Author's disclaimer: In this little ditty, Jim and Blair are mine. In the real world, they belong to Pet Fly and UPN.

Author's notes: Previously published in Come To Your Senses 12.

Autumn Winds
by J. M. Griffin

"Hey, Ellison, did ya get a look at the new meat on 8th Avenue? Just your type." Officer Drummond gave a leer and wagged his eyebrows at the other Vice cop.

James Ellison had to clench his fist tightly to keep himself from reacting physically to the verbal jab. His partner, Jack Pendergrast, put a subtle hand of warning on the small of his back and it was everything Jim could do not to spring away.

He didn't want to be touched; he didn't want to be at work today. Everything was weirdly off kilter, had been since he'd gotten back from that camping trip. He'd gone off alone to clear his head and come back feeling worse than ever. Now nothing felt right, nothing tasted right. Hell, even the smell of the captain of Major Crime's cigars was gagging him. Ellison bolted for the men's room and lost his breakfast into the toilet.

Damn, he looked like death warmed over, he thought as he peered into the mirror. Maybe cold water would help. He gritted his teeth and splashed his face with tap water. Jack appeared at the door as Jim was wiping his face dry on a paper towel.

"Hey, Slick, you okay? That's the third time this week you've lost your breakfast into the porcelain throne. Maybe you need to see the doctor." Jack's slate colored eyes were full of concern.

"I'm fine," Jim snarled, trying really hard not to smell at all, but the disinfectant that had been used to clean the restroom was crawling up his nostrils and giving him a headache. "Let's get out of here before I pop Drummond a good one," he barked. Jack didn't say a word, just followed him out of the restroom and down to the police station garage.

It was a blustery October night, two days before Halloween, and all the pimps and whores were - was it possible? - even more gaudily dressed than usual. The two vice cops cruised down Broad Street in Jim's Chevy truck as Jack's Studebaker Hawk was simply too noticeable for a couple of plain clothes officers. If they had been driving a BMW or Caddy, no one would have looked twice, the clientele of Broad Street being what it was, but Jack's two-toned classic stood out like a sore thumb.

Leaves flew across the road in a small whirlwind as they turned off Broad and onto 8th. Jim shivered involuntarily and Jack shot him another look of concern.

"I'm fine."

"You're not and we both know it," the older cop drawled. "Jim, I know it's over between us, but... God damn it, you are still my partner and you have me worried." Jack said tightly.

I'm fine," Ellison repeated and he parked the truck and they both got out. Jack gave him a look, but shook his head without commenting further..

Jim knew Jack would respect his silence. The older man didn't like it, but he would respect it nonetheless. They'd been partners for a little over a year and lovers for three months of that.. It had ended a couple of months back. Why he'd gone into the relationship in the first place, Jim still wasn't sure. Maybe only because he was lonely and horny. It had been good for a while and then... Jim knew it had been his fault. He'd just shut off, shut Jack out. Pendergrast had tried, you had to give him that. But in the end the silence had won out and it was over between them.

Recently, Jack had started seeing Emily and things were better this way. Still, in the aftermath of it all, the older man was a little more protective than a work partner should be.

The gusting wind cut through Jim's flannel shirt and he leaned back into the cab of the truck for his leather jacket.

"Guess I'll go scope out the new meat Drummond's been talking about," he said snidely.

"Yeah, well, tell the meat to keep out of the clutches of Don Diego." Jack commented, referring to a particularly nasty pimp who had a habit of losing his boys to "accidents." Death by beating wasn't pretty. They'd never been able to get a conviction on the pimp, so Diego ran free. New meat had best beware.

"Yeah, I'll tell him. If he isn't already a part of the Don's stable." Jim turned and headed down the street. He only managed ten steps before he stopped. "Jack, what in hell are you doing?" Pendergrast practically plowed into him; he was that close on Jim's heels. "Just quit hovering. I'm fine. Go talk to Terrell. Find out what the heck he knows about Diego's last scheme to outwit us."

"No, you need..." Jack started to protest, but Jim cut him off.

"I need some time to myself, not a nursemaid for a partner. Go. I'll be fine."

The silver haired man shook his head, muttering to himself about fools and angels, but he finally turned and walked away.

Jim gave a sigh of relief and headed down 8th Avenue.

The boy stood alone near the corner, light blue shirt unbuttoned to show a very masculine mat of chest hair. His jeans were washed white and had artful holes at the knees and back of the thigh. The wind whipped strands of long hair out of the restraining band and sent it into the young man's face and mouth.

Jim took it all in from across the street - entranced, enchanted.

Damn, Drummond had been right. The kid was his type, not that Drummond really had a clue. The other cop was just hounding Ellison because the last young, male hooker he'd brought in had demanded to talk to Jim. The sixteen year old had wanted to get some money to his mom before he was sent up, this being a repeat offense that was bound to warrant extensive time in juvie. Since Jim had once taken Lee home to his mother instead of to the station, the hustler knew he could trust Ellison to get the money to his mom. Drummond had made it out to be something else entirely and, at the time, Jim had been too busy with his own case load to correct him.

The new hooker reached up and swept a lock of hair from the corner of his mouth. Jim zeroed in on the gesture. The kid had small, square hands with long fingers, an incredibly full, lush mouth, an upturned nose and big, round, blue eyes in a face that was at once angular and angelic. Ellison felt the tell-tale tightening of his jeans and had to force himself not to lick his lips.

The kid saw him looking and crossed the street No, not a kid, over twenty-one, at least, though not by much. And maybe not new to the trade, for up close Jim could see he had wise, old, eyes.

"Blow you for a twenty," was the offer, but the wind was rising and Jim could hardly hear. He stood mesmerized and the kid took this for a positive sign and stepped even closer. Jim felt himself come to complete hardness as he breathed in the young man's musky scent.

"I'm a cop, kid."

The big, blue eyes widened.

"Oh shit," the hooker looked around, obviously preparing to run.

Jim put a hand on the boy-man's shoulder and held on tightly. He had an overwhelming urge to shake the kid until his teeth rattled; he also had the overwhelming urge to drag him up close, hold him tightly against his own body and never let go.

A fine tremor of lust ran through Jim and he watched as the impossibly big eyes grew wide.

"Oh, I... ah...," the hooker stammered, looking down at Jim's bulging crotch.

Ellison felt his face flush and his ears grow hot. The wind was icy against them and made his eyes water. He let go of the kid to swipe at his face and when he could see again, the hooker was gone.

It started to rain. Big, splatting drops came down cold on Jim's neck and head. He turned and started to run toward the truck, but he was soaked by the time he got to it.

The rain came down in huge, splashing drops and Blair Sandburg ran for the nearest phone booth. Once inside he dropped his head against the cool glass and allowed himself to take a deep, whooping breath of relief. Shit, a cop, no less.

Blair shook his head at his own idiocy. He stood in the booth and watched as the street grew deserted, hookers and pimps alike taking cover. He decided then to take it as a sign. He was fooling himself to think he could do this again. He'd done it once before. The summer he was sixteen and his mom, Naomi, had died. He had been accepted to Rainier and while the scholarship would pay for everything come fall, right then he had nothing to live on. Naomi's insurance money had barely paid the funeral and her last boyfriend had found a way to tie up the money Blair was supposed to get. So he'd spent a couple of months on the streets, knowing Naomi would have killed him if she'd been alive to do so. When school had started in September, he'd quit and vowed never to go back. He'd also spent the next four years sighing in relief every time his test for HIV came up negative.

So why in hell had he thought to go back to it? Twenty-one was not sixteen. He was no longer a child, he understood the consequences of his actions. The breakup with Sam had really sent him for a loop and he was doing stupid things. Man, he knew better than that.

Come to think of it (now that he was thinking and not just reacting), that damn cop was a godsend, because Blair was not going back to the streets. He'd find a place to live. They'd have an opening at the Y in a week or so. Until then he'd just sleep at the Westland Shelter.

Someone knocked on the phone booth, causing Blair to startle. He ducked out of the booth and hurried to where his beat-up old motorcycle was chained to a lamp post. Someone had sawed at the chain, but maybe the drenching rain had made them stop, because the cycle was still there. Blair unlocked it and threw his leg over the saddle. Thankfully, the engine started and he drove away from 8th Street, never to return. Well, not for that purpose, anyway.

//The prostitute was beaten bloody. Jim Ellison held his breath as he reached out to touch the long strands of curly brown hair and brush them aside to reveal the hooker's face. The angular face of an angel. Noooo....//

No! Jim woke up with a shout. His heart was racing and sweat drenched him, but the loft was cool and quiet and empty.

He'd gone back night after night, hoping to find the kid again. He'd finally spoken to Lee, who was out on parole and already working the streets again, and asked him what had happened to the new meat. Lee had just given him a confused look and told him there was no new rent boy on 8th Ave. So he'd searched Broad Street and then Main and not turned up a single clue.

Which was probably a good thing, but damn it, where had the guy gone? Somehow Jim could not get the kid off his mind. When he wasn't dreaming he found the hooker dead, beaten within an inch of his life like Don Diego's last victim, he was dreaming they were having sex. No, it was more than that. He dreamed they were making love. Slow and delicious, the younger man fitting his body so close they were practically one skin, his fine boned hands hot and very, very, talented on Jim's flesh, his cock eager and weeping against Jim's thigh, against his buttocks...

Shit!! Jim jerked his hand away from his rigid penis. Then slowly he touched himself again. Who would know? Who would care? He didn't realize tears streamed down his face as he brought himself off and the muffled sound he made as he climaxed was a wail of loss rather than a cry of completion.

Blair sat on his bed at the shelter and counted the days in his head. He was supposed to hear whether he'd gotten the grant sometime in late November. It was now the third. He hated living in this place, but it was better than the alternative..

For about the zillionth time, he thought about how he'd ended up like this, broke and homeless. Everything had looked so great when he had graduated in August. Then that foul-up in getting his passport had occurred. Which had meant the position of research assistant to anthropologist, Eli Stoddard, was given (at the last minute) to someone else. So he'd missed his chance to go to on the expedition and, as he hadn't applied for a new scholarship for the fall because he'd thought he was going to Borneo, he had made no provisions for staying in Cascade.

Maybe it was karma, like his mom had always said, or the pure bad luck Sam always accused him of having, but it had brought him lower than he'd ever been before.

Damn Sam for being vindictive and getting him fired. Hadn't it been enough for her to kick him out of the apartment they shared? Though on Monday , he'd find out if he had the job at the campus library. It didn't pay much, but if he could just hold out until January, he'd be back in school. If he got the grant, of course. Blair closed his eyes, weary from thinking. It wasn't helping anyway. There were no easy answers. What was it Naomi had always said? Winds will blow, what they may.

The wind was certainly whipping about outside tonight. Blair slipped under the thin blanket and tried to get warm, but it was chilly in the dorm-like room. Still, he'd gotten used to sleeping cold. Only in his dreams was he ever truly warm.

//The man was big and tall with beautifully-honed muscles. He held Blair tightly against his body and his warmth blanketed the young man like nothing else he'd ever felt in his life. The older man dropped a kiss on the top of Blair's head, then worked his way down to his eyelids, the tip of his nose. He slid his tongue along Blair's neck as if tasting him, sniffed in a way that made Blair feel he'd been taken deep into the man's lungs and savored. The warm, wet mouth continued its journey and found its way to his nipples, peaked and ready for loving. Then it trailed down to his groin and engulfed him with the hottest touch of all.//

Blair jerked awake in his bed in the shelter, spurting his seed into his own hand, biting back all sound, and then choking back his weeping.

Another blustery fall day was turning into evening, Jim grabbed his jacket and then tugged on a cap. He was seldom bothered by the cold, but with his hair so short, (a habit from his military days he tried to discard, but found he could not) he liked to keep his ears warm. He grabbed the file he'd been working on and headed for the door. Jack had left an hour early, muttering something about Emily picking him up and his car in the shop. Jim hadn't really been listening,

He'd been listening to something else. All day, he kept thinking he was hearing a wolf howl. Long and forlorn, it seemed to emanate from somewhere behind him. He'd turn and, of course, nothing was there. Weird.

After he'd gotten out of the army, he'd dreamed about a panther. It stalked through the jungles and he often saw through its eyes. When Jim gave it any thought at all, he figured it was his way of dealing with all that had happened after the helicopter crash had stranded him in the jungles of Peru, losing his men, holding the pass for so long with only the help of primitive tribesmen. It would have helped to have the power and courage of a panther back then. He wouldn't mind having it now.

But this wolf business, this was something else. The panther gave him a sense of power and control over things. The wolf sounded lonesome and forlorn. Jim shook his head as he climbed into his truck and headed home.

He was lonely; Jim acknowledged that to himself, though he knew he would staunchly deny it if asked. He hated going back to the loft to sit in the maddening quiet. There he heard things that he should not be hearing: the clock beside his bed becoming so loud he'd unplugged it with a vicious yank, the neighbors, newlyweds, no less, from next door, going at it at 3 a.m., and his own sonorous heartbeat. Then there was his heightened sense of touch. He'd learned there were times when the only help for it was to go take a cold shower, because everything was intense and entirely too stimulating. Taste, well, he stuck to bland stuff now days and that seemed to work. Smell was probably the worst. Everything smelled bad, or at least way over the top.

Still, in comparison to the station, the loft was a cool, barren sanctuary. He opened the door with a sign of relief, grabbed his ear plugs and eye shades and stretched out on the couch.

Only to hear the wolf howl again.

What was going on? What was this wolf thing all about? Jim sat up and looked around the room. Nothing was on, nothing was out of place.

Jim stood and stretched like a cat. Okay, so the wolf wasn't here, but it was somewhere and it needed him. He was out the door and into the truck before he realized the absurdity of his thoughts.

He might have found the wolf, but Jack found him first.

"Ellison, where the hell have you been?" Jack sounded very unhappy over the phone. "I've been trying to get you for hours. Lee Parker's dead. The captain wanted both of us over on 8th , but I couldn't find you."

"Sorry, not to be sitting by the phone, Pendergrast, but as of six o'clock, we were off duty." His words were gruff, but a sadness had welled up in his belly when he'd heard Jack say the name of the sixteen year old he had once befriended.

"Yeah, well, get on over here before Captain Simmons busts a gut, okay."

But by the time Jim got there, everyone was done and gone. Jack was waiting for him by Emily's car.

"Will you go with me to talk to the kid's mother? Drummond remembered you'd met her before." Jack said when Jim hopped out of the truck.

"Yes," Jim said with a shrug. "Fill me in on what happened."

The woman on night duty at the women's wing of the Westland Shelter wasn't going to let them in, but Pendergrast turned on the charm and she finally did. Lee Parker's mother hardly looked old enough to have a sixteen year old son. Sitting quietly on her dormitory cot, she wrung her hands as they told her the news. The two cops left quickly after that, knowing there was nothing they could do that would truly comfort the woman.

As they were getting into the car, Jim stopped short. The wolf was there in the building they had exited. He could hear it whining softly. He hovered half in-half out of the car.

"Jeez, Jim. What's with you? Get in the car. I'm hungry." Jack growled.

Jim listened again, but this time he heard nothing. Must have been the wind, he thought as he slid into the seat.

Blair leaned over the woman and showed her how to work the mouse. "Left click, not right." He told her, but his mind wasn't on his job. He was looking at the big book the woman's little boy was holding. It was a Zoobook and on the front was the head of a magnificent, black panther. For some strange reason, Blair couldn't take his eyes off the picture.

He'd dreamed of a panther in the early hours of the morning - a big, black one like the one on the cover of the kid's magazine. Blair hadn't been scared at all when the panther had found him, snuffled over him, gently mouthed his shoulder and cuffed his head. All his dreams had been really weird lately, bright and vivid and, more often than not, sensual and sexy. It had started when he met that cop on 8th Street. That big, buff cop....

"Sir, sir, can you help me with this computer ?" the woman's voice brought him back to the library. "I can't get it to acknowledge the password."

Blair sighed and turned his attention back to the woman.

Since it was Saturday, he got off work early. If he hurried, he had just enough time to get down to the campus post office and see if his grant letter had come in. True, it was only the seventh of November, Sandburg thought as he fairly flew down the steps of the library, but the notice could have come early. As he cut across the green toward the campus post office where he still had a P.O. Box, his mind was awhirl. He'd had an odd feeling all day long, as if he was on the brink of some great discovery. Naomi had taught him not to ignore such feelings, so maybe it was the letter. Maybe his luck was going to change.

Directly in his path stood a tall man watching some guys playing frisbee.

Blair started to veer around him, but as soon as he moved the man moved too, following the red disk as the wind caught it and made it sail high over the head of one of the players. Suddenly, Blair realized the man had stepped into the street and a big truck was bearing down on him. Still, the man did not move, but stood mesmerized by the disk now spiraling down out of the sky. With a burst of energy, Blair leaped at the guy, taking him down with a tackle worthy of a star football player and holding him tightly as the truck rumbled overhead.

The minute the truck had cleared them, Sandburg was up like a shot. "Man, that sucked." he exclaimed. The big guy he'd just saved stood there looking rather dazed. A crowd was beginning to gather and the driver of the truck bustled up stammering out apologies.

Blair caught the man by his jacket. "Come on. Let's get out of here before someone makes a fuss."

The guy nodded and moved to Blair's side and they hurried away from the buzzing group that had gathered. Since that was where he was headed anyway, Blair led the man to the post office. It was quiet inside, away from the wind and the crowd. Blair sat down on a bench with a thump and for the first time looked, really looked, at the man with him. His eyebrows shot up in amazement. It was the cop! The cop from 8th street.

"Oh shit," Blair swore softly.

But the cop only said, "I've been looking for you."

"Looking for me?" Blair squeaked. "Why? I didn't do anything wrong." The big guy shot him a look.

Blair threw up his hands. "Hey, after I met up with you, I decided it wasn't such a great way to make money after all and I quit on the spot and never went back."

"I know," the guy gave a rueful grin. "I went back, hoping to find you. I was sort of glad when I didn't."

Blair stood up. This was so freakin' weird. He shook his head as if to clear cobwebs from it. He looked at the beautiful cop, sitting on the bench looking up at him. The man's blue eyes were vague and held the sheen of tears.

Blair sat down beside him. "What was that out there?" he said softly. "It was like you were watching that frisbee fly, but you were on another planet doing it."

"I think I was." the man still looked shell shocked.

"Do you live around here?" Blair asked, suddenly worried for the guy. "It there someone I can call?"

The cop shook himself once and it was as if he finally woke up. He looked at Blair and said swiftly. "Come home with me."

"Sure." Blair said instantly and then thought, where the hell did that come from. "Let me just grab my mail." There was no grant letter from the institute, but there was a big envelope, addressed in bold, black letters in a hand Blair did not recognize. It was postmarked from Peru. He stuck it under his arm and signaled to the cop. "Lay on, MacDuff."

"Oh," again it seemed the cop was shaking himself awake. "It's Ellison, Jim Ellison. Not MacDuff." He grinned down at Blair then and the younger man caught his breath at the change the smile made in the man's normally stern face.

He found himself grinning back. "I'm Blair Sandburg," he said and burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. He was surprised and pleased to hear Jim chuckling along with him.

As they exited the building, the wind caught their laughter and whisked it away.

The minute he walked in, Blair fell in love with the cop's home. It was a big, roomy loft apartment. The bedroom had to be up the stairs. He saw Jim follow his gaze upward and before he knew it, he was being escorted up those steps. The bed was big, practically filling the space. It had a yellow striped comforter and blue sheets on it. Blair liked it instantly too.

He gave a happy laugh, knowing this was a crazy thing to do, but not caring in the least. He let Jim sweep him down on the bed and pounce on him. Like a big jungle cat, Blair thought, then laughed again. Well, it was a day for weirdness, all right.

In no time at all, Jim had divested Blair of his shirt and skinned off his own. Then he buried his nose in Blair's curls and inhaled deeply. Blair hoped cheap, baby shampoo was a turn on, because that was what he'd been using lately. He reached up and caressed the man's short, stubby hair. It had a surprisingly fine feeling, much softer than he expected. He arched up, gasping as the big guy started laying a trail of licks down his neck and chest. The man's tongue felt warm and raspy on Blair's sensitive nipples. He made a noise of approval, then brought Jim's head up for a deep, long kiss. When he finally released the bigger man, they were both gasping for breath.

Then everything began to happen in such rapid fire succession, Blair couldn't keep up. He didn't want to keep up. He moaned as Jim growled and took him in his mouth, sucking deep and slow. Blair reached out and urged Jim around so he could grab the big cock that jutted straight and proud from the incredibly, hard body. It was good, so good as he pumped and stroked, as he was sucked and savored. So good, so good, so good....

He came with a long, high howl, conscious only of the warm, strong body that shook and shuddered over him and spurted thick cream messily between them.

Afterwards, he lay warm and drowsy in Jim's arms, thinking he should go home. But where was home? These arms are my home, he thought muzzily and then he was asleep.

Jim held the young man through much of the night. Blair had howled like a wolf as he came and Jim had climaxed with a shudder of recognition. This was it. This was what he had been seeking. How or why he didn't know, but when he finally slept, it was a deep, even sleep, and when he came awake it was to a welcoming, steady heartbeat that said "home."

It was much later the next day that Blair finally unwrapped the package he'd carried with him to the loft. Inside was an old, very worn leather book. Opening the cover, he read the flowing, script printing on the title page, Watchman, Warrior, Sentinel -- A Monograph by Richard Burton. A paper was stuck in the book and as Blair turned to the page and slid the marker out, his hand started to tremble. The words on the slip of paper were in his mother's handwriting.

Blair - I came upon this during my travels in Peru last summer. Knowing how you liked such things, I meant to send it to you earlier, but somehow forgot. The mail is very unreliable down here, but I am going to send it anyway, in hopes that it gets to you before I arrive home next month. Love, Naomi

The page was dated over five years ago. Naomi had been right to think the mail unreliable. Naomi was right about a lot of things, Blair thought as he looked across the loft at his new lover. You never knew what the wind was going to blow your way.

Finis