SquidgeWorld Archive

Blair rapped on the bathroom door. "Jim! C'mon, dude, or we'll be late."

From the other side of the door Jim called, "Just a second." There were a few mutters, and Blair started pacing. It wasn't often that he was the first one ready to go, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He might have suggested that he take the keys and go start the truck--if he didn't care how long he lived. Jim had been a little touchy lately, for no reason that Blair could discern.

Finally the bathroom door opened and Jim strode right past Blair, as if he didn't see him. Blair stared after him, perplexed. Even when he'd first moved in, before they'd become lovers, Jim hadn't made a habit of ignoring him. Jim put on his jacket, got his keys out of the basket on the table by the door, then looked around, as if searching for something. His eyes lit on Blair, and he frowned. "Don't just stand there, Genius. Hustle!"

Blair gritted his teeth, but refrained from saying anything. It was pretty obvious that there wasn't anything directed at Blair specifically, but Jim DID have something troubling him. Blair started trying to decide if he was going to be subtle in his inquiries, or just hit Jim between the eyes with a question this evening.

In the car Jim rode in silence, staring straight ahead. He didn't even say anything when Blair set the radio to an alternative rock station. Blair was searching for something to say that wouldn't be accusatory, prying, or inane when Jim said, "Sandburg, they make volumizing hair stuff, don't they? Shampoos or rinses that are supposed to, like, fluff the hair?"

"They have some that make that claim," said Blair. *What? Is this about my not cleaning the drain in the shower? I did that last week. I know I shed, but more than that strikes me as kind of excessive, unless you're trying to get rid of DNA evidence.* "I don't use that stuff, though."

Jim grunted. "No, you don't have to." He darted a glance at Blair. "You REALLY don't have to."

*Shit. I thought he'd gotten to LIKE the hair. He's certainly grabbed onto it often enough when we have sex. Now what am I gonna do? I REALLY don't want to cut it, but for Jim...*

Harley Wannamaker, head detective in Vice, was leaning on the front desk, shooting the breeze with the desk sergeant. He looked up as Jim and Blair came in and called, "Well, well, well. If it isn't the Long and the Short of it."

They came up alongside the desk, and Jim was frowning at Wannamaker. "Don't dis Sandburg about his height," said Jim.

"Hey, I wouldn't dream of teasing the shrimp about his height," said Harley. "I'm teasing him about his..." Blair was standing just a step or two past Wannamaker, his back to him, signing the duty log. Wannamaker reached over and grabbed his ponytail, starting to give it a quick pull. Unfortunately his timing sucked, because right about then Blair chose to walk away. The forward impetus turned the tug into a jerk, and Blair yelped in shocked pain as he stumbled back.

Instantly Jim's fist was wrapped in Wannamaker's collar. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

Wannamaker froze, gaping. Unfortunately he was so surprised that he didn't think to let go of Blair's hair, and since he'd lowered his arm, Blair was bent back sharply. "Dammit Harley, LET GO!" he said sharply.

"Shit!" Harley let go, and held his hands up in a 'peace' gesture. "Look, Ellison--no hands! Geez, I didn't mean to hurt him, and you have to admit that it's sort of an easy target, just hanging out there like that."

"Oh, so he was ASKING for it?" growled Jim. "No wonder you don't work sex crimes."

"Jim," said Blair, putting a hand on his arm, "It was an accident. He's a jerk, but he's not mean, okay? Just let it drop, please?" Jim let go of Wannamaker, then smoothed his collar out with a gentle, sarcastic gesture before he walked away. Blair followed him, and Wannamaker stared after them.

"What bug crawled up Ellison's butt?," said the desk sergeant.

Wannamaker shrugged, struggling to get back his usual nonchalant attitude. "I don't know. I always figured it was too tight for anything bigger than a flea to get up there."

Jim was grim and silent all day. Blair was more than ever convinced that he had to talk to him, and he wanted to do it less and less. But something was really bothering his lover, and he wanted to help.

The stopped by the bank of postal boxes on the ground floor at 852 Prospect. As Jim got out his key he said, "You go on--I'll be right up."

"I'm in no hurry, man." Blair leaned against the wall. Jim didn't look too pleased, but he didn't protest. he opened the box and pulled out a handful of envelopes, including one that was large enough to contain a small magazine. He handed the mail to Blair--except the large envelope. That one he tucked in his jacket, but not before Blair had gotten a glimpse of it. It was addressed to Jim, but there was no return address, and no printing. It was a Manilla envelope, and Blair was suddenly reminded of the term 'came in a plain brown wrapper'. Was Jim ordering porn through the mail? "Whatcha got, man?"

"A catalog," he said shortly, walking past Blair to the elevator.

Blair followed. "Catalog for what?"

"Mail order stuff."

"Hint taken." Blair was silent for a moment. "Can I see it when you're through with it?"

"It's nothing you'd be interested in."

"How do you know that?"

"Trust me on this."

That was all Jim would say about it, so Blair let it drop for the time being. Jim took the envelope up to the bedroom as soon as he'd taken off his jacket, reminding Blair that it was his turn to cook. Blair had intended to make stuffed peppers, so he was busy with that for a while, and then they had to eat. After dinner while Jim cleaned the kitchen he sent Blair down to the basement to wash a quick load of towels and sheets.

When he came back upstairs Jim was in the shower. Blair set the towels on the couch, then went and tapped on the bathroom door. "Jim? Towels are on the couch."

He heard Jim call over the rushing water. "Just leave it all, and I'll put it away while you have your shower. I think there's one of those documentaries you like on PBS--something about nomadic tribes."

"Thanks." Blair deposited his load and picked up the remote. But as soon as he had the television on, he got an idea for a small gesture that might put Jim in a good mood. He'd have fresh sheets on the bed when Jim came out of the shower. Since he was a Sentinel, he'd probably be able to feel the last bit of lingering warmth from the dryer.

He left the towels and took the sheets upstairs. He stored the other two sets on the linen shelf in the closet, and selected the black ones they'd bought together right after they'd become lovers. Blair quickly stripped the bed and got the sheets on it. Then he picked up the first pillow to shake it out of its case. He turned it upside down, and something fell out with the pillow. *What the hell?* Blair gave the case a quick sniff. *Old Spice. This is Jim's pillow. What was he hiding in his pillow case?*

Blair picked up what looked like a thin, glossy catalog. It had to be what Jim had gotten in the mail, but why had he hidden it? It wasn't as if he didn't know that his lover enjoyed a little porn now and then. Hell, they'd enjoyed it TOGETHER. Why should he be embarrassed now?

Blair checked out the cover of the little magazine, and suddenly sat down on the edge of the bed. "What the HELL? Oh, man, Jim..."

Jim came out of the bathroom to find the television running, but the sofa empty. "Blair?"

Blair's voice floated down. "Up here, man. Come on up--we need to have a talk."

Jim turned off the television, thinking that if all went well, neither of them would get back downstairs tonight. He went up the stairs. As the bed came within view, he froze, staring. Blair was sitting on the edge of the mattress. Jim had always found his lover an arresting sight, but it was what Blair was holding that stopped him in his tracks. "Shit. What are you doing with that?"

"Don't EVEN get an accusatory tone in your voice, Jim. All I did was change the sheets. The bed is mutual territory. If you didn't want this found you should have hidden it in your sock drawer. I know better than to mess in there. Get up here and sit down."

"I forgot to put away the towels." He started back down.

"ELLISON! Get up here!"

Jim didn't exactly stomp, but his tread was heavier than usual. He plopped down beside Blair, but didn't look at him. "What?"

"What is this?"

"What does it look like?"

"Don't start with me. It's advertising literature."

"You've seen it before."

"Mail spam? Sure. But not this kind. This is the kind you have to send away for. They don't do mass mailings--you have to ASK for it. That means that YOU asked for it."

"So?"

"Jim! Hair Club for Men?" Jim folded his arms, tucking his chin sullenly. "Why? For heaven's sake, why would you... Ooooh. Now I get it. Now I get why you've been so wound up lately." Jim didn't reply, but he looked at the floor. "Shit. Was it that last remark I made about your hairline being at low tide?"

Jim sighed. "No, you can't claim guilt on this one. Not much, anyway. It's everything. Like Wannamaker today. And the last couple of times I went to the barber he made jokes about it was hardly necessary. I guess the final straw was hearing one of the girls in fraud saying that some guys would be better off if they just shaved their heads instead of fighting a losing battle."

"What? I remember that conversation. Jim, they were talking about Tinker in traffic. you know him--he has about six hairs that he keeps plastered across his pate with Brylcream. You're a LONG way from that."

"I guess so. I guess it's just that it's such a contrast between us, and you take such careful care of your hair. I know it's important to you."

"But that's a personal grooming thing, Jim. It's not like hair matters all that much to me on someone else. I happen to like your hair just the way it is." He reached over and rubbed his hand over Jim's head. "It's like petting a big cat."

Jim smiled. "Even if it IS creeping slowly backward? My hairline doesn't bother you?"

Blair took hold of Jim's ears and tilted his head down. Then he planted a row of kisses right along Jim's hairline. "I love ever inch of it. And if it keeps on growing, I'll just have more to love, won't I? Anyway, that's not your only hairline."

Jim sat back a little, eying him curiously. "You've lost me."

Blair pulled up Jim's shirt, laying his palm against Jim's flat belly. He plucked gently at the treasure trail that led downward, then slid his hand under Jim's waistband and began to run his fingers along the edge of Jim's pubic thatch. "One more--and this one isn't likely to recede, but maybe I want to be sure." He grinned. "Take your pants off so I can check."