Author's disclaimer: The word order is mine! mine! Everyone and everything else belong to whoever it is they belong to!

Author's notes: Looking for angst, romance, wit? Searching for deep, philosophical insights, gripping psychological drama, even literary or artistic merit of any type? Then wait no more, and let Delete Keylines take you away to a far, exotic story where you will be pampered with hot sex, sparkling repartee and thoughts so profound that they will change your life forever!

Buried as he always was, beneath the improbable heap of Jim's paperwork that had managed to follow him home, the ever-present term papers for his class, the huge, dusty anthropological tomes for his research paper due in a week every week and the ubiquitous laptop that followed him everywhere, he failed to notice that anything was amiss at first. None of it was actually on him, of course, and it wasn't that big a heap either, but the fact of their existence was in itself overwhelming. Eventually, he came to reluctant awareness of the fact that he was feeling unusually warm and sweaty for what had begun as another chilly Cascade night. He looked up from the exceedingly environmentally unfriendly collection of papers to find himself wearing a Jimskin coat.

Which was wrapped tightly around him and watching television with the volume turned to almost nothing, munching on a Wonderburger.

"When did you get back? I didn't hear you come in," he asked, attempting to twist himself around to try to face Jim as far as he could, which wasn't much, with the man clinging to him like some deranged giant octopus. He settled for craning his neck, turning his head, and peering at the coat-that-looked-like-Jim out of the corner of his eyes.

"A while back. You were preoccupied," responded Jim's strong jaw, that being all Blair could distinguish clearly from his awkward angle. He seemed not to realize that he was wrapped around Blair and eating over his shoulder; his attention focused on the television and his food.

"Jim," Blair called, quietly. "Jim!" he repeated when the sentinel failed to react.

"What is it?" asked Jim, taking another bite of his Wonderburger, eyes glued to the game on the screen.

"What are you doing?"

"Watching TV. Eating a Wonderburger. Is this about the burger?" Jim barely glanced at him, and bit rather vindictively into the hapless burger.

"No, Jim--"

He was cut off with an exasperated snort. "I don't want to discuss my eating habits tonight, Chief, I've had a long day, and stopped at the drive-in on my way home. I don't eat fast food that often anyway," he snorted with an air of the wronged, long-suffering prisoner in his tone.

"Forget the Wonderburger! You're stuck on me." He was getting hot and sweaty, and he wasn't having fun getting there either, which was what he was really objecting to. There was no room to even wriggle.

"I'm not stuck on you," Jim denied with firm conviction, offended, as he finished the last bite, and licked tomato sauce and mayonnaise off his fingers.

"No?" He tried to keep his voice from rising, but he sounded slightly hysterical, even to himself. "You are way stuck on me, man!"

"I doubt that, Sandburg."

"You want to call Simon and get his opinion?"

The certainty in his voice made Jim pause, and really look at him, practically nose to nose due to their proximity. "What the hell?"

"You are so totally stuck on me."

"What's going on here, Chief?" He made no move to disentangle himself from Blair; if anything, Blair could almost feel the muscular arms tightening around him, slightly.

"I've no idea," he admitted, reluctantly. "I was sort of hoping you would tell me."

"Like my motive for holding you, or something?" Jim mulled it over for a while, without slackening his grip in the slightest. Blair sweated and squirmed uncomfortably. "I don't know either," he decided at last. "I didn't even notice I was doing it. Neither did you, right?"

Blair automatically opened his mouth to protest, found nothing to say, and finally shut it, sagging in defeat. "Maybe it's a sentinel thing."

"Everything's a sentinel thing with you," groused Jim darkly into his hair. He could smell the Wonderburger on Jim's breath filtering down to his nose though his sweaty hair. He wanted a shower.

"I can't help that everything about you is so weird," he muttered, petulant, having given up hope of getting free anytime tonight. The reaction to that was a little unexpected.

Jim jerked away from him as if scalded, spilling him onto the floor, but luckily not his laptop as well. That remained safely ensconced on the couch beside Jim. "Are you calling me a freak?" demanded the equally hot and sweaty sentinel, pale blue eyes as cold as the glaciers they resembled.

From his prone position on the ground, staring up at Jim, he had a fairly good view of the stoic expression he knew far too well. "No, I've never thought you were a freak," he said wearily, a few seconds later, and decided not to pick himself up. There probably wasn't any serious injury done, and the floor was pretty cool, if hard. Jim looked unconvinced, but also guilty about dumping him so abruptly. As he should.

"Give me a break, man," he said tiredly. "There's hardly any real information on sentinels, that's why they've just been an anthropological curiosity all this time." He closed his eyes. "You know I've been going mostly on instinct."

"You have good instincts," offered Jim tentatively by way of apology. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You want to get back up here?"

He opened one eye cautiously. "Are you going to dump me again? 'Cos I didn't think we were in the usual sort of relationship where that sort of thing happens."

"I'm not going to dump you," Jim assured him quickly. "Come on up." He accepted the hand Jim stretched out to him, and let himself be pulled up. Against Jim's body again, to his surprise, and Jim's as well, once he realised what Blair was staring at. "Uh..."

"We need to figure out what's going on here," Blair said firmly. "And stop it," he added, after a moment's consideration.

Jim blinked, thrown off balance. "I thought that when it came to the sentinel thing, you believe in letting nature take its course, doing what comes naturally, that sort of thing? The better to learn what it's about?"

"Yes, but have you thought about what we're doing here? I mean, you really want me to play mama koala to you in the bullpen? Megan would love that." He ignored the fact that he was snuggling up to Jim himself, sweaty or not. The time he'd spent on the cold, hard floor had cooled him off considerably.

Jim looked away. "I suppose not," he agreed with clear reluctance. Not relinquishing his hold on Blair. If it was at all possible, they might be clinging even closer together now than they had been before he dumped Blair. It was oddly comfortable, in a this-is-the-way-things-should-have-always-been sort of way. Even if the-way-things-should-have-always-been was hot and sticky. There were situations where that sort of feeling was considered nice, after all. Not this one, but it didn't do to be too picky, as countless parents have advised through the ages. Though they were usually referring to other things when they did so.

Blair started to speak, croaked, then cleared his throat before he tried again. "So, if this is a sentinel thing, what kind of sentinel thing is it? What are you feeling now, Jim?"

The sentinel stared resolutely into space. He wondered if he was zoning, and his heart-rate increased as he fought momentary panic, involuntarily envisaging wild images of being trapped and starving to death in the bigger man's death-grip, or worse yet for the higher probability of its happening, being unable to visit the bathroom before he broke free of the zone. But Jim's face coloured, turning to a bright shade of plum he'd never seen on him before, so he wasn't zoning. Just thinking.

"Jim?" he asked, uncertain if he wanted to know what was making Jim blush so hard.

"Don't look now, but I've got this sudden urge to get into your pants," he said, and of course Blair had to look. And he blushed. And was infected with a similar urge.

"This is really strange," he managed to say after a while. "Have you ever had this kind of feelings before?"

"No." There was such absolute certainty in his voice that Blair was hit with an epiphany that doused whatever semblance of warm feeling in him as effectively as any cold shower, remembering. And he did not like this knowledge, but it was the truth, and it had to be said. Hard and cruel as it was. Unfair.

"Yes, you have, but not for me." he contradicted as he pulled away, his heart contracting painfully. "Laura. And..." This one he was reluctant to name. "Alex."

The look Jim shot him was something between betrayal and guilt, he couldn't tell which was stronger.

"Isn't it?" he persisted, as calmly and reasonably as he could manage, rubbing Jim's arm soothingly. "Think back. I'm sorry."

"No," Jim denied again. "Those were different. They're not like you."

"Uncontrolled and inexplicable attraction that hits you out of the blue? We need to figure out what's triggering this response of yours." He couldn't meet Jim's eyes any more; it felt too much like he was kicking a wounded puppy.

Jim's expression became shuttered again, as he pulled his arm away from Blair. "It's not the same thing," he insisted. "You're a guy. It was different for all of you."

"How are they different, then?" he asked, unwilling to class himself with Jim's femme fatales, but not wanting to let slip his opportunity to hear his usually intensely private friend comment on those two incidents. He doubted privately that there were differences beyond the obvious one that they were different people, if the biggest difference Jim could raise was his gender.

"Laura was just...just...hot."

"And Alex?"

"Different."

"Different how?"

Jim glared at him, turned sort of pinkish, then glared at the television, as if it was somehow at fault. Which might have been the truth, considering how many strange programs they'd watched on it. "I was thinking...I w-wanted her to-to havemychildren," he finished off in a mumble. "When I was thinking at all," he appended as an afterthought.

"And this? What about me?" he asked quietly. "What kind of biological imperative is driving you now?" They moved together again; this time they were both aware of the closeness, but did not acknowledge it.

"Well...it's more like...um...Damn it, Freud, must you analyse everything to death first?" He tensed for an instant, certain that he was about to be dumped precipitously onto the floor again, but Jim grabbed him and yanked him onto his lap instead, where he felt his own suppressed urgency echoed in Jim's body. He froze. "Why can't we just go ahead with it?" asked Jim in soft, reasonable tones that belied the wildness in his eyes. "Do you have a problem with my being a guy? You haven't been with a man since we met; what about before?"

"No, not before. I think," he murmured, enraptured, staring into Jim's eyes. Of their own accord, his hands came up and lightly touched Jim's face, ran over Jim's short, fine hair. He started to lean forward, then he stopped himself with a shuddering effort of will. "No, it's not the guy thing. Or at least not all of it. But I want to know where this is coming from. Talk to me, Jim." His lips quirked slightly. "It's not so hard."

They sat in breathless silence for several heartbeats, feeling the closeness, the heat of each other, focused on controlling themselves. "Talk, he says," growled Jim at last. He shifted in his seat slightly, and Blair scrambled backwards on the couch hastily, breaking physical contact. "We're on the brink of coming in our pants from sitting together, we aren't freaking out about it, and he wants to talk. Not so hard, he says. So how hard is hard for you?" He reached for Blair again, his intent clear in his look. The younger man struck his hands away immediately, eyes flashing in fury.

"Don't blow me off with this kind of crap, Jim," he grated out in clipped, precise tones. "Talk."

Leaning forward, Jim rested his hands on Blair's hips; he could feel the sentinel tracking his body's reactions even through the denim, almost feel his own pupils dilating in response to the intensity of the pale eyes watching him. "How about I blow you off instead?" He forgot what he had wanted to hear from Jim for a moment; all he could see was the image the words conjured, and he trembled.

Sensing impending victory, Jim leaned even closer, eyes dark with passion. "I'm not experienced," he murmured into his ear, "but I do have these senses..."

"No way," Blair managed to pant, unconvincingly. "These senses of yours...you'd probably puke on me half-way through or something, then where would we be?"

"In the bathroom?" suggested Jim hopefully.

"God, Jim. I can't handle this," he exhaled, closing his eyes. A gentle hand tucked an errant curl behind his ear, then tilted his face up slightly, and patiently held it until he opened his eyes again to return Jim's steady, sober gaze.

"Then don't," said Jim seriously, quietly. "Let me handle it."

Staring into Jim's earnest eyes, he smiled and leaned over, kissed his temple lightly. Slowly, he placed his hands on the other man's jeans, unfastened the button, lowered the zipper, both of them watching the flesh straining against fabric in fascination. He allowed his fingers to slide along the opening, as Jim closed his eyes and shuddered. Reaching to one side, he found his long-forgotten mug of tea on the coffee table, long since cooled. Maybe even cold. And upturned it over Jim's crotch.

"WhAT?!" The startled man leapt up, frantically brushing off as much tea as possible before it soaked through completely. "WHAT the HELL are you DOING?" he demanded furiously, as he grabbed a convenient rag to sop up the mess.

Blair remained seated on the couch, glaring back at him defiantly. "You're not handling it," he accused. "You're avoiding it. You always do."

"What is there to handle? Does everything have to go into the damned dissertation?" Tossing the wet cloth into the sink, Jim stalked upstairs for fresh clothes, or began to, before storming back down to loom over him threateningly, probably having realized it looked like a retreat. "I thought your diss was on Sentinels, and not my sex life?"

"It's not about the diss, damn it!" he nearly screamed in frustration. "I don't want to have to get out of the way for the next criminal bitch who wanders into Cascade, you idiot!" Then he snapped his mouth shut, and hoped devoutly that Jim was paying his words as much attention as usual. It was a futile hope, though as Jim began his immediate response, he nearly sighed in relief, until the alert, if somewhat quick-tempered sentinel did a double take mid-sentence.

"I don't go for every--what was that?" Jim blinked, and sat down, hard, the wind taken out of his sails. "You don't want to get out of the way?" He could feel his ears begin to heat, but it was a little too late for obfuscation, if he could manage that, and not a lie. He didn't want to lie. Not to Jim. Not tonight.

"So, what is this about?" he asked quietly. He watched the muscle jumping furiously in Jim's tightly clenched jaw, half-expecting him to break a tooth or two to escape the discussion. "How is it different? Not a pheromone thing, not a reproductive instinct, what were you thinking?"

"I wanted...I thought I wanted to..." Jim seemed about to snap at him again, then controlled himself with a visible effort, reddening, and finished in an unintelligible rush, "wantedtohaveyourchildren." The jaw resumed its natural position, while the muscle continued its workout at a faster rate.

He sifted through the mumbled words for their meaning, then had to force himself to close his mouth again. "Have my...what aren't you telling me, Jim?"

"It's not like that," growled the giant beet sitting across the couch irritably, looking like all he wanted from life was to get back to watching television with the volume turned to almost nothing. He felt a wave for sympathy for the guy, wishing himself that they could go back to the way they were just before he noticed Jim's attachment to him.

Jim cleared his throat as the silence stretched. "I don't want to get out of the way either."

"Oh."

"So..." The Sentinel fixed him with a heavy-lidded, predatory look, and he found himself enraptured, unable to tear his eyes away. "I need a shower," Jim declared, rising to his feet like a modern Grecian statue come to life, aside from his soaked, unzipped jeans.

Letting his breath out in a sharp exhalation, Blair couldn't control the silly grin that plastered itself over his face. "That's so romantic, big guy," he gushed, giggling for all he was worth.

"Romance drowned in your disgusting herbal tea, Chief," snorted Jim as he headed for the bathroom, not bothering with a fresh set of clothes. "Speaking of which, why weren't you drinking coffee?"

He hesitated, weighing his answer before replying. "None of this stuff is really urgent anyway. I was waiting up for you."

The smile he received in return was dazzling. "Go wait up then. That is, if you want to, " added Jim quickly, eyeing him uncertainly.

"Yes!" He hastily shoved his papers into a reasonably tidy heap, started for the stairs, then stopped short abruptly. "So...you're stuck on me?" he asked carefully.

"Like glue," came the warm assurance.

"Love ya," he said, and bounded upstairs.