Petfly thinks they own them. but they say they own each other. aw, how sweet.

The one you've all been waiting for! The grand finale in the 'Blair's Food' series, following 'Frozen', 'The Popcorn Incident', 'Fresh', 'Bottleneck', and 'The Sandwich'. Can be read and understood completely without the other five, but personally I don't think it would be as much fun.

Special thanks and appreciation to Bev (ladygrey62) for the peanut butter idea, and Alex (SpaceMonkeySister) for the you-know-what idea! To Ann (turtle) an 'honorable mention' (salad bar). Apologies to Bluesky for luring you to the pastries and popcorn. Special love to Audrey (blkjag1961) - this one goes out especially to you - you know why. And MUCH MUCH love to all who offered such wonderful support and encouragement!!!

This story is a sequel to: The Sandwich

Cheesecake

BLAIR:

Tonight's the night. THE night. I've been working on him for a couple of months now. It's been a slow, methodically plotted campaign. If he doesn't crack tonight, he never will. But I'm armed and ready, and it's gonna be a full court press.

Why didn't I just get the man drunk, you ask? Because that wouldn't have been right. Or fun. I want him fully aware, fully participating, making conscious choices and clear-headed decisions.

I just want him thinking with a different head than he usually does.

Of course, Simon's little 'favor' seriously screwed up my timetable. Making sure Jim won't be out on the streets for the next two weeks - and therefore, I am completely unneeded at the station and can focus solely on finals - is a wonderful gesture and great for my academia, but completely SUCKS in the face of everything I've worked for since March.

I wanted to smack Simon upside the head and yell "DOOFUS! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS TO ME PERSONALLY?" But I had to take it in stride as the thoughtfulness that it is. Hell, Simon's just thinking of me. He used the old 'Jim's worried about you' tact, which I'm sure is true - hell, Jim's always worried about me. And yeah, under normal circumstances, I would love the idea that Simon's going to keep Jim tucked away and safe so I can just concentrate on my papers and grading and final lectures and study groups and and and and and...

But not THIS semester. This semester is the end of Seducing Jim. Spending two weeks apart except for in passing at the loft and on weekends could UNDO EVERYTHING!

Thus, tonight's the night. Actually, today's the day. As opposed to just intermittent moments of driving the big man into heat, I decided I had to spend the entire day building his sexual frustration. It's been tricky, and I absolutely had to make sure he didn't leave my sight - or at least the loft - for a moment. Wouldn't want anyone else benefiting from my months of hard labor, would we?

If all works to my carefully plotted scheme, last night was the last night I'll ever spend on that futon. Tonight, and every night on, shall be blissfully engulfed in the foamy yellow comforter that is on Jim's bed. And even better, engulfed in the hard, succulent arms that are JIM.

Part of me feels really bad about this. It's just so horrendously devious. And a little unethical, if I'm completely honest. After all, I've been studying the guy's senses for three and a half years now, both openly and covertly, and now I'm using that knowledge against him.

But it's not like I'm trying to seduce the unwilling... just the seriously repressed and inhibited. Hell, the guy's been lusting after me for how long now? But I know he HAS to be the one to make the first move, or it'll be forever and a day before he can completely commit himself. And damn it, I want him fully committed. To me and me alone.

Geez, that's something else, isn't it? Me, with my date of the week. Mostly girls, sure, but that's just because with girls nobody blinks if a guy has a rotating door on his bedroom; if I had as many guys laying me as I had girls, my reputation would be garbage. Damn double standards in our supposedly 'civilized' society. I bed six girls a month and I'm a stud muffin. I bed two guys in six months and I'm a faggot whore.

Makes me want to move back to that tribe in Zimbabwe - god I miss that sometimes. Six weeks, fourteen different partners on rotation, and no worries about illness because everyone believes in safety first. Ah, they sure understood the pleasures of the flesh.

Of course, that's not what I'm in this for. Which is why this is more than just a little scary. I want the commitment part of it. I would never campaign after Jim just for a one-night stand, or even a casual weeklong fling. No, Jim is THE ONE. The 'big letters, underline, bold print, burn the Roladex and pick out china patterns' one. Took me a while to figure it out, though.

I started getting the idea when Naomi first showed up and Jim joked about how attractive she is. Not that he wasn't serious - hey, my mom's a babe, I know that - but he wasn't seriously interested, and I knew that. But it didn't stop the Green-Eyed Monster from raging through my brain for days. I was jealous of my own mother! How Greek Tragedy is that? Spent weeks meditating to figure that all out. But I decided, hey, Jim's my best friend, my roommate, and oh yeah, my RESEARCH SUBJECT! So I dropped the idea.

Well, I tried to, anyway.

A little while after that was when I noticed Jim watching me. Not watching out for me, not just being a bud, but watching me the way a lover watches. He noticed things like when I got a hair trim, when I changed soaps, when tried a new brand of mouthwash.

At first I chalked it up to Sentinel Awareness, but it there were some things that didn't fit that theory. I mean, why would being a Sentinel mean he felt a need to mention that a certain shirt really brought out the green flecks in my otherwise blue eyes? Or that a particular deodorant worked especially well with my body chemistry?

So I started running some tests. Just little things. I would put a single dab of very mild cologne at the small of my back and see his reaction. Since the amount of scent was so minimal, Jim never even noticed that he was sensing it. But I noticed certain scents made him stay farther away physically than others. When I wore certain colors he'd spend the day looking at me more than others. When I used a certain conditioner, he would practically live with his hand in my hair.

And the whole time he was almost completely oblivious to his own actions.

Okay, I hear you - Sandburg, he's a Sentinel! He's all tactile and sensual input - that doesn't mean he loves you! Believe me, I argued with myself over that for a while.

So I corralled my friend Lisa into my tests. Jim had commented more than a few times how attractive Lisa is, and how we sort of look alike. And seem to share a similar body chemistry - translation: we smell a hell of a lot alike. So much so that he actually mistook her for me a couple of times when I wasn't home when she came to see me. I figured: okay, girl he finds pretty, similar in sensory output to me - let's see if Jim shows the same reactions when she wears the same scents.

Okay, there was, like, a two percent chance that the scents wouldn't match even with our similarities, but I figured with a number of different tests I could get a pretty good idea.

She practically lived with us for two weeks - including coming to the station and even crashing at the loft quite a few nights. We told Jim (and Simon) that she was doing research on a paper on time management, and considering my juggling act that I was a perfect study subject. I think Jim loved the idea that I was now the study subject instead of him.

For the record, she really did write a paper on time management after spending two weeks with me... she just hadn't planned to beforehand.

Anyway, I spent those two weeks wearing absolutely NO scents at all - I even used eggs to condition my hair to make sure I was as scent-free as possible. Of course, I didn't tell Lisa that - she thought I was testing Jim to see how the regular presence of an unknown individual affected his behavior towards me, his regular partner. Sure, he encounters unknowns every day, but this unknown was a 'control', invading ever aspect of his daily life and essentially 'moving in' on his territory.

Yeah, it sounds a little weak now, but hey, she bought it. That's all that matters.

For two weeks, Lisa-the-Female-Blair washed with my soaps, shampoos and conditioners, wore my deodorant, used my toothpaste, mouthwash, breath mints and body scents. Since everything I use is designed for Jim's tolerance, none of it really qualifies as terribly masculine, so Lisa didn't mind.

How did I convince her to do that, you ask? I told her it was important for this controlled study that she be as similar to me as possible, and that my next study would be using someone who was as completely opposite of me as possible. Again, weak, but she bought it. Hell, I'm known for my weird studies, so most people who know me just take it in stride.

So for all this time, Lisa smelled like me, looked enough like me in female form that even Simon commented, and dressed like me (even wore my clothing). Given my current data, I expected Jim to be dating her by the end of the two weeks. After all, he already found her attractive, and they've always gotten along great, he even accompanied her to a couple University functions when her dates fell through at the last minute. He seemed to really like her. I figured, with the base attraction and interest already there, the sensory attraction should be just a half-step away, right?

Wrong.

Not only did he not try to develop a deeper relationship with her, but he actually seemed to gravitate closer to ME. Not deliberately, and certainly not because he showed any signs of jealousy or territorial imperative. More it was like he needed to reassure himself that I was actually there, since the majority of the sensory input he was getting was from her. Instead of trying to smell her or touch her, he seemed to smell and touch me MORE.

After the two weeks was up, I decided I needed to know what was going on in his brain, so I leveled with him. Okay, I didn't LEVEL with him, but I weaved a story very close to the truth so as not to technically be lying while still getting the information I needed. I thought he might get mad about the whole thing - after all, I did lie to him at the beginning - but when I explained that some tests would be invalid if he actually knew I was conducting them... well, he admitted it made sense.

Anyway, he said that yes, he liked the scents Lisa was wearing, and yes, he noticed they were similar to mine, and yes, now that he thought about it he realized that she had been making herself very similar to me in almost every way... but she wasn't me.

She wasn't me.

I know I must have been grinning like an idiot, because Jim laughed and ruffled my hair and said something sappy like no one could ever replace me in his life and how after everything we'd been through together didn't I understand that... it was a real Kodak moment, you know? And then he said the important part.

He said that all the while Lisa had been hanging with us, smelling and looking like me, he realized he'd been opening his senses further to me, to make sure I was really still there. And then he smiled, like that should say it all.

Pretty big WOW, huh?

But yet, this still didn't mean he was lusting after me, right?

So, one more test. And I admit this was a mean one, but hell, I HAD to know where I stood, and God knows I couldn't just come out and ask him. He'd either deny and repress, or laugh, or worse, both and then smack the shit out of me. The Ellison Intimacy Issues do not allow for casually questions such as 'hey big cop stud, are you lusting over your very male roommate?' Nope, just not kosher.

I talked him into taking me to the gym one day, supposedly because I wanted to review my exercise routine to see where I could improve things. And I told him that I didn't want anyone else around if possible, since short geeky me gets nervous around all those big buff body builders. Not entirely a mistruth, either.

So Jim, considerate guy that he is about my insecurities, convinces Stan - the owner of the gym - to let us work out after hours, so I don't have to feel uncomfortable while learning new stuff. Stan's a cool guy, and though I'm pretty sure he thought Jim was being way too overprotective, he didn't hesitate to agree. Just told Jim to lock up when we were done and drop off the spare key in the morning.

For about an hour Jim took me through the kind of routine he does, what weights, what machines, how many reps, etc. The gym was warmer than usual, as we couldn't ask Stan to leave the air on for just the two of us after hours - anyway, this worked in my favor. You see, we're both pumping iron and working up a good sweat, and the smell of our bodies and our sweat is growing heavy in the air...

So of course, I strip off my shirt and go barebacked. I didn't stop to towel off occasionally like I might have otherwise, wanting the sweat to give my skin a nice sheen, mingling in my chest hair - the whole visual package, you know? And I'm working out hard, trying to keep an eye on Jim without him noticing I'm watching.

Oh yeah, he was watching.

With a boner the size of a two-by-four.

YES!

So now I'm sure. It was definitely not my imagination - Jim digs me. That hard-on was so obvious he could have flagged down a cab with it. In a crowd. In a downpour. Wearing chain mail. Do you follow me here?

So. Now I know. But what do I DO about it?

Thus, the campaign. You see, I know Jim Ellison. I've known for a long time that he loves me. The way he put his life at risk for me when I was tripping on Golden - THAT'S love, you know? Maybe since before that even, but when Simon explained to me what I'd done while wigged out, and how my very blind Jim risked the very good chance that I would accidentally shoot him to talk me down in front of a whole garage full of pretty freaked out cops with their guns trained on me... yeah, man, that's love.

But now I knew he LUSTS after me, too, which moved us to a whole new level of love. The one I was, quite honestly, a little surprised to discover I wanted to be on. But going there has to be Jim's decision, or it could destroy everything we have together.

So I began a full out sensory assault. I know, not nice. Not even fair. But what's the old saying? All's fair in love and war. What they should have said is all's fair in love's war. Because love IS war. And Jim's love is my reward if I win this battle.

I started small. I spent a full Saturday with Amelia at the fragrance shop mixing up my own Love Potion #9 - a special blend of certain smells I know Jim likes that I also know work with my body chemistry. The result worked like a charm: the first day I wore it, a noticed Jim sniffing at me, his mouth open, and then he got this big grin on his face that said 'TASTY'. He didn't say anything, and as far as I know he didn't realize that I noticed, but that's exactly what I wanted. I was now his absolute favorite scent - well, at least in the top three. I don't think I can ever really compete with chocolate or fresh baked buttermilk doughnuts.

I knew I didn't have to worry about hearing, since Jim's mentioned on more than one occasion that he likes the sounds I make. Not just my voice, although I've long known what different inflections I can use for different purposes. All my sounds. I dread to think, actually.

And besides, since deliberate vocal enticements would DEFINATELY be noticeable, I couldn't use sound until he's already starting to make that move anyway.

So my next focus was touch. Jim already touches me plenty - usually just friendly, buddy-buddy touches, casual. Now I needed to get his brain to register the feel of me with the part of him that triggers that 'lust' button. So I rummaged back to my notes when we were first starting out and looked up the particular fabrics that he told me he preferred.

Figures the guy would have to rate expensive silks at the top of his list. But Egyptian cottons ran a close second, and I could afford that if I was really tight with my budget for a while. I had my friend Clarice make me a dozen shirts in the finest Egyptian cottons we could fine - gotta tell you, it's almost like silk anyway. Clarice, ever the clotheshorse, jumped at the chance to 'improve' my wardrobe (she has a bias against flannel, for some reason). We were very careful to select colors that work with my complexion and skin tones (guess what? I'm an 'autumn') and Clarice selected some very simple but functional styles.

The result was dramatic. I noticed right away that he looked at me more, and even mentioned how good I looked in a particular color. And the first time I 'accidentally' brushed against Jim, he latched on for a second and simply fondled the shirt (and thereby my arm underneath it). I pretended it was nothing more than of scientific interest, and told him that Clarice needed the money but would never take a lone, so I'd hired her to make me the shirts as a way to help her out.

Jim handed me two hundred dollars on the spot and told me to make sure Clarice was financially stable.

I now have four dozen pure Egyptian cotton shirts in my closet. The flannels are practically a thing of the past, and Jim absolutely loves to run his hands over my shoulders and arms.

sigh

Which brings me to the last month of my war strategy. My mother has told me often enough that if you want to seduce someone, food is the best way to do it. After all, eating is a fully rounded sensory experience - you see and smell the food before you taste it, your tongue feels it, you hear the sounds you make eating it.

The trick always is to make the person WATCHING you eat experience everything right along with you. Mom has always been very good at this. Of course, it helps if you're thoroughly enjoying the food, since people can pick up on your enjoyment. I've always known how to enjoy my food and how to let other people know I'm enjoying it.

So it was time to turn up the 'food'.

Again, I started small, carefully laying out the plan. I needed for Jim to see my 'enjoyment' in public more than in private, since in public I would have the added benefit of other people's pheromones to work with me. I knew I would be able to get at least a few other people turned on if I did things right, and that Jim would pick up on their arousal and be affected by it.

Yeah, maybe that was mean. I shouldn't have used the guys in the bullpen like that. Of course, I have to admit that I was completely dumbfounded by the enormity of the reaction I received on my first 'trial' run. I mean, I've always personally found Popsicles to be a particularly phallic food, so I knew I could work it without too much difficulty - 'work it' being the optimum words here - but I really had no idea that I would essentially stop traffic.

It was hard to stay focused and keep pretending I was unaware of the world around me that first day when Megan dropped an entire stack of folders into the trash by mistake and H actually fell out of his chair. On the other had, I took a moment when I got to the U that afternoon to do a Snoopy dance in my office at how successful my plot was going to be. I hadn't been able to see Jim's reaction that first day, but based on the rest of the unit's imitation of a horny wax museum, I knew I was on the right track.

Three days later, Simon banned me from eating Popsicles in the bullpen.

Two more 'forgotten' Popsicles after that, he wrote me an actual memo begging me to be kind to my coworkers.

And by then I knew I had Jim in my grasp.

Okay, so no more phallic ice pops. Now what? I needed to make sure I stayed subtle (not that a Popsicle is exactly subtle, but in the hot weather I could make it seem perfectly innocent). I spent three hours cruising the grocery store looking for my next subject before inspiration hit. Popcorn.

Not just popcorn, but a flavored popcorn that would leave residual on my fingers.

Finger foods are fairly easy to make erotic. After all, the hand is essentially a very sexual part of the anatomy. I practiced for two days - eating WAY too much popcorn - before I was sure I had my technique just right. Then, D-Day. Well, okay, P-Day. The bullpen, a bag of Smartfood, and moi.

I used every trick I could think of, but just in case, I made sure I was dressed for the occasion. Jim seems to have this thing for me wearing his shirts, so I borrowed the one of his dark blue shirts from the laundry hamper- a good color to show off any random flavor powder to Sentinel eyes - and wore it over the T-shirt I'd worn to be the night before. Normal noses wouldn't really be offended by the odors hanging in the clothes, but Jim's nose would be inundated with the scents of himself mixed with my own, plus a little waft of my regular morning pop-up, if I was lucky. Combine it with a very carefully orchestrated effort to look finger-lickin' good and BAM! Turn it up a notch, eh?

Oh yeah.

And I heard a rumor that it was good for Detective Whitmore, too. Heh. I AM the master!

But the problem, of course, is that now I needed a new locale. Couldn't have Jim thinking it's something about the station. After all, when he was attracted to Laura-the-Thief, it was the robbery scenes initially that got him humming, and I couldn't risk him thinking maybe it was some new perfume someone was wearing or a new cleaning product or anything. Yeah, he had plenty of additional input from our very helpful coworkers, but I needed to move the venue.

And Simon was SO helpful to provide it! A nice breakfast meeting at the International House of High Calories and Cholesterol. Just him, me, Rafe, Brown and Jim, and a room full of complete strangers.

I had to think fast, though. After Simon told us at four-thirty the day before, I surfed the web for IHOP's menu selections for the appropriate items. I couldn't risk straying too far away from healthy or Jim might start to get suspicious. I mean, the Popsicles in hot weather were a no-brainer, even for usually health conscious me. And the popcorn isn't all that unhealthy except for the sodium content (which probably cut ten years off my life) but the closer we get to finals week, the more slack Jim usually sees me cut on my snack foods anyway.

Breakfast, however, had to be my usual healthy fare, especially at a place where I wasn't restricted to what was on Jim's shopping list.

Oatmeal - that would be my normal choice, and I could work that, but I needed something more. Something that I could use to really stoke the fires. I opted for the fruit and prayed my years of experience would come to work for me. I got lucky beyond belief that Rafe decided to order the same thing, and thus Jim could compare us. Rafe's a good-looking guy, but I don't think he could even make eating strawberries in champagne look sexy. Just no talent in that area.

Maybe I could give him some pointers... someday.

Anyway, so it went over pretty well. Simon didn't seem as affected as he had been with my previous efforts, but Rafe and Brown were MINE, baby. And a quick sideways glance at Jim and the fork he turned into a pretzel told me I was successful enough. I almost was afraid he'd zoned for a moment, but the way he'd cut off the blood supply to his own lips let me know we were good there - when he zones, he usually goes slightly slack-jawed. And drools. It's not pretty.

But that's a topic for another conversation.

Next on my agenda was a stakeout. With my success with a smaller audience, I decided to keep things a little more intimate, and a mini-van with four other people worked well. Question - hot food or cold? It was cold out, so I'd have loved to go with soup, but honestly, after three attempts in practice, I just couldn't make soup sexy. At least not to me. Maybe Jim would have been aroused, but I didn't want to take any chances. I fell back on one of Naomi's old stand-bys: the Three Musketeers.

Gotta tell ya, I really hate those things, but damn if they aren't one of the sexiest candy bars on the face of the planet. I've practiced the 'candy bar' strip tease since I was fourteen and watched Naomi torpedo Mick Jagger's willpower with it. Not that the guy wasn't already hot for her anyway, but I figured, no way it was going to happen. Hey, Jeri was IN THE ROOM with us, man!

Twenty minutes and one candy bar later, Naomi was doing the nasty with a rock star and I was discussing the traumas of geometry with his common-law wife. It was then that I realized the power a good seduction.

So I chatted Jim up about how this hunk of chocolate and fluff was the best thing I could find at the campus bookstore in my rush to make the stakeout, and how had I had more time I could have quested like a Massai warrior on a tribal hunt while I teased off the wrapper in the best form I had. It helped, of course, that Jim is a chocoholic and I'm sure the scent of the chocolate was very enticing.

Once the wrapper was off I managed to mention some topic that I knew would set Megan off on a good tangent - I forget what now, I think it was something about American cultural stereotypes on the homemaker verses the breadwinner. Anyway, once she had control of the conversational ramble, I turned my attention to my seduction and making use of everything my darling mother ever taught me about using my tongue. God bless that woman's open-minded views on sex.

By the time I was done, Jim was a neat shade of green and declaring a sudden need to pee (yeah, sure!). Of course, I started to feel bad when his return sent Henderson to the john, and Henderson's return sent Jodie out on a sudden coffee run despite the fact that we still had two full thermoses, and then Simon needed to 'stretch his legs'... I felt pretty guilty at that point. How could I put all Jim's coworkers through hell just because Jim's got a denser skull than Michelangelo's David?

So I planned my next move VERY carefully. I waited for a day when I knew the bullpen would be as empty as possible, then did the 'good best friend' move of surprising Jim with lunch from his favorite deli with his all-time favorite beverage.

And I played that soda bottle like a Stradivarius, man. Ah, the sounds Jim was making! I thought for sure if we'd been alone, he would have jumped me right there. Which made me suddenly have to go to the john in a VERY bad way.

Unfortunately, it also played Simon and Henri, apparently, because by the time I came back from the bathroom Jim had been forced into two weeks vacation once I was through with finals, and I was quietly asked in a very shady way to stay the hell away from the station until finals were over.

Which brings me to tonight. It's been four days since I've seen Jim at home for more than just a few minutes; I KNOW he's avoiding the loft until he's sure I'm in bed already, and he's racing out of here in the mornings before I'm up. God knows how he's managing to get any sleep - he's home only a few hours a night.

If this keeps up, all my very careful plans will be undone and I'll have to start from scratch. I don't think my arteries can take that, and I still haven't figured out a way to make eating salad sexy. I'm sure there IS a way, but I haven't found it yet.

Luckily he had no choice but to ask me to drop by the station yesterday; he and Joel needed my input on the Switchman parole notes (I still can't believe some doctor thinks that wacko could be stable - has he MET the woman?). It was short notice, but I pulled out all the stops using an egg salad sandwich I grabbed in the commons, and it was nice to see I haven't lost him completely yet.

Felt bad to pull that with only Joel around, but then again, maybe that worked in my favor. No way Jim would EVER think he was getting stiff for Joel, right? I mean, nothing against Joel or anything, but I just don't think he'd ever be Jim's type.

Weird to think I can get straight-and-happily-married Joel hot under the collar, but yeah, I had him. Oh well, sorry, Big Guy, but I have a slightly worn ex-Army Ranger in my sights.

But yesterday also drove home the fact that I just can't wait any longer to snap this trap shut. It took way too much work yesterday to get Jim to the brink. If I wait too long, I'll be back to Popsicles. And with the way the weather has been lately - first really hot, then really cold - I just can't chance it.

So. We have today. Saturday the thirteenth. Hopefully thirteen will be my lucky number.

I started out by making sure Jim would be staying home all day. No Jags tickets, no plans for basketball at the rec center or anything like that. Since we'll have two weeks to go finishing very soon, no quick one-day fishing trip necessary. No, I made sure he realized that it would be a perfect day to work on building that play stable and corral for his niece's Barbie horses. After all, her birthday is less than two months from now, and with his schedule, who knows if he'll get another full day for such a project? Hoping desperately he doesn't think about the two weeks off from Simon...

I made sure I slept in a little, giving him some peace and quiet in the morning with the illusion that all is in his control. Plus, I look damn good when I've woken up from a really good night's sleep - the wild morning hair, that first-waking-up flush... And of course, I knew that it meant Jim would be wide awake to listen to me beat off my morning hard-on. Yup, perfect way to start the day.

Next, I moved sleepily out of my room with a drowsy "Mornin', Jim" for my first cup of coffee, letting him see the full picture - the hair, dark sleepy eyes, wearing my slightly damp boxers and tank under my robe (tied so that it looks like I made the attempt, but yet it's still open and showing most of my sleeping attire. Plunked down on the sofa next to him to slug down the coffee and do the 'give me a minute and I'll be awake' thing. Noticed how very still he got as my legs flopped open slightly, my knee almost but not quite touching his. I could actually feel him shivering slightly, and I know damn well he wasn't cold.

Gave it just the right amount of time before getting up and heading for the bathroom. Took a long hot shower, scrubbing every inch with the herbal soap I know he likes so much, ditto the hair with the shampoo and conditioner he prefers I use. Towel the hair just enough so it won't drip, but leave it moist after I've combed through the ginger-scented detangler - extra curls that way, and the texture will be softer.

While still damp, carefully apply the tiniest dabs of that specially mixed 'Tasty' fragrance from Amelia's at the appropriate locations - back of neck, base of collarbone, inside of each thigh just below the groin. Waited until I air dried before tucking the towel loosely around my hips and padded out to the living room to look for my brush, which I 'accidentally' left on the coffee table last night. Made sure to ask Jim "have you seen my brush?" so that he looked up to see me just before the "oh, here it is" and then trot off to the bedroom.

I know he watched me exit, with the towel just barely hiding my ass.

I had to play things VERY carefully, so I stayed in my room for a while. Turned on the tunes, got dressed, settled down to read for a while. You know, give Jim a chance to recompose himself. Hot passionate sex in the middle of the morning is all well and good if you have a solid relationship, but you don't want to start there. No, best to have the first encounter at night so you can drift off together in each other's arms and have the morning after for confessions of love (or at least, making the 'what the hell did we do last night' seem less upsetting', though my aim was to avoid that second option). So I didn't reappear for about two hours, and by then it was almost lunch.

Ready for Phase Two.

Time to get the fire smoldering a little.

Therefore, lunch was very meticulously planned. I wandered out to the kitchen with my nose in a book and checked on Jim, who was making pretty good headway on the homemade Barbie stable. My wardrobe had been very carefully selected, the main feature being my most faded, worn out jeans which are just slightly too small these days but fit because the knees have these big holes in them which provide the needed give. They're incredibly soft and comfortable - except where they squeeze me at the waist, but Jim doesn't need to know that.

To go with, I had selected my baggie gray tank with the rip in front - it's actually an Ellison cast-off, but it's comfy and good Saturday garb for a struggling grad student. I tossed an ancient royal blue cotton button down over that - highlighting my eye color, thank you - and left it hanging open. No shoes or socks, hair (now dry) down and bouncing freely on my shoulders. Glasses perched on my nose. I know Jim likes the way I look with my glasses on, because he's commented offhand more than once that I probably get more girls with the specs than without. Not sure what his logic is, don't care. This is war: know thy enemy... or conquest, as the case may be.

In the kitchen, I made a point of dropping my book slightly heavier than necessary on the counter, which I knew would get Jim's attention. I didn't check, but I heard enough movement on the sofa to know he looked. I leaned over the book, still supposedly reading, making sure Jim got a good long look at my ass which I was presenting to him so nicely in that position. Counted to five, then straightened and turned. "I'm starved, man. You want anything for lunch?"

I saw Jim swallow hard - yep, so far, all was going good. "No thanks, Chief, I'm not hungry yet." I made a point of frowning - my little pout-frown that used to get Naomi to give in on the most ridiculous things - and trust me, despite what you may think, she is a woman who knows how to put her foot down... most of the time.

"Huh, well, I hate to prepare anything for just me. Do you think you'd be ready to eat in an hour?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Okay, then I just snack on something to tide me over, and I'll stick the leftover meatloaf in the oven on low to toast for sandwiches. How's that?" Jim perked up at that. He loves my leftover meatloaf sandwiches; I make'em with a ketchup spread that he's never been able to duplicate no matter how hard he tries.

"Sounds great, Chief!" And so I knew I had him to myself for at least an hour. The building could set on fire and Jim wouldn't leave if I'm promising meatloaf sandwiches.

Moving forward with my plan: I grabbed the peanut butter from the cupboard and a spoon. Jim really loves the smell of peanut butter, but he has a mild allergy to it. Not enough of one that any normal person would be bothered in the least, or likely even notice, but alas! Poor Sentinel! Jim's senses mean no peanut butter unless it's thoroughly mixed into something else, like baked into brownies or something like that. But he would never deny me my peanut butter, so he never says a word.

Which today, I used against him to the fullest. God, I'm an evil bastard.

But a bastard in love just doesn't know how to play fair.

So I headed to the living room and settle cross-legged into the easy chair across from Jim to watch him work on the stable. In form-fitting jeans. Cross-legged in form-fitting jeans. Uh-huh, yep, reaction number two, right on schedule.

I commented on how well it looks so far as I removed the jar's lid and balanced it on my knee. Did I mention I had deliberately made sure we had the extra chunky? It has a more powerful smell, I'm told (about two years ago, by said Sentinel). So as soon as I removed the cover, his nose perked up and I had his complete and full attention - and I do mean complete. Settling my book on my remaining free knee (making sure to NOT cover the spot where I wanted Jim's immediate focus), I was ready to move on.

Next I applied technique. You see, anyone can simply dive the spoon in and pull out a blob of peanut butter. No, I run the tip of the spoon over the top of the jar, always keeping the surface of the peanut butter as smooth and flat as possible. It's like a little tease of the future.

Then I turn the spoon over and lay it on my tongue, peanut butter side down, and press my lips firmly against the metal. Wiggling my tongue lightly, I remove the peanut butter from the spoon. Repeat. The movement is subtle, but provides the appropriate reminder of what my tongue is capable of. I allowed myself to occasionally pretend I was licking the peanut butter off Jim's washboard abs instead of a cold metal spoon - but just a couple of times, or I might have given too much away in my facial expressions.

Seduction is all about the art of amounts and timing.

Oh, I varied my technique occasionally. Sometimes I DID dip the spoon in deep, with a particularly dramatic flare. With equal flare the spoon was delivered via a nice arch to my open mouth, and this time I left the lips parted as I licked the peanut butter off like licking a lollypop.

Or, other times, I would serve myself with the peanut butter side of the spoon up, using my teeth (visibly - no upper lip) to remove the peanut butter from the spoon; this technique leaves a little peanut butter left on the spoon for Jim to consider carefully before I would go back and lick or lip it off. The other benefit of this move is that it inevitably leaves a little peanut butter on my upper lip - thus, a good, full-mouthed lip licking is required.

I told you I was evil.

Of course, sitting as I was, I knew Jim wouldn't watch me openly like he had with the Popsicles or the popcorn or even the soda bottle. This time he was covert about it, pretending to stare down at his handiwork while eyeing me from under his lids. I had to be very careful not to 'notice' him doing that.

After about twenty minutes of Jim's peanut butter envy, I got up and put said protein away for another day.

Jim disappeared into the bathroom for the next forty minutes, supposedly to take a shower. Like I can't tell the difference between the sink and the shower, Jim.

By the time he came out sandwiches were ready and milk poured and on the table. Lunch was a boringly normal event - by this point I doubted I really needed to do anything except keep him around the house. So I made my next, very vital move:

"Uh, Jim, would you mind if I borrowed the truck for a little while this afternoon?"

"Let me guess, the 'classic' is on the fritz again?"

"Hey, my baby is temperamental."

"Your 'baby' is in serious need of a nursing home, Chief."

"See if I give you a ride the next time you're stuck somewhere."

"Okay, what's up?"

"I've been reading this book on Mayan civilization." I waved toward my text of the morning, "and it references another book which I know the library over on fifteenth has. I want to run over and check it out. I figure, since you're probably going to spend most of the afternoon working on Bethy's present, you wouldn't mind."

"Okay, but that means you make dinner."

"Deal. Since I'll be over there, I can swing by the tenth street farmer's market. How about my fresh spring water trout with lemon and basil, fresh new potatoes with garlic butter, and steamed winter carrots?"

"Is that your trout recipe with the Ritz Cracker breading?"

"It's not Ritz Crackers, Jim, it's cornmeal and crushed almonds. But yes, that's the one." His face lit up like a Christmas tree; did I tell you I know how to push this man's buttons? And Naomi was SO right about food....

"Done deal. I've got a bottle of wine that Megan gave me to pay off her poker debt last week that should go great with it."

"Cool."

On to Phase Three.

I spent as much time as I could out of the house this afternoon. After all, Jim really did have to finish the corral at some point, so it might as well be today, and I wanted him to be 'feeling my absence' for a while. I went to the library and got the book I'd mentioned - that I've read before, which of course I DIDN'T mention. Then I hit the market for all the aforementioned dinner ingredients, plus I got a few things I hadn't planned on - there was a booth selling clam dip that looked incredible, and another with farm-fresh apple cider that Jim loves. I bought a new plant for the balcony and some garden fresh catnip to make tea - hey, don't knock it till you've tried it!

Finally, I piled my treasures into the truck and headed for my final destination, the aim of this trip all along - Marie Rochelle's Olde World Gourmet Cafe. Way out of the way, I know, but my excuse would be that I ran into my friend Rob (one of MR's evening clerks) at the market and he needed a lift to work because his car had just died. In great thanks he cut me a deal on a signature MR silhouette cheesecake.

Did I mention that it's been at least a year since I couldn't pull off a convincing lie with Jim? By now I'm pretty sure I could pass ANY lie detector test. The things you learn when you live with a Sentinel.

So. Let me explain to you this cheesecake. THE cheesecake. The cheesecake of all cheesecakes, and the goal of this entire evening... well, the penultimate goal, anyway.

First, and most important, is to say that it is made from scratch, by hand, and with nothing but organic and absolutely farm fresh products. Absolutely nothing you can buy in the grocery. Marie's great-grandmother designed this masterpiece, and every generation is sworn to follow the original recipe, never deviating down to the very basics. The milk MUST be fresh from the dairy and hand-milked, not milked by a machine. The cheeses MUST be processed in-house from said milk, the chocolate MUST be the finest Belgian imported, blah blah blah. In other words, a Sentinel's wet dream.

There are four - count'em, four - layers to this incredible edible. First layer is a thin, almost unnoticeable crust-like layer of super-thin plain white chocolate. If you didn't know it was there, you probably wouldn't know it was there. But trust me, I've had the version without it, and it makes a difference. The second layer is the white-chocolate cheesecake - as creamy as the finest mousse. Ditto the third layer, only that's a chocolate-chocolate cheesecake. And the top layer is a coating of extremely rich Belgian semi-dark chocolate and a drizzling of the same white chocolate that's on the bottom.

I can HEAR you drooling - stop that.

And as you know, Jim is a chocoholic. So I can imagine what his reaction to this cheesecake will be. As far as I know, he's never had it, so tonight, after one of his favorite meals and a glass or two of a very fine wine (Megan never slouches on her wines), I'm going to introduce him to heaven.

If I do this right, he will then introduce me to Nirvana, Shangri-La and La-La-Land.

I'm in the middle of cooking right now. I took a few minutes after picking up my finest weapon to do a little meditation; I may be an expert in the art of Sentinel Deception, but it's a very delicate art. Jim must NOT be able to sense that I'm nervous, or he may figure this whole thing out, and I'll be one cooked goose. And then I'll just have to go strangle Simon for screwing up my timetable.

How many years can you get for killing your police captain boss?

Do you think I could plead insanity based on the sugar high defense?

JIM:

Blair's in the kitchen cooking. I'm finishing up Bethy's present. And sweating like a stuck pig.

And I'm pretty sure it's not the heat.

For a couple months now I've been slowing losing it. My control has been slipping little by little, and tonight I feel like I'm at the last bit and I'm dangling by my pinky finger over a vat of very hot oil. Hot oil named Sandburg.

God, that's an image I didn't need.

I admit, I've found Blair attractive since day one. The kid's a little goofy sometimes, but he's got looks, brains, spunky, charm by the pound, and the patience and presence of mind to put up with me for how long now? And at some point, I fell in love with the little nut job and got screwed for life.

I tried working it out by dating other people - of course, for some reason I kept picking crooks and psychopaths, so it didn't exactly work the way I planned. And now, in the last month, I have been steadily losing my grip on what little will power I had left. Why?

Because he's too sexy when he eats.

That has GOT to be the lamest thing anybody has ever said, but it's the God's honest truth.

It started out with the Popsicles. I'm not going to say I wasn't taking a seriously long look at Blair before that, but it was the Popsicles that started my undoing. Every time he'd eat one, I would imagine that was ME in his hand instead of frozen cherry water on a stick. And it wasn't only me - Simon actually had to ban him from eating Popsicles at the station, because it was driving the entire office nuts. I was more than a little relieved... and just slightly disappointed.

Fortunately or un, I then discovered Blair and popcorn.

And Blair and candy bars.

And Blair and fruit salad.

And soda pop.

And cucumber slices with ranch dressing.

Blair with SUNFLOWER SEEDS.

BLAIR AT A BLOODY SALAD BAR, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!!

I ask you, how can ANYONE make me think of sex while eating LETTUCE?

I really am losing it. Then this morning... Gods. The kid just has no idea what he does to me. None. Zero. Zipper... oops, I mean Zippo. Oy. The first encounter was him all sleepy-tousled and just totally fuckable looking - that irresistible 'I just got up but you could put me back to bed' look he has in the morning. And smelling... well, like a man in the morning.

BLAIR in the morning.

And he drops down next to me while chugging down his wake-up cup, no idea how close he was to me or what that was doing to me. Of course, before his first cup of coffee, you could slam him with a sledgehammer and he'd just nod and go with you.

God, he has no just absolutely no idea.

Then he showers, and comes out looking for his hairbrush, which for some reason he left on the coffee table - I swear, the kid would lose his head of it wasn't attached - and he's wearing... a towel. Just a towel. He's barely dry, and smells clean and fresh and deliciously Sandburg-y and he's wearing a towel that's just barely hanging on and I could just reach out and oops and...

NO. Bad Sentinel. That's your roommate, your best friend. NOT a play toy...

...right...?

But he thankfully disappears for a while, as he is prone to do when... did I use the word prone????? Uh... he sometimes does that when he gets engrossed in something. And I manage to tuck all my demons back under the surface because I pointedly think about pieces of wood that are hard and fit together into.... ARGH!!!!

Deep breathing... deep, calm, regular, patient, SLOW breathing. And I'm okay... kind of... good enough...

And then he appears for lunch.

I was so lost in my struggle to stay sane that I didn't even here him come out of his room until he set his book on the counter - not even sure why THAT got my attention; it wouldn't normally. But today it does and I turn to say...

I have no idea what...

God, he has an ass that doesn't quit....

And I'm hyperventilating again... breathe, Ellison, breathe...

And he asks if I'm hungry.

Yeah, Sandburg, I'm VERY hungry...

"No thanks, Chief, I'm not hungry yet." Just breathe... breathe... breathe...

"Huh, well, I hate to prepare anything for just me. Do you think you'd be ready to eat in an hour?"

"Yeah, maybe." ...to gnaw on your little neck...

"Okay, then I just snack on something to tide me over, and I'll stick the leftover meatloaf in the oven on low to toast for sandwiches. How's that?"

Ah, now there's something to focus on. Food. Meatloaf sandwiches. Not a damn thing sexy about that. Good. Go with it. "Sounds great, Chief!" Okay, I'm good. He'll grab a snack, and by the time I have to move to the table, I'll be ABLE to move.

God help me, I was wrong again.

Because his 'snack' is peanut butter. Straight from the jar, on the spoon... It just isn't fair.

I watch him eating out of the corner of my eye while he's reading some book on Mayan culture. The way he's sitting, in those jeans that are my absolute favorites on him because the leave NOTHING to the imagination except what I could do if I got them off... NO, STOP THAT! And he's practically giving the damn SPOON an orgasm...

I don't remember how I got to the bathroom, but I do know the door was locked and I had the cold water in the sink running, and I was flogging off for everything I was worth. I practically bit a hole in my lip trying not to scream when I came. TWICE. And I probably could have gone for a third round, but I think I would have passed out, and then Blair would have heard the distinctive 'thunk' of me hitting the floor and broken down the door in panic to find me with my hand on my dick...

Thank god at least one brain cell was still working. I managed to meditate myself back under control. Hell of a way to use the teachings of the Sandburg.

A lot of cold water on my face finally got my skin color to an almost normal tone - at least I doubt anyone but a Sentinel would see the difference - and I was able to join Blair for lunch and those amazing sandwiches. You'd think with my senses and years of cooking practice, I could reproduce Blair's meatloaf sauce. But it eludes me, somehow. I guess I don't care - it's a good excuse to make sure he never moves out, right?

We eat in a semblance of normal - well, Blair doesn't have any reason to believe things AREN'T normal - and then God finally sends me a fucking break:

"Uh, Jim, would you mind if I borrowed the truck for a little while this afternoon?" YES!! GO!! GET OUT AND LET ME GET MYSELF TOGETHER AGAIN!!!

"Let me guess, the 'classic' is on the fritz again?" Who is this person holding a competent conversation with Blair?

"Hey, my baby is temperamental."

"Your 'baby' is in serious need of a nursing home, Chief."

"See if I give you a ride the next time you're stuck somewhere."

"Okay, what's up?"

"I've been reading this book on Mayan civilization and it reference another book which I know the library over on fifteenth has. I want to run over and check it out. I figure, since you're probably going to spend most of the afternoon working on Bethy's present, you wouldn't mind."

"Okay, but that means you make dinner."

"Deal. Since I'll be over there, I can swing by the tenth street farmer's market. How about my fresh spring water trout with lemon and basil, fresh new potatoes with garlic butter, and steamed winter carrots?"

Oh, baby... "Is that your trout recipe with the Ritz Cracker breading?"

"It's not Ritz Crackers, Jim, it's cornmeal and crushed almonds. But yes, that's the one."

At this point, I don't care if it's pig droppings. It's good and it will get you out of the damn house. "Done deal. I've got a bottle of wine that Megan gave me to pay off her poker debt last week that should go great with it."

"Cool."

I offer to do the dishes, so he's out the door and on his way in minutes. I listen carefully until I hear the truck pull away. Then I strip like my clothes are on fire and run for the coldest shower known to man.

Did you know it is entirely possible to have a marathon masturbation session with ice water pouring down your chest?

I do now.

I think I was actually blue when I finally got out of the shower, but I had managed to get it together. I toweled and got redressed in my same clothes - well, different boxers - and spent the next few hours completely focused on building a Barbie corral. I probably could have put this stupid project off for at least a few more weeks, but Blair's right about the fact that my schedule doesn't usually allow for a full day to focus on just one project. Although where we're going to keep this damn think for six weeks is anybody's guess. Maybe we can pack it in a big box and put it in the storage room.

I suppose I could have put this off for those two weeks of vacation Simon and Personnel are forcing on me, but I know Blair and I will probably go camping for at least some of it, and I know how I get when I have more than a few days off - I'll just keep saying 'I'll do it tomorrow' and then we'll be back at work and it won't be done. Blair knows that too, which is probably why he pushed me to do it today. He's good that way.

And now Blair's back, and humming to himself as he whirls around the kitchen like Emeril Lagasse on speed. Although I doubt Emeril hums the Bee Gees. He's really excited about dinner - apparently a friend of his repaid the favor of a ride to work with a cheesecake and he can't wait for me to try it. When he first got home his heart was racing like crazy, and he spent about twenty minutes describing how this particular cheesecake is made a special way that I should really like because there's no preservatives of any kind and all that...

I have to admit I really wasn't listening to the words, just how excited he was and how he was going to have to take notes on my reactions... he gets WAY to happy about research, sometimes, but if it makes him happy, I'll certainly indulge.

But hell, one cheesecake is just like another, right?

BLAIR:

Dinner goes just as planned. Everything cooked to perfection, just the way Jim likes it. The wine was indeed excellent, and I can tell Jim's a little mellower than he was earlier. When I got home I kind of went into speed freak mode - partially to get things going, and partially to cover my nervousness. I did my typical 'excited about something' buzz to cover my tracks, and because if I'm hyped about something Jim will pretty much do anything he can to avoid disappointing me. So even if he's thinking 'whatever' about the cheesecake, he'll eat it just to humor me.

I know he really enjoys the food because he says so - repeatedly. Jim only comments on the food when he REALLY likes it and if he can't STOP commenting on it, it means he's in taste bud heaven. I insist he sit and relax while I clear the table - no way I can create the right affect with dirty plates hanging around. I get Jim chatting about how difficult building the stable has been, which fills some space and distracts him nicely while I'm wiggling my tight-jeaned ass back and forth between the table and the sink, and then it's time for the big finish.

I cut large slices of cheese cake and place them on plates I've drizzled with melted dark chocolate - Belgian, of course, or Marie's great-grandmother would have my hide - and I place several fanned strawberries on the sides to create the ultimate display.

Jim grins when I deliver them to the table using my 'Price is Right Prize Girl' flare. I know he thinks I'm being melodramatic just for the fun of it - and I sort of am - but also because it will heighten his anticipation even if he doesn't realize it. I lay a fork next to his plate before sliding into my chair next him at the end of the table, and I gesture for him to take a bite.

He does.

And he's mine.

I can tell from the moment the fork slides out of his mouth and he freezes like an ice sculpture - his taste sense is in overdrive. He remains frozen for a second as his tongue categorizes the ingredients and their distinctive blends, the absolute symphony they make together. Then he moves his tongue slightly and now it's touch - the perfect creaminess of the two fillings against the silky chocolates on the outsides, the way the two feelings contrast and yet compliment.

I find myself grinning like a complete moron at the way his face softens from that momentary shock into an expression of complete and utter bliss. His eyelids droop slightly, his eyes roll a little, and he gets this tiny little Mona Lisa smile that says...

"Oh my god..."

Yup. He's mine.

JIM:

Sally makes a good cheesecake. Carolyn's sister makes a great cheesecake. Mabel Taggert makes a phenomenal cheesecake.

This cheesecake makes them all taste like sawdust.

Blair's smiling at me that absolutely brilliant, beautiful smile he gets when he knows he's made me happy, and I can't say anything except "Oh my god." There are no words, on earth or in heaven or on any plain of existence to describe what this feels like, tastes like, even smells like (to my nose anyway). God himself has never eaten so good.

And my roommate did this for me.

Blair. Did this for me.

I am in love with this man.

"So... you like it, huh?" Silly boy.

"Uh-huh..." Did I actually manage to say that? And did it really sound so... dirty?

"Jim, breathe man. Here..."

He's feeding me. Because I practically zoned out on the sensation, he's feeding me. He takes another forkful and slowly, reverently, guides it into my mouth so that I can go to the moon again. I can taste each layer individually, and then put them together to savor their harmonious convergence...

And Blair's feeding me this ambrosia.

I feel the need to return the favor. I lift his fork and feed him a bite. He smiles like the sun as he accepts.

Another bite he feeds me.

Another bite I feed him.

I'm done for.

BLAIR:

We finish our slices bite by bite, feeding each other, his eyes gazing at mine as though I hold the world. God I hope I do. We're at a very precarious moment here. Forks have been licked clean, and now there are empty plates.

Empty except for drizzled chocolate and strawberries.

I go first. One strawberry, swirled through the chocolate, and I lift it to Jim's mouth. He takes it.

And his hand stops mine from leaving.

He licks the little drop of chocolate left on my finger.

Oh boy...

He mirrors my actions. Strawberry swirled in chocolate arrives and I accept, taking in Jim's finger with it... I let my tongue lap along Jim's finger as it retreats. I never lose his eyes. What I see in them terrifies me.

Because it's what I want more than anything in the whole world.

I think I stopped breathing.

Jim's holding my hand in his.

Which means his other hand is the one with the strawberry now. A second finger covered in chocolate, and I'm sucking it like a newborn to his mother. And Jim's hand tightens on my own. But it's a good kind of tight - not too tight or sharp or tense. No, it's that fabulous gentle tight... you know the kind. The kind that bares no description.

Plates are pushed aside and he leans toward me, his eyes asking questions that I hope to GOD mine are answering the way I want them too.

Oh... they... did...

JIM:

I'm kissing him. I'm kissing him. I'm kissing him.

Him. Blair. Sandburg. Blair Sandburg. Him. I did it. When did that happen... He tastes like chocolate and cheesecake and wine... and I'm kissing him...

This is happening.

Blair has five fillings on his back teeth. And his tongue is thick and smooth and his one canines is a little sharper than the other...

And I know this because I'm kissing...

I'm KISSING HIM.

My hand is on the back of his neck, pulling him in, and he's NOT pulling away... and wait, my eyes are closed... when did that happen? But a quick peek says his are closed too, and he's sucking my tongue and his lips are so soft and firm and...

And his hand is in my hair. Trailing through what's left of my hair... God his hair feels like silk, but I know that don't I? Because I touch it all the time - my god, I touch it all the time, and he never cares, I think maybe he likes it, even...

And I'm kissing Blair....

How did we get standing? Did I do that? And he's pressed against me and my arms are around him and he's so warm and hard and... oh, god, that's his ass, I'm feeling his ass and he's not screaming and running... oh, god, that's MY ass, and that's his hand on my ass he's feeling my ass he's in my arms I'm holding him he's holding me I'm grabbing his ass and he's grabbing my ass....

I pull back. I can't breathe, I have to pull back, and I look down into his face and he's flushed and panting and...

Smiling.

A goofy, dazed, 'fuck me' kind of smile.

I know that smile.

I'm pretty sure I'm wearing it.

BLAIR:

Jim pulls me out of my chair like I weigh nothing and we're groping like frenzied ninth graders behind the school gym for a few wild seconds and then suddenly he pulls away and for a second I'm terrified of what I'm going to see on his face.

It's a humongous 'fuck me' smile.

And I'm smiling too.

He smiles even wider and then we're kissing again, and I think his tongue removed my tonsils and my vocal cords and possibly even a lung and then he pulls back again and we're both still smiling.

And he pulls me toward the stairs. Up the stairs. Up, up, up... and down on his bed. On top of him.

My god, is that an oak tree in your pants, Ellison? Or, is that an oak tree in MY pants?

We're kissing again. Kissing like I imagine people kiss before one of them ships off to war - that deep, desperate, passionate, all-consuming kind of kissing. We traded souls at one point, and possible shoes and kidneys, and then his hands are on my shirt and...well, never mind, I didn't really like that shirt anyway. Here, let me help you with... oops, well, buttons sew on pretty quickly, right? Oh HEY, watch it with the zipper there, buddy... wait... okay, gone with the shoes, now you can... yep, no more jeans. Oh, and there go the boxers, huh?

Oh my god...

His hand is on my cock. His hand is on my cock. HIS hand is on MY cock.

YEEEESSSSS!!!!!!!

But wait, I can't... I can't... oh, fuck yeah, Jim... Jim... Jim... Jim...

I pull back. I do NOT want this to be a one-way ride. He looks flustered for a second before I get my hands on his pants and divest them with only a little bit of damage - I can't wait to explain this to Ellen at the cleaners. Bye bye, boxers.

Come to Papa.

I kneel over him, just inches away from the object of way too many wet dreams, and I look up to find his eyes. He's anticipating... I can see it. A look that says 'you wouldn't' and 'oh god please' all in the same flushed cheeks and raised eyebrows. I give him my most wicked grin and begin a repeat of the Popsicle days.

Sans Popsicle.

I wonder if he remembers.

Nobody has ever accused me of not knowing what I was doing when it comes to sex. Man or woman, I never leave them wanting. But Jim... well, Jim I don't plan on leaving. EVER. And this is my chance to make sure he never EVER leaves me.

Don't get me wrong. I know he loves me beyond all else, and THAT is the real reason he'll stay forever.

But it sure doesn't hurt if he equates that love with the most amazing sex anyone's ever had in the existence of time and space itself.

I lap and lick and suckle and nibble and mouth and kiss and caress his cock until he's writhing and hissing and moaning and screaming my name. I bring him to the edge and back a dozen times. I play with his balls and his inner thighs and his base and head and the whole shaft in between. I teeth him just enough for effect, never to hurt. I hold his hips down with my hands to keep him from bucking off the bed or sending me flying over the railing while I swallow him to the root and my throat is convulsing against his head.

And just when he's about to let loose, I pull back.

He looks up and me wide eyed and crazy, and I crawl up him and smile before kissing him tenderly, gently - eyes, nose, forehead, cheeks, mouth, throat.

"Got anything?" I whisper into his ear.

He flails an arm toward the drawer before he figures out that rolling over and crawling to it will actually get him there. He yanks on the drawer so hard it ends up on the floor next to my decimated tank top, his shirt buttons and the khaki's with the broken zipper. He has to bend off the bed before he can reach a condom and tube of lube - I KNEW he'd have some, the minx.

While he's fishing for supplies, I bend quickly and thrust my tongue into his asshole.

OH, now THAT's a neat sound, Ellison!

Hey, how'd I end up on my back?

JIM:

The boy is pure demon. He takes me to the verge of climax so many times I think my head - both, either, who gives a shit at this point? - is going to explode, and then he pulls away and asks for a condom. It takes my brain a moment before it's personal Picard yells 'ENGAGE!!!" and then I'm trying to figure out how the drawer got on the floor and oh, there we are, condoms, lube...

YEHAOBIEHGOBEIH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't remember pinning him to the bed, but I do know that the look on my face must be just shy of insane because Blair looks absolutely shocked. I latch onto his neck and suckle until I'm sure he'll be wearing a turtleneck for at least two weeks - hah! And then we're on vacation and you won't be wearing ANYTHING for two weeks, you little rat!

I find his ear - Carolyn always used to love it when I tongue-fucked her ear, and apparently she wasn't exaggerating for my male ego. I sink my teeth in lightly and make good use of Blair's ample lobes, and I hear him crying and cursing and moaning - all noises I recognize as good sounds. My hand finds his cock again, but this time I just hold firm, tight... no, he tortured me, now it's MY turn. I run my thumb over the glans, letting the calluses create just the tiniest amount of friction while my tongue is playing dirty pool with his ear.

How cute. Blair babbles when he's losing it. I have no fucking clue what he's saying.

I have a feeling neither does he.

I move my mouth to his nipple - the one with the little gold hoop - and now there's a whole new selection of babble, at a very different level, and he's clutching my arms like a drowning man to a life buoy in a hurricane.

God, he tastes amazing!

I wonder...

Lower, licking, belly button, curls of hair, sweat... ah....

Yep, amazing.

Oh look, he shut up.

I look up and see him staring, eager, panting, his breath hitching and catching. His hands are like vices on my arms. I ask in my head, but the words never leave my mouth. Somehow he hears them anyway, because he's nodding and smiling and his legs spread wide and he's pulling up his knees...

I think that was me groaning.

I can't get my fingers to work, but somehow he gets his to, and then he's rolling the condom over me... wait, where did we get that from? Did I have that a minute ago? And he's handing me the tube - cap off - and I'm spreading the gel on me and he's still holding tight to me... I swear, he must have more than two hands, because I don't remember them leaving me to open the condom or hand me the lube...

My god he's so beautiful.

"Blair..." I think that was me again. Must be; why would he say his own name?

"Jim..." I KNOW that was him, and he's fucking glowing at me. "Spread me. Stretch me, Jim. Please."

Why did that sound like praying? Suddenly that song from that musical makes a whole lot more sense... I push a single finger against him, into him... my God, I'm inside Blair. My Blair. MY Blair. I'm... I'm...

"More..." Oh, yeah, I'm still here, aren't I? I push in a second finger. The look on his face is... I can't even describe it. Luminescent? Euphoric? I'm rubbing and stretching and coating... "Three... gimme three, Jim..." Three. I can't do anything but obey... Three of my fingers are inside Blair Sandburg...

"Okay... come on, Jim... I'm ready... Please, babe..."

Babe.

Babe.

I stop for a second and stare at him.

BLAIR:

He's zoned. Oh God, not now... NOT NOW. Not this close... please, don't be that cruel because I just don't think I can...

"I love you."

Huh?

I must look completely stupid, because he laughs this little sob of a laugh and reaches up his non-slippery fingers to touch my face. Fingers that not long ago were feeding me chocolate and strawberries, fingers from which I suckled cheesecake. Fingers that have saved me from bad guys and healed my injuries and caressed me when I was sad or hurting...

"I love you, Blair."

I feel something wet on my face, but I know I'm smiling... I've very confused at the moment...

"Jim..." It comes out a choked whisper, but his face replies in so many ways... "Jim... how long... do you know... I wanted... you too..." I'm not making any sense, but he has tears on his face and that smile that could melt the polar ice caps...

And he kisses me.

This kiss is different. Yeah, we're both so hard we could sword fight no-handed, but the kiss is gentle, sweet, succulent. A lovers' kiss. My lover. Jim.

"My Blair," he murmurs. I can barely breathe, and my heart is so full I feel like I swallowed an elephant.

"Jim," I manage, but I don't even hear it. Thank god for Sentinel ears.

"Hm?"

"Please..." I pull on him desperately, unable to handle more than one single syllable. He peppers my eyelids and cheeks.

"Hm..."

And then I feel him pushing gently against me... slowly inside... it's a little painful - it's been awhile - but he's patient and gentle and obviously using ever sense he has and maybe even a few I don't know about and before I even really feel the pain he's stopped to let me adjust. The process is slow, but I can't think of anything except the way he's filling me, that as surely as he's filling the hole in my ass, that's the way he's filling the hole in my soul... a hole I didn't even realize needed filling until he got in there...

He's in all the way... both in me physically, and in me spiritually. I'm his now. I thought when we did this I would feel him becoming mine, but no, I'M becoming HIS. And this is a WAY better feeling!!!

I give him a tug, trying to tell him... oh, yeah, he's moving... just slowly, just a little at a time, but now it's smooth, and he's... he's... oh, god, he's touching me while he moves... I never... NEVER... it's never been like this, EVER... Oh Jim...

"Yeah, baby..." His breath is warm on my throat, his one hand holding my one leg up while he's thrusting... faster... oh fuck... please, faster... harder... God, he's pounding into me, his lips against my skin, his hand on my cock, moving, fucking me...

"Blair..." He's impaling me, taking me, making me his own, all his, nothing but his forever and ever... more, please more... Jim... lover... mine...

"Yours..."

*
*
*

I remember an explosion... in my body, in my head, in my heart. Jim made love to me. I made love to him. WE made love. And then we collapsed and I think I either blacked out or fell asleep... I don't know...

We made love. Finally. After all this time. And it was more amazing than I could ever imagine in any dream I've ever had.

I don't have to dream anymore.

JIM:

He's so beautiful when he sleeps. He mumbles, but it's cute. Something about lucky thirteen and no notes and and evil plots or something... who knows what goes on in that mind of his?

I can't wait to wake up with him tomorrow and tell him I love him and do this all over again.

And there's plenty more cheesecake.

Someday Bethy's going to ask me about how her Uncle Blair and I finally got together. And I'm going to tell her, "Well, I was building your Barbie stable, and there was this cheesecake..."

THE BEGINNING

End Cheesecake by Kitipurr: meow9x@aol.com

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