Story Challenge Response
by aly


It all started out with a misplaced tube of lube. Not mine. His.

You can see where this is going, right? No? Okay. Remember Ellison rule number 1? No sex in the loft? Yeah, that one. Yes, I know he's broken it a couple of times (Lila comes immediately to mind as I make the sign of the -- Star of David) but overall, since he made the rule, which was aimed at me and my exaggerated libido, he's been pretty good about keeping the rule himself. And considering that this is *his* home, well, you can see where I'm headed.

I should start at the beginning.

I was born in a hospital (don't look so surprised. what, you thought I was dropped in a field?) on May 24, 1969.

You know, I probably shouldn't start back that far.

Okay, let's start today.

It was a bright, sunny, bad day at the university. Lots of complaints, lots of classes (most of them paybacks) and lots of grading. By the time I was ready to make my escape, I had one stinker of a headache and it was fast making like a migraine. I figured if I hurried, I'd get home before the jagged triangle ruined my vision.

I just made it.

I unlocked the door, grateful that Jim wasn't home (in spite of the migraine, I'd been able to notice the absence of Jim's truck - hey, I'm an observer, you know?) so that I could collapse in peace. Jim doesn't really know about the migraines. A little left-over gift from a recent -- swim -- in a university landmark.

As I pushed open the door, I heard something and looked up. I paused -- then stepped back and checked the apartment number on the door. I nodded, then moved back inside. I figured if what I was seeing, was really what I was seeing, then either I was in the wrong apartment, or I wasn't seeing what I was seeing. But the door definitely had the numbers 3-0-7 on it.

I shut my eyes, then opened them. Nothing had changed. You're dying to know, aren't you? Okay, here's what I saw:

A tall, well-built man wearing midnight blue satin boxers and a partially unbuttoned pale blue oxford shirt. Oh, and one white sock. He had dark curly hair, short, and because he was staring at me -- open-mouthed -- and bug-eyed, I could see he had dark blue eyes and perfect straight white teeth. His arm was stretched out in front of him, palm up.

There was another man in the room too. I'm betting you can guess who.

*He* was shirtless, slackless, sockless and shoeless. *He* had on nothing but his cute, tight plaid boxers. *He* was tearing apart the couch. Two cushions had already been tossed and he had the third cushion in his hand.

Yeah. Jim.

"Lose something?" I cleverly asked.

The gorgeous hunk with the dark blue eyes blinked. Then he cleverly said, "Um, no. And you must be -- Blair?"

"I must be," I added, equally cleverly. Then I turned to Jim and smiling (in spite of the migraine now threatening to take over my body), said, "What did you lose, Jimbo?"

Jim straightened and dropped the cushion. His whole body, I'm happy to say, flushed a nice shade of red. "Um," he said, as he swallowed what could only be described as a watermelon, "lube. I thought I had a tube of lube," he pointed down, "here."

"Well, hold that thought, be right back."

I moved into my room, walked to the nightstand, took out a bottle of Glide and a package of condoms, then walked back out and over to my nearly naked partner.

"Go to town. I've got more. If you're interested in flavored, well, feel free to help yourself in my room -- nightstand." Then I shook the condoms under his nose and said, "Play safe, play happy, boys."

I walked out. After Jim took the supplies.

I also -- I'm ashamed to say -- slammed the door.

Which really hurt my head, let me tell you.

I wisely took the elevator down, then stumbled out and onto the sidewalk. I tried to take several deep breaths, but couldn't even manage one. You're thinking it was the headache, aren't you? It was -- and it wasn't.

See, I'm kind of in love with *him*. Jim. Kind of. Mostly. A whole lot. And see, I know what to do with lube, but until that moment, when he said he was looking for his lost lube, I didn't know he did. But he does. Obviously. We both do. But haven't -- with each other. Duh. But now he's going to -- with this tall, blue-eyed god who isn't -- me. You know?

Man, I'd give anything to know what's going on upstairs. Or not.
____________

Jim winced when the door slammed behind Sandburg. He closed his eyes and focused his hearing, then winced again.

"Chuck, this may be a bad time--"

"Why? What's the problem? Thanks to your roommate, we now have everything, and more, that we need."

"Look, I can't really explain, so just let me say -- Blair has a bad headache, I've got to get his medicine and he has lube. See?"

"Ah. I see."
_______________

Yep, I'd really give anything to know what's going on up there - or not.

So now you now how it started. The end of my life as I know it. I'm about to partake of one helluva major pity party so you might want to skip out now. It won't be pretty, trust me. And I think I've lost my car. I know it was here somewhere--

"Chief?"

This is not good. One is not supposed to hear voices just because he, meaning me, has a migraine.

"Chief, stop. You're hurting and you don't know where you're going."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"I'm going -- to school."

So there. Take that you -- you -- *voice*.

"The university is behind us, Chief. You keep walking and you'll be taking a long walk off of a short pier. I have your medication, now stop moving."

Hell. What do I have to lose? I stop. A shadow looms and I look up to see Jim's face, Jim's *worried* face, gazing down at me. In his hand; my medication.

Now how the hell did he know about--

"Jim?"

"Yeah, buddy, it's me. Hold out your hand."

Who am I to argue? I hold out my hand and he puts one grey pill into it, then puts a bottled water in my other hand. Man, this guy thinks of everything. I could, like, love him forever.

"That's it, swallow. Good boy. Now let's go home, get you into bed and when the migraine is gone -- we'll use the lube. Okay?"

He should have said that *after* I'd swallowed the water - but alas, he didn't. Now he's all wet. But he's smiling. My Jim is smiling, so we head back.

He takes me upstairs and I have to admit that the way his hand lingers on the small of my back, well, it kind of sends a charge of electricity down my legs--then his arm is around my shoulder and he sits me down on the edge of his bed. With my eyes closed -- the light hurts too bad – I just let myself feel. Jim is taking off my shoes and socks, then my jacket and two shirts, and finally my jeans.

"Okay, lie back now and let me cover you--"

Who am I to argue? Again?

I can hear his footsteps, then he's moving around downstairs, then he's coming back up and the bed sinks and he's under the covers with me. I manage to roll over and he's there, arms open. I slide right in.

"I pulled the shades, Chief. Just -- sleep. Let it go and sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

"lube too?" I whisper.

I can hear him chuckle through his chest. "Yeah, Chief, lube too."

"Don't lose it."

"Never again, babe, never again."

That is *so* cool. But he's using it first -- on himself. So there.



Finis