Title: And We Danced

Author: Silk

Fandom: The Sentinel

Pairing: Jim/Blair

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Jim's alone, but he wants more. Whether he realizes it or not.

Archive: If I sent it to you, please feel free.

Email: silkn1@att.net

Series/Sequel: No

Website: http://www.crystalgardens.net

Disclaimer: All things Sentinel owned by Pet Fly and Paramount. Not me. This work is not for profit.

Warnings: m/m, AU, angst.

Notes: This story was originally published in Whispers of the Heart 6, and it is based on the movie, The Fabulous Baker Boys.


And We Danced
By Silk


It was a gray day. Like much of the Northwest, Cascade was known for its rain. But that was okay with Jim Ellison. It suited his mood perfectly. Every day looked the same. Bereft of color like his life.

He stared out the window in an effort to avert his gaze from the young woman in the bed. It wasn't his bed. It never was. Jim steered clear of commitment. He thought of sex as scratching an itch. It felt good when he did it, but eventually it hurt the one he scratched.

Cupping his hands, he lit a cigarette. He smoked entirely too much. One of these days, he was going to quit. Yeah, riiight. He turned his head and blew smoke in the dark-haired woman's direction, causing her to begin to stir.

With a wrinkle of her nose, she opened her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Time to go."

"You can't even buy me breakfast?"

Suddenly she sat up, the sheet clinging tenuously to one small, well-shaped breast. "Why don't you stay? We could have some more fun."

"Fun's over, honey. I gotta go."

Her deep brown eyes glittered with a vengeful light. "You're a real prince, Jim."

"Yeah, that's what they all say, sweetheart," he said flatly. His pale blue eyes were empty. Though his body was obviously sated, his soul went begging. Fulfillment was something beyond his grasp. He wasn't even aware when he had given up searching.

No point in wanting what you can never have, he told himself. So many times he had lost count. So many times he began to believe it. But he wasn't sad. Not anymore.

No, he was never sad.

He was dead.

*****

Jim made his way down to the street. Cascade at dawn was oddly silent. Something that suited him just fine. During the day, there was entirely too much noise. For someone like him, enhanced senses were not a gift, but a curse. Constantly overstimulated by sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch, Jim retreated to a place deep inside him. A place where control was god. Jim
never learned how to manage his senses, but his will was stronger than whatever drove his body wild.

That was why there was no safety to be found in another's arms. He either felt nothing...or there was so much sensation that it brought him pain.

All or nothing.

Like his life.

He walked across the city, barely breaking a sweat. He didn't keep a car. There was no need. He had no place to go. No one to see.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. His brother Stephen waited for him right now. He glanced at his watch and stifled a sound that might have been a groan. He was going to be late.

*****

Stephen took one look at his older brother and swore. "Goddammit, Jim! Your suit looks like you slept in it!"

"I think I did," he said, a reluctant grin tracing his lips.

Stephen Ellison had no illusions about his life. He was married. He had kids. People depended on him. Once he might have aspired to be a pianist of some distinction. But all that fell by the wayside when he discovered that he had to make a living. And he did.

Almost twenty years of playing local hotel lounges had taken its toll on both of them. But Stephen had no regrets. He knew his limitations. He could have been good. But there was no looking back. He was a pragmatist. Unlike Jim. Jim was an artist. He played bars because he had to. His first love was jazz, and when Jim played, he communicated on a hitherto unknown spiritual plane. Even Stephen knew that. Though he tried to deny it every chance he got.

Occasionally, when Stephen was drunk, he would apologize to Jim. For taking his talent and squandering it on the dives they played. But they rarely talked about what it meant to be Jim.

They both knew it was killing him.

*****

Jim stamped out his cigarette with the heel of his boot. Stephen frowned. "How many times do I have to tell you that you smoke too much? That stuff'll kill you."

"Riight." Jim gave the squashed butt an additional twist, this one more violent than the first. "If I die, it won't be cigarettes that get me."

Stephen snorted. "No, more likely a jealous husband. Maybe you should try keeping your dick in your pants for a change."

Jim almost smiled. "Now who's jealous? Wife not giving you any?"

"Let's leave Carolyn out of this."

"Glad to. Sanctimonious bitch," he muttered under his breath.

"I heard that," Stephen retorted.

"Good. Maybe you can stop plopping her into every fucking conversation we have."

"You know, for a minute there, you almost sounded angry. You starting to feel something again, Jim?"

"Not me," Jim intoned darkly with a shake of his head.

Stephen grabbed the end of Jim's tie and started to tie it for him. Jim slapped at his brother's hand. "I can tie my own tie, thanks!"

"Are you sure? And what's with that suit? God, we don't have time for you to run an iron over it!"

"Take it easy, Stevie. You're going to lose what's left of your hair," Jim said dryly, indicating the small bald spot that Stephen tried desperately to hide.

"How can you be so fucking calm? We go on in five minutes!" Stephen hissed.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced. "I know, I know. Look, you haven't changed the playlist in a decade. I'm not going to forget how to play "Feelings", I swear."

"I didn't say that! But dammit, Jim, couldn't you at least make half an effort to look like you didn't fucking fall out of bed?"

"But I did, Stevie."

"Yeah, yeah, what was her name? The one you fell off of in bed?" Stephen quipped sarcastically.

"I never fall off. I'm an expert rider," Jim deadpanned.

"You don't know her fucking name, do you?"

"I-"

"You don't!"

Jim stood there in his rumpled suit, feeling all of five years old again. His brother might be younger, but he was definitely in charge. He called all the shots. He handled the money. And he treated Jim like a brilliant child who didn't have a clue how to survive in the real world.

Maybe he didn't. What he was doing certainly wasn't living by any stretch of the imagination.

A voice, unnervingly close, blasted Jim out of his relatively serene frame of mind. "You're on!"

Once the adrenaline drained out of his system, he would be fine. That's what he told himself.

It was a pity how often he lied.

*****

The stale cigarette smoke, the cloying odor of perfume, and the smell of unwashed bodies combined to make a nauseating mixture that threatened Jim's tenuous hold on his senses. Plastering a fake smile on his face, he let his brother lead him through a series of one-liners and anecdotes that hadn't been real the first time they were told.

It numbed him body and soul.

The only thing that kept him from shouting out loud and bolting out the door was the thought that tonight he would play. He would go to the hole-in-the-wall jazz club in its questionable neighborhood and thank God for what little salvation He seemed to throw his way.

*****

After the set, Jim lounged outside the manager's office, waiting for his brother. As usual, he looked casually disaffected, but inside, he was as tense as a jungle cat. Stephen rejoined him, a slender white envelope in his hands. At Jim's sharp-eyed glance, Stephen flushed. "It's all there. Your half."

"I don't need to count it, Stevie. I trust you."

"Yeah, well, I've got news for you. Nick doesn't want us back tomorrow night."

"We've already got the pianos rented."

"He doesn't care. Says business is down. He needs to move drinks."

"And we're not doing that? That fuck!"

"It's not his fault, Jimmy. Don't get bent out of shape. Christ, there's no happy medium with you. You're either comatose or hanging off the chandeliers."

Jim took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Losing his temper would only make matters worse. "What are we going to do?"

"I've got an idea. It's a long shot. But hey, we've got nothing to lose."

"What's the idea?" Jim asked warily. His brother's ideas were notorious for costing them money they didn't have and could ill afford to give away.

"We need a singer."

As bombshells went, it was relatively mild. But Jim took it like a direct hit to the chest. "No way."

"Jim, be reasonable."

"We don't need anybody else, Stevie. Come on...."

Stephen raked his hands through his thinning hair. "I knew you were going to be like this. I knew it. Jimmy, something's gotta give or we're not going to survive."

Jim closed his eyes and slumped against the wall with a dull thud. "Do I get any say in this?"

"Do you-Of course, you do, Jim!"

Jim nodded. "Auditions are going to be hell, you know that."

"Hey, you never know. It could be fun."

Jim smiled weakly and gritted his teeth. "Oh, yeah, like root canal."

"Pessimist."

Stephen slapped a hand to the middle of Jim's back. "Hey, kiddo, you could end up meeting the love of your life."

"In a dingy warehouse?" Jim shook his head. "I'll stick to my bump and run's, thanks."

"Oh, yeah. Renting a room in a squalid hotel is so much better," Stephen drawled.

"I'm not looking for a relationship, Stephen."

"Good thing. Cause you're never ever going to find one, not the way you go on."

Jim sighed heavily. "Would you stop acting like my big brother? I'm four years older than you."

"So what? You still don't know how to take care of yourself."

"Maybe I do...and I just don't care."

*****

Jim slammed both hands down on the keyboard of the rented piano. The resulting crash made the current singer flinch. "Am I in the right key?" she said in what was quite possibly the most horrible New York accent he had ever heard.

"The key you're in hasn't been invented yet," he muttered under his breath.

Stephen straddled the chair across from where Jim sat at the piano. He gestured at the singer to continue, wincing when he saw the look on his brother's face. For all of his pretence at indifference, Jim was the picture of discontent.

"Who can take a rainbowwww? Sprinkle it with dewwwww?"

Jim played by rote, his head aching, his eyes closed. No one could filter out a noise like that. Not even someone with his self-control. But by God, there had to be a way to stop this relentless beleaguering of "The Candyman".

When she was done, she twirled her hair around her fingers and curtsied. "Who are you? Shirley Temple?" he snapped, unable to stop the comment from crossing his lips.

"Well, no. I'm Mindy. Mindy Sapphire," the girl offered cheerfully.

"That can't be your real name."

"Oh! You mean my real name? My real name...hmm...well, let's see...it was Monica! That's right. Monica!"

"Uh huh. Well, say, Monica, it's been swell, but I'm afraid we can't use you."

"You can't? But...um...why? The job hasn't been filled yet, right?"

Stephen jumped in before Jim succumbed to the urge to throttle the young woman. "We're looking for someone a little older. Someone not as pretty."

"Oh!" she chirped. "Then it's not, like, because I stink?"

"Jesus Christ!" Jim swore, clapping a hand to his forehead.

Stephen cast an anxious look at his brother before he stood up. Gently guiding Mindy/Monica to the door, Stephen said diplomatically, "I hope you never lose that perky...um...spirit."

Once the girl was gone, Stephen turned on his heel and faced Jim. "You bastard! I told you not to fuck this up!"

"Come on, Stephen, she wasn't anywhere near what we need and you know it."

"You don't know how to talk to people! You treat every woman like she's a barely tolerable piece of ass!"

"Frankly, I don't know her well enough to give her that much credit, Stevie."

A muscle throbbed in Jim's cheek, the only visible sign that he was not as calm as he appeared. Stephen drew back his hand to slap him, and he could read Jim's acquiescence in his eyes. He was going to let him do it. That stopped him.

"We've gone through 38 hopefuls and what have we got to show for it? Nothing. We'd better pack everything up and get out. We've got to get the piano back."

An explosion of sound cascaded through the near-empty warehouse. Jim and Stephen turned as one. A slight figure stood unsteadily in the doorway, reams and reams of sheet music strewn about his feet. "This is where the auditions are, right?"

"Were," Stephen corrected.

"Were?"

"Yeah, you're about a half hour late, sunshine. We were just about to leave."

"Well, sheesh, way to give a guy a chance."

"Excuse me?" Jim asked with a frown. That was a guy?

The figure moved closer, then stepped back into the fading sun's glare, making further scrutiny impossible. He started to pick up the sheet music, and Jim heaved a great sigh before deciding to help. "In the interest of time, why don't I give you a hand, Chief?"

"Hey, I'm not helpless, man."

"Didn't say you were. You're a prickly little thing, aren't you?"

"I'm not little. I'm 5'8". You're way too tall, man."

"For what?"

"What for what?"

"You said I was too tall. Too tall for what?"

"Look," the younger man said in an exasperated tone. "I took three buses to get here. I came because I need a job. If you're interested in hearing me sing, fine. If you're not, hasta la vista, baby. Life goes on."

"This is ridiculous, Jim," Stephen snapped. "We need a singer, not a-a-fucking hippie."

"You're just saying that cause his hair is longer than yours, Stevie," Jim said sweetly.

It was true. The aspiring singer's dark brown curls fell to his shoulders, shimmering with auburn highlights. He wore a silver hoop earring in his left ear, which, admittedly, was unusual, but not that outrageous. No, as attractive as his other features were, they weren't what caught Jim's attention. Jim was hypnotized by the younger man's dark blue eyes and full, sensual mouth. His eyes sparkled with youth and energy and intelligence, while his mouth...hell, his mouth simply looked like it was made for kissing.

"Oh, yeah," Jim muttered under his breath.

The would-be auditioner quickly snapped his fingers in front of Jim's face. "Hey, man, you zoned or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"You keep staring at me like you want to eat me or something. I hope you had breakfast. You're starting to make me a little nervous."

"Can you sing?" Jim asked abruptly, provoking a startled laugh from the young man.

"That's why I'm here, man."

"Okay, sing."

"What do you want me to sing?"

"I don't care. Sing anything. Sing 'Happy Birthday' for God's sake."

"Okay. Um, my key is-"

"I know what key it's in, Chief. Just sing."

"Don't you want to know my name, man?"

God, yes. "Sure. What's your name?"

"Blair. Blair Sandburg."

"Hmm...you might have to change it. It doesn't sound like a good name for a singer."

"Fuck you, man. It's my name. Love it or leave it."

Jim gave Blair a cool look, but on the inside he was shaking with reaction. Shitshitshit, this wasn't supposed to happen. Every word this Blair said went straight to Jim's groin with a vengeance. "Fine. Sing, Sandburg."

Part 2

His voice held Jim and Stephen rapt. He might not look like a singer, but once he opened his mouth, he sure was hell couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

Stephen was already counting the receipts. "When can you start?"

Blair flinched when the older man wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Now. I'm not going anywhere."

"Great. Do you know 'Feelings'?"

"Do I know 'Feelings'? Who doesn't?" Blair caught Jim's eye and before he knew it, the older man winked at him.

"My favorite," Blair added.

Stephen grinned from ear-to-ear. "He likes 'Feelings', Jimmy."

"He sure does, Stevie."

Stephen drew back and appraised the young man's clothing. Faded blue jeans. Gray T-shirt. A green-white-and-black plaid flannel shirt, worn open. Scuffed work boots. Not the most prepossessing look for an aspiring singer. "Hmm...your look..."

"What about my look, man?"

"Needs work."

"I am *not* cutting my hair."

Oh, no, not the hair. You've got to keep the hair. I want to run my fingers and toes and mouth through that hair. Oh, God. This is going to be bad.

Stephen framed the younger man's face with his fingers, ignoring the fact that his constant touching was making Blair nervous. "He's got good bone structure, Jim. I think he'll clean up nicely."

"Yo, Professor Higgins. I am *not* Eliza Fucking Dolittle, okay? You don't have to remake me. Just let me do what I do best. Sing."

"But you'd look great in a black Armani-"

"You're not lis-ten-ing."

Jim shook his head vehemently. "No, not black. Blue. Royal blue."

"This isn't a circus, Jim. We're a class act."

"The blue will bring out his eyes. He needs to be surrounded by color. Jewel colors. Not black. Never black."

"Jim, you're not the one making decisions here, remember? You're the brother who doesn't give a shit."

Jim shrugged. "Whatever."

Stephen grabbed Blair by the shoulder. "We'll go shopping tomorrow."

"Wouldn't rehearsal be a better way to spend our time?" Blair inquired, trying not to sound sarcastic.

"Blue, huh?" Stephen asked Jim.

Jim nodded. "I'm telling you, blue is his color."

Blair flung his hands into the air and sighed loudly. "I give up. Do whatever you want with me, just don't forget to pay me."

*****

As it happened, shopping was not Jim's favorite thing. In fact, it wasn't even on his list of things he *disliked* doing. But someone had to dress Blair Sandburg in the style that would highlight his best features. Jim ignored the voice that told him, Stephen could do that, Stephen's been doing that all along.

He tried to tell himself he didn't want an excuse to put his hands all over Blair. But though Jim was no stranger to hiding from himself, he admitted, with almost brutal honesty, that he didn't want anyone else touching Blair *but* him. If that made him six kinds of fool, so be it. He'd been called worse.

Stephen breezed through the stores, grabbing things off the rack, sizing up Blair with an accuracy that scared the young man. But Jim...now there was a man he wouldn't mind getting to know better.

Blair's musing produced a vaguely sensual smile that made Jim gnash his teeth in frustration. He wasn't used to being an onlooker, dammit. He was used to taking what he wanted when he wanted. Not that it made him particularly happy. Nothing did. But there was something different about Blair. Something that both soothed and unsettled his senses.

Stephen found the perfect pair of pants and moved to hold them up against Blair, but Jim intervened. He knelt at Blair's feet, slowly running his hand up the younger man's inner thigh. Blair stared at him, transfixed. His pupils were so dilated, his blue eyes looked almost black. As Jim approached his crotch, he felt his dick harden in anticipation of Jim touching him. Oh, God, what if he does? What if I come in my pants like a kid?

Jim's fingertips grazed the material of Blair's pants, already stretched taut by the rigid erection he sported, and Jim couldn't help but notice. With slow deliberate movements, he brushed at Blair's groin, finally looking up to see Blair biting his lip to keep from making a sound.

"That a gun in your pocket, Sandburg, or are you just glad to see me?"

"It's nothing, man," Blair groaned.

"Whole lotta shakin' goin' on for nothing, Sandburg."

"Why don't you just leave me alone, man?"

"You don't want to come out and play, Chief?"

"Umm...." Blair broke out in a sweat that nothing to do with the overheated room and everything to do with Jim Ellison.

Pulling restraint out of God knows where, Blair said, "I don't get involved with people I work with, man."

"Neither do I."

"You could have fooled me."

"I don't think you're that easily fooled, Chief."

"I don't do casual, man. So don't bother making nice with me, okay?"

"That's a shame. I don't do anything but casual."

"I can guess why."

Suddenly Jim closed down, his entire face regaining its customary shuttered look. As if the previous moment never happened, he told Stephen, "His inseam's 32. "

At his brother's raised eyebrow, Jim snapped, "What? He's got short legs, all right?"

Stephen nodded knowingly. He knew his brother and he knew when he got the itch, he just had to scratch it. As he drifted by, he whispered, "Don't fuck this up, Jimmy. I don't care how attractive you think he is. You sleep with him, it changes things. It changes things you're not ready to deal with."

"Fuck you, Stevie."

"Better me than him, Jimmy. You're in way over your head with this one. Trust me."

*****

The audiences loved Blair Sandburg. Stephen Ellison loved the additional money he brought in. In the meantime, Jim Ellison cursed him six ways to Sunday.

"Ever since *he* came, I have no peace of mind," Jim muttered.

"Let's face it, Jimmy, you've *never* had peace of mind," Stephen said, stuffing his sheet music into his carryall.

"If I could just sleep with him and be done with it, I'd feel a helluva lot better."

"Boy, I've seen some rationalizing in my time, but you take the cake, Jim. Read my lips. The kid told you like it is. He doesn't do one night stands. You do. There's a helluva lot of territory between you and him. Don't cross it. Or you *will* be sorry."

Blair bounced into the green room and the two brothers fell silent. It was so obvious that they'd been talking about Blair that he stopped dead in his tracks, the spring in his step gone. "What? I have bad breath or something? What's up with that?"

"Nothing, Sunshine. Just trading war stories," Jim said dismissively.

Blair refused to take that for an answer. "C'mon, man, you got a problem with me, we'd better work it out."

"Drop it."

The ice in Jim's voice was matched by the glacial blue of his eyes.

"No, no, I don't think so, man. You and me, out in the hall. Now."

"What?" Jim smirked. "You gonna punch me out or something? You're dreaming, Sandburg."

"You think the only way to deal with something is with your hands, man? Well, maybe I've got weapons you haven't seen yet."

"I'm sure you have, Chief." Jim laughed and started to walk away, but Blair caught him by the upper arm. Suddenly it was all Jim could do not to bolt from the room. He felt hot and cold and inexplicably nervous. And over what? Some underdeveloped voice-over artiste, formerly of K-Mart?

"Let go of me," Jim commanded.

"Make me," Blair challenged.

"You don't want to go there, kid," Stephen intervened, seeing the warning glint in Jim's eyes. He counted out Blair's share of the proceeds and held the money out to him. "Here, take it. It's all there."

Blair grabbed the money, his hands cutting a swath through the air that came intentionally close to Jim's personal space. At Jim's apparently instinctive attempt to back away, Blair snorted derisively. "You don't need to be afraid of me, Jim. I'm not dangerous to assholes who don't give a shit."

"Listen, if you two could just stop sniping at each other for five fucking minutes, I have something to tell you." Stephen stood between them, his stance like that of a referee who was afraid the champion and the challenger were going to wipe the mats with him.

Blair sighed impatiently while Jim merely looked bored.

"Okay? Okay. We've been offered two weeks on the Christmas/New Year's cruise of the Golden Caribe." Stephen paused, evidently expecting applause at the very least.

"Very funny," said Jim with a sour expression twisting his lips.

"What's not to like?" Stephen demanded.

"I have plans, man."

"Oh, like what, Darwin? Your mom the witch flying in on her broomstick?" Jim snickered.

"Y'know, I'm real sorry I ever shared with you, man, about my mom's pagan beliefs. It's not nice to make fun of someone's cultural heritage, Jim."

"What's she going to do, put a curse on me?"

"I wish. But she only dabbles in yoga and meditation, man. She's not into the kind of serious voodoo hexing someone like you would take."

"Yeah, well, I can't go anyway, Stevie. I get seasick. You know that."

"This is the booking of a lifetime, Jimmy. Don't do this to me."

"What do I get out of it, Stevie? And don't give me that crap about earning the respect of my fellow man or something."

"Jesus, you're a fucking altruist, man," Blair chided the older man.

"We get...are you ready for this? A suite on the top deck. Room service up the ying yang. Service with a smile. Hot and cold running women, James. Are you ready to boogie oogie oogie into the night now or not?"

"I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country," Jim intoned prayerfully, holding his hand over his heart.

"Well, I can't be bought, man. Family's important to me."

"I thought you were the original nomad, Chief. Papa was a rolling stone and all that. When did you develop such an affection for putting down roots?"

When I met you, Jim. Blair barely prevented himself from saying exactly that. If Jim knew the degree of attraction he held for Blair, it would all be over in a heartbeat.

"Look, I can't go. That's that." Blair warded off any further comments by holding up his hands.

"Then we can't do it." Stephen looked crestfallen. "Shit, isn't there *anything* I could offer you, Blair, to sweeten the deal?"

If you only knew. "No, man."

"What if-Nah, that's a stupid idea." Jim's eyes flickered over the younger man's face, as if cataloguing every feature, unaware that he was being watched by his brother.

"Let me be the judge of what's stupid. I'm desperate here."

"Well, I was just going to suggest that we ask Blair's mom to join us."

Blair blinked. "In the same room?" he exclaimed incredulously.

"No, not the same room, Chief. She'd have her own room. But we could pay her way."

"Wow, you guys would do that for *me*?" Blair's smoky blue eyes literally sparkled. The bounce was back, his toes tapping restively in counterpoint with the soft thump of his heels.

Such a little thing to make him so happy. A man could get seriously lost in those eyes. Dancing eyes.

"Jim?"

Jim dragged himself back to reality with an effort. "Yeah?"

"Thanks, man." Blair leaned close, close enough to kiss him, if he so desired, and Jim held his breath. One well-shaped hand caressed his cheek briefly, releasing him before it would have been considered inappropriate.

But oh, how Jim wanted to be the one Blair decided to be inappropriate with.

*****

"Wow."

That pretty much summed up the view from the doorway, all right. Jim could hardly believe the luxurious accommodations that they had been given. As part of the talent hired to entertain the cruise passengers, Jim had relatively low expectations.

But this was beyond words.

This was clearly a top-of-the-line stateroom. Jim, cynical right down to the last puff of the cigarette drooping from the side of his mouth, remarked," So...who do we have to fuck to keep these rooms?"

Stephen shook his head, somewhat dazed himself. "Damned if I know. This was *not* in the brochure."

"I know, I know. The catch is, we all have to sleep together," Blair quipped, drawing a seriously heated look from Jim.

Jesus, did the kid have any idea what a comment like that did to him? It went straight to his groin, that's what. Damn, for someone who thought he loved women exclusively, except for the occasional dabbling on the other side of the fence, Jim found it difficult to reconcile his feelings for Blair. It wasn't all about sex. Not anymore. And that scared him.

"Like anyone would take you up on that offer," Jim said cuttingly, cursing himself for being three kinds of bastard when he saw Blair pale.

Changing the subject as quickly as possible, Stephen asked Blair, "So what happened to Naomi?"

"Aw, man. I guess all that stuff about family tradition was in my head. She begged off at the last minute. Said she had to go on retreat this year. To re-energize her spirit."

When Jim saw the hurt in Blair's dark blue eyes, he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the floor. His heel unconsciously ground the ashes into the carpet before he could stop himself. Christ, it's a good thing Naomi *isn't* here. For two cents, I'd stab her to death.

"You've got us, Chief," Jim offered. Dammit, he didn't want to be Blair's friend. Or even his fuck-buddy. He wanted to own him. And considering that Jim Ellison was strictly a rent-me-for-the-night kind of guy, he found that a frightening thought.

So of course, he did the only thing he knew how. He pushed him away. Even as he reached out for him.

"Your mom's probably giving it up to some New Age yuppie who wants to play Santa Claus anyway."

Blair's cheeks flushed dark red. For all of his emotional openness, he was surprisingly slow to anger. But despite the fact that he was well-accustomed to people making jibes about Naomi's "free love" mentality, he responded angrily.

"You should know, Jim. Your only relationship with a woman is financial. How much money you've got and whether you're willing to spend it on her."

Jim leaned close, so close that he could hear the erratic rasp of Blair's breathing as he struggled to bring himself under control. "At least I spend my money on *women*."

Blair closed his eyes for a moment, a sure sign that Jim's barb had struck home. But when he opened them again, he met Jim's eyes evenly. "At least I'm honest with myself about who I fuck," he said, deliberately being crude.

Jim inched closer, his mouth hovering so close to Blair's that the younger man could taste him. "You calling me a liar?"

"You know what you are," Blair whispered.

It didn't take much to goad Jim into crossing that line. They both wanted it. The fact that Stephen was standing there, watching, didn't matter. Jim claimed Blair's mouth, pushing him back until his back hit the door with a dull thump.

At Blair's startled gasp, Jim fisted both hands in Blair's hair and deepened the kiss.

When Jim finally wrenched his mouth away from Blair's, he was breathing hard, as though he'd just run a race. He leaned his forehead on Blair's, the expression on his face unreadable. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Blair agreed.

"You can say that again," said Stephen, reminding both men that he was there.

Jim gave his brother a bleary-eyed, unfocussed look that bespoke his present condition. "Think I'll head on to bed," he said, grabbing a pillow off the opulently-appointed couch.

"Jimmy, it's the middle of the day," his brother commented.

"So I'm tired. Want to make something out of that?" Jim snarled.

Stephen shook his head sadly and muttered under his breath, "I told you not to get involved with the kid, Jimmy."

"Yeah, yeah, that's me, corrupting the innocent."

"Actually, I was going to say that you're in way over your head and you don't even know it." Stephen patted Jim on the back and headed for his own room.

Jim's grip on the pillow he held grew tighter and tighter until Blair finally had to look away. "Enjoy your nap, man."

"Where are you going?" Jim asked hoarsely. He didn't want to give the young singer any more ammunition, but he couldn't help himself. He was afraid that Stephen was right.

"I'm sure I can find something to do, man. Not to mention somebody to do it with," he added, slipping on a pair of sunglasses.

"Don't." Jim was appalled. It was as if he had no control.

Blair peered over the top of his glasses at Jim. He had never looked more desirable to him. "Look, I'm satisfied that you don't want to see me except onstage, man. Don't sweat it. I'm cool."

Despite his blithe tone, Blair was anything but cool. He wanted to fling himself head-first at Jim's feet, but he wasn't about to tell him that.

"Later, Jim."

Jim rested his chin on top of his pillow and stared thoughtfully after the younger man.

Part 3

"It was our first show, Stevie. Cut me some slack."

"You were late coming in, Jim."

"I was not. You were early. You're always early. For fifteen fucking years, you've been early. You're like a fucking racehorse."

"Does anyone want to know what *I* think?" asked Blair.

"No!" the two brothers chorused.

"Thanks. You were both ragged. You *were* early, Stephen." Jim crowed with delight. Blair put a stop to that right away. "But *you* played like you were stoned, Jim. Where was your mind?"

On you, Jim thought.

"*I*, on the other hand, was wonderful," Blair announced to no one in particular.

Stephen began to chuckle, only to stop when Jim met his eyes with a warning look. "*You* need more rehearsal," Jim sneered.

"In your dreams."

The look Jim gave Blair was swelteringly hot. It said, I'm halfway there already, take me, please.

Stephen sighed. "This is where I came in. Work it out, guys. But if it interferes with the act, you're both dead men."

"I don't need your fucking permission, Stevie."

"You mean you don't need permission to fuck, man."

"Don't tell me what I mean, Sandburg."

"Don't call me Sandburg if you have even a remote hope of ever sleeping with me."

"Who says I want to *sleep* with you?"

"It's written all over your face, Jim. The only one who doesn't see it is *you*."

Jim pushed Blair, knocking him back a couple of steps. "Hey, man, I don't play rough. You want to play that hard, get yourself a football."

"You piss me off."

"You are so fucking dumb, I can't believe it. You're not pissed off because you want to fuck me. You're pissed off because you're in love with me."

Jim's expression never altered, but he was shaking on the inside. Every word Blair spoke was the truth. His head might not know it, but his heart recognized it as gospel.

"Fuck you," he heard himself say.

"Not tonight, I have a headache." And with that, Blair disappeared into his room, leaving Jim standing there, completely nonplussed.

Stephen smacked the lapel of Jim's suit lightly. "He's right. You *are* an asshole."

"I'm your brother," Jim said, feeling as though he had no right to hurt feelings. Not him. Not now.

"You are. But you're still a jerk."

*****

Stephen became the buffer between the two men. Neither of them wanted to be alone with the other now. Not since Blair's revelation and Jim's apparent acquiescence. In this case, at least, silence *was* complicity.

Then it happened. Stephen received a call. It was an emergency. His son fell off his bicycle and broke his arm. His wife wept copious tears over the phone, lamenting Stephen's absence, until he began to feel that he *had* abandoned his family.

He was packing when Jim came into his room. "You have to go?"

"I've never been away at Christmastime, Jimmy. No matter what times were like, I've never celebrated the New Year without my family."

"I'm family, Stevie."

"Not so's you'd notice, Jimmy." Stephen closed his suitcase with an air of finality. "I want to go home, Jim. I need to see my wife and my son."

"How are you going to get there?"

"Coast Guard buddy of mine arranged for a chopper. I couldn't afford it otherwise."

"I would've helped, Stevie."

"I know, Jim." Stephen shifted uneasily from foot to foot. "I know it's not going to be easy, Jim, but try to stay away from Blair. He doesn't deserve your usual treatment."

"I'm not going to hurt him."

"You don't want to, Jimmy, but I know you. You're a player. But Blair? He's a forever kind of guy."

"I don't want forever."

"Then you don't want Blair."

Jim closed his eyes on a wave of pain so great that it made his teeth ache.

*****

The New Year's Eve show went off perfectly. Jim played; Blair sang. They were like two adjoining pieces of a complex jigsaw puzzle. They fit together as though they were made for one another.

Onstage.

Blair shone bright like the star he was and Jim? Jim just struggled to keep up, his fingers flying over the keys of the piano, improvising wildly. Jim thought, Jesus, if Stevie could see us now, he'd have a fit.

Then just as suddenly as things sped up, they slowed down. The lights turned sultry. Blair stood there in the spotlight, working the song for all it was worth, his body language as seductive as Hell.

He leaned into Jim's space. He held Jim's eyes too long. And damned if his fingers didn't brush against Jim's as he played.

Blair was one caress away from being taken and he knew it. That knowing darkened his smoky blue eyes, filled them with a compelling heat that could no longer be denied

He hopped up onto the piano and sprawled across it, nothing but his elbow propping up his head. His auburn hair curled enticingly around his shoulders, begging Jim to do the decent thing and touch it. Blair ended the love song on a shuddery whisper and Jim's breath caught in his throat. He was being seduced along with everyone else.

Blair chuckled softly. Then he watched, spellbound, as Jim gazed back at him, completely enraptured. He drew a blank on the first words of the next song. Using the moment to his temporary advantage, Blair cocked his head to the side and stared intently into Jim's light blue eyes.

Peering at him from beneath long, dark brown lashes, Blair held his breath for the briefest of moments, then murmured, "Kiss me."

Before Jim's brain could get the message that this was a public place, or any of the hundred *other* reasons Jim could concoct for *not* kissing the very masculine singer, Jim was doing it. Here. Onstage. At sea.

It was way more than a first kiss. It was a promise of things yet to come. Hot things, secret things, things that could only be whispered about, even in bed.

It was over in seconds yet it seemed to last a lifetime. Jim broke away, his lips tingling with new sensation. The audience oohed and ahed appreciatively. Whether it was because they were strangely enlightened regarding human sexuality or because they were too drunk to notice that Blair was a *man* was hard to tell.

But they *were* receptive.

Blair smiled and heat arrowed straight to Jim's groin. He would have reached for Blair then and there, but the singer skillfully eluded his grasp with a soft chuckle. Drawing up one knee, Blair rested his hand there, hiding his own prominent arousal. As he began singing again, the audience applauded.

Blair used the covering sound to murmur, "Later," for Jim's ears only and Jim could only gaze at him in wonder, his cock throbbing out its own reply.

*****

He had to have him. It was a chant that set to pounding in his head. He couldn't ignore it any longer. Damn his brother for making him promise to keep his hands off the sensual creature in the next room. What did he really know about desire?

Ah, but Jimmy, I may know next to nothing about passion, but I understand love. Better than you do. Or ever will. Jim swore at the voice in his head, knowing it was undoubtedly his overdeveloped conscience talking.

You want an excuse, Jimmy. You want to take him, but you want it to be all right afterwards. You want absolution, baby, and there's only one person who can give that to you. And it's not *me*.

Jim stalked to the door of his bedroom and flung it open. To his utter amazement, he was greeted by the sight of the man he wanted. "I thought you'd never come out. What took you so long? It's not like you have any moral objections to fucking a guy, is it? I mean-"

The rest of Blair's words were cut off by Jim's savage kiss. Blair had little choice but to open his mouth and accept the passionate claiming. It was what he wanted. To belong to Jim in the most irrevocable way possible.

Jim's thumbs framed Blair's cheeks, first holding him, then caressing him as the kiss gentled. His fingers slid upward and into his hair, the long curling tendrils softer than he expected. "I love..."

Blair held his breath.

"...your hair."

Blair swallowed his gasp of disappointment, a pang so sharp it distracted him from just how quickly things were progressing. All at once they were both naked and falling onto the bed with careless abandon. Bodies pressing, limbs entwining, the two lovers could not get close enough to satisfy either of them.

What he felt was so utterly right, Blair didn't question it. What started out as sex in its most basic form became a tender, loving encounter.

Jim nuzzled the hair on his lover's chest, the tip of his tongue lightly grazing Blair's nipples. Moving up his body with feline grace, Jim abruptly buried his face in the younger man's hair. For a long moment, he did nothing but breathe in the scent of his lover. The smell of him aroused him unbearably and yet...it had a poignant flavor that touched his heart.

Whatever words of love Blair might have spoken were lost in the fervent lovemaking that followed. His body so worshipped, Blair felt invincible, for with love came power. And it was something that not even the most jaded could deny.

*****

Jim caught his breath at the sight of Blair sleeping. He was beautiful. A lump rose in his throat, unaccustomed emotion nearly choking him. For once, his enhanced sense of sight was a blessing, not a curse. The room was completely dark, but mere darkness was no deterrent for someone like Jim.

"Blair..." he whispered, not meaning to be heard.

Blair stirred in his sleep, unconsciously reacting to the sound of his name. He rolled onto his side, facing Jim, and Jim instinctively backed away. In his haste to get away, he jarred the bed with his knee, waking his lover.

"Jim?" Blair queried, sleep robbing him of articulate speech. "Where you goin', man?"

"Back to my room."

All at once Blair's dark blue gaze grew sharp, as if something blurry had suddenly come into focus. "You can't sleep here?"

"I never-" Jim didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Blair was quick, quick enough to leap ahead and jump to the right conclusion.

""You never stay the night with someone," Blair stated flatly.

Jim nodded.

"Only thing is, I'm not just anyone, Jim."

"Just because we slept together doesn't make us soulmates, Chief."

Blair didn't look surprised. But his voice betrayed a level of disappointment that went way beyond casual acquaintance. "You hate depending on someone else *that* much...."

"I don't depend on anyone. Listen, Sandburg, you're a one night stand, nothing more, nothing less. Get over it."

"Get over yourself, man. You know what you are? A prick. Nothing more, nothing less."

"I don't have to stay and listen to this crap." Jim turned away, but Blair's voice froze him to the spot.

"God forbid. You might learn something."

Jim spun around angrily. "What would *you* know about love?"

Blair's eyebrow shot up. "Who mentioned love?"

"Oh, come on. It was going to be the next word out of your mouth."

"What are you, a fucking mind reader now?" Blair sniped.

"I know your type. You have great sex for the first time in your life and bam! You're in love."

It was hard to tell who was angrier. Blair or Jim. Blair for Jim's almost transparent desire to ruin something that had been inexplicably tender as well as passionate. Jim for fear of revealing something that he considered weakness.

"Thanks, Jim," Blair spat out, tears sparkling unshed in his ominously dark blue eyes. "Now I'm a type. You succeeded in turning me into a non-person."

"Oh, fuck. Look at you. You're about to cry over...what? The best sex you've ever had?" Jim was deeply frightened. His own emotions running high and dangerously close to the surface, he took refuge by pushing Blair farther and farther away.

Blair bit his lip and shook his head. "There was something between us, man. Call it a bond or a connection, I don't care. But it was there. I felt it and I know...you felt it, too. Even if you deny it now."

Jim stood up, his hands shaking with almost imperceptible tremors, tremors that only someone like him could feel. "Now you know why I don't do sleep-overs, Sandburg. Only someone like you could imagine love where it couldn't possibly exist."

"Your loss, man," Blair choked out, willing himself not to cry in the other man's presence.

"Yeah, right."

Jim made his way to the door and turned. He was half-dressed. What he wasn't wearing he held in his arms. "This doesn't change anything, Sandburg. We've still got a gig to work out."

"You're wrong, Jim," Blair whispered. "It changes *everything*. How can you not know that?"

Jim remained silent, his instincts warring with his head. What his heart wanted...well, he was used to not getting what he wanted. There were some things that just didn't bear thinking about.

*****

He lay in bed for hours, tormented by his own fears and insecurities. He was alone. His bed was cold and untouched. He should have felt safe if not happy. He was no longer trapped.

He didn't belong to anyone.

But he could hear the man in the next room. As surely as if the door between them stood ajar.

Blair was crying. Oh, he was struggling to be quiet, his face buried in his pillow, but the soft wet fabric did little to muffle the tiny noises that escaped him. His heart was broken.

Maybe it was never meant to be given away in the first place.

Jim drew a shaky breath. He wasn't responsible.

He wasn't.

Now if he could only make himself believe it.

*****

Jim told himself he didn't care. Reluctantly knocking on the door between their adjoining rooms, he waited for a response. But he heard nothing.

"Sandburg?"

Finally there came a low "Go away."

Jim sighed. The fallout from a misguided love affair could be difficult to avoid. Especially when the two people concerned had to work together. Closely.

"Can't do that, Sandburg. Much as I'd like to. We've got rehearsal in fifteen minutes."

"Fuck rehearsal."

Jim winced. "Um, that's not a helpful attitude, Chief."

"Fuck you, too."

"Look, Sandburg, we've got to get through this somehow."

Suddenly the door was flung open. Standing there with nothing more than a towel wrapped around his waist, Blair looked like a debauched angel. "We? There is no fucking we. You've got rehearsal. You deal with it."

"That's not very professional."

"Well, excuse me, but I don't feel very professional right now."

"You're going to have to get past the angry feelings, Chief."

"I quit."

"You can't quit," said Jim, vaguely alarmed. How would he explain what happened to Stephen?

"Sure I can."

"Look, can't you just pretend I'm some guy you hate and leave it at that?"

"You expect me to go on like nothing happened?"

"Yeah."

Blair considered that possibility and dismissed it. But he had no intention of telling Jim that.

"Give me ten minutes."

"I knew you'd see it my way," Jim gloated.

"Riight," Blair agreed.

*****

Blair's hair fell softly over his shoulders, a colorful nimbus that gave credence to Jim's previous image of the man as a supernatural creature. Though he wore nothing enticing, his black T-shirt and faded blue jeans, worn at the seat and the knees, were every bit as alluring as evening dress
might have been.

He could smell his hair from across the room. Which was about as close as he intended to get to the younger man.

"So you want me to sing this part like this?" Blair demonstrated.

Jim nodded slowly, trying not to focus too deeply on any one sense. "Sounds good."

Blair approached and Jim backed up, hoping that he wouldn't touch him. As if he knew this, Blair reached across Jim's body for a pencil, ostensibly to make a note in the margin of the sheet music. Jim closed his eyes. He could smell Blair's hair, that sweet combination of jasmine, chamomile and green tea that he associated with him.

Suddenly unsteady, Blair brushed against Jim.

Shit. His cock instantly rigid, it knew who its master was, even if Jim didn't. "Do you have to do that?" he uttered, gritting his teeth.

"Do what?" Blair asked innocently, his face apparently guileless.

"Stand so close."

"I thought nothing I did meant anything to you, Jim."

"It doesn't. It just-never mind."

After several tortured moments, Jim burst out, "You're trying to drive me crazy, aren't you?"

"How?"

"By being here," Jim whispered.

"You told me to come to rehearsal, Jim. Do you want me to go back to my room?"

"I...no."

Blair looked down at his sheet music. "Guess we'll have to start over."

"What?"

"Ohh, you mean the music." Jim breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, yeah. What did you think I meant?"

"N-nothing."

Part 4

Stephen returned a week later, uncertain what to expect. Bodies, perhaps. Dead or wounded beyond repair. Or writhing in ecstasy, if the inevitable affair hadn't had time to fade yet.

But not this: Jim, a vacant shell, walking and talking but barely functioning; Blair, tense, fragile, but repeatedly encroaching on the older man's space, as if driven by an uncontrollable compulsion.

If Jim was grateful for his brother's return, he disguised it well. "It's about time you got back. Just in time for the goddamn end of the cruise."

"I've only been gone a week, Jimmy. What's the damage like?" he asked, alluding to the problematic relationship between Jim and Blair.

Jim flashed him an unhappy look that told him nothing and *everything*.

"What happened?" Stephen asked Jim once he was alone with him.

"Long story."

"I've got time."

"I screwed up. End of story."

"That's not a long story. It's a short one. You slept with him?"

"Worse."

"What could be worse than fucking up the act?"

"Fucking up my life."

"I thought you didn't *have* a life."

"I *almost* did," Jim whispered.

"So this is about missed opportunities."

"How was I supposed to know that he'd be that important?" Jim's tone was anguished, his pain too intense to be contained any longer.

"I hate to say I told you so, Jimmy, but-"

Jim's pale blue eyes snapped with uncharacteristic fire. "Then don't. You warned me. I didn't listen. I deserve this."

"Deserve it? Yeah, maybe. But you're wallowing in it."

Long moments passed while Stephen absorbed the situation. "He's still performing?"

"Yeah. Not because of *me*, though. He wanted to quit."

"But he didn't. Why?"

"I don't really know." Jim's eyes were suddenly awash in tears.

"Maybe he hasn't given up on you."

Jim snorted wetly. "You don't know what he's been like."

"I saw him going out of his way to touch you."

Jim smiled, a tight grimace that contorted his face and had nothing to do with being happy. "That's just payback for being such a prick. It's his way of torturing me."

Stephen chuckled softly. "All these years, Jimmy, I've been praying you'd discover some insight, and it's *killing* you, isn't it?"

"To face what I am? What I've always been?"

"No, Jimmy, you weren't always this way. But you have a chance to change here, if you'll just take it."

"I can't."

"You *can*."

"What if he doesn't want me anymore?" Jim's voice was nothing more than a harsh rasp, abrading his brother's senses.

"He does."

"You don't know that."

"I'm smarter than *you*. I think he does."

"I'm the one who has the most to lose."

"You're already unhappy. You don't stand to lose as much as you think."

"What if I can't tell him what he means to me, Stevie? I'm not good with words."

"You only need to know three. I. Love. You."

Jim looked startled at the sound of those words. His eyes flickering frantically back and forth, he looked every bit as fearful as he felt. "I can't. I can't even tell you that, Stevie. And I do."

"You'd better find a way, Jimmy. Or the best thing that ever happened to you is going to walk right out of your life."

*****

Blair mentally chided himself for his inability to keep a safe distance from Jim. Jim might have broken his heart. He might even be the bad guy he purported to be. But Blair didn't have to make life a daily torment for both of them by continually touching him. He could sense Jim's response, the way the tiny hairs on his arm stood up, the way his lips tightened into a thin, cruel line, and the way his dick hardened and altered the contour of his pants.

So he still *wanted* him. But he didn't *want* to. He didn't *love* him. He didn't even *care* that Blair was every bit as hurt as he was.

But then, Blair's usually logical brain kicked in, asking him: If Jim doesn't *care*, why is he *hurt* at all?

Blair's heart leapt into his throat, his pulse throbbing wildly. Hope bubbled through his veins like champagne.

*****

Stephen glanced at the two men who were proving to be equally obstinate about making the first move towards rapprochement. An exasperated sigh escaped him before he hid his frustration behind a smile.

"I want the song back in," Stephen insisted.

"No," said Jim.

"No way," said Blair at the same time.

"Why not? It's an audience favorite. It's Christmastime, the spirit of giving and all that."

Blair hardened his heart against the unexpected twinge of pain Stephen's request provoked. "I'm not singing *that* to *him*."

"Did I miss something here? You sing to the *crowd*, not *Jimmy*."

"Yeah, well. They liked when I sang it to him last time," Blair mumbled.

"Then why is this a problem?"

Jim flushed dark red. Blair met his eyes, clearly trying to determine if they still had secrets, and if they did, whether he was willing to keep them.

"It just is, man."

"That's no answer," Stephen retorted, anger and frustration etched in every line of his face.

Instinctively stepping in front of Blair, Jim growled, "Don't talk to him like that."

"I can fight my own battles, Jim," Blair protested, earning a glare from his former lover.

"I'll take care of it, Sandburg," Jim gritted out.

"Sure, fine, whatever. You don't listen to me anyway. Hey, Stephen? That song you wanted? No chance in Hell, man."

With that, Blair stalked off to his cabin, totally unaware of the stunned look on the man he'd left behind. Jim actually took a step forward before Stephen grabbed his wrist. "Don't go after him, Jimmy. Let him cool off."

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Stephen's anger abated as suddenly as it had arisen. "Jim?"

"I never liked that song anyway," Jim declared with a trace of his usual acerbic nature.

*****

It was their last night on the cruise. The new year loomed ahead of them like a brand new stretch of road they had yet to travel.

Blair was distracted. Nervously glancing at Jim throughout the set, he seemed uncomfortable with Jim's preoccupation. Jim played almost absentmindedly, the notes coming to him like old friends gathered in fond embrace.

His voice betraying the slender thread of concentration he clung to, Blair sang. He was barely able to hold the melody together, the rhythm so quick as to be almost unrecognizable.

Stephen stared at the young singer meaningfully. After signaling the audience that they were going to take a short break, Stephen whispered, "What's the matter with you, Blair?"

Jim regarded the younger man with sad eyes. "He can't wait to see the back of both of us."

Blair snapped his head around, his long curls cascading around his shoulders. "Speak for yourself, Jim."

In response, Jim lit a cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling slowly.

"And you ought to quit that. It'll cut your life short."

"So?"

Blair made an exasperated noise. "Man, you don't care about anything, not even yourself."

Jim shook his head. "Yeah, I do."

"What?"

Before Jim could prevent it, the words fell out of his mouth. "I care about you."

The tension between the two of them grew until it was virtually a physical presence. "I wish I could believe that, Jim."

Stephen reluctantly began playing, a signal that the break was over. He nodded across the pianos at his brother, indicating that the next move had to be his. Blair needs proof that you're not fooling around anymore, Jim. Give it to him. Or it's over.

Jim played the opening bars of the song that Blair had refused to sing. Knowledge dawned in Blair's smoky blue eyes, slowly changing to incredulity. "I can't," he whispered, the open mike picking up and amplifying his angst.

Blair started to turn away, clearly intending to leave the stage, but Jim's fervent "Don't go," caught him by surprise. Painfully ragged, Jim's rendition of the romantic ballad left a lot to be desired. But it was obvious to everyone listening that the words came from the heart.

"You...are...so...beautiful...to me...."

To Stephen's amazement, Jim managed to finish the first line of the song. But Blair, who had been standing there, transfixed, from the very beginning, suddenly moved. Launching himself in Jim's direction, Blair left the older man no choice but to catch him.

His arms wrapped around Jim, Blair settled into his lap with a beatific smile. For a man like Jim to sing a song like that to him took real courage. To Blair, it could be nothing less than a declaration of love.

Jim stared in wide-eyed wonder at the prize he held. "Maybe my luck's finally changed."

"Luck had nothing to do with it, Jim." Blair reached up and pulled his head down for a kiss, his fingers seeking purchase on Jim's close-cropped hair. "We were meant to be together, you and me...only you just didn't know it till now."

The luminous intensity of Jim's pale blue eyes dimmed slightly. "Chief...Blair, I might never be able to *tell* you how much I...."

Blair kissed him in front of Stephen and several hundred cheering partygoers looking for another reason to celebrate the new year. "You just did."

And for the first time in his life, Jim knew what hope was.


End