One of These Nights

Author's homepage: http://www.mediafans.org

Author's disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of PetFly et al, and no infringment of their copyright is intended. This is a work of fan fiction, and no money is made (yeah, I wish) as a result .

Jim Ellison slipped out of sleep in the night, roused by a noise at the edge of his senses. A sound, a soft, thwapping sound. It went on in an edgy not-quite rhythm, asymmetrical yet compelling, reminding him of something luxurious, warm, half-forgotten-oh, that scent curling through the air - powerful, bitter and sweet at the same time. He rolled onto his back and his hand drifted down the smooth expanse of his chest, skimming his belly and easing under the waistband of his shorts, unhurried, sleepily exploring. He made a little noise as his cock swelled under his palm, and let himself follow the liquid sweetness down.... Then he was harshly, cleanly awake.

Shit.

His hand stilled its stroking as he identified the all-too familiar sounds and scents, a sleep-loosened imagination feeding him shamefully vivid pictures of Blair lying in the bed in the room below, doing just this. Oh, God, not again.

He slammed down the volume, but it was too late - his own arousal surged from deep in his balls and flashed through every nerve in his body straight back to his cock, and there was no fighting it, that much he knew from bitter experience. He could not slow this down, not once it begun.

I should have slept on the couch tonight.

In spite of himself, he tuned into Blair's constricted gasps and muffled moans, the slight scrapes of the bed frame against the wall, the slip and slide of fingers on flesh, the furious pounding of Blair's heart, blood beating wet and hard through Blair's veins, and he followed the rhythm, reflexively pumping himself into full erection.

The exquisite grip of his own fingers defeated any effort to block the input. In spite of himself, he yielded to the explicit details painted by a fluke of hyperactive senses.

Blair would tilt his head back with his dark hair spilling behind him onto the pillow. Jim's eyes squeezed shut and in spite of himself, he tracked the smell of Blair's sweat, salty where it dampened his face and plastered strands of hair to his forehead, muskier on his belly where it rose through the silky dark hair covering his torso. Helplessly imitating his vision, Jim arched his back; his shoulders curled forward and his hand blurred as it moved ever faster.

There was a sudden silence, then Blair's breath hissed inward and held. Jim's body responded like a trained seal. He felt his balls tighten, pushing him closer and closer, until a final jerk and stifled groan rushed up to his senses from below - everything around him blanked out and he was coming and coming and....

Returning from oblivion, he lay hot and sticky, unable to move. What a damn mess.

Wasn't Blair ever going to tone it down? Oh, Jim remembered that desperate urge preying on him, brain-in-the-balls you'll do anything just to get off, but weren't guys supposed to grow out this by 25? He had, more or less. Three years was it, now? and as far as Jim could tell, Blair was more oversexed than ever.

Seemed like every time he turned around, if Blair didn't have a girlfriend, he was happily taking care of himself. At first, the noises only kept him awake, and as he learned control, he learned to block them out.

Only he couldn't anymore. Couldn't block Blair out.

He guessed it went back to Blair getting kidnapped: after all, he'd brought Blair into this - so he had a responsibility to keep him safe, not just as a cop, but as a friend, didn't he? A part of his attention was always checking on Sandburg's location and physical condition, and gradually, somewhere down the line, the constant monitoring must have forced open this channel.

It was driving him crazy.

This Sentinel thing isn't what it's cracked up to be.

He got out of bed, stripped off his shorts and tossed them into the clothes hamper. Naked, he moved quietly down the stairs to grab a towel and clean up; upstairs again he carefully eased himself onto the opposite side of the bed. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head. It wasn't as if he could say anything about it. Don't leave wet towels on the floor, and by the way, Sandburg, would you mind not masturbating in the privacy of your own bedroom because I get hot listening to you - at least remember the white noise generator. He had a life-size of himself saying anything like that to his roommate. He wondered whether Blair had any inkling, you'd think an anthropology student researching enhanced senses for godsakes would know that Jim could hear and smell him, but Blair's eyes were clear and guileless with no hidden knowledge in their depths. And anyway, Blair might be open-minded and unconventional, but if he knew Jim was eavesdropping, he couldn't possibly... He must think Jim was asleep and wouldn't notice.

The one respite Jim could be certain of was when he passed out on the sofa - that was too close for Blair to be willing to risk, obviously. Lately he seemed to be spending a lot more nights on that sofa.

It had gone way past sympathetic arousal. Once in a while, fine, whatever, Jim could accept - in the army you heard things at night, and maybe it got you going, and maybe not, and you found out there wasn't a straight man alive who didn't wonder about other guys now and again - but it wasn't anything that stayed with you, day after day.

He had gone so far as to buy a soundex machine for Blair's room, handing it over without a word, but often as not, Blair forgot, leaving Jim subject to late night crackling, pen-scratching, pillow-plumping, book-leaves turning, and jacking-off noises.

He turned on his side, and bunched the pillows up under his shoulder. Really, he was going to have to come up with a way to tell Sandburg. This had to stop.

Blair lay in the bed feeling the aftershocks of pleasure receding, heartbeat slowing back to normal. He shivered as cool air washed over heated skin. Man, that was fierce.

He let out a little sigh of satisfaction and stretched, flexing his calves and wiggling his toes, letting his mind float....

The floor overhead creaked.

His eyes flew open with a guilty start. Jim awake, moving around. Steps on the stairs, running water, then more creaking, and silence. Blair groped for the washcloth he had earlier laid out, swabbed himself off, let it drop, and pulled the covers up.

Tomorrow Jim would look at him with secrets in his eyes, and watch him covertly most of the day; well, Blair didn't mind. He hadn't lived with Jim a month when he realized that privacy was a thing of past; well, no way was he giving this up just because Jim might hear and guess. Although the first morning it had occurred to him that Jim must've heard every move he made, he'd been so mortified, he'd seriously considered moving out that very day.

Jim never said a word, though, just gave him a wry expression of sympathy every so often.

After a while he'd relaxed, but it was still tough, man, waiting for the few occasions when Jim wasn't home, trying to keep dating as much as he could, even though with the Sentinel stuff and the police work and all, it was harder and harder to find the time, and women just wouldn't put up with that for long. He felt like a teenager again, always worrying about where his mother was, because no matter how close they were, even though she was totally supportive, there were some things you just didn't want your mom to notice. Ever.

He shifted restlessly in the bed; the covers slid down to his waist.

Finally he'd decided it was a fact of life, for both of them, hey, a guy had these urges, and he wasn't a monk, and anyway, Jim would always be in the position of knowing more about people than was comfortable, and he just needed to learn to deal with it. And Blair had carefully taught him how to tune out when necessary, and Jim was a considerate person, so what the hell?

Blair shook his head, his attention caught by his white desk lamp, looming, the shade turned at him like a stern and all-seeing eye. He opened his eyes wider, getting his night vision, and took a deep breath as the dim room resolved into ordinary objects again: the vague outlines of his desk, the chair with a sweater hanging off the back, a pile of textbooks on the filing cabinet. Strange how by night things could seem so utterly different than by day.

Like his recent discovery that it turned him on a little - well, more than a little - thinking of Jim listening to him, so sometimes, like tonight, he just didn't bother turning on the white noise generator by the door. He chuckled under his breath, remembering the morning when Jim had solemnly given him the little round machine.

Subtle, Jim. Not.

Sometimes Jim was too traditional, Blair thought, and pushed away a lick of guilt. So, like, what if it really bothers him?

No, no way, not Jim, he wasn't a prude. Jim was practical, completely matter-of-fact about the cruder realities of human existence, without resorting to the crass humor so many of the guys used.

Besides, Jim never seemed to have a problem ignoring Blair whenever he felt like it.

And anyway, it was not unheard of in tribal cultures for unmated males to form a temporary sexual bond, especially among the warrior classes - initiation rites, war rituals, that sort of thing - so it didn't mean anything except that his body was in good working order, and they were both perfectly normal.

Right.

It was also about the most powerful thrill he'd ever felt.

Come on, it was okay when he was between girlfriends, a wicked little game in the dark, imagining it was getting to Jim and the effect it might be having. Because he was sure at least sometimes, Jim was all the way with him, just certain. And what a turn on that was.

And so were the little aftershocks when he caught the speculative look in Jim's eyes, or maybe some unconscious perception of scent, he didn't know how he knew, he just did. Guys understood each other that way, and Blair could almost believe he'd found something Jim couldn't tune out.

Dream on. He sat up halfway to turn over the pillow and laid his cheek against the soft cool pillow case.

There was nothing to worry about. He turned on one side, and closed his eyes, so satisfied with this decision that he didn't notice how longing pursued him as he slipped into sleep.

Ringing phones all around, computers humming, the scent of spilled coffee and soggy donuts, papers rustling, Jim felt a little overwhelmed this morning. The low rumble of male voices, punctuated with high clear tones of the women, and laughter everywhere, underlain with the hissing of the ventilation system. A stapler crunched down somewhere behind him. Dial it down, boy, this is going to push you over the edge.

A slow week in Major Crimes was a good thing, he reminded himself firmly. It meant no one was getting hurt or killed. Which was supposedly the point.

He squelched the urge to drum his fingers on the desk. He hated sitting around at the best of times, with nothing to do but think. It didn't pay to think things into the ground. It just made them worse. Look at what was happening to him.

Involuntarily, he glanced at Sandburg, sitting across from him unaware, intent on something on his desk, then Jim looked away quickly. He didn't want to get caught the way he had this morning.

At breakfast, he'd been alert for any sign that the other man felt awkward, or had a clue to Jim's guilty secret, but Blair was his usual bouncy cheery self (baffling to a man who required coffee before facing the world), maybe a bit bouncier than usual, well, he had reason - Stop it now, Ellison, it's not his fault you've developed some little kink about him - He picked up his fork and slid another glance at Blair, zeroing in on a patch of black stubble where he'd missed shaving.

"What?" Blair demanded. "Do I have food on my chin, or something?" He scrubbed his hand across his mouth.

Jim shook his head and looked down at his plate. He'd lost his appetite.

Had he really thought he could talk to Sandburg about this? He must've been out of his mind.

He picked up the dishes and carried them into the kitchen to give himself a moment. This will pass, he thought, just some weird thing with the phases of the moon or something. "You about ready to leave?" he called, drying his hands on the towel next the sink.

You will get over it.

"Give me a sec," he heard, and turned around just as Blair disappeared into his room. Jim smoothed a hand across his hair, grabbed jacket and keys, patted his rear pocket to check for his wallet, then looked up to see Blair standing by the door with his backpack, and himself the target of a searching look.

Abruptly he tossed the keys over. "You drive, Chief," he said.

Blair looked startled, then suspicious. Jim raised his eyebrows in his best "you got a problem here?" manner. It must have worked, because after a minute Blair headed on downstairs, Jim following right behind, and hopped in the truck on the driver's side, to Jim's relief. He didn't think he could face the trip downtown with the Sandburg-microscope of concern and curiosity aimed at him the whole way.

Days like today he particularly detested being a research subject.

The drive to the station was uneventful, Blair chattering about his plans for the summer break, another of his experiments, but Jim couldn't really focus, and confined himself to one-word answers. Let Blair do the talking, it was easier, he could just let himself roll with the rise and fall of Blair's voice, a soothing baritone melody punctuated by Blair's usual exclamations, without having to think or respond.

He should have known Blair wouldn't let him be.

"Hey, Jim, is something wrong, man? You haven't heard a word I've said."

"No. Everything's fine."

The truck swerved slightly as they made a right turn into the parking lot behind the station. "So what's new," Blair complained, "I should be used to this."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nobody takes me seriously around here."

"Come on, Chief, that's not exactly fair."

Blair pulled into a parking spot. He sighed. "All right, maybe not, but I really wish you would listen sometimes, seems like you're always tuning me out. I might be saying something important, you know."

"I was too listening," Jim said.

"Sure." Blair turned off the engine and opened the door.

"I was," Jim insisted, and proceeded to quote verbatim Blair's vacation itinerary, his comments on the early morning traffic, and how it wasn't fair that Ph.D. candidates had to pay in advance for copies of their dissertations....

"Okay, okay," Blair raised his hand to stem the tide. "Whatever, you win, you were listening." He slid the keys across the seat and got out.

Jim smiled to himself as he locked the doors. Sandburg's talent for blowing smoke was apparently rubbing off. He had to admit it was a useful diversion. He'd let himself get caught up in the daily routine of signing in, responding to various greetings and answering phone messages, a little paperwork, and everything seemed back to normal.

Until now. He darted another look at the desk opposite. Sandburg was staring off into the distance, hair moving gently in the vent's artificial breeze, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, and Jim zeroed in on the fingers gripping the handle, seeing all the fine hairs on the back of Blair's hand, the slight tensing of muscle as he lifted the mug to his mouth and set it down again. A thrill went through him.

Just then Sandburg turned his head and his eyes cleared, focused on Jim, as if he felt Jim watching him. He smiled, just a little.

Jim felt his face get hot.

Sandburg knew.

Oh God. Damn it. He knew.

Blair froze in the act of reaching for his coffee as his gaze met Jim's, and he saw the knowledge there.

Busted.

Oh, shit. This was not good. He smiled nervously.

Jim just kept staring at him, his eyes a deep and bewildered blue, a wounded twist to his mouth, then pushed his chair back and got up. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, and stalked off.

Leaving Blair sitting at his desk. He slanted a surreptitious glance around the bullpen to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone was preoccupied with his own affairs-oh, perfect word choice there, Blair -

What was he going to do now?

He'd had a bad feeling since breakfast, what with Jim being so quiet and all, and then making him drive.... When was the last time that happened? What was he thinking, he knew Jim was a stickler for privacy, he should've remembered how careful Jim was never to intrude, and here he had - he felt exposed, totally -

"Earth to Sandburg!"

Blair jumped.

Simon loomed over him, grinding an unlit cigar between his teeth. "Where's Ellison?"

"Uh, I don't know, he stepped away, I don't think he's feeling too good - "

"I'm fine." Jim's voice, behind him.

Uh oh. He knew that tone. The 'I'm fine and don't even think about questioning me' tone. Oh, boy, Jim was really pissed. Time to prepare my will.

"Jim," Simon said, dismissing Blair with a wave of his hand. "Remember that warehouse fire last week?"

"Yeah?"

Their voices went on, and for once, Blair was grateful for the way the captain tended to talk over his head; it gave him a chance to compose himself.

"You two go on and talk to this guy who works there. He says he has some information for us."

"Sure, Captain," Jim said, snagging his jacket and heading for the elevator. Halfway there, he paused and looked over his shoulder. "You coming, Chief?"

Blair scrambled to follow him.

For the rest of the day, he waited for the axe to fall, but Jim was so resolutely his usual self Blair started to wonder if he had imagined the stricken look on Jim's face. Just keep quiet, he told himself, don't attract his attention.... Anyway, he was too busy trying to figure out what was going on to be up to any coherent conversation. Jim wasn't like a reactionary or anything .... but he sure didn't have the anthropological perspective to take something like this in stride -

Whatever, Blair spent most of the day alternating between pledging his life to the service of any deity listening and thanking all the major gods he could think of and a few minor ones as well for his reprieve.

Of course, the more he tried to forget the whole thing, the more his memory persisted in dragging him under. Just try not to think of a zebra, just for five minutes.

The flex of muscle in Jim's thigh as he braked for a stoplight, the feel of his hand splayed across Blair's back as they went up a flight of stairs, oh man, he was way, way deep into this...No, no, had to be the curse of a guilty conscience.

Well, he heard the wake-up call loud and clear. He never wanted to see that expression on Jim's face again.

As he unlocked the door to the loft, Jim blew out a sigh through pursed lips. He supposed he could congratulate himself on his ability to act naturally no matter what the circumstances, but he'd never been so grateful for work, even if it was only listening to a disgruntled employee trying to make his boss out to be an arsonist.

Because Blair and his endless chatter might get on his nerves at times, but Blair Sandburg not-talking was worse. He turned around to see Blair push the door shut with his heel and flee to the shower.

Can't wait to get away from me, Jim thought, don't blame him.

He wondered again whether to apologize or anything, hell, how did you bring the subject up? The last thing he wanted was to embarrass the man more than he obviously already had. He just had to tough it out until this screwy fixation went away by itself.

There was a screech and the shower started. He was not going to think of Blair in the shower.

It was, well - rude was the only word he could come up with.

He plopped himself on the sofa, snatched up the remote and flicked on the TV.

He'd been through the entire channel lineup twice before Blair emerged in a cloud of steam, one towel around his waist, rubbing his hair with another, looking like a drowned rat. He drifted through the living room and stopped in front of the TV. "What's the plan this evening?"

Jim looked up at him. "I don't know about you, but I was thinking of watching some TV here," he said pointedly.

"Sounds good," Blair said, and finishing with his hair, slung the towel over his shoulder. "What's on?" He tilted his head to the side and frowned a bit.

"Uh, Chief?"

"What?"

"You make a better door than window."

Blair gave him another of his odd studying looks.

Jim waved the remote. "Move, okay?"

Blair glanced over his shoulder, the movement loosening the towel at his waist, and Jim missed a breath as he caught sight of soft dark hair on Blair's belly, arrowing down toward his groin. That was enough, he thought, absolutely enough. "On second thought, I think I'll skip the couch-potato bit tonight." He was on his feet as he spoke, up to his room, taking the stairs two at time. He changed into tank top and shorts, added sneakers, threw some sweats on and picked up his sports bag. He almost made it.

Blair grabbed his shoulder before he could get the door open. Dressed in jeans and T-shirt, he seemed less threatening, but he had that earnest look on his face. "Don't bail on me here, Jim. If there's something we need to talk about, let's do it."

"I've told you before, Sandburg, me being Exhibit A for your research doesn't give you access to my entire private life."

"Why are you always bringing up my dissertation? I thought we were friends, man, do you know what that means? Friends talk to each other, help each other out..." Blair took a step back and held out his hands, palms spread as if to say, well?

Jim sent a long-suffering look glance toward the ceiling. "Really, I'm fine."

"Had me fooled."

"No big thing," Jim said, "I'm just restless. I could use a workout."

"Cool, I'm down with that, if you'll hang on a minute, I'll go with you."

Without waiting for an answer Blair dashed into his room. Jim leaned his head against the doorframe and suppressed a groan. It was going to be a long night.

By the time they arrived at the gym, he had come to a decision. If Blair were really uncomfortable, he wouldn't have insisted on tagging along, so it was time to let this thing go. It was just one of those bumps on the Sentinel road.

He waited outside the locker room for Blair to change; no use aggravating the situation. Blair emerged in shorts and tank top, hair tamed and tied back out of his face. Together, they headed down the corridor to the weight area. The club was busy this time of night, lots of people coming and going. Lots of women, he corrected himself, glancing down at Blair's pony tail flying as his head swivelled back and forth. "I could get used to this," Blair said. Jim grunted as an elbow dug into his ribs and Blair went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "Hey, scope her out."

A tall statuesque woman with chin-length red hair was coming their way, wearing a black spandex leotard that left little to the imagination. "Does she remind you of a Celtic goddess, or what?"

Jim gave her an appreciative once-over. He enjoyed the view often as not, but it took a little more than a nice figure to get him really interested. He needed some kind of emotional connection before he was ready to bare all. "Down, boy," he said to Blair. "That's my leg, not the table leg."

"Ha, ha, you're killing me here," Blair said and smacked him across the stomach. "A guy can look, can't he?"

Jim smiled to himself. Everything was going to be fine.

He finished his workout first, and after some cool-down stretches, sat down on one of the benches to wait for Blair.

Blair was at the end of his routine, rising smoothly to the balls of his feet and back down.

He knew most of the department viewed Sandburg as a kid, but Jim, despite his teasing, never had. It was just that Blair had a kind of innocence, no, scratch that, a wonder, a rushing forward to taste everything life had to offer, the bad with the good. But if there was one thing he'd learned as a cop, it was that sooner or later life knocked you down hard, and you were never the same after that, you were a grown-up then, and Blair had that wariness about him, of having been hurt. Not that Blair complained. You know, for a guy who spent half his time pestering Jim for true confessions, he wasn't exactly forthcoming about his own life. Oh, sure, he popped out with stories now and again, little parables to illustrate some point he was making, but Jim only had a hazy idea of his past.

To him, Blair was an elementary particle, always in motion, and somehow always at rest. Wildly enthusiastic, prone to distractions of all kinds, a chaotic blur at times, yet ultimately one of the steadiest and most loyal people Jim had ever been around. And he reminded Jim that he was alive, that life was more than duty and obligation.

With sweat trailing down his face into his neck, hair tied back, and an expression of serious, almost angry concentration, lips moving as he counted, Blair was strangely attractive, and it struck him then that the most profound emotional connection in his entire life was with this young man.

This was so not a good idea, Blair thought. He lay down on the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest and held the stretch.

Especially with Jim watching him with that look Blair had learned to call the "cop look." All the cops at the station had it - no matter what their expression was, laughing, joking, serious - behind their eyes was someone else looking out, someone entirely detached, observing, measuring, judging. Seeing right through you.

Peeling you open, layer by layer, right down to your hot molten core, oh gods, it was hugely erotic, unbearable - the idea of someone knowing everything about you.

If it were anyone but Jim, he would be appalled. Hell, who was he kidding, he was scared to death anyway.

He sat up, cross-legged and bent his head down to his toes, catching a glimpse of Jim pulling his tank top over his head.

No wonder he'd ended up with the jaguar as a spirit guide - not that Blair was sure he believed in it - Jim had the same heavy stalking grace and powerful glide of muscles as he moved, an absolute stillness at his center. A predator in perfect balance with his environment.

Unlikely choice of best friends, he thought, and stood to stretch his calves. He'd expected the guy to be a hard-ass, after all, he had been in the army, and was surprised to discover a capacity for compassion that exceeded his own sometimes. Jim was a lot of things that surprised him. Okay, maybe he was a little uptight at times, a bit too much of the straight arrow, but all in all it was one thing for Blair to accept the sentinel-shaman business, it came naturally to him to think like that - but a guy with Jim's background - it must take a lot of courage to trust Blair, a courage Blair secretly admired, the same way he admired the early explorers like Burton, moving through uncharted territory with no idea of what awaited them.

Blair lay awake, having given up the delusion that he was going to get any sleep an hour ago. Going to the gym had definitely been a bad idea. Absolutely.

It'd only got him so wound up and turned on that he was disgusted with himself.

Okay, okay, thinking about it was one thing, he knew all about the homoerotic tension in male-dominated subcultures, a little sublimated aggression, so what? This was Jim, man, his best friend, his Sentinel -

All the possibilities of heightened senses swept through him.

Not that he had never considered the effect of extended senses on sex, in an abstract way -

Oh, no, Jim would not appreciate this line of research.

Even if he felt it too.

As if. Try not to confuse fantasy with reality.

His hand crept to his groin, fingering the dense curls.

Good thing he'd flipped on the white noise generator, on principle, when he went to bed. Just in case.

Because he was going to do it, wasn't he?

Maybe he needed to go with this, get it out of his system. Work through it, like any other issue. He was never very good at repression, anyway.

He kicked the covers off the bed, flung off his boxers and T-shirt and stretched out. A little music would be nice. He fumbled around on the night stand for the remote to his stereo. What was in the CD player - oh, yes, he'd been experimenting lately with the effect of baroque music on memory enhancement - he let the soft strains of Pachelbel's Canon fill up his hearing.

Easy now. He took a deep breath and ran his hands down his chest, enjoying the tingles under his fingertips. Cupped both hands around his penis while he riffled through his mind for a good fantasy.

Being kidnaped by a Lost Tribe of Amazons and used as pleasure slave? He felt a little twitch under his hands.

Picking up the Michelle Pfeiffer look-alike in an airport and doing it on the plane? There it was, that inside/outside feeling, a nudge in his palm, and lifting filling sensation of erection. He wrapped one hand firmly around himself and put his other hand over his heart, wanting to feel the thudding, jerking heartbeats of his own excitement.

How about just some sensory focus, imagining a pair of soft breasts against his chest, silky thighs wrapped around him....Yeah, that was good, he had the rhythm down now, hard, fast strokes, age-old motions that every man knew instinctively....

What if Jim were listening?

Not just listening. Touching himself. Kindled into arousal by the sounds of Blair's pleasure.

Getting himself off, having to, tumbling down the slope into the pit of fiery rapture melding them into one.

Deliberately, he slowed the movements of his hand. His breathing was harsh and raspy and he opened his eyes wide into the darkness. He thumbed the small drop of fluid at the tip of his cock and smeared it around the glans. Gods, that felt awesome....

And what if it were Jim's hand instead of his own -

Jim would be able to feel every little leap and spasm and pulse -

The image was so vivid, the sensation so real - oh, god, he was going to come....

He jerked his hand away. His breath caught and he held it, fighting off a shockwave of fear. Oh, no. He could not let himself go there. He clenched his fists; too late, panic flooded his entire body.

This was way too far over the line, man.

His cock gave an eloquent pleading throb.

Forget it. He tried to still his mind, to dam the rush of erotic images. Breathe, just breathe. Let it pass. The CD player clicked off.

In the silence, he heard the door to his room whuff open.

Jim stood in the doorway mapping out the geography of the room, fierce concentration directed at identifying the source of Blair's sudden fright. He didn't know what he expected, only that he was summoned by an uncanny feeling of danger, a surge of fear crashing over him. Blair's fear. Instinctively, Jim picked out a path to the bed through the obstacle course of clothes, books and papers, and memorized the way.

Rear window was closed, no scents of strangers in the air, though an eerie silence hung over the room. Miscellaneous junk was piled on and around the bed, like a barricade, creating the usual wolf's den Blair retreated into when he wanted to hide.

Then Jim heard a gust of breath. He zoomed in on the bed.

He could see Blair's naked form clearly, droplets of sweat on his chest and neck, tremors racking his body. By dilating his pupils more, Jim could see the beat of his heart under his skin at his throat, belly and along the vein in his cock.

Not danger, not at all.

With every sense focused on Blair, he knew at once the younger man was pretending to be asleep. Giving Jim the chance to back out of the room, pretend nothing had happened. And eventually his life would return to normal. Or at least it would pass for normal....

Jim shook his head.

He had never much liked pretending. A man had to face the truth squarely if he wanted to respect himself.

Truth was, Blair felt it too.

So all the roads he'd ever traveled led here. He stood there a moment more as his emotions fragmented, broke apart and reformed into something new, not quite imagined, yet always known.

Then he moved.

Quickly, he crossed the room and knelt by the bed. Blair's eyes were squeezed shut, his arms folded across his chest in mute denial.

With the blue brilliancy of his eyes hidden, Blair was a shadow creature, olive skin and darker hair blending into one another across his body, the sweet dusky perfume of his arousal enveloping them both. Under and between his arms, chest hair swirled and merged over his heart into a single neat line flowing down smooth skin and widening into the black density of pubic hair, framing the cock curved hard and swollen into the hollow of his hip. It twitched under Jim's gaze and Blair made a warding gesture with one hand, as if exorcising a demon.

Jim wanted to offer words of comfort, reassurance, but his mind was empty of anything except the sights and sounds and scents of his friend. "It's okay," he said softly, feeling immediately inadequate.

Blair was the one who was good with words; Jim couldn't explain to himself what he felt, much less to Blair. Let Blair unravel the snarl of emotions later. For now, the answer was simple: if he and Blair were connected this way, no point in hiding from it any longer.

He placed a hand flat on Blair's belly and slid it slowly down to cover Blair's erection.

Blair gasped and slammed his fists into the bed. His eyes flew open, darkened to indigo in the shadows of the room, and stared defenselessly up at Jim with a wide anguished gaze, as if straining to see in the dark.

The feel of him was amazing: thick, soft, delicate, oh and hot, burning right through the center of his palm. He was immediately, achingly hard. He laid his other hand over Blair's heart. Bemused as it skittered faster then slower, leaping up to meet his hand.

Yes, this was right. He scooted onto the edge of the bed, leaned in to capture Blair's breath and began stroking him in earnest. It wouldn't be long; where his hand rested against Blair's groin he could feel tendons drawing his balls up into Blair's body, sense the rage of dammed-up fluid.

Blair made a gasping moan, and there it was, Jim felt the answering gush in his own body, and seconds behind Blair, he came in slow sweet pulses.

Moments later, his awareness returned. Another mess. He laughed at himself.

Then he heard an inrush of breath. Which meant Blair was about to start talking. No, not now. He silenced Blair with a soft dry kiss, then eased into the bed. He pulled Blair to him and held on until Blair succumbed to sleep, and he could return to his own room to strip off sticky trousers and contemplate the bizarre turn his life had just taken.

Blair stood outside the truck waiting for Jim to catch up. He'd run breathlessly down the stairs, anything to chase off this wanton energy that possessed and haunted him, ever since he opened his eyes and realized he hadn't been dreaming. Last night - well, last night was the most intense experience of his life, and for someone who prided himself on seeking out intense experiences that was saying a lot.

He really could not quite reconcile his down-to-earth, tough-guy partner with the man who had touched him so knowingly or held him so lovingly, which brought to mind folk stories of shape-shifting succubae; or maybe his subconscious was really deviant and wanted him to feel weird and vulnerable and ashamed and so conjured up the whole thing in a hypnopompic trance. He kept expecting Jim to say or do something or even look strange, but Jim puttered around the kitchen the way he always did, fussing with the coffee maker, following his set routine: coffee, shower, dress, breakfast. Like the world was the same place it had always been.

After being the recipient of sleepy-eyed benevolence for the past hour, he was ready to jump out of his skin.

Not like Blair actually looked forward to talking about last night or anything, oh, no, he sure as hell was not bringing it up, not this time. He watched Jim come out the front door and check the lock. Concentrating with his usual half-frown, jiggling the keys and pulling them free. Then looking up to see Blair watching. And smiling, one of the rare ones that relaxed his whole face as it spread slowly and sweetly up to his eyes. Blair gulped and forced an answering grin.

Jim strolled up and, for the second day in a row, silently handed him the keys.

Blair accepted them without thinking, bewildered. He pushed his hair out of his face and unlocked the passenger door with a shaky hand. By the time he'd got to the driver's door, Jim had unlocked it and was already seatbelted and settled.

He slung his backpack on the seat and got in. I can handle it, he told himself as he started the engine, I am totally okay with this, I'm a cool 90s kind of guy, I can go with the flow.

Maneuvering the truck through the early morning traffic kept him occupied; he held out for five whole minutes. "What is it with you, man? Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing," Jim said mildly, "Should there be?"

"You like, never let me drive your truck."

"You're driving it now."

"I mean, hardly ever. You know what I mean!" He spared an irritated glance at his companion. Jim had his head tilted back against the seat, hands folded neatly in his lap. He was still smiling.

"Hey, I don't have to be in control of everything," he said.

Blair hit the brakes, hard, as the light ahead cycled through yellow to red. "This is serious, Jim."

"I'm very serious."

The light changed. Blair closed his mouth, just determined, totally, to say not another word, but his thoughts ran on. Serious? What are we talking about here? Sorry, left my secret decoder ring at home, Jim, so why don't you clue me in? No way was he up to fishing out the message hidden inside the typically elliptical remark, or deciphering the possible symbolism of the car keys. Not today. Not even.

He made a snap decision. "Oh, geeze, Jim, I just remembered, I have to go up to school today." He cut across two lanes of traffic and turned left instead of right, in the direction of the university.

Finally a hint of a frown disturbed his partner's complacency. "I thought this week was, what do you call it, the reading period, no classes, everyone off cramming for finals."

"Yeah, yeah, but I'm giving the exam this time, gotta finish my questions and get 'em run off. You don't really need me up at the station, do you?" Blair glanced over at him.

"No, not really...." Jim trailed off uncharacteristically, then his expression shifted into its customary blend of skepticism and concern. "How are you going to get home?"

Blair shrugged. "There's always the bus." He maneuvered the truck into the side entrance of the social sciences department and pulled up to the rotunda, grabbed his backpack and hopped out, leaving the engine running.

Jim slid across the seat. "Whatever. Just call me if you want a ride."

"Later, man," Blair called over his shoulder as the truck whined into reverse. He went straight to his office. He hadn't lied, he really did need to finish writing the test questions, though it could have waited till Monday.

Whatever.

He cleared a space on his desk and got out his notes. Unfortunately, it only took about an hour to finish off his work and inevitably, his mind traveled back to Jim.

Or more precisely to this sex thing between them.

Could it be caused by Jim's Sentinel abilities, or with Incacha's passing the torch of shaman to him? Thinking back, that's about when his fantasies started to get so intense.

What do you do when a fantasy becomes reality? Of course, his beliefs about Jim weren't fantasy, not at all, more a hypothesis he was always collecting evidence for - that he and Jim were connected, all the way down to the cellular level (hence the sexual correlation between them, just ripples in the pool) by an invisible bond.

Key word, there, invisible.

When something you only half-believed revealed itself to be true, when the other world poked bony fingers through the ordinary fabric of day-to-day life, what then? You could believe in ghosts, in an abstract way, but coming face to face with one - Blair shuddered.

My God, how did Jim dare? There was a hollow feeling in his gut as he thought about the breathless courage it must have taken for Jim to....

No, no, don't go there, but too late, he was getting aroused all over again. He fumbled to readjust his trousers and forced himself to think about something else.

He felt a sudden tickle in his nose and managed to hold back a sneeze. There was dust everywhere, man. This place was a complete wreck. He brushed a layer off his desk calendar and flipped idly through the pages. The last entry was dated over two months ago.

Maybe he needed to start seriously dating again - he could go see if that new sociology professor was around, he'd been checking her out all semester but he'd been too busy with the PD stuff and Jim and everything to get farther than some casual chat in the student union - there was definitely some promise there. He rummaged in the papers on his desk, then spun his chair around to the credenza behind him, barely avoiding disaster in the form of a wobbly stack of books, clippings and journals. Where was that phone list?

Ah, there, stuffed in the drawer with some computer printouts; he was reaching for it when Jim's likely dubious reaction popped into his mind. Jim always made fun of him, thought he was Casanova Jr., and he couldn't really explain to Jim, who was like, a closet romantic, totally monogamous, but Blair loved the closeness and connectedness he got from a woman without necessarily wanting to marry her and if the woman felt the same way why was it a problem?

In a fit of frustration he rammed the drawer shut. What was he thinking? Just use her, not his style, it wouldn't be right and anyway, sublimation never did work for him. He started to scoot the chair back to the desk when a sneeze ambushed him after all, the sudden motion causing the chair to tap the stack of books on the floor and they went tumbling down.

He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. What a mess.

Was he - no, he wasn't worried about his masculinity, at least he didn't think he was worried. He did sort of believe in theory he could be attracted to a man; human beings were infinitely adaptable, omnivorous, pansexual, so what if guys had never been his thing, at least not more than an occasional fantasy or curiosity, but God, this knee-trembling liquid desire that was giving him a hard-on every time he so much as thought about Jim's hands on him wasn't even remotely theoretical.

Breathe, Blair, breathe, empty your mind. He pulled his legs up into a cross-legged position and closed his eyes, let the familiar routine of meditation take him down and away from the bedlam of his feelings.

On arriving at the station, Jim checked his mailbox. On top was a yellow warning slip from records - reports overdue. He groaned inwardly.

Two cups of coffee and half a Mars bar later, he thought he might be able to cope with the typing, copying and interoffice mailing the bureaucrats downtown insisted was part of his job description. Sandburg would have to bug out when he was needed.

He chuckled under his breath and pulled up the closed cases list. Usually his partner kept up with all the paperwork for him - Blair got impatient watching Jim peck away at reports since he was much faster at it - probably not exactly the fun-filled exciting job you'd expect for a police observer, though Sandburg rarely complained.

Still and all, Jim could hardly resent Blair's absence today. He was nervous, of course, he was nervous. Jim was a little nervous himself. But he wasn't about to let Blair's obvious discomfort disturb his sense of the rightness of what they had done. In a way, it was a relief of a tension he'd hardly known existed, a laying down of the burden of loneliness and fear, with someone who understood him at last.

He chuckled again. Jim knew himself for a bit of a romantic; really it was surprising how little adjustment he needed to fit Blair into those secret dreams....

The room seemed exceptionally quiet today. Which was another sign he'd done the right thing. When he felt good, on target with life and in balance, he could draw a cushion between his senses and the rest of the world without shutting down completely.

He sent the first batch of reports to the printer and got up to get more coffee. Blair would be all right, he'd known Jim long enough to know Jim just wouldn't want to discuss their relationship over breakfast. Time enough to talk tonight.

Because it would change their lives, it would have to, and decisions had to be made.

A burst of laughter from across the room broke through his veil of silence and the coffee tasted burnt. Sitting back down at his desk, he felt suddenly queasy. What would people think? His brother, worse, his dad. They didn't have to know, he told himself, but his boss would. Jim looked across the room but the blinds to Simon's office were drawn. Simon would guess anyway. Would Simon care? It was hard to tell with people. He glanced around at his co-workers.

Hell, they probably already thought the worst. He was not unaware of how it looked, two grown men sharing an apartment, hardly a girlfriend in sight, and the way Blair dressed, the long hair....Jim had taken a bit of heckling round the department when Blair moved in with him, but he just never gave a shit.

He liked the kid's style, the riotous unaffected beauty of his hair, even the double silver earring he always wore, his complete self-confidence that he could dress anyway he liked and it wouldn't matter. And how he got away with it.

Blair, he said to himself, can't keep calling him kid. His name is Blair.

Self-conscious all at once, he made another quick survey of the room, then forced himself to attack the rest of his backlog.

As quietly as possible, Blair slid the key into the lock and stealthily pushed the door to the loft open. All the lights were off and no sound came from the television. After several hours of cleaning and sorting, he had actually brought a bit of serious order to the paper mill he called an office (he was sure that books and papers were breeding when he wasn't looking). Blair was tired, covered with dust, and all he wanted was to just slip inside and go straight to bed.

No such luck. In the darkness he could just make out Jim asleep on the sofa, curled on his side. Of course, as soon as Blair closed the door he woke.

"Hey, you're kinda late, professor."

"Sorry, man, I didn't mean to wake you, guess I got a little sidetracked, you know."

Jim rose and stretched luxuriously before moving easily in the dark to check if the door was locked, a habit that often annoyed Blair (like he thinks I don't know how to lock a door) but usually fell in the category of Jim's automatic protective behaviors. The Sentinel patrolling his domain. Even though he couldn't see in the dark, Blair wasn't about to turn on the lights, so he waited for his eyes to adjust before heading for his room.

He had taken only a few steps when he felt Jim's hands on his shoulders as he was gently turned around and then Jim was bending over him, hands moving up to frame his face. He felt rather than heard the whisper of breath across his lips when Jim said his name, and he closed his eyes and opened his mouth and felt the silky touch of Jim's tongue against his own and his life fell apart.

Fear, arousal and aggression collided into a giant hammer of adrenaline that slammed him in the stomach and punched upward until his heart lurched and smashed against his ribs. He was suffocating, he couldn't catch his breath, he was being pounded slowly to the ground, moaning to himself, oh my god, over and over. This was too much, too intense, unbearable, he had to get away before he overloaded.

Jim followed him down to the floor, murmuring unintelligible words, running his hands up and down Blair's back.

Blair tore himself loose and stood up, panting. When Jim started to stand, Blair waved him off with both hands and backed further away. "I can't do this - "

Crouched with feline grace, arrested in a patch of moonlight, Jim looked up and his eyes flashed bright blue, a second of devastation, then closed again. Oh, shit, Blair thought, not that, what to say, what to do - "I want to, I want to, I just can't right now, I'm, I'm gonna take a walk or something - "

"Don't, Chief, we can talk about it - "

Oh great, Jim, king of manly stoicism, Mr. 'I'm fine' Ellison, wanted to talk? No way.

He bolted.

The front door closed with a soft click as the latch hit the strike plate. Jim stood perfectly motionless, listening to Blair's footsteps get fainter and his heartbeat recede until there was nothing left to hear except the sound of his own breath.

He opened his eyes. The room looked huge, empty. A cavern of dead air that went on forever, an infinity of emptiness no greater than in his heart. It was like getting kicked in the balls, he didn't really feel it yet, just the dull here-it-comes fear, and knowing it was going to be bad. He lost himself in all the colors of darkness, blackly impenetrable in the corners of the room, milky grey near the balcony doors where moonlight sneaked in under the blinds. He tilted his head back and even in the darkness he could see the faint sparkle of dust.

When you wish upon a star.....

He shook his head; zoning was not an option here. He needed to think, to focus.

But he didn't know what to do. Like a scout relying on hand drawn charts to cross unfamiliar country, he had arrived at the place where the map ran out. He was trapped on a bridge as all its supports fell away. And no way back. He'd been alone so long in his life, he'd thought he could handle anything, but this....

It was worse than he expected.

He couldn't believe how much it hurt. Which made no sense.

He'd just forgotten how it felt.

Coffee, he needed coffee. Coffee always calmed him down when he couldn't sleep, though it had to be decaf these days. He went into the kitchen and stirred up a cup of instant, then put it in the microwave.

Jim had always been a man to trust his instincts, and since meeting Sandburg he'd accepted a lot of weird stuff - getting hot for another guy wasn't what he was used to, but neither was any of the rest of it, so what the hell? He knew he wasn't crazy, there was some deep-seated emotional link between them, not just emotional, but physical as well - look at how Blair responded - hell, how they both did - to one kiss. So why was Blair running?

The kid thrived on the unorthodox, let him catch the scent of anything off the beaten path and Sandburg was after it like a terrier down a rat hole. He'd be back, he had to, he would have to talk about it, to work through this with Jim. He always did.

Oh, get yourself a pillow, because you are really dreamin' here, pal.

This was Sandburg, right, poster boy for ADD. Who couldn't make a commitment to a lunch date, much less this spooky twist to their friendship. Yeah, he talked about problems, he worked through issues - but they were always Jim's problems, Jim's issues.

The microwave beeped at him. He yanked the door open and grabbed his mug, inhaling deeply of the rich thick smell, and took a first burning sip, the scalding, familiar bitterness soothing his fury. He leaned back against the counter top.

Try to be fair, Ellison. Nothing would be solved by giving in to the childish need to strike out at the source of his pain.

Still, it was ironic Mr. New Age couldn't cope. Difficult to imagine Blair could have a problem about anything to do with sex. He put the coffee cup down behind him, was turning to rinse it out when he stopped short.

Maybe it's just me he has the problem with.

His skin felt suddenly cold. As if all the blood in his body had gone into hiding. He made himself wash the mug out and dry it completely. He wiped the spotless counters down, put away the instant coffee and hung the dishcloth over the faucet.

Not much else to do, was there? Nothing out of place here.

Except me.

He bent forward and buried his face in his hands. Too many years of trying and failing, of thinking he'd finally connected, finally found a home, only to discover he'd been living in a dreamworld again. Hope and despair chased each other around and around in his mind.

Pop goes the weasel.

After what seemed like hours, he trudged up the stairs. He was particularly careful about folding his clothes and laying them neatly across the dresser - he hated ironing - and just as careful about the selection of a pair of blue cotton pajama bottoms - he wanted his legs covered, but it was too hot for sweats - folding back the covers before he flopped on the bed. So it was with this peculiar new terror that he heard Blair's key in the lock.

An hour of walking in the windy night had done nothing to clear his mind, nor anything to cool the nauseating flood of adrenaline, but Blair knew he had to face the music sooner or later. He locked the door and stood leaning up against it, clutching the doorknob behind him with both hands.

He felt with an odd instinctive certainty that Jim was awake, waiting on him, waiting for him to make the decision for both of them, which just really sucked, like he needed more pressure.

How the hell had he got himself into this? Playing with fire, playing with fire. Getting burned; wait, more like getting incinerated. A little fun, a hot fantasy - I am a moron, a complete total dickhead, I deserve whatever I get.

He'd wished for Jim's attention, well, be careful what you wish for. Once Jim focused that laser beam sight on something, he always saw it through.

Anything might happen if Jim saw all the way through Blair.

Oh, god, he did want the fire - to discover the things Jim might do to him, if only he could get up the nerve to cross the room. Jim wanted him, and apparently, he wanted Jim, so why was it a problem?

Because he was a coward, that's why.

Fear and flooding desire threaded and tangled in his guts and erupted through his chest in a flow of fire and ice. Going upstairs meant they would have to deal with this, and Blair knew who would be assigned the lion's share of the dealing. Chills alternated with staccato bursts of arousal, desperation, and some anger, that Jim could think it was so easy - like earlier, no 'Hi, Chief, how was your day, how about last night, want to try it again?' No, just latched on like a starving man, went straight to the liplock, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars, hot and exciting and oh! how Blair craved more, but it was too dangerous, damn it. Especially with a man like Jim Ellison.

What did it mean, what did Jim mean, he wanted to know, what Jim felt and thought....otherwise, Blair was lost in the wilderness with neither compass nor weapon and no native guide to lead him out.

The only way out is through.

He glanced at the stairs, half-expecting to see Jim's animal spirit materialize and rend him, yet even so, the ever-present scholar in him couldn't help speculating if this was what prehistoric humans felt when they envisioned the gods. He shuddered in supernatural dread, of demons, or angels, maybe, and midnight rituals.

Not that Jim would ever hurt him, there was no doubt in his mind of that, he knew he was being irrational.

Just go for it, he thought, you can do this.

Reluctantly he let go of the door handle, and launched himself across the room and toward the stairs, through no-man's land, upwards, listening intently for a sound or movement. He stood on the landing, hesitant.

The blinds were partially drawn, and moonlight striped across Jim's body. Jim lay on his back, the comforter draping off the end of the bed, barely covering his feet. One arm was folded across his bare chest, his hand pressed to his heart as if swearing fealty to a lonely dream. Dark hairs flowed over his tanned forearm and set off the lighter spot usually hidden by Jim's watchband. Blair took in the pale curves of chest muscles, gaze sliding down his hips to where the blue fabric covering his legs blended into the darker blue sheets -

Completely solid, perfectly real, totally intimidating.

With a shake of his head, Blair pulled his shirt off, not bothering with buttons. He unbuckled his belt and slid it free of the belt loops and at the same time dragged his heels across the floor to work his shoes loose, indifferent to the threat of broken laces. He kicked them free, wincing as they landed with a slight thump, and shot a nervous glance at Jim.

The other man's eyes were shut and he was breathing evenly (oh, if only he were sleeping), but he might open them at any time.....to see Blair standing there partly naked, wholly terrified.

It wasn't about sex at all, not even, but the nakedness, the vulnerability. Here was someone he could never, ever hide from or fool, who would know his every feeling, almost before he himself did. And Blair wasn't sure he was ready for that level of being known. There were feelings twisting around inside him, writhing things best left in the darkness of his heart.

With a flick of his wrist the blinds were drawn leaving only a shred of light behind. Blair sighed in relief, able finally to ditch the rest of his clothes, and got into the bed.

Panic returned - had he lost his mind? then Jim reached out.

Jim gathered him, tugging and lifting, until Blair was lying on top of him, loosely wrapping his arms around Blair's back. Not demanding, not clutching, just holding. Blair lifted his head and looked at Jim's face.

With his eyes closed in seeming repose, he was the ideal of the self-contained man who needed nothing and no one.

Certainly not Blair. Not a complete jerk who waffled around, afraid to make up his mind. The thought hurt him, setting off an ache of longing deep inside.

He pressed his mouth to Jim's cheek, tasting the damp salt taste of invisible sweat.

"Jim." Jim opened his eyes, a brief glitter in the scarce light, then closed them again.

"Can I kiss you?" Blair whispered, knowing it was okay, but needing to ask, the asking an atonement for his fear.

Jim's lips parted in answer. Blair touched his mouth and tongue to Jim's, and plummeted into the abyss.

He landed hard and broke the kiss, jolted all the way down to the bone marrow, How could it be? In an instant the world was another place entirely - a place where he loved a man and with every fiber of his being wanted him when he had only ever wanted women before.

How long would he have hidden the truth in the back of his mind, he wondered, or sought refuge in trendy theories or kept pretending it was no more than a sexy game he played?

Nothing abstract about Jim's body under his, only a thin layer of cotton separating their groins. Lying here, naked, sprawled on top of him was enough to get Blair hot and hard again, but he didn't know what to do, how to go on. And Jim was giving him no clues, only the gentle press of firm flesh against his own swelling cock.

He pressed himself more closely against Jim, and a surge of lust sparked in jagged bursts along his nerves until his whole body felt feverish and he was sweating.

It was a dazzling discovery, that he felt the same no matter the object of his desire, the same sensations washed through his body, and the same needs, to give pleasure, to find out what felt good to the other person, to smell, to taste, to touch in every way he could imagine.

Of course, he knew all the details, the mechanics from the outside in, but from the inside out, everything was new - magical and different. Awkwardly, he moved his hand down Jim's chest and over his stomach. Soft, not with the softness women had - a girl's skin was so soft under his fingertips sometimes it felt hardly there at all - but Jim's belly was absolutely real and smooth under his hands. Blair let his fingers creep under the waistband of Jim's pajamas to grasp his erection and hold it, just hold it. Investigating - weird to feel a dick in his hand that wasn't his - he skimmed his hand across the shaft, velvet-covered steel, feeling the slight flare when he got to the crown.

Jim groaned in response to being touched, and the sound broke Blair's heart.

Oh, man, it was Jim, this was Jim he was caressing so intimately - he wanted Jim to come in his arms, for Jim to feel the way he did, to want him in return.

"What can I do, Jim," he murmured, "where can I touch you?"

"Anywhere," Jim said, "you can do anything you want to me."

Blair slid off to Jim's side. He went on petting Jim's erection slowly, while his other hand stroked up and down his stomach, and his legs, inside his thighs. Jim shuddered with every touch, but his eyes stayed closed. Blair licked the hollow of his collarbone, tasting salt again, nuzzled into Jim's throat where a hint of piney aftershave remained. He lifted his head and kissed Jim again, let his hand prowl across the broad chest, outlining the muscles and sneaking into the soft damp warmth of his underarm hair before slipping down to his nipples.

Jim's nipples were soft around the outside, crinkling into tight points under Blair's searching fingers, and could only follow his own instincts and needs, trusting that Jim would like them too. He slid his tongue down the center of Jim's chest to his nipples, flicking there, then buried his face in Jim's belly.

A moment of breathing in Jim's scent, strong here, warm and dark with arousal, and Blair rose to his hands and knees. He shook his head and his hair fanned out to screen him from Jim's sight.

Jim sighed deeply and made another noise in the back of his throat, in anticipation? Blair thought, as he slid the pajamas down around Jim's hips to his knees and let Jim kick them the rest of the way free; was he going to? could he, oh yes, he could, his lips graced the shaft of Jim's cock and slid up and around to the tip. He kissed Jim there before taking him fully in his mouth.

I am sucking another man's cock, the observer in his mind noted, but the picture didn't turn him off, quite the opposite because this was Jim he was loving, it was them together - he was going to come just thinking about it; my god, if only Jim would touch him, stroke him like last night -

As if he heard, Jim's hand slipped between their bodies and wrapped around his erection, and it was Blair's turn to groan.

He felt Jim's hand begin a slow glide down the hard length of him. Sensation drove Blair forward, quickly, too quickly, he was all the way there, right on the edge -

- when he had the horrible feeling that if he let go and fell over he would be lost forever -

He caught himself just in time.

Abruptly he jerked free and sat up in the bed, shaking uncontrollably, and pulled his knees up to his chest.

Jim's eyes flew open at the sudden abandonment. What the fuck? What the hell was Blair up to? A groan escaped him.

He gulped in a lungful of air, trying for calm, and put a hand on his still-throbbing cock to soothe it, then squeezed hard until the sensation of frustrated orgasm dwindled enough so he could begin to think. Something was wrong, had to be.

He rolled on his side, dilating his pupils to see clearly in the darkness. He leaned over and touched Blair's arm. "You okay?"

The whites of Blair's eyes glinted at Jim, a cornered wolf ready to savage anyone who got too close, and his voice was a snarl. "Do I look 'okay'?"

He knew Blair had a primitive ferocity hidden beneath the blend of back-to-nature mellow and oh-so-cool sophistication, or he never would have survived police work, but Jim rarely saw it so openly displayed.

"So talk to me."

"Oh this is great, just fucking great. Are you for real here? Man, you are always pushing me away, you only open up if you're desperate, because real men can't possibly talk about how they feel, it's 'no big thing' and now you want - man, this is too weird, I don't believe you, Jim Ellison, macho cop and all-around-regular-guy, never mind you, what the hell am I doing here...." He smacked his hand against his forehead.

Jim let the barrage of words flow over him, hearing not the anger, but the underlying pain. He knew they were true, he had heard them before, every time he got involved with someone, he heard those same words.

He sat up and tried to put his arms around Blair, but Blair shoved him away.

"Blair," he breathed, "let me - " and caught his friend around the shoulders, cradling him, feeling tremors rack his body. Blair's skin was hot and slippery with sweat, his pulse racing, heart pounding away, the scent of desire like a cloud around him, and he was making strangled noises.

Jim leaned his head against Blair's, murmuring soothing nonsense syllables, picking apart the pieces of his emotions. "Hey, Chief, don't you think this scares the holy living hell out of me?" he said at last, opting for a matter-of-fact tone. "I find myself watching you all the time, I know every single thing you do, I practically spy on you, for godsakes, I can't help it. And it's been going on long enough I don't think it's a phase. Just about freaked me out though - "

"What?!" Blair cut in, "You think I give a shit 'cause I turned on to a guy? Wrong, way wrong, man. You are orbiting Jupiter if you think that's it - "

" - would you let me finish?" Jim said, snatching back the conversation when Blair drew a breath. "I thought it was just me. But it's you, too. So whatever it is, a sentinel thing or something else, it's real and it matters."

He heard a muffled "omigod." Blair twisted violently in his arms and escaped his hold, fleeing to the foot of the bed.

"It's not real, Jim, it's my fault, I made it happen, I knew all along you could hear....."

Jim opened his mouth, then closed it again. He felt his precarious calm teetering with this little earthquake, but after a moment he forged on anyway. "So what?" he said, "it did happen. Can't say I'd have planned this, but now...." He shrugged.

"Why?" Blair insisted, "Why now? Have you always gone both ways? Man, the things I don't know about you would fill the Encyclopedia Britannica."

He could sense Blair's urgency, his complete attention, as an old, old fear assaulted him, of having to answer an unspoken question he didn't understand from someone he cared about.

"It just happened," Jim said, knowing how lame it sounded even as the words left his mouth, "You know, maybe things happen for a reason. Yeah, it's more or less new for me, but, well, you adapt. You do what you gotta do."

The air in front of him whooshed as Blair made one of his extravagant gestures. "It's not that easy, Jim."

"For me, it is," Jim replied. An edge crept into his voice.

"No, no way."

"No?" It took the barest of efforts for him to see that Blair's hard-on had not noticeably faded. "If you're not into this, you're sure doing a good imitation."

"I know," Blair said and his voice rose half an octave on a crest of anguish.

"All right, Blair," Jim said as reasonably as he could manage. "Help me out. What am I missing here?"

Blair drove his fist into the bed, hard, a shockwave of vibration under Jim's body. "Do I have to spell everything out?" Blair shouted. He stopped himself, and Jim heard the moist sounds of swallowing. "Sorry," he said in a more normal tone. "But if we go on, I'll never ever be able to get out with my skin."

"I see," Jim said, though he didn't. Why did Blair need an escape hatch, for chrissakes, he knew what this meant to Jim. A quick glance showed him most of Blair's face hidden in shadow, but perched at the foot of the bed with one leg tucked under him and one foot on the floor, clearly he was halfway out the door already.

"Oh, good answer."

"I see," Jim repeated. He couldn't think of anything else to say. You only knew how high you had built your hopes when they collapsed under their own weight.

He lay back and drew the darkness in around him. He could see out, but no one could see in.

"This is exactly what I mean," Blair said. Jim felt the bed shift as it was freed of the younger man's weight, then Blair's feet hit the floor with a thump. Little sticking noises as he walked across the bare floor, his voice moving closer as he spoke. "I really hate it when you do this."

"Do what?"

"Shut down."

Jim peered through his imaginary shroud. Blair was crouching right next to him, eyes sparking cold blue anger.

Outrage burst through Jim's fragile detachment. "Excuse me, you're the one who's so worried about getting out. Just go on, I'm not holding a gun to your head."

"I did not say that."

"Whatever."

"You are not hearing me, Jim." Blair's voice took on a pleading note. "I'm way out of my depth, and I have no idea where you're at. I've totally lost my objectivity."

"Worried you won't be able to dissect the rat when he's done with the maze?"'

"That's cold, man."

Nice move, Ellison, why not blow your brains out and be done with it. But he was powerless over his emotions and he hated it, hated Blair's ease with feelings, hated having this conversation. He locked his gaze defiantly with Blair's.

Blair shook his head in disbelief and his hair brushed Jim's shoulder, releasing its fragrance of day-old shampoo and dust. "In fact, you are totally fucking impossible."

After a moment of consideration, Jim nodded. "Are we done here?" he said, and started to roll away.

"No, we are not 'done here'," Blair snapped and seized Jim's shoulders. He leaned in until his face was very close. "You better listen to me, Jim," he said, low and deep, "'cause I'm only saying this once. I can't even compete with you on the strong, silent act, and I am not going to be the tour guide for your head trip, sorry, I'm all booked up on my own. I am so fed up with second-guessing you, man, havin' to pry every little thing out of you, okay, that was part of our deal, I get to hang around in the background and study you and you get the benefit of my observations, but this is, like, major terra incognita, well maybe you got the preliminary survey, but I didn't, and this time I am not just along for the ride. We need to figure it out together so you better start telling me what you're feeling or this expedition is going absolutely nowhere."

Blair drew several ragged breaths, and moved his body to reinforce his hold on Jim.

Strong as Blair was, Jim could have thrown him off, but what would that prove? The blunt knife of shame burrowed its way through his guts; at his weakness, his fear; and at his inability ever to get it right with anyone. He fixed his gaze on the landscape of Blair's face, uneven pores, slight variations of skin color, surfacing beard shadow, individual straggling hairs on his forehead and at the edge of his eyebrows.

He pulled himself back from the haven of a zone-out and gave up his fantasy that somehow things would be easy this time.

"I don't know how," he whispered.

Mute, he waited for what always came next, the bewilderment, the "how can you not know how," the swift mutation into disbelief and scorn. He resigned himself to the inevitable.

The harsh grip on his shoulders relaxed as Blair's forehead touched his cheek and his hair fell around them both in dark sheltering waves. "Oh, shit, Jim - ". The humid sensation of his breath on Jim's jaw tickled as Blair sighed. "Okay, man. I guess that's honest."

Feeling drained as if he'd had a full battery of sensory tests, it took him several moments to realize there would be no more questions; mysteriously, he had been granted a measure of acceptance. He brushed the backs of his fingers along the side of Blair's face in stunned gratitude. At the touch, Blair tipped his head back and opened his eyes wide. Jim made out the intensity of emotion trapped there, and a smolder of desire danced in their depths as Blair caught Jim's hand in his own.

"It's enough," Blair said. His mouth came down on Jim's, hard and aggressive, a little bit angry yet, then his lips parted and his tongue darted out and licked across Jim's lips.

He tasted the bitter flavor of fear as Blair's tongue searched and found his, drew him in, touching and entwining; inhaled the acrid smell spicing the perfume of Blair's body: Truth borne on saliva and sweat.

With a tickle of chest hair across his own smooth chest, scramble and tangle of legs and arms, Blair worked their bodies into an embrace, still kissing him, and threaded their fingers together in a fleeting clasp before taking Jim's cock and bringing him swiftly and fully erect.

Jim clamped down on Blair's arm. "You sure this time? I can definitely live without a repeat non-performance."

"Sorry, sorry," Blair mumbled, "I do want it, I want you to feel good, man, let me." His erection prodded Jim's thigh as if to evidence the truth of his words, warm and hard and slightly slick.

Soft lips met Jim's, too briefly. "Let me, Jim," Blair said again, the familiar lilting insistence of his voice both reassuring and exciting. He let his grip on Blair's wrist slacken as his feelings melted and fused and focused on his aching cock.

"Is it really okay?" Blair whispered, and his lips trembled against Jim's cheek.

More than anything, this strange shyness breached a wall in him he'd barely known was there. "Yeah," he said, and smiled, forgetting Blair could not see him, and guided Blair's hand into the movements he needed, "It's really okay."

He pulled Blair's mouth to his and abandoned the illusion of control for the warmth of Blair's arms and the bright thunder of his heart.

Blair gathered up his nerve and followed Jim down into the blaze, letting it happen, grinding his erection on Jim's hip and stroking him in counterpoint. He gently mouthed the fluttering pulse at the side of Jim's throat, and breathed deeply in a faint foresty scent.

Man, the guy was some kind of pure, primal in the way he just went for it, arching his body up toward Blair, tilting his neck to Blair's mouth, all the while making a prayer of Blair's name under his breath.

He could scarcely believe Jim was allowing him to do this, and the simple sincerity of Jim's response pierced him to the core. Awe for his friend, usually concealed, burst forth, banishing shame and guilt, commanding honesty in return. "I knew you heard me gettin' off the other night," he confessed, "it just turned me on so much to think of you like this, to know I was making you hot, I had to...." Jim's cock pulsed in his hand - oh, Jim liked hearing his voice? He could do that, easy. "This is way better, Jim, being naked with you, my hand getting your dick hard," he wriggled his own swollen cock into Jim's thigh, "you feel that, man?"

With a lurch, Jim shifted his weight onto his back and Blair felt a steady inexorable pressure as Jim dragged him closer until Blair was securely fitted alongside and half on top of him. He usually forgot their size difference, never gave it a second thought, but now it was very clear as the reality of his friend surrounded and infiltrated his senses.

He squirmed, and where their chests met one of Jim's nipples connected with his own in a sweet frictionless glide of mingled sweat.

Jim gave a series of short groans and Blair lifted his head to kiss him, to steal his desire and guide it to himself. "Oh, yeah, you're loving it," he said, pitching his voice soft, low, enticing, "I know, c'mon, you can do it, let yourself go...."

He insinuated his tongue between Jim's lips to run across cool hard teeth until Jim let him inside and Jim's arm moved from his shoulders to cup the back of his head and crush their mouths together.

When Jim started thrusting into the circle of his fingers, Blair's heart stuttered and skipped wildly; he'd never seen Jim like this, so demanding, so unrestrained, so completely given over to passion. He felt vulnerable, because he wanted so much, yet powerful, because Jim needed him and he was both creator and consumer of that need.

He let go of Jim's cock to collect the moisture pooled between their bellies, returning to spread it up and down the shaft. He eluded Jim's mouth long enough to get his breath back and to urge him on.

"That's good," he said, hoarse from excitement, "God, you're hard, you're almost there, go on, fuck my hand, you got it," before Jim captured his mouth again.

Jim swayed on the edge of sanity. The velvety tongue tasting him, the scrape of stubble on his cheek, the heaving of Blair's belly against his; Jim was dizzy with it all. He breathed in the intoxicating perfume as the smells of their bodies combined. And Blair's rich husky tones were everywhere, second nature by now to yield to that coaxing soothing urgency. The sound somehow entwined with the heated grip on his cock, and streaks of pleasure shot down his arms and legs, back through his torso straight to his balls, building in ever-widening circles.

If he opened his eyes, he would short-circuit.

Blair kissed his mouth and cheeks, Blair murmured in his ear, Blair stroked his cock in a slow deliberate tempo: it felt like love, love made flesh, clear and sweet and true, Blair without his defenses and space cadet theories and intellectual BS, and Jim couldn't help but respond.

"Blair! - oh, God, Blair...."

"Tell me," Blair whispered as his fingers found the sweet spot under the crown of Jim's cock, and lingered before slipping down to the base and tightening, and gliding up again, over and over until Jim was so hard and swollen he almost hurt, it felt so good. He pushed himself harder into the warm, capable hand bringing him a fiery liquid ecstasy he'd only ever dreamed of, "Blair, Blair, Blair, you're going to make me come, don't stop...." and he reached for Blair, desperate to give pleasure in return.

The palm of Jim's hand swept across his chest, flickering across his nipple, a flash of pleasure, and glided purposefully down his belly.

"Oh, that's right, touch me," Blair prompted, wiggling to give him better access.

Curious fingers explored the contours of his erection, and he knew, just knew that Jim was memorizing him by touch as a hand measured the weight of his testicles, slid over his hip and into the cleft of his ass, dusting across skin and making the hair stand on end.

Blair held his breath as Jim's hand probed and caressed, and let it all out at once as one finger pressed tenderly and obscenely inside his body.

Fluid leaked steadily from his cock into the hollow of Jim's groin.

He shivered. A series of kisses landed on his temple, his cheekbone, then the finger withdrew and Jim's incredibly large hand closed around his dick, overwhelming and hotter than any fantasy he'd ever had. One quick stroke upwards and Blair gave a sharp gasp of delight as Jim's thumb circled around the head.

Then Jim was jerking him off, and Blair caught the rhythm, and they were flying together.

Jim's cock seemed to get harder in his hand, and Blair held his breath, felt it start: a throb, a quiver, the rapid series of convulsions against his palm and the long-drawn out groan as Jim's semen erupted hot and slippery through his fingers.

And then the soft exhalation of his name ghosted across his cheekbone, followed by whispered words, so soft Blair barely heard them, but hear them he did.

"I love you."

His soul turned to ice and his body to molten fire, he started to come, erupting in thick hot spurts between them, coming so hard it hurt. Jim held him tightly all the way through it, and through the aftermath, soothing the dry sobs Blair could not hold back, smoothing his hair back and stroking his forehead slowly until oblivion claimed him.

The steady patter of early morning rain tapped against Jim's sleeping mind and drew him in gentle stages to the waking world. Sunlight filtered weakly through his eyelids. He was warm, curled comfortably around a pillow and he didn't really want to be awake yet. He slitted his eyes open.

He was alone.

That brought him wide awake. He sat up, swinging his legs to the floor and rubbed his face as he stretched out with his senses, but Blair was not anywhere in the loft. He sighed. Might as well get up. Ignoring last night's discarded pajamas, he unhooked the robe hanging inside the closet door, shrugging it on and belting it tightly as he wandered down the stairs.

The coffee maker burbled merrily away in the kitchen and he caught the trace odor of Blair's body, mixed with fresh shampoo and soap. His roommate couldn't have been gone long. How the hell had he slept through it all?

He puzzled over it while he waited for the red light on the machine to wink off. Jim had never been able to sleep with anyone in his space, and Blair was no exception - Blair was never as quiet as he thought he was being - then Jim caught a tendril, vague memory of Blair rising, showering, moving around, leaving.... Jim took his coffee cup from the sink and filled it.

Did he instinctively feel so safe with Blair he didn't have to wake up?

Well, just went to show you couldn't always depend on instinct. Blair had skipped out, so obviously Jim was not as safe as all that.

But when were you ever really safe?

He ambled over to the balcony doors and stood sipping coffee, staring out at the rain.

Despite Blair's absence, last night's terror remained at bay. Somehow pinning Blair down had lost its urgency and he couldn't find it in himself to be angry.

He would remember, remember always. No matter what happened next.

And if Blair couldn't handle it, well, really, his life would be better without the complications. After all, he still wanted to get married, have kids, didn't he? Where would all that fit in if he and Blair....

No use thinking about it.

Time to get cleaned up, get dressed, get some errands done.

He drained his coffee cup and set it on the table. He shoved both hands deep into his robe pockets and watched the sun refracting through crystal gray droplets across the glass into a million particles of light.

Another lovely day of Cascade's liquid sunshine, Blair grumbled to himself. Drizzle clung to his hair and skin and misted his clothes, slicked the pavement and was generally depressing as hell. He'd been walking quiet streets since dawn getting wet in the rain, trying to come to terms with his feelings.

He was falling hard. One more night, and he was going to be the rest of the way in love.

Here be dragons.

For there would be no safety net, no control, no holding back. Not with Jim. So if, or maybe even when, Jim changed his mind, he would take a big chunk of Blair along.

It had been so long since he was in love, and he was too young to really deal with it, he'd been dumped, hard, and ever since then, he'd just never ... except once or twice... oh, man, oh, man, oh, man.

He spotted a loose piece of concrete in the sidewalk and kicked it.

This is so not what I had in mind.

Maybe he could sidestep the entire thing. Jim would let him. Secret shared knowledge, a stolen night now and again, and no messy true confessions. Life as it always was.

He found himself heading back in the direction of the loft, and passing a bakery he stopped in to buy a loaf of bread. After some thought, added half a dozen donuts to his purchase.

Hey, he told himself, no one ever died from rejection.

He held the bag between his teeth and pulled out his keys, remembering how he had just dropped into Jim's life out of the blue, and told him he was a sentinel, how Jim had trusted him, tried any old wild-ass idea he had, even though neither of them had a clue what might happen. Wasn't this the same for him?

And could he do any less?

With one last deep breath, he opened the door.

Jim stood staring out through the glass doors, and gave no sign he even noticed. Of course he heard Blair come in, heard Blair set the bag down in the kitchen, he heard everything; but he didn't turn around until Blair came up behind him.

"You're back," he said. Disapproving? No, just wary. Watching him.

Blair nodded.

Jim raised his eyebrows, as if to say, well?

"I don't know what to make of this, Jim," Blair said, without preamble, "but I owe it to you, and to myself to find out. Not to run." He laughed self-consciously.

A muscle in Jim's cheek twitched, but otherwise he didn't react.

He wasn't getting through with words. What had Jim said to him? You do what you have to do.

Blair stepped close and laid his hands on Jim's shoulders. He looked directly into the other man's eyes, trying to convey all he felt, willing him to understand. And when Jim's mouth curved into a tiny smile at last, he had his answer, and he went up on tiptoe and leaned in to kiss his friend, all the way now, shivering a little in the cold, clear light of day.

THE END
One of These Nights
By Thomas
05/05/98