Blair knew he was in trouble when he couldn't stop staring at Jim's hands. It wasn't just little peeks like any man might take to check out another person, or even the normal sidelong glances used to admire someone sexually attractive. It was full-blown, arranging-the-environment-and-circumstances to ogle to his heart's content *staring,* and he was doing way too much of it.
The bad news was that he thought Jim knew what he was doing, though maybe not how much, given that Jim hadn't made a loud, angry issue out of it yet. The worse news - and there could be no good news in the situation as far as Blair was concerned - was that the staring was only a symptom of a more pressing problem. He couldn't take his eyes off those elegant, sensitive hands because he wanted them on him. He wanted Jim to touch him in ways that went way beyond the boundaries of their friendship; hell, in ways that went beyond what was allowed between some long-time lovers.
It didn't help that all Blair needed to do to get that touch was to offer to give Jim a back rub. He even had a ready-made excuse to offer one, thanks to a case that had too many political fingers poking at it, making for one very tense cop. If he wanted, he could have Jim deep in a special hypnotic trance within minutes after starting a massage, thanks to sentinel response to the just the right tone of voice, just the right contact during it. In that state, Jim would do exactly what Blair told him to, exactly the way Blair said to do it.
Which was exactly the same reason Blair had been able to resist the temptation to put him under, so far. During those guilty, stolen moments of pleasure Jim did *only* what he was told to do and not an iota more. He never voluntarily reached for him or did a single thing on his own to contribute to their mutual release. Under those conditions, Blair had unhappily admitted to himself some time ago, sex was a peculiar and extremely selfish form of masturbation. Jim didn't get a thing from the sessions except momentary relief, and even that was hidden away by Blair's post-hypnotic command to 'rest and forget.'
But the temptation was still there to get what he could, while he could, no matter how pathetic and fleeting the satisfaction was before the guilt and self-hatred kicked in. Even if he hadn't practically been born knowing that nothing good lasted, Blair knew that sooner or later his own conscience would drive him away from Jim. Greedily he wanted - needed - that to be as much later as possible, so he fought off his wayward desires and pretended it was perfectly normal for someone obsessed with sentinels to be as fascinated by their hands.
Sensibly Blair also decided that any sexual relief was better than nothing. Since girls were not at all what he needed in that department, he made arrangements to hit the gay bar scene on a Saturday night that Jim had pulled overtime. Using every trick he could think of to baffle sentinel senses, he carefully prepared himself, for both before and after, so there wouldn't be any clues as to how he'd spent his evening out. Not that he thought it would bother Jim to realize his roommate was bi, but because he was terrified that Jim would ask *why* he'd never shared that particular bit of information with him after so many years as friends.
By the end of the evening, though, Blair wished categorically that he had just stayed home and watched stupid movies on the tube or surfed the net on his laptop. He hadn't gotten so much a twinge of interest in anyone until he finally gave up on cruising for his usual type and deliberately went looking for a Jim clone.
Slowly climbing the steps to the loft hours later, he admitted to himself that even then, he'd had to close his eyes and pretend with all his heart. Forget turning over the man, too, despite hints that he was willing to. Once alone with his 'date,' he hadn't been able to get over the absurd feeling he was being unfaithful to Jim. Blair had satisfied the man as quickly and efficiently as possible with his hands, then ran like a rabbit, straight back home.
Outside the door to the loft he stopped, leaning his forehead onto the wood, hands in tight fists on either side. His stomach was tied in knots, his heart ached, and for a wild, insane moment he almost turned on his heel and left, unable to face the lies he chose to live with on the other side of that door. Yet the very thought of no Jim ever again was worse, and he swallowed down his regrets, reaching for his key to let himself in.
"Hey, party a bit too much?" Jim said unexpectedly from behind, already reaching to help steady Blair if need be.
"Jim!" Dropping his keys, Blair banged his head into the door as he automatically tried to catch them. "Ow, ow, ow!"
"Definitely too much party." Jim chuckled and opened the door for both of them.
He stepped over the threshold, arm around Blair's shoulders to bring him in beside him, then stopped dead in his tracks, expression suddenly turning cold and hard. Turning Blair to face him, he leaned in close, hands hovering as if they felt something inches away from Blair's skin, then he took a step back, fists clenching before falling to his sides. He pinned him with a hard glare, and Blair guiltily dropped his eyes away from it, frantically wondering what gave him away so he could talk his way around it.
Mouth going on-line before he could pinpoint his mistake, Blair said hastily, "Look, it's not what you think. I just...."
With a cold fury that reminded Blair for the first time in a long while that his friend had been trained as a soldier to lock down his emotions to kill more efficiently, Jim cut off his explanation with a sharp gesture. "No. No explanations. I don't need or want them. You're entitled to a private life, Sandburg, so I've never bitched when you drag yourself in with the feel of a woman hanging all around you. It might not have been so hard to endure if I could have gotten used to just one or two of them, but since that's not your style, I kept my mouth shut. Like I said, you're entitled."
Taking another step backwards, as if he couldn't trust himself, Jim went on. "But I can't handle the impression of another man on you. It's like having an intruder in the loft, one just at the edges of my senses, like an enemy would try to be. You're going to have to choose: living here or doubling your chances for a date."
"Jim, I...." Blair tried to break in.
"No, you didn't know; I just said I never told you!" Jim snapped his mouth shut, trademark jaw muscle throbbing. "Look, I'm going to go find someplace to sleep. See you at work Monday." Before Blair could muster a single intelligent word, Jim was gone, door slamming behind him.
For a long, long time he simply stood and stared at the poster on it as if it held the meaning of life itself, then Blair muttered tiredly, "And I thought you were going to go ballistic because I hadn't told you I was bi. You didn't even mention that, which means you must have known all along." Abruptly shuddering, Blair made his way to his room, refusing to ask himself what else Jim might possibly have known all along.
Because there was no question what his decision was going to be, Blair sat down in his usual place in the bullpen on Monday morning after a Sunday spent catching up on sleep and chores, and said calmly, softly, "Is there anything I could do to make the sensory evidence of my girlfriends easier for you to take?" For the first time his obsession with Jim's hands paid off; he was watching them instead of his partner's face, and saw the white-knuckled grip Jim had on his pen ease.
Not sure if he was shocked or relieved that his answer had mattered that much, Blair almost missed Jim's equally quiet, "It's just one of those things I had to get used to, like always knowing what every person I meet ate last. I meant it when I said I consider it my problem, not yours."
"Doesn't mean I can't find a way to help," Blair said stubbornly.
"You're just looking for an excuse to run tests on me," Jim said, and one of those elegant hands of his took flight and landed with a light punch on Blair's upper arm to punctuate his teasing remark.
Giving him the smile he expected, Blair still said seriously, "Actually, I do have some ideas on why you feel other people on me at home; I think your senses are acting something like a natural thermal detector." While he continued his explanation, he resisted the urge to cover the spot Jim had touched so briefly to savor the lingering impression it had left. He also gradually drew away, getting as much distance between them as he politely could, to put temptation out of reach.
***
Blair sat in his car in the parking lot of one temptation for the sole purpose of fighting the stronger one that was slowly over-riding every bit of will and principle he had. Over the past three weeks the longing he felt for Jim had grown from a simple hunger to a stridently demanding need that sat with him every moment, waking or sleep, though he had put as much emotional and physical distance between them as he could, considering he lived, worked and played with the man. As if in response to that, Jim had actually become even more hands on than usual, as though he felt compelled by instinct or his own unique social code to cross the space separating them. Or perhaps he thought that Blair was being more reserved because of a need to reassure *him* that the whole bisexuality thing wasn't going to be an issue, and was trying in his own way to prove that it really wasn't.
With a sigh that sounded overly loud in the car, he put his head back against the seat, hand in lap to adjust the incessant ache there. He hadn't been so raw and randy even as a teen, and it was getting to the point that he literally couldn't think of anything but how easy it would be to get what he needed from Jim, or at least a pale imitation of it. At the moment, though, taking the risk of picking up someone in a bar and Jim finding out was better than resorting yet again to using him without his knowledge. Blair was going to feel dirty and mortified either way, but at least he had never out and out promised not to go cruising again.
Despite all his reasoning and rationalizations, Blair hesitated, staring at the inconspicuous sign and building set discreetly back from the street on a large, well-landscaped lot. The place had an up-scale reputation for catering to those who had their reasons for anonymity and fast, meaningless liaisons, exactly what he was looking for, much to his own disgust. He had already set the scene earlier by telling Jim he was going to a party, and fully intended to do so as soon as he was done here. With luck, the multiple heat/scent/visual clues he picked up from being in a crowd, both before and after being with a man, would be so confused and muddled that Jim wouldn't be able to pick any one 'signature' out.
For a moment Blair fidgeted, honestly not sure if he was going to start the Volvo or get out. Before he could make up his mind, a large, battered sedan and old truck pulled up to the curb in front of the bar and a group of men spilled out, looking all wrong for where they were and who they should have been to be there. They milled around on the sidewalk uncertainly, looking anxiously up and down the street, and the drivers made no move to pull away or get out themselves.
Almost without thinking, he ducked so they wouldn't see him and pulled out his cell phone, finger on the speed dial number for the police department. As carefully as he could, Blair barely opened a door and slid out, keeping the body of the Volvo between him and the newcomers whose voices and body language were taking on a decidedly ugly tone. Under the cover of that loud babble, he called the station, relieved when the dispatcher turned out to be someone he knew personally. Lou listened to his description of the potential trouble, then promised to send cops who wouldn't take their time answering a call to a gay bar.
Hanging up and pocketing the phone, Blair made his way toward the bar with the intent of warning the owner about the major problem brewing, but within a few yards of the relative safety of the door, the inevitable happened. Two men came out, laughing, arms slung over each other's shoulders, staggering slightly as if they'd had a few too many. Either too primed or too stupid to wait until they were out of sight of cars passing by on the street, the first of the attackers started in with the traditional red-neck call of, "Would you look at the faggots." The others in the party started in with verbal abuse, moving in threateningly, as the couple tried to retreat, all signs of inebriation gone.
Unfortunately for the bashers, the bar door swung open again, and a single shout announced that the people inside saw what was waiting on the other side. Apparently not worried about it, two of the attackers grabbed their victims, no fists or weapons out yet, but Blair couldn't wait for them to decide to take that next step. Charging at full speed into the tall rectangle of light shining from the still open door, he shouted, "Police on the way, man. Go, go!"
For a split second the gang froze, as if not sure whether Blair was warning them or helping their intended prey - or if it really made a difference. Before they could make up their collective minds, people came pouring out into the night, yelling threats and insults as they surged protectively around the two men held captive. It was clearly the last thing the attackers had expected, but something they had an automatic, if idiotic response to. Almost in synchronization, each punched at the nearest person, and the riot was on.
Not really hearing himself mutter "Oh, my, God," over and over, Blair plowed into the crowd, one shoulder down for a text-book take down of one of the men holding the first two to leave the bar. Blair landed on top of his target, got an elbow in his gut for his interference, and rolled to one side to dodge a fist in his general direction. As he moved he saw a kick coming for him, but had nowhere to go in the sea of legs and feet surrounding him. Bracing himself as best he could, he sucked in a much-needed lung full of air, and aimed a low lunge to one side to deflect some of the impact.
Before the booted foot reached him, a quick hand snagged the ankle just above it and yanked up, sparing Blair and dumping his assailant on the ground beside him. The idiot started flailing wildly, not caring if he was hitting friend or foe, and Blair barely managed to get out of range before one of the wild shots could get him. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of silver, shouted, "Knife!" and brought the edge of his hand down on the wrist of the person holding it as the intended victim whirled. Blair saw the blade slice through the man's shirt at rib level, then something hit the side of his head, hard, and for a moment all the world shrank to a silent, black blot before exploding into pain.
Instinct made him tuck down small, bringing him nose-to-nose with a man wearing his salt-and-pepper hair military-short, dark eyes glazed with hurt but clearing to razor sharpness quickly. Distantly Blair recognized him as the person he'd warned of the knife, and shouted above the din of the fight, "Get you?"
"Got you worse," the unknown man answered, one fingertip swiping at the flow of blood down the side of Blair's face. Grabbing him by the upper arm he pulled Blair and himself out of the way of two combatants falling, still trading punches.
A younger man, sandy blond with blue eyes intent behind his glasses, dropped to cover the wounded man, hands locked over his shoulders as if fearing to be separated from him in the melee. "Sirens. Have to get out of here, now!"
"Wait, he's been cut," Blair said, twisting to see which direction the police were coming from.
"We can't afford to be caught in the middle of this," the older man said, trading a brief, intense look with his companion, then they started to scuttle to one side.
Without thinking Blair pulled back on the arm still holding him, stifling a yelp from a stab of pain in his head. "No, not that way. Come on." Abandoning dignity for effectiveness, he half-crawled toward the bushes running alongside the building, squeezing himself in between them and the wall, effectively hiding from anyone not seriously looking for them. The two men followed close behind, occasionally bumping and nudging at his legs and back, and he led them to the corner that intersected the t-shaped parking lot, framed on the far side by a tall building.
The trees and bushes that set it off from the road weren't as thick, but it was darker and the attention of the mob was turned in the other direction. Suddenly exhausted, a multitude of small hurts chiming in to make themselves known, Blair slumped against the side of his car, confident the huge SUV parked on that side would shield them from any attention aimed their way. The sound of sirens sliced through the night, along with the strobing lights from the squad cars, and he winced, head spinning sickly.
Careful fingers pulled his hair away from his face, and the younger of the two he'd rescued said gently, "You need to get this seen to."
Shrugging, Blair said dully, "You're not the only one who can't afford to be here tonight." Digging deep for resources, he sat up straighter, and looked past to the older man. "How 'bout you?"
"Got a friend who's a doc; she'll patch me up without any questions." Like Blair, he was slumped against the nearest support; in his case, the SUV.
"Not many, anyway," his companion muttered, almost magically summoning a smile from him.
The authoritative voices of police officers were beginning to cut through the storm-like noise of the battle, and fleeing figures could be glimpsed through their little window onto the street between the parked vehicles. "Better go then," Blair said. "Once the cops have enough backup, they'll start spreading out to catch stragglers and find witnesses. Parked nearby?"
"Couple of blocks away," the younger man muttered, peeling aside the edges of cut cloth to look at his companion's wound, despite slapping hands trying to prevent him.
"I can give you a lift, if you need it."
Finally succeeding in stopping his friend by the simple expedient of grabbing both wrists, the older one said, apparently to both of them, "I can make it."
Hearing more sirens in the distance, Blair said, "This is my car; trust me, I won't be far behind you." With almost identical claps to his shoulder, the two murmured a thanks, then melted into the night in a way that reminded him eerily of Jim. Waiting a moment to make sure they got away, Blair struggled to get to his feet, but a wave of dizziness literally knocked him to his ass, sparking nausea and making his injuries complain louder.
All too aware of passing time, he crossed his arms over his bent knees and laid his forehead on them, pulling in slow, even breaths. He tried to ignore the chill seeping into him from the ground and metal behind him in favor of convincing his brain that it needed to settle down, now! Just as he was ready to try again, Blair heard footsteps coming his way and tried to shrink further into the shadows of his hiding place.
"Chief!"
At the sound of Jim's voice, Blair jerked his head up, and he skittered away, almost tumbling over as he ran out of car to hold himself up. Jim caught him by the shoulder to steady him, and he tried to pull away, panic pouring words out of his mouth. "I didn't go inside, I swear, I *swear* I didn't go in, you can ask anybody, everybody, I saw the trouble from my car and called it in, I know I should have left, who in department's going to believe I wasn't there, Simon's going to tear me a new one, I know, but I swear...."
Going to his knees in front of him, Jim pulled Blair into his arms, shocking him into silence. "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. Are you hurt anywhere besides your head? How bad?"
For a moment Blair was too startled to return the embrace, then he all but melted, letting Jim take his weight. Grateful his partner wasn't stingy with his hugs, he soaked up Jim's heat, only then becoming aware of how badly he was shivering. "Just a lump; no E. R. okay?"
Knowledgeable fingers flitted over the lump on the side of his head, then over the rest of him, quickly checking him over. "Not just your blood," Jim muttered after a faint sniff.
Reluctantly, Blair pulled away, or tried to. "Sorry; tried to help a couple of people."
Holding onto him, Jim stood, drawing Blair to his feet. "About what I expected when Lou from Dispatch let me know you'd called this in. You're going to have to give a statement, but I don't see why that can't wait until tomorrow. The uniforms'll be straightening this mess out for hours. Can you drive?"
Blair considered the question carefully, weighing the truth against a nearly overpowering urge to get back to the loft as soon as possible. While he did, Jim held on, rubbing his hands over Blair's shoulders and back in an effort to thaw him, obviously in no hurry to get to his cop thing. It felt so good, and Jim was so warm that Blair unintentionally leaned into him, face buried in the center of his chest.
Despite where they were, despite all that that had been happening, his body responded to Jim's nearness with a surge of lust that had Blair instantly hard and nearly panting with need. As close as they were, Jim *had* to know, yet he continued to hug Blair, though he went very still. A mad hope blossomed in Blair's heart, and he wrapped his arms around Jim's waist, pressing even closer.
A saner part of him spoke up, saying that they weren't in the best place for this, and with a sigh of reluctance, Blair drew away enough to be able to suggest they both go home. Almost at the same moment he realized that Jim was too still, and that the hard body to close to him showed no sign of arousal. Blair looked up and saw that Jim's face was completely blank - not from a zone, but as if he were in a hypnotic trance. Stunned, Blair stumbled back a step, breaking all contact, mouth hanging open and eyes painfully wide.
The next instant Jim visibly jumped, life filtering back into his expression, and he reached for Blair. Almost falling in his haste to get too far away to be touched, Blair blurted, "Drive... I can drive. Now, I mean." Grabbing for a shred of control, he waved at the almost forgotten mess just across the street and added, "They could probably use your help over there."
Not waiting for a reaction, Blair scrabbled for the handle to his car door, fumbling out his keys, then got in and drove off as fast as he dared. A glimpse in the rear-view mirror showed Jim standing in the same place, staring after him with worry clearly etched on his features. Stubbornly Blair focused on the road, refusing to think about how weird he was acting from Jim's point of view.
By the time he reached the loft, he was shaking violently both from the cold and in reaction, and muttering constantly under his breath. "Post hypnotic command... ignore any signs of sex on me or in the loft... didn't really set a time frame... hoist by my own fucking petard... could probably knock him to the ground and have my way with him any time, any place... never have a clue... does *not* help to know that...."
Automatic pilot sent him to the shower, and he stripped off his clothes as he went, letting them fall where they were. "Probably so many sex pheromones clinging to them they might as well be invisible as far as Jim's concerned," Blair mumbled sourly.
Once under the hot spray, he planted both fists on the wall, chin almost on his chest, and tried to blank his mind completely, not sure if he was laughing or crying. His dick didn't seem to notice, one way or the other. It was hard, as hard as he'd been when Jim had been holding him, as hard as he'd ever been. He needed sex so bad, and it would be beyond easy to get it now, his raging libido pointed out eagerly. All he had to do was wait until Jim went to bed, climb up the stairs, crawl into bed with him, and do whatever he wanted to do. Jim would never know, even if Blair left him come-covered and sore.
That image was simply too much for his over-stressed body.
With a deep groan, he came powerfully; so powerfully there was no pleasure in it, only a flat, dull sort of relief that couldn't last. It was enough for the moment, though, and Blair weakly shuffled from the bath and to his room. Shutting the door behind him, he paused, then slowly locked it, too afraid that Jim might slip in to check on his all-but-forgotten injuries. Wearily he accepted that no matter how practical Jim's intentions were, Blair would drag him down and have him if he got close enough.
He fell onto his bed, burrowing under the covers as if to hide, aroused again by the very idea of that. Fisting his cock more roughly than he would have ever dared in a more rational moment, he glutted himself on the sensory memories of all the occasions he'd had Jim before and climaxed again quickly. It was more satisfying that time around, but even as he tumbled into an exhausted sleep, he knew it wasn't close to enough.
Next morning Blair got up before Jim did and slipped out of the loft without waking him, very deliberately setting a pattern that he followed for the next month. He came home long after his roomie was in bed for the night, if he came in at all, and found excuses not to spend any free time with him. At work he volunteered for any job that would keep him out of Jim's orbit, no matter how dull or stupid the task was.
And he spent every free minute he could scrounge trying to find a way to cure the never-ending lust gnawing on him before he went insane from it. Meditation didn't help. Masturbation didn't help, either, and no matter how frantic he was for release, his hard-on would vanish if he so much as tried to kiss another person, man or woman.
To make his misery complete, Blair could see how much his sudden and unexplained withdrawal hurt his partner. At first Jim seemed to accept it, probably because he understood all too well how a body might need space once in a while. When that space became a huge void, he made more than one attempt to cross it, a little to Blair's surprise, once going so far as to track Blair down on the shaky pretense that he had a case he wanted to discuss with him. Rebuffing those overtures was an agony in and of itself because Jim was trying, but Blair managed, convinced that he would only hurt him worse in the long run if he didn't.
Predictably, when things went on too long, Jim grew cold and aloof, hardly speaking to Blair when they *were* together, except on work matters, snapping at him over little or nothing. Blair didn't take either the sharp words or the attitude to heart; he could see under them to the massive wound wearing away at Jim the same way his own unrelieved need was wearing away at him. Eventually, though, he began to return irritation with irritation, anger with anger, at a loss to do anything else and unable to stop his sexual frustration from escaping in that guise.
There was no way the situation could last indefinitely, and against his will he began to consider the necessity of leaving; not just Jim, but leaving Cascade all together. Nothing good could last, he told himself over and over, and maybe with some real distance between them for a while, the lust for Jim would die. Then he could think about coming back and mending fences as best he could, maybe save the most important friendship he'd ever had.
The breaking point came unexpectedly and over the last thing he would have imagined – a flat tire. Late one night, on his way back from one of the endless, meaningless dates he'd forced himself through, during a monsoon style downpour, his front left tire blew with a jolt that nearly sent him into oncoming traffic. Luck as much as anything else got him safely to the roadside, and for a moment all he could do was sit and jitter, fear clogging his throat and the steering wheel creaking in protest from his grip on it.
Then he looked at the rain covering the windshield and groaned. Changing the tire was going to be one, long, wet nightmare and dangerous besides, considering the chances of another motorist not seeing him as he worked. The smart thing to do would be to call a cab and take care of the car tomorrow, but he had spent the last dollar in his pocket on his date. His only other option was to phone for help, but there was no one that he could call at this hour who would willingly help. Nor for the life of him could he think of a single person who owed him a favor that big.
No one to call except Jim, that was, and he would do it simply because Blair asked. The rush of need that swamped him at the very thought of being alone with Jim put an end to that, though, and he unhappily decided that walking the rest of the way home might be the only solution. It wasn't really that far, a mile at the most, and it was just rain, he thought, trying to psyche himself up. He'd been wet and cold before; it was practically a second state of being for him. And a hot shower was waiting at the end this time, at least.
Gathering together what had to go with him, he took a deep breath in a futile effort to brace himself, but before he could step out, a familiar truck pulled off in front of him, emergency lights already flashing. For a moment the mix of emotions that warred inside him threatened to send him running, rain or no rain, but then a sort of false calm born from accepting the inevitable descended, allowing him to greet Jim with an honest smile when he appeared at the car window, umbrella in hand.
"Hey, thanks for saving me a seriously miserable walk," he said, getting out of his car. "What brings you out on a night like this?"
"The job, what else?" Jim snapped, then visibly took control of himself and began walking back to his truck, carefully holding the umbrella over both of them. "Got a call; two d.b.'s in the same place we found two last month, and as luck would have it, the press heard and started muttering about serial killers, so Major Crimes got dragged out for it."
"Ugh, just what we need. Does it look like one to you?" Blair asked just to have harmless words coming out of his mouth instead of the ones he wanted to use.
"Don't think so," Jim said absently, as if not thinking about the conversation himself. "Gunshot wounds this time, not stabbing, clean and efficient, no signs of fury like the last victims."
Without really listening to himself, Blair said, "Wonder if it's some sort of a copy cat thing, using the same dump spot."
"Now there's a theory to offer to the press," Jim said derisively.
Instantly Blair shot back, "Which is more than you have at the moment."
"Just because I take the time to think things through instead of just babbling out whatever happens to be floating through my head at the moment, doesn't mean that I have *nothing,* Sandburg."
"Your theory then, *Detective*?" At the tight-lipped, jaw muscle-jumping glare he got for an answer, Blair crowed, "HA!"
Coming to a stop within a few feet of the truck, Jim ground out angrily, "You looking to walk home?"
"Way to go. If you can't be right, resort to threats!" Anger was good, he thought vaguely through the aggravation kicking up inside him; better than the possible alternative. "It's not like I asked you to stop for me!"
"So you want to walk in this?" Jim said challengingly, as if he really did expect Blair to be that stupid. "I should let you, just to teach you that you don't have as much between your ears as you think you do!" Grabbing him by the elbow, he hustled him to the passenger side of the truck, put him in, then slammed the door shut.
That simple act of consideration, done even though Jim was mad, even though it was clear that Blair was picking the fight, vanquished the anger he'd been using for a shield. In the short time it took for his partner to stalk around to the driver's side, Blair went from drummed up wrath to shame to full-blown lust, and when Jim got in the truck with him, he turned away, hiding his tears of frustration and longing.
Jim studied him for a moment, and Blair said as tightly and furiously as he could force out, "Don't say a word to me! I mean it! Just drive, okay? Just fucking drive!"
Looking as if he were ready to explode, Jim did as he asked, and his heavy, hot fury sat between them for the short time it took to get to Prospect. Once there, Blair would have stormed into the building for effect, but Jim grabbed his jacket sleeve, warning against it with a look that could have frozen flames. Frantically trying to summon an answering fury, all Blair succeeded in doing was scrubbing all expression from his face, and that lasted only until he walked across the threshold to the loft.
Intending to stalk into his room and lock the door, he didn't bother to turn the lights on, and five steps into their home, its darkness and warm comfort hit him like a blow to the solar plexus. It many ways it was the same as being enfolded in Jim's arms, right down to the subtle spice of his scent permeating the air and the soft murmur of sound normal to any apartment, but reminding Blair of Jim's breathing. The idea of never having this again, of never having *Jim* again was suddenly and utterly too much for Blair.
When Jim came into the room behind him, keys landing in the basket by the door with an angry rattle, Blair spun on his heel and shoved him against the door as it closed. Plastering himself over Jim's front, he stretched up and covered his mouth even as Jim started to say, "Wha..." The kiss was nearly as brutal as it was deep, but Blair couldn't ease off, couldn't *imagine* easing off, though a small part of him worried about how Jim would handle the barely controlled violence in the caress.
That part shut up for good because Jim returned the kiss with equal ferocity, fingers weaving through the curls at the back of Blair's head to keep him from backing off. His hard-on burned against Blair's hip, somehow communicating directly to Blair's own cock, making it ache and throb. Moaning, he shifted to press it harder against Jim's belly, and then Jim made the softest, sweetest noise of pleasure that he had ever heard in his life.
The sound arrowed straight through him to the tight clench of sexual excitement filling his gut, exploding it into a burst of pleasure that spilled out of him in short, powerful spurts of his seed. His immense relief left him nearly too faint to stand, but his mind cleared, though he was still unbearably horny. Determined that if this was going to happen, he was going to do it right this once, he started to pull away to lead Jim up to the big bed.
Jim wouldn't let him. Hand still in Blair's hair, he murmured, "Not this time, Blair. You're not going to try to make me forget this time."
Mind and body shut down, freezing Blair in place for the one second Jim needed to take the upper hand. He manhandled him toward his bedroom, ignoring his struggles when panic finally kicked in, freeing him from paralysis. Flailing and thrashing, unable to get a handle on the overwhelming compulsion to escape, Blair fought with everything he had, short of actually hurting Jim, for all the difference it made.
In very short order Jim had him flat on his back in the middle of his own bed, pinned there by his practically immovable mass. Fully expecting to be roughly, even viciously used in retaliation for all the times he'd used him, Blair was astonished when Jim began dropping small, tender kisses on his face and neck. Almost against his will he calmed, laying passively under him, uncertain what to say or do.
When it was clear to Jim that the fight was over, he shifted so that his weight was on his forearms, freeing his hands to wander, removing shirts and touching as gently as the kisses he was bestowing. It was nothing like the frantic, always rushed encounters Blair had forced on them both, and far, far more arousing. What relief he had gotten earlier dissipated completely under the flow of undiluted pleasure Jim painstakingly covered him with.
Finally Jim lifted to look down into his face, eyes dark and glittering with passion. "Ask me if I want to fuck you," he commanded quietly.
"Jim, I...."
"Ask me."
Licking his lips, Blair whispered shamefully, "Jim, do you want to fuck me?"
"No." Not giving the pain a chance to take root, he ordered in the next breath, "Now ask me if I want to make love to you."
"Oh, God." Blair closed his eyes, unable to bear the emotions shining down on him, understanding far too much far too quickly.
"Ask me," Jim prompted gently, his voice growing rough with suppressed fear and hunger.
After all that he had done to bring them to this point, Blair couldn't refuse, even if he'd had the will left to do so. "Do you want to make love to me, Jim?"
"Yes." He groaned, and added, "I ache with wanting for you. Can you feel how ready I am? How hard I am?"
Hands creeping up over Jim's shoulders of their own accord, Blair released all the guilt, all the fear, anger, frustration, everything, in a long, drawn-out sigh, surrendering completely. "Please. Now. Please."
Bending to taste the curve of Blair's throat, making him shiver, Jim ordered, "Say it again."
"Make love to me," Blair murmured, barely breathing. "Please."
"Open your eyes. Watch me." Jim knelt up between Blair's legs, tugging his shirt off over his head. Running his palm down over his abdomen, he undid his belt and pants, taking out his erection.
Hurriedly Blair squirmed out of his jeans, ignoring their sticky dampness and for once not worrying about how awkward or unappealing he might appear to his lover. When he would have turned over, Jim stopped him with a hand on one hip. "I want my mouth on you first." With only that warning, he bent to lick a path from Blair's jaw to his neck, marking it thoroughly with a love-bite.
Clinging to his shoulders, all but writhing off the bed, Blair panted, "Can't last. God... oh... making me... oh, oh!"
"Just from this?" Jim asked, mouth against his collarbone. "You should at least wait until I do this." He nibbled his way down to one nipple, licked it once, then took it in a biting, sucking kiss that nearly had Blair arching off the bed in reaction. The other was treated the same way, and he shouted, trying futilely to hump against any part of Jim.
Not letting him, Jim slid lower, nibbling and kissing as he went, keeping Blair on the very edge of release. Just before he reached the one place Blair most wanted him to taste, he found Blair's gaze, and smiled lop-sidedly. "Now would be a good time, if you want."
Then he took Blair's cock in his mouth, inexpertly sucking and stroking, not that Blair needed anything but the sight of him willingly going down on him to set him off. With a muffled whimper that belied the power of the sensations pouring over him, he shot, spasmodically bucking to get deeper into the wet heat on him. For a too-brief moment he knew nothing but ecstasy, then it faded away, leaving him under a gently nuzzling Jim whose every muscle was quivering with the restraint he had locked over himself.
"I have to be inside you now," Jim said hoarsely, apparently sensing he was back. "All the way in, Blair, easy and sweet until you're screaming."
"Three times so close together? You won't last that long," Blair countered, smiling sleepily.
"We'll see," Jim said and slid a slick finger into Blair's opening.
It felt good, in a dreamy, relaxed way, and Blair spread his thighs, inviting more. Jim went to his knees, pulling Blair's legs up and over his shoulders, ass in his lap. "You really like that, don't you? One of these days I'm going to finger-fuck you until come, just from that."
The implied promise that there *would* be more in the future sent a flutter through Blair's middle, though he had been willing to swear a second ago that he couldn't get it up again with a crane until he had at least had a nap. "Let me suck you while you do," he said, startled when he sounded shy, "And it won't take long at all."
"You mean, like sixty-nine style?" Jim asked curiously.
"Yeah."
"Like the sound of that. But for right now...." He set his cock at the rim of Blair's asshole, with only a slight hitch in his breathing to betray his control. He slid in with a single, long, slow glide that didn't stop until he was balls-deep, his whole body shaking. "Damn," he said gutturally. "Tight... hot... fucking fantastic..."
"Yessssss," Blair hissed in total agreement, tightening internal muscles to make the most out of every glorious inch. Despite the lassitude and satisfaction from his earlier climaxes, his dick stirred sluggishly, trying to respond to the rush from being filled.
Head going back, tendons in his neck standing out in bas relief, Jim unhurriedly withdrew until he was completely out, leaving Blair feeling bereft, then entered again just as leisurely, belying the bruising grip he had on Blair's hips. He continued in just that way for what seemed like forever, each time sending a ripple of pleasure through Blair, each more powerful than the last. Before too long he was meeting every thrust with one of his own, trying uselessly to speed up their pace and force.
As good as it was, it wasn't enough, and finally he reached for himself, not using the tempo Jim set, but the one he wanted. As if that had been the cue that he had been waiting for, Jim shifted, eyes opening to search for and hold Blair's. Laying his palm on the side of Blair's face, he said in an astonishingly normal voice, "You have to come now." His thumb brushed over Blair's lips as if remembering the taste of his kiss, and his thrusts picked up speed and force until he was hammering at his opening with barely controlled strength.
Drawing Jim's thumb into his mouth, Blair treated it as if it were a miniature cock that needed release, licking and sucking it with abandon. That small thing pushed Jim over the edge, and with a moan that sounded nearly pained, he slammed into Blair as far as he could and stiffened as his cock pulsed and throbbed deep inside. The hot flow of his seed, the pure ecstasy on his face, was all Blair needed, as well, and he screamed as his body convulsed through his climax, desperately trying to get Jim that much farther into him.
Before the last shocks of pleasure faded from the both, Jim crumpled onto Blair in slow motion, panting and murmuring unintelligible endearments as he made what adjustments he could to fit over him comfortably. They lay together like that for a while, but eventually Jim stirred enough to grab his discarded flannel and mop them both up a bit, wiping at his face and neck with a clean corner when done.
"Hate being sweaty sticky," Jim muttered almost to himself, not meeting Blair's eyes.
For his own part, Blair only wanted to follow nature's course after mind-altering sex and have them both simply fall asleep, but for his own peace of mind he had to explain himself. It seemed Jim was of the same opinion. Though he cuddled close, every muscle limp with satiation, there was an undeniable air of waiting about him. Remarkably, it was a comfortable waiting for Blair: patient, accepting, non-judgmental.
Eventually it prodded him into speaking, and he said the one thing he'd wanted to say since the beginning. "I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry I can't even begin to think of the right way to say how much or how bad I feel about it or what to do to make it better between us."
Voice filled with a pained sort of forbearance, Jim said quietly, "Why would be a good place to start."
"I don't know!" Blair burst out. He rolled to his side, toward the wall and as far away from Jim as the small bed would allow. "It was like I *had* to; like having you was part of staying live and well, like eating or sleeping. I'd swear over and over not to do it again, then the chance would come up and I'd fall on you like I was literally dying for it. Lately that's exactly what it's felt like, too."
One strong hand was laid in the small of his back, soothing and reassuring, and he relaxed against his will, scrubbing at his face with bunched fists. He waited for him to say anything, do something, but the silence stretched on, and he finally said uncertainly, "Jim?"
"Blair, telling me that it's okay to remember what happened might be a idea if you want this conversation to be a two-sided one." Jim sounded strained, now, as if struggling to lift something incredibly heavy.
"Damn!" Blair swore, pressing his forehead painfully into the wall as if to escape through it. "Damn, damn, damn... Of course it's okay now. Man, I'm *so* sorry, so sorry!"
Sliding his hand up to the nape of Blair's neck to work the bunched muscles there, Jim said, "Regrets aren't going to help either one of us, here. And beating up on yourself isn't the way to go either." Inching forward Jim rested his head in the hollow between Blair's shoulder blades. "If it was so bad for you, why didn't you just come to me? You have to know you can't make someone do something under hypnosis that they would point-blank refuse to do normally. And we'd been flirting to that point; you had to at least think I might be willing."
Exhaustion hit Blair unexpectedly, and he said wearily, "Because nothing good lasts. Ever." At the sudden tension in the hard body behind him he went on. "Do you know how many friends I have? Not acquaintances, co-workers, associates, or colleagues, but help me hide the body friends? One. You.
"For the first time in my life I had a friend who not only didn't mind having me around a lot, but assumed that was the way it was always going to be and was okay with it. I wanted to keep that as long as I could, and the moment we went past it to lovers, the clock would have been ticking. Know how long my best relationship has lasted to date? Three months. Three. That isn't anywhere near the worth of your friendship, not even close, no matter how spectacular the sex was."
While Blair spoke, Jim had crept closer until they were skin-to-skin again, but it wasn't like he was trying to pin him in or confine him. Instead if was as if he were trying to heal him the only way he really knew how; with touch and tenderness given silently in the dark. "Yet you couldn't pass up the chance when it came up. I know you tried – I could tell," he said thoughtfully.
Using a fingernail to pick at an invisible spot on the wall in front of his nose, Blair asked miserably, "How long have you known?"
Jim shifted uneasily. "In a way, almost from the first. It got easier each time to remember, both what happened before and what had just happened."
"Oh, man." Blair didn't have to ask why Jim hadn't found an excuse to kick him out of his life, or at the very least beat the shit out of him. He'd seen that in Jim's eyes only minutes ago; seen the love and desire that went all the way to the soul of the man. While he supposed he should be angry Jim had hidden that from him, along with the rest, all it really did was add to his almost insurmountable shame and remorse. If he were going to be honest - nd now was the best time, all things considered - he loved him, too. It was just so hard to find it underneath all the garbage he had heaped on it.
Long fingers swept stray curls away from Blair's face, and Jim asked uncertainly, "Could it be because of the sentinel thing? Some of what's happened to us because of it has been pretty out there."
"Huh?" Suddenly mentally floundering, Blair couldn't think of anything better to say.
Burrowing his arm under Blair's head so he could use it for a pillow, Jim said, "You told me at the beginning a sentinel usually had someone to watch his back, because of the zone-out factor. Could it be, I don't know, something I'm doing unconsciously or instinctively to guarantee you want to do that?"
His thoughts stuttered, then kicked in high gear, spinning through the possibilities and ramifications so quickly he couldn't isolate a single concept at first. "It never occurred to me to connect my obsession to your senses," he murmured to himself. "It bothers me that I like the theory so much - like I'm looking for an excuse, you know?"
"So it's possible?"
Sensing Jim's retreat as much as feeling the nearly microscopic physical shift away, he captured the hand pulling out from under him and brought it to his lips for a hard kiss. "Don't," he said fiercely. "I'm carrying enough bad baggage for both of us. Even if you are influencing me somehow, assaulting you was a decision I made *myself,* and trying to keep it a secret instead of coming clean to you was based solely on my own weakness."
Not relaxing again, Jim shot back, "You've forgiven me every time, *every* time, I've acted like an idiot because of the senses. Why not forgive yourself this time around?"
"It's not that easy!"
"No, it's not," Jim surprisingly agreed, giving the fingers holding his a gentle squeeze. "So where do we go from here?"
"To sleep?" Blair asked, trying for a facetious tone.
"Not a bad idea," Jim answered, more successful at matching that tenor. "Been a long day and longer night."
Yawning unexpectedly, Blair mumbled, "After a long string of them." He tucked their joined hands against his chest and asked uncertainly, "Stay here?"
"For as long as you'll let me," Jim murmured, pulling him in tight and fitting himself into the lines of his body. He pulled up the covers with his free hand and tucked them around Blair's shoulders, taking his time and smoothing the blankets down over him in a way not meant to warm, but to quiet and soothe.
He thought he felt a gentle kiss on the back of his neck, but the peaceful sleep that had been eluding him for so long dropped over him abruptly, and the last thing he thought he remembered was Jim saying "I love you," so softly it could have easily been a dream.
***
It was as much the abrupt departure of his living heat source as the strident ring of the phone that jerked Blair out of sleep not enough hours later. utomatically curling up to savor Jim's lingering warmth, he waited, hoping against hope that it wasn't anything that would get them both up for the day. That wish turned out to be a futile one; Jim came back into the room already pulling his tee shirt on over his head.
"Simon," he said almost unnecessarily. "Two more bodies, same place, and the press heard about it almost at the same time the cops did. This is beginning to sound like some kind of set up against the department to me."
Grimacing, Blair made himself throw off the blankets and sit up. "Great; the list of potential suspects covers every case every cop has ever worked in this city. What were we saying last night about a long day?"
"Maybe this time we can find a way to cut it short," Jim said distractedly, gathering up his shoes and the clothes scattered over the room. "If it's the same person or persons, three times in the same place is pushing their luck."
"We can hope," Blair said, shivering as he started looking for his own things.
Momentum picked up quickly after that with both of them rushing around to take care of morning necessities and prepare for a day away from home. In a surprisingly short period of time, they were ready to go, Jim with keys in hand at the door waiting for Blair as he snatched up the last piece of toast.
Bread clenched between his teeth as he tried to stuff a bottle of water into his pack as he crossed the distance between them, he grunted a go-ahead to his partner, which Jim answered by opening the door and taking both coats off the hooks next to it. It was something he had seen him do a thousand times, and in a sudden flash of insight Blair realized Jim had always done it. It didn't matter if they were fighting or getting along or simply too distracted by outside factors to even pay attention to each other. And he would undoubtedly continue to do without thought or concern even if they never officially became lovers - or if they did.
He put everything down, captured Jim's face between his hands and kissed him as thoroughly and lovingly as he had ever wanted anyone to kiss him. Though startled, that didn't stop Jim from kissing back, putting as much into it as Blair did. When he finally, unwillingly, drew away, Blair smiled into his lover's confusion. "I just realized something very important."
Warily, Jim covered one of Blair's hands with one of his, but mustered an almost believable smile. "Going to enlighten me?"
"More like share my own enlightenment. Remember I said that nothing good ever lasts?"
"I could argue with that," Jim said, stubborn trying to hide under a level voice.
Blair's smile widened, becoming ridiculously happy. "I can, too. Now. Somehow I didn't notice that we've already lived past our good more than once, and are still together, working to get back to the good every time we lose it. That's why I'm here. Not because of the sentinel thing or because I didn't want to give up your friendship, but because a smarter part of me hidden underneath all the rationalizations and bullshit knows a good thing when he sees it.
Jim's false smile faded, leaving him looking vulnerable and helplessly in love. "So you're okay with how things are? With us?"
"That's pushing it a bit," he admitted. "What I did was wrong and I'm going to need to spend a lot of time processing through it. But." He stopped, took a long, deep breath, then said calmly. "I want to keep coming back to our good."
Pressing his lips gently against Blair's forehead, then the bridge of his nose, Jim murmured, "I love you, Chief. And there's something else important you haven't realized."
"Yeah, what?"
"That sometimes the good gets better." Jim kissed him full on the mouth, then broke off laughing as his cell phone rang, calling them both back to duty, but not before his thumbs brushed over both of Blair's cheeks, promising without words that he'd spend his life proving that.
finis