Petfly owns them. I don't make any money off them.

One of my earliest TS fics; admittedly not my best. Maybe
it will suffice to while away an idle hour without too much agony on the
reader's part.
Previously published by Angel Wings Press in Whispers of the Heart 4, this
fic was also subsequently published by TACS in another zine even though
permission to do so had been withdrawn from her. I never received a trib
copy for that unauthorized publication, either, so I'm not choosing to honor
her zine's later expiration date.

Posted on behalf of Cara Chapel. Please send any and all feedback to: cara_chapel@hotmail.com

By the time Jim maneuvered his truck into the narrow alley, he already knew he had big trouble. He cut the lights and cruised without applying the gas for another couple hundred yards, sighting in on Simon's position, then cut the engine and whispered up within a dozen feet before applying the brakes and jumping out of the cab.

Simon rolled his eyes with exasperation at the dramatic approach. Crouched behind a battered dumpster of redolent bouquet, he keyed his radio and muttered intently into the headset, coordinating the SWAT team. They were preparing to blast the living hell out of a wild house party that had taken over the entirety of a dilapidated three-story storefront and its two upstairs apartment clusters.

"We've got that dirty bastard Grisham this time." Simon looked up as Jim's hand fell on his shoulder. "We're going in five."

"No," Jim said quietly, shaking his head.

"No?!" Simon's voice shot into the upper register of permissible volume, creating a feedback in his headset, and he grimaced. "What the hell's up?" His face tightened with tension.

"Sandburg's in there. He said he was going to be at the big party on Second Avenue."

"You haven't got him going undercover, have you? Ellison, if you two are after Grisham and didn't bother telling me, I'm gonna tear you both a new--"

Jim weighed the consequences of truth and fiction, settling on truth as the lesser of the two evils. "He's not undercover." The big cop started shrugging out of his kevlar vest, stripping down to black jeans and T-shirt. "He's just at the party. He left a message on the machine at home. I just got it on the way over." He met Simon's offended look defensively. "Well, there are a bunch of kids from Ranier in there. We're too close to campus for there not to be. That's why Grisham's at the party in the first place, you know that. Looking to line up some more clientele." Looking to get a bunch of innocent kids hooked on the shit he's pushing.

Simon goggled at Jim. "Put that thing back on. You're not going anywhere."

Jim continued to remove all visible evidence of his affiliation with the Cascade PD stubbornly. He could still scent the faint traces of Blair lingering in the nearby street, all but confirming his partner's presence at the party. He stuck his pistol in his boot, pulling the leg of his jeans over to conceal the faint bulge it made on his calf.

"You sure he's inside?"

"Just about positive. I don't want to see him booked for being there, and he's not getting caught in the crossfire this time." Jim set his jaw stubbornly. It's happened too many times already. Not again. "Grisham's not likely to take this lying down and we both know it. I don't know why you want to jump him at a party full of kids anyway."

"It's not just Grisham. We think his supplier is in town too, and that's worth a lot. Plus there are a couple more people we've had tabs on, and they're all here..." Simon shrugged resignedly. "Not as many innocents in there as you seem to think, Ellison. Vice is in on this too. I tell you, there is some serious shit going down at this... party... of Sandburg's."

"So I'll yell at him later. We'll both yell at him. Find out what the hell he's thinking-- or what he isn't thinking. Give me twenty minutes, Simon." Jim tucked his vest into a battered athletic bag and started to step forward with it in his hand, but was stopped by Simon's outflung arm.

"Ten." The captain licked his lips. "You've got ten minutes to get Sandburg out before we come in. We can't miss this collar."

"Twenty."

"Ten."

"Fifteen."

Simon exhaled explosively. "Fifteen." He grudgingly released Jim's arm and the big cop strode on past, hearing his captain begin an exasperated muttering into his microphone. "Hold back. We go in twenty."

Jim just nodded grimly; that was Simon Banks for you. A good friend. A good man to have on your side in a crisis.

Ellison didn't have time to stick around and say thanks. He entered the street, which was a little brighter than the alley, but several of the street lamps had been broken and his presence wouldn't be immediately apparent to the average viewer watching the street from the party apartment. His keen, enhanced vision enabled him to cross the street easily, avoiding empty bottles. He reached and snagged an intact one that still had some dregs of beer inside, hoisting his bag easily over his shoulder. He only had one kevlar vest, and he cursed himself mentally for not having carried another one in his truck, but he hadn't thought Blair would be along for this bust.

There was a good chance it might be needed. The way the kid drew gunfire... he was glad he had at least one vest.

Trotting up into the pool of light near the door, Jim tried to look unthreatening-- quite a feat for someone with his build. A guy standing at the door looked him over. Scrawny punk kid, greasy, with an eyebrow ring. Chewing gum-- Big Red, by the scent of it on his breath. Could be worse. Jim gave him a big, friendly grin, waving the beer bottle and shifting his sack into plain view. "I brought the stuff." Jim put a hint of leer into his grin. "This is the place, right?"

"Yeah, probably." The kid nodded slowly, stepping aside to let Jim in, and his gaze shifted away vacantly. The encounter was already forgotten. Jim dialed up far enough as he moved past the kid to smell a faint lingering whiff of cannabis soaked into the fibers of his hair and clothing. A stoner on the door. Leaves you vulnerable, Grisham. That's what you get when you come to a kids' party.

Jim checked his watch as he stepped inside. Seventeen and a half minutes to go. The lower room was a madhouse, stock shelves shoved to the exterior walls and mounted with an unmatched assortment of pulsating speakers. It was uncomfortably loud even with his hearing dialed nearly to nothing, the music flaying at his skin with insistent vibrations of bass, feeling like it was peeling off a layer or two.

Kids were dancing and writhing, and not all of them were in compliance with the city's decency statutes. A couple of pretty young women were topless, up on rickety crates, dancing and being felt up. Probably hookers from Ranier, trying to pay their tuition. Jim felt a lump of pity rise in his throat and averted his eyes from their tender, too-young flesh. He started pushing through the crowd, standing out like a sore thumb among the kids.

Somehow hearing Sandburg talk about conferences he'd had with similar kids where they'd confessed their sins and their reasons had gotten to him; he couldn't take the same callous attitude now that he'd once taken in Vice. These kids were begging for trouble, and he had to remind himself that the trouble they'd get tonight with the police was undoubtedly a much healthier kind than what waited down the road. Most of these kids were still young, still fairly innocent, still nominally under the thumb of mom and dad. Maybe getting busted would put enough of a scare into some of them that they'd get out of this lifestyle for good.

He made it to the back of the room, mentally cataloging a few nastier faces among the gathering, seeing a couple of guys carrying a piece tucked into the back waistband of dirty jeans. One of them, a hard-faced Latino, took one look at him and then slid into the crowd off the back wall, vanishing. Shit. Jim wondered if he'd been made, and he bulled forward with additional resolve to hurry.

"Mr. Ellison!" A chirping voice penetrated the noise, tugging faintly at his bottomed-out hearing, and he felt a simultaneous pull on his sleeve. "Hey!"

A bright-faced blonde girl, flushed from alcohol-- probably one of Sandburg's students, about to find herself in a world of hurt. Concentrating on her face, Jim realized he'd seen her in Blair's office once, maybe as recently as the last semester. If she wasn't somewhat drunk, she'd have already made the crucial connection between "Mr. Ellison" and "cops."

"Hey, Candace." Jim dragged up her name from the depths of his memory and turned on the charm. Thrilled to be recognized, she beamed up at him. Her sulky-faced boyfriend took one look at Jim's tight-stretched shirt and well-honed muscles and made the strategic decision to wander off for another beer. "You seen Mr. Sandburg here?" He could tune his hearing back up and try to find Sandburg's voice, but he'd risk zoning on this horrible noise if he did that.

"Yeah, I think I saw him go upstairs with David." Candace frowned a little. "You need him? I can go up and look." She moved in front of Jim gracefully, parting the crowd with little apparent effort.

Jim stared down into her slightly hazy eyes, trying to decipher her reaction. Her respiration had just jumped, he could see the flutter of the pulse at her throat. Something about his request was troubling her, but he couldn't begin to guess why.

"Nah, I think I can find him myself. Thanks." Jim started to move for the stairwell.

"Mr. Ellison..." Candace tugged on his arm insistently, then hesitated. "I better go with you." Some of the high color had left her cheeks, and her eyes were a little clearer; adrenaline was pushing the buzz out of her system. Candace promptly wrapped herself around Jim sexily and tugged him forward, chattering breathily, too low for him to make out the words now that she wasn't pointed at him.

A cluster of seedy young men and women had bunched up at the foot of the steps and two of them were lighting a crack pipe, shoulders rounded to the room. Simon was right. This party had to go down. One of the men leered at Candace and tipped Jim a sly wink. Jim flushed, knowing that he looked like some kind of child molester pervert as he trailed the pretty undergrad up the steep stairs, her bottom swaying attractively in front of his face.

A short hall with a single yellow light bulb opened in front of them at the top of the stairs and Jim checked his watch. Jesus. Thirteen minutes.

Candace turned to face Jim, her brown eyes solemn. "Mr. Sandburg isn't in some kind of... this isn't a problem, is it?" She surveyed Jim and the bag he carried with caution. "I mean, you do know about him and David, right?" She looked embarrassed, almost... protective.

"Yeah, I know," Jim lied, not having time to worry about what she meant. "Candace..." he shook his head, banishing indecision that he had no time for. He reached and lifted her face, staring straight into her eyes, hoping that she'd lost enough of the fog from the beer to listen. "Go home," Jim stressed the words in his best cop voice. "This is not a good place for a girl like you to be, you got that?" He could remember her bright chatter, remember Blair's pleased look as he handed her back an essay with "excellent" written in large red letters on the title page.

"Now?" she faltered a little. Her eyes were more aware now; alarmed. Jim figured she'd suddenly made the connection that "Mr. Ellison" equaled "cop."

Jim nodded. "Don't make a fuss about it, all right?"

"Shit." She looked panicky and lunged toward the stairs, frightened.

Jim caught her arm as gently as he could, held her there, shook his head. "You helped me, I help you. You cause a scare, it could get really ugly and you might get hurt. Just walk out immediately and quietly, and everything will be OK." Candace took a deep breath and Jim kept his eyes on hers, trying to project fatherly reassurance. Apparently it worked.

"Thanks, Mr. Ellison. I'm gone." She nodded, panic mostly aborted, her native intelligence asserting itself. "You'll get Mr. Sandburg out, huh?"

"Yeah." Jim let her go this time and promptly forgot about her. He dialed up his sense of smell, searching for traces of Blair amidst the stench of stale urine and cigarette smoke that permeated the building. His partner's aftershave lingered in the air, leading Jim down the hall and to the third-story stairwell. Shit. He searched for more watchers but apparently he'd passed the gauntlet so he loped down the hall and took the next flight two steps at a time.

Pausing in the upper hall, he zeroed in on Blair's scent, listening at doors as he passed them, not hearing anything helpful. He paused about halfway down the hall, pausing in front of the door where Blair's scent seemed strongest, and risked tweaking up his hearing a notch or two. Somebody was inside all right, there were faint rustling noises, but no voices, no clues or proof. Jim took another look at his watch-- eleven and a half minutes, Jesus, he'd wasted too much time with Candace-- and reached for the knob, his partner's name on his lips.

Two crucial pieces of information penetrated his brain even as he felt the rusty metal knob move reluctantly in his palm. First, that there was somebody coming up the stairs he'd just used-- somebody with a quiet but purposeful tread. Sounded masculine, probably wearing boots and jeans. Second, there was a soft murmur in an unfamiliar voice and Jim realized that there was somebody else inside the room with Blair. At least, he hoped Blair was inside the door he'd picked.

Releasing the knob, Jim hitched up the leg of his jeans and palmed the grip of his pistol. Then he pushed into the room, choosing unannounced intrusion as the lesser of two evils-- maybe the guy on the stairs wasn't after Jim at all, but if he was, there was no point in sticking around to find out. He only had about ten minutes to pull his partner out of this hellhole and then find out what the fuck Blair was thinking of to come here in the first place--

Jim's eyes went wide, and his hand convulsed on his gun. Instinctively he leveled the weapon, flicking off the safety and sliding his finger onto the trigger. The door clicked shut behind him, unnoticed.

There was a bed, and Blair and a guy-- Blair naked, with his legs hooked over a guy's shoulders-- God, they were fucking. The blued steel of restraints that closely resembled regulation police cuffs encircled his partner's wrists, imprisoning the agile, expressive hands over Blair's head and fastening them to the bedstead, fuck what was Blair thinking to let himself-- was he willing, or was he drugged? A dirty white bandanna was tied over Blair's eyes, shit, and the guy fucking Blair was aware there was somebody else in the room now, he was looking up at Jim with startled eyes, this must be David. The man's face drained of blood, going white, whiter than the nasty stained sheets on the bed where Blair lay. The man's hips stopped their quick, convulsive jerks, his eyes fixing on the gun, and Blair moaned. Jim couldn't tell if it was protest or relief.

"Aw hell, no, don't, don't, don't... please, man!" David whimpered almost soundlessly, his face set in a rictus of terror. Jim very nearly flinched as he realized he'd drawn a bead centered right between David's heavy, upswept eyebrows.

Jim jerked the gun to one side, a vicious command, his hands trembling so badly he wasn't sure he could pull the trigger if he had to. David obeyed, instantly dropping Blair's legs and slipping out of his body. He scuttled to a corner, instinctively shielding his now-limp genitals with his hands. A part of Jim's mind started screaming with relief as it noted the condom the man wore. David was starting to cry, terrified, still staring down the barrel of Jim's gun.

"David?" Blair spoke up sharply, and shit, this was consensual after all. Blair's voice held concern, a little alarm, uncertainty-- no confusion or pain, no evidence of having been forced. Jim's nostrils flared. There wasn't even a scent of alcohol on his partner's body, Blair wasn't even DRINKING, didn't even have that excuse for being here in this hellhole full of crooks and creeps and... and queers!

Shit. Shit. Sandburg. Jim's eyes locked on his partner, the sight of Blair nude and stretched taut with passion burning itself irrevocably into his brain. Jim swallowed hard, forcing his attention back to the other man in the room.

"David?" Fear now, fear-scent, fright vibrating in Blair's voice, driving it into the upper register. Blair tested the restraints that held him mercilessly pinned to the bed. "You OK, man? David? Talk to me. This is freaking me out, okay? Safeword, David. Oh hell, David... what the fuck is it?"

David didn't seem to hear him, eyes fastened to Jim and his gun, and Jim gave a contemptuous jerk of his head, his eyes blazing with an unmistakable message: Back toward the door. Out. Now.

Blair's terrified male lover obeyed with alacrity. Giving Jim a wide berth, he didn't bother to worry about being naked as he fled from the big cop's obvious fury, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh shit, oh shit," there were tears in Blair's voice now. "Fuck.. David? Don't do this, man..."

Jim put the safety on his pistol and stuck it in the waistband of his jeans, his hands still shaking badly. He didn't know where the keys to those damned fucking handcuffs were. He had to reassure his partner. He ought to lock the door, for what little good that was going to do if David showed up with reinforcements. Seven and a half minutes. Christ.

"It's me, Chief." Jim's voice rasped and he cleared his throat before continuing. "David's gone. Took off like a bat out of hell." He turned the latch, engaging the deadbolt. From the desiccated look of the wood in the doorframe, it would last all of two seconds against a determined assailant.

"Jim?" Disbelief, terror. "What the fuck-- Jim!" Blair's tone suddenly transmuted to sheer piss-off. "Who the living hell gave you the right to barge in here and--"

"Shut up, Chief." Jim heard his own tones ring low and deadly, silencing Blair. As his roommate took a deep breath and prepared to launch into an angry tirade, Jim continued, his quiet voice overriding Blair's anger. "There's a SWAT team outside ready to mow this place flat in... six minutes and thirty-eight seconds. Right over the top of us, if I don't get you the HELL out of here first. Where's the fucking keys?"

"D--David's pocket?" Blair's body tensed, his scent a mixture of fear and something Jim had never smelled on him before, something strong and acrid and terrible. He realized suddenly that it was shame. Humiliation. "Try there, Jim. Hurry."

"You don't have to tell me to hurry." Jim snarled, almost equally embarrassed by what he'd interrupted. He tore his eyes away from the sight of Sandburg stretched out on the bed, naked, his penis shrunk now but still impressive even flaccid. Sandburg having sex. With a man. Doing a bondage scene for the love of God. At a party full of pimps and pushers and crack-heads and why the hell didn't he take it to his own bed but shit, he couldn't have, now could he, how would he explain bringing something like this home to Jim at the loft. But why the living shit hadn't he taken his lover to a motel instead of coming here?

An unfamiliar wallet and set of keys tumbled out of the pocket of the pair of jeans that didn't have Sandburg's scent on them-- well, at least not much of it, though too much for Jim's taste. He rifled through the keys with tension-chilled fingers, selecting two, and moved to the head of the bed.

"Don't. You. EVER. Do something this stupid again." Jim unfastened the leftmost cuff from the bedpost to ease the tension on his roommate's shoulders, then released Blair's left wrist and leaned over him to reach the right. He could feel Blair's heat and smell the scent of sex rising off his partner's body.

Distracting.

Erotic.

Shaking his head savagely to clear it, he tucked away the cuffs absently and tugged the bandanna off of Sandburg's head.

"It's my business. My business, man." There was anger in Blair's tones, subdued and sullen.

"Later, Sandburg. Get your pants on and let's get the hell out of here before Simon sends in the team."

They had a little less than two minutes left by the time Sandburg dragged on jeans and an overshirt and crammed his feet into his shoes, not bothering with little niceties like socks and underwear. Jim shoved the kevlar vest onto Blair's uncooperative torso, spared a sigh of relief in Simon's direction for the extra time, and caught Blair's arm unceremoniously, dragging him toward the door.

"Fire escape," he snapped, listening intently, pulling his gun. "Hurry. Somebody's coming." Probably David was bringing in the cavalry, afraid Jim was raping Blair or something. Hell, it would be ironic, but he might have even called the cops.

The room was near the end of the hall, but they were halted as Blair struggled with the window. It was painted into the frame. Jim sighed, mentally counting seconds, and curled his fingers into the gap Blair had made on his own. He shoved up the sill using brute force, sending flakes of dried-up paint scattering into his partner's hair as the younger man squirmed out and disappeared even before Jim finished pushing the window open.

"That's him!" An angry voice resounded. David. He'd found some courage and some pants and a few reinforcements.

Swearing, Jim pulled his gun. "Police. Freeze!" The threat sent the college boys scattering.

"What the hell's going on?" A door opened. More people were stirring now, the commotion disrupting the clandestine assignations and deals that were going down in the other rooms.

Jim squeezed through the window and followed Blair, skinning down the fire escape, making the drop to the ground just as faces filled the window behind him. Angry voices and a scream erupted from the party. The SWAT team chose that moment to swarm the party and Jim threw Blair to the ground as two officers trained weapons on them.

"Cascade PD," Jim lifted his head. "Undercover. My badge is in my right front pants pocket." He laid his gun down carefully and let a pair of officers pat him and his partner down, scratching in his pocket to find the promised badge. Miraculously, Sandburg also had his observer's ID and they were both quickly released. The two cops who'd held them rushed to join the rest of the team in subduing the party.

Jim took Blair by the shoulder and hustled him out of range of the melee. "I can walk." Blair's voice was sulky and the stink of adrenaline and humiliation poured off him in waves as he jerked his arm out of Jim's grasp. Together they made their roundabout way back to Jim's truck.

Pausing to let Blair into the cab, Jim trotted out into the street where Simon stood, watching as the team began shuffling the first of its captives out to load them up and pack them back down to the precinct for booking. Jim nodded, approving and relieved. It had gone down fast and clean. There'd been no shots; apparently his and Blair's escape had provided enough of a diversion for the team to get the drop on the more dangerous elements present at the party.

That was a good thing.

He caught the captain's eye. Banks lifted a brow in query. "Got out fine-- and without a second to spare. Sandburg's a little shook up but he'll live." Terse, unrevealing words. "Did you pick up anybody who came out of the party before the team went in?"

"No."

"Good." Jim nodded, hoping Candace had done as she promised. "There'll be a guy we need to work with. Young, gray eyes, sandy blond hair, five-ten and probably about one-forty. Mole on forehead, freckle on his right cheek. Earring in his right ear. David somebody." Jim reeled off details he'd hardly remembered noticing in the heat of the moment. "He was with Sandburg when I caught up to him. We're probably going to have to cut the kid a deal-- let him go in exchange for his silence on the fact that I pulled Sandburg out before the bust went down." Jim inhaled quietly, keeping his voice even. "I think he'll be cooperative," he finished dryly. "He wasn't doing much you could charge him with." Not since the sodomy laws went off the books, anyway.

"Other than being enough of a damned fool to be at the party in the first place," Simon commented, voice sharp with implicit criticism for Blair. "But we can do that." Jim relaxed, releasing a tense sigh as Banks repeated Jim's description into the headset.

"Simon, it looks like things are smooth here. You don't need me till tomorrow, do you? I need to get Sandburg home, get him cleaned up and calmed down and get our stories square for the report."

"I wondered how long it'd take you to stop giving me orders and hightail your butt out of here," Simon responded dryly. "Get lost, Ellison."

That was good, too. Jim nodded gratefully and hurried back to the truck. What wasn't so good was his partner sitting there sullenly, wiping his hair back out of his eyes, his gaze on his knees. As Jim climbed into the truck Blair shrugged out of the overlarge kevlar vest he still wore and dropped it on the seat between them, symbolically rejecting Jim's protection.

"That place was bad news, Chief." Jim tried to keep his voice level. Blair opened his mouth to protest but Jim forestalled him. "What the hell did you take it there for? You can rent a motel room or tell me to get the fuck out of the loft for an evening or do it in the damned city park behind a bush, I don't care, but what the FUCK were you doing at one of Grisham's parties?"

That shut him up.

"Didn't know Grisham was there. I guess I bought the cover story." Blair drew into himself. "Just another sucker. Like those kids who were downstairs."

"There wasn't any gunfire. I don't think anybody got hurt."

"Let's go home. Now."

Jim blinked, turning away from Blair's terse anger. "I cut a deal for David. They're gonna let him go, if he has sense to keep his mouth shut about me pulling you out."

"Yeah. He will. Thanks." Blair's voice was dull and quiet. "Drive or I'm walking, Jim."

Jim exhaled an angry chuff of breath and started the truck, backing out of the alley deftly. He threw one arm over the back of the seat without thinking, his fingers brushing over Blair's shoulder and catching in his hair. His mind flashed back to that image of his partner-- Blair Sandburg, naked and beautiful and erect, cuffed down on a bed, spread out and taking it, just taking it... the little moan he'd made when David pulled out of him... Jesus! What's wrong with me!? Jim drew back from the contact as though he'd been burned. Blair shifted away toward the door, staring out into the darkened streets as Jim put the truck in drive and got them out of there.

They made the trip in silence. Blair's held his jaw in an angry set, a muscle in his cheek twitching with stress. When the truck stopped on Prospect he was out and into the building before Jim could finish locking up.

Jim Ellison leaned against his truck and ran his hand over his mouth and chin, trying to come to terms with what was happening. What had already been an extremely embarrassing, uncomfortable night was probably about to get a lot worse. With a sigh, he climbed the stairs, needing the extra time to compose some kind of defense to use when Blair confronted him. He suspected he wouldn't have to say much. Sandburg was plenty mad. Worse, the shame he'd scented on his partner would probably fuel that anger through a lengthy and pointless argument.

Blair surprised him though, sitting in the darkened loft and staring silently out over the city, knees tucked up to his chin. He didn't speak or move when Jim entered the apartment.

Jim needed a beer. He went to the refrigerator and opened a bottle. "Want one?" His calm tones projected a facade of normalcy. Blair didn't answer so he opened a second anyway and took it in to his roommate, who accepted it with ill grace and held it without drinking.

His prepared defenses didn't seem necessary. "So what the hell were you doing in there, Chief?" Bad choice of words. Jim winced at his lack of forethought.

"Getting my rocks off." Abrupt and curt and a little bit rude.

"Well, I could see that," Jim responded dryly and took a swig of his beer. "You do that a lot?"

"Butt out."

"No, seriously." Jim felt edgy, aggressive, and upset by the events of the evening. He could tell he was taking it out on his partner unfairly but he just couldn't stand to sit there in silence with Blair shutting him out. He didn't know how to do that, really. "You like going off to the worst party you can find and picking somebody up? You like cuffs, leather, maybe a little pain?" His voice sharpened.

"Shut up!" Blair hissed. He didn't meet Jim's eyes.

"I thought that bas-- thought David was raping you, Chief. Thought you were drunk, maybe drugged. You scared twenty years off of my life." Jim's voice was raw with pain and anger.

Blair started to speak and then seemed to think better of it, releasing the abruptly-inhaled breath with an explosive exhalation. "Well, he wasn't. And I didn't 'pick him up.' I've known David for a long time. I need to call him." His tone was slightly less angry, but was still hard and unforgiving.

"He's probably still at the station." Like you would be if I hadn't come for you so isn't it time you show a little fucking gratitude here?

Blair nodded once, jaw working as he struggled for calm, almost seeming to read Jim's mind. "I appreciate the thought, but I can take care of myself."

"Oh?" Jim drank another swallow of beer. It tasted bitter in his throat.

"Yeah. And I'll have sex with anybody I want." Regaining the sharp edge on his anger, Sandburg lifted snapping eyes to glare at Jim. "Because we both know that's what your attitude is really about, Jim. Don't we?" He challenged, red-rimmed eyes snapping up to glare at Ellison.

"No, it isn't. This is about you taking needless risks and showing poor judgment by leaving yourself vulnerable in dangerous situations." Jim felt his anger go icy calm. "I don't care who you fuck."

Sandburg flinched. He hadn't drunk a drop of the beer Jim had brought him. His knuckles whitened as his fingers clenched the bottle. Clearly Jim had struck home. The big cop frowned, slightly puzzled by the strength of Sandburg's reaction.

"I'm going out," Blair announced suddenly, thumping his untouched beer down on the coffee table and surging to his feet.

"No, you aren't." Jim responded automatically, rising and moving to block the doorway, though Blair hadn't yet made a move in that direction. "Not till we hash this out."

Blair's eyes narrowed at him.

"You're too pissed off to think straight, Chief, and you're not leaving till we resolve this." Jim could almost taste the rightness of his decision. Maybe Sandburg just wanted to go down to the station and fix things up with David, but it was also possible he would go out to a bar. He could even find somebody else, resume the activities Jim had interrupted...

The very thought made the sentinel see red. His hand closed around an item in his left pocket.

"And why do you think you can tell me what to do?" Blair's voice rose angrily. He stalked up to Jim, the scent of fury pouring off him, his hair fairly crackling with the electric energy of his anger.

"Because you're not thinking straight. I've got a set of cuffs right here, Sandburg, and unless you can convince me you're not going to be that asshole-stupid again, I'll use them on you. You can get off on being fastened to your own fucking bed!" Jim struck like a snake, one steel circlet attaching to Blair's wrist.

Blair's eyes went wide with shock, and he yanked hard, his defiance useless against the unyielding metal. "Let me go." The words were quiet and deadly. Jim hung on determinedly, stared into simmering blue and shook his head silently, then closed the second circle around his own wrist.

"Big mistake," Blair scuffed his free hand through his hair raggedly, beginning to lose his composure as well as his temper. "Big mistake. Get out the fucking key, Jim. Now."

Jim dug in his pocket, watching as Blair followed the awkward progress of left hand into right pocket intently, eyes fixed to Jim's hand as it emerged with his key ring.

"No!" Blair made an abortive lunge as Jim drew back his hand and threw the keys hard. They rattled to a stop somewhere on the floor in the upper bedroom.

"Now. Let's talk, Chief. Let's talk." Jim tried to make his voice mild and reasonable, tried to cut through the panicked fury to reach Blair.

"All right, you win. I'm here for the duration." Sandburg made the concession grudgingly. His heartbeat was too quick, his scent taking on a tinge of fear. "Safeword. Safeword, Jim. You know what that means? Let's go up there and get these things off. This involuntary prisoner thing is freaking me out." Blair's voice shook a little at the last words.

It wasn't earlier. Jim bit back the snide comment. "Promise you won't leave."

"I'm not going anywhere." Blair exhaled, anger deflated. "Just get that key."

They climbed the stairs awkwardly together and Jim bent to scratch the keys out from under his bed. He picked out the small cuff release and inserted it into the lock.

It didn't turn.

"Not funny, man. Go on." Blair tugged his wrist impatiently just as Jim twisted the key harder. There was a slight cracking sound.

"Shit." Jim extracted the stump of the broken key. "There must have been something in there... Christ, these must be David's cuffs, not mine."

"What?!"

"David's. I think I put them in my pocket when I let you go."

Blair's blue eyes widened with shock, taking in the small piece of jagged metal Jim still held. "And you just broke your key off in the lock?"

"That key should've worked in any set of cuffs, Chief." Jim sighed. "How the hell did I know it was going to break off in there because your friend doesn't have enough sense to keep his equipment cleaned and oiled?" Ouch. Bad double entendre, even though Jim hadn't meant it that way. "Well, they're not coming off now."

"Hacksaw."

"We don't have one."

"Shit!" Blair sank down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his jaw with his left hand.

"I'm sorry, Chief." Jim joined him, hand awkwardly suspended over Blair's lap. "Looks like I'm not thinking too well tonight either."

Blair stared down at their joined wrists with nervous bemusement. Jim squirmed a little, watching Blair glare at the handcuffs in despair. "Why don't we go back down on the couch? You can finish your beer," he suggested again, gently. "Maybe we can set up some ground rules for me giving you more private time here in the loft. What do you say, Chief?" It was the best he could offer.

Blair hesitated, not lifting his eyes, and then stood up. They went down together and sat, Jim's right hand lying on the cushion between them, Blair's tugged across his lap to accompany it. Sandburg picked up his beer left-handed and took a swallow, making a face.

"So you wouldn't have a problem with me bringing David to the loft." Blair's voice was low, and he still wasn't looking at Jim.

Jim exhaled, a long, slow sigh. The question was a test, and he couldn't lie just to give the right answer-- he had to be willing to put his money where his mouth was. "You didn't have to hide your preferences from me, Chief. I can deal with you being bi, as long as I know you're safe." He sighed. "And this is the safest place you can be. So no. No, I wouldn't." He squared his jaw and looked right at Blair's face.

Blair finally looked up, studying the sentinel's expression cautiously. "You really don't have a problem with what you saw?"

"Well, it was a bit of a shock." Jim moved his arm lamely. "You coulda knocked me over with a feather."

"I bet." Blair's laugh was low and hard, not amused. "It wasn't exactly my idea of a good surprise either." He toyed with the beer, thumbnail picking at the label. Having his hands restrained seemed to restrain his words, too. "So you're going to claim you're not upset with me because... because I like being with men."

Jim paused to think. Tough question. He was upset about that, yeah, but it wasn't really why he was furious with Blair right now. "Well, no, that's not the main problem here. I was mad because I was scared to death for you, Chief. You don't have to take those kinds of risks. This is..." he stopped, swallowing self-consciously. "This is your home and this is where you ought to feel comfortable to be yourself and do what you want. Where you ought to be safest. I haven't made you feel at home here, haven't let you be safe here. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Well, I don't think David will want to see me again anyway. And not here, for sure. You probably scared the shit out of him." Blair's chuckle was still low and painful.

"Yeah," Jim admitted. "I think I probably did." He shook his head a little. "Sorry."

"Yeah." Blair laid his head back on the sofa and sighed, his body releasing up some of the terrible taut stress it had maintained since Jim first burst in on him back at the party. His fear and shame scents began to ebb, replaced with sheer weariness. Jim watched him sympathetically. He's been so afraid. He was really terrified about how I'd react to what I saw. Tension ebbed out of the room slowly, replaced with a quiet that didn't achieve comfort, but was a lot better than the tense, crackling silence they'd shared on the way home in Jim's truck.

"God, I could use a shower." Blair's tone was wistful. Jim raised a brow and rattled the cuffs as a quiet reminder that his roommate's wish was impractical in the extreme. "...Or some sleep." Blair set aside the half-empty beer, remembering to use a coaster this time, and covered his eyes with his free hand.

And that was a problem too. It was way too late to go out wandering around in search of a hacksaw. Joined at the wrist by three inches of chain, they were either going to have to share a bed or one of them was sleeping on the floor. Jim swallowed nervously. Share a bed. With Blair. Who was bisexual. Who he'd just seen nude, who he'd just witnessed having sex. With a man. He hadn't had time to think about that yet, to "process" it, if he wanted to use Blair's word.

Well, he'd said he wanted Blair to start feeling at home. And he did. He wanted Blair to feel safe here, so he wouldn't have to take that kind of risk to find a place anymore. Maybe now was time to start making some of the sacrifices it was going to take in order for that to happen.

"Come on, Chief. We'll," Jim cleared his throat a little nervously. "We'll both fit in the big bed. This is my fault, but I'm not sleeping on the floor next to that futon of yours."

Blair looked up at him, eyes in shadow, but Jim could guess at the uncertain expression they held. "I can sleep on the--"

"Nah, our arms will hurt and neither of us will get any rest." Jim made his voice brusque and decisive. "I'm not gonna lie to you. I've still got to adjust to... what I've just learned about you, Chief. But I'm not scared of being near you and I'm not going to condemn you," he said, more gently. "Besides, if you were gonna go crazy and try to jump my bones at knifepoint, you've had plenty of chances before now." He chuckled softly, punching lightly at Blair's arm, making sure his roommate knew he was joking.

His roommate swallowed visibly and nodded. "Thanks, Jim."

"Don't mention it." Jim paused. Both men still felt a little nervous, but equilibrium between them was growing rapidly. "Damn, what a night. Now don't get any fancy ideas about what I'm saying here, but I think you got it right. We need sleep. Soon." Jim tried on a small smile, and it fit pretty well.

Blair nodded. "I'm going to need to get some underwear, go to the bathroom." His voice was a little sheepish.

"Yeah, me too on that last part. We'll manage somehow."

They did manage, awkwardly taking turns in the bathroom, giving and taking as much privacy as possible. Each man in turn extended his arm into the bathroom and closed the door on it while he leaned against the doorjamb to wait for the other. Jim heard Blair giving himself a quick sponge-bath and sighed with a little relief that Blair was washing the remnants of David off himself before coming into Jim's bed, though he was discomforted anew by the reminder of why the man he'd attached to his wrist needed to bathe.

There wasn't any way to change shirts with the cuffs on and they were going to need to go out to get free the next day, so they settled for the expedient of Jim sliding his shirt off to pool at his wrist and Blair simply leaving his on. Jim still wore a tank tee, which wouldn't bind him up while he was sleeping, so he didn't feel too exposed and uncomfortable as he and Blair mounted the stairs up to the big bed together.

After a moment spent discussing logistics they decided to settle with Blair on the outside and Jim on the inside. Joined right arm to right arm, they decided that Jim would lie on his back and Blair would stay on his stomach in order to make their hands fall naturally between them. Jim crawled into bed uncomfortably and averted his eyes as his roommate joined him, slipping underneath the covers with quiet dignity and turning out the light.

"'Night, Chief."

"'Night, Jim."

Blair fell asleep fairly quickly, exhaustion and stress taking their toll on him, but Jim couldn't relax and he lay awake on his pillow, gazing up into the dark recesses of the ceiling.

That image was still burned on his brain, conjured by the quiet breathing of the man who lay next to him. Blair's bare body. Over and over his mind traced the arc and flex of wiry muscle, the soft smudge of chest hair with nipples peeking through. The graceful, vulnerable posture of lifted and spread legs and the fine bones of bare feet. The way Blair's adam's apple worked when he swallowed. The thick, veined redness of his erect penis, circumcised head shining with salty fluid. Jim could almost taste the remembered smell of the smaller man's pheromones and pre-ejaculate and sweat.

The way the cuffs had shone on his wrists, holding him in place...

Jim swallowed hard, eyes tracking to the cuffs that now linked him to Blair. He wasn't into bondage any more than he was into men, but god. He'd never seen anything quite so hot as Blair fastened down on a bed, ready and willing and open. More images crowded his head, he was extrapolating now from the sight he'd seen as David backed away from Blair. Blair had gone quiescent for a moment before the fear and tension set in, his slender taut-muscled legs downed with coarse curly hair that caught the light for Jim's eyes, his feet sliding across the dirty sheets, legs splaying out lazily. Blair couldn't get up, couldn't even clear his vision to see, but Jim had seen and the images just wouldn't leave. Sandburg would look like that in the aftermath of successful lovemaking, too... a sheen of perspiration and oil on his thighs, on the cleft between his buttocks... Jim found the thought repulsive in a way, alien and keenly uncomfortable, but also distinctly alluring.

This is crazy, Ellison. File it in the round file and get to sleep. Count sheep or something. You picked a fine time to have some kind of repressed homosexual crisis. Was that what this was? ...Well, yeah. It had to be. With Sandburg, the cause of it all, lying right here next to him in bed, no less. Jesus.

Blair stirred, moving onto his side and facing Jim, his arm trailing awkwardly between them, restrained by the obdurate metal that linked them together. Sighing, he settled back into the pillows and slid into deeper sleep again. Relaxed in slumber, his face looked almost childish, lips slightly parted. His lashes curled, accenting the smooth curve of his closed lids. Jim wondered why he'd never noticed that before.

Jim shook his head, trying to reconcile his prior notion of Blair with tonight's images, now running through his mind with three-dimensional clarity that extended into every sense he had. Blair was so confident, so... well, masculine. He stood up to people, didn't let them bully him. Not even Jim, not even tonight. There wasn't a lot about Blair that reminded Jim of your stereotypical effeminate, of your standard... queer. Jim guiltily licked his lips and adjusted his mental terminology. OK, your standard... bisexual man.

The only things you could put your finger on would be his looks and his obvious emotional sensitivity. But Blair was tough and hard and reliable-- as tough and hard as he had to be, and in the course of their work together, that had been pretty goddamned tough a time or two. It wasn't like they said in the military, that you couldn't rely on a gay guy in a crisis. Blair was rock-solid there.

And it wasn't true what they said either, that you couldn't do good successful teamwork in tandem with a gay, not in Blair's case. Jim had been working with him for years now and Blair had never hit on him or come onto him the way everybody always said gays did. If anything, Jim was the more physical of the two, and he'd never felt uncomfortable touching his partner. Hell, if he was strictly honest with himself he'd probably touched Sandburg way too much, but Blair had never taken it as an invitation to try anything radical. Aside from a few arguments their partnership had all been good, been better than good. Their case success record was phenomenal and they could always resolve their difficulties once they took time to calm down and talk things out.

Yeah, hell. He was prejudiced, he'd bought into the shit and hadn't really thought too hard about the implications at the time. He wasn't really hostile to gays, but he was a little homophobic nonetheless. He could tell it in the way that he'd recoiled automatically from Blair the moment the secret came clear to him in that nasty grungy room where he'd seen a stranger standing between his best friend's legs, buried hip-deep in him. He could tell it in the way he was having to re-evaluate everything now and try to smooth over the fear that stemmed from the things he'd been taught about gays.

Jim was carrying the weight of a lifetime of indoctrination in macho heterosexuality learned from working with cops, imbibed along with discipline and order while he was in the military. It probably had its earliest origins in the days when he'd been a posturing snot-nosed high school kid listening to (and even participating in) locker-room accusations and ugly talk about "fags." Or maybe he'd even learned it from his father. Jim's jaw tightened.

He frowned, eyes wandering to Blair, who lay trustingly at his side, sleeping peacefully now that the earlier emotional storm was past. How much prejudice had his roommate endured? He'd been pretty scared of Jim's reaction, so there must have been some. Jim could just imagine Blair in one of those locker-rooms of his own memory, pushed up against a wall and harassed after PE... a class that a lot of the smart kids and the geeks at Jim's high school used to call "studies in contemporary state-sponsored terrorism." Teen-age Blair Sandburg, young and vulnerable. Picked out for harassment in any one of a dozen different high schools and junior highs. Paying large for being small and intelligent and an outsider and... bisexual. Paying large at the hands of bigger guys, jocks... guys like Jim.

Blair sighed and murmured a little in his sleep, sounding distressed, and Jim felt his eyes sting. He lifted his arm, bringing Blair's with it, and laid Blair's open palm down on his roommate's side. He couldn't stroke his friend's arm comfortingly, so he settled for lacing his fingers into Blair's. "It's okay, Chief." Blair subsided softly.

His partner really brought out the protective side of Jim, he had to admit that. If David had actually been raping Sandburg... Jim swallowed, throat rasping harshly. He might have shot the bastard right then and there, in cold blood. Came pretty close to doing it anyway. What a mess that would have been. Blair would never forgive him for something like that, no matter how he'd meant it. He'd have to be more careful, just like he hoped Blair would be.

Blair stirred, turning onto his side with his back to Jim, automatically bringing his wrist in front of his chest, inadvertently nestling into Jim's arms. Jim let himself be pulled closer-- an innocent thing, he could hardly blame the sleeping Sandburg for forgetting they were cuffed together. His left arm naturally fell forward to wrap around Blair's waist, and if you wanted to be perfectly honest, that wasn't a bad thing at all. Blair trusted Jim, valued his friendship and respect. That's why he'd hidden his bisexuality, fearing that Jim couldn't cope with it. Jim sighed. After the living hell of embarrassment and fear Sandburg had been through tonight, after all the shit he might have suffered getting to this place in his life, he probably needed the comfort of being held.

So when Blair snuggled back against Jim, making the older man his blanket, Jim didn't wake him or try to pull back, lying still and breathing in the scent of Blair's curls where they lay tumbled on his pillow. Not bad, not bad at all. Nothing threatening about this, nothing wrong. Jim made himself relax. He wouldn't do this with just anybody, but Sandburg was special. There was something so open and giving about him that Jim couldn't grudge giving a little comfort back in return.

His eyes followed the curve of Blair's ear down to his neck and kept tracing his neck and the bit of shoulder until it disappeared into the collar of Blair's rumpled overshirt. It couldn't be comfortable sleeping in that thing. It was rucked up around Blair's waist and belly, visibly binding and cutting into the soft flesh of his armpit.

Jim felt remorseful for having restrained Blair against his will with the cuffs, but he couldn't have let the younger man go out in that state of mind. In a way, he was even perversely glad he'd done it. Glad that Blair was here now, here and safe and getting the rest he needed. Glad that he could watch over his sleeping friend.

He moved his free hand very slightly, found a button on the shirt and slipped it out of its buttonhole, then moved gradually upward until all the buttons were released. The buttons around Sandburg's chest were pulled taut by the combination of unyielding fabric and Blair's near-fetal sleeping posture, confirming Jim's suspicions of his roommate's discomfort. He felt better when the shirt was released, pleased that he'd done this little thing for Sandburg, especially without waking him up-- that would've been hard to explain.

As he subsided to stillness and laid his head back down on the pillow, Jim realized he'd moved closer to Blair while he worked on the buttons. His nose was touching the back of Sandburg's head now, the springy curls were crushed under his cheek. They felt soft and smelled herb-sweet, with only a faint hint of smoke and sweat from the party lingering in them. Blair's back was warm against Jim's chest and his buttocks lay nestled snugly into the crook of Jim's body.

Jim felt himself tense a little. This was a bit too close for comfort, and it made his memory flash back to the images of Blair nude. He understood almost instinctively that this was a position men used for having sex; if he and Blair weren't wearing undershorts his cock would probably be nudged up between the cheeks of Sandburg's butt. As it was, it was pretty damn close anyway.

Blair sighed, a long low sound eloquent of sleeping contentment. Jim licked his lips nervously, eyes tracing a few stray wisps of his partner's hair. Blair was so warm, so solid... he fit so well inside the curve of Jim's body, and it felt so good to hold him here like this, sheltering and protecting and... cherishing him. It felt great, too comfortable, much better than it should and why the hell hadn't he told Sandburg that he'd sleep on the floor next to the futon. Because damn it, he was starting to feel their closeness in his groin, he was stirring, he was going to get hard if he didn't do something damned quick to stop it. He was about to be as hard as a rock, pressed right up against his male roommate's backside.

If Blair woke up, that was going to be a lot more awkward to explain than the goddamned shirt buttons would have been.

Jim held his breath, sending urgent messages to his penis, which blithely ignored him. He'd thought he had a pretty good idea where he might have registered on the Kinsey scale before tonight-- straight as a board, and twice as inflexible-- but this was really fucking him up, tearing down his illusions. His cock definitely liked the idea of being so close to getting inside Blair Sandburg and it wasn't listening to the mind that was trying to persuade it that Blair was a man and that it didn't really want to do that.

Well, why is that? His mind turned the problem over relentlessly, approaching it from a new perspective. Involuntary erections are a fact of life. This one doesn't mean you're gay, Ellison. It doesn't mean you really want to get inside Sandburg's shorts.

Does it?

Are you really sure?

He lay very still as Blair coughed a little, clearing his throat, and then snuggled back up contentedly without ever waking.

Well, let's try this on from another angle. You saw what David was doing. Do you really want to follow his example? You really want to put your favorite part of yourself inside somebody there, knowing what comes out of that particular orifice? Think about it that way for a minute.

Well, not really. Ugh. He'd never even done that with a woman.

Masculine identity nominally reinforced, Jim relaxed a little in spite of his growing hard-on. No, from a rational perspective he was uncomfortable with the thought of anal sex, and the idea of having it done to him was even less appealing than thinking of doing it himself. He sure didn't want to do any licking in the vicinity of that orifice either, even if it was Blair, even if he was attracted to his energetic younger roommate.

He let his mind wander, spiraling slowly down toward sleep. No, he liked women, that was all there was to it. Liked how slick and soft and yielding they were, liked how they arched and purred and clasped him inside themselves and quivered hard when they came... He liked liked the thought of someone sucking his cock into their hot velvet mouth, nice and slow... yeah. Loved the idea of someone he loved looking up at him with big blue eyes shining through curly hair as he went down on Jim all the way. He liked thinking of Blair this way. So good to look down and see his cock sliding wetly in and out of Blair's beautiful mouth-- so good-- God!

Jim jerked awake with a gasp, penis full and aching, just barely managing to halt himself on the right side of the point of no return. His balls throbbed tightly, nestled up snug against Sandburg's smooth round hips, and his hard cock lay cradled between Blair's butt-cheeks just like he'd known it could. Jim flushed brilliant beet-red with embarrassment, realizing that Blair's own erection was poking against his arm where it lay curved around the man's belly, its tip wet through the thin cotton boxers Sandburg wore.

Shit.

He moved his arm up a little while he hastily checked Blair's respiration, relieved to find the rhythms of sleep holding steady in spite of his own convulsive awakening. Probably Blair's hard-on was an automatic reaction to feeling a stiff pecker pressed up against his ass; it didn't mean anything at all, didn't have to mean anything.

But what if it does? Jim struggled to keep his cool. What if Sandburg wants me? Wants inside me? Wants to suck me... the dream image flashed back into his head, enhanced by the scent of Blair's hair and the warmth of his strong body in Jim's arms. Jim felt his blood pressure surge, cock twitching in a delighted response. Aw, hell. Frustrated and disturbed, Jim clenched his toes savagely. They were the only part of himself he could move freely without disturbing the sleeping man in his arms.

He wanted Blair. Wanted him. Wanted that soft, hot, luscious mouth on him. God. In spite of his caution, his arms tightened instinctively around Blair as he buried his face in the herb-scented tangle of hair, struggling desperately with fear and self-image and lust.

"Mmmm. Jim." A low purr, accompanied by a comfortable snuggle of hips. Blair pushed back softly into Jim's groin, still more than half asleep in spite of the disturbance to his rest. "You okay?"

No. Not okay. Maybe never okay, maybe never again...

"Yeah, Chief. I'm all right." His voice was weak and unconvincing.

"What's goin' on?" Blair was waking more by the moment, and Jim pulled his hips back, trying to be unobtrusive about it, but it was too late. "Oh! Oh..." Sandburg's voice hitched with dismay. "I'm sorry, Jim, I didn't mean to..." Blair faltered and fell silent.

Didn't mean to what, give me a hard-on that I could use to drill through a plank of plywood, just by lying perfectly still, asleep in my bed after I pulled a dumb caveman stunt and cuffed you to my arm? Jim thought wryly, but his voice was gentle when he spoke.

"Easy, Chief. It's not your fault, not you who needs to apologize, and nothing's wrong. I was just... doing a little thinking, that's all, and things sort of... got out of hand." He didn't release Blair.

Sandburg remained uncertainly silent, waiting for more, and when Jim failed to supply it he finally spoke up with a curiously tentative resolve. "Thinking about what?"

"About... fucking a man." Jim admitted softly. "I was wondering if I'd ever want to do it, and I really didn't think so, but then I fell asleep and it seems part of me had a different opinion."

"Oh." Soft hesitant voice. "You... all right with that?"

"I don't know, Chief," Jim admitted quietly. "It scares the hell out of me."

"Yeah." Blair agreed with genuine empathy. "I was scared too, when I realized I was attracted to men."

Jim blinked a little. Yes, Blair would have gone through a similar process; he'd had to at some point, hadn't he. A similar process? What the fuck did that mean? Was he turning gay or something? Christ! Jim tensed, the idea disturbing him.

"I can sleep on the floor, Jim, really," Blair offered, his voice a little subdued.

"No, Chief, I can cope." Jim patted Blair's sternum reassuringly, forcing himself to unwind.

"You want to talk about it? The dream? The fear?" Blair shifted, coming out of Jim's arms and lying on his belly with the cuffs between them again, turning his head on the pillow and sweeping back his hair so he could look up into Jim's face.

"I'm not sure I can." Jim sighed with relief at the removal of contact-- but he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. He realized his eyes had focused in on Blair's mouth, memorizing the soft curves and fine pen-line crinkles of his lips. It wasn't doing anything to reduce his stubborn erection.

"Occasional dreams or fantasies with homosexual themes don't automatically mean you're gay, or even bi." Blair lifted his cuffed hand to pat Jim's wrist awkwardly, taking advantage of the silence to do some talking of his own. "It's just normal intellectual curiosity. Maybe with a little identity anxiety crisis thrown in. Sleeping so close to another guy after... after you saw what you did... probably triggered this one for you."

Always the scientist, explaining, classifying, compartmentalizing. Reassuring. Jim lifted their joined arms and touched his fingertip to Blair's lip, satisfying his overwhelming need to confirm the information granted by his eyes. So warm, so soft. What would be wrong with kissing such a sweet mouth? Would it make him something less than he'd been twelve hours ago? Jim shook his head in confusion. Being with men didn't make Blair less special or less reliable. He'd already reasoned that out. So why should it be different for him?

"What did you dream?" Blair's voice held a note of professional curiosity. "Maybe it was a significant dream. You know, symbolically. It could have some other hidden meaning that I can help you interpret, Jim."

Jim chuckled wryly, still distracted by the mobile mouth. "I don't think it does, Blair. It was pretty concrete. Specific."

"Oh?" Uncertainty again. "Well, maybe it was just a normal wet-dream type thing, and your senses just fixated on... well, maybe on me? Because I was close by? And because you got sensory input earlier that made you think of me in a sexual context. That could explain it." He searched cautiously for a reaction, generously giving Jim a great big tempting way out of a damned uncomfortable situation.

"Maybe." Jim paused, thinking. His heart was pumping hard and he felt a little dizzy. Blair's soft, kind expression drew him like a magnet, those warm lush lips filling his vision. "There's probably an easy way to test that." He couldn't stop looking at Blair's lips, the way they moved and pressed and opened, the way he'd touch his teeth to the lower one to form an "f" or purse them to form an "m." "Using the scientific method," he teased lightly. His heart beat harder, adrenaline flooding his system.

"Yeah?" Blair sounded interested in spite of himself, relaxing again now that he was sure his assumption that he'd starred in Jim's unrevealed dream hadn't pissed his partner off. "Is there?" A hint of a smile curled Blair's ripe mouth, and Jim felt scent tickle his nostrils, inhaled-and suddenly, he was sure. Desire, Sandburg's pheromones. Masculine and potent and heady. Blair did want him.

And Jim wanted him back. God, how he wanted a taste of Sandburg's luscious, ripe mouth...

"Yeah, I think there is." Goaded by lust and a perverse refusal to give in to fear, Jim leaned forward abruptly, hesitating on the verge of touching Blair's soft lips for just a moment, just long enough to let Sandburg back off if he wanted. When Blair stayed put, Jim uttered a helpless murmur of surrender and dove deep into unknown waters.

His lips closed over delightful, sweet heat, there was a moment of the same yielding he liked so much from women... and then Blair was turning to face Jim again, pressing close and coming back at him with a man's aggression, mouth firming and working against Jim's eagerly. Fire exploded through the sentinel's nerve-endings and he took the smaller man's lower lip in his teeth, nipping and suckling at it, listening to Blair's soft, surprised, half-moaned inhalation. The catch in Blair's throat, the tiny whimper.... they eroded away Jim's capacity for rational thought, leaving behind only desire.

To have the power to make another man feel so much, to make his throat spasm with these small, helpless noises... to feel the same things taken from him and given back to him by Blair's strong hands and knowing tongue... incredible. It was all he could focus on, and he let himself zone on sensation. The combination of Blair's silky mouth, the touch of his gentle hands, and his soft passionate noises kept Jim from losing it entirely. Their bodies twined greedily, groin to groin, erections pushed together in a sensation so intense it was almost painful. Blair. Beautiful, hot, willing. Mine.

He drew back, surprised by the ferocity of the thought, not quite knowing what his experiment had told him, but it had worked, god had it worked. Blair's eyes fluttered open, dazed and dilated.

"A--And even straight guys sometimes experiment," Blair faltered, still looking out for Jim, still offering a chance for him to deny what had happened. "They try things out, satisfy that curiosity. But usually they're still straight afterward, they still--"

Jim silenced him, halting Sandburg's half-panicky tirade in mid-word, catching his mouth again. This time Jim pushed Blair over onto the mattress, covering the lean hard body with his own. "It's good. So good," he murmured with amazed pleasure between clinging, savory kisses. "You taste so good, Sandburg." His insides zinged hot and tender in response to each kiss with an intensity that simple kissing hadn't caused since he was in his teens, sending lightning pulses of arousal through his erection as it ground down onto Blair's.

Somehow it wasn't about being a man with a man anymore, it was about doing what Jim wanted: it was about discovering Blair. About experiencing him and cherishing him and protecting him and wanting him. The heat and the hardness of the taut shaft pressing up against his own reassured him with its urgency and its obvious passion, letting him know he was doing this right after all, just like it came naturally to him. Maybe it did.

They kissed for a long time, Jim succumbing to his greedy craving for the hot flavor of Blair's mouth but not ready to take the responsibility of pushing things further, the way he would with a woman. He wanted Blair, wanted Blair's mouth on his cock with desperation, but each time he lifted his head to look down at the kiss-crushed lips, the request died in his throat, somehow unable to make it past his tongue. Finally the urgency of the kisses ebbed away, leaving sleepy, molten sweetness in its wake, Blair's tongue sliding along his like liquid velvet, learning the inside of his mouth with gentle assurance.

"What do you want, Jim?" Blair pulled away at last and licked his bruised lips, moisture gleaming on his tongue in the faint moonlight that leaked into the loft through the skylight. "You want to have me? You want to stop now and see how you feel about it in the morning?" His voice was deep and husky with passion. Willing to go either way: all or nothing. Whatever Jim needed.

Jim flushed, uncomfortable, remembering the import of what he was doing. Even though Blair said you could experiment and still not be gay, you wouldn't precisely be arrow-straight either. Hell, he certainly wasn't arrow-straight anymore even if they stopped now; he'd just spent the last hour kissing his partner and he felt like his spine had turned to mush. He wanted more. Kissing wasn't enough; somehow he sensed he couldn't ever get enough of Blair.

He didn't even want to think about David kneeling between Blair's spread thighs. Didn't ever want to taste someone else on Blair's lips again. Somehow, the thought of Blair taking another lover scared him even more than thoughts of his own sexual orientation and self-concept, now totally shot to hell.

"Sandburg... Blair." The name tasted a little strange on his tongue; he didn't use it often. Just another way he'd always bought into the macho bullshit of the military and the police, and the locker-room-- acting as though using somebody's proper name was a sign of too much affection. Well, if that's what the custom meant, then Blair would know it, and he'd also know what it meant for Jim to use his first name now. "I don't think this is just experimenting anymore. Not for me. If that's what it's about to you, if think you're just humoring the old man who wants to try a short walk on the bi side, if you want to forget it ever happened as soon as the sun comes up tomorrow, then we're stopping right now, got it? Before we do any more damage to what's been a pretty good partnership."

Blair looked up at him thoughtfully, his eyes dark and wise. "Are you saying you want to stop, or not? What are you going to do when the sun comes up, Jim? Are you gonna freak on me?"

"Are you gonna freak on me? Go running back to David? Spend a little while breaking me in and then start picking up girls again?" Jim winced at the hurt on Blair's face, but he had to know. "Is this it for the team of Ellison and Sandburg?" His throat threatened to close.

"I don't know," Blair responded softly. "Is it? Do you want it to be?"

Jim slid his arms around Blair, feeling desperation knot deep in his throat. He crushed his partner tightly to his chest, burying his face in the warm, tangled mane. "I don't want it to be. Not ever. I don't know if I can go back to the way we were before. I do know I can't if it goes any further." The hoarse admission tore away the last of his defenses, leaving him flayed and bare.

"So we've gotta decide if we're gonna respect each other in the morning." There was a tremor in Blair's voice, even muffled against Jim's throat. "That sounds like a good place to start."

Jim swallowed thickly. "I... I don't want to take this kind of risk for nothing. I don't want something short-term and shallow to destroy the trust and friendship we've worked so hard for. And... and I don't know if I can do this, this gay sex thing. I don't know yet how much I can offer you, Blair. But if this is automatically just some one-night stand, I know I can't do it. I won't put myself through hell by tossing aside the self-image of a lifetime and run the risk that I'll wind up losing my best friend, not just for one night."

Blair nodded against Jim's throat, stroking his spine, strong blunt fingers comforting Jim through the fabric of his tank shirt. "That means a lot to me," his voice was hoarse. "And if it helps, I don't want to do that either." He pulled away, gazing into Jim's eyes earnestly. "I think this is an experiment, though. All relationships are in a way, aren't they? But an experiment doesn't have to end until you want it to, and a lot of times experiments that seem really risky or stupid lead to brilliant successes."

Blair reached and touched Jim's face, lightly stroking soothing fingertips over his friend's cheekbone. "I think we're already more than friends, Jim." He smiled a little, letting their position speak for itself. "But how are we ever going to learn how much we can be to each other if we don't try it and see if it works out for us? If we let fear make our decisions for us, we'll never realize our potential, man. We'll never even know how good it might have been."

Blair's eyes fixed Jim earnestly, all obfuscation set aside. "We can take it slow, one step at a time, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, but..." he swallowed hard. "You're obviously already willing to consider it, and if you really think you might want more... I want us to try, Jim." Hope and worry and fear mingled in Blair's sober request. "I think taking this risk might turn out to be the best decision either of us ever made."

Or it might drive us apart for good. "I..." Jim's voice faltered and he licked his lips, feeling frightened and vulnerable as he stood on the verge of change. "I'm willing to try. To make it more. Not just sex." He blushed into the night, embarrassed by the words that were emerging from his mouth, by the naked truth in his voice.

Blair soothed him instinctively, fingertips moving to stroke the curve of Jim's eyebrow. "Me too. I have been for a long time." He leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to Jim's neck. "Don't be afraid I'll run back to David or start chasing skirts anytime soon. Not unless we both agree the experiment is a failure or something, and man, I don't want that to happen." Blair hesitated. "I've never stayed with somebody this long, never got this close, never wanted to stay with somebody forever before. But I don't ever want the team of Ellison and Sandburg to be over, not any more than you do. I just didn't think you'd ever give it the chance for us to try to take this step. And I thought sometimes that maybe you wouldn't always want me stay in your life, even as a friend." He nuzzled closer to Jim, honest pain in his voice.

"Blair--" Jim's eyes stung, his stomach rolling heavy with guilt.

"Shh." His partner covered his lips reverently, with a single finger of his free hand. Fondness warmed his eyes, almost a mischievous sparkle. "Anybody ever tell you you talk too much, Ellison?" Jim opened his lips and bit the short, blunt finger in response, licking its salty pad almost as an afterthought. "No freak-outs," Blair affirmed, eyes soft and tender. "Nobody else. Us. Serious trial basis, one step at a time, lots of honesty and forgiveness."

"Deal." Jim sighed, lassitude sweeping over him, mingled with pure relief and his unabated arousal at Blair's nearness. "It's probably gonna take me a while to learn how to operate this ride, Chief." He felt a little shy making the admission. "I wasn't really expecting it, you know?"

"We've got time," Blair murmured, and started laying little kisses all along his collarbone with sensual contentment, pulling aside the shoulder of his shirt to do it.

Jim groaned softly and felt himself relax, frankly admitting that he already more than liked the feel of the other man's hair on his throat and chest. "Sandburg, if you don't get your mouth onto my cock inside the next five seconds, we're not going to have that time, because I'm about to die of frustration, here." He blushed again, fiercely, as Blair laughed against his shoulder, his resonant voice pleased, warm, and loving.

"So that's what you dreamed about, huh?" Blair's voice filled with delighted mischief, his sorrow and fear and uncertainty set aside just that easily. Sandburg's sturdy fingers slid teasingly down Jim's front, dragging his arm along for the ride, and wrapped around the strong shaft they found waiting there, clasping it through Jim's cotton boxers.

"Sandburg!" An affectionate growl, and Jim cuffed his partner lightly, suddenly feeling like they were on firmer ground now that they had returned to teasing.

Blair laughed again, low and sensual, and began to move down Jim's chest slowly, kissing him through the thin cotton tank he wore. He paused at a nipple, tongue wetting it through the cloth, then drew back to blow cool air over it, still stroking Jim's erection lightly.

Jim froze, muscles locked taut. Unbelievable that this was so arousing, being kissed through his shirt this way. He wanted it off, wanted Blair's hard, crisp-furred chest against him, but Blair was moving down now, pulling the shirt up and kissing at his belly lightly, tracing washboard muscle with his tongue, flicking his tongue-tip into Jim's navel with a purr of sheer pleasure. Jim moaned softly and arched into the caress, needing it to move lower.

Blair's hand slid away from his cock and began toying with the waistband of his undershorts. Jim lifted his hips automatically, giving permission, and Blair slowly worked the underwear off him and down his legs, hampered by the cuff that restrained one hand. Finally he hooked them with his foot, dragged them down Jim's calves and off his ankles, and they were gone.

Blair looked up at Jim with a wicked, loving smile, steadying his lover's penis with his free hand, curls tumbling around his face. Jim caught his breath-- even more beautiful than he'd dreamed, more beautiful and terrifying and absolutely desirable. Then Blair opened his mouth and surged down over Jim's hard shaft, taking him to the root with one swift, skilled motion.

Jim shouted with surprise and arched up helplessly in response to the overwhelming sensation, Blair's square hands partly restraining his hips. Blair stayed still for a long moment, swallowing rhythmically around the thick erection that filled his mouth and throat, blocking his breathing. Then he pulled up slowly, leaving Jim's cock wet, blowing cool breath on the head in a way that made Jim's entire body shiver with desire and sensation.

"Show-off," Jim choked. Blair just looked up at him, lips curving into a smile, eyes piercing his lover with adoration.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." Before Jim could respond, Blair went down on him again, much slower this time, teasing the hard blood-dark crown with lips and tongue, sucking the shaft and scraping lightly with his teeth. His tongue played at the base of Jim's cock this time, counterpointing the hard pulses of suction, and Jim keened in the back of his throat, struggling not to come, wanting it to last. Needing it to last.

Blair caught Jim's eyes as he pulled back up, then sank down again with a low purr of pleasure, holding Jim's gaze throughout the long journey down. Jim moaned, the sound mingling with Blair's soft hum of delight. Sandburg literally vibrated with pleasure, his free hand working its way gently under Jim's testicles, fingers carefully caressing the hard rounds inside their loose sheath of skin. His other hand laced into Jim's, palms clasping together in a reassuring grip.

Scrabbling for his pillow, Jim worked to prop himself up so that he could watch Blair work his tingling shaft. The slightly stubbled chin dragged across one of his balls and he groaned, muscles going to water, intensely aroused by the subtle, unexpected reminder of his lover's masculinity. As though he could forget-- as though he wanted to forget.

Did he?

Jim looked at Blair. The sight of his new lover going down on him was sexier and more touching than he could have ever imagined. He realized he wasn't troubled by it, that he liked what he saw as he glanced down along the kneeling body to the hard cock that bobbed between Blair's legs every time he moved his mouth on Jim. Blair was hard and that meant he liked what he was doing, meant he enjoyed it. It was good to know.

Very carefully Jim moved his feet, bending his knees to bring them together underneath Blair's body, and reached up with a toe, finding the silky mat of hair on his lover's belly, stroking it experimentally, finding the hollow of Blair's navel and poking in and out with suggestive mischief.

Blair lifted his eyes to Jim's again, amusement and appreciation sparkling in their blue depths. Shifting his hips back a little to make the angle easier for Jim to reach him, he kept moving on Jim's cock, suckling it slow and easy, beginning to build a rhythm that would drive Jim to climax.

Careful not to press too hard, Jim maneuvered to clasp the hardened column of Blair's erection between the soles of his feet, at the instep where there weren't any calluses to discomfort his lover. Blair moaned throatily around him and Jim smiled, awkwardly cradling the warm shaft, managing a few short strokes. It wasn't as good as using his hands would be, but it was a start and this wasn't precisely rocket science-- he had one of these things himself, after all, and consequently he had a pretty good idea what to do with the one he now held.

Ever vocal, Sandburg moaned again as Jim gently massaged him. Changing his rhythm, he fisted the lower third of Jim's erection and began moving faster, fucking his own mouth with Jim's shaft, sucking hard. Jim forgot about his awkward attempt at trying to pleasure Blair and let his feet drop, bracing against the bed, feeling his testicles tightening. He squeezed his eyes shut and bucked up once with a silent cry as lightning flashed down his spine and he shot hard, coming in Blair's warm, worshipful mouth, feeling the gentle milking pressure as Blair swallowed him down.

Jim collapsed to the bed, sated and undone, reaching instinctively to draw Blair up into his arms, cradling his lover's faintly sweat-damp curls under his chin, murmuring wordless thanks and endearments as though comforting a child, though he wasn't entirely sure who needed comforting. Blair nuzzled his neck contentedly, reaching down to tend his neglected erection, and Jim stopped him, catching his wrist.

"I want to," he whispered, and he realized he did. His skin tingled all over his body, tantalized by the silky-smooth, urgent feel of Blair's hard cock, now pressing against his thigh. He wanted to return the favor, wanted to give Blair pleasure... wanted to feel the moist velvet of the other man's shaft in his hand and scent the sharp tang of his semen.

Blair lifted his head lazily, his eyes shining with a quiet, profound happiness. "Sure, man. Knock yourself out." He lifted his chin for a kiss and Jim met his mouth without thinking. He tasted an unusual wet tang overlying the sweet musky flavor of Blair and realized suddenly that it was himself-- strange, he'd never liked to kiss women after they gave him head, but with Blair it didn't bother him. A good sign, he decided, and shifted to be able to reach his lover's mouth more easily, wrapping his hand around Blair's needful thickness. His lover purred, radiating lust and pleasure.

"I'm gonna knock you out, Sandburg," Jim growled playfully, moving to nip Blair's ear.

"Go for it." Blair pushed into Jim's grip and murmured his name breathlessly as Jim responded to the gentle encouragement, tightening his fingers and making a smooth upstroke. Blair let his head fall back and Jim nipped the curve of his ear, sucking the silver rings into his mouth and tugging at them with his tongue.

"God, Jim!" Blair writhed, pumping his hips up, and Jim speeded the rhythm, lifting their joined wrists and tweaking at his lover's nipples, fingertips tickled by the wiry hair that guarded them. Blair turned his head and Jim kissed him, pushing Blair over onto the bed, half covering him, and now he had Blair exactly where he wanted him. He could feel the furred chest-- hard and male and intoxicating-- as it inhaled and exhaled under him, could smell musky masculine arousal and pre-ejaculate, could feel it slicking his fingers as they moved over the hot smooth glans of Blair's penis at the top of each stroke.

"Chief..." he groaned low in his chest and took Blair's mouth hard, pushed the younger man's lips open and fucked the welcoming depths with his tongue, gripping Blair's cock tighter and moving his hand faster. Blair whimpered once, the fingers of his free hand digging into Jim's shoulder. Then his body jerked rapturously taut and he quivered hard as he came, hot spurts of semen spraying through Jim's fingers to wet their stomachs.

"Jim..." Blair whispered, sliding a trembling hand up to move through his short hair. "God, that was incredible." Sandburg drew their joined hands through the mess on their bellies, lifting them as though he would offer Jim a taste, then visibly thought better of it and bent forward, tongue flickering pinkly over Jim's fingers, cleaning them himself.

Jim's throat tightened, his heart melting as Blair's lashes sank closed with obvious enjoyment. Jim hesitated for a long moment, knowing what Blair wanted him to do, knowing his lover would not ask it of him. Hell. Might as well... Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's thumb, heedless of the wet residue there, then waited for Blair's eyes to open and licked his lips as his lover watched. Blair blinked with surprise and his mouth curved shyly. Jim's own eyes widened and he licked the spot he'd kissed, savoring Blair's essence directly on his tongue... salty and just a little bitter, earthy and eloquent of everything that was Blair Sandburg... tangible evidence of Blair's love, Blair's passion for him. Taste and smell mingled into irresistible need, and he licked Blair's hand again, eyes sinking shut as he fell into the experience.

"You keep doing that, and I'm going to come again," Blair murmured shakily.

Jim realized he'd nearly zoned, licking and sucking their twined fingers as he learned the taste of his lover. Of his Blair-- tied to him by bonds of love stronger and more inescapable than the steel that bound their wrists.

"Be my guest." Jim opened his eyes to gaze smokily into Sandburg's beautiful, sated expression. "Next time I want to try to take you in my mouth."

Blair inhaled sharply, reaching to touch Jim's cheek with trembling fingers. "You do love me..." Awe and relief colored his voice, and he swallowed hard, blushing at having revealed his lingering doubts.

"Always," Jim promised, tugging his lover into a tight hug, his own fears beginning to vanish. "Always." 1

38

End Fit To Be Tied by Cara Chapel: panter@tdcadsl.dk

Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.