of this bed unless I feel steady.  Besides,
you won't be gone all that long.  I'll be fine.  I think I'll be okay after a
nap anyway."

     "Okay, if you're sure."  Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair
lightly on the mouth.  "This is about Stoddard, isn't it?  A mild panic
attack?"

     "No, Jim, it's not about Stoddard.  I spent a little too much time
working too hard in the hottest part of the day, I think, and it just made
me kind of queasy.  It happens."

     "You never minded the heat before."

     "Guess my body minded it this time."

     Jim knew Blair was lying, that he was literally making himself
sick over the presence--and reaction--of his former mentor and friend. 
But he didn't have the heart to pressure the pale, tired-looking man in
the bed for a straight answer.  

     "Okay, sweetheart.  I'll go take care of things at the motel, and
I'll be back.  The cordless is right there on the nightstand, so if you feel
sick or you need anything, call me down at the kitchen and I'll be here
before you hang up."

     "I know.  I'll be fine, Jim.  Really."

     "I'll hold you to that."  Jim smiled, kissing Blair's forehead and
heading for the bathroom to take a shower.

********

     Jim was busily chopping green peppers, taking his hostility
toward Stoddard out on the helpless vegetables.  It wasn't bad enough
to have him staying on the same property, but having to cook the old
geezer breakfast was probably the ultimate pain in the ass.  Jim cast an
eye around the kitchen, looking for the onion, his eyes fixing on a can
of drain cleaner in a box destined for the cupboard under the sink.

     //Wonder how a omelet marinated in Drano would taste?// Jim
thought, slamming the onion down on the cutting board. //Omelet. 
Can't order fucking eggs and fucking sausage.  Has to have a
 son-of-a-bitchin' omelet!// Jim ranted internally, halving the onion with a
samurai blow to its middle with the carving knife. //That one's for you,
Eli,// he thought bitterly. //That one's for all the emotional *shit*
Sandburg's going through...and this one is for Naomi and her
goddamned meddling...oh, and Chancellor Edwards?  This one's for
you, you tight-assed old bitch.// The knife slammed down into the
massacred vegetable, sticking in the cutting board.

     //So here I am making Eli-fucking-Stoddard's fucking omelet,// 
Jim thought, hacking the onion into something that better resembled
shreds than diced cubes.  He seriously doubted that he'd last a week
being civil to Stoddard, let alone the whole Fall season.  

     As the omelet was cooking, he went out to the dining room and
set a single place at one of the six tables for four.  Planning to go back
and get himself a cup of coffee from the fresh pot that was brewing, he
was interrupted by Stoddard's arrival.

     "Am I too early?"  he asked.

     "Have a seat.  It's in the pan," he responded, managing to keep
the tone civil and polite.  Returning to the kitchen, he finished his work
with the omelet, having honorably resisted the urge to do something
ungodly to it before serving it.  He slid it onto the plate and flipped the
top half over, grimacing at the fact that it actually looked tasty.  But
then Blair had a point about the money.  If they could get $85 a day out
of Stoddard, it might start paying some bills in cash instead of on
overburdened credit cards and extensive installment plans.

     "The room is very comfortable," Stoddard commented as Jim
set the food wordlessly in front of him.

     "Blair did most of the work on the nature themed rooms
himself.  Glad you're enjoying it," Jim managed, walking into the
kitchen and retrieving the pot of coffee to leave it at the table with
Stoddard.

     "I have the feeling my presence here is making you
uncomfortable, Mr. Ellison."

     "That wouldn't be the word I'd choose.  Will there be anything
else?"  he asked, wondering how he had devolved from a cop to a
waiter.  Probably the same way Blair had devolved from a Ph.D.
candidate to a yard man.

     "Would you join me a moment?  Eating alone has never been
one of my favorite things."

     "Look, Dr. Stoddard, I'm doing my level best to provide you
with courteous service as one of our guests, but I have a number of
personal feelings where you're concerned that you really don't want to
tap into."

     "I apologize for my abruptness yesterday.  It was...awkward at
best."

     "How do you think Blair felt?  It was pretty damned *awkward*
for him too."

     "I'm sure it was."  Stoddard leaned back in his chair.  "I've spent
my entire life studying people--all over the world, in all different walks
of life.  I've learned to communicate with them in their native tongues,
to adapt to their customs...but when I was confronted with Blair so
unexpectedly yesterday, I honestly didn't know what to say."

     Jim was a bit thrown by such an open admission, but then
remembered that he was dealing with another Anthropologist, and if
anyone knew how to play people--i.e., placate the angry native--it was
an Anthropologist.  Jim had plenty of on the job experience with one of
those.

     "A simple friendly greeting would have done a lot.  How dare
you sit in judgement of him?  You don't know anything about what he's
been through, or why.  He thought of you as a mentor...a role model--a
*friend* for God's sake.  And you can't even spare him the benefit of
the doubt?  You knew what to say, Stoddard.  You just chose not to say
it."

     "Blair was one of the finest students I ever had--actually,
looking back, he was *the* finest.  He's one of the best young minds in
the field.  To see him presenting fraudulent results in the hopes of
gaining fame...it was...unthinkable."

     "So you just took it all at face value?"

     "Why don't you have a seat and tell me what I should know
about all this?  You seem to be implying there's more to the story than
what Blair said in his press conference."

     "There's more to every story than what you see on the surface,
Stoddard.  As for Blair's situation..."  Jim paced a bit, not sure if he
should be having this conversation behind Blair's back.  At the same
time, he also knew Blair would never make excuses for himself or try
to explain himself for fear of exposing Jim.  So Jim sat down at the
table.  "Blair never intended for that material to be published."

     "He didn't say that."

     "No, he didn't.  He went on television and said something
sensational to take the heat off me--to give me my life back."
     
     "You're saying his results *weren't* fraudulent?"

     Jim stared at the older man, knowing how much Blair had
trusted and respected him in the past.  Knowing how ethical Blair
considered him to be.  If all that were true, maybe he could be trusted
with the truth...

     "I'm saying he wasn't trying to grab glory.  His dissertation was
sent to the publisher without his consent.  The publisher then
proceeded to release excerpts without his permission.  None of this
should have ever happened."

     "Why didn't he say that?"

     "Because to emphasize that would be to leave me in the
spotlight, at risk.  He declared himself a fraud to protect me.  I don't
think I need to outline what would be left of my life if his research
stood unquestioned."

     "Are you saying that the research wasn't fraudulent?"

     "Jim, what the hell's going on here?"  Blair stood in the
doorway, still looking pale and a little under the weather.  

     "Your friend was about to tell me what was really going on with
your research, Blair.  I'd like to know the truth."

     "Blair, you trust this guy?"

     "Not with this.  Jim--don't do this."  Blair was across the room
in a flash, his hands on Jim's shoulders.  "Please, don't do this.  Just let
it lie."

     "You claimed the project was a fraud to save Ellison--is that a
fair assessment?"

     "Jim..."  Blair let the word trail off, sad, defeated.  "Why did
you do this?"

     "Because I can't watch this go on any longer.  I can't stand
seeing you treated like some sort of...of *pariah* because you saved
me.  If I have to live with that, watching you suffer, then my life isn't
worth a rat's ass anyway."

     "Excuse me, gentlemen, but you're both reacting as if you just
called a second press conference.  I'm not in the habit of spreading
information shared with me in confidence."

     "This can't leave this room," Blair said immediately.

     "Chief--" Jim got a hold of one of Blair's hands where it rested
on his shoulders.  The hand felt a little clammy to the touch--much the
way they always felt on the rare occasions that Blair still endured a
mild panic attack. 

     "No, I mean it.  Eli, please.  This is Jim's life were talking about
here.  Please don't breathe a word of this to anyone else.  I mean, I
didn't know how--or even if--I could ever publish, and if I had, I would
have changed *everything* identifying about Jim.  There are all sorts
of...of *bad* scenarios that could come from him being exposed and
the research being validated publicly."

     "One of the principle points of ethics as a researcher who works
with human subjects is not to do harm to those subjects."  Stoddard
took a drink of his coffee.  "I don't plan to do something irresponsible
that would put him in danger."  Blair pulled out a chair and fell into it
with a sigh.  

     "I'm glad to hear you say that, Eli.  I didn't think you'd do
anything on purpose--I just...it's *very important* that Jim not be
exposed publicly.  I mean, the potential for what a government research
lab could do with him alone is--"

     "Not everything's a government conspiracy, Blair," Eli
responded, chuckling a little, as if Blair's tendency to view government
with great suspicion wasn't unknown to him.  "But I do agree that being
made a public spectacle isn't in the best interest of any human subject. 
You felt calling the whole thing fraudulent was the only way?"

     "If I had just said that I didn't plan on publishing, it would have
left everyone thinking that Jim really was all I said he was.  I had to
make as big a splash in the press as the original announcement."

     "Good point," Stoddard responded.  "Blair, I'm sorry for the way
I behaved yesterday.  Even if this hadn't been the case, it was rude and
uncalled for."

     "Thanks," Blair responded, smiling, obviously pleased.  "That
means a lot to me."

     "I had no idea when the news broke what was really happening. 
I have to say that I wish you'd confided in me.  But I understand why
you didn't."  Stoddard smiled, pointing a finger at Jim.  "And this
character over here--I suspect he has something to do with why you
weren't available for Borneo?"

     "Just a little, yeah," Blair admitted, his face coloring just a bit.  

     "How long have you two been a couple?"  Stoddard asked,
obviously not one to beat around the bush.

     "A few months," Jim responded.  "But I think we were both
thinking about it a hell of a lot longer," he said, taking a hold of Blair's
hand where it rested on the table.  

     "Congratulations, then.  So this is a new start?"

     "Things weren't going well in Cascade," Blair responded.  "The
whole fraud issue was big news there--even bigger than it was
nationally.  I got turned down for the good jobs, and Jim wouldn't let
me apply for the lousy ones."

     "My brother found out about this place, and it seemed like a
good way to make a new start.  We liked the setting, and thought it had
possibilities, so here we are."  Jim managed a slight smile, relaxing into
talking to Stoddard now.  Still, he couldn't help but stew about how the
man had treated Blair when he didn't know the whole story.  He'd never
bothered to ask.  "I have to ask...why didn't you ever call Blair?  Write
him a letter? *Ask* him what was going on?"

     "Jim--"

     "No, that's a valid question," Stoddard spoke up.  "I was
disillusioned, disappointed, shocked--it was a visceral reaction. Cut all
the ties and be done with it.  I suppose since I'd always been so
personally proud of Blair's accomplishments, I reacted on an emotional
level rather than thinking it through."

     "I understand that, Eli."

     "I don't, but then it's not up to me," Jim said, still holding onto
Blair's hand.  "I don't understand how you can consider someone a
protege and a friend and then get in line with the rest of the academic
lynch mob to hang him."

     "I can't make excuses for it.  As I said, it was a gut-reaction,
bitter disappointment at seeing such a fine Anthropologist in the center
of public disgrace--not to mention the disgrace it brought to the whole
field."  Stoddard shook his head.  "I owed you a phone call or a letter,
Blair.  Or at least an inquiry when I sent back your research materials."

     "No hard feelings?" Blair offered, extending a hand across the
table to Eli, who shook it, smiling back at his former student. 

     "That omelet has to be kind of gross by now.  I can fix you a hot
one," Blair offered.

     "I'll get it, Chief.  Stay put.  You want some juice?"

     "Just a little milk, huh?"

     "Okay."  Jim took the now stone cold omelet into the kitchen.

     "He didn't have to do that.  I should be watching my cholesterol
anyway," Stoddard said.

     "We can buy egg beaters.  I'll get some at the store."

     "Can't beat that service."

     "It's one of the perks of being our only guest," Blair replied,
laughing.  "We have a couple more people expected in today."

     "Business is slow?"

     "Just got started.  Hopefully it'll pick up."

     "I'm surprised Jim wanted to quit his job and move to the
opposite coast.  Seems like that was what you were trying to prevent
with the press conference."

     "No, I was just trying to prevent him having to live incognito
and being hunted as some sort of...*circus attraction*.  And as for my
theory about the government labs?  Well, we already had a run-in with
one rogue agent who had found some of my old research on sentinels. 
Jim came up with this idea because nothing was working out for me in
Cascade, and he wasn't happy on the job anymore, so here we are."

     "Here you go, Chief."  Jim set the milk in front of his partner. 
"The omelet'll be ready in a minute."

     "I drove out here once about a year ago, to see the lighthouse. 
The place was a real dump.  You've certainly transformed it since
then."

     "Thanks.  We've put a lot of work into it.  The house still needs
some exterior maintenance and landscaping--I'm mostly concerned
people will consider it an eyesore from the motel.  We see mostly the
inside of it anyway," Jim concluded, smiling faintly.

     "Actually, with the motel in good shape, it just looks rustic. 
The lighthouse is certainly missing a little paint here and there,"
Stoddard responded.  

     "Rustic, huh?  You anthropologists certainly do put some
interesting spins on things," Jim said, tugging playfully on Blair's pony
tail before returning to the kitchen.  

********

     "You think Stoddard's on the up and up--trustworthy?"  Jim
asked as he washed Blair's back, the younger man sitting in front of
him in the bathtub.  The long shared bath was their reward for their
first official day as innkeepers.

     "He would never do something to expose a subject--either his
own or someone else's.  Yeah, I think he is."  Blair leaned back into the
hands that were more massaging than washing now.

     "Why didn't you tell me you were having a panic attack this
morning, sweetheart?"  Jim asked gently.

     "I didn't want you more pissed off at Stoddard than you were. 
And it wasn't just him.  This whole issue about Naomi is just...driving
me nuts.  I got an e-mail from her yesterday.  She got the new address
and she was all aflutter about coming out here to visit and why did we
move and weren't you a cop anymore and she thought that's what all the
fuss was about over the diss was because it messed up your cop career
and now you weren't one anyway..."  Blair dropped back against Jim,
letting the big arms enfold him.  "I don't know what to say to her.  I
don't want to see her.  Not yet."

     "Would you like me to call her, Chief?  I've always had a good
rapport with your mom."

     "She'd be so hurt if I wouldn't talk to her.  I have to call her
myself.  I want to forgive her, Jim.  I really do."

     "I know, baby.  You will.  You just need some time."

     "I need you to make love to me, that's what I need," Blair said
softly.

     "I think I could probably arrange that."  Jim kissed the side of
his lover's head.  "Let's get out of here and dry off and go to bed, huh?"

     "Yeah, that sounds perfect.  I'm starting to shrivel up in here
anyway."

     "Let's see."  Jim reached down and groped the partially erect
cock.  "As long as that hasn't shriveled, we're all set."  He smiled as
Blair laughed at that, and pulled away before the other man could
hump his hand more than once.  "Bed," he growled into a nearby ear.

     "Bed," Blair agreed.

     After drying off, they made their way back to the bedroom,
which had cooled down considerably from the ocean breeze blowing
through the two open windows.  

     "So what do we want first--air conditioning or paint?"  Jim
asked, turning back the bed, leaving the covers bunched up at the foot
so they could take advantage of the air cooling off their still-damp
bodies.

     "Maybe the paint.  I've kind of gotten used to you running
around the house in your boxers all the time," Blair responded,
stretching out on the bed and waiting for his naked lover to join him.  

     "Finally got you out of your thermal underwear, anyway."  Jim
pulled Blair into his arms and nuzzled his neck.  "You smell good,
baby.  I like that shampoo."

     "Should we put it on the keeper list then?"  Blair smiled, always
glad to find another smell Jim's sensitive sniffer enjoyed.

     "I think I need to test it further," Jim mumbled into the soft hair. 
"You didn't use it anywhere else, did you?"  he asked hopefully.

     "I don't shampoo my body hair, Jim," Blair retorted, laughing.

     "Too bad."  Jim pulled back and looked into Blair's slightly
droopy eyes.  "Slow and easy?"  he asked, stroking the younger man's
cheek lightly.

     "Yeah.  Make it last," he said quietly, leaning into Jim's touch.

     "Turn over on your side, baby.  Then just relax and let me drive,
huh?"

     "Sounds like heaven."  Blair shifted on the bed and turned his
back to Jim, drawing his knees up, tucking the pillow beneath his head
so he was comfortable.  

     Jim made sure the lube was handy, and then spooned up behind
the smaller body, enclosing it completely in his own larger form,
holding Blair that way for a few long moments before letting his hand
wander.  Finding a firm nipple and tweaking it, rolling it between his
fingers, he smiled at Blair's little moans and wiggles in response. 
Moving to the other nipple, he brought it to a rock hard peak, like its
mate, before sliding his hand down Blair's middle to rest on his
stomach.

     "You feeling okay tonight, sweetheart?"  Jim asked, wanting to
be sure that whatever had made Blair sick earlier wasn't still causing
him any discomfort before they moved any farther.

     "I feel great...just sort of dopey and tired."

     "Coming down off the anxiety high, huh?"  Jim asked
sympathetically, rubbing light circles on Blair's stomach as he kissed a
shoulder.

     "I'm sorry I lied to you about the whole panic attack."

     "Shh.  It's okay.  I understand."  Jim let his hand travel
downward, gently grasping the partially erect cock and pumping
slowly.  Within a few moments, Blair was pumping into his hand, the
firm buttocks causing a painfully arousing friction against Jim's groin. 
"Gonna get you ready for me, baby.  Just relax."  Jim withdrew his
hand despite a little grunt of protest from Blair.  Retrieving the lube, he
coated his finger and using one arm to pull Blair close to him, he slid
his forefinger carefully into the snug passage.

     "Mmm...that's so good," Blair purred, bearing down on the
invading digit.

     Jim kept up the gentle internal massage, which was a little bit
of stretching and a little internal caressing.  Blair seemed to be
enjoying the intimate attention, so Jim took his time adding the next
two fingers, spending more time than he needed to stretch Blair.  

     "Feels good, lover," Blair muttered, wriggling his butt a little,
rock hard and yet relaxed enough to enjoy lying there while Jim just
played with him, rubbing the slick walls, licking and kissing at Blair's
shoulder while he did.  

     Feeling it was time to raise the stakes a little, Jim slipped one
finger in far enough to brush Blair's prostate twice.  Dragging a cry of
pleasure both times, he withdrew all three fingers.  

     "Jim..."

     Without further teasing, Jim coated himself and slid into his
lover's waiting body in one long, smooth stroke.

     "Together..."  Blair whispered, and the meaning in that one
word warmed Jim's heart.  Overcoming the urge to thrust, he stayed
buried in that hot, warm, moist place, his body wrapped around Blair's,
drinking in this moment of total union.

     "Together," he responded, kissing Blair's cheek, his hair, his
shoulder, anything he could reach.  "Love you."

     "Love you too," came the soft reply.  "I love this."

     "Me too, baby.  Me too."  Jim stayed motionless a few moments
longer, before both their bodies demanded some action.  Still, the
thrusting was slow, lazy, and relaxed until Jim felt the urge to move
faster, and Blair was starting to get restless, seeking out the nudges
against his prostate that would bring him to climax.  

     Picking up their pace, Jim sliding his hand down and pumping
Blair's cock in time with their sex, it wasn't long before their impatient
bodies reached their climaxes, almost simultaneously, mingled voices
shouting each other's names.  

     As they lay there, joined together by tangled arms, legs, sweat
and Jim's cock still buried in Blair's body, Jim tickled Blair's ear with
the tip of his tongue.  Blair smiled and shifted a little, drawing Jim's
arm around him like it was a piece of his personal property, trapping it
with his own arm, holding it, and Jim, effectively in place.

     "Stay with me."

     "I always do, sweetheart," Jim responded, chuckling a little,
confused.

     "I mean, don't pull out of me, okay?  Stay inside me."

     "All night?"

     "Can we?"

     "As long as neither of us moves in our sleep."  Jim kissed Blair's
shoulder again.  

     "I won't let you," Blair mumbled, dozing off.  "Won't let you
leave me...ever," he murmured.

     "I'll never leave you, angel.  Not in a million years," Jim said
against Blair's ear, wanting to be sure the message got through Blair's
sleep-bound brain.

     "Good...'cause I'd come after you, and I'd be pissed," Blair
responded, a smile in his sleepy voice.

     "Can't have that.  You can get nasty when you're pissed, baby."

     "Yeah, so remember that," Blair responded through a huge
yawn before settling into the haven of damp flesh that surrounded him.

********

     Blair spent most of the next day in the motel office, waiting for
the other guests to arrive and hoping more would make reservations. 
Jim made a supply run into town, while Stoddard opted to set out on
the Acadia National Park nature trails for the day.  

     Glaring at the silent telephone, Blair let out a long breath and
started in on the next article in the fishing magazine. //Might as well
speak the language of the natives,// he reasoned, shifting a little in the
chair, smiling at the tingle it stirred.  Staying joined all night was
meaningful and erotic in itself, but waking up to a morning erection
already in your body and getting a good reaming before you
consciously knew what you were actually doing was...remarkable. 
Feeling himself getting hard just thinking about the incredible start to
the day, he tried to concentrate on the finer points of boning cod.
//Boning Jim would be even more fun...//

     Tossing the magazine aside, he sighed, bored, and looked
around the small front office, and then got up and went to the private
office in back, settling into an old overstuffed chair there, unzipping
his cut offs and freeing his rigid cock.  Skipping the underwear had not
only been cooler, but incredibly arousing as the seam of the cut off
jeans had provided his slightly tender hole with occasional friction that
made him stifle more than one groan.

     Hooking one leg over the arm of the chair, he began pumping in
earnest now, picturing the way Jim had maneuvered them over so Blair
was on his belly, legs spread, ass in the air, then driven into him,
claiming him with love bites and passion marks across his shoulders
and neck.

     "Oh, God," Blair muttered, feeling the wave of his climax
building, speeding up his pumping, wishing he could comfortably get a
finger into his own hole to awaken those sensations as his orgasm
rippled out of him, his seed bathing his hand and belly.
     
     Spent and sated, for the moment, he slumped there sprawled in
the chair with his shorts open, catching his breath.

     "You know, I'm going to have to teach you a lesson about
having fun without me, Chief."  Jim slammed the door that separated
the front and back offices.  
     
     "Oh, man, you scared the shit out of me."

     "You could have at least shut the door, Sandburg.  Although
maybe this would draw in a few more guests."  Jim smiled then, and
Blair exhaled, returning it.  

     "I thought you were really pissed off for a minute there."

     "It's nothing you can't make up to me by bending over that
couch and letting me take care of this hard-on you just gave me."

     "Oh, yeah, Jim, I'm *so* ready for you."  Blair was out of the
chair in a flash, shorts kicked aside.  Without further adieu, he was
bending over the couch, bracing his hands on the cushions, feeling the
coarse fabric of the throw covering the back of it rubbing against his
sensitive, but quickly recovering cock.  

     "Spread 'em, Chief," Jim said sternly, and Blair groaned at the
words, humping the couch as he complied.   Having almost expected to
get it with just a little spit, Blair was surprised to feel something cool
and slippery being carefully massaged into his passage as Jim prepared
him, no less carefully than ever, despite their little banter.

     And then Jim was inside him, pumping hard and fast, deep
thrusts tormenting him with pleasure.  He was crying out with every
thrust now, the sensitivity of his passage, coupled with the stimulation
of his prostate, dragging him over the edge to another orgasm, almost
wilder and hotter than the one he'd had just a brief time ago.

     "Oh man."  Blair stayed hung over the couch, Jim easing out of
him and staggering back a little.  "You gonna leave me here like this?" 
he asked, still panting.

     "Come on, lazy ass."  Jim wrapped his arms around his lover's
body and hoisted him onto his feet.

     "Lazy ass?  My ass has been busier in the last 24 hours than the
Quicky Mart in downtown Cascade," Blair retorted, and Jim laughed,
slapping the bare ass in question loudly and playfully.  

     "And a fine job it does, too."  He turned Blair around and
grabbing both ass cheeks, hoisted him up to sit on the back of the
couch, moving in between the damp naked thighs to pull him in for a
prolonged kiss.  "Everything okay down there?"  Jim asked, pulling
back.

     "Oh yeah."  Blair shifted around on the back of the couch a
little, his face flushing at the uneasiness he felt sitting.  "What did you
use?  I thought I was gonna get a little spit this time."

     "You're still a little tender from this morning.  I'd never risk
doing it with spit anyway, but definitely not under those circumstances. 
You know I couldn't be really rough with you if I wanted to."

     "I know."  Blair trapped Jim's lower body with his legs.  "Big
marshmallow.  So what was it?"

     "We were out of lotion, so I got some at the store.  I had one of
the grocery bags with me when I showed up here, and I could tell what
you were doing, and that just sort of reminded me of this morning, so I
grabbed the lotion out of the bag, and here I am."

     "I was thinking about this morning--you know, when you came
in and I was...just finishing up."  Blair ran his hands up Jim's arms. 
"Man, that was *so* hot this morning.  I didn't even know what hit me,
but it was like waking up in this *ecstasy*--like living a wet dream."

     "I should've made sure you were awake and wanted it first.  It
was just...instinctual, you know?   Waking up inside you like that."

     "It felt...right.  I'm glad you just did it.  You know me well
enough to know what I like, lover.  I trust you 100%.  You don't have to
ask permission to make love to me, man."

     "You're really amazing, you know that?"  Jim stroked back from
Blair's face a few stray strands of hair that had escaped from the pony
tail. 

     "I never trusted anybody the way I trust you--in bed or out of it."

     "Why don't you go up to the house and take a bath?  It'll help
things down south.  I'll keep watch on the phone a while.  Take the
groceries up with you when you go, huh?"

     "Okay."  Blair slid off the couch with a little grunt, taking the
shorts Jim handed to him and stepping into them.

     "Guess we need a pillow for that chair in the front office, huh?" 
Jim teased, moving to the bathroom that adjoined the back office to
clean himself off.

     "You'd need a pillow if I planned on sitting down anytime
soon," Blair responded, laughing a little.

     "I didn't hurt you, did I, sweetheart?"

     "No more than I wanted you to."

     "There was no blood--God, Blair, you know I'd never do
anything to--"

     "Jim, it's a turn-on, okay?  Relax.  You didn't tear me, I'm not in
pain.  I'm just *tingling* a whole lot, and it's a little tender when I sit
down, which is no big deal.  Except for the fact that it gets me hard
thinking about how I got that way."

     "You're sure you're okay?"

     "For the last time, Jim--I'm *fine*."

     "Yeah, you sure are."  Jim wrapped his arms around Blair's
waist and hoisted him a couple inches off the ground, kissing him
soundly.  "I love you, you little bottom slut."

     "I love you too, you big cocksucker."

     "Oh yeah?"  Jim challenged.

     "Yeah--but that was meant as a compliment," Blair said, kissing
Jim this time.  "And a suggestion for later."

********

     By the time Blair returned to the office, soothed and refreshed
from his bath, Jim was jotting down information as he listened to
someone on the other end of the phone.  After he hung up, he looked
up and smiled at Blair, dressed in red shorts and a white tank shirt with
a big red crab on the front of it, hair loose on his shoulders.

     "Two more reservations for the weekend, sweetheart.  They'll
be arriving tomorrow."

     "Great!"

     "Yeah, two couples.  No special anniversaries or anything."
     
     "Oh, man, did you remember to chill that champagne we got for
the Hanovers?"

     "Put it in the fridge right after you went up to the house."  Jim
sniffed the air.  "C'mere."

     "Jim, come on, man.  The Hanovers'll be here any minute now."

     "C'mere.  I'm not gonna bite you, Chief."

     "Promise?"

     "Sure--for now."  Jim waited until Blair came closer.  "Mmm,
just wanted to get a good sniff of that musk oil."

     "You really like that stuff, huh?"

     "Oh yeah.  Freshly bathed Blair garnished with musk oil."  Jim
swooped in on Blair's neck, and the other man ducked.

     "You promised."

     "I promised not to bite you.  I never made any promises about
hickeys.  Your hair's down, too."

     "You're quick, Jim," Blair quipped as he was pulled into a
strong one-armed hug while Jim's other hand slid into his hair as Jim
buried his nose in the soft strands. 

     "New shampoo."  Jim breathed deeply.  "Mmm.  I like this
stuff."  Jim ran his tongue around Blair's ear.  "I could go down on you
right here, behind the counter, and let you wait on the Hanovers when
they come in.  They'd never know you were getting an epic blowjob
under the counter."

     "When I screamed your name for no apparent reason, and
started writhing like I was being electrocuted, I think they'd figure it
out.  Come on, lover, turn your engine off."  Blair pushed back a little
and Jim let go of him a bit regretfully.  "Is this some sort of sensory
thing?"

     "I think so, Chief.  Since I'm not in the middle of town
anymore, I can open up my senses more, experience things around me. 
I mean, downtown Cascade wasn't exactly the ideal place to open up
your sense of smell."  He gently toyed with a couple soft strands of
Blair's hair.  "But out here, I can reach out with my senses more, and
guess what they usually all focus in on without even trying?"

     "Me?"

     "Got it in one, sweetheart."  

     "Excuse me," a female voice interrupted them.  Both started a
little, then turned to face an attractive middle aged woman with
medium-length blonde hair, dressed in a khaki blouse and shorts,
accented with gold jewelry.  She took off her obviously expensive
sunglasses, smiling at the two men behind the counter, whose faces
were the color of the cartoon lobster on Blair's tank shirt.  "I hope I
didn't walk in on a big moment," she said, smiling with obvious good
nature.  

     "No bigger than any other," Blair responded, smiling and
patting the back of Jim's shoulder.  

     "I'm Madeleine Hanover.  My husband is waiting in the car and
wanted me to get our room key."

     "Oh, sure.  Room 19--on the very end," Jim responded, smiling
and handing her the key.  "There's guest parking around back of the
motel."

     "Terrific.  This is such a quaint little place!  I didn't even know
it existed until my husband told me about it.  We vacation in New
England every year, but we never stayed here before."

     "We just opened a few weeks ago," Blair explained.  "The place
had been let go quite a bit, and then it was in an estate, so we fixed it
up and re-opened.  I hope you like the room.  If there's anything at all
that we can do for you, just let us know."

     "Thank you, gentlemen.  The key will do for now," she said
pleasantly.  "You two please go back to whatever you were up to when
I got here.  Looked too good to interrupt."  She winked at them and
headed out the door.

     "Nice lady," Blair commented.  "Think we should take them the
champagne?"

     "They'll probably go into town for dinner.  Let's leave it in an
ice bucket in the room while they're gone."

     "Sounds great.  Man, did you see that *rock* she was wearing
on her ring finger?  They have to be *loaded*, man."

     "Looks that way.  Hopefully they'll tell all their rich friends."

     "From your lips to God's ear."  

     "How about my tongue in *your* ear?"  Jim wrapped his arms
around Blair from behind and tickled the younger man's ear with the tip
of his tongue.  

     "That thing about your senses--that's really interesting.  I never
thought about you being freer to leave them up and running out here. 
That's pretty cool."

     "I know this didn't happen for a good reason, but I think the
result has been great," Jim said honestly, wrapping his arms around
Blair from behind, hooking his chin on Blair's shoulder.

     "I think so too."

     "You have a chance to talk with Stoddard at all today?"

     "A few minutes.  He went to the park--to the nature trails."

     "Do you anthropologists have some sort of tree fetish?  Didn't
the guy just spend two years in the jungle?"
     
     "That was Borneo, this is New England," Blair responded with
a chortle.

     Sarah Chandler, the inn's next expected guest, arrived just
before dark the next day, apologizing profusely for arriving so late and
showing a great deal of relief that her room had been held past the 5
o'clock check in deadline that had been printed on her reservation
confirmation.  A heavyset woman in her thirties, she was dressed in
typical tourist fashion--blue t-shirt and white shorts, her dark hair
pulled back in a pony tail.  

     Chatting amiably with Blair as he unloaded her luggage for her,
she explained that she was a legal assistant in Ohio, and had a real love
of the New England states as a vacation spot.  With the usual request
for her to let them know if she needed anything else, Blair headed back
to the office.

     "The others are late, man."  Blair checked his watch.

     "Yeah, well, the rooms are theirs for the night anyway since
they didn't call in by the cancellation deadline.  You want to hold down
the fort and I'll go make dinner?"

     "Okay.  Anything special in mind?"  Blair asked.

     "For dinner or after dinner?"

     "Food, Jim.  Think food," Blair responded, wondering if he'd
survive a sentinel in constant "radar up" mode for long. //But what a
way to go...//

     "I got this recipe for seafood stew in town, so I thought I'd try
it."

     "Seafood stew?  Man, that sounds *good*."

     "Good.  Probably take me about an hour to put it together, and I
can leave it in the oven to keep warm if we have to wait longer for the
guests."

     "Hopefully they'll show pretty soon," Blair sighed, checking his
watch.  It was almost seven.

********

     The other guests finally did arrive, just before Blair left to go up
to the house for dinner.  While the motel was far from being filled to
capacity, at least there were a number of paying guests there, coming
and going to the Acadia National Park, back into town and beyond for
their various tourist activities, and a couple of them taking advantage
of the isolated beach beneath the bluff.  

     Eli Stoddard made the commitment to keep the room for the
Fall season, as he and Blair were conversing pleasantly now, much of
their old rapport back in place since Stoddard had been let in on the
secret.  Jim respected the reconciliation, but a part of him still was a bit
uneasy with the fact that Stoddard was ready to condemn Blair and
shun him entirely until he learned the truth.  What kind of friend that
really made Stoddard, Jim wasn't sure, but he knew how little he
personally thought of the whole attitude.  But having a friendship with
an old mentor/colleague seemed to mean a great deal to Blair, and Jim
was the last one to deprive his intellectually starved partner some of the
epic theoretical discussions he got into with his old teacher sitting in
lawn chairs under one of the big trees near the motel office.

     As for Jim himself, he could identify with that itch that was
always just below the surface with Blair--that desire to do something
more than clean up after departing guests or cook them breakfast in the
morning.  More than leading people on the hokey little lighthouse tour
he picked up $2 per person for conducting.  Years of military and
police training had prepared him for something more than this, and
when the novelty of being on what had at first felt like a permanent
vacation began to wear off, and the inn was up and running and getting
a regular, if not capacity, number of guests, Jim could start to feel his
own brain withering up and dying.  The part of him that was razor
sharp, with lightning reflexes and a cunning eye for crime felt as if it
were turning into just so much unused gray matter between his ears as
he tended to painting and planting and then winterizing various parts of
their complex.  

     The finances were a frightening challenge the first couple
months, but now things were on a somewhat even keel.  The Beacon
Pointe Inn wasn't going to make them rich, as Stephen had thought it
might, but they were making ends meet--most of the time. 

     Now, with the leaves falling steadily, and the prospect of a
monumental raking project on the horizon, Jim couldn't help but feel a
bit morose at his prospects.  It was truly beautiful here--the trees had
virtually exploded with color in September, and now, as October wore
on, the leaves still clung to the trees and dusted the ground in a multi-colored 
carpet.  A multi-colored carpet that he and Blair would spend
many torturous hours cleaning up.

     Of course, there was the fascinating and complex puzzle of
snow removal once the gobs of white shit began to drop from the sky in
the volume foretold to them.  A trip to a farm supply store in Bangor
had already equipped them with a blade for the front of the truck.  Blair
was wearing down on the point of trading in his beloved vintage Volvo
for a four-wheel drive of some sort, so he didn't end up stuck in a
snowbank every time he tried to make it to the main road.

     At least they'd managed to buy a cheap-ass computer for the
office.  That way, Jim could have the unparalleled joy of sitting at the
front desk, trying to make sense of the god-forsaken bookkeeping
software the clerk in the computer store was convinced was going to
make their lives so much easier.  With a derisive snort, Jim assessed
that he could have carved the figures in stone tablets more efficiently.

     //So how does all this stuff you're bitching about compare with
what Blair has had to endure?  A brilliant academic mind reduced to
greedily devouring crumbs from Eli Stoddard's intellectual table in the
few months the old professor is spending here as a guest at an inn
where Sandburg, who should be his colleague, is cooking his breakfast
and changing his dirty sheets.  A man who is probably the most ethical
person you've ever known who is taking refuge in a remote corner of
the country after being refused jobs for which he was qualified--and
overqualified in most cases--because he was known as a fraud, had no
credibility and couldn't be trusted with a retail cash register
unsupervised.  

     Yeah, this is good, Ellison.  Sit here and feel sorry for yourself
because you aren't playing cops and robbers.  Well, you aren't being
probed in some government research lab, hunted and recruited by the
Feds, dogged by the press or made into a movie of the week either. 
You live in a beautiful setting with the man you love who gave up his
professional life for you.  What the hell else do you need to be
satisfied, you selfish fucking prick?//

     Sufficiently laden with self-loathing, Jim saved his
bookkeeping entry so far and walked out onto the porch that spanned
the length of the L-shaped building.  He opened up his eyesight,
picking up the vision of Blair in Room 17, stripping the bed and piling
up the used towels.  There shouldn't have been anything particularly
tragic about the sight.  Jim had done the same thing himself in Rooms
13 and 15 the day before, when it was his turn for what they'd come to
call "grunge duty".  Maybe it was the combination of his thought
pattern, and the joyless, bored expression on Blair's face as he did the
work, but whatever it was, it propelled Jim's feet into motion toward
the room.  Blair had left the door open, letting the fresh Autumn air
into the room while he worked.  It was a crisp day, but the outdoor air
would help keep the room smelling clean and fresh, so they both
usually left the room doors open while tidying up.  

     Blair was dressed in jeans, a white turtleneck and a blue plaid
flannel shirt.  Jim smiled at his own attire--a dark blue turtleneck, a
blue plaid flannel shirt and jeans.  They'd both snickered about it that
morning, joking that like most old married couples, they were starting
to look alike now.

     "Having fun yet, Chief?"  Jim asked as Blair paused where he
stood with the bundle of bedding in his arms, destined for the laundry
cart they'd finally invested in a few weeks earlier.  He dumped the
armload with a sigh.

     "Yeah, it's a laugh a minute.  How're you coming with the
books?"

     "Don't ask."  Jim laughed a little, all the grim thoughts he'd
been having paling in comparison with how much their life together
meant to him.  Connecting with Blair right now was necessary, and it
was having its usual therapeutic effect.  "Let's take a walk."

     "But this--"

     "Screw the laundry.  I promise you it'll still be there when we
get back, and we don't have any new guests booked in this room for
two more weeks.  Come on," Jim extended a hand toward Blair,
delighted when the beloved face broke into one of its trademark smiles
and the strong, smaller hand slid into his.

     "It's a perfect day," Blair observed, shielding his eyes with his
hand while he looked up at the trees, their colors set on fire by the 
mid-morning sun.

     "They all are."  Jim pulled on Blair's hand until the other man
was close enough for him to wrap his arm around Blair's shoulders.  "I
love you," he said as they continued walking, Jim's arm around Blair's
shoulders, Blair's arm coming up to hook around Jim's waist.

     "I love you too.  But what brought this on?"

     "Nothing particular.  I was just pissed off at the software and
frustrated with the pile of leaves we were going to have to clean up,
and it all looks sort of small compared to this."

     "Every life has its downside, man.  Whether it was paperwork
and traffic and politics and bullshit at the PD or...well, paperwork and
traffic and politics and bullshit at the U," Blair added, laughing, "or
whether it's laundry and bookkeeping and leaves and show and shit
here."

     "So did you and Eli unravel any mysteries of the universe this
morning?"  Jim asked, referring to Blair's usual morning chat with the
other man.  Blair would fix breakfast and then have a cup of coffee
with Stoddard, and the two of them would yammer away for a good
hour before the professor took off on whatever excursion he had in
mind.  

     "One or two, nothing earth-shattering.  He was going out to
Bayport College to give a lecture this afternoon."

     "About what?"

     "The Borneo book."

     "You want to go?"  Jim asked, looking down at Blair, who
stopped in his tracks and looked up, stunned.

     "Since when do you want to go to lectures on Borneo?"

     "Since I thought maybe you'd like to do something like that.  If
you don't, that's fine.  But let's do *something* today.  Just for us.  We
don't have any new guests coming in for another couple days...things
are slow."

     "I don't know about this lecture, man.  I mean, what if
somebody's there from the press?  I wouldn't want to embarrass Eli that
way."

     "What are you talking about?"  It honestly didn't occur to Jim
that Blair would view himself as a potential embarrassment, but at the
quick aversion of Blair's eyes and the little swallow that bobbed his
Adam's apple, Jim cursed himself for being that dense.  

     "It's probably not a good idea.  I mean, if someone recognizes
me--hell, both of us--it could really disrupt his program--or at least
overshadow it in the press coverage it gets."

     "We'll sit in the back and be unobtrusive."  Jim moved to stand
in front of Blair, taking a gentle hold of his shoulders.  "Blair, this is
much more major to us than it is to the rest of the world.  It's not hot
news anymore.  Most of the local press who would cover something
like this won't *care* who we are, or what happened back in Cascade
*months* ago.  If there's any problem, we'll leave."

     "You really wouldn't mind going to something like that?"

     "Not as long as we go out to a great dinner and maybe catch a
movie later."

     "Sounds like a great idea to me," Blair responded
enthusiastically.  "You know, I hear Bayport has a really great arts
center--a museum, performing arts theatre--oh!  And their buildings
date back into the mid-nineteenth century," Blair began as they started
back toward the house to start out on their excursion.  "I understand
they have a really strong Anthro program there--Eli's been a guest
lecturer there more than once..."  

     Jim just smiled and nodded and added the right monosyllabic
affirmations.  And thoroughly enjoyed watching Blair come to life over
this simple visit to a nearby campus.

********
     
     Bayport College was almost worthy of Blair's level of
enthusiasm, with its historic buildings and mature, colorful trees. 
Student housing came in the form of a number of large, vintage homes
surrounding the campus, with a few stately old buildings on the campus
proper housing the majority of the fewer than 2,000 students.  The arts
center Blair was interested in visiting was located on a lake, and
housed a collection of paintings by a local artist who had gained
national prominence in the early 20th century.

     Stoddard was to give his lecture in the small theater, which
seated about 200 people, and was built sometime during the last
century.  The compact red brick building sported white trim and small
but stocky white pillars supporting the white-trimmed overhang of roof
above the entrance.  

     The two men blended well with the eclectic group of students,
staff, faculty and local people, and Jim had very few misgivings that
there would be any recognition of either himself or Blair.  The whole
sentinel issue had been deflated early in the game by Blair's declaration
of fraud, and those who hadn't already forgotten the people involved,
didn't much care.

     "You can just *feel* the history in these buildings," Blair
whispered, leaning over toward Jim.  "It always blows my mind to
think how many generations of students have been here before us. 
Rainier had a couple of really old buildings too, and they were always
my favorite places."

     "Feels more like a university in the old ones, right?"

     "Well, yeah, and the fact that it's like you just feel the ghosts of
the past in the walls.  It's hard to describe, but places like these...man,
they're just exactly what colleges and universities oughtta be."

     "It's a beautiful campus.  The student housing was pretty
impressive--that one place looked like a converted *mansion*."

     "Yeah, it did.  I think it was at one time."

     Both men fell silent as a tall, stocky man with dark hair and
glasses, dressed in a gray suit, approached the podium.  He introduced
himself as the Dean of Liberal Arts, and proceeded to enumerate Eli
Stoddard's impressive credentials, and express his delight at having
such a distinguished guest lecturer.  

     Stoddard took over and began his presentation, which was
probably interesting enough for what it was, but Jim found it to be an
exercise in staying awake, trying to prevent his long legs from
cramping or going to sleep in the marginal space between them and the
seats ahead of them, and watching Blair enjoy himself.  The latter
made the former more than bearable.  

     "You want to say hello?"  Jim asked as the audience rose and
began filing out of the building at the end of the lecture.

     "I'll see him later.  I don't want to interrupt him now."

     "Blair?"  Stoddard sounded no less than stunned as he caught
sight of the two of them standing there, about mid-way back among the
seats.  He was still on the stage near the podium, talking to the Dean.

     "It was a great presentation, Eli.  I'll talk to you later, okay?" 
Blair responded.

     "Come on up here a minute, would you?"  he asked.  Blair
looked at Jim, who just shrugged and moved out of the way.  That
earned the larger man a tug on the sleeve, indicating he was expected
to follow Blair to the stage.  

     "Blair Sandburg, this is Dean Whitcombe.  Art, this is the young
man I was telling you about," Stoddard explained as Jim and Blair
arrived at his side.  "Oh, and his friend, Jim Ellison."  Handshakes were
exchanged all around, with Jim and Blair looking completely baffled.  

     "Eli tells me that you've recently relocated to Maine,"
Whitcombe said.

     "Yes, this past summer," Blair responded, shooting a confused
look at Eli.  He wanted very badly to ask just what else Stoddard had
told him.

     "The Anthropology Department suffered a very sad and
unexpected loss this past week--one of our faculty members was the
victim of a car accident, and we're left with three sections of upper
division Anthropology courses and an already small, overburdened
faculty in that department."

     "I'm sorry to hear that," Blair responded.  "But I don't
understand what that--"

     "I realize that this is not a terribly attractive prospect, being we
are just past mid-term, but we are looking for someone qualified to step
in and complete the semester."  

     "Blair, I suggested to Dean Whitcombe that you might be
interested in a teaching opportunity.  I'm not sure if your schedule
would permit something like that right now, but--"

     "Eli, could I have a word with you?  Would you excuse us a
moment, Dean Whitcombe?"  Blair asked the other man, who nodded. 
As Blair moved away with Eli, Jim found himself one on one with the
Dean.  

     "What did you tell him exactly?"  Blair asked Eli.  "You didn't
tell him the truth about Jim, did you?"

     "No, I told him that someone sent your work in to a publisher
without your consent, and that it was released publicly, also without
your consent.  I told him that you became extremely frustrated with the
lack of supporting evidence and composed the false dissertation--but
that it was wrongfully released."

     "So you told him I'm a fraud and he still wants to offer me a
job?"

     "You aren't listening, Blair.  I always told you, if you want to be
a good Anthropologist, you have to listen as much as you talk."

     "Sorry, Eli," Blair responded, falling back into his role as
student.

     "You didn't make the choice to release that information to the
press.  You did what you did for the sake of your friend--so that he
wouldn't be harassed.  I understand the reporters were interfering with
him in the middle of a life and death situation, isn't that right?"

     "Yes, the whole Zeller case I was telling you about."

     "This is precisely my point.  Desperate times call for desperate
measures.  So when your false work was presented, you couldn't simply
say it shouldn't have been released, you had to refute it."

     "But, Eli, I still *have* to refute it publicly."

     "I realize that.  Art asked immediately if the research were
valid, and I told him that you had told me that Ellison was not a true
sentinel and that you had gone through some serious temptation to
fabricate the documentation, since you and Ellison were friends.  I told
him that the work was released while you were having your crisis of
conscience, thus forcing you into the spotlight and compelling you to
admit being a fraud even if you hadn't made the conscious decision to
do so."

     "But if he thinks I toyed with falsifying something--"

     "Blair, we all make unfortunate mistakes in our lives.  Luckily
for most of us, they don't end up on the evening news.  He was willing
to take a chance on you with my recommendation.  Now do you want
to do this or not?"

     "You know I do.  But I'll never compromise Jim--"

     "You don't have to, provided you stick to the story I've told
him."

     "Why are you doing this?"

     "Because a mind like yours is too great a commodity for this
field to waste.  You will be one of the great thinkers in this field
someday, Blair.  I won't stand by and watch you waste your life
changing bed linens and frying Eggbeaters for old professors with bad
cholesterol levels."

     "The Inn--it's Jim's and my project.  It's important to us--"

     "You remember what a teaching schedule is like.  You'll have
plenty of time to change beds and clean toilets in your leisure time." 
Eli smiled and Blair had to laugh.  

     "Thank you," he said, becoming serious.  "You don't know what
this means to me."

     "I think I do," Eli said, smiling and patting Blair on the
shoulder.  "Now let's go rescue Jim from the rest of that diatribe on the
sorry state of academics in today's youth."

     "I hate to rush things along," Whitcombe said, "but I have an
appointment in about ten minutes across campus.  "Mr. Sandburg, are
you interested in the position?"

     Blair looked at Jim, and the older man's heart clenched in his
chest that when presented with something he wanted so dearly, Blair
was actually not responding until he gave Jim his chance to have input
into his decision.

     Jim smiled and nodded once, feeling oddly emotional at seeing
Blair with what was, for him, a precious opportunity.

     "I would be honored to complete the semester on the faculty at
Bayport," Blair responded, extending his hand, which Whitcombe
shook, smiling.

     "Eli had some very glowing things to say about you and your
work with students.  I'm sure this will be a very positive arrangement. 
We would like you to start next week.  Here's my card," he said,
handing Blair a business card.  "I'm on my way to another meeting right
now, but go to my office and see my secretary.  She'll give you copies
of the syllabi for the courses and the list of texts being used, as well as
any other supporting information we have been able to find in
Professor Grayson's office following his death.  She'll also give you the
number to call for the Human Resources office, to get the necessary
paperwork taken care of."

     "When are the classes held?"

     "I don't remember the schedule entirely, but I know the first
class meets the first time sometime Tuesday afternoon."

     "I really appreciate this opportunity, Dean Whitcombe," Blair
said, smiling brightly.  

     "I'm happy you decided to accept.  We'll be in touch,"
Whitcombe concluded, exiting the stage and heading toward the door.

     "Jim...tell me I'm not dreaming here, man."  Jim's response was
to reach over discretely and pinch Blair's butt.  After a stifled yelp, he
shot Jim a glare which didn't even begin to look menacing.  "Guess I'm
awake," he said, grinning again.

     "Congratulations, Chief.  They're lucky to get you."

     "Thanks, but you're a little biased."  Blair laughed, sliding his
arm around Jim, who mirrored the gesture.

     "He might be, but I'm not.  I think you'll do very well here,
Blair.  It's a small campus, very friendly, interpersonal.  It's a good
start.  I think you should start considering how to pursue your doctorate
on a different course of study."

     "With what's happened, you really think a decent university is
going to--"

     "Sandburg, for God's sake, you didn't commit a mass homicide. 
Someone somewhere has to be capable of letting you move on with
your life.  These people apparently are," Jim said, his frustration
bubbling to the surface.  Blair had been treated very badly by a few of
his colleagues and former friends immediately following the press
conference, and Rainier had practically required him to wear a scarlet
letter on his back while he cleaned out his office.  Employers had
insulted him openly and insinuated that he was an untrustworthy crook. 
And Blair had taken it all to heart until he nearly believed it himself.

     "I think," Eli began, "that with some experience, like this
position, and the passage of a little time, and a strong, worthwhile
project outlined, you will be admitted to a good Ph.D. program.  I can
virtually guarantee it--strong recommendations from other experts in
your field go a long way in advancing your cause.  I understand what
you've been through, Blair.  I will give you those recommendations."

     "I don't know what to say," Blair said, his voice a little
unsteady.

     "Just consider it my apology for treating you so badly when you
most needed my friendship.  I don't know if I can ever quite reconcile
myself with my behavior, but I hope this will set things right between
us."
     
     "They were set right with an apology, Eli.  You don't have to--"

     "No, I don't.  I would like to.  I put a lot of hours in on you to
see them go to waste now," Eli quipped, laughing.  Jim had to smile as
Blair briefly embraced his old teacher, who returned the grasp with a
couple of loud slaps on Blair's back.  "You're a good kid, Blair."  He
pulled back.  "We'll get you back on track."

     "Would you like to join us for dinner?  To celebrate?"  Jim
extended the invitation.

     "I appreciate the invitation, but I'm having dinner at Art and
Nancy's place tonight.  Maybe another night?"

     "Sure," Jim responded, and Blair nodded.

     "We owe you a *major* dinner, man," Blair commented, still
beaming from ear to ear.

     "Uncle Mike's Lobster House?"  Stoddard suggested.

     "It's a deal.  Just let us know when," Jim responded.

     When they were back in the truck, heading for nearby Bangor in
search of a restaurant and a movie theatre, Blair's nose was firmly
buried in one of the large textbooks he'd picked up from the secretary.  

     "This is incredible."

     "What?"  Jim asked, resigned that Blair's attention was going to
be on the pile of notes and books, his partner happy as a kid at
Christmas with the stash of materials.

     "This course is all about understanding alternative lifestyles.  I
mean, it deals with a whole slew of other cultures besides ours, but it
does deal with homosexuality, polygamy...  Should be some real 
eye-opener discussions in this one."

     "You can always bring me in as an exhibit on show and tell
day," Jim quipped, smiling.

     "Uh-uh.  You're all mine, man.  I don't exhibit you anywhere," 
Blair replied, chuckling.  "Probably have to beat the competition off
with a stick."

     "Now who's biased?"

     "Realistic, Jim.  Not biased."  Blair was so distracted that Jim
knew the compliment was genuine, and he let himself bask in it for a
few moments while Blair devoured the chapter of the book he had
opened.  

     They found an elegant restaurant where they ordered steaks,
both having had their fill of seafood in the last few months.  Happily
gobbling their food, they talked about the Bayport campus, and plans to
go back when they could have a longer look around.  Blair expounded
on a couple of possible lecture ideas, inspired by what he had read so
far, and they discussed plans for the upcoming holidays.

     "I think we should invite the whole gang out here for
Thanksgiving."  Jim took a drink of his wine.

     "That would be great.  You think they'd all spring for airfare out
here?"

     "Well," Jim began, pausing to finish chewing a bite of steak,
"Stephen has access to a company jet.  Now from where I sit, it was his
idea to move us out to this *outpost*.  Seems the least he could do is
fly a few of our friends out here for the holiday."

     "That's a cool theory, Jim, but Stephen might not fall into line."

     "Hopefully, he will.  I'll invite him and my dad, and subtly
suggest maybe he could bring a few of our friends."  Jim smiled
slightly.  "Right after I remind him that he told me I'd be rich in six
months after buying this place."

     "We haven't been out here six months yet."

     "Whose side are you on, anyway, Chief?"  Jim joked.

     "Mine," he replied, not to be outdone.

     "Traitor."

     "Jim...are you *really* okay with me taking this teaching job?  I
mean I know it'll put some more burden on you for the Inn.  I'll still do
my share--I just mean that there'll be some hours that I'll be gone, and
it's really not fair--"

     "Blair, you really want this, right?"  Jim asked softly.  Blair was
silent a moment, staring at his steak as if he expected it to yield some
advice, like a magic 8 ball.  

     "Yeah, I do," he replied quietly, still not looking up.  "I didn't
think...  I really love to teach...and I just didn't think I'd ever have the
chance again."

     "I'm very okay with it, sweetheart."  Jim reached over and took
a hold of Blair's hand.  "I'm so happy for you, Chief.  I know it's not the
same as what you could have had, but--"

     "Even without the teaching job, Jim, I've got more than what I
ever had before you came into my life."  Blair squeezed Jim's hand.  "I
know I've had a hard time dealing with everything in the last several
months, and when everything crashed, it was tough.  This has been a
bitch of an adjustment to make.  I don't ever want you to misunderstand
that as meaning that you're not enough for me, or that I regret us being
together."  Blair caught and held Jim's gaze.  "Knowing what I know
now, I would have still walked into that examining room at Cascade
General wearing Dr. McCoy's lab coat.  Knowing what I know now, I'd
have probably knocked a few people down running to get there."

     "I'm glad, sweetheart.  That means a lot to me.  There's just one
thing."

     "What?"

     "It was Dr. McCay," Jim said seriously.

     "Shithead," Blair shot back, laughing, squeezing Jim's hand one
more time before returning to the task of carving his steak.  Jim just
watched him, smiling, then laughing a bit before finishing his own
meal.

********

     Over the next few days, when he wasn't doing work around the
Inn, Blair could be found in any number of places, glasses on, nose
buried in one of the textbooks, pen moving furiously over a nearby
legal pad.  He was lecturing Jim again, anxious to share what he had
planned for his first few classes.  Whether Jim knew it or not, he had
often been Blair's guinea pig, the recipient of some little diatribe on
something, his reactions helping Blair see the holes in his own
presentation, or the points he needed to explain at more length.  Jim
was an intelligent, clever person himself, and he was very likely to
question or challenge something Blair told him, which only made
Blair's presentations more airtight by the time he shared them with a
larger audience.  

     By one in the morning just two nights before his first class,
when Blair's whole body jerked at the kitchen table from another near
doze off, he found himself being moved out of the chair by gentle but
insistent hands.

     "Jim, I've gotta get through the last couple chapters--"

     "Are you retaining anything right now?"

     "Just my water.  I haven't been to the bathroom all evening."

     "You're a real smart ass, you know that?"  Jim put his arm
around Blair's shoulders and carefully removed the small glasses,
setting them to safety on the open book.  "Your eyes are the color of
the sunset--" Jim began in a dramatic tone, then added "--all pinkish red
with a little touch of blue.  Come on, Chief.  You can spare eight
hours."

     "My turn for breakfast in the morning.  Make it four and a half
hours."

     "I'll get breakfast in the morning.  Eight hours."

     "Okay, twist my arm, man," Blair agreed tiredly, smiling and
leaning into Jim as they walked toward the stairs.  "Hey, were you in
bed?  Was I writing too loudly again?"  Blair asked, chuckling a little.
Jim was wearing his robe and his hair had that endearing "rooster
topknot" look, as if he'd been rolling on it a couple of hours.

     "I said goodnight two hours ago, sweetheart," Jim reminded
Blair, no real reproach in his voice.  "Come on.  Off with the clothes." 
Jim steered Blair into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

     "Man, when they say the romance and foreplay disappear after a
while, they're not kidding."

     "Okay.  'Off with the clothes, please, baby'--is that better," Jim
asked, smiling sweetly as Blair started to strip obligingly.

     "Much."  

     "Better keep this out of the way if you don't want to go to bed
with a wet head."  Jim grabbed Blair's hair in a handful and skillfully
knotted it into a ball with a hairband he retrieved off the bathroom
counter.  Naked now, and wearing his hair like a little old lady's, Blair
had to chuckle as he was steered into the shower.  

     "Man, you just kind of help yourself, don't you?"  he asked
affectionately, not surprised when Jim tossed his robe and boxers aside
and stepped in behind him, picking up the soap and going to work on
bathing his still-drowsy partner.

     "If I left you on your own, you'd sleep with your head in that
book until four, then crawl up here and fall across the foot of the bed
for an hour and a half and then go make breakfast."

     "That was the original plan, yeah," Blair replied, leaning back
against Jim, happily relinquishing the bathing task to the man he loved.

     "Isn't this better?"  Jim asked, punctuating the question with a
kiss to Blair's cheek as he efficiently soaped and rinsed the smaller
body.
     
     "Mmhm," Blair sighed, in no mood to argue.  It *was* better.
"Jim?"

     "Yeah?"  Jim turned the younger man around, pulling him into
an embrace and washing his back while Blair happily wound his arms
around Jim's middle and rested his head on a wet shoulder.

     "I'm really sorry I didn't pay attention to you when you said
goodnight."

     "Yeah, I kissed you and everything," Jim said with feigned hurt
in his voice.  Blair could hear the smile in the response as well.

     "I'm serious.  I don't ever want to miss it when you come to me
or kiss me or talk to me. *Make* me pay attention, okay?"

     "Like I've always given you my complete attention every time
you've talked to me, huh?"  Jim responded, laughing softly as he
washed Blair's butt without trying to get him going.  The younger man
was almost asleep on his feet, and Jim really didn't want to demand a
bedspring workout from him in return for herding him into bed.

     "Life's too short to miss that stuff.  I'm never gonna get that kiss
goodnight again.  And I missed it because I wasn't paying attention."

     "You're tired, sweetheart.  And stressed out with this new
teaching job coming up.  It's just making you a little emotional," Jim
responded to the quiver in Blair's voice.  "I've got a lot more where that
one came from.  You'll get plenty of them, sweetheart.  C'mon, time to
get dried off."  Despite the words, Blair didn't move.  He still held onto
Jim with all his strength.  "What's the matter, baby?"  he asked gently.

     "I've been feeling so bored with all this, with the Inn and the
laundry and cooking breakfasts and fixing broken toilets and thinking
all I wanted to do was go back and teach again, and now that I've got
the chance, I just feel really bad...like I'm missing something precious
here while I go teach at Bayport."

     "Listen to me, Chief."  Jim reached back and turned off the
water.  "You're not going to go live on the campus.  You'll only be there
to teach three classes and have some office hours.  Maybe go to the
library for a while--maybe meet some other people with some similar
interests and talk to some other academics.  You're going to feed that
beautiful brain of yours the way it deserves to be fed.  And then you'll
come back here and fix the toilet in Room 15," Jim concluded with a
laugh.

     "No--then I'll come home *to you*."  Blair pulled back.  "That's
all that really matters to me."

     "I know that, Chief.  I knew it when I saw you giving your
professional life away in that press conference.  There won't ever be
words for me to tell you what that meant--still means to me.  But this is
a chance for things to be set right--for you to get back some little part
of what you lost that day."

     "But I gained *you*."

     "You had me before, sweetheart."  Jim finally got Blair to move
out of the tub, and grabbed a towel to start drying him off.

     "Not like this."

     "We'd have still made it here someday--maybe not *here*, but
we'd have gotten together."

     "Not if I'd taken Sid's offer and used you to get famous."

     "You would never have done that."

     "You thought I would."  Blair watched as Jim paused, the towel
stilling in its work on his legs, in front of which Jim was crouched
momentarily.  Jim looked up to meet Blair's eyes.

     "I was *afraid* you would...there's a difference," Jim replied
softly, then looked back quickly to finish his drying job and stood up,
drying himself off perfunctorily.

     "Tell me the difference."

     "The difference is that one is based on what you really think of
someone's character--what you expect them to do.  One is just...just
that sick feeling in your gut that wakes you up at three in the morning
and scares the living shit out of you."

     "Jim, I'd rather live with you anywhere, doing anything, than to
have Sid's $3 million and all the fame that would go with it.  You have
to know that."

     "I do know that."

     "You gave up everything for me--for us to move out here.  It
just seems...I'm getting some part of my life back, and you're stuck here
doing the work I should be doing with you."

     "We gave up some things for each other, and we're putting our
lives back together.  Let's just be happy about this development with
Bayport.  Come on, let's get you into some underwear and into bed. 
You're already getting goose bumps."  Jim slid into his own underwear,
but put his robe around Blair before they headed for the bedroom.

     "Are you really happy in this place, Jim?"  Blair asked, taking a
hold of Jim's arm.  The moment of hesitation seemed to be something
Jim couldn't help, but he recovered well, and to someone who didn't
know him intimately, it would have worked.

     "It's been good for me to have a break--this place is good for my
senses, I'm more relaxed--"

     "...bored unconscious," Blair supplied, smiling a little.

     "There is that," Jim admitted, laughing.  

     "Then how is it fair for me to take this job at Bayport when--"

     "Blair, when I get bored enough, I'll find something else to do to
entertain myself.  We may not be the innkeepers of the Beacon Pointe
Inn until we're old and gray.  It's what we're doing now.  Getting our
lives back into the kind of pattern we really want is going to take some
time.  But this job is a great start.  And don't worry, I'll save lots of jobs
for you to do when you get home--purely so you can feel you're doing
your share."

     "You're too good to me, man," Blair replied, smiling as he
pulled on a t-shirt and sweatpants and socks, then climbed into bed. 
Jim was right behind him, turning out the light and then chuckling a
little at his oversight as he reached over to unfasten Blair's hair.

     "Go to sleep, professor.  Big day tomorrow."

     "I don't start teaching until Tuesday."

     "I was talking about raking leaves."

     "Urgh," Blair grunted, dropping his head on Jim's shoulder as
they snuggled together to get some much-needed sleep.

********

     New jobs suck.  Blair had determined that fact for sure as he
finally located a parking spot in the faculty and staff parking behind the
administrative building at Bayport.  Of course, the administrative
building was a good hike away from Olson Hall, the Social Sciences
building.  He only had ten minutes to make it over there, find the room,
and stroll in appearing calm and composed.

     As he started his power walk across campus, he agonized over
whether he'd made the right choice of clothing, but then found some
comfort in the fact that Jim had finally corralled him, sat him on the
bed, and picked out the good jeans, tan shirt and brown tweed sportcoat
he was wearing.  After he was dressed, Jim had produced a wrapped
box, which had contained a brand new pair of tan Nike hiking shoes--
perfect for running across the campus at his trademark speed, but in
perfect taste to blend with both his jeans and his sportcoat.  Best of all,
they didn't show the wear and tear of the heavy outdoor use his old
ones had gotten since they moved to Maine.

     He tried not to think too hard about the leather briefcase he was
carrying, but the memory warmed him against his will, bringing the
emotions closer to the surface than he'd expected...

     Jim had been downstairs in the living room when Blair tore
down the steps, realizing he really didn't have much time to spare to get
to the class on time.  He was just standing there, watching Blair with a
big smile on his face, holding yet another gift-wrapped box.

     "You're not taking that thing to Bayport," Jim said, pointing at
Blair's well-used backpack with no small degree of scorn on his face.

     "I'm not?"  Blair asked, raising an eyebrow.

     "Nope."  Jim handed him the box, and Blair smiled a little
uncertainly, sitting on the edge of the couch cushion to open it, while
Jim watched him with what Blair could only describe as a sweet little
smile.  

     When Blair had pulled the brown leather case out of its box,
he'd gasped audibly.  It was obviously expensive, big enough to carry
the textbook and any notes Blair might have, and it looked like
something a professor at a classy little college should be carrying.  His
initials were embossed in gold at the top of the case near the handle.

     "You're not one of the students there, Professor.  You're part of
the faculty.  I thought maybe...you should play the role."  Jim shrugged
slightly.  Blair shot up off the couch and body-slammed him with a hug
that had left even Jim staggering to keep them upright.  "I'm so proud
of you, Chief.  I know going back into that environment is scary.  Hell,
I know how uncertain you were about going to Stoddard's speech that
day.  You've got more guts than anybody I know, and you're going to do
great there.  I know it."  Jim squeezed Blair tightly, then patted his back
and pulled away.  "You're going to be late.  Better get your stuff
packed."  Jim looked at his teary-eyed partner, touched beyond words
at the gift, and at what Jim had said.  "And stop that."  He kissed Blair's
forehead and wiped away the one tear that was escaping.  "Don't want
to go in there with big puffy eyes that look like you're hung over."  Jim
kissed the eyelids in question.  "Smile, Chief.  This is the beginning of
something good."

     Now, as Blair darted into Olson Hall, and up a flight of steps to
the second floor to find room 224, he hoped Jim was right, and
foolishly wished he could have one more hug and one more smile from
his partner before he made his entrance.  

********

     Jim leaned back in the desk chair in the motel office and waited
for Stephen to answer the phone.  His secretary had put Jim through
immediately, but getting the elusive executive himself to answer the
phone was the next challenge.  Finally, Stephen's voice came over the
line.

     "Ellison," he snapped, obviously not pleased to have been
disturbed.

     "What a coincidence," Jim quipped, smiling as he waited for his
brother to respond.

     "Jim!  Hey, how's life as keeper of the Beacon Pointe Inn
treating you?"

     "Well, I'm not rich yet," Jim responded dryly.

     "I said six months, bro.  You've only put in about four."

     "I should be closer to rich than I am if I'm going to make it there
in six, *bro*," Jim shot back, still joking.  "What's going on with you
and dad for Thanksgiving?"

     "Sally's cooking, Dad invited me over."  There was a pause. 
"Tanya and I broke up a couple weeks ago...so it's a stag party."

     "I'm sorry to hear that.  You said in your last letter that you
thought she might be the one."

     "Good thing I'm better at predicting the stock market than I am
my own love life.  She did get a good promotion out of it though."

     "You promoted her?  I thought she was an equal--a colleague."

     "She was.  And I didn't promote her.  The guy she's sleeping
with now promoted her."

     "Ah."

     "The pathetic part of this is, I really think she'd have gotten that
job without him.  She had the talent and the experience--for the job, I
mean," Stephen corrected, adding a bit of dark humor.  "Anyway, this
sounds like it could be an invitation."

     "It is.  I thought maybe you and Dad--and Sally if she's going to
be on her own--would like to fly out here for the holiday weekend."

     "Sounds great.  Sally was just going to cook for us and then go
home to spend the day with her family, so I don't think she'll be able to
make it, but I'll be sure to invite her."

     "I've been thinking of asking Simon and Daryl, maybe a few of
the other folks from the PD to come out for a visit too."

     "You know, I could probably get the corporate jet for that
weekend."

     "That would be great," Jim responded, all surprised innocence
as he smiled wickedly at how easily his brother had "fallen into line"
with that idea.  No groveling necessary.  "How many can you take?"

     "Well, there's Dad and myself, and we could manage six other
passengers."

     "Great.  We'll probably invite Simon and Daryl, Joel--hey, have
you talked to him lately?  Wasn't he seeing somebody from the DA's
office?"

     "Yeah, Charlotte something.  I ran into them at that new Italian
place downtown a couple months ago.  But I don't know if they're
'spend Thanksgiving together' serious or not."

     "There'd be Simon, Daryl, Joel, Megan, Rafe and Henri for
sure, provided they weren't bringing dates.  But some of them might not
be able to make it, so I suppose that would free up space for them to
bring somebody."

     "Just let me know who's going, and we'll get the times
coordinated.  I'll make sure I can get the jet and call you back later on
tonight."

     "Stephen...there's one other thing you should know.  We haven't
really announced it to anyone, but you'll hear it at the get together over
Thanksgiving...I'm thinking about calling Dad, but then I thought
maybe in person would be better..."

     "What?"

     "Blair and I are together--I mean, we're a couple."

     "And this should shock me because...?"  Stephen asked, a little
laugh in his voice.

     "You're not surprised."

     "Jim, the guy gave up his career for you.  Then you up and do
the same thing for him and the two of you pack off and move to some
remote corner of the universe, together.  My last birthday card and gift
were from you and Blair, and that check you sent me to transact that
stock deal?  It had Blair's name on it too.  Now, I may not be the
detective in the family, but still..."

     "Guess it's pretty obvious."

     "Fairly, yeah."  Stephen sighed.  "I don't know how Dad's going
to take it.  You want me to talk to him?  I mean, it could be an ugly
scene if he gets out there and doesn't accept it."

     "True.  But I think he should hear it from me.  I'll call him
before Thanksgiving."

     "Okay.  So tell me the truth now.  How do you like it out there
in Maine?"

     "Well, Autumn is all they promise it is.  It's exceptionally
beautiful out here this time of year, and it's been a good break for both
of us.  Working on the place has been therapeutic, I think.  A real stress
reducer."

     "You hate it."

     "'Hate' is a strong word," Jim responded, chortling.

     "How about Blair?"

     "Blair got a job filling in for a guy at Bayport College who was
killed in a car accident--an Anthropology professor.  Eli Stoddard, the
guy Blair thought about going to Borneo with that time?  He helped
him get the job.  It's only temporary--a couple of months--but the
change in Blair has been...phenomenal.  It's like he's...*himself* again."

     "Might be kind of a let down when it ends."

     "Yeah, I've worried about that too.  All of the faculty there--or
at least most of them that we've heard of--have their doctorates already. 
I don't think they'd hire Blair permanently without it, and given what's
happened, I don't know as they'd hire him anyway on a permanent
basis."

     "Must be hard, knowing he really doesn't deserve all that shit."

     "Watching it is probably the hardest thing...well, hardest thing
*I've* ever had to do," Jim said honestly.  "It's the main reason I finally
wanted out of Cascade.  People were passing him over for jobs,
insulting him to his face about the whole fraud issue, he was getting
shunned by friends he used to know at the U...  I knew this thing was
major when it happened, but I never knew the extent of what he'd have
to put up with.  Dammit, Stephen, he was nervous to go to a lecture
Stoddard gave at Bayport for fear someone would recognize him and it
would embarrass Stoddard.  We had to sit in the back of the lecture
hall, and Blair spent half the time looking around, slumped in his seat."

     "But this Stoddard guy got him the job, huh?"

     "He was great about the whole mess.  I told him the truth."

     "The whole truth?"  Stephen asked, incredulous.  He had been
stunned when Jim confided in *him* about the whole sentinel issue. 
To hear that Jim had told an outsider flabbergasted him.

     "The guy showed up here to get a room for the season, and he
was giving Blair the cold shoulder, really making him feel like a piece
of shit, and I couldn't take it anymore.  I told him the truth, and ever
since then, he's been in Blair's corner, and says he plans to stay there
and try to help Blair get his career back on track."

     "That's great.  But you know, the real friends are the ones who
stick with you even without being let in on the secret."

     "My thoughts exactly.  But he's been very apologetic for how he
treated Blair--he seems to realize that even if Blair were guilty, he
didn't deserve to be insulted to his face that way, on his own turf."

     "So it sounds like Blair's got a shot at getting things back on
track."

     "I hope so.  God, he really deserves it."

     "What about you?"

     "What about me?"

     "You deserve to sit around that inn all day while Blair goes on
with his career?"

     "We've got a lot of work to do rebuilding our lives.  Right now
it's Blair's turn.  I'll make some changes when the time is right.  This
isn't really a new thing--a lot of couples make sacrifices for each other's
careers, or one pays the bills while the other goes to college.  I guess
that's how I look at this."

     "Well, I hope it all works out.  I still can't believe you quit being
a cop."

     "I was getting a hell of a lot less pleasure out of that than I was
getting pain out of watching Blair being put through a meat grinder in
the job market."  Jim paused.  "Besides, I've got a whole new career as
a lighthouse tour guide."

     "At least your training isn't going to waste then," Stephen
replied with a laugh.

     "Hey, I'm keeping the old reflexes sharp.  You'd be amazed how
many of those senior citizens try to slip in free when you get a whole
group of 'em," Jim added, chuckling.

     "I've gotta go, Jim.  I'm due over at the Country Club in about
fifteen minutes to meet with some moth-eaten old buzzard about his
portfolio--of course, he knows more than I do where his money should
be invested, so I guess he just wants to pay for the pleasure of my
company over dinner."

     "My brother the rent boy," Jim quipped.

     "Shut up, you jerk.  Take care of yourself, and tell Blair I said
good luck with the new job."

     "I will.  Thanks.  Talk to you soon."

     Jim hung up the phone and let out a long sigh.  Figuring the
cabin vacated by last night's guests wasn't going to clean itself, he
hauled himself out of the chair and grabbing the pass key, headed down
to put it in shape for the next guests.  At that moment, even the
prospect of guiding a lighthouse tour would have looked good.

********

     Blair watched the last of his students file out of the small
classroom.  This was nothing like the lecture halls of Rainier, and the
small class and more personal setting was a delightful way to teach. 
The students had been a mixture of rich spoiled brats and serious
academics.  You didn't go to Bayport cheaply, so you either got there
with top flight academic credentials or your parents' money.  Or both.

     Overall, they'd been a good group, though a bit subdued after
their former professor's untimely death.  Apparently, Professor
Madison had been fairly popular with his students, and some of them
were still reeling a bit from his loss.

     Gathering up his papers into his new briefcase, he started for
the door, surprised to be stopped by Dean Whitcombe.

     "Nice job, Mr. Sandburg."

     "Thank you.  I didn't see you--"

     "That was the idea.  I was just outside the open door here.  That
was thirty minutes ago.  You're quite a speaker."

     "I appreciate that."

     "I was wondering if you would happen to be free for dinner? 
My wife is out of town, and I hate dining alone."  He smiled pleasantly.

     "I really should get home--"

     "Mr. Sandburg, I do have a few things I would like to discuss
with you about your possible future here at Bayport.  I won't take much
of your time, but I would like to have the opportunity to talk with you
at a bit more length.  I'll be joining my wife on vacation tomorrow, so I
won't have another opportunity for a week or so."

     "Well, okay.  I have to call home so Jim's not holding off on
dinner for me."

     "You two live together?"

     "Yes," Blair replied simply, pulling out his cell phone and
dialing the number of the Inn.

     After several rings, Jim finally answered.

     "I was gonna give up on you, man," Blair joked, smiling.

     "Hey, how'd it go?"

     "Great.  The dean would like to talk a few things over with me,
so I'm going to have dinner with him--you don't have anything already
fixed, do you?"

     "No, I'm still tinkering around at the motel.  Have a good
dinner.  Bring me a doggy bag from the big city, huh?"

     "Pizza or Mexican?"

     "Whatever's on your way."

     "Okay.  See you soon."

     "Love you."

     "You too," Blair said, unable to stop himself from smiling like a
lovesick sap.

********

     Blair was a bit surprised when Dean Whitcombe pulled into the
driveway of a stately vintage home.  He'd expected they would head for
a restaurant, and the confusion must have shown on his face.

     "I hope you don't mind risking my cooking.  I started a roast this
morning--slow cooking.  It's actually very tasty.  I thought you might be
getting tired of seafood."

     "Uh...no, that's fine."  They got out of the car and walked up the
sidewalk and then up the front steps to the door.  

     "I actually do most of the cooking--I've always found it
therapeutic.  A good stress-reliever," the large man said
conversationally, unlocking the door and letting his guest inside.  

     "Beautiful home," Blair commented, taking in the chandelier,
the high ceilings, the polished woodwork.

     "Thank you.  I've always liked living in a house with a sense of
history.  I should go check on the roast.  If you'd like to wait in the
library," he gestured to a room through an open door off the entry area,
"I'll join you in a moment."

     "Sure.  Dinner certainly *smells* good," Blair said, and the
older man chuckled a bit.

     "Hopefully the taste will match.  Have a seat--or look around in
there if you like.  I have quite a collection."  With that, he headed down
the hall toward the kitchen.

     Blair wandered around the elegantly appointed library with its
polished wood shelves and obviously extensive book collection.  He
tried to get past the sense of unease he felt about the whole meeting
with Whitcombe.  There was no good reason for it.  The man was
probably just one of those people who doesn't enjoy being alone while
his wife's away and thought he could combine business with a little
socializing.  Still, something nagged at the back of Blair's brain.  He
dismissed it as feeling a bit guilty for staying here in town for dinner
while Jim sat around by himself at home.

     "Dinner should be ready in about fifteen minutes."  Whitcombe
appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and two
glasses.  "I thought we could have a little wine.  This is truly an
excellent year--and lambrusco goes very well with beef."

     "I probably should pass on the wine.  I have a long drive back
home tonight."

     "I don't think one glass would do too much damage, do you?" 
he asked pleasantly, holding out a freshly poured glass to Blair.

     "No, probably not," Blair said, accepting it with a slight smile. 
"You said you wanted to talk to me about something?"

     "A few things, really."  Whitcombe gestured toward a grouping
of furniture, a leather couch and two matching chairs surrounding a
coffee table.  "Please, have a seat."  When both men were seated, Blair
on the couch and Whitcombe in one of the chairs, he continued.  "Your
situation is most unfortunate, Blair."

     "Which situation is that?"  Blair took another swallow of the
wine, hoping it would settle his nerves.  This was an odd meeting at
best.

     "Your academic situation.  But I trust Eli's judgement of your
character, and I'd like to help you get things back on track."

     "I appreciate that--I'm sure this teaching position will go a long
way toward that end."

     "Yes, I'm sure it will.  I was, however, considering something a
bit more permanent.  It's been my belief that occasionally you need to
freshen up your faculty a bit--bring in someone young, vital, with new
ideas.  I think you fit that image very well."

     "Thank you," Blair said, a little uncertainly.  He took another
sip of the wine.

     "How would you like to join the faculty at Bayport
permanently?"

     "Permanently?"  Blair repeated.

     "Well, obviously you'd need to spend a few years on the faculty
before you earned tenure, but I mean for a tenure track position."

     "I...I'd have to think it over...talk to Jim."

     "Your options are a bit limited under the circumstances, my
friend.  I wouldn't be too quick to turn down an opportunity if I were
you," he stated, then got up from his chair and moved over to the
couch.  "I can help you have a future in your field.  Just do your part
and cooperate, and everything will work out nicely."

     "Why do I get the feeling we're not talking about my academic
credentials anymore?"  Blair set the wine aside, pinning the other man
with an icy glare.

     "Academic credentials?"  Whitcombe laughed rudely.  "You
*are* a pompous little ass if you think you still have any.  If I hire you
on as faculty, Bayport will be the only marginally respectable
institution of higher learning in the country who would do so."

     "If I'm such a drug on the market, how are you going to get me
past a search committee?"

     "The search committee predominantly report to me for their
jobs.  Those who don't, respect my opinion.  I can make this thing
happen.  And trust me, my friend, it won't happen elsewhere.  You're
nothing in the academic world now.  So you better start trading on what
you do still have left."

     "I think I've heard enough of this."  Blair stood up, but was
stunned to feel two powerful hands seize his arms and throw him back
down on the couch.

     "You listen to me, you self-righteous little cocksucker." 
Whitcombe loomed over him.  "There's one way left open to you to be
anything more than a joke in the academic community, and you're in
the right position for it right now: on your back--and occasionally, on
all fours."

     "Go to hell."  Blair started to get up but was shoved back down
again.  Whitcombe was at least as big as Jim, though definitely not as
toned or athletic.  Still, he was bigger, heavier and probably stronger
than Blair.  "You don't want to do this, man."

     "What did you think I was going to do?  Rape you?" 
Whitcombe snorted a laugh.  "I wouldn't expend the effort.  You're
going to hand it over willingly, because you're smart enough to know
that your ass, and possibly your mouth, are the only two things that are
going to give you any hope of ever teaching in your field again.  And I
think you'd like to do that, wouldn't you?"

     "There's nothing on this earth I want to do badly enough to sign
up for *that* plan."  Blair got up, shoving past Whitcombe and heading
for the door.  Again, a strong hand grabbed his arm and spun him
around.

     "You walk out that door, you're finished.  The job's finished. 
And I'll be telling Eli that he steered me wrong on you--that you were
ill-prepared and unable to conduct a meaningful lecture."

     "He won't believe you."

     "I've known him longer than you have, kid.  He'll believe me. 
And you'll be back to cleaning the toilets in that two-bit motel you run
with your cocksucking boyfriend."

     Something in Blair snapped at the insult to Jim, and to their life
together--a life he had been scorning a bit himself at times, frustrated
with the loss of his academic career.  Going with the feeling, he swung
his right fist full force into the bigger man's jaw, sending him
staggering back a bit, more shocked than anything else.

     "Take this job and shove it, you son of a bitch."  With
that, Blair walked out the front door, slamming it hard enough to rattle
the beveled glass.

********