© December 2001 by Charlotte Frost
Jim had to keep reminding himself that no one else could tell that his tongue, nose, and multiple senses of touch were saturated in Blair. So saturated that it wasn’t until he was driving along the streets that he realized that doing errands on a Sunday evening wasn’t a very bright idea. Thankfully, he’d found a K-Mart, since it stayed open until nine. He usually didn’t shop there because he didn’t care for the clothing styles it offered, but he hoped he could find a satisfactory shirt or two. Maybe socks.
How much time would Blair need to work this through? And would more time to evaluate and analyze make things better or worse? Jim could have a lot of patience with the worst. Their relationship had already been though some dark tunnels, and still survived until reaching daylight at the other side. Thanks to Blair, he had learned that if you stuck out the tough times with another person, things could only get better. He’d never known that before.
On the other hand, maybe Blair wouldn’t be able to accept all that Jim wanted to lavish upon him. Browsing through the flannel shirt rack at K-Mart, he paused to close his eyes, remembering how their session on the couch had started. The way Blair had gripped his back as he’d embraced him. All that warmth and trust. Finally, they could have this without the failings of their past history to contend with.
There had been a time, a couple of weeks after the press conference, that Jim particularly remembered. He and Blair had worked so hard at trying to clear the air between them. Jim was excited about Blair becoming his legitimate partner, and Blair seemed to relish still being wanted and able to be useful after denouncing his life’s work. Still, the feelings between them were raw with mutual hurt, even though neither was interested in placing blame. Jim had eagerly adopted Blair’s faith that if they could just get past all the hard stuff, life would become easier – maybe even a little fun. So they had talked, grumbled, and occasionally yelled. But they didn’t back down nor run away. Through the worst of the post-press conference falling out, they’d managed to keep respecting themselves and each other.
One day, there had been nothing more to say. Blair packed a duffle bag and said that he was leaving – just for a few days, don’t worry – he just badly needed some space for himself. Jim was also in sore need of solitude, but he couldn’t help but have a little insecurity that if Blair walked out the door, he’d never see him again. Still, what could he say? He’d merely nodded glumly, eyes focused on the TV with the volume turned low. On his way to the door, Blair had walked behind Jim. Jim had been startled when Blair suddenly wrapped his arm around Jim’s shoulders, his face pressing against Jim’s. “We’re okay, Jim,” Blair had said, squeezing. “We’re going to be even stronger because of this. But I need to find a secluded place to do a primal scream or something. I need to grieve and I don’t want any spectators. I’ll be back in a day or two, buddy.” Jim had reached up and hugged Blair’s arm, surprised at the confidence such simple words had given him. And touched that Blair had seen that he needed such words, without making a spectacle of his insecurities.
Looking back now, Jim wished he’d been the hugging type. Sure, he could throw his arms around any old friend whom he hadn’t seen in a while. But he tended to be more careful around those he was close to on a regular basis. People who were closest to you could hurt you the most, after all.
But on that occasion, over a year ago, Jim wished he’d stood up and given Blair a proper hug. It wouldn’t have cost anything, and it would have made them both feel a lot better. They were both so vulnerable then… and hurting, even though the worst of the pain was past.
Regardless, Blair had returned after a day and a half. Though he couldn’t help but be curious about what Blair had thought or done during his grieving, Jim hadn’t dared question him. Truly, he hadn’t wanted to hear it if the answer was, “I cried my eyes out for thirty solid hours.” An answer like that would have certainly been in the realm of possibility, and if it were validated with words, Jim would have felt very sad, even if not responsible or guilty.
The ironic thing was, he and Blair had made the most progress in their communication when they had both stopped apologizing – or, rather, when Blair stopped apologizing and Jim stopped feeling that he should apologize, even if he had no intention of doing so. At some point, they had both accepted that they each had had a right to feel how he felt with regard to the thesis fiasco. They’d been able to go on from there.
Now, they didn’t need a personal crisis to set up a moment of shared warmth. Unless Blair needed one. Jim didn’t really think Blair had any problem with friendship. It was mixing friendship with sexual feelings that was probably going to turn Blair’s neurosis up to full blast. In the meantime, Jim would have Blair near. Maybe he couldn’t pet and fondle him whenever he felt like it; but, if nothing else, Blair was too curious about Jim’s senses to give any thought to putting a lid on what was blossoming between them. .
Jim found one shirt, two packages of socks, and a new pair of house slippers. He’d spent long enough browsing that an hour and forty minutes had gone by. He was ready to go home and see what mental gyrations Blair had put himself through. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that “We can’t keep doing this” would be Blair’s conclusion. Yet… Jim doubted it. He’d felt the weight of Blair’s head on his shoulder when they had embraced. Had felt the way Blair’s hand gripped his shirt. He wants – needs – the love so much, he thought protectively. Remembered the way Blair’s cock had hardened and softened as Jim indulged his own selfish need. Has he realized that I didn’t do anything blatantly sexual because I was showing him that there’s a whole other realm of sensation out there? Okay, I stuck my tongue in his ass and enjoyed the hell out of his reaction. Surely, he’s not going to try to pretend that he didn’t want it, let alone like it. Mostly, he remembered Blair’s racing heart when he had deliberately lain on top of him – and how quickly his heart had eased. I was going to give us a chance to work through his fear before anything happened for real. But his trust that I wouldn’t hurt him overrode his past fear. That was truly priceless. Surely, he realizes that within himself. Why would he waste that trust by trying to believe nothing further should happen between us?
Still, there was such a thing as the Sandburg Zone, and the common man’s logic had little place there.
All right, Chief, Jim thought as he drove out of the K-Mart lot, let’s see what that brilliant mind of yours has made of all of this. How many different ways can you twist around the simple fact that I want you?
When Jim returned, Blair was standing at the kitchen island. Blair swallowed audibly as Jim hung up his coat. His expression looked a little skittish. “Uh, I guess we need to talk, huh?”
Jim realized then that the timidity was because Blair was afraid he wouldn’t want to. Jim smiled. “You have me well-trained,” he noted, approaching the island.
They stood facing he other.
He smells the same. He hasn’t washed up or changed clothes. That pleased him.
Blair’s left hand was braced against the counter’s ledge. His gaze was on the burners. “Uh,” a thick swallow, “I get the feeling that you’ve been through some sort of personal epiphany, and – ”
“Epiphany?” What the hell does that mean?
“It’s like a profound revelation. One that usually comes on unexpectedly. So, I’m sort of feeling that,” the bashful eyes ducked, “you’ve come to some kind of understanding with yourself. And, you know, that’s great. For you. But me,” Blair looked about the countertop, “I haven’t had anything like that happen. So, I guess I’m feeling sort of left behind – through no fault of yours, of course – and that I need to catch up.”
Well, this isn’t so bad, Jim thought, pleased. Gently, he said, “I do have some ten or so years more than you’ve had to reach some kind of understanding with myself.”
“Twelve,” Blair corrected.
“Okay, twelve. So,” Jim folded his hands on the countertop, not sure where he should go from here. Encouragement and understanding should be pretty safe routes. “It’s understandable that you might feel a little left behind.”
Blair’s eyes narrowed in the way that they did when he wasn’t sure he should believe what he was hearing. “So, you’re aware that you’ve had a flash of insight about yourself?”
Why can’t he fucking take anything at face value? “It’s really nothing different from what I’ve already told you. And shown you,” he added boldly. “I know what I want. I know what makes me feel good.”
“For how long?” Blair demanded.
Jim looked at him in surprise. Had there been a touch of anger there? Certainly fear. He made sure he didn’t match Blair’s panic, and carefully said, “Considering you’re one of a very small group of people who knows about my senses, and none of the others appeal to me on a sensual level, I don’t see how I can ever up and decide that I don’t want you.”
“So,” Blair said, just as carefully, “if it weren’t for your senses, you wouldn’t want me like that.”
Jim felt a flair of frustration, though he’d known this was coming. He made an effort to stay calm. “Chief, I can’t segregate love and sex the way you can. I don’t even want to.” He put a hand to his own chest. “My relationship with you is one of the most intimate I’ve ever had, especially in the past year. I could probably write a thesis of my own on everything I’ve learned from you. And – right – if I didn’t have the senses, maybe it never would have occurred to me that you could be an appropriate partner in bed. So, am I supposed to invalidate that because I didn’t come to realize it via some intellectual process that’s acceptable to you? Are you going to automatically eliminate me from consideration because I’m your friend, regardless of how wonderful and loved I might be able to make you feel?”
He watched Blair digest that, noting that Blair’s ears pricked up at the last.
Blair turned to one side, his left hand still holding onto the counter. “I – I don’t know. Th-This whole thing, it’s new to me. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to think.”
“How about stopping with ‘supposed to’ and picking up your own inner truth.” Jim was proud of himself for that; it sounded like something Blair would say. In fact, he noted, “I shouldn’t even have to point that out to you, should I?”
Blair stared at the floor for a long time. Then, thickly, “I suppose not.” Jim listened to him struggle for breath. “I guess the truth emerges, huh?” He glanced toward Jim. “I can talk the talk, but I can’t walk the walk.”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. He hated it when Blair became self-deprecating, because he didn’t know what to do about it. Sparring and disagreeing was infinitely preferable to retreat. He settled for compassion, leaning over the counter. “I can’t tell you how to feel, Chief. Nor can I know how you feel, especially if you yourself don’t.” He straightened, clamping down on his own disappointment that nothing was going to happen tonight. “Look, I don’t want to press anything here. Like I said earlier, I know you have to work things through in your own way.” He smiled tightly. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be Blair Sandburg. So, no pressure, huh? Just let me know when you want to talk about it some more.” He tried his own self-deprecating humor. “I know how to do that now.”
Blair looked like he was trying to smile, but he wouldn’t turn back around.
Jim wanted to retreat to his bedroom, to run this evening’s memories and sensations over and over in his mind. Perhaps Blair would do the same. He came around to Blair and squeezed his shoulders. “It doesn’t have to be so grim, huh?” Blair tried to smile again, but it was uneasy. Jim put both hands on Blair’s shoulders, facing him. “Hey, it’s no secret by now that I’ll take anything from you that you’ll let me have. But, Chief, this doesn’t mean if you say ‘no’ outright that it’s going to take something away from us. It’s not.”
Puzzled, Blair said, “I already said ‘yes’, didn’t I?”
Yes, Blair had given Jim his consent, and Jim hadn’t taken advantage of it. “It doesn’t mean that you can’t change your mind.” Even as he said the words, Jim knew it wasn’t the answer, wasn’t what Blair needed to hear.
Unbidden, the memory flared in Jim’s mind of his first meeting with Blair at Rainier. In a fit of frustration and anger, he’d grabbed Blair and pressed him against the wall. He’d called him a bunch of names. Yet… Blair hadn’t seemed the least bit intimidated. In retrospect, maybe that’s what Jim had respected most about him.
There was another realization that day, one that had long been buried because there had never been a reason to examine it: When he had thrown Blair against the wall, Blair had liked it.
Jim brought the pick-up to a halt beside the attractive barn, and Blair unbuckled his lap belt and opened his door. He was getting more adept at maneuvering with one good arm. Four more weeks to go. A doctor’s appointment was scheduled for tomorrow to take x-rays to make sure the fractures were healing properly.
Something for which there was no diagnosis – that had happened the same time as his arm – was what was going on with him and Jim. Or, rather, what was going on with Jim. Blair was past the point of being able to help, because he was so personally involved. If Jim were to be believed, there was nothing going on at all – just a pursuit of what Jim had come to realize he wanted.
It’s more complicated than that and you know it, Blair silently muttered to his partner. Thankfully, this wasn’t the kind of thing that disrupted day-to-day life. Yes, Jim had been a bit more likely to bury his nose in a book during their time together at the loft, but Blair knew that was intended as a generous gesture, to give him space. So Blair could figure this out. So he could come to terms with what had happened last Sunday afternoon. Wide, wet tongue, licking, licking, tasting. Nose sniffing, inhaling. Fingers squeezing. As though Jim couldn’t experience him enough. As if this was all perfectly normal for a sentinel, and the object of his senses.
As if Blair was supposed to be enamored of the fact that this was happening because something about his body attracted Jim’s senses. Made him immensely desirable to Jim. Made him an obvious choice for his partner, in every way.
Unfortunately, senses knew nothing of matters of the heart. They only knew what felt good to them. They knew nothing of the man beneath. They did not discriminate between the physical and emotional. Blair could be another Charles Manson and Jim’s senses would still want him, even if Jim’s brain would prevail and throw him in prison for life.
Blair furrowed his brow. Of course, there had been some special moments last Sunday, too. The kind you lock away so that no one can ever belittle them or take them from you. Those were the moments when he was in Jim’s snug embrace, before the tongue stuff started. Between the changing of sides on the sofa, when Jim’s forehead had rested against his. And, after he’d been dressed, secret whispered words. “I want you to be mine. I want to take care of you.”
“We’re here to see Thomas Grayson,” Jim told the stable hand who greeted them.
The man gestured to the barn. “This way.”
“Uh,” Jim took a step back. “If Mr. Grayson wouldn’t mind, we’d like to speak with him out here. I’m sorry, but I have a bad allergy to horse manure.”
“I see, sir,” the stable hand said, accepting the card Jim held out to him. “I’ll tell Mr. Grayson you’re here.”
“Thank you,” Blair said, coming around to the front of the truck. The man nodded and disappeared. Blair grinned at Jim. “Allergic to horse manure, huh?”
Jim shrugged. “As good an explanation as any. I don’t want to be around it any more than I have to.”
“Riight,” Blair agreed. The pile that Jim’s road rage rival had left in the loft had soured them both on horse manure. Conversationally, Blair said, “Fancy place, huh?”
“I guess,” Jim muttered, “if you’re a polo pony kind of guy.”
Blair chuckled. He was glad that they could be like this at work, even if there was unfinished business hanging over them personally. Despite all his reassuring words, Jim was apparently waiting for Blair to come to some sort of conclusion about what Blair was willing to let them have together.
Once again, it seemed the weight of their friendship was on Blair’s shoulders. It was a pressure he had always carried. And it was wearing.
“Detective Ellison? Sandburg?” a well-dressed, graying man greeted as he emerged from the barn. They all exchanged handshakes.
Jim said, “We’d like to ask you some questions about how you acquire your polo ponies. We can’t discuss the details of our case, but your answers could help solve a murder.”
“Hmm,” the man mused, “I haven’t heard of anyone being murdered in our industry recently.”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with the polo pony social set, “ Blair said. “We think the connection, if any, is probably indirect.”
Jim asked, “How does Grayson Stables go about acquiring its stock?”
Grayson replied, “There’s no simple answer to that. We don’t leave any stone unturned if we might find a good polo pony underneath it. We own breeding stock that’s boarded at a farm near Portland. We also look at the auctions held by breeders all over the country. We have agents always sniffing around racetracks and horse shows, trying to spot horses with polo potential.”
Blair restrained a sigh. This was more involved than they’d anticipated.
Jim asked, “These agents, how do they work?”
“Well, we’ve got about a half dozen who are always keeping an eye out on behalf of Grayson Farms. They work strictly on commission. If they find a horse that I end up buying, they get a five percent commission.”
Blair furrowed his brow. “Isn’t that sort of self-defeating? I mean, aren’t you going to pay a premium, since the higher the price, the greater the agent’s commission?”
Grayson shrugged. “Most of my agents have been with me a long time. They know I know horseflesh, and I know value. They might fudge a little on the price to milk a few dollars more from me, but they know I won’t put up with any outright shenanigans.”
Blair continued his developing train of thought. “Okay. Let’s look at a hypothetical situation. Say your agent tells you he’s found a horse that has been off the track for a year. The horse’s career ended with an injury, but he’s completely healed and someone happened to discover that this horse has an aptitude for polo. A competent trainer has had him in training for six months. What kind of price would you be willing to pay in that situation?”
“If it was a trainer I was familiar with, I might be persuaded to go as high as forty grand, especially if the horse had a few more months of training behind him.”
“What about a part-time but competent trainer? Someone who worked with the horse in his spare time? You aren’t really sure what you’re getting, but your agent assures you the horse has the talent?”
Grayson considered. Then, “Personally, I don’t pay below ten thousand, because a horse who is supposed to be good is never worth less than that.”
“What about a situation where your agent convinces you this hypothetical horse has a price tag of fifteen grand; but, in reality, the buyer is selling for ten grand?” Blair continued. “So, the agent pockets the extra five grand, and still gets the five hundred commission, based on the ten thousand dollar price? How likely is it that that could happen?”
Grayson drew a breath and pulled at the creases in his slacks. “It’s not impossible. But the polo world is a small one, and most likely the word would get back to me, and I’d let it be known the agent wasn’t to be trusted.”
Jim said, “But what if this were a one-time-buy situation? And your agent bought from somebody who didn’t ordinarily mix in the polo pony world?”
“Then I’d say the agent got away with one,” Grayson replied.
Blair said, “Mr. Grayson, can you recall any situations in the past few years when you, perhaps reluctantly, agreed to pay a substantially higher price for a retrained pony than you thought the horse was probably worth?”
“Mm, not that I can recall right off hand.”
“What about a list of your agents?” Jim asked.
“Certainly, I can provide that.”
“And how long they’ve been with you.”
Grayson nodded.
“Also, any you’ve dropped the past few years because of unethical business practices.”
Grayson said hesitantly, “I haven’t dropped any in quite a long time, since it doesn’t cost anything to keep an agent on. However, a gentleman I know who breeds ponies and jumpers broke ties with somebody he was unhappy with a couple of years ago. I can’t recall the circumstances, I’m afraid.”
“Then if you could get us that name, too,” Jim said. “Our fax number is on our card. Thanks very much for your help.” He held out his hand.
“Certainly,” Grayson said as he took the card.
Blair was already heading for the pick-up. He trusted Grayson, but it never hurt to catch someone off guard. He waited until Grayson had turned back to the barn. Then he called, “Mr. Grayson?”
The man turned. “Yes?”
“One last question. Does the name Tommy Sanchez mean anything to you?”
Grayson considered, then shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.” He disappeared into the barn.
Blair shrugged at Jim. “Worth a try.” After they were heading back down the long, elegant driveway, he said, “Maybe the list will turn up something.”
“Otherwise,” Jim said worriedly, “this case is getting very cold.”
“At least your hunch was probably right,” Blair said cheerfully. “Since we haven’t been able to turn up even the most remote personal motivation for Carter’s murder, the equine angle is probably the right one.”
Jim grunted. “Doesn’t matter if we can’t find who did it, let alone any evidence.”
“I prefer to remain optimistic.”
“To each is own.”
Blair wondered if further platitudes were only going to irritate his partner. He didn’t want to drive back to Cascade with an irritated partner.
Jim slammed on the brakes, making Blair brace against the dashboard. “Hey, man, we don’t have shoulder harnesses in this thing,” he pointed out.
Jim ignored him. He was staring out his side window, where Grayson Farm’s pristine white fence met up with a line of thistle and brush.
“What is it?” Blair demanded.
“What are the chances?” Jim whispered in awe.
“What?” Blair asked again.
Jim pointed. “Do you see it? The red?”
“No.” Blair quickly rifled through his mental Carter file. “Red? Red cloth?”
“Yes,” Jim whispered reverently. He pulled over to the shoulder and put on the parking brake.
“Where?” Blair asked, getting out. “In the shrubbery?”
“Yes.” Jim waved at him. “Come on. Bring a large evidence bag.”
They had to duck under fence planks to get into the pasture, and then duck back out to get to the thicket. A torn red sweater was hung up in the brambles. They were at the far end of the pasture, and no one else was around.
In his eagerness to reach the sweater, Jim’s outstretched arm got cut on the thorns in the thicket. But, finally, his hand touched the edge of the cloth and squeezed it between his fingers. He turned to Blair, eyes shining happily. “Synthetic wool. The same kind that we found near the site of the murder.”
Relief swept through Blair. Finally, a break in the case. Score another one for my sentinel.
It was a long afternoon, with bringing the sweater back to Grayson to show it to everyone available on the farm, and asking whose it might be. Everyone denied owning the sweater or having seen anyone wearing it. By then, it was clear to everyone that a murder investigation was going on, so some might have been hesitant to come forward if they knew something, for fear or retribution from the perpetrator still at large.
Jim dropped Blair off at the end of the day to do grocery shopping, and then went back into work to get the sweater into Forensics, so that what he already knew could be officially confirmed – the fibers of the sweater matched those of the previous cloth found at Racer’s Range. After the tests, he and Blair would take the sweater out to Racer’s Range and see if anyone there could identify it.
Throughout the past days, another part of Jim’s mind had been working another problem. He was concerned that Blair was going to conveniently ignore whatever was blossoming between them. No pain, no gain. When it came to matters of the heart, perhaps Blair was one who would rather do without the gain, if it insured there would be no pain.
Perhaps, Jim concluded, it wasn’t so much a refusal on Blair’s part to take was offered; but more that he couldn’t give what Jim might want to take.
Over and over, Jim’s memory returned to his first meeting with Blair at Rainier. His gut instinct that Blair had enjoyed being slammed against the wall by someone physically stronger. It wasn’t, Jim felt, the enjoyment of one who had a kink for pain, for Blair certainly did not enjoy physical pain. Nor was it some sort of yearning to be dominated. After carefully turning the memory over and examining it from every angle, Jim concluded that what Blair had enjoyed was being held accountable for his actions – or rather, in this case, his words. In his exuberance, he had called Jim “primitive” and “a throwback”. Right away, he’d apologized in his own way – “Maybe I was out of line” – but it wasn’t enough. Jim had been desperate for straight answers that could help him, and his fears and frustration sent him, in a rare loss of control, to attack someone physically no match for him. But Blair hadn’t been afraid. Nor had he protested Jim’s treatment of him. He’d merely said some things to get Jim’s attention back to the matter at hand. To Blair, the incident had been a fair reprimand for having drawn first blood.
Once reaching that realization about Blair’s need to be held accountable – to have someone care enough to set some boundaries he should not cross – the floodgates had burst open in Jim’s memory. “When I tell you to do something, you do it; when I tell you to say something, you say it, the way I tell you to say it, okay? Are we clear?” The agreement from the young, left-wing rebel that was Blair was instant: “Yes, we’re clear.” When Blair had mentioned getting a tattoo on his chest, Jim had threatened, “You get a tattoo and your blessed protector's going to kick your ass down seven flights to the lobby.” Blair had chuckled at that. Rather than protesting that, at the age of twenty-six, he had every right to do as he damn well pleased with his own body, Blair had actually seemed to enjoy the idea that Jim cared enough to threaten him. And then there were the house rules. Blair might whine a little at times, or protest via pointing out that Jim was controlling and territorial, but still, all in all, Blair was good about following such rules. Amazing, considering he’d spent his entire life being his mother’s son – a free spirit.
Which all led, Jim thought now, to the simple fact that Blair yearned for some structure in his life, and Jim had provided it. Really, it wasn’t a surprising revelation. Jim was already aware that he was the only stable masculine influence Blair had ever had. Granted, there had been college professors and such who had guided and encouraged Blair’s education. But they hadn’t cultivated their protégé much on a personal level, and they had abandoned him after the press conference.
Jim had also been aware that one of the main reasons he had been able to tolerate partnering up with Blair – besides simple need because of his senses – was because Blair was willing to be controlled. Jim was a control freak, and Blair was controllable. Blair behaved. He followed Jim’s orders, unless there was good reason not to. Blair always seemed to put Jim first. Maybe it wasn’t the most desirable trait, but Jim’s selfish nature loved the fact that Blair deemed Jim’s needs to be more important than his own.
Since he now had that awareness, and his own achievement in the personal growth department since teaming with Blair, Jim no longer wanted nor needed Blair to put him first. In fact, he thought it long past time for Blair to figure out who Blair Sandburg was, since he’d already done the courtesy of devoting the past five years of his life to helping Jim find out who he was.
Now, the next step – for both of them – was to let Blair off the hook. To protect him in a bubble of structure and security, so he would be free to learn more about Blair Sandburg, without having to worry that he was taking anything away from Jim or denying Jim anything.
This wasn’t going the way Jim had originally thought. But it seemed, no matter what direction they turned, Jim couldn’t help but be optimistic that only good things lay ahead.
Jim pushed open the door to the loft, his senses having already registered the smell of clam chowder. “Hey,” he greeted, removing his jacket and hanging it on the peg. He heard “Jeopardy” on the TV and dialed down.
When he turned, he saw Blair in front of the coffee table, kneeling on the floor, scooping up dripping spoonfuls of chowder into his mouth with his left hand while his eyes were fixated on the TV.
Don’t forget to chew before swallowing, Chief. Jim moved to the kitchen.
“Who was Anne Boleyn?” Blair called out to the TV. Then, “All right! I’ve only missed two questions this entire round.” He glanced at Jim. “It’s the chunky chowder from out of the can.”
Jim sniffed the pot. He’d snacked on crackers all day, so only filled his bowl with a small serving. He stood back against the kitchen counter and blew on it.
“Jim!” Blair protested. “You should have been able to answer that one about the motorcycle!”
“Oh.” Jim glanced up. He knew Blair liked it when he played along. “I had my hearing turned down. That buzzer makes me crazy when the contestants ring in.”
“You’ve been okay about it before,” Blair scolded. “Oh, well, they’re down to the final question anyway.”
Jim watched as Blair inserted another spoonful into his mouth and instantly swallowed. “Chew your food, Sandburg.”
Without looking up, Blair raised his left hand and tapped his fingers against his thumb a couple of times – his signal that Jim was being a nag.
Jim grinned and sipped at his soup. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Blair’s hair gently bounced along the side of his neck. He couldn’t wait until he’d be able to push that hair out of the way and expose that vulnerable flesh. Interesting, that when Blair had his hair in a ponytail, his naked neck didn’t particularly draw Jim’s attention. Instead, it was the mystery – the delight – of uncovering the forbidden that appealed to him.
Of course, butt cheeks were the most enticing forbidden area – the taboo of the taboo. Jim had done Carolyn twice that way. It had hurt her, and neither had wanted to test to see if the third time was the charm. That reluctance in and of itself hadn’t mattered, but it had been when things started going downhill in the bedroom, paralleling the problems in other areas of their marriage. Prior to that, Jim had taken delightful satisfaction in working his entire middle finger up Carolyn’s uptight little ass. In three years of marriage, it was the one sex session that he actually remembered in detail. He’d derived particular enjoyment from how long it had taken him to complete the goal of having his entire digit inserted. Carolyn enjoyed sex, but she had a bottom-line efficiency in the bedroom that matched her basic personality; whereas Jim’s anal retentiveness – to use Sandburg’s phrase – tended to disappear when the lights were out. He liked the joining of bodies and to be down and earthy. So, he’d enjoyed taking his time in breaching Carolyn’s forbidden place, while she’d fidgeted with impatience for more direct stimulation. He had continued, even knowing he was irritating her, and had felt such a sense of power when his second knuckle was past her tight sphincter, his palm flush against her pert little bottom, her forbidden passage no longer unknown to him.
Blair was going to be easier – eager and anxious to please. He would want Jim to know him there. Everywhere.
“Ready for the answer?” Blair called.
“Sure.” Still standing against the counter, Jim slurped more soup.
Blair watched the TV a moment, then glanced up. “The state with the most mountain peaks above 5000 feet.” He hesitated. “Denver is the Mile High City, but that almost seems too easy.”
“Alaska,” Jim said,
“Oh, yeah,” Blair agreed. “I bet that’s it. It’s easy to forget, since it’s off by itself. So, our answer is, ‘What is Alaska?’”
“Yep.”
There was the clatter of spoon against bowl, as Blair jumped up to the sofa, meal forgotten, as though the thirty seconds for contestants to write down their questions was worthy of dramatic pause.
Jim put his empty bowl in the sink and poured water in it. “You want more soup?”
“Uh-uh,” Blair replied impatiently.
Jim turned off the burner and grabbed a red container from the cupboard. He poured the remaining soup in it.
“Are you dialed up, Jim?”
“Yeah.” Obediently, Jim dialed up sound so he could hear Alex Trebek reveal the questions to Final Jeopardy. The first contestant’s read, “What is Alaska?”
“I’m sorry,” Trebek said in a reprimanding tone, “that is not correct.”
“So, it must be Colorado,” Blair said. “Oh, man.”
Jim dialed back down, the TV drama over, and their own about to begin. He put the red container away in the refrigerator, stacking it neatly on top of the other red containers.
“Sheesh! None of them got it!” Blair exclaimed. “Contestant number three bet the least, so he wins.” Blair stood and picked up his bowl and spoon and brought them to the kitchen, handing them to Jim. “I would have creamed those people during the game, but I probably would have bet all my winnings at the end and lost the whole thing.”
Blair did tend to be very good at “Jeopardy”. “You ever look into how one goes about being a contestant?” Jim asked as he poured water into the bowl.
“Naw. I couldn’t be on a show like that. I’d have an anxiety attack and make an ass out of myself.”
This from the man who had the balls to go on national television and give a polite speech while his voice was breaking and his heart was exploding. Jim wiped his hands on a dish towel.
“Hey,” Blair said, “I’ve been recording the Twin Peaks episodes off the Bravo channel. I’d recommend joining me to watch a few, because I think you’d like it.” He turned back toward the living room.
“Blair.”
Blair paused, and Jim realized he’d called him by his first name. Hesitantly, the younger man turned, but just slightly.
Jim tried to remember all the reasons he’d thought taking the initiative would be a good idea. He took a few steps toward his partner – close enough to touch, if he were to reach out. “I was wondering if you might be willing to start sleeping in my bed.”
He listened to Blair’s heart accelerate, could see his mouth drop open. Please turn around. When too many seconds passed, he moved a half step closer and reached to the back of Blair’s head with a feather’s touch. He wanted his hand to feel like a comforting, supportive presence.
Blair swallowed.
Jim gently stroked the back of his head, dialing down his sense of touch, so the only one who could gain from this motion was Blair.
Blair raised his head a little, but still wouldn’t turn completely around. “I’ll – I’ll share your bed, if we can agree on something.” He released a heavy breath.
Excitement and curiosity set Jim’s own heart to pounding. But his voice was quiet, reassuring. “What is it?”
Long pause. Then, “That… when I-I’m in your bed, you’ll take – demand from me – anything that you want from me.”
Jim closed his eyes. Blair shouldn’t have had to say that, to lay so much of himself out in the open. He’d already given his consent, and now he’d felt compelled to state it even more nakedly. Jim should have taken his own analysis a step further and told Blair that was how it was going to be, so Blair was free of all responsibility for what happened between them. Except… he hoped Blair wouldn’t need the safe security of those boundaries forever.
Jim ran his fingers down Blair’s hair again. “I’ll agree to that, if you promise that when you no longer need for us to do it like that, you’ll let me know.”
Blair seemed to take a moment to let Jim’s words sink in. Then he nodded slowly, turned around, and looked up at Jim with wide, blue eyes that were open and trusting. “Yes, I can promise that.”
Jim’s smile was full of affection, and now his hand moved to tenderly brush the hair away from Blair’s face. Blair’s slips parted, ever so slightly.
He wants me to kiss him. That would have to wait. One taste of the wetness inside of Blair’s mouth, and Jim was afraid that they’d never make it to the bedroom. Yet, he wasn’t even sure if the flavor his taste buds would indulge in would even register with his groin. Or maybe it would register too well. He had so little experience with this – just a whiff of some sort of sweetness on his jacket when he and Blair had returned from the hospital some three weeks ago. He’d examined his jacket, vision dialing up to recognize the indentation of teeth marks. He’d then realized that Blair’s mouth had been there. Intrigued by the scent, he’d brought the jacket closer and sniffed. The unique scent of something sweet had intrigued him even more, and he had to taste. There hadn’t been much residue left, but he had enjoyed it immensely. He had not been able to indulge since, not until he had this direct permission to go crazy on Blair, once they were settled in bed.
There was something he could do now though. Something he was certain Blair would enjoy, too; something that might serve an appropriate lead-in to whatever would follow. Jim turned to the nearest dining chair and sat in it, grabbing Blair’s hand to pull his partner to him. He wrapped his arms around Blair’s waist, one hand reached up to stroke Blair’s back.
He liked how his head fit against Blair’s belly. He held still as Blair’s tentative hands rubbed up and down the back of his neck and shoulders. He felt in his own belly the little tremors as Blair’s groin shifted in response to the stimulation. Both his hands rubbed at Blair now, wanting to go inside his shirt. Instead, one hand moved to the seat of Blair’s jeans and rubbed back and forth.
Blair responded by rubbing against the back of Jim’s head. He released a little “Mmm” noise that made Jim very happy, a happiness that made itself known in the lightness of his chest. He straightened in the chair, breaking their embrace and clasping Blair’s hand. Gently, feeling the tightness of destiny in his throat, his asked, “Are you ready to go up?”
Little quivers raced through Blair’s body. Jim could see them. Blair looked away from him, then murmured, “Uhh… maybe I should take a quick shower first, huh?”
“Sure,” Jim replied, wanting to reassure. He’d take Blair any way he could get him, but old routines would help temper nerves for the unknowns before them. He stood, looking down at the bent head. If you only knew how good it’s going to be. He brushed the side of Blair’s face with the backs of his fingers. “Easy on the fragrances, huh? No deodorant.” Please don’t cover yourself up in perfumes.
The dark head nodded, and large eyes glanced Jim’s way. “Yeah, okay.” Blair moved off to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Jim remained where he was for a moment. His nostrils dilated as he opened his sense of smell, trying to catch any remaining traces of Blair’s presence in the dining area. With the most potent of it having drifted away, Jim moved around the apartment and turned off the lights and TV. Then he started up the stairs, wondering if Blair had any idea what was in store for him. He supposed it was possible that Blair might shut down on him – be so yielding that he wouldn’t let himself react. Jim had seen women do that, and he always understood it was about them, rather than their reaction to him. Amazing how the mind’s ugly little secrets could affect the body. Still, Jim didn’t think Blair would be like that, if for no other reason than his preset arrangement to please Jim was for the very purpose of giving himself permission to experience everything Jim wished to give him.
Jim turned the setting to low for the lamp farthest from the bed and shut off the other lights. He undressed down to his boxers and took a few moments to straighten the bedding and fluff the pillows. Then he slid onto the left side of the bed. If Blair were to his right, then Jim wouldn’t keep bumping into his cast. If he’d been a more patient man, Jim would have waited until the cast was off before starting any of this, for how much more vulnerable it made Blair seem – and how much more vulnerable it probably made Blair feel.
In five minutes, the bathroom door opened, and Blair’s soft footsteps padded against the floor. Then they were against the stairs, which gently creaked, closer and closer….
Blair was wearing his blue plaid robe. Only the ends of his hair were damp, indicating he’d only washed his body. The fragrance of mild soap filled the room. Good boy. Jim rolled to prop himself on an elbow and hold the covers open. Blair hadn’t met his eyes yet, and he opened his robe and dropped it to the floor, revealing bare, lightly furred skin beneath. The way he stood there in that moment, so innocently naked, reminded Jim of when they’d been at the pond.
Blair slid into the offered space. After rolling to face Jim, he grinned and asked, “Did I do good?”
Jim smiled back. “You did good.” Obviously, Blair had used Jim’s soap. Jim rolled closer, sliding across, and embraced Blair. One arm was on Blair’s back, the other against the back of his head, pressing Blair’s face against his chest. He remembered, during the experiment with Megan, that Blair had told her, “Just relax like Jim is protecting you.” Since the intent was to recreate the scenario at the warehouse, Blair had obviously felt protected then, even though Jim had had no way of fighting off any of the Iranians if they had discovered himself and Blair.
Still, that feeling of protection had meant something, just as it had when Blair had told him about the Chinese concept of the Blessed Protector. He grew up with a loving mother who indulged his creativity and whims, but no father figure to make him feel safe and protected. Maybe, as an adult, he doesn’t need it now. But he does obviously want it.
Jim wanted it, too. Lying quietly together, his arm between Blair’s cast and side, rubbing up and down his bare back, feeling the blemishes and valleys, the smooth places between the hairs… this time without the pain of broken bones traveling through Blair’s torso. Most of all, he liked the way Blair relaxed against him, reminding Jim of their special brand of trust, earned after so many ups and downs.
Eventually, he sensed questions and impatience. He would answer any of Blair’s questions, but he’d prefer to shut him up before his mouth got started – with pleasure.
He turned to Blair, shifting as he gently pushed him back, leaning over him. He decided on gentle foreplay, a harmless kiss on Blair’s left cheek, then his right one. Now the tip of his nose. Different flavor there, just a touch of salt. He planted a few kisses across Blair’s chin, feeling Blair’s mouth flex, as though trying to direct Jim there.
So impatient, Jim wanted to scold. But, really, Blair had been very patient, considering how long ago – on the sofa that Sunday – he had been waiting to be kissed.
Jim licked Blair’s lower lip in anticipation. Then he pressed, certain he could hear the finally as surely as if Blair had cried it out. Jim felt the plushness of such succulent lips. It surprised him in a pleasant way – this was the doorway to the flavor that he craved. His heart sped up and his lips encouraged Blair’s mouth to part. Jim’s tongue dived in and he was tasting... tasting… such fresh sweetness. His tongue swept along the gullets of Blair’s mouth. Darting back quickly to transfer the sweet fluid to his own mouth, he dived back for more before Blair could close his lips. A hand gripped his hair, and he felt a strangled gasp. Jim then sensed Blair’s racing heart and slowly – for he wasn’t anxious to leave – he eased back. He planted a gentle kiss on Blair’s lower lip before breaking the contact completely. He realized then that Blair’s upper body was taking deep breaths, as though desperately replenishing itself. But Blair’s face had the lazy, shuttered look of one who had felt something blissful.
Jim smacked his lips together, running his tongue around his own mouth – wanting to capture every trace of Blair on his taste buds, before it would be swallowed or otherwise absorbed into his body.
If he waited too long, Blair would want to talk. Jim pushed Blair’s left arm up and caught a whiff of clean arm pit. He licked along Blair’s neck and shoulder, heading for the pit. Then, using the wide, top portion of his tongue, where all the taste buds were, he ran it along the hairy depression, tasting the salt, the hair, the muskiness of Blair, and felt Blair shiver. Jim paused, retracting his tongue, and inhaled deeply. His gratification was that his passageways were filled with more Blair scent.
“God,” Blair gasped eagerly, his body squirming on the bed. Jim took his left hand and put it above Blair’s head. He pressed it against the pillow, silently commanding stay. This gave him a greater vista to peruse. He was already well familiar with so many of Blair’s tastes and smells, thanks to the session on the sofa, but there was a region in particular he had yet to explore.
“Hold still,” Jim commanded. He planted both hands on Blair’s chest and pressed, drawing them down so he could feel the blood vessels and capillaries and epidermis that allowed this special man to function within the physical world. When he reached Blair’s flanks, he eased the pressure, knowing how ticklish that area could be. With one hand, he rubbed across Blair’s pubic region, producing a long, appreciative groan, which sounded like it had been building for a while. Jim smiled and glanced up. Blair was watching him with hooded eyes, his lips parted. Jim scratched into the curly hairs and Blair said, “Oh, man,” and wriggled his hips. So much for holding still, Jim smiled to himself. He bent his head and studied the penis there. He’d specifically avoided it before, and now it was in a partial salute, awaiting Jim’s discovery.
Jim moved back. He eyed it from various angles, watching the flesh flex and throb on a microscopic and near-microscopic level. There was one particular place that caught his attention, vein large and pumping along the underside, especially just behind the head. He braced his forearms against the bed on either side of Blair, and then dipped his head to lick in one long stroke up the phallic underside.
“Aah!” Blair cried, and then seemed to grind his teeth together. He groaned, his hips moving in an undulating motion.
Jim did it again, wanting to re-sample the particular flavor of that taut flesh. It was good. Very good. He licked carefully there a few more strokes, taking tremendous satisfaction in feeling the quiver of the flesh against his tongue, enhancing the flavor.
“Oh, God, please. Please, Jim.”
He hadn’t meant to torment. Jim watched the fluid ooze out of the tip, forming a creamy little bead. For Blair’s sake, he placed his whole mouth over the upper half of the shaft. His tongue found the little slit, despite Blair’s disruptive pumping motion, and his taste buds said hello to a vaguely familiar flavor. But it was better underneath. He ran his tongue along the vein again, keeping the shaft partially in his mouth. It was so good there. He worked the underside diligently, drawing his tongue up it, wanting to encourage an ejaculation from that motion alone. But Blair was bucking, begging for more. A light bulb went on in Jim’s head, and he realized he needed to suck. He closed his mouth around the throbbing shaft, and could feel the flow of the nerves even out.
“Oh, God,” Blair whimpered. His hips strained upward, but it was more a cooperative motion than a demanding one. Jim realized his hands were available to help. He pressed one into the dark curly thatch above and scratched. The other went to the scrotum below and fondled, his sense of touch alert against applying too much pressure.
Blair groaned as if his teeth were gritted, but he still thrust up and down – a steady motion now – and before Jim could figure out how best to ride it, he was listening to Blair cry out and felt the nerves in Blair’s penis vibrate and push the semen through the shaft. He followed it until it spurted from the opening that was now awkwardly against his cheek. Creamy, bitter thickness shot against him, bathing the inside of his mouth.
He glanced up. Blair had thrown his left arm across his forehead and was groaning, “God, God,” as residual tremors claimed his body.
Jim nursed the head a moment longer, feeling Blair jerk lazily. Reluctantly – feeling he might be leaving some behind, which would be wasteful, he gently pulled his mouth off and examined the flavors dancing about his tongue. Slowly, he ran his hand along the top of Blair’s thigh, gently massaging.
Blair grunted. Groaned. Shuddered. Bent his knees up and down. Stilled. He pulled his arm away, revealing bright, alert eyes that were watching Jim. He looked like his wanted to say something, but smiled without moving his mouth corners.
Jim didn’t want to get into a conversation about who had enjoyed what. He ran the flat of his hand across Blair’s stomach, thinking of other flavors from Sunday night which had particularly intrigued him. His other hand rested at Blair’s hip bone. “Turn over.”
Blair rolled over so efficiently that Jim didn’t even have to assist. His cheek rested against the pillow, and Jim watched in fascination as Blair’s whole body relaxed completely.
Such trust.
But Jim didn’t want Blair anticipating something that wasn’t going to happen. He placed his hand on the upturned buttocks and kneaded gently. “I’m just going to play with you a bit,” he stated softly. “Nothing more.”
He watched Blair’s eyes close. Of course, he had Blair’s consent to do anything, but he could read neither relief nor disappointment in his expression. Just an even greater relaxation, as though Blair was settling in to enjoy whatever was going to happen.
Jim looked down at the slightly spread legs. He took his index finger and very gently ran it along the inside of the cleavage. He felt hair, wrinkled skin, then the delicate tissue of the innermost depression. Applying the softest pressure, he rubbed there with his fingertip. He focused on touch, beginning the process of identifying tiny nerve endings. Wary of zoning, and wanting another obsession to enjoy simultaneously, he carefully shifted, still keeping his finger at work, and reached with his other hand to take Blair’s hair and push it aside, so it revealed his pale neck.
Jim heard Blair’s heart quicken unexpectedly, and then there was a slight undulation where his finger was. Blair’s body suddenly erupted in tiny goosebumps. His lips parted and his eyes remained closed, but no sound emerged.
Jim could feel the anal nerves now, the current that went through them. He knew how to do this. He was going to be very good at it, and Blair was always going to want it.
Still keeping the digit at work, and just barely increasing the pressure, Jim bent and licked at Blair’s neck. Blair tasted very good there, even without the salt of the day’s sweat. Not as good as the underside of his penis or the depth of his armpit, nor the saliva the lubricated his mouth. But still a very enticing flavor, all the more so because it was spiced with the mystery of Blair’s hair having covered it all day.
Jim’s licking changed to kissing, and then little nips. Blair groaned and raised his head, as though offering more of himself, while undulating against the mattress.
Jim moved his lips near an ear. “Be still,” he commanded softly. He shifted, determined to just kiss gently this time, while his dry finger slipped in to just fill the space of the tiny opening. Jim wriggled his finger just so, and Blair made an inarticulate noise as goosebumps claimed his flesh once again.
The digit could go no farther. Jim withdrew it, straightening, and inserted it into his mouth. He sucked for a moment on Blair’s flavor there, then drooled on the finger. He sat back, refocusing his attention on the cleavage between the dual cheeks. With his left hand, he slowly drew the left one aside. It revealed the pink opening protected by a thin layer of dark hair. Jim re-wet his finger, then brought it down to the opening. He stuck it as far in as it had been when dry – just filling the opening – and now pressed a little farther. Through the moisture, he felt tight walls just barely give way, and he registered the shock and delight of the tiny nerves which greeted him.
Blair bit into the pillow, and his body started to quiver. Jim wondered if it was time to turn Blair back over and re-acquaint himself with the delicious underside of his cock.
Jim felt Blair’s eyes on him a long time before he rolled over to face him, his chin propped in his hand. They had dozed for about half an hour with the lamp still on. Meeting those eyes now, Jim knew they revealed the scientist who was full of questions, but also the friend who was perhaps not sure if it was okay to ask.
Jim pushed the covers from Blair’s waist. He reached to the limp phallus and ran his finger along the underside. “On your penis,” he explained as he stroked it, “there’s a vein that runs all along the underside.”
Blair rose up, balancing himself on his cast and forearm so he could look down at himself.
Jim watched the organ shift as he stroked along it. “Right along there, it tastes particularly good.”
“Tastes?” Blair said in disbelief. “Don’t you mean feels?”
“Tastes,” Jim confirmed. He ran his finger around the crown. “It’s different than it tastes here, or along the top,” his finger skittered along the surface of the shaft, “or underneath into your balls.” Jim took his hand away as he smiled at Blair. “I wish I could describe to you what it tastes like. It’s special.”
Blair studied him doubtfully. “So special that it made you want to make me come three different times, while you still have your underwear on?”
Jim chuckled softly and ran his finger down Blair’s nose. “If it’s any consolation, I can assure you that my actions tonight were one hundred percent selfish and entirely for my own pleasure. Don’t ever question that.”
To his surprise, Blair didn’t try to find fault with what he said. He merely closed his eyes and made a motion of snuggling closer, without actually doing so.
Jim did so. He gathered Blair up, much like he had when they’d first gotten into bed. He stroked his back, up and down, loving the way Blair relaxed, his body all the more sated these two hours later. Eventually, Jim shifted to reach to the lamp and turned it off. He lay back and encouraged Blair’s head to rest on his shoulder, which it did.
Melinda was shaking her head. “I’ve never seen anyone around here wearing a sweater like that. And I probably would have noticed, because I used to do clothing design.”
Blair shifted restlessly. He couldn’t believe they’d struck out at both farms, when the red sweater was the link between them. “What about somebody who might have visited in the past few months?”
She was still shaking her head. “Not that I remember and, like I said, I think I would have noticed. That’s a bright enough color that some of the horses might have actually gotten spooked, if the sun were to hit it just right.”
Jim handed her the photo. “Look, can you ask around? All the stable hands? The feed man? The veterinarian? One ‘yes’ could break the whole case wide open.”
“Sure. I want this solved. I’ll ask everybody who comes here, no matter how infrequently.”
“We appreciate that,” Blair said, walking back to the truck.
Jim turned to Melinda, who followed them. “By the way, how are the retired horses coming along in their new training?”
She shrugged. “Some do better than others, but we’re always hopeful that we can find them new careers.”
Blair snapped his fingers. “Uh… what was that one who had the neat name? Legend something?”
“Legend’s Lair.”
“Yeah, that’s a cool name. He was being retrained for something, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. Polo.”
“How’s it going?”
“He was doing well, but he hasn’t had much practice since his trainer, Tommy Sanchez, has been away. We mainly just ride him around a bit to keep him exercised. No one here knows much about polo.”
“Oh, right.” Blair hit himself on the forehead, feigning stupidity. “He was the one being trained by the Sanchez guy.” He and Jim got in the truck, and Blair wished he had somehow caught Melinda off guard so she might have innocently provided another clue, even though they didn’t think she was in any way involved with Carter’s murder.
Jim started the truck. As they drove away, he said, “I wonder if the lack of interest in continuing Legend’s training is because now there isn’t a high-priced buy going down.”
Blair wondered too.
Blair closed his eyes, his left cheek resting more heavily upon the pillow, as he lay face down on the bed. His cast was positioned next to his body, pointing toward the headboard, his left arm drooping aimlessly to the other side. His body was mush, courtesy of two orgasms from Jim’s skilled mouth and hand. His legs were spread wide, courtesy of Jim’s manipulations. One finger had, finally, reached full insertion within his rectum.
The finger was not lubricated – other than the sloppy rimming Jim had given him eons ago – so inserting it fully had taken a long, long time. It hadn’t hurt, because Jim had gone about it so slowly… so gradually working it in. Sometimes pulling back just a little before pushing forward even less. Every once in a while, wriggling it just so.
Now that it was fully sheathed, Blair wondered what Jim was going to do with it. At first, he thought the focused penetration meant he was going to get fucked tonight. But now he didn’t think so, and curbed his disappointment with sleepy musings about how it was that a slowly inserted finger up one’s ass could make one feel so loved and protected. He thought about calling Dr. Witherspoon at Rainier, the head of the psychology department, and asking him about it. “Is it some sort of infantile thing? Like, you must be loved unconditionally if someone is fascinated by that taboo part of your body? Or is it strictly Freudian? You know, the pleasure, even if the pleasure is kind of subtle and not registering directly with your cock? (Especially if your cock has already ejaculated twice?) Or is it just the idea that you lover is doing something to you that some might call dirty? You know, the whole naughty, taboo thing? Or is it a fullness thing? (Jim’s finger feels like it’s filling me up right now. How is he ever going to get his huge cock in there?) Well, anyway, thanks for talking with me about this, Dr. Witherspoon. I just thought I’d pass along that I think this is worthy of study. You ought to try it sometime. But you need a lover who is, like, extra-or-din-ar-i-ly patient. And it helps if he or she has super-sensitive fingers. And that he or she thinks you’re, like, a sensual fascination so that, even after forty-five minutes, they’re so intrigued by watching – and feeling – their finger disappear into your asshole, little by little, that they wouldn’t speed things up if their life depended on it. Well, actually, you probably really need to do it with a sentinel. I can’t imagine anyone else getting much out of it, if they’re on the finger end of things.”
Blair whimpered softly as an unexpected current shot out from his anus to register pleasure with his brain. Did I really make that noise? It sounded to him like the soft, eager cry of a puppy. How did Jim do that without moving? He waited, trying to familiarize himself with the nerves in his ass, and realized that the finger was moving… just barely. Quivering against his tender tissues, making them pay attention to the possibility that there might be more happy jolts to come. “Yessss,” he breathed appreciatively.
He felt a pull at his inner sphincter muscle, and realized that the digit was slowly withdrawing. No, don’t do that. And then he shuddered all over when the contours of the second knuckle –backing out first – registered with his nerves. Oh, God, Jim. You’re master of my ass, man. The fullness was receding, and he grabbed the finger with his muscles, delighting in the feel of the greater width of the bent first knuckle, even as he tried desperately to hang onto it and keep it from leaving.
Suddenly, there was a reversal, and the finger pushed back in with a long, steady motion. Blair grunted, wanting it. He quivered again, but this time because the hair was being pushed away from his neck, exposing his flesh. He’s going to get serious now. Blood began surging to his sex organs. He undulated, realizing that the finger was in as far as it was going to go. Still, he squeezed it, trying to swallow it up more, recapture the feeling of fullness, which wasn’t as filling, since he’d been stretched. The finger pulled back, and once again Blair felt the stimulation as his sphincter hugged the satisfying width of the second knuckle. Once it was out, he was delighted that it pushed back in again. “Yes,” he grunted. “Fuck me.”
The bed rocked as Jim shifted behind him. The finger stabbed steadily now…in and… slowly out. In and… slowly out…. Suddenly, the back of his neck was assaulted by a sloppy tongue. It kissed, licked, nipped….
Blair groaned long and loud as he timed his thrust back onto the finger, frustrated that he never could get it to fill him enough. His whole body shuddered and quivered as Jim’s mouth continued to torment the back of his neck.
Then everything stopped.
Blair lay panting, frustrated with the lack of motion, but knowing from the past few nights that he’d live to experience a satisfying conclusion to this session. Jim’s hand applied firm pressure to his buttock. “Hold still,” came the gentle, gasping command, the pressure increasing.
Blair obeyed, swallowing loudly, stealing himself for the disappointment that was to come… the beginning of the end of tonight’s session.
So slowly, the finger pulled back, a wet fleshy noise sounding loud as it popped free, leaving Blair empty and aching to be filled back up.
More rocking of the bed as the hand left his buttock. The feel of a huge weight on his back, though the knees on either side of him took most of it. With great care, Blair’s hair was pushed aside again.
Oh, my God. Goosebumps broke out Blair’s body, as he realized what Jim was going to do.
Their first night, Jim hadn’t done anything at all for himself. The second, he’d jerked off onto Blair’s stomach, then licked it off. Last night, after rimming Blair relentlessly, he’d come on Blair’s asshole, and then rimmed him some more. That whole session – some two hours of it – had sent Blair to three orgasms and left him a muttering lump of sated flesh as he drifted into an exhausted sleep.
Tonight, he knew that huge, thick flesh was aimed at the back of his neck. He wished he could see it, could taste it. But, for some reason, Jim insisted on jerking himself off onto whatever spot he chose to lick afterwards. He’d never yet allowed his cock anywhere near Blair’s mouth. Blair wasn’t even sure if it could be said that Jim pleasured himself during these occurrences, for orgasm was reached so quickly. Maybe it was simply because Jim was always so turned on by then, or maybe it was because some sentinel ability allowed Jim to ejaculate from willpower alone. But, whatever was at work, the task was usually accomplished with three strokes of his hand.
Now, Blair waited, listening with sympathy to Jim’s gasping breath, feeling that larger man’s thighs brace beside his body.
Soft sound of flesh on flesh. Blair counted One… two… three….
Jim gasped, then cried out with a strangled noise, squeezing Blair’s heart with even greater sympathy. Man, what’s with the holding back? Shout it out, Jim!
Liquid spurted onto the back of Blair’s neck. He couldn’t quite tell if it was hotter or cooler than his own skin temperature. He just knew that it was a little ticklish, and Jim was still groaning his pleasure. A thick drop slid off the side of Blair’s neck. From what he’d seen when Jim came on his belly, the man tended to ejaculate quite a bit more fluid than Blair ever had.
Jim’s groans receded, and Blair felt soft damp flesh just below his neck. Wiping it off on me… Come on, Jim, why won’t you let me lick it?
Their bed fell silent.
Dialing up his sense of taste…. Blair could easily imagine Jim staring at his seed resting upon the neck that he so liked to devour. Teasing himself with a moment’s delay.
The bed rocked again. Blair felt heat at his neck, and then that insistent tongue was licking at the semen. Oh, God! He shuddered. The tongue was licking, licking, eating, tasting. Jim groaned deep in his chest, like a primitive devouring his meal, devoid of any concern for table manners.
Blair cried out and lunged against the bed. He turned his head this way and that, trying to avoid the stimulation that was too much to take. Most of the semen was gone now, and dilated taste buds created a bumpy texture along his ultra-sensitive flesh. He cried out again, shivering all over, trying to find relief in the mattress.
The tongue stopped. Sniffing now. Jim sniffing along his neck, as though to satisfy himself that their dual scents still lingered on Blair’s flesh. Blair shuddered again, limp against the bed, knowing only Jim could grant him respite from his torment.
The sniffing stopped. The bed rocked. Strong hands gathered Blair up and flipped him over.
Jesus, almighty God. His erection swayed in the air. He groaned loudly while watching Jim watch his bobbing flesh with calculating eyes.
The large head bent, and a wide, wet tongue went up the underside of Blair’s cock. He shuddered again and gasped, “Yes. Yes.” He gripped the mattress. Jim’s blow jobs were unique. It wasn’t like he even sucked until near the end. Blair used to worry that release would never come, but now he realized that he enjoyed it all the more if he let that most powerful tongue encourage his flesh to receive the semen from his balls. Only when the explosion was about to take place would Jim clamp his mouth down around Blair’s shaft, and suck the juice right out of him.
Blair gasped as the tortuous licks continued, reminding himself of how delicious Jim thought he tasted there. His body was the epitome of sensual experience, Jim had told him. And now he was the most wonderful tool, being used to please Jim, in any way that Jim desired.
Blair cried out. Strong jaw muscles were clamped around him and semen jutted from his flesh. Or, rather, droplets of semen exploded from him. His balls had already been spent, drained dry. He shuddered and quivered as Jim drank what little there was. And then he was released. Sinking… sinking… sinking…..
He came to some minutes later, a lump of formlessness on the mattress, Jim beside him, their sides touching. Funny how Jim always looked fairly dignified after these wild sessions; whereas, Blair ended up feeling he must look like what the cat dragged in… or what the sentinel thoroughly sated. And it wasn’t quite over yet. After some resting, Jim would want to swab Blair’s mouth with his tongue, tasting his “sweetness”, as he called it. And then they’d cuddle and Blair would most likely fall to sleep before they ever got around to rolling apart for the night.
Breathing normally now, Blair laid his hand on Jim’s bare belly, and looked over at him. “How come you never want me to suck your cock?”
Jim gazed back at him, and his pause in answering told Blair that his reply
wasn’t going to be the whole truth. “Because my cock doesn’t have
taste buds,” Jim said, getting up onto his side. His finger reached
out and gently outlined Blair’s lips. “It seems sort of a waste to put
my cock in there, when I could be tasting what’s in there instead.”
Blair’s mind was already working on the problem. “You could maybe try piggybacking your sense of taste onto your sense of touch.” But they hadn’t used the piggyback thing much, and Blair would need to talk him through it. “Hmm. I guess that could be a problem, since I couldn’t guide you through the process with your cock stuffed in my mouth.”
“What a romantic image,” Jim teased.
Blair looked at him, wondering if the frank words truly didn’t turn Jim on. He’d thought Jim liked it somewhat down and dirty. But he was seeing a romantic side of him that he would never have imagined, even when Jim was on his best behavior. For that matter, maybe romantic wasn’t even the word. Maybe it was more a vivacious generosity, wanting to give so much to his bed partner, and insisting that the pleasure was all his own.
With a tender touch, Jim stroked Blair’s temple with a pair of fingers. Gently, he said, “We’ll eventually get around to everything, Chief.”
That was reassuring, though Blair wasn’t sure how Jim would define “everything”.
“It’s just that I like…,” Jim’s expression suddenly became vulnerable, “playing with you. I like taking my time. Exploring. Learning what feels the most good to me. And to you. It’s so rare for me to have an opportunity like that. Even when I was married to Carolyn, I didn’t feel that I had her permission to take liberties with learning about her, learning how we could make it the best it could possibly be between us.”
Blair realized the thought shouldn’t surprise him – in fact, he’d acknowledged it to himself before – but he was still startled to realize that Jim had lived a very lonely existence. Granted, the man genuinely appreciated solitude and the value of being left to himself, but there was a part of him that so obviously wanted to reach out to another person, to have somebody to love.
And I just happen to be the one who’s available right now. Lucky me. That, too, was a sobering thought.
But, for now, Blair’s concern was Jim and what he’d just said. Veronica danced across Blair’s mind – the last woman he’d known Jim to have slept with. Yes, there had been other dates since then, but Jim came home too early to have slept with any of them. The man wasn’t the type to have a quickie in the backseat of a car. “Jim?”
The pair of fingers were now stroking along Blair’s chest. “Hmm?”
“Was Veronica the last person you slept with before me?” Please say no. Veronica was well over a year ago. But Veronica had also been the most vicious and cruel of the many lovers who had wounded Jim. The kind of woman that made you think twice – or thrice – about trusting a beautiful vixen ever again.
Jim was taking too long to answer. It was possible that he was truly trying to remember, but Blair suspected it was more that he didn’t want to admit to it. “Yes,” he finally said, not meeting Blair’s eye.
No wonder you’re so starved. As a man, and even more so as a sentinel. And here I am, somebody who knows you and understands you. Somebody you’ve discovered is sensually pleasing. But would I still be as pleasing if I was just a functioning body, without any thoughts or feelings or personality? In bed, does it matter to you that I am me? Or could I be anyone who smelled the same to you, and tasted the same?
The fingers gently nudged at Blair’s lips, and he let his jaw fall open. The fingers explored around his inner lower lip, causing Blair to salivate. Then they pulled back.
Blair watched Jim’s eyes close as he brought the fingers to his own lips. Jim’s tongue darted out and tasted the saliva on them, the expression on his face one of rapture. His tongue licked more diligently.
Blair wished he had access to a university lab. He would love to examine his spit under a slide and see what it contained, if there was any way to identify something different in it that might somehow make it unique from anyone else’s. There was the lab at the PD, but he’d have to have others run the sample through, and there was no way he could explain why. But then, he’d also like to analyze the flesh on the underside of his cock, to try to determine what made it so deliciously good to Jim, as opposed to the other skin of his penis, or the rest of his body.
Blair swallowed when Jim opened his eyes, looking down at him hungrily. Blair has seen that look each night, and he nodded – as though his acceptance mattered – and closed his own eyes, waiting for Jim. A moment later there was the bobble of the mattress, warm breath across his face, and then Jim’s lips settled onto his.
Blair had learned to enjoy this, rather than being startled by it. The wide, seeking tongue scooped along the gullies of his mouth, draining him of saliva. Of course, the stimulation to his mouth caused the creation of even more saliva, and Jim’s hot breath was being transferred into him, making Blair feel it in his otherwise sated groin. This was the fun part. Oxygen was being drained from him, but he wasn’t concerned, knowing Jim would know when to say when. Finally, Jim pulled back, and Blair took a deep, cleansing breath. His lips were gently kissed in gratitude.
He was gathered up, the covers pulled over him. He’d never used to sleep in the nude, but he tended to fall asleep in Jim’s bed before being able to think about dressing, and had discovered he was no worse for the wear. His robe took care of any nocturnal trips to the kitchen or bathroom, and with fighting off the morning chill, which there tended to be little of during the summer. He also tended to fall asleep before the lone lamp of the far end of the dresser was even turned off.
The night’s session of sensual lust was over, and Jim held him close and gently rubbed his hand up and down Blair’s back, beneath the covers. The body heat between them was a bit stifling, but Blair never wanted to move away. He drifted, wondering if Jim would treat any bed partner this way. And then fell asleep as he remembered that the little experiment with Megan had suggested that it was only Blair whom Jim wanted to pet and cuddle.
Blair knocked loudly on the apartment door.
“Coming!” he heard an Aussie accented voice from within.
He knocked again.
Megan opened the door, dressed in sweats. “I said I was coming,” she noted in exasperation.
Blair brushed past her, unable to contain himself in the doorway. “Hi, Megan.”
“Come on in,” she said pointedly, closing the door.
Blair sat down at the kitchen table.
“Have a seat,” she offered belatedly, sitting opposite him. “What’s up, Sandy? You sounded frazzled on the phone.”
“I need to talk to you,” he stated, grabbing a cookie from a saucer in the center of the table and biting into it.
“I gathered that.” She stood and opened the refrigerator. “Milk?”
He nodded. “It’s Jim.” He took another bite, scattering crumbs.
“Oh, no,” she said sympathetically, pouring a glass. “Is it his senses?” She placed the glass in front of Blair, then reached for a saucer.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, popping the remainder of the cookie into his mouth. “I don’t know. It is but it isn’t.”
She put the saucer in the center of the mess of crumbs he’d created. “What can you tell me? It won’t leave this room, you know.”
“I know,” he nodded gratefully, starting on another cookie. “It’s Jim.”
She sat down with her hands folded on the tabletop. “Is it that you’re fighting again or not getting along?”
He gazed at her as he chewed. “I wish it were that simple.”
“That simple?” She looked alarmed, and Blair couldn’t blame her for thinking that the Alex situation and the thesis fiasco had been complicated enough.
He didn’t see how he could not tell her. Besides, Jim knew that one of the reasons Megan was such a good friend to Blair was because he didn’t have to hide the sentinel stuff from her. Megan and Simon were the only people he could talk to whenever there was trouble – serious or otherwise – with Jim. “Megan, Jim and I are sleeping together.” He grabbed another cookie and shoved it into his mouth.
She said, “You need to swallow between bites.”
He nodded. “That’s what Jim says.”
“He’s right. Why don’t you drink some milk before you make yourself sick?”
Blair took a large gulp of milk, wondering if Megan had been listening. “Did you hear what I said?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his good hand.
“Ah, yes. You and Jim. Sleeping together. I guess I just needed a moment to digest it.” She shoved a napkin his way.
Blair used it, assuming he had a milk mustache. “Pretty wild, huh?”
“So,” she cocked her head, the inspector at work. “This is a problem then?”
Blair wished she could be more helpful. He tilted his head back to finish off the milk. Then, “Define problem.”
Megan blinked. “Sandy, you’re the one who called me. I assume there is a problem you need help with?”
“It’s Jim. Jim’s senses,” he clarified. “Or just Jim.” He released a long breath, feeling some of the anxiety leave his body as he admitted, “Actually, it’s hard to separate Jim from his senses.”
“I can imagine,” she said. “And this possible sensory problem… it involves you and he sleeping together?” She shifted. “Or maybe I should ask: which came first?”
Blair answered with forced patience. “Jim’s senses came first.” He shoved another cookie in his mouth.
“I know. I mean, did the problem with Jim start before or after you were sleeping together?” She got up and retrieved the milk. She poured Blair another glass and left the carton on the table.
“Definitely before. Megan,” he said incredulously, “Jim and I have been sleeping together five days. Five days. And I haven’t even felt his cock. I hardly even know what it looks like.”
Her brow furrowed. “You mean, you’re unhappy with your sex life… already?”
“No!” he stated emphatically, wondering how he could have given that impression. “Our sex life is perfect. It’s mind blowing – for me, anyway. I mean, Megan, I just lay there and I don’t even have to do anything!” He laughed delightedly. “I just lay there and he… does me. Does me until I’m just an exhausted, sated lump of flesh.”
He noticed that her cheeks seemed to have a little more color in them as than usual. “And this is a problem?” she asked unsteadily.
“No! No!” How could he have messed this up? “Our sex life is definitely not a problem!” He grabbed another cookie.
“Then,” she tilted her head thoughtfully, “is it that Jim is a man, and you’re having identity issues?”
Blair’s hair fanned out from his head as he shook it back and forth. “You know me better than that,” he scolded. “Gender is not an issue with me.”
She spread her hands, sighing heavily through her nose. “Well then, what is the issue?”
He took a quick sip of milk and leaned forward on the table, eager to explain it. “He’s - he’s – he’s – like obsessed with me.” Blair waved his good arm for emphasis.
She appeared to consider that. “But wouldn’t that be a good thing if you’re sleeping together and having great sex?”
Blair gestured emphatically. “Megan, I’m talking OBSESSED! Capital letters.”
Her lips twisted to one side, showing definite puzzlement. “How do you mean?”
“I mean – I mean - he’s obsessed with me. With my body. He even,” Blair laughed without humor, “he thinks my spit tastes good. How insane is that? Megan, have you ever had anyone tell you that your spit tastes fantastically good?”
“No,” she replied thoughtfully. “But I’d certainly rather be told that than be told I have bad breath.”
Blair groaned as he swung both arms – despite the cast – around and around. “Megan, this is not normal. I have lived with Jim for five years and he has never had one iota of interest in my spit. Now, he practically suffocates me, trying to suck it all out of me. I mean, he does not kiss the way a normal person kisses.” And he won’t even let me suck his cock, though supposedly we’re going to get around to that some day.
“Maybe he’s in love with you.”
Blair wondered if he might regurgitate half a dozen cookies. He settled for grabbing his hair. “Megan, he cannot be in love with me!”
“Why not?
Was she being deliberately obtuse? “Because,” he was sure to state it clearly this time, “I have lived with Jim for five years and he’s never been the least bit in love with me before.”
Her voice gentled. “Sandy, sometimes love happens that way. For years you’re good friends, and then one day you realize love has blossomed somewhere along the line. At that point, I don’t think the how or why really matters.”
Blair closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he released it slowly, she continued, “There’s all kinds of ways for people to fall in love. You of all people should know that. My parents couldn’t stand each other for the three years they went to high school together. Then they ended up at the same university and discovered one day that they were in love. I have friends who fell in love at first sight and who have been happily married for many years. I know other people who have been good friends a very long time, and sex seemed like a natural extension of their feelings.” Her voice softened even more. “There’s no textbook for how it’s supposed to happen. But I think one should always be grateful when it does.”
Blair continued to breathe deeply, trying to get his racing heart under control, and feeling more than a little annoyed that Megan seemed determined to keep missing the point. “Look, Megan, something is going on with Jim’s senses. His behavior isn’t normal.”
She shrugged. “Have you discussed it with him?”
“Yes, I’ve tried. And he has about as much concern about it as you do. Why can’t –“
“Maybe that says something,” she interrupted. “Maybe,” she said carefully, sympathetically, “you’re the one who’s having the problem, and you’re trying to make it into Jim’s problem.”
Okay, everyone wants to play amateur psychologist. He released a heavy breath through his nose, wondering if there was any hope of making her understand.
“Sandy,” she asked, “does this have to do with that touching thing you had me come over for?”
“Yes, I guess it does. It’s all interrelated.”
“And was that experiment, or whatever it was, concerned with, for instance, when I saw Jim rubbing his hand along your arm at work?”
Finally, he was getting through to her. “Yes, that’s what I mean. Jim touching me like that is a symptom of his senses’ obsession with me. We had you come over because we were trying to see if he felt compelled to get all touchy-feely with another person the way he does with me.”
“And the answer?” she ventured.
“Was no. I mean, Jim admitted that he enjoyed holding you, but he didn’t get crazy with you like he does with me.” He wasn’t rubbing nice, sweet circles on your back, either.
“You know,” she mused, “I remember your telling me to just relax against him like he was protecting me.”
“That’s right.” He wondered where she was going with this.
“I thought it sort of odd how you said it.”
“Odd? What do you mean?” Did I unintentionally mess up the experiment?
“I just got the feeling that it meant something special to you. Jim being protective of you.” She ducked her head. “I don’t want to pry.”
Blair shrugged. It was hard to hide anything at this point. But he didn’t see any reason to tell her about the origins of the Blessed Protector situation.
She stood and went to the counter. “Coffee?”
He shook his head.
She poured herself a cup. “You know, for what it’s worth, I think Jim would be a great catch. Beneath all that straight-faced, straight-laced, anally retentive muscle man, I suspect he’s just a big softie at heart. And he always means to do the right thing, even when he’s being an impossible bastard.”
Blair thought that was a nice thing to say, and he wished Jim could hear her say it. He sipped his milk and watched her sit down. “I haven’t seen much of the impossible bastard since we worked through the thesis fiasco.”
She smiled at him. “I haven’t either. You’ve been good for him, Sandy. Even before I was in Cascade, I’ve heard others talk about what an uptight SOB he was – as well as a great cop.”
Blair didn’t know what to say.
She tilted her head, her smile broadening. “So, what was the problem again?”
He smiled back, but it was short-lived. His shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What is it you feel you need to ‘do’? To fix and make better? Damn, if I had someone who treated me the way you say Jim’s been treating you, I’d lock him away in manacles – fur-lined, of course – and never let him out of my bedroom.”
Though he knew it was unnecessary, Blair seriously pointed out, “Jim isn’t the kind of man who can be locked away. Nor should he be. The city needs its sentinel.”
She studied him a long time while sipping her coffee, so much so that he was tempted to squirm. Then she put her cup down and shifted in her chair. “Sandy, this is the message I’m getting from you: You’re scared. Terrified. But I don’t know how to help, because I don’t understand why you’re feeling so afraid.” Her expression was full of sympathy. “I know it’s not because you’re afraid of Jim.”
Blair slowly shook his head while staring at the tabletop. No, of course he wasn’t afraid of Jim. Scared. Terrified. Afraid. If he were full of terror, shouldn’t he feel it? He’d never shied away from admitting fear, so there’s no reason for him to avoid facing it now. So… since he didn’t feel afraid or scared or terrified, then Megan was wrong, wasn’t she? Except… her perspective is at least somewhat objective. I can’t claim to be objective about my own feelings. But I’m usually pretty good at recognizing my own inner truth. At least, I used to be. He felt the shakiness in his own voice as he faced the live TV cameras nearly a year and a half ago. “My dissertation, ’The Sentinel’, is a fraud. Looking back, you might say it was a good piece of fiction.”
“Thanks, Megan,” he muttered, not looking at her as he got up and headed for the door.
Perhaps the simple truth was that something else had died that day – something more than just his dissertation.
Alone in the bullpen, Jim stabbed at the keyboard, trying to feed in more data from people who either worked at Grayson Farm or were volunteers at Racers Range. Blair had left a while ago for personal errands.
Captain Banks emerged from his office with his coat folded over his arm. “Jim.”
Grateful for the distraction, Jim looked up. “Hi, Simon.”
“A quiet place tonight.”
“Yeah,” Jim sighed, “everybody else is out doing real police work, and I’m stuck here doing data entry.”
“Where’s Sandburg?”
“He left on time. He wouldn’t be much help with this, anyway, with his cast. He can point and click, but his one-handed typing is even slower than my two-handed typing.”
Simon chuckled while sitting down and looking at the vacant desk next to Jim. “I received a notice from Personnel that Blair’s first annual review is due by the end of the month.”
Jim felt his eyebrows shoot up. “It’s been a year already?”
Simon inserted an unlit cigar into his mouth. “Try fifteen months. The annual is due one year after the ninety-day probation review.”
That was a surprise. “Fifteen months.” Wow.
“Anyway, he’ll be getting a raise, though it’ll probably take some two months before all the paperwork gets signed by the higher-ups, once I’ve written up his review and gone over it with him.”
Jim grinned. “Terrific. I’ll let him know it’s coming.”
Simon chuckled softly as he gnawed at his cigar. “I’m still not sure that I’ll ever get used to it, the two of you.”
Jim felt a sense of pride, even though he needed to ask, “What do you mean?”
“You ought to try to take a step back sometime, Jim, and see if you can look at the two of you objectively – the way others see you. You’re not exactly Oscar and Felix, but you’re hardly two people that anyone would ever have picked out to make a successful partnership. You such a tight-assed, military man – ”
“Uh, I believe anal retentive is the modern terminology, sir.”
Simon chuckled again. “All right. You so anal retentive and conservative, and Sandburg such a wild, free spirit.”
Gently, Jim reminded, “Blair’s wildness has always been tamable when it’s important enough. I would have never allowed him to ride with me if I’d felt I had to constantly look over my shoulder and watch out for him. It’s because I knew he was busy watching me that I wanted him with me.” In a softer voice, he admitted, “Needed him with me.” He wasn’t sure why he looked away right then. Perhaps it was the recollection of how vulnerable he’d felt when his senses had first made themselves known.
Simon tilted his head, holding the cigar away from his mouth. “It’s unlikely you and Sandburg would ever have hooked up, if it hadn’t been for the sentinel stuff, right? He’s not somebody you would have seen at a social gathering and felt compelled to walk up to and start a conversation.”
“No, probably not,” Jim admitted, relaxing into a smile. Then, after a thoughtful moment, “He would have scared me too much. He was too comfortable with life and so openly caring about other people, and the things he believed. I would have found him way too threatening.” Jim blinked. He had indeed felt threatened by Blair – threatened by how the younger man seemed to know him so well. He looked at Simon and shrugged. “I was so threatened by him, in fact, that when I first went to see him, I ended up slamming him against the wall. He had a mouth on him – ”
Another little chuckle from Simon, but it wasn’t quite so sincere. “That must have been pretty scary for him. You must have over fifty pounds on him, to say nothing of six or seven inches in height. It’s a wonder he ever – “
Jim shook his head, lost in the memory. “But that’s just it, Simon.” He looked at his superior. “He wasn’t afraid. Not really. I-I think he knew how scared I was, because of the sentinel thing, and he wanted to help, knew that he was probably the one person who could.” He glanced away again, remembering all the things that had gone through his mind during that meeting with Blair. “I admired his courage from the start. All five-foot-eight, one hundred forty pounds of it.” But now he’s the one with the fear. He can enjoy the sex, but he can’t bring himself to trust what’s between us. He doesn’t have a clue about how to have a relationship.
Simon nodded slowly. “I guess that’s the part I never knew.” His face closed in concentration. “Honestly, Jim, even after you told me about the sentinel thing, I couldn’t figure out why you wanted him to stick so close. From everything I knew of you, Sandburg was exactly the type of person you’d have the least amount of patience for. “ Simon suddenly drew a deep, slow breath, as though having achieved a personal insight. “Hell, he’s the type of person I have the least amount of patience for. But I have to admit,” he sighed deeply, “he’s grown on me. More importantly, he made my best detective into a better detective, and he’s a hell of an asset in his own right.” Simon frowned and said, “Don’t tell him I told you that.”
Jim laughed. “Your feelings will be obvious when you do his review.” He sobered. “It’ll mean a lot to him.”
“Yeah.” Simon was silent a moment, and then he said, “Maybe I’ll even manage to get the words out, instead of leaving it to the review form.” He shook his head, chuckling again. “It’s so funny about him.”
“What?” Jim asked curiously.
“The way he needs to hear the words. You know,” Simon looked at Jim directly, “my ex-wife used to say to me, ‘You never tell me you love me.’ So, I’d say, ‘I love you.’ And then she’d be mad.”
Jim grinned, too. He really didn’t have much experience with that type of woman, but he’d heard plenty of husbands complain about that particular female trait over the years.
“But Sandburg,” Simon shook his head in amazement, “if he says, ‘You never tell me you appreciate me’ and you say, ‘I appreciate you’, then he just lights up.” Simon gestured with his hands. “Hell, the whole room lights up. I’ve never known anyone who took words so much to heart.”
Jim’s eyes went to the papers on his desk, not able to meet Simon’s gaze right then. Yes, of course. Blair needed to hear the words. If I say, “I love you”, will that make everything okay for him? He doubted it. Or will it just scare him all the more, make him want to back away? Make him all the more determined to believe that I’m suffering from some sort of sensory spike? Or, maybe, will he be able to trust my sincerity, and it’ll be the first step toward his really understanding what love is?
“It seems,” Simon said, more subdued, “that his eagerness for praise – earned though it may be – would make him really vulnerable to getting his heart broken. If a young lady said all the right things….”
“That’s already happened,” Jim reminded, thinking of Iris.
Simon shrugged. “With one-night-stands and very short term relationships, right?” He shook his head. “I’d just hate to think of what it would do to him if some manipulative woman got a hold of him and was able to hold his interest long enough for a long-term relationship. If someone picked up as quickly as I did on how easily words can sway him, she’d have him wrapped around her little finger.”
“That’s not going to happen, Simon,” Jim pointed out, chilled at the thought. But it was only a thought, nothing that he would ever have to worry about. Simon had no way of knowing that. Jim put on a reassuring smile. “I’d interfere long before any woman that manipulative got her claws into him.”
Simon tilted his head, pointing out, “If he was head-over-heels, he probably wouldn’t listen to you.”
Jim was suddenly uncomfortable with the hypothetical situation. It made him realize how much he was keeping from Simon, though he couldn’t see any reason why he should tell him what was going on in his and Blair’s private time. “I’d make him listen,” Jim said simply, then made a point of focusing on his paperwork.
After a long moment, Simon got up and said, “Goodnight, Jim.”
Jim didn’t look up. “Goodnight, sir.”
When Jim came home, having called ahead to say he’d already eaten, he spotted Blair out on the balcony, looking out over the city. The summer evening was warm enough that Blair was wearing only a light jacket over his shoulders. When he turned a bit, Jim was surprised to see that Blair was wearing his sling. Since the sling had mostly been abandoned the past week or so, Jim could only surmise that Blair was feeling weary, needing the support. He wondered what that meant, especially coupled with his partner’s contemplative stance.
Jim hung up his jacket and pushed open the balcony window. “Hey, Chief,” he greeted.
Blair smiled at him, but even that was a tired gesture. “Hey.” He looked back out over the city.
Jim came up behind him and placed a hand on his back, feeling all the protective feelings well up. “What’s so interesting out here?” he wondered.
“Just thinking,” Blair replied, placing his good hand on the railing.
Jim’s hand went to Blair’s head. His fingers trailed through the strands of hair, using the lightest touch, even as an instinctual urge told him to curl them around his fingers and feel, feel, feel. “You going to share?”
Blair gulped and turned so that he was partly facing Jim. His gaze was on the ground. “I feel like a fraud, Jim. The thesis aside, I’m still a fraud.”
Jim blinked, not understanding.
Blair looked up at him, his eyes sad in the city lights. “All these years, I’ve poked and prodded you so much to open up to me. To let me know what you were feeling. To find the little demons inside yourself and expose them, so you could deal with them.” He took a deep breath and lowered his gaze again.
Jim wasn’t sure where this was going. Gently he assured, “And look at me now. I don’t feel the need to hide so much. I like… talking to you. You gave me that strength.”
Blair looked up again, and his eyes were pained. “I-I can’t do it, Jim. I can’t practice what I preach. Either I’ve got something buried so deep that it can’t ever be retrieved, or else I’ve got some physical defect, where there’s some synapses in my brain that aren’t connecting or something.”
He sounded so serious. Synapses not connecting in that amazing brain?
Blair swallowed again and looked out at the city once more. “I can’t return your feelings, Jim. I can’t. I keep thinking there has to be a place inside me where my feelings are kept, but I can’t find it.” He looked at Jim. “The sex is… terrific, man. Out of this world.” His head shook back and forth. “But I can’t feel for you what you feel for me. I keep searching within myself, and I just… can’t… find it.” He briefly indicated his torso. “There’s a big dead place inside me where my feelings ought to be.”
Whoa. Back up. One step at a time. Neutrally, determined that this couldn’t be as serious as Blair made it sound, Jim asked, “Does that mean you no longer think what’s going on between us is a sensory thing?”
“No. It’s a Jim thing, right?”
Jim grinned. That was so Blair. “Yes, Chief, it’s a Jim thing. There just happen to be sentinel abilities attached to it.”
Blair stepped away, turning his back. “It’s a one-way street, man. You can have my body all you want; it’s easy for me to give. But you can’t have my heart, no matter how much I want to give it to you.” His voice betrayed a quaver. “I have nothing in my heart, man. I feel nothing there.”
Jim wished he had Blair’s analytical abilities. But he was good at getting to the core of the matter in one swoop. He guessed, “Because there’s fear there instead?”
“If there is, it’s buried so deep that I can’t even feel it. I can’t feel anything. I try to look at how I feel about you, and all I feel is… numb. I mean, I care about you. I want only good things for you. I want to be your partner and do a good job and make you happy in bed. But,” he vaguely indicated his chest, “I can’t find… passion. There’s no place inside me that wants to burst into song or feel any of those things that you’re supposed to feel when you’re in love. I just feel… fine. Okay. Level. Like it’s not any big deal. The sex is great, but the rest is just one big… whatever.” He placed his hand back on the railing. “You deserve more than whatever.”
Jim stepped closer to him, the need to protect all the stronger. He raised his hand, needing to touch again, and then settled on Blair’s shoulder. “I think,” he said gently, “that you need to stop worrying about what I deserve or don’t deserve, or what I want or don’t want. Maybe it’s time to listen to what Blair Sandburg wants. And needs.” That was met with silence, so Jim glanced back to make sure the two patio chairs were still there. They were. His hand now gripped Blair’s jacket. “Come here, Chief,” he beckoned. “Come sit with me.”
Jim pulled up the nearest chair, which didn’t have arms, and sat in it, while still holding Blair’s jacket. He tugged on it, directing his partner to straddle his lap. “Sit here.” Needing to lighten the mood, he said enticingly, “I want to tell you a story.” He was relieved when Blair sat on his thighs, facing him, letting his feet take most of his weight.
“What kind of story?” Blair asked, grinning at him in the darkness. His head was a few inches higher than Jim’s and he was looking down at him. His left hand rested on Jim’s shoulder.
“The story of Blair Sandburg.” Jim trailed his fingers down Blair’s cheek, feeling a sense of responsibility as Blair’s heart quickened. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, because he wanted to say this right, say in a way that Blair would be able to accept and understand. “Blair was born into a life where his mother, Naomi, loved him very much and indulged his creativity and encouraged him to be kind-hearted and accepting of the goodness in the world, and to learn everything he could about life, and to make friends to learn from and expand his knowledge. Naomi was also into expanding her own knowledge and self-awareness, so she and Blair moved around a lot. Naomi was a free spirit with a weakness for men and a desire to experience all that she could from them. So, Blair enjoyed many fun and exciting things during his childhood, while always watching while his mother moved from one short-term relationship to another, and learned earlier than the other kids that sex was the way to show love and affection. And since friends that one was fond of changed frequently when one moved, he also learned that it was necessary to have sex with a lot of different people to have a good life.”
Blair was listening, his respiration changing ever so slightly whenever Jim said his mother’s name. Jim rested one hand on Blair’s cast. The other continued to trail fingertips down the side of Blair’s face. “Despite all the moving around,” he continued, “and going from school to school, Blair was a good student and his teachers recognized his brilliance. Blair learned that when he did what was asked of him in school, his teachers praised him. He liked being praised. He learned that when he did more than expected, he was praised even more, so that made him try all the harder.” Jim hesitated, then decided to go all out, adding, “Though Blair was secure in the love he received from his mother, she was often so busy with her own pursuits that she didn’t always take the time to dote on him as much as he would have liked.” He heard the quickening respiration of protest, and continued on before Blair could interrupt. He was surprised, and grateful, that his partner had been silent so far. “Blair became so brilliant, thanks to the praise lavished on him in school, that it was decided he was ready for college at the age of sixteen. He entered a world where he was younger than everybody else, and something of an intellectual freak among intellectual freaks. But the professors all praised him and encouraged him like his previous teachers had, and indulged all his unconventional whims and subjects of study. Blair discovered he was especially intrigued by Sir Richard Burton’s description of sentinels. He also found that college was full of lots of pretty co-eds, so he decided that it was necessary to his life experience to indulge himself with as many of them as possible. Despite being somewhat geeky, Blair made lots of friends, because he was good-hearted and always wanted to help everybody he could. He moved up the ladder of intellectual study, since he was smart and quickly learned how to play the political games and please all his superiors. He went on many fascinating expeditions. He graduated with honors and went on to pursue his doctorate degree, while discovering that he loved teaching and there was no end to his desire to sample all the pretty co-eds milling about.
“Then one day Blair found out about a real, live sentinel – one who was in desperate need of help from someone who understood what was happening to him. Blair continued to pursue his doctorate and teach classes, but more and more of his life was taken up by studying the real, live sentinel, which included a part-time job in police work, as well as a never-ending study of the sentinel during his free time. Blair had a whole new set of people to please – his living sentinel, and the police department that he was now involved with. Then, one day, Blair was finally finished with his thesis on his sentinel. Through an unfortunate set of circumstances, it turned into a big mess, and Blair did the only thing he could to make things better for everybody else – he went on national television and denounced himself and, in a matter of seconds, destroyed everything he’d worked for during his entire adult life.” Jim’s heart quickened right along with Blair’s. He was determined to keep going. “But Blair had always been good at going with the flow and keeping things cool and harmonious, so he took the unlikely position as a detective – something he’d never imagined being in his life – and became very good at it, and managed to keep the friendship with his sentinel intact. He has done a lot of good in the world, bettering the lives of nearly everyone he comes in contact with.
“Now Blair is thirty-one years old. He has spent his entire life pleasing other people and doing good for others.” Jim placed both hands on Blair’s face, gently rubbing with his fingertips, watching those intrigued eyes watch him. His voice softened. “He has helped the sentinel find out who he is. Somewhere, in all of that concern for other people and meeting their needs, Blair lost himself along the way. Now, it’s very important that Blair place himself first, and give himself a chance to find out who he is.” Jim pulled Blair a little closer, and planted a kiss on his nose. When he pulled back, he watched those blue eyes dart back and forth, as though trying to absorb the fact that Jim had taken the effort to think all this through.
Finally, Blair’s eyes closed and he bent to rest his forehead against Jim’s.
Jim indulged a moment in enjoying the warmth of the contact, feeling good that he had left Blair so speechless. When Blair finally pulled back, Jim looked into his eyes and said, “It’s always been about me, Chief. These five or so years we’ve been together, it’s always been about me, and what I wanted and what I needed. You’ve always, always adapted to what I wanted, what I needed, the mood I was in, the whim I indulged. If I was mad, you kept your distance and tiptoed around me. If I was hurt or confused, you badgered me to open up to you so you could help. If I was doing my job, you stood back out of the way and let me do it. If something was going on with my senses, solving the problem was the most important thing to you.”
Finally, Blair spoke. “I always felt that’s why I was here, first and foremost: to help you.”
“You succeeded,” Jim pointed out. “You did such a magnificent job that I haven’t had trouble with my senses in months. I feel comfortable with them. Confident that I have control.” He hesitated, not wanting to lose the point he’d been trying to make. “Because of you, buddy, I know who I am. I’m comfortable with who I am. So much so that I no longer need for ‘us’ to be all about me. I don’t even want it to be about me anymore. My ego doesn’t need to be fed like that any longer.” He snorted, unable to hold back the memories. “Don’t think for a minute that – despite my annoyance at times with having you so fixated on studying me – that I wasn’t enjoying the hell out of the fact that my every breath/thought/reaction meant so much to you. Hell, Chief, I was approaching middle age and didn’t have anything to show for it in the personal department. Then along comes this wide-eyed, free-spirited, freaky genius grad student with his whole life ahead of him. And all he can think about is me and what I need and what I want. That was a hell of an ego trip for the Ellison psyche. One I enjoyed the hell out of taking advantage of, watching you move and adjust to my every whim.” His voice softened and he held Blair’s gaze, the other man’s face still in his hands. “It’s your turn, Chief. Your turn to be selfish and take anything you need from the ‘us’ that we have. Your turn to find out who you are, without worrying about losing me in the process.”
Blair’s gaze was still fixated on him. But he shook his head, his voice unsteady. “I-I’m hearing you, Jim. But I don’t know the first thing about how to do that. If it’s true that I’m lost or something, then I don’t even know where to begin to try to find me.”
Jim felt a fuzziness come over him. He was glad that Blair at least wasn’t trying to deny Jim’s assessment. His hands dropped to his partner’s thighs, resting there. Enjoying being the one who, for once, was expected to have answers, he gently said, “I think it’s time for you to take some of your own medicine. What is it you would be telling me in a situation like this? You’d say, ‘First, you need to let yourself off the hook.’ You need to forgive yourself for not having an immediate answer. You need to forgive yourself for feeling lost in the first place. Then you’d say, ‘Relax. Let the answers come to you. Stop trying so hard.’”
Blair smiled crookedly at having his words quoted back to him. He wriggled just a moment, as though an unconscious movement, then said, “You’re going to fuck me some day, right?”
Jim blinked, wondering if this was a change of subject, or if Blair considered it to be related. He reached up and ran his hand down the back of Blair’s hair. “Yes. Probably pretty soon, in fact.” He already knew how he’d want to position Blair when he did it. He felt a stirring in his groin, and knocked on the cast with his fist. “I don’t like the idea of doing it while you have this.”
Blair tilted his head. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Nothing really,” Jim admitted with a smile. “I just feel a little funny, doing something like that with somebody who’s temporarily handicapped.” He made a decision. “We’ll do it when it’s removed.”
Not trying to hide his eagerness, Blair said, “The same night after it comes off? Even though my arm will be weak?”
Jim took Blair’s hand from his shoulder and kissed the tips of a couple of fingers. “Yes. I don’t need your arm for anything.” Now he squeezed the hand and looked back up into those dark blue eyes. “That’ll give you something to look forward to.” It caused a stirring in his stomach, knowing that Blair wanted it badly enough to talk about it out loud.
A chuckle answered him. “Man, I don’t need any reason to look forward to having this thing removed.” He added whimsically, “But that’ll be something, being in the doctor’s office, watching them saw it off, and thinking what’s going to happen when I get home.”
Jim’s hands rested at Blair’s waist. “It’s probably going to be a little rough, Chief. I want to spend the time until then getting you as ready as I possibly can, but… it’s still going to be rough.” He remembered Carolyn’s soft cries of pain – both times. She hadn’t told him to stop, though, and he’d rationalized to himself that it was his right as her husband to take what pleased him, as long as she didn’t say no.
“And then,” Blair said hopefully, “when you’re fucking me, you’ll dial up the sense of touch in your cock, and finally let yourself enjoy what it can feel like?”
“No,” Jim answered immediately, wanting his partner to get that idea out of his head. “I won’t do that until we’ve had lots of practice and you’ve learned how to enjoy it. Then maybe I’ll use my sentinel abilities.”
Blair shook his head. “Doesn’t seem fair, man,” he muttered.
Jim had known that Blair had always taken it so personally when Jim’s sentinel abilities caused Jim any kind of discomfort or disharmony. Or when Jim didn’t take advantage of them. “You know,” Jim said with a touch of amusement, “I really wish you’d stop worrying about the happiness of my penis. Don’t forget that I’m the one who has all the power in our bed. I’m the one with all the choices. Everything I do to you, I do because I’m enjoying the hell out of it. You’re a sensual feast. Fucking you is going to make me very happy, even with the sense of touch in my dick dialed down to a normal level.”
Blair seemed to let that go by. He regarded Jim with intent eyes. “You know, you could have taken advantage of me at any time, from the moment we met. If you would have shown any interest in me whatsoever, I would have had my pants down to my ankles and been bent over the furniture, all ready for you and so, so eager to please you.”
Jim took a moment to process the image, to think back to his feelings from first meeting Blair. “You never showed me any interest. And I’d like to think that, if I had suspected your interest, I wouldn’t have acted on it. It wouldn’t have been right.”
Blair shrugged. “Consenting adults….”
Jim shook his head. “It still wouldn’t have been right. You and Maya were consenting adults, but you didn’t take her to bed, because you knew it would have been wrong. You said it yourself just now: ‘taken advantage’. That’s what I would have been doing if I’d claimed you then. Besides, I didn’t need sex to claim you. You’d already allowed yourself to be mine.” Images filled Jim’s head. The train in the middle of night with a protected witness. Taking out handcuffs and using them on Blair. “Come over here, Junior.” Filling the kid’s head with bullshit about how it was “procedure” to handcuff him to the witness. Funny that he didn’t question that. He was an innocent civilian and it shouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out that there’s no way any such procedure could exist. That was his first real test of how controllable Blair was. The kid was complaining a bit about having been gotten up in the middle of the night, but he readily responded to Jim’s every whim and demand. I was testing him, no doubt about it. It he’d had any self esteem, he would have told me to go fuck myself. Instead, he let himself get absorbed into being an extension of me – an absorption that lasted the next three years. Is it any wonder he’s totally clueless about who he is? About how lovable he is? About whether he’s capable of feeling love at all?
“I didn’t think of it as being ‘yours’,” Blair responded. “I just thought of it as doing what was necessary.”
“Maybe it was,” Jim said, hoping so. Hoping what he had taken from Blair had been with good reason. “In any event,” he said more cheerfully, “it certainly helped me.” He smiled openly at Blair. “You know what I think might be a good idea for you?”
“No. What?”
“To make some new friends.” Jim found Blair’s hand and squeezed it. “At the University, you always had lots of people to get together with, even if for semi-professional reasons. Now, all you have are your friends at the station. I think it would be good for you to get out and find some friends of your own again. To have a little slice of your life that doesn’t include me or the PD.”
Blair looked thoughtful as he gazed over Jim’s head. Then he said, “I’ve been thinking about taking tennis lessons at the health club, after my arm is healed. I used to play a little, but it’s been years since I’ve had lessons. It would be a good sport to take up again. You know, it’s not one that’s likely to injure me or anything.”
Jim nodded, delighted that Blair had been thinking in that direction. “That would be great.”
Blair shrugged. “It might be fun for you, too. Maybe we could take lessons together.”
Jim quickly shook his head. “No, buddy. This needs to be something you do away from me. Maybe it’ll be a start to making new friends and give you somewhere to hang out besides with me. As long as I know it’s me you’re coming home to, I don’t mind you spending time with other people. It would make me happy to know you’re enjoying yourself. You’re innately sociable, and I don’t want to see you cut off from that.”
Blair nodded, but his expression was distant, looking off to one side. Then he shifted along Jim’s thighs, and was avoiding his eyes when he said, “You know, there was once, in one of my psychology classes, when we watched a video of a therapy session with a woman who had once tried to kill herself. Two years had passed, and she was all better and moving forward with her life and all that. She was telling the therapist about her frustration with making friends. The suicide attempt was this big thing that had happened in her life. It was, like, a culmination of negative stuff that had been building for years. So, it was a major part of her past, even though she was ready to put it behind her and move on. But she thought it wouldn’t be healthy to pretend the attempt to end her life had never happened, and the therapist had agreed with her. She just wanted to integrate it as something unfortunate that had happened in her past, but which she’d learned from and moved on from. So, whenever she felt she’d become really good friends with somebody new, she felt compelled to tell them about her suicide attempt. Because,” he glanced at Jim, “she felt that in order for them to really know her, they needed to know about this thing – this event – that had happened to her. But she was finding that when she told people about it, they would take it all wrong. They would either think she was trying to get sympathy from them; or, worse, they’d think she was trying to hint that she was thinking of killing herself again. Or they’d be just plain puzzled as to why she was telling them, and they’d get real uncomfortable. So, she wasn’t sure what to do about it, other than just plain not telling people and keeping this big part of herself hidden.” Blair swallowed and bowed his head. “Whenever I think of trying to make new friends, I think of that woman. Because if I felt I was good enough friends with somebody to trust them, I’d want to tell them about my thesis – about this big thing that’s happened in my life. That I’d spent a dozen years of my life on the academic trail, and I blew it up myself in sixty seconds. Of course, I couldn’t tell them why I had to denounce it. If I tried to assure them I wasn’t really a fraud, I wouldn’t be able to explain why. I don’t think it would be fair to expect other people to accept me, when I couldn’t explain things to them.”
Jim tried to slow his racing heart, the twisting of his gut, trying to convince himself that Blair was exaggerating.
“I know it’ll get better with time,” Blair assured, looking at him. “Other things will fill up my life as the years go by, and the thesis thing will seem less and less of a major thing. But I don’t look forward to social gatherings with people, and trying to dodge the natural questions they’d be asking about my past.”
“But you have to start somewhere,” Jim said, knowing it was a weak argument. “You have to come out of hiding and figure out how you’re going to face those difficult moments. You know, when someone’s really a good friend, they’ll accept your need not to go into details.”
That brought out a bashful smile. “Guess that means I haven’t been a very good friend to you then.”
“What do you mean?” Jim asked, glad to see the smile.
“I always badgered you about opening up, even when you insisted you didn’t want to talk about it. I guess, now, it’s my karma coming back to haunt me.”
Jim smiled back, not having the energy for expounding on that particular topic. He did know that, after telling Blair something the other had badgered him into, he’d never been sorry afterwards. It did, indeed, feel good to get so many things about his thoughts and feelings out into the open, and to know that somebody else cared enough to hear his secrets, and then held them safe after the telling.
He circled his arms around Blair’s waist and looked up at him. “You know what? I think we’re going to skip the sex tonight. Just cuddle up.”
Pleased eyes gazed at him. “You mean just do the Before and After, and skip the in between?”
He liked it that Blair had terms for their cuddling on both sides of the act. “Mm-hmm.”
Blair bent forward and rested his forehead against Jim’s. “Sounds fine to me.” A pause, then, “I like talking like this. I wish we could have done it before.”
Jim brought his hand up and pressed Blair’s head against his own. “I wasn’t near ready for anything like that, Chief. It’s taken me a long time to get over my need to be so reticent about everything.”
Blair planted a kiss on Jim’s cheek, then pulled back. “Want to microwave some popcorn and watch some Twin Peaks episodes? See if it’s worth all the furor from a few years back?”
“Sure. But I’m not sure I want you to move yet, even though you’re starting to feel heavy.”
Blair grinned and kissed him on the cheek again.
Jim decided that he liked those kisses. He also realized that he’d been so distracted with Blair’s issues that he’d never gotten around to saying what had been most important for him to say to Blair when he’d come home. Whispering, he said, “There’s something I want to tell you.”
Blair had his left arm draped around Jim’s neck. “What?”
Jim looked up into those inquisitive eyes. “IIII… Looove…. You.”
Blair blinked. Then lowered his gaze.
Jim listened to the quickened respiration. No joyous smile lighting up the balcony, I guess. But at least he’s not running away screaming, either. Gently, he said, “There are no conditions, Chief. You don’t have to love me back or do anything for me, or say anything. It’s simply a fact. I wanted you to know.”
Blair nodded, his thumb working nervously against Jim’s neck.
Jim waited to see if Blair wanted to say anything. When silence stretched for thirty seconds, he patted the small of Blair’s back. “Let’s go back inside and be couch potatoes.”
Comments to regmoore@earthlink.net
| Main Menu | Sentinel Menu |