Three in the morning might seem like a strange time to deliberately choose to be awake and thinking, but Blair had discovered years ago that the relative quiet of the rest of the world at that hour was very conducive to introspection and decision-making. Perhaps it was because of the peacefulness of a soft darkness that can only be found in the warm safety of a familiar bed, or perhaps it was the promise of not being interrupted because most people were asleep. For whatever reason, when Blair had a decision to make that meditation didn't resolve, staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m. often did the trick.

Though, to be truthful, instead of the ceiling, he was staring at the broad plane that was his partner's back from the very close distance of a nose away. That seemed particularly appropriate because it was the owner of that back that was the primary cause for Blair's need for contemplation. Not to mention that he preferred being huddled up against Jim for the heat he so generously provided, apparently unconcerned with being used as a living hot-water bottle.

Oddly, what was running through Blair's mind over and over as he luxuriated in that warmth, was Newton's First Law of motion, which, short version, said that a body in motion tended to remain in motion. A basic truth he could attest to personally, having been happily in almost constant motion much of his life. With Cascade as a home base, he had seen a great deal of the world in his just over thirty years, first with his mother, then on his own. It was a life style that he loved and had honestly thought he would never give up, not for anyone.

Then he had run into a prime example of the corollary to a body in motion - a body at rest. In the form of one James Joseph Ellison, strong-willed, dedicated, pain-in-the-ass, alpha-male, sentinel cop who had established his territory and wasn't going anywhere any time soon, thank you very much. So Blair had come to rest here against Jim's strong, wide back, one arm over his waist to hug him close, his days of voyaging over without so much as a single regret.

After all, the most important journey was the personal one of head, heart and spirit and *that* one was definitely still in full swing. The very fact that Blair was in bed with said alpha-male, sentinel cop attested to the fact that his life had taken a sharp turn that he had never anticipated. Despite the occasional odd thought and perpetual curiosity, he had always considered himself straight, not even experimenting when the rare opportunity had presented itself. Yet here he was, naked beside his cop, warm with want for him and gleefully confident that all he had to do was bump invitingly against Jim a few times, and he would wake, ready to love him senseless.

Which brought Blair back to the reason he was in need of a 3 a.m. decision. For all that he prided himself on his ability to embrace change, he was the one who had called a time-out in progress for the slow trip he and Jim had been taking toward complete intimacy. In their months together as more than partners, they had moved from hesitant, careful kisses to touching each other freely, confident in their ability to please each other. Despite that, when Jim had wanted to give more of himself, offering his body with a eagerness that the memory of could make him instantly erect, Blair had slammed on the brakes in a pure panic that still hadn't gone away. He simply could not rid himself of the fear that claiming his sentinel for himself was an act of pure selfishness that could destroy Jim. Sexual orientation aside, society's prejudices about their love aside, how could there *not* be fall-out from changing such a fundamental aspect of his partner as self-image?

Especially since Jim was doing it just for Blair in the first place; it had already cost Jim his best friend. Blair pushed away the thoughts of how Simon had been treating Jim since he'd found out about the change in the relationship between his best team. They were a diversion and a heartache that he didn't want to deal with right now.

Resolutely he turned his mind back to the issue at hand, admitting to himself that in spite of his doubts, he was frustrated with the status quo. Whether it was the restlessness inherited from his mother or an innate male drive to possess his mate fully, Blair wanted more, fantastic as what they had already was.

Better than fantastic, Blair thought, biting down on a groan to keep from disturbing Jim. God, if just humping and jacking each other off is so damn good, how much better will it be to be inside him?

The very notion made Blair hard enough to ache, and he pressed tighter into Jim, fitting his hard-on along the cleft of Jim's ass. With a sleepy rumble, Jim pressed back, lifting his knee to accommodate Blair's length better. Kissing a convenient shoulder blade, Blair trailed his fingers down Jim's stomach until he found Jim's dick, not surprised it was soft and small in sleep. For a moment he considered teasing it into readiness while he worked himself in the crease between Jim's legs. It was, after all, their favorite way to make love right now, and they had long ago given each other tacit permission to love each other awake.

One of the reasons for that, Blair suddenly remembered, inching back a bit to help clear the lust from his mind, had been to give them a non-threatening way to learn about the differences in being with a man. If your partner is asleep, you can explore without needing to hide your reaction or worry about his, Blair reminded himself. Jim's taken advantage of that a time or two; maybe I should for a change. It's not like I don't know what I want to try next. I just don't know how Jim will react since we haven't really discussed oral sex. Weird, given how much I want to do that.

When Jim had slammed him against the wall that day in his office, when they first met, Blair had guessed, based on previous experience with pissed-off macho types, that he was either going to be punched or sexually harassed. It had been totally un-nerving that he had actually hoped for the latter with his new-found sentinel and that a blow-job would be what Jim demanded. Ever since then he had fantasized about being on his knees in front of Jim, long fingers caught in his curls while Jim used his mouth.

Jim mumbled again and half turned to his back, hand obviously searching for Blair and the sight of him stretched out and lusciously available pushed Blair's good intentions and guilty conscience into next week. He scooted in under Jim's questing arm, tucking himself along his side with his arm sandwiched between them, and laid his head in the curve of Jim's hip so that his face was inches from Jim's genitals. It was the closest he'd ever been to another man's cock, and it looked strangely vulnerable and fragile nestled in its bed of curls.

Feeling a surprising surge of tenderness, Blair brushed a knuckle over the shrunken shaft, marveling that human flesh could be so soft. It stretched out a little from the attention, the movement weirdly intriguing to his touch. Emboldened by the response, he lightly cupped Jim's balls, stirring them gently.

All in all, Blair decided, watching Jim's dick grow longer in lazy arousal, Nothing disgusting here. And I've always loved doing it with girls. Once they get past their shyness and that stupid cultural belief they're dirty down there, they usually love having me do it to them. This has to be easier, too, since it's not all hidden away.

Curiosity finally got the better of Blair and he darted out his tongue to dab haphazardly at the crown of Jim's erection. No particular taste hit him - just, hmm, skin - and the texture wasn't anything special. A little disappointed and relieved, bizarre as that combination was, Blair moved close enough to plant a kiss fully on the tip, automatically licking his lips after he did.

Nothing to it, he thought. Literally. Bummer. Jim obviously likes it though. That's a serious boner he's got going there. His own hard-on had subsided substantially, and he gave serious consideration to forgetting the whole thing and just going back to sleep. If Jim was happy the way things were, why was *he* making a big deal out of it?

The idea of backing off bothered him, though, as if it was the precursor to a life where he was content to simply sit and marinate in routine and predictability. Snorting in derision at himself for cowardice and indecisiveness, Blair took Jim in his mouth, taking care to keep his teeth away from delicate flesh. Stroking the shaft with his tongue, he sucked carefully, imitating as best he could what had been done to him in the past, and was rewarded with a dash of salty bitterness.

Pre-cum, he realized analytically. Jim's definitely liking this.

A soft, confused groan confirmed his guess, and Jim muttered, "God, Blair!"

That's more like it, Blair sighed to himself, excitement trying to rise again at the surprise and delight in Jim's voice. Come on, let me know you want it.

On cue, Jim's hips lifted fractionally as he tried to thrust, but Blair held him down, aware that his lover might accidentally choke him until they learned to move together. With a rumble of frustration that was music to Blair's ears, Jim tried again, subsiding when he didn't relent. It gave Blair a rush of power at the command he had over Jim's pleasure, and he sucked harder, hoping that Jim would cry out or tangle his fingers in Blair's hair.

He didn't, though and after a while all his small efforts to thrust stopped, leaving Blair alone in his head, uncertain of how well he was doing. His tongue and jaw began to get tired, heading toward sore, and his saliva dried out, except for where it was clammy and cold on the hand holding Jim's hard-on.

Okay, girls give more vocal encouragement and obviously that's more of a turn on for me than I thought. Of course, Jim's always been on the quiet side. I wonder if he would make more noise if I asked. Don't know if I would like it as much if he was doing it because I want him to. Realizing he had drifted away from the job at hand, so to speak, Blair concentrated on varying his techniques, trying to find something that would send Jim over the edge.

But nothing happened, and nothing happened, and his jaw was definitely tired, not to mention the arm he had between them was falling asleep. His hard-on was long gone, and Blair wasn't sure it would come back tonight, even if he could think of a way to stroke himself that wouldn't mean a total change in position. That would lose him whatever momentum he had built for Jim, and that meant that it would take longer for Jim to come, and just how much longer could it possibly take anyway?

Just as Blair was ready to give up and grovel as much as necessary to make it up to Jim for leaving him hanging, maybe at the edge of climaxing, Jim whimpered, literally whimpered and pounded on the best with a fist. He's frustrated, too. What'm I doin' wrong?

Taking a deep breath, Blair slid down Jim's length as far as he could, barely reining in his gag reflex, and sucked hard. That didn't seem to do anything good for Jim, and, on impulse, he released the bottom of Jim's erection and probed at his opening with a single finger, stroking over the tight pucker carefully.

That was all that Jim needed. He shouted Blair's name and arched until his back was clear of the bed, forcing Blair to quickly pull away and roll to his knees so that he could finish him by jacking him off. It gave Blair a wonderful view of Jim's face as he came, and the ecstasy on it called to Blair, reminding him why he'd tried his experiment in the first place. Jim's climax seemed unusually intense and long, to Blair's smug satisfaction. Maybe not a total success, he decided. But not a complete failure, either.

When the Jim relaxed back onto the bed, Blair lay down beside him, head on his shoulder, the hand slippery with Jim's seed, and worked himself, intent on his own release. Just as he was ready to peak, Jim's fingers closed over his own to help him, and he murmured, "Love you, Blair." Groaning, he came, distantly relieved Jim didn't seem to know that he hadn't been with him all the way.

Relief melted into contentment, leaving him cradled in Jim's arms, and he whispered, "Love you, too. You didn't mind the wake-up call?"

Chuckling, Jim said, "If I'd shot any harder, I'd have to clean the ceiling now, so, no. Be my guest to do that as often as you want."

Blair laughed, and snuggled closer for sleep, suddenly exhausted. "You don't care that I didn't swallow?"

Jim was quiet for so long that Blair's earlier concerns flooded back, and he blinked himself wide awake, half-afraid of the answer. Finally Jim said, "No, though I like the idea. It's, I don't know, intimate?" He shifted restlessly and added, "I can't complain either way. I don't think I could do that for you."

Relieved that was the problem, Blair said, "Hey, we aren't keeping score here or anything. As long as we're both getting what we need, I don't see why it should matter who does what to who. What difference does it make if I give head and you don't?"

"It was pretty spectacular," Jim argued mildly. "Doesn't seem fair you don't get a turn at it."

Truly exasperated with him, Blair swatted his flank. "Trust me, if I've got a problem with our love-life, you'll be the first to know."

"There is that," Jim said dryly, toying with Blair's hair as he often did when they were both ready to fall asleep.

Blair let silence be his answer, allowing it to close the conversation between them, though he could sense that Jim wasn't necessarily happy about that. Apparently unwilling to make an issue of it, he drifted away, but Blair's mind revved up, negating any chance he had of sleep. His thoughts bounced back and forth between his perpetual worry that he had made a mistake in changing his relationship with Jim and disappointment that his hottest fantasy had turned out to be a bust.

More than once, he considered the possibility the two separate subjects might be connected by more than his own mental meanderings. It was possible that he and Jim had already gone as far as they could, and the rest could turn out to be a letdown, as well. It was just as possible that it had only worked up until now because of the novelty of it and a desperate need on both sides to keep their partnership going strong. What if Jim wanted him to go down on him again? Could he do it just to please him?

Those and a dozen other 'what if's' kept Blair awake the rest of the night, though he managed not to disturb Jim, and morning found him tired and lethargic. Going into the station, which was already a challenge in perseverance for both of them, thanks to Simon, took every bit of will he had, and he was grateful that all that was waiting for him was a huge stack of paperwork. Blair dove into it, glad to occupy his rambling mind with the intricacies and details of forms and reports, aware that Jim was a great deal less than happy about the deskwork.

Not that Blair blamed him. Jim had been more or less chained to his desk by Simon, and on the flimsiest of excuses. New cases had been going to everyone else in the bullpen except them, including one that Simon had made Rafe the primary on, despite the fact it was a series of home invasions done by an extremely well-organized gang. Even Rafe seemed to think Jim should have had that one, not that he had done more than flash a worried, apologetic look Jim's way when Simon had assigned it.

If Simon had expected Jim to get in his face about it, if he had expected Jim to turn on the others in Major Crimes in irritation, it hadn't worked. Because Blair had asked him to, Jim was riding it all out, putting a bland, almost military-polite facade on his reactions, burying his anger and frustration so deep that even Blair could hardly see it. He could tell Simon was baffled by Jim's attitude, and everyone else in the department was equally confused by Simon's sudden and blatant change in manner toward Jim.

As if summoned by Blair's ruminations, Simon stomped out of his office, heading toward their desk. Head down over his work, Jim muttered, "Trouble's coming."

"Hang in there," Blair said softly, just for him.

With a little wave of his pen, Jim let him know he'd heard, then Simon was in front of him, bellowing, "I told you I wanted the Anderson file on my desk before I got in this morning."

"It is, sir," Jim said, not looking up.

"Like hell it is," Simon snapped.

"The report is on your desk, Captain," Jim said evenly, this time unflinchingly meeting Simon's angry glare, his body language somehow warning Blair not to speak up on his behalf.

"Don't try to bullshit, me, *detective.*" The sarcastic emphasis on the last word was loud enough and nasty enough to attract a few troubled glances their way, but Simon didn't seem to notice.

With almost mechanical precision, Jim repeated, "The report is on your desk, Captain."

Before Simon could give the angry retort that he clearly had ready, Rhonda spoke up unexpectedly from behind them. "I put it there myself, last thing last night, right after Jim handed it to me."

Simon swung around to yell at her, but the open confusion on her face must have been enough to make him moderate his tone. With an obvious effort, he said in a gruff, tense voice, "Since when it is your job to do what I told one of my detectives to do?"

Before Blair could jump in to back her, Rhonda said sharply, ire and defiance taking over her bewilderment, "Since the day I was given a key to your office so that I would be the only one who had access to it when you were gone. Department regulations, remember?"

Snapping his mouth shut on whatever he'd been about to say, Simon grimaced and said, "From now on, hold onto Ellison and Sandburg's files and hand them to me personally when I come in." He looked around the office sharply, as if suddenly becoming aware of the attention his outburst had attracted, but no one would meet his eyes. For an instant, Blair thought he saw shame and doubt in his expression, but it was gone so fast he couldn't be sure.

Turning to him, Simon said with barely reined in annoyance, "Carter in Homicide wants to borrow your services on a case. Report to him now."

Matching the nondescript civility Jim had used, Blair said, "Yes, sir," and began gathering what he might need from the desk. For a moment he considered making at least a token protest at being loaned to another department yet again. Since Simon had just made an ass of himself in front of his people though, Blair didn't think Simon's pride would allow him to do anything but use it as an excuse to blow up again.

For a moment he stared at him, as if surprised that he hadn't, then Simon stomped away, muttering under his breath so softly Blair didn't think even Jim could have understood him. Holding in a sigh of relief, he exchanged a quick, commiserating look with his partner, nodding his approval when Jim made a fast note of time and witnesses in his day runner about the confrontation. Much as it made him feel like a traitor, it only made sense to document Simon's mistreatment of them. Eventually they might have to defend themselves against serious accusations from him, and if push came to shove, Blair wasn't sure that he was above a civil suit against the department for harassment, if the situation went that far.

Saddened because he truly couldn't understand how a good friendship could turn so bad, much as he could intellectually accept Simon's position on his and Jim's relationship, Blair headed down the stairs to work off a little of the adrenaline from the clash. Halfway down to Homicide's level, he ran into Captain Carter on his way up, and dredged up a partial smile of greeting for him, idly wondering if he and Rafe compared fashion notes on men's styles in suits and haircuts. "Hey, on my way to your bullpen."

"Good. Hale and Waterford pulled a multiple in an apartment complex that's got mostly Rainier students in it. Looks like it might be a fraternity thing that went wrong, but they haven't been able to get squat out of anybody. We're hoping you kept in touch with the college crowd enough to be able to get through."

Practice with Simon helped Blair keep his expression neutral instead of showing his distaste at the assignment. If the smooth, smarmy man wasn't so heavy-handed in his dealings with anyone except politicians, rich people, and other cops, and didn't encourage that in his men, he might not need help winning the confidence of people who were just afraid of the repercussions of coming forth as witnesses. Still, Justin Carter listened to his people, backed them to the hilt to the higher ups, and was more open to innovation and thinking outside the box than most cops. His department was a good one to work in, too, with a lot of mutual support among the detectives and not much of the macho posturing that men could fall back on when they had to look at death on a daily basis.

Because of that, Blair asked with genuine interest, "Why frat if it's off-campus? The administration generally turns a shut-eye to most of their activities, as long as they make an effort to keep it legal - if barely."

Chuckling, Carter said, "Good question, but I'll let Hale field it, since I'm not sure I'm buying his take on it. If you agree with him, I don't see why they can't run with the theory. I trust your judgment. Too bad I have to borrow it instead of having it on tap. Ever consider moving to Homicide?"

Because he said it lightly, almost jokingly, Blair said, "Hey, they listen to me better if it's a consultation instead of just another detective putting his two cents in."

Carter hesitated for a moment, tapping a folder against a perfectly manicured finger, before saying much more seriously, "Maybe, but when you work with us, our solve rate improves noticeably. Mitchell is retiring soon, and it looks like Abbott may have to take a medical; both their partners have mentioned they wouldn't mind teaming with you."

Caught totally by surprise that Carter would offer him a transfer, and that Jim obviously wasn't included in it, Blair said hesitantly, "I...."

"Look, Ellison's an okay cop," Carter broke in. "Did solid, if uninspired work, when he wasn't bristling attitude. But everyone knows the only reason he got the Major Crimes slot is because Banks needed a man with the right social connections. Ellison knows how to use the proper fork and how to deal with the society people on their level since MC gets all the high profile stuff. When his rate shot up to 'Cop of the Year' status, it didn't take a genius to figure out his new unofficial consultant was behind it. Why else do you think all the Captains are eager to borrow you now, when they can? You should quit carrying him and make your own mark, Sandburg."

Absolutely dumbfounded at Carter's opinion of Jim, Blair simply stared at him.

Taking his silence for granted, Carter glided a hand over his dark hair and botoxed smooth forehead, adding persuasively, "Look, personal relationship aside, you're deserve more than doing all the real work while your partner steps in front of the cameras to take all the credit, getting away with it because he's the PR perfect image of a cop. Or letting you take all the blame for that publicity stunt of his that went bad. In my department you'll get a real partner who will treat you like an equal."

A door slammed above them, and Carter looked up, frowning before checking his watch. "Anyway, got to get a move on here. You think about it, let me know?" With a small wave, he climbed up the stairs, calling out to someone ahead of him.

Blair watched him go, a far, far distant part of him wondering how in the hell the man could be so oblivious to the turmoil he'd just caused. Moving slowly, he made his way down the rest of the steps, unable to pull a single coherent thought out the chaos in his brain, but heart aching so badly he had trouble breathing. Somehow he pushed it all aside to deal with the murder case, gently but firmly dissuading Hale and Waterford from their frat theory, then going with them to try their hand again at finding cooperative witnesses.

Throughout the day, though, parts of the conversation would hit Blair hard, leaving him psychically reeling, but if it showed, neither of the two detectives he was with commented on it. Finally his shift was nearly over, and Blair retreated to a stall in the farthest corner of the restroom to try to make sense of what was going on in his head.

The first thing that finally coalesced was pure astonishment that Carter could dismiss Jim's skills as a cop so thoroughly and with such contempt. Blair had always believed, backed by observation and discreet questioning when he first started riding with him, that Jim's relationship with other cops was tense at times, but mutually respectful, if a bit chary on the part of other officers who couldn't entirely dismiss the fact that Jim was an ex cov-ops Ranger with CIA and military connections. Yet Carter acted as if Jim were a harmless bag of wind and publicity hound.

Did other officers feel that way now, too? Because Jim was involved with him? Did they subscribe to Carter's version of the disaster with the dissertation, and now viewed Jim with scorn and ridicule? Or was Simon's attitude toward Jim beginning to percolate down through the layers of the police department as a whole, giving Jim's detractors the opportunity and backing to make their opinions the consensus, like Jim had worried about from the start?

Every doubt, every moment of second-guessing that Blair had put himself through, reared its ugly head again, easily staring down all the rebuttals and rationale he had ever come up with to justify his affair with Jim. Reason and logic both said that he had to end it now, and do his best to fix the mess he'd made of Jim's reputation and status in the department. His heart didn't argue, but presented over and over the image of Jim looking down on him with his heart in his eyes, telling him that giving him up now would do more damage than giving up the senses.

It would be wrong in so many ways if he left Jim, Blair admitted, doing his best to be honest with himself and not succumb to rationalizations to avoid the agony losing him would cause. It was wrong because Jim needed him by his side because of the sentinel thing, wrong because Jim had made his choice and was standing by it, wrong because they did love each other and you didn't just walk away from a treasure like that, not ever. All of which left him sitting in a filthy toilet stall, tears hurting the backs of his eyes, looking for a way to deal with the guilt and sorrow.

Which, when you get right down to it, Blair said to himself, hands knotted into fists and beating on his thighs, just sucks the big fat hairy one. The echo of Jim saying that to make him laugh dragged him unwillingly from his introspection, and he bestirred himself to go find Jim and go home. Simon wouldn't be looking for him, of course. He didn't seem to care where Blair was as long as he was out of his sight. Maybe that was because he had the good sense to realize that Blair was the one subject that Jim would not tolerate Simon targeting; one hint of abuse aimed at him and Simon would wake up with a bruise on his jaw and no idea where his ex-detectives had gone.

With luck he's locked himself in his office or hidden in a meeting, and we can just leave without any more fuss, Blair thought, looking for something to be optimistic about. We've got some errands to run on the way home - stop by the dry cleaners, and the drug store. Wasn't there something else?

Successfully immersing himself in life's minutia, Blair mentally created a list of what he wanted to get accomplished during the evening and made his way to the bullpen. He stepped through the door in time to hear Jim say, "...good idea, but the gang unit says nothing unusual's going on with them. If any of them had made a major score like the stuff from these home invasions, there'd be some serious partying and flashing around of the wealth."

Joining Jim, Rafe and Brown by the white board where they had their time line and photographs laid out, Blair said, "Jim's right. Gang culture is based on instant gratification, instant results. Even if whoever's in charge had the brains to stash the goods until they cooled a bit, his men would bragging and maybe skimming a little of the flashy stuff for themselves."

"Thanks, Hairboy," Rafe said, making the insult sound welcoming and affectionate. "You realize that leaves me with either some new kind of syndicate hit or a clandestine government agency doing a sanctioned clean up as my only possible theories. Thieves who operate on a scale as grand as this don't usually kill; after all, they might need to rob the same rich bastard again."

"That's all they've got in common, too," H said glumly. "Grand estates that the owners don't even notice the expense of running, they're so filthy with money."

"New money or old?" Jim asked, thoughtfully.

"Huh, what difference does that make?" Rafe asked, absently flipping through his notes to find the answer, anyway.

Before Jim could answer, Simon said coldly from behind them, "What exactly do you gentlemen think you're doing?"

Clearly startled, Rafe said, "Brainstorming. H and I've got nothing so far, and fresh eyes seemed called for."

"If you can't handle your case load on your own," Simon said, menace icing over every word, "I can reassign it. You can't go running for help every time you stub your toe on an obstacle."

Rafe flushed, lips flattening into a thin line. "I can do my job."

"See that you do." Turning to Jim, Simon added even icier, "Don't you have your own work?"

Eyes narrowing, Jim said levelly, with only a shade of insolence, "Done. Sir. And as it's end of shift, I'll be leaving now."

Not giving Simon a chance to get over his shock at Jim's sudden about-face in fighting back, Jim strolled away, gathering Blair to his side with a look. Once they were in the elevator, his anger came to the surface, and he said tightly, "That was crossing the line. Rafe did *not* deserve to be come down on because Simon's got a gripe with us."

"No argument from me, and hopefully Rafe's got the guts to tell Simon that to his face."

"Probably won't - this is a big case for him, a real career-maker. He won't risk being taken off, which Simon bloody well knows." Jim scrubbed at his eyes, then added quietly, "This has gone on about as long as it can, Chief."

Carter's contempt clear in his mind, Blair reluctantly said, "Time to start checking out other career options, I think. You still thinking EMT?"

Staring at him as if uncertain Blair was serious, Jim said, "Not if you want something else; we ride together, no matter what."

Finding a genuine smile for the first time that day, he agreed, "No matter what." Blair gave into the temptation to give him a fast, hungry kiss, then said as the elevator doors opened, "I still think you should give forensics a shot. I could come in from the anthropology angle, which means dealing with bones, not bodies. Not as hard on the soul."

"Or the stomach. What say we look at some class catalogs and see what's out there?" Jim suggested, but he was smiling, too, and walking so close beside him their hips bumped.

The conversation moved on naturally after that, eventually working around to chores, then to the casual kind of talk that had always come easily between them. By the time they had finished their errands, picked up take-out, and settled into the loft for the night, they had covered their respective days, mapped out a game plan for updating their education, possible ways of financing it, and settled on watching a game on the tube before turning in. Changing into sweats once they got home because 'watching a game' had turned into 'making out with the TV on,' Blair stretched out on the couch with Jim behind him as a back rest, nothing more on his mind than how good the kung pow had been and if a second beer would be over-indulging.

The beer got a pass, mostly because Blair quickly got too comfortable to get up for any reason, and the taste of his dinner was soon lost in far nicer, more immediate sensual pleasures. Jim couldn't seem not to caress and pet him when they sat close, and even after the game started he was paying more attention to Blair than to the television. In their reflection in the set, Blair could see Jim was looking at him, a small, bemused smile in place, gaze intent on the curve of Blair's ear as he traced it with the tip of his forefinger. The touch sent a shiver of good over Blair's entire body, but the rapt wonder in Jim's face was what really got to him.

His next target was Blair's ear, and Blair pretended to ignore him when he rubbed the lobe between thumb and finger so lightly that Blair could have almost said that he didn't feel it. Almost, anyway. When Jim transferred his attention to the other ear, Blair tilted his head to one side to let him, trying to make it seem as if he'd done it absentmindedly. The new shiver that Jim evoked couldn't be hidden, though, and when he replaced his finger with his lips, Blair gave up all pretense of interest in the game.

Eyelids drifting down so that he was watching their reflection through his lashes, Blair murmured his approval in a near-purr while Jim planted tiny kisses on his ear, then behind it, then down his neck. A small protest escaped when he stopped to switch to the other side, and Jim apologized by gently sucking Blair's earlobe, sending him into a meltdown where the only thing that existed was what he was doing to him.

As good as it was, Jim made it better when he slipped his hands under Blair's shirt, meticulously not tickling as he trailed his fingers from collarbone to the waist of his sweats. Blair would have been content if he'd done nothing else but the teasing play to his ears and neck and the leisurely stroking. It was exciting as hell, though not in a sweaty, demanding way; it was more a languid, sultry heat that flowed sweet and heavy through his gut and limbs, making him feel gloriously sexy and ultra-aware of every scrap of skin. He honestly couldn't move to reciprocate, even if he'd had any idea of what he could possibly do that didn't require Jim stopping the addictive pleasure that he had roused in him.

It was obvious that Jim liked what they were doing, anyway. His cock was a rigid, burning line at the small of Blair's back, and he occasionally made approving noises when Blair clenched his hands in the couch cushions or sighed at a new shimmy of sensation through him. Blair was hard, too; amazingly so he realized, and his nipples were peaked into tight little nubs that all but begged for Jim to notice them. Despite that, he wanted to wait for Jim to get around to them on his own; he had a hunch that it would be worthwhile.

When he finally did, the desire that Blair had thought was mellow and subdued abruptly turned sharp and hot, sending a spike of pleasure through him so intense that he cried out, half-afraid of coming. Jim bit the cap of his ear and murmured, "Go for it."

His words, which should have jolted Blair into finishing, instead kicked his brain into working again. Huh? He wants me to come on my own, not with him, like we usually do? he thought in confusion. God, does that mean he's expecting me to go down on him to bring him off, like I did last night? I don't think I can do that, especially if I'm not turned on. His arousal fled, and Blair fought the urge to push away the touch that had been so inflaming moments ago.

With anyone else, he might have been able to disguise his sudden loss of excitement and go along as best he could until his partner found relief, but Jim knew immediately. "Blair?" he asked softly, directly into his ear.

Truth, Blair quickly decided, or as much of it as he could give when his head was in such a mess, was the best way to go. "I'm sorry, man. The day got to me more than I'd realized; flashed onto the worst of it."

Hands going to the outside of Blair's arms to pet soothingly, Jim said, "It happens."

"Yeah, it's like your brain waits until you're occupied with something tasty, defenses down so you can really get into it, and then, wham, it drops garbage you've been avoiding to make you deal with it." Blair half-turned in Jim's embrace, curling in on himself a little and resting his head in the hollow of Jim's shoulder. It moved him away from Jim's hard-on, and covered his own, making it clear he didn't want to try to finish what they'd started.

If Jim was disappointed, he didn't show it. Transferring his comforting strokes to Blair's back, he asked, "Want to vent?"

With a sigh, Blair admitted, "Not yet. Meditate first to process, then maybe find something constructive to do besides suck it up."

"Knocking Simon's head off might be a good place to start," Jim said, not quite joking.

"No, that's the icing on the cake when we hand him our resignations, instead of giving him the satisfaction of firing us," Blair said, managing the facetious tone better than Jim had.

"Think if we ask her, Rhonda will take pictures of his expression for us?"

Blair gave a snort of amusement, and snuggled into Jim a little more closely, capturing his free hand and lightly massaging the palm to banish the tension the subject was calling up for Jim. "I really am sorry for flaking out on you."

"Like I said, it happens," Jim muttered, subtly shifting in a way that told Blair he was reluctantly winding down, able to go back to just cuddling and watching television. Try as Blair might, he couldn't find any signs that Jim had any problems with it, and with an internal sigh of relief, he did his best to forget everything and enjoy the simple pleasure of being loved and held.

For the next few weeks, that was about the only good thing he had going in his life. The season had brought out the worst in Cascade's population, and the caseload in every department grew so heavy that Simon was forced to relent in his unofficial desk duty restriction on Jim, though he made sure that Jim got only the most tedious, frustrating and close-to-impossible-to-solve cases. To make matters worse, word had apparently gotten around that Banks would loan out one of his men without protest, and Blair spent most of his time anywhere but with Jim, providing backup for over-worked men.

Adding to that, the confrontation with Rafe seemed to have broken some barrier Simon had had in place to prevent himself from spreading his rotten disposition through the entire department. His temper was uncertain, and he'd go off on one of his detectives without any provocation. He harangued them to the point that everyone avoided him as much as possible, keeping problems to themselves until they had no choice but to face him and endure his criticism. Tension was so high in Major Crimes, and morale so low, that rumbles of transfers and resigning could be heard on a daily basis.

Bad as it was, Blair actually preferred being at work to being at home. At work, he could get away with touching Jim in their usual good-naturedly teasing style, and show how he felt about him in small ways, safe in the knowledge that his attentions couldn't progress toward passion. At home, he over-thought and worried about every little gesture of affection, terrified that Jim would use it as a go-ahead to make a pass that Blair wasn't sure he could turn down. He missed being with Jim; ached for it if he were honest with himself. But he couldn't put aside his doubts and fears.

Amazingly, Jim didn't seem to have a problem with the sudden lack of sex between them. They could have been back to the beginning of their relationship when all either of them were able to handle was deep kisses, but this time there was no promise of moving on to more. His ease in reverting back seemed to confirm Blair's fears that he should have never tried to change Jim's orientation in the first place.

Somehow Blair himself already had, though, and the biggest part of him didn't want to regress, no matter how much the logic argued that he should. It set up an internal conflict that was as bad as the external one at the job, and with a tight, anxious resignation, he accepted that something, somewhere, inside or out, was going to have to give and soon.

Most likely what's going to give is my sanity, Blair thought for the thousandth time as he walked into the Major Crimes bullpen and almost reeled at the atmosphere of seething hostility and testosterone-fueled aggression. Spotting his partner at their desk, jaw muscle jumping with barely suppressed emotion, he mentally added, Or maybe Jim's molars. He quickly crossed to take his chair, hoping his presence would help Jim ease up a little, or at least to give him a convenient target who had already forgiven him if he went off at his expense.

Once seated, Blair covertly glanced around the room, trying to find the immediate source of Jim's current irritation, promptly spotting Rafe and Brown at the white board, sneaking looks Jim's way. They were talking too softly for Blair to hear, but Jim obviously could, and if the strength of his focus on them was any indication, he very badly wanted to join their conversation. Guessing that it was about the home invasions, which had escaladed into savage mass murders, Blair asked quietly, "Are they still at a dead-end?"

"No one lives to be a witness, the estates are too isolated to find others, damn near no forensic evidence, and so far not a single item has turned up on the black market. If they're fencing, they're not doing it in this country," Jim said, snapping out each syllable. Apparently thinking out loud, he added, "Mercenaries, Rafe, mercenaries. Organized, trained, skilled with high-tech equipment used to get past security. Why are you dicking around with ex-cons with a background in bank or jewelry robbery? The last hit left a seventeen-year-old gardener's assistant dead, for god's sake, for no other reason than because he got off work late."

The suppressed guilt and anger in Jim's voice, directed solely at himself, stabbed straight through Blair, abruptly dispelling his miasma of uncertainty and awakening an anger to match Jim's. Damn it, he's still a sentinel with the need to protect, and I'm still the person he depends on to make sure he can do it. Who either of us is fucking has nothing to do with that simple fact.

On impulse Blair picked up the phone and dialed the number for a nearby pub that most of Major Crimes hit on occasion, reserving a private room for them. Hanging up with a satisfied bang and ignoring Jim's startled glare, he went to where Rafe and Brown were, talking as he went. "Hey, you guys up to a fast meal? It's way past dinner, and you'll think better on a full stomach." Not giving them a chance to argue, he gathered up the stack of duplicate files that Rafe had for taking home to stress over, making it seem as if he were just straightening them out, but giving the partners a significant look.

Getting it first, Brown slowly said, "I could eat."

"Great, I've got a table at O'Douls. Hey, Megan, want to join us?" Blair picked up the folders, holding them against his chest so that the labels could be seen. "Watered down American beer and artery destroying sandwiches and fries?"

Her answering grin was wicked. "You certainly know the way to a cop's heart, Sandy." She turned to Joel who was just coming into the bullpen. "O'Douls has that fat-free dressing you like. I hear a chef's salad with your name on it calling."

"Now that you mention it," Joel said, beaming.

Within minutes everyone in Major Crimes had been rounded up and was getting ready to leave, chatting amiably with each other about nothing and everything. Jim appeared behind Blair, carrying his coat and wearing his blandest face, though Blair could see the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. In a soft voice meant only for Blair's ears, Jim said, "Good thinking, Chief. Simon can't tell us what to do in our free time."

"I was just thinking everybody needed a break," Blair confessed.

"There is that," Jim agreed amiably.

He put a hand in the small of Blair's back to guide him toward the door, but before they could take a step, Simon came out of his office, clouding up when he saw the mass exodus. Glancing at the clock, he bit down hard on the unlit cigar in his mouth as if to hold in his obvious rage, then lost the struggle as Rhonda went past him, coat and purse in hand. Pushing up his sleeves as if preparing himself for a fight, he walked toward them, but Joel intercepted him, deliberately blocking his path and gesturing to the others to go around them.

"I'll meet you there," Joel said to the room in general, eyes meeting Simon's in a hard stare. Because he was barely close enough, Blair heard him quietly add to Simon, "Don't say something that I'll have to take to the Chief. You'd be out of line, and you know it."

Simon couldn't have looked more shocked if Joel had slapped him, and he literally stumbled back just as if that was exactly what Joel had done. Instantly he moved forward to regain lost ground, expression growing thunderous - and hurt.

Surprised by a surge of sympathy, Blair would have stepped between the two captains to mediate, but Jim have him a gentle push from behind, putting him in motion away from the battle of wills. "Joel chose this; it's between them for now," Jim murmured into his ear. "And face it, he's the one person Simon might listen to, under the circumstances."

It was, Blair unwillingly admitted, the right thing to do, but that didn't stop him from flashing a worried look over his shoulder at them as he went through the door. The others had already caught elevators, leaving the hall deserted, and he strained to at least hear the tenor of the discussion behind him, not sure if he was concerned for Joel or Simon. Jim walked slowly, too, listening as well.

Suddenly he stood a little straighter, surprise crossing his face. "Joel just told me to give them a little privacy."

Against his will, Blair smiled. "What do you expect? He's worked with us too much and too closely not to suspect there was something special about you."

"Yeah, I never thought he bought that press conference, either. The look he gave me right after, like he was disappointed in me...." Jim shook his head. "Come on, I haven't had my weekly allotment of cholesterol, and it's starting to make me cranky."

Laughing, Blair mock-punched him. "Starting? Starting!"

Jim swatted back, and they horsed around all the way to the restaurant, trading barbs and insults as they walked. Once they were at the table with the others, they merged seamlessly into the same kind of banter from the others, taking two good hits for every one they score on someone else and not caring a bit. For the first time in weeks everyone was at ease with each other, and with themselves, and when Joel and Simon walked in not long after Jim and Blair arrived, the chatter only ebbed for a moment before sweeping them in as well. If there was a bit more strain, a bit more distance in the exchanges with Simon, it wore off quickly as he quickly showed that he was back to the Simon Banks they knew and respected.

Conversation turned to shop talk not long after the meals were served, and it was Simon who brought up the home invasions, opening the top file to give everyone implicit permission to hash it over. Rafe ran over each of the hits done to date as they made serious in-roads on food, highlighting what they had or hadn't found, easily fielding questions that seemed to inspire more from everyone in the room. Just as he had finished covering the latest, Jim inexplicably stood and quickly cleared the beer bottles off the table.

"Carter from Homicide is here, and I heard him talking to that trash reporter from Channel 8, Stephanie Stevens," Jim said to Simon. "Sounds like he's priming her to find us partying hearty on the public dollar while more innocent people are killed in their homes. Making like a disappointed brother in blue trying to do the right thing."

Glad that O'Douls served soda by the bottle, Blair hastily distributed empties so that it looked like everyone had had nothing stronger than that to drink. "Why is he doing that?" Blair blurted, surprised that Carter would do something so underhanded.

"Still trying to get one up on Ellison," Brown half-laughed, while Rafe handed out folders so that each person had one to look over themselves. "Man's had an ax to grind with him since Jim graduated the academy."

Sitting back and balancing on two chair legs, Jim said easily, looking at Blair, "It's all one-sided; I haven't got anything to prove to him or myself."

"Can't tell him that." Seeing the questions everybody else had, Brown leaned forward like a man with some serious gossip to dish. "When Ellison was in the academy, he broke more than a few records - marksmanship, fastest time on the obstacle course, things like that. Records that Carter had held until then, and Ellison didn't just beat 'em, he *seriously* beat them. His marksmanship score is *still* undefeated."

There was a general murmur of 'so what,' and to Blair's amusement, Brown played to the crowd, making faces at them before going on. "So Ellison starts working the streets, and Carter's been doing good until then, getting noticed, people's talking that he's fast track to captain. Along come two major cases for Carter, and Ellison, who isn't even in the same department, provides the big break that makes them, stealing all his lime light. The higher ups are beating their chest over the 'interdepartmental cooperation' and 'above and beyond,' from him, dimming Carter's success even more."

Brown sat back and took a long draw from his drink, confident of his audience's attention, and Blair hid a grin at his performance. After an appropriately suspenseful pause, he finished the story. "And, just to add salt to the wound, a slot in Major Crimes comes up, Carter applies for it same as Ellison, and you know the rest."

"Carter wanted my job," Simon said mildly. "Sees it as a step into politics, which is why last year he went after the captaincy in Homicide so hard. Second best job to have it you want to make that move."

"Second best all around," Brown crowed softly.

"Explains a few things," Conner chimed in. "Word in the ladies loo is that he likes to go after women who already have a fella, working on them until they break up and start a thing with him. Then he dumps them for his next conquest. Has a real self-image problem, I'd say."

"Or it's dog in manger," Joel argued. "He does the same thing with partners. Deliberately targets one, undermining the trust and teamwork until it breaks under the stress. Doesn't make any secret of it, either. Claims that it's better for the whole department if the team members can work interchangeably with each other."

"Can't even stand to be second best to partners?" Rhonda said in mild disbelief. "The man must have a pencil stub for a...." She broke off before finishing her thought, blushing mildly.

There were a few chuckles, but to Blair's surprise, Jim said thoughtfully, "Second best. Hey, Rafe, did you ever find out if the vics were old money?"

Puzzled, Rafe said, "Yeah. All of them were. We thought that might be a connection, since a couple of them inherited it from people who weren't completely on the up and up in their day, but it didn't pan out. Most were on the blue blood side. Why?"

"Second best," Jim said. "We've been thinking money was the motive, but what if it's personal, a grudge against rich people in general, that's turned into obsessive hate? The robbery could be a blind, or simply a nice side benefit; the killing is the real reason for the invasion."

Behind them Blair could hear the door to the banquet room creak, as he'd been waiting for it to do, and he looked out of the corner of his eye to see shadows moving across the thread of light that marked the door as slightly open. He didn't think for a single moment that any of the other people in the room were unaware they were being spied on. Like them, he ignored it and tuned back in to the discussion.

Rafe said, "You'd be talking a serial killer, there. No way this is a solo act, and serial killers don't work with teams."

Without planning to, Blair said, "Soldiers are a kind of serial killer, just not in the sense of the description the way psychologists and cops use it. Mercenaries come even closer to it."

"Huh!" Rafe said, obviously thinking at full speed. "Organized assault against high-tech security. Mercs."

Making a show of taking out his wallet and looking at his bill, Simon said, "That's a good place to pick up back at the office. Brown, you and your partner look into the background of the hiring history of the vics. If it's personal, and the perp is operating here in Cascade, chances are that at he has a bad history with at least one of his targets. Ellison, you check with your CIA connections and see if any identified mercenaries are known to be in area. Sandburg, you do the research to see if there's any profiling or what have you to back the possibility that there could be an exception to the loner status serials usually have. The rest of you, I know you're up to your eyeballs, but try to fit in some phone work if asked."

Standing, Simon turned toward the door just as it swung open, showing a woman with a cameraman at her shoulder, microphone up and ready. "Captain Banks, did I just hear your people find a break in the recent flood of home invasions?"

Pinning a pained smile on his face while the rest of Major Crimes made a production of hiding away files from the camera's eye, Banks said, "Now Miss Stephens you know I have to say 'no comment' to that, and I have to remind you that releasing any information on the case prematurely might allow the perpetrators to get away."

"Isn't this an odd place to be discussing police business?" she shot back, a trifle smugly.

"Scientific studies, new surroundings, fresh perspective," Bair murmured too quietly for her to hear, but not for Simon to pick up.

"It *is* a private room," Banks said genially. "And my people know how to be circumspect when the wait staff is present. It was late, ideas were beginning to get a little stale, and as you probably know, studies show that a change in scenery can help recharge enthusiasm and mental sharpness, especially for people under the stress of over work." He forced a very realistic chuckle. "In this case, as you may have heard for yourself, it had a very positive effect."

People filtered out around Stephens, leaving money on the table and smile vacuously at her as they went by. Her smile had dimmed considerably, both at Simon's ready come-back and the lack of incriminating evidence of wrongdoing by Major Crimes. It didn't stop her from gamely peppering Simon about details on their discussion, which Blair tuned out as he put on his coat and counted out his own money.

By the time he and Jim were ready to go, Stephens had given up, turning off her mike and sending the cameraman away. "Not what I wanted, but hey, I can make some use of it."

Reaching into his pocket as he stopped just at the threshold, Jim held up a small recorder. "No creative editing, Ms. Stephens, unless your station likes libel suits."

Her face turned decidedly ugly, and she whirled away, leaving Jim staring after her thoughtfully. "I wonder what the brass would make of Carter sleeping with the department's most vicious critic?"

"What!" Banks stared after her himself and muttered, "Wonder which of them will stab the other first?" He dismissed them both with a sigh of disgust and picked up his own coat.

Taking it for a cue to leave, Jim said evenly, "See you at the station in a few."

"Go home, get some rest," Simon said tiredly, not quite able to meet Jim's eyes. "I'm sending the others home, too. Blair's right; they'll work better and harder for a break."

"See you tomorrow then, sir," Jim said, softening his tone noticeably at the undercurrent of apology in Simon's.

Risking a quick tap to Simon's forearm, Blair added, "You go home, too. You look like you could use some sleep."

At Simon's startled look, Blair said goodbye with a half-smile and hurried after Jim, trying not to put too much hope into a very fragile moment.

It seemed Jim was trying to do the same thing, and it was a quiet walk back to the truck that Blair didn't want to end. Only half of the pressure on him had been handled; he still didn't know what to do about the situation at home, even though it was one of his making. Once in the truck, though, Jim said, "That was a good move on your part, Chief. I know you weren't expecting Joel to step up to bat, but the worst thing that could have happened was showing Simon just how far into the wrong he'd gotten."

Fingers against his lips, tapping thoughtfully, Blair said, "I can't take any credit. I really was just trying to relieve the tension. Speaking of good moves - isn't that my tape recorder in your pocket; the one you've been carrying around for me until I get a chance to put a new battery in it?"

"The same. Stephens doesn't know it wasn't working, now does she?" Jim said smugly. "Her reputation for putting the worse possible spin on any so-called interview precedes her, and the last thing I want is for one of her hatchet jobs to derail the return of Simon's good sense."

Unexpectedly he grew pensive, fingers tapping an uneven beat on the steering wheel, and Blair waited, hoping quiet would encourage Jim to tell him what was going on in his mind. A few miles later, he was rewarded when Jim said, out of nowhere, "You were right to ask me to hold off on turning my back on him and the department. Seeing Rafe struggle with the home invasions... if I did walk away, every time I read about something like that in the paper..." Jim grimaced and flicked all his fingers in a little gesture of frustration, not able to put words to the amount of guilt and failure held in that possibility. "Much as it went against instinct and bad as it's been lately, if Simon comes round enough for us to work with him, it'll be worth it."

Not able to look at him for fear Jim would see the doubt and confusion in him, Blair said, "Maybe I'm wrong about that - making you ignore your instincts, I mean. They're designed to help you survive and function effectively for your tribe. Pushing them aside could have consequences we didn't anticipate when I asked you to do it."

Jim slanted him a knowing look. "Worried about my rep at the station? You're not buying into Carter's bull about everybody taking me for a second-rate cop with good connections and few lucky breaks, are you?"

Head whipping round to stare at him, Blair blurted, "You heard?"

Jaw tightening, Jim hesitated, but said with a trace of defensive ire, "I listen for you. If anyone's giving you trouble about me, or thinking he can get away with harassing you because we're in Simon's bad books, I want to know who it is and what he's saying. Contrary to what Carter wants to think, most cops know I'm damned good at the job, and don't give a rat's ass what I do privately as long as they don't have to hear about it. If anybody's thinking otherwise, I want to know before I have to depend on them for backup."

"Not fighting those instincts, too hard, are you?" Blair said dryly, telling Jim he didn't buy the rationalization behind the drive that had him keeping tabs on him whenever he could. Not that Jim wasn't telling the truth; just putting the best light on it.

"You'll let me know if I get out of line with it," Jim shot back, with a teasing note in his voice.

"Count on it."

Without a hint of complaint or apology, Jim said, "I do."

And that, Blair realized, was the simple truth as well. Jim had spent too much of his life suppressing or fighting his instincts to truly trust them, even now. Either he fought them to a standstill, becoming a total bastard during the process, or he ignored them completely until they overwhelmed him, nearly sending him off the deep end. It seemed the only time he made an uneasy peace with them was when they were pointing him in a direction he wanted to go all along.

Except where I'm concerned? Blair asked himself suddenly, retreating into his own thoughts, grateful that Jim took such silences in comfortable stride. From the first time I kissed him, he just accepted it, even though I was expecting an explosion, at the very least. Assured me he was straight, but still let me kiss him again. If he's hard-wired to be straight, wouldn't he have had more of a reaction? Then and now? In fact, the only time he's had any trouble was when I.A. was after him that time, making him question his self-image. Even then, the instinct he fought was to be with me, and that *was* what he needed.

While Blair mulled that over, fitting this new perspective in with all the uncertainties he had about being Jim's lover, they arrived home and went upstairs to the loft, almost automatically leaning into each other in the elevator in mutual commiseration for how long and difficult the day had been. Once safe behind locked doors, they took a few minutes to shed cop and become civilians, each going through their own little routine designed to help them do just that. Jim checked the loft to make sure all was as it should be, Blair checked the mail and answering machine, and they both put their cell phones into the charger. Stopping at the fridge to get a beer, Jim lifted one questioningly to ask Blair if he wanted one as well. At Blair's nod, Jim handed it across the kitchen island to him, then leaned back on the kitchen counter, one arm bracing himself and ankles crossed as he drank deeply.

It was obvious he took an uncomplicated pleasure in the icy cold drink with its rich flavor, reminding Blair with a twinge of guilt of other pleasures that Jim enjoyed and had been deprived of lately because of him. That's just not right, he thought, getting angry with himself on Jim's behalf. He wants to be with me, I want to be with him, and maybe if I quit doing an Ellison here and talk to the man, let him be there for me the way he wants to be, I can stop worrying that I'm hurting him!

Mind made up before Jim finished his swallow, Blair joined him in the kitchen, putting aside his own beer. Standing astride Jim's legs and hooking his thumbs into Jim's belt loops, Blair said, "Damn, that looks good."

Grin threatening to break through, Jim offered to share by tilting his bottle toward Blair. Taking it to put on the counter behind him, Blair murmured, "I wasn't talking about the beer."

"Somehow I didn't think so," Jim said. Though his eyes were bright with desire, he didn't change position, waiting, Blair knew without asking, for him to make the first move. Encouraged, not by the patience, which Jim always seemed to have when he needed it, but the willingness to *be* patient for him, Blair quit fighting his heart and leaned in to kiss him.

Jim's lips were still cool from the beer, his natural flavor hidden underneath the taste of it, and Blair delved deeply to uncover it with the heat of his hunger. Jim opened to him readily, twining his tongue with Blair's as if just as needy to find the essence of him in their kiss. With a soft, eager sound, he gave himself over to thoroughly ravishing Jim's mouth, lingering at the task as if the only thing in the world he wanted to do.

When he finally drew away, Jim blindly followed after him to reconnect their mouths, plundering Blair's with the same intense devotion that had been given to him. Making a throaty noise of approval, Blair went willingly, fitting himself into Jim's body, bringing their cocks into alignment. Willing to swear he could feel Jim's throbbing against his, he groaned, vaguely surprised that Jim didn't pick up the pace.

Because he loves foreplay. Remember what he said? 'after the senses, it took an hour to get enough?' Though the thought was nearly random, it grabbed Blair's unwilling attention just enough that he hesitated, only for a second, to consider it. He dismissed it almost as quickly with a 'well, duh, a sentinel would want prolonged sensual stimulation, and went back to soaking up kisses.

As small as the pause was, Jim felt it and began to draw away, fingers giving a last loving tug to one of Blair's locks as he removed his hand.

Catching it and pressing it back to where it had been, Blair kissed the inside of Jim's wrist. "I like it when you do that, put your hand in my hair when we're making love."

A jolt went through Jim and into Blair, and he rocked his hips into Jim's crotch, suddenly unwilling to go slow. At Jim's sharp intake of breath at the grinding, Blair distantly remembered words could be foreplay, too. "And I love it when you say my name when you're turned on. It's almost another caress, it sounds so good."

Pushing up Jim's sweater, he ran both hands up his torso, gave the taut nipples a gentle pinch, and ran them back down again. "Love watching your face, too, especially when you're close to finishing. Can't explain why, just that it really gets to me."

"I like watching you, too," Jim rasped out unexpectedly, knuckles white where he clutched the kitchen counter, despite how gentle his hold on Blair's hair was.

"Ohhh, man..." Knees suddenly weak, Blair sank down onto his heels, licking and nibbling Jim's abdomen as he did. It was the most natural thing in the world, as far as he was concerned, to keep on going until he was mouthing Jim's hard-on through his slacks.

To his surprise, Jim tried to pull him back up. "You don't have to."

Peering up at him through his lashes, Blair said, "You don't get it yet, do you? Going down on you is something I *want* to do, fantasize about doing. This isn't foreplay to get you hot; this is to make us come, and let me tell you, I'm damn close to shooting just kneeling here like this."

It was true, he realized even as he spoke. The mistake he had made in bed that first time was starting while Jim was still asleep and slow to respond, instead of working them both up to it. Ignoring Jim's half-hearted protest, Blair undid his pants and took out his cock, breathing in the faint scent of male musk and rubbing his thumb through the moisture on the crown.

One hand on Jim's hip to steady himself, the other holding the base of Jim's shaft, Blair fastened his lips around the head, running his tongue along the underside of the ridge, groaning at the surge of heat and blood through Jim's hard-on.

"Damn...Blair!"

Blair shuddered at the desperate need in Jim's voice and sank further down Jim's length, unconsciously digging his cock into Jim's leg. With a soft moan, Jim began to thrust as best he could, hampered as he was by his leaning position, fingers tangled in Blair's curls to guide him at the speed he needed.

It was exactly what Blair had wanted, what he had dreamed of, and he looked up at Jim, groaning at the fascinated lust in his expression as he watched Blair suck him.

"Blair... close... Blair!" Jim panted out, clearly trying to stop using him and just as clearly failing. "I'm...oh! Oh, God! Blair you have...."

Understanding that Jim wanted him to pull away before he shot in his mouth, and not caring, Blair fumbled a hand down to jerk off, frantic to finish himself.

That was all Jim could take. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he came, pouring himself into Blair in hard spurts that Blair choked on slightly before he managed to swallow. His seed was bitter, with a strange texture, but part of Jim, part of their pleasure, and when Jim whispered, "Love you, love you Blair," he climaxed himself, his seed jetting out in long streams of ecstasy that blanked his mind.

He came back to himself when Jim slid down the cabinet door to sit on the floor, knees up, and with Blair sprawled over him, held in place with a tight hug. They stayed like that until they were both breathing normally again, then Jim dropped a kiss on the top of Blair's head. "I still can't believe you'll do that for me."

"Why? Because you think it's emasculating?" Blair asked, truly curious - but not worried.

"Well, isn't it? Or at least degrading?" Jim hesitated, then said, "You certainly seemed to have second thoughts about it after that first time."

Blair snorted at the understatement, but knew from Jim's perspective, that was a reasonable explanation for the panic simmering in Blair for the past few weeks. Relieved that he had brought it up, Blair said bluntly, "I've never been more certain of my masculinity in my entire life. You can bench-press my weight, kill me with a single finger twitch, yet you were completely helpless and out of control while I had my mouth on you. All you could do was hang on and hope I'd let you come. It was powerful, erotic, amazing, and wonderful."

Pausing, Blair took a mental breath, and asked, "Now that your little head isn't in charge - are you disgusted or grossed out or seriously thinking I'll have to gargle a week before you'll be able to kiss me?"

Jim was silent for a minute, digesting what he had told him. "From this end, it was more like...I don't know, a gift. A precious one that you thought you could never have."

"That's why you feel like it has to be tit for tat?"

"Some," Jim admitted surprisingly. "But a lot of it is because we're in this together. If you're willing to try something, I should be, too, unless I've got a concrete reason not to. When you had trouble with giving me head, I guess it made me worry how far you'd go to keep me happy in the bedroom just because you thought you had to, because of how much we want this to work out for us."

Leaning up on an elbow so that he could see into Jim's face, Blair said, "I had trouble because I didn't know what I was doing, and I kept worrying I was doing it wrong. This time around, you had me too hot to think about anything except how fantastic it all felt, and how much you were into it. Or are you telling me that your first try at oral sex wasn't a complete disaster?"

"That would be the nicest way to put it, Chief," Jim said, a grin breaking out. He brushed Blair's hair back away from his face, lingering for a moment to limn out the cap of his ear. "For someone who should be in post-coital bliss, you've got a lot of questions."

Catching his hand to kiss the wrist again, Blair said, "We both know we've been drifting off course lately, moving away from each other instead of closer. That's mostly been my fault because of how Simon's been treating us, and because I don't want being with me to destroy who you are."

"Chief..." Jim said, sorrow killing his smile.

"So I thought that instead of waiting until I was completely lost, I'd drop the pretense at macho and stop to ask for directions before it was too late."

Jim used the hold he had on him to bring him close enough to touch their foreheads together. "I wouldn't let you get far. Only reason I didn't speak up before now is that emasculating thing again - I didn't want to cut off your balls by not giving you a chance to work out what was going on in your head on your own."

"You would have come after me?" Blair asked, wondering why he was so startled by the possibility - and relieved.

"Yeah," Jim said, obviously expecting to be told off for it. "Sooner rather than later."

"Oh." Blair put his head down on Jim's shoulder, for once at a total loss for words, and unwilling to move just yet, if Jim wasn't going to. The one thing he was sure of after his weeks of doubt was that wherever Jim was, that was where he was going to be, for the rest of his life. Period.


*finis*