His Master's Voice 13

By CatMoran

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own the canon characters or concept; I do own this story.

Summary: Jim hangs around and thinks.

Warning: Not beta'd. m/m romantic pairing.

His Master's Voice 13
By CatMoran
*****

Jim carefully flexed the fingers of his right hand, then repeated the action with his left hand. If he let his fingers go numb he might lose his grip, and that would not be a good thing, 20 stories above the pavement. The same reasoning prevented him from dialing down the pain running through his arms and shoulders.

He looked up at the edge of the roof, a mere two feet above the shallow ledge he clung to. It might as well have been a hundred feet--below him the building was nearly seamless glass, affording him no toe-holds; and the initial stress of catching himself had strained his arms too badly to simply pull himself up.

He hung there, hoping for rescue and wondering how a day that had started with such promise could end so badly.

*****

They had walked back to the loft at a much more leisurely pace than they'd left it. Their progress was slowed further by frequent stops for gentle kisses and teasing touches. Jim was too entranced by the situation to worry about disapproving passersby. Fortunately, there were none; the night was too cool and damp for most people to enjoy a casual stroll through the park.

When he asked Blair if the weather bothered him, Blair replied with a cheerful shrug, "Cascade, Washington: Vacation capital for vampires. Anyway, I'm too busy enjoying the company to worry about the weather."

It was after midnight before they returned to the loft. Naomi's absence dampened Blair's spirits until he found the note she'd left on the kitchen table.

Dearest Blair,

I need to take a little time to process this. It isn't every day my little boy becomes a vampire, after all! I've taken my old suite at the Four Seasons, I'm sure you remember the number, darling.

I'll see you in a day or two. Take care of yourself and Jim until then.

Love,
Naomi

Blair offered the note to Jim to read, then wrapped his arms around the other man from behind.

The weight of the jackets separating the two men was the only thing that allowed Jim the concentration required to read the short note. He turned his head to look at the other man, quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Her 'old suite'?"

Blair finished tracing his tongue lightly up the exposed length of Jim's neck and replied absently, "She visited frequently when I was an undergraduate, and she always stayed in the same rooms."

Jim shivered with desire as he tallied up another Naomi-mystery to be unraveled--Naomi 9, Jim 1--and asked, "You're ok with her being gone?"

"Yeah, she'll be back soon. She promised." Blair smiled slyly around at Jim, "Anyway, if she was here she'd probably cramp your style, man."

Jim turned in Blair's arms, "There is that. Let's do this right, Blair. Come upstairs with me?"

"Of course!"

Jim laughed as Blair pulled him up the stairs to his--to *their*--bedroom. Undressing was a lengthy and sloppy affair, with kisses and licks applied to each patch of skin revealed. Blair growled in appreciation when he removed Jim's boxers. Jim tussled with him on the bed to return the favor, then stopped in surprise and concern.

"Blair?"

"Yeah, Jim." Blair paused only briefly in his latest project of mapping Jim's chest with his tongue.

"Um, is something wrong?"

"Not from where I'm lying." Blair grinned as he considered the things he could do with a nipple using only his mouth.

"Blair, something's not right here." Jim gently pried his lover away from his chest, and pointed at the other man's lax genitals.

Blair stared for a moment, clearly shocked, then swiftly rolled so that he was face down on the bed, his head buried under a pillow.

"Blair, I'm sorry." Distressed, Jim didn't know what else to say.

The room was silent for several minutes. Finally Blair exclaimed, "Oh *God*, I'm such an idiot." His words were muffled by the pillow, but Jim could hear them clearly.

"Why?"

Blair pulled his head out from under the pillow and knocked on it with one fist. "Because I was responding *in here*, it just didn't occur to me that my body wouldn't join the party." He ducked his head back under the pillow.

"Maybe it's a temporary problem?" Jim offered.

"No, Jim. I just wasn't *thinking*. Don't you *get* it?"

Jim shook his head. "Well, if you know what the problem is-"

Blair rolled to his side and peered out from under the pillow. "Jim, I don't have a pulse. No pulse, no circulation. No circulation, no..." he waved his hand vaguely toward his groin, "erection."

"Aw, Blair." Jim looked at Blair sadly. It appeared that they would pay the price for his fear-induced procrastination, after all.

"I can still... you know, do something for you." Blair offered.

"Nah, that's ok." Jim's erection had long since faltered and died. "I have to be up early anyway. Do you want to stay up here and sleep?"

Blair smiled faintly. "Sure, I'd like that."

Jim stretched out and pulled Blair close, consoling himself with the vampire's familiar scent.

They were woken early the next morning by Jim's stomach, reminding him loudly of the meal they'd skipped. By mutual unspoken agreement, the house rules were suspended and they ate together on the couch, maintaining as much contact as possible.

Jim was reluctant to leave for work, but he reminded himself that it was Friday, and they'd have the weekend together. So he showered and dressed, and with a last lingering kiss he walked out the door.

*****

"Ellison! My office."

Jim wasn't surprised. He tried not to eavesdrop and it usually worked, but he'd heard his name mentioned in Simon's office several times in the past hour. He invoked the screensaver on his PC, stood and walked to his Captain's office.

"Yes, Sir?"

Simon pointed to the chair in front of his desk. "Taggert's going out to investigate the high-rise arson case. I'm sending you out as his partner."

None of the fires had caused any injuries or done any major damage, but after the second one Major Crimes had been tagged to help the arson investigators. Any fire in a high-rise building was a potential catastrophe.

Jim nodded. Accelerants were easy to smell, he could do this easily without Blair to back him up. He replied, "Yes, Sir."

Simon bit down on his cigar in shock. "Jim, did you just say 'yes'?"

"That's correct, Sir."

Simon growled, "Knock it off with the 'sir' crap, you know that annoys me."

"Yes, Simon."

"Well, get out of here, then. You've got work to do, Taggert's got all the files."

"Sure, Simon." Jim smiled and left his Captain's office. He stopped at his desk for his windbreaker, then walked to Taggert's desk. "Taggert, what're we looking at?"

Taggert looked up at Jim in surprise. He'd agreed with Simon that Jim needed to get back out on the street, and that he shouldn't go out alone. But he really hadn't expected Simon to talk the too-quiet detective into partnering with him.

"It's the arson case, the one that started with the Bank of Washington building?" At Jim's nod he continued. "We think we've found a pattern. If we're right our guy will hit again this afternoon, at either the Wilkenson Tower or the KCDE building. We're going to check out one of the buildings, Cruz and his team are taking the other one. If we're lucky, the suspect will fall right into our hands."

*****

Jim snorted. Lucky. Yeah, they were lucky. When they walked into the lobby of the KCDE studios he had immediately focused in on the smell of paint thinner.

Following the odor to its source, they almost caught the guy in the stairway off the 19th floor. The suspect led them on a chase to the rooftop where Jim and Taggert split up, circling the rooftop structures from opposite sides.

Jim was alone and still slightly dizzy from the smell of the paint thinner when the suspect got the drop on him. Then the guy dropped him over the edge of the roof. It *was* luck that he'd caught the ledge, instead of going straight down to the pavement.

As Jim dangled, shifting to try to get a better grip on his narrow hand-hold, he heard a scuffle above him, followed by a gunshot. Hoping the winner was Taggert, he called out. In a moment, he'd either be shot dead or pulled to safety.

The End
(c) CatMoran 2000