Disclaimers: Not mine, never will be, exclusive property of TPTB--but I get they have more fun with me! :)

Notes: Thanks to Lorelei, who helped me while I was writing this--thanks! This is for Pumpkin, to make her feel better. :)

Summary: read When Tensions Lessen. It's like that. :)

Warnings: Absolutely nothing that is likely to offend anyone but the most dedicated homophobe.

It Just Feels Right by Owlet

Blair set aside the last exam in the stack and dropped his head into his hands with a groan. Sixty-odd students in two sections and none of them--not *one*--had gotten above a B. Blair wasn't the kind of teacher who enjoyed seeing half his students fail, but it looked like that was exactly what was going to happen. *Hell,* he thought wearily. *I need a vacation.*

He pushed away from the desk and stood up, groaning again as cramped muscles protested the movement. He had been grading for almost ten hours straight, and hunching over a blue book with a pen in hand was not conducive to good posture. His back felt like it was on fire, and his shoulders were so knotted he could almost *feel* the tension, feeding on itself until he was as tense as bridge cable, and ached clear down to his toes.

Awkwardly he tried to flex the stiffness out of his shoulders and back, but the resultant spasm made him moan involuntarily. Giving up, he tried to collect his papers and laptop with the least amount of movement possible, carefully stuffing it all into his backpack. He shrugged it on, yelped at the sudden pressure and pain, and gritted his teeth shut. He grabbed his gradesheet, let himself out, and locked the door with a sense of having just been emancipated.

Just one more thing to do before he could go. Feeling as though he was sleepwalking, he dropped off his gradesheet at the front desk, and exchanged a few words with Mrs. Grafuis, the department secretary/receptionist/miracle worker. Then it was out to the Volvo, for the usual few minutes of coaxing to get the reluctant engine to turn. *Come on, come on...yes!* He gingerly shoved the car into gear, rolled his neck, winced, and pulled out.

The drive seemed to take forever, tangling his already suffering muscles into knots, and he pulled up outside the loft exhausted and aching. *Jim's home,* he noted, extricating himself from the Volvo and gazing up at the lit windows of the loft. *I hope he isn't expecting me to cook.*

He leaned against the wall of the elevator, watching the patterns of light and shadow dappling the wall change as he moved upward. He stumbled slightly as he left the elevator, and rolled his eyes at his own weakness. *Come on, Blair, get a grip--what is it, a hundred feet to your bed? Can't you make it a hundred feet without tripping over your feet?*

The door stuck. Blair let out a growl of frustration and pushed hard at it, wincing as pain flooded his muscles, then sighing in relief as the door gave and opened. Jim looked up from his spot on the couch, his gaze lingering and growing dark with concern as his eyes moved over Blair. He could almost hear the gears in that Sentinel brain clicking as those sharp blue eyes cataloged his condition. *Well, I hope he gets an eyeful,* Blair thought with the resigned disinterest of the exhausted for the well-rested, nodding carefully to Jim and making a beeline for his room.

Kicking the door shut, he dropped his bag without ceremony and set the laptop down with slightly more care on the floor, then tried to unwrap himself from his layers. The jacket almost defeated him, and he was seriously considering just leaving it all on when there was a click behind him, and strong, gentle hands were pulling his jacket off his shoulders and setting it aside.

Blair hesitated, but the renewed tension made pain flare all along his nerve endings. Giving in, he sighed and closed his eyes, letting Jim take over the task of stripping him. When he was down to his boxers, Jim gently urged him onto his bed.

"Jim?"

Jim touched his shoulder soothingly. "It's okay, Chief. Just relax, okay?" He closed his eyes, felt the bed shift as Jim sat on the edge, then shift even more, accompanied to a set of rustling thunks. Curious, he opened his eyes to see Jim sorting through his bedside table, intent on something. Something Jim saw made him grin suddenly, and he held up a box.

"You must be the only guy I know who has pistachio-flavored condoms, Sandburg," he rumbled, and Blair grinned back, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, those were a gift, would you believe?"

Jim shrugged, replacing the box. "Whatever floats your boat, Chief...ah, here it is." He moved back from the nightstand, something small in his hand. With his other hand he gently urged Blair onto his stomach, helping him complete the move and get comfortable when cramped muscles protested the movement.

"Jim, what are you doing?" Blair twisted slightly to get a better look at his roommate, hissed in pain, and lay still again, feeling himself tensing warily.

A shrug made the whole bed shake. "I don't like to see you hurting," Jim said simply. "I just wanted to make you feel better." Jim paused for a long minute, one hand stunningly hot at the small of his back. Blair went very still, fighting the sudden urge to arch up into that touch. He heard Jim take a deep breath, almost as if he was gathering his courage, and then Jim spoke in a low voice, rubbing slow circles along Blair's back. "I love you, you know. You're the best friend I ever had."

Blair resolutely blinked back sudden tears, knowing they were half the products of exhaustion, half a reaction to the uncertainty in Jim's voice. He found himself grinning like a fool, some of the wracking tension fading away. "Yeah, man, I love you too," he rasped, twisting again to face Jim with almost-comfort. "So, what did you have in mind?"

Jim blinked, looking like he'd just jumped off a cliff and unexpectedly fallen up instead of down. "Uh," he said intelligently, and held up the object in his hand.

Blair peered at the label on the small bottle. Lavender oil. Jim was going to give him a back rub.

*You've got to be kidding me--Jim is going to give *me* a back rub?!*

Then the first slick touch of the oil slid across his skin, followed by Jim's firm, strong, hot hands. And Blair's brain shut down.

Jim had such wonderful hands--long, lean, and elegant, strong and sensitive. And they really knew what they were doing. Jim, once he'd coated Blair's back and his hands with the lavender oil, started at his neck and worked down, pushing strongly against Blair's muscles, rubbing all the knots and tension out with long, slow strokes. Blair quivered involuntarily as his muscles relaxed, responding to the leashed power behind the massage.

His hands were fire, spreading warmth and comfort as they systematically spread moved from neck to shoulders to back, searching out and erasing every hint of tension. The sensation was exquisite as clever fingers found the worst spots and lingered, making Blair groan into his pillow.

Jim paused, hands resting on either side of his spine. "You okay?"

Blair tried to speak, and could only mumble. Oh man, this felt so good. The long, tense night of trying to relax that he had anticipated was melting away, driven off by the pleasure of Jim's touch. He whimpered and arched slightly into Jim's hands, asking for more. It felt so good, so right, to be laying here in the dark, Jim's hands stroking his back, making him feel good. Right. Whole.

The pleasure of Jim's touch. God, that was so true. It seared him, warmth and pressure and care loving him, touching him.

The realization swept over him, making him break out in shivers that were quickly soothed away by concerned hands. He loved Jim.

Like, *really* loved him. His hands. His touch. Him.

*Woah.*

He tried to wake up more, tried to clear his mind, but he could feel sleep coming up to envelop him, and with a sigh he gave in, let himself fall into it.

At the edge of his awareness, just as he was drifting off, he felt Jim start caressing his back again, long, feathery touches that soothed him even further into sleep. Blair didn't even question the incongruity of his roommate caressing him like a lover; it was what he wanted, too.

He felt the moment of pressure at the small of his back just before sleep pulled him under at last, a gentle kiss that seared his nerve endings. Jim, saying what he wanted with the eloquence that words so seldom had for him.

*Love you too, Jim.*