by Sihaya Black

Notes: 'Lie Perdu' is a British military phrase, which, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, means 'placed as an outpost in hiding.'

Dedicated to Emily, wherever we may find her.

~~~~

A small circle of warm yellow light spilled over the still figure, an island of brightness in the otherwise shadowed loft. Blair Sandburg sat cross-legged on the couch, balancing a legal pad on his knee, surrounded by books. He dragged a heavy volume onto his lap and flipped quickly through the pages, grunting when he located a passage, then scribbled a sentence on the pad. With an absent frown, he peered at the clock in the kitchen.

It wasn't that late, he told himself. Jim hadn't said when he'd be back; he had gone to dinner with an old friend early in the evening. But... But Jim had looked drawn and ill-at-ease as he walked out the door, and Blair wasn't going to relax until Jim was safe at home.

With a sigh and a peculiar sense of emptiness, he turned back to his books. When the telephone rang he reached for it blindly, still absorbed in his studies.

"'Lo."

"Blair Sandburg?" The voice was male, bland, anonymous.

"That's me." He took off his glasses and rubbed his burning eyes, stifling a yawn.

"Listen to me carefully. Ellison needs you. Badly. He's in Suite 601 of the Cascade Hilton. The door's unlocked. Get there quickly, and for god's sake, go alone."

"Wait a minute," Blair said, instantly awake. He grabbed his pen and scribbled the address in the middle of his notes. "What's the matter with Jim? Who are you?"

"Go alone, Sandburg. Jim will not thank you if you call the police or bring someone else." With a click, the line went dead.

"Oh, man..." Blair muttered as he shoved his feet into his boots and jerked the laces tight. "What the hell kinda mess have you gotten yourself into this time, Jim?" Grabbing his jacket and keys, he ran out the door.

A frantic half an hour later, Blair maneuvered his car into a parking space two blocks from the Hilton; he didn't even want to think how many traffic laws he had broken getting there in that time. He spotted Jim's truck a block away and stopped dead for a second, his rasping breaths loud in his ears, then sprinted down the sidewalk. Although he'd taken the phone call seriously from the first, there was something completely unnerving about seeing Jim's truck parked innocently by the curb - for the hundredth time Blair wondered exactly what he would find in that suite.

He pelted by the doorman at a dead run, slipping into the lobby behind a gaggle of Japanese businessmen. The elevators were clogged, so he slammed into the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time.

Outside the door to suite 601 he paused, panting, his legs trembling from more than exertion. If this was a trap, he was going to walk blindly into it; he had no choice. The caller had said that Jim needed him, and that was reason enough to follow his instructions - reason enough for Blair. He didn't even want to think about what Jim would say if he knew Blair was here without police backup. He spent a brief moment hoping that Jim would be grateful enough to see him that he'd forget to ask all those awkward questions.

As quietly as possible he opened the door, propped slightly ajar by the safety bar, and slipped inside. The room was dim, lit only by a small desk lamp in the corner, and presented its insipid, anonymous décor for his inspection. A sofa, two chairs, desk and television cabinet filled the room, but no Jim - he must be in the bedroom, which was probably through the closed door on his right.

Creeping across the room, he heard soft, muffled sounds coming from behind the door. Almost not breathing, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, peering into the deeply shadowed room before stepping inside.

And then he froze.

Jim lay face-down on the bed, his head toward Blair, although he couldn't see him - he couldn't see anything through the thick black blindfold tied over his eyes. He was making noise, however; the leather gag strapped across his mouth muffled the sounds, but did not completely stifle them. He was also naked. And tied to the bed. And struggling.

"Oh my god..." Blair breathed, before forcing his numb legs into movement. Four steps and he was beside the bed where he could see Jim clearly in the soft light of the bedside lamp.

Jim's arms were spread across the bed, his hands clenched in fists. Thick leather straps encircled his wrists and were firmly tied to the bedposts at the foot of the bed. Blair glanced down Jim's body - his legs were similarly spread wide and pinioned to the headboard. The lamplight highlighted the muscular curve of his raised ass. There was enough play in Jim's bonds so that he could hoist himself up on his elbows or push himself back on his knees, and he rocked back and forth, writhing on the rumpled sheets, the play of his taut, straining muscles clearly defined beneath his sweat-soaked skin.

Taking a deep breath and licking his suddenly dry lips, Blair reached out. Jim didn't seem aware of him until Blair's fingers brushed the side of his face. He froze for a second, then Jim's head snapped to the side and he lunged away from Blair, fighting harder against his bonds.

"Jim, it's me. Calm down, man. I'm going to get you out of this..." Blair began softly, trying to tug the blindfold off the thrashing head. Jim didn't slow down, bucking and twisting so hard that the bed creaked. Blair finally had to grab the knot at the back of the blindfold and jerk it off.

There was a flash of startled blue and then Jim stilled, squeezing his eyes shut. His head fell forward and Blair could hear the labored breaths as he tried to draw enough air in through his nose.

"It's okay. I'll have you free in a minute," Blair murmured, his fingers fumbling with the buckles on the gag. Jim shivered; his damp flesh puckered into goosebumps along his arms and down his back and Blair had to drag his gaze from Jim's body back to the complicated fastenings. He finally pulled the gag away, stopping only when he realized that the ball jammed into Jim's mouth was a part of it. Gently coaxing the spit-soaked rubber from between Jim's teeth, he watched helplessly as Jim's jaw spasmed and clenched, an agonized groan emerging from between gritted teeth.

"Oh, man, what the hell happened to you?" Blair asked sotto voce as he carefully rubbed the sides of Jim's jaw, waiting until jerking muscles relaxed before moving to free Jim's arms.

"Just get me out of here." Blair looked up from his task, startled. Jim's voice was husky from screaming, but he spoke calmly, as if he was asking Blair to rescue him from a boring department meeting. Only the way his eyes were fixed on the sheets and the way his muscles jerked and quivered hinted at the turmoil beneath that stoic surface.

"As fast as I can, Jim." Freeing Jim's left arm, Blair paused to rub his cold fingers until Jim jerked his arm away and hissed in pain. "What is it? Am I hurting you?"

Jim's eyes fluttered closed and he grimaced, moving his arm clumsily. "Not your fault, Chief. My arm's asleep." His hand flopped gracelessly at the wrist, the fingers useless.

"Sorry." Blair frowned in sympathy. "Pins and needles, huh?"

Jim nodded as Blair unbuckled the other cuff, and then bit back a moan as he pulled his arm beneath him.

With a quick pat to his partner's back and a worried glance, Blair reached down to undo the bonds around Jim's ankles.

Oh my god.

Something was... He choked, even though every last trace of spit had dried from his mouth. Something was protruding from Jim's ass, and his cock and balls were tightly encased in a complicated series of leather straps and metal rings. Oh Jim...

As quickly as possible, he unfastened the heavy cuffs, rubbing Jim's chilled feet. Jim rolled to his side, his hands scrabbling ineffectually, the fingers still useless. His face was contorted in pain.

Blair caught the glint of metal at his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his breath catching in his throat. Clamps. Of course. A surge of warmth shot through him, startling him. No. He was not turned on by Jim's predicament. Dammit, his friend needed his help. He opened his eyes and captured Jim's clumsy hands.

"Don't try, Jim, you'll hurt yourself. I'll do it."

Biting his lower lip as he concentrated, Blair gently released first one clamp, then the other. Jim hissed as the clamps were removed - his nipples were angry red and puffy, scored with tiny bites from cruel teeth. Without thinking, Blair pressed a finger firmly against each nipple, soothing it, until Jim quivered beneath his touch. Jerking his hands away, Blair gritted his teeth and turned to Jim's cock. He sucked in air as he desperately tried to figure out exactly how to take off the leather straps without causing further damage to the purple flesh captured in the tight coils.

"Okay, man, I've gotta touch you, but I'll be as gentle as I can." His fingers brushed over the turgid cock and Jim let out a muffled scream. "Sorry..." He bent lower, dragging his eyes away from the slick head to trace the entwined leather. "Okay, I see where it fastens."

Blair swallowed, wishing he had just a little spit in his mouth, and firmly grasped Jim's balls, wincing as Jim groaned. "Sorry," he murmured again, his fingers fumbling with the small buckle positioned at an awkward angle next to Jim's body. He had to lift the swollen testicles and pull them to one side to reach it. He could feel Jim's pulse through his fingers as they cupped the hot flesh and wondered how anyone's heart could pound that fast without failing.

"Hold still." Bending lower, he smelled the sharp scents of Jim's fear and arousal, and realized that his face was practically buried in Jim's crotch. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second and counseled himself: this was no time for shame or embarrassment, for either of them. His fingers brushed over smooth skin and short bristles as he worked, and he let out a chuff of air in surprise - Jim's pubic hair had been trimmed.

Oh god.

Blair shifted where he knelt on the bed, suddenly, humiliatingly aware that he was hot and hard. Sweat beaded up and trickled down his chest, dampened his armpits, and made his khakis stick to his thighs. Of all the stupid times for his libido to kick in... "Shit!" he muttered.

"I can do it," Jim gritted out, his voice catching. His hands bumped into Blair's thigh, weakly clutching, and he tried to roll away, pulling the leather straps tight before Blair released them. A hiss of pain followed.

"Dammit, Jim, stay where you are! I've almost got it." Grabbing Jim's far hip, Blair rolled him back onto his side and batted away the hands that were tugging ineffectually at the bindings. This time the buckle released easily, and with shaking hands Blair loosened the leather, pulling it away and tossing it onto the floor.

"Oh, man..."

Jim's cock and balls were crisscrossed with deep indentations, and Blair felt a sympathetic twinge in his own tight groin at the pain his partner must be feeling. Quickly checking for damage, he noticed that there was a particularly deep one on Jim's scrotum, where a fold of skin had gotten trapped. With a mental shrug - after all, he'd already seen and touched almost everything Jim had to offer - Blair gently clasped Jim's balls, ignoring his partner's gasp, and stroked the tight skin until the fold smoothed out. He could feel Jim's body quivering beside him and rubbed his hip, murmuring comfort, until the worst of it had passed.

"Okay, Jim, just one more thing to take care of." Blair was glad his voice sounded normal, because his insides were doing somersaults at the thought of what he needed to do next.

He moved to the other side of the bed and took a deep breath before looking at Jim's ass. Or more specifically, at what was in Jim's ass.

Oh shit.

"Uh, Jim, this could be a problem."

Jim's face was buried in the mattress, muffling his voice. "Just get it out."

"You're the boss," he muttered, stifling an insane urge to have hysterics. "Roll over on your stomach a little." Jim obliged, one knee spread wide to prevent his cock from getting mashed into the bed.

Another deliberate breath. He could do this.

Grasping the black plastic knob that protruded from Jim's goosefleshed ass, he tugged experimentally. His hand slipped off, and Jim groaned.

"Sorry, but it's slick, man."

"It's called lubrication, Sandburg."

"No shit, Ellison. I'm going to have to see if I can wipe it off first."

Gathering up a corner of the sheet in his hand, Blair clasped the knob again, twisting his hand to clean the plastic.

Jim groaned again, and a tremor flashed through his thighs and along the curve of his ass, but this time it didn't sound like he was in pain. With a start, Blair realized that he must have twisted the plug inside Jim and he felt another deep pang of sympathy for his partner's plight. It must be hell being balanced between pain and pleasure like this...

Pushing aside the sheet, he pulled the knob slowly up, trying to ignore Jim's sudden panting, the way his hips squirmed on the bed, and the way his ass cheeks quivered and clenched. The firm circle of muscle didn't budge, even when he gave it a quarter turn and Jim moaned in response. It was a no go.

"It's not working, Jim." He wanted to ask how the hell had they gotten it inside in the first place. It didn't look forced - there was no evidence of tearing or trauma - which meant that Jim must've been relaxed enough to accept it, but now... "You've got to try and relax. It's not going anyplace otherwise."

Jim nodded, and his chest heaved. Blair could see him trying to relax his tense muscles, and he stroked Jim's back and hip, whispering encouragement. After several minutes spent gauging the increasingly lax body before him, he took the knob in a firm grip and pulled.

It was a good thing Jim's scream was muffled by the sheets, or the hotel security would have been in there in two minutes.

Blair sat back on his heels, still stroking a quivering thigh, and frowned. This was an exercise in futility. Unfortunately, there was only one way he could think of to get Jim to relax enough. And he didn't think Jim would go for it, preferring that monster up his ass to Blair's suggestion.

Still...

"It's time to try Plan Two," he said, keeping his voice light.

Jim twisted a little on the bed and a baleful blue eye glared at him. "Do I even want to know what Plan Two is?"

"Hey, it's not so bad. We've got to get you relaxed, right?" Blair waited until Jim nodded. "And one of the best ways to relax is to... ummm... achieve sexual completion."

The room was deathly quiet; the only sound he could hear was the heavy pounding of his own heart.

"Are you suggesting," Jim began in a whisper, "that I-" His voice cut out, even though his still lips moved.

"Yeah." Blair nodded vigorously.

"You have got to be kidding, Sandburg! I'm not-"

Blair sighed. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.

"Can the crap, Jim. I've already seen you looking like the star of a kinky porn film - helping you jack off is going to be a breeze after that."

Jim buried his face back in the sheets; a blush spread over his neck and shoulders, turning his ears scarlet. Poor guy, thought Blair. This situation wouldn't be easy even for an exhibitionist - for someone as private as Jim, it must be hell.

"C'mon, man, you're half-way there already," Blair coaxed, sliding his hand down from Jim's hip between his open legs to gently tease his balls. "And when you're done, I can get that thing out, and we can go home." And you can tell me what the hell you've gotten yourself into, he added silently.

With a little hitching breath, Jim nodded and raised his hips higher, allowing Blair free access. The move startled Blair; he'd been expecting Jim to bring himself off. With a hard swallow, he scooted closer and pushed at Jim's hip.

"It'll be easier if you turn over," was all he said. Jim instantly complied, shifting his hips and raising his legs to make room for the knob beneath him and then throwing his left arm over his eyes. Blair was grateful - he didn't know if he could do this with Jim staring at him.

"Time to crank up those fantasies, man," he said softly, curling his fingers around Jim's swaying cock. "Anything in particular you want me to avoid?"

Jim shook his head, his arm still over his eyes, and shuddered once as Blair stroked him.

"Shhh, it's okay. Think about someone who makes you hot, Jim," he continued, dropping his voice to a bare whisper. "Visualize her touching you, hear her voice, smell her perfume. Got the image?" he asked. Jim nodded once. "Good. Her hand speeds up, and now she starts fondling your balls," he said, suiting his actions to his words. "Is that good, Jim?"

Another nod and a groan when Blair tightened his grip.

"Now she-" began Blair.

"Kisses my balls," interrupted Jim, his voice a hoarse whisper. Blair's strokes slowed as he processed Jim's statement. Jim bucked his hips and repeated, "kisses my balls."

"Jim..."

"That's what happens," Jim whispered urgently. "That's what happens next."

With the peculiar sensation of being tossed head-first into a bottomless chasm, Blair slowly lowered his lips to Jim's groin. He planted a dry peck on each testicle, shocked at Jim's shiver and rich moan in response.

"Again."

This time he nuzzled the swollen sac first, then ran his tongue over the throbbing flesh. Not a bad taste. A bit furry, but not as hairy as he was. Opening his mouth, he gently captured each ball in turn, pleased with Jim's shuddering reaction. He almost giggled when he felt Jim's testicles rolling inside the tightly-stretched skin held between his lips.

"Now," rasped Jim, as Blair released his balls, "now..."

"What happens now?" Blair asked when Jim's voice trailed off. "What does she do now?"

"Tastes my cock. Licks me."

Of course.

Stilling his hand, Blair pressed a chaste kiss to the glistening tip of Jim's cock, startled when Jim cried out, hips jerking roughly.

"Easy, easy," he murmured, moving the hand that had been fondling Jim's balls to press his hip back down onto the bed.

"More."

Holding Jim's hip firmly, Blair swiped his tongue over the top, shivering at the taste. Bitter and earthy, the flavor filled his mouth, wildly different and yet vaguely similar to the women he had tasted.

"Again." The word was almost unrecognizable. Jim's body shifted and strained beneath him, tense muscles coiling even tighter when Blair bestowed another lick.

"Again." This time it was not a demand but a plea. Blair swallowed thickly, his dry mouth suddenly flooded with saliva, and he kissed the tip, then opened his lips to engulf the top inch of Jim's cock, pumping the shaft hard.

Jim quivered, gasping, then thrust his hips up hard, dislodging Blair. Jim's face was contorted, mouth wide, screaming silently as he orgasmed. Blair reached out and grabbed his flailing hands, holding on for dear life as Jim thrashed on the bed. Only Jim's thin, keening wail cut the silence as thick pulses of semen puddled on his chest.

Slowly, so slowly it could have been calculated in geologic time, Jim collapsed. Eyes closed, mouth slack, muscles so limp they could have been replaced by boiled spaghetti without anyone being the wiser, only his chest moved. With a pleased smile, Blair untwined his fingers from Jim's and sat back. If that hadn't relaxed him, nothing would.

A couple of swipes of the sheet took care of the mess on Jim's chest enough until he could get home and shower. Blair licked his lips, startled that he could still taste Jim in his mouth. What a weird way to get to know your partner. He thought about it for a second, then shook his head, clearing it. He still had a job to do, and he'd better do it quickly, before Jim came back to himself.

He rolled Jim onto his side like a dead weight, and groaned softly. Jim's erection might have been taken care of, but his was still raring to go. He glared at his tented crotch for a second, then grimaced. The only thing he could do now was ignore it and hope it went away. Jim needed him.

Taking a firm grip on the plastic, he pulled gently, pleased to see the tight muscle encircling the knob stretch easily. Another tug. Jim moaned.

"Hang on a sec, Jim. It's working."

It took five or six more pulls to finally breech the resistance and pull the plug free from Jim's body. His eyes widened as he took in the length and girth of it, stunned that anyone smaller than an elephant could get that inside them. Jim whimpered, and Blair dropped the plug beside the bed, turning back to his writhing partner. Jim's ass was clenching and unclenching, spasming now that it was empty.

With gentle hands and soft voice, he soothed Jim until the worst of the spasms had passed and Jim lay panting on the bed.

"You okay to move now?" he asked, rubbing Jim's damp back and arms.

Jim nodded and struggled to sit up, hissing when his ass took his weight. "My clothes are in the closet," he said, wincing as he stood.

Blair brought them over to the bed. Jim waved him away, insisting that he could get dressed himself.

"I don't think so, man," he muttered as Jim stumbled, weak-kneed, trying to get his boxers on. He grabbed Jim's arm and held him steady until Jim nodded. Then he dropped to his knees, feeding Jim's feet through the legs of his boxers and pulling them up high enough until Jim could reach the waist and jerk them over his crotch. He slowly dressed Jim as if he were an invalid, even directing Jim to hold onto the back of a chair as Blair slipped on his boots and tied them.

Throughout it all, Jim was silent. When they had finished, Blair looked around the room.

"What about the... stuff, Jim?"

"Leave it," was the curt reply.

"Are you sure?"

Jim nodded and moved toward the door with a peculiar, stiff-legged gait, wincing again. Blair followed, surprised when Jim suddenly grabbed his arm. "Not a word about this to anyone. You got that?"

"Hey, I wouldn't tell anyone! What kind of friend do you think I am?" Blair said, trying to hide the hurt that sliced through him.

Jim stared at him for a long moment, the corded column of his throat moving as he swallowed. Then he nodded. "The best kind." He released Blair's arm and turned toward the door. "Thanks, Chief. I owe you one."

You damn well better believe it, thought Blair as he followed Jim out of the room. And I'm going to collect big-time.

***

They were silent until they reached Jim's truck.

"Are you going to be able to drive home?" Blair met Jim's eyes for the first time since they left the room. "That bench seat is pretty unforgiving."

"I'll manage," Jim said, jerking the door open. The sickly blue glare of the streetlights made his sudden blush all the more obvious.

"Sure you will, Jim. You always do. But why not take it easy on yourself and drive home with me? We can pick up the truck tomorrow."

He shook his head and started to climb in, his movements slow and hesitant, his lips pinched tightly together.

Blair shook his head, exasperated. "At least fold the blanket under your butt, man. This isn't some kind of macho endurance contest."

Jim stopped half-way into the truck, then stepped back onto the sidewalk. Without a word, he reached behind the seat and pulled out the heavy wool blanket, then folded it into a pad.

Blair waited until Jim had settled himself behind the wheel, then turned toward his car. "See you back home."

It wasn't until he was sitting in the driver's seat of the Volvo that his hands started shaking. He beat his clenched fists on the seat beside him, then pounded the steering wheel until it shook.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

That could have been bad. He could have hurt Jim. Or someone else could have found him and taken advantage of him. Taken pictures. Video. Hurt him. Killed him. And the publicity...

Eventually he calmed down enough to drive home.

***

Jim was standing in the kitchen, finishing a large glass of water when he walked in. With a nod of acknowledgment, Blair made a bee-line for the fridge and grabbed a beer.

"Want one?"

Jim nodded, and he snagged a second bottle. Twisting off the tops, he handed one to Jim, who leaned nonchalantly against the cooking island and took a long swallow. Blair followed suit, the cold beer tasting good, although it washed away the faint taste of Jim in his mouth.

Propping himself comfortably against the cabinets across from his partner, Blair crossed his arms and looked at Jim. Blue eyes roamed the room, never lighting long on any object, until they turned, as if magnetized, to meet his.

He read pain and embarrassment and shame and, oh shit, fear.

"What's going on, Jim?" He didn't accuse, or judge, or condemn. He just asked, quietly, allowing the concern he felt to leak out in his voice and words.

The eyes moved, fixing on the juncture of wall and ceiling. The pale skin pinked. There was a pause, and then Jim spoke, calmly and quietly. "It was consensual."

"Okay," Blair shrugged. "I'll take your word for it." He took another swig of beer. "But why were you left alone like that? Whoever she is, she was criminally negligent, man."

Jim's blush deepened. "I don't know what happened, Chief. My... friend has never... I mean, I always thought..." His voice trailed off and for a second he looked lost and bewildered. Then, like ice spreading over a shallow pool, his expression smoothed out. "I'll be more careful."

Burying his concern in gruffness, Blair nodded. "You better. I don't ever want to get a call like that again."

"How did you know where to find me?" Jim frowned, as if the question had only just occurred to him.

"Some guy called and told me that you needed help. And he told me to go alone," he said, glaring as Jim opened his mouth. "It was a risk, I know, but I couldn't just ignore the message." He tilted back his head and took another swallow, wetting his dry throat. There was no response. Expecting an explosion, he glanced over at Jim.

He was standing stock still, eyes squeezed closed, lips pressed into a pale line. He looked like a five-year-old trying desperately not to cry.

Ignoring his still-dry throat, Blair reached out and brushed his fingers against Jim's arm.

"Hey, it's okay. No harm done. Just don't scare me that way again, okay?"

Jim took a shuddering breath and nodded. He pulled away from Blair's touch and started toward the stairs. As he passed the answering machine, he glanced at it, stopped, and punched a button. The hiss of the tape sounded loud in the loft.

"Hey, Jim," said a man's voice. "It's Harry. I'm really sorry about tonight. There was an emergency at the hospital. I'll call later to make sure you got home safely and explain everything. I hope you don't mind that I called Sandburg to..." There was a pause. "...help you out. From what you've said about him, I thought he was the best choice." Muffled shouts in the background almost drowned out his next words. "It was a shame. You were really enjoying yourself." The tape ended, clicked, and then whirred as it rewound.

Blair stared at Jim's back. He couldn't help it. Jim was with a guy? Here he had thought he knew Jim, knew the most intimate secrets of the man standing frozen in front of him. He almost giggled at the absurdity of the thought.

Somehow he found his voice. "Jim? That was the guy who called."

With a galvanic jerk Jim turned, his right hand clutching the bottle so tightly that his blanched knuckles stood out against the rest of his flesh. He took two shambling steps to the dining table and set the bottle down. It tilted crazily before righting, sloshing a streak of beer on the table. Jim ignored it.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said, enunciating every word carefully, like a drunk trying to pass as sober.

Blair watched silently as Jim made his way to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him. It was only when the shower started that he realized he was standing there, gaping at a closed door. He left his beer on the counter, feeling as if his world had suddenly tilted and not wanting the alcoholic buzz to disorient him more than he already was.

Jim had been with a guy tonight. Jim had allowed himself to be tied up. Jim had permitted this guy to use those things on and in him. And he'd enjoyed it, at least at first. Collapsing onto the couch, Blair stared out the balcony windows, trying desperately to bring his mental image of Jim into focus. It kept shimmering and breaking apart like a mirage in the heat, and he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried, make it become again that rock-solid construct he had prided himself on understanding.

He berated himself for his foolishness, his hubris, his damnable assurance that he, Blair Sandburg, was the only person in the universe who had cracked open the tough nut that was James Joseph Ellison and knew what lay inside that unyielding exterior. What a crock. He didn't know shit about his partner.

But, and the strength of his desire shocked him, he wanted to know everything about Jim. He wanted to lay his partner's mind and soul bare, as bare as his...

No.

He pushed the thought out of his mind as he adjusted his swelling erection, glaring at his groin. Get a grip, Sandburg. That was no way to repay Jim's friendship and trust. But he wasn't going to ever forget the intimacy they had shared, however reluctantly, tonight. He couldn't - it was permanently scorched into his brain and heart.

He jumped as the phone rang, eyeing it warily. He knew who it was. The shower was still running, so he picked up the receiver.

"Yeah?"

"Jim Ellison, please." The same voice, and Blair felt a small spark of anger ignite in his gut.

"He can't come to the phone right now."

"Can't? Or won't?" The voice sounded almost amused, and Blair's anger grew.

"Can't," replied Blair shortly. "He's in the shower, cleaning up." Erasing the damage you did him, he added silently.

There was a pause and a gusty sigh. "I guess you found him all right."

"I found him. He wasn't all right by a long shot."

"He didn't hurt himself, did he?" For the first time, Blair detected concern in the tone.

"Not permanently."

"Damn..." Another sigh. "I've got to explain this to Jim, but I'll have to call him back. He can't call in on this number." Blair heard the water shut off and the bathroom door open.

"He's coming right now." Hair damp and tousled, with a few beads of water still sparkling on his chest, Jim emerged in a hurry, wrapping a towel securely around his waist.

"Sandburg..." The voice sounded urgent and, strangely, uncertain. "Thanks for helping Jim."

"No thanks needed. He can always count on me."

Without waiting for a response, Blair handed Jim the phone, then grabbed a book and sat on the couch, pretending to read. No way was he going to leave Jim alone with that creep. Even over the telephone.

"Yeah?" Jim's voice was cold and hard as flint. "You better be sorry, you asshole! What the hell happened?" There was a pause. "Yeah, you told me you had to leave the address. You mean they tracked you down?" The clink of a bottle against the table-top rang loudly. "And you couldn't even excuse yourself and take the time to come in and free my hands?" Another pause. "He came right away." Jim sighed and lowered his voice. "How the hell do you think I felt, Sigmund? And no, before you ask, I don't want to talk about it. I want to go to bed and dream of strangling you. Analyze that." The phone slammed into the cradle, and Blair twisted around. Jim was frowning at the wall, seemingly lost in thought.

"Jim?"

With a sigh Jim turned. "Yeah?" His voice was soft.

"Is there anything I can do? To help?" Jim winced and shook his head.

"Unless you want to help me strangle a self-righteous prick of a psychiatrist in my dreams, no, Chief." Jim smiled weakly.

"I guess you'll have to handle that on your own. I'm not up to doing Freddy Krueger tonight." Blair's grin widened as Jim laughed. "See you in the morning."

"G'night, Chief."

"G'night, Jim."

***

Blair walked into the bullpen, his eyes scanning the commotion for Jim. He wasn't at his desk, and Blair looked around the room, feeling anxious and slightly lost.

"Hey Sandy!" Megan's cheerful voice coaxed a grin from him. "Looking for Ellison?"

"Yeah." He wandered over to her desk. "I was supposed to meet him for lunch, but there was an accident on the bridge and I got held up. Hey, these are nice." His finger traced the scarlet petal on one of a dozen roses displayed on her desk. "Tell all, Connor. You got a new admirer?"

"Not a chance," she laughed. "These came for Jim. He didn't want them, so I rescued them from the rubbish bin."

"For Jim?" Oh, man, he could guess who they were from.

"Yeah. Looks like our Jimmy's made a conquest, and he's not terribly chuffed at the idea."

"Oh yeah?" He kept his eyes on the roses and tried to sound only mildly interested. Megan was too sharp by half sometimes.

"Yeah, if his curses when they were delivered were anything to go by. Oh, and here comes our favorite boy now."

Blair turned as Jim walked in and dumped a pile of folders at his desk, then dropped heavily into his chair. The flash of pain that crossed Jim's face made Blair wince in sympathy. He waved at Megan and crossed to his partner.

"Sorry I'm late, Jim. There was-"

Jim opened a folder and stared at a page. "I heard about the accident. Figured you'd get held up."

"Did you already eat?" Blair schooled the disappointment from his voice.

"I'm not very hungry." Jim shrugged, and kept his eyes on the folder.

"Well, I'm starved. How 'bout we go get a hot dog or a bowl of chowder? My treat."

Jim raised his eyes and Blair felt a small surge of satisfaction.

"How can I turn down an offer like that?" Jim's lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile but couldn't quite remember how.

"C'mon, Jim, I am so hungry." Blair grabbed Jim's coat from the rack and tossed it to his partner. Jim's wide grin was as unexpected as it was blinding.

"You've gotta do something about that tapeworm, Chief." Jim stood and shrugged on his coat.

"Like you have room to talk. Who ate that twenty ounce steak last week? That thing was practically the entire cow. It was obscene."

Jim chuckled all the way out to the street.

***

"You finished?" Jim nodded, and Blair gathered up their trash, tossing it into an overflowing can a few feet from the park bench where they sat. With the sense of sailing headlong into a storm, Blair glanced over at his partner. Jim's arm was spread along the back of the bench behind him, his legs crossed as he favored one hip. Blair had offered his sweater for Jim to sit on, but the offer had been waved off.

"Megan told me about the roses," he began. "I guess Harry was trying to apologize."

Jim turned away to stare at the street, his lips pressed into a moue of distaste.

Blair plowed ahead. "This guy is bad news, man. What he did last night, leaving you like that..." He shook his head and shivered. Jim's jaw hardened, his lips pressed tighter together. "I mean, a good dom never does that! Not if he cares for the sub. There should always be a contingency plan for emergencies."

Jim snorted, still staring out at the street. "What do you know about doms and subs, Chief?"

"I was talking to some guys I know who are into that kinda stuff." Blair shrugged. "When they heard about what happened last night, they were pissed as hell-"

Jim's free arm whipped around, grabbing Blair's shirt-front and pinning him against the back of the bench. He leaned close, his eyes cold. "You told them about last night? You promised-"

"Shit, man! Calm down!" He pushed at Jim's unyielding hand. "I didn't mention you - I made it sound like it happened to a friend of a friend. You know, like an urban legend or something."

Slowly the cold in Jim's eyes melted and his fingers trembled, then loosened. He twisted away, groaning softly.

Blair took a deep breath and absently smoothed his rumpled shirt. "So, like I said, they were really pissed off that a dom would act that irresponsibly. I mean, you were in a lot of danger."

Jim sighed and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and bowing his head.

"Harry's not a dom, Chief."

Blair frowned and paused for a second, confused. "What do you mean? You were... I mean, the gag and blindfold..." His voice trailed off, and then he whispered, "You were tied up, Jim."

Jim nodded, and Blair could see his ears redden. "I'm not a sub, and Harry's not a dom. It was only the second time we'd tried it."

Blair stared at his partner, gaping. "But why?" The words were out of his mouth before he realized exactly what he had said. "Forget it, man, you don't have to explain-" He hurried to backtrack.

The silence stretched between them, tightening until the air practically vibrated and felt as if it would suddenly snap.

"Because I asked him to." Jim's voice was as soft as a snowfall. "I thought it would help..."

"Help what, Jim?" Blair's voice was even softer.

Jim didn't answer.

***

Despite his exhaustion, Blair paused for a moment in the hall to don his brightest, breeziest expression. Only then did he push open the door.

"Hey, Jim, I'm home." He dumped his backpack on the table and glanced over at his partner. Jim was sprawled on the sofa in front of the flickering television.

"Hey, Chief," came the laconic reply.

"How was life at the station today?" Blair perched on the sofa arm.

"Fine."

"How're you feeling?"

Jim's head fell back against the sofa and he sighed. "I'm fine, Sandburg."

"Hey, I'm just checking. It's only been three days, and one of the medical reference books I read said that it can sometimes take up to a week before the edema shrinks and the tissues heal enough so that..." Jim glared and Blair's mouth closed.

"Sandburg, would you stop speculating on the state of my ass?"

Blair closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Sorry. I'm just worried." He hauled himself up, dropping the mask and letting his tiredness show, and wandered over to the kitchen. "Want some juice?"

"Yeah."

Pouring two glasses, Blair handed one to Jim. With a sigh, he settled on the other couch, idly watching the figures move across the screen as he drank.

"You're going to have to talk about it sometime, Jim." He used his most reasonable voice. "You can't just let these kinds of things eat away inside you or come out in... strange ways. It just makes whatever's wrong worse."

There was no answer. He glanced over at his partner; Jim's profile was silhouetted by the harsh blue light of the television.

"That's right, man. Just ignore it, like you always do. Ignore me." He gulped down a mouthful of juice, forcing it past his tight throat. "Don't even pay me the courtesy of a reply."

At least that got a response. Jim's gaze landed on him, cold and remote. "There's nothing to talk about, Sandburg."

"I think there is. Like who is this guy, Jim?"

Jim's stare wavered, then his eyes slid away. "He's an old friend."

"Then how come you've never mentioned him? And he can't be that much of a friend if he leaves you like that." Blair didn't bother to hide his disgust.

"I told you, it was all new. To both of us. Harry's an okay guy, and he's usually not that irresponsible."

"Well, he picked a piss-poor time to be irresponsible." Blair slammed down his glass on the coffee table and stood, turning to pace in front of the balcony doors. "He's a doctor or something, isn't he? Didn't he take two seconds to realize how dangerous it could be?"

Jim sighed. "He's a psychiatrist."

"You mean, like a sex therapist?"

"No. He deals with post-traumatic stress cases." Jim intently studied the coffee table. "He... helped me when I got back from Peru."

"Then he should know better-"

"Not everyone analyzes every second of their lives like you do, Sandburg." Jim hauled himself out of the couch, scowling. "We were messing around, trying something out, and it didn't go like we expected. It wasn't all his fault."

"I can't believe you're defending him! Listen to yourself! The whole scene may have been consensual, but he was the one in control and he blew it big-time!"

"Hey, cut the guy some slack, okay?" Jim snapped. "I was the one who asked him for help, and he was just doing what I wanted."

Blair felt as if he'd been pole-axed. He paced over to the balcony windows, grabbing the handles, wanting to throw them open and breathe the fresh, chilly outside air. He reluctantly loosened his fingers, then turned to face Jim. "You asked him for help? You needed help and you asked him?" His voice wavered and he swallowed hard, then hit his chest with his open hand. "What's the matter with my help? Aren't I your friend, too, Jim?"

Jim turned away and went into the kitchen. "Cut the drama, Orson."

Blair choked and took a step back. "Oh, man, that's cold, even for you." He shook his head and walked to the table, snatching up his backpack. "I thought I was your friend, man. I thought you trusted me. Guess I thought wrong."

"Dammit, Sandburg!" Jim whirled around and slammed into the table, leaning over and glaring at Blair. "You are my friend, and I do trust you! But you're the one person who can't help me!" Jim jerked away from the table, the color leaching from his face.

It took three swallows before Blair could speak. "Why not?" he whispered, his eyes never leaving Jim.

Jim had backed up against the cooking island. He shook his head once and closed his eyes.

"Great, Jim. Just fucking great." Blair had almost reached his bedroom door when the phone rang. He stopped and looked at Jim, who was staring at the phone as if it were possessed. With a sigh, he picked it up.

"Hello."

"Will he talk to me yet?" the voice on the phone asked, tentative and hopeful.

"I'll check." Eyebrows raised, Blair held out the receiver to Jim. To his surprise, Jim nodded stiffly and walked over to take the phone.

"Hi, Harry," he said, and Blair winced at the gruff shyness in his tone. With a glance at Jim, he walked into his bedroom and tossed his backpack onto the bed. But he did not turn on the light or close the doors.

"I'm going to stop. It wasn't working anyway." A pause. Blair could hear Jim pacing. "Of course I remember what you said. I don't care. Get rid of the damn things. Burn them for all I care. Neither of us knows what we're doing, and innocent people are getting hurt." Another pause, and Jim snorted in exasperation. "Who else would I mean?" He lowered his voice and continued. "You don't know what happened - what he had to do to... Okay." Jim sounded exhausted, defeated. "Friday's fine. Seven. Sure. See you."

Blair stood in the dark, stunned. The click of the receiver and Jim's hesitant steps galvanized him into action, and he stepped from his bedroom.

"What's going on, Jim?"

Jim looked confused. "What are you talking about, Chief?"

"You just made a date to see that... that asshole again."

With a snap, Jim's face blanked. "It's a private matter, Sandburg. It doesn't involve you."

"Oh, yeah? I'm involved up to my eyebrows, in case you hadn't noticed." He faced Jim, glaring at his impassive partner, and felt his simmering rage ignite. "I'm the one who had to run out in the middle of the night, scared shitless because of an anonymous phone call and find you like... that! I had to untie you and figure out how to get all that... that shit off of you!" He shoved Jim's shoulder hard, pleased when surprise flashed across his partner's face and he took a stumbling step backward. "I'm the one who made sure you weren't hurt, 'cause you sure could have landed in a shit-load of trouble, man! I'm the one who jacked you off-"

As quickly as it had come, his rage evaporated. He turned on his heel and collapsed on the couch, his exhaustion returning in full force.

"Forget it," he said, closing his eyes. "You're right. It's none of my business."

He felt the sofa cushions shift as Jim sat down.

"I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?"

Blair nodded, but didn't open his eyes. "Yeah, you sure have."

Jim sighed. "We're just going out to dinner on Friday, Chief. To talk. Like you said."

"Whatever." He blinked, his eyes burning from fatigue. "Just don't involve me, okay?"

"I never wanted you involved with this," Jim muttered, fixing his eyes on his clasped hands. "I would've rather stayed there until Harry got back than have you see me like that."

"Don't say that!" Blair twisted around to face Jim, his heart pounding wildly. He grasped Jim's shoulder firmly and gave it a shake. "Don't even think that! Dammit, I'm your partner!" And then he couldn't speak.

Jim turned to him slowly, his lips curling into a tentative smile. "Yeah, you're my partner, Chief." His voice was almost a whisper. "What I want to know is, how did I get so lucky?"

***

It was time. His smile of anticipation carefully hidden, Blair closed his books and shut down his laptop. Groaning, he got up from the table.

"I'm off to bed, Jim," he said, stretching his arms high over his head, enjoying the dull ache in his muscles, the way his skin rubbed against his tee-shirt and jeans, the soft pop of tendons settling into place.

Jim looked up from his book and consulted his watch. "Are you going to bed already? It's only ten."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm just tired." He hated it when his voice slipped into that defensive tone, but it took too much effort to erase it.

Jim rose and advanced on him with a frown. "Are you all right, Chief? This is, what, the third or fourth night in a row you've hit the sack before midnight. Are you sure-" Blair backed away.

"I'm fine, man. Just feeling a little sleepy." He didn't look at Jim. He knew everything would be all right if he didn't look at his partner.

"You sure you're not getting that flu that's going around the station?" Jim reached out, his fingers brushed Blair's forehead.

"Dammit, Jim, lay off!" Blair batted his hand away. "There's nothing wrong with me that a good night's sleep won't take care of." He turned and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door. He quickly washed, his irritation disappearing down the drain with the soapy water. Before opening the door he hesitated, taking two slow breaths. Everything was fine. What he was going to do was fine, as natural as breathing. There was absolutely no need to feel guilty.

Jim had returned to the sofa, his nose buried in his book. He didn't look up as Blair passed.

"G'night, Jim."

Jim nodded. "See you in the morning."

At last. Blair carefully shut his bedroom door, anticipation parching his mouth and quickening his breaths. He didn't rush his preparations, however; he had looked forward to this all day, pushing aside the almost overwhelming temptation to think about exactly what he was going to do over and over again, ignoring the irritating prick of guilt, and now he wanted to savor every moment.

He stripped and crawled into bed, pulling the blankets tightly up to his chin and shivering slightly from something other than cold. He heard the water running, then Jim's slow, soft tread up the steps.

He waited for a moment longer, not because he had to, but simply because it felt good to hold off a little more. Then, with a delicious shiver, he closed his eyes.

It was like opening a treasure box; that's how he thought of it. Each perfect jewel had to be exclaimed over, held up to the light, explored in its entirety. First he licked his lips, remembering the taste, dark and bitter, and swallowed quickly, his mouth filling at the memory. Another lick, then he inhaled, dragging the warm, musky scents deep into his lungs.

His hands crept down his belly, but he stopped them at his waist. Not yet. There was more he desperately wanted to recall and relive.

His fingers twitched as he remembered the soft dampness of tender skin, the surprising contrast of coarse stubble, the quivering delicate flesh that encased hard muscle. He had felt this last before when he touched himself and a couple of others, but this was different. It was not academic curiosity nor casual need that prompted the overwhelming wash of tenderness and desire as he tightened his grip, but he shunted that thought into a siding, content to let it lie idle for a while.

Where was he?

Oh yes. His hands slid further, tickling his belly and creeping over his stirring cock. He slowly grasped his own erection, mirroring the clasp on the one in his memory, and stroked gently. Heat sizzled through his nerves, startling him by its intensity. His eyes flew open and he released his grip, panting quietly.

He was closer to the edge than he had realized.

Waiting for a few minutes, he allowed himself to calm down before he closed his eyes and dragged out his treasures again, letting them combine in his mind and gain renewed strength in his body. Taste. Smell. Touch.

He arched up into his fist, ready for more.

The memory of a deep moan resonated through him, tearing an echoing one from his chest. He greeted the echoes of soft panting whimpers with a rictus of a smile, tension and need bleeding it of humor, leaving only sharp pleasure behind. A remembered groan, dark and rich, revealed a greedy hunger matched only by his own.

Then he called up the last of his memories and saw Jim lying naked on his back, long legs spread wide, arms outstretched, hands fisting the sheets, chest heaving, that incredible face transfigured with pleasure, mouth open, and everything merged together, all those memories, all those bright moments as he relived that short time when everything he knew about Jim, about himself, was sent spinning, careening wildly, and then memory slipped over into want and wishing and Jim was calling him, crying out his name...

Blair writhed under the blankets, cock pulsing in his hand, his mouth clamped shut, harboring the name he desperately wanted to scream as he came. When he had finished he curled up on his side, his pounding heart gradually slowing.

He packed away his memories with regret, resisting the urge to bring them out again because he didn't want to spoil them with overuse. Then he composed himself for sleep, even though he knew it would be hours before his mind shut down.

***

"Will you sit down, Sandburg? You're driving me nuts." Jim looked up from his seat on the couch, his voice a mixture of irritation and amusement.

Blair glared at him but circled the couch and flopped down at the end farthest from Jim, bouncing the seat gently.

"There. I'm sitting. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

Despite his anger, Blair found himself grinning at Jim's dry-as-dust tone. Without thinking, he popped up and began to pace again.

"I don't like this, Jim. I know, I know," he held up his hands as Jim began to speak, "you're just going to dinner with him. But I-"

"Don't like it," Jim finished, standing up. "I know, Chief. Don't worry, nothing is going to happen."

The knock at the door startled Blair, and he consciously calmed his quick breaths. Jim shot him a glance, then opened the door.

"C'mon in, Harry."

Blair tried to smooth the frown off his face as Jim stepped back. He quickly moved over to stand close beside Jim.

"Chief, this is Harry Edwards. Harry, my partner, Blair Sandburg."

Blair stuck out his hand as he sized up the other man. Damn. Edwards was as tall as Jim, sandy-haired but thinning on top, with laser-bright blue eyes and cheekbones practically to the state line.

With a nod, Edwards took his hand. His grip was firm, but at least he didn't try to play the crush-the-other-guy's-hand-disguised-as-a-friendly-shake game. "Pleased to meet you," he said, but he didn't seem surprised when Blair remained silent.

Jim grabbed his jacket and grinned at Blair. "See you later, Chief."

Blair scowled. "I'll be here if you need me, man," he said, shooting a glance at Edwards, pleased when the other man blushed.

"Don't worry, Sandburg." Jim gave his shoulder a poke, and then tapped his temple. "I'll be fine. Let's go," he said to Harry, who was looking pensively from Jim to Blair and back again. Harry's face suddenly creased in a smile.

"All right." He chuckled, ignoring Blair's fresh glare. "I've got a joke to tell you over dinner."

"A joke?" Jim looked dubious.

"Well, maybe not..." Edwards stopped, sobering, before his face split in a grin again. "No. Definitely a joke. You'll love it."

Blair watched them walk out the door, then wrapped his arms tightly around his torso. He suddenly felt hollow, a fragile husk. So this is what it felt like to lose the one thing in the world you wanted more than life itself, he thought dully. Without loosening his arms, he sat down at the table and prepared to wait.

***

"I am going to kill you, James Joseph Ellison," Blair muttered as he paced yet another a tight circle around the furniture. "I am going to kill you slowly. It'll take you days to die, man, and I'm going to enjoy watching every fucking second of it!"

He stopped in the kitchen, wondering for the hundredth time if he could get any food down. He shook his head, then made a bee-line for the balcony, leaving the doors wide open behind him. The chill air felt good, cooling his overheated skin, and he sucked it in gratefully.

"You are so dead, man," he whispered as he scanned the deserted street. Jim's truck was parked next to his Volvo and he frowned, wishing he could get into his car and go find that rat bastard of a partner of his and drag his sorry butt back to where he would be safe...

He turned and walked back inside, closing the doors carefully, mindful of the dickey latch that needed to be jiggled just so before it would catch. Glancing at the phone, he started to pace again. He had tried to call Jim around eleven, when he couldn't stand the waiting any more, but the idiot had turned off his cellphone. Blair clenched his hands and gritted his teeth and resisted the urge yet again to grab the phonebook and start calling all the restaurants in Cascade, one after the other, asking if they had served a buff, handsome, taciturn, ex-military cop with a rare smile that could light up your very soul, and, oh yeah, a good-looking weasel of a psychiatrist who should be struck off the medical register and pilloried in public, preferably gagged and blindfolded, with a dildo the size of Montana stuck up his ass...

He could call Simon and get out an APB on Jim. He wouldn't have to tell Simon the truth, just that Jim had been going to meet an old contact and that he was now missing... Or he could start calling all the hotels...

The lock rattled and the door swung open.

Blair whipped around. "Where the fuck have you been!"

Jim stood in the doorway, shoulders squared and jaw set, paler than pale.

"Oh, man," Blair breathed, and was beside his partner in half-a-dozen steps, hovering close as Jim walked in. "What did the bastard talk you into this time?" He shut the door behind them.

With a sigh, Jim shook his head. "Sorry I'm late, Chief." He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up, his movements deliberate and precise and as brittle as glass.

Blair scanned his partner's face. Exhaustion dragged at Jim's flesh, sharpening his cheekbones and carving deep groves from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth. Concern damped the remainder of Blair's anger, snuffing out the warm embers completely and leaving him chill with worry.

"What happened?"

Jim stilled for a heartbeat, then he carefully sat down at the table, moving like an old man. "We talked."

"Talked?" Blair blinked blankly at him and then glanced at the clock. "For six and a half hours?"

"Yeah." Jim clasped his hands in front of him and nodded to the chair opposite. "Sit down. I've got to tell you some things." And then Jim's eyes slid over to stare at the wall and his jaw tightened and he looked absolutely terrified.

Blair's heart melted.

"Hey, it's okay," he said quietly, almost not daring to breathe. He slowly circled the table and gingerly sat down facing Jim. "I'm here. Take your time, and tell me what you need to."

Startled blue eyes met his for a scalding instant, then Jim's gaze returned to the wall. He sat up straighter and squared his shoulders, as if he were facing a firing squad.

"First of all, I have to apologize," Jim began. "When you found me and were trying to get me to... relax, I asked you to do certain... intimate things." Jim swallowed. "It was inexcusable to use you like that. I'm sorry."

Blair shifted in his seat, remembering those intimate things all too well. "You don't-"

Jim held up his hand and shook his head. "Yes, I do. What I asked went way beyond the bounds of friendship. I'm sorry I did it, and I hope you can forgive me, if not now, then maybe soon."

"It isn't necessary-" Blair felt distinctly uncomfortable and very disappointed. Maybe Jim didn't enjoy it as much as Blair thought he had. Maybe he hadn't done it right...

"Please, Chief," Jim interrupted, glancing at Blair with a frown, "let me finish what I have to say. It's hard enough as it is."

Blair nodded. "Go on."

"I've known Harry for seven years." His voice sounded rusty. "He was the Army's top authority on PTSD, and he helped me out after I got back from Peru. We got along pretty well, and when I left the Army we kept in touch." Jim shrugged. "He retired a couple of years ago, and set up a private practice. We met for lunch a few times, and one day he told me he was gay."

Blair nodded again, not surprised at all. It made sense. "So you were lovers."

Jim looked embarrassed. "Not really."

"Not really? Then why were you... like that at the hotel?"

"It's kind of complicated." Jim cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "Over the past couple of years, I was having some problems, and I asked Harry if he could help." He stared at his tightly clenched hands.

"What kind of problems?" Blair asked sharply.

"It started so gradually that it took me a while to even figure out that something was wrong. I'd meet a woman and we'd be attracted to each other, and we'd end up in bed. Things would work out fine that night, but the next time... I'd try, but I couldn't- Nothing would happen..." Jim closed his eyes for a second, then gazed, stony-faced, out the windows.

"So you called Harry because you couldn't perform?"

Jim nodded. "He gave me some suggestions. They worked for a while."

"And then?"

"It was getting noticeable, Chief. You even commented on the fact that I didn't date anyone more than once. I was getting desperate. I asked Harry to..." Jim's blush deepened, and his eyes fell. "I thought that if he... Well, women didn't work any more, and I thought a man might."

Blair shook his head, impatient with Jim, impatient with himself. Why hadn't he seen the problem? He wasn't usually so dense. And Jim... Jim must have been really desperate to try something so out of character... "Jim, what were you thinking? Had you ever been with a man before?"

"Nothing serious. A couple of times in college and in the army."

Blair blinked. "You're kidding."

Jim gave him a dubious frown. "It can't be that much of a surprise, Sandburg. Harry's call last week pretty much gave the game away."

"Yeah, well, I kinda assumed it was your first time with a guy."

Jim looked at him solemnly, then nodded. "I see."

"And did..." Blair abruptly looked away. "Did being with a man work?"

"At first," Jim said. He shifted restlessly. "Then I needed to cut off my senses, so we tried blindfolds and gags, and he tied me so I couldn't touch him... But I could still hear and smell, and so I asked him to try... other things to... stimulate me."

Blair bit his lip, frowning in concentration, trying to make sense of Jim's disjointed words. "Why did you have to cut off your senses?"

"Because," he said hoarsely, "I couldn't fool myself any longer." Jim suddenly shoved back his chair and quickly crossed to the windows, standing stiffly, facing the darkness outside. "I tried to pretend that Harry was... It didn't work anymore, but he agreed to try one last time. The problem was, Chief, I knew who I was with, and it wasn't who I wanted, and then..." Jim shivered and took a deep, shuddering breath. "And then I was with who I wanted and everything was perfect, so perfect..." His head fell forward and his shoulders drooped. "But now I'll never be able to pretend again."

Oh my god.

Don't make me listen to this, Jim, he thought, fixing his eyes on the tabletop. Not now, not when I finally know what it's like to touch you, taste you, hear you cry out as you come...

Don't make me ask, please. Not that. Any question but that.

But he took one look at Jim's defeated stance and asked.

"Who is it?" he whispered, his eyes boring holes in Jim's back.

Turning slowly, Jim faced him, looking only slightly less terrified than a man awaiting execution. "You," he said finally, irrevocably, "only you."

Blair froze. His body and mind simply stopped cold at Jim's words.

He watched numbly as Jim took a hopeful step toward him, then, face growing blank, turned away again.

And then everything seemed to come back online all at once, his mind racing as he jumped up and ran to Jim, skittering to a stop right behind him.

"Jim?" He raised his hand and placed it gently in the middle of Jim's back, feeling the rock-solid muscles beneath his fingers. "I don't know what to say, man, you took me by surprise..." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jim's shoulder, and tried, somewhere in the whirling chaos of his thoughts, to find the right words.

"I had no idea, Jim. I mean, it's not like you gave me a lot of hints or anything." His hand stroked up and down Jim's back, and when the muscles jumped and quivered at his touch, Blair slid his hands around Jim's body and held him tight. "But, oh, man, I am so with this."

Chill hands cupped his own, and Jim gently squeezed his fingers.

"This is above and beyond the call of duty, Chief. It's my problem, and I can find other ways to deal with it."

"Don't you dare, Jim! I want you as much as you want me!" He squeezed Jim, only letting up when he heard Jim's soft grunt of discomfort.

Jim released his hands. "It's okay, Sandburg. Really. You don't have to-"

With a growl of frustration, Blair stepped around Jim and poked him in the chest. "Did it ever occur to you, Ellison, that I'm practically throwing myself at you, and that if you don't catch me, I'm going to end up on my ass on the floor? And second, in case you didn't notice, I was so turned on at the hotel when I was making love to you that I thought I was going to come in my pants for a while there."

Jim gaped. "You got turned on?"

"Yeah," Blair grinned. "Why do you think I've been going to bed early every night since then? I wanted to relive touching you and tasting you over and over." He swallowed hard. "I thought that was all I'd ever have."

Jim's mouth formed an 'O,' but no sound emerged as he blinked owlishly at Blair. "I turned you on?" he said finally, his voice rising unsteadily.

"Yes, Jim," Blair said in his most patient tone. "You did. You do."

Jim thought about it for a moment, then deliberately raised his hand and cupped it over Blair's cheek. Blair put his hand on top of Jim's and rubbed it gently. "Blair?"

"Yeah?"

"May I kiss you?"

Blair smiled and nodded, suddenly inexplicably shy. Jim leaned forward and touched his lips to Blair's and all the shyness was gone, vaporized by the scorching wave that filled him, consumed him. Jim's hands moved, and Blair found himself pulled close, his body plastered against his partner's. With a muffled moan, he grasped Jim's shoulders and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. Strong fingers rubbed against his skin, tangled in his hair, squeezed his muscles until he wondered how Jim could possibly be touching him with just two hands.

He pulled away, gasping, stunned at Jim's incandescent smile and the tenderness in his eyes. His own lips curled up in response, and he bounced slightly on his heels. "You taste good."

Jim glanced down and then met his eyes, an almost coy look that made Blair's heart speed up. "You taste good, too." The hoarseness in his voice was very gratifying, Blair decided, and he gently framed Jim's face in his hands and leaned forward for another kiss.

This time when they broke apart, Blair was surprised at how awkward he felt - it took an effort for him to meet Jim's eyes. With a nod and an understanding look, Jim rested his hand on Blair's shoulder and rubbed it gently.

"You choose the speed, Chief. As much as you want, as fast as you want. Okay?"

Blair nodded, then reached out and laid his fingers on the side of Jim's throat. He could feel the strong pulse, which sped up as he tilted his head to one side and licked his lips.

"I want it all, Jim. Right now."

He felt the smooth throat muscles move beneath his fingers as Jim swallowed. With an echoing gulp, he stepped closer, the tension inside him coiling tightly.

"Please..." He took Jim's hand in his and led the way toward the stairs. Jim followed, silent, his hand grasping Blair's in an almost-painful grip.

The walk up the steps took only a moment, and when they reached the top, Blair turned and captured Jim's mouth again in a quick, sweet kiss. His hands crept up Jim's chest and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, and he chuckled nervously at his clumsiness. Two hands abruptly pulled his away and his objection was silenced by a finger on his lips. With a grin, he gnawed gently at it, then kissed it, returning his hands to their previous labors. This time Jim stood still and silent until Blair opened his shirt and ran his hands over and over the smooth flesh, caressing, stroking, squeezing enticing pieces of skin gently. Perfect, Blair thought. Absolutely perfect.

"Stop it, Chief," Jim gritted between clenched teeth, "or this'll be over before it begins."

This time when Jim moved Blair's hands to his sides, Blair simply clenched his fists and honored Jim's unspoken request. Breathing heavily, Jim undid the buttons on Blair's shirt, sliding it off over his shoulders, then lifting the tee-shirt up over his head. Jim stopped for a moment, his eyes flickering over his partner, until Blair fidgeted, uncomfortable with Jim's thoughtful regard. Jim's mouth lifted in a sweet, pensive smile, and he knelt in front of Blair, untying and tugging off his shoes. Then, with a chaste kiss to the center of Blair's chest, he unfastened Blair's pants and carefully drew them over his erection, down his legs and off.

Jim stood. With a gallant lift of his chin, Blair met Jim's eyes, his breath catching at Jim's look of utter and total devotion. Oh dear god, this is it... Blair clasped Jim's hands and walked backward, only stopping when the backs of his knees hit the bed.

"What do you want?" he whispered, gazing solemnly at Jim.

Jim lifted Blair's hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "You. Only you."

Blair sat, pulling Jim forward between his knees. "Then I'm yours."

Without another word, Jim knelt in front of him, eyes half-closed in concentration. He raised his hands, barely skimming Blair's face, head, hair, down his throat, across his shoulders, down his arms and chest, finally coming to rest at his waist. Blair shivered uncontrollably as the fingers ghosted over his skin, mapping him, memorizing him, raising goosebumps along his torso and down his arms. Then Jim followed the same path with his lips and tongue, pausing to delicately scent him at the tender patch of skin below his ears, at the join of neck and shoulder, and at the small furry place at the end of his sternum. He planted quick, dry kisses along Blair's waist, then pushed at Blair's shoulders until he lay back on the bed.

Scrambling to raise himself on his elbows - no way was he going to miss watching this - Blair bit his lips to keep from crying out as Jim repeated the process over his hips and down his legs. First the whisper of touch over hips, down thighs and calves, across and around feet. Blair's eyes glazed and his hands clutched the sheets. Lips and tongue then nuzzled, flicked, and nibbled in complicated patterns over his hipbones and along the smooth muscles of his thighs. When Jim reached his knees, Blair groaned and lurched forward, grabbing Jim's shoulders and tugging at him.

"C'mere, Jim," he ordered, "and let me get those damn clothes off of you."

Jim stood and allowed Blair to undress him, his clothes ending up in an untidy heap on the floor next to Blair's. When he finished, Blair leaned back on the bed and gazed admiringly at his partner, all hard planes, smooth flesh, and shy smile. He grinned at Jim's faint blush and rampant erection.

"You're even more incredible than I remembered," he said, shaking his head in awe.

Jim's blush deepened. Blair held out his hand and Jim took it, moving onto the bed beside him at Blair's urging. The bed dipped, and Blair rolled onto his side, pulling Jim close, seeking his mouth.

Jim surged forward and met his lips willingly, and suddenly Blair found himself flat on his back, covered by a warm blanket of squirming Jim. Blair quivered as Jim rubbed himself against him, muscles shifting, flesh caressing, erections bumping gently, and moaned into Jim's mouth. Jim echoed his moan. His hands kneaded Jim's arms and back, drifted up to brush through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, then stroked down that long chain of bone to clutch frantically at the hard muscles of Jim's ass. It was wonderful, amazing, better than anything he had known before, better even than his dreams.

Jim burrowed his arms beneath Blair and then rolled, flipping them so that Blair lay on top, draped across him. Blair wriggled in Jim's arms until he could reach Jim's neck, and proceeded to devour him, not caring how much Jim squirmed or panted or pleaded for mercy.

Finally he raised his head and admired the faintly marked flesh. Nothing that would stand out, nothing that would embarrass Jim, but enough to remind Jim who put it there.

"You're a cruel man, Chief," Jim gasped, his arms tightening around Blair, his hips rocking gently.

"Yeah, right," Blair muttered, snaking his hands between them to grasp their hard cocks, pressing them together, stroking them as one. Jim yelped in surprise, then his shout modulated into a deep, shuddering groan that sent shivers through Blair. His eyes fluttering closed with pleasure, Blair continued his strokes, making them hard and demanding, knowing that neither of them had the energy for anything long and drawn out tonight. He promised himself that tomorrow, however, he'd take Jim to the edge and leave him dangling for hours... Cruel? Yeah. Jim had no idea.

Then he abandoned his thoughts and lost himself in the lush feel of Jim, the soft sounds Jim was making, the musky scent rising from his warm flesh, and Blair gasped and stroked and pushed them both over the edge. Jim fell first, his harsh cry sounding a second before he thrust hard into Blair's hands and pulsed over their bellies. Blair followed a moment later, the feel of Jim throbbing in his hands and against his body launching him into the abyss.

They lay together for a while, Jim dropping occasional kisses onto his head, like small, sweet gifts. Finally Blair groaned and peeled himself off Jim, rolling to the side to flop gracelessly onto the mattress.

"You killed me, man," he muttered.

A finger grazed his brow, nose and rested briefly on his lips. He gave it a quick peck and opened his eyes. Jim was on his side, propped up on an elbow, looking at him solemnly.

"For a dead man you look pretty good, Sandburg," he said, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

"Thanks, I think." Blair yawned and accepted the kleenex Jim handed him, dabbing at the mess on his chest and stomach. "Hope you don't mind me spending the night here, Jim," he said, then yawned again, "'cause I don't think I can make it back to my bed."

"Yeah, well, okay," Jim replied softly, and Blair smiled as he was wrapped in strong arms and pulled against Jim's warm body. He suspected that he wouldn't be spending many nights alone in his cold little bed anymore, but if it took Jim a while to admit it, he could live with that.

Still...

"Hey, Jim," he whispered, turning just enough to see Jim's face. Jim blinked and opened his eyes.

"What is it now?"

"I love you."

Jim stiffened, his arms squeezing Blair so tightly that he hissed in surprise. The arms immediately loosened. Damn, Blair thought, it was too soon.

Then Jim squeezed him again.

"Love you, too, Chief." His voice was soft and hoarse, but the words were clear, understandable.

Blair stared at him stupidly for a second, then a smile split his face. "Good," was all he said, then he settled down to sleep.

Jim loved him. Yeah, it was very good.

The End