Blair came out of the bathroom, towelling his hair in a cloud of steam, and noticed that Jim had made a few changes while he was in the shower. The lights were down low, and a fire was burning quietly in the grate. Jim leaned against the soft padded back of the couch with a quietly exhausted look on his face.

"Jim?" he asked, worried, and received a tired look in return. He stepped around to where Jim was sitting and dropped onto the couch beside him. Jim lifted his head and arched an eyebrow at him.

"Ever heard of clothes, Sandburg?" he asked wryly, and Blair blinked, looking down at himself, clad in a towel. He grinned at his partner.

"Hey, I'm covered," he said mildly, enjoying the look of amusement on Jim's face. "You got a problem with my coverings?"

Jim snorted. "And if I did, Chief, what would you do? Go bare-assed naked?"

The silence that filled the loft after that remark was complete. Blair was startled to see that Jim was blushing, ever so slightly, and he himself was too busy trying to squash the images that that deceptively simple question had raised. Images of he and Jim. Images of Jim holding the towel, pulling it away. Images of Jim looking at him, at his body.

Woah.

It was one thing to realize that he loved Jim, but this was...woah.

Not bad, though. In fact, most definitely on the cool side.

Jim was eyeing him oddly, as Blair slowly fit his mind around that concept, and looking up, Blair caught a twinge of pain run through the older man's expression. Immediately his focus changed from inward to outward. "Jim! Dammit, I thought you said the fall didn't do any damage?"

Jim shrugged casually and tried to hide his grimace. "It didn't. Everything's intact in there." He glanced over at Blair, and whatever he saw in Blair's face made him smile sheepishly. "It's just sore as hell," he admitted ruefully, and laughed quietly.

Blair smiled back. "How about a rub-down," he suggested, using the therapy that had become much more common in their lives lately. Sometimes they joked about it--grooming rituals, Blair had called it once, or a mother cat with her cubs--that one was Jim's. But whatever it was, it was as unmistakably present as it was undeniable, and now neither of them hesitated to offer or accept.

Jim nodded and Blair pushed up, tucking his towel around him more securely as he headed for his room and the bottle of massage oil he always kept there. Retrieving it from his bedside table drawer, noting the scent--sandalwood, this time--he caught a glimpse of a gold box back in the corner of the drawer, and put down the oil to investigate. Tugging it out, he slapped his forehead with one hand, staring at the box.

"So *that's* where it went!"

"Where what went, Chief?" floated the question from the loft area, and Blair grinned, grabbed up the oil, and headed back out to the living room, jogging up the stairs to where Jim had stripped to his jeans and had lay down on the bed in preparation.

"What is it?" Jim asked, turning his head to look at Blair as Blair reached the top of the stairs. "And aren't you *ever* going to get dressed?" he added, grumbling in a voice that distinctly lacked sincerity.

Blair struck a pose. "Nah, man," he jibed cheerfully, "this is my new *look*, see? What do you think," he added, doing a little cat-walk step, "think Simon will take one look and fall at my feet, confess his undying love?"

Jim gave him a level look, coming up on one elbow. "I hope he doesn't," he said softy.

Blair stopped, stilled. "Yeah, I hope he doesn't, too," he finally said, gently. A long pause while the two men stared at each other, each wondering how to say what they felt, and then Blair broke the mood.

"Chocolate?" he offered, holding up the box of Godiva chocolates he'd bought for a girlfriend and lost in the natural hazard that was his room. Jim smiled a real smile and came all the way up onto his knees to accept the box, pulling off the ribbon and selecting a white chocolate from the contents. Carefully he set the box back down and returned to his prone position, chewing and swallowing.

Blair set to work. They were both familiar with the routine, comfortable with it; Blair kneaded and rubbed, stroked and pulled, felt tense, quivering, sore muscles relax and unwind under his hands, while Jim's skin heated the sandalwood oil to heady fullness in the air around them. Mingled with the scent of chocolate, it was as relaxing as the massage, and as uninhibiting.

Without conscious thought, Blair bent down and kissed Jim's back, between his shoulderblades. The relaxed, limp form beneath him went still and tense.

Blair paused, but didn't stop. Instead he did it again, licking with painstaking delicacy at Jim's skin, tasting sandalwood and Jim.

Jim turned suddenly, twisting lithely onto his back without dislodging his partner. Their eyes met, and Blair smiled, then grinned at the look in Jim's eyes.

"Shoulder still hurt?" he asked softly, massaging Jim's chest with long, lazy strokes. Jim arched up into the petting like a big cat, and closed his eyes.

"No."

"Good." Blair stopped and Jim's arms came up to wrap around him, pulling him down towards Jim. The towel gave up the ghost and fell, and Jim was staring at Blair's body, just the way Blair had imagined. Better than he had imagined.

"I love you."

"Yeah." Blair stretched out along Jim's hard body, feeling it give and yield to fit around his. "Yeah, I know.

"I love you too."

The End