FIELD STUDIES

Pivoting on his right foot, Jim swung the ball out of reach of grasping hands and eyed the basket for a split second before lightly springing up and shooting one-handed. The basketball swished through it, nothing but net, putting his team ahead by three points. His success was met by friendly slaps, mutters of approval, and catcalls from the opposing team, led by Blair in full heckle-the-partner mode, meaning most of it was at levels only Jim could hear. The object, of course, was to put him off his game, which he always laughingly argued was hardly fair since he didn't use his gifts during the rounds of hoops they both enjoyed so much.

It was also, in part, a way for them to be together on more than just the buddy level during this particular use of their sparse free time, since they were seldom on the same team. The dozen or so regulars who played pickup with them had learned very quickly that any side that had *both* of them on it, was likely going to be the winner. Jim privately found it entertaining to watch people bicker over who would get which of them, especially when a new guy or one of the occasional players was added to the mix, making ability, or lack of it, an issue. Despite that, almost inevitably, Blair would wind up with the unproven team members, somehow coaxing them into doing their best. The end-result was hard fought, tightly contested games that were both a great workout and great fun for everybody.

In Jim's personal opinion, though, the very best thing about them was the chance to watch Blair at his blair-best: beaming in triumph when he scored, focusing tightly for a free-throw, cheering both sides on and somehow never pissing anyone off. At the moment he and one of the on-again, off-again players were going through lay-ups with each other, while everyone else good-naturedly wrangled over whether Jim's shot was a two-point or three-point basket. Since the hardest guy to get past is one closest to you in build, Blair's impromptu student was a good match for practice.

The man was blond, with the bland good looks that Jim associated with the Midwest for some reason, and working to block Blair with a doggedness that wasn't doing him much good at all. Encouraging him, Blair darted and flitted from side to side, just beyond reach, always slipping around him but not shooting to give him a chance at stopping him. Finally, as the debate began winding down, he leaped, arms over his head, and tossed the ball.

The grace in the action and the perfect line of Blair's arm from shoulder to wrist made Jim's mouth go dry and his gut clench almost painfully in lust. His senses called up the crystal clear memory of Blair's arms stretched up in just that way so he could hold onto the wire railing that served as the headboard to their bed as Jim slid into the welcoming depths of his body. Jim had run his hands from ribs to fingers, and he could all but feel the swell of muscle and flow of sinew flexing under his palms now, fitting them with a rightness that echoed the sweet match of cock to ass.

As if feeling his gaze, Blair looked at him, mid-pass of the ball's return, and smiled, apparently either reading or guessing what was on Jim's mind. He froze in place as Jim loved him with his eyes, imagining Blair naked under him, legs wound around his waist as he rode Blair slowly. Blair's cock would be completely erect, despite the spill of cream on his belly, and he would roll his hips smoothly, leisurely meeting each of Jim's thrusts. Jim could actually feel himself being pulled down into the hot, sweet haven of Blair's body. Only the taut curve of biceps gave away the burning hunger Jim could smell and taste in Blair: that and the tight clasp of Blair's passage around him.

It was enough to make him fight for control so that he could keep the bliss of union with Blair for as long as possible, but Blair loved teasing him into losing it until he pounded away at him, ripping pleasure from both of them. Blair's smile deepened, growing sultry and inviting, and his scent took on a clarity that told Jim a new rush of need had released fresh pheromones. It was hard not giving into that innate plea for more, but Jim held off, relishing that he could arouse Blair so much.

Without warning Blair's expression changed to one of shock and fear, jarring Jim back into the here and now of the basketball court and misty twilight. Dropping to a crouch, one leg out-stretched to the side, fingers of his left hand on the tarmac for balance, with no idea he was going to do it until he did, Jim felt more than he saw a fist sail through where his head had been. His would-be assailant stumbled from his miss, and Jim surged upright, catching him by his shirt and lifting him onto his toes, body close so that he couldn't throw another punch.

Blair rushed up to them before Jim could do more than shake the man once. "Josh, man, what do you think you're doing!?"

Ignoring him, Josh glared at Jim. "What are you, some kind of faggot or something? I saw the way you were staring at Blair - as if you were going to rape him right here on the court."

"As a matter of fact," Jim ground out, "I *am* a faggot, and if I want to stare at my life partner, I'll stare at my life partner. Want to make something out of it?"

Josh's jaw dropped, literally, and he managed an off-kilter twist that let him look at Blair. "You're with him? That's not possible. I saw how you reacted when he undressed you with his eyes."

Gently nudging Jim aside until he released Josh, Blair said, "You misunderstood, that's all. It just catches me off guard sometimes that he can still look at me like that after all the time we've been together."

"I... I..." Josh sputtered, then visibly pulled himself together and glared at Jim. "He's just saying that to protect you."

"From what?" Jim said mildly, though he could feel his jaw muscle jumping.

Josh sputtered again, but bit out, "From being kicked off this court by every *man* on it."

"I've never made a secret of who or what I am." Jim nodded at the other players gathered in a loose circle around them. "Does it look like any of them give a shit about anything except how high I can jump?"

Following his line of sight, Josh checked out the others, his confidence fading at the impatience, indifference, or disapproval on the faces of the others. Only one or two were looking away, as if they wanted to agree, but weren't willing to buck the tide. Long practice guaranteed that Jim had no problem hiding his relief at the support, lukewarm as it was. Another day, a different mix of people, and Josh may well have found the confirmation he'd expected.

To give Josh credit, he pulled it together again. "Maybe I don't want to play with the likes of you."

"Then don't."

Jim turned his back, scooped up the forgotten basketball and, giving his senses free-rein in a way he seldom allowed except on the job, threw it halfway across the court to hit the basket, three points easy if the game had been in progress. He chased to catch it on the rebound, Blair matching him step for step.

Behind him he heard someone say, "If all faggots play like him, the NBA locker rooms must be painted pink with his/his matching towels."

Above that, another voice said, "Hey, I'm open," and the sound of many feet scrabbling over the court drowned out any other comments.

Putting a portion of his attention on the shuffle of bodies and the location of the ball, Jim kept an eye on Josh as he tried to talk to one or two of men he thought had been less accepting, but even they blew him off. Before long the game was going full bore again, and Josh watched for a little while, clearly fuming, before stalking off. Not sure he wouldn't come back, Jim went into sentry mode, all senses tuned to making sure of his partner's safety. Oddly, his game didn't suffer from it, though he had to ride himself hard to make sure he didn't use his natural advantages.

As time went by with no sign of Josh, he relaxed, though not so much that there was a chance of him slipping into another shared zone with Blair. That had happened more and more lately, especially if he was feeling mellow or comfortable, and there was an underlying sense that there was more to the zones than mutual pleasure. He thought Blair shared that hunch, but atypically, Blair hadn't felt the need to talk it through and through, ad nausem. Willingly chalking Blair's silence up to his most recent insight into their connection that allowed him to perceive the zones in the first place, Jim concentrated on scoring, abruptly ready to be home.

His burst of determination seemed to inspire his teammates. After dropping four buckets in a row, they went over twenty-one, winning handily. Appreciation of the camaraderie offered forced Jim to stay through the standard round of comments and bullshit, but, thankfully, he wasn't the only one ready to go. He and Blair made their way through the small group, offering laughing congratulations and false sympathy as appropriate, as those who wanted to continue to play sorted themselves out from the home-bound, then into new teams.

Eventually they were on the sidewalk, and Blair smiled up at him. "I know what you want."

"Good, saves time," Jim teased, catching a curl that had strayed from Blair's ponytail. "How 'bout what you want?"

"Exactly what you imagined me doing - my best to get you to fuck me stupid."

"God." Jim resisted the urge to adjust himself in his running shorts, and made a shooing gesture. "Go. Drive safely. Get home. And no, I don't want to have to run back here to get your Volvo in the morning." Without intending to, his voice dropped into a deeper register, and he added, "And if you ride with me, I don't think we'll make it home without risking charges of public lewdness and indecent exposure."

Blair obeyed, grinning cheekily and dribbling the ball as he went. Jim followed him with his Sight, automatically compensating for the night shadows and too-vivid streetlights, simply for the pleasure of admiring him from the back as he moved. From the saucy bounce in his step, Blair knew perfectly well that Jim was ogling him - and enjoyed it.

A few feet away from the Volvo, a slice of darkness shaped like a man slipped from behind a minivan and trailed after Blair on nearly silent feet. Breaking into a run, Jim started to shout a warning, but held it in rather than alert the unknown; better to wait until he had more of a clue about intent. Blair's stroll lost its bounce, though it stayed unhurried, which was enough to let Jim know his partner had picked up on his alarm. Jim was quickly close enough to identify the stalker, and wasn't at all surprised that it was Josh.

Glancing over his shoulder at Jim before picking Josh out of the night, Blair said, "Hey, there, Josh. Car problems or something?"

Unhappily getting the message that Blair wanted to see what the man had to say for himself, Jim dropped back to a walk, then found his own shadow within an arm's reach of Blair to blend into.

"Wanted to talk to you, that's all," Josh nearly mumbled, apparently disconcerted by being seen before he was ready. He pulled it together again fast, and Jim made mental note that seemed to be a pattern for him. "You're leaving by yourself, in your own car. I knew you were protecting that...."

"I've lived with 'that' for nearly five years," Blair broke in firmly. "And I'll thank you not to dis the most important person in my life to my face."

"But," Josh started with honest sounding bewilderment, which put Jim's hackles up even father up for some reason.

"Our friends joke that we're joined at the hip," Blair went on as if he were the one who'd been interrupted, "But I have work that I need to do on my own, just as he does, and our schedules don't always mesh to the point that we can use the same car. Today we had to go separate ways in the morning and decided to meet at the courts rather than go all the way home, then heading here together."

"But I've seen you checking out women, nearly drooling over them," Josh blurted, hands waving agitatedly. "And you don't look at men at all, even the ones who sneak looks at you."

And why have you been noticing what Blair's noticing? Jim thought, beginning to wish he hadn't left his weapon locked in his truck.

Shrugging carelessly despite the prickles Jim could sense creeping up his neck, Blair juggled the ball from hand to hand. "Habit to an extent, I guess. I've always loved women, and when you're short, nerdy and nearsighted, you don't let guys catch you sneaking peeks, even if they're just from curiosity."

"Bisexuality is a myth, a coward's rationalization of abnormal desires," Joshua said as if reciting from memory. "Even the homosexual community decries it as an attempt to avoid making a stand."

Head tilted to one side, ball coming to rest in the crook of his arm, Blair said, "I could just as easily argue that it's the human norm, pointing to a dozen different historical and cultural precedents to back my opinion. And every group has its radical extremists who want clear lines drawn in the sand, which could probably be traced back to the most basic of all human perceptions - bilateral orientation. Everything is black or white, either/or, yes or no. What concern of it is yours what my sexual orientation is, anyway?"

Jim found it dryly amusing that Josh was as confused and disoriented as anybody else by Blair when he waxed academic before getting to the point. "I only want to help; make him leave you alone. If he's using his size and strength to intimidate you into staying with him, I know people who can hide you, even move against him legally, when you feel up to it."

Sighing gustily, Blair shook his head. "No coercion, man. I love him; he loves me. Which doesn't answer my question. What difference does it make to you? Do you pick people to help at random or something? Acts of kindness, senseless beauty?"

"He's brainwashed you, then," Josh said sadly.

Something in his tone had Jim creeping closer, but Blair only said impatiently, "Poor opinion you have of me if you can only see me as a victim in a relationship I cherish."

With an edge of desperation, Josh leaned into Blair's personal space, and while Blair stood his ground, Jim could see he was finally becoming more freaked than annoyed. "Tell me one thing, honestly, truly, and I promise I'll not only go away and stay away, but I'll apologize to your… partner first. If he wasn't in your life, would you be with a man?" Blair clouded up, and Josh added hastily, "If he died, for instance."

By accident or by lucky guess Joshua hit too close to the one area of Blair's heart that he couldn't easily disclose. He and Jim considered it a blessing that neither would have to endure living without the other, but they had never spoken of it to anyone. Simon had guessed, God forbid Naomi ever did, and by far and large, it was too personal, too *intimate* somehow, for anyone else to know.

Because of that, Blair hesitated a split second too long, and Joshua softly crowed, "I knew it, I knew it."

"Look, I'm more than willing to admit that there's never been another man for me besides Jim, and right now I can't imagine wanting anybody, male or female, if I were to lose him."

Blair's tone held so much pain and sorrow at the very idea that Josh was brought up short before he could say whatever had been on his tongue-tip. Instead he said, "Look, I've been where you are; wanting the wrong thing, believing that I had no choice, lying to myself like a junkie that my needs weren't anybody's business but mine." He produced a sweaty, crumpled card from his jacket. "I found a cure here. These people turned my life around, saved me. It's not easy, parts of it are pure hell, but you'll walk out a new man."

If Josh saw the horror and pity in Blair's expression, he either deliberately misinterpreted or ignored it. Pressing the card into Blair's hand, he said urgently, "Please, think about it, at least?"

Because he could all but taste Blair's sudden longing for his physical presence, Jim materialized out of the night, arm going comfortingly around Blair's shoulder. "Changed my mind about sharing a ride. Want to take the truck or the Volvo?"

Before Blair could answer, Joshua threw a punch, card fluttering to the ground because Blair refused to hold onto it, aiming for Jim's jaw. "Leave him alone!"

This time Jim had more than enough warning and, not caring if he came off as a Neanderthal, he caught the fist in his own, absorbing the impact without a quiver. "That's twice you've tried to cold-cock me," he said so stonily that the man blanched. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't bring you up on charges."

Blair covered their fists with his hands, gently prying them apart, eyes on Jim and speaking volumes that only he could read. Accepting his mate's desire for compassion on Josh's behalf and intuitive certainty that walking away was the right thing to do at the present, Jim let Blair pull him toward the car. He tucked him close to his side, putting himself between Blair and Josh, not caring if the 'phobe saw possessiveness instead of protectiveness.

"You're hurting him!" Josh shouted at their backs. "If you really cared, you'd let him go!"

Unable to resist, Jim said firmly, loudly, "Which one of us does it look like he's trying to get away from?"

That shut Josh up, but Jim waited until Blair was in the driver's seat, engine started, before getting in himself. Once they were on the road, a calming silence enfolded them, tension gradually bleeding away until Blair finally took a long, cleansing breath. He glanced at Jim from the corner of his eye, apparently to double-check that Jim was on the same page with him. "You don't get Josh Healy at all, do you?"

"What's to get? Got to admit I'm curious as to why I'm the fag and you're just deluded, but I don't think it matters in the long run."

"Probably identifying with me too closely," Blair said, almost absently. At Jim's grunt of semi-encouragement, he folded his lips over a smile and said seriously, "If he's in denial about his own sexuality because of some misguided attempt at 'retraining', he's like a convert to a new religion. He honestly feels that everyone who doesn't believe the same as he does is doomed, and the only humane, moral thing to do is convert them to his way of thinking."

"Funny - his attitude struck me more as dog in manager. I can't have what I want and neither can you. Or did it miss your notice that he went off when we acted like lovers, if only for a second?" Jim half-turned on the seat and stretched out an arm along the back of it so that he could play with Blair's ponytail. "And the level of violence was out of proportion to my so-called offenses."

"Yeah, that bothers me, too." Blair dropped his head forward a little as Jim's fingers massaged the back of his skull, visibly soaking in the pleasure from it. "Thank you for not going all cop and arresting him."

"You didn't want me to." Jim put a faintly questioning tone in the statement, truly curious as what was going on with his partner.

Blair turned thoughtful, almost visibly reviewing the confrontations. "I'm not sure why. Maybe because he struck me as the type to go on a political/social crusade if he found out a gay cop was riding with his civilian lover. The Powers That Be might ignore our solve/conviction rate and political correctness if a squeaky wheel got loud enough and nasty enough." He didn't seem to like his own explanation, and admitted, "That's mostly in hind-sight though."

"For what it's worth, I think it was a good call, if for no other reason than because I've got better plans for the evening than doing the paperwork on an assault." Jim ran his thumb lightly over the nape of Blair's neck, then back up to the special spot under his ear, raising goose bumps in his wake.

Blair turned his head and brushed a feather-soft kiss over the inside of Jim's wrist, doing a little bump raising himself, and allowing Jim to divert them into something more pleasant. "Keep that thought, and let me get us home in one piece, okay?"

With a lingering caress over his jaw, Jim pulled himself back into his own space, facing forward. He wasn't going to forget about Healy, of course. Forewarned was forearmed, and he had every intent of discovering exactly how forearmed he needed to be. That was for tomorrow, though. Tonight he wanted to finish what he had started earlier in the realms of his mind, and Blair seemed eager to do so, as well.

The rest of the ride home was filled with small talk about other events of the day, bringing each other up to speed on the minutiae that made up their lives together. Blair's dean was still pressuring him to do the publicity circuit for the Mobile Anthropology Classroom project he'd worked on last year; Jim's suspected arson was officially a case. Simon and Daryl were knocking heads over Daryl's major, with Joel somehow in the middle of it.

Once home, Jim arrowed for the shower while Blair pulled together a snack for them, automatically catching the bottle of water Blair tossed to him from the kitchen. Cleaning up didn't take long, even with a quick shave to get rid of the day's bristle, but he hesitated before leaving the bath. He had a fairly good idea of how the evening was going to progress, but that didn't mean he shouldn't plan for other possibilities. Blair might have his own version of how matters were going to proceed.

Taking the KY out of the vanity drawer, he prepared himself, vaguely surprised, as always, by how much he enjoyed it. He liked it much better when Blair did it as part of their love-making, of course. Yet there was an element of anticipation at his lover's reaction at discovering his readiness that lifted the act from necessity to foreplay.

Once done, he draped a towel around his waist and left, passing Blair in the hallway and stealing a slice of apple along with an apple-flavored kiss. Grinning knowingly, Blair patted the terry cloth covered bulge of Jim's semi hard-on, and completed his own trip to the bathroom, fingernail scraping along his own five o'clock shadow as partial explanation. Detouring to the kitchen long enough to grab a handful of grapes, Jim went upstairs, uncharacteristically dithering for a second before pulling on heavy sweats and going back down to rummage in the fridge for a drink.

Wine struck him as a better accompaniment to the cheese, crackers, and fruit Blair had out, and he occupied himself with opening a bottle while absently tracking his lover with his hearing. When Blair's footsteps stopped in the living room, Jim looked up from his task to ask him to start a fire, and nearly dropped the wine. Blair was dressed in a clean tank and running shorts, as if he were ready to play another round of basketball, complete with his hair tied back and droplets of water from the shower mimicking sweat. He also had his arms stretched over his head as he leaned against one of the support columns of the loft, one wrist loosely clasped in the other hand.

Taking a deep breath, Jim caught the scent of a freshly washed Blair - and lube. Everything forgotten except the vision in front of him, he prowled forward, relishing the way Blair's eyes widened slightly. His mate added a welcoming smile to his pose, not that it was needed, and Jim spared a second to shed clothes before filling his palms with the curve of muscle where arm met the back of shoulders. His thumbs traced the firm line of Blair's pecs, finding their way to his nipples to delineate them under the concealment of his shirt.

Enjoying the teasing quality of not seeing exactly what he was doing, Jim explored as far as the fabric would allow, kneading and lightly scratching, until Blair was panting and arching his back in supplication. Mesmerized by the emotions flickering across Blair's face, Jim sank to his knees, caressing the precious body as if he'd never handled it before. He drew off the running shorts, smoothing a broad path over hips and down thighs, then back up Blair's legs to cup his backside and pull him down astride him. Holding Blair's wrists in his hands, he pinned them against the support column as he surged into him, rubbing his torso over Blair's, Touch demanding more from both of them. They joined in a shock of smooth and slick, the rush of it dear, welcome, necessary.

To Jim's astonishment, his cock wasn't just enclosed in a living sheath of heat - he was pierced by a thick shaft, his opening accepting the phantom eagerly. It was the same for Blair, he knew beyond any doubt. As Blair was entered, he penetrated, as though he were the one to thrust into a willing ass. The pleasure from the twinned consummation didn't simply double. It was multiplied by itself, escalating to climax without allowing so much as a shout or moan from either of them.

Cream spilled, and for the life of him, Jim couldn't tell if it was his into Blair or Blair's into him. Not that he cared; not that it made much of a difference to how aroused he still was. Shaking, he rode out the aftermath of release, ingrained experience making sure he did what was needed to prolong their loving. The intensity dropped enough that they could take a deep breath, Blair's chest moving with his, heart thudding against Jim's in perfect time.

It wasn't the first time they had become so lost in each other and ecstasy that the boundaries of skin blurred. But it was the first time their love-making had *begun* with them completely merged, and Jim was surprised enough to slow his movements, automatically snagging his sweatpants and using them as padding for Blair's back. He brushed sweat-damp locks away from Blair's forehead and the echo of it along his own nerves sent tingles skittering along his spine.

Dazed, Blair stared at him, hips rocking convulsively for both of them. Thinking was almost impossible with the constant input from Blair and his own flesh, yet, as he watched, reason slowly filled Blair's eyes, intellect taking a solid hold. Wriggling from the grip on him, he wound his arms around Jim's neck, fingers petting reassuringly.

"Not that I'm complaining," Blair gasped out. "But what's going on with you? This evening was the third time in two weeks we've shared a zone...."

"Fourth," Jim corrected absently, nosing at Blair's curls. "The Italian restaurant? Your sudden taste for something else entirely?"

"Oh, yeah!" Blair grinned reminiscently. "I'm never going to look at manicotti the same way again." Stubbornly he went back on topic. "And now we're, ah, bleeding into each other's awareness at the beginning of a session, instead of when we're close to coming. Any idea why?"

Unwillingly, but because Blair asked, Jim considered the question, withdrawing into himself as if one of his senses needed to be dialed up or down. What he found was inchoate, though powerful for all that, and he floundered, suddenly swamped with a yearning he had no name for. Pulling back to look into Blair's eyes to see if he had that same feeling, Jim had to stomp down on the sharp bite of disappointment and frustration. As if it would help communicate what was inside him, he cupped the side of Blair's face in his palm, almost forcefully, and *willed* his mate to perceive what he did.

Blair only continued to project patience and mild confusion, with a subtle hint of waiting.

Of course, Jim thought, killing another sharp bite - this one of hurt. As far as our bond goes, it's not been that long since he saw it only as a necessary evil. It's not fair to expect anything more than grudging acceptance from him, and it beats the hell of out denial and distrust, the way it was in the beginning.

"Jim?" Blair's radiant happiness dimmed fractionally, and Jim reminded himself sternly that Blair was extremely perceptive in other ways.

Alone in his own body again, Jim shook his head sheepishly. "I'm sorry. Whatever it is, I can't get a handle on it."

"And now I've spoiled the mood. Damn, sometimes my timing really sucks."

Grateful that Mother Nature had her own priorities, Jim pumped up into him, sighing. Even without their connection, sex was still incredible. "Just temporarily derailed, I think. Maybe move to a more comfortable locale?"

Wincing, Blair rotated his shoulders, leaning away from the support. "Good idea."

Kissing him to soothe the loss, Jim eased out, then led the way upstairs after grabbing their snack. Before long they were feeding each other tidbits from their fingertips and lips, and not much longer after that Blair gave him a sweet, leisurely fucking, bring them both off in a very satisfactory fashion. Blair settled happily down on Jim's back, nodding off almost instantly.

As he drifted off to sleep himself, Jim probed at the longing tucked into the depths of his heart, much the same way he might prod at a sore tooth with his tongue. It didn't seem to be a big deal, mostly reminding him of when he'd been married to Carolyn and been deprived of blow jobs because she was disgusted by the idea. Nothing he couldn't live without, he decided groggily. As long as shared zones were the only symptom, and they didn't happen at inconvenient or dangerous times, nothing he had to worry about, either. He faded into slumber, taking one last, rueful poke before going.

Blair loved him awake the next morning, moving in and out languorously until Jim's libido caught up and put him on all fours, demanding a hard, fast pounding. As good as it was, it left them running behind schedule, which Blair laughingly apologized for over and over as he scrambled around fixing them a breakfast to go. By the time they were in the truck and trying to move from lovers to partners, Jim had all but forgotten his odd discovery.

It took pulling up in front of the burned out husk of a four-story building for them to make the transition completely. Blair studied the ruins dubiously, but got out of the truck without hesitation. "Fire Chief okay'd us checking it out?"

"As long as we're careful." Jim led the way to where Mitchell had told him the center of the blast had been, warily picking his steps. "In fact, the stability of the wreckage was his first clue that it was arson. Apparently it was a very precisely, very carefully shaped fire bomb that did this; arsonist didn't even try to hide that the fire was deliberately set."

"Owner's usually the first suspect. Motive?" Blair asked, obviously to help Jim focus on the matter at hand.

Shaking his head, Jim squatted down in the middle of a circle of dark char, gaze sweeping in a search pattern. "Nothing that jumps at me. Business was successful; this will hurt more than the insurance money will compensate for. On the other hand, his competitors aren't doing so badly that this was a necessary step for them. Renters on the other floors don't have a beef about him as a landlord. No obvious enemies, except maybe his wife if she finds out about the affair he's having, and my take on her is that the alimony would be more important than revenge."

"Alimony she won't get as much of if she has the business torched," Blair said in understanding. "The affair admitted, suspected, or your personal take based on senses?"

"Personal."

A hint of something, not Sight, nagged at Jim, and he cycled through his other senses trying to define what it was. Blair's fingers crept onto the nape of his neck, massaging lightly, instantly coaxing more clarity from Jim's abilities. Taking a deep breath, intending to use it to center himself, the faintest of scents made Jim rethink his decision and he inhaled again. "Death," he muttered. "It smells like a body was here, at least two days dead."

"According to the report, they didn't find any remains," Blair said uncertainly.

Getting up to slowly circumnavigate the blast center, Jim tried to piggyback Sight and Scent, but the smell was too diffuse. As diffuse, in fact, as the stink of the explosive itself. "How much would be left if the bomb were planted on, or even in a corpse?" he asked himself out loud, squatting down in the middle again. He re-calculated the damage, weighing it against what he knew about the explosives used to create it. "Big blast despite how tightly focused it was."

"Enough to vaporize the body?" Blair asked calmly, despite the leap in his heartbeat and respiration.

"Maybe, maybe." Jim straightened.

"Could be the mistress is the one with issues." Blair turned in a small circle, gaze restlessly flitting over the piles of debris. "This could fall under the heading of a woman scorned."

"Time for..." As if speaking of him called him up, Jim heard the owner, Roger Travis, shout incoherently in the distance. Hand on his gun, Jim ran sure-footed through the wreckage, toward the sound, aware of Blair in his wake, slowing as he spotted Travis and another man in the abandoned lot behind the damaged building. Several stacks of refuse, obviously made by people during the early stages of the blaze in an attempt to save some belongings, created a maze that Jim couldn't see over, just through in places.

It gave them cover, and apparently gave Travis and company confidence that no one would see or hear them. A mistake, as by now even Blair had to be able to make out the angry words being exchanged. Or, at least, Travis was angry; the other guy seemed more amused than anything else.

"You said you wanted it taken care of with no way to trace it back to you," the unknown man said dismissively. "Done and done. No forensics, no body, no evidence, and even if the cops eventually suspect you had something to do with Terry's disappearance, no way to prove it."

"Damn it, Mitch," Travis shouted. "I just wanted you to dump the corpse somewhere after you cleaned up. She deserved a decent burial, for her family to know that she was gone and mourn her properly. Bad enough she died the way she did, but that was an accident pure and simple. No reason to add insult to injury."

"If it was an innocent accident, you would have called the cops right away, instead of calling me." Mitch shrugged broad shoulders, hands in his pockets. He looked very much like a high-school jock being called on the carpet by his coach, right down to the blond good-looks and unremorseful attitude.

Travis ran his hand through his thinning sandy hair, muttering, "It wasn't the cops that had me worried, but my wife. No way to hide that Terry and I were seeing each other if the cops were dragged in, giving that bitch I married all she needed to have me by the balls in a divorce settlement, which is what she's wanted all along."

"If that's the case, I'll do her for you, too," Mitch offered in a way that chilled Jim and sent a shudder through Blair. "Same way."

"What!" Travis exploded, chubby body practically vibrating with rage and pacing as much as he could in the small space. "I don't want anybody dead; not even her. I don't want good people losing their jobs or business or home because you set fire to another a building. I don't want to give the cops another reason to look at me any harder than they're going to. Christ! All I wanted was a discreet clean-up!"

Mitch sullenly kicked at a water-logged couch sitting on its end, toppling off the equally water-logged cushions piled on top of it, and Jim grimaced at the disgusting sound it made. "My way is safer, better. I do another couple of buildings, it looks like a firebug is in town, not a professional torch. You said yourself it'll be a few days before your girlfriend's missed. By the time the cops sort through the new cases, they'll have no reason to connect her to your fire."

"No, damn it, didn't you hear a word I said? No, no, no." Travis beat on his own head with his fists. "Oh, fuck me, why did I have to call my sister and spill my guts to her? I love her, God knows I love her, but she's just like you: cold-bloodedly practical and indifferent to anyone or anything that's in her way."

Turning a maniacal grin on him, Mitch said, "That's why you called her, and you know it. Now deal with the consequences. You get investigated too closely, they'll find Mom, and then they'll find me, so we do it my way. Don't worry. By the time I'm done, you'll be the last person on anybody's suspect list, even the insurance adjusters."

Despite the grip he had locked into Jim's belt, Blair began to inch away, cell phone out to call back up, with his attention solely on Travis. Not sure what had his partner worried, Jim narrowed his sensory focus on Mitch, jaw going tight when he smelled gun oil and powder. Drawing his own weapon, he crept forward, looking for the best vantage point to cover Mitch. Just before they *had* to separate, Jim brushed his thumb over the back of Blair's hand, and caught his wrist to give a gentle, 'I love you,' tug. Blair flashed a fleeting smile at him, then both reacquired their targets.

It all took less time than Travis needed to get nose-to-nose with Mitch. "For the last time, no! I mean it!" He swung away and went back to pacing. "I'm going to do what I should have done from the first instead of letting my own version of the family practicality run my brains. I'll cop to Terry's death and to the fire, which might not have been my idea, but is still my responsibility. That'll keep you and your mother out of it."

"What if I want to set a few fires?" Mitch said petulantly, like a three-year-old being refused a treat. "I drove all this way; I want to make it worth my while."

"Do it somewhere else! And if you drive back out of town, right *now,* it'll be that much easier to alibi you if it comes to that!"

Back to his nephew as he walked, apparently working up the courage to act on his decision, Travis missed Mitch's expression turning hard and unforgiving. It didn't look to Jim as if Mitch trusted Travis to stay silent about his involvement, family or not. Or he simply wasn't going to be denied his fun.

Taking out his gun, Mitch muttered, "Mom is going to have a cow."

Before he could aim, Jim stood straight, gun held regulation style. "Freeze! Cascade Police!"

It probably only took Mitch a split second to realize that Jim must have heard some, if not all, of his conversation with Travis, and that he was likely going to jail no matter what. Jim saw it set it in, saw the 'what the hell' attitude take hold, and knew that Mitch was going to pull the trigger on his uncle before taking a shot at Jim. As his finger tightened, the world slowed down to special effect speeds, and Jim could see that, even if he shot the gun out of Mitch's hand, the bullet would have already been fired, and he could tell from the angle that Travis would take it in the chest.  Blair was in position to tackle Travis to remove him from the line of fire, but would be a heartbeat too late to save his life.

Without conscious thought, Jim shifted his aim by fractions of fractions, firing before Travis by the same infinitesimal amount, though the two shots sounded like one. Diving low, Blair took Travis down at the knee as bullet met bullet, one shattering to fragments that grazed Travis' cheek, the other ricocheting harmlessly high over the falling men.  Jim shot again, this time at Mitch's gun, causing his second shot to tumble wide as the gun fell to the ground.

Shaking suddenly numb fingers, Mitch turned astonished eyes to Jim, and the world went back to normal speed.  Moving forward, weapon still at the ready, Jim barked, "Hands over your head, now!"

Mitch snarled and dived for his piece, but Blair had already swept it into a pile of refuse.  He went for Blair, whether for homicidal purposes or for a hostage Jim neither knew nor cared, and he fired, deliberately grazing Mitch's arm.  Screaming, Mitch balled up, randomly kicking and punching at thin air, making cuffing him a serious problem.  With disgusted resignation, Jim managed, telling himself that it was okay to enjoy using brute force on the brat to completely restrain him as long as he didn't prolong the process.

Blair flashed amused approval at him, though his attention was ostensibly on giving first aid to Travis, who seemed to be in shock.  His silent assessment of his still struggling nephew was as exhausted as it was despondent.  Finally he said quietly "You two heard?"

"Yeah, 'fraid so," Blair answered just as quietly.

"No, it's a good thing."  Travis slumped.  "Might as well get it all out.  Terry liked it rough once in a while, liked the way it made her feel really alive after.  Her husband's chronic with Parkison's - been impotent for a couple of years.  He knows about us.  Can't say he approves, but he understands, especially since we went out of our way to reassure him it was only about sex as far as we were concerned."

Neutrally, Blair said, "Lot of trust in that marriage.  I take it something went wrong?"

"Damn scarf pulled too tight, and I couldn't get it undone fast enough.  Didn't help that I didn't notice until almost too late."  Travis absently smudged blood away from the corner of his mouth. "I should be the poster boy for not thinking with your dick, because that's the only reason I'm sitting here in the mud waiting to be arrested."

"Speaking of which," Jim said, surprising himself by sounding kindly about it, "You have the right to remain silent...."

Backup arrived as he finished reading the man his rights, and Jim helped him to his feet before turning him over to a uniform, all the while ignoring the ever-growing hysterics from Mitch.  Hoping that he wasn't planning on an insanity plea, Jim watched with a weather eye while the officers approached Mitch.  A second later he shook his head.  Once it was obvious that it was move on his own or be lugged around like unwanted baggage, Mitch was all cheerful cooperation, babbling the usual disclaimers about misunderstandings and a rabid cop giving the entire force a reputation for brutality.

A uniform caught Jim's gaze, gave a commiserating shrug and a thumb's up.  Jim sent an answering 'what can you do?' look, and turned to find that Blair had seen the by-play, tolerant exasperation in place.  It was justified, of course, because if he hadn't given Jim a clear field by taking care of Travis, the whole thing would have gone down very differently.  Letting his appreciation and gratitude blatantly show, Jim smiled at his partner, as proud as ever at having such a clever, fast-thinking mind at his back.  Almost blushing at the praise, Blair's expression changed, reflecting warm pleasure.

More than likely Simon would have a good word - gruff and off-the-cuff as he would try to make it - for Blair as well, and if he didn't, Jim would have a thing or two to say about it. Blair deserved the acknowledgement. All too often he had to down-play his own role on cases or stay in background rather than have the wrong people question why Major Crimes' civilian consultant was in on a bust, even though the major break in the case came from that self-same consultant.

Shaking his head, face a fiery red now, Blair gestured 'stop, enough already.'

Not ready to give up the rare sight of a speechless, shyly pleased Blair, Jim cocked his eyebrow at him as if he didn't understand the silent message and wanted Blair to repeat himself. Before their by-play could go farther, a loud shout cut through their moment, slamming into Jim and jarring him back to where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Almost automatically he sought out the source of the raucous exchange, saw that Mitch and Travis had gotten within punching distance of each other and were fighting restraints and cops to do bodily harm to one another. He broke into a run, filling in Blair as he shot past, and shoved down the worry about zoning on emotion - while in the field, for god's sake! - until he was able to deal with it. Sometime in his next life would be good, he thought wildly, then put everything he had into wading into the mass of struggling bodies and setting them to order.

***

After a morning spent picking his way through the ruins of a burned out building and tackling the owner before he could be killed, Blair was grateful for the cocoon of 'normal' his office hours often gave him. Clicking his stopwatch, he said softly, "Time," and set it on his desk in front of him.

Bev sighed deeply, put down her pencil and picked up the test paper to hand it to him. "I only answered five."

Glancing over the sheet, Blair said, "But you put your key words in on every one, and showed order of importance for them, just like I said you should. Did it help?"

"A lot, actually," Bev said, mood picking up considerably. "Part of it was knowing that I'd already started an answer, but mostly it was seeing them there in front of me when I went back. Made it a hell of lot less intimidating."

"I'll give you partial credit for unfinished answers, and so will other teachers." Blair wrote a few comments, absently waving to a TA passing his open door. "The thing is, you're an anthropology major, Bev. You have to be able to communicate your observations and conclusions. That's the purpose of essay tests. Contrary to common belief, they're not tools of torture designed to amuse the staff on dateless Friday nights."

Laughing, Bev took back the paper when Blair offered it back to her. "The thing is, I *can* when I'm not in a classroom. My term papers all get high marks. I guess I have to plod through the whole writing process, instead of zipping through like everybody else."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Blair said encouragingly.

He started to add more, but Josh Healy appeared at the threshold of Blair's office, expression hang-dog and somehow furtive. Disheveled, shirttail half-untucked and cuffs loose over his hands, he looked as if he'd been in a scuffle with someone - an impression backed up by a few drops of still red blood on one sleeve. Initially irritated by the sight of him, Blair carefully hid his growing concern and rose to escort Bev out of his office.

"I'm sorry; my next appointment is here. Is there anything else I can help you with?" He put himself between Bev and Josh, and once she was in the hallway, he waved Josh inside.

"You've already been a huge help, Dr. Sandburg. The pointers you've given me will make a big difference in my grades on the next round of exams." To Blair's relief she spotted a friend at the other end of the corridor, and called out to her as she ran in that direction. "Thanks, again," she sang out over her shoulder.

"You're welcome!" Blair watched her go to make sure she was safely out of reach, then stepped back into his office, hesitating only a second before shutting the door firmly.

"You really are a teacher, a professor here?" Josh sounded awed and deferential, as if he were groupie addressing a celebrity.

"Of Anthropology," Blair confirmed. More as a delaying tactic than because he wanted to be hospitable, he gestured toward his coffee maker before going over to it and filling his mug. "Would you like a cup? Or I have hot water and tea if you prefer."

Mumbling, staring at the floor, Josh said, "No, no thank you." He brushed a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, and Blair could see 'fight bites' on his knuckles. "You don't have to worry; I won't tell anybody about, uh, you know, that, uh, your, uh, significant other is a guy."

"They already know." Blair took his unwanted coffee and sat behind his desk. Holding up his arm so the gold bracelet around the wrist was obvious, he added, "I'm not officially out of the closet or anything, but between this and bringing Jim to all the faculty family events, the clue bus doesn't have far to go if anyone is wondering." Josh managed to look more surprised which cranked up both Blair's annoyance and his concern, making his next question blunt. "How did you find me?"

"Uh, parking permit on your car." Josh swept his hand through his hair again, shuffling from foot to foot. "Thought you might be an employee, like a counselor or something, or maybe taking night classes. The attitude most schools have about gays - it never occurred… Anyway, the woman at the personnel office didn't want to tell me anything, said it was policy. I'm afraid I lost my temper with her; things were ugly until she cooperated. I'll have to make restitution for that, I know."

Forcing down a swallow past the huge knot in his throat, Blair somehow managed to say calmly, "Why were you looking?"

Putting a battered business card on Blair's desk, Josh said, "To give you this; you dropped it last night."

Not touching it, Blair shook his head. "I don't want it or need it."

"Blair," Josh said desperately. "They can help!"

Putting his mug down, Blair leaned forward, tapping the desktop for emphasis. "I. Don't. Need. Help. I love my work, I'm respected in my field, I have a wonderful partner, and we share a comfortable, happy home. Thank you for your concern, but it's misplaced."

"Why are you deliberately blinding yourself to the danger, the disgust, the, the *wrongness* of how you've chosen to live? I heard you with that student. You're so obviously a caring, giving man. You deserve so much better than being treated like a queer." Josh paced as much as he could in the small space in front of the door.

Blair wanted very badly to ask why he was so intent on 'saving' him, but a gut feeling told him he didn't want Josh to look too deeply at his own motivation right now. Instead he said carefully, "I'm not blind to it - I deal with it a half dozen times a day, everything from comments made just loud enough for me to 'overhear' to blatant mistreatment. The thing is, I've always had to deal with that sort of garbage. My mom has never been married, I'm Jewish, and, let's face it, being short and nerdy has its stigma as well."

Stopping in his tracks, Josh stared at him so reverently it made Blair want to squirm. Rather than give into it or let him go back to trying to persuade Blair to his way of thinking, Blair asked, "You said the retraining was hell. Could you tell me about it? Give me an idea of what's expected?"

Obviously taking it as a positive sign, Josh sat down, hands and voice eager. What he had to say about his own experiences sorrowed Blair deeply even as his fear grew stronger. Most of what was done to him was closer to torture than anything else, yet Josh spoke of it as enthusiastically as if he were describing learning how to drive or dance.

When he finally wound down, Josh pushed the business card closer to Blair. "Please. At least go for a visit."

Not in this lifetime, Blair thought. Aloud, he said, "You had to have been really motivated to endure that. May I ask what was behind it?"

For a moment Josh went blank, but Blair could almost see rage licking around the edges of that denial. "My family," Josh said slowly. "I... I wanted to spare them the shame, make them proud of me again. My dad especially... we were so close before he discovered the bad choice I made."

"Did the choice have a name?" Blair asked, suspecting that there was more to the story by the depth of the anger he sensed, and by Josh's attitude about Jim.

Clearly startled, Josh shook his head, but his fists clenched. "Todd was just an excuse. I made my own choices."

"Choices can be influenced. Isn't that what you're trying to do with me?"

"I... it's not the same."

"No, because I know my own mind. I'm not young or confused by my hormones or intimidated or flattered." Blair waved at the card between them, not willing to touch it even to send it back Josh's way. "Every twelve step program, every technique designed to change bad habits or addictions, starts with the same bottom line. You have to want to change. Is this program any different?"

"No," Josh said sullenly.

"Then it won't work for me. I'm sorry; I cherish my life just as it is." Because it was the only thing he could think of that might derail the man's fixation on him, Blair added sincerely, if misleadingly, "I promise, I *promise,* that if things change, that if I ever need to, I'll find those people, or ones like them."

Beaming at him, Joshua stood, but left the card where it was. "You just took a very important first step. When you're ready for the next, I'll be there for you."

Seeing a familiar silhouette against the glass of his office door, Blair exhaled in relief. "Thank you. In the meantime, I believe it's time for you to leave and face the consequences of whatever happened at the personnel office."

Glancing over his shoulder, Joshua's upper lip curled contemptuously. "Your so-called wonderful partner must keep a pretty close watch on you if he shows up as soon as you're behind closed doors with another man."

"You have no idea how wrong - and how right you are," Blair muttered, more to himself than Josh. Speaking more distinctly, he said, "Actually, I'm guessing he's here pretty much in his official capacity."

Calmly swinging the door wide, Jim said to someone hidden protectively behind Suzanne Tomaki, head of campus security, "Is this the person, ma'am?"

"My God, yes, yes it is," an unknown woman said.

Jim took out his badge and held it up for Josh to goggle at. "I'm Detective Ellison, with Cascade P.D. You're under arrest for assault and battery, with intent to kill, on Mrs. Minerva Schooner."

"Mrs. Schooner!" Blair burst out, finally free to release the worry and fear he'd stifled while playing for time until Jim got there. In a second he was in front of Josh, shoving him in the shoulder. "You beat up on a woman who's barely five feet tall and weighs ninety pounds on a good day? And you think *I* need help? Don't you ever, ever, *ever* come near me again, you, you, hypocrite."

Taking advantage of the distraction - and Josh's dismayed confusion - Jim quickly cuffed him, reciting him his rights, while Blair fumed. With a hidden nudge, Jim sent Blair toward Suzanne, reminding him of what had to be done. Blair hastily summoned enough composure to handle bureaucratic necessities when all he really wanted to do was drag Jim to a dark corner somewhere, wrap himself around him, and shake for a week or so.

"How is Minerva?" Blair asked, first things first.

Frowning, Susanne glared at Josh. "On her way to Mercy General. I'm no paramedic, but the EMT crew was worried. One of my men is with her, and I'll be on my way there soon. First I want to escort this young lady down to the station to file her statement. She was the one who dialed 911, then the security guards when she walked in on the middle of the attack."

"Thank you." Blair included the student shrinking back against the wall as if to escape notice. Respecting her reticence and bodily shielding her from Josh's view as he twisted to keep Blair in his sights while Jim led him away, he said lightly to Suzanne, "It is procedure now to call Major Crimes every time there's a disturbance on campus?"

Suzanne snorted inelegantly. "More like Dispatch automatically contacts Ellison whenever our caller i.d. shows up on their system! Seriously, Blair, the guy left your file open, so I knew he was looking for you. Then I got a call from the Anthro secretary telling me you closed your door and you never do that without telling her who you're with and why because of that business a few years ago when a student kidnapped you. I was running for here when your partner screeched to a stop in front of the building."

"And I thought Jim was being ridiculously paranoid when he suggested I set up that fail-safe with Nancy." Blair ran his fingers through his hair, sagging against the wall.

"It's a sensible precaution; the work you do with the police has its risks." Suzanne wrapped an arm around her witness and guided her down the hall. "Personally, I think it's more than worth it for the good you do, reams of paperwork it causes aside."

"Paperwork!" Blair moaned. "I just spent the entire morning wading through triplicates of triplicates - and that was just for being a witness! Can you imagine what I'm going to have to go through for this mess?"

"Wait'll you see what you're going to have to fill out for the U."

She laughed at Blair's expression, as did her witness, as he meant for them to. Trailing after them, he worked to keep the banter going and his suspicion that he wasn't through with Josh yet shoved down to where he didn't have to think about it.

***

Blair drifted into wakefulness, aware, at first, only of warmth and comfort. When more of his brain came online, he leaned up to peek over Jim's shoulder at the alarm clock, blinking to make it out clearly in the gray of the early dawn. There was another twenty or so minutes before it would go off: not long enough to bother trying to go back to sleep. Besides, he was *awake* awake. He supposed he should go ahead and get up, maybe make something special for breakfast since he had extra time.

Settling back down into Jim's embrace, Blair nuzzled into the hollow of Jim's throat and snuggled closer. A heavy rain was pelting down on the skylight overhead, and he could hear the distant rumble of thunder. Naw. He wasn't going anywhere until he had to. Who in their right mind would want to face that when they had a warm Jim to curl around?

Inhaling to sigh with deep contentment, Blair thought for the umpteenth time that an early-morning Jim smelled absolutely wonderful. He kissed the skin closest his mouth, mentally adding that he tasted pretty damned good, too. In fact, there was a great deal about being wrapped in the essence of a peacefully sleeping Jim that Blair appreciated, and he traced a feather-light line over the pec under his hand, savoring the satin-and-steel texture. His morning hard-on twitched eagerly, and he squirmed to find the perfect place for it between Jim's thigh and his own tummy.

Jim tightened his arms around him slightly, shifting a little as if to fit them together even better.

"You awake?" Blair murmured, nosing his way to one of Jim's nipples.

"mmmmm…"

"Close enough."

Giving the nub the tiniest of cat-licks, Blair brought it up to a hot, tight peak, petting and stroking at random on Jim's body. Jim murmured nonsensically and cupped the back of Blair's head to hold him to his task, fingers of his free hand playing with his curls. There was a dreamy, languid quality to his caresses that melted into Blair, turning up his libido to high even as he unhurriedly made his way to the other tit to give it a fair share of his attention.

His own nipples ached in sympathy with Jim's, begging with twinges and sharps tugs of desire for the same treatment. Blair rubbed his chest over Jim's muscular stomach to appease them, but only teased himself into wanting more. As if reading his mind - or at least his needs - Jim coaxed him upward, claiming his mouth for a series of long, deep kisses before nipping his way down to Blair's chest. His lips fastened over one pap, already sucking strongly, and Blair groaned, all notions of a long, slow comfy fuck vanishing under a wave of demanding lust.

Cradling Blair's ass cheeks in his palms, Jim probed teasingly at Blair's pucker and pulled him against him, setting a liquid, tantalizing rocking into motion. Nipples, mouth and center all combined to create drifts of exquisite pleasure that lifted Blair higher and higher, until he unexpectedly burst into ecstasy. Panting, quivering, he rode out the aftershocks, barely aware of anything but his incredible release and Jim's continued loving.

His head eventually cleared, and he carded his fingers through the short nap at the back of Jim's neck, expecting his lover to shift position so that he could find his own release. Jim muttered his enjoyment of the caress, but went on licking and nibbling along Blair's front, daintily cleaning up his cream. Gingerly, Blair ran a knee over Jim's thigh and hip, and discovered that not only hadn't he come yet, but that he wasn't even hard. Not that it seemed to make a difference to his leisurely exploration of Blair's body.

He knew this sensual absorption; knew it well from their early years together when Jim was learning how to connect sentinel needs to male hungers. It was rare to see it now that those lessons had been learned, and it usually happened when circumstances - or Jim, himself - was playing havoc with his senses. Confused because life had been hectic lately, but they had dealt with worse without any sentinel complications, Blair searched his mind for a possible cause for Jim's regression.

All he could find was calling Jim on their shared zones a little over a week ago. Jim *had* confessed something was going on with him, but typically, he hadn't been able to find words to discuss it. At the time Blair had been confident that they'd resort to their established pattern of Jim dropping hints and acting out until Blair was able to add it all together and explain it for both of them. But the zones had simply stopped, and Jim was his usual self instead of withdrawn or irritable. Maybe they hadn't made love since that night, but that was attributable to their schedule and Jim had been as hands-on as always.

Hoping to find a clue to what was going on, Blair put the crook of his forefinger under Jim's chin and coaxed him upwards. He came willingly enough, though it was obvious that he meant to find Blair's lips and take them in more drugging kisses. Before he could, Blair caught his gaze ...

... and fell into the endless blue of Jim's eyes. Jim had no barriers up, no smoke-screen for Blair to interpret, just himself - good, bad, and all the rest. Though he had been able to read Jim better than anyone, right from the first, this was his first unimpeded look into the man's soul. If he hadn't already given himself to him, Jim could have had him right then and there, no doubts and no regrets.

Awed, he looked his fill for a small eternity, gradually becoming aware of a nameless yearning dominating this unique union. It tugged painfully at his heart, and he whispered so softly that the words were barely shaped by his lips, "What do we need?"

"Safety," Jim answered without a sound. "Privacy. Time. Comfort. Willingness."

"What will happen?"

Jim blinked, shuttering the vista within him, and showing only the love and desire that was an integral part of him. "Pleasure," he said roughly, leaning in to seal his mouth to Blair's.

It was a truthful answer, if not a completely honest one, Blair decided. He braced himself to give as good as he got and still hang onto the presence of mind to purse his questioning. However, Jim had his own plans. Covering Blair's body with his own, Jim tangled his fingers in Blair's hair at the side of his head, tongue and hips beginning the ancient rhythms of sex, despite the lack of a hard-on.

It was a siren's call almost impossible to ignore, and Blair would have been lost if the alarm hadn't gone off. Groaning in disappointment, Jim slapped at it to turn it off before sagging onto Blair, obviously sweeping him with his senses. "Damn - you're not close enough to finish before we'd be running seriously late, are you?"

Hugging him with all four limbs, Blair said truthfully, "Nowhere near, I'm sorry to say, despite how much fun I'm having. How 'bout you? You haven't gotten off at all, so far."

"Enjoying the trip too much to worry about the end," Jim admitted easily. He burrowed his nose into Blair's collarbone. "You taste and smell so damned good, and I can't seem to get enough of it this morning."

"Straight home this evening, and straight upstairs?" Blair suggested mischievously.

With obvious reluctance, Jim pulled away. "If you like, I'll treat you to a big lunch late, so skipping dinner won't be a problem."

Mentally reviewing his schedule, Blair said, "Call it a date, then. After court and before we tackle the Peterson case again?"

Jim nodded his agreement and countered with an offer of a ride to work and to pick him up for their date, already involved in his morning routine. They meshed the changes and their day together effortlessly with playful banter and their normal conversational give and take, but Blair never lost sight of the gift he had been given that morning or Jim's apparent amnesia about it ever happening. It would have given Blair cause for alarm if he had felt the vaguest suggestion of unhappiness or hurt from his partner. As it was, he was willing to be patient and bask in the good mood they were both in from their early awakening.

Halfway to the campus Dispatch contacted Jim, sending him to the site of another suspected arson, this time with fatalities. A few minutes later Simon called to confirm it was the same M. O. as the fire last week, right down to the owner being Roger Travis. One of the victims was tentatively identified as Mrs. Travis. Jim was silent for a very long moment, then said, "Want to bet that his nephew, Mitch Whalen is alibied so tight that God would have to buy it, and Mr. Travis is permanently missing?"

Blair could easily hear Simon's, "Damn. You think he..."

Stopping at a light, Jim switched the phone to his other hand so he could hold Blair's, studiously not looking at him. "Yeah, I do. From everything we've learned about his probable crimes, covering his tracks by offering up a better suspect is exactly his style. That's why the DA fought so hard to get bail denied and was so pissed when it wasn't." Squeezing Blair's fingers gently, he added, "Tell Serena to run the same trace element test she ran at the other fire's blast center - the one that looks for chemical markers for humans. And to send in cadaver dogs to search for fragments of human remains."

Swallowing hard and feeling more than a little green, Blair said fiercely, "Don't even *think* of ditching me now. Any chance you have of picking up clues to how Whalen did it will depend on being able to use your senses at their best, which isn't going to be easy at a the scene of a fire, since, next to a dumpster or sewer, it's the worst possible environment for you to work in."

Apparently giving Simon half an ear, Jim snuck a side-long glance at Blair, meant to convey We'll talk about it after I've dropped you at Rainier.

Sending him a stubborn glare in return, Blair said as clearly as if he spoken, We'll argue about it at the crime scene.

Jaw muscle throbbing, Jim wordlessly shot back, You have classes this morning and office hours before and after.

Class isn't for three more hours, and everybody knows my morning hours are catch as catch can. I am not letting you open yourself wide in the middle of that chaos without me there to watch your back just because my stomach doesn't like the possibility of finding body parts, Blair stared back just as silently.

The light changed, Jim shut his phone and took back his hand to drive - heading away from Rainier. Oddly there was a quirk of a smile in place, as if their mini-argument had reinforced his world view or something, and Blair had to smile himself. How many people could have *and* end a fight without ever saying a word?

His smugness faded as they pulled up in front of the burnt building. From the outside, the only sign of the blaze was broken windows and soot streaks, and a quick conversation with the fire chief confirmed most of the damage was confined to the first floor warehouse area. Giving him the usual promises about being careful, Jim let and went straight to where the fire had started.

"Mitch Whalen likes to stick with what he knows, with what's worked for him in the past," Jim said, mostly to himself. "Travis left his lover's body on the floor next to his couch, where she fell when things went wrong, then Whalen just put the bomb on top of it. Let's say he meets his uncle here, or maybe sneaks in on him with the soon-to-be ex's help and takes them both out. He leaves her where her body can be found, but plants his device on his uncle's corpse to make it disappear."

"Used a timer to help establish an alibi?" Blair suggested softly as Jim scanned their surroundings.

"By his own words, no forensics, no evidence, no case," Jim reminded him. "The timer and detonator are usually the only parts of the bomb that survive more or less intact. If he went that route, he's counting on us not recognizing the timer as one."

"The bomb itself was inherently unstable, then? Like nitro balanced on the edge of a table?"

"Huh. Good suggestion, Chief. We'll have to run it by Serena and company." Jim sounded distracted, grimacing as one of his senses reported in.

"Jim?"

"Decay - much stronger than at the last blast. I think Mitch may want Travis identified. Maybe he thinks he can make a case for his uncle planting the bombs, and this time he was careless and got caught in the explosion. Without the uncle to confirm what we heard, a good lawyer can convince a jury that we overheard and misunderstood a family argument, or so Mitch may be telling himself." Jim stood, focusing on a spot a few feet behind Blair. Taking out his cell phone, he called Serena, and used a pen he took from his pocket to lift a piece of debris to one side. "I've found what might be part of a corpse. Just a piece of flesh, but the location suggests it's not from one of the bodies found elsewhere in the building."

To Blair it looked like a blob of hamburger with a bit too much fat in it. Left on the counter all night long. Where the rats could get at it.

Cursing his own imagination, he bolted, automatically re-tracing his steps for safety's sake, until he was outside and across the street. Mercifully the run helped him beat down the waves of nausea, but he still had to lean over, fists braced on his knees, and forcefully remind himself to breathe correctly. He couldn't, and a moment later his legs threatened to buckle.

Jim was there, of course, hand under his elbow to guide him to the edge of an empty planter to sit. Hanging his head, Blair mumbled an apology, but Jim only cupped his shoulders and bent so that their eyes were level with each other. Anger at himself simmered in Jim's gaze, writing unrelenting lines in his expression and along his muscles, though his hold on Blair was tenderness itself.

"I shouldn't have...." Jim began.

"You tried," Blair reminded him. "And this is where you rip me a new one for not listening."

A little of the ire drained, and Jim said, not quite successfully matching Blair's lighter tone, "And this is where you toss out six hundred perfectly logical reasons for doing exactly what you want, then apologize for the bad impression you just made on the other cops."

Wincing, Blair said, "They must think..."

Jim took his turn at interrupting, "... that you have balls of steel for voluntarily following me into some of the places I go."

With a half-laugh, Blair started to shoot off his own quip, but Jim took on the intent expression he used when he was using Hearing, effectively silencing him.

"It's echoing wrong," Jim said absently, slowly straightening. "The chatter on the cruiser radios. I'm used to hearing it from multiple sources, but the sound's off, somehow." Jim's gaze flitted from point to point, never halting, even when Blair could tell by some subtle change that he couldn't even pinpoint that Jim had spotted the reason for the difference.

"A scanner," he confirmed. "Three floors up on that parking building. Our friend Joshua Healy seems to have developed a new hobby - stalking. He's got binoculars trained on us, and has a directional mike, which he's not using at the moment, because he's too busy calling me a son-of-a-bitch over and over."

Realizing that Josh would have seen the rage, but not understood the cause; that he would have seen the dominant body language, but not the gentleness in Jim's grip, Blair groaned. "I think he might be trying to make a case for domestic violence. If he can report he saw or heard you abuse me, it gives him leverage to make his point to me - and not incidentally reinforce his current world view."

"Which means no matter what he sees, he's going to put his own interpretation on it, and as long as he stays remote, we can't even go for a restraining order." Jim scrubbed a thumb over his forehead, obviously fighting the beginning of a headache. "We do not need this right now. Hell, no one ever needs this." With a curt gesture, he pushed away the problem. "The job has to come first."

Standing with a determined bounce, Blair said, "No argument from me. Want to take another look at the blast site?"

To his delight, instead of arguing about him staying put, Jim closed his eyes as if mentally reviewing what he'd picked up already, then slowly nodded. "I want a deeper look. You up for it?"

"No, but that won't stop me from giving it another shot." Blair led the way, wanting to make it clear to their watcher that it was his idea to return. The effect was spoiled to an extent when Jim protectively placed himself behind Blair, blocking Josh's view. Shrugging it off, Blair focused on the problem at hand, for all the good it did.

Once Jim surrendered on the possibility of learning anything useful there, they left for Travis' home, armed with the Simon-arranged search warrant they picked up on the way. There was a remote chance that if they moved fast enough, they could find evidence to refute any story that Whalen might spin about his uncle's activities. Once there, however, it was soon obvious that Mitch Whalen had been a very busy boy. Some of his uncle's clothes and personal items were missing, and a scratch pad had times and dates for flights out of the country. At first glance, an unsuspecting person would think Travis had been home only hours before, planning to jump bail.

The only odd note was Mrs. Travis' belongings. She had her own bedroom, obviously for some time, but some of the cosmetics were brand new, never used. Halfway through the search, Blair closed a drawer and looked around the room as if that would help him pin down what he felt was missing.

"Jewelry," he muttered to himself, thinking about every woman's bedroom he'd ever been in. "Her costume junk is right there on the vanity, but where's her good stuff? If she didn't get at least a few diamonds from Travis before the marriage went sour, she might have actually married him for love."

He wandered out into the living room, studying the ostentatious picture of her over the fireplace - in which she wearing some serious rocks. Rocking lightly on his heels, he asked as Jim came into the room, "Do you think you could find a hidden safe if you tried?"

"What makes you think there might be one?" Despite the question, Jim began walking the perimeter of the room, alternating between tapping on the wall and stomping on the floor.

"See the necklace she's wearing in that? I doubt seriously she'd have it where she couldn't gloat over it when she wanted to." Blair watched Jim a second, then got it. "Duh, of course they might hide it in the floor. Easier access, and casual thieves wouldn't look there."

Trying to add together what of he knew of the couple as people and of their place in society, Blair became more convinced there was a safe, but was no closer to an idea of where it was. "Have to be in their personal area, but one they shared, so not a bedroom or his office," Blair thought aloud. "Maybe a public area that doesn't see much activity, like a coatroom?"

Following some pattern of his own, Jim moved from one section of the house to another, and finally came to a locked pantry/wine cellar at the rear of the building. Picking the lock was no problem, and the brightly lit, very tidy storage area seemed like the perfect place. Within minutes, Jim found a mini-fridge, filled with expensive delicacies, which showed signs (to him, anyway) of being rolled frequently from one side to another. A false panel lifted from the floor, revealing the door to the safe, and it only took a short time for him to open the lock.

"Well, that debunks any theory that Travis was packed and ready to flee the country," Blair said, staring at the stacks and stacks of bills inside the safe.

"And why leave the jewelry if he's going to kill the wife?" Jim said, opening a jewel case to show a very flashy ruby and diamond necklace.

"That gives us a lead to follow," Blair said, opening another to reveal an emerald bracelet. "What *else* wouldn't he do if he were about to blow up another one of his businesses, wife along with it?"

Jim grinned suddenly. "Take out. I smelled burnt food."

Returning the grin, Blair said, "Not many people sit down to eat in the same office they're about to blow to bits. At the very least, if you're peckish, you eat out afterwards."

"We'll check both phone records and local restaurants, see if we can trace Travis' steps that night." Jim put down the case he held, closed the safe, and checked his watch. "Backup should be here in a few; it's going to take a while to officially open the safe and catalog all this. Want to take the truck to get to class? I'll catch a ride with whoever Simon sends."

"Sounds like a plan. Got any other leg work you need to cover today?" Blair stood, not really ready to move from detective work to teaching.

"Just phone and computer."

Jim led the way toward the front of the house, running over what he wanted to do once he was back at his desk, Blair nodding and inserting suggestions as they came up. Before they reached the living room, H called out in search of them, his tone odd. Trading a glance, Blair and Jim picked up pace, returning the shout.

Standing astride the threshold of the open front door, H had most of his attention fixed on whatever was outside and asked distractedly, "Big house, huh? You must have been way in the back."

"As a matter of fact." Jim snapped his mouth shut over whatever else had to say, jaw muscle suddenly jumping, as he caught sight of what had H so fascinated.

Half-alarmed, Blair put on a burst of speed so that he could see out as well - then didn't stop moving until he was out in the driveway tree and shrub lined driveway, staring at Jim's vintage '69 Ford truck, fist tight against his mouth.

"No man deserves to have his ride dissed that way," Rafe murmured sympathetically, getting a few assenting nods from the uniforms standing with him.

In Blair's opinion, the truck was way beyond dissed and much closer to destroyed. All the glass was smashed, same with the roof, and the side panels had been viciously keyed. All four tires were slashed to ribbons, and the upholstery was actually in worse shape than that. Worst of all, the hood had been battered into a twisted mass, and the engine underneath inundated with what the vandal had found on hand: pine needles, mulch, dirt, and leaves.

"Oh, my, god, oh, my, god," Blair whispered. "How did he know where we are? We've been using cell phones to stay in touch with the department."

Surprisingly, Jim draped a comforting arm over his shoulder. "Blair."

Not Sandburg, or even Chief, Blair thought wildly, but Blair, because he doesn't want a fight about how to deal with this. He wants to present a united front to the uniforms; wants to deprive Josh of seeing his fury, since the man is probably nearby to record Jim's reaction. And he's right; God, he's right.

"Yes," he said tiredly.

"We do this by the book," Jim said, surprising him even more. "Like this is a poster child for anti-gay bashing. You don't track Josh down and try to talk sense into him. I don't show up at his doorstep and threaten to use my badge and my fists to make his life a living hell. If he appears anywhere we are, we make tracks and then call to report it."

"By the book," Blair agreed, hanging his head. They had been so lucky so far! The U mostly opted not to notice sexual preferences as long as under-aged students weren't targeted, and it was easy to dismiss the strangers who sneered at them. All of Major Crimes supported them, and the 'phobes and fundies on the force who had issues, hadn't found enough backing to do more than grumble quietly. The few attempts at bashing had failed miserably, thanks to sentinel watchfulness and a public policy of tolerance that Banks saw to it was rigorously enforced. Now, to be attacked like this, all in the name of compassion and concern... it twisted Blair's heart.

They all stared dismally at the wreck of the truck for a few more moments, then Jim gave Blair a squeeze and stepped to one side. "Rafe, could you do a professional favor and take Sandburg to Hargrove? He's got a class to teach in a few. You can get an unofficial statement from him on the way, if you think you need to."

"Hey, no problem. Come on, Hairboy. There has got to be at least one zesty co-ed you can introduce me to while you're waiting for your students to straggle in."

Bestirring himself with an effort and wishing he could spend a few more minutes snug against Jim's side, Blair dredged up the necessary chatter to get him through the next few hours with Rafe. Thankfully, once he was in front of the classroom, the demands of teaching took over and the rest of the day flew by in a blur of questions, answers, lectures, student problems, administrative problems, and meetings. When Jim appeared at his office door, he had to remind himself why his partner was there, scowling fiercely.

Crashing back into the mess the other part of his life was in, Blair gathered his things to leave. "I take it things have not gone well."

"I was right about Mitch Whalen having a solid alibi, though it shook him when I hinted I had proof his uncle hadn't murdered his wife prior to jumping bail and making a run for it. No luck on anything resembling a timing device, so far." Jim took Blair's backpack for him while Blair locked up the office.

"Between the hedges on the property," he went on, "and the general lack of habitation of that neighborhood during daylight hours, nobody saw much of anything at Travis' place. A couple of gardeners think they saw a young man run from the driveway about the time frame the truck was vandalized; no description other than medium build, white, wearing jeans and black hooded jacket. Get this; Joshua Healy has a very credible alibi, but H didn't buy that he wasn't involved somehow."

Judging by the way Jim was checking out their surroundings, practically prowling down the hall, he was talking to be talking because of potential eavesdroppers. Going along with it, Blair said, "I did some research to get a better idea of where he was coming from. The people who 'retrained' him believe in proactive measures. If Josh convinced them I could be an important advocate for their program, they could be willing to resort to aggression at his request."

"According to Serena, what was done to the truck was calculated, methodical, and far more violent than necessary, which sounds exactly like Josh boy. Simon is *not* happy that his best team, in the middle of what's becoming a very high profile case, is the target of a nutcase. He's even more unhappy that I can't prove what I know to be for a fact because of the sentinel thing."

"Awwww, man."

As if he hadn't heard him, Jim turned and wrapped Blair up in a huge hug, squashing him against a corridor wall so he could lean into him. "Worse of all, I didn't get my late lunch date, and I'm thinking I'm not going to be up for an early bedtime, either."

Changing track so fast his intellect was lost in the dust, his libido charged into brain and body to take control, and Blair hugged him back, hard. "Why not? You don't have to go back in, do you?"

"No, but as wound up as I am, I might as well be at work or in the gym, pumping iron, blowing off steam."

"That's negative thinking, and totally uncalled for." Blair thumped him on the upper arm. "Come on; we'll have a late dinner at Tso Ling's, visit that bookstore down the block from it, and by the time we get home and up to the bedroom, we'll be ready for the world's best sleeping aid. That is, if you can leave the job and the problem both at the station, for now."

Blair could feel how hard it was for Jim to pry himself away, but with a tender stroke with a fingertip over the cap of Blair's ear, he managed. "I'll try."

And he did, letting Blair guide their conversation from topic to topic as they went through the evening. If his responses were a trifle automatic or brittle around the edges, at first, Blair was willing to forgive him just on the basis of the effort he made. Eventually Jim mellowed out, enjoying his meal and Blair's company, mood shifting from worried soldier to attentive lover in tiny increments. Blair could all but see Jim's senses reaching out to him, enfolding him in pleasure one sensual layer at a time: a knuckle brushed over his pulse point, an appreciative sniff at Blair's temple, a kiss tucked into the palm of his hand.

It felt like Jim was recreating the sweet, lazy vibe of the morning - intentionally or not - and Blair was more than willing to go along with him. When they were finished with dinner, they opted to take a stroll along the Riverwalk instead of browsing at the bookstore so they could continue to weave the spell of intimacy and expectancy around each other. Long before they returned to Jim's rental car for the drive home, Blair discovered that, as much as he wanted sex, what he was really looking forward to was being as close as humanly possible to his sentinel.

He fell silent, and it was a richer, deeper silence than he had ever shared with Jim before. Jim reveled in it, becoming more and more demonstrative and affectionate, touching him nearly constantly. Once they parked in front of 852 Prospect Street, Blair leaned over to thank Jim for working so hard to put the day's troubles behind him, and they wound up necking, not to work toward climax, but to savor the sweet mating of tongue and lips.

By unspoken mutual consent, they drew apart to leave the car and head upstairs. For once the slow elevator was no problem. They used the time waiting for it to neck some more, not caring a bit who might or might not see, though Jim's habitual sense of privacy kept their caresses PG13. Stopping outside the door to the loft, simply to prolong the anticipation, Jim pinned Blair to the wall, surrounding him with his heat and strength.

"I want you inside me," Jim murmured against Blair's temple. "Fast, hard, deep. Leave your marks on me; leave the memory of your body on every inch of me."

Shuddering, Blair catapulted out of sultry eroticism, straight into raging need. He ground his cock against Jim's thigh, hands on his backside to drag him closer. "Yes! God, yes. Face-to-face or on all fours?"

"Don't care." Jim licked teasingly at Blair's mouth, moaning quietly when Blair responded by capturing his tongue to suck on it hungrily.

Blindly Blair fumbled with the lock with one hand to get it open, but couldn't quite manage. With a frustrated mutter, he tore away from Jim's kiss to focus on the obstacle between them and a nice, big bed. He quickly did what had to be done, but tiny as the distraction was, it was enough for his brain cells to catch onto two important facts. First, passionate as he was, Jim wasn't erect, and second, it didn't seem to matter to Jim at all.

Really is a repeat of this morning, Blair thought, catching Jim's head between his palms so he could look into his face. Right down to the same longing, except, maybe he's, what? Wistful, as well?

"Earlier," he said abruptly, "You said we needed time, comfort, privacy and willingness. My willingness?"

Blinking, Jim dropped back into the here and now, expression closing down. "The connection between us," he said slowly, clearly thinking it through and choosing his words with care, "Just happened. We never really had a chance to say yes, no or maybe. Maybe it's like falling in love and genetics or Mother Nature or whatever made it happen regardless of what we want. I don't know. But I'm thinking there is a choice about taking it further."

"You don't even know what will happen, do you?" Blair said in exasperation. "Are we going back to square one in the bedroom until I decide? Some choice I'm getting, then. A passive, flaccid lover, or a mystery trip to the sentinel zone."

Pulling away, Jim said unemotionally, "I'm not doing it on purpose, Sandburg."

Blair whimpered in pain - Jim's pain. He felt it as clearly as if he'd been the one to zoom from total immersion in pleasure to being berated for something he had no control over. Under the new slice of hurt was the echo of all the other times Jim had been rejected or criticized for being who and what he was, often not understanding himself why he did what he did.

Expression empty, Jim reached for the door, but Blair wrapped himself around him, yanking him back to the wall with him. Pouring regret, love, and understanding over the pain, he whispered, "I didn't mean it like that; you know I didn't. It just frustrates me that we're operating in the dark. Again. I mean, how can I make any choice if I don't have a clue what the consequences are? If I say no, will I be able to change my mind later? If I say yes and we don't like the results, can we undo them?"

Summoning his willpower, he shut his mouth, suddenly realizing that Jim's sureness in the right of what he wanted was eroding away with each question, leaving behind confusion and guilt. Blair didn't understand the guilt, and, without thinking, enfolded it in patient acceptance. With a barely felt sigh, Jim let go of the mad he had planned on hiding behind, and relaxed in Blair's arms.

Forehead touching Blair's, he said tiredly, "We'd better go in; it's getting late."

"Damn. I really blew it, didn't I? Again."

Finding a smile from somewhere, Jim gently bumped hips with him. "More likely just postponed for a while; probably until we curl up to sleep. Then your little head will start insisting that we finish what we started."

Nearly biting his tongue to stop himself from asking about Jim's little head, Blair said with forced cheerfulness, "Nothing like loving to guarantee sweet dreams."

"We can sleep in a bit tomorrow, if you want," Jim said agreeably. "Simon gave me a go-ahead for a late in because of the hours we're putting in on the Travis case." He opened the door, stepped inside, and came to a complete standstill. Sweeping Blair behind him with one arm, he moved to put his back against the inside wall, and took out his cell phone, calling Dispatch to inform them of a break in.

Trapped between Jim's back and the wall, Blair wound his arms around his partner's waist, and held on. Cocking his head to listen, Jim tapped his ear significantly, telling Blair that the loft had been bugged. Aloud, and misleadingly, he said, "My tell-tales have been disturbed, and we left the office door closed this morning. It's open now."

"Remind me to stop harassing you about how overly cautious your Ranger training made you," Blair said lightly. "You going to get the bomb squad here, because of Mitch Whalen?"

"A sniffer, at least," Jim agreed absently.

Letting him listen, Blair nuzzled at the bumps of his spine, murmuring at sentinel levels, "Going to try to follow the transmitter back to its receiver? Tricky man, tricky. Pick the bug with the most recognizable signature. Isolate it from the others; don't worry about zoning. I'm right here. If you have to go deep to hang onto that sound, I'm here to call you back."

And that, Blair realized, letting his mouth run on autopilot, was a basic truth he'd never really *felt* before. Safe behind Jim while he worked his sentinel magic, Blair was free to watch over Jim himself, just as Jim was free to use his senses to their fullest without the risk of becoming lost in them. If any new danger presented itself while Jim worked, Jim would know the same instant Blair did, thanks to their connection, and that self-same bond would allow them to act as one to protect themselves.

Pushing the revelation away until he had time to process it better, Blair focused on what Jim was doing, until, positive he was getting no useful results, he coaxed him back. Moments after that the first of the uniforms arrived, and Jim became all cop. The next few hours were a flurry of activity, most of which Blair watched with half an eye from a chair Jim borrowed from a neighbor and stationed in the hallway. The same neighbor who said she let in one of Blair's co-workers who was dropping off a package of tests to grade, and gave up the intel that Colette Fulton, who ran the bakery, had a spare key for emergencies just like that.

Unsurprisingly she identified Josh Healy, and according to Jim's private observations, his fingerprints were found throughout the loft, especially in Blair's office, though they would have to wait for the lab to confirm that. He didn't leave any on the bugs or the immediate area, which made connecting them to him problematic, despite his easy access to the devices as an employee of a security firm. The part that truly angered Blair was that he had at least looked through Blair's journals, if not read them, and not for the first time he was grateful he had decided to lock away the ones detailing Jim's gifts.

It was in the small hours of the morning when the forensic team was finished, and Jim took their good-natured ribbing about his suspicious nature - and its benefits - in stride as they left, shutting the door behind them. The moment they were gone, though, he braced both hands on the wood over his head, head dropping almost to his chest. "Healy strikes out, violently, when he's given a set back. While I don't think he's stupid enough, even enraged, to come back here, there's no way in hell I'm going to be able to sleep tonight. Let alone anything else."

"So we catch some winks someplace else, taking turns at watch, if it'll help you get some rest."

"We can't go to Simon's or any other friend's place. It'll put them in line of fire." Jim's protest was mechanical; his reluctance to leave his territory was obvious.

"Personally, I want to scrub the place from top to bottom before spending another minute here," Blair confessed. "I feel violated, which isn't exactly rational, I know, considering I've been shot at, kidnapped, and held hostage in the loft, but this was, I don't know, *personal.*" Not to mention I can't get rid that crawly, 'somebody's watching,' sensation."

"I hear you." And that, Blair knew, was as close to an admission as he was going to get that Jim was as disturbed by the invasion as he was. Jim straightened, working his shoulders for a second to get the kinks out of them before conceding, "I've got access to one of the department's safe houses - one that doesn't officially exist. That'll do for the night. We'll talk in the morning about what to do to make the loft habitable again."

"It'll involve gallons of bleach, is my guess. And we might have to get out the sage." Blair grinned weakly at Jim's theatrical shudder, and went to get a couple of overnight bags from the closet as Jim went into the bathroom to get their toiletries.

"I keep trying to think of who to warn about Joshua," Blair said, thinking aloud. "From what I learned about him after the arrest, his parents are on the other coast, and he mostly works from home, so he's not likely to go off on a co-worker."

"Maybe he went out gay bashing?" Jim suggested. "Can't hurt to scan the daily reports tomorrow and see if anything turns up that matches his style."

Blair mulled that over as they packed, but couldn't offer any other likely ideas. They left after Jim went to extremes to make sure the car didn't have a tracking device on it, and that they weren't being watched, long distance, though even he couldn't be sure of the last. On the way to the safe house, the long, long day caught up with Blair, and he fell asleep. Though he roused enough to move from the car to a bed, he didn't fully awaken again until nearly four hours later by his watch, feeling much more rested than he should have. Even as he picked up on that, he felt Jim sag against him, giving into sleep himself.

The bond working to 'heal' us, probably because of our sense of being endangered, Blair thought. He opened his eyes, not particularly surprised that the first thing he saw was Jim's gun, tight in Jim's fist. His partner was draped over him, fully dressed, as was Blair. Guess the safe house doesn't feel safe enough for him.

Privately Blair had to admit it was Jim's precious weight on him that made him feel secure, and he settled in to wait for him to wake up. Looking over the room they were in, he nodded to himself, expecting it to be as Spartan and defensible as he found it. It was a single room, with an indefinable something that hinted to him it was over a garage, with a large picture window taking up most of the front wall. From where he was, he could see they were definitely at least two stories up, in a cul-de-sac with a clear view of the road and the few other homes sharing it. He could also see the stairs that went downstairs on the outside, and he was willing to bet the door opposite that one also went downstairs, which was likely booby-trapped by Jim against intruders.

Vaguely curious as to why Jim wasn't worried about attack from the rear, Blair tried to guess from what he could hear, and a short time later was rewarded by the soft bark of several dogs. Jim being Jim, there had to be a third concealed or disguised exit, Blair assumed, but it took him a while to realize that the picture window had a sliding frame - with a huge, easily used branch right beside it. He'd bet a foldable emergency ladder was hidden in the crook of the tree for access to the ground.

By the time he'd finished surveying his temporary sleeping quarters, Blair had become accustomed enough to the local sounds that he was fairly sure he'd notice anything out of the ordinary. Gaze roaming over the landscape outside, he allowed his mind wander, knowing from experience that, for him, letting his subconscious spot what was out of place was the best way to stand guard.

For a while he mulled over what he'd learned of stalker mentality, trying to come up with some way to undo Josh's fixation on him. Despite his claim to want to help, his behavior was classic, and Blair unwillingly considered the possibility that sexual obsession was the true motive. Chances were that Josh was in complete denial about it, which made it very unlikely there was any way to make him go away. Stalkers only moved on when their twisted psyche found another target.

Finding the whole subject totally depressing, Blair forcibly shoved it away and focused on a much more pleasant, if as baffling, topic: Jim. Breathing as if he were meditating, he soaked in everything about his mate, from his scent to the faint, tickling tendrils of air from his respiration, to the solid mass of him pinning Blair to the mattress. He had so many wonderful memories of being held this way; it was his sanctuary, his solace, his strength.

So why are you freaking out - again - over the connection that's part and parcel of this? Blair asked himself suddenly. You don't get nosebleeds any more. In fact, when you and Jim took down Whalen, you knew exactly what Jim was going to do, almost as if you'd heard him make his decision, and you didn't get so much as a twinge. And how about that silent argument you had with him? It was so clear, so precise, you might as well have been speaking out loud. What exactly is the downside of being even closer than that?

For the life of him, Blair couldn't come up with a single good reason for his wariness. The obvious answers, such as a fear of loss of identity or autonomy, didn't apply. Even when their perceptions blended together during love making, he had a clear sense of himself. While he may have lost track of who was doing what to whom during those sessions, he had never been afraid when it happened. Quite the opposite - if he knew how to deliberately summon that soul-to-soul communion, he'd keep Jim naked and hard for the rest of their lives.

Tingles rippled over him from head to toe as he remembered the power and joy in those joinings, and he fought down the urge to shift restlessly to accommodate a growing hard-on. Clearly perceiving the impulse, Jim cuddled closer, brushing a kiss over the crown of his head. As if commanded, Blair's body calmed back into a meditative stillness, yet Jim's soft snores never stopped.

Somewhere deep inside him, a knot made of nameless uncertainties and vague worries suddenly dissolved. Even sound asleep his sentinel acted automatically to take care of Blair, as he were an extension of Jim with specialized needs. And here he was acting like a virgin Victorian maiden on her wedding night!

Though Blair had intended self-mockery with the last observation, it rang so true that he turned the concept over and over, examining it with as much candor as he could. After all, a sheltered young girl from that era would have only the vaguest of ideas of what would happen between her and her husband in the bedroom, and no clue at all that she was capable of enjoying it. In fact, her culture had probably given her the impression that it was horrible; a duty to be endured. Whether she woke up the next morning in pain and on the way to being frigid depended very much on the patience of a spouse who might not know much more about sex than she did. Her only saving grace would have been the love and trust between them, and a shared willingness to work together to achieve good results.

That was exactly where Blair was in furthering their connection: afraid of the unknown, leery of a change in the dear and familiar, and fighting against a conditioned response created by the society in he lived in. All he had going for him was utter confidence in his sentinel. If Jim's instincts wanted to take them to another level, Blair had to trust those self-same instincts would do nothing to endanger or harm him in any way.

The shared zones, if nothing else, were proof of that. In fact, stretching the Victorian maiden metaphor a bit further, those could be considered the equivalent of chaste kisses and hand-holding, meant to make him comfortable with the possibility of increased intimacy. Of course, the zones were much more erotic than hand-holding. Much, much, *much* more, and Blair pulled himself away from the memory of them before he got carried away.

Going back to his analogy, Blair deliberately put Jim in the role of a Victorian gentleman, as much to distract himself from the horniness left over from the night before as to get a chuckle out of the image. To his surprise, Jim fit surprisingly well, if in a Jekyll and Hyde sort of way. After all, though he hid it, Jim was well-educated, well-traveled, well-mannered, and...

The proverbial light bulb went off for Blair, derailing his chain of thought entirely. Jim's passive, but eager response to their lovemaking was because he wanted to reassure Blair that he wasn't going to take what he needed. He was holding back his natural appetites, not only to give Blair a chance to decide what he wanted without any pressure from him, but to show him in the most sincere way possible that Jim was truly okay with whatever decision Blair made.

Which meant, of course, there was only one thing Blair could do and still be true to his heart and his commitment to Jim, both as partner and mate. A deep, abiding peace enveloped Blair, making the last of his watch effortless. At some point, Jim began to surface from sleep, and without thinking, Blair soothed him back into the rest Blair suspected he was going to need badly. He shifted them so that Jim's head was on his shoulder, shading him from the coming dawn so the light wouldn't disturb him.

A few hours after sunrise, he saw a car slowly cruise down the street and sighed, not at all ready to end the tranquility he'd found and return to the real world. To reward himself, the moment Jim's eyes popped open, already focusing on the oncoming vehicle to assess the driver's identity and threat level, Blair cupped one side of his face to coax him into looking at him. They stared at each other, a tiny smile finding its way to the corner of Jim's mouth as he read Blair's willingness.

On his part, Blair saw that he'd nearly blown it. The yearning in Jim, as powerful as ever, had been hemmed in with a fond tolerance and resignation that now bled away into a shy, uncertain relief. That would have soon become an impenetrable wall, and the very possibility of what was behind it dismissed to the bottom of Jim's mind, never to be retrieved.

His pang of remorse clouded their communion, and Jim's nascent smile died. To make up for it, Blair said softly, "Yes. As soon as possible. Please?" At Jim's hesitation, most likely born of the mess waiting for them once they left this sanctuary, Blair added even more softly, "There will always be case that's hitting at us, a problem that's dragging at our heels, a demand on our time and energy that we'll feel obligated to fulfill. I don't want to wait for a good time; I want to *make* the perfect time."

Kissing the palm at his face, Jim whispered, "You ever notice how all those small hard words that don't say enough just get smaller and harder." He kissed the bracelet on Blair's wrist. "Even the hidden ones here. And what's inside us gets more incredible, more consuming, more important with every breath."

"I love you, too," Blair breathed.

Kissing him back tenderly, Jim said the same to him, then slowly lifted away to stand, tension marring every line of his body. "Unless something breaks in the Travis case, we'll take tomorrow off and have a long weekend. I don't want to leave town, but I think I know where we can stay so that Healy couldn't find us unless he has his own CIA connections."

"Do I need to bring anything or make any preparations?" Blair asked, sitting up on the side of the bed and soothing away some of stress with long, slow strokes along Jim's sides, down onto his legs.

Surprisingly, Jim gave the question serious consideration, looking inward in a way Blair seldom saw. He grew half-hard in his slacks, and it took every bit of will Blair had not to detour over Jim's cock to encourage it to full length. Holding his tongue to give Jim the time to find his answers was almost as difficult, but worth it when he came back, the blue in his eyes nearly gone from the lust darkening them.

"You don’t need to bring anything, but I do want you to leave the world behind once we're alone, like you wanted me to last night. For a while, at least, the only things that are going to exist are me, you, and the room we're in. I'm going to take hours just to do the things that turn you on, then spend more fucking you in every position we can dream up, until you've come so many times your balls are begging for mercy.

Blair inhaled sharply, his dick filling rapidly. "You're going to want me to top?"

Unconsciously licking his lips, Jim caught a hand full of Blair's curls at the nape of his neck, gently pulling his head back. "I don't really think it matters whose dick is where, do you?"

His own lips feeling swollen and wet, Blair said softly, "No, I guess not." He leaned back on his hands, thighs apart so that the fabric over his crotch pulled tight to show off his hard-on. "No time for an appetizer?"

Hoarsely Jim said, "You know damn good and well if we start, we won't stop until we're exhausted, and we've got things we have to take care before we vanish off the grid for three days. You *are* going to take out a restraining order on Healy. We might not have enough to arrest on B&E, but there are a couple of judges who won't take a gay stalking lightly."

"Mmmmmm," Blair said, turning to kiss the wrist of the hand hold him.

It was gone before he could, and Jim took a step away, chuckling ruefully. "I finally find a way to get you to do what I want without a fight, and I feel guilty because you're obviously not thinking at all."

Blinking his way out of a haze, Blair heard the strain under the joking tone and shakily got up. "Bathroom? And you're supposed to feel guilty for taking advantage of your partner. Is that any way to build a long term relationship?"

"That way. And we already have a long term relationship, despite the fact that I have to play dirty to get you to be reasonable sometimes."

"I'm always reasonable; sometimes it takes you a while to realize it," Blair countered, and they continued their mock-bickering all through getting ready for work, the humor in it slowly becoming real.

They had breakfast out, taking their time so they could ease back toward a normal-seeming day. Privately Blair was delighted that Jim had so much trouble going back to the cop mindset, and more than a little turned on by it. Regardless, when they reached the station, Jim was obviously on-duty, in both full sentinel and Blessed Protector mode.

Neither one of them were fazed at all when Simon bellowed for them before they had even finished hanging their jackets. Once in his office, he barked, "Travis, full report, now."

Guessing that was at least one of the reasons they'd been summoned, Jim handed over the file he had scooped up. "I've got a pretty tight time-line on Roger Travis for the twenty-four hours before his death. Between witnesses and phone records, I can tell you that he couldn't have gone anywhere near his residence in that time frame. Wife's car was still in the garage, and I've established her movements pretty thoroughly, as well. It's likely that she was home until right before the fire. Coroner's report says that she was dead before she was burned, from blows to the head."

Remembering the unopened cosmetics on her vanity, Blair asked, "Have you checked her bedroom for blood? That might have been where she was attacked. Killer cleaned up, even replaced stuff that had been splattered, but he couldn't have done a 'remove all blood trace' kind of thing without it visibly showing, ruining his plan to make it look like she was killed at the site of the fire by her husband."

"Given the design of the driveway, the perp could have easily loaded a body into a vehicle without being seen," Jim added.

"There goes the kid's potential defense for the first fire, but you still haven't tied him to the second, even though you can make a clear case for motive and method." Simon sat back in his chair, turning a pen over and over in his hands. "He went on one of those river cruise dinners with his mother, out most of the night. The Captain insists there's no way off the boat or back on again without being noticed once they've left the dock, even if his mother covered for him, which she didn't. The staff did."

Jim admitted sourly, "Forensics didn't come up with anything remotely like a timing device. I've talked to some demolition experts looking for ideas, but no luck so far."

"A partner, maybe?" Simon asked.

"Not likely," Blair said without thinking. "Firebugs are typically loners and live for the pleasure they get from the flames. In fact, even though he's under suspicion, the pressure to start another blaze is growing daily, maybe even made worse by the stress from being arrested and waiting for trial." He tapped his fingers across his lips, mind racing. "On the other hand, he's a certified pyrotechnician; he's used to delayed gratification and working with a team."

"We'll look into it, anyway, sir," Jim put in. "In either case, we might be able to get him for murder if the Mrs. Travis' time of death was before the cruise started. Since he has keys to his uncle's house and there was no sign of a break-in, it gives him motive and opportunity."

"Two out of three won't float for the D.A. and you know it. I doubt she'll buy using the fire to prop up the murder to prop up the fire, either," Simon pointed out un-necessarily. "Speaking of break-ins - why did I have to read in the dailies that there was one at your place? Why wasn't I called, and why didn't you show up at my door for a place to stay?"

Simon made the switch from commander to friend with an ease that Blair suspected Jim envied. Struggling with his own change of gears, Jim said, "What makes you think that we needed one?" At Simon's glare, he added more reasonably, "I meant to come in first thing this morning and tell you before you got the report."

"I managed to trick him into sleeping later than usual," Blair put in apologetically, chagrined that he hadn't realized Simon might worry about them.

"And to get me to find another place for the night so I would sleep," Jim confessed, relaxing into the chair and scrubbing a hand over his face. "It didn't seem like a good idea to drag trouble with us to a friend's house; even one who carries a badge. Daryl's staying with you right now, too, isn't he?"

"It's where he's keeping his things, anyway."

"Were you any better at his age?" Blair asked, grinning.

"Worse and don't change the subject. You should have at least called." Simon poked at finger at them as if to deflate any obfuscation before it could start.

"Why wake you when there was nothing anybody could do?" Jim said a shade too reasonably. At Simon's narrow-eyed stare, he looked away. "And I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't overhear any conversation I might have at the loft. The last thing I want is for him to learn more about us than he already knows."

"I take it because he charmed a key away from someone, you can't bring him up on charges," Simon said in commiseration.

"We spoke alone, behind closed doors, long enough that it would be my word against his on any reasonable claim he might make, like me inviting him to drop in when he got a chance." Blair ran his fingers through his hair, and added in frustration, "Despite me having witnesses telling him to stay the hell away from me."

Nodding understandingly, Simon said, "Please tell me you followed that up with a restraining order."

"First order of business this morning," Jim said firmly.

"Good, because my sources tell me that a man fitting the description of the stalker was in the station earlier today asking question about Dr. Sandburg under the guise of being an insurance adjuster investigating a claim." Simon grinned in feral satisfaction. "I'm pleased to report the source said that the ranks closed around you two like an older brother defending the honor of his sister. I don't think a single one of them bought the story, and the guy took off in a hurry when a uniform made a show of checking out his credentials. I'll make sure the news about the restraining order gets around."

Closing his eyes at the wave of relief and gratitude, Blair murmured, "Oh, my, god." Strong fingers closed around his, squeezing gently, and he summoned a smile, weak as it was.

"Are you going home tonight?" Simon asked, tone carefully neutral, but obviously worried that Healy wasn't done for the day yet. "Because I'm thinking that he might go back there to look for clues to where you are. A stakeout might not be a bad idea; I've got some room in the budget this month."

Blair exchanged a long glance with Jim, pleading with him not to return yet. He wasn't sure why it felt like such a bad idea, but he trusted his gut on this one. As stubborn as Jim looked, he still nodded an agreement.

To Simon he said, "Not yet, and keeping an eye on the loft could work. Stalkers usually escalate, and this guy will, sooner rather than later, since he's got some serious anger issues. If he gets frustrated enough, he may do something we can arrest him for. With his prior arrest record, the A.D.A can press to have bail denied the second time around."

"Hopefully no one will be hurt when he does go off. Same way with our arsonist. Let's put surveillance on him - obvious enough that he knows he's being watched - and see if he caves under the pressure, maybe catch him in the act."

Simon's shift back to business was so smooth that Blair wanted badly to comment, but Simon gave him *that* look, effectively erasing the quip in an instant. Jim filled in the gap with an update on another case, and the conversation stayed professional for the rest of the meeting. When they were done, he and Jim exchanged a look to confirm how much to tell Simon.

As they stood to leave, Jim said, "One last thing, Simon. We don't have anything urgent on our desks, and while I'm going to keep at the Travis case, it can wait a few days, too. Any reason we can't take a personal tomorrow?"

Lifting his glasses to pinch at the bridge of his nose, Simon groaned. "You're not planning something I'm going to regret, are you?"

"It's for a sentinel thing," Blair said quietly. "To help Jim focus better, especially when internal distractions are pulling at his senses."

"We're going to drop out of sight, cell phones off." Before Simon could protest, Jim added, "No one but you will know where we are, and we're asking that you keep it to yourself, even from family, if necessary."

Expression grim, Simon asked, "Why?"

Shoulders straightening, Jim turned to Blair, moving closer to him.

"What we're going to do..." Blair swallowed hard, heat spiking through his middle, but made himself finish tonelessly. "Look, it would be hard on us if we're interrupted. Not life-threatening, I promise, or dangerous. But it would be more stress than we want to try to handle right now, and before you ask, no, it can't wait." Jim shifted again, this time until their hips were touching. "In fact, we may have waited too long."

Studying them, Simon said very carefully, "I am *not* making accusations, but it would be a load off my mind if you had an airtight alibi during your absence. If Whalen follows his pattern, he may be planning to make you a suspect for one of his fires, since you and Sandburg are the only solid witnesses left to his conversation with his uncle. Same for Healy. If something happened to him, Jim would be the first person Homicide would have to look at."

"I already have something in mind that will fit the bill," Jim said, not unexpectedly to Blair's mind, given how high his protective instincts had to be cranked.

"All right then," Simon said, clearly in relief - and dismissal.

As they turned to leave, Jim handed Simon a note that Blair knew read, "Expect a courier later today with a package from Brothers' Enterprises; don't let anyone see what's in it."

He nudged Blair out, but not before Blair had a chance to catch the pained expression on their friend's face. Jim's matched it, and though Blair longed to reassure them both that their extreme caution wasn't necessary, he couldn't in all honesty say that it wasn't. Besides which, the care they were taking reassured *him* in ways he didn't want to dwell on right now.

Blessedly, before he could obsess on that, Joel approached them hesitantly.

"Hey, Blair, are you heading back to Rainier today?" Joel asked.

"In a few. Why, man?"

"Could I get a lift with you as far as the car rental place down on Hutchins? Mine's in the shop, and I need wheels for the weekend."

Joel was all innocence as he made his request, but Blair wasn't fooled. Under the circumstances, though, if Jim wanted him to have a bodyguard, he wouldn't argue, and Joel was a good choice as far as he was concerned. "No problem."

Digging into a pocket, Jim produced the key ring for his rental. "That works out all the way around. I want to return the SUV we've got; you can give Blair a ride the rest of the way to Rainier. Most of the day I'll be using a department issued car; no problem for me to pick him up when he's ready to go home or whatever."

Since Suzanne had campus security on a look-out for Josh, that meant Blair was effectively covered from the time he left Jim's side until he rejoined him. Grinning knowingly at his partner over his shoulder, he let Joel lead him toward the elevator, listening with only half-an-ear to his mournful worries about the quality of his mechanic. Jim had the grace to look abashed, but not repentant, which just made Blair grin wider.

"We'll talk about this later," Blair promised so only his sentinel would hear, and chuckled at the wry forbearance that drifted across their bond to him. Wrapping it around him tightly as if the emotion were one of Jim's hugs, Blair braced himself to get through the rest of the day.

***

Relieved that Blair wasn't fighting the precautions he'd taken to protect him, Jim unwillingly reined in his senses from following his partner and turned his attention to the job. With nothing new to absorb him, he waded into the ever-present paperwork, occasionally making notes as new angles on various cases occurred to him. After glancing at his calendar to double-check court dates and meeting times, he opened the Travis file, skimming through it in hopes that inspiration would hit.

It didn't, which left old-fashioned phone work, and he tackled it with a will. Most of his contacts who knew demolitions were as baffled as he was about what kind of timing device Whalen might have used. More than one got him to promise to call when he found out how it was done.

In the midst of those calls, Jim made one to Greg Haurer, the ex-CIA agent who he'd met during the vandalism case at Tarryton's Family Complex, ostensibly to ask him about explosives - not his field at all. As he'd hoped, the oddness of the question was enough to prompt Haurer to invite him over for a cup of coffee to discuss it further, and Jim hung up, masking his relief with irritability. With that key piece taken care of, the rest of his plans fell into place without a problem.

Haurer was the last supposedly professional stop of the day, and once Jim had gotten what he wanted there, he headed to an ATM, making no effort at concealing his activities. After he'd taken a large amount of cash, he walked to a huge sporting goods store to buy a few items he'd been meaning to get, though he had no plans on using the backpack or double wide sleeping bag anytime soon. Not that Healy would know that, of course.

It wasn't until he was through making it look as if he and Blair were heading out on a camping trip that Jim went out of his way to make sure he wasn't seen or followed. Stopping in a public restroom, he washed up and changed from the skin out in clothes he kept in his locker at the station, abandoning the worn garments without a thought, and left to flag down the first black and white he saw. His badge - and reputation, he suspected - was enough to get him a lift to the outskirts of Rainier's campus.

Though he had been concentrating on it as hard as possible, he was still more than a little surprised when Blair was waiting for him in the bathroom nearest his office. Sardonically adding that to the list of things that Blair would want to hash over sooner or later, he gestured for quiet and handed Blair his change of clothes from the station. Nodding his understanding, Blair quickly did what was needed, then silently followed Jim out of Hargrove through a window in the basement that was completely shadowed by air conditioning units.

A part of Jim wanted to feel ridiculous for taking such extreme precautions to prevent being followed or bugged. The most primitive part - the part that was yammering nonstop to get Blair naked and hard now! - kept throwing 'what ifs' at him that covered the most ridiculous possibilities. He sent Blair ahead of him to the mansion-turned-museum at the heart of a small park favored by Rainier students, warily sweeping every direction with his senses for anything suspicious.

It wasn't until he followed him through a concealed side door into a tiny, featureless hallway that Jim began relax, if only marginally. "We're not trespassing," Jim said in answer to an unasked question. "That's why I had the key code to give you. Greg Haurer was given use of the place as part of his payment for creating the panic room put in for the owners before they decided to turn the place into a museum."

"Let me guess: it has time-stamped computer access only." Blair studied the hall, obviously searching for the entrance. "Talk about an air-tight alibi!"

"Not to mention that even if Healy manages to connect us to Haurer, he could drop a nuclear bomb on this place, and we wouldn't notice. I can't begin to imagine how he'll react to not being able to find us, but hopefully just looking will be enough to get him arrested."

"And Greg is nobody's target," Blair agreed, relief evident. "For once I'm on board with your cop mindset. Not having to worry about Josh showing up on my doorstep for a while sounds fantastic.

"I can think of things that sound better," Jim muttered to himself, reaching up to tap a specific pattern on the rim of the overhead light. Squeezing back against the wall as the ceiling slid to one side and stairs dropped down, he pulled Blair tight against him, dick responding instantly. As soon as he could, he urged him up the steps, groin brushing over the ass in front of him as they climbed, setting his blood to pounding.

At the top Blair stopped to turn in a small circle, surveying the whites and pastel blues of the room. "I was expecting something utilitarian, like the safe house. This is closer to a luxury suite in a high class hotel."

Arms going around him, nose at the crown of his head, Jim mumbled, "Told you we needed comfort - sentinel level comfort. Even the sheets should be up to standard." He typed in a code on the keypad beside the door that would deactivate the emergency lockdown and call to 911 that automatically initialized upon entry.

"Ooooookay," Blair drawled in amusement, tilting back his head to smile up at Jim.

It was the perfect position to kiss him, and Jim did, immediately falling into a paradise where pleasure ebbed and flowed on tides driven by marvelous, fragrant skin and sweet friction. Everything else faded from consciousness, even the room around them, in the face of having four hands for touching and to be touched by; two mouths for tasting and being tasted, two cocks and two openings to fill. Habit and necessity took care of physical practicalities like getting rid of the obstruction of clothes, finding a soft place to lie, and putting lube where and when it was needed.

The satisfaction of being so completely consumed by their mating went beyond flesh, though even if Jim had had access to words, he wouldn't have been able to say how. Flowing from one position to another - a delicious sixty-nine mixed with rimming where breathing didn't seem necessary at all, Jim spooned behind Blair, nipping and licking as he moved for them both, Blair under him using the strength of his back and thighs to ride while Jim stayed teasingly aloof - took no thought, no planning, no discussion. Each climax was beyond incredible and totally unimportant to the glorious dance of pleasure that was seemingly programmed into their very psyches.

Occasionally other physical demands forced one or both of them to surface long enough to see to them. Jim found himself in the bathroom, trying to empty his bladder, but completed distracted by the feel of fingers in him from where Blair was finger-fucking himself while he waited for Jim's return. Sometime after that - hours, they thought, because of a sentinel's natural sense of time's passage - Blair became aware that Jim was sore, in a good way, but too sore for what they were doing, and they glided into a new position. Hunger made itself known, and Blair went to fetch food, staggering on wobbly legs because Jim was surveying his reddened, come streaked, fingerprint bruised ass with predatory intent. They napped when necessary, but their dreams were only a continuation of being awake.

The scent of Simon's cigars and Simon himself pulled them out of their bliss the final time, though at first only long enough for them to identify who it was and that he wasn't a threat. It took the harsher stench of shame and arousal to force them to make the connection to reality, driven by worry for their friend. Jim turned them to their sides, tummy to tummy, giving Blair's body the task of maintaining their rhythm, dragging a sheet up to cover them. Only t