Title: SOON
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple 
Email address: blair_lady@yahoo.com
Rating: MAO 
Pairings: J/B

Status: NEW, complete
Date: 08-28-99
Archive: YES
Archive author: Candy Apple 
Archive email address: blair_lady@yahoo.com
Series/Sequel: Sequel to "Imported Discipline"

Disclaimers: Pet Fly owns the guys and The Sentinel.  No money being
made.  

Notes: This story is a sequel to "Imported Discipline", since a few folks
wanted to see Jim and Blair move past the "pre-slash" stage. ;-) And
also because I thought there was a little more of the story yet to tell.  

As for the title?  During "Imported Discipline", Jim made a promise to
a sleeping Blair--"Soon, sweetheart, soon."  This is what happens when
"Soon" becomes Now. 

**************PLEASE READ THIS WARNING***************
This is a sequel to "Imported Discipline"--it continues a story line in
which the discipline of adults is viewed in a very negative light.  For
those who may find this perspective on the issue offensive, please skip
this one.  As with the last story, feedback is always welcome--flames
will be deleted without reply.    
**********************************************************

Summary:   Blair continues to grapple with his reactions to the
Ferguson case.  Jim and Blair reach a new level in their relationship.

Warnings: Angst, m/m, h/c (are those warnings or promises? <g>)
References to past DD experience portrayed negatively.  PLEASE
READ WARNING ABOVE.
***********************************************************


SOON

by

Candy Apple

     With the Ferguson case finally wrapped up, Jim felt a sense of
peace again.  Ferguson himself was en route to what was destined to be
a prison stay he wouldn't forget any time soon, and most of his "boys"
had been either jailed for light terms related to prostitution charges or
let out on probation.  Blair had raised more than a few eyebrows with
his constant insistence that they should be required to have counseling
as part of their sentences.  None of the men were under age, and none
of them were being viewed by the system as victims--they too were
offenders, and their crime did not seem to be one that suggested to the
police or the courts the need for counseling.

     Despite Blair's lobbying, the counseling was not made a part of
their sentences, but was offered to them.  Unfortunately, only one of
the eleven men who had worked for Ferguson took advantage of it.

     Blair had managed admirably to ignore most of the joking and
chortling among the other cops at Ferguson's rather bizarre manner of
managing his personnel, and his lovers--as they learned that he had
intimate relationships with two of the male hookers in his stable.  A
couple of times, someone had even teased Blair that he was lucky he
didn't piss Ferguson off.  Both times that happened, Jim had swallowed
the inclination to get defensive about it.  Blair wanted to keep his
secret between them, and going ballistic the first time someone
mentioned it would be a dead giveaway.

     The bruises that had marred Blair's skin had mostly faded now. 
It had been two weeks, and the most Jim could detect in the fleeting
glimpse of Blair streaking between the bathroom and his bedroom were
a couple of little purple tendrils still not fully faded from the broken
blood vessels.   He was relieved that Blair was no longer in pain from
the incident, and hadn't been for some time now.  In the first days after
it happened, every twinge of discomfort and every problem sitting on
something hard had been a source of flushed cheeks and lowered eyes. 
Jim had spent most of the time diverting them from those situations,
trying not to be too obvious.  They ate in the living room when they ate
at home, they went to restaurants with padded booths, and Jim
switched the desk chair Blair usually occupied for an older one with a
thicker cushion.

     Now that Blair had his physical well-being back, Jim fervently
hoped his emotional well-being would follow.  He was still more
subdued, quiet and backward than he'd ever been before, and Jim ached
to find just the right thing to ignite the spark that kept Blair as vibrant,
mouthy and unpredictable as ever.

     "Must be something really deep," Blair said, smiling, as he
pulled up his chair next to Jim's at the desk.  

     "Oh...not really," Jim lied, smiling back, shaking his head.  

     "Ew.  Expense account.  No wonder your mind's wandering." 
Blair curled his lip at the spreadsheet on the screen in front of Jim. 
Though he had a basic working knowledge of how to do one, Blair
despised spreadsheets and avoided them like the plague.  Hence, Jim
was faced with doing his own expense account every month--though in
essence it was unofficially his and Blair's expense account.

     "I don't suppose you found those receipts from lunch with
Sneaks and those Nikes I had to buy for you."

     "They were on *your* credit card, man.  Besides, if I hadn't
worn those new cross trainers, you know he wouldn't have given us as
much as he did."

     "Might as well just hand the guy $100 and save ourselves the
trip to the shoe store," Jim grumbled, then cursed at one of the columns
when it didn't add up the way he wanted.

     "But then he wouldn't have the fun of getting the shoes.  Man,
that one time--you know on the Golden case--he emptied your wallet
and he still wasn't happy until he got my shoes.  It's a game with him. 
He counts on me to wear something he's gonna like."

     "And I count on you to save the receipts when I buy you new
ones.  Come on, Chief.  You must have it somewhere."

     "I'll ransack my room again tonight, okay?"  Blair responded,
then realized his voice had raised a little more than he planned, and he
was getting a few odd looks from their co-workers.  "I'm sorry," he said
quietly. 

     "Not a problem, Chief."  Jim entered another figure, squinting
at the screen.  "If you find it, great.  If not, well, Happy Hanukkah.  It's
all you're getting this year," Jim teased, barely able to contain the grin
that tugged at the corners of his mouth.  

     "I'll find the receipts if I have to tear up the floorboards," Blair
said simply, suppressing a grin of his own.  Jim's threats did little to
rile him.  His haul of holiday gifts in past years were never flashy, but
usually consisted of Jim buying him things he wanted or needed for a
couple weeks on either side of the holiday and calling it a "Hanukkah
present" or a "Christmas present".  What he'd get as the "official" gift
was never ostentatious, but added to all the informal ones...  But it
wasn't the merchandise that meant so much to Blair.  It was knowing he
was loved enough by someone that they wanted to do for him--even if
that person was shy enough about it to hide behind a holiday excuse to
do it.

     "So what're we doing for dinner tonight?"  Jim asked,
apparently hoping to ease the misery of his workload by indulging in
some gastric fantasy.

     "I thought I'd cook something."

     "As long as it's not some kind of insect, count me in."

     "I was thinking more along the lines of stir fry.  You get to pick
the meat."

     "Chicken."

     "I thought for sure it'd be beef," Blair said, smiling and shaking
his head, putting on his glasses to look over the folders stacked on Jim's
desk.  

     "If I pick beef, I'll need magnifying glass and tweezers to find it. 
You approve of chicken, so I'll end up getting more that way."

********

     Blair carried the two plates to the sink while Jim started
clearing away the rest of the food from the table.  

     "You wanna start a fire, Jim?  It's getting kind of cold in here."

     "Good idea, Chief.  Game starts in half an hour," Jim
responded, leaving a few more dirty dishes on the counter, which Blair
started rinsing and putting in the rack as Jim went to get the fire going. 
The sound of a plate shattering and a string of curses drew Jim's
attention away from the fireplace.  

     "Goddammit!!  I can't believe this!!  All over everything!!  Son
of a bitch!  I hate these fucking plates anyway!"  Blair was ranting
wildly over the broken plate, slamming his way around the kitchen to
find the whisk broom and dust pan to clean it up.  He was so violently
angry in that moment that none of his actions were bringing him closer
to the tools he needed, though he knew where they were--the same
place they'd been in for three years.

     "Chief, come on, take it easy.  It's just a plate," Jim interjected,
moving toward the kitchen.

     "It's just a plate!  How about two of them then?"  Blair smashed
another plate on the edge of the counter.  "If it's no big deal, how about
three?!"  He grabbed another, but Jim caught his hand and wrested the
endangered stoneware out of the strong grip.  Blair was breathing like a
locomotive, his face was red, and his eyes wild.  

     "What the hell is this, Chief?"  Jim demanded, still keeping a
strong hold on Blair's wrist.

     "Let go of me," Blair said, more than a little menacingly.  

     "So you can smash the rest of the dishes?  I don't think so.  Now
I want to know what the hell this shit fit is all about!"  Jim shouted, his
own temper at the breaking point.

     "Let go of me, damn you!!"  Blair wrested his wrist out of the
grip, Jim's strength sapped more by the curse directed his way than the
movement of Blair's arm.   "Don't you touch me," Blair admonished,
backing away from Jim, eyeing him suspiciously.

     "What is this?   I don't understand what's happening here,
Chief."

     "Just don't touch me."

     "I won't.  I'm nowhere near you," Jim protested, gesturing at the
space between them.  Then, looking at Blair thoughtfully, his own
anger waning and giving way to concern, he walked over to the counter
and picked up another plate, holding it out to Blair.  "Here."

     "What?"

     "Go for it.  Here, take it."  Jim waited while Blair hesitantly
accepted the plate, still eyeing Jim with some confusion.  "Let 'er rip,
Chief.  Put some torque on it this time.  Let's see that baby fly."  He
stood back, giving Blair a clear shot to fire it at the kitchen island.  

     And so he did.  With that plate, and then another, then two
glasses, and a coffee mug, before he stopped, panting, and stared at his
handiwork with a mixture of shock and horror.  

     "Feels good to get some of that out, doesn't it?"  Jim asked
sympathetically.  

     Blair looked at him a moment, more stunned by Jim's words
than by the mess of ruined dishes he'd just made.  A moment later, he
was sliding down the front of the cupboard, his butt landing on the
floor, hands turning into fists as his whole body shuddered with a 
soul-deep sob of pure anguish.  Jim was at his side in a heartbeat, but
crouched beside him without touching him.  "Is it okay if I touch you
now?"  he asked, waiting for Blair's permission.  He got a fast nod as
Blair began to really cry in earnest.  

     Gathering the smaller body into his arms, Jim used all of his
strength to still the vibration of Blair's sobs, rocking slightly.  He
tucked Blair's head beneath his chin as he knelt there amidst the
shattered dishes, patting and rocking him while he cried.  

     "Get it out, Chief.  It's okay.  I know you're mad as hell.  You've
got every right."

     "I hate...f-feeling...th-this...h-hostile..."  Blair croaked out
through his tears.

     "You're not hostile.  You're angry.  And you have a right to be. 
There's just been no place to put it, has there?"

     "I tried...to...m-medi...meditate...but it...didn't help."

     "How about the dishes?"  Jim asked, and Blair actually
chuckled unevenly through his tears.

     "Definitely...more effective," he managed through a few sharp
breaths as he tried to regain his composure.

     "That son of a bitch hurt you, but he made you mad at the same
time, and you had to stuff it all down inside of you to keep your cover,
and then you had to stuff it all down inside when the guys were joking
about the Ferguson case in the bullpen..."  Jim sighed sadly, still
holding Blair close, stroking his hair a little now.  "You know about the
cycle of abuse, Chief--you're the anthropologist.  People are abused as
children and then they grow up and abuse their own children?"

     "I'm n-no ch-child, Jim."

     "No, I know you're not.  I didn't mean it that way.  When
someone hurts you like that, hits you and degrades you and makes you
feel all those lousy, sick feelings, you want to lash out, get back at
them.  But if you can't lash out at them, all of that...*anger* is in there
with nowhere to go."

     "I'm sor-sorry about being...such...an asshole...the last c-couple
weeks," Blair said, swallowing hard.  "I just get so mad...at everything."

     "You haven't been an asshole, Chief.  A little bitchy, maybe, but
not an asshole."  Jim smiled as Blair chortled wetly.

     "I'll...clean this up.  I'm so...sorry about the dishes," Blair said
tiredly, his convulsive tears having given way to a few silent ones.

     "Shhh.  Stay right where you are.  Let the rest of it go, Chief. 
It's okay.  You can break everything in the fucking loft if you want, and
you can sit here and cry until dawn if it'll help.  Just do what you need
to feel better."  Blair was quiet a long time after Jim's statement,
clinging to his friend and drawing solace from the powerful arms that
held him as if he were the most precious, fragile commodity on earth.

     "*You* make me feel better," he finally whispered, just loud
enough for sentinel ears.  Jim's response was a little gulp of emotion
and a silent kiss to the top of Blair's head.  "How can you love me so
much when I'm such a pain in the ass?"

     "I'm a masochist?"  Jim suggested innocently, and both men
laughed at that.  Then Jim became serious, and moved back enough to
frame the flushed, wet face with both hands.  "You are not now, nor
were you ever, a pain in the ass."

     "Just now with the dishes--"

     "The dishes can be replaced.  We'll go out to the mall tomorrow
and get another set.  Problem solved."

     "I feel like...my feelings are all...messed up.  I mean, right now,
I feel so...close to you.  And that feels good.  And then I don't know if
it's because I...I needed you so much and you understood me...or
if...if...it's something else."

     "Tell you what, buddy.  You go into the bathroom and wash
your face and I'll clean this stuff up.  We'll watch the game and forget
about all this crap for a while.  Just relax and let yourself feel what
you're feeling.  And if something else around here looks like it needs
breaking, go for it.  Just don't break one of the patio windows, or I'll
have to kill you."

     "Pay for the new window with my life insurance, huh?"

     "Well, yeah, that and the new stoneware."  Jim smiled again,
loving to see Blair laugh a little at their shared humor.  

     "I'll avoid the windows then.  Promise," Blair said, waiting until
Jim stood and then accepting the hand that would pull him to his feet. 
Without pausing to give it much thought, he wrapped both arms around
Jim for a tight hug.  "Thanks, man."

     "Anytime, Chief," Jim said softly, sincerely, as he returned the
pressure of the embrace before Blair slowly pulled back and
disappeared into the bathroom.  

********

     Blair shifted in bed again, staring at the ceiling.  He'd slept most
of the evening on the couch, his head ending up in Jim's lap again,
either by accident or design.  He figured it was more the latter, and his
own doing.   

     His whole relationship with Ferguson had been confusing, a
dichotomy.  The fiftyish Ferguson had taken an instant liking to him,
and had treated Blair like his pet from the moment he arrived.  Blair
drove the best car, lived in the nicest room, had pocket money by only
asking--in other words, he'd been spoiled rotten.  He had privileges
from Ferguson in two days that most of the guys didn't get after
working for the man for two years.  With Blair's natural good looks and
charm, he was being saved for the special clients, and he suspected, for
Ferguson himself, eventually.  

     When things had taken such a violent and demeaning turn, Blair
had been hurt on an emotional level as well as a physical level.  While
he certainly hadn't loved Ferguson, he had felt the other man cared for
him--to the extent that Blair had at least felt some conflicting fond feelings 
of something that approximated friendship toward someone he was 
helping the cops nail.  In the aftermath of the beating, Ferguson was 
his old benevolent self again, trying to hug and soothe Blair while he 
sobbed out his pain and humiliation and tried to regain his composure 
and what was left of his shattered dignity.  

     The left over hostility that had been locked inside of him had
made him snap at Jim unnecessarily and push him away more than
once, and then the next minute, he needed the reassurance of Jim's love
and sat unusually close to him on the couch and fell asleep in his lap. 
He marveled at how much Jim must really care for him to have
understood all of it, and to have never once really come down on him
for acting like a nutcase.

     Thinking back over the last two weeks, Blair felt that the
biggest thing he had needed to re-establish had been his personal space,
and his control and authority over his own body.  He sighed and shook
his head, realizing sadly that he had ducked away from and avoided so
many of the little touches Jim always offered out of love.  He'd avoided
them because he had to prove that no one could touch him again in a
way he didn't want to be touched.  That he was in charge.  And Jim had
done nothing to deserve that treatment.

     While thoughts of the whole mess with Ferguson had made it
hard for him to doze off once he got to bed, Jim's reaction to what he'd
said in the kitchen kept him sleepless, tossing and turning and thinking
about how close they had been, how easy it would have been for Jim to
close the distance between them and kiss him.  How easy it would have
been for Jim to take anything he wanted from Blair in that moment. 
The need for closeness had been so great that Blair would have
consented to anything just to have those big arms around him, holding
him, making the last shreds of the emotional pain of his experience
with Ferguson go away.  

     Jim had fed that need of Blair's, held him close, comforted
him, then let him fall into the exhausted sleep brought on by an
emotional catharsis, and spent the evening with Blair's head on a sofa
pillow in his lap, fingers lightly toying with the curly strands of hair. 
The motion had calmed Blair and lulled him back to sleep whenever
he'd be roused by the noise of the game on the television.  

     Jim Ellison spending his evening with another guy sleeping on
his lap.  Now that, Blair figured, had to be a first.  Or was it? //No,
that's crazy.  I'd know.// Blair flopped over again. //Maybe a long time
ago...// Blair felt an irrational flare of jealousy for some man he didn't
even know for sure existed.  In that moment, Blair realized the spark
he'd felt between them in the kitchen wasn't just the gratitude of having his
emotional needs met and his wounds lovingly tended.  It was a spark of
love, of passion, of desire.  And he'd seen that reflected in Jim's eyes,
and now understood how much Jim had wanted him, right then and
there, and how hard it must have been to back away.  How wonderful
and good and right it was for him to back away, and let Blair recover,
let Blair be the one to come to Jim, and only if he were emotionally
whole, and sure of himself.  

     Never more sure of himself, or of Jim, than he was at that
moment, Blair got out of bed and headed determinedly for the stairs
leading to the loft bedroom.  When he arrived at the top of the stairs, he
had to smile at himself. //Some seduction this is, Sandburg.  Show up
in your sweats and socks and just stand here, staring at this gorgeous,
bare-chested man sprawled in the middle of his bed.//

     A little nervously, he stripped off the t-shirt, and then the
sweatpants.  It was a cold night, so not even for Jim would he part with
the boxers or the socks.  Jim was still snoring softly, and Blair heaved a
little sigh of relief.  He wasn't ready for him to wake just yet. 
Surprisingly, Jim could sleep quite deeply when he was relaxed, and
this seemed to be one of those times when even his hyperactive senses
didn't alert him to anything.

     Carefully, Blair slipped into the bed on the side closest to the
stairs, fitting himself into the small space where Jim didn't have some
substantial body part sprawled.  He carefully shifted onto his side so he
was facing Jim, then snuggled up to him, resting his head on the firm
chest, winding his arm around Jim's middle.  

     The other man drew in a deep breath and moved a little now,
his arm coming around Blair's shoulders.

     "Jim?"  Blair whispered.

     "Mm?"  It was a little startled, and very incoherent.  

     "Jim...I got things sorted out.  I know what I'm feeling."

     "Blair?"  Jim squinted down at his bedmate, looking at him as if
he had just landed from another planet instead of the bedroom
downstairs.

     "If I read you wrong...just tell me, man, and I'm out of here."

     "Is this where you want to be, sweetheart?"  Jim asked softly,
melting Blair into a puddle of human goo at the endearment.  

     "What I felt earlier--I think you felt it too.  A spark.  Like, we
weren't just friends anymore."

     "More like a major electrical current," Jim said, smiling and
rubbing Blair's shoulder where his hand rested.  

     "I love you, Jim.  I don't mean the buddy kind, either."

     "I love you too, Chief.  Not the buddy kind," Jim repeated,
kissing Blair's forehead.  "Kind of feels like the forever kind to me," he
ventured, and the slight fear and uncertainty in this man who looked
scared and uncertain for no one on earth but Blair made the younger
man respond without hesitation.

     "I think it feels exactly like that kind to me."

     "You ever done this before?"  

     "No," Blair responded honestly.

     "Me either."

     "What now?"

     "Kissing can't be that much different," Jim opined.  "Uh, I hate
to tell you this, Chief, but I can't kiss you with your head somewhere
below my armpit.  This is the part where you meet me half way."

     "You were sprawled all over everything, man.  How else was I
supposed to get close to you?"  Blair shimmied up into position, his
nose only a few inches from Jim's.  

     "I wasn't planning on company," Jim responded, his smile and
the playful tone of his voice making it clear that the unexpected visit
was a welcome one.  He ran his hand up and down Blair's back.  "You
feel good."

     "So do you," Blair said, running his hand over the firm expanse
of chest, his fingers bumping a nipple on the way.  There was a little
intake of breath from Jim.  "Bet those guys are pretty sensitive, huh?" 
Blair smiled a little wickedly.  

     "I thought we were going to try kissing," Jim protested.

     "Oh, we are.  Eventually."  Blair leaned over and licked the
nipple closest to him.

     "Oh, man," Jim gasped as the little nub rose to attention from
just one lick.  

     //Oh, yes, stimulating a sentinel is going to be fun,// Blair
thought, climbing on top of his lover now, lowering his head to lick the
second little protrusion.

     "Come 'ere."  Jim got a hold of Blair's shoulders and urged him
up, both men regarding each other for a long moment before their lips
met, then parted for each other, mouths sealing together in a long,
hungry kiss.  

     "We were wrong," Blair panted, smiling."

     "About what?"

     "Kissing *is* different.  It's better."  He swooped down on Jim
for another one, this one longer and more intense than the first.  Jim's
hands were in Blair's hair now, holding him in place, gripping the long
curls and letting them wind around and entrap his fingers while he
explored the full mouth completely.

     "Want to feel you," Jim panted against Blair's mouth, his hands
sliding under the waistband of Blair's boxers.  Blair complied happily
with the request, but figuring turnabout was fair play, worked at
divesting Jim of his underwear shortly thereafter.  

     Semi-hard cocks rubbed together now as the two men continued
to kiss and let their hands roam over formerly forbidden zones of
quickly heating flesh.  When the simple friction between their cocks
became too much to ignore, Blair pushed up on his arms, straddling
Jim's groin, riding and rubbing against him in a manner that drove Jim
that much closer to his completion.  Sentinel sensitive fingers roamed
over the hair-dusted chest, pinching and rolling erect nipples between
them.  

     Blair was moaning continuously now, rubbing against Jim,
feeling the painful pleasure of his nipples being rubbed, pinched and
rolled by those insistent fingers.  He let his own hands leave the
mattress and brace on Jim's chest now, thumbing the taut nipples there. 
Just as their shared climax rippled through them, Jim pulled Blair
down to him, into a hard, frenzied kiss that swallowed grunts and cries
of pleasure as a hot, slick wetness spread between them, sealing them
together in the results of their first lovemaking.

     Sated and breathless, they lay there for long minutes, Blair
sprawled on top of Jim, Jim's hands lightly playing with Blair's hair. 
When one hand slid down his back and rested gently on his ass, Blair
just purred and snuggled against Jim.  He'd wondered how he'd react
when Jim touched him there, or pulled down his underwear...if bad
memories would rise up and squash the passion.  But they didn't. 
These were Jim's hands, and they were welcome anywhere on his body.

     "You're beautiful, baby.  Do you know that?"  Jim asked in a
whisper against Blair's forehead.

     "I am?"  Blair's response was genuine, there was no ploy for
more praise in his tone.  "Coming from you...man, you're what statues
should look like."  Blair paused.  "No, that's not right."  He raised up a
little and looked into Jim's sleepy eyes.  "No statue ever had eyes like
yours, or a smile that beautiful," Blair said, smiling as the corners of
Jim's mouth curved up at the words, running a gentle finger along his
lover's lips.

     "About earlier...is everything okay?"  Jim asked a little
hesitantly.

     "I think so," Blair said, nodding.

     "Chief, if you need to go see somebody, we won't run it through
the department.  I'll take care of whatever it costs.  I don't want you to
not get help because you don't want the guys at work to know.  They
don't have to."

     "Thanks...that means a lot to me," Blair responded, smiling
softly.  "But I think I'm gonna be okay.  I mean, it's a bad memory, but
it's over, and it was an assault even though I had to say yes...it wasn't
really my fault or anything...I think I've got a good handle on it now."

     "Good.  You change your mind, you tell me."  Jim brushed the
hair back from Blair's face, then kissed him gently.

     "I will."

     "Sleepy?"  Jim asked.

     "Mmhm," Blair responded, settling back down on his human
bed.

     "Move to the side a little, sweetheart.  Trust me, we don't want
to be stuck together at the point we are now."

     "Eww.  Good thinking."  Blair moved to Jim's side, and
snuggled against him, head on his shoulder, one leg flopping over
Jim's.

     "I love you," Jim said quietly, picking Blair's hand up where it
had been resting on the firm chest, lacing their fingers as he squeezed
Blair's shoulders more tightly to him.

     "I love you too, love.  For always."

     "Yeah, for always," Jim echoed, kissing Blair's forehead one
last time before following his lover and life partner into a deep,
peaceful sleep.

********