The first thing Jim spotted when they walked into the bullpen
was Simon, pacing back and forth in his office, dragging on a cigar,
chewing someone out on the phone.  He slammed down the receiver
and his eyes fixed on his somewhat delinquent detective.  Blair slid
into the chair he occupied behind Jim's desk and started shuffling
papers to get started typing up a report.

     "Ellison!  Sandburg!  My office!"  Banks bellowed through the
door.  

     "Isn't he overreacting a little for a long lunch hour?"  Blair
opined, standing to follow Jim to the office.

     "I think there's a little more to it, Chief," Jim responded, leading
the way into Simon's office.

     "Shut the door," Banks barked at Sandburg, who did so
immediately.  "We've got a major problem here.  There's evidence
missing from the Morgan case."

     "You're not going to tell us it was the bloody rag?"  Jim asked
with a disbelieving little smile on his face.

     "Gone without a trace.  I've questioned Friedman--he's been
there since eight this morning.  I'm satisfied it was gone when he got
here.  Saunders was on last night.  He's on his way in right now, though
I have to say I don't picture either of those guys stealing evidence in a
major case."

     "Maybe if someone paid them enough to turn their heads--"

     "Anything's possible, Sandburg.  But Saunders has been on the
force for 30 years--he could retire any day now--and I went to the
academy with Friedman.  I know this guy.  He's not a dirty cop.  But
IA's all over it anyway."

     "Someone had to be involved here, Simon.  Evidence doesn't
just walk away, and civilians don't just stroll into evidence lock-up and
pick out what they want."

     "Did they leave the area unsupervised at all?"  Blair asked.

     "Friedman claims he never did--said Lucas from Vice covered
for him for a few minutes while he took a break."

     "That's a little unusual, isn't it?"  Jim queried.  "Detectives don't
often run the evidence room."

     "Friedman said he needed to use the john--he knows Lucas, so
he asked him to watch the place for a few minutes.  Friedman said he
wasn't gone more than ten minutes."

     "When's the last time anyone saw the rag?"  Blair asked.

     "Two days ago, as near as we can tell," Simon sighed.  "Once
it's bagged, tagged, logged in and put on a shelf, we don't have much
reason to go back and look at it."

     "Without that rag--" Jim began, and Simon finished the
statement.

     "We don't have a case.  Well, except for Sandburg's testimony
that the rag in fact exists, and he found it behind Morgan's washing
machine.  It's not as good as having it, but it's a thin thread we might be
able to go with.  The witness you interviewed over in Port Columbia--
what was her name again?"

     "Susan Perry," Blair supplied.

     "But that's inconclusive anyway."

     "I don't want this case hinging on Blair," Jim objected.

     "Unfortunately, that's not a matter of choice anymore.  It *does*
hinge on Blair."

     "Would you guys stop talking about me like I'm not here? 
Look, Morgan's in jail, all I have to do is say that I found the rag-- no
big deal."

     "There's no question that not having the physical evidence is a
major body blow to the case.  I don't know as just having a bunch of
people say they saw it is going to convince a jury.  Not after the public
has been barraged with incidents like the O.J. Simpson thing where all
they talked about was where that damned glove came from."  Simon
leaned back in his chair.  "The infamous bloody rag can easily be
called a fabrication by the defense--a cover up by the PD because it's
only been PD personnel who have seen the damn thing."

     "Maybe Forensics could find traces of blood behind the washer
that they missed the first time around," Blair suggested.  

     "I sent a team back out there from the lab.  I'm not optimistic. 
He wrapped it in another towel--remember?  We couldn't find anything
the first time.  Well, we found a few traces of her blood near the front
of the washer, but he claimed she sometimes did his laundry, and that
she cut herself one day.  Honestly, we have nothing to dispute that."
     
     "I guess we have to find out who stole that rag then," Jim
concluded.
     
     "Yeah, probably starting with Morgan's old man," Blair opined.

     "We don't have many witnesses in this case.  Jim, you're
familiar with the Port Columbia PD, right?"

     "We're acquainted with one of the detectives there, yeah."

     "I'd like to get some protection for Susan Perry.  She's our only
other viable witness besides Sandburg.  I doubt they'll be able to spare
the manpower willingly, so if you can talk with someone you know
there, it might get us a little more cooperation."

     "She didn't really know all that much, sir.  You really think
Morgan would risk it?  When Blair and I talked to her, the most she
could do was place a car that might *look like* Morgan's near the
scene."

     "I'd rather not take any chances.  Sandburg--watch your back,
and make sure you're in touch with someone about your comings and
goings, at least until we get this mess straightened out."

     "I'll keep an eye on him, sir," Jim spoke up, smiling a little
devilishly at Blair.  What Simon made of that expression, Blair wasn't
sure, but it was the first time Jim had flirted with him in front of the
captain.   It left the younger man a bit stunned.  They were quite firmly
esconced in their closet.  But now, this combination of Jim's knowing
smile and the lingering sensations of their "lunch hour" conspired to
make Blair shift in his chair.

     "That's it for now.  Get a hold of Port Columbia and see what
you can do."

     "Will do, Simon."  Jim rose and led the way to the door.

     "Oh--Jim--any word on that hit and run incident yet?"

     "None.  I have to call the PCPD anyway and track down
Albrecht--he's the detective we know there--to find out if there's been
any progress."

     "Not even a line on the mysterious hero who saved the day,
huh?"  Simon persisted.  Jim shot a look at Blair, but said nothing.

     "Not so far," Blair spoke up. //I'll have to tell Eric he's a
"mysterious hero".  He'll get a laugh out of that one.//

********  

     Draven had heard Albrecht's footsteps in the hall long before
the knock at the door.  He swung it open and the other man stood there
a bit uneasily.  He'd been to Draven's place dozens of times before, but
never once as the man's lover.

     "You want to come in?"  Draven asked with a small smile.

     "Yeah."  Albrecht walked into the apartment and Draven shut
the door behind him. //So what do I do now?// Draven pondered. //Kiss
him hello?//  

     "I'd offer you something, but I don't have anything," Eric said
honestly, shrugging a little.

     "We're not staying.  Grab your coat."

     "Why?"

     "Well, for one thing, I have to go check on Susan Perry, the
witness in the case Ellison's working on.  We've got a unit watching her
house, but I promised Ellison I'd check on her personally."

     "Why?"

     "Their key piece of physical evidence was stolen right out of the
evidence room at the Cascade PD.  So two things are obvious from
that.  First, whoever's behind Morgan--probably his old man--is willing
to risk everything to kill this case, and second, all they have left are
their witnesses--Susan Perry, who can place the kid's car at the scene of
the murder, and Sandburg, who found the missing evidence in the first
place."

     "Let's go," Draven responded, grabbing his black coat and
following Albrecht out the door.  

     The quiet suburban street where Susan Perry lived was deserted
except for a couple of cars parked in front of homes.  There was no
police car in sight.  

     "I don't like this," Albrecht commented, cruising slowly past the
darkened Perry house.  "Where's the damn unit?"  He picked up the mic
and put the call out to them.  "Adam 14, this is Albrecht.  Give me your
location."  He waited.  "Adam 14, please respond with your location
immediately."  Again, nothingness.  "Shit," he muttered under his
breath, then placed a call to central dispatch.  "This is Albrecht.  I'm
approaching the house of Susan Perry, a witness who is supposed to be
under protection, at 923 Barnes.  The assigned unit is not visible. 
Requesting back-up from all units in the vicinity.  No noise, folks. 
Let's keep this one quiet."

     A few units responded that they were on their way, and
Albrecht pulled into the driveway.  

     "What about the back up?"  Draven asked as they got out of the
car. 

     "They're on their way.  I'm going in."  He headed up the
sidewalk toward the front porch of the small, red-brick ranch.

     "Let me go first."  Draven moved up so he was walking a little
ahead of Albrecht.

     "Excuse me?"  Albrecht grabbed the other man's arm.  "Last
time I looked, I was the one with the badge here."

     "Last time I looked, I was the one who could take a bullet and
walk away."  Draven stared intently into the other man's eyes.  "It's your
show.  Just let me walk in first...in case."  

     "All right," Albrecht conceded, seeing the obvious concern in
Draven's eyes.  Concern...and love.  It was there, and he acknowledged
to himself that he shouldn't have made love with the man if he didn't
want his protectiveness.  Draven had always been protective of
Albrecht, just as the reverse had been true.  Becoming lovers could
only intensify those feelings.

     Draven turned the knob and the front door opened easily.  Both
men exchanged a glance that conveyed their shared opinion that this
was not a good sign.  Once they were inside, and nothing had leapt out
at them from the shadows, Albrecht flipped on a light switch.  The
living room was ransacked, noticeable gaping holes where the woman's
electronic equipment had been.  TV, stereo, VCR...everything cleaned
out.

     "Cute.  Make it look like a garden variety B&E," Albrecht
opined, moving through the living room to the hallway.  "Ms. Perry? 
Port Columbia Police!" he called out an obligatory salutation to a
woman he felt sure would never answer.  He was startled to hear a
groan come from the master bedroom.

     Both men hurried into the room and turned on the light, finding
the young woman lying on the floor, badly beaten and semi-conscious.
Without being asked, Draven knelt next to her and took a hold of her
hand, closing his eyes and grimacing at the visions that assailed his
mind.  Albrecht's voice as he called an ambulance was a fuzzy, distant
sound as Draven re-lived the victim's assault in shocking detail.

     "There were three of them--all big, musclebound types.  One
had a tattoo on his left forearm...  Oh...no..."  Draven's eyes snapped
open and locked with Albrecht's as the other man squatted near the
victim.

     "What is it?"

     "Blair...Dear God...they have Blair," he said, the worry clear in
his eyes.  "It's not good, Albrecht.  I have to do something."  He was up
in a bound and fleeing for the door.

     "Draven!"  Albrecht called after him.  The sounds of other cars
arriving stopped Albrecht from pursuing his elusive lover at that
moment.  Draven would have to make himself scarce anyway as soon
as back-up arrived. //Now if I can just track him down later...// 

     Albrecht sighed and tried to give some comfort to the semi-conscious 
woman on the floor.

********

     Draven pulled his motorcycle up alongside the green Volvo,
parked behind the building that housed Blair's and Jim's apartment.  He
rushed up the stairs two and a time and banged on the door of the loft.

     "Blair!!  Come on, man, open the door!"  He grabbed the knob
to turn it, and pressed his forehead against the wood of the door as
images sliced through his brain.  Blair reading, looking up, unable to
get his mouth open to protest before his assailants were upon him.  A
hand pressed a handkerchief over his nose and mouth and as the
resistance left his body, he was hauled out of the apartment, via the fire
escape exit through his old bedroom.  "Damn," Draven breathed against
the door before pushing himself away from it and heading back
downstairs to his bike.

********

     Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose, the gesture reflecting the
fatigue of a long and fruitless day.  The bullpen was nearly empty
except for Simon, who was still hunched over his desk, and a couple of
detectives getting ready to go out on a stakeout.  He was about to pick
up the phone to call Blair, just to be sure the younger man was still
safely tucked in the loft.  They had two of their best cops watching the
apartment, so he knew the worry was pointless.  Still, something had
nagged at him for the better part of an hour, so he reached for the
phone.

     "Ellison."  The single word made Jim look up, startled to see
the black clad figure of Eric Draven standing a few feet away from his
desk.  

     "What do you want?"  Jim asked, his voice hostile.  Their last
encounter hadn't been pleasant.

     "It's Blair.  They have him."

     "What are you talking about?"

     "The same men who beat Susan Perry nearly to death tonight
have Blair."


     "Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Slow down a minute.  Explain."  Jim
stood and faced his visitor.

     "Susan Perry was badly beaten in her home tonight.  I don't
know what happened to the cops that were guarding her but Albrecht
and I found her on the floor in her bedroom.  The men who did that
have kidnapped Blair."

     "How do you know that?"

     "He's not at the loft."

     "Shit."  Jim picked up the phone and punched out the number. 
As it rang, he looked back at Draven.  "That doesn't mean he's been
abducted--and how in the hell do you know that one has anything to do
with the...*dammit*!"  Jim slammed the receiver down.  "Fucking
answering machine."  He grabbed his leather jacket off the nearby hook
and started toward Simon's office when Draven grabbed his arm.

     "Ellison--this isn't a game.  I know you don't buy anything I tell
you, but I can see things...I *know* he's been kidnapped.  I *saw* it
when I went to the door."

     "You saw something?  Why the hell didn't you say that?"

     "I didn't see it with my eyes.  I saw it in my mind."

     "So now you're a psychic."

     "I can give you descriptions.  If you won't believe me, call
Albrecht.  He'll vouch for me."  Draven paused as the two men stared at
each other a moment, seemingly at an impasse.  "I'm going to find
Blair.  I just thought it would be easier if we worked together."

     "You're not meddling in this situation anymore than you already
have.  If any part of what you're saying is true, Blair's life is at stake
here."

     "He trusts me.  Blair knows I'm telling the truth.  If you can't
believe in me, can't you trust Blair to know the truth?  He's been to the
other side, Ellison.  He *knows*."

     "Blair considered Eric Draven one of his best friends.  Draven's
death was very difficult for him to get through.  He wants to believe. 
Damn you to hell for playing on that."

     "Blair means a lot to me.  I'd never hurt him.  I just want to help
save his life.  That's all.  What do I have to gain from this anyway?"

     "I don't know, but for all I know, you're part of the reason why
he disappeared."

     "Fine.  You do things your way and I'll do things my way.  It's
only Blair's life on the line."  Draven turned on his heel and strode
toward the door.

     "Hold it right there."  Jim's command caught the attention of the
other two detectives in the room and Simon, who had just stepped out
of his office.  Draven simply shook his head and turned around to face
Ellison.

     "What're you gonna do, shoot me?  Take your best shot, man." 
He turned and walked briskly out of the room and down the hall.

     "Blair's not answering the phone.  I'm going home," Jim said to
Simon.  

     "Who was that?"

     "Some maniac who claims to be Eric Draven--that friend of
Blair's who was murdered in Port Columbia last year."  Jim was
steadily moving toward the door, and Simon, who had donned his coat
in the hopes of going home, fell into step with him.  "He claims that
Blair's been abducted by the same people who assaulted Susan Perry
tonight.  I have to get a hold of Albrecht."  Ellison was dialing the
number on his cell phone as the two men rode down in the elevator to
the garage.  After a momentary wait, the switchboard at the PCPD
connected Jim with Albrecht.

     "Albrecht."

     "Jim Ellison.  What's the story on this headcase that's running
around claiming to be Draven?"  There was a long pause on the other
end of the line.

     "Whatever he's told you, Jim, listen to him.  I can't explain
everything he's about, but he's on the level about this."

     "Susan Perry--was she attacked tonight?"

     "Yes.  I was just going to call you.  She's in fair condition at St.
Joseph's Hospital.  She hasn't been able to give me anything yet... but
Draven gave me a description of the assailants."

     "You believe this guy?  Trust him?"

     "Shortly after I met him, I opened Draven's grave.  It was
empty."

     "It's a little harder to pull off nowadays, but people can still
snatch bodies," Jim retorted, following Simon's lead to the captain's
car.  

     "That's true.  But I ran prints on the guy claiming to be Draven,
and they matched.  I can't explain this either, but I trust him."

     "He took off on his own.  Claimed Sandburg had been
kidnapped by the people who attacked Susan Perry."

     "I know.  He told me."

     "I need those descriptions," Jim got into Simon's car and jotted
a choppy set of notes as Albrecht talked as Simon gunned the engine,
hit the lights and siren and sped out of the garage, radioing the unit that
was supposed to be watching the loft.  As Jim broke the connection on
his call with Albrecht, he heard the other officers explaining to Simon
that they had gotten an "officer down" call, and after calling Sandburg
and verifying that he was all right and warning him to be on the alert
since they would be gone a while, they'd responded.

     "The call was a fake?"  Simon questioned.

     "Yes, sir.  We arrived at the scene, but we were the only unit
there, and nothing appeared out of order.  We searched the
area...nothing.  We're just on our way back now."

     "Get back over to 852 Prospect and wait for us there."  Simon
concluded the call.

     "That's it?  They were supposed to stay with Sandburg!"  Jim
protested.

     "Jim, you know that an 'officer down' call takes precedence
over everything else.  You also know that Blair wouldn't have had it
any other way than for them to respond to it."  

     "Can't this bucket move any faster?!"  Jim demanded.

     "Not and get us there alive.  Now just get a hold of yourself,
man!"  Simon barked, then more softly,  "I'm worried about him too."

     "This is my own fault.  I shouldn't have let him leave the station
tonight."

     "Maybe he went out.  This wouldn't be the first time he's slipped
away from protective custody."

     "Albrecht says this Draven character is on the up and up."

     "Right," Simon responded, laughing.  "I saw a jumper once after
he'd made a 20-storey swan dive onto the sidewalk.  Not pretty.  Trust
me--after 16 floors, Draven isn't up walking around."

     "You don't have to tell me how damned ridiculous it sounds.  It
just puzzles me a little that Albrecht believes it."

     "Must be our year for angels around here," Simon snorted an
ugly little laugh, shaking his head.  The veiled reference to Gabe
stopped Jim cold.  There had been no explanation for Gabe's
appearance either, or for his ID matching a dead man's...and yet, he'd
been very real, very present, and had managed to touch both their lives.
And then he'd inexplicably disappeared from the hospital where he'd
been taken following his shooting.

     The car slamming to a halt in front of 852 Prospect jerked Jim
back to reality.

     Guns drawn, Jim and Simon led the way upstairs, the two young
detectives who'd been guarding Blair earlier, bringing up the rear.  The
four cops burst into the apartment, guns aiming in all directions.  Jim's
heart sank when his last hope of finding Blair asleep on the couch and
oblivious to all the worry was dashed against the rocks.  His lover was
a heavy sleeper, and he'd hoped maybe, just maybe, Blair had slept
through the ringing of the phone, that the man claiming to be Draven
was truly a crazy crank and not the real thing...  

     His eyes snapped to Blair's old room, his weapon aimed at the
French doors as Draven walked casually out into the room, facing the
four guns as if they were water pistols.

     "Ellison.  I have to talk to you."  

     "This is the guy you were telling me about?"  Simon asked Jim.

     "That's him."

     "You want to talk to him or just haul him downtown and toss
his ass in a holding cell?"
     
     "I'll talk to him."  Jim holstered his weapon, and the others
followed suit.  

     "Okay, gentlemen, let's have a look around."  Simon paused,
looking at one of the two young detectives.  "What, you don't have
gloves, Delaney?"  The other man sheepishly pulled out a wadded up
pair of latex gloves from his pocket and pulled them on as his partner
already had.  

     "What are you doing here?"  Ellison challenged, ushering
Draven back into the small bedroom.

     "I was looking for something that would tell me where Blair is. 
Possibly lead me to his kidnappers."

     "I spoke to Albrecht.  Either you're for real, or you've just
managed to sell him your act.  I'm not sure which I believe yet."

     "You know what I am, Ellison.  You can tell.  You've seen
proof.  Just like Albrecht has seen proof."

     "Did you find anything?"  Jim asked, desperate at this point for
any clue to Blair's whereabouts and not particularly caring where it
came from.

     "Not relating to the kidnappers."  

     "Meaning?"

     "When Blair tells you he doesn't mind being in the closet?"

     "Yeah?"

     "He's lying."

     "What does that have to do with anything?  It's none of your
goddamned business anyway."

     "Probably not.  But there is a lot of pain in Blair about that.  I
can feel it strongly in this room.  This...*pretend* bedroom."

     "This isn't the time for an encounter group.  Do you have any
ideas on where to find him or not?"

     "The men who took him--there were three of them.  All tall,
muscular--hired muscle types--"

     "I got the description from Albrecht," Jim interrupted.  Eric just
nodded in response.  

     "They chloroformed him to get him out of here quietly, and
they left by that exit," he inclined his head toward the fire escape. 
"Your people won't find prints.  They all wore gloves."

     "Is he all right?"  Jim asked, hating himself for giving in to
Draven's game, whatever it was.

     "I don't know.  He was when they took him out of here."

     "So what can you do to help us now?"

     "I don't know that either," Draven said honestly, pacing over to
the shelf where Blair kept his photos, and smiling at the one he found
of the two of them there.  "He kept this."  The photo was taken by
Shelly, the night they'd gone to the Blackout Club.  Eric and Blair were
toasting beer mugs, both wearing big smiles.

     "If you're such a hot shot psychic, how about telling me where
he is now?"

     "I wish I could."  Draven paused.  "I'm just asking to be allowed
to be in on this investigation."

     "You ride with me and you do as you're told, or the deal's off."

     "I'll ride with you and I'll do all I can to save Blair's life.  That's
my deal.  Take it or leave it.  Either way, I'm going to look for him."

     "All right."  Jim turned and walked out of the room, with
Draven on his heels.  

*********

     "Okay, you mouthy little shit," the burly man growled, grabbing
a handful of Blair's hair and pulling his head back.  Blair could feel the
blood that was seeping out of his nose change directions and nearly
choke him as it ran down his throat now instead.  "You ready to write
that note to your roomie now?"  Blair looked into the bearded face, and
into the icy blue eyes.  There was no mercy to be found there.  He knew
he faced another beating if he resisted, but if he wrote the note, he also
knew his life would become worthless.

     "Go to hell," he sputtered at his captor.  Once they had a note in
hand, in his handwriting, declaring that he'd planted the evidence, and
that he was so ashamed of having done that, that he was now leaving
Cascade, they would kill him.  He'd already tried signing his name as
"Sandy" to the note to give Jim a clue, but that had earned him the
worst of the blows.  These men had done their homework.  They knew
that wasn't a valid nickname in a note to Jim, and had made it a point
to punish their captive for trying to be clever.

     "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time."  Blair's hair was
pulled viciously, yanking his head back until he thought his neck would
snap.  "Now, you have one more chance to write the fucking note the
way I told you to, or I'm going to pay your buddy, Ellison, a little visit. 
Hey, Hal, show our little friend here my new toy."   The man named
Hal hauled his six-foot-six bulk out of the festered easy chair he
occupied in the graffiti-laden deserted apartment where they held Blair
and pulled a large gun from its hiding place inside a blanket roll.  It
was a high-powered rifle with a sight on top.

     "What's that for?"  Blair managed.

     "It's just to illustrate your options.  You can cooperate, write
what you've been told to write without any more tricks, and we won't
bother your friend, Ellison.  Or, you can be a stubborn little prick, and
I'll take that rifle, find your buddy, and blow his brains all over the
sidewalk when he least expects it.  It's your call."

     "If I do as you say, I don't have any guarantees you won't kill
him anyway."

     "Well, now that's true.  But if you don't, you have a guarantee
that I *will*.  I don't kill for recreation.  I kill for money, or to get a job
done.  If you play your part, I wouldn't have a worthwhile reason to
want Ellison dead."

     "He'll hunt you the longest day of your life if you kill me, you
know that, right?"

     "Then that'll be his final mistake.  Now, are you going to write
the letter like a good boy or are we going to go find Ellison?"

     Blair stared into the icy, unyielding eyes of the man who still
had his hair in a vise-like grip.  The thought that Jim would never again
have his hands gently woven into that same hair in the throes of
passion brought the burning of tears to Blair's blackened eyes.  His love
for his partner filling every part of his soul, signing away his own life
brought no hesitation.

     "I'll write whatever you want.  Just leave Jim out of it."

     "I thought you might see it our way."  The man let go of Blair's
hair and gave him a shove that sent him sprawling on the floor.  

********

     Albrecht pulled up in front of the Cascade PD, a little stunned
that Draven had plunged himself into such a precarious position as to
ally himself with a cop in another city.  He was opening himself to the
scrutiny of the entire department, risking everything.  The voice on the
cell phone that had brought Albrecht there had held less conviction that
it usually did.  Draven was out of his element, and he was scared.  He'd
die--again--before admitting it, but the call asking Albrecht to join the
team searching for Blair Sandburg had been a cry for help from
Draven, who was up to his neck in cops who, at best, saw him as a
well-intentioned lunatic, or at worst, as some kind of criminal or devil.

     When he made his way to the Major Crimes bullpen, he found
the object of his recent affections sitting next to Ellison's desk while
the detective read the riot act to someone in records for a wrong
address.   Draven spotted Albrecht, and his whole demeanor spoke of
relief.   He stood and met Albrecht halfway between the door and
Ellison's desk.

     "What's going on?"

     "We went out to roust some thugs Ellison thought might be part
of the bunch that have Blair, and one of addresses was wrong.  The
homeowners aren't thrilled."

     "Great.  Any leads?"  Albrecht asked, a bit hushed, indicating
that he meant any leads of the nature Draven was famous for.

     "Not beyond the descriptions I already gave you."  Draven
started pacing.  "I haven't seen the crow since Shelly left...since I killed
Top Dollar," he whispered.  "No signs, nothing.  I've gotten some
impressions, but there's been nothing...helpful."  Draven shook his head
and snorted a derisive laugh.  "Typical.  Someone I care about needs
me, and I can't come through."

     "The descriptions'll help.  It just takes time to work these cases
the way we mere mortals do," Albrecht reassured, smiling a little and
resting a hand on Draven's shoulder.  

     "Blair doesn't have time.  That much I know.  We have to find
him.  These men who have him...they'll kill him."

     "You want to explain how you arrived at that conclusion?" 
Ellison joined the group, startling both men by having picked up on the
hushed conversation.

     "I can't.  I just know it."

     "Albrecht--what brings you over here tonight?  I would have
thought you'd be tied up with the Perry situation."

     "Draven called me," he answered honestly.  "Any leads on
Sandburg's whereabouts?"

     "Nothing.  We've been over the loft repeatedly, we're wading
through all the known associates and assorted hired help connected to
Morgan and his father's various enterprises.  That in itself could take
days."  Ellison paced back to his desk and threw the pad of paper he'd
been carrying down on it with a loud *splat*.  "We don't have *days*. 
We may not even have *hours*."

     "Let's go back to your apartment," Draven suggested.  "Maybe
there's...*something* there that could trigger--"

     "What?  More psychic impressions?"

     "I was right about him being kidnapped, wasn't I?  What means
more to you?  Blair's life or being right?"

     "You son of a--" Jim started toward Draven, and the other man's
body stiffened and his arms moved into position to deal with the
oncoming man.  Albrecht stepped between them.

     "There isn't time for this.  We've got a missing person we have
good reason to believe is in danger of becoming a murder victim.  Let's
just put whatever *stuff* is going down between the two of you aside
and stay focused."

     "Maybe you can explain this situation to me, Albrecht.  Because
I sure as hell have had about all the mumbo-jumbo, hocus pocus shit
from your friend here that I want to put up with in this lifetime."

     "I can't explain it completely either.  I just know that Draven's
on the up and up.  His...*impressions* have been right on every time."

     "You trust him?"  Jim tuned into Albrecht's pulse, heartrate and
overall demeanor, waiting for the answer.  This was a normal, live
human being he could read.  What he read in the other man as Albrecht
thought of Draven unnerved him considerably.  There was definitely a
familiarity and affection between Albrecht and Draven, but Jim never
expected to pick up on the traces of desire and a faint hint of arousal in
the other cop at the thought of the mysterious dark-haired man that was
the bone of contention.

     "With my life," Albrecht said in his simple, quietly assertive
way.

     "All right.  Let's go back to the loft then.  I'll let Simon know
where we're headed."

********

     "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"  the bearded man sneered,
folding the note with gloved hands and putting it in the envelope on the
front of which Blair had been made to write "Jim".  "Lick this and seal
it."  He handed it back to Blair, who did as he was told, his hands
having been released from the ropes long enough to produce the note. 
When he'd finished, the other man snatched the envelope away from
him.  He motioned to one of the other goons, who was sprawled in a
chair, watching the portable television they'd set up on a couple of
crates.  "Take this over to Ellison's place and leave it for the hero."

     "Fuck off.  Take it yourself," the other man grumbled, taking
another swig of his beer.

     "You want to go first?  Take the fucking letter."

     "You better not touch him 'til I get back."  He rose from the
chair and lumbered over to where the letter was held out to him.  He
leered over at Blair.  "Bet you give Ellison some good ass, huh?"  Blair
was silent.  He couldn't come up with any retort suitable for such an
insult, and anything he would say would only earn him another fist in
the face.  "Hope he hasn't gotten you all loosened up.  I like a nice, tight
little ass under me."

     "Just get going," the bearded man prodded.  "You dawdle
around much longer and nobody's going have time to grab a little
before we get rid of him."

     The other man left, and Blair held onto the thought that he had
a brief reprieve from the horrors he'd still face that night, since the
departing man had been promised the first round.  Hal was in the other
chair, watching the small TV, and the bearded man was pacing around
now, still keeping an eye on Blair.  

     "What's your name?"  Blair asked, wondering if the human
approach might work with either of his remaining captors.  He doubted
it seriously, but it was worth a shot.

     "What do you care?"

     "You're going to kill me.  That makes you one of the more
significant people in my life.  I'd like to know who you are."

     "Put a gag on the bitch," Hal grumbled from the chair.  "I'm
tryin' to watch the game."

     "Roadie."

     "Roadie?"  Blair asked, stunned that the bearded man had
answered him.  "Like a roadie who works with a band?"

     "Yeah, I used to tour with some of the big names.  Setting up
their gear.  So the nickname stuck."

     "Why'd you quit doing that?"

     "Why?"

     "Just curious."  Blair looked down at his own folded hands on
the table.

     "This job pays better."

     "Do you like doing this?"

     "This job pays better," the man repeated, straddling a chair
across the table from Blair.  

     "I hear that," Blair said quietly.  "You miss traveling?"

     "What is this, twenty questions?"

     "I guess I'm just nervous.  Talking helps."  He looked over at
Roadie.  "You planning on taking a turn too?"

     "That an invitation?"  he leered.

     "No.  Just a question.  I wanted to know what to expect."

     "I don't swing that way.  Hal over here, now he might be
interested.  Eh, Hal?"

     "Huh?"

     "You want a piece of ass tonight?"

     "Him?  After Mac's done?  No thanks."

     "I guess you're all Mac's."

     "Please, don't do this to me.  I know you're going to kill me and
I can't talk you out of that, but please, don't--"

     "I'm not gonna do anything to you, kid.  That's up to Mac.  He
gets dibs since he ran the errand." 

     "You gonna gag him or do I have to do it?"  Hal spoke up from
his seat about twenty feet away from the table where Blair and Roadie
sat.  At that, Roadie stood and walked over toward Blair.

     "Hands behind the chair, kid," he ordered.  Blair hesitantly
complied, knowing he had nowhere to go and no chance of escape even
if he disobeyed.

     "You don't want to kill me, man.  You know you don't."

     "This ain't about what I want, kid.  It's a job."  Roadie moved
around the front of the chair and picked up a ragged piece of cloth from
the table and gagged Blair with it, tying it securely in the back.  

********

     Draven walked slowly into the loft, while Ellison and Albrecht
stayed several paces behind him.  He moved toward the couch, and
picked up Blair's glasses, which were sitting on the coffee table. 
Holding them in his hand, he closed his eyes.  Visions filled his mind
of Jim and Blair laughing, their faces close, Jim sliding the glasses off
Blair's face, the two men falling back on the cushions, kissing
passionately.  The love was like a tangible stab in Draven's heart, it was
so intense.  

     He laid the glasses back on the table and moved about the
room.  A few stray images of Blair's captors came to him, but they
revealed nothing he didn't already know.  He picked up a book Blair
had left on the table, and smiled slightly, sadly, at the images of his
friend reading, glasses in place, the pleasant face all seriousness about
his studies.  Mr. All-But-Dissertation.  

     "I'm sorry, Blair.  I'm so sorry," he whispered.  

     "Nothing?"  It was Albrecht's voice, the tone as gentle as a
caress.

     "Nothing useful," Eric responded, looking over his shoulder at
the two cops who had been silent while he roamed the room.  Ellison
was sitting at the kitchen table, staring fixedly ahead, Sandburg's jacket
cradled on his lap as if Sandburg himself were in it.  Eric moved
toward him, waved a hand in front of his face and then looked back at
Albrecht.  Ellison's eyes never moved, and he made no indication that
he'd seen Draven at all.

     "Ellison?"  Albrecht stepped forward, snapping his fingers near
the detective's ear.  Nothing moved him.  

     "Jim, listen to me."  Draven knelt in front of the catatonic man. 
"Blair needs you.  You can't do this.  Shutting down is *not* an option. 
Think about Blair."  Draven's eyes darted around the room, looking for
some other object of Sandburg's that would capture Ellison's attention. 
An inspiration hit him and he raced up the stairs to the loft bedroom,
searching for Blair's robe.  Something that would hold the most
impressions of intimacy, the strongest lingerings of Blair's own
personal scent.  Blair had told Eric that Jim had an unusually strong
sense of smell...Draven frowned a little.  Over the course of the time
he'd known Blair, he could recall the other man mentioning Jim's acute
sense of smell, how sensitive his hearing was, that bright light annoyed
him, that he had great night vision...  Something was different about
Ellison, all right.  And while Blair would never describe it in so many
words, the clues were all there.  What it all meant, Eric wasn't sure. 
But he did figure, as he caught a faint trace of light aftershave on the
robe, that Jim would be able to pick up the scent, and maybe it would
divert him from his...obsession?  with Blair's jacket.

     "He's not snapping out of it," Albrecht stated, still waving a
hand in front of Jim's face.

     "Let me try something."  Draven laid the robe on top of the
jacket, bringing the fabric up close to Jim's face.  In a moment, Jim's
head jerked, and then he shook it, as if shaking off a stupor, and looked
down at the robe, then curiously at Draven and Albrecht.  

     "What's this doing here?"  He took a gentle hold of Blair's robe,
his hands moving over it much the way they would if Blair were in it.

     "You were...I don't know *what* you were," Albrecht said,
shaking his head.

     "You were catatonic...sort of.  I thought maybe something else
of Blair's would help you snap out of it," Draven explained.  

     "Did you pick up on anything?"  Jim asked, still looking a bit
disoriented, but standing up anyway, laying Blair's things carefully,
lovingly, on the edge of the table.

     "Nothing," Draven admitted, a definite note of defeat in his
voice.

     "Was that here before?"  Albrecht pointed to an envelope that
was propped against a lamp on the table near the door.  They had all
walked right past it.

     "No."  Jim moved toward it, remembering to pull on a pair of
latex gloves before handling it, just in case.  "It's Blair's writing," Jim
said, pulling a knife out of his pocket and carefully slitting the top of
the envelope.  He read it aloud to the other two men.

     "Jim--

     Sorry to run out on you like this, but I know you won't want me
around when you know what I've done.  No one can know how hard it
is to admit that I planted the evidence at Derrick Morgan's house.  I
wanted you to be proud of me and my police work.  Please try to
forgive me.  Everyone will be better off if I move on, so that's what I'm
doing.  Remember the good times, and please try to remember the good
things I did, and not this one screw up. 
                     
                                                                         Blair"

     "Sort of a jerky sounding note," Albrecht commented, looking
over Ellison's shoulder.  "Are any of his clothes missing?"

     "There are a few things I can't find, and one of his gym bags is
gone," Jim responded.  "But you're right.  This note...it's just...not right. 
Aside from the fact that it's ridiculous and untrue, there are several
things about it--Blair had to have been forced to write this note."

     "May I?"  Eric asked, reaching for it.

     "Here," Albrecht produced gloves and handed them to Eric.  

     "You guys travel with latex gloves all the time?"  Draven's
question broke the tension momentarily, and both of the other men
smiled, Albrecht chuckling a little.  

     "Ideally, a detective should have them on hand, yeah," he
responded.  Pulling on the gloves, Eric took the note from Jim.  This
time, the flashes were more than a little upsetting.

     He could see Blair, writing the note, dried blood caked on his
nose and near his mouth, his eyes swollen with bruises.  His pain and
his fear were almost tangible.  

     "He knew that by writing this note, he was signing away his
life," Draven said softly, still concentrating on the images.  "He's trying
to give you a message...it's in the letters he uses..."  Draven opened his
eyes.  "That's it."

     "In the letters?"  Albrecht asked.

     "Let's try something."  Jim took the letter to the kitchen table
and sat down with it, pulling a yellow legal pad Blair had left out there
over next to the letter.  He began writing the first letter of the first word
of each sentence on the paper.  "S-N-I-P-E-R."   Jim frowned. 
"Sniper?"

     "It's a message to you."

     "I should watch out for a sniper?"  Jim shook his head.  "Blair
consented to write this so he could warn me."

     "And because they were beating him," Draven said, a bit
hesitantly.  Still, if the worst happened, Jim might as well be prepared
that it might not be pretty.

     "When I find these motherfuckers..."  Jim crumpled the sheet of
legal pad paper in his hand.

     "I'll help you," Draven added, a cold conviction in his voice.

     "Nobody's going to start doling out vigilante justice here,"
Albrecht interjected, hoping to be the voice of reason.  He had seen
Draven when he was hell bent for vengeance, and it wasn't pretty.  He
didn't envision Ellison being any easier to tame.  "We don't have any
reason to believe Sandburg's dead yet."

     "He outlived his usefulness when he wrote this," Jim said
grimly.  Then he was out of the chair in a flash and out the door, with
the other two men following behind him.

********

     Blair heard the key turn in the lock, and his heart sank as Mac
walked through the door, grinning and giving Blair a lustful once over.  

     "You have any problems?"  Roadie asked him, rising from the
chair where he'd been sitting at the table, playing a round of Solitaire.

     "Nope.  Cops were gone, so I slipped right up the fire escape,
used pretty boy's key, and left it right there by the front door."

     "Good work."  Roadie looked back at Blair, who was staring at
the tabletop, his chest heaving, giving away the somewhat admirable
attempt he was making at bravado in the face of impending rape, then
death.  "I don't think we better take time out for fun and games," he
said surprisingly.  "The cops are gonna be hot on his trail."  

     Blair felt a little surge of hope at this inkling of what might be
humanity or mercy on the part of the man he'd tried communicating
with earlier.  Of course, nothing had been said about not killing him,
but if only he could be spared the torture of being brutalized by Mac
first, at least facing the end wouldn't be quite as unthinkable.

     "Not now they're not."  Mac grinned evilly and flexed his
eyebrows.

     "If they buy the note."  Roadie shook his head.  "I got a bad
feeling about this one.  I think we better bag the kid and hit the road."

     "There's that goddamned bird again!"  Hal hoisted himself out
of his chair and headed toward the broken out window where a large
crow sat, flapping its wings and cawing noisily.  Before he could make
a swipe at it with a beefy backhand, the bird escaped, flying off into the
night sky.

     Blair watched the momentary diversion, and thought back of
the crow he'd seen at the cemetery, near Eric's grave.  And of Eric's
explanation of the crow and its role as a sort of spirit guide.  He closed
his eyes and prayed that there was more meaning to the appearance of
this bird than just coincidence.

     "A deal's a deal."  Mac moved toward Blair.  "Besides, it won't
take me long."  He grabbed the rope they'd been using to tie Blair and
headed for the younger man's ankles, planning to immobilize him
completely, at least until he could tie him down in another place more
suitable for what he had in mind.  He barely missed the kick Blair
aimed at his head.  "Whoa!  He's gettin' feisty now!"  Mac laughed as
he managed to tie Blair's ankles together.  "That's good.  I like a little
spirit.  But mark my words, bitch, you give me too much trouble," he
produced a switchblade from his pocket and popped up the sharp blade. 
"I'll slice you up so bad that your boyfriend won't even recognize what's
left of you."  

     "Mac, I'm tellin' you, man, this is too risky.  We need to get the
hell out of here--"

     "Ten minutes ain't gonna make no difference," Mac asserted,
hoisting Blair out of the chair and dumping him over his shoulder
easily, heading toward the old mattress in the corner of the room. 
"That old radiator sturdy?"

     "Sure is," Hal responded, laughing a little and moving the
toothpick in his mouth from side to side.  "Need some help there,
Mac?"

     "Get over here and hold his legs."  Mac dumped Blair on his
back on the mattress, and as Hal held the bound legs flat, he tied Blair's
wrists to the coils of the old radiator.  Blair was struggling now,
grunting against the gag with the exertion of his efforts.  There was
pure terror in his eyes, and he had no way to hide that.  

     "He's a live one, man."  Hal laughed at the fruitless attempts
Blair made to move his legs.  

     "You want to give him a little incentive to shut up?"  Mac
prodded his chortling companion.  Hal moved up and backhanded Blair
across the face, then pointed a handgun at him.  

     "Lie still, or I'll shoot you in a lot of places you don't need to get
shot before you're done."

     Blair gave up on his struggles then.  He was going to be raped. 
That was a given.  And when Mac had taken his fill, he was going to be
murdered.  The only variables now were how long each of those
ordeals would take, and how gruesome they would be.  He closed his
eyes and resigned himself to the pain, and ultimately, the death, that
would come to him this night.

********

     The three men walked out to the parking lot, and as Draven
swung his leg over his motorcycle and landed in the seat, his eyes
widened.  Perched atop Ellison's truck was the crow, cawing loudly and
flapping its wings.  In a moment, it was in flight, and without a word of
explanation, Draven fired up the bike and was hot on its trail.

     "Follow him!"  Albrecht shouted, jumping into the passenger
side of Ellison's truck as the other man got in and gunned the engine
and sped out of the lot after Draven.  

     "One of these days, you're going to have to explain to me what
that guy's all about," Ellison said, engaging the siren and lights to cut
through the traffic.

     "If I understood it myself, I'd tell you."

     "He keeps telling me to ask you, that you'll vouch for him." 
Ellison concentrated on taking a particularly tight corner.  "Blair
believes him."

     "I felt the same way you did at first--I thought he was probably
the murderer.  Maybe he somehow killed his girlfriend and went into
hiding.  Or that he was an imposter."  Albrecht shook his head.  "But
his grave is empty, his prints match...and I've seen him survive multiple
slugs from a machine gun."

     "And you're in love with the guy.  That makes a difference too," 
Jim said, no real tone of accusation in his voice.  How he could have
discerned that from their contact thus far seemed to puzzle Albrecht
completely.

     "What makes you say that?"

     "Call it instinct."

     As the motorcycle led the pick up down a main street of town,
Draven kept making a slashing gesture across his throat.

     "Cut the siren," Albrecht interpreted.  Jim obeyed, silencing
their approach.  Draven turned down an alley that ran between two old
buildings, one of which was condemned and slated for demolition in a
few weeks.  He brought the motorcycle to a halt, and bounded off the
bike, fleeing like a shadow through a side entrance to the building.

********

     Blair strained against his gag, wanting to scream, and hating the
strangled sounds that were coming out instead.  Stripped except for the
torn remnants of his shirt that still hung from his bound arms, he
struggled with all the strength he had left against the hands that were
trying to push his legs apart and force his knees back toward his chest. 
He waited for an opportunity to strike out, since Mac had opted, with
many heavy threats for him to behave, to untie Blair's ankles to make
things more convenient for himself. //Jim always said I had powerful
legs,// Blair thought, and began using them to the best of his ability,
finally nailing his attacker square in the stomach.

     "Get his legs!"  Mac yelled at Hal, who, with great disinterest in
the whole project, got a hold of one flailing leg while Mac forced the
other one down.

     "How're you gonna fuck him like this?"

     "He's going to behave himself."  Mac pulled out his switchblade
and ran it along the tender skin inside of Blair's thigh.  "You kick me
again, bitch, and you're going to be singin' soprano.  One more stunt
like that and I'll chop your balls off and mail them to your boyfriend. 
Got it?"  The smile that curled the man's ugly mouth became a bit more
sadistic.  "Maybe I'll chop 'em off right now.  I just need your asshole,
not your nuts."

     The door crashed open behind them, and in the doorway stood a
black clad figure, his shockingly white face accented by a black
painted mouth and large, dark, black-rimmed eyes.  

     "You're just jealous because you don't have any of your own," 
Draven taunted.  

     Roadie fired his handgun at Draven, who caught the bullet in
his hand, and with a minor wince, held it up so the other man could
watch it heal before his eyes.  In a flash of movements no one in the
room could truly see and describe later, Draven's foot made contact
with Roadie's jaw, sending him sprawling back on the floor.  

     Seeing someone partially stripped, held down on a bed by two
goons, long brown curls fanned out on the dirty mattress, Eric fought
the collision of images of the present and of Shelly's ordeal, which
wasn't vastly different from what Blair was about to endure.  With a cry
that wasn't wholly human, Draven was upon Mac, unleashing a fury of
violent kicks and swings with powerful arms, sending the much larger
man flying, airborne, against the opposite wall of the room.

     "Hold it right there!"  Ellison burst through the open door first,
holding the gun on Hal before he could move for the sniper rifle that
had been resting a few feet away from where the two men had been
assaulting Blair.

     Albrecht rushed in behind him, surveying the destruction
Draven had already caused.  Roadie was cradling a broken jaw, while
Mac was completely unconscious, possibly dead, having left a splotch
of blood where he'd slammed into the wall.

     Draven had already forgotten his victims, and was laying his
coat over Blair, working on freeing him first from the gag.

     "That was," Blair paused to cough, "pretty amazing stuff," he
concluded.  "It was the crow?"

     "He led me here," Eric explained, smiling at his battered friend. 
"I haven't seen the crow in weeks, but he led me here tonight."

     "Chief?"  Jim moved to untie Blair's wrists, and Eric moved
away, leaving the two men to their reunion.  Albrecht was on his cell
phone, calling for back up with one hand, holding a gun on Hal and the
wounded Roadie.  Mac was still in a motionless heap.

     "Oh, God, Jim," Blair muttered, ignoring the pain that flared
through his battered body as Jim gathered him into a tight embrace.  He
gave up on words and just let himself cry against Jim's shoulder while
his lover held him.

     "It's okay, baby.  I've got you now."  Jim could detect the scent
of sweat and arousal in the air, but not of semen.  There was a scent of
blood, but that was originating with Mac and Roadie, as well as the
dried stuff that clung to Blair's bruised face.  "Did we get here in time?"
he whispered against Blair's hair.  The other man nodded, clutching at
Jim more desperately.

     "I wouldn't...let him...touch me," Blair gasped out against Jim's
shoulder.  

     "I know, sweetheart.  I know."  Jim kissed the tangled curls and
cradled his prize close to him, not caring what Albrecht or anyone else
might make of it.

     "Is he dead?"  Albrecht asked as Draven checked Mac's pulse.

     "No," Eric replied, a distinct tone of disappointment in his
voice. 

     "You should get out of here before the back up arrives,"
Albrecht warned Draven, who locked gazes with him for a long
moment, something unreadable in the dark eyes.  "I'll find you later," 
Albrecht said, almost in a whisper.  

     "Draven."  Jim's voice halted Eric in his strides to the door.  He
turned back to look at Jim, holding Blair close, much as he had cradled
Sandburg's jacket earlier that evening.  "Thank you."  Eric smiled
slightly and nodded once, then turned and disappeared into the
shadows of the hallway.

     "I don't want to be like this when the others get here," Blair
muttered as Jim rubbed soothing circles on his back.  

     "Okay.  Where are your pants, honey?"

     "Over there somewhere."

     "Albrecht--you got our friends covered?"  Jim asked, moving
away from Blair to find the discarded jeans and underwear.  The other
detective was still holding his gun on Roadie, having cuffed Hall.

     "I can get dressed," Blair said as Jim returned with the jeans. 
"Don't let them get away," he insisted.

     "No danger of that," Jim responded, kissing Blair's forehead
before rising and cuffing Roadie and the unconscious Mac. 

********

     It was just after dawn when Albrecht pulled up alongside the
grassy hill of the cemetery.  He made his way up the hill to the grave
marker that coldly declared "Eric Draven".  Its mate, bearing Shelly's
name, looked equally grim on this early December day that had turned
cloudy after the early morning sunshine.  Remnants of the ice storm
still clung to the tree branches like glass talons on gnarled claws.  The
ground had largely recovered from the exhumation of the empty casket. 
Daryl had done some fancy talking around the absence of Draven's
body.  His superiors seemed content that it had been the work of
perverted grave robbers...death metal enthusiasts who had entertained
notions of either keeping, preserving or re-animating the dead
musician.  The veneration of Draven's guitar was sufficient back up to
make that theory fly.  If his guitar was a shrine in the pawn shop
window, was it so unlikely his corpse might also be a hot commodity?

     Looking at Shelly's grave, Albrecht remembered the battered,
suffering woman he'd tried to talk to in the short span of time she lived
after her ordeal.  What would she make of all this?  And what did Eric
really make of all of it?  Was his heart still with Shelly?  

     "Find any answers?"  Draven's voice made Albrecht jump.  The
man he faced was not the handsome, very human face of the lover he'd
spent the night with.  Now he looked into the face of whatever it was
Draven changed into on those occasions that his entire appearance
reinvented itself.  

     "What brought this on?"  Albrecht swept Draven's countenance
with his eyes.  "Still riding the tide from last night?"  He watched as
Eric shook his head slightly.

     "It just happens.  I was upset.  Sometimes that brings it on.  I
thought maybe if I came here, I could make some connection with
Shelly."  He paused, staring at Shelly's tombstone.  "How's Blair?"

     "He's pretty shaken up, but he's okay.  Last time I saw them,
Ellison was taking him to the emergency room to get looked over." 
Albrecht smiled and shook his head.  "You left us with some pretty
fancy explaining to do."

     "Nothing you couldn't handle, I'm sure," Draven responded, his
eyes traveling to his own grave marker.

     "Ellison was in Covert Ops--knows quite a few martial arts and
combat moves.  He took responsibility for the guy you tossed against
the wall.  They've been babbling about some guy who caught a bullet in
his hand and healed, which has only gotten them an extensive dose of
drug testing."

     "I saw the crow again," Eric said, with a combination of hope
and sadness in his voice.  "I guess I am what I am after all."

     "Last night--a little too similar to what happened to Shelly?" 
Albrecht asked.  Draven's eyes registered that the speculation was
correct.  

     "At least this time, I didn't fail.  I was able to *do* something."

     "You didn't fail the last time, man.  When're you going to
believe that?"

     "Probably never," Eric responded honestly, still staring at
Shelly's grave.  "Maybe last night...maybe saving Blair's life, maybe
keeping those assholes from doing what they planned on doing...the
same kind of things that were done to Shelly...maybe it's a little
redemption."

     "If you ask Ellison or Sandburg right now, they'll tell you it's
more than a little redemption."  Albrecht paused.  "Ellison knows
something's going on between us."

     "Under the circumstances, I wouldn't worry too much about
that."

     "I never would have pictured him--with Sandburg."

     "You'd picture you and me?"  Eric asked, raising an eyebrow
and smiling slightly.

     "Point made," Albrecht responded, laughing a little.

     "So why're you here?"  Draven asked.

     "I don't know.  I feel like things are pretty unfinished between
us.  I don't like to leave things unfinished with the people I love."  He
looked over at Draven, and it was hard to tell if there was still a smile
under the turned up corners of his painted mouth, but judging by the
slight crinkle of the eyes, it looked that way.

     "You want Shelly's blessing."

     "I suppose I do.  I didn't know Shelly very long, and I wasn't
lucky enough to know her when she was...before all this happened.  But
she seemed like a remarkable young woman."

     "She was that," Eric responded, crouching down to bring
himself face to face with the carved name.  "You know why I came out
here?  To find out how I could hurt this much for her and love you at
the same time."  Eric went the rest of the way down to his knees on the
ice-crusted grass, running a pale hand over the cold gray stone.  "You
kept asking me what I was.  I don't know.  I don't know how to...to be
this thing I am.  Part of my heart is with Shelly, and part of it is with
you.   I look at Eric Draven's grave, and I don't even remember
sometimes what it was like to be that guy.  And I look in the mirror and
I see this!"  he shouted, the pain and frustration obvious in his voice as
he gestured at his oddly painted face.  "Part of me wants to be in that
grave and part of me clings to life so hard that the thing I fear most is
being put back there."

     "And that's what made you...transform like this?"

     "I guess."  He snorted an ugly little laugh.  "At least I look like I
belong hanging out with the tombstones this way."  He looked up at
Albrecht.  "This is what you made love to.  Is this what you want to
keep as your lover?!"  he demanded, and Albrecht stood back, stunned
at what he was seeing.  Tears of blood trickled down Draven's white
cheeks.  "This is the other side of me, Albrecht!  Look at it!  Take a
good long look at it and tell me if you can love...*this*!"  He gestured
at the now-blood streaked face.

     Albrecht stared at the desperate man before him, and knew that
the love between them rode on his response to this single, horrifying
moment.  Ignoring the blood tears and what looked like evil mime
make-up, he concentrated on the big dark eyes that hadn't really
changed at all since the night they'd made love.  Focusing only on
those, he took the troubled face in his hands and kissed Draven soundly
on the mouth, overpowering a couple of feeble struggles that soon gave
in to arms wrapping around Albrecht's body as the kiss deepened.  

     When they finally parted, Albrecht found himself looking into
the face of Eric Draven, not his white-faced alter ego.  Blood tears had
changed to normal, clear moisture.

     "You really do love me, don't you?"  he asked Albrecht, his eyes
wide with surprise.

     "I keep telling you," Albrecht said with a little smile.  "Shelly
loves you, man.  Do you really think she wants you to suffer?  Would
she be angry if you found love in this lifetime?"

     "No," Eric said, shaking his head and smiling softly as he
looked down at Shelly's grave.  "She was a lot more unselfish than
that."

     "Draven."  Albrecht waited until the other man looked him in
the eyes again.  "All I'm asking for is your here and now.  Your soul,
your eternity--those are yours to do with what you have to do, what it
feels right to you to do.  Don't look at loving me as turning your back
on Shelly.  On whatever lies on the other side.  I know I'm always going
to share you with that.  But I want my share."  Albrecht smiled,
brushing away a couple of tears from the other man's face.  "If all goes
well, I should be free about eight tonight.  Maybe we could spend a
little time together.  Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

     "Okay."  Eric nodded, smiling as he realized they were still
holding hands as they headed for Albrecht's car.  An unusually warm
breeze swirled around them in that moment, and Eric froze in his
tracks, which caused Albrecht to stop as well.  "Shelly," Eric said,
smiling, looking around himself as if he could see something tangible
in the breeze.  His smiled widened until his teeth were showing, and he
yanked Albrecht by the hand closer until he could get his arm around
the man's waist.  "Let's go."

     "Did I miss something?"

     "No," Eric responded as Albrecht's arm came around his
shoulders.  "And Shelly doesn't want me to miss something either." 
Draven paused to turn and face Albrecht.  "I told shelly that I loved her
in circles seven times around my soul.  And I do.  I can't change that.
But maybe loving you is the eighth circle."

     "I think maybe we ought to spend tonight figuring that out. 
What do you think?"  Albrecht watched as Draven just smiled his
impish grin and slid his arm back around Daryl's waist, steering them
back toward the car.

********

     "You should be fine in a week or so, Mr. Sandburg," the doctor
announced, making a couple of notes on his chart.  Jim had stayed by
Blair's side during the brief exam, and now rested a hand on the
younger man's shoulder as he buttoned up the fresh shirt they'd found
among the clothing Blair's captors had taken in their attempt to make
his departure look planned.  "You're bruised up, but fortunately,
nothing's broken.  I just need your signature on this form and we can
wrap this up."

     "Thanks, doctor," Blair said, signing his name.  Once the doctor
had left, he looked up at Jim.  "Guess I'm dented but salvageable."

     "Probably nothing a hot bath and a few hours sleep won't help,
huh?"

     "And two icebags and a pair of sunglasses.  Man, I look
horrible," Blair opined, checking his bruised face in the mirror on the
wall as he finished tucking his shirt into his pants.  

     "You look beautiful to me, baby," Jim said softly, moving up
behind Blair and sliding his arms carefully around his lover's bruised
body.

     "Somebody might come in, man," Blair said, trying to wriggle
away.

     "Let 'em."  Draven's words came back to Jim, that there was a
lot of pain in Blair at their closeted lifestyle.  "I'm not ashamed of
loving you, sweetheart."  Jim kissed the side of Blair's face, letting his
lips linger soothingly over the vibrant purplish-red bruise there.  

     "Let's go home."

     "Sounds good to me, Chief."

     "We have to stop and get a Christmas tree."

     "Blair, you need to get home and rest a while."

     "Christmas is less than a week away, and we don't have a tree,
man."

     "You want a tree, huh?"

     "Yeah."

     "Right this minute."

     "Uh-huh."

     "A really big, tall one to fill up the whole loft, right?"  Jim
continued, a smile in his voice as he kissed the ear where he was
whispering.

     "That'd be great!"

     "We'll get the biggest damn tree we can haul in the truck. 
How's that?"

     "Great."  Blair grinned as best he could under the swelling
around his mouth.

     "Let's get going then."  Jim took a firm hold of Blair's hand and
led his somewhat ragged companion out of the exam room toward the
exit.  He was still dressed in Draven's coat, which was too long for him,
and his face bore the obvious after-effects of his ordeal.  Blair finally
conceded to stopping at the loft long enough for Jim to run upstairs and
grab him one of his own jackets as well as a pair of sunglasses and a
hair band.  When the larger man returned to the truck with the items,
he was still puzzled why Blair was insisting on going immediately after
a tree.  "We could do this later, sweetheart."

     "Last night, I had to accept that I was going to die."  Blair
hesitated as he pulled his ratty curls back into the hair band.  Jim was
standing in the open passenger door, watching him.  "I had to accept
that I was going to...what they were going to do to me first."  Blair
raised a hand to forestall Jim's reply.  "For the last two weeks, we've
put off going after the tree because it didn't fit into our schedules.  This
morning, I'm alive, we're together, against all the odds, and I want to go
buy a Christmas tree. *Now*."  He smiled.  "And then I want to crawl
into bed with you and sleep this whole thing off."

     "You know how to give a guy a great incentive to get the lead
out."  Jim kissed his lover quickly and hurried around to his side of the
truck.

     Two hours later, a nine foot scotch pine stood in the middle of
the loft, and two exhausted men lay on the nearby couch, having
dragged, pulled, carried, and shoved it into place.  Every part of Blair's
body screamed in pain from the exertion, but he'd loved every minute
of it.  Something about preparing for the holiday was as life-affirming
as making love, which he hoped to try out later, if only his bruised
body would just cooperate without too much protest.

     "We could take a bath and get some sleep before we tackle
decorating this monster."

     "Mmm."  Blair shifted a little against Jim's chest.  The bath
sounded wonderful, but the thought of delaying the sleep didn't.

     "I want you nice and relaxed when I lick every inch of you,
Chief," Jim whispered hotly into a nearby ear.  Blair stirred for that and
looked Jim in the eyes.  "Every inch.  I'm going to put my tongue in
places you forgot you had."  He illustrated the point by running the tip
of his tongue around the shell of Blair's ear.  "Gonna suck you so good I
pull your soul right out through your cock."

     "Oh, God, Jim," Blair gasped, spreading his legs to straddle Jim
on the couch, grinding their groins together.  "Need you so bad," he
groaned into Jim's ear, nipping and sucking at the lobe.

     "Come on, baby.  Let's get ready."  Jim nudged gently at his
clinging lover until they were on their feet and headed for the
bathroom.  

     After drawing a hot bath, both men dispensed with clothes
they'd worn far too long.  Jim lowered himself into the water first, and
then guided his lover into the water in the space in front of him,
between his long legs.  He relished the task of gently bathing Blair,
washing his hair, and kissing the ugly dark bruises that marred the
perfect skin.  Blair returned the favor, soaping up the impressive planes
of Jim's broad chest, lingering devilishly in his bathing of his lover's
groin area, and finally washing Jim's hair.  

     Drying off with fluffy white towels, then wrapping up in their
robes, they made their way upstairs, hand in hand. 

     Falling together on the bed, they divested each other of the
robes in record time, hands roaming almost frantically over exposed
flesh, lips and tongues licking, sucking and tasting.  Jim handled his
bruised lover with the utmost caution even in the heat of his passion,
taking care not to cause Blair any undue pain.

     Jim made good on his promise to explore every inch of his
mate's rapidly overheating body with his tongue.  He nibbled and tasted
the soft flesh of Blair's throat and shoulders, laved and sucked at taut
nipples until he had the younger man groaning with pleasure, then
moved down to the firm stomach, swirling his tongue in the little valley
there.  Sensing that prolonging the experience was becoming
frustrating for the man writhing on the bed, Jim moved toward his
target, and swallowed Blair whole.

     "Jiiiimmm!!"  Blair shouted out his name and clutched the
comforter until his knuckles turned white, trying not to thrust too hard
into Jim's talented mouth as it worked every inch of Blair's engorged
cock.  "Oh yeah...oh, man...love this..."  Blair grunted, settling into a
rhythm, trailing off into broken groans of pleasure.  He gasped and
whined, a needy little sound, when Jim withdrew his mouth.  The
larger man moved up the bed with the stealth and grace of a large
jungle cat and captured Blair's mouth, kissing him as thoroughly as he'd
been sucking him moments earlier.

     "Want you to come in me, baby," he said against Blair's mouth.  

     "Yes," Blair hissed, kissing Jim this time, taking charge, rolling
them over so he straddled his lover.  From Jim's mouth, Blair moved
down the long neck and made a hot trail with tongue and lips to Jim's
left nipple.  Jim's hands were in his hair then, trying to hold him there. 
Blair paused his stimulation of the little nub just to close his eyes and
relish the feeling of Jim's hands in his hair, so strong and yet so gentle,
keeping hold but not pulling.

     "What is it, baby?"  Jim asked softly, puzzled by Blair's sudden
stillness.

     "They kept...grabbing me by the hair, pulling it...pulling my
head back..."  Jim started to withdraw his hands.  "No--no, I want to
feel your hands there.  I love it when you get all tangled up in my hair. 
I just...last night, I kept thinking how it hurt to have my head yanked
back all the time that way, and how you were as strong as any of
them...but when you touched my hair...I just can't explain it."

     "I think you just did, sweetheart."  Jim pulled his lover down
against him, holding him close, keeping one hand tangled in the soft
curls.  He kissed the top of Blair's head in several spots.  "It was a
pretty bad time, wasn't it?" he asked sympathetically.  Blair just took in
a shuddering breath in response.  "It's okay, baby.  You're safe now. 
I've got you."

     "I didn't want to do this now," came the shaky response.
     
     "It's okay to be shaken up, Chief."  Jim was quiet a few minutes,
and finally Blair moved up again, looking into his eyes.

     "I love you."

     "I love you too," Jim responded, smiling and caressing a bruised
cheek.  

     The two men began kissing again, and it didn't take long for
their neglected arousals to reach their former levels.  Blair nibbled and
licked his way down the hard muscles of Jim's chest and stomach, and
almost without warning, engulfed the head of Jim's straining cock in
his mouth.

     "Oh, baby...God...you're so good..."  Jim moaned, trying hard
not to thrust up forcefully into the hot suction closing in around him. 
Blair took more of the hard length into his mouth, bringing Jim to the
brink before pulling back with a devilish glint in his deep blue eyes. 
Jim chuckled a little, which left Blair stunned.  "I was just thinking that
you're the only person I've ever seen who could look sexy with two
black eyes."  Blair shared the laugh then, but soon returned to the task
at hand--driving Jim Ellison to the edge of his sexual endurance.

     Jim felt the silky curls brushing his inner thighs and Blair made
himself at home between the larger man's legs, kissing, nipping and
nuzzling Jim's groin, and running his tongue around Jim's balls, sucking
first one, and then the other, into that talented mouth.  

     "I'm getting close, baby..."  Jim groaned, arching into the
stimulation.  

     "Want you to come when I'm inside, lover," Blair said, moving
back while Jim rolled onto his stomach.   Presented with the muscled
back and perfect rounded ass, Blair took in a sharp breath.  He ran both
hands over Jim's shoulders and back reverently, as if he were carefully
examining a rare artifact.  "God, you're beautiful," he whispered.  

     Finding the lube where they'd tossed it on the empty side of the
bed, Blair settled between Jim's spread thighs and began to work
slowly and patiently at preparing him.  He nipped and kissed at the firm
globes nearby, and smiled a little wickedly when Jim's hips started
undulating along with the probing fingers.   Blair let one long digit
graze the larger man's prostate, and was rewarded with a shout of
pleasure and an impressive show of the mass of muscles in his lover's
perfectly sculpted back. 

     "Do it, baby," Jim grunted.

     "It's coming, lover.  Gonna fill you up."  Blair lubed himself and
moved in close, starting to push in slowly.  

     "Wait a second, Chief."  Jim moved up, and Blair moved with
him, until Jim was on his knees and Blair was in a crouch behind him,
resting a good deal of his weight on Jim's back.  When he was fully
sheathed, he began pumping gently.  "Come on, baby, move...give it to
me."

     "Oh, yeah...so...tight..."  Blair started pumping harder, faster,
goaded by Jim's backward thrusts and cries of pleasure as the head of
Blair's cock gave his lover's prostate a vigorous workout. 
"Ugh...ooh...yeah..."  Blair trailed off into a series of inarticulate grunts
of pleasure that fit with Jim's in almost perfect counter-rhythm,
mimicking the give and take of their lovemaking.

     Jim's whole body stiffened and with a cry of Blair's name, the
tight channel began milking Blair's imprisoned cock, the spasms
pushing Blair over the edge to his own completion as he let out a wail
of pleasure and a shout of Jim's name.

     Somehow, Jim managed to lower them both to the mattress,
Blair a sweaty, panting heap on his back, cock still nestled in Jim's
body.

     "That was great, sweetheart," Jim said a little breathlessly as he
waited for his heart rate to settle down.  Blair just groaned in reply.

     "You knew what I needed," Blair finally whispered,
withdrawing slowly from Jim's body so the other man could turn.  They
wrapped arms and legs around each other in a tight, complete embrace. 

     "I'm glad I could give you what you needed, sweetheart."

     "I felt so damned...*helpless*."

     "I know."

     "I couldn't stop him from stripping me, shoving my legs
apart...God, they were all sitting around...looking me over like a piece
of raw meat."  

     "The one named Mac?  He's still in ICU.  I'm glad Draven got to
him first.  If it had been me, I swear to God, Chief, he'd have been six
feet under.  Nobody touches you that way.  Nobody."

     "I don't want to think about them anymore."

     "I know, baby.  Concentrate on us.  And Christmas.  We've got a
giant tree downstairs that's as naked as we are."

     "There's a mental picture."  Blair pulled back and grinned up at
Jim.  "Can I hang some tinsel on you later?"

     "Only if I can deck your balls with boughs of holly."

     "Fa la la la la..."  Blair retorted, laughing.

********

     The auditorium of Port Columbia's St. Mary's School was
packed, a hub of noise and activity as parents clamored for seats on the
wood risers.  Those who had been fortunate enough to arrive early for
chairs on the floor were talking among themselves, reviewing the small
folded programs that had been passed out at the door.  As the lights
dimmed, Eric found his place among the shadows at the edge of the
auditorium.

     Soon, a tall woman of about 35, with sandy hair and glasses,
dressed in bright red, approached the single microphone that stood
outside the curtains covering the stage.  She welcomed parents and
guests, and introduced the school choir, comprised of the seventh and
eighth grade students.  

     As soon as the curtain rose, Eric scanned the group for Sarah,
and found her in the second row, dressed in her new green dress, part
of her hair caught up in a sparkly barrette or comb of some sort, the
ends slightly curled.  

     The performance was fairly impressive for a choir of twelve to
fourteen-year-olds, as they performed many traditional Christmas songs
as well as a few more popular selections.  Sarah's eyes occasionally
strayed to the periphery of the crowd, and Eric made it a point to step
out of the shadows long enough for her to see him there.  That earned
him a bright smile, before she turned her attention back to the concert.
When it was over, he took his leave, heading down the hall of the
school building before the rush of parents would leave the concert.  He
was surprised to hear the clicking of dress shoes in the hall behind him,
coming at a fast pace.

     "Eric, wait up!"  Sarah was rushing to catch up to him, so he
stopped and waited for her.  "I wasn't sure you were going to be here.  I
haven't seen you around the last couple days."

     "I wouldn't miss this for the world, you know that. You sounded
really good up there."

     "Yeah, like you could hear just me," Sarah replied, smiling and
rolling her eyes a little.

     "I could hear you," Eric replied simply, smiling back at her.  
"You look great," he commented, and she self-consciously gave herself
a visual once-over.

     "Darla got creative on the hair this afternoon," she explained.

     "You were the prettiest girl up there, Sarah," Eric said sincerely. 
Again, he found himself wishing so dearly that Shelly could have seen
Sarah's performance...could have seen the ratty little tomboy in her
party dress singing in a choir.

     "You're *way* biased, man," she concluded, shaking her head.

     "Possibly, but I still know what I saw."  

     "I wish you could hang around.  You know, chaperone the
stupid party or something," she said, rolling her eyes again.  "They
reeled in a bunch of parents to do that."

     "I probably wouldn't be their idea of a chaperone."

     "I better get back.  Darla'll go postal if she gets stuck
chaperoning a party I'm not even *at*."

     "Darla's a chaperone, huh?"

     "Yeah, can you believe it?  Next'll be the PTA."

     "Have fun tonight, huh?"

     "Thanks."  She was silent a moment, and with a little smile,
Eric turned and started walking away.  "Eric?"

     "Yeah?"  He turned around to face her again.

     "Thanks...for...you know," she said, gesturing at the dress.

     "You're welcome, Sarah.  See you tomorrow, huh?"

     "Sure."  She waved as he turned and headed down the hall, just
before the rest of the audience began filing out into the hall.

********

     Draven arrived at the door of his apartment, surprised and then
a bit embarrassed to see Albrecht waiting there.

     "I thought we had plans," Albrecht said, smiling.  He wasn't
angry, so Draven just smiled back, turning his key in the lock.

     "Sorry.  I forgot about Sarah's choir concert tonight."

     "I was there, too.  Where were you?"

     "In the back.  You were sitting with Darla?"  Eric led the way
into the apartment, and Daryl closed the door behind them.

     "Yeah.  She's growing up on us, Draven."

     "Kids tend to do that."  Eric tossed his coat over a chair and
moved to the steps near the round window, lighting a few candles. 
"Sorry I was so late.  I took a walk."  

     "You and your walks."

     "Got us into trouble last time, didn't it?"  Eric said, smiling a bit
sadly.  "I never meant to do that, you know."

     "I thought we had settled this."  Daryl moved up to join Eric,
where he sat on the steps.  

     "I know you don't feel that way."

     "Well," Albrecht draped his arm around the other man's
shoulders, "the last couple days have been rough."  Albrecht changed
the subject then.  "I got a phone call today from your friend, Sandburg."

     "Really?"

     "Yeah.  He said he'd have called you but didn't know how to get
a hold of you.  We're invited to a Christmas party at their place on
Christmas Eve."

     "We?"

     "That's what he said--that he wanted to invite both of us."

     "So, you don't mind showing up at a Christmas party with me
for your date?"  Eric teased, smiling a little.

     "I'm not buying you a corsage."

     "Orchids are nice," Eric opined, nodding a little.  Then,
becoming more serious, he asked, "Have you talked to Cordelia
since...since she walked in on...well, *you*?"

     "I called her a couple of times, but she won't return the calls. 
She needs to cool off before she'll listen."

     "Lousy timing--right at Christmas."

     "Oh well," Daryl dismissed, shrugging.  "Can't be helped." 
Daryl withdrew his arm and mirrored Draven's position, elbows on
knees as they sat on the steps.  "You're the only lover I ever had who
would have tried to make a hasty exit--most of them, Cordie included,
had she been in your spot, would have been rejoicing."

     "You mean to rub the steady girlfriend's nose in it?"

     "Something like that."

     "Maybe it's because they would have been looking for
something different.  For a prominent spot in your life.  I'm not
competing for that."

     "Tonight?  I had the feeling you were probably there, at Sarah's
concert, but it really hit me how...behind the scenes you always are."

     "Technically, I'm dead, Albrecht.  It doesn't get much more
'behind the scenes' than that."  Eric turned to look at the other man on
the step.  "So, are we going to the Christmas party?"

     "Sure."

     "How did Blair sound?  Okay?"

     "He sounded fine.  He was pretty shaky that night--right after it
happened.  But his injuries were all pretty superficial--bruises and
scrapes."  Albrecht watched the other man's profile in the flickering
candle light, partially veiled by strands of the dark hair.  He pulled
those strands back, and as Draven turned, aggressively captured his
mouth in an intense kiss.  Within moments of the contact, he could feel
Draven's body responding, turning toward him, strong hands going up
to Albrecht's head to hold him in place as the kiss deepened.  

     The two men barely noticed the unforgiving hardness of the
wood floor as they fell back together, never breaking the union of their
mouths.   Hands tugged clumsily at clothing, sending partially
unbuttoned, partially torn garments in all directions.  They clung to one
another, writhing skin on skin, kissing almost desperately.  The
forbidden nature of their relationship seemed to fuel the fire to burn
even hotter.  Knowing every moment was stolen, hidden from all the
realities of Albrecht's life and from the very forces of life and death,
between which Draven walked a tightrope every day he was on earth.

     Albrecht pulled back, realizing what he wanted and wondering
if there was any prayer that Draven would be willing to give it to him. 
He knew deep in his soul he wasn't prepared to give the same gift
himself yet, and so the request died in his throat as he looked deep into
the eyes that met his.  

     "Do you have anything?"  Draven asked, unnerving Albrecht by
having seemingly read his mind.  Or maybe he just looked deeply
enough into Albrecht's troubled eyes to read his soul.

     "Since I've been with Cordelia...I don't travel prepared
anymore."

     "I'm not worried about protection if you aren't.  It's not like I'm
going to catch something from you...  And I don't think I'm really a big
risk either.  I was thinking about slippery stuff."

     "Do you have anything around here?"  Albrecht asked,
desperate at having what he wanted so close and yet unattainable
because of the lack of a usable lubricant.  Draven's eyes darted upward,
as if he were wracking his brain. 

     "Look in the bathroom cabinet.  If anything's left..."  He
shrugged slightly.  Albrecht moved down to kiss him again.  Drawing
back, he caressed Draven's lips with a fingertip.

     "If there is...are you sure?"

     "I'm not sure of anything.  But I want this.  And we have to live
in the moment."

     "I'll go look," Albrecht responded, his voice a little strained.  

     He hurried into the bathroom and opened the cabinet, relieved
to find an old bottle of hand lotion there.  It was unscented stuff, and he
sighed happily at that.  At least it wouldn't bear a scent that would
remind Eric of Shelly at the most inappropriate possible moment.  He
stepped out of the bathroom and froze at what he saw.  In the dancing
candle light, Draven was laid out on the step beneath the round window
where he died, skin sweat-sheened, one arm draping down over a
couple of steps, one knee drawn up with his foot flat on the floor. 
Soon, his head turned until he was looking back at Albrecht.  

     "Find something?"  he asked softly.

     "Uh..."  Albrecht blinked a couple of times.  "Yeah.  Some
lotion," he said after he'd found his voice, and some portion of his mind
again.  He moved over to where Eric lay waiting for him.  "I never did
this before."

     "Welcome to the club," Draven responded, smiling.

     "Guess we'll have to feel our way along then," Albrecht retorted
in a tone he hoped came across as sexy and not as uncertain as he felt. 
He straddled Draven's body and intertwined the fingers of both their
hands, gently pushing Draven's arms up over his head.  He claimed the
inviting mouth again, knowing that his dominant position was only
granted to him willingly.  The velvet covered steel of Draven's muscles
were a constant reminder of the power in the body beneath him.  

     He kissed his way down the side of Draven's neck, working his
way down to a nipple, which he licked and nipped at, loving the little
arch and gasp that came from his lover.  He treated the other nipple to
the same treatment before working his way down the tight, flat
stomach, ever conscious of the large erection that rose out of a thatch
of dark, wiry hair.  Albrecht felt his own cock straining at the sound of
Draven's little moans of pleasure, at the responsiveness of his body and
the thought of what they were working their way up to with each kiss.

     Not entirely sure how he felt about wrapping his mouth around
another man's cock, Albrecht let his tongue flicker tentatively up the
underside of Draven's hardness.  

     "Oh, God..."  came the panted groan from above him. 
Encouraged, he engulfed the head of the straining shaft curling his
fingers around the base of it, sucking and teasing the sensitive area
with his tongue.  "I'm close," Draven grunted, working hard to control
his tendency to thrust into the hot mouth.  Albrecht opted to pull back
then, but felt powerful hands holding his head in place.  With a
momentary flash of fear that Draven's supernatural strength would
manifest itself when he was driven to a sexual brink, Albrecht reached
up and grasped the other man's wrists, gently, pushing upward.  To his
relief, Eric released him easily.

     "Want you to wait for me to join the party, babe," he said softly. 
Without any further discussion, Eric shifted and pulled his knees back,
opening himself completely.   Albrecht only had the marginal working
knowledge of this act gleaned from his years as a cop, overhearing
some war stories from his buddies in Vice, and a little from a few
porno flicks.  He hadn't seemed to be drawn to women who turned out
to be sexual adventurers, and this wasn't an act he would have asked of
most of them.

     He squeezed some of the lotion onto his finger and started
tracing the puckered circle of flesh.  Draven moaned and bucked his
hips then, and Albrecht ventured to probe the tight opening with his
fingertip.  

     "You ever had anything in here?"  Daryl asked, not knowing a
delicate way to phrase the question.  The other man seemed impossibly
tight and extremely responsive to even the wiggle of Daryl's fingertip.

     "Nothing," he panted.  

     "Nervous?"

     "A little," Eric admitted, letting out a breath he seemed to have
been holding.  

     "We don't have to do this now--"

     "I want to...it's just...different."

     "Yeah, for me too."  Daryl moved up, abandoning his
concentration on Eric's center, and kissed him again.  "You have any
blankets around here?"

     "Probably.  Try the chest of drawers over there," he said,
indicating a low, wide two-drawer chest against a far wall.  Daryl went
to it, and digging through the drawers, found a quilt in the bottom
drawer. 

     "This okay?"

     "Yeah, fine."  Eric was sitting up now, and Daryl spread the
quilt on the floor. 

     "Let's stretch out on this.  Try lying on your side, and I'll get
behind you."

     "Guess this isn't going too well, is it?"

     "We just need to find our groove."

     "Our *groove*?"  Eric asked, smiling.

     "What works for us."

     "Oh," Eric responded, grinning.  "You had me worried there. 
'Groove' makes me think of platform shoes and disco."  Eric stretched
out on his side on the quilt.  

     "You're a real smart ass, you know that?"

     "I have a reputation to live up to."  Eric seemed more relaxed in
this more comfortable position, and Daryl spooned up behind him,
pulling the remaining fabric of the quilt over his back.  The chill in the
loft from the broken window was enough to deflate
anyone's...enthusiasm.  With his cock nestled between the firm globes
of Eric's buttocks, Albrecht felt it surging back to life again.  He ran his
hand languidly over the other man's broad chest for a few moments,
pulling them both back from the brink of excitement where they had
been moments earlier.  He kissed Draven's shoulder and then worked
his way up the sturdy neck until he paused by an ear obscured by the
black silk of Draven's hair. 

     "Relax and breathe easy.  I'm going real slow now.  Let me
know if you don't like how it feels."

     "What if I like it?"  Eric looked over his shoulder with a
devilish glint in his eyes.

     "It would be good if you let me know that too," Daryl
responded, smiling and nodding, used to Draven's humor now, and
grateful for the way it made him feel at ease.

     The progression of preparing his lover was a slow one, and
began to test the limits of Albrecht's endurance, as his cock swelled
jealously at the tight, moist heat clamped around his probing fingers. 
Draven had accepted each progressive stage of intrusion with
discomfort first, finally giving way to acceptance, and eventually
drawing pleasured little grunts in rhythm with the movements.  The
other man let out a wail of pleasure when Daryl found the hidden nob
deep inside the tight passage where three fingers now moved and
stretched.

     "Do that again," Draven gasped, and when his lover obliged, he
let out the same cry he had the first time.  

     "You ready for me, babe?  Gonna nail that little spot good,"
Daryl promised, hoping his technique would be refined enough to
deliver on his promise.

     "Just do it," Draven croaked, thrusting his ass back in the hopes
of receiving another jolt of pleasure.  Instead, Albrecht removed his
fingers.  "What...come on, man..."

     "I can't get my fingers and my cock in there at the same time,
Eric," Daryl said softly, kissing the other man's sweat-dampened
shoulder.  "Hang on.  It's coming."  After coating himself with the
lotion, he positioned his cock at the other man's slick opening, and
pushed.  When he was inside, the cry that was dragged out of Draven
was anything but pleasure.  "You want me to pull out?"  Albrecht
asked, frozen in place by the outcry but fighting his body's drive to
shove his way to completion.  

     "No...just...wait a minute."

     "Relax, Eric.  I'm not moving until you give the word," Albrecht
assured, reaching around to find the other man's waning erection,
pumping it gently.  Eventually, he could feel a loosening in the muscles
clenched around him, but he still didn't move.  It seemed to take Eric a
moment to realize that he was waiting for permission.

     "More," he breathed.  Daryl obliged, pushing in a bit further,
stopping when he felt tight resistance again.

     "It's okay, babe.  We're gettin' there."

     "Okay...go ahead."  Eric's tone was completely unconvinced,
but the directive came at about the same interval of time as the last
one.

     "Not yet.  You're not ready.  Try to take a deep breath and
relax."  Within a few seconds, Daryl felt the telltale loosening of the
passage's death grip on his cock, and he slid forward slightly.  In a
couple more careful increments, he found himself fully sheathed.  "We
did it," he said softly, smiling.  

     "Man...I knew you were hung, but this is ridiculous," Eric
responded, trying for levity as he fought to adjust to the bulk inside his
body.  

     "We're not moving until it feels right, babe.  Just relax and get
used to the feeling."

     "You sound like you've done this before."

     "Not really.  But I've been with a virgin before."

     "I haven't been that in a while," Eric responded, smiling a little.

     "You are to this."

     "Not anymore," Eric said, looking over his shoulder, still
smiling.  He tried moving back a little hesitantly, and Albrecht
growled, leaning his forehead into Eric's hair, using every ounce of his
restraint not to cut loose and take what he wanted.  Then Eric did it
again, more forcefully this time.  "You gonna join me back there or
not?"  he challenged, that ever present spark of mischief in the eye
Albrecht could see as Draven turned his head.

     "Oh, man, am I ever," he gasped, and began moving, still
tempering his strokes with some caution, letting Eric set the pace he
could handle with his own backward thrusts.  Soon, they had fallen into
a give and take rhythm that carried them both to the edge, Albrecht's
hand pumping the other man's straining erection in time with their sex.

     With a hoarse cry, Eric's seed spilled over Daryl's milking hand
as the spasmodic clenching of his muscles dragged a climax from his
lover that was as intense as his own.  

     A long silence followed, broken only by labored breathing.  

     "Thank you," Daryl said softly, kissing Eric's shoulder and
reaching up to pull a few strands of hair back to see as much as he
could of his lover's face.  "That was beautiful."

     "You made it that way.  I didn't think I could do it at first,"
Draven admitted, a bit hesitantly.  "Thanks for going easy on me.  I
mean, you know if you did any damage, it would have healed, like,
instantly."

     "But it still would have caused you pain."

     "Yeah, there's always that," Draven responded, smiling.

     "I won't ever hurt you.  I hope I didn't."

     "Not anymore than you had to to get us together."

     "I'm going to move now.  I'll go slow."

     "I know."  Eric expelled a long breath and relaxed while
Albrecht slipped free of the tight passage.  Rolling over to face Daryl,
he happily settled into the waiting embrace.  After the two men shared
lazy, prolonged kisses, Daryl pulled back long enough to ask another
question.

     "Everything okay?"

     "Yeah, everything's great.  How're you doing?"  There was that
devilish grin again.

     "Me?  Oh, man, I'm great."  Albrecht laughed softly, and drank
in the site of a smile on Draven that was broad enough to show his
teeth.  "There's just one thing."

     "What?"

     "You need more blankets in here, man.  Or at least some
*heat*."

     "I forgot about the window," Eric said, a bit apologetically.

     "That was the idea," Daryl said in a voice little above a whisper,
stroking Eric's cheek.  

     "Next time, your place?"

     "Oh, yeah.  I'd love to get you in a real bed for a couple hours. 
Or a couple *days*."

     "So when's your next vacation?"

     "First chance I get, man," Albrecht responded, chuckling.


********

     Blair was in his element, playing host to a room full of
company.  With most of the Major Crimes division and a good number
of Rainier friends and colleagues milling around, Blair was happily
mingling.  Jim was satisfied to hover near the kitchen, playing
bartender and keeping the food trays replenished.  Blair was a born
party host--he belonged in the center of the crowd, keeping the
conversations lively.

     The ringing of the doorbell drew Jim's attention away from the
bowl of punch he was just starting to brew.  He wiped off his hands and
made his way to the door.  Two people whom he considered the
ultimate odd couple stood in the hall.  Eric Draven, dressed in his
trademark black garb, and Daryl Albrecht, a little less somber in dark
green pants and a bright red shirt, his topcoat over his arm.

     "Glad you could make it," Jim backed away from the door as
the other men entered.  After shaking hands with both of them, he took
Albrecht's coat and tossed it with the others on Blair's old bed.  "What
are you guys drinking tonight?"  Jim asked as he approached the "bar",
which was really the kitchen counter.

     "Beer is fine," Daryl responded, plucking a can from the bowl
filled with ice that held the beer supply.  

     "Pass, thanks," Draven replied, smiling.  Then his interest
appeared piqued by the punchbowl, and the contents, which were a
work in progress.  

     "I'm just getting started on a new batch," Jim responded to the
visual inquiry. 

     "They've already polished off the first bowl?"  Draven asked,
inclining his head toward the crowd behind them.

     "Yeah, but Sandburg made it, and he doesn't spike it the way I
do."  Jim smiled a little evilly and flexed his eyebrows, setting a couple
of liquor bottles up on the counter next to the punch bowl. "A friend of
mine runs one of the local cab companies, so I can generally get
everybody home without any DWI's."

     "You made it!"  Blair showed up behind Draven and Albrecht.

     "I had to work later than I expected," Daryl explained, since
they hadn't arrived until ten o'clock, and the party had started at eight.

     "Eric, I didn't get a chance to say thanks...for the other night...I
know things wouldn't have turned out as well as they did if you hadn't
gotten involved."  

     "No thanks necessary.  I'm just glad we got there in time."

     "That makes two of us," Jim spoke up from behind the cauldron
of potentially deadly punch.  "I still don't understand how you pulled it
off, but at this point, I really don't care."

     "You're looking good--less colorful," Eric said lightly to Blair,
who laughed a little.

     "Yeah, a couple of the guys at the precinct were teasing Jim
about beating up on me for not typing his reports," Blair replied.  "I'm
gonna be real glad not to hear 'Hey Sandburg, what does the other guy
look like?' for a good, long time."

     "Hey, it's easy for them to laugh.  It's not their face," Jim had a
slight smile on his face, but his tone revealed his annoyance at his
cohorts' humor at Blair's expense.

     "Help yourselves to the food," Blair said, gesturing toward the
kitchen table, which was laden with various cheese and cracker
ensembles, hot snacks, chips, dip and various sweet confections.  "Try
the meatballs.  They're incredible."

     "Don't have to ask me twice," Daryl headed for the buffet, and
soon was exchanging a few words with Simon, who had arrived at the
meatball pot for thirds.

     "So they're your specialty?"  Eric asked.

     "Jim's.  He doesn't spread the word too much, but he's a *great*
cook."  At Draven's surprised expression directed his way, Jim made a
dismissive face and shook his head a little.

     "I do a few Italian dishes...nothing major."

     "He just doesn't like to do it," Blair opined, snagging a spicy
chicken wing off a nearby plate.  For some reason Draven was hard
pressed to understand, Blair eating the chicken wing seemed to be an
act that verged on erotic for Ellison, who cleared his throat and moved
on to carry the punch bowl to the table with a pronounced clearing of
his throat.  While he moved a couple things out of the way and set the
punch down, Blair made a point of catching his eye and sucking his
forefinger into his mouth for a gesture much more exaggerated than
necessary to clean the spot of sauce off the tip of it.  Rattled, Jim barely
got the punchbowl safely into place before moving on to mingle with
his guests.

     "If you put anything else in your mouth, I think you're gonna
give the guy a fatal case of blue balls by the end of the party," Draven
whispered to his friend, who burst out laughing with an inelegant snort.

     The evening passed pleasantly with the guests munching on the
goodies, a few dancing in the area of the living room near the tree that
Jim and Blair had cleared for the purpose.  The Christmas carol sing-a-long 
kept the crowd entertained for quite a while, as Blair hauled out
his acoustic guitar and talked Eric into playing the Jimi Hendrix-signed
electric.  Megan was goaded into demonstrating her hidden singing
talents on a couple of songs, and a pin could have been heard dropping
when Eric played a soft, slow guitar solo of "What Child Is This?" 

     When he'd finished, he caught Daryl's eyes, and the two men
exchanged a soft smile.  They were about to embark on those two days
of vacation that Albrecht had wished after they'd made love, just a
couple of nights earlier.


     "Before we all hit the buffet table again," Jim began, "I need to
have your attention for a few minutes."  Jim turned in his seat on the
couch next to Blair, who had set his guitar aside.  "I have a present for
you that I wanted our friends to be part of.  I hope you like it."  Jim
produced a small box from his pocket, wrapped in gold foil and handed
it to Blair.

     "Jim?"  Blair looked from the small box in the palm of his hand
up to Jim.  

     "Just open it, Chief."  Jim smiled affectionately at his lover,
who had very admirably restrained himself from touching Jim in any
unseemly manner in front of their friends as they'd spent the last hour
sitting close to each other on the couch.

     Blair tore the paper away from the small, blue velvet-covered
box.
     
     "Jim--"

     "Blair, open the box," Jim said softly, startling Blair by reaching
up to caress his hair.  Right there in front of their friends.  His eyes
snapped up and locked with Jim's.  The larger man just gave him a
reassuring smile.  Blair opened the lid of the box with hands that shook
slightly.  Inside were two plain gold wedding bands.  The room was so
silent now that even Blair's indrawn breath was audible.  "We've kept
this to ourselves long enough.  You know I want to be with you for the
rest of my life, and I think it's about time the rest of the world knew it
too.  If you still want that too, I hope you'll wear my ring, and that I can
wear yours."  For a moment, Jim worried he had made the wrong move,
that maybe Blair was just an uneasy about coming out as Jim was
himself, and wasn't ready for the exposure.  All he could read from
Blair was a thundering heartbeat.

     "Wh--" Blair cleared his throat.  "Which one's mine?"  he asked
softly.

     "This one."  Both rings were identical except for the ring sizes,
and Jim knew which one was in which position.  He pulled the ring out
and held it up.  Blair held out his left hand, and the gold ring slid into
place easily.  "With this ring, I give you my forever," Jim said quietly,
smiling into the wide, moist blue eyes that were watching him so
intently.  Blair seemed to jerk back to awareness then, and removed
Jim's ring from the box.  The other man held out his hand then, with a
little smile.  Blair slid the ring into place.

     "With this ring, I give you all I am, forever," Blair said, smiling
as one lone tear escaped.  Not believing it would be possible for Jim to
surprise him again that evening, Blair was stunned when Jim leaned in
close and with a gentle hand on each side of Blair's face, pulled him in
for an intense kiss, their tongues sliding together easily, like two halves
of a whole.  When Jim pulled back, he smiled widely and licked his
lips.

     "Mmmm.  Chicken wings."

     That comment was enough to break the tension in the room,
and everyone, including Blair, burst out laughing.  Blair moved
forward and pulled Jim into a tight embrace, hanging on until he felt it
returned with equal force.  The sound of a plastic fork against a plastic
punch cup drew the two men apart.  Taggert was still tapping when
they looked over at him.

     "I think this calls for a toast.  To Jim and Blair, for a long and
happy life together--and for finally coming clean about what we all
already knew anyway," he concluded, sharing the laugh with the party
guests, who all raised their various beverages in salute.

     The crowd dwindled drastically after Jim and Blair's exchange
of rings.  It was two a.m., and those who hoped to be conscious for
Christmas Day made their way home.  Albrecht sought Jim out, still
sipping on some spiked egg nog.  He had the advantage of Draven as
his designated driver, so he'd enjoyed the rare chance to indulge in the
pleasures of the party without counting his intake.

     "Susan Perry was released from the hospital yesterday.  She's
still planning to testify."

     "That's great news," Jim responded.

     "When I told her that not only Morgan, but his old man, were
behind bars, she was more than willing to help out."

     "We were lucky our friend Hal sang like a canary.  Still hard to
believe one of our own guys could be paid to 'lose' that bloody rag out
of evidence, but I guess everybody's got his price.  We've got Mac's '83
white Caddy in the impound lot.  No big surprise there."  Jim paused,
frowning a bit.  "Found some sort of strange, carbonized substance on
the front grille--you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" 
Jim raised his eyebrows a little.  Albrecht smiled at the reference to the
substance Eric had sometimes left behind in place of normal, human
blood.

     "Not a thing," he replied, still exchanging a knowing look with
Ellison.

     "I'm not going to make any trouble for him," Jim said, inclining
his head toward Draven, where he sat near the Christmas tree, deep in
conversation with Blair.

     "Because of Sandburg."

     "Mostly, yeah.  But also because I know Blair and I have an
uphill battle to fight with announcing things this way.  But even so, I
don't think we'll face as many obstacles as you two will."

     "We don't have any illusions about our relationship.  It's going
to have to be a 'take it as we can get it' situation.  Draven's situation
makes it pretty impossible, even if I wanted to shout it from the
rooftops, but frankly, I don't know if I'd have the nerve to do it.  I don't
envy what you're going to be facing down the road with a male lover. 
Most PD's don't adjust well to that."

     "We've got some special friends.  We'll have to rely on that to
get us over the rough spots."

     "Well, I better get going.  He never sleeps, so if I wait for him
to go home, we'll be here forever."

     "That must be interesting," Jim commented, stifling a grin in his
cup of punch.  He was trying to picture a Sandburg who never slept,
and figured he might live through a week or two of it.  Albrecht cleared
his throat.

     "It's been different," he responded.

     Blair could see the telltale signs of Jim and Daryl winding up
their chat over the last of the punch and egg nog.

     "You're going to keep in touch now, right?"  Blair prodded Eric.

     "Sure.  And you know where to find me.  I have a cell phone
now."

     "Great."  Blair found a piece of shredded wrapping paper and
hollered at Jim to toss him a pen.  When he'd caught it, he wrote down
the number Eric dictated to him.  

     "I'm really happy for you about tonight, Blair.  That's great."

     "Yeah, when the shock wears off, I will be too," Blair
responded, smiling.  "I mean, we've tried to be so careful in front of
Jim's friends and his co-workers.  I don't know what stunned me more--Jim 
giving me a ring or Taggert's little speech and everybody's
reactions."

     "You were expecting to be stoned right there on the couch?"

     "Well, I was expecting less rejoicing, anyway," Blair said,
laughing.  Then he became more serious.  "I've gotten two really
amazing gifts this year.  This one from Jim," he said, looking down at
his left hand that was resting on his lap at the moment, the gold ring
shining brightly, "and you.  That's such a miracle.  I'm so glad you
looked me up, man."

     "So am I."  Eric smiled widely.  The two men stood as it
became obvious that Daryl was about ready to go, following Jim back
to get his coat.

     "Take care of yourself."  The two friends embraced briefly and
then stepped back.  "Good luck with...everything," Blair said, meaning
the new relationship Draven had started with Albrecht that he had
confided to Blair during their visit.

     "Thanks.  We'll probably need it."  

********

     With the last guest out the door, Blair looked across the messy
loft at his lover, who smiled knowingly from his spot behind the
counter.  He moved around it and met Blair halfway, pulling the
smaller man into his arms.

     "I can't believe you did that tonight," Blair murmured against
Jim's shoulder.

     "I hope you're not angry, sweetheart.  I probably should have
asked you--"

     "Angry?!"  Blair pulled back to look Jim in the eyes.  "Jim, you
just played out my favorite fantasy tonight.  This big moment where
you announce it to everybody we know and we don't have to hide it
anymore."

     "It won't be all fantasy.  Some of it's going to be cold, ugly
reality.  I hope you know that."

     "I do know that.  I hope you don't regret coming out that way."

     "Never."  Jim smiled down at his lover.  "I hope you don't mind
something as old-fashioned and traditional as wearing wedding rings."

     "I'm never taking this off.  Not ever."

     "Ditto, sweetheart."

     "Jim, if we just got married tonight, that makes this our
wedding night."  Blair licked his lips.  "You know what that means..."

     "Oh yeah," Jim responded, chuckling low in his throat, then
pouncing on Blair, claiming his mouth in a fiery kiss.  He walked them
back until Blair's butt ran into the back of the couch.  "You want to
hear one of my favorite fantasies?"

     "Mmm?"  Blair responded, tilting his head to the side for Jim to
suck at the soft skin of his throat.

     "You, naked, bending over the back of the couch for me."

     "Oh God," Blair groaned, thrusting his growing hardness against
Jim as the other man's hands wandered over his back and came to rest
possessively on his ass, squeezing the denim-covered flesh.  "What
about the couch?"

     "Hold that thought."  Jim parted with a fast kiss, and returned
with a bath towel.  Watching him spread it on the back of the couch,
Blair thought he'd come in his pants before they ever played out the
fantasy.  Jim moved back over to Blair and resumed his path of kisses
down Blair's neck, pulling impatiently at the buttons of the younger
man's shirt until it was finally open, shoving it excitedly off Blair's
shoulders.  

     Blair made short work of Jim's shirt as well, and soon they
sacrificed their closeness for the efficient removal of shoes, socks,
jeans and boxers.   Jim embraced his lover, moving their naked
arousals together.  Then he whispered in Blair's ear.

     "Bend over for me, baby."  Blair moaned a little and Jim felt the
already hard cock surge at the command.  Blair obeyed eagerly,
bending over the back of the couch, hands on the cushions, legs spread
invitingly, the tips of his toes just barely brushing the floor.  The view
of that gorgeous ass, spread open for his pleasure, the little pucker
visible with Blair's ass raised high.  "Wait for me, sweetheart.  Need to
go get us something."  Jim walked away.

     "Jim?!"  Blair called after his lover.

     "Wait there for me, baby.  Think about how good and long and
hard you're gonna get it," Jim called back from the bathroom.  

     Balling his hands into fists and fighting the urge to hump
against the couch, Blair thought he would come right then.  He forced
himself to take a deep breath.  Then, he made the mistake of raising his
head and looking at the patio doors.  He saw his own reflection head
on, naked, with his ass raised high and presented to his lover, who was
just moving out of the shadows behind him.  Some little part of his
mind scanned the scene to see that no windows were illuminated in the
neighboring building.

     "Nobody's watching us, baby.  It's our show," Jim said, smiling
as he coated his fingers with the lube and slowly worked one inside of
Blair's body while his lover watched the whole process from head-on in
the window.  "Love you so much, baby.  Gonna make you feel good."
Jim added another finger, loving to watch Blair rotate his ass in time
with the stretching fingers, looking over the back of the couch to see
Blair's knuckles turn white as he made fists and worked at holding his
climax for the main event.  "Watch me love you, Blair," he panted.  By
the time a third finger was added, Jim was wondering if he'd hold out
until the end, watching his fingers work in and out of Blair while the
other man writhed in pleasure, moaning almost constantly now,
rubbing off against the back of the couch

     "Hold on, sweetheart.  It's coming."  Jim coated himself and
then slid into Blair's body in one smooth thrust.  Blair shouted out a
little in surprise and pleasure, writhing backward to meet the invader. 
Jim didn't waste any time in starting his movements, and angled his
penetration to hit Blair's prostate.  

     "Ahhh!"  Blair shouted, his hips wriggling shamelessly now in
time with Jim's thrusts.  "Oh yeah...Jim...hard...do it hard..."

     "Yeah, you feel good, baby," Jim managed before giving up on
talking, feeling the tide of his climax building as he pumped harder and
faster into Blair, who continued to goad him to increase the intensity. 
He clung to the one shred of sanity he had left, tuning in to Blair's body
and its signals, gauging the intensity of his strokes to give Blair the
passionate workout he wanted without hurting him.

     "Give me all you got, man," Blair gasped, spreading his thighs
even further apart, trying to suck Jim in deeper.  Jim took the
invitation, and the loft was filled with cries of pleasure and the
satisfying slap of flesh on flesh.

     Blair found the strength to focus on the images in the glass,
where he saw his own ass pumping wantonly from the force of Jim's
strokes and the writhing of his own hips.  He saw Jim's face, intense
with pleasure and passion, powerful arms braced on the back of the
couch, muscles rippling, all concentrated on the point where their
bodies were joined in a frantic dance.

     There was a primal, raw scream of completion as Blair
shuddered through his orgasm, the spasms wracking his body as Jim
moved faster, nearly driving Blair insane with the intensity of the
stimulation.

     Jim was close behind his lover, moaning, groaning, and finally
shouting something incoherent as he filled Blair's body.  Panting and
spent, Jim barely supported himself on shaky arms, watching Blair's
sweat-dampened back heaving with the effort of breathing.  He eased
out of Blair, catching the little groan that followed.  He couldn't resist
drinking in the sight of his lover one last time, ass still high in the air,
his hot little hole still glistening from the workout it had just gotten,
before he wound an arm around Blair's waist and pulled him up to his
feet again.

     "Oh, God, Jim..."  Blair's head fell back against Jim's shoulder,
and Jim lost no time in kissing the parted lips thoroughly.

     "Everything okay, baby?"

     "It's *so* okay, man.  I never...came that hard...in my life."

     "I didn't hurt you, did I?"  Now that the frantic heat of the
moment had passed, Jim was solicitously holding his lover against him,
brushing the dark curls back from the sweaty face.  "I went a little nuts
there, sweetheart."

     "That was the plan.  I asked for it, remember?"  Blair smiled
drowsily.  "You didn't hurt me.  You never do."

     "I always try to stay tuned in to you, to make sure...  I'd never
forgive myself if I hurt you."  Jim loosened his hold while Blair turned
in his arms, wrapping his own strong arms around Jim's middle.

     "You always take good care of me."  Blair pulled back and
looked Jim in the eyes.  "I would *never* trust anyone else to do what
we just did.  No one else in the world.  I know it's safe for me to go
crazy and ask for what I probably wouldn't want when I thought about
it with a clear head--I know you wouldn't hurt me.  Might make me
think twice before sitting down for a while, but you never really *hurt*
me."  Blair grinned devilishly, blushing a little.

     "Let's take a bath and head up to bed, huh?"

     "Sounds great."  They headed toward the bathroom, arms still
draped around each other.  "Oh--I wanted to ask you--what's that stuff
on the railing upstairs?  I haven't been up there, and I just noticed it. 
Did you put more holly garland up there?"

     "That's all the mistletoe they had left in the mall yesterday.  It's
gonna be a long night, sweetheart."

     "Think we could leave it up there all year?"  Blair asked.

     "Yeah, like we need mistletoe."  Jim chuckled, kissing Blair's
hair as they entered the bathroom.

********

     "Hey, it's snowing," Daryl observed, smiling up at the sky for
finally showering them with something besides ice, power outages and
cold air.  Draven had parked the car in the driveway, and the two men
headed for the door of Albrecht's house.  Just as he inserted the key
into the lock, he looked back at Draven.  A nearby church bell was
tolling.  Albrecht looked around Eric at the other man's back.  The
inevitable legend quoted in "It's A Wonderful Life" sprang to Daryl's
mind.

     "I'm warning you, Albrecht, don't go there," Eric admonished,
smiling a little wickedly.  Albrecht pushed the door open.

     "I was merely going to point out that old legend that every time
a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.  I was just checking."  Albrecht
made a run for the stairs with Draven in hot pursuit.

     "You're gonna pay for that one, man!"

     "I'm counting on it!"  Albrecht called back as he led the race
upstairs to the bedroom.

********

I have searched a thousand lifetimes
To find a soul like yours...
A soul so brave, a soul so pure,
An angel who takes my breath away,
I want to lie with you forever,
My passion knows no bounds...
We are not the same as others
We are forever lovers...

     from "The Crow: Stairway to Heaven"

********

THE END