Chapter Text
Dedication: For v v. For the help brain-storming....
Warnings: Pre-Slash. Snuggles. M/M. Big warning! Very different than my usual fare....
Disclaimer: My idea, but someone else's characters and creation.
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Jim Ellison, Sentinel of the great city, Blessed Protector of Blair Sandburg, Guide extraordinaire...and conundrum, sat staring off into space, his hand cupped around his second cup of coffee. He was thinking. Trying to figure out just what had happened. Was still happening. Sure he was a man of action, always had been. But he wasn't stupid. He was a detective, and he could usually figure things out. Understand them. Just not in this case.
He hadn't known Blair all that long, less than a year, but he couldn't deny the young, curly haired man had made a profound difference in his life. In fact Jim admitted privately he had been at the point of hoping that there would be some accident, some way to end it all, just not by his own hand. End it all while doing some good.
Then...Blair Sandburg walked into his life. Bounced into it really, all those months ago. And his life changed. His senses were a gift now, not a curse. He was learning to use them for the benefit of those who he served and protected while doing his job. He was an asset, not an unstable bomb ready to explode, or implode.
And yet, Blair was part of the reason he was sitting here, wondering what the hell he should do.
Last night Blair had come home from a long day at Rainier. After helping at the station all morning to boot. The fatigue washed off him in waves. Even his hair was limp, tired. Jim knew his Guide had forgotten to eat, driving himself mercilessly in an effort to finish his classes.
"Go change into some sweats. Then sit down, Sandburg, before you fall down. I'll make some soup." Jim softened his voice in deference to the man who was so tired his defenses weren't up to their usual standards. Blair blinked owlishly at him, not wearing his glasses, his hair down, wild and loose, as Jim put the homemade soup on the range, turning the heat to low. Sandburg's soup was a treat, the kid sure could cook, when he stopped trying to use weird ingredients.
Aside from looking over at Jim, backpack dangling forgotten from his lax fist, Blair didn't move. It was as if, now that he was home at the loft, all his energy was gone. He hadn't an ounce left to spare. Now, safe at home, he couldn't move, couldn't think. Jim sighed and went to his partner.
He was surprised at how cold Blair's arm was, even through his buttoned up flannel shirt. Blair had forgotten his jacket, again. Jim revised his plan, taking the pack from the smaller man, and setting it outside Blair's room as he took the Guide towards the bathroom.
"jim..." Blair began, making an effort to interact, but Jim shushed him.
"It's alright Sandburg. You're home, just take it easy. Relax." Jim put his arm around the shorter man.
Thankfully there was just enough room in the bathroom that Jim could sit Blair on the toilet while he ran a hot bath for the exhausted young man, and not have to worry about stepping on him. He added a healthy dollop of Blair's favorite herbal soap to the rushing water filling the tub, swishing it around to encourage the sudsing. He could dial down his sense of smell for a little bit if it would help soothe his partner. Blair had done plenty of adapting for him, after all.
He undressed Blair, the other man not protesting, not acting as if it were odd at all, quiessent as a child with a caring parent. Jim had done it before. Undressed other men, his fellow soldiers when they had been beyond doing it for themselves. Being in the field, fighting for your life, made a man very practical. Taking care of your team might save your own life. The social and cultural foibles of the civilian life they'd left behind meant less than shit. There wasn't enough free time, enough safe time to worry about who might be gay, and who wasn't. That kind of shit got men killed. In the Special Forces Black Ops there was no time for it. You worried about it, you didn't make it in the Ops. You got killed, or worse yet, you got your team killed.
Jim lowered Blair into the tub, turning off the tap. "Just relax, Chief. I'll be right back, gonna check on your soup."
Blair just closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. It was weird, not listening to the grad student's energetic chatter. But, Jim reflected as he headed for the kitchen, Blair had been burning the candle at both ends for a while now. It was hardly any great surprise that he had finally gone past his limit. He was dead on his feet. Jim had seen that in the Spec Ops, too. Blair needed food, time to rest and recharge his batteries.
The soup was doing fine, and Jim headed back to the bathroom and the drowsy Guide. The Sentinel didn't think twice about it when he saw Blair was too tired to wash himself. Using the soft hand cloth he carefully and thoroughly washed the other man, then his hair, rinsing it with handfuls of water. Then he lifted the spotlessly clean, sleepy man up out of the tub as he opened the drain.
Blair was finally warm and relaxed. He leaned against Jim as the larger man dried him, wrapping a towel around the damp curls. The curls were longer than they had been, and Jim found himself oddly pleased Blair was letting them grow. His Guide was different than all the other friends and acquaintences he had. They were primarily cops, with short hair and a conservative bent. Good to have backing you up, the best. But a far cry from his affectionate, hands on Guide.
Blair was not at all like the men he'd worked with, either in the military, or on the force. At first the difference had been a source of irritation, the grad student not fitting into the careful boxes that most everyone else he knew did. In fact, Blair had been more like the perps Jim arrested every day. At least superficially, Jim thought, bypassing the table to seat Blair on the couch. He was about to break one of the house rules...no eating on the couch. He hardly gave it a second thought as he gave Blair the tray with the bowl of steaming, thick, vegetable soup.
Despite his looks, Blair was not a pot-head, not a criminal. He was one of the most ethical and kind men Jim Ellison had met in his life. Blair had saved his life. Jim admitted it. He owed Blair Sandburg for every day he lived. Blair had made it possible. Taught him he was not going insane, that he could control his wild senses. Blair Sandburg kept a desperate Jim Ellison from eating his own gun.
Jim waited patiently as Blair finished the soup. If necessary he would have fed the other man. But, Blair managed. Then Jim washed the bowl and placed it in the drainer. Blair was dozing on the couch, head flung backwards,snoring lightly. Jim allowed himself a smile. Knocked out. He belonged in bed. Jim dried his hands and went back to his Guide.
Blair let himself be walked to the downstairs room, yawning, a huge jaw cracking yawn. Jim nudged the door open and stopped in the doorway. The room looked as if it had exploded. Books stacked on every available surface. Papers piled between the books and on the bed. No way was anyone sleeping in there without a major effort at finding and cleaning a soft, flat surface.
Jim turned towards the stairs. He didn't think about it, not really. He just took Blair to the bathroom again, got his teeth brushed, and up the stairs into Jim's own bed. It was plenty big enough for two, or even three to sleep without invading each other's space. Almost before he'd tucked Blair in, the younger man was snoring, and asleep again, smelling faintly of toothpaste and herbal soap, and of Blair, underneath it all.
The only concession Jim made to the new presence in his bed was to sleep in his boxers in stead of nude. He slept as well as he had for a long, long time. And if the snoring snuffles against his shoulder were any hint, Blair did as well.
They hadn't talked about it. A few night's later, Blair had crawled into Jim's bed again. They slept. And the next night. Now, Blair slept with him every night, and Jim found he liked it. A lot. He had always been a light sleeper, and since he'd been found by Blair that hadn't changed. It was not uncommon for him to wake several times during the night, his Sentinel senses reaching out to assure himself of his Guide's safety and well being. It was a mild, continual source of stress that Blair was closer to the door to the loft than he was, He would have preferred to be between the door to the world outside, and his Guide.
Now with Blair at his side in the big, upstairs bed, Jim didn't wake those multiple times. He slept the night through, Sandburg tucked up against him, head resting happily on his shoulder, the long, unruly locks of his hair fanned out over Jim's chest, Jim's arm around him, securing them together, monitoring the Guide all night.
The other Major Crimes detectives all noticed a difference in the normally growly and easy to aggravate man. Jim was far more relaxed. They teased him, actually teased the feared detective James Ellison, asking who the lucky lady was. He'd growled back good naturedly, there was no *new* lady in his life, just the same brilliant and beautiful Elaine. The other men had laughed, clearly not believing him, but determined to enjoy the benefits anyway.
So, that brought Jim to today, his second cup of coffee, and his thoughts. Blair had been sleeping in his bed every night for a month. And Jim was more rested than he'd been since childhood. He knew it was good for him, his Guide was good for him. But...how did he deal with the knowledge of what he and Blair were doing? They weren't having sex. Which might have been easier to deal with.
Jim almost laughed out loud while sitting in the break room sipping his coffee. That would indeed draw notice he thought, him sitting at a table in the precinct, alone, laughing. But it was funny, that he'd find understanding what was going on between him and his Guide, if they were having sex, so much easier. Blair was heterosexual, energetically so. Jim was, too, though perhaps as a concession to his greater age, a bit less actively. Still it was the female form, the female scent that got both of them rocking as far as sex went. That was the same, and Jim didn't see much possiblity of it changing.
One thing that had changed...Blair never stayed over night any more with one of his girlfriends of the moment. And Jim had stopped staying over at Elaine's the rare times they both had the same hours off. She had been puzzled, but accepted it when Jim paid her more attention, not less. Sending flowers, seeming happier. More affectionate, not less. She tried to talk with him about it, but he had merely said he was having trouble sleeping and didn't want to keep her up nights. For reasons he didn't quite get, but wasn't about to question, she had accepted that with no argument. He certainly had not told her he wanted to sleep in his own bed so he could sleep with his male friend and un-paid partner.
And still they hadn't talked about what was changed, he and Blair. While Jim was curious as to the other's thoughts, he didn't want to take any chance that a conversation would cause them to go back to separate beds. He wondered why Blair, who usually wanted to talk about every little thing, had not brought it up at all.
Jim looked forward to nights. He felt more relaxed knowing when the day was over, he was going back to the loft, he and Blair would share a meal, talk about their respective days, and when it was time to sleep, a naked Blair was going to be curled up next to him, and later in the night, would find his way into Jim's sheltering, cradling arms. And Jim was alright with it. More than alright. It was the high point of his day and his night. It was...security. Comfort.
And he couldn't tell anyone about it. Or let them find out. What would he say to Elaine if she found out? Or to his best friend Simon Banks, also his boss? If Simon found out he slept with Blair every night without fail...what would Jim say to explain it? Could he explain it? Probably not unless he was talking to a psychiatrist. Yeah. Only a psychiatrist would understand this. Maybe *he* could explain it to Jim. Mentally Jim shrugged. A nice thought, but he was not about to go to a department shrink so he could understand this. Confidentiality be damned, it would be all over the precinct like wildfire, that big, bad, scary, Jim Ellison liked to sleep with his hippy partner. And that would be the end of his career.
Knowing his Guide, if pushed Blair would say it was a Sentinel thing. Sentinel Jim needing to know his Guide was safe and warm and healthy. But was that enough to explain why Blair climbed into Jim's bed every night? Was Blair doing it just for his Sentinel? Forty some years of life-experienced Jim Ellison didn't think so. Blair was also sleeping better. No more restless tossing and turning. Snuggling into Jim's arms with a satisfied sigh, his furry chest as soothing to Jim as a childhood teddy-bear.
Blair-bear. Jim almost blushed even thinking that silently. Grown men did not have needs that revolved around stuffed animals. They did not crave said stuffed animals. Did not think about them sitting in the detective's break room at the police station. They preferred to sleep with women they found attractive, unless they were gay. And Jim knew he wasn't gay. Nor, was Blair. Sandburg was most emphatically not gay.
So...why was he the happiest in his life, ever, the most content, since he had started sleeping with Blair?
ne'ichan