CUP RUNNETH OVER

(c) August 2003 by Charlotte Frost

PART FOUR

Blair stared at the appointment book open at his desk. 3:00 PM-- Professor Reynolds.

He had subconsciously made his decision, he realized, and was feeling less weight on his shoulders. Yet, there was still tightness in his stomach when he thought of all the people he had to inform.

It was now 11:40 AM.  Blair picked up the phone and pushed speed dial 01.

"Ellison."

"Jim?  Can you meet me for lunch?"

"After a while. What's wrong?"

Blair smiled at the concern. "Nothing. In fact, I think something is very right. But I'd like to talk to you as soon as possible."  He hoped he didn't sound like a nagging, needy wife.

"I have to do an interrogation. It'll probably be closer to 1:30 before I'll be free."

"Okay."

"Where do you want to meet?"

"The Healthy Harvest on Fourth?"

"All right. I'll call when I'm on my way."

"Thanks, Jim."

Blair hung up. He looked at the file folder that he always took to his weekly meetings with Professor Reynolds. There was no new material since they'd last met two weeks ago, since Reynolds had begged off sick last time.

Blair nervously tapped a pencil against the edge of his desk. His thoughts turned from Reynolds to Jim.

He smiled and felt his heart lighten.

After finding out that Jim's sexual insecurities ran even deeper than he'd previously thought, he felt even more protective of Jim. He'd always been keenly aware of how Jim's special abilities made him vulnerable. But now, he saw vulnerability in Jim that had nothing to do with being a sentinel.

Blair wanted to soothe and reassure Jim; hold him, hug him, love him -- make love to him. He hoped, one day, all of Jim's doubts about himself would be eliminated, and he would be able to accept what a special man he was.

In contrast to all the loving urges, Blair felt a huge sense of responsibility. What if he wasn't up to the task?  What if he somehow hurt Jim, when all he wanted to do was love and heal him?  

He took some refuge in recalling that Jim obviously had the same fear about Blair. He thought he had disappointed Blair, merely by coming too fast. He worried, as Blair did, that he was going to mess up the fragile unity they were building in their personal lives.

Last night, Jim had, so hesitantly, said he didn't think he could swallow Blair's emission. In the heat of sexual passion, he didn't think he could dial back his sense of taste.

As if I hadn't already figured that out, Blair thought fondly. He had assured Jim that it was okay; he'd warn him before the peak moment.

Turned out, Jim had made it so good when he'd loved Blair with his mouth. He'd been so leisurely about it, so fascinated as he explored various textures of Blair's skin in his groin area. Then had sucked lovingly.

It was only afterwards that Blair had thought to ask about how distasteful the precum had been. He'd cried out a warning before coming, but he'd been leaking fluid well before then. Jim had seemed okay about it though. He'd murmured, "It's all right," as an answer to Blair's question. Maybe he was already developing a taste for it.

As for himself, he loved sucking Jim's cock -- including swallowing the result -- and there were a few other things he was biding his time on, looking forward to seeing how Jim would react when he performed them.

For now, though, they both seemed content to snuggle and talk and fondle and squeeze and pull. And suck.

He felt closer to Jim now than he'd ever felt before, than he'd ever felt to anyone in his life.

Was their relationship something that could truly last forever?

He wanted so much to believe that it could.

Now, at lunch, he was going to introduce a change in their lives. It had nothing to do with the bedroom, nothing to do with how they felt about each other. Instead, it had to do with how they lived.

He wondered if he were being naïve to think that all he had to do was follow his heart.

Jim was glad to have the excuse of lunch with Blair to finish the interrogation quickly. His impatience brought about a more thorough confession than anyone had expected, considering he and Simon had decided to treat the slimeball with kid gloves.

"Good job, Jim," Simon briefly touched his back as they both went down the hall. "You missed lunch. Want to grab a bite with me?"

"Thanks, but Sandburg wants to meet with me about something."  He realized then that he didn't even know what the "something" was.

"Is he coming in this afternoon?"

"He has school stuff."  The dreaded weekly meeting with Professor Reynolds.

"Sometimes I wish he'd spend more time here and less at school," Simon grumbled.

"I'll let him know you said so."

Simon paused abruptly, causing Jim to stop. "If you dare tell him that... well, don't forget that I know where you live."

Jim grinned.

Simon moved toward his office while Jim went to the elevator.

The peak lunch crowd was gone by the time Jim arrived at the Healthy Harvest. Blair, being a frequent customer, had been favored with a large corner booth in the least busy area. Based on their cell phone conversation, Blair had already ordered for them.

Jim slid in beside him. "What's up?"  He was aware that he sat closer to Blair these days.

He watched with concern as Blair moved farther away, then turned to sit at a right angle to Jim so they could face each other. "What is it?" Jim prompted, feeling increasing trepidation despite Blair's comment earlier in the day about something being "very right".

Blair played with the corner of his napkin where it lay folded on the table. Then he looked up with determined eyes. "I'm going to quit school."

Quit school?  Why?  Yet, Jim couldn't deny a feeling of relief. "Why?  What about your doctorate?"

Blair gazed at the tabletop, as though gathering his thoughts. "I went for my doctorate because it was a way of 'doing' something with my studies, with the sentinel stuff. I couldn't get a job or otherwise do anything useful with what I knew about sentinels. So, getting a Ph.D. was just a natural step and writing my thesis about you was the way to do that."

Jim wondered if he was going to end up getting blamed for not being a viable subject, because he and Blair had gotten too close.

Thank God we got so close, he decided, remembering last night.

"So," Blair continued steadily, "now that I have a sentinel as a regular part of my life, that's what I'm 'doing' with the sentinel stuff. Getting a Ph.D. is no longer necessary; especially since, now, the only way to get it is to write about a subject that doesn't particularly interest me anymore."  He shifted suddenly. "Anthropology is still a passion of mine but I guess I've run my course with it as a formal study. I don't need to get more degrees in it, or spend time writing about tribal cultures."
 
"What do you want to do instead?"

Blair sighed, looking away. "That's the hard part."  His expression grew distant. "For the long term, I have no idea."  He looked back at Jim, his words earnest as his hands gestured elaborately. "For the short term, I want -- I-I need to finish what I started with the sentinel research. I just have this big urge to do something with all the information I have. To organize it, to type it all up in readable format, to make sure I've included everything that can possibly be included. I-It's something I just have to do, even if for no reason that society would consider 'productive' or 'worthwhile'."  His fingers indicated quotes.

That strong passion for the sentinel project was still there, Jim realized. He was amazed all over again at how much it meant to Blair.

Blair pushed his hair back. "I just have this feeling that, after I've done everything I can do with the sentinel research -- when it's all in a nice, neat little package, and all I have to do is add any new information that comes along -- then it'll become obvious to me what I should do next. Whether it's," he gestured grandly again, "going back to school, studying something else entirely, figuring out a way to work with you permanently, or something else altogether that I can't even imagine right now."

The waitress placed their food before them.

Jim hadn't expected any of this. Granted, he was relieved about school, if only because Blair had become so unhappy with his work there.

After he'd taken a few bites of his sandwich, Jim said, "You almost sound like you're asking my permission."

Blair had grown very quiet while he ate. "I guess I am, in a way. I mean, Jim, if I do this -- just work for a few months on finalizing the sentinel material -- I'm not going to have any kind of job. I can still ride with you, if Simon will let me. Maybe I can still offer to tutor at the University, and substitute teach and stuff like that for some pocket change. But you'll be essentially supporting us both."  He shrugged and said with a mouthful of food, "I guess that's not really much different from how it's always been, since you pay for most of the necessities at home."

Jim supposed that was true.

Blair gazed at the tabletop for a moment. Then, "I guess the biggest difference will be that we'll both know that I'm not working toward anything viable, at least not job-wise. I want to keep working on the sentinel stuff -- 'finish' it -- just for me. For us."

Blair said nothing further as he ate, and Jim knew he needed to say something. First, he had to ask, "Are you sure you want to quit school?"

"Yes," Blair replied easily.

"This isn't just because of the hassle of meeting with Reynolds every week?"

"My heart isn't in my new topic. I'm wasting time that I want to be spending on all my sentinel research. I could ride with you more and help out more at the PD, if I didn't keep having schoolwork in the way. I'll have to finish the class I'm teaching for this semester, of course. But after that...."

Jim was convinced of his sincerity. "I'm behind anything you want to do."  He hesitated about bringing Simon into the conversation, but realized he had no choice. "Simon will let you keep your observer's pass, because he knows how valuable you are to me, and he likes having your help on cases, especially since it doesn't affect Major Crimes' budget."  

Jim grimaced at hearing himself say the last. "You've been working your tail off at the PD without getting a penny. You've more than earned the right to do whatever you want, without having to worry about making a living."  He shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal of it. "Like you said, it's not like things will really be that different."

Blair gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Jim. I'll tell Reynolds that I'm quitting when I meet with him at three."

Jim glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after two.

He wondered how different things would be with Blair out of school. He wondered if Blair would miss it and want to go back.

He would support him in whatever he did.

After most of his sandwich was gone, Blair grinned and said, "I guess it's going to be me who ends up being something of a housewife at the Ellison loft. It's only fair that I do most of the housework, if you're going to be the one bringing home the bacon."

"It's the Ellison-Sandburg loft," Jim corrected, wondering how it felt to spend so much of one's life in the shadow of others. It was no wonder Blair had said that he'd "roll over and purr" if anyone ever felt his life was important enough to write about.

Jim blinked as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Chief," he said excitedly.

"What?"  Blair pushed his plate away, most of his food eaten, and brushed at crumbs on the table.

"After you're done doing... whatever you're going to do with all the research about me, why don't you write about you?  Like an autobiography?"

"What?"  Blair asked in disbelief. "Why would anyone want to read that?  I haven't done anything -- at least, nothing any more unique or extraordinary than anyone else."

Jim had some counters to that, but those weren't the point. "Do it for you. For us. Your journals are already full of so much of your life. You've been through a lot of pain -- physically, at least -- as a child. You overcame it and put all your energies into being the best at what you wanted to study. You became the strength behind the sentinel, and the one with all the knowledge and perseverance to make it possible for the sentinel stuff to work. You've been the silent right arm to Major Crimes. You came through a serious auto accident with flying colors. You forgave your mother for dropping a painful bombshell in your lap twenty-nine years after the fact. You've done so much."  Jim suddenly realized, "You're not even thirty."

"I will be in a few months," Blair hedged, but his eyes were glowing with interest.

"Maybe nobody but me would want to read about your life right now," Jim went on, eager to be presenting a solution -- a further purpose -- for Blair. "But you still have a story to tell. Maybe, someday -- just like with the sentinel research -- your life story will be important to somebody somewhere down the line."

Blair stared at nothing for a long moment. Then he said, "Wow. I've never even thought of that."

"You can keep adding to it, as you experience things. If nothing else, that could be what you do, in the long run. Share yourself with others, so they can draw strength from everything you've been through and seen and helped figure out."

Blair's expression suddenly vulnerable. "You'd really be okay with me spending so much of my time... indulging myself by focusing entirely on recording what you and I do?"

"Yes," Jim said, already delighting in the image of Blair finding some feeling of self-importance from treating his own life as something to be treasured.  "At least, until -- as you put it -- it's obvious to you what to do next with your life."

Blair suddenly looked weary, if only from the sheer magnitude of the change his life was about to undergo. Jim slid over to him, put his arm around his shoulders, and drew Blair against him as he relaxed against the back of the booth.

Blair seemed surprised at the public display -- although hardly anyone was in this section of the restaurant -- and then rested his arm back against Jim's jacket. "It seems like everything's been changing so fast the past few months. Maybe the wheels are finally grinding to a halt and things can settle down."

"You don't seem too uptight about the meeting with Reynolds," Jim noted with satisfaction.

"I'm not uptight. This decision feels so right. I don't care what his reaction is or the reaction of the department, though I don't relish the idea of some of them seeing me as a quitter who took off when the going got tough. But I know my reasons are the right ones."  He looked up at Jim. "You and I are what's most important to me."

Jim held him closer and didn't move when the waitress came for their plates.

"What are you smiling at?" Blair asked.

Jim realized he was smiling. "I'm just thinking how, from day one, I wished you were my official partner at the PD. I tried to teach you what I knew, hoping that somehow you'd end up with a badge. Now, I'm glad you aren't my cop partner, but I'm glad that you're my partner in so many other ways."

"Why are you glad I'm not a cop?"  Blair's tone was merely curious.

Jim shook his head. "In light of how things have turned out, I don't think it's wise for spouses to work together. Regulations aside, it's not healthy mixing work and one's personal life for so many hours each day."

"Mm," Blair said, thoughtful.  Then he grinned and asked, "You mean absence makes the heart grow fonder?"

"Something like that."

"I don't know," Blair said.  "We've been living together and working at the PD together an awfully lot these past few years.  Yet, our hearts 'grew fonder' without any problem at all."

Jim laughed affectionately.  "Good point."

Hours later, Jim arrived home to find that Blair wasn't there. He wondered how the last meeting had gone with Reynolds and how the Rainier higher-ups were reacting to the news. He also wondered if they were trying hard to talk Blair into staying. At lunch, Blair hadn't sounded like he could be persuaded. His mind had been made up.

Jim felt drawn to Blair's room. He went over to the stack in the corner and pulled out a spiral notebook. The dates were more recent than anything he'd read thus far. He rifled past the scientific mumbo-jumbo he'd opened to, until he found a more personal entry.

        I've had therapists tell me before that I have a problem expressing anger, that I've been raised to think it's 'wrong' or uncivil; when, in fact, anger is a legitimate human emotion that shouldn't be bottled up.
        I can't dispute that anger makes me uncomfortable, especially when it's from me. But there are other emotions, too, that aren't quite so nasty, yet similar -- frustration, exasperation, etc.
        All the emotion about Incacha's death aside, and how bad it hit Jim, there was other stuff that happened that day. I remember Jim and I shouting at each other. Shouting at each other and at the coroner's staff, which was taking Incacha's body away. Jim was just so... vulnerable. Devastated. I needed him to listen to me. 
        It wasn't really anger that either of us was feeling. But lots of other stuff. It's not like we were upset with each other -- but more that we were both upset at the circumstances.
        I had to get really firm with Jim to get him to go up to the roof with me and work on getting his senses back. I had to really push him to get him to keep trying. But the interesting thing is that it worked.
        I've seen other evidence of this: that Jim can be controlled -- handled -- if I put my foot down. Normally, he likes to be in charge of everything. But if I get genuinely pissed off at him, he sits up and takes notice and pays more attention to me. It's like he respects me more when I'm annoyed with him or downright mad.
        (It's just hard for me to get outwardly upset with him. When we're having some kind of disagreement or argument, I'm usually willing to back down first. Maybe I should try doing that less and less and see what happens.)
        Anyway, all this makes me wonder about Jim's sexual fantasies and longings. I can't help but wonder if he's one of those guys who is very authoritative and on top of things in everyday life; but when the lights are out... well, I wonder if he longs for somebody to take charge of him. To make him obedient and "force" (though I don't mean that literally) pleasure from him, so that none of it is his responsibility.
        I wish I could ask him. But I'm sure he'd never tell me. And he'd probably get downright pissed off if it were something that's true, but which he'd never admitted to himself.
        He does tend to be drawn to strong, sassy women. But it's rare that he ever has a second date with them. I wonder if those strong women are, like him, relieved to have someone big and strong in bed to take charge of them. If so, then Jim ends up with all the responsibility landing on his shoulders. And he's still left out in the cold, longing for someone to take charge of him.
        I wish I could talk to him about this.

Jim's heart pounded. The sense of being found out -- of being naked before an unseen observer -- was upon him full force. He had nothing to cover himself with, no protection from the shame.

Except....

He took a deep breath, testing his sense of self. There was no shame. None. There had been no judgment in Blair's words. Only compassion and a desire to help Jim understand himself.

Jim's legs felt like jelly and he plopped down on the bed. How could he communicate this to Blair?  How could he say, Yes, you've pegged me. I'm caught. I'm yours. Do with me what you will....

He glanced up at the date. This entry had been written nearly a year ago. Blair had already indicated that he didn't remember everything he wrote about. If he could only be reminded....

Jim glanced at the pillow on the bed. Maybe he could leave the journal there, open to this entry.

He started at his own thought, snatching the notebook to his chest, appalled at what he'd been about to do. That was the same crap that Carolyn used to pull. Blatant, insulting messages left lying around the house, as though simply talking to each other was too great an effort.

And yet, he couldn't talk to Blair about this. Analyzing it and discussing it all ahead of time would ruin everything. He didn't want to know the damned psychology of it. He just wanted it done to him.

Jim bowed his head. He wasn't being fair. Blair was kind and sweet and generous. Considerate.  It probably wasn't in his nature to be dominating in bed.

Yet... if "strong, sassy women" yearned for an even stronger man to claim them, then did it follow that a gentle, kind-hearted man could turn into a domineering taskmaster when the lights were out?   

Maybe he just needs a little nudge to know it's okay with me if he opens the door and takes charge....

But how could that nudge come about?  

Flustered, Jim got up and closed the notebook. He put it back on the stack and went to take a leak. As he was drying his hands, he heard the door open.

"Hey," Blair greeted as Jim came out of the bathroom. He carried a large box with books and papers. He placed it on the table and opened his arms to Jim.

Blair looked happy. Jim embraced him and rocked him back and forth. "How did it go?" he asked, then kissed Blair.

"Okay," Blair said, stepping back. "It was just a really long afternoon. Reynolds acted like he was disappointed in me, but I knew he was as relieved as I was to not have to keep meeting. Then he wanted me to talk to this person and that person."  Blair blew out a breath. "I had to keep explaining over and over that my mind was made up and I knew I was making the right decision and everybody kept warning me that if I tried to come back to school, I'd basically have to start back at square one if I wanted to get a doctorate. I mean, it would be a lot more involved than simply changing thesis subjects. Yada, yada, yada."

"What's this?" Jim said, looking in the box.

"Just some files and books that I know I won't need to finish the class I'm teaching. I'll be bringing more boxes home between now and the end of the semester."  He looked up suddenly. "Do you realize it's just a couple of weeks away?"

No, Jim hadn't realized that. All he'd known was that Thanksgiving had been a bland affair with his brother's family and their father. Christmas was coming up, but that was never a big deal. Jim always volunteered to work the holidays and in recent years Blair had worked right along beside him.

He and Blair had long since agreed to not get each other gifts for holidays or birthdays. Blair never had the money and Jim never had any desire to try to figure out what would be appropriate. They both had always been happy with the arrangement.

Would things be different now?

"Hey, Chief."

Blair looked up from where he was pulling some notebooks out of the box.

Jim laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are we still keeping to our past agreement about gifts?"

Blair shrugged. "Works for me."  Then he grinned. "Why?  You worried that I was expecting something big and sentimental and elaborate that was going to turn you into an unwilling mushball?"

Blair looked so happy right now. Jim stepped in front of him and pushed on his shoulders, bending Blair backwards against the table. "I'll show you big and elaborate," he growled, pressing his hardness against Blair's. He kissed him deeply, letting a wonderful quiver consume his body. "And there's nothing," he breathed heavily, pulling back, "the least bit mushy about it."

Blair let out a pant. Then he breathlessly flirted, "I got one of those, too."  He reached down to his fly, even as Jim's firm mound remained pressed against him.

He yanked the snap of his jeans apart, looking so sexy and adorable as he looked down at himself, preparing to pull it out.

Jim growled and grabbed Blair's hands in his, restraining them against the table. He knelt, watching the tip of the stout phallus emerge from Blair's open snap.

He licked his lips.

"Oh, man," Blair gasped, throwing his head back and yielding.

Jim forgot all about his desire to be dominated.

Blair knocked tentatively on Simon's open door.

Simon looked up. "Sandburg?  Come in."

"I'd like to talk to you about something."  Jim had offered to be there, of course, but Blair had told him that he thought it would be best to talk to Simon alone.

"All right," Simon said in a "don't just stand there" tone.  "Have a seat."

Blair sat down, wishing that everything between him and their captain wasn't always so confrontational.

"I've quit school," Blair said.

Simon put down the file he'd been holding, giving Blair his full attention. "Quit?  Why?"

Blair quickly waved a hand, for he was so tired of explaining his decision. "Because I wanted to. Simon, that's not what I want to discuss. I just want to make sure that I can still keep my observer's pass. I'm valuable to Jim. You know that."

Simon nodded. "As well as to the department. But Blair, the department can't pay civilian observers."

"I-I know. That's not what I'm asking. I just want to know that I can still hang around here and help out in my spare time."

"Spare time?  What are you going to be doing, if you're not in school?"

Blair felt another flare of impatience. He hadn't figured out yet how to tell people, "I'm going to sit at home and write about me and Jim, just because I feel like it."  He had no idea how to make others understand the significance of that.

As Blair fidgeted, Simon held up a hand. "Never mind. As long as it's nothing illegal, it's none of my business."  

Exactly. "So, it's okay if I hang around, like I have been?  Maybe I'll be able to help out more often now."

Simon released a sigh. "Blair, I've seen people given observers' passes for lots of different reasons. You don't have to be in school, studying the Cascade PD for a paper. Still," he folded his hands on his desktop, "most of those passes are given for a very short amount of time. My wanting you around isn't the problem. It's that I get questioned by the brass every now and then about why you've been here so long. So far, I've always been able to tell them how you've been a big help -- and you aren't even on the payroll. You make a great team with Major Crimes' lead detective and the PD's Cop of the Year. That's discouraged them from rocking the boat. But you have to understand that this creates some sticky issues for them. What if you were to get a permanent injury while riding with Jim, and you decide to sue?"

Blair was surprised at the question. "I thought I waived my rights to all of that with all those papers I signed in the beginning."

Simon made a dismissive gesture. "All you'd have to do is find a good lawyer who can find ways around that. But my point is, the brass has legitimate concerns. They just haven't fought me much when I've insisted you're valuable. But I don't know how long that'll last."

Blair shrugged. "I'll take my chances. I don't have much choice, if I want to be around for Jim."

He hoped the meeting was over but Simon looked like he had more to say.

He did, but he studied Blair a moment before he spoke. "You know, Blair, it isn't right for you to be spending so much time here -- helping with cases -- and not getting paid for it."    

It felt good, to have Simon's verbal recognition of his voluntary contribution over the years. "I know," Blair replied easily. "If I weren't living with Jim, I probably couldn't afford to give my time away. But he's what's most important in all of this."  Blair wanted to give Simon something to help his side of their agreement, before he left. "If the brass asks you what I'm doing here, since I'm no longer working on my doctorate, tell them I'm writing a book -- a 'day in the life of a police department' kind of thing that has nothing to do with my doctorate. It may not be the whole truth but it isn't a lie."  Since his and Jim's daily life revolved around the PD so much, writing about their lives qualified, in a sense, as writing about the PD.

Simon looked interested. "Why the secrecy?"

"I-It's just sort of personal."

"The book or your reasons for doing it?"

"Both."

Simon apparently realized that was all he was going to get. "All right, Sandburg. I'll do my part as well as I can to make sure you can stick around here for as long as you want."

"Thanks, Simon."  Blair got up from his chair.

As he reached for the door, Simon said, "Blair?"

Blair paused and turned.

"I really do wish we could find a way to pay you."

He was grateful for that sincerity, even if there was no solution. "Thanks, Simon. That means a lot."

The body was taken away by the coroner's office and Jim, with Blair in tow, continued looking around the house for clues that would help solve the strangulation murder of the well-known businessman.

Jim had already found some evidence that Forensics had tagged. Now, he went into a back room of the sprawling ranch-style house, reaching a den with a large, cluttered desk and a computer.

"This guy was well-read," Blair said.

Jim was leaning over the desk and he glanced back at Blair, who was staring in amazement at the tall, oak bookcase. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe they were just for show and he never actually read them."

Jim moved the mouse on the computer and watched the machine power up. A spreadsheet appeared on the screen. He studied the columns, trying to understand what they depicted. "See what you can make of this, Chief."  

As Blair came up to the desk, Jim turned toward the credenza behind it. There were magazines hanging partway off lower shelves. They were the typical business magazines. He found a box on the floor with more magazines. As he leafed through them, it was apparent that they were more recreational in nature.

A couple of publications were about healthy living but beneath those were full-color porn rags. Jim pulled one out, noting that it was for gay men. He opened it and was met with a series of small, full-color photographs. They depicted an act of analingus, with so many photos that it was almost like watching a short video in slow-motion.

Sweat broke out on his back as he studied the pointed tongue that touched pink, wrinkled tissues.

God. Jim flipped the page. There was another series, this one depicting an act of penetration. An engorged, well-cut penis was poised at the edge of an uplifted asshole. As the photos progressed, insertion took place. The last one was a more distant shot, showing the topper's hands gripping the other man's shoulders, his stout cock plunging in.

Jim felt his legs turn to jelly, as he wondered what that undulating cock felt like. Wondered how fingers would feel, digging into his shoulders.

He was aware of Blair appearing beside him. He wanted to close the magazine and toss it aside, but within a split second's thought, he realized such a frantic gesture would require an explanation for Blair and he'd feel foolish.

Not that it was much of a step down from the nakedness he felt, standing there, staring.

Blair touched his arm and asked, very softly, "Do you want to do that to me?"      

Jim shook his head. It wasn't something he had any desire to do, because Blair didn't want it.

But he couldn't take his eyes off it.

Blair was silent for a long time.

Then Blair asked, "Do you want me to do that to you?"

Jim swallowed. He was aware of Blair gazing up at him but he couldn't bring himself to speak. Instead, his trembling hands flipped the magazine back to the prior page.

There was a small movement of Blair's head, as he took a closer look at the page. Then Blair took the magazine from Jim's unsteady fingers, replacing it with his own hand.

Blair's grip was sure and strong. "Okay," he said, sentinel-soft.  He let the magazine drop into the box.

Jim closed his eyes, uncertain of what to do or say next. Blair knew -- knew what he wanted. He hadn't even needed to say anything, to risk humiliating himself.

Blair released his hand. Noises from the Forensics team were coming down the hall. Jim turned around as Blair leaned over the computer and said, "Guys?  You probably want to take a look at this."

Sitting at Jim's desk -- where the first few hours of investigation into the strangulation were looking productive -- Blair hung up the phone and sighed.

Jim came up to the desk, holding the file folder on the case. "What's wrong?"

"That was my mechanic," Blair said. "He's had the Volvo sitting on his lot since the accident, waiting for me to get the money together to give the word to fix it. He's getting antsy for me to either move it or to authorize him to get some replacement parts. I can't blame him. He's let it sit there this long only because I've given him so much business over the years."

Jim sat beside him. "What do you want to do?"

"Ideally?  Fix it."  Blair sat back, resigned to a more realistic outlook. "But I can't say it makes much financial sense. It'll cost thousands to find the right parts for a classic like that."  The driver's door, in particular, had been completely destroyed. "Maybe I'd be better off just getting what I can by selling the parts to other dealers, and then buying a new car."

"That's what makes the most sense to me," Jim said. "I know you love that car, Chief, but you need one that actually runs. Anyway," he seemed anxious to turn back to the file, since it was such a fresh case, "you can still drive the loaner car until Taggart's nephew graduates in the spring. Maybe, by then, most of the Volvo will be sold."

It hurt to think of the car being dismantled for parts. "Maybe somebody will buy the whole thing. I won't get much for it though." Needing to move, Blair stood and reached for his jacket. "I'm going to see my mechanic and talk to him about it."

Jim nodded, his eyes on the file.

As Blair left, he felt a sense of excitement. There was another reason he was anxious to leave the PD, alone.

His first stop was a porno shop. He wasted no time buying a few magazines similar to the one Jim had been looking at earlier, as well as some manuals. He didn't feel at all uncomfortable about asking the clerk for lubricant and other substances that would be of assistance. After all, this was for Jim.

He then parked along a quiet street and started looking through all his purchases.

The magazines weren't anything he hadn't seen before. He used to have Naomi buy adult material for him when he was a teenager. But he had become discouraged about the male side of things when so much emphasis seemed to be on anal activities. So, instead, he'd consciously shifted his focus to girls only.

Now, he looked at the magazines from a new perspective. This was something Jim wanted -- for himself. Blair hadn't given any thought to topping Jim, if only because it hadn't seemed fair, if he himself was unwilling to bottom. But it didn't appear that Jim was thinking in terms of taking turns. There was something about being on the receiving end that intrigued Jim. After all, he had been trembling with excitement in that house this morning, merely from the visual stimulation.

A memory nagged at Blair's mind as he continued to study the pictures. One part of him began to mentally rifle through his sentinel notes -- the little bit there was about sex, since Jim had been so unwilling to talk about how sex affected his sentinel senses.

Without being conscious of doing so, Blair disregarded the sentinel considerations and focused on Jim as Jim. His eyes fell on one picture of the topper having a firm grasp of the bottom's arm -- so firm that it looked painful. He studied the few pictures that showed the bottom's face. There was little doubt that the expressions were staged for the camera, but there was something about the willingness to yield -- to be handled roughly -- that intrigued Blair.

Blair's written words from months before drifted across his mind.

I can't help but wonder if he's one of those guys who is very authoritative and on top of things in everyday life; but when the lights are out... well, I wonder if he longs for somebody to take charge of him. To make him obedient and "force" (though I don't mean that literally) pleasure from him, so that none of it is his responsibility.

He didn't think he needed to wonder anymore.

Blair felt a sentimental pull as he spotted the wrecked Volvo in the parking lot. It would be a wonderful car -- if only as a classic -- for an owner who was willing to give it some tender loving care.

For himself, his phase with classic cars was over. Jim had sounded like he was willing to consider whatever Blair wanted to do with the car, but dinking around with a rare automobile was an expense that wasn't necessary. He was ready to think in practical terms. Besides, he had other exciting things going on in his life.

Armed with that assurance, he worked out an agreement with the mechanic to sell the car on consignment. If the car didn't sell within sixty days, then the mechanic could start offering its parts separately.

Jim had never felt anything like it.

He let out another long groan, sweat dripping from his face, as Blair pushed into him yet again. His senses were heightened -- aware of everything. His asshole was raw from the degree Blair had stretched him. But the inside of his lower regions was awash in sensation as Blair's hardness undulated back and forth.

Jim was on all fours, wanting it to never end. It wasn't the kind of stimulation that could bring about an orgasm by itself but it was so... good... that he wanted Blair to fuck him for another hour, at least.

Blair was panting and mumbling and groaning too, the noises accenting each time he moved forward or back.  Jim was aware of Blair's pubic hairs brushing against his ass, Blair's verbal delight, Blair's gasps of effort and pleasure, Blair's fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

"God, God," Blair chanted, falling into a steady rhythm yet again.

Jim let his head hang, giving himself over to Blair's loving abuse.

Blair's gasping reached a peak and his motion slowed, giving the raw edges of Jim's anus some relief.  Blair's heart was pounding wildly, and Jim knew he was making a great effort to pace himself, once Jim's high-pitched, enthusiastic cries had made it clear how much he was enjoying getting pounded.

"Easy, easy," Blair gasped raggedly.  His hand moved from Jim's right shoulder to his back.

Jim tried to regain his own breath, right along with Blair. Yet, the lack of motion gave him a bereft feeling. "Again," he pleaded, still breathing heavily.

Blair slapped his hip with a weary hand. "Give me a second," he gasped.

Jim's cock flared. The slap had had too little impact to hurt but just the fact that Blair had done it....

There were both still for a long moment. Then Blair warned, "Last time."  He started a slow undulation.

Jim closed his eyes. The motion hurt so much, stinging the torn tissues of his asshole. But it would lead to the exquisite sensation again, as Blair built up speed.

He wanted to push back, to encourage the thrusting, but his limbs were too weary. Instead, Jim waited, letting the sensation carry him as it steadily built. Blair's cock was so perfect inside his ass, the way the sculptured head glided over his prostate... back and forth... back and forth....

Peak speed lasted only seconds this time. Blair threw his head back and cried loudly as he came.

Jim couldn't feel the explosion of semen. He knew there were few nerves in the channel itself. Instead, he took great satisfaction in how Blair collapsed on top of him, the contact of their sweat-slick skin allowing him to feel how completely slack Blair's muscles had gone.

It was over. For now. Jim became aware of the stiffness in limbs, but he waited silently. It took a full minute, but Blair finally slipped off him -- and out -- and collapsed to one side.

But only for a moment. "Turn over," Blair commanded.

Jim had been in the process of trying to move from his position and now he turned onto his back, relishing the opportunity to stretch his legs.

His hard-on bobbed in the air.

Blair settled between Jim's legs and grabbed his cock with both hands. He inserted the top portion into his mouth.

God!

"Mm-mm," Blair groaned as he sucked, the vibration going all the way down Jim's barrel and into his balls.

Jesus Christ. Jim rested his hand on Blair's head.

Blair had gotten good at this and it was over fast. Jim let himself melt into the mattress as his body relaxed completely, even as his butt hole throbbed.

Blair curled up at his side, his head on Jim's chest. Just before he drifted into oblivion, Jim moved Blair's hair aside and raised his mouth to his ear. He summoned the energy to bring forth all the sincerity he could muster and breathed into Blair's ear, "Thank you."

It was nearly an hour later when he was aware of being pestered to move.

"Turn back over and move so that you're near a lamp."

What?  Jim wondered with blissful laziness.

He responded to the prompting to roll over onto his stomach. Ah, nice.

His ankles were grabbed, and he allowed himself to be turned sideways on the bed. The three-stage lamp was turned on the highest setting, bringing bright light into their bed.

Now, his legs were pushed apart. The bed rocked and the gentlest touch of fingers spread his buttocks.

"Oh, man," Blair declared, "you're really raw. I bet that hurts, especially with your senses."

Yes, it really hurt.  The most wonderful thing had happened to him, because of bearing that pain.

"Stay right here. I'm going down for some ointment that should help."

Blair left the bed and Jim found pleasure in watching his nude body disappear down the stairs, his hair bouncing in disarray along his back.

As Jim drifted, he thought back to the start of this perfect evening, when Blair had told him to get on all fours. He hadn't asked politely; he'd told him firmly. And then Blair had fondled various parts of him for a while, and then shyly kissed his ass, flicking his tongue over his hole. Jim would have begged for more of that, except Blair kept distracting him with other things.

Blair had spent a long time prodding at his opening with seeking fingers and then eventually spread lubricant. And then he'd pushed his cock into Jim. He'd been slow and careful but he hadn't apologized for Jim's grunts of pain. He'd gone through a long series of building undulations, following by gasping pauses for breath. Until he couldn't hold back any longer and it had ended.

I want to keep him. Forever.

The stairs thudded with Blair's weight. He was still naked when he appeared with a washcloth and tube of ointment.

The bed rocked as he got beside Jim.. He stroked Jim's buttock with a gentle hand, then said, "Just bear with me a moment."

Jim let himself drift further as Blair worked. The concerned tenderness of his touch was such a contrast to when he'd been fucking him.

Yet, the latter had been no less an act of love. Jim had no doubt that it had been as ecstatic for Blair as it had been for himself.

"That better?"

Blair had put some kind of ointment on his asshole and wiped away the excess. It was soothing but it still hurt. "Better."

"The anesthetic qualities will hopefully kick in soon. We probably shouldn't do this again until you're healed up."

Damn. That was too bad. He wanted Blair to fuck him every night.

Blair wiped his hands, then snuggled up against Jim's back. "That felt so good," he murmured.

Jim shifted, so that Blair could lie beside him, both on their sides. They looked at each other drowsily.

Jim said, "You're imprisoned here, you know."

"Imprisoned?"  Blair's eyes shone with amusement.

"Uh-huh. It's a lifetime sentence. I'll never set you free."

Blair swallowed thickly, his eyes on Jim's. "As long as the physical labor consists of making love with you, I can live with that."

"That's the most important part of your sentence. You have to carry it out, every day."

Blair's eyes closed. "Then I'll be a model prisoner, and a very happy one."

I love you, Jim thought as he drifted.

As Jim passed a clothing store on Prospect Street on his day off, a bag of donuts in his hand, Carolyn suddenly rushed out the door.

"Jim!"

"Carolyn," he returned in surprise. She looked good. Not tense, as she'd been so many times in the recent past.

"I was going to head over to your place," she said. "I was hoping to catch you there."

"Come on," Jim offered, trying to remember his last conversation with her and if there was a reason he should be wary.

As they walked, she asked hesitantly, "Will we be alone?"

"Blair's out and about."  He wondered why she was here.

It was in the elevator that Jim's memory informed him that the last time he and Carolyn had talked on the phone, she had suggested that they start dating again.

Uh-oh.

"Donut?" he offered.

She shook her head.

He'd spent some time that morning straightening up. Blair's laptop was in its permanent place on the kitchen table, but at least all his papers were in neat stacks. The bed had been made. The bathroom cleaned.

Nothing left out that would be shock-inducing.

"So, what are you doing back in Cascade?"

"Dad owned that die-cutting business here. There have been all sorts of legal negotiations concerning the ownership with his partner. I keep coming back up for court dates. If I didn't have such a good job in San Francisco, I think I'd just move back here."

Jim didn't respond. They got off the elevator and as he unlocked the door, he hoped that her job continued to keep her in San Francisco.

As soon as they were inside, she turned to him, her smile warm. "You made your feelings pretty clear the last time I talked to you. Still, I have to ask -- "

"I'm not interested," Jim said as gently, as firmly, as he could. "Not in any kind of romance, anyway."

She didn't hide her disappointment. "We can just be friends, but I'm not sure it's the best thing."

"I'm not sure it would be either."  It would surely be frustrating for them both, if she always wanted more.

Remembering his manners, Jim indicated the sofa. "Have a seat."

She shook her head. "It looks like I won't be staying long."  She glanced around the loft.

"How it going?" Jim said, trying for the polite conversation that she'd always wanted in their marriage.

"Still getting better. Wendy's showing some nerve response in her legs."

"That's great!"  Jim felt happy for them both.

Carolyn's eyes lowered. "I'm still getting treatment for the gambling."  Her voice became unsteady. "I fell off the wagon a couple of times but I managed not to lose too much."  Then she looked up at him. "I'm really trying, Jim."

"I know you'll succeed, Carolyn." He really wanted to believe it. "If you want to."

"I want to."  She turned away, idly moving toward the kitchen table.  Then she turned back around, her voice pained. "Wendy found out about the gambling. It was the lowest I've ever felt. I'll do anything to stop -- to keep her from ever having to look at me that way again."

"I'm sorry," Jim said, meaning it. "I know you can stop. Just take it one day at a time."  That's what the therapist had told them when they were married.

She released a heavy breath. "That's what I focus on, every day. Getting through one moment. And then the next and the next."

She suddenly seemed tired of the subject. She put her hand on the table and leaned on it, her eyes drifting over the laptop and the stack of papers. "This all Sandburg's stuff?"

"Uh-huh."

"When is he expecting to finish his dissertation?"

Jim clamped down on his annoyance. He knew she was just making casual conversation. He could imagine that, with taking care of Wendy, and both their parents being gone, and having to constantly think about controlling her gambling -- Carolyn probably didn't have much of a social life.

She had been his wife. They had completely separate lives now; yet, he felt he owed her a truth.

He took a step closer to her. "Carolyn."

She looked up at him.

"Blair and I are... together."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

His silence would probably be answer enough but he couldn't leave her to speculation. "He's no longer just living here or with me only for the sake of his dissertation. This is his home, too. We're together."

Her eyes widened as she slowly turned to face him fully. "What are you saying?"  Then, harshly, "That you're sleeping with him?"

"I'm everything with him."  He wondered if that was a coherent sentence.

She put her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. Then her face filled with anger. "Well, that explains an awfully lot, doesn't it?" she snapped.

"What do you mean?" he asked, though he knew.

She snorted. "My husband, the repressed homosexual."  Her voice filled with hurt. "I never had a chance, did I?  All these years -- during our marriage and after it -- I wondered what I'd done wrong. Why I didn't attract you. It was never me. I just didn't have the right parts!"  She stormed toward the door.

"It wasn't like that," Jim said as he reached for her arm. He grasped it gently, even as he wondered why he was bothering to defend himself.

"What was it like then?" she demanded. "Who have you ever been interested in?  Other than," she glanced toward the laptop, "him?"

He wanted to tell her that he'd desired her when he married her, but how could he ever explain why he'd lost interest so quickly? Especially without sounding like he was blaming her, at least as much as himself?

And maybe, a tiny part of his mind considered, there was some truth to her words. Repressed homosexual. He wondered what Blair would say about that.

She wrenched her arm away from him. "As if our marriage wasn't bad enough, I have to suffer this humiliation all these years later."

"Carolyn," he called as she grabbed the doorknob.

She looked over her shoulder at him, her expression filled with hurt and betrayal.

"Believe whatever you need to believe about me," Jim said. "Explain it to yourself any way you like."  Despite her anger, he needed her to know, "I've found what I want. I hope you can too."

Her eyes darted around the room, as though desperately trying to come up with a retort. Then she said forcefully, "Goodbye, Jim."  She stormed out the door.

Jim slowly closed the door behind her. Carolyn was the first person to know about him and Blair and that hadn't gone well at all.

He hoped that revelations to others would go a lot smoother.

Blair's eyes slowly opened. It was past nine and he was alone in bed. He vaguely remembered Jim getting up earlier. He had the afternoon shift but he was always an early riser.

Blair lay there, drifting blissfully. Last night had been another intense session of fucking Jim. He had never even considered topping Jim, let alone expected it to be as hot as it was. Yet, fucking Jim was a glorious, mind-blowing, ball-busting experience. Intense. So very intimate. Blair's prior sexual experiences paled miserably in comparison. Masturbation couldn't top it, either.

He fucked Jim and Jim loved it.

What a perfect sexual match they were:  Blair not wanting to bottom at all and Jim wanting very much to bottom. So, Blair ended up on top.

Topping Jim was sacred.

As he idly fondled himself, recalling how it felt to be inside of Jim's hot body, he realized that the loft was very quiet.

He slid over to the railing and looked down. Jim was sitting at the table, his back to Blair, holding a cup of coffee, and staring into space.

Blair watched for several seconds and Jim still hadn't moved.

Has he zoned?  That hadn't happened in a long time.

Blair found his robe and slipped it on. He trotted down the stairs. "Jim?"

He was relieved when Jim turned toward him and said, "Hey, good morning," with forced cheerfulness.

Blair didn't fall for it. "What are you doing?" he asked with concern. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down.

"Remembering."

Blair studied him, finding a sadness in Jim's expression. "Remembering what?"

"The day before you and I met."  He took a sip of coffee.

"The day before?"

"Uh-huh."

"What happened?"

Jim settled back in his chair. "That night, Carolyn and I went to dinner."

Blair nodded slowly. He wasn't surprised that Jim's mind was on Carolyn. Jim had told him about her visit the other day and it hadn't sounded pleasant. They hadn't talked about it much, though, because Blair had taken Jim to bed and made love to him -- the harsh, gritty kind that Jim craved.

"My senses had been spiking off and on," Jim explained. "I made a scene at the restaurant because my food tasted all wrong. Carolyn left early."  He paused for a long moment, his expression distant. "I remember it was raining heavily. I caught up with her outside the restaurant."  He hesitated. "I kissed her. It had never felt like that before, since my senses were spiking. It felt so good that I kissed her again, really hard. Then I realized that I had no right to treat her that way."

Blair waited as Jim sat silent for a long moment.

Jim lowered his gaze. "I apologized to her. I remember... she looked so sad. She said, 'Maybe if you'd kissed me like that before, we'd still be married.'  Then she walked off."

Blair waited to make sure that Jim was finished. Then he said, "Ouch."

Still distant, Jim said, "All that time we were married, I never understood what she wanted."  His eyes darted to Blair. "I'd been raised to treat women with tenderness and compassion. It never occurred to me that a woman would want me to rip her clothes off and throw her down on the bed."  He shrugged at his choice of words. "So to speak."

"By the same token," Blair said, wanting so much to make Jim feel better, "most women, at least in her generation, have been raised to not want anything like that. She probably didn't even know how to ask."

"We both knew something was wrong," Jim said quietly, "but neither of us knew how to fix it."

Blair offered up what he could. "Jim, I don't know Carolyn well enough to speak for her. But I've studied you for a few years now. From what I've seen, you've been attracted to women who are assertive and aggressive."

"Sassy," Jim said.

"What?"

"You used that term in your journal."

"Oh."  Blair grinned, flattered that Jim had read more of his stuff.

Jim waited.

Blair went on, "Carolyn seemed to fall into that sassy category, too. So, you get them into bed and you find out that they want a big, strong, dominating man to make love to them. That's why they're attracted to you. Problem is," Blair lowered his voice, "you were hoping to get that same thing from them -- that's why you picked them out to sleep with. So, you both want to be dominated. And since that can't work -- especially in a first time situation -- you fall back on traditional gender roles, where you, as the man, assume the aggressive role. Then you end up unfulfilled and you don't want to see her again."

Jim looked uneasy for a moment. Then he said, "Carolyn called me a repressed homosexual."  

He said it like an insult. If Carolyn had been upset, she'd surely intended it that way. While Blair's mind worked on that, he asked, "What do you think?"

Jim shrugged. "I... can't see myself that way. I've never wanted to pursue men. I've always only had a vague curiosity about it. Even after being with you," he met Blair's eye, "I don't feel any kind of desire for men in general."

Blair digested that. "I think the repression part is correct. But I can't see it as a gender issue. You and Stephen both were under a lot of pressure as kids and you were raised to be highly responsible. Plus, you had all the confusion about your heightened senses. You've always shouldered burdens.  You had a distinct image -- probably from your father, as well as from the army and society in general -- about how a man is supposed to behave."

Blair sipped his coffee, glad that Jim was paying such close attention. "So, at whatever age you became aware of sex and all the ways it can happen between two people, my guess is that you were turned on by the idea of being submissive in bed. But you probably didn't even know how to put that into words, let alone understand it. More importantly, it clashed with your image of how you were 'supposed' to be," Blair indicated quotes, "as a man. So, you pushed it all down. But your subconscious was still trying to find assertive women for you, in the hope that they'd still be assertive after the lights were out."

Jim sat still, looking contemplative.

"If it's any consolation," Blair said, "I think it's to your and Carolyn's credit that you didn't stay married too long. You got out when it was obvious it wasn't working for you. I'm sure there are lots of couples who have been married for a long time, who have these sorts of sexual mismatches, and they just decide to live with it. Miserably."

Jim was still silent, so Blair dropped his voice an octave. "Besides," he grinned, "I know what you like, so we're going to spend a long, long time making up for past neglect."

Jim's solemn eyes studied Blair for a long moment. "Am I giving you what you want?" he asked quietly.

Blair came out of his chair. His insides turned to mush as the vulnerability in Jim's tone echoed in his brain -- and heart.

He prompted Jim to turn his chair, so that he could straddle his lap. He draped his arms around Jim's neck. "Yes, love," he told him softly. "You give me what I want. What I need. And so much more."

Jim's expression didn't change. "You'll tell me if... if I don't ever give you what you need?  Straight out?  Before the damage is done and it's too late?"

After all Jim's heart had suffered over the years, Blair could understand why he needed that reassurance. "Yes, Jim, I promise. I'll tell you if I'm unhappy about anything, even if it's really difficult."

Blair sealed his promise with an embrace, holding Jim tightly.

My big, strong, vulnerable Jim.

It was a long moment before Blair pulled back. In a lighter tone, he said,  "One thing I know I'll need, every now and then, is reassurance that you're happy with me."  

"How about some reassurance right now?" Jim whispered. He kissed Blair before he could answer.

Blair yielded to the pressure, loving the warm, fuzzy feeling that went through him. When Jim pulled back, Blair rested his head on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while. Then Jim casually said, "We've got that boring quarterly employee meeting at City Hall today. Want to come?"

Blair straightened. "Nah. You can be bored all by yourself."

Jim grimaced and then glanced toward the computer and the papers piled there. "What you are working on today?"

"I'm working on the early chapters of my autobiography. My early memories of my mom and things she and others have told me."  He'd ended up writing the autobiography as a parallel project to the sentinel one. He sometimes worked on one, sometimes the other, and sometimes helped Jim out at the station. The semester had ended the week before and he had found plenty of activities to fill his time. He was already starting to wonder how he'd managed to fit school in with everything else.

Christmas was the following week and he and Jim had been invited, as at Thanksgiving, to the Stephen Ellison household. They both still intended to work Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but they hoped to stop by Stephen's late in the day of the latter. They hadn't yet discussed whether they'd say anything to the family or not. They both planned to let others find out on their own, or only mention the nature of their relationship if it happened to be brought up. For now, they were still enjoying their privacy and the effortless secret.

As he sat at his desk, Jim's hearing kept being pulled back to the chatter in the break room. Spirits were high, as the next day was Christmas Eve. The break room was the most popular place in the building this time of year, because of the array of homemade cookies, fudge, and other holiday treats that appeared each morning.

"What do you think is going on with Ellison and Sandburg?" Jim heard a male voice say. He wasn't sure whose it was.

"I thought it was just me," Henri said.

"What do you guys mean?" Jim heard Rhonda ask.

"Yeah," Rafe piped up, "it's like there's a difference about them."

"What kind of difference?"

"Don't know."  

Henri laughed. "I thought Hairboy had gotten shoe lifts or something. It's like he's walking taller -- like he actually knows what he's doing, instead of being the odd man out, trying to fit in."

"Is that what it is?" Rafe piped up. "There's something more polished or more confident about him."

"Did he really quit school?" Rhonda asked.

"Yeah," Henri replied. "He won't say much about it though."

"Must have worked for him," Rafe said. Then he asked, "So, what do you think Ellison's story is?"

"I thought maybe he'd shaved his mustache or gotten a new haircut," Rhonda said. "But that's not it. He hasn't had a mustache for years."

"And not enough hair to cut," Brown laughed.

"There's something... settled about him," Rafe said. "About both of them."

"Yeah, that's it," Henri said.

Someone else entered and the subject of the gossip changed.

Jim pulled his hearing back. Of course, I'm more settled, he thought to himself. Sandburg puts his cock up my ass. What else am I supposed to want from life?

The other night, Blair had used his tongue on Jim for quite some time, before he'd used his cock. Damn, that had been something.

His loins started quivering, just from the memory.

Blair knew all of Jim's secrets. More importantly, he knew what to do with them; how to use them to Jim's best advantage. Jim's sense of touch, in particular, was being honed in a way it never had been before. 

All Jim cared about now was doing what Blair wanted. To be able to keep Blair. To love him and take care of him. To be used by him when the lights were out.

It used to bother him that he was something of Blair's sentinel toy, expected to perform on demand. Now, he was Blair's sex toy and that was the most wonderful station available in life.  More importantly, their mutually loving relationship extended outside the bedroom. 

Blair understood him and accepted him the way he was.  Blair didn't seem to think there was anything about him that needed fixing.  Best of all, he was no longer worried about Blair leaving some day.  His pattern of abandonment was behind him.

Jim swallowed thickly.  If he wanted to move to Antarctica, I'd go.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Taggart glance up at him, so he tried to re-focus on the file.

Familiar footsteps came down the hall.

"Hey, Blair," Taggart greeted cheerfully.

"Hey, Joel."  Blair moved to Jim's side and put his hand on shoulder. "Can we go somewhere and talk?"

Jim had no idea what it could be about. Blair had taken his laptop to the public library that morning, for a change of scenery while he wrote.

He stood and put his hand on Blair's back as they went out the door. "Let's try the stairwell."

As they walked, Jim studied Blair, and he thought he understood why someone might think Blair had started wearing lifts in his shoes. Blair did seem to be walking taller, as though he had a new layer of confidence.

Jim wondered if Blair's fucking him had something to do with that.

They opened the door to the stairwell and Jim listened a moment. "It's empty."  They sat on the top step.

"What's up?" Jim asked.

Blair sat with his elbows resting on his knees, looking at the stairs. "I've changed my mind about something."

Going back to school?  Jim wondered, unable to identify what could have brought that about.

Blair looked up at him, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I'm going to try to find out about my father."

Oh.

Blair lowered his face again, shaking his head. "I just keep feeling this gap," he explained unsteadily. "I'm working on my autobiography and writing about my early memories of Naomi."  His voice grew rougher. "But there's just a few sentences on page one of the chapter about my father."  He swallowed thickly.

Jim put his hand on Blair's back and moved it in small circles.

Blair rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know why this subject gets to me so much. I thought I'd put it behind me."

"Maybe you should stop trying to put it behind you," Jim said. "Maybe you should just go with it and see where it takes you."

Blair nodded quickly. "That's what I've decided."

"Where are you going to start?"

Blair put his hands down. "With the newspapers on microfiche at the libraries." He paused. "I'll probably end up taking a trip back to Illinois."

Jim continued to move his hand along Blair's back. "Is this something you need to do alone or would you like me to help you with it?"  

"I'll start on my own, since it'll just be spending a lot of hours at the library." Blair looked up at Jim. "I'll tell you when I'm ready for you to help."  

Jim squeezed his shoulder.

Blair gazed at the stairs. "It's so weird that, for so much of my life, this wasn't any kind of issue with me. Now, all of a sudden, it's like this big... gaping hole."

"I don't think it's sudden," Jim said. "I think it's just that, now that you're researching your own life, that gap is all the more noticeable."

Blair looked at him again. "I'm glad you suggested this. Writing my life story, I mean. Even if nothing ever comes of it or nobody else ever reads it, it's been important to me. Just going through the process has been important."

"I'm glad."

Blair released a breath. More casually, he said, "The bullpen looked pretty sparse. Where is everybody?"

"Eating and gossiping in the break room. They were talking about us."

Blair perked up. "They were?"

Jim grinned. "Yeah. They're noticing something different about us. I think they decided that we seemed 'settled'."

"You mean -- as a couple?" Blair sounded worried.

"I don't think they've connected those particular dots yet."  Jim nudged Blair with his elbow. "Oh, yeah, you're 'walking taller', like you have more self-confidence."

Blair's brow furrowed.

Jim chuckled, then changed the subject. "You going to get started on your research right away?"

Blair shook his head. "All the libraries are closed tomorrow and Christmas, so it'll be a couple of days."  He sighed. "I'm anxious to get started, now that I've decided to, but I'll have to wait."  He put his arm around Jim. "Which is fine, I guess, because I can hold down the fort here with you."

Jim returned the gesture. "You talk to your mom about this?"  She and Blair had had a long conversation a few days ago.

"No. I don't feel it has anything to do with her. I want to find out about Tim as a person, not just the little bit she remembers through her eyes. If I discover anything important, I'll decide later if I want to share it with her. At this point," he shifted back on his elbows, "I don't think she'd really want to know that I'm spending time on it."

The door to the stairwell opened and Simon appeared. "Oops, looks like I'm interrupting something."  He grabbed the closing door.

"It's okay," Blair said, sitting up straighter. "We were just talking."

"Don't let me interrupt," Simon said, abandoning the door and easing past them as Jim moved closer to Blair to make room.

"Not a problem," Jim said. "What's wrong with the elevator?"

Simon was a few steps past and he paused. "Too slow. Everyone's trying to get out early."

"Like you?" Blair teased.

"Like me," Simon grinned back. "Don't you boys hesitate to drop by Christmas day after your shift. I'll have plenty of leftovers from my sister's."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim said, "but my brother is already expecting us then."

Simon put his foot on a step between them and leaned close. "Look, you two, thanks for taking the Christmas shift yet again.  It means a lot to everybody."

"No sweat," Jim said. He stopped himself from adding I don't like Christmas. He'd learned not to express that thought out loud, because it upset people. The holidays were too much hoopla for all the wrong reasons, as far as he was concerned. Working was a great way to avoid being caught up in it.

"Yeah, well, if you ever decide you want to take the holidays off in the future, it's automatically granted. Just make sure you give me plenty of notice, so I can warn your replacement ahead of time."

"Merry Christmas, Simon," Blair said.

"Merry Christmas, Sandburg. Jim."
  
"Merry Christmas," Jim said.

Simon started down the steps. Then he abruptly turned and came back up. "Blair, when the Commissioner gets back from the holidays, I'm going to talk to him about creating a position for you."

Jim almost started at this unexpected surprise. Blair was staring at Simon with his mouth open.

"Don't expect much," Simon cautioned. "I can almost guarantee that it'll be a part-time thing and you won't get paid much. But at least it'll be something."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair said. "That would be a heck of a Christmas present."

Simon reached down to briefly squeeze Blair's shoulder, then he turned and left.

"What do you know," Jim said happily.

"Wow. I didn't even know he was thinking along those lines."

"With the other projects you're doing, part-time will probably be best, anyway, huh?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah. Now that I'm into all this writing, I want to spend a lot of time on it."  He leaned forward to rest his chin on his knees. "I wonder where we'll be this time next year."

Jim glanced at him, unsure of what he meant. "Probably right here."

"You think?  It just seems like so much has happened the past few months. I wonder what's on the horizon for the next few."

"Whatever happens," Jim said with satisfaction, "I bet we'll still be here in Major Crimes, and we'll still be living at the loft. Those have been pretty solid anchors, no matter what else is going on."

"Yeah," Blair agreed.

Jim put his arm back around him. "Most importantly," he said more softly, "wherever you are, I'll be."

Blair looked up at him with an emotion-filled smile. "Promise?"

"Promise."

They sealed it with a kiss.

END  

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