Author's notes: Nipples. Schmoop. Naughty words. Set post-SenToo. Don't let the B/f scare you; you don't have to watch, just listen. Everything works out fine. Trust me.

Jim Ellison was whipped. And it wasn't even the satisfying lassitude that came from pushing a disciplined body to its limits, just the brain-numbing, stale-air-breathing, sitting-on-your-ass-for-fucking-hours stupefaction of the sort that follows three days in a hotel ballroom staring at slides. Fuck, he hated seminars. Thank Christ tomorrow afternoon's speaker had gone into labour two weeks early. Simon would probably be pissed that he'd blown off the morning session as well and caught the last flight back home. Mind you, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt Jim. And speaking of hurting, maybe if he stoically flexed the muscle in his jaw a few times Sandburg would ask to rub his neck for him, in that funny way he had of acting as though he was receiving the favour rather than bestowing it.

He paid off the taxi, noting his roommate's car with satisfaction, and bypassed the elevator in favour of the stairs. If he went into the CPD gym at dawn's crack he could avoid Simon, who usually waited till after work. Sandburg's only Friday class ended at 11. Jim would pack the truck, kidnap the kid from the university and they could be on the road by 11:30. They needed some time off together to reconnect away from the city and their responsibilities. The kid still wasn't 100 per cent, whether he was willing to admit it or not. It was a miracle he hadn't come down with pneumonia after sleeping on the wet ground in Sierra Verde, all that rain, right on top of. The fountain.

(it's all right now. see? okay.)

He whistled cheerfully up the stairs to the loft and froze with his key in the lock. Shit. Sandburg had company. He knew he should have called from the airport. He thought about checking into a hotel for the night, but he just couldn't face it. He'd have to make it up to the kid another time.

Easing the door open, he stuck his head in cautiously. The loft was dimly lit, the remains of dinner for two still sitting on the table. At least the French doors were closed; Sandburg's conviction that it kept the room warmer bought him some time. He slid his shoes off at the door and tiptoed to the couch, dropping onto it and letting his head fall back against the cushions. He could make some noise and let Sandburg know he was back. Which would certainly be the end of whatever they had going on in there, because he knew the kid was phobic about having sex within miles of Jim's Sentinel senses. Sandburg had probably been boffing like a bunny all week, trying to make up for lost time.

Or he could just sneak up to bed and let Sandburg find out in the morning. Which would probably be his last morning on earth, because Sandburg would kill him for not saying he was back. Or, what was more likely, he'd come out to clear away the dishes after they did the wild thing and find Jim asleep right here on the couch. And then he'd kill him.

Nope, he definitely should have called from the airport.

He rolled his head on the sofa cushions. He really could have used that neck rub. He was too damn tired to make these weighty moral decisions. Well, the point was now officially moot; his bladder wasn't going to hold out 'til morning, and Sandburg would be sure to hear the toilet flushing. Relieved to have the decision taken out of his hands, he shuffled to the bathroom and flicked on the light.

Huh. Looked like this was where the party started. Candles, incense, lots of wet towels... his nostrils quivered. Clary sage. The kid must have had a crappy day. A shape in the bathtub caught his eye, and he peered in. The shape sorted itself into tubing and a bag.

Jim flinched as though the equipage would rise and strike like a snake. Just a little more information than he'd wanted, thankee. His eyes were drawn to the towel folded over the edge of the tub, and the one on the floor with its clear imprint of knee and shin, and he saw Blair braced over the tub's edge, head on his arms, lips parting a little as a hand moved in soothing circles on the small of his back and down one bare flank.

He pushed the image firmly away, casting about for something to replace it. There was a second set of footprints, belonging to long, narrow feet with high arches. He looked around the bathroom idly, searching for further information about Sandburg's companion. Her hair was fine, straight and long. Ash-blonde. At the moment, anyway. They'd shared the bath... ha. She dyed that, too. Hey, Chief, she's a brunette.

There was nothing abnormal about a man wanting to know who was in his home, was there? Especially with Sandburg's talent for attracting trouble. It was only sensible to be on his guard. Who knew what she was doing to him in there. Okay, so serial murderers didn't always stop to have a bath with their victims, but Detective James J. Ellison didn't have the highest solve rate in the city for nothing. And an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of solving, wasn't it? Sure it was. He told his bladder to walk it off, and slithered back out to the living room.

"How do you feel?"

Jim's hand froze a foot away from the buttery-looking suede coat that hung beside Blair's jacket. The voice was low, a little husky, with a trace of accent. Spanish?

"Like my bones all went to lunch. Even my toes are relaxed." Sandburg's voice was blurry, like he was trying to talk without moving his jaw. Maybe she drugged him.

"Don't fall asleep on me, querido. I have plans." Jim rolled his eyes.

"Not a chance. I'm just blissed out, that's all. Feels so good to... feel good for a change." Jim winced.

"These terrible bruises." Jim dialed up his hearing a notch, and heard the whisper of fingertips against fine hair. "Did she..."

"No, she just pistol-whipped me and pushed me into the fountain. The EMTs did those. Simon and Jim added a few too, I guess." He doesn't want to talk about it, you idiot. He doesn't talk to me about it.

Right, Ellison. Like you've really encouraged him to. You shut him down in the hospital, and in the church in Sierra Verde. The kid can take a hint. Eventually.

"You must have felt so alone. Caro, I'm so sorry."

"It's over." Voice a little shaky now.

"Yes. Later, if you like, you can tell me." Her tone shifted. "After you called me I went shopping. I found some lovely toys." Blair drew in a deep breath, and Jim bit his lip. Time to stop listening. Time to announce his presence. He found himself sitting in the yellow chair, staring at the French doors.

Soft rustling of cloth, and the delicate clinking of a fine chain. "Look. So subtle, yes? Just these small clasps, and the chain gleaming from time to time as you move. I love your nipples. I can't resist playing with them, tasting them."

Was that the sound of her hair brushing against Blair's chest? A soft "Ohhh...", and Jim gritted his teeth. God, was she making a meal of them? Somehow his own hand had crept under his sweater, and he snatched it away.

Finally, the chain clinked again. "A little tighter," Blair whispered. "Yes... oh God, that feels amazing." Jesus. Blair's nipples, red-brown with arousal, slim gold chain coupling them. What would the clamps look like?

His hand slid under his sweater again.

"Que bello. You take my breath away. You are more beautiful than the sun."

"Lily..." Discomfiture overlaying his arousal, now.

"You promised." Her voice was stern.

"I know I did. I'm just..." Beautiful, that's all.

"You promised. Look at me. Do you think I lie? Do you think I say it because you pay me?"

Pay her? Sandburg's paying her? Sandburg brought a hooker into. My. Loft? And cooked for her?

No fucking way, Sandburg. He leapt out of the chair, took three long strides toward the French doors, and paused. What were the chances that Sandburg would still be living here tomorrow morning if he ran in there right now? And what the hell would he put in the report?

Maybe he needed to sit down and think about this a little longer.

"...but not any more. I think you finally drilled it into my head." Still a hint of embarrassment there.

"Men are very bad at accepting compliments with grace. Unless it has something to do with their athletic or sexual prowess. And even then, they accept, but rarely with grace."

"Thank you, Lily." His tone was demure, but Jim could hear the smile. Maybe he would wait 'til she left. He could always track her down and bust her when Sandburg wasn't around. Jesus wept. Why would Sandburg pay for it? She should be paying him, for Chrissake.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm fine-" Something stopped his words -- her fingers against his mouth? -- and he sighed. "All right. I kind of need us to start over."

"What do you want?"

Silence for a minute, then: "I want you to stroke me -- you know, all over -- and when I get hard again, I want you to... talk to me."

Jim groaned. He pushed his hearing a little more. She must have started with his legs; the hair there would crackle like that under her fingers, especially on his thighs. Up and down, slowly, full sweeps from hip to ankle and back again. Two hands now, moving gently on his belly, fingers and thumb outspread. Just the lightest of caresses across his bruised ribs, running through the line of hair that bisected his stomach, and Blair's breathing was deepening now, the chain clinking. Was she tugging it, tightening the clamps just a little?

"You are such a gift. I love it so much when you stretch out under me like this and let me play with you. You have such power over me when you give yourself to me this way, you know? I could think about nothing else all day after you called. The poor Robert, who was with me that night, left thinking he was the mightiest of lovers because it excited me so to imagine you like this."

The bag rustled again. "Look, bello, what I have for you. I want to taste you, and then you'll take this inside you, oh, you're so hard and beautiful. I love fucking you so much, you make me crazy. Yes, like that, that's perfect, exquisito..."

"Oh God, Lily, oh, oh --" Pre-verbal now, rhythmic little panting grunts that gave an all-too-clear picture of slack mouth, helplessly thrusting hips. Jim couldn't bear to listen any more.

He couldn't will himself to stop listening. He shoved a clenched fist punishingly hard against his aching cock. God almighty, she was going to fuck him to death in there with her toys.

"So perfect, querido mio, I wish this was my cock sliding into you so beautifully so I could feel you tighten around me like that. Oh, Dios, precioso, I'm going to take this toy home for myself, and think about how it was heated by your body and how you look now, so beautiful, come for me, caro..."

Jesus. What was happening? What the fuck was happening here? Sandburg was in there getting his money's worth. He was supposed to be feeling happy for him, not like he wanted to vomit, or get out his gun and shoot somebody, Or himself.

He squeezed his cock like it was the enemy and listened to Sandburg tell her how beyond incredible it had been, and how she'd blown the top of his head off, and how he wanted a few minutes to catch his breath and then he wanted to fuck her. He stumbled over the word a little as he said it, but she didn't laugh at him.

Christ, Sandburg. She's had her tongue up your ass and you're afraid to offend her sensibilities with a little Anglo-Saxon acronym?

The bed creaked as he shifted to make room for her beside him, and she asked him if he wanted her to stroke him while they lay there. He murmured a drowsy assent. Did he have his head on her shoulder, his hand on her breast?

Jim's rage was consuming him. The loft suddenly felt like a furnace. He moved to the relative coolness by the balcony doors, and listened.

"How do you feel?"

"Again? What, are you auditing psych classes now?"

Low laugh. Clinking chain, and a swift exhalation. "Do they burn a little?" What'd she do, just yank them off? Hurt him and die, bitch. Never again, Sandburg. I swear.

"A little. Feels good, though, doesn't it? Feels even better when you touch them like that. Before I met you I had no clue my nipples were such major erogenous zones."

"Before you met me you had no-one to sufficiently appreciate them. I hope they at least show respect for this, and these. And of course this, pale and full as the moon."

Sandburg was laughing. He hadn't done much of that lately. How the hell long had he known this woman, anyway? How could he be so comfortable with her?

Why aren't we like that any more?

"Are you saying I have a big butt?"

"But no, querido! I worship your butt, as you well know. And these, and this, too, of course..."

"Lily. Know how I really know I make you hot?"

"You need more proof than this, or" -- swift intake of breath -- "this?"

"Mm. No, really. Your accent gets totally thick when you get turned on. Makes me hot. Not that I actually need the encouragement."

"What accent?" Rustling, creaking, helpless giggles. "Please, please, you know how ticklish I am... Dios! Blair, caro, caro!"

She was probably here illegally. Jim was going to call INS first thing in the morning. He paced in front of the windows, hands pressed over his ears. He couldn't take any more. He couldn't dial it out.

He was staring blindly out the windows when the French door opened, two hundred years later. Unaware of his presence, she walked naked to the bathroom. He watched her reflection; small-breasted, she was like her footprint, long and slim. He closed his eyes and waited for Sandburg to find him.

"Jesus Christ!"

Watch the heart rate there, Spike.

He'd gotten halfway to the kitchen before he'd noticed Jim. He, too, hadn't bothered with the formalities. Jim could see the faint indentations of the clamps on his flushed nipples. He was still partially erect. In between he was a rainbow of mottled, fading bruises.

They stared at each other, Blair appalled, Jim stricken.

"I don't even know which question to ask you first. When did you get in? Why didn't you call? How long were you listening? What the hell were you thinking, man?"

"I'm sorry. I just came --"

"Don't lie to me, Jim. You think because I'm not a Sentinel I can't tell when you're lying?"

Jim had never seen Blair this blazingly angry. The woman came out of the bathroom and gave him a cool, searching look, then moved without haste back into Blair's room, closing the door quietly. Blair followed her, with a last glare over his shoulder at Jim.

He couldn't help dialing up.

"I'm sorry, Lily. He wasn't supposed to be back until tomorrow."

"I understand, caro. You know you're welcome to come home with me."

"Thanks, but if I leave now, I might never come back." Jim knew that jab had been aimed at him.

Bullseye, Chief.

"So." He was dressing. With her watching him. "If you belonged to me, I'd make sure you were naked all the time."

Soft chuckle. "I don't think I could get the Dean to go for it. Come on, I'll walk you out."

Jim turned toward the windows again. He only caught a glimpse of her profile as she tucked her hair behind her ear; he thought she was probably closer to his age than Sandburg's, and her voice was the sexiest thing about her. He certainly wouldn't have noticed her in a crowd. He wondered again how Sandburg had found her.

He resisted the urge to look into the bedroom. The two talked about commonplaces in the elevator and on the walk to her car, then Sandburg asked her to have lunch with him after class. Jim chewed on that as Sandburg came back into the loft and moved silently in the kitchen, clearing away their dishes.

He finally submitted to the demands of his bladder, and when he returned to the living room Sandburg had taken his place in front of the balcony doors.

"I'm ready to hear your apology, Jim."

And Jim opened his mouth to deliver the contrite speech he'd composed in front of the bathroom mirror, and his mouth said, "My apology? Think you've got that backwards, don't you, Chief?"

Blair's mouth opened and closed, and he stared at Jim incredulously. "Man, I do not believe you!"

"If you want a reasonable response from me, Sandburg, don't frigging patronise me! 'I'm waiting for your apology'! Jesus Christ, I'm not six years old!" Now, this felt much more natural. Mad Jim could do. He didn't do cowed or guilty or crazed with unrequited lust nearly as effectively. Sublimation, oh yeah. Steely-eyed determination, you bet.

"Jim?"

It never ceased to amaze him the way Sandburg could just shed personal stuff like an oversized coat when he saw that "Help" sign light up over Jim's head. Jim, on the other hand, dragged his around with him like Jacob Marley's chains. Jut-jawed reticence tailored to any situation, that was Jim Ellison.

"Jim!"

Back off, Sandburg. I'm having a moment of self-revelation here. And while you're at it, go take a shower. You smell like sex and cinnamon lube, and I've only had airline food today.

"JIM!"

"Sandburg! I'm not zoning! Stop yelling, all right?"

"I haven't even started yelling yet, Ellison! Man, I never would have believed you were capable of such an egregious violation of my privacy. How long were you listening?"

"Why a prostitute, Blair?"

It was a tossup which of them was the more astonished that he'd actually asked the question.

"That is so none of your business, Jim, I can't even...." He sighed and slumped onto the couch.

"You made it my business when you brought her into my home." I just really need to know, okay? "Please, Chief. Explain it to me."

That elicited another heavy sigh, but at least the kid was looking at him now. Jim wondered if his nipples were sore. He wanted to know if they felt warmer than the skin around them.

"Don't call her a prostitute, Jim. Lily's... a courtesan, I guess. That's what they would have called her at one time, anyway. She's been auditing my third year lecture on and off all semester, and one day she stayed back to ask me some really thought-provoking questions. So we started talking, and one day I invited her out for a coffee afterward -- don't look at me like that, I told you she's not a student -- and I asked her what she did, and she was totally up-front about it. She's an independent call girl with an exclusive list of international clients. When she has some free time, she audits lectures. When she finds a subject that interests her, she sticks around for a while."

"But how did you --"

"Look, I don't owe you an explanation at all, so if you want to hear this let me tell it my own way, okay?"

"Sorry." He was, too. Sandburg was scowling at him again.

"All right, then. We -- she made it clear that she was interested in me, in a recreational way. I told her I was really flattered, which I was -- men pay $1500 for a night with her, Jim! -- but that I really wasn't in her income bracket professionally, and I wasn't looking for any kind of involvement with anyone. Meaning I couldn't see myself handling a personal relationship with her," he confessed, looking a little ashamed. "Naomi would burn sage over me for a week for that moral judgement.

"So she said she didn't want that either, just a friend that she could call sometimes, or who could call her, and she could be herself and they could have great sex together and he could be himself, too, and neither of them would have to worry about playing roles or being responsible for anything or anybody but their own root chakra, well, sacral chakra in her case of course, just for a few hours. And I thought about it for a while, and said I wanted to, but if it was going to work for me -- if I was really going to be able to come into it without feeling any responsibility to anyone but myself -- I wanted to pay her so it would be a business contract that either party could terminate without prejudice at any time. I really, really wanted to do it by then, Jim," he finished in a rush.

Jim had begun to feel a little dizzy about midway into this narrative, and was now sitting in the chair facing Blair. He stared at him with fascination. "Chief, you just keep unfolding like a flower," he said at last. "How much are you paying her?"

Sandburg pinked up and mumbled something under his breath. Jim tilted his head and raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

"A dollar," Blair said loudly, and glowered at him.

Goddammit, he loved the little varmint. He didn't know whether to kiss him or throw him off the balcony.

"I didn't realise living with me was such an ordeal, Sandburg." That really had stung.

"Look, no offense, Jim, but this wasn't about you, which was the whole point, you know? It was just about me, something for me that was totally selfish and in the moment. I love you, man, but things haven't been real easy between us for a while now, and you know that's true. With Lily... see, I don't owe her anything, so I can't hurt her or disappoint her or let her down like..." He closed his mouth firmly. "And the sex is awesome, Jim." This accompanied by one of those teeth-and-gum Sandburg grins that could melt the casing off an artillery shell.

"I'll say," he said absently, still working on the "I love you" and "can't let her down" parts of the speech, and missing Blair's look of horror completely.

"You may find this hard to believe, but I've been known to overreact a time or two. I even say things that I regret later. Sometimes they're not even true. No, really. I forget to say 'I'm sorry', and 'thank you', and 'I don't know what I'd do without you and I don't ever want to have to find out.' Stuff like that. I'm working on it, though." He figured he'd spent enough time studying his toes, and looked at Sandburg again. Damn. Was that all it took to get the kid to light up like Times Square on New Year's Eve?

"Could I come over there and sit with you, Chief?" Sandburg scrambled to make room for him with gratifying speed. He made himself comfortable, stretched his arm along the back of the couch and curved his fingers in a beckoning gesture.

"Come on in, Sandburg. The water's fine."

"Jim!" Blair gaped at him with a mixture of consternation, anxiety and eagerness. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Because I'm too young to die of embarrassment, okay?"

"Thank you for that bulletin on the difference in our ages. Are you particularly attached to that end of the sof- oomph."

"Guide coming in for a landing," came the gratuitous and belated announcement. His arm was hauled off the back of the sofa and wrapped securely around Blair's midsection, whereupon his hand immediately scooted under the shirt to establish the temperature of the famous nipples.

Definitely warmer. He could hardly wait to do the tongue test on them. And speaking of tongue tests...

"Sandburg."

"Whooh... what, Jim?"

"I want to ask you one more question, then I want to neck like teenagers. Okay? Okay. So, you know in those 'Stupid Human Tricks' shows that you love to sneer at, how they always start them with 'don't try this at home? Well...?"

"Well, yeah," said Blair, detaching himself from Jim's ear, "but they also say 'this stunt was performed by a professional,' too -- hey! Those aren't portable, man. Every other time we went to her place, but I really wanted to do it in my environment just once. Sort of my own little territorial imperative, all 90 square feet of it, you know? Make the space feel like mine again. What's the matter?"

"Just being amazed once again at what a son of a bitch I can be," he said grimly. He carried a vivid memory of the emotionless sense of purpose with which he had packed Blair's possessions while that wrongness shrieked at him from the bowels of city, a jaguar's scream napping away slivers of his humanity until he was no more than a honed blade of instinct, indifferent to other lives and concerns. "Why do you put up with all this shit?" he asked suddenly, almost roughly.

"What shit?" And he saw that the kid was honestly bewildered by the question, and loved him so fiercely in that moment that he damn near finished the job on his ribs.

"Bed. Naked. Now."

"Shower first." Pause. "Either way you have to let go, Ellison."

"I just wanted to warn you up front that I'm not going to be learning fifty ways to say 'sugarpants' in Spanish."

"Sugarpants?" Blair regarded him with interest. "Nah, that was really Lily's thing more than mine. Said it made her happy to give me such extravagant compliments. It was an important part of the whole ritual for her."

"Naturally, you hated every moment of it."

"Don't you think I'm exquisito, Jim?"

"Asshole," his lover said fondly, and raced him to the bathroom. And raced back out again while Sandburg took care of the shape in the bathtub, then laid claim to the first shower. Jim wanted to join him, but Sandburg proved surprisingly resolute. There was a right order for the first time, and that wasn't it. Jim considered pointing out to him that sex with a prost... courtesan wasn't everyone's idea of an opening event either, but wisely kept that to himself.

Blairscent wafted by him as they crossed paths again, and he shuddered. Oh, yum. "Sandburg. Got any more of that cinnamon lube?" He witnessed the kid's misstep with satisfaction. Well, it wasn't like she was going to be using it on him any more.

He even ran the razor across his chin. He hoped Sandburg appreciated the effort.

"Blair?"

His head appeared over the railing by his bed.

"I didn't know whether to get in bed or wait for you, so..."

He threw the towel in the direction of the bathroom and took the steps two at a time. The kid was just standing there by the side of the bed. Naked. Jim had seen him nude many times before, but this time he was definitely naked. Nekkid, as they said down south. Damn, what was it about Sandburg that sent him off into these ridiculous flights of fancy?

"Jim, don't do this to me, man..."

"I'm fine, Sandburg, just trying to... get a handle on this whole thing, you know?"

"I have a handle. Want to see it?"

Damn.

It turned out Sandburg was heavier than he looked, but it felt really good cradling his weight like this. When the kid had lain down on top of him he'd matched their bodies up crotch to crotch, so his feet were hooked around Jim's calves and his head was on his chest. This felt better than really good, actually. Sandburg's ear was tattooing itself onto his chest, and Sandburg's hair was just floating, somehow, against his skin, and it felt better than great, and Jim wasn't even dialed up. Their arms were outstretched, their fingers entwined, and there pretty much wasn't an inch of skin on the front of Sandburg's body that wasn't plastered against his somewhere. And that felt so far beyond perfect that he wasn't sure he'd survive the actual sex.

"Sandburg."

"Mm."

"I respect your nipples."

He did a slow count to three, and that's how long it took to feel the side of Sandburg's face kind of bunch up against his chest, dividing itself into cheek and dimples and laughing mouth, and since Jim really loved watching the kid laugh he flipped them over so he was on top, and Sandburg's legs clamped around Jim's waist and his head went back and he laughed until he had to lift their clasped hands to his eyes to wipe away the tears. And when he finally stopped laughing, he pressed his soft cock up against Jim's hard one, and smiled at him with such shining sweetness that Jim had to, had to kiss him. Had to taste that ripe plum of a mouth, and explore those little white teeth, and find out what Sandburg did with his tongue when he was being kissed.

He did very, very good things.

And he made very good noises when Jim demonstrated the depth of his respect for his nipples - pleased little grunts and chuckly sounds of encouragement, and even a few one-syllable words. Jim found this all so delightful that he was beginning to re-think his position on picking up a Spanish adjective or two. He still hated the woman's guts, but he could afford to be magnanimous.

His good mood was interrupted when his eventual arrival at Sandburg's enthusiastically spread thighs revealed a disturbing lack of activity from Sandburg's cock. He tamped down his instant, panicky desire to jump up and run away by sternly reminding himself that Sandburg wasn't in his bed under duress.

"Sandburg."

He made an effort to focus on Jim's face. "What'd you stop for?" Following the direction of Jim's gaze, he sighed.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Jim, but I've already come three times tonight. The well's pretty much dry."

"Three times?" Ellison, you dickhead. Blair gave a snort of laughter.

"Bathroom. Before dinner," he said simply.

Oh.

"It's okay, kid." Not. "We've lived this long without it, we can --"

"Don't be a cocktease, Ellison. I'm looking to get fucked tonight." He withdrew condoms and lube from beneath a pillow and waggled them. "Any takers?"

The downside of nearing forty was the decreasing frequency of the twice-a-day erection. The upside, as it were, was the length of time he could hang on to the ones he got. Sandburg only had to stop and yell at him twice for dialing down when he laid that luscious mouth on Jim's cock. It was his first miraculous teenage blowjob all over again, when prayerful hosannas that pleasure of this magnitude was possible had co-existed with the uneasy conviction that he was going to wake up at any moment.

He revelled in it just short of the inevitable coronary, and reluctantly pulled a protesting Sandburg up to spoon in front of him. He'd devoted a whole lot of thought to this in the past couple of years, and he'd definitely come to the conclusion that he wanted maximum possible body contact the first time he fucked Sandburg. In his fantasies he'd never had to stop and glove up, but on the other hand his fantasies had never run to imagining the absolutely incendiary noises the man was capable of making. Jim wasn't a big fan of dialogue between the sheets, but somehow, the whole package of Sandburg craning over his shoulder to watch Jim disappearing into him, and the panting, broken dialogue of exactly how fucking incredible it felt, and what it was doing to him, and how Jim was the best, Jesus, yeah, like that, and Sandburg lifting his thigh over Jim's and urging him deeper, and his jubilant shout when his own cock made a triumphant revival in his hand, well.

She may have made Sandburg come three times, but she hadn't made him scream when he did it.

They took care of business and spooned up again, Sandburg folding his legs up toward his chest and Jim following him. In this position their height difference was a real advantage, because Jim fit around him perfectly and still had room to breathe over the top of his head. Not that a lack of oxygen bothered him much. Tonight had proven to him that he could get by quite happily without it, in the right cause.

He pushed his nose into the kid's hair and snugged himself a little more firmly around his body.

"Sandburg."

"Jim." Drowsy, but prompt.

"If you want to talk about what happened -- when you're ready to talk about, you know, how you felt, and dying, and Alex -- I'd like to listen. Okay?"

Turning over, Sandburg pushed him on to his back and anchored him there in a tangle of arms and legs that Jim was already coming to think of as 'half-blanket mode'. After a minute with his face pressed against Jim's neck, he said, "You know, as sons of bitches go, you're pretty okay."

Jim grinned in the darkness. "Good thing I'm lying down, Chief, because a declaration of undying devotion like that is liable to make me fall into a swoon."

"Just because I don't buy my clothes at Kenny's King-Size doesn't mean I can't take you out, Ellison. Even Sentinels have to sleep eventually."

"Sandburg."

"Jim."

"You know what?"

"Yeah, I do. Me too. Really. A lot. A lot, you know?"

"Yeah, Sandburg, I know." His eyes stung, and his throat hurt. He felt really, really good.

End