Work Text:
Don We Now Our Gay Apparel
by PsychGirl
Author's website: http://snycock.livejournal.com
Written for lupus_grise for TS Secret Santa 2007 on LJ. She asked for banter, strong sense of the friendship, and seduction, with no serious angst.
Jim sighed as he closed the door to the loft behind him, the tensions of the day starting to seep away now that he was home. He tossed his keys into the basket and hung up his jacket, pulling his cell phone out and placing it on the kitchen counter. Easing out of his shoulder holster, he hung it up over his coat, then headed into the kitchen to get a beer.
The bathroom door opened and a fragrant cloud of steam wafted out, followed shortly by Blair, wrapped in a plaid robe and toweling his hair ferociously. "Hey, man," he greeted Jim, "how'd the interrogation go?"
Jim shook his head as he uncapped the beer. "No luck, Chief. Wouldn't say a thing. I think he's still holding out for some kind of plea bargain." He took a long drink, savoring the yeasty bite against his tongue.
"Well, with that fiber you found matching the victim's shirt, you guys should have enough evidence against him to put him away."
"Let's hope so," Jim said. "It's always better when you get a confession, though." He looked Blair up and down critically. "Say, you got a hot date tonight or something, Junior?"
Blair grinned. "Yeah, I'm meeting Penny Randall at seven."
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Wow, third date. Must be pretty serious." Unable to resist teasing Blair, he schooled his features into a serious expression. "Want me to run a background check on her?"
"Jim!" Huffing with mock outrage, Blair turned and headed into his bedroom. "Besides, you're the one who usually dates criminals."
"Chief, I got one word for you. Iris."
"Asshole."
Jim chuckled and sat at the kitchen table, sorting through the mail that Blair had dumped there. "Hey, we got a postcard from Steven," he called out to Blair.
"I saw that," Blair replied. "Is he having a good time?"
"Yeah," Jim said, scanning the card. "Sunny and in the eighties every day."
"I take it back," Blair said, his voice muffled as he dressed, "he's the asshole. You're just a prick."
"Hey, you can't blame him for taking the offer of two weeks of training in the Bahamas, even if it was over Christmas." But the postcard had reminded him of something. "Oh, by the way, my dad called. He wants us to come over for dinner, maybe some time next week."
Blair emerged from his room, wearing jeans and a dark blue shirt, fastening a bead necklace around his neck. "What's the occasion?"
Jim shrugged. "I don't know, nothing special, I think. I bet he just wants to try to do something to celebrate the holidays, especially since Steven's out of town and I'm gonna be working." He looked up at the calendar on Blair's door. "How about next Thursday?"
"Should be okay," Blair said, looking thoughtful. "I leave the next morning for Portland to see Naomi, but as long as we don't stay too late."
"No problem. And it'll give me a good excuse to cut things short if the old man gets to be too much."
"Jim." Blair's tone was faintly remonstrative. "It's a nice gesture."
"I know it is, Chief. And I'm trying." But old habits die hard, he wanted to say, on both sides.
Blair put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it gently. "I know you are, buddy."
Jim glanced at his watch. "Hey, Casanova, you'd better get a move on. It's almost quarter of seven."
"Oh, crap...." Blair bustled around the loft, gathering up his coat and wallet and keys, and then paused at the door. "There's some leftover lasagna in the fridge, if you want it... oh, and Jim?"
He looked up and saw the grin on Blair's face. "Don't wait up, man..."
"Have a nice time," Jim said, shaking his head and chuckling as the door closed. The kid was a menace when it came to dating. He should come with a warning label.
"Mr. Ellison, thank you, that was a terrific dinner," Blair said, crossing his knife and fork on his plate.
"Please, Blair, call me Bill," his dad replied. "And I can't take credit for the meal, that goes to Sally."
"Well, then, Sally, thank you very much. That turkey was delicious."
Sally blushed and started gathering plates. "Thank you, Mr. Sandburg,"
"Hey, now, what did I tell you? It's Blair, not Mr. Sandburg," Blair replied, as he rose and collected his and Jim's plates. "And let me help you with these."
Jim watched with a fond eye as his partner followed Sally into the kitchen, charming her the whole way. He smiled to himself and turned to his dad. "I want to thank you, too, Dad," he said quietly. "This was a really good idea. I'm glad you suggested it."
"You're welcome, Jimmy," his dad said, fidgeting with his napkin. "I wanted to do something special for the holidays, and...." He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "...there was something I wanted to say to you and Blair."
Blair had come back into the room and gathered up another stack of dishes, but, upon hearing his name, sat back down next to Jim. "What is it, Dad?" Jim asked, concerned. "Is something wrong?"
"Oh, no, no, no," his dad replied. "It's just that... well, I just wanted to tell you - both of you - that I support you and I'm behind you one hundred percent."
Jim glanced over at Blair and saw the same confusion that he was feeling mirrored in Blair's eyes.
"I know that it can't be easy to choo--I mean, live, that kind of lifestyle--er, I mean life. Especially for you, Jimmy, being in law enforcement. I mean, no offense, but the police aren't always seen as having the most liberal attitudes."
"Uh... Dad," Jim began, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"It's different for you, Blair, being in an academic environment... people there are so much more tolerant of that sort of thing. Even back when I was in college it was that way...."
"Bill, wait a minute--" Blair tried to cut in, but his dad didn't seem to notice, just kept on talking.
"...but never mind, that's not important. What is important is that I want you to know how happy I am that you found each other. Lord knows there's little enough love and understanding in the world; when you find someone you can share that with you should grab them with both hands and hang on, regardless of what gender they are...."
"Dad," Jim tried again.
"...but I didn't mean to get on a soapbox. Jimmy, I just want you to know that I'm proud of you, so proud of you, son, no matter what, and if you or Blair ever need anything, I want you to know that I'm happy to do what I can to help, because I want Blair to feel like he's a part of this family--"
"Dad!" He said it a little louder that time, and gripped his father's arm gently, which seemed to stop the flow of words. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not gay. We're not gay," he said, motioning between him and Blair.
William's face fell, and his mouth hung open. "You're... you're not?"
Jim was hard-pressed to keep his mouth from twitching upwards in a smile. "No. Sorry to disappoint you."
"But... but... you two live together! You've lived together for over four years, now."
"Look, Dad, I know what it looks like, but--"
"You work together, you go shopping together, you go on vacation together...."
Jim looked over helplessly at Blair, whose lips were pressed together tightly and who shook his head slowly, eyes dancing merrily. Clearly he wasn't going to be any help.
Sighing, Jim turned back to face his father. "We know, Dad, we've heard all the rumors, believe me. But that's just what they are - rumors. Blair and I are friends, nothing more."
"But let me say, Bill, that I appreciate the sentiment," Blair broke in, "and I'm really pleased that you're feeling comfortable enough with Jim and with me to broach the subject, you know? That's just very, very cool, and I--"
Jim shot him a look.
"I'm gonna go in the kitchen and help Sally with the pie," Blair said quickly, standing and grabbing the stack of plates he had collected earlier.
"Jimmy, I'm sorry," William said, watching Blair back hastily through the door to the kitchen.
He patted his father on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it."
"You don't care that people think those things?"
"Honestly? No." He looked his father squarely in the eye. "Dad, Blair was there for me when I thought I was going crazy. He helped me to control my senses; he explained what I was, who I was. He's stuck by me through some pretty rough times. He's...." He struggled for a way to express, in terms his father would understand, what Blair meant to him. "He's my brother, in spirit, in my heart."
His father glanced down at the table, but not before Jim had seen the sadness in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Dad, I don't mean to hurt your feelings or Steven's, but...." He shrugged. "That's just the way it is with us. And I don't really care whether people get that or not."
The door to the kitchen swung open, effectively ending their conversation. Sally stood there, an enormous cherry pie in her hands, Blair behind her carrying a tray piled high with plates and cups and silverware. "Okay," Sally said cheerfully, "who wants dessert?"
Jim took the last container from Blair and placed it in the fridge. Sally had given them enough food to feed an army. Once Blair had mentioned that he was driving down to Portland to see his mom for a few days, Sally had been bound and determined that Jim was going to take the bulk of the leftovers home. As if I couldn't cook for myself, he thought irritably. But, in truth, he did appreciate it. And he had to admit that, if left to his own devices while Blair was gone, he'd eat too much take-out. Sally's cooking would be a welcome treat, mostly because he wasn't going to have to prepare it himself after a long day at work.
He stood, closing the fridge door, and gazed at his partner thoughtfully. Blair had been very quiet through dessert and coffee; very quiet on the drive home; very quiet, in fact, since his dad's attempt at a heart-to-heart. Now he was leaning against the sink, arms crossed across his chest, staring across the loft, his normally mobile features solemn and still.
"Hey," Jim said quietly. Blair looked over at him. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Blair replied quickly, nodding; then he glanced at the clock. "Still got some packing to do, though. I should get to it." He pushed off the counter and headed into his room, pulling the door shut.
Jim mused on that for a while. Something was clearly bothering Blair, and he suspected that it had something to do with what his dad had said, but sometimes Sandburg could be like a clam where personal things were concerned. Jim gave a quiet snort for the irony of that - most people thought he was the taciturn one. When the truth of the matter was that Blair was able to get him to open up about stuff he'd never talked to anyone about. The same didn't always seem to be true in reverse, though, although admittedly sometimes it was because Blair wanted to talk but Jim wasn't listening. He'd promised himself he was going to do better in that area.
Well, you asked him about it, he told himself. If he wants to talk, he knows where you are. He moved over to the couch, flipping on the TV and searching through the channels for something good to watch, listening to the sound of Blair opening drawers and folding clothes.
He was about an hour into an old Bruce Lee movie when Blair emerged, dressed for bed, and headed into the bathroom. Jim could hear water running and the sound of Blair brushing his teeth; after a few minutes the water shut off and Blair came out and sat on the loveseat across from him.
"I'm gonna hit the sack," Blair said, "I want to get an early start tomorrow."
Jim nodded. "What time?"
"I'd like to be on the road by six am." Jim raised an eyebrow and Blair rolled his eyes in response. "I know, I know, I'm not exactly a morning person, but I don't want to get into Portland too late."
"Okay," Jim said, passing on the opportunity to tease his partner, for once. "I'll be up to see you off."
"Thanks, man." Blair sat on the loveseat for a moment, staring at the TV, drumming his fingers lightly against his knee. "I've been thinking," he said, abruptly. "When I get back, maybe I should start looking for a place of my own."
Jim's heart gave a lurch. He muted the sound on the TV and turned to face Blair, giving him a stern glare. "What my dad said, that really bothered you, huh?"
"No. No." Blair was shaking his head firmly. "I just... it's time, that's all. Way past time, in fact. I mean, I told you a week, right? And it's been over four years. I bet you'd really like to get your privacy back. Have a date over without worrying about what your roommate's plans are... enjoy some peace and quiet after work... eat whatever you want without me bugging you about it... stay in the shower for as long as you'd like...."
Actually, none of those things sounded all that good, but he didn't know how to tell Blair that without sounding ridiculous. Meanwhile, Blair had taken his silence for assent and continued talking.
"...I mean, the rumors and stuff people say at the station, it doesn't bother me at all, but I don't want to see you affected by any of that. Even if it's not true, you know how things like that can get around, and I'd hate to see your chances for promotion, or even winning Cop of the Year again, get tanked because some homophobic bigot thinks we're lovers."
I don't give a damn about any of that, he wanted to say, but his throat had gone dry and he couldn't make the words come out.
"It's not like we'll never see each other," Blair went on. "We're still partners, we'll see each other at work, and you know I'll always be available if you start having trouble with your senses. And maybe we can still go camping now and then, or something...." He gave Jim a bright, cheerful smile. "It'll be okay, you'll see. Nothing will change."
With a sinking heart, Jim realized that maybe it was Blair who wanted his privacy, who wanted to have a date over, who didn't want to have to worry about the capacity of the hot water heater. Trying to regain his equilibrium, he swallowed and found his voice. "Sandburg, you won't be able to find anything over the holidays," he protested.
Was it his imagination, or did Blair look slightly crestfallen? "Oh, yeah...." he said. "Well, I'll start looking right after the new year." He patted Jim's knee gently and stood. "I'd better head off to bed. See you in the morning, Jim."
"Night, Chief. See you in the morning." It seemed his mouth was on automatic pilot, then, even if his brain was still reeling. The door to Blair's room closed with a soft snick, and he was left staring at the TV unseeing, as Bruce Lee silently kicked and chopped his way through a phalanx of black-clothed bad guys.
He didn't want Blair to leave. I mean, yeah, at first he hadn't been thrilled at the thought of having a roommate, and they'd had their share of arguments about house rules and chores and keeping the place clean, but over the last few years they'd settled into a nice, comfortable routine with each other. Part of the reason he used to work so much was because he'd dreaded coming back to a dark, quiet loft. It had never felt like home. Once Blair had moved in - well, he still worked a lot of overtime, because that was the nature of the job - but he had started to look forward to coming home, to telling Blair about his day, to hearing about what he had been up to.
That hadn't changed once Blair had become his partner full time. Even though they were working the same cases, sometimes it was helpful to talk things out once they got home. Often Blair would have had some thoughts and insights that he didn't want to share at the station, but that he would open up to Jim about. Every time that had happened, it had sent them off in a productive new direction, which often ended up being the thing that broke the case for them.
Or sometimes they wouldn't talk about work at all. Blair was pretty good about gauging when work was getting to be too much for Jim, and finding ways to distract him. Maybe he'd find something on TV, or they'd go see a movie, or just sit and read by the fire, Blair finding interesting facts or phrases from whatever tome he was browsing to read aloud to Jim. One thing was for sure, he never felt bored or at loose ends when Blair was around. A pang went through him at the thought that he would lose that.
What, did you think he was going to spend the rest of his life living in the room under your stairs? he chided himself, slightly appalled at his own selfishness. He's a grown man. I'm sure he wants to start living a life of his own, instead of being a sidekick to yours. I mean, someday he's going to meet someone special, get married, and have a bunch of kids, isn't he? He snickered to himself as he imagined Blair trying to explain to his fiancee why they had to live with Jim in the loft. No wonder he had such problems with relationships. It couldn't be easy for a thirty-year-old man to tell his date that they couldn't go back to his place because they might disturb his forty-something male roommate. That kind of thing probably sent women running for the hills.
Okay, Ellison, it's time to grow up and let the kid go, he told himself firmly. It's like Blair said, it won't change anything for the two of you. He'll still be your partner, he'll still be your guide, and he'll still be your friend. You just won't be on top of each other all the time, like now.
He turned off the TV, having lost track of what was going on with Bruce and the bad guys, and headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth, repeating his newly-found mantra - Nothing will change. We'll still be friends - the whole time. Teeth clean, he headed upstairs, got undressed, and crawled into bed.
As he was drifting off, he reached out involuntarily with his hearing and latched on to the sound of Blair's heart, thumping away comfortingly beneath him. He smiled, and tried to imagine what Blair's wedding was going to be like. It would be outside, for sure, and not traditional at all. He could practically see Blair's wife - she'd be petite, dark-haired, with a cheerful, wide grin and a bright, quick wit. Simon and the rest of the gang from Major Crimes would be there, and Naomi, sitting in the front row and beaming with pride. The funny thing was, he realized, as sleep took him, was that, as hard as he tried, he couldn't see himself there at all.
"You've got everything?"
"Yup."
"Coffee?"
"Gonna stop at that truck depot on the way out of town and fill the Thermos."
"Cell phone charged?"
"Uh-huh."
"You've got some cash, just in case? And the phone number for Roadside Emergency Service?"
"Yes, Jim." Blair rolled his eyes.
"It's a long drive, Sandburg. I don't want you calling and asking me to come pick you up halfway between here and Portland." He spoke with slightly more irritation than usual, but he was feeling like crap this morning. He'd woken with a headache from a confused, vague dream in which he seemed to be interrupting someone's wedding.
Blair just chuckled and held his arms out. "I'm gonna miss you too, man. Come on, give me a hug. I gotta go."
He moved in and wrapped his arms around Blair tightly. "I'll be home on Christmas Eve," Blair said.
"Okay," he replied, "drive carefully." Blair loosened his grip, and, on impulse, Jim bent his head and gently kissed him on the temple. Blair glanced up at him sideways and gave him a small, one-sided smile. A familiar scent tickled Jim's nose.
Blair climbed into the Volvo and started it. A minute later he pulled away from the curb, waving at Jim as he went. Jim stood and watched the car until it turned left on Main and was lost from his view.
He went inside and made some strong coffee, hoping that would cure his headache. He ate a bowl of cereal as well, and felt better afterwards. Rejuvenated, he went up the stairs and grabbed his work clothes, then headed for the shower.
Work kept him pretty busy throughout the day. There was paperwork to wrap up for their last case, and Simon had assigned him a new case, then there was a body found out on the railroad tracks east of Cascade, and Homicide asked for his help, so he went out to see what he could find at the scene, which was not much. Blair called while he was out there - he'd turned his phone off so as not to be distracted - and left a message that he'd made it to Portland okay and that Naomi sent her love. Once Jim got back to the station, he went down to the morgue and talked to Dan about the body, and about their new case, but by then it was after six, and too late to start doing any interviews, so he decided to head for home.
Halfway home he decided he'd rather not eat by himself, so he went over to Tony's, an Italian restaurant in the neighborhood that was a favorite of his and Blair's. He worked his way through a Caesar salad, lasagna, and a split of Chianti, deflecting concerned inquiries from all the waitresses about where Blair was. Tony was glad to see him, asked about Blair, and sat and chatted with him while he had dessert and coffee. The two of them closed the place down; Tony finally showing him to the door with a pat on the back and a reminder to bring Blair by after the holidays.
And so by 10:30 he was sitting on the couch, dressed in a pair of old sweats, watching the news and trying not to think about the fact that the scent he had caught coming off of Blair had been arousal.
Eh, the kid's a bag of hormones on legs, he told himself. He was probably having a stray thought or fantasy about his last date. But that explanation didn't really ring true. In the first place, Jim could count on one hand the number of times he'd smelled that scent - warm, spicy-sweet, like cinnamon cookies - on Blair. The first time particularly stood out in his memory: standing on the quad at Rainier, being introduced to Maya Carasco as a friend whom Blair was helping with his research. Later, in the greenhouse, he'd recognized it then, even among the odors of dirt and blood and fear and adrenaline. And again, while standing in the doorway to Blair's room, offering him noodles.
Okay, so maybe he's having some weird thoughts about you. It's no big deal, he claimed. They're only thoughts. I mean, everybody has them now and then, right? It doesn't mean anything. He turned the TV off and headed into the bathroom.
Settling into bed, he decided that it was all because of that conversation with his father last night. That had gotten Blair thinking about it, and then he had talked to Jim about his concerns, and moving out, and this morning he must have still been worked up about it, and so, when Jim had kissed him, his body had just reacted, without thinking. Yeah, that was probably it. No thoughts or fantasies had been involved in it at all.
So why did you kiss him? a voice spoke up from the back of his brain.
Jim frowned. What kind of stupid question was that? Why shouldn't he kiss Sandburg? I mean, Blair was his best friend, his partner, his guide, the person he was closest to in the whole world. His brother in all but blood, just like he'd told his dad. What was the big deal with kissing someone you felt that way about? It wasn't like he'd kissed him on the lips...although he had felt Sandburg's mouth before...but that time it had been cold and still. He shivered a little at the memory, then wondered, idly, what Blair's mouth would feel like now, what it would be like to kiss him.
He adjusted his boxers, irritably shoving the thought to the back of his brain. See, he told himself firmly, everybody has those thoughts. Even you. It doesn't mean anything. Jerking the covers up to his neck, he rolled onto his side and went to sleep.
He woke up early the next day and was halfway through his morning routine when he realized that it was Saturday and he didn't have to go to work. Annoyed with himself, he thought half-seriously about going in anyway, at least until he heard Sandburg's voice in his head, saying, Man, you have got to learn to take some downtime now and then if you're going to stay sharp. And he had to admit that Blair was right.
So instead he cleaned the loft, top to bottom. It had been a while since he'd really done a thorough job of it. He thought about skipping Sandburg's room, but then decided that he was on a roll, and Blair would probably appreciate it, anyway.
But neatening the stacks of papers and books on Blair's desk just reminded him about Blair's decision to look for another place to live, and that, in turn, brought back all his ruminations from the night before. A sense of melancholy swept over him. He sat down on Blair's futon, holding a picture he'd picked up off the desk.
It was of him and Blair during the trip where he'd first taught Blair to fly fish. Simon must have taken it. Blair was grinning, sunglasses pushed down on his nose, eyeing Jim, who was demonstrating how to cast. Jim smiled at the memory.
That he loved Sandburg came as no surprise. I mean, he'd gone after Blair when he'd died because he hadn't been able to stand the thought of a life without him. He did a damn sorry job of showing it, most times, but there was no one he trusted more in the world, no one he would rather have at his side, guarding his back. And not just for dealing with the senses. Blair was tough and resourceful and brave. He kept his cool in tense situations, and he didn't back down, not even from Jim. But that wasn't all Jim admired about him. He had a funny, creative side as well - he was one of the few people that could make Jim laugh out loud. He had a broad store of knowledge and a quick and brilliant mind, and his insights and unique way of looking at things never ceased to amaze Jim. And he had a compassion and empathy for others that often made Jim feel humble and slightly inadequate.
And he had no doubt that Blair loved him. The press conference had proved that. He wasn't sure that he deserved it, especially given the way he'd been acting back then, but that was beside the point. Somehow, he'd earned the incredible gift of Blair's love and trust, and he'd sworn to himself that he was never going to do anything to lose that ever again.
His father's words echoed in his head: ...there's little enough love and understanding in the world. Well, that was certainly the case. No arguing with that. When you find someone you can share that with you should grab them with both hands and hang on, regardless of what gender they are. No arguing with that, either, really.
When you got right down to it, the only difference between him and Blair and a married couple was that he and Blair weren't having sex. And, if you thought about it, there wasn't really any reason why they shouldn't. I mean, it all worked on the same principle, the same bundles of nerve endings, they just ended up being shaped differently for guys than for girls. And while different was nice, there was also a lot to be said for knowing your way around the territory already.
Not that he'd done much exploring there himself, unless you counted self-exploration. But he'd seen enough while he'd been in Vice to come to the conclusion that there wasn't anything inherently wrong with two or more consenting adults - of any or all genders - finding pleasure in each other. So why shouldn't he and Blair?
The question was: did Blair feel the same way?
Well, he decided, there was only one way to find out.
Jim paced around the loft nervously, making sure that everything was in place. Blair should be coming home any minute now. He'd called Jim about an hour ago, on the road back from Portland, just to check in. It was raining in Cascade, as usual, but Blair had said he didn't think it was going to cause any problems on the drive.
Candles were scattered throughout the loft, their gentle glow combining with the lamps to fill the room with a soft golden light. There was classical guitar music playing quietly on the stereo, and he had a fire going in the stove. He'd gone out and gotten some cut pine branches for a centerpiece for the table; flowers hadn't really seemed appropriate and the branches gave off a pleasant, sharp scent. He'd showered and shaved and was wearing his favorite pair of jeans, worn and comfortable, and a dark blue cashmere sweater that Blair had given him for Christmas last year.
After some deliberation, he'd decided to make almond chicken for dinner. Partly because it was fast, but also because he could prepare all the ingredients ahead of time. He went into the kitchen, making sure that everything was ready, wiping his damp palms on his jeans. Christ, he hadn't been this nervous on a date since the time he'd asked out Paula Larson, the head of the cheerleading squad, when he was fifteen years old.
He caught the familiar sound of the Volvo's engine, and felt his stomach flutter with anxiety. What if this was a disaster? What if Blair laughed at him? Or, worse, was offended?
Calm down, he told himself firmly. Blair will not be offended. Or laugh at you. That's not the kind of person he is. If he's not interested, he'll tell you so, politely, and then we'll just go back to being friends and partners. The butterflies in his stomach, however, were not convinced.
He heard the elevator door open and heard Blair's step in the hall. He wanted to go and open the door, but his feet were frozen to the floor, his heart thudding against his ribs, his throat suddenly as dry as sand.
Blair's key slid into the lock, and then the door opened. Blair shuffled in, tossing his keys in the basket, looking wet and bedraggled. He saw Jim and a wide smile broke across his face, but then it faded and his eyes widened as he looked around the loft.
Hurt flashed across Blair's face, so fast that Jim wasn't even sure he'd seen it. And then Blair was giving him a sheepish look. "Oh, man, Jim, you've got a date tonight? Why didn't you say something?"
"Blair--" he started to say, but Blair was already heading for his room.
"Just let me drop my bags off and I'll get out of your hair, I promise..."
This is not the way it's supposed to go, Jim thought, exasperated. He came around the island, intending to intercept Blair. "Sandburg, wait a minute..."
But Blair was wet, and had been dripping on the hardwood floor, and just as he grabbed Blair's arm he felt his feet slide out from underneath him. He fell, landing squarely on his ass, and pulled Blair down on top of him, the wind knocked out of him by the double impact.
"Oh, God, Jim, are you okay?"
He nodded tightly, fighting to regain his breath, his hand still clamped around Blair's arm.
Blair wriggled against him, struggling to get to his feet. "Okay, just give me a minute to get my stuff together and I'm outta here."
"Blair--" he tried again, but his effort was cut short when Blair planted an elbow in his gut as he pushed himself upright. "Oof!" he groaned as he doubled over, letting go of Blair's arm.
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," Blair said, now sitting cross-legged on the ground, one hand on Jim's arm and the other resting gently on his back. "Are you okay?"
He nodded again, gritting his teeth against the ache from his bruised stomach muscles.
"God, I'm so sorry. You've got this great seduction groove going, with the candles and the music and everything, and I come in like a bull in a china shop and fuck it all up." Blair ran a hand through his wet hair. "Just let me put these bags in my room and then I'll help you clean things up before I go... what time is she getting here?"
"Dammit, Sandburg," Jim snapped irritably, "the only person I'm trying to seduce here is you."
Silence greeted that statement, and Jim looked over to see Blair staring at him in shock, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Yeah, he's looking pretty thrilled, Jim thought sourly. "Forget it," he muttered, "it was a bad idea." He pushed himself to his feet and headed into the kitchen, digging out some containers and putting the dinner ingredients away. He didn't really feel like cooking right now anyway.
He turned to put the containers in the fridge, only to find Blair standing in front of him. "I'm sorry," Blair said quietly, "you caught me a little off-guard. Can we start over?"
"From where?" he said tersely, sidestepping Blair and opening the fridge, stacking the containers neatly inside.
Blair was silent for a moment, then stuck his hand out. "Hi, my name is Blair Sandburg. I'm working on my doctorate in Anthropology."
He couldn't help the smile that curved one corner of his mouth, despite how badly things were going. Blair had a way of doing that to him. "Not that far back, Chief. I don't think I could take going through Lash and Golden again." Not to mention the fountain.
"Good point. Me neither. How about let's take it from my entrance?" Blair went over to the door, and now Jim noticed that he had taken his coat off and had a towel slung around his neck. "Wow, Jim...the place looks really nice."
Jim crossed his arms and braced his hip against the pillar support at the end of the island. "Well, it is Christmas Eve, you know."
"Yeah, but this...this is above and beyond just holiday stuff," Blair said, rotating slowly to take in the whole loft. "It's almost like you were trying to, I don't know, seduce me or something." He cocked an eyebrow challengingly at Jim.
Jim ducked his head, his smile deepening.
Blair walked over and stood in front of him. "So, what's the plan?"
"I didn't really have a plan," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "I kinda hoped that once I'd fed you and plied you with wine I wouldn't have to explain anything."
Chuckling, Blair shook his head. "A typical Jim `I'll do almost anything to avoid talking about my feelings' Ellison plan."
"I take it that you're not entirely opposed to the idea, then?"
Blair moved closer to him, his eyes gleaming in the soft light. "I'm not sure. Why don't you kiss me and see?"
Bending his head, he slid a hand around to cup the back of Blair's neck and touched his lips gently to Blair's. Blair's mouth was warm and welcoming under his; pliant, but strong. Different from kissing a woman, in some way Jim couldn't define precisely. But good. So good. He took a deep breath and recognized the warm spicy scent of cinnamon.
He pulled away, his knees feeling slightly wobbly. Blair raised his hand and lightly touched his own mouth, a dazed look on his face. "No," he whispered hoarsely, "not opposed at all."
"Good," Jim murmured, and kissed him again.
He wasn't sure how long they stood there, lost in sensation, lost in each other. The world had expanded, and all the familiar territory between them had suddenly been made new and wonderful.
Eventually they made their way upstairs, shedding clothes as they went. Jim folded his jeans, laid them neatly on the chair, and turned to find Blair sitting naked and cross-legged in the middle of the bed, watching him. His hands were folded tightly together in his lap, and Jim could see the tension in his shoulders.
"In the interests of full disclosure," Blair said softly, "I should tell you that I have no idea what I'm doing."
Jim shrugged one shoulder and slid around to sit behind Blair. He put his hands on Blair's shoulders and kneaded gently, trying to ease the stiffness there.
"I mean, I've done a fair amount of reading... Naomi insisted I read The Joy of Gay Sex when I was thirteen. She thought I should make an informed choice. Not that I've ever made that choice before," he added quickly. "But I think I can remember most of what I read. Some of it, at least. Or at least the pictures, because, like I said, I never actually tried any of it...."
Jim reached around and placed his fingers gently over Blair's lips, stilling the flood of words. "Whoa, Chief, take it easy. It's not a contest. We're not getting graded."
Blair chuckled, ducking his head, and Jim took the opportunity to push his hair out of the way and blow lightly on the damp nape of his neck. He felt Blair shiver, and smiled.
"How did we get here, anyway? I mean, what the hell happened to you?"
Jim sighed. "Sandburg, can we have the sex before we talk about what it means?"
"Oh, come on, where's the fun in that?" Blair replied, shooting a grin at Jim over his shoulder. But he leaned back against Jim's chest with a sigh.
He ran curious hands over Blair's body, exploring. Blair felt so different from a woman; hard and muscular and hairy - and yet that was marvelous, somehow. Maybe because he knew Blair's body so well. He'd protected this body, tended it, held it, willed life back into it. He knew it almost better than his own.
Blair hummed softly, letting his head fall back against Jim's shoulder, his eyes closed. The rough silk of his hair rasped against Jim's skin, raising goosebumps along his arms and legs.
This part, now, this part of Blair's body he didn't know as well, he thought, reaching down and taking hold of Blair's erection, rising stiff and flushed out of the nest of dark, wiry hair in his lap. Thicker than his own, with a slight curve to it, but, structurally, pretty familiar ground. He ran a questing thumb up the hot, smooth shaft.
Shuddering, Blair closed his hand over Jim's, showing him what he wanted. And Jim complied, matching his stroke and his rhythm to Blair's direction. Blair liked a looser grip than he did, and a shorter stroke, but otherwise it wasn't really all that different from what he did most mornings. He sighed happily, nuzzling into Blair's neck, tasting the damp, salty skin there, the odor of cinnamon pleasantly strong now.
Blair moaned, and his hand tightened on Jim's, becoming more insistent. Jim picked up the pace, biting gently at the tender skin at the juncture of Blair's neck and shoulder. Blair was rocking his hips a little now, in time with Jim's motion, and Jim felt a little dizzy as the smooth, cool skin on Blair's back and rear slid against his own hot, hard flesh. He raised his head, partly to get some air, but also because he could tell Blair was close and he wanted to watch his face as he came.
Blair's head was back against his shoulder, eyes closed, lashes dark against his flushed skin. He was panting, mouth open, and Jim shuddered at the thought of those full, gorgeous lips closed around him. Blair bucked up erratically, gasping, "...oh... oh, Jim...." and Jim slid his free arm around his chest, holding Blair to him, anchoring him as he felt the waves of climax break through him.
As he watched Blair's face, so open in his ecstasy, he thought that he had never felt such pure, uncomplicated joy in all his life. He loved Blair, so much, and the thought that he could create such pleasure in him, for him, shook him to his core. He'd always thought of himself as a considerate lover, but, to be honest, when he'd taken someone to bed in the past the main object had been his own release. But now...as he looked down at Blair, lax and sated; and gently brushed damp tendrils of hair away from his face, he wasn't sure there was anything else in the world that could feel this good.
That was, until Blair turned and pushed him flat on the bed, then bent down and took Jim into his mouth.
Jim gasped, the sudden moist heat almost too much for him. He clenched his fists in the bedsheets, fighting for control. Blair was still, almost as if he knew that Jim needed a moment, but then, once Jim had exhaled shakily and released his death grip on the sheets, he began to suck Jim in earnest.
He knew he couldn't hang on long, despite the brief pause; bringing Blair off had brought him too close to his own release. He tangled his fingers in Blair's hair, closed his eyes, and lay back to enjoy the ride while it lasted... the delicious snug hot wetness of Blair's mouth... Blair's tongue stroking along the underside of his dick... the tickle of Blair's hair against his legs. He spread his thighs shamelessly, begging, and Blair cupped his balls in one hand, rolling them gently. Oh, God, so good. He wondered if he was going to be able to keep himself from zoning on Blair's mouth when they went back to work. Because, Lord knew, he was never going to be able to look at it again without thinking about this.
As he neared the edge, at almost frightening speed, he tugged gently on Blair's hair, to warn him to get out of the way. But Blair ignored him, and before he could force the words out of his dry throat, he was coming, helplessly, into Blair's mouth.
Blair sat back on his heels, wiping the corner of his mouth, and gave Jim a satisfied smile. "You okay?" he asked.
"Uhhng," was about all Jim could get out at that moment.
Blair prowled slowly up his body, dropping kisses as he went, until he was stretched out against Jim's side, his head pillowed in the crease of Jim's shoulder.
"I take it back," Jim said, still floating on the sensations, his breathing still a little fast, "I am grading you. You get an A+."
Chuckling, Blair traced aimless patterns across his chest with a fingertip. "Thanks, Teach. But we shouldn't go overboard yet. There's a lot more research to be done."
"Okay, B- then. And you've got to promise me you'll study every night."
"Mmmm. And maybe afternoons and mornings, too."
He's gonna be the death of me, Jim thought happily. He took a deep breath. "So," he said, a little reluctant to head back into the verbal arena, but figuring Blair had earned the right to some answers, "you had some questions? About how we got here?"
"Nah," Blair said, shaking his head, placing his palm flat on Jim's chest, "I think I've got it. You love me, you don't want me to leave, society's definitions of gender and sexuality are completely stupid and arbitrary, and who gives a fuck what other people think if we can make each other happy, emotionally and physically." He gave Jim a sly glance from underneath his lashes, a wicked grin on his face. "Figured I'd give you a break from the emoting, for once. Have I got it about right?"
"Yeah," Jim said softly, so full with love and want and need that he thought he might burst. His throat closed; unable to speak anymore he raised his hand and cupped Blair's face, stroking his thumb gently along Blair's cheek.
Blair leaned into the caress and closed his eyes. "Me, too," he whispered.
They lay together like that for a long time, drowsing, content. Eventually Jim was roused by the soft clamor of bells chiming all over the city. He glanced over at the clock and saw that it was just past midnight. "Merry Christmas, Chief," he said softly.
Tilting his head back, Blair gave him a wide, sleepy smile. "Merry Christmas, Jim."
"There's one thing that's still bothering me about all this, though," Jim said, as an answering smile broke out on his face.
"What's that?"
"How the hell am I going to explain this to my dad?"
End
Don We Now Our Gay Apparel by PsychGirl
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