Everything had happened so quickly: the call, the chase, the suspect cornered in the decaying brownstone, the zone out, the unexpected flare of agony as the bullet tore through his left shoulder, the fall, the ambulance ride, the emergency room…

Although he was tucked away in a small examination room and groggy from the pain meds he’d been given, Jim was aware of Blair’s arrival the moment his partner burst into the emergency room. It wasn’t one specific sense that alerted him, but a combination of hearing, smell, and the vague element of comfort he always felt, but seldom acknowledged, in Blair’s presence. Some of his tension slipped away, dragging his thoughts along. How’d Blair find out about the shooting? Simon probably called him at school… Hope it didn’t interrupt a class… Jim tried to remember Sandburg’s schedule, but couldn’t quite call up the concentration required. Oh well, at least Blair was here. He’d deal with the doctors and nurses and get him out of this place as soon as possible…

He drowsed for a few minutes, half-listening to Blair questioning Doctor… What was his name? Clarke. Right. Jim had heard all this before, when they first brought him in. Messy, but at least it missed the bone… Blood loss… Various scrapes and bruises… Nothing serious… Rest for a few days… A few weeks to heal completely… Blair’s heartbeat was faster than normal. Well, that was to be expected, wasn’t it? He’d been summoned to the hospital to assist an injured Jim – of course he’d be in the middle of an adrenaline rush. But his voice was calm and his questions to the point. He was concerned, but not terrified.

Good. Jim didn’t like the thought of a terrified Blair.

Footsteps – rubber soles on linoleum. The soft caress of long hair against skin and shirt. The familiar scent grew stronger. Jim turned his head and opened his eyes.

"Hey, Chief."

"How’re you feeling, Jim?" Blair leaned over the bed and briefly touched Jim’s uninjured shoulder.

"Not too good… Lotsa pain, lotsa meds…" Jim frowned as he tried to focus on Blair. For some reason, his partner’s face kept blurring, like scenery viewed through a car windshield in the rain. He shifted uneasily on the bed and grimaced. "Made me take the meds, Chief. I din wanna…"

"It’s okay. Don’t worry." Blair’s voice was soft, soothing. "We’ll work through it and you’ll feel better soon, I promise."

"’Kay…" Jim closed his eyes again and waited for Blair to tell him what to do.

"First, you’ve got to concentrate. Can you do that? Concentrate on cutting through the meds, clearing your mind, finding your focus…" The gentle voice went on and on, blazing a trail for Jim to follow. And Jim followed it, emerging from his drug-induced fog with a wince. Great. His mind was clear, but now his shoulder hurt like hell…

"Remember to dial down the pain, now. You’ve done that before. Take it down until you don’t feel anything, and then bring it back up ‘til it stings a little."

With a sigh of relief, Jim did as he was told, and when he glanced up at Blair, was rewarded with the clear sight of his partner’s brilliant smile.

"That’s better, Chief."

"Good. The doctor’s going to be back in a few minutes to give you the all-clear, and then we’ll go home." Rummaging in his backpack, Blair pulled out one of Jim’s shirts with the air of a magician pulling an intimate piece of feminine underwear out of a hat. "Simon told me you’d need a button-front shirt to go over your bandages, so I stopped by and got one."

Jim nodded, suddenly remembering the amount of blood that had spilled over his knit shirt and jacket. Not to mention the gaping holes in both articles, currently stowed in a plastic bag beneath the bed. Well, he’d deal with that tomorrow. Right now he just wanted to get out of this place and go home with Blair, maybe sleep for a couple hours.

He closed his eyes again and heard Blair pull up a chair, settling himself quietly. Jim smiled at the whisper of paper sliding against paper – his partner always managed to have a book at hand, no matter where they found themselves. Of course, that was a good thing; otherwise Blair would never have time to keep up with his studies and teaching, and still be around to help out. In fact, Jim remembered uneasily, that was why Blair hadn’t been with him today at the station – Jim had felt so guilty about taking up so much of his friend’s time recently that he had insisted Blair spend the entire day at the University.

Boy, had that idea backfired.

So now, instead of checking out sources at the library or holding office hours, Sandburg was here, at the hospital, babysitting his injured partner. Jim sighed. Great. Just great. It was enough to make a guy want to pound the wall, or kick a door, or do something equally as futile.

He sighed again, and felt Blair’s hand brush against his arm.

"Pain getting to you?"

He shook his head, and kept his eyes closed. "No. Just bored."

A small huff of air – Blair was chuckling. "Yeah. Know what you mean. Want me to see if I can rouse the doctor?"

"Nah. I can wait."

"Want me to read to you?"

Jim cracked an eyelid. "What’re you reading?"

"Graves’ Comparative Studies of Tribal Structures."

Another sigh. "Why don’t you find the doctor…"

An hour later and Jim was waiting in a wheelchair under the covered portico for Blair to bring the truck around. He felt pretty good, considering the ache in his shoulder and the slight dizziness when he moved too fast. But the important thing was that he was out of the hospital, ready to go home, burdened only with a formidable List of Doctor’s Orders, most of which he intended to ignore anyhow. The truck appeared, and he watched with amusement at how carefully his partner maneuvered it to the door.

Jim suffered himself to be helped into the passenger seat by the burly nurse. He was convinced that Sandburg had arranged for him to be wheeled outside by the biggest nurse in the state, maybe even the country, just so he wouldn’t try to get into the driver’s seat himself. He reached for the seat belt, only to have Blair swat away his hand, then carefully draw the belt across his chest and lap and buckle it firmly.

"Don’t aggravate your shoulder, Jim."

As they drove away from the hospital, Jim surreptitiously watched his partner negotiate the rush-hour traffic. He often found himself doing that – watching Blair when the younger man had no inkling that he was doing so. Blair’s features were so familiar now Jim felt that, if necessary, he could describe in detail every inch of his partner’s face, and he had memorized and catalogued every one of Blair’s myriad expressions. Why did he do this? Jim had no idea. No, really. None whatsoever.

The truck slowed – there was construction ahead. Jim saw the caution lights out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t bother to turn his gaze from Blair. When the truck hit the rough pavement and bounced, it jostled Jim’s shoulder and pain flared unexpectedly. He let out a muffled groan.

"Sorry!" Blair glanced over at him before turning his attention back to the road. "How’re you doing?"

"I’m fine." He didn’t mean for it to come out as cold and clipped as that, but his shoulder hurt damnably, and he couldn’t get those stupid dials to work…

Blair didn’t reply, but Jim could see the little starburst of tension form at the corner of his eye, the generous lips compress slightly. Then his face relaxed, the moment gone, wiped away by Sandburg’s usual expression of eager inquiry. Guilt tickled Jim – it was his own fault he was injured, and here he was, taking it out on his partner.

"Do you know what made you zone, Jim?"

"I don’t remember." The events leading up to being shot were a confusing jumble of sensations, almost painful in their intensity. Maybe tomorrow, with Blair’s help, he would be able to leaf through them, ordering and organizing his responses, tracing the thread of concentration that led to the zone out. Right now, his head swam and his shoulder hurt, and all he really wanted to do was go home and lie down on the sofa and close his eyes.

"Start at the beginning, then. What were you doing when you first…"

"Not now, Chief." He hated the pleading sound in his voice, and resented the fact that Blair caused it.

"But if we can find…"

"Forget it, Sandburg!"

They finished the trip in silence.

****

Blair pulled the truck into the parking space and got out quickly. Shouldering his backpack and opening the passenger door, he reached around his partner to undo Jim’s seat belt, then grabbed the bag with Jim’s clothes and stepped back. With a grimace, Jim started to climb out of the truck.

"Watch it, Jim," he warned. "You lost a lot of blood, and… Dammit!!"

Jim’s face suddenly paled, and he started to collapse. Blair launched himself forward, bending to catch Jim’s torso before he hit the pavement. All of Jim’s considerable weight, combined with the backpack and bag, caught Blair off-balance, however, and together they landed in a crumpled heap on the macadam.

"Great, just great," muttered Blair as he tried to gently roll Jim off. "Why is it always the heavy guys who faint on top of the little ones…" He scrambled to his feet, rubbing his hip, and surveyed his partner’s prone form. Jim was beginning to stir groggily. "Hang on a sec, Jim…" he said, as Jim started to sit up.

"You the one who sucker-punched me, Sandburg?" Jim’s voice was still slightly slurred.

"Yeah, right. I just wanted to get you on the pavement, man." Blair knelt and pushed Jim’s shoulders back, trying to get him to lie down. "C’mon, Jim. You passed out. Lie down for a few minutes." He kept up the pressure, although he knew it was hopeless -- Jim was starting to resemble the mythical immovable object.

"Can it, Chief!" Jim swatted away Blair’s hands and sat up. "I’m fine…"

"Right. You’re so fine you do your award-winning impression of a swan dive out here in the parking lot…"

Jim scowled and started to rise, only to sit down again heavily on the pavement. "Shit." Blair extended his hand to help his partner, but Jim just ignored it.

His hand still outstretched, Blair stared at the man before him. Of all the idiotic… He dropped his hand and watched Jim slowly, very carefully, stand. Once Jim was upright, Blair stepped close and pulled Jim’s uninjured arm over his shoulders, grabbing him around the waist.

"I can do this on my own…"

"No, you can’t…" Blair tightened his hold around Jim’s waist and started toward the building. Once they were inside, Blair headed down the hall away from the stairs.

"I don’t need to use the elevator, Sandburg…" Jim tried to change direction.

"Listen. You fainted outside. If you faint on the stairs, you could fall and break your neck. Now I, for one, don’t want to have to explain to Simon what happened, ‘cause he’d find a way to blame it on me." Blair forged ahead, dragging a reluctant Jim along with him to the end of the hall. He punched the button and the door to the small freight elevator opened. "So get in the elevator and stop giving me a hard time!"

Scowling, jaw set in stone, Jim stepped into the elevator. He crossed his arms and leaned against the back wall as Blair hit the button for the third floor. The elevator ascended, its mournful creak the only sound in the tiny space. When it finally came to a stop and the doors opened, Jim pushed his way past Blair and started down the hall.

"Wait…"

Jim had only taken a couple of steps before he stumbled and sagged against the wall. His face was pale, his eyes closed. Blair dashed to his side, not quite holding him up, but definitely holding him steady, until Jim opened his eyes again.

Blair met his partner’s glance coldly. "Are you finished being a macho jerk, or do I have to borrow a wheelbarrow to cart your sorry butt home?"

"You and whose army?"

"You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand. You never have, you never will." Jim flinched at his words, then his eyes flickered over Blair’s face like a searchlight. Blair turned away. "Let’s get you inside."

Without further ado, he guided Jim down the hall and into the loft. He was surprised that Jim cooperated, even to the point of leaning against him as they walked. Once inside, he steered a quiescent Jim to the couch and helped him down onto the cushions with a strong hand.

Jim held his hand for a moment, then released it with a sigh. He closed his eyes and laid his head back. With a pang, Blair saw how pale Jim still was – the trip up from the truck had really taken the starch out of him. He shrugged off his backpack and dumped the bag with Jim’s clothes next to it.

"I’m gonna make you something to eat…"

"Sounds good."

In the kitchen, Blair searched through the fridge and cupboards. Jim needed something nourishing, yet light… Ah… He found soup stock in the freezer. Heat it up, add some vegetables and noodles or rice, and that should fit the ticket.

As he chopped the vegetables, he glanced over at his partner. Jim had shifted around on the couch so that he faced the kitchen, and Blair could feel Jim’s eyes on him. He’d become increasingly aware of his friend’s regard over the past few weeks, but Jim hadn’t mentioned any reason for it, and he’d let it slide. Jim didn’t say anything now, either, so, with a mental shrug, Blair continued working. If Jim wanted to talk, he would.

It didn’t take long before the stock and vegetables were simmering. Blair gave the pot one last stir and then picked up the bag with Jim’s clothes. He pulled out the shirt and dumped the jacket onto the table, seeing, for the first time, the bullet holes and blood. A lot of blood. Jim’s blood.

Oh my god…

He dropped the shirt and sat heavily at the table, heart pounding wildly. Ellison, you stupid… I should’ve been with you. If the bullet had been a little lower, a little further to the right… His hands shook as he shoved the shirt and jacket back into the bag.

"What do you want to do with these?" His voice quavered, he couldn’t help it. Dammit, that was too close…

"Throw them away." Jim said quietly.

"Okay."

"Chief?" If anything, Jim’s voice was softer than before.

"What do you need, Jim? A drink? The soup’ll be ready in about twenty…"

"What did you mean when you said I don’t get it, that I’ll never understand?" His voice grew even quieter. "What don’t I understand?"

Blair got up and busied himself with the soup. "Just forget it. You need to rest."

"If you don’t tell me, how am I ever supposed to understand?" There was no hint of accusation in his voice, just an honest need to know. Blair paused, spoon in hand, throat suddenly dry. Jim tilted his head, the way he always did when he was puzzled or confused. "Chief?" Another pause. "Blair?"

With a sigh, Blair flopped onto the other sofa. As soon as he sat down, though, he bounced back up, pacing in front of the windows. Jim settled back on the cushions, his eyes never straying from his partner.

"Jim, when I first called you my blessed protector, you laughed. Hell, I laughed, although a lot of that was probably hysteria and relief at being rescued from that psychopath…" He shivered, remembered fear shuddering through his body. "But you’ve protected me over and over again. It’s like that’s become your mission – keep Sandburg safe. And I appreciate it. I really do!"

"It’s my job, Chief."

"Your job? Your job?" He took a huge gulp of air and stared at the man sitting on the sofa.

"I didn’t mean…"

Blair raised his hands, palms out, and shook his head. "Forget it, man. It’s no use. I don’t know why I even bothered…"

"Blair, listen to me." Jim sounded frantic, but most of all, he sounded hurt. Blair paused, surprised. "It is my job, but…" Jim hesitated, then plunged ahead. "But it’s also gut instinct. And need. I need to keep you safe, Chief. Before anything else, before anyone else…"

With a sigh, Blair turned toward the windows, already mirrored by the nightfall. The room was dimly reflected in the glass, and he sensed the warmth and comfort behind him, the chill loneliness beyond those walls.

"I have the same instincts and needs, Jim," he said to the reflections, almost inaudibly. "I need to keep you safe. Not the same way that you keep me safe, but in my own way, doing the things I can do. But every time I try, you push me away. You make fun of me, or ignore me, or imply that what I’m trying to do isn’t worth bothering with." He bowed his head. "I can’t even help you home without you shaking me off and telling me I’m not needed."

The silence behind him stretched into minutes. Finally deciding that Jim was not going to answer, that he was being ignored – again – Blair turned on his heel and stalked to the kitchen, grabbing utensils from the drawer and slapping them down on the table. Bowls from the cupboard clattered onto the countertop, but he stirred the soup carefully, to prove to himself that his hand wasn’t shaking. Soup into bowls, bowls onto table. Bread. Butter. Okay.

"Dinner’s ready, Jim."

He sat down, not bothering to look over at his partner, and picked up his spoon.

"Blair…"

His spoon hovered over the bowl. "Yes?"

"I could use some help here…"

Blair didn’t turn around. "Don’t."

"I’m asking you…"

"I said don’t!" He smacked his spoon down onto the table and slewed around in his chair. "Don’t think that you can fling a few scraps to your obedient puppy and have him eating from your hand again! You obviously don’t need me, except as something to protect. Why don’t you just stick me up on the mantelpiece, all safe and secure? Or lock me up in a padded cell? That way you won’t have to worry about me getting into trouble. I’m surprised you allow me to go to work on my own – who knows what could happen to me there?"

He turned back to the table, staring blindly before him, his harsh breath loud in his ears. Jim was silent. Behind him, a brief rustle, repeated. A hesitant step. Another. A soft gasp, brutally cut short, jerked him from his seat, and he was at Jim’s side in a heartbeat, arms already spread wide in support. Hands braced and guided, led Jim to his chair, settled him carefully. He stole a glance at Jim’s face, shocked by his partner’s pallor into meeting his eyes. Eyes full of shame, full of affection, full of hope…

"Blair…" Jim clasped his arm for a moment, squeezed gently, then released him. "I’m sorry."

Lowering his eyes to the table, Blair shrugged and picked up his spoon. "It’s okay."

"No, it’s not." Jim’s vehement tone startled him even more than the apology, and he gazed, wide-eyed, at him. Jim shook his head. "It’s not okay." He paused, hands clenched into fists. "You were right. I didn’t understand. But now I do." And then his fingers relaxed, and one hand crept over to lie on Blair’s. "I promise never again to make fun of you, or ignore you, or imply that what you’re doing isn’t important, when you’re trying to keep me safe." He squeezed Blair’s fingers gently, then released them and picked up his spoon.

Blair just stared at him for a moment.

"Thanks for the soup, Chief." Jim gave him a quick smile.

Blair found himself returning the smile. Then he picked up his spoon. "You’re welcome."

****

Jim kept his eyes firmly fixed on the monitor in front of him as he heard the familiar heartbeat approach, the sound clear even above the constant clamor of the station. The small knot of tension in his shoulders and back relaxed. Jim shifted his shoulders carefully, mindful of his healing wound, and sighed in relief. He was still amazed that it had taken him so long to understand the connection between Blair’s absence and that indefinable sense of unease that gnawed at his gut. But now Blair was here, and his presence worked on Jim at some deep-seated level, automatically easing the tension, calming the whispers of anxiety.

"Hey, Jim. I found that reference I told you about…" Sandburg slapped a paper down with a grin and perched on the edge of the desk.

"Thanks, Chief." Jim glanced at the paper filled with Blair’s neat handwriting. "This is good…" Although his week-old promise to Blair took constant vigilance to honor, Jim was surprised at how easy it was. Sure, he had forgotten once or twice and pushed away or ignored Blair’s offer of help, but he had quickly caught himself, and Blair seemed ready to overlook any occasional lapses. And now it was becoming second nature to ungrudgingly welcome his partner’s assistance.

Besides, the almost-constant smile on Sandburg’s face was worth any amount of trouble.

Blair slid off the desk and stood behind Jim, leaning forward to read the screen. Almost unconsciously, Jim leaned back until he could feel his partner’s warmth, hear his quiet breathing close to his ear. That was better…

And then Blair leaned over even further, steadying himself with a hand on Jim’s shoulder. A hand whose gentle pressure and warmth soaked into Jim. Yes… That’s the way we’re meant to be…

Connected.

When Simon called them into his office for an update on their latest cases, Jim quietly mourned the loss of his partner’s touch. He hovered near Blair, not quite brushing up against him, but needing to feel… whatever it was that radiated from his friend. As long as he was close to Sandburg, he could concentrate on Simon’s words, on what was necessary to do his job. But as soon as Blair crossed the room, Jim found his thoughts drifting, his eyes following his partner’s movements. He wanted to… He needed to…

"Jim… Jim?"

Startled at the sharp tone, he glanced over at Simon.

"You okay?"

"Yeah… I was just thinking…" He tore his gaze away from Blair, who was looking at him with those soulful, expectant eyes, and met Simon’s curious stare. "Sorry, sir." He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Jim." Simon’s voice was calm, and he used his let’s-handle-this-quietly tone. "It’s getting late, and you’re still not quite up to speed after the shooting. Go home, get some dinner, rest, and I’ll see you first thing tomorrow."

"But, sir…"

"No arguments." Simon turned to Blair. "See that he gets something decent for dinner, Sandburg. A big steak, or meatloaf -- something with lots of red meat." He shook a finger at him. "No rabbit food tonight. Oh, and makes sure that he gets to bed at a reasonable time…"

Blair’s eyebrows jumped almost to his hairline, but he just replied, "Got it, Captain." He rounded the table and touched Jim’s arm. "C’mon, man. You need some rest."

It was the touch that galvanized Jim into movement. He followed Blair quickly, almost as if the younger man was pulling him along in his wake. He muttered a quick goodbye to Simon and grabbed his jacket. They were down in the parking garage in five minutes, and home in half-an-hour.

Jim managed to keep his eyes on the road as he drove, but as soon as they entered the building, they gravitated to Blair’s face. He stayed close to his partner as they climbed the stairs, his hand hovering over the small of Blair’s back. As soon as he closed the door behind them, though, his hands were drawn to Blair’s arms as if he’d been magnetized. He put his right hand on the shoulder in front of him and caressed Blair’s arm down to the elbow.

"Jim?" Blair stopped but didn’t turn.

Jim touched Blair’s left shoulder and began to do the same thing.

"Jim!" Now he turned.

Jim stepped back, releasing the younger man. Blair stared at him for a moment, his chest moving quickly. Jim could hear his heart galloping. With a smile, Blair shrugged off his jacket and hung it up.

"C’mon, man. You’re bushed. Let’s get this jacket off you, and then you can rest."

His hands gently peeled off the jacket as Jim stood still, silently accepting everything. Then he took Jim’s arm and led him to the sofa. Jim sat obediently, but when Blair stepped away, Jim’s hand shot out and grabbed Blair’s wrist.

"No… Don’t…"

"I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to get dinner started." Blair spoke slowly and softly, but Jim’s grip did not falter. "Jim," he continued, placing his free hand on Jim’s arm and patting it gently, "Simon gave me a direct order. I’ve gotta get you something to eat."

Jim's eyes were pleading and full of something akin to fear. "Please…"

"Okay, okay," he soothed, sitting down next to his partner. "We’ll eat later." Jim’s hold on his wrist didn’t slacken.

Blair had left a gap of several inches between them. Jim slid over until their arms and thighs were pressed together – then, and only then, did he free his friend. A reddened ring around Blair’s wrist was evidence of the intensity of Jim’s grasp, and Blair rubbed it absently as he studied his partner out of the corner of his eye. Staring at the mark he had made, Jim pushed Blair’s free hand away and cradled the injured one in both of his. The younger man held his breath as Jim’s fingers gently stroked his skin, soothing the redness until it began to fade. Blair could feel his pulse throb where ever Jim touched.

"Can I have my hand back?" Blair’s voice quavered once.

With a final caress, Jim spread his fingers wide, and Blair pulled his hand away.

"What’s going on here, Jim?" There was no answer, and Blair continued, "You can tell me."

"How can I tell you if I don’t understand it myself?"

"Then," Blair shifted around, moving so he could see Jim’s face, "we’ll have to figure it out together, like we always do." Now only his knees touched Jim’s thighs. Jim frowned and slid his hand over to rest on one of Sandburg’s knees, relaxing a little.

"Okay." He looked at his hand, fingers spread, pale in contrast to the indigo of Blair’s jeans. He flexed his fingers, felt them press into warm flesh through the worn denim.

"Well…" Blair took a deep breath, then another. "I’ve noticed that you’ve been looking at me a lot recently," he said in a rush. "Do you think this is related?"

Jim nodded. His fingers flexed again as his hand moved slightly farther up Blair’s thigh.

"And," Blair’s muscles jumped beneath Jim’s touch, "ever since you were shot, you seem to…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "…to need to be close to me…"

Another nod. Jim’s hand slid to the outside of Blair’s thigh.

"Sometimes, you…" Blair swallowed convulsively. "…stand behind me, and I can feel your breath against my neck…" Jim traced the seam of Blair’s jeans with his fingertips, gently, as if exploring something that might be tender.

"…you’re so close I can feel your body… warming me..." Blair’s voice became more unsteady.

Jim’s hand stopped, his palm like fire against Blair’s thigh.

"…and I keep wondering what you want…"

The hand moved back, toward Blair’s hip. "You." Jim’s voice was thick – he could hardly say the word. "I want to touch you…"

Blair’s leg jerked. Jim snatched his hand away and looked up.

"I’m sorry…"

With a shaky laugh, Blair shook his head. "Don’t be." Although his heart was still pounding double-time, there was no fear or anger in his eyes. He captured Jim’s hand and placed it back on his thigh, covering it with his own hands. "Like this?"

Jim nodded. "Yes…" he murmured.

Blair slid their hands farther up his thigh. "And this?" he said, his voice husky and low.

Jim nodded again, breath quickening.

Blair paused, his eyes searching Jim’s face. "And what about this?" he whispered, slowly moving Jim’s hand up between the top of his thighs and pressing his legs together.

"Oh god, Blair." Jim closed his eyes and swayed forward. More.

With a ragged breath, Blair caught Jim’s free hand and laid it against his cheek. "Or this?" he breathed into the palm.

Jim shuddered, his fingers circling Blair’s ear, caressing his jaw, touching everything. He could no more keep his hands off Blair than stop his heart from beating. He felt Blair stroke his cheek and turned his head to capture a fingertip in his lips. It trembled against his mouth, and he glanced at Blair. Eyes wide and dark, mouth slightly parted, hair tumbled around his shoulders, pulse throbbing in his throat, he looked like an answer to the prayers Jim had never known he’d uttered.

Jim clasped Blair’s hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed the smooth back, turning it to bless the palm and each fingertip. Then he slipped his other hand from between Blair’s thighs and wrapped his arms around the younger man, drawing him close, burying his face in that soft hair, inhaling the scent of his partner. This is what he wanted, what was missing…

Blair shifted against him, arms encircling Jim’s chest, legs draped over Jim’s thighs. He took a shuddering breath.

"What now, Jim?" he whispered. "Is this enough for you, or do you want more…"

Jim’s arms tightened reflexively. "More. I want all of you, I need all of you…"

Blair shivered and nodded. His hand crept around to Jim’s chest and he carefully, slowly, unbuttoned each button. By the time he was finished, Jim wondered if he were going to hyperventilate or have a stroke first. When Blair’s fingers pinched one nipple, then the other, he gasped, and put his money on hyperventilating. Blair shifted in Jim’s arms, moving to kneel beside him, and gently drew his shirt over his shoulders, taking especial care not to catch the bandage on Jim’s left shoulder. Hands stroked his chest, followed by lips, teasing and coaxing. After the third pass over his nipples, Jim grabbed Blair’s head and steered him up for a kiss.

What a kiss.

Jim decided that the odds had changed in favor of the stroke before he broke away, panting. More.

He dove back for another taste of Blair, this time able to concentrate enough to tug off Blair’s heavy shirt and slide his hands beneath the tee-shirt that separated them. Flesh – firm, fuzzy, warm flesh – moved against his fingers. Blair broke their kiss this time, hands frantically grabbing at his tee-shirt, trying to pull it off. Jim smiled and helped, then turned and lay back on the sofa, pulling Blair along with him.

"Watch your shoulder," Blair said, moving to Jim’s uninjured side before attacking his neck and nipples.

Jim groaned and writhed. "What shoulder?" All he wanted was to feel more skin, more warmth, more Blair. He ran his hands down Blair’s back, cupping them around his jeans-clad rear, pulling him so close he could feel his partner’s erection against his stomach. More. Please more.

He slid his hands between them and Blair lifted his hips slightly, providing room enough for Jim to unfasten both their pants. He pushed Blair’s jeans down just past his hips, and tugged down his boxers. Then Jim’s hands were everywhere, sliding, pressing, pulling, caressing – he had to learn this part of Blair as well as he knew his face. With a whimper and a moan, the younger man detached his lips from Jim’s neck and wriggled against him.

"Wait…"

Blair slid off Jim, and, with frantic hands, pulled Jim’s khakis and boxers down just enough to free his erection, then climbed back on top of him. He didn’t even bother to remove his own jeans, which were still rucked around his knees. Jim took that expressive face in his hands and kissed his partner again, hard and deep. More.

Blair’s hands were everywhere – trailing over his face, down his chest, teasing his nipples, stroking his arms – and Jim shook with the sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. He clasped Blair close, aligning their cocks and sending jolts of pleasure through both their bodies. His hands moved down, cradling Blair’s rear for a moment before he unfolded his fingers and claimed all – fondling, spreading, possessing – Blair’s every gasp and moan spurring him further.

Capturing Jim’s mouth again, Blair slid his hand between them and grasped Jim’s erection. He raised his hips, granting Jim passage to every part of him, and stroked the older man roughly. Jim’s fingers tightened as he bucked his hips into that firm hold. More. More.

One hand still claiming Blair’s ass, the other snaked between them to clasp Blair’s erection. Jim felt himself teetering on the edge of the chasm and held himself there for a long moment, until he was sure he would not fall alone… More…

Then, with a harsh cry that echoed from two throats, they spasmed against each other, spreading warmth and wetness. Muscles shuddered and quivered, soft cries repeated over and over, until exhaustion demanded silence and stillness.

Jim lay there, sleepy and warm, Blair’s motionless body blanketing him heavily. For the first time in weeks he felt peaceful. He had been given what he wanted, and what he needed. He had been given what he never knew he had wished for. He held on to his partner tightly, and brushed a kiss against Blair’s damp forehead.

"Love you, Blair."

Impossibly blue eyes met his. Dark lashes dipped, then raised. "Love you, too."

He placed a chaste kiss on his partner’s, now lover’s, lips.

Blair sighed. "Jim?"

"Ummm?" He stroked the soft hair tickling his cheek and throat.

"Did you…" Blair swallowed and bit his lip. "Did you plan for this to happen?"

"No, not consciously…" Jim thought for a moment, then gave his lover another, considerably less chaste, kiss. "But I wouldn’t change a thing."

"Me, either." Blair kissed his way down Jim’s throat and chest. Jim groaned and felt a familiar stirring in his gut.

"C’mere…" With gentle but firm hands, he drew Blair back up for a kiss that set both their hearts racing. Rubbing himself against Blair, Jim felt his lover’s renewed arousal. He captured Blair’s hand in his and kissed the fingers, then slid both their hands down between them. His hips began to move slowly, easily, instinctively knowing the rhythm that would be set. Hands moved, muscles stretched and flexed, flesh warmed…

Oh. Yes. More.

The end