G-d, she's got a mouth on her. Not to mention hands, which were everywhere at once. It was dark in the loft, even with Sentinel senses. Sight is overrated. Soft hair teased cooling flesh as she trailed across his chest, nipping there, licking here, kissing all the while. The faint rasp of skin against skin. Taste. He wanted those lips on his own, feel that tongue with his, to own that mouth. Tangling his hands into long curls, he pulled her up. Blue eyes stared back.
He shot straight up. Alone. Instinctively he checked around, opening his hearing. Convinced he was the only one awake, and his guide was safe in his room downstairs, he tried to collect his thoughts. Kid mutters in the middle of the night, and my dream goes to hell. Knowing it would be awhile before he could get back to sleep, he slipped into his robe and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Too bad, I was liking this one.
He wasn't real sure how long he'd been having them. Nightmares, those he could remember, but dreams.... Finding what could pass for sandwich makings, he closed the fridge. He knew he'd had these dreams before but had never seen his mystery lover's face. Perfect set up for The Twilight Zone. If sight wasn't integral to a dream, it took a distinct back burner. Sometimes, he'd dream in sound only, or smell. He finished making his snack, and considered taking it back upstairs.
If I wake him, it's his own damn fault. He had reasons for his house rules, and he wanted them followed. Besides, being a sentinel and having crumbs in the bed didn't mix. During a particularly rough patch, he'd gone so far as to iron his sheets, so the wrinkles didn't keep him up. It struck even him as anal.
He put his plate into the sink with only the faintest rinse, and headed back upstairs. Back to his compact dream girl who was able to tickle his chest by simply sliding up. Back to her insistent long fingers. Under the covers, he quickly drifted off, lulled by the thrub-dub and whuffling from the room downstairs.
"Really, I'm okay." It was an overstatement on Blair's part, brought on by the adrenalin rush. "I've been through worse." Jim moved him to the couch, then collapsed once he was settled. Whoa, Big Guy. "You look like shit."
"Too close. Too close." Jim couldn't get the mirrors out of his head, Blair in danger reflecting in them all. Then everything bursting apart in shards, glass flying and the smell of blood. Blair's blood. You keep getting hurt. My fault.
It had been the two longest days of his life. Trying to find Blair, taunted by clues that ran out just before leading to his friend. Once at the carnival, time moved irreparably fast as his senses overloaded on the noise, smell and lights.
"Jim, I'm okay. Nicked up a bit, but not too bad. Jim?" Zone-out. "Jim, we are in the loft. Everything is fine, now. Nothing to worry about." Blair started thinking about the shards they'd shaken out of his clothes in the ER. They still had to pick pieces out of him, even with the jeans, thermals, boxers, two t-shirts, and flannel shirt. "Good thing I like the layered look." This is not the time for a panic attack.
"Blair." Jim noticed the increase in the young man's heart rate. It has got to stop. "It's too dangerous, working with me." How many times did he have to see the kid hurt? One day....
"Not tonight." It was a conversation they'd had before, and would have again. "You aren't going to convince me, so why bother?"
Jim started to retort, but bit down on it. They were both raw from the two-day game of cat and mouse. On a good day, he had to work to convince Blair of anything. On a bad day, the kid fought dirty, feeling guilty when he calmed down. "We'll talk about it later."
"Sometimes I'm just in the wrong place."
"Mostly with me." Ellison stopped; letting out a breath, he scraped his hands across his legs. "I know, not tonight. Look- clean up and get some sleep. Simon needs to see us in the morning." He stood to head upstairs, whisking a playful slap across Blair's head. Immediately, he felt a spreading sting. "Shit!"
"What?" Blair looked up, concerned.
Jim looked at his hand. Blood? Staring at the glints among the red, he realized. "Sit. I don't want you shaking glass everywhere." Eventually he came back from the bathroom with a towel and a box of gauze. Throwing the towel on a kitchen chair, he handed the box to Blair. "Do the honors, Chief?"
"Sorry." Blair quickly wrapped his friend's injured palm.
As soon as Sandburg finished, Jim snagged a chair in his good hand, bringing it near the couch. "In the chair. Here, cover your face and neck with this." He held out the towel.
"You are not cutting my hair!"
"Calm down. I've got to pick the glass out. You have a comb in your room?"
"Uh, sure. But you don't have to."
"Trust me. It's that or a buzzcut. Didn't they check your hair for pieces?"
"Just the big stuff, I guess." He was not going to mention, not going to think about it. When Blair came out of the ruined funhouse, light reflecting off the debris clinging to him, Simon had belted out 'Guess that hair has paid off.' Banks couldn't know how close the jest was to the truth. Sandburg, on the other hand, had heard the medics whistle as they pulled inch long slivers out of his hair, from around his ears and nape.
"Chief, I'd like to get this finished soon." Jim wielded the heavy comb, pinched between thumb and forefinger.
Blair buried his face in the thick towel, leaving the terry hanging over his hands. He felt his hair lifted, and the towel brought round his ears and across his neck. Slowly, locks were separated, picked through, and laid to the front. "Just like being deloused."
"What was that, Darwin?"
"Primate bonding behavior, also recorded in many human societies. Just muttering to myself."
"Is this an example of the winning Sandburg charm?" If it was, the kid was more talented than he'd thought.
"Only the delouser has to be charming. The delousee is already socially positioned. It's similar to traditional Japanese ear cleaning..." Only most tangentally, and it was not an appropriate parallel for the situation. "Uh..."
"Just don't think this goes in the dissertation." Jim thought he could hear the gears spinning, Blair's mind coming up with new section headers.
"Of course not." With the renewed quiet, Blair started to slip off, lulled by the attention to his hair.
Had to be sure it was all out. Jim rubbed his face. So why was he still awake and trying to convince himself of the obvious? Just because of a small zone-out. To zone-out, you've got to be focusing. He had just been fingering through Blair's curls. I'm tired, I'm frazzled. It was just the overtaxing of his senses at the carnival grounds. That, and a large portion of worry.
Slowly, the thrub-dub and whuffling below sent him to sleep.
"What was that, Simon?" Jim really needed to get more sleep.
"Jim, why do I bother before Sandburg gets in?" The captain pulled off his glasses and muttered to himself. "I've got to get a new prescription." He looked up at the sound of his door opening.
"Sorry." Blair slipped into the room and moved over to take a seat. "What is it, this time?" He glanced between the two older men, brimming with curiosity.
"Like I was telling Ellison, we have a delegation arriving from Indonesia...." Simon was unable to continue as Blair cut in with a breezy, yet comprehensive overview of why they were needed on the security detail. Banks snorted when the anthropologist finished. "Got that, Jim?" He gave Blair a look of resigned frustration and perplexed awe. He must get knowledge from the tap water.
"And, Sandburg? Don't be too charming." After a few more Blair-sputters, he turned to his detective.
"You, on the other hand, I want to work on your charm." He cut Jim's protest off. "I'm serious. I don't care how often we get people abusing their diplomatic immunity. You will be civil." Simon stared down Jim's defiant stance. It's Cascade.... "Just turn them over to the Feds for deportation."
Jim was going mad. An early mid-life crisis. He'd tried pretending it was just his senses going screwy. It explained the mini-zones well enough. But not why I didn't tell Sandburg about them. Instead, he had started avoiding the triggers. Taking the first shower. Doing his laundry separately again. Something's screwy, all right. How long had he been looking at the kid like that? He sighed. "Too long."
He'd figured it out two weeks ago, that he'd been entertaining forbidden thoughts. Thoughts of wrapping my hands in Blair's hair. And more. Much more. Jim shook the tantilizing images from his mind. They'd sent him out on the prowl. A week later, he knew he was lost. Oh, he still had an eye for the female form. But that's all it was, just looking. Pretty scenery. Not terrain.
He'd almost decided to put Blair out of the loft. It was too hard to not look at him, listen to him, not to smell.... He thought he should take back his spare room. Except he couldn't. He'd seen what the kid could afford. Dives that all made the warehouse he'd shared with the ape look upscale and secure. The loft was now his home, and Jim couldn't, wouldn't just kick him out. I'm the one with the problem.
Jim was so consumed with his self-castigation that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps, or the key grating against the lock. The door had been closed and shoes toed out of before Ellison identified the heartbeat below.
"You should have come, man. Not many art exhibits where you can touch the work. Did you eat already?" Blair dropped his keys into the basket, and set to putting his things in their places.
"I did, but could again." Jim forced himself to go downstairs. Either the kid wanted dinner company, or needed permission to cook. You take too good care of me, Chief. If the kid only knew. Blair would be so out his life. Jim picked up the previous topic. "That impressive?"
"I can't begin to tell you." Blair dug through the crisper, passing things back to Jim. "I would've liked to have gotten your reactions. How was the game?" He brought out several bottles and other items, closing the fridge.
"They lost." He hadn't even wanted to watch the game, that's how much the season had stunk. But he needed a reason why he couldn't go to the gallery. Other than the real one. Blair in his element was just too.... Even thinking about it made his hands itch. And he would be expecting to put Jim's senses through their paces. Ellison tamped down the excitement brought on by the thought of Blair that close. He hadn't even been able to get assigned to a stake-out. "Guess I made the wrong call?"
"Yeah." The flippant agreement was ripe with disappointment. Why was Jim avoiding him all the time? You've overstayed your welcome. Blair pushed the thought back, and concentrated on making dinner.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" For the umpteenth time that day, Blair hurried after Jim, this time from the truck to the loft. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because if you are, you're doing a great job!" He slammed the door behind him as he finally entered their home. Though he brought his voice down further still, it was patent he was yelling. "I'm your guide, but I'm not much good if you keep ditching me to go off solo." The shorter man stared at the larger, still in a fine lather even though he had expended his words.
"I think I've fallen in love with you." The statement hung there, haunting him. Ellison hadn't meant to say them. Not in anger; not ever. Unable to watch the kid pack up and leave, he fled upstairs.
Blair dropped onto the couch. His mind wasn't working. In love with you. He'd wanted someone to say those words, to believe someday he'd hear them. In his short life, people only told him they loved him to get what they wanted. As a verb, love was just another four-letter word. Overused into meaninglessness.
He remembered something about breathing. That's better. Slowly, the idea that eyes were for seeing unfurled. Jim? Wasn't he just here? He stood to go looking and then stopped. He thinks he's fallen in love with me. He plopped back onto the couch. The words ran through his mind as if on a tape loop. Qualifier, and a prepositional phrase. "Jim?" He didn't get a response. "Uh, Jim, could you come down here?"
"Chief?" Ellison pulled himself off the bed. The least he could do was take his lumps like a man. Jim snorted at that thought before he plodded downstairs.
"So..." Man, you look horrible. Blair scrambled to figure out what to say. Clearly this was one time he couldn't use glib words. "Um. This has got you confused? After all, coming out to yourself this late in life would be unsettling. Right?"
Confused? "Yeah, I'm confused all right." Jim started chuckling, a harsh, grating sound. That was why he wanted his best friend. Because I'm confused. His very male best friend. Very. He slammed a gate on those thoughts. What he knew led him to enticing questions he was not going to entertain. Especially not in the same room as the kid.
"Jim?" Blair couldn't tell if it was a zone or just Jim mustering past an emotion. "You could have just told me." Smooth. Tell him he is overreacting. Like being suicidally stupid isn't a poor coping strategy? Blair tried to stay still and present the correct supporting attitude. This was just too out of left-field, and when he needed to think he moved.
"No, I couldn't."
"Okay. You couldn't. But you have, now." Blair gave Jim a smile. "So, are you going to start listening to me for a change? And stop trying to get away from me like I have cooties?" He leaned forward. "Getting yourself killed is not a winning tactic." He was encouraged by the small smile that elicited. "What's your next step?"
"Humh?" The cop was still in shock that his roommate hadn't blown up. Slowly the tension seeped away, his stance relaxing. "Next step?"
"Now that you've told me."
"Next step?"
"After the big revelation, there is usually a follow-up."
"Want a beer?" Not waiting for an answer, Ellison headed for a fridge.
Not especially original. Blair looked over at the older man. "That isn't your follow-up."
"No, it's a beer." Jim still held out opened the bottle, his own still capped.
"But you said...."
"Doesn't matter." Jim tried to hand his partner the beer so he could open his own. From thinking his world was going to self-destruct, to this exceptionally calm reception, was a complete shift.
"What do you mean, it doesn't matter!?" Blair stood so still Jim could have followed the pulse in his tense arms. "If you meant it, how could it not?" Was that steely voice Blair's?
"I was afraid you'd leave." That you'd hate me. "You said we were still friends." Please don't take that away.
"And that makes everything fine for you?" Blair started pacing, turning for emphasis. "Is this a Detective Ellison House Rule? Nothing matters if the status quo is maintained?" He sat down. "I'm just not worth the trouble to you."
What was he saying? "What are you saying?"
"If I was important, you'd try to woo me."
"Damn it, Sandburg, this isn't some game about keeping points. I'm doing my best not to be a voyeur, and you want to string me along?"
"I am a grown man. You are the one who thought you were in love with me. Talk to me when you make sense." With that, the teaching fellow stalked out.
Okay, so yes, it did hurt his pride. Blair was annoyed that Jim thought he wasn't good enough to be in love with. It wasn't real mature, given he didn't feel that way about Ellison, but it was the truth. That was how he spent, well, probably the first hour, anyway. He was too pissed to really notice the time. At some point he realized the detective did not want to be in love with a guy. In that way, Jim's reaction wasn't personal. His friend would rather not be in love at all.
The notion moved him to pity. He knew Jim had a tough time letting people close. The feeling shaded into anger shortly thereafter; he was furious someone he looked up to could be so dismissive of what he wanted. I want someone to love.
When he eventually settled down, after about a half -dozen other reactions, he wasn't so sure he didn't think of Jim that way.
Contrary to what more people than he cared to think about thought, he was a "Kinsey 0." Blair had only ever been with women, even in fantasy. To be completely unscientific, he was nearly straighter than most; if you really thought it was one in ten, you had 40% unaccounted for. As an anthropologist, he knew prior behavior was never a guarantee of future occurrences. If it was, I'd have gone to Borneo, instead.
Blair locked the door as Jim headed to the kitchen. "Jim, you can't keep zoning out like that." I should have put a stop to this. He noticed Jim was easily lost in his senses lately. I did say something. Not that Jim listened. And I didn't tell Simon. Blair had let Jim's privacy override everthing. No longer. "Do you have a better idea?"
"Blair...." You really donŐt know what you are asking. How could he?
"No. If someone had gotten killed, it would have been my fault. I can't guide you like this, not when I'm a distraction. It's simply a matter of desensitizing you to a stimulus." Blair sidled closer to the larger man.
"Chief, listen to yourself. I am not doing this. This is nearly as wrong...." He turned back to look at Blair. "How can you treat yourself as a thing? And expect me to?"
"You are the one with the allergy." Since the first fight, Jim hadn't said another thing about love. Blair tried to get Jim to work on what was becoming a phobia. Which he's adamantly refused. Blair was sick of living with the older man's denial. He's trying to make short work of that. Zoning around perps. "This isn't some free-for-all. We keep to the schedule, and the boundaries. Turning off your senses hasn't been working. It just makes them rebel in the field, which I will remind you is not a controlled situation."
Jim wanted to stop talking about it. This close, he could feel the heat dissipating into the room through Blair's t-shirt. One hand at a time. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on a bare upper arm. No touching below the ribcage. Rules of deportment. The loft at once seemed to contract and slip away, as Jim was filled with the smell, the heat, and the sound of Blair. "Are you going to talk?"
"You really hate this idea," Sandburg observed, as Jim opened his senses. "Is your tactile response up in that hand?" The idea that Jim might turn his touch to zero... that he felt the need to ignore Blair so completely tore at the anthropologist from within.
"You're the guide. You tell me." Ellison knew it was the one sense Blair couldn't judge how he was using. "Tell me why I shouldn't hate this idea." He ratcheted his touch back down. Even so, he could grade the softness of the arm hair under his fingers.
"Why are you so quick to lump things into right and wrong? You said this was nearly as wrong... as what? Is that how you think of your feelings? As wrong?"
"You disagree?"
"Why are they wrong?" Blair waited for a reply. "What is wrong?"
"This conversation." You asked him to talk. "You're a man, you're too young; you're my friend, my guide, and my partner. I think that sums it up."
"And?" Blair didn't get his answer as Jim got off the couch and briskly climbed the stairs.
Jim sat on the bed, clutching the edge. He willed himself down from the panic. Too close. He had been trying to focus on the words and ignore the twin rhythms of hearing and feeling the younger man's pulse. Staring at those lips. Fascinated by a bit of moisture, he had been ready to taste it.
It was the final taboo. His association with the kid gave his mind too much to work with. Phantom explorations ate at his control. He let go of the bed and folded his arms across his lap. Frustrated, he lifted his palms to rub his face. They've got his scent. He forced his hands away and started wiping them off. Losing his resolve, Ellison curled up, nuzzling his pillow and suckling his fingers.
Blair gave up hoping that Jim would ever come back downstairs. He knew he had to give his friend a wide berth. Why do you need to fight this so much? What he was going to do when Jim stopped fighting? He couldn't even think about it.
He looked up at the sound from the stairs. "What happened?"
"I was going to zone-out." Jim looked away as the longing welled up again.
"It's a start. Noticing it. But I think running might be a little extreme. So, which sense was it?" Blair looked over his glasses.
"It would have been five." Jim shivered at the thought, and the admission.
"Uh, Jim, you were only using four." Sight, touch, hearing and smell.
"Figure it out, Darwin." Jim reigned in his senses, focused on the tempting jaw. There would be salt....
"Jim, a zone-out happens because you're focusing on one sense to the exclusion of the others. That's why splitting your focus works. Well, used to work. You can't zone on all of your senses at once."
"I would have. Blair, I want you to call Simon, see if you can stay with him for awhile."
"Right. He takes in stray Guides, now."
"Do it. Please, just do this." It's too much. I want to feel you, taste you. Hearing and smelling Blair was a constant strain on his ever more tenuous control.
Blair was about say something witty, until he saw how scared his friend was. "Okay, I'll call Simon. But not to stay there. I'm going over to the university." He walked to the phone, and dialed. "Hey, Simon. This is Blair."
"What's going on with Jim? Is he okay?"
"Actually, I need to do some stuff over on campus and...."
"You don't think he should be left alone?" Simon paused. "You're going to figure this out. Right, I'll be over in about fifteen."
"Thanks, Simon." Blair switched off the phone. Turning back to Jim, he said, "Explain things however you want to. All I'm going to say is I didn't want you left alone in the loft." And you can't deal with me staying. With that, he went to his room to gather some clothes and his sleeping bag to put in the car before Simon arrived.
Sandburg couldn't figure out if Jim's problem was physiological or psychological. Who am I fooling? I don't believe in duality, and with only a minor in Psych, I don't have to act like I do. What he knew was Jim thought he was in love with Blair, considered that wrong, and tried tuning out his guide's effect on his heightened senses. Those senses rebelled, however, to the extent that he'd suffer a zone-out. Apparently, Ellison could now zone on more than one sense at a time. How the hell do I interpret that?
He came up with the allergy model in an attempt to deal with the symptoms. A lie by any other name, as long as it works. It wasn't perfect, but he was sick of being Pavlov's bell. Blair needed to distance himself. And he really did not want to open the question of whether Jim was in love with him, or if it was just another layer of denial. He really wanted to believe he could have friends. Not just people who wanted something.
Blair looked at the sleeping bag tucked between the file cabinet and some print portfolios. A storage closet, while an okay office, is a crummy place to live. He'd already spent three nights and was close to looking for an apartment. He was kidding himself that he'd return to the loft soon. Jim wouldn't even talk to him on the phone. Only listen to the machine. Presuming that the detective did listen to the messages. Blair had no way of telling.
There was a loud knock on the door. "Sandburg, open up."
As the door opened, Simon glanced around the office. He swore it looked worse than his son's room. "If you haven't found an answer, get your butt back to the loft."
"Sir?" Blair hung onto the edge of the door.
Didn't think anyone could look worse than Ellison. "Maybe you can get him to sleep. Meditate. Whatever."
Blair just stared back.
"I thought the insomnia was part of the zone-outs." For the life of him, Simon couldn't figure out why Blair wasn't doing whatever it was, back at the loft.
"Great. Just great." Fine, Jim. Run yourself ragged. You are so in control, man. "Let me get my stuff."
When Blair got back to the loft, Jim wasn't in much shape to argue as he was told to eat and go to sleep. For a few days, Sandburg left it at that. Neither was up to him bullying the sentinel.
"Look, I'm going to say this once. You've got to deal with this, figure out what you're feeling, and admit it." Jim shifted on the couch, making ready to speak. "No, you let me finish. Your senses aren't the problem. It's the meaning you give to them, which frankly is creeping me out. Object-action. I can't deal with a Lacanian lens right now."
"In English, Chief."
"I'm sick of the backwash from your shame. That your subconscious has to cause these zone-outs, makes me feel dirty. And that is so counter to my belief systems."
"Oh G_d, Blair! This is...." Ellison looked at his outstretched hand, and pulled it back. "This is my problem."
Blair grabbed the retracted appendage. "You think touching me is wrong. Not friendly, or comforting, but wrong." He kept hold of the hand between his own. "How is that just your problem? You say you're in love with me, but you don't want to be. How am I supposed to not think that has anything to do with me?"
"I'm a man."
Blair looked Jim over. "Trust me, I think that's obvious."
"So are you."
"I might have forgotten." What with you treating me like a child.
"Chief, could you please take this seriously?" He pulled back his hand and started rubbing his scalp. "I shouldn't be having these feelings for you. It's not about you, or the feelings. It's about me."
"They're your feelings for me. They don't exist without both the subject and the object. Jim, stop worrying about whether they're right or wrong long enough to figure out what they are. Do that, and then talk to me." Blair slapped Jim's cheek as he got off the couch. "Got that?"
"Darwin...." Jim looked around the loft, a card in his hand.
"You bellowed?" Blair passed into the living room, fully clothed but toweling his hair.
"What is this?" Jim stuck out a notecard, obviously typed out on a manual. Presumably either the Remington down in Evidence lock-up, or the Royal portable the anthro department shuffled from one closet to another.
"Your reminder card."
"My what?" Jim noticed the smell of Blair's shampoo. It was an entrancing blend, as each note wrapped around his thoughts.
"We still need to get you to stop zoning. Eventually Simon is going to want you back, protecting and serving, war against crime.... Unless you've got a new guide, I can't be a distraction."
Jim pulled himself back. "We tried this already." Can't you understand how dangerous this is? Jim found himself slipping into too many liberties as it was. If you were honest, he'd leave.
"Once. I understand you don't like it, but you've felt that way about a lot of my ideas. Doesn't keep them from working." Blair sat on the couch and looked up at Jim. He smiled when the cop finally sat down near him.
"Don't you find this weird?" Ellison slowly opened three of his senses, first hearing, then sight, and finally smell.
"Compared to what? How do you feel?"
"Like a basket case." Jim calmed, wrapped in the sound of Blair's breath and heartbeat, the smell of soap and clean skin. The warmth drifted over him.
"Actually, that was a cue. Another sense."
"Blair. Touch is just...." Too much of a temptation. Jim clamped shut the hand that longed to feel the damp curls. No salt. Warm. Wet, he'd only held Blair in life-threating situations. "No touch." Jim's eyes grazed over the younger man lightly, tracing what his hand was denied.
"Just what might happen in the precinct." We used to touch all the time. Rather, Jim used to touch all the time, and eventually it became a reciprocal thing. "If you zoned in Simon's office handing me coffee..."
Jim scooped up one of Blair's hands.
"Charming." He regarded how Jim held it, like a dead fish.
So warm. Jim rubbed a big thumb over the back of Blair's hand, feeling the folded skin of finger joints, the tickle of fine hair. Moving fingers he felt the calluses, the writing one alongside the middle finger, on the palm from opening artifact crates, across knuckles from defending himself in the messed-up world Jim dragged him into.
Blair closed his eyes. He's just holding you hand. Jim rubbed his palm with a callused thumb. Blair opened his eyes. He couldn't let the big man zone on his hand.
Jim pulled back, gathering some control and pushed forward. Brushing past the wrist and stroking Blair's arm. How many times had he tugged it to get the smaller man to safety? He squeezed along the bicep he had so often gripped in sympathy and concern.
He's got it under control. Blair settled back, relieved his friend wasn't halting. It was strange, having Jim touch him this way. The reluctant hand travelled across him, tracing across his torso. He watched as the sentinel let his sight, his smell, hearing and touch take in his guide.
Blair didn't precisely notice when one reluctant hand became two roaming hands. Jim had run a large hand up his neck, rubbing away the found tension. After he craddled my head, massaging my scalp. I think. This was becoming more difficult all the time, as Jim used all five senses. He's tasting me.
Jim rucked the younger man's shirt up, looking at the furred flesh. Unfastening as few buttons as possible, he skinned it off. He scented the heaving chest, before heading upwards.
Blair leaned back as a warm tongue attended his neck. He thanked the Ashanti gods that Jim hadn't zoned. I would've had to kill him if he zoned. Then it was his own senses that filled his concern, though it was hard to process which were which.
Jim worked his way back up Blair's bare torso after chewing on his belly. Blair felt the hands fumbling for his belt. Catching the wrists in a vise-like grip, he mangled out, "Not on the couch." The hands surrendered their goal, and once released played upward. The sentinel made no attempt to move elsewhere, continuing his meticulous study of the smaller man's chest. Only the certainty his bed was too small motivated Blair enough to attempt pushing them upstairs.
No longer restrained by the cramped quarters of the couch, things turned more vigorous. Sliding and rolling added to the clutching and gnawing. It was with some difficulty that Blair, Jim's hands completely occupied, peeled the remaining clothes off and tossed them out of the way. It was a hungry slamming of bodies that sent them soaring over the edge.
Once cognition, however clouded, returned, Blair looked down at the head firmly planted on his chest. He smiled. About to skim fingers over the large shoulders before sleep, he heard something that slapped him awake cold. Silent sobs punctuated tears soaking his chest hair. Exactly who he was trying to comfort by rubbing Jim's back was uncertain.
Morning. Slowly, the pieces of Jim's mind slipped back into place. Blair. All his senses sang it, before his eyes picked out the sprawled form at the far edge of the bed. He started to sidle over when his brain translated the younger man's body language. His hand stroked the sheet instead, feeling the heat spreading towards him.
"Can't touch me?" The words were bitter with irony. "Now you can't touch me." Sad and firm.
"Blair." Jim lay a large hand between the other man's shoulder blades. "Blair." He brushed the tangled curls back off his guide's cheek, smoothing them to see a sliver of the turned-away face. "Talk to me."
He felt the headshake through the bed. "Please look at me." He heard the hair rustle. "Coach, you're the one good with the words. I need you so much. It scares me, because I know I have nothing to hold you. That I shouldn't try, that I'll just hurt you. Please tell me I haven't messed up."
He felt Blair uncurl a hairsbreadth. "All I can say is I'm in love with you. It's not nearly enough, you deserve better."
"How long...in love...?"
"It snuck up on me. I really...." Maybe I've always loved you.
"For how long...will you stay...?" Blair's gaze turned back over his shoulder, the words faltering.
How long will I stay? The meaning slid home like a bolt. "Blair." He propped up on an elbow and gently tipped the younger man's face to him. "Always. Always, Blair." Words failing him, he tried to press his thoughts directly into trembling lips.
Blair's shoulder settled on the mattress. "Always?" Me? He reached for the hand lingering on his jaw. "Say it again."
It was a whisper Jim more felt, than heard. "I'll always be in love with you." He kissed Blair again, this time on the forehead. "G_d, I wish I had the right words. You're just so, so Blair. You're overwhelming."
"Overwhelming? Me? You're the one who's larger than life."
"Trust me. Anything I can think of pales in comparison. Except maybe the wind." He stroked the dark curls. "How can I hold the wind?"
"With a sail. Jim, you are good enough." He pulled Jim's face down to where he could plant a kiss. The morning had been too emotional to talk any further, but there were better things to do with mouths.
Jim surrendered to his partner, tasting the warm mouth. Feeling the supple tongue tasting him. He noticed the look in Blair's eyes and immediately stopped kissing. "What's wrong?"
"What time is it? I've got a nine o'clock to cover." Blair tried hurriedly to recollect the topic, and whether he had finished his notes.
Jim looked over at the clock. "Seven-thirty." He started to smile at how quickly Sandburg switched gears. To think Simon and I ever considered him undisciplined.
"Share the shower?" Blair started to get up, wrapping the bottom of the sheet around his waist. "Uh, sorry about the rush."
Jim laughed as he got out of bed, loosely covered with the top half of the sheet. "Let's get cleaned up, Chief."
Blair looked back briefly, trying to collect his thoughts. We're lovers. Gaze drifting over Jim's firm chest, he wished he could get someone else to cover the nine o'clock Hell, while I'm dreaming, the rest of my day's schedule. Things needed to be said, things that couldn't be discussed over a hurried breakfast. With that thought, he dropped his hold on the sheet.
Beautiful. Jim turned on the taps, vaguely checking the temperature as he looked at Blair. When the water was ready, he stepped in, pulling the teaching fellow in after him. The water loves you. Jim watched the rivulets trace the the planes and curves of his partner's back. Catching his hand lingering on a shoulder, he broke from his reverie. "Guess you better hurry."
"Yeah." Blair grabbed the soap and lathered up quickly, washing away the evidence of the past night. Are you going to regret this, Jim? Neither of them planned on what happened. What happened? We made love. And Jim hadn't wanted to touch him. It had been so good. And he's not touching me now.
Jim washed up while filling his senses with his guide. Lover. How was he going to not harm Blair? Not harm him any further. Heaven knew he'd hurt the younger man badly. Exposing him to horrors it was his duty to protect others from. From here it just gets worse. What could he offer? Blair had made his life worth living, and here Jim was, repaying it by destroying Blair's.
"Um, Jim?" Blair felt the heat in his cheeks rise. Get a grip. They had made love last night. Hopefully, we will again. "Could you...scrub my back?"
Methodically, Jim complied. Assured that Blair was clean and rinsed, he turned off the water. "Think you have time for breakfast?" Jim handed over a towel as he dried himself off.
"I've still got to shave." Sandburg was disappointed as Jim left the bathroom without a word.
"When should I expect you home?" Jim passed over the breakfast sandwich he had quickly put together after getting dressed. He could feel the warm moistness of Blair without touching. Please.
Blair looked at the sandwich. Toasted bagel, hummus and alfalfa sprouts. "Not too late. Maybe about six or seven." He watched as Jim gave him a small smile. "I'll see you then..." He started to turn for the door. He's not having second thoughts. He's not...
"Yes, you will." Jim pulled him back around and touched foreheads before setting Blair free. Hands still feeling released shoulders, Jim watched as Blair walked out of the loft.
finis
Frameless?
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