Author's webpage: http://www.slashcity.com/

Author's disclaimer: Sigh. If I did own these boys, I'd be uploading video clips and forever flooding your mailboxes.

Author's notes: Thanks for Valentin's fastest beta service in the west...even if she is in the east, and to Devo for spot checking. Bone's the goddess who started this whole thing. This story contains graphic hatred in parts. If this will offend you, please don't read it. My first Sentinel piece--feedback craved.

Skinsgame
Barb G.
May 30, 1999
The throbbing behind my eyes got worse. The desire to close my eyes and rub my temples became harder and harder to ignore, but with Sandburg sitting right beside me it would be impossible to give over to that basic instinct. It wouldn't make the headache feel any better and it would bring Blair swooping down on me in another one of his weirdo medication kicks. If I can't take aspirin I sure as hell am not going to take the anal gland of some tree-swinging monkey.

The clicking of the keys pounded into me, and I finally had to push away from my desk. The banging stopped, instantly, and Sandburg glanced up, tucking his wild hair behind his ear. "Jim?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, cutting off whatever was coming next. I didn't want to hear it.

Of course it was too late. Blair's eyes narrowed, and he moved closer to me, staring at me like he could tell my pulse rate as well. His had quickened slightly, and I stood up. "Coffee," I announced.

"Bad idea, caffeine only makes headaches worse. How long have you been having this one?"

I looked at him, annoyed at myself for having being so obvious. "How did you-"

"Your pupils are dilated," Blair said, looking up into my eyes. His mouth opened to say something else, but Simon's door had just opened behind me. The captain took a deep breath.

"Jim?"

Blair glanced at me, and I tried not to notice the disappointment on his face. He was turning into quite an adrenaline junkie, and to be excluded was a slap in his face.

"It's probably nothing," I said, trying to placate him, but he went back to his typing.

"Whatever, man," he said, not looking at me.

I turned down the offered coffee; Sandburg was probably right. Simon drank from it himself and motioned me to sit. "Jim, we need you," Simon said without a preamble.

"What about Sandburg?"

"I don't think Sandburg would work for this detail."

I looked at him. The smell of the coffee was overwhelming, but I looked away from the mug to the captain's face. "Simon?"

He threw a picture down on the desk. "Do you know him?"

I glanced down at it. "No," I said, picking it up. "Who is he?"

"George Fiddler. Businessman, but has his own skinhead group on the side."

The air conditioner kicked on, and the difference in the air temperature was almost visible. "Skinheads, sir?"

"Last year, three young black men were killed by the same gun, under the same circumstances. Fiddler has always scraped by with legal defenses and technicalities."

"How do I infiltrate? I'm not exactly unknown in Cascade."

"Slowly, Jim. No surprises. I promise you."

"What about Sandburg?"

"Tell him what you think he needs to know. He can't be involved on this one."

"You try telling him that."

"That's your job, Jim."

Blair had out his yellow legal pad, but was only doodling on the top when I returned to my desk. He put it away without letting me see, but I knew. "What's up?" he asked, banging his heel against the desk. The muffled pounding was in tempo with his heartbeat. I wondered if he knew that.

"Undercover work, I'll tell you on the way. You hungry?"

Blair grinned at being included. "Starved, man," he said, jumping up.

With it being the end of the month, Blair had almost no money. We had hotdogs in the park, and I told him what Simon had said. Blair remained motionless for the entire time, no fidgeting, no hand motions, nothing. He looked like something in the headlights, about to be run over. "Undercover? In Cascade? You can't be serious," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not exactly low-pro anymore, you know? Your ugly mug's on T.V. enough that they're got going to buy you just waltzing up and saying, 'Hi, I'm a skinhead. And you are...?'"

"Simon said they are going to do it slowly," I protested.

"I do not like this. I don't like this at all."

"Noted for the record. Don't you have a class?" I asked. I didn't know why it bothered me so much that Sandburg was against this, but it did.

Sandburg glanced down to his watch. He sighed, finishing off his dog and throwing the wrapper away. He took an extra minute to pick up the potato chip bag and the gum wrapper and threw them out as well. "Just be careful, will you?" he asked.

I was going to say something snide, but the kid looked honestly upset. I just nodded, and he left me in the shadow of the tree. I finished the hotdog leisurely, enjoying the spikiness of the mustard against my tongue and the feeling of the spring sun against my skin. It had been a cold winter, and it felt good to finally be able to go outside without freezing my ass off.

Simon motioned for me to follow him back to his office. Sitting on his desk was a young-looking black man. He had his hair shaved down, and his almond eyes were bright and alert. He glanced me over, coolly appraising me, but then nodded as if I had passed some test. "He'll do," the man said.

Simon nodded. "Detective Ellison, I'd like you to meet Detective Jackson. You two will be working with each other, briefly."

I shook his hand, waiting for more explanation. "Jackson is working with one of the gangs. You are going to arrest him tomorrow and beat him for resisting."

I coughed. "What?"

"You're going to be charged with police brutality."

This was ridiculous. "Simon--"

Jackson stood up. "Look, it's cool. It makes me into a martyr and you into brutal racist cop. It's a start."

I looked at Simon, the truth sinking in. "You're not putting me into this undercover," I said.

"Nope. Detective Ellison himself."

"Will IA know it's a set-up?"

Simon didn't look at me. "No."

"So I could lose my badge over this."

"We're hoping for a stern warning, but it's a possibility." He took out a photo of another cop. "Grant Waddell. We're pretty sure he's dirty, and we know he's a bigot. He's connected to Fiddler, but we can't prove that, either. If you get in, it'll be through him."

I looked at him. "And if I don't?" I asked.

Simon shook his head. "We try something else."

I nodded. Simon clasped me on the back. "Good man."

Blair had dinner ready when I got home; I could smell it from the street. Just enough garlic, but the oregano was getting stale. Time to buy a new jar. I threw my keys in the basket and locked the door behind me. Blair glanced up, cocking his head, but must have seen that I didn't want to talk about it. He moved to the fridge and took out two bottles of beer. The tinkling of glass on glass snapped my head up. "Pavlov's dogs have nothing on you," he said, passing me over one. I took it, but rolled it over my forehead instead of drinking it. I wanted to delay that first burst of icy coldness for as long as possible. Blair took a deep swallow and then put the bottle down, going back to slicing the garlic toast.

I moved behind him and started cleaning up. The two sauce pans in the sink only took a minute to wash, and I was scrubbing the cheese grater out when Blair announced supper was ready.

After the third time of glancing at his watch, I had to ask. "Going somewhere tonight, chief?" I asked.

"Yeah, I've got a date," he said, but didn't look all that excited about it.

"Julia?" I asked, leaning back in my chair. He had just washed those jeans. The subtle smell of the unscented fabric softener joined with his own scent, and I caught myself inhaling deeper. Nope. No excitement. I looked at him. "Are you okay?"

Blair's eyebrows jerked together. "I'm fine," he said. "Why?"

Because you don't smell horny. "No reason. Enjoy yourself," I said, bringing our plates to the sink.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Relax, Sandburg, it doesn't mean anything."

Sandburg stared at me. I stared back. He opened his mouth, but didn't say anything. I waited, then picked up the salad dressing bottle from the table. Blair went to his room when I came back to get the pasta bowl.

"Later," Blair called, and slammed the door.

The set-up was all carefully planned. I felt naked without Blair there, but relieved in not having to worry about him and random gunfire meeting. I rode alone, tracking Jackson and his buddy to an older model Ford. We followed them for about three blocks before I flicked on my lights. Jackson had a young banger with him, one with no criminal record and didn't carry a gun in case we needed someone to testify my word against his. Jackson pulled over, and I parked behind him, going to the driver's side window. My shirt still prickled against my suddenly too sensitive skin and the Kevlar vest restricted my breathing as I rapped on the glass.

Everything about Jackson reeked of his inebriation except for his breath. His eyes had that lazy follow-through of drunks and stoners, but I knew it was a fake. I doubted anyone else could tell. "What'zup, officer?" Jackson asked, cocking his head to look sideways at me.

"Out of the car," I said, yanking the handle open. Jackson's buddy looked young and his eyes shone in the interior light of the car. Jackson had picked him because the boy was known not to carry, and I couldn't smell any gun oil on him. I motioned the kid to stay in the car as Jackson got out. "You're under arrest," I said, taking out my cuffs. Jackson didn't fight as I threw him against the car's hood.

It wasn't very hard, but Jackson landed like it was. "Make it look real," he hissed at me, flipping around. "Arrest me, for what? Being black in my own neighbourhood?" he yelled.

"Driving while impaired."

He spit at me. The spittle landed against my cheek and slowly dripped down my jaw, landing against my shirt. He threw the first punch.

The rest was instinctive. I blocked his arm, throwing a right into his face. His nose didn't break, but the blood spattered. I would have stopped it at that, but he didn't let me. He threw himself at me, and I fought him back. I tried pulling my punches, but Jackson wouldn't let me. Finally he fell down and stayed down. I stared at him for a heartbeat, before remembering the other boy in the car. I pulled Jackson up by his jacket and forced him over the hood. I checked him quickly, but his breathing was slow and regular. "Hard enough for you?" I asked, once we were in the car with his belt on.

"Damn," Jackson said. He couldn't even daub the blood off his lip with his hands handcuffed behind him. "You're stronger than you look."

The words came out slurred. If I concentrated, I could probably hear the burst capillaries flooding his lips with blood. The same was true under his eye; he was going to look like hell tomorrow. "I'm sorry," I said, knowing it was inadequate.

"You're just doing your job," Jackson said, and then ran his tongue over his teeth. One moved slightly against it. "Spit on me," he said.

"What?" I demanded.

"Spit on me. It doesn't have to be much, just enough for the DNA."

I couldn't do it. Eventually we settled on me spitting into my hand and then smearing it onto his jacket.

"Damn," Jackson repeated again.

The act was on again in the police station. Jackson was taken away, screaming about police brutality, and I hid how much my hands shook by filling out the doctored report. Simon was half an hour later. He walked in just as I finished the report. "Ellison, get in here!" he shouted. The bullpen was empty except for the night staff, but they all watched me trudge into the office. "What the hell were you doing?"

I took a deep breath, remembering my part. "My job, sir," I said, making the last word an insult.

"You call beating the shit out of a defenseless kid part of your job?"

"He was drunk and he took a swing at me."

"Is that why he needs five stitches to hold his lip together?"

I paled. Five? I searched Simon's face, but he gave off no indication that he was padding the truth. "He was resisting arrest," I said, finding my voice again.

Simon moved over and poured a cup of coffee. "It's because he's black, isn't it?" Simon demanded.

"That's none of your damn business," I growled back, taking the cup from him.

"Do you have a problem working for me?" Simon growled.

I took a swallow of the scalding liquid. "You mean working for your kind?" I snapped.

"Okay, then, yeah."

"I do my job, sir. I suggest you do yours." I had done undercover work before, but this was the first time my hand shook. Simon took the mug from me, and his warm hand covered mine for a second, squeezing it.

"Get out, Detective. IA wants to speak with you in the morning."

"Fuck them, too. A cop has a right to defend himself."

I left, slamming the door behind me. The shudders rattled, and Simon put down my mug, leaning against his tables. Through the door I could hear one of his knuckles crack. Each sense felt on alert, but the info processing took longer. I felt like I was in shock.

Blair waited up for me. I could hear him clicking on his keyboard as I unlocked the door. The hair on the back of his neck scraped across the back of his flannel shirt as he turned to watch me throw the keys in the basket and re-lock the door. "Howd'it go?" Blair asked, staring at the speckled deep red splotches on my shirt.

His faked disinterest was very good. "Bloody," I said, pointing out the obvious. I inhaled as deeply as I could and then faked a yawn to get that last bit of scent. No sex. Blair didn't smell any different than when he had left, just before I had. That was twice in a row for him. It wasn't Julia; I had only met her once but could smell the readiness she gave off. "Beer?" I asked.

"That yours?" Blair asked.

I touched it. No."

"Then...no offence, Jim, but could you shower and change first? Sitting around with blood on your shirt attracts bad mojo," Blair said, still unable to look away from the stains.

"It's not a Mayan ritual or fertility rite?" I asked, but stripped off the shirt anyway. I tilted my head and yanked the neck as wide as possible, but the blood still managed to touch my cheek. The smell and the coldness of it turned my stomach. I threw the white sweater in the trash, knowing that the blood would never come out enough that I couldn't see it.

I fished it out, only to wrap it up with a garbage bag. I didn't want to smell the blood drying, either.

I gave the cold water knob another eighth of a turn, letting the hotter water pour over me. If I could have, I would have opened my individual pores and scrubbed them as well. Sandburg wouldn't have found the water any more than tepid, but with my skin so sensitive it was enough to make me tense against the blasting heat.

Sandburg in the shower.

Where the hell did that image come from? Shit, it has been way too long since my last date. It was probably his hair. I loved the way the curls hung almost straight and the pearls of water gathered on the tips of the strands. I could almost see my reflection on them. Several times I caught myself delaying him at the door as he came in from the rain. He almost never brought an umbrella with him.

Great. Lusting after my roommate. That would just make my life perfect at this moment. He was in his room moving around, getting his books together for tomorrow. I tuned out the sound of the shower in order to hear his body move under his clothing. I sorted through the scents until I could find his from the thousands of others. I could...

I could do all that, yet I couldn't actually come to grips with how I felt about him. I snapped off the shower knobs and grabbed a towel, but it was too rough against my skin. Baby soft and unscented, and it still felt like sandpaper against me. I dialed down my touch long enough to dry off, and knotted the towel around my hips. Blair was moving around in the kitchen again, fidgeting.

Sandburg came to the door. "Have some consideration, would you? Some of us have to be teaching tomorrow morning."

"Sorry, Chief," I called. I put on fresh jeans and a sweater later and joined him downstairs; Blair perched on the edge of the chair as I stretched out. Where to start. I beat the shit out of another cop this evening. Too direct. I thumped the crap out of another police officer this evening. Not me at all. He'd know something was wrong. "It's probably not a good thing for you to come down to the station tomorrow," I said, drinking from the bottle he had put down in front of me.

"Why not?"

"I beat up another detective today as part of my cover."

"Your cover?" Blair asked, frowning slightly, and then jumped up. "You? You're the cover? You have got to be kidding."

I watched him pace until it hurt my head. "They couldn't give me a persona that would work. So I'm going in as me."

"So you beat up another cop."

"He's undercover too. A gang member. It's going to flood the papers tomorrow."

"You're going to let them destroy your name?" Blair asked. "I don't believe this. Jim--"

"Sandburg, no. I don't need you telling me that this is not going to work. It's out of my hands."

Blair stared at me. I closed my eyes, but could track his movements just as easily using my ears and nose. He picked up the bottle, drinking almost half of it, and then set it down next to mine. "I'm going to bed," he announced.

"Blair," I said. He stopped, instantly. Even his breath caught in his throat.

"What," he asked, cautiously.

"Trust Simon."

"I'd rather trust you," he said, quietly.

"Trust me, too."

He nodded. I opened my eyes to look at him, and he stared back again. My mouth went dry, and it was a good thing he didn't have sentinel powers as well. My own heartbeat was spiking in my chest. Blair turned around and closed the door to his room, and I exhaled sharply. Breathing back in, I smelled it.

The scent of Blair's arousal.

Shit.

It was my turn to pace back and forth in my bedroom. The way I saw it, I had three basic choices. I could ignore it, make sure we both got dates with women whose nicknames contained the word 'easy' , or confront him about it.

Ignoring sounded really good to me. So did the date thing. But then the thought of him with someone else caused a flare-up of jealousy I hadn't felt for years.

Okay, months.

Not since the last time he turned the heads I was interested in.

I've seen shrinks before. Coming back from Peru, being on the force, the marriage falling apart; and that was without the senses thing going screwy. Low impulse control has always been a problem with me. I knew that. So it didn't really surprise me to be knocking on Sandburg's door at two o'clock in the morning.

"What," he asked, but he groaned it into the pillow and not at me.

"Do I really have an ugly mug?"

"You're kidding me, right?" he asked his pillow. I could smell the fresh saliva on the pillowcase. Sandburg was a drooler, then. That was quite endearing, actually. Only his curls were visible to me, but his body was covered in a fine layer of sweat. He hadn't changed from his winter blankets yet despite the sudden heat wave.

"No."

His entire body stiffened. He turned his head to the side to look at me, and scraped his hair off his face. There couldn't have been much to look at--I was standing in total darkness--but his eyes met mine in a weird kind of way. "No, you don't have an ugly mug. I love the way the shadows fall on it," he said. "Identity crisis over? Good. Let me go back to sleep."

"I love you."

Blair pushed himself up, twisting around under the covers. He pulled his hair back, but gave up trying to work his fingers through it as he walked past me in the doorway. "Where are you going?" I asked, trying to keep the alarm out of my voice. I just told him I loved him and now he's leaving me. In his boxers. In his tattered, grey boxers that hung off his hips. This was not how I envisioned this moment.

"To make some coffee. We gotta talk."

No arguments here.

Twenty minutes later we sat down across from each other at the table with two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of toast between us. They remained untouched, but the smell of the butter melting and the dark coffee helped me remember this wasn't a dream. He waited for me, but I had already laid my cards out. It was up to him now. He took a piece of toast, ripped it in half, and then pulled off the crusts, eating them first.

"Would it be inappropriate to ask since when?" he finally asked.

"I don't know."

"Since the beginning? Last week? Your dream angel told you tonight? Come on, Jim, give me a clue here."

"After. Before. And no, she didn't," I took a sip of coffee and wrapped my hands around the mug. "A while. A month? Maybe more. You grew on me."

"Great. So now I'm a parasitic fungus."

I put the mug down. I had exposed myself completely, and he was still playing word games with me. The anger at being toyed with spiked and I fought to keep it down. "Would you stop it?"

"Stop what?"

"Hiding from this. I've told you how I feel. Now either tell me you feel the same way or that you're disgusted by the whole thing and let's part as friends."

"So those are my choices?"

"What do you mean?"

"I either love you back or I start circling classifieds tomorrow?"

"No!" I wish I hadn't put my mug down. Slamming it against the table would have felt really good right about now. I settled for standing up and pacing. "Is that what you're afraid of?"

"You have to give me some time, here, Jim. I'm overloading right now."

"If that's the case take all the time you need," I snapped sarcastically, leaving him in the brightly-lit kitchen. I made it to the stairs before he spoke again.

"Okay," he said, quietly.

"Okay, what?" I said, not turning around.

"I'm done processing this."

"And?" I prompted.

"You're right. I love you back."

"Would it be inappropriate to ask since when?"

"Since the beginning, man," He said, taking another drink of coffee. He tore into his toast, ripping off his next bite rather than chewing it.

"And you didn't tell me this?" I asked, turning around slowly.

His back was to me. "Ancient druids used to drive their homosexuals into the peat bogs. Edward the second was buggered with a red-hot poker. Christians--"

"Okay, you've made your point."

"Have I? Look, Jim. I love you. So if you want to bone away all night or never mention this again, I'm cool with either scenario."

He stared at me with such frank interest that I suddenly didn't want to stand up any more. I sat down on the stairs, bracing my elbows on my knees as he took another sip from his coffee. "Is that an 'oh-my-god what have I done' or an 'oh-my-god it's finally happened' panic attack?" he asked with scholarly interest.

"Come here."

He stood up, crossing the floor. His belly was in my direct line of sight, and I tugged gently on the curly hair there. He was much better built than he looked with all those clothes on. He had an amused smile on his face, but I heard him suck in his breath as I placed both hands over his hips and pulled him to me.

I kissed the upper belly, nuzzling my nose into his skin. His body shook with the effort not to laugh and he squirmed to get away, but I held him in place. "Jim," he said, strained. "Cut it out."

I pulled away, looking up to see him. His smile died. "Jim..." he began again. He glanced down to himself, and blushed. "I--"

I stood up. He stumbled back as I was suddenly in his space, and I pressed my hand against his groin, feeling the half-hard erection tighten under my hand. Blair turned his head away and groaned, holding onto my shoulders. "Jim..." he moaned. "Please."

I looked at him. His face was flushed, lips parted, and his breathing was laboured. I switched from an easy grinding motion to trying to run my hand up him, but the fabric got in the way. I gently pulled the shorts down, and his flush deepened as I studied him. His balls were just the right weight for my palm; I cradled them with one hand and ran my fingers up his length with the other. "I...uh..." He began. He tried to shift away, and I let him go.

"What?" I asked.

"I'd really like it if you kissed me," he said.

I flushed, realizing that I hadn't actually looked him in the eye while I was groping him. His nostrils flared in his attempt to keep from panting. I had never kissed a man before, but he parted his lips again and invited me.

The stubble against my own was actually a turn-on. His tongue pressed warmly against mine. His body pushed hard against my hand as his hands ran down my back, sliding into the elastic at my waist. We backed into a wall. Finally he broke away, tilting his head back to gasp for air. "Oh, God. I've been wanting to do that for months," he said, taking one hand from my back to wipe his mouth before tucking it back where it came from.

I started to laugh. I couldn't help myself. One moment I was fine, and the next, a burst of laughter escaped. Another followed, and I suddenly couldn't stand up again. I grabbed for him, and after a moment's look of concern he started to laugh as well. We slid down the wall together, me trying to stifle my laugh in his shoulders, and he in my neck. It tickled, and the stubble made it worse.

Finally the laughter died down. "Can we go upstairs?" he asked. "I'm freezing my ass off down here."

I groped him again. "Feels pretty attached to me," I said.

The bastard bit me.

Blair went into the bathroom and came back shaved, with minty breath. I wanted to do the same thing, but he hooked my arm. "Don't, I like the way you taste," he said, blushing slightly.

"Can we hold this discussion of kinks for the second date?"

Blair cocked his head, curls swinging. "Is this our first date?"

It was three o'clock in the morning. He had to be at the University in five hours, but he looked wide awake now. He pulled off his shorts, kicking them off his leg, and looked at me, daring me to look away. "I guess it is," I said.

"I know I'm easy," he murmured, looking at me, "But this is ridiculous."

I sat down on the bed, running my palm across his chest. The hair was springy, and I ran my fingers through it. The debate ended.

It was an interesting game of intimacy and rush. We both had to be up and functioning tomorrow, but neither wanted to hurry this along any more than necessary. He knelt down over me and I groaned at the added weight, but then his testicles brushed up against my cock for the first time. I gripped his hips; we were both so hard that I almost lost it right there. He shifted, rocking his hips against mine while playing with my hair. "It's like a seal pelt," he said, appreciatively. I tangled my own fingers in his. I could have lost myself in the scent he was giving off. He stopped playing with my hair long enough to grip my shoulders, and tensed his body. Feeling him move against me in those short, staccato bursts, the smell, the feel of him...I was gone. I held him against my body, feeling his own body shudder, and the first string of cum landed on my chest. His, mine, it didn't matter. I reached up and rubbed it into my skin, wanting it to be the first thing I smelled in the morning. He sank against me, and his gasped breath was moist against my bare shoulder. After a long time he got off me stiffly, and I heard him wash off in the bathroom. He rejoined me on the bed, and I moved over to him.

I could really get to like the feeling of fur against my own thighs.

I woke up the next morning, still exhausted, and disappointed that the bed was empty. But he had already showered; the air was moist from the steam. He was in the kitchen banging pots around. Cracking eggs. Bacon. I got up, nodded to him on the way to the shower, and dressed in a pair of jeans.

He looked up as I came out of the bath, and he grinned. A real, shit-eating, face-splitting, eyes-shining grin that suddenly made me want to grin back at him. Well, actually, it made me want to kneel down and rip those jeans off with my teeth, but I started with just the grin.

"So..." He began, going back to stirring the eggs.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"We're okay with this, right?"

I came up behind him, moving against his hips. "We're okay with this," I agreed.

He smelled of toothpaste again. I never thought I'd find that particular smell erotic, but on him it worked. I started unbuttoning his jeans.

"Jim!" he protested. "I'm cooking here."

"It's okay. I like them firm," I growled, kneading his ass. He bowed his head, and I took a hand away long enough to part the hair on the back of his neck so I could kiss the exposed white skin. He leaned back into me, sliding the small of his back against my groin. I undid his jeans, fumbling with the zipper. He started panting against me, frantic, and moved the eggs off the burner before he turned around and dropped to his knees.

I had been blown before, but never like this. Never like it was more than just a favour. I've never had anyone try to devour me like that. He moved his mouth around me, and I had to grip the oven door's handle to keep myself from grabbing Blair's head and fucking the shit out of it. He was close as well; his fist worked himself over faster than looked comfortable.

I came first. My neck muscles clenched as I threw my head back and I thought the tendons would snap before the last of the rush passed through me. His lips never left the head of my cock, and he milked me with his free hand while swallowing. Sweat broke out across my back, the breeze of the open patio doors chilling me, and I sank forward.

He pulled away from me, knowing how sensitive my cock would be, and finished himself in his palm. I wish I had been more with it and had taken over from him, but I was too far gone for that. I didn't come back to full awareness until Blair was standing up, about to wash his hand off in the sink.

I grabbed his wrist. He looked at me, but relaxed when I lapped the cum off the palm of his hand. I worked over the ball of his thumb, and saw the way his body responded. Pupils dilated, vessels flushed...I couldn't wait to see what would happen to him after a full body tongue wash.

But I let him go. "You're going to be late," I said.

He glanced to the clock on the stove. "Oh, shit," he swore, and left to gather up his books.

I shoveled half the eggs between two slices of his multi-grained bread and handed it to him on the way out the door. He grabbed it, kissed me, and left. I could still taste myself on his lips.

I had the interview with IA in an hour, but it would be better if I was late. I had breakfast by myself, cleaned up, and put on a T-shirt.

Internal Affairs waited for me. They escorted me to one of their offices, and I sat down across from the mass-produced desk and leaned back in my chair. The woman interviewing me occasionally stole a cigarette in her office when she thought no one would know. The blinds were opened, shining in my eyes, but she stood up and closed them off. Her plain brown business suit had been bought off the rack, but it still looked nice.

"Detective Ellison, did you want to explain what happened last night?" she asked, turning on the tape recorder.

"He resisted arrest."

She opened up the manila folder and showed me a picture of Jackson. "He resisted arrest," I repeated, as if that explained it all.

"You were driving alone."

"Yes."

"And you saw Mr. Willis driving north on 118th Street at approximately 11:40 last night, April 14th."

"Yes. He was weaving."

"You pulled him over, demanded he get out of the car and then beat him when he resisted you."

"He was drunk. I could smell it on him."

"Mr. Willis had been at a party earlier where an entire pitcher of beer had been poured onto his head. His blood showed him clean and sober."

"He was stinking drunk and resisted arrest. He threw the first punch."

"Detective Ellison, Mr. Willis claims you called him a..." she glanced down to her file. "'Filthy nigger'."

I was never going to pass as a skinhead if that word still made me cringe. "He lied," I said.

"And you spit on him."

"Another lie."

"Traces of saliva were found on his jacket, Detective. If we were to do a test and discover it's yours, things would not be easy for you."

I took a deep breath, shifting closer to her as if trying to intimidate her with my size. "I might have," I allowed.

She snapped the lid on her pen. "Thank you, Detective Ellison," she said. "This interview is over."

I stood up, slamming the door behind me.

Simon waited for me in the bullpen. "Jim, what the hell happened last night?" he asked, putting his hand on my shoulder.

I glanced at it. "Get that off me," I said, looking up at him. "Sir."

"Ellison, what's wrong with you? We used to--"

"You served me to IA on a platter."

"Jim, you beat that boy to a literal pulp. What was I supposed to do?"

Rafe lifted his head to look at me, but I glared at him and he went back to his paperwork. Megan's flush went deeper, but she didn't move from her chair.

"He swerved because of a cat in the road. Jim--"

In all the times I'd practiced this next line I hadn't gotten the inflection to sound right in my head. I took a quick breath, cringing inwardly while trying to keep a straight face. "And you are going to believe that nig--"

"My office, now," Simon growled, turning away from me.

I went to Simon's office. "What do you want?" I demanded just before slamming the door.

"You're being suspended without pay," he said, keeping his voice cold. "I need your gun and your shield."

"Suspend me?" I raised my voice to be heard through the glass. "For what? Defending myself?"

"I never thought you'd be the type. You've hidden it well, I'll give you that. Get out of my office, you piece of shit."

I slammed the door again, so hard the blinds flapped noisily against the glass. I grabbed my jacket, slinging it over my shoulders, and stormed out of the precinct.

The cops on their breaks glanced up as I entered the bar, but none of them hailed me. I took my own booth, and ordered a beer from the waitress.

A uniformed cop came up to me. "Get lost," I growled, not looking at him.

"Some democracy, huh? A man can't say or think even the most basic truth without being censored by some weepy liberal," he said.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

"Waddell. Grant," the guy said, offering his hand. I stared at it and he put it away. "Let me get that," he said, reaching for his wallet.

"Put it away," I said, paying for the beer. "What do you want, Waddell?"

"I heard you are going to lose your job."

"That's not a done deal yet."

"Come on, Ellison. Get with the program. Your badge is gone. Your gun is gone. They are never going to let a racist cop patrol their multicultural streets."

I nodded, taking a small sip from the beer. The man's hatred hit me from across the table. I didn't have to hear his actual words. He'd take a breath and I'd nod and make affirming sounds, but he wasn't asking me to actually participate in his diatribe.

Finally, after three beers, he stood up. "Nice talking to you, Jim. I think we can connect."

I nodded, looking up at him. He'd be impossible to pick out of a line-up. Average height, average build, brown hair, brown eyes, clean shaven. If it weren't for his blue uniform there would be nothing noteworthy about this man at all. "Yeah," I said, rolling the empty beer bottle between my hands.

"Take this," he said, offering me a business card. George Fiddler. Any sense of victory I might have felt was overwhelmed by my disgust.

"Why?" I asked, bluntly.

"He's always looking for security guards who believe in the cause," he said.

I nodded, sliding it into my breast pocket. "Jim," he said, moving into my space. I wanted to push him away with my fists, but I let him press down onto me. "It's good to be out, isn't it? Not having to work under them? Go see George. He'll take care of you."

I nodded again.

The cab dropped me off out front. I was in no condition to drive. Blair wasn't home, and the place was empty without him. I stood still for a minute in the middle of the floor and just inhaled. His and my scents were mixed together here. They were faint, but still present. It calmed me down, but I still had to shower Grant's smell off me. It was too strong, too stomach-wrenching.

I was still in there when he got back. He was already half undressed by the time he reached the bathroom, and a moment later he joined me. "That bad?" he asked.

I started scrubbing again. He moved behind me, kissing my shoulder. "Did it work?"

"I'm off the force."

"Jim..."

"Don't," I said. I turned around, backing him to the far side of the shower. He put his hand on my shoulder, but smiled, let himself be backed up.

"Kiss me," he ordered. "You're not going to break me."

That was the second time he had to tell me. One of these days I was going to take the initiative. He was hungry and I needed him. I knelt down in front of him, guiding one foot up to the edge of the tub. I put my hand over his femoral artery, feeling the muscles around the vein contract and release against my skin. I kissed the node going into his groin, and followed the artery down his leg for as far as I could. "Jim, man, you're going the wrong way," he protested.

I smiled, snuffling my way back up the curly hair to his cock. I kissed him again, on each testicle, and played with the heavy sac with my tongue. He groaned, arching his back. "Oh, Jim," he whispered. "The things you do to me."

I kissed his circumcision scar, and ran my tongue over his exposed head. He made that strangling sound again, but his heartbeat hadn't increased enough for me to be worried about it. He rocked his head against the tiles and tried to grab my hair, but there was nothing to grip onto. He banged his fist against the wall, frustrated.

I cupped his balls again, massaging the base of his cock with my thumb. I took a deep breath in case it was my last one for a while, and slowly went down on him.

I relaxed my throat and let his length slide down. I could still breathe, which was a relief, and then I established my pattern. My hand worked with my mouth, drawing him closer to me. He started panting, rocking his hips to match me. My free hand travelled the back of his thigh, up to his ass. I stroked his buttocks, feeling the numbness of my lips as his wet skin chafed me.

"Jim...Jim..." His heartbeat raced and every muscle in his body tensed. I held him to make sure he wouldn't slide down the tiles and hurt himself as he came, slamming back against the shower wall. The wet curls plastered themselves over half his face as he writhed.

He opened his eyes, standing up straight. "Wow," he said, scraping the hair away.

I kissed his thigh and stood up, turning away to turn off the water. He stood in the shower for a long minute while I dried off.

He followed me out, disappearing into his old room for a second, leaving wet footsteps in his wake. I never knew his arch was so high. The disgust I carried inside me had lessened, but it was still there. Blair helped just by being there, but it still made me too angry.

Blair followed me up to my room with a bag from the drugstore down the corner. "Sandburg--" I began.

"Ellison," Blair countered.

The name stopped me. "We're past that last name business," Blair explained. He dropped the bag on the bed, not even glancing at it.

"What's that?" I asked, mainly because he expected me to.

"The next step."

He was speaking euphemistically, so could I. "Have you been there before?"

"Once or twice. Closer to twice. You?"

"A couple times, when they were the only stairs around," I said, refusing to blush.

He looked relieved as he walked over to me. "Go slow," he whispered, unknotting the towel. It fell to my ankles, and he ripped open the condom package just as there was a knock on the door. "They'll come back?" he asked, hopefully.

"It might be important," I said, reaching for my jeans. I took his wrist, kissing it. He went to get dressed as well. "Shit!"

I just pulled the sweater on. "What?"

"My jeans. They're outside."

"Stay in here."

I picked up Blair's jeans and gave them to him before going to the door. "Simon, I'm sorry. You know I would never--" I began too quickly.

He held up his hand. "How are you feeling?"

I shook my head. "Numb," I said, and rubbed the back of my neck. "And filthy. It's just a word, I should be able to say it."

Simon put his warm hand on my shoulder and I sighed, relaxing slightly. "It's not you," he said. "It's an act. I know that."

"And everyone else?"

"Taking it pretty hard. You hid this side of you really well, Jim," Simon said with a smile.

It bothered me that all my friends could accept the fact that I was racist so quickly. Simon shook his head. "They have no choice, Jim, that was an Oscar award-winning performance you gave them."

I didn't want to talk about it any more, so I showed him the card Waddell had given me instead. Simon copied down the information and passed it back. "What about Waddell?" I asked.

"Small-time. We've known about his tendencies for a while now, but he'll be too afraid to lose his pension and benefit plan to make waves. Keeping him on for another couple weeks won't do much more damage. Call this Fiddler tomorrow. He's probably the guy we're looking for."

Blair came downstairs, nodded at Simon, and went into the kitchen. There was left over pasta and some carrots that would have been fine to eat yesterday. I was about to say something about ordering in when Blair picked up the phone and dialed the Chinese place. "You're paying," he called.

"Stay for supper?" I asked, motioning Simon in. More clinks as Blair grabbed three beers and brought them out.

Simon glanced down to his watch. So did I. I had no idea it was already eight. "I've already eaten and I've got to get back to work. Check in with me tomorrow, call me at home."

"Yes, sir," I said, taking the beer from Blair. He moved back to the couch and flicked on the television.

Simon left, and I deadbolted the door. Blair glanced at me, and down my body. I sat down on the couch as well, and we both stared at each other. He slid off the arm of the chair, moving closer to me until our thighs touched. "So...uh...where were we?" he asked, pressing his leg harder against me. "The food's not going to be here for forty-five minutes."

"You think that'll be enough time?" I asked.

He blushed slightly. Not enough to redden his face, but I could feel the increased heat radiating off him. He moved quickly, taking a mouthful of beer, and moved over me again. Our lips touched, and I drank from him. I heard the crackling sound of his hair moving against his shirt, and tugged on his shirt until I pulled it off. He did the same for me, and firmly took the bottle from my hand, putting it on the coffee table. From this close he loomed over me, and I couldn't help running my hands through his chest hair again, picking his scent up on my fingers. He laughed at that, softly, and I buried my nose in the hollow of his throat above his collarbone and inhaled. I could get drunk on that alone.

I twisted, guiding him back to the sofa so I could pull off his jeans. He smiled at me, but didn't help at all. "Is this any indication of how it's going to be from now on?" I asked.

"Of course not. Just this evening," Blair said, raising his arm and putting his hand beneath his head. That exposed his armpit, and I went from hard to very hard almost instantaneously. "Pocket of my jeans."

I took out the condom and lube, amazed that my hands didn't shake, I was that excited. His free hand slid down his body long enough to pinch his nipple before sliding down to the dark fur of his groin. He used two fingers to rub the base of his cock in lazy, slow circles, closing his eyes at the sensation. He parted his legs, bringing one over the back of the couch and bracing the other on the floor. "Lick me here," he whispered, trailing his thumb up the vein on the base. "Not too hard. Just...let me feel your tongue."

As a man who hated the first time fumbling around someone else's body, trying to find the spots and tricks without asking, having him calmly inform me of his likes and dislikes was a real turn-on. I bent my head down to obey, and his entire body shuddered. "Um...like that. Lube up your finger."

He didn't wait for the sounds to show I was following him. "Slide it in me. Slowly. Knuckle by knuckle...oh, yeah. Rotate your finger..." Blair shuddered again, tensing against me as the second shudder passed through him. He didn't pump his cock, although his hand was now around it. He just kind of held it. He would occasionally squeeze lightly, but that was it.

I growled in frustration, making him laugh again. I had never felt another person's laughter from the inside. The pulsing almost made me lose it and the part I wanted wasn't even inside him yet. "Slowly, Jim. I want everything slow tonight," he said, opening his eyes. Face flushed, pupils wide, mouth open, he was beautiful. "I'm yours."

I couldn't take him like that. He didn't fight as I pulled him to the edge of the couch, which meant he had to twist to sit properly so he wouldn't fall off. "Slowly," he reminded me.

My single finger hadn't stretched him that much, and I pushed inside him, "Breathe, Jim, you're turning purple," he said, laughing again.

Just the head of my cock was inside him, but I loved the jerking sensation against it. I grabbed his hips, pulling him onto me as much as I pushed into him, and after a dozen heartbeats was inside him, buried as far as I could be. I froze, trying to distance myself from the sensations long enough to catch my breath and recover, when Blair lay back against the couch, spreading his arms out over the back.

It was too much temptation. I tickled him. His eyes flew open as he moved to protect himself, but it was already too late, I was well under his defenses. Even in his panic he was careful not to dislodge me, and the helpless shakes against me were like waves of pleasure crashing over me. I held on as long as I could, but with him squirming like an eel I couldn't thrust. I abandoned the attack, gripped his hips, and with what little self-control I still had set about to fuck him senseless.

His moans were interrupted by his residual giggles, but both hands went down to his groin. One cupped his balls, rolling them between his palm and his body, the other went to stroking his cock in time with my thrusts. His throat was totally exposed to me. I would have loved to sink my teeth into it, but I had to lean away from his body to get as much into him as possible. We started this too late; I didn't have much time to enjoy it before the pain set in. I needed this. Oh...God...

I pushed into him the final time, feeling his own body come. It was like being caught in a constrictor, like Blair's entire body wanted to trap me there for eternity, which was fine by me because at that moment there was nowhere else I would rather have been. The first bead of sweat was joined by another on the back of my neck, and it started to run down the line of my back as the rest of my body flushed and then let go.

Eventually I sank back onto my haunches, slipping out of his body. Blair was wearing another stupid smile, but we both jumped at the knock on the door. "Shit, the food," he groaned, trying to sit up. I was all in favour of just ignoring it, but the rational part of my mind that was amazingly still working told me they'd never deliver here again.

"Just a second!" I called, yanking off the condom, and grimaced as I pulled on my jeans. I hated how sensitive my skin got sometimes. Sandburg was slower getting up, but probably had much more practice throwing on his clothes on the fly than I had.

That was nasty. I shook my head to clear the jealousy and pulled on my shirt. Less than a minute later we both could have passed for presentable if it wasn't for the stench of sex around both of us.

Or maybe it just seemed that way to me. I sniffed again. Probably.

He had ordered a small feast, which was probably a good thing. I was starving, and his chopsticks weren't all that slow, either. He saw me staring at him and smiled, then he fished a jumbo shrimp out of his vegetables and fed it to me.

I really, really loved that man.

I made breakfast for Blair while he slept in. He had a morning class, but it didn't start until ten, and I was now officially unemployed. I had stayed beside him until my shoulders and hips started to ache from lying still. It seemed more humane to leave than to wake him up.

I popped down the toast, and he walked right past me to the bathroom. The shower started, Blair cursing as he tried to work out the tangles in his hair, and then he started soaping. If he kept this up, I'd never be able to pass the hygiene aisle in the supermarket without getting hard.

He eventually came out and glanced at the spread on the table. "Wow," he said. "But breakfast in bed would have been even better."

"Do you know how much crumbs irritate me?"

He kissed me on the cheek. "Joke! It was just a joke, man, relax. You are tense today," he said, running a hand down my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Just..." I rubbed my face and sat down. He joined me, "It's just this case. These men disgust me."

Blair reached for a piece of toast, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like, "Well, duh." I didn't ask for clarification. "Stopping by the U for lunch?" he asked more brightly.

"Depends on this meeting."

"I'll wait for you," he said, and then grinned down into his food. "My door has a lock, you know. A really good one. The University sprang for it, since my office is the most broken into office on campus. Which is, partly, your fault."

He bundled up some more food to take with him, and then kissed me on top of my head. "Be careful today."

I watched him move with the same bounce I'd seen the mornings after he'd gotten laid. This time it made me smile, knowing I was the one who laid him.

It was a pleasant enough thought to get me through the rest of my day.

Fiddler was a busy man, but he took my call when I gave his secretary my name, "Mr. Ellison. I've been waiting for you. Can you swing by today?"

"Just tell me when, sir," I said.

"Right now."

If it was supposed to give me too little time to prepare, it worked. I had enough time to call Simon and leave a message on his machine, but that was it.

Fiddler religiously used hand cream. His skin was buttery soft, but that was the only part of him that was. His suit was tailored to show off his hard-earned muscles, and he tested my strength when he gripped my hand. "Ellison, rough break you had. Those bastards had no right to toss you out for doing your job," he said.

"You can only hide the way you feel for so long," I said, carefully.

He nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly," he said, and then started on me.

His hatred was as strong as Waddell's was, but more organized, more reasoned, more terrifying. He could have been discussing a Jags game or the performance of his company's stock. It went no deeper than that. His heartbeat never increased. It was as if he was reading the hatred off cue cards. I laughed when he did, nodded when he finished a sentence with "Isn't it?" and tried not to let his nihilism touch me.

But in the end, hate paid. The salary he started me at was more than triple what I made as a cop, and the benefit plan was better. I wanted to ask if I could add Blair to the spouse benefits to see how this bigot would react, but regretfully restrained myself.

That was it, I was in. The job started the next day. I stood up, thanked him, shook his hand and got the hell out of there.

Blair glanced up as I shut the door and locked it, but didn't say anything. His mouth opened to say something, but he met me on the other side of his desk first. "Something wrong, Jim?" he asked.

I kissed him, pushing him back into his desk. He tensed against me for a second and then just relaxed, taking the anger from me and turning it into passion. No matter how hard I forced my tongue into his mouth, regardless of how painfully I worried his lips with my teeth, he accepted it. I broke from the kiss, resting my forehead against his as he moved his hands under my shirt and stroked my back. "I love you," he whispered, kissing my upper lip, my nose, and my cheek.

"Blair...I really need you to turn around," I said, keeping my voice calm. "Please."

"You just have to ask," he said calmly, already unbuckling his jeans. He passed me the lube and the condom, stepped out of his jeans and turned around, spreading his legs.

"I can't do this slow, not today, not right now," I said, fumbling with the preparation.

He bowed his neck and the hair parted on either side, leaving a single jagged line of white for me to fixate on. "I'm not asking you to," he said, so softly that I could barely hear him.

I tried to work him open with my fingers, but my need was just too great to prepare him all that much. I put a hand on his lower belly, and the other helped guide me in. He shifted back so it was easier for me, but other than that didn't try to escape the first thrust inside him. I didn't stop once the head of my cock made it past his muscles, and didn't breathe until he was all around me. I had to bend my knees to get inside him, and the strain on my thighs made this all the more real to me. I snuffled his hair, inhaling that sage and soap smell he had, and kissed down that white line.

He trembled under me, once, but then stoically stopped himself. Nor did he complain beyond an intake of breath when I bit his neck as I started to thrust. It wasn't until I reached down and gathered his cock up that I actually heard him gasp.

I had to lean away from him to get more strength to my thrusts, and as my chest left his back he stretched forward across his desk, gripping the far edge. "Jim...like that. Oh, God, please," he moaned, meeting my thrusts with his hips. His cock in my hand was already leaking, and the pre-cum made it easier to slide my hand up and down his length.

Working inside his body restored my own. All the hate, all the disgust, all the numbness Fiddler's words had filled me with drained away, leaving me only with the thrill of the coupling. I knew who I was, who this wonderful person under me was, and what our place was in the world. This. Here. Now.

Love.

It was so much better than the alternative. He continued whispering things to me as I fucked him, not caring that I didn't respond to them. I couldn't stop my body from coming. The rush passed through me, sweet and super-heated, and then it was over, and I was left collapsed over his body, panting in his ear. It wasn't until I sniffed the air that I realized he had came as well. "Thank you," I whispered, knowing the words of gratitude would never come close to how I felt, but he waited for me to get off him and then turned around, smiling like he understood.

"That was like...way cool," he said, breaking the spell on purpose so I wouldn't continue trying to fumble around for the words to cover it. "One of these days you're going to have to explain to me the different types of your orgasms. Do you get more tactile information if you're with someone else or if you're by yourself? Is there any difference in the hormonal output of your partner? Do you experience--"

To shut him up, I kissed him. "Won't work," I said, biting down his neck. I didn't want to leave a mark, but I loved the salty taste to his skin.

"Why not?"

"What would you use as a control group?"

"Oh," he said, stumped for approximately four seconds. "Unless we use straight sex as the baseline and then add the kinks to see how you react to them. That way--"

I was forced to kiss him again.

Simon phoned as I returned, so I filled him in on the details Fiddler had given me while excluding my side trip to the University. He didn't sound thrilled. "Be careful, Jim," he said.

"Yes, sir."

Blair came home on time for once, but I had planned for that freak occurrence. "You know, not having to follow some buff cop around all day sure frees up more than half my time," he said, tossing his keys in the basket. He looked up and saw the table set. "Wow."

I brought him a beer. "First you fuck me senseless, now you cook me dinner. I'm definitely keeping you," he continued.

"What about this buff cop?" I asked, running my fingers through his hair.

"History, man. I don't even remember his name," he said, turning to the touch. "I...uh...skipped lunch today. Can we eat?"

Okay, so we skipped the second round sex. Blair told me about his day, almost action by action, but I didn't mind. It was almost better this way, actually. I tuned out the individual words, working on my new talent, and concentrated on the swing in his hair, the fluid motion of his hands, the graceful fingers and how many times he included the word 'man' in his speech. It turned out to be not that often; maybe I just remembered him using it more. His face was so animated, so alive. So incapable of deception. Well, romantic obfuscations didn't count. "Jim? Are you listening to me?" he finally asked.

"No," I said, truthfully.

He stared at me. "Should I continue?"

"Please."

"Jim? Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

He nodded, slowly. "So anyway, then the dean said--"

What can I say? He loved me, too.

The first day on the job was fairly easy. The monitors guarded the building more than I did; it was only a matter of watching them. I did see my first skinheads, but other than nodding to me in the hallway they did nothing illegal, and I wouldn't have been able to arrest them if they had. Actually nothing at all happened the entire day, but I kept to the front desk and looked menacing.

Fiddler himself came down to see me just before punch-out time. "How'd it go?" he asked me.

"Quietly."

"Most days it's like this. I just want you here for the one day in a hundred when it's not, and am willing to pay for that eventuality. I'm not afraid to pay for the best when it's offered."

"And I'm not afraid to take your money, sir," I said.

He laughed at that, but it was too jovial to be real. "I like you, Ellison. Are you free tomorrow night?" he asked.

"Why?"

"We're having a...call it a staff meeting tomorrow. I want you there."

"Yes, sir."

"It's not like that. I don't want you attending because you're now my employee. I want you here because it's what's right."

His eyes had that gleam again, like Blair's when he's in the throes of passion. It was a different source, but the pleasure on the man's face was the same. It sickened me all over again. I had gone all day not feeling like that. "Yeah, I'll be here."

"Good man," he said. I went back to signing the day's report, and felt a tingle at the base of my spine. I glanced up to see Fiddler staring at my body. I went back to the paper, pretending not to notice, but the appetite that had been building since lunch died.

We had a picnic in the living room. Corny, but it didn't take anything away from the meal. We would have gone outside, but the first of the big fat raindrops were splattering against my windshield as I drove home, and by the time I arrived back at the loft it was raining pretty steadily. The innocence of the meal helped me settle, which is probably why he decided to do it.

Potato salad tastes much better when licked off Blair's belly. Anything tastes better when licked off Blair's belly, actually.

By four o'clock the first of the skinheads started to arrive, and by the end of the business day Fiddler's office crawled with them. I scanned them all, trying to memorize faces, but the only thing that distinguished these boys with their stubble hair and their meticulously maintained bodies was the tattoos that disfigured them. Swastikas, Union Jacks and Adolf Hitlers outnumbered the rough and ugly home-made blue words of hate and filth.

Fiddler found me with my back to the far wall. "Boys, mostly," he said, but he couldn't hide from me how excited they made him. "They don't have to worry about passing off as presentable to the outside world. Not like you and me."

I nodded, not looking at him. He turned his head to look at me and then loosened his tie, undoing the top button. I suppressed the revulsion that shocked through me as he exposed a Swastika the size of my watch face on his collarbone. "You're about to become a member of my brotherhood," he said.

"I am not getting a tattoo," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "What about AIDS and shit?"

"Are you accusing your white brothers of contact with the apes?" Fiddler demanded.

Oh, shit. The gleam was back in his eyes. The forty or so young men stopped their milling and moved behind Fiddler, so all I saw was a wall of hate. "Consider this to be your final test," Fiddler said, motioning me to follow him. I had no choice. If I broke and ran for it, the mob would tear me apart, and if I followed him...

Shit. Shit. Shit.

There was no way I would be expected to go along with this. No way in hell. This totally went above and beyond the call of duty. I took a couple running steps to catch up with him. "You don't understand," I said, speaking quietly so that only Fiddler could hear me. I tried to pass off the terror in my voice as embarrassment. "I am shit scared of the needle gun. I tried to, with the Rangers, but I couldn't sit still for it."

Fiddler waved off my words, and motioned me into his private chamber. He shut the door, leaving us alone. "I like you, Jim. I think what you did took guts. This is the final test of your convictions. If you get this done, then I'll know you are one of us. If you don't, I might think the whole thing was a setup. Believe me, Ellison, they will never find what remains of your body. I'll send your heart back to your ape supervisor with a bite out of it. What will it be?"

With those as my options, I had no choice. The roar in my ears crashed against my eardrums in time with my heartbeat, and suddenly I felt a mile above where my feet were. Fiddler opened the door and let in three men. Two of them moved to me, the third started to set up. I couldn't move. They came up beside me, gripping my shoulders, shoving me roughly.

"What's it going to be, Ellison?" Fiddler said, taking out a gun. It hadn't been fired in a very long time; I hadn't even smelled it. I met his eyes, and saw he would do it.

"If I pass out, promise me you'll do the rest of it before you wake me up," I growled.

He smiled, "Of course. You won't be the first."

I motioned his bar, and he brought me back an unopened bottle of tequila. I opened it and guzzled down about a quarter of it.

The alcohol they used to transfer the pattern onto my skin numbed the area. I jumped at the sound of the needle gun firing up, and two skinheads held my shoulders down. The needle touched me for the first time, and I still managed to jerk, even with their heavy hands pinning me down. "Hold still. I don't want to ruin the lines," the tattooist growled.

I worked around the hands to bring the bottle to my mouth. It wasn't the individual stabs of pain that got to me--I could dial that down. But the violation crippled me.

I staggered down to the street, blood and clear fluid oozing through my shirt. I was drunk, which made my blood thinner, and the spreading patch of red over my collarbone grew. They called me a cab, but I was sick in the alley way waiting for it to arrive. Better out there than in the taxi or at home.

Home. Shit. Blair. My hand moved over the tattoo, but I couldn't touch it. It was way too tender yet, flaringly hot and sticky with the plasma leaking out of me.

The cabbie looked at me and rolled his eyes, but drove me home while my stomach rolled inside me., hHe pulled up in front of the loft and I paid him with my last ten before fumbling with the lock.

Sandburg must have been waiting on the couch. He opened the door for me, stepping back. "Jim?" he asked, voice sounding stunned. It was only eleven, and I couldn't stand by myself. He helped me inside, but I pulled away as he tried to undo my shirt.

"You're bleeding, man," he said, voice harsh from either worry or disgust.

I pushed him away, going into the bathroom. "Get out of here."

"No," he said, yanking at my shirt again. He accidentally brushed his wrist against the tattoo and I dropped to my knees, the sudden wave of pain and nausea overwhelming. I had nothing left in my stomach, but I tried to empty it out again anyway. Sandburg ran a cloth under the tap and wiped off my forehead.

"Has it been two hours?" he asked, forcing his voice to calmness for my sake. I wanted to tell him not to bother, there was no way he could actually fool me, but nodded, instead.

"Then it has to be washed. Let me see it."

"How do you know so much about it?"

"College environment for twelve years, man, I know these things."

"I don't want you to see it."

"I hate to say it, Jim, but wearing a T-shirt to bed for the next two days isn't going to cut it. It'll crust over and you're looking at an infection setting in."

"Let it."

"Like hell. I have no idea how a blood infection is going to affect your senses, and I am not going to find out. Take. Off. Your. Shirt."

"I'm asking you for the last time to leave me alone, Sandburg."

He crossed his arms over his chest.

I knew he would at least flinch, if not draw back, when he saw it. The only thing he did was tighten his jaw muscle. "All right. We need...ivory soap...and uh...and uh...something to keep it moist. Did they give you a cream?" he asked, looking away as quickly as possible.

I caught his wrists. "They would have killed me," I said, quietly. At that moment, though, I would have preferred rotting in some alleyway to looking into Blair's eyes. "You have to believe me."

He kissed me, quickly, on the cheek. "I would have expected nothing less," he said. "Stay here."

Sick and exhausted, I didn't know where else to go. He was back a heartbeat later. "No salve? We can use Vaseline," he said.

The mild soap still stung. Blair winced along with me. "I guess you're part of the boy's club now," he said, not looking at me.

I nodded, going back over to the toilet, but it was just a dizzy spell. Blair delicately covered the extremely sensitive skin with the jelly and then rebandaged it. "You'll be okay," he said.

"Will you?" I asked, rinsing my mouth out. I wish I could have used the soap, too.

"It's just a symbol. It only has power if you give power to it," he said, stoically. "But I get to cut it off you when this is over."

"How about we let the doctor do that, Chief? I'm sore enough already."

Blair kissed my shoulder again, and then brought me to bed, wrapping his arms around me, tightly. He fell asleep moments later, but I couldn't. Nor did I want to be touched any more. I pulled away carefully and went downstairs to the balcony. My chest hurt. Actually it stung while it ached. When I moved, I could feel the clear syrupy fluid move against my skin. I wanted to throw up again, and it had nothing to do with how much I had to drink.

My skin pimpled up immediately, but the cold felt good on the tattoo. I rested my forearms against the railing, then lowered myself down so that I was on my hands and knees. The first sob broke through the numbness, and then a second, and then I was choking on them. I wanted to claw the disgusting thing off my body, but it hurt too much to even think about touching it.

I was too wrapped up in my own misery to have heard Blair getting up or moving downstairs. The balcony doors opened and he threw a blanket over my shoulders. I wanted to stand up and grab him, holding onto him so tightly that I might break his ribs, but even that was taken from me.

Blair hugged me from behind. "Deep breaths," he whispered.

"Leave me the fuck alone," I growled at him, turning my head away. I didn't want him to see me like this.

"Come on, Jim. You've seen me shot, kidnapped and heartbroken. Give me this, I can take it."

I crouched down lower, and he moved to protect me, one mate guarding the other. He rubbed my back slowly through the blanket, grinding his palm against the small of my back and running it all the way to my neck. Eventually the sobs died down, and all I could do was bow my head and accept his caress.

I straightened up after the despair worked through my system enough so I could breathe without my lungs aching. "I am going to kill him."

"No, you're not. You're going to arrest him and bring him to trial."

I wasn't looking for him to be sensible. I wanted him to pat me on the back and say, 'there, there, rend away.' It's what I thought I deserved to hear. I made a low protesting sound in the back of my throat, and he patted me between my shoulder blades. "And if that doesn't work, I'll help you hold him down."

I laughed. "You got my back?" I asked, sniffing through a stuffed-up nose.

"Always, man."

After raping me with a needle-gun, Fiddler was kind enough to give me the next day off. Blair washed the tattoo again before leaving early to teach a friend's class. He grumbled all the way out the door about people who actually call in markers, but that was probably more for my benefit.

I called Simon just before Blair was due home. "Hello?"

"It's me."

"Hold on." A click sounded, and then a moment later Simon picked up again. "Jim?"

"They tattooed me," I said. I kept my voice flat. It was only a symbol, I reminded myself, and it was coming off. The moment this case ended, if I had to cut it off myself. "They think I'm one of them, now."

"Good. Move in closer, Jim."

I winced. "Yes, sir."

Blair came back from the University later than usual, but supper was in the oven for him. We dined on the only slightly dry chicken, and Blair kissed the top of my head as he cleared the table. "Well, good night," he said.

The yawn was a very good fake, but it was faked. I caught his wrist. "Chief?" I asked.

He winced, and tried hard not to look at where the tattoo was. "Don't," he said.

I let him go, and he left his dishes on the counter and went to the bathroom. I started cleaning up, and then froze.

I didn't think a person could vomit and make so little sound doing it. Since he didn't want me to know I couldn't check on him, which killed me. I wiped the counter over and over, waiting for him to go quietly upstairs.

Blair was on the bed with his study notes out, but tilted his head to the side as I came up. His hair fell over his eyes and he raked the curls back. "What gave it away?" he asked, going back to his notes.

"I heard you," I said, sitting down next to him. He gathered up his stuff and moved off the bed. "Look, if it's all the same, I've got like a ton of work to do today and I'm so not in the mood for this, so can we just have this discussion later? Thanks a million, Jim, I can't tell you how much I owe you--"

I caught his wrist again. He glanced down at it, heart-rate and breathing spiking. He was on the edge of a panic attack, and then deliberately forced himself down from it. "You have to let go of me," he said, not tugging on his arm.

I did. He took a step back. "Thank you."

I nodded, not looking at him. "I love you."

His breath caught. "I know that."

"Good."

Blair took a step closer. "Jim...it's not you. It's not just that thing on you, okay? I can't get over it and you being there without me...I've tried. I've really, really tried."

"I'm not asking you to," I said, looking up at him for the first time. He stared at the carpet, and I slipped to my knees in front of him. He jumped, but didn't move away from me. He trembled as I undid his jeans, slowly. "Just let me."

"Jim..." Blair pulled away, but I caught his wrists again.

"I need you," I whispered.

"Jim..."

I licked my lips, reaching into his pocket for what I knew was there. He tensed against me as I gave it to him. "Not like this."

"Exactly like this."

"I don't want you to use it to prove something to yourself!"

"What am I proving?" I demanded. "I need you. I need this."

"Do you?" Blair asked, tugging at my jeans. He didn't ask me to take off my shirt. I lifted my hips to help him, and he threw them to the floor. "Spread your legs."

The bluntness hurt, but I obeyed. "Which would you like, Jim, one or two fingers to start? Should I lube three up just in case? Would you like to be on your hands and knees or on your back with your-"

I pulled away, sitting up. "Stop it."

"Stop what, Jim? You said it, not me," Blair snapped at me, he was that angry. "I told you I'd give you everything you want, but you can't expect me to like doing something I don't want to do."

I nodded, feeling like a complete shit. Blair joined me on the bed. "I will make love to you," he said, resting his head on my shoulder. "But not now. Not when you're still using it to prove something."

"I do love you, you know."

"I know," he agreed. "Besides. How would your new buddies like it if you were moving around tomorrow like something's been up with you? Believe me, you're going to feel it."

"Are you that sure of yourself?"

"I haven't heard any complaints."

"And...how many guys have you-"

"I don't think that's the issue here, Jim."

He got off the bed long enough to take off his clothes. His hips still had finger-sized bruises on them. He caught me staring, and tried to cover them with his own hands. "Pretend you didn't see those."

"Do they hurt?"

"They're more like a...reminder. And I am so not complaining."

He spooned in behind me, thighs pressed against mine, forehead against the small of my back. I was almost asleep when his hand crept around my body and gathered my testicles up. It wasn't sexual, he did nothing more than hold them in his palm, but I felt protected. And loved. He sighed, snuffling in closer to me, and I drifted off to sleep.

Fiddler was waiting for me at my desk when I showed up for work the next day. I faked it, showing off the now healing tattoo that had just begun to lose the shiny redness to it. Fiddler slapped me on the back and we had a congratulatory drink. A knock on the door interrupted Fiddler's hate speech of the day.

"George?"

A young man entered. Older than the boys Fiddler paraded around in his hate sessions, but he must have just outgrown that stage. His hair was as short as it could be without shaving it, and he had a mean look to him. He glanced at me, and the mouth hardened.

"David. Come in. This is Jim, our new security specialist."

I leaned back, watching the two of them interact.

They were lovers.

Or at least they fucked each other. I don't know what exactly pinned it down. Fiddler's voice lowered when he spoke to David, and David leaned away from the man as he entered his space. He glanced at me twice, and immediately afterwards Fiddler played down my role in the company a little bit more.

David got the signature he'd come in for and stormed out, slamming the door so hard it shook. "Youth. They are so unpredictable. David has been with me since the beginning. He is my most loyal follower."

Nothing to do at all with all those special favours. I nodded, knocked back the last of my drink, and didn't tell him that David was as contemptuous of him as I was.

Disgusted or not, David waited for me at the elevator. "Touch him and I'll kill you," David said in a low voice once the elevator door closed.

"You got the wrong guy-" I began, but David pushed the stop elevator button and turned on me.

"I am telling you this so you get it," he said, trying to push me back. I was almost half a foot taller and in much better shape, but this punk thought he could scare me. The look on his face was grim enough to set off the warnings in my head. "Fiddler's a pansy-ass queen, but he has his followers. I'm using him, so if you mess with him, I want you to know that I'll be the last thing you ever see."

"I'm telling you that the last thing I want is-"

David laughed, a cold, bitter sound much older than he was. "Do you think what you want fucking matters to him?"

I looked at him, and saw, for the briefest of seconds, a very hurt little boy. He hit the start button and turned his back to me, getting off on the next floor.

In bed and out of it, Fiddler had no idea who he was fucking with.

Blair met me at the door. "Oh, hey," he said, trying to hide how much the door jerking open had startled him. I could have heard his heart thumping without even listening for it.

I shut the door with my foot and kissed him. He tensed against me for a second and then relaxed long enough to reach up and touch my hair. When he pushed back on my chest I broke away. "We gotta go shopping," he said, grabbing his jacket. "Or I'll be forced to make boot soup again."

"Let's order in," I said, trying to get him interested in restarting.

"No way, nu-uh. I can't afford one more restaurant meal this month."

He started to sweat. A lie? Maybe, but a small one. "Chief?" I asked.

"All the accuracy and none of the electrodes," he muttered.

"Yeah, I'm a real blast at parties. What gives?"

He zipped up his coat and grabbed his keys. "It's nothing, Jim. Let it go."

I sighed, but followed him out.

Shopping with Sandburg was grounding. He made all the decisions, I just pushed the cart. He didn't seem to mind my watching him all the time, and even moved his hands over the cucumbers suggestively when no one else was looking.

Sandburg and David. Blair was everything to me. He made me feel young, empowered, loved. I fed off of him, and he off of me. I couldn't do this without him. There was no way. He was my reminder that the same world that allowed young boys seduced by anger and fear to become a part of a bitter collective also had room for wonderful teaching fellows who disliked yams but loved sweet potatoes.

It wasn't until we were in the check-out that he spoke to me. He leafed through a magazine, not reading the words, and said, "You know, I think I solved the problem we've been having with the next step."

I stopped cold. The woman behind me didn't see it and ran over my ankle. I felt hamstrung and horny all in the same second, but cleared my throat. "Really?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

"Well, yeah. Unless you don't need to go up there any more."

"Oh, I need to."

"Good," he said, and put the magazine away.

The entire car ride home, Blair didn't mention it again. He stared out the window in uncharacteristic silence, but his hand never stopped its minute stroking of my upper thigh.

"Hey, Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"You want to tell me what's going on in that brain of yours?"

"You're actually asking me what I'm thinking?"

"Yes."

He cocked his head. "Wow."

"Smart ass."

"But you love me."

"Actually, yeah, I do."

He settled down in the chair. "When does this end for you? Do you need a confession on tape? I don't think he's really going to do that, do you? I mean...that's nuts. You're a cop. Even if you aren't any more, you were, and that would be way too pat. Wham bam, cuff 'em ma'am? I don't think so."

I nodded.

"So...how long is long enough? Are you going to have to deal with this for a month? Two? A year? How long are they not going to trust you for? Do you have to live like this for that long?"

"It's not my call," I said.

He sighed, but moved his hand up another inch. "I was afraid of that."

My hands shook as I put away the groceries. Blair helped put away the milk and then went upstairs. I followed him up a moment later.

The silence didn't bother me. I took off my clothes, kneeling on the bed. He moved up behind me and spread my legs with gentle caresses. I lowered myself down onto my elbows, concentrating on my breathing.

He moved his hands down my back, working over the muscles before lightly scratching his way down the indent of my spine, slowly, hard enough to heat the skin but not enough to raise it. He went back to my neck, only this time he alternated between his nail and his knuckle. The pain was hardly enough to call it that, but with my sensitive skin and Blair managing to find the exact same line down my back, I couldn't stop the shudder.

This time he paused for a second, running his fingers over my ass, and down to cup my testicles. I squirmed under him, and he leaned forward to kiss my shoulders, distracting me if he could from the sound of him working the lube over his fingers. He pressed his finger against me, and then laughed. "Hey, Jim, I'm either never getting in here or never getting out. Which is it gonna be?" he asked, and kissed me again. His hair tickled my neck. "Relax, man."

Easy for him to say. I spread my legs wider, and then closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. The finger wiggled against me once, and I relaxed, opening my body to accept him.

I kept waiting for the pain, but he was so careful and gentle I was begging him to just fuck me. He moved to me, lapping at the small of my back, and then moved his tongue down. I jerked, but didn't try to get away. He slipped a second finger inside me, working the muscles open, and shifted so he could lick me without interrupting his rhythm. By the time he pulled away again, I was gasping. His tongue touched me everywhere, and the touch of his soft hair against my thighs and ass almost made me lose it.

"Not fair, Chief," I grunted, gritting out my teeth. I didn't want to come like this. Not this short of the prize. He laughed and pulled away from me, repositioning himself over me. I took a deep breath, but there was no more pain as he slipped inside me. His hands came down over my hips, and without stopping he was moving inside me, thick and full, finding his way inside me.

What started out as slow, even thrusts quickened until I was having trouble breathing. Not that I was complaining. He moved against my prostate, and bent over me so he could grip my lower belly with his forearm while working me over with his fist. I rode the sensations, but he provided me with enough different stimulation so that I wouldn't zone out on the feel of him.

I could almost taste his sweat and his breathing sounded harsh against the inside of his throat. He was chanting my name, sometimes loud enough I could hear it normally, and sometimes the only thing I heard was his lips touching themselves.

I clenched my fists in the sheets as the last spasm passed through me. He felt me tense up, squeezing him involuntarily, and the hand on my cock became gentle, holding me, whispering to me that it was all going to be okay. I sobbed, thrusting into the hand that held me gently.

I felt him tense against me, but that was it. I was on overload and just coming down. My muscles closed up again as he slipped away from me. A moment later the water ran in the bathroom. I heard it, but it didn't interest me half as much as stretching out did. The chill of the cotton pillowcase against my cheek was so welcome I barely heard Blair returning.

I jerked my hips as he wiped me off; the scratch of the cloth only lasting for a minute before he tucked the covers up over my shoulder. He joined me a moment later, and I didn't even have the energy to tell him to get the wet cloth off my wooden dresser.

I called Blair at noon, but there was no answer. I was about to try the university when David walked in. "That's not a personal call, I hope."

"It's local," I snapped, turning my back on him. The man gave me the creeps.

"Stealing time is as bad as stealing money. He wants to see you."

"One more phone call."

"Now, Ellison."

I would have wasted the phone call. Blair sat slumped over in the chair, with a dark red line running down his forehead. It looked and smelled old, which meant he had been under for a while. But his heartbeat was strong, and he didn't appear to be any more than sleeping.

David pulled out a switchblade. I calmly met his eyes. "Touch him with that and I'll kill you," I said. I wanted to make that perfectly clear from the start.

The skinhead went to him, yanking Sandburg's hair back. "How is he?" the man asked. "How does he feel to fuck? You do fuck him, don't you? Your second bedroom didn't look lived in. Real stupid, Jim, expecting me not to check you out."

"Let him go."

"Later," David said, slapping Blair across the face. I took another step forward, about ready to break David's back across my knee, when George pressed his gun up against my neck. "I don't think so," he said. "Just watch."

His cock was up against the back of my thigh, and he was rubbing me unconsciously. I almost turned around and decked him, but the gun ground against my vertebra. I froze.

"Very good," Fiddler whispered, moving against me harder. I tried not to wince as I felt the trigger give away an extra millimetre. "He's beautiful."

Sandburg snapped awake, taking in the surroundings quickly before David yanked him to his feet and slammed his head against the desk. His shoulders slumped, but he didn't pass out again. David flipped up Blair's long shirt, and Fiddler had to trip me and follow me down to the floor to keep me down. He sat on my shoulders, using one hand to hold my head up, and the second to drive the gun harder into the back of my skull. "Watch."

"Not quite yet, big guy, save the best for last," he said, taking out Blair's wallet. He flipped to Blair's driver's license, and threw it to the floor. "You cut, boy?" David asked, grabbing Blair between his legs. He tried not to groan, but I could still hear the dismay in his gasp.

I fought, hearing Fiddler grunt as he humped himself between my shoulder blades. He had to let go of my head to hold me down, and I ground my forehead into the carpet trying to get this asshole off of me. The gun fired, and the white-hot pain shot through me along with the bullet.

There was that moment of panic as I couldn't localize the pain, but it finally sunk in that it had just been a flesh wound to my shoulder. "The next one gets more serious, Ellison."

Sandburg almost started to hyperventilate. David had flipped him over during the shot and was holding him to the desk by his throat while trying to get Blair's jeans down. His eyes were wide, panicky. "Just a scratch," I told him, "Don't fight him."

"Isn't that romantic," Fiddler whispered. The gun's muzzle was hot from the flash fire as it pressed against the back of my neck.

David managed the zipper, and yanked the jeans down to mid-thigh. Blair protested without a sound as his hand groped him for a second before pulling down his boxers.

David backed away, disgusted, and Blair slipped down off the desk, hugging his knees to his body. Both hands slid between his thighs as if that could protect him from this. "Ellison's been fucking a Jew-boy," he said.

Fiddler stopped moving his hips against me, and he struggled to take off his belt. "Hands behind your head," he ordered.

"What are you doing?" David demanded.

"Do it, Ellison, or I'll cut your boy up before I fuck him."

Sandburg looked at me and tried to smile. The effort was wasted on me, but I put my hands over my head.

"George, no," David said, stepping towards him as Fiddler interwove his belt around my wrists and buckled it tightly.

"Take Ellison out and dispose of his body."

"I said, no."

"David, don't fuck with me on this one," Fiddler snapped. His voice was thick, and his hand moved over to his groin. "Do it."

David crossed his hands over his chest.

Fiddler took the gun off of me and pointed it at his lover. "Don't fuck with me!" he repeated, voice breaking.

I tried to sit up, but the shooting pain from the gunshot wound dropped me down again. I hadn't noticed it, but he must have hit something because the pool of blood in the carpet was spreading. Blair noticed it, too, and with the two of them fighting, crawled to me unnoticed. "Hold still," he whispered, pressing his hand against the wound. I didn't complain as the salt from the sweat on his skin touched the exposed flesh.

"You're going to shoot me?" David demanded. "I've been sucking your cock since I was fifteen."

"Just take Ellison and go, David. This is over."

David moved to him, shaking. "It's over?" he demanded. "I'll tell you when this is fucking over. This is not ending over a fucking--"

"It's more than that, David. You no longer interest me," Fiddler said. The amount of scorn in his voice cut David visibly. The man's face tightened, and then cleared, as all uncertainty left it.

The safety was already off. Fiddler pointed the gun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger, pointing it back at David. "Stop where you are," he snapped, but his voice shook.

"I don't think so," David said, taking the final step into his space, and swept the gun aside with his left forearm. With his right, he pulled out his switchblade and pushed the button. The blade was still emerging from the handle as it was buried in Fiddler's neck.

Blair flinched as the body made the sound they all do when they fall down, but his hand didn't move away from the wound on my shoulder. "How could you do it, Ellison?" David asked, pulling the knife free and using his T-shirt to wipe off the handle. He passed it to me. "Taking my knife and stabbing our leader. That's low. Take it or I'll break your queer's neck."

I took it. "Do I have to say you won't get away with this?" I asked, feeling like I had to play my part.

"Men like you make me sick," David said. "Race polluters, all of you." The irony would have made me laugh if I wasn't bleeding through Blair's fingers. He took the knife back, re-inserted it into Fiddler's neck and picked up the phone.

911 switched him to Major Crimes.

Blair couldn't understand why I covered my mouth to keep from laughing, but then he couldn't hear the other side of the conversation.

Simon pushed his way through the curtained off area. The resident looked up from his stitches, but Blair didn't stop running his hand up and down my thigh to distract me from feeling the individual fibers of the thread catching and pulling through my skin in a very slow, consistent motion. I didn't say Blair did a very good job at distracting me, but I sure didn't ask him to quit.

"This belongs to you," Simon said, handing me my badge. I tucked it in my pocket.

"How are you?" he asked Sandburg.

Blair touched the lump on his head gingerly. "Bruised, not battered," he said, "The guy surprised me. I thought it was Jim coming up the stairs and I didn't even look up before he whacked me."

"Dumb, Chief," I said, but squeezed his knee. "Really dumb."

"I know."

"Jim, they've scheduled you for a skin graft tomorrow, I'm pretty sure you want that thing off you as soon as possible."

I put my hand over it. "Yes, sir."

He nodded. "One more thing. Everyone is throwing you a surprise welcome back party, but I managed to have them put it off until tomorrow night. I didn't think you guys needed any more surprises in your life." He met our eyes, but refused to look lower. I could go along with that. Don't ask, don't tell, and don't look down. "Take it easy, will you?"

"Yes, sir," I said. Simon glanced back to Blair one more time, and then nodded, pulling the curtain back closed.

"Think he's pissed?" Blair asked, when Simon's footsteps were far enough away.

"No," I said, moving his hand up an inch.

Blair took the hint.

Blair hadn't gone down without a struggle. Picking up the scattered papers and cushions only took a second, and then I collapsed onto the couch. Blair went to leave me, but I held onto his arm. "Whatever it is, it can wait," I said, holding him to me.

"This can't," he said, pulling away. He went to the bathroom and locked the door. He started the shower, and I tuned out the sounds of him scrubbing his skin to give him some privacy. Standing up tore at the stitches, but not enough to do any damage. I winced, but went into the kitchen to find something to throw in the oven.

I settled on a casserole. I had no idea what it was other than it had cheese on the top, but I turned it on low just in case we were at this for a while.

"Typical. Shot and about to get laid and here you are worrying about your stomach," Blair said from the island.

I must be more tired than I thought. Or I had tuned him out as not being a threat. I turned around. "Are you that much of a sure thing?" I asked.

"For you, yes." He unbelted my robe and the terrycloth fell off him. Stark naked, he stepped away from it. He walked away from me, and for the first time I almost trotted to catch up. "Don't strain yourself. Sit," Blair said, motioning the couch with his chin. I sat.

"Good boy," he whispered, stroking my hair. He tilted my head up, kissing me delicately. "Thank you for not dying today."

"No, thank you," I said.

"It really means a lot to me," he moved over my lap, angling my cock up to meet him. "I appreciate you not being dead right now."

"My pleasure," I managed, and it was. I was inside him. He must have stretched himself and used the jelly, because there was no resistance. I groaned into his shoulder. "Really, I mean that."

He laughed, resting against me for a heartbeat, and then rocked forward so that I pressed against his prostate. "Jim--" he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, and then lifted himself off me again. "Jim, promise me something."

"What?" I gritted out. It was getting more difficult to form the words.

"We're partners, right?"

How could he be so coherent? But his blue eyes never wavered from mine, regardless of what his hips were doing. "Yes," I hissed. Oh, God, yes.

"Then promise me something," he said.

"Anything," I said, and at that moment I meant it. He did that flicking motion with his hips again, and for a long moment I lost it. Completely and totally lost it.

"Jim!" Blair's voice called me back. Damn him for that. I opened my eyes again, and he stopped moving against me. "I need you to promise me--" a shudder passed through him, so I knew he wasn't completely heartless. He fought with his own need for a second, and then looked back up to me. "Promise me you'll never do something like this alone again," he said, voice urgent.

There were a thousand different variables that made it impossible for me to promise something like that, but even as the rational side of my brain started to kick in, I shut it down. "Yes," I said, instead.

Blair broke into a grin, moving against me again. I grunted, but squeezed my hands into fists rather than trying to control this. "Yes?" he asked, flicking me again, slowly.

"Yes," I repeated, panting. Everything slow ended. He put both hands on my shoulders to brace himself, and then rode me hard. "Yes, yes, yes yes," I managed in time with his thrusts, and felt him tighten against me. His cum caught me on my chest as I finally reached down and drove him all the way down over me and held him there as I came. He slumped forward, tall enough to kiss the top of my head, and then collapsed against me, sobbing my name.

Only the smell of the burning cheese woke me up again.

The End