Author's webpage: http://members.aol.com/AnneZo2/lynnzo.html

Author's disclaimer: The characters of Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg are the sole property of Pet Fly Productions. My use of these characters in this work of original fiction is unauthorized yet completely defensible under the laws governing parody. No money is, has been, or ever will be made from this.

Author's notes: Do I think real men would behave this way? Nope. Does it make for a warm-and-cuddly schmoopfest? I hope so. For those of you who know my stories, yes, there's food. Thanks to Anne for the beta, although she's righteously peeved that I didn't change all the POV to suit her. Read on.

Note on swear words: My Jim and Blair don't swear much, because somehow the Science Fiction channel, as indebted as we are to them for the re-runs, finds itself in the moral position of having to bleep the swear words that were apparently perfectly fine in first-run. My opinions on that aside, I've tried to put in a few swear words this time, so the guys sound at least a bit more like...well, guys.

Under the Radar

Jim Ellison climbed the stairs doggedly, ignoring the siren call of the elevator "up" button. He was tired, not crippled. It'd been a tough day. Idly he wondered why his suspects always ran. Did other suspects always run? Rafe always looked so...so tidy. Surely his suspects didn't run. Not over rooftops and down on the docks and through filthy deserted warehouses. //I must be doing it wrong.//

He reached his own door, and sighed. Usually working out at the health club after his shift energized him, but not today. Today he was just bone-tired, and the fact that he hadn't seen Sandburg in two days didn't help. He'd been thinking that Sandburg spent too much time at the University lately.

Something smelled. Potatoes? Garlic? Unconsciously, Jim smiled. Sandburg was home. Cooking. Jim swung the door open and stepped inside, and Sandburg was there, right in front of him.

"Hey, Jim, where you been?" A swirl of cooking smells and hair, and Sandburg had taken Jim's coat from his unresisting hand and hung it on its hook. With his other hand he held out a bottle of water. Jim blinked at this unexpected thoughtfulness, but he took the water and twisted off the cap. Leaning back against the door, he drank most of it down. //Thanks, Chief,// he thought, but he was too busy drinking to talk so he reached out with his free hand and grabbed him, pulling Sandburg up against his side for a quick hug.

At least, it was supposed to be quick. Jim finally lowered the bottle of water and peered down at Blair. He had tucked himself right up against Jim and was just...staying there. A flash of panic sharpened Jim's voice. "Chief? Something wrong?"

Blair looked up at him, a little sheepishly. "Was worried about you, man. It's nearly 9, and you didn't call and your cell phone was off. I was debating how pissed off you'd be if I called the station."

Jim smiled and ruffled his hair briefly before pushing himself away from the door. "Sorry, Chief. Tough day, so I did an extra workout. I should have called."

"S'okay, Jim. You don't need me checking up on you." Blair looked a little embarrassed, and turned him loose. "I'll heat up dinner."

Jim grinned at the back of his head, then moved toward the stairs with his workout bag. "Thanks, Sandburg."

The hug had felt good, and there was still a warm place down Jim's side where Sandburg had been. He took the stairs quickly, tiredness forgotten.

Jim didn't think about it again, until a couple of weeks later when he'd spent the afternoon chasing a couple of drug dealers through yet another of Cascade's limitless supply of abandoned warehouses, with glass and dirt and mud, and people screaming, and Blair wasn't there again, and as he climbed the stairs to the loft, Jim thought, briefly, that the last time he'd come home late, it'd been nice to have Blair there to welcome him. That surprised him a bit, because although he'd kind of gotten used to having the kid around, now he really liked having the kid around, Blair had kind of slipped in under the radar, and now Jim missed him when he wasn't home.

When he came in through the door, it seemed like Blair remembered the last time, too, because he came out of the kitchen at once, and reached out his hand for Jim's coat, and handed Jim a bottle of water to drink. Jim took it, and opened it to drink, because even though he wasn't particularly thirsty, it was a really nice thing to do, and there was that 'nice' word again, so Jim just didn't think about it any more. But his free arm reached out and pulled Blair up to him for a hug that lingered a while.

And it had seemed kind of natural, normal somehow, so Jim didn't really think about it, except when he was climbing the stairs, and he knew Blair was home, and he thought sometimes that his feet went a little faster towards the warmth and comfort, but really sort of in the back of his brain, he didn't think about it up front, because then he'd have to wonder where it was going, and he didn't want to do that. He was just glad, in a sort of general way, when he came home late, and he knew Blair was already home. And the fact that Blair would come over and take his coat, sometimes hand him a bottle of water, sometimes not, was just...nice...and they would stand there and hold each other a while, and not talk.

They even survived Jim meeting Naomi. Jim liked Naomi, sage and all, and he watched her carefully to see Blair in her. And he could. Blair's openness to new experiences, Blair's generosity, were all there in his mother. Jim appreciated Naomi, and he even flirted with her a little, just to make Sandburg crazy. It was fun. It was...nice. And time went on.

Jim slogged up the stairs tiredly, pointedly ignoring the comfort of the elevator. The day he was too tired to climb his own stairs was the day he turned in his badge, he told himself fiercely. He was wet and a little muddy, even, from the dash from the truck to door, and he wanted Sandburg. He didn't think about it, but there it was. Sandburg had spent the day at the University, and Jim missed the warmth of him at his side. Today had been long, and dull, without even the pleasure of chasing someone to liven it up.

Jim opened the loft door and stepped inside. Sandburg's light was on in his room, but the rest of the loft was dark. This was not good. Then the French doors opened and Blair practically flew out, talking, of course.

"Hey, Jim! Heard you come in, didn't expect you for a while." Sandburg was smiling, and Jim handed him his coat with an answering smile. //Better.//

"You'll never guess who I saw at the U today, Jim, remember the...ugh" He snuggled into Jim's arms, and tipped his head into Jim's neck, burying his face against the memory.

Jim's arms were already around him, and he squeezed hard. "Yeah?" he encouraged.

"The spiders! Remember the spiders and the greenhouse? I ran into Kate Freeman, and she got probation, you know, under duress and all that." He pulled his head out and beamed up at Jim. "And she's going to keep studying, she's worked it out with the Dean of the Ag college, she has to restart the semester project, but she can graduate as long as she keeps her grades up. Isn't that terrific? Sometimes it all just works, you know, works out the way it should."

Jim smiled down at him indulgently. "Yeah, Chief, sometimes it does." Blair's head found its natural place on Jim's shoulder again, and they stood there a while, in the warmth and the comfort and the darkness. Jim looked idly out the window at the rain, and then realized. Dark. As in, no lights in the kitchen. As in, no dinner. "What's for dinner, Sandburg?"

Blair grinned up at him wickedly. "They say the brain is the second thing to go. Your turn to cook."

Jim thought hard a minute. Shit. It was. He glanced again toward the dark kitchen. //Ah.// He grinned. "But. You didn't expect me until later. What, you were going to just go hungry?" He turned loose of Blair and headed for the kitchen, it had to be there... "Ah-hah!" Triumphantly, he pulled a large bowl out of the refrigerator. "Sandburg, you are such a fraud." He peeled back the lid and gave a cautious sniff. Potatoes, eggs, mayonnaise (well, some sort of light mayonnaise, anyway), mustard, onions, what was that, pickle relish? He looked blankly over at Sandburg, who had followed him to the refrigerator and now stood there, grinning. "Potato salad? You made potato salad? In March?"

"You like potato salad."

"I like potato salad in August. For a picnic."

"Okay, then, go eat it on the balcony. There you go, instant picnic. Sheesh, try to do a guy a favor." Blair rolled his eyes and propped both hands on his hips, a challenge.

Jim reached back into the refrigerator and started pulling out sandwich ingredients, not ready to give in yet. "A picnic. The kid wants a picnic. In March. Otta get his head examined. Certifiable, that's for sure."

Blair waited until his back was turned and snatched the potato salad off the counter. "You don't want my potato salad, you don't like potato salad? There's something about potato salad that makes it inedible in March? Fine, fine," and he made for the door, carrying the potato salad with him. "Just take my potato salad and go, that's what I'll do."

But he kept his eye on Jim, and he was ready when Jim lunged for him, and he feinted to the left, and swung the potato salad with him, "no, no, no, my potato salad," but by now they were both laughing and they fell into the door, nearly losing the potato salad in the process.

Jim gave in, of course. "Fine! We'll have potato salad! Give me the damn bowl before you drop it."

Blair twisted his body so his back was firmly up against Jim's belly, perfect position to get him with an elbow if necessary. "Say you're sorry you impugned my potato salad." And he reached back with his left elbow and hit Jim in the side, gently, just as a sort of threat.

Jim grabbed the elbow with one hand and held it firmly. He sighed, "Yes, Blair. Thank you for the potato salad, Blair. I love it that you made potato salad. Give me the damn salad."

Blair let him up and handed him the potato salad with a victorious grin. "I want mustard on my sandwich," he said loftily, and stalked off to the living room to make himself comfortable on the couch.

Dinner over, and Jim had eaten a healthy amount of potato salad, for which Blair apparently had decided not to tease him, and they both made for the couch. There'd be a game on, there'd be some sort of game on, thanks to the glory of cable TV, and they spent the evening like so many others, quiet except for the television and the swish! of Blair turning pages in his book. At some point, Blair turned sideways on the couch and tucked his feet under Jim's thigh for warmth. Without thinking about it, Jim dropped his hand to Blair's ankles and rubbed them.

Jim sighed at the end of the third quarter and switched the game off. The Nuggets were losing, badly, again. He looked over at Blair, grinned to find him fast sleep. He thought a minute, good nature warring with bad, then slipped one hand under Blair's feet and tickled.

"Aaugh!" Blair woke up instantly, pulled hard on his feet, and only Jim's solid hold kept him from leaping off the couch. "Jim! I don't believe you did that, man! That is so unfair!"

Jim grinned, unrepentant. "Serves you right for passing out on me, Chief. Book that boring?"

Blair glanced over at the television, then at his watch. "Finished it. Game that boring?" he countered.

Jim winced. "The Nuggets suck."

"You don't mind that so much when they're playing the Jags, though." Since Jim had stopped tickling, he stopped pulling on his feet and relaxed, still breathing a bit heavily.

Jim loosened his grip, cautiously in case this was a trick, then started rubbing Blair's ankles again, a sort of apology. He watched his hand for a minute, then asked, impulsively, "Why don't you ever make me talk about this?"

Blair blinked at him. "About the Nuggets?"

"No, Sandburg, not about the Nuggets...about this." And he tightened his grip on Blair's ankles in demonstration. "About this...."

"...this, touching thing, you mean?" Blair was looking at him solemnly now, direct. "About the fact that we haven't been more than a step apart since you walked in that door?"

Jim flushed a bit, glanced away. "Well, yeah. About that."

Blair didn't hesitate. "Because, man. If I make you talk about it, you might stop doing it. And I like it."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do. I think I even started it."

Jim let his hand wander up a little higher on the next rub up Blair's legs, thinking. "Okay, then."

They sat there a minute, absorbed in the connection between them. Jim listened idly to Blair's heartbeat, glanced up when it speeded up, and Blair took a sharp breath.

"Jim, have you...have you, you know, done this before?"

Jim nodded, felt Blair's heart slow down, deepen, felt how important this was to Blair. "Yeah," he said slowly, "it didn't go well. The divorce was...it was hard. To feel like I'd failed so badly, you know?"

Blair's heart skipped. He stopped breathing, and abruptly he pushed, hard, against the side of the couch and pulled his legs away from Jim. "Divorce! You mean...we...you..."

Jim glared at him, reached out firmly and hauled Blair's legs into his lap. He needed that connection, needed it, and he didn't like the astonishment on Blair's face. "Well, what did you think this was, Sandburg? Some sort of buddy thing? I'm...."

"...you're in love with me." Blair interrupted, softly. "You're talking about love, aren't you?"

"You'd better be, too, or this conversation is over."

"Yeah, I mean...yeah. I just need a minute, here."

But he wasn't thinking, they weren't either of them thinking, they were just sitting there, Blair stretched out nearly in Jim's lap, and Jim glaring at him in exasperation. There it was, up in the front of his brain, and Jim knew that he couldn't just be comfortable with the 'nice' any more and he knew it was his own fault, he should have stuck with the Nuggets.

After a while, Blair tried again. "So, have you done this before?" And he reached out one arm and latched onto Jim's, pulling gently.

Jim resisted a moment, reluctant to give in, then relented and let Blair pull him down, let Blair tuck his head up against Blair's shoulder in an exact reversal of their normal position, and Jim sighed and pulled his legs up to curl up in the far corner of the couch. //Gonna need a bigger couch// passed through his mind as he sighed and relaxed against Blair. "Yeah. A few times. Not for a while."

"Me too."

And, strangely enough, that seemed to be it. They rested there a while, just breathing, and Jim sort of wondered why Blair didn't kiss him, and he listened as Blair's heartbeat slowed again, and thought Blair might actually fall asleep. And that seemed okay, because Jim was busy, wasn't he, he was thinking about what might happen if Blair kissed him, if he kissed Blair and if Blair didn't seem to mind....

But thinking about that was taking him further and further from sleep, and Blair seemed too, too comfortable, and suddenly he needed to provoke him, somehow, so after a while Jim lifted his head and said, "It's only 9. You're done with your book and the game sucked. So, what do you want to do?"

Blair's eyes opened immediately, and he flashed Jim a wicked grin and held on when Jim flushed and moved to sit up. "No, you don't. Come back here."

"Ch--Blair. If we fall asleep here I'm going to be crippled tomorrow."

"That's not where we're going and you know it." And Blair's eyes were sparkling, and Jim found himself staring at Blair's lips, and he could feel himself flushing and he resented Blair's calm certainty.

"Pretty sure of yourself there, aren't you, Chief? Where does that come from?" Jim's heart was pounding and he was really curious, had been for a while, so he pushed himself up to loom menacingly (he hoped) over Blair. "All those women, and they just say, 'yes, yes, yes'." How do you do that?"

Blair slid down a bit so he was further under Jim, and just sort of twinkled a challenge up at the bigger man. He pulled his hands out of Jim's shirt, and latched firmly on to the hem of it, tugging slowly upwards, watching Jim carefully for any objection. "I don't know, I think it's because I don't flirt with them. Women like that, like the direct approach. You know, are you interested or not? That sort of thing."

By now he had Jim's shirt pulled up to his armpits, but Jim wasn't budging. "You flirt. You absolutely flirt. How can you say you don't flirt?"

"Name once! Name one time you've seen me flirt!"

Jim thought quickly, absentmindedly shifting his weight to his right arm to let Blair pull his left arm out of his shirt. "Ah-hah! The tongue!"

He grinned down at Blair in triumph, "The tongue! You remember, when your mother came to visit, and she cooked tongue for you, and when she turned around you stuck out your tongue at me. Tongue eating tongue. That was so disgusting. Tell me that wasn't flirting."

He finished this somewhat breathlessly; Blair was using the fact that he had both arms free by ruthlessly pulling Jim's shirt off over his head, abandoning Jim's other arm, still tangled up in the fabric.

"Yeah, Jim, that was flirting. But that was different." Blair looked up at Jim's bare chest with open satisfaction, and his hands hovered, obviously not sure where to touch first. Jim was holding himself up without strain, he could stay there all night, and Blair apparently wanted to savor this opportunity. He settled on Jim's ribs, and the first brush of his hands against them made them both gasp. Blair looked up, satisfaction still glinting in his eyes, and finished softly, "That was you."

"So, flirting with me is okay?" Jim was quickly losing track of this conversation, as Blair's hands swept slowly, too slowly, up his bared chest. Fingertips grazed his underarms, and he flinched, ticklish, and glared a warning down at Blair, who was completely unrepentant.

"Gonna stop me, Jim?" he dared.

Jim gave up. He let the lock on his elbows go, and held Blair's eyes as he settled slowly down on top of the younger man. Blair was reaching around Jim's back and pulling, hard, and Jim rolled a little towards the back of the couch to let Blair scoot out from under him enough to breathe and then Blair was reaching up with his mouth, not afraid to start it all, just like before, and he was kissing Jim, and Jim was kissing Blair, and for a while the world sort of whited out around them as they got used to this new thing, this kissing thing, and learned that their mouths fit together just right, and that maybe flirting with tongues was really, really okay too.

After a while Jim felt himself shiver, and pulled his mouth away from Blair's a bit, not really sure if he was too cold from the room's chill air on his bare skin, or maybe too hot from where Blair's chest, bare now also, was rubbing in a very disorienting way up against his. Air. He needed air. And some time to think, but how he was supposed to think with two arms full of Blair was a problem. "I'm not." He started, and then had to stop and wait a little while Blair breathed and pulled himself out of the white enough to open his eyes and listen.

"I'm not...very good at this, Blair." And he knew Blair would make some sort of joke, so he didn't stop, just said it all while he still had a chance, "this togetherness thing. I don't have much of a track record."

And Blair must love him, because he took this seriously, and thought about it a minute. "Hey," he said after a while. "How long were you and Carolyn together?"

"Um. Two years and six months, total. Longest relationship of my life. Why?"

Blair was giving him that look that said, 'you're missing the point.' "Jim. How long have I been here?"

"Well, let's see. It'll be four years in.... Oh." And Jim was smiling now, and Blair was smiling back, not gloating at all that he'd thought of it first, but then Blair was always generous when he won.

"So. That's okay then."

"Yeah. I guess it is."

"Blair. Blair."

No response. Jim tugged Blair's head up from his chest by simply grabbing him by his ears, which was easy because he'd had his hands tangled in Blair's hair for the last 20 minutes.

"What is it, Jim?" Blair sounded, and looked distracted. His lips were red and wet, and so were Jim's nipples where Blair had been chewing on them, and it was obvious very little of Blair's attention could be spared for talking right now. Blair's eyes just barely focused, and that made Jim so hot he very nearly decided not to finish this conversation. Nearly.

"Um. It's late. We should...get some sleep."

"Sleep? You want to sleep?"

Jim nodded, a little awkwardly. This would be easier if Blair didn't look so...so. Well.

Blair was staring at him, a little less blankly, obviously pulling himself together. "You mean, you don't want to...to..."

And here it came. With a feeling of inevitability, Jim watched Blair's hand curl into a loose fist, and there it was. That stupid fist, making that same stupid gesture he'd made that first day, in his office. Jim stared at it grimly, and then grabbed it. If he had to hold Blair's hand the rest of his life, he'd do it, just so the kid wouldn't make that lame fist. Sheesh. For a guy who knew so many words...

"Yeah, Chief." he continued when he had the fist under control. "It's been a long day, and this is. I just think. We should take it a little slowly, maybe. That's all."

"You have got to be joking." And Blair rolled his hips firmly against Jim's, showing Jim he was hard, they were both hard, and ready.

Jim gasped. That was good. That was very very good, and it would be so easy.... His hips pushed back against Blair's, and he might have lost right there, but just then he moved his foot and cracked his ankle against the arm of the couch.

"Ouch!" //Definitely a bigger couch.// But the pain gave him a bit of distance, and Jim pulled himself together, and gently lifted Blair off him so they could both stand. Jim wiggled his ankle a bit, and, somewhat reluctantly, turned Blair loose. "What are you, offended? Not everyone jumps right into the sack, you know. Some of us like to take it a little easy, take our time."

Blair swayed on his feet, then ran a confused hand through the mess Jim's fingers had made of his curls. "Slow? Slow. Okay. I can do slow."

Jim watched in real amusement as Blair took a step back and began to breathe. Carefully. In. Out. Jim listened to the air whistle in and out of his lungs, as Blair slowed his heartbeat. "Careful, there, Chief. You'll break something."

"Just give me a second, here, Jim. I'm thinking slow. I'm thinking calm. I'm thinking...how slow are we talking, here, Jim? Give me a hint. Are we talking, like, tomorrow? Next week? You want to, like, date? I mean, you've already met my mom. And I've met your dad, although I can't say we really hit it off, what with, you know, everything, but give me another shot at it, I'm sure I can bring him around."

He was laughing, but underneath Jim could tell he was serious. The kid was actually willing to meet his dad again. Like. A date. Jim just gaped at him.

Blair turned abruptly and practically ran across the room, grabbing his backpack off its hook by the door and digging something out. He turned back to Jim with a gleam and opened it ostentatiously, striding back across the room. Jim dialed up his sight a bit; it was Blair's day planner. The kid had gotten his day planner. What, they were going to schedule this thing?

Not. Absolutely not. It was insane. He was insane, to even be thinking what he was thinking when he watched Blair practically skip across the room, holding that stupid day planner and looking like he was going to whip out a pencil any minute. With no shirt, his jeans unbuttoned by Jim's fingers earlier on the couch, and his hair flying all directions, he looked like just what he was -- some sort of debauched grad student on his way to a really good time.

Jim gave in. Hell, this was never going to work, he couldn't wait, his hands were already in Blair's hair again, and somehow they were both laughing again, laughing in the middle of all this. And Jim freed one hand to pull the stupid day planner out of Blair's hand and toss it onto the couch, and then he just turned and headed for the stairs, pulling Blair along behind him.

Blair's laugh took on a triumphant note, and he stumbled along after Jim, not that he had a choice. "What do you say we get the in-laws together? Your dad, my mom? It could be fun, man, kinda like matter and anti-matter."

Jim glared over his shoulder at Blair's face, beautiful with laughter and desire. But it wouldn't do to let the kid think this would be easy. "Yeah. And maybe I'll just do a public service and dismember you right here."

Blair stopped pulling and pushed, and then Jim was stuck two stairs from the top with a very excited Blair plastered up against him, grinning like a maniac. "Promises, promises," and he whispered that right in Jim's ear, and Jim stopped pretending and latched onto Blair just as if they weren't perched precariously on the stairs, like it wasn't a fifteen-foot fall to the very hard floor below, and just kissed him and kissed him until the world whited out again and there was nothing left but the wet heat of Blair's mouth, of their mouths together.

But Blair must have remembered, because he grabbed Jim's head in both hands at last and sort of pushed and pulled until he had Jim up the stairs and they were falling together onto Jim's big bed, Blair on top and still kissing, kissing, and Jim really needed to breathe by then but it was okay. Blair would take care of it. Blair had him.