DISCLAIMER: Jim and Blair belong to PetFly and I'm not making money with them

Previously published in "Your Kink or Mine 2" by Angel Wings Press
PLEASE NOTE: Aaboe is posting this story, but hasn't written it. All comments and loc's should be sent to cara_chapel@hotmail.com

WARNINGS: In retrospect, I don't consider this as being among my best TS work
AUTHOR'S FICLIST: http://www.yahoo.com/group/lilithfic
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Secrets Laid Bare
by Cara Chapel

Biting the bullet and cutting short what had already been a lengthy process of balking, false starts, and endless indecisive cruising, Jim Ellison deliberately parked his truck two streets over and several blocks south of his destination in spite of the spatter of cold rain on the windshield. He turned up the collar of his overcoat and set out determinedly, keeping his internal radar tuned to his surroundings in spite of his restricted vision. Most thugs wouldn't mess with a man of his build, even if they guessed where he was headed.

He hadn't been here since his days in Vice, but he remembered the way all too well. It had been about four years. Tristan Merriwether, the original clubowner of Jim's memory, had been busted about three years back, and it was likely there'd been a complete staff turnover since then, which was good. Nobody would remember Jim and be able to link him with the PD.

Nominally Jim was following up on a suspect; surveillance had placed him here at key times during the past week, times that intersected with visits made by a known pusher of both drugs and flesh. Every shred of evidence they could get on either man would contribute to the cases that would eventually put them behind bars. However, Ellison's official excuse didn't explain why he'd found himself cruising this neighborhood unnecessarily weeks before ever being handed the Lawrence case, and it didn't explain why he'd found himself wanting to park and go inside this club from the first day he made the detour through the tenderloin district.

He ascended the slippery iron stair and eyed the door bouncer stiffly. Jim uttered two terse syllables, claiming a club member as a contact. After a moment of consideration he was admitted, feeling wry humor at the procedure, so reminiscent of gangster flicks and speakeasies. The heavy metal entry door opened and closed behind him, leaving him alone inside the foyer. He surrendered his coat to the check-boy, a little surprised-- it had grown a little fancier here since his day.

Proceeding inward, Jim opened the left-hand one of a heavy set of carved double doors. Pretty posh, definitely not what he'd been expecting. He looked inside, finding a similarly upscale club interior. Some of his tension at the unfamiliar atmosphere leaked away as he confirmed that the clientele was all male. That fact was enough to move him forward. He was willing to bet the private rooms and the upstairs gathering areas were just as seedy as he remembered them, the overstated plush elegance of the bar as it now existed still only a front for illicit sex of both the free and the expensive varieties.

Same old place, just with a facelift. There was no sign of Lawrence or any of his cronies in the bar-- just as Jim had known there wouldn't be. It was the wrong time of the week for any deals; he soothed his cop sensibilities automatically with the excuse that he still needed to reconnoiter, get a sense of the place and confirm his memories of the layout in case something went down here.

Bad choice of words.

The bar and dance floor were mostly full but not crammed, a lively crowd, but not as raucous as he'd expected. Even the music was a surprise, the speakers turning out a moderately loud rendition of an old slow-dance from the sixties. He flicked his eyes through the clientele, mentally comparing men with mugshots. He'd been out of Vice too long to know all the players, but there were a few faces he knew from police dossiers, faces with names that came attached to serious reputations.

As he scanned the crowd, he noticed that the clients were a little more respectable-looking than of yore. Among the usual scattering of predators and prostitutes and hardcore, jaded guys who'd do just about anything for free with someone who looked good, there were several distinguished-looking older men, maybe businessmen or academics, some nondescript regular guys, and a scattering of well-to-do kids. The club had been a lot edgier during his days in Vice; sometimes there had been knifings and fights outside. This place had an odd aura of tranquillity to it by comparison. It seemed to offer relative safety for dangerous business, dangerous pleasure.

It was a pity that there was nowhere really safe for decent gay men to go to meet one another, Jim mused as he approached the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. There were bottles of wine and liquor displayed above the bar, but there seemed to be no beer on sale. Strange. Jim sipped his wine, making a wry face at the acerbic taste. Dry and a little sour, it had none of the fullness of red wine, but at least it would neither get him drunk quickly nor give him a headache.

He scanned the room slowly, noting the attention of several pairs of eyes, aware that he was inviting more than casual interest from the other patrons by making eye contact, however briefly. If he remembered etiquette at this particular club, his next move determined that of any particular suitor; if he stayed at the bar he would be approached and if he went upstairs he would be followed. If he went to a table on his own, he could politely turn away advances on the pretext of waiting for someone and eventually leave alone without causing too many overt waves, though he wouldn't be welcomed back as readily, at least not by the regular patrons. Blair would probably jump at a chance to study the unwritten social conventions in this place; it was an anthropologist's dream come true.

His flimsy excuse for being here had sunk low when he'd confirmed Lawrence's absence, and every moment that he lingered made it weaker, but that didn't matter as much as it had outside. Back in the scene, back at the bar, with the mild alcohol of the wine beginning to warm his belly, Jim's other reasons for being here didn't seem as far-fetched. There was a nervy sense of anticipation, almost of danger, in playing this little game. There was a thrill in estimating the responses of strangers and calculating moves of his own in order to obtain the desired result.

If you were sharp, you could have a lot of control over what happened here. If you weren't, you could regret ever setting foot inside. Jim had experiences in his memory that cut both ways. But he was older now, more self-contained, less reckless, and if he had to, he could always pull out his badge and use its threat to carve a path to the door. He could, anyhow, if he never wanted to come back.

Jim finished his scan of the tables. His efforts had proved vain. Nobody particularly met his criteria for a... companion. He'd almost used the term partner, but shied from it instinctively. That word meant Blair, and there was no way Blair Sandburg could be any more removed from this place and from what Jim had yet to formally admit to himself that he was actually doing here.

Hell. Might as well take the plunge. He'd come to get laid, policework only the flimsiest of false excuses layered defensively over the real, bone-deep craving gnawing at the core of his psyche. It had been years since he'd had a man, and he had been indifferent to the experience at the time; it was just a part of the job when you worked in Vice. But right now, only a man could offer what Jim needed, and since he couldn't have the one he wanted, a stranger would have to do.

He turned and stood at the bar with his back to the room, mentally counting seconds, knowing that he was pushing the barrier toward losing his solitude. He hadn't shown any particular interest in any one person, but he was built and a lot of the men would be aggressively interested in him. With an internal sigh, Jim set down his half-empty glass and spoke to the bartender, the old evasive double-talk coming easily back to him. "I'm developing a headache. Is there somewhere I could go to get away from the music?" He met the inquisitive glance cautiously.

"The private lounge is beyond the second door to the left," the bartender responded briskly, gesturing to the near wall. Jim nodded his gratitude and strolled toward the door, shouldering through the loose mass of men without meeting any eyes on his way. In contrast to the muted mahogany browns and maroon reds of the rest of the club, it was still painted green; the color had always been a silent joke as well as a subtle warning. The musty smells that lingered behind the green door filled his nostrils as he drew near, and he was wryly amused by the accuracy of his memories and of his assumptions.

The door opened with a quiet creak; Ellison remained keenly conscious of a large, scarred, pugnacious man who leaned against the wall nearby, staring a cool warning at him. He'd clearly been picked for intimidation value, possessed of Simon's height and Jim's build in proportion to it, plus a mean but calm glitter in his eyes. Jim wouldn't want to tangle with someone like that. He gave the big plug-ugly a calm look of his own over his right shoulder as he stepped through the door.

A brief length of featureless hallway took a sharp angle to the left, into an anteroom. Surprisingly, though the walls were scarred and unadorned, the improvements continued to make themselves known; a bank of scuffed aluminum lockers stood against the wall. "Clothing optional," a block-lettered sign above the lockers read. Jim had no reason to be ashamed of his body-- in fact, people were less likely to remember his face if he were nude-- so he took a combination lock from the pegboard on the near wall and carried it over to the locker that matched its number. Taking a deep breath to firm his resolve, he quickly stripped himself.

The ritual absorbed him completely, the significance of shedding his clothes symbolic of shedding his identity-- setting aside the cop and the straight man, folding up James Joseph Ellison, son of William Ellison, and sealing him inside the confines of a nine by nine inch locker. For what good it would do, Jim tucked his wallet, including his police identification, between the folds of his jeans so that it would not be immediately visible through the ventilation cracks in the locker front. Each movement he made contributed to the slow burn of mingled fear and anticipation that had begun to percolate through his limbs.

He shut the locker and clicked the combination lock onto the handle, making a mental note of the locker number. When it was time to leave, an employee would furnish the combination and restore his things to him.

He heard the exterior door creak; three men entered and Jim quickly moved onward, instinctively balking at appearing nude before the newcomers-- they would be clothed, still making the transition between external society and the inner sanctum. Rushed, unable to continue to savor the slow buildup of the experience, he shouldered through the final door.

The main lounge, crammed full of aging vinyl couches and stained, stinking mattresses, was filled with a variety of men, most nude, desultorily kissing and fondling one another. Jim's eyes flickered over the bacchanalian tangle of limbs and groins. He felt uncomfortable, directionless. It would be easier if he had brought a lover with him; he found himself unequal to the task of approaching any of the men for company. Moving along, stepping around varied heaps of squirming, pleasure-seeking masculinity, he approached the hall, a warren of private alcoves and a maze of walls sporting holes drilled roughly at waist-level.

Several penises protruded from the glory holes, waiting, and a few men stood with their bellies pressed to the surface of the wall; a few knelt and worked at the erections that poked through, servicing their unseen lovers eagerly. This was more like it; Jim paused, considering the virtues of imagination and an unknown partner, separated from him by a layer of plywood. Perhaps he would return here later.

Silently he continued on; there were accommodations provided for voyeurs as well, and in the past he had spent the majority of his time in the club making use of them, partly assuaging his heterosexual programming by pleasuring himself as he watched other men have sex. He slipped into the darkened audience room and found himself a place in the last row of seats; the wall was dominated by a sheet of plexiglass and the next room was well-lit by a bank of harsh lights mounted above and around the window. It wasn't one-way glass, but the lighting arrangement prevented the watchers from being seen as more than vague shadows moving behind the window, and Jim liked that.

Two men lay on the ratty bed inside the room, caressing lightly, obviously finishing their business together. Their penises had already shrunk in the aftermath of orgasm. Jim sat quietly in the back row-- there was no shortage of exhibitionists; in his memory the viewing room was widely vied for and remained almost constantly occupied.

The two lovers left quickly and another couple of middle-aged men trickled into the viewing room to sit with Jim. They chose seats together on the far side of the room, giving Jim his space, but he could hear them whispering. "--A real gang bang. They're a casual foursome from Rainier-- one of the kids said they met at a Gay Pride rally on campus." The speaker squirmed eagerly, obviously ready for the show to begin.

Ellison frowned, hoping all the kids were of age, but it wasn't his business; he wasn't here as a cop. The watchers settled in, hands slipping into opposite laps, and started getting a jump on things. Jim's mouth quirked as he watched surreptitiously under the cover of darkness, amused by their businesslike approach. He missed the first moments as the foursome from Rainier entered the lighted alcove and began to arrange themselves.

"The little one's going to take it," a lust-thick voice broke Jim's concentration, and he glanced up. Bare buttocks flashed in front of his eyes, three men arranging another one on the bed, their bodies partly eclipsing his. Jim blinked as they stepped back; the man kneeling on all fours across the narrow bed was small and trim, his face hidden by a fall of long brown curls. Jim's cock twitched with agonizing strength and shot upright in his lap, responding instantly to the similarity. God. This was going to be good; he could pretend it was Blair taking it from the three men.

He held his breath, poised on the edge of his seat, as the men fished in a conveniently placed bowl and took handfuls of condoms. They converged around the bottom again, one of them touching his back; he shifted and then looked up, smiling, ready.

Jim froze, heart going still in his chest, then thundering so hard he couldn't hear. Impossible. Impossible and unbearable-- Blair. His guileless smile. His slender body. His silver nipple ring winking from the soft thatch of hair on his chest as he moved to his knees and scooted slightly to one side. His voice, low and soothing, as he agreed quietly to a suggestion that remained unheard. Lungs aching, Jim remembered to breathe, sucking in air with a low whooping gasp.

"Beautiful face," one of the watchers muttered. "Pretty as a girl."

Pretty as a girl. Pretty as Blair. Beautiful. Jim's mind rambled, babbling nonsensically, and his eyes devoured the vision before him as Blair sat back on his heels and let a condom be rolled onto him. Laughing. Submitting. Kissing. His sweet luscious lips crushed under another man's mouth. It was a tall man who kissed him, broad and burly, powerful, probably a jock. The other men fondled him, their cocks hardening as they caressed Blair's sturdy body. They ran their palms admiringly over his shoulders and his sides, his flanks and his belly.

Jim moaned very softly in the back of his throat, a yearning, wounded sound. Hands pushed Blair down, pressing him forward and he knelt again, sweeping back one side of his hair and tucking it behind his ear. At an oblique angle, Jim could see the square side of his jaw, could see the sparkle of the earrings set in his lobe. Jim moaned again as hands moved up to cradle Blair's face and a latex-sheathed cock bumped gently at his lips. Blair opened and accepted it, cheeks hollowing as he sucked it inside himself.

Jim's hand clutched painfully on his thigh, avoiding his angry erection. Blair slid all the way down effortlessly, moving with the ease of long practice, drawing a hissed sigh from his first lover. Jim sat stiffly, eyes glued to the proceedings, heart hammering in his chest. Another man was moving now, parting Blair's thighs and slipping his body between them, kneeling on the floor and leaning backward over the bed. Jim's eyes widened fractionally as the man deftly lay back and brought Blair's cock to his mouth, licking quickly around the head, squeezing the base in one hand and fondling Blair's heavy, hanging balls with the other.

Blair moaned softly, the sweet sound of him torturing Jim's ears. The third man stepped forward now-- the burly jock Jim had noted earlier. He slicked his penis with the contents of a half-empty tube. He spread Blair's buttocks lazily and pressed a wide, blunt finger into the smaller man, trading a grin across Sandburg's back with the man who was now casually fucking Blair's mouth.

Jim swallowed, his mouth dry, his fingers cramping into fists so hard that they threatened to crush the armrests of the chair where he sat. The jock drew out his finger and slicked his cock again-- a thick, full organ, not overly long but intimidatingly broad. He brought his cock to bear without further ado, breaching Blair's body and pushing in to the hilt. It was quick, but the moment stretched as Jim's vision narrowed down to the sight of the dull latex covering the hard organ that sought its harbor inside Sandburg.

Blair uttered a soft, startled cry, the sound jerking Jim back from the brink of a zone. He bit at his tongue savagely, muscles jerking as he struggled to resist the instinctive need to rush to Blair's side, to ensure that he was unhurt.

"God," one of the watchers whispered, reverently, and Jim realized that the room had filled without his realizing. "Look at him take that thing." And he was taking it, he had already taken it and recovered and was rocking easily between the three men now, taking one cock deep in his throat, the other buried in his ass, his own clasped and sucked simultaneously. The man lying beneath Blair let go to reach and take hold of the jock's ass. He pulled him forward, the motion driving Blair's cock into his mouth and pushing Blair forward onto the man he sucked.

They were good, practiced; they'd clearly done this before. The choreography was too pat, too smooth for a first time. The man on his back, a skinny redhead, pushed at the jock's hips, setting the pace for the trio, encouraging him to fuck Blair harder. Jim only had eyes for Sandburg, his sides sheened with effortful perspiration, his hair clinging to his neck. The man he sucked reached and stroked it back tenderly, exposing his face in profile. Jim's fingers itched to taste the silk of that sweaty curtain of curls in the stranger's stead.

Blair's eyes were closed, his face peaceful, almost transcendent with concentration, his lips wet and red around the other man's cock. His fingers clutched in the ratty bedspread that covered the mattress, bracing him against the savage thrusts of the jock's hips. Jim felt his fingers curl around his penis, the contact like an electric shock, and forced himself not to move, needing to wait and to watch.

The jock moved faster, pounding hard and plunging deep, then shuddered hard and came deep inside Sandburg, provoking a rush of mingled hatred and lust in Jim's soul. Lifting his head at length he spoke, removing one hand from Blair's heat-flushed hip, and he withdrew, abandoning the condom he wore and quickly rolling another onto himself before he could fully shrink. The slender blond who'd been sucked by Blair replaced the jock behind him. Wet with Blair's saliva, he slid inside with ease and Blair hardly seemed to notice the longer penis that filled him now, his swollen lips open as he breathed hard, arms stiff against the renewed thrusts.

The jock smirked, slapping Sandburg's ribs familiarly, then knelt before him on the bed, presenting him with his ass. Jim had to open his mouth to breathe, his blood pressure jacking sky-high both at the lazy insolence of the jock's action and at the willing manner Blair displayed as he obliged him. Sandburg's hard square hands-- hands that were delicate and fleet on a keyboard, soft and gentle in comforting Jim, capable and stern in the line of duty-- moved to cup the jock's ass and parted his cheeks with gentle surety.

The big man squirmed backward, and Sandburg nuzzled at him for a long moment, rubbing his lips over the hard round curves of his ass, and then opened his mouth, pointed tongue flickering forth to touch him.

Jim found himself unable to watch for a moment, focusing desperately on the jock's face instead. In spite of his recent orgasm, the man was beginning to harden already, a mute testimony to the skill of Sandburg's tongue. His lids slid shut and he bit his lip to still its quiver, giving his face even more of a bulldog look than it naturally had. Jim watched his lashes twitch in response to the manipulation of Blair's tongue, watched his shoulders tense and release, and his eyes reluctantly dragged back to Sandburg's face, where it lay pressed up against the lean, muscled ass.

Blair licked slowly, dragging his agile tongue over the surface with every evidence of enjoyment, bathing the jock's balls and perineum, tickling at his asshole in a quicksilver tease. Jim whimpered below his breath and his fist tightened on his cock, pumping slowly in spite of all his resolve. Blair pointed his tongue and stabbed deep without warning; the jock shuddered and shouted with pleasure, falling forward onto his elbows.

His collapse disrupted the equilibrium of the trio, pulling Blair forward in a jerk that brought the blond out of Blair's ass; Sandburg lifted his head and laughed wickedly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. The too-skinny man beneath Sandburg slid away and scrambled to his feet, pushing the blond out of the way.

What a trio. Blondie, Skinny, and Jock. Jim's mouth narrowed with envious dislike as he surveyed them, his face hard-set with contempt.

"He thinks he's got us all beat. Let's fuck the little smartass till he can't see straight," Skinny suggested. His voice was not without affection, but it raised Jim's hackles nonetheless to hear him refer to Blair so callously. Jim ground his teeth as the others laughed agreement. Jock stood up and moved out of the way, palming his cock to work on recovering his hard-on. Skinny took his place in front of Blair and Blondie pushed Sandburg into position again, driving his cock in with a forceful snap of his hips. Blair purred a moan, grinding back onto him, then was silenced as Skinny shoved his cock against Blair's mouth, pushing it open and thrusting inside.

They worked at fucking earnestly now, both men employing sharp lunging thrusts that bowed Blair's back between them. Sweat began to slide down their bodies. Still Sandburg knelt and took it without complaint, bracing himself, sucking and being fucked. Nobody bothered to touch him anymore, his cock dangling neglected between his legs as savage pleasure was taken from him without regard. Jim bit his lip, hating himself for the lust he felt at the sight of his partner bared and taken, hating the screaming need deep inside him that demanded to be one of the men buried so carelessly in Sandburg's hot, yielding flesh.

Skinny moaned and let his head fall back, thrusts moving faster. There was water on Sandburg's cheeks, too much for sweat-- tears from the cock stimulating his gag reflex, pushing at the sensitive flesh inside his throat. Jim keened softly, aching to touch Blair and soothe him, paralyzed by indecision and the need to maintain the subterfuge of everyday life. He had to remain hidden, couldn't let Blair know he'd watched this...

Blondie jerked and came, collapsing over Blair's sweaty back. Immediately Skinny slid out of Blair's mouth, leaving him gasping for breath, and pushed Blondie aside, ramming himself into Blair quickly and setting a punishing pace. Grimly Jim peeled his fingers from his erection; this wasn't funny anymore, wasn't as arousing as it was sick. He had to stop it, had to--

Blair threw his head back, the sight of his face halting Jim in his tracks. Skin suffused with blood from his pounding heart, hair tangled in wisps over his cheeks and jaw, lips swollen and parted, Sandburg was almost unholy in his sheer, debauched beauty. "Yeah," Blair hissed, licking his lips, his tongue a slick pink flicker that held Jim mesmerized. "That's it. Come on. Do it."

He wants it... Jim slumped bonelessly in his chair, exhausted by his internal battle and his realization. Likes it this way. Likes being used. No. But it was true, inescapable. Blair was pushing back into the rough fucking with some perverse version of his usual inexhaustible energy, and Skinny shoved in hard, held Blair's hips while he quivered and twitched, obscene syllables tumbling from his lips. He pulled out, cock withering inside the used condom.

Blair sighed with theatrical disappointment. "Come on, aren't you ready to go again yet?" Sandburg taunted Jock, who laughed and stepped forward. "In case you hadn't noticed, man, I haven't come yet. What's the matter with all of you?"

Jim shook his head and covered his mouth with one tension-chilled hand. Pure, vintage Sandburg. Quintessential. No wonder the kid stayed in trouble 24/7, he didn't know when to quit, didn't know what was good for him.

"Maybe you need a little more to get off, huh?" Jock teased Blair, reaching and finding Skinny's necktie. He wound it over Sandburg's face, blocking his vision, crushing his delicately curled lashes. "A little bondage oughtta do it. We'll see if you can guess who's in your ass now, shorty."

"None of you is man enough for me, that's my problem," Blair muttered, too soft for Jock, but his words arrowed straight to Jim's ears, setting off madness in his brain. He rose, not bothering to excuse himself as he struggled past the other watchers and bulled his way to the door.

The bright lights of the adjacent room dazzled Jim's eyes, but he didn't care about that, turning a fierce glare on Skinny and Blondie. Their eyes went wide with fear at the fury in his gaze, and they backed off a little. Jock didn't notice, preoccupied with Blair's slim waist and chest, leaning forward to toy with Sandburg's nipple ring preparatory to entering him. Jim shoved him aside without a word, the watchers beyond the dim glass forgotten. Jostled, Blair fell to his side.

"Hey!" Jock's protest cut off as Ellison fixed him with the same death-promising glare that had silenced Skinny and Blondie. Jim didn't have much height on Jock, but his muscles were better and he had the edge of experience; Jock seemed to sense the promise of death in his gaze and swallowed hard.

Jim wrote him off as a coward, returning his attention to Blair. He helped Sandburg back to his knees, hands moving on Blair's body with tender care, supporting him. The three men flicked glances among one another nervously, none of them feeling quite comfortable with abandoning Blair to a stranger's fucking, but none of them particularly wanting to tangle with Jim, either, not even three on one.

Blair settled it inadvertently, leaning into Jim's hands. "Oh, that's nice," he breathed. "Yeah, more of that." Jim glanced down and realized his hand had curved around Sandburg's erection, stroking it gently. Jim bent forward and pressed a kiss to Sandburg's neck, tasting sweat and lust there, then raised his cold eyes to Blair's three friends. Jock shrugged, stepping back. A moment of tension passed, then Skinny laughed and shrugged, reaching for Blondie, who kissed him eagerly, apparently eager to get past the tension of the moment.

Jock gave Jim another hard stare and then joined his friends, Blondie taking over Blair's submissive role between the two taller men as the orgy recommenced. Jim sighed his relief, tuning them out, glad that they hadn't pressed the issue and forced him to leave Blair.

"What you waiting for?" Sandburg sounded impatient. "It's cold in here, man, and I've gotta get home."

Yeah. It's your night to wash the dishes. Jim found himself smiling idiotically, and he tumbled them onto the dirty coverlet, rounding his back against the intrusive window. Blair gasped, then purred, sensing the difference in Jim's approach.

"Oh, that's good..." Jim silenced him with a kiss, crushing the swollen lips and drinking from them urgently, desperately. He might never be granted the opportunity to have this again. He scrabbled for an unopened condom among the few that the men had scattered on the bed in preparation for their orgy, rolling it onto his penis with shaking fingers. Blair tasted so good in spite of the lingering acrid hint of latex in his mouth; he smelled of sweat and pheromones and Jim couldn't keep it together any longer.

Shakily he drew back from the kiss, savoring the lingering taste of Blair in his mouth, and gently drew Sandburg up, helping him kneel over Jim's lap. He had to have this... had to have it. His body wouldn't accept no for an answer and Blair was willing if unaware, letting himself be touched and taken. Sandburg felt Jim's cock nudge between his cheeks and he purred richly, pleased, and pressed back, seeking Jim's entry.

Strangling a sob low in his throat, Jim obliged him, sinking into the loosened, abused depths like coming home. He nuzzled Blair's throat, speechless with tenderness and regret, with shame and lust and sympathy and love. Using him. Just like they did. A guilty lump choked in his throat and he couldn't have spoken even if he weren't hiding his identity from Blair. He stroked gently into Sandburg, nuzzling and kissing him with sad desperation. If this was all he could have, he would at least make it as good for Blair as he could.

Jim dialed up his senses, focusing them all on Blair, reading every last flicker of pleasure from the smaller man's body and playing to them diligently, caressing sensitive flesh, varying the pressure, seeking the points that ignited Blair, making him whimper with passion. He pulled Sandburg up onto his lap, cradling him tenderly, nuzzling under the sweat-wet fall of hair to lick his nape, tweaking gently at the nipple ring. He made love to every inch of Sandburg's skin he could reach, using hands and fingertips and tongue, using his own skin and his solid aching cock to pleasure Blair as best he could.

Tenderness ached in him, intensifying the sorrow he felt at having seen Blair used so carelessly and not even getting to come. Should have asked me, baby... but you couldn't know. I couldn't know. He buried his head against Blair's shoulder and thrust gently, feeling Blair tighten as his orgasm approached, listening to his crooning moans and sweet, helpless gasps. It was good for him, Jim could tell-- Sandburg hadn't made nearly as much noise before, hadn't moved with such sensual abandon. Blair's hands slid behind Jim, pulling his hips up, encouraging him to thrust harder, and Jim nipped Blair very lightly, then obeyed.

Blair began to plead softly, a low stream of urgent words tumbling from his lips. "Yeah, so good, don't stop. Like that...oh. Oh! Jim..." Blair's muscles locked and his cock spasmed, pearly ropes of come jetting out to cover Jim's petting hand.

The Sentinel froze, holding his partner in his arms, the echo of his own name ringing in his ears. Blair couldn't know. Couldn't. Didn't. Didn't know. Just a fantasy. Just Blair, blindfolded in a sordid sex club, having just let four different men fuck his tender ass and wishing they'd been Jim, not knowing that the last one had actually been the fulfillment of his secret fantasy.

Gently Jim disengaged himself, stroking Blair's flank in silent comfort, and discarded the soggy condom. Ignoring Blair's still-occupied friends he swiftly left, not bothering to ask for a combination to his locker, his sensitive ears picking out the clicking of the tiny tumblers inside the lock. His fingers manipulated the dial with automatic, wooden efficiency. He dressed without bothering to clean himself and stumbled out of the club, returning to his truck quickly.

A shower as hot as he could stand it, a sandwich, and about six years asleep in his own bed-- he wanted those in that order, wanted to be tucked up silent in the dark when Blair got home. He needed to be safe from his roommate's soft eyes and gentle, misleading words. Jim wasn't ready to face what had happened yet; he wanted Blair to come to him with love, wanted Sandburg's heart, not just his hot, willing body.

As if.

Not going to mention this. It never happened. End of story. QED. He gunned the engine savagely, driving a little recklessly as he turned onto the boulevard and headed for home.

"A big guy, yeah. Older. Really built. Lots of muscles." Rick repeated the information for the umpteenth time.

"Anything else? Anything." Blair pleaded, needing more, having to have a more certain confirmation of what his own heart and body had told him, wanting something more than a whiff of aftershave, a tender touch, and a chance resemblance.

"Dark hair, but none on his chest. Good-looking." John supplied thoughtfully. "Receding hairline. Square jaw." He grinned. "He looked like he really wanted to eat you up, and you acted like you liked it, so we didn't argue with him." He sobered fast. "Hope that's OK, man."

Sandburg swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah, it's fine. This is my stop," he pointed to Colette's. "You think you'd know him again?"

"Yeah," Rick laughed, slapping his meaty hands on the steering wheel. "I thought he was gonna rip me apart to get to you. I'd know him."

Blair hesitated, considering whether to ask his friends up for coffee, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. "I'll see you guys tomorrow." He slipped out of the car. Squaring his shoulders, he began the climb to the loft, the smallest of smiles playing on his lips. He would have to be careful traversing the minefield of Jim's longing and denial, but now that he knew the truth, things were definitely going to change.

Blair steeled himself in the hall, pausing for only a moment to take a deep breath before he opened the door, startling Jim, who stood up in the light from the open refrigerator, looking at him with a carefully calm expression that concealed everything and nothing. The look laid bare Jim's need and his resolve, his strength and his weakness... and his quiet, despairing love. "Hey, man." Blair smiled, feeling himself relax. Everything was going to be all right. "It's good to be home."

End Secrets Laid Bare by Cara Chapel: aaboe@mailme.dk

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