© December 2001 by Charlotte Frost
From behind Blair, Jim pushed the door open wide. Blair entered the loft and made a beeline for the nearest sofa. He threw his jacket off his shoulders, so that it landed in an unsightly sprawl on the coffee table, and plopped onto his back. The weight of the cast, which went all the way from his hand to his elbow and up most of his upper arm, made itself known as he settled awkwardly on the cushions. The sling, beneath his loosely buttoned shirt, added to the awkward feel. He looked at Jim sullenly.
Jim shook his head and shut the door, then nodded toward the abandoned jacket. “Not cool, Sandburg. This sulking routine better not last the full six weeks of the cast.”
“Sulking is good, because it matches my mood,” Blair protested. “And since I feel like sulking, I’m going to damn well sulk. Get used to it, partner.” Besides, his arm was still throbbing a bit, despite the heavy dose of local anesthetic the doctor had given him so he could reset the bone in his forearm, to say nothing of the muscle relaxants, because he’d managed to strain his neck. And then there were the lacerations all along the right side of his torso. No sutures needed, but it had stung when they’d applied disinfectant. As the hours passed at the hospital, he’d become aware of various bruises throughout his body from having taken such a dramatic tumble. Life sucked.
Jim stepped toward the coffee table and picked up the jacket. “We’ll see how long my patience lasts,” he said. But he was smiling as he turned to hang up the jacket on the pegs next to the door.
Blair glanced around for the remote and saw it on the coffee table. He couldn’t reach for it with his right arm, and if he used his left, he’d have to sit up. He didn’t want to bother.
He glanced up to ask Jim to get it for him, but the words died on his lips. Jim had just removed his own leather jacket, facing the pegs, and now he was staring at the left shoulder of the leather. His fingers reached out and skimmed along it.
Sorry for drooling on it, Blair wanted to say, though the liquid should have evaporated by now. Or maybe Jim was noticing teeth marks. The strange… petting routine… came back to Blair, and he hesitated to state his apology for drooling. Instead, he was filled with curiosity about Jim’s reaction to the jacket.
Jim brought the jacket closer to his face. It was hard to tell from where he was, but Blair could swear that Jim had just taken a whiff of the leather. To smell my drool? That was too weird. Stranger still, Jim brought the jacket even closer, opening his mouth, tongue emerging….
Then Jim stiffened, his head jerking like he realized where he was and what he was doing. Blair quickly turned his face toward the ceiling and closed his eyes, not wanting to be caught looking. Even as he was dying of curiosity as to what had motivated Jim’s actions, he felt unusually reluctant to put his friend on the spot. Strange that even he himself didn’t want to stop and analyze it. Instead, safe behind his closed eyes, Blair imagined himself locking the sight away in a corner of his mind. He decided that same corner was going to be where he locked away the feel of a large, circling hand, petting up and down his backside… his entire backside.
And – just now – had Jim almost licked his jacket at the spot where Blair had drooled on it? He couldn’t decide if he wanted a yes or a no answer in his mental corner. No, yes. The answer was yes. Yes, he wanted to believe that Jim had been about to lick where he’d drooled. That Jim had wanted to do that. That his sentinel hadn’t seemed the least bit turned off by the idea.
Or… did this not have anything to do with wanting? Was it, instead, a need? Some need of Jim’s to examine the foreign sensory output coming from his jacket?
Is he licking it now, if he sees that I have my eyes closed? Will I ever know?
Blair was saddened by the answer. Even though he no longer had the excuse of his thesis, he still wanted to know all about everything that made Jim’s senses tick. Frankly, he needed to know, if he was going to continue in his duty to assist Jim where said senses were concerned. But here he was, holding back, reluctant to question Jim about his reaction to Blair’s spit.
During his next meditation session, Blair was going to have to examine this reluctance within himself. Granted, Jim may not be crazy about talking about it but, in the end, he usually did where his senses were concerned, since he knew all too well, as Blair did, that understanding how they functioned – and malfunctioned – was the whole key to making them work for him, rather than against him. The one exception was sex. Sometimes gently, sometimes teasingly, sometimes angrily – but throughout the course of their friendship, sex was the one area where Jim refused to share how his heightened senses affected his experience. The scientist in Blair, as well as the voyeur, was resigned to unrequited curiosity.
Blair was roused from his musings when he heard footsteps in the kitchen. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. “Hey, how about the TV remote?” He held out his left hand, taking some satisfaction that he’d proved the point of how helpless he was with the cast.
Jim looked over his shoulder at him from the refrigerator, then grinned as he turned. “How about please?”
Blair sighed and looked away. Then he resigned himself to not being a complete asshole – there was already one who lived in the loft, after all – and looked back. “Please?” he said, with proper contriteness.
“Good boy.” Jim stepped to the coffee table, picked up the remote, and placed it in the outstretched hand. Then he waited.
Blair resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “Thank you,” he muttered.
“You’re welcome,” Jim replied cheerfully and went back to the kitchen. “What do you feel like?”
Blair pushed the button to turn on the TV. “Leftover fruit salad. It’s in one of my red containers.”
“That going to be enough?” Jim asked from the refrigerator.
“Yeah. Well, sprinkle some walnuts over it, please. And some marshmallows. Makes it a lot more filling. You’re welcome to try some.”
Blair flipped through channels until Jim placed a bowl of fruit salad, generously sprinkled with nuts and marshmallows, onto the coffee table. “Thanks,” he said. He just now realized he was going to have to sit up to eat it. Well, actually, since he couldn’t hold the bowl in his one hand and still eat, it would be better to sit on the floor, so he could be closer to the coffee table. Gingerly, he arranged his feet and slid to the floor. He spent a moment untying his shoelaces, before using his feet to push his shoes off.
Jim had grabbed the remote and turned it to the local news. He was eating a microwaved hotdog, topped with a layer of cheese.
“Just shoot it into your veins,” Blair grumbled, more out of habit than commentary, before finally finding a comfortable position. He picked up the spoon provided with the bowl and began to eat, feeling awkward with the utensil in his left hand. The fruit salad was, at least, refreshing. But it wasn’t going to be long before he was going to conk out from the tension of the day. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to have too much trouble getting out of his clothes one-handed, but getting dressed would be a whole different matter. Cripes. Well, at least, he was off tomorrow, per doctor’s orders, and then they had their weekend off. So, he really wouldn’t have to worry about getting dressed for the next three days. By the fourth, hopefully, he’d be more used to the cast and how to maneuver with it.
He wasn’t sure how Simon was going to handle his temporary handicap. Of course, he couldn’t do any kind of work that would require him to fire a gun. But as long as Jim was with him, hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem, and they could still work their field cases in the usual way. Blair also wouldn’t be able to do any paperwork, since he couldn’t write or type. What would be ideal, ironically, would be working a stakeout, because all he would have to do is observe and record with a camera and/or sound. But now the appearance of the Mid-Easterners might change those plans. Jim had called Simon and filled him in while Blair was being attended to at the hospital, and Simon and Jim both would probably spend most of tomorrow trying to find any leads on who the group of automatic weapons carriers was.
Perhaps the stakeout could still work out. Or perhaps the need for one on another case would develop. If not, Blair was in for a miserable six weeks. Especially since…. “Oh, God.” He gulped the remaining strawberry in the bowl.
Jim looked over at him, having already scarfed down his hot dog.
“Man,” Blair groaned dramatically, “I’m not going to even be able to go out on a date until this thing comes off.” He pushed the empty bowl away.
Jim’s brow wrinkled. “How do you figure?”
“Jim!” Blair said in exasperation, even though he really didn’t expect his partner to read his mind. “I can’t subject myself to fumbling around when – you know. Did enough of that in my youth. Don’t see any reason to repeat it. Women like a man who knows what he’s doing. I won’t even be able to get her clothes off.”
Jim shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to change tactics and invite her do all the work. Some women like being the aggressor.”
Blair snorted. “Yeah, right. I make the conquest and she’s going to do all the work? I don’t think so. I’ve been complimented on my magic hands, you know. Now my best hand is out of commission.”
Jim grinned. “Guess the left hand is going to have to work harder.” He changed the channel again.
“Yeah, well, my left hand doesn’t even know I have a dick. They’ve never been introduced.”
Jim chuckled softly, shaking his head while keeping his eye on the TV. “Guess you’ll need to introduce them, then.” He glanced over at Blair. “Otherwise, how are you going to be able to take a whiz?”
“Ah, fuck, I didn’t even thank of that.” Blair was suddenly aware that his bladder felt almost full. He slowly pushed himself to his feet, aware of Jim watching him uneasily. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean it up if I make a mess.”
Jim chuckled again.
“Man,” Blair grumbled as he headed to the bathroom, “this whole thing really sucks.”
It was two o’clock the next afternoon when the phone finally rang. Blair picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hi, Chief, how you doing?”
“I’m still in my robe. I’m sick of watching your Bonanza tapes, and there’s nothing good on daytime TV.”
“Yeah, well, I was thinking that I’d stop on the way home and try to pick you up some shirts with wide sleeves. Maybe we can dress you so that you look presentable.”
Blair was tempted to make a snappy retort, but he wasn’t sure what to say and his gratitude that Jim was at least trying to “fix” the problem overrode his inclination to be bitchy. “I appreciate that, man,” he said instead.
“Hey, those were Iranians in that building last night.”
“Really? How did you find that out?”
“Guess.”
“Uhh… you have a special file for Iranian criminals?”
“No, Darwin, we checked with Interpol and the FBI and the CIA. Turns out that the CIA has been onto these guys, and the case has been taken from us.”
“Ah, that’s shitty.” It was always a matter of pride with the Cascade PD when a federal agency pulled rank on their cases. Did he call me Darwin? He hasn’t used that name in a while. Blair smiled.
“Yeah, well, for once I wasn’t going to complain too much. They’ve been tracking this group for a long time. They think they did have something to do with the weapons manufacturing across the street. Maybe they were checking out that building because they were going to expand their operations. Or even spy on the group making the weapons. Who knows? So, the CIA has called it strictly ‘hands-off’ and confiscated our files.”
Blair released a sigh. “Okay. So, now what are you working on?”
“Something that Simon has given me the go-ahead on to let you participate in, since he’s not expecting it to be as dangerous, though it’s still a murder investigation.”
“Oh, what would that be?”
“I’ll bring home a copy of the file so you can take a look. We’ll be taking a little trip tomorrow morning, even though it’s our day off. I want to look over the crime scene before it gets colder than it already is. How’s the arm?”
“Not as bad. It sort of kept me up all night, throbbing off and on. But it’s better today, with the pills.”
“Then why don’t you catch some sleep while it’s feeling better. I need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow.”
“Hey, the bushiness of my tail is none of your damn business.”
A full-blown laugh sounded through the connection. “Yeah, you’re definitely feeling better. I’ll bring home Chinese for dinner.”
“Okay. Stop at Soy’s. They have the best won-ton. Get me a large. And the duck with orange sauce. Easy on the spice.”
“Right, I’m a fucking waiter.”
“It comes with being a fucking asshole,” Blair reminded.
“So says my kind and loving partner.”
“That’s right, and don’t you forget it. Plus, I happen to be an expert on assholes because I’ve been around so many of them.”
“You know, Sandburg, a person could take that statement a number of different ways.”
“You’re a detective, you figure it out.” Blair cut the line, feeling good that he’d one-upped Jim on the asshole situation.
Jim loaded the dishwater with the breakfast dishes, keeping one ear cocked to Blair's room, listening to the struggles of dressing. He hoped this would get easier with time. At least, Blair had managed to get showered by using a special sleeve for his arm that went over his cast. It had taken an extra long time, dealing with all that hair with one hand, but the morning ablutions had been accomplished, save for the dressing.
“All right,” Blair announced as he emerged, face flushed and teeth gritted, “I’ve done all I can. Give me a hand here. Please.”
Jim turned. Blair had his jeans on, but the belt hung unbuckled and the zipper didn’t go quite all the way up. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt, which he’d managed to get his cast through. His left arm was dressed in a cotton shirt that hung off his back, since he obviously couldn’t get it over his cast, let alone around his body to button.
Jim felt an aura of military efficiency overtake him. He knelt before Blair, his head going up to his partner’s belly, and reached to buckle the belt.
“Hey, I can dig this,” Blair laughed. “My sentinel on his knees before me.”
Jim glanced up at him. “You want me to help, or not?” But his tone wasn’t as threatening as he’d intended. Did he say “my” sentinel?
“Okay, okay,” Blair laughed again. “I take it back.”
Jim braced himself for another remark as he held taunt the fly to the jeans, then pulled up the zipper the remaining inch. He had to admit it felt good to see Blair in his normal jovial spirits.
“Seems like it shouldn’t be a problem zipping my own fly,” Blair said as Jim straightened. “But the zipper just isn’t strong enough to get over the fabric when it bunches like that. It was okay with what I was wearing that first night. I guess I’ll have to figure out what’s okay to wear and what it isn’t.”
Reminding himself that the chatter was a good sign, Jim reached behind Blair and grabbed the shirt. He pulled it around the sling, then started buttoning it from the bottom up, rising as he did so.
With his good arm, Blair started pushing his shirttail into his jeans.
Finishing with the last button, Jim stood back with his arms crossed and regarded his protégé. “Guess we should have saved your belt for last.”
“It’s okay,” Blair muttered, still pushing the shirt tail in.
“Let’s do it right,” Jim decided. He knelt again, reaching to the belt and unbuckled it. He unsnapped the fly and pulled the edges apart, so that the zipper went down partway. Now, he stood and began stuffing the shirttail on Blair’s right inside the jeans. Sandburg re-did the left, now that he had more room. Jim finished first and moved behind his partner, tucking in the shirt at the back. His fingers registered the body beneath the layers of fabric, as they skimmed along the clothing. He couldn’t help but notice the texture of Blair’s skin through the cloth, and had to resist the urge to explore further, to dig his hands into the jeans and find the buttocks and skim his fingers along them. He’d already done that, anyway, hadn’t he? The other night in the abandoned warehouse – a sudden feast before him of sensory stimulation, starring touch.
The shirt was nicely tucked in. From behind, Jim reached around Blair and bent to snap his fly together, zip him up, and buckle his belt.
“Thanks, Jim,” Blair said, relieved. Then, almost timidly, “Just one more thing.”
Still standing behind Blair, his hands dutifully to his sides, Jim waited.
Blair reached into his left pocket and pulled out a hair band. “Can you do my hair?” He glanced back at Jim.
Jim took the hair band. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do exactly, but it shouldn’t be difficult. He finally grabbed Blair’s hair in both hands, pulling it back.
“You can pull harder than that,” Blair told him. “My scalp isn’t sensitive. I like a tight ponytail.”
Jim pulled harder, trying to get all the strands within his grip while holding the band within his fingers. “I can never figure out why sometimes you put it back, and sometimes you don’t.” Such an intriguing feel, Blair’s hair. He wondered how it would smell if he got his nose right down into it and turned up his olfactory dials. How it would taste if he allowed his taste buds free rein?
“It just depends,” Blair told him. “Like, this morning, we’re sort of going out into the country, right?”
“Sort of.” Jim kept pulling the hair back, then releasing it – never quite satisfied that he had it gathered correctly.
“And it’s supposed to be a hot day. So, you figure, out in the country. Insects. Maybe a warm breeze. Hot and sweaty weather. Well, all in all, I’d prefer that my hair be out of my face. If it were going to be a cool breeze, then I might like feeling it blow through my hair, and I wouldn’t want it back. Or if we weren’t going into the country… well, I generally prefer to have it down instead of up. But if I’m going out on a first date, I usually like it up, because sometimes women have a ‘thing’ about long hair, if they think it’s dirty or unkempt. Jim? If this is too hard, man, I can just leave it down.”
The idea that he might have failed Blair was unacceptable. Jim pulled the hair back a final time and slipped it through the snug ring of the hair band. There. He stepped in front of Blair, admiring his handiwork. He nodded approvingly. “You’re decent.”
Blair went to the dining table to gather up the file that he and Jim had reviewed last night. “Thanks, man. You’re a pal.”
Jim took the papers from him. “I’ll get this. Get your shoes.”
Blair obeyed, but reminded, “I can’t tie the laces.”
“I know.”
Blair carried the shoes to the nearest sofa and sat down. Grunting with one-handed effort, he slipped his feet into one, then the other. Then he looked up at Jim and put both feet on the coffee table, offering.
Jim brought the file to the coffee table and laid it down. He sat next to Blair’s feet and took the pair of laces in hand. He pulled them snug and tied a neat bow. He did the other shoe as efficiently, then patted Blair’s leg. “Come on.” As he picked up the file, he was aware that the urge was there to keep patting Blair’s leg, to run his hand up along the jeans and feel the flesh beneath. He paused a moment, almost tempted to do it, because he knew Blair would let him.
But the moment had passed, for Blair was now on his feet, heading for the door. “Thanks, man.”
They were some twenty miles outside of Cascade when the blue and white pickup paused beside a sign introducing a dirt lane.
“This looks like it,” Jim said.
The sign read, “Racers Range – A Home for Retired Thoroughbreds”. Beneath the title, in smaller letters, was “100% Subsidized by Your Heartfelt Donations”. Blair found an old memory coming back to him, that of Jim once referring to racehorses as “helpless animals”. Well, not only did the good ones get to live our their lives at stud, but the bad ones apparently had a retirement home to look forward to. Still, Blair refrained from commenting, because Jim looked thoughtful. Blair focused on the case. “At least we can be sure it wasn’t a horse who killed Alan Carter.”
Jim glanced his way. “Keep an open mind, Chief.” He started the truck forward.
Blair was still trying to figure out if his partner was ribbing him or not when they pulled up at the stables a mile later. There was one large barn with an interior aisle way that looked like it kept at least twenty stalls. Other barns were smaller, some with outdoor pens extending from three-sided sheds. Then there were the pastures and paddocks, most occupied by what Blair guessed was retired equine racers. A middle-aged woman with shoulder-length auburn hair, and eyes that squinted, approached them as they got out of the truck. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”
Jim held out his badge. “I’m Detective James Ellison with the Cascade Police Department. This is my partner, Detective Blair Sandburg. We know you’ve already spoken with Inspector Megan Connor, but – ”
“Ah, yes, the Australian lass,” the woman said with a smile.
“Yes,” Jim said after a moment.
Blair grinned, knowing his partner was restraining himself from making a comment on the “lass” word. Blair himself wondered what Megan would think of it.
“Unfortunately,” Jim continued, “Inspector Connor had to be changed to another case, and my partner and I are now on this one.”
“I take it,” Blair put in, feeling self-conscious about his cast, “that you are Melinda Jones.”
“Yes, that’s me,” she smiled and reached to clasp his left hand. Blair liked her grip and watched as she shook Jim’s hand.
Jim said, “I’m sorry, but we’re going to ask you a lot of questions that you’ve already answered. Despite Inspector Connor’s excellent notes, we need to get our own impressions, as direct from the source as possible.”
Melinda nodded her acceptance. “Where do you want to start?”
Blair glanced at Jim, knowing they were thinking the same thing. “We’d like to see where Carter’s body was found.”
She accompanied them in the pickup.
“It was such a shock,” she said as they drove, “to just find him like that. This is a warm and loving place. We do good here. The people are good here, all volunteers. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to harm anyone else.” She looked at Jim, then at Blair. “How can anyone who volunteers to give unwanted animals a better life – or life when there would otherwise be none – kill somebody else?”
Blair felt an obligation to say something, while keeping in mind that Melinda herself was a suspect. “There’s not any guarantee that the killer works here, is there?”
“Of course not,” she replied. “But where would someone else have come from? There are eighteen acres out here of poor land. There’s no one around here, and we don’t have strangers coming and going. This is a place where all the focus is on the care of the horses.”
Jim said, “Any chance that this could somehow have something to do with the horses?”
Blair looked over at him in surprise. Jim hadn’t mentioned any such theory last night when they’d reviewed the file together.
Melinda also appeared surprised. “How could that be? These are unwanted horses that are of no value to anyone.”
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know. But until we have reason to suspect otherwise, anything is possible.”
They were silent until she said, “Here it is. Where those two trees overhang.”
They had seen pictures in the file of where the body had been found, so all they needed was how to get to the area. As they popped the doors open, Jim said, “You might want to stay here, Ms. Jones. Sandburg and I need to be free to look around and it might take a while.”
Blair was glad that she seemed content to lean back against the pickup. He and Jim approached the site where the body had been found two days ago, the file pictures etched in each of their minds.
They were free to do their thing and, as always, Blair felt a surge of excitement at the idea of discovering something important, something missed by ordinary men and women during the first perusal. Blair also felt a flush of power. It was situations such as this that made the destruction of his academic career worth it. This was the brass ring he had found– so very different from what he’d ever expected or intended. Jim Ellison was the most remarkable specimen of a homo sapiens that Blair could ever hope to meet. A powerful man among ordinary men, and all that more spectacular for his special abilities. And now, at a time when Jim “did his thing” (to quote Simon), Blair was the most powerful man on Earth – or, at least, in Cascade. For this was when he controlled his sentinel. This was when what he said went… and Jim obeyed.
Blair stood back as Jim knelt where the body had lain. He knew Jim was dialing up sight as he looked for any clues as to this death, beyond the established fact that Carter had been a victim of two gunshots wounds to the chest. Blair let Jim look as long as he wanted and waited patiently while, pivoting on his haunches, Jim expanded the scope of his sight to a few feet around the area where the body had been. Jim’s attention had not yet been taken by anything, so Blair relaxed his own sentinel vigilance and looked around with normal vision. There was a group of bushes about ten yards from the spot. Forensics would have already scavenged it. But none of them had been a sentinel.
Blair stepped closer. “Jim, check out the bushes there.” He stood close enough to touch, but didn’t. He moved as Jim moved. “Don’t forget smell,” he reminded, and Jim, with an intense expression, stared at the cluster of vegetation. Obediently, Jim’s nostrils extended as he inhaled.
“Bingo,” Jim whispered, reaching in his pocket for rubber gloves and an evidence bag. Blair was about to do the same, but gave up when he remembered he was physically challenged. “What is it?”
“Fabric?” Jim’s gloved hand reached into the bushes. “Do you see it yet?”
Blair shook his head, having bent down to Jim’s level. He never minded being clueless in these situations, because it highlighted Jim’s uniqueness, his special gifts. “What do you think it is?”
Jim sealed the bag shut, sat back on his haunches, and showed it to Blair. It was tiny filaments, red in color. “It’s not the victim’s.”
“Uh-huh,” Blair agreed, remembering the photos of the body and its clothing. “Good job.” He straightened, glad to have a reason to praise his sentinel, especially when Jim’s sight had kicked in, despite his focus on smell. “Keep looking.”
Fifteen minutes later, they still only had the one evidence bag. “Extend your hearing,” Blair directed under his breath. He waited while Jim turned in a slow circle, focused outward to the dry fields at the base of the Cascade range.
After a long moment Jim shook his head. “I hear horses. Birds. That’s it.”
“Okay,” Blair said, ending the surveillance. They headed back to the truck.
Melinda said, “The Aussie inspector had people with lots of technical equipment.” She sounded disapproving of their simpler method.
Blair assured, “We combine all the information, no matter how it’s obtained. Occasionally, old-fashioned police work is what rises to the top and provides the key.” He gestured awkwardly to the truck with his left shoulder as he held the door open with his left hand. Melinda got in.
As they started back, Jim said, “This is a nice thing you’re doing, saving horses from the glue factory.”
“It’s not near enough,” she replied. “We have limited resources and can only put up the horses that have performed up to a certain standard in their racing careers. There’s thousands of less talented horses who are unwanted when their racing days are over, except by the canneries. I wish we could save horses merely for the fact that they’re racehorses, rather than just save the more talented ones and leaving the others to slaughter.”
Blair said, “I thought the talented horses get put to stud.”
“Talent is relative,” she said. “One owner’s Best Horse Ever is another owner’s average racer. One breeder may pay good price for, say a Northern Dancer bloodline, but a larger farm has all the Northern Dancer blood it needs, and they don’t need to keep any more with the same line.” She pointed to a pasture on the right. “That horse there is Dancing Dervish.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Blair said in surprise. “He won some big races, right?”
“Yes,” Melinda said. “He was syndicated for stud for millions of dollars and got full books of mares. But after two years, it was apparent that he was hopelessly sterile. So, he was a total loss and worth nothing. What can be done with a horse like that? After two seasons of breeding mares, he’s too focused on sex to think about a new career as a jumper or some such. And castration isn’t going to change his aggressiveness at this stage in his life.” She gestured again to the horse as they passed it. “We provide him with a life of leisure, where he no longer has to do anything for man. We feel he’s earned it. Still, the fact is that he’s gong to live another fifteen years or so and do nothing but eat, sleep, and poop.”
“That’s the future of all horses here?” Blair asked, wondering how a small group of people could give so much while getting so little in return.
“No. Some horses that are relatively sound can be retrained for use in other horse sports, or even as pleasure riding horses. We ask that the adopter – whom we have to approve – donate whatever they can to adopt the horses. Usually, it’s anywhere from a few hundred to a couple of thousand dollars. Still, there’s too many who have sustained injuries too serious while racing to be considered for another career. Or there’s the odd case like Dancing Dervish. So, all they do is live in peace.”
Jim said, “Do you have any other horses like Dancing Dervish, who were once considered valuable?”
Blair furrowed his brow, not understanding the reason for the question.
Melinda also sounded puzzled. “I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘valuable’. We have here, for example, a horse that once sold for two million dollars as a yearling. He won a couple of ordinary races, but obviously was never going to live up to anywhere near expectations. When we heard his future was questionable, we offered to take him, and the owner agreed. Since the horse was only four and never had been bred, he was a good candidate for castration. So, now he’s a gelding who has an aptitude for dressage. He’s being trained by one of our volunteers, and we have an adopter who is willing to take him when his basic training is over.”
Blair watched Jim through the corner of his eye. Jim looked grim, as though her recitation had put a kink in his developing theory. After a moment, Jim said, “Can you provide us with a list of all the horses you have here that might have been extremely valuable at some point?”
“Sure,” she replied. “But do you have a cutoff of what’s valuable and what isn’t?”
“Use your own judgment. But make sure you write down what the current intentions are with each horse.”
She looked at him. “You think a once-valuable horse has something to do with Carter’s death?”
“I don’t think anything,” Jim replied, and Blair could hear the stubborn denial in his voice, the denial that insisted you don’t know anything about what I think. “We don’t want to leave any stone unturned.”
Later, on the way back, Blair said, “So what’s this theory you have about Carter being killed because of the horses?”
“I don’t have a theory,” Jim said without looking at him. “It’s just that money is the biggest reason for murder. Maybe some of these horses still have some worth that isn’t apparent, and someone working here had some shady ideas. Carter found out about it, and….”
Blair shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You don’t have a theory, huh?” It amused him the way some part of Jim insisted upon being inaccessible to others.
Jim didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Jim put a plate of stew on the table in front of Blair, and listened to the younger man sigh.
“What’s the matter?” Jim demanded.
“I can’t cut up the meat. I don’t like eating big chunks like that.”
Jim picked up Blair’s plate and put it on the counter, grabbing a knife and fork. He cut the meat, and then put the plate back on the table in front of Blair.
“Thanks,” Blair muttered. “I hate being a bother.”
Jim sat down and pointed out, “It wasn’t difficult and it took two seconds out of my life, and it didn’t hurt. There’s no cause for dramatics.”
Blair grinned as he gazed at the smaller pieces of meat. “You’re too much, man! Such perfectly square, anally retentive chunks!” He laughed.
Well, if nothing else, it was good to see his partner laughing. Jim started on his own stew while watching Blair through the corner of his eye. He waited a few bites, then said, “When you were down in Forensics while I was with Simon, he got a visit from Captain Serengetti in Vice.”
Blair paused in his eating. “Yeah?”
Jim wished Blair wasn’t so inquisitive. But he knew his own lack of idle chatter tended to make people place excessive importance on the topics he did talk about. That was all the more disconcerting with Mr. Reaction around.
Jim chewed slowly, then swallowed. “He wanted to borrow us for a case; well, you, actually. But, of course, I would be part of the package.” He waited while Blair chewed another spoonful. “He didn’t know about your arm, so that made it a moot point.” He wondered if he sounded as casual as he hoped.
Blair swallowed and sipped his water. Then, “What kind of case?”
Jim shrugged. “A gay bar situation. We never got as far as the details, since it was a moot point.”
“Why did they want me?”
Jim made a point of answering immediately. “The suspect goes for a certain look, and they felt you had that look.”
Blair protested, “My arm wouldn’t have necessarily – ”
“It’s too dangerous,” Jim interrupted. “Going undercover is always dangerous. Not being able to draw your gun, or to fully defend yourself…,” he trailed off, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain.
Eyes lowering as he took another bite, Blair asked, “Why are you telling me about it, if it’s a moot point?”
Jim sat back, determined to be relaxed. “I figured you’d probably hear that Vice wanted you, and you’d be p.o.’d if you felt you weren’t in on the decisions. So, I’m telling you that there wasn’t any decision to be made. Your cast took away the choice.”
Blair was silent as he sipped his water again. Then he said, “Maybe my having a cast would make me more approachable by the perp.”
Jim had to acknowledge the truth of that thought. It had even crossed his own mind. But, “The gay bar scene… come on, Chief, you know things can get a little rough under normal circumstances. With only one functional arm….” He’d been so grateful, in Simon’s office, to tell Serengetti about Blair’s cast.
Blair glanced away. “What if I didn’t have the cast? What would have happened then?” His tone seemed to match Jim’s careful neutrality.
“It would have been your decision,” Jim assured. “But I would have done everything I could to talk you out of it. And probably so would Simon.”
Blair gnawed at his lip, still looking away. After a slow, thoughtful sip of water, he met Jim’s eye. “Since I have the ‘look’, does that mean I would have been sexually pursued by the suspect?”
“Probably. As I said, we didn’t get into the details.”
“Just enough,” Blair said with the hint of a smile, “to know that you didn’t like it.”
Jim shrugged. What could he say to that?
Blair lowered his gaze. “I wouldn’t have wanted to do it,” he admitted, surprising Jim. “I mean, I would have – to help – but I would have wanted to be talked out of it.” He scooped up another serving of stew.
Jim felt his insides get fuzzy around the edges. How vulnerable that admission made Blair seem. He grinned. “I would have done my damnedest, but you can be pretty stubborn sometimes.”
That earned him an answering smile. Blair picked up a roll. “Just not my thing, man,” he said easily.
Jim furrowed his brow, also reaching for a roll. “What’s not your thing?”
“Being pursued by a guy, especially a dangerous guy.”
Jim didn’t know what to think of that, and that bothered him. “I’m glad being pursued by danger isn’t your thing. But I would have thought you were pretty open-minded about the gay aspect.” His tone was strictly curious. He bit into his bread.
“Having a guy come onto you is harmless enough,” Blair agreed. “I don’t mind, though it’s never fun disappointing somebody who is flattering you with their interest. But I wouldn’t want it to go any further than that.”
There was something inside of Jim that felt relieved. That relief made him amused. “And I thought you kids today were willing to try anything and everything.”
Blair grinned. “I think we pretty much are, actually. At least, I was. But….” He shrugged, as though dismissing the subject.
Jim blinked. There was a story there. But did he have a right to ask that it be told? If he said he wanted to hear it, would Blair overreact to his interest and place way too much importance on it? He decided on a casual compromise. “Sounds like there’s an explanation lurking there.”
Blair gazed at his empty – save the broth – bowl. “Yeah, I suppose there is.”
Jim tilted his head, showing his willingness to listen. “So?” Then, charitably, “Not that it’s any of my business.”
Blair sat silently for a long moment. Then he said, “I may as well tell you, in case we get any more offers from Vice.” He looked at Jim squarely. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“Except you still remember it,” Jim pointed out.
Blair looked thoughtful. Then he nodded. “Yes, that’s definitely true.” He settled more firmly in his seat. “You’re right: when I was young I expected to experience just about everything the world of sex had to offer. After I’d been sexually active for a year or so, I started thinking a lot about doing it with a guy. Just to get it on the score sheet, you know?”
Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He merely nodded.
“So, when I was seventeen, I think, I was at this college party. I was getting pretty plastered, as everybody was, and I started talking to this guy. I wasn’t the least bit attracted to him, but somehow we were talking about sex and making innuendos about doing it. I guess, at some point, we decided to get some air, so we went outside. I don’t really remember, but we must have been talking about doing it right then and finding a place where we wouldn’t be interrupted. I’m sure I must have told him that I was only interested in blow jobs, to start with.”
Jim tried to picture Blair’s mouth on another man’s cock. The image was disturbing.
“I can’t remember very well,” Blair went on, “but I think I stumbled or tripped, and the next thing I knew, I’m flat on my face. And then, like nothing, this guy is on top of me.” Blair’s gaze grew distant as he looked to one side. “Even now, I can feel his weight on my back. He was something like forty or fifty pounds heavier than I was – pretty chubby, actually. But he’s on top of me, and – ” Blair released a breath, causing Jim’s heart to quicken with concern. “It just hit me, all at once, that there was no way I could force this guy off of me. Scared the hell out of me,” he said bluntly, looking at Jim. “Funny thing was,” he glanced away again, “I don’t think he even had a hard-on. He was too stoned. But I wanted him off me, and it scared me that there was nothing I could do about it – except try with words.”
Jim felt relief overshadow his growing concern.
Blair looked at him again. “I yelled at him to get off me, and he got off. So no problem, right?”
Jim realized he was expected to react. He shrugged lamely, for he was waiting for the rest.
Blair shook his head. “It dawned on me then that I was playing with fire if I thought I was going to go out and do it with guys. I mean, reasonably, if I got with a guy my own size, there shouldn’t be a problem. I think I sort of had that in the back of my mind a while that I’d eventually come across somebody I was attracted to whom wasn’t large enough to be physically threatening. But in the meantime, I was making it like crazy with girls. And I guess, eventually, I stopped thinking about guys, because girls made me plenty happy.” He grinned broadly.
Jim grinned back. He couldn’t sift through all his feelings at what Blair had revealed; nor did he want to. “For what it’s worth, I think you made a wise choice.”
Blair smiled again, and Jim had to restrain a chuckle at how easily Blair accepted compliments.
After a moment, Blair was looking away again and gnawing at his lower lip. “You know, I’d like to think that I’d try anything once. I’ve always believed that we shouldn’t let our fear stop us from experiencing all that life has to offer. But when that guy was on top of me, even for just a moment,” he slowly shook his head, “it hit me on such a deep level,” he suddenly looked up, “that I haven’t really ever regretted not trying anything again.”
Jim assured, “Smart move, Chief. I’ve been in Vice. I’ve seen the results of some pretty bad scenes. When you’re physically overpowered by somebody who wants something from you, there’s nothing you can do but hope you survive. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, for being smart and avoiding situations like that.” His voice gentled. “Besides, as you say, girls give you what you want, so why go looking elsewhere?”
Blair was beaming again, so transparent in his eagerness for Jim’s approval. He rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, an orgasm is an orgasm, right?”
Jim chuckled softly. “Don’t know if I’d go that far. There’s something to be said for making love to somebody you have intimate feelings for.”
Blair’s expression grew sly and teasing. “What percentage of the women you’ve made love to have you had intimate feelings for, do you think?”
So, here came the probing questions. Jim was so accustomed to it that he rarely bothered feeling annoyed anymore. In this situation, he had opened the door, hadn’t he? He allowed a small, self-conscious smile. “Almost a hundred percent. I’ve rarely slept with a woman I didn’t have intimate feelings for.”
“Even if you can’t remember her name two days later?” Blair’s eyes were full of challenge.
Jim shifted. “Well… yeah. The important thing is that if I’m feeling close to her when I’m with her, and I feel I want to make love to her, I don’t see how having forgotten the details about her a week later negates the intimacy we shared at the moment.”
“So,” Blair pursued, “you fall in love for a few hours at a time?”
Jim didn’t like the thought, but he wasn’t up to being picked apart. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. But it doesn’t lessen the quality of the time we had together.” He heard the defensiveness in his own voice.
Blair wondered, “So how is that different from all the one night stands I have?”
“You freely admit,” Jim pointed out, careful to keep his tone free of judgment, “that you’re in it for the physical pleasure. You don’t feel anything meaningful and deep for most of your conquests.” He sadly thought I’m not sure you’d even know how.
Blair was thoughtful for a brief moment. “Maybe we’re both doing the same thing, except me more frequently than you, and I’m just more honest about it.”
Jim smiled gently, getting up and gathering the dishes. “I don’t think so, Chief.”
Blair slapped the file down on Jim’s desk. “That’s the report on the cloth you found at Racer’s Range.”
Jim opened it as Blair sat at his own desk and rolled his chair closer. Jim read, “A synthetic wool, produced by Synco Fabrics, a popular clothing manufacturer. No traces of any significant substances.” He sighed. “Well, that’s a big fat zero.”
“Not necessarily,” Blair rushed to reassure. He hated it when Jim’s sentinel abilities didn’t add anything of merit to a case. “We can try to get a picture of some sort of shirt or jacket from Synco that matches the same red color, and ask if there’s anybody at Racer’s Range who wears something like that.”
Jim grunted, as though unimpressed with the possibilities.
Blair changed the subject, looking at the document of several pages that Jim had been perusing while Blair was in Forensics. “What’s that?”
“The list that Melinda faxed. She decided to include all the horses they’ve had at the farm, and what their past history has been, who they’ve been donated to and for what purpose; and the plans for the horses currently at the farm.”
“Anything good?”
Jim flipped to the next page, where he’d made some marks. “I’ve circled a few that looked like ending up at a retirement farm was a big step down for them, considering how much they were once worth.” He tilted his head as he flipped to another page. “You know, there’s another way of looking at this.”
“What’s that?”
“Horses that have increased in value since being retired, because they’ve been retrained for something else, and have valuable potential in their new career.”
“Sounds sort of farfetched,” Blair thought out loud. “What kind of value do horses in other sports have? Surely, racing is the financial king of the equine world.”
Jim pushed the fax aside, revealing a notebook page with his careful penmanship. “While you were flirting with Samantha downstairs, I called some equine agencies and ended up talking with a very helpful lady, Ms. Wallace, at the American Horse Council in Washington D.C.”
“What’s – ”
“It’s a lobby group for legislation concerning the vast world of horses and horsemen.” Jim tapped his pen next to a column of notes. “Hold on to your hat, Chief. According to Ms. Wallace, it’s not at all unusual for a top level jumper to be worth six figures, or a good dressage horse to be worth that much. Or what they call an ‘event’ horse. And if the rodeo is more your fancy, barrel racers and reining horses – whatever the hell those are – and cutting horses can be worth tens of thousands of dollars – even into six figures in extreme cases.”
At the mention of rodeo, Blair’s mind went to his cousins in Texas and the one summer he had visited. “Wait a minute, Jim. Barrel racers have to be short, stout horses, like Quarter Horses, because they need to be super agile and race tight circles around the barrels without hitting them. I wouldn’t expect long, lean Thoroughbreds to meet that criteria.”
Jim shrugged. “Well, okay, maybe we can scratch the barrel racers. But the point is, just looking at the racing side of things is putting blinders on.”
Blair placed his finger on the paper, running it down the column of equine sports and potential values. “But even so,” he protested, “you wouldn’t pay the higher figures for a horse who hadn’t proven himself in that particular sport, right? Surely horses just off the track have to be worth a lot less, because they don’t know how to do anything else, except race, and they aren’t racing anymore.”
Jim put his finger on top of Blair’s finger, guiding Blair to some scribbled notes on another part of the page. “Maybe so, but still you have to figure that a horse who is training well in, say, jumping fences, is going to be worth a lot more than he was at the moment he was retired from racing, when no one knew he could jump at all. What’s more, you can see where I’ve written here the ages of how old horses can sometimes be and still compete in other sports. In racing, most horses are washed up by the time they’re five. Yet, for something like jumping fences, they can compete well into their teens. So, the longevity is there to add to their potential value.”
Blair furrowed his brow, wondering if Jim realized his fingers were caressing Blair’s. More like cataloging? He bit down on his impulse to ask, feeling unusually reluctant to take away from Jim whatever the other man thought he was doing, consciously or subconsciously. Or is he messing with me – seeing if I’ll notice? No, that couldn’t be right. Jim had hardly been playing games at the warehouse. How nice that had been, Blair thought, recalling the comforting hand wading up and down his back.
“Chief?”
Blair looked up, felt a blush, and jerked his hand back. “Oh, sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Thinking what?”
Oh, boy. Uhh… “About how much they’re worth when they first go to the retirement farm.”
“Like I just said,” Jim pointed out impatiently, “that’s slaughter prices – a thousand bucks, tops.”
Blair sat back in his chair. “So, let’s put this morning’s research into perspective. What’s your theory?”
“A possibility,” Jim stressed, “is that a retired horse is being retrained for another sport – let’s say jumping – and is doing really well, showing lots of potential. So, say, John Smith Volunteer Ranch Hand realizes how well the horse is doing, and knows somebody who will pay, say, $20,000 for a relatively young, sound horse who wasn’t fast enough on the track, but who loves jumping fences. Perhaps, at best, that horse is going to somebody who donates a couple of thousands dollars to Racers Range, which our John Smith will never see a cent of. But he’s thinking if somehow he can get this horse off the ranch, and into the hands of an interested buyer, he pockets $20,000 cash free and clear. And the ranch thinks they’re missing a horse that wasn’t worth more than $2,000 to them, so they aren’t going to invest much time in looking for it. I mean, Racers Range really can’t call these horses assets.”
“But what about papers?” Blair put in. “If someone pays $20,000 cash under the table for a good jumper, how is that buyer going to be able to legally show that they’ve purchased the horse?”
Jim placed his hand on Blair’s shoulder and pointed to another scribble on his paper. “Most horse sports – other than racing – don’t require the participants to be papered. You can take your pet pony out of the yard and enter him in a jumping competition against large, rangy ex-racers, if you choose. In fact, a lot of racehorses are sold off the track without papers, because the original owner wants to make sure the horse is going to a good home and will never be asked to race again.”
Blair considered that, while at the same time wondering why Jim’s hand was massaging his shoulder. “So, you’re thinking Alan Carter caught wind of something like that going on – somebody was going to steal a horse from Racer’s Range and illegally sell it to a buyer – and that’s why he was killed.”
Jim’s fingers squeezed Blair’s shoulder as he tilted his head to one side. “It’s possible Carter could have been the one planning to steal a horse,” Jim considered, “but if another ranch hand caught onto his plans, why would that other ranch hand have killed him, as opposed to just calling the police?”
Does he really not realize what he’s doing? Blair wondered as the squeezing hand now traveled down his upper arm. Blair glanced around, grateful that no one seemed to notice. “Unless it was a potential buyer who murdered Carter,” Blair said. “Maybe Carter wasn’t able to follow through with the delivery, and the buyer wanted to make sure there weren’t any loose ends around.” His eyes lowered to watch the hand caress along his forearm. “Anyway,” Blair said, glancing up to see Megan walk in and just catch the contented expression on Jim’s face, “whatever theory we want to pursue, we’ve got to get some evidence.”
Megan nodded at Jim’s hand stroking along Blair’s arm. “When are you two getting married?”
“Hi, Megan,” Blair greeted, ignoring the question and resisting the urge to move his arm away. He waited for Jim’s reaction to her question.
Jim smoothly took his hand away. “You’re a barrel of laughs.”
She made a face, as though to say One for Jim, then said to Blair, “I heard you were wanted by Vice. Too bad about the arm.”
“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise,” Blair noted, seeing no need to come across as prideful to one of his closest friends. “Not really my kind of case, from the sounds of it.”
“Ooh, but imagine the challenge,” Megan said with zest.
Jim piped up, “Yeah, Megan, what a challenge for you to go undercover as a gay man.”
Blair burst out laughing, knowing Megan wouldn’t mind his humor at her expense.
“I think,” Jim continued smoothly, “you should present yourself to Vice as a replacement for Sandburg. Without the fancy Aussie clothes, you could pass for a man, with a loose sweater up top.”
Megan narrowed her eyes dangerously. “You just wait, James Ellison. I’m going to get back at you for that comment – when you least expect it.”
“I’m shaking in my boots,” Jim retorted, then turned his attention back to the fax on his desk.
Blair grinned and winked at Megan, grateful to see her returning smile as she took her place at her desk. Then he ducked his head to better see the fax in Jim’s hand. “What do you think?”
“We need to try and figure out which of these horses have the potential to be worth some real money.” Jim flipped through the pages. “Of the twenty-seven horses at the farm now, I’ve marked eight that are currently being retrained for another sport. They would be the logical ones to match our theory. We need to look into them a little deeper.” He rested the fax on Blair’s knee, and both men leaned over it. “Take a look at the first one here, Legend’s Lair. He’s a five-year-old gelding who once won a $100,000 stakes race. Because he was a gelding, there’s no stud value. He got an injury a year ago that ended his career.” Jim’s hand started sliding up Blair’s knee, toward his thigh. “Now, after a year, the injury is completely healed, and because he’s sort of a smallish, compact horse, Melinda says he’s being trained for polo, because some college student on the Rainier Polo Team happened to see him at the farm when he was visiting. So, he’s donating his time to train him as a polo pony.” His hand stopped past Blair’s knee, and the thumb gently massaged.
This was too much. And too ticklish. Blair picked up Jim’s hand and placed it on Jim’s knee, while nodding to say, “Go on.”
Jim never skipped a beat. “So, if the horse is training really well – Melinda doesn’t really say – maybe this college kid knows a buyer and wants to pocket it all himself.”
“Do we have a phone number?” Blair asked.
“No, we’ll have to get it from Melinda. But that would be a place to start.”
Blair slowly hung up his coat after they had entered the loft. He was grateful that they were busy enough with the case that his underlying brooding hadn’t shown on the surface. He’d decided that the best, safest way to approach Jim about his recent, odd behavior was to assume it was a sentinel thing. Then Jim was less likely to feel attacked and get defensive. Though the thesis was long dead, analyzing and learning more about the effectiveness and limitations of Jim’s senses was still a way of life for both of them. After all, there was no reason to think the recent slate of touching wasn’t a sentinel thing.
Jim was already at the refrigerator. “Beer?”
“Yeah, sure.” They had already eaten a fast food meal on the way home. “Thanks,” Blair said as he took the bottle, from which Jim had already twisted off the cap. “Uh… Jim.”
Jim was leaning back against the kitchen counter. He looked at Blair and waited.
“We need to talk about something.” It seemed to Blair that it had been a long time since he’d said that.
Jim looked surprised. “Yeah? About what?”
Blair stood next to the table, feeling all the old securities. He wanted to express his concern to Jim, someone he cared very much about, but he was afraid Jim was likely to, at least, dismiss his comments; or, at worst, walk away. Thankfully, such behavior on Jim’s part had been very rare since Blair had become a cop.
Blair took a swig of beer, leaning back against a kitchen chair. “Have you noticed that you’ve been, uh, sort of touchy-feely lately?” He ended the question with a wave of his left arm, waiting for a reaction.
Jim shrugged. “No.” But it wasn’t a very forceful negative, and had a “why do you ask?” quality to it.
“Well, why do you think Megan said what she said today, about us getting married?”
“Because she’s a smart-assed Aussie kangaroo.” Looking pleased with himself, Jim tilted his head back and took a large swig of beer.
Blair grinned but stuck to the subject. He leaned forward to emphasize his point. “Jim, you were running your hand down my arm. I mean, it was like… a caress. And that’s only the most recent example.” Jim wasn’t showing a reaction. “Are you telling me you haven’t noticed that something is going on with your sense of touch?”
Jim appeared thoughtful. Then he made a small motion with his head, as though at least giving the idea some credence. “I wouldn’t say something is ‘going on’. I’m not sure there’s anything abnormal about it.”
Blair’s eyes narrowed as he considered the careful way that Jim answered, while not offering any additional information. He does know something is up, even if it’s not technically ‘abnormal’. Then, whatever it is that’s going on, he’s accepted it as something natural – natural for a sentinel. He pondered that thought, allowing for past history’s revelations that when sentinel instincts were active, the sentinel would follow those instincts without question, no matter how bizarre those instincts might appear on the surface.
Blair straightened, aware that Jim was patiently awaiting a reply. To analyze this, they needed to start at the beginning. Blair took a step closer, wanting to be comforting and supportive while they picked this apart. “Jim, do you remember when I broke my arm and we were in that closet? When the Iranians started to move away – and we weren’t quite so afraid – you were running your hands up and down my back. Up and down the back of my whole body, actually.”
Jim sipped his beer. “I remember,” he said easily.
“Don’t you think there was something… unusual about that? Not that I minded, man, but… it wasn’t you, you know?”
Jim glanced toward the ceiling, as though expecting to find explanations there. Then he said, more mildly than Blair would have expected, “You felt good. Why not touch, when you felt so good to me?”
Blair blinked, while repeating Jim’s answer to himself. Such powerful words stated so casually. His heartbeat quickened as he recalled how casually Jim had explained why he was kicking Blair out of the loft and, later, why he had moved out all of the furniture. A casual Jim could be bad news. Blair resolved to be calm and approach this as a scientist. “You say it ‘felt good’. So, you’re talking sexually?”
Another thoughtful pause. Then, “No. It wasn’t sexual, at least not directly. I liked how you felt. Why shouldn’t I take more of what I like, especially if it does no harm to you?”
Take. Blair repressed a shiver while focusing on computing the words. He couldn’t find a resolution, because it seemed too simple. Not that he minded simple, but since he himself was involved in this little sentinel touch spike…. “Jim. Do you think other people would ‘feel good’ to you? Or is it, for some reason, just me?” His voice was carefully neutral, though he couldn’t deny that he hoped this special… situation… was for himself alone.
“You felt good. I like feeling you.”
Mechanical answer. Maybe he doesn’t know the answer because he hasn’t tested his touch response to anybody else. They were in for a long evening. Blair moved over to the couch and sat down. He took a few sips of beer and watched while Jim came into the living room and sat down opposite him. He’s not afraid of this conversation. That was both a pleasant surprise and a little unnerving, if only because Blair wasn’t used to questioning such a mellow sentinel.
Blair took a moment to be sure of his line of questioning. “Okay, let’s go back to the closet at the warehouse. You had my head pressed against your shoulder to make sure I stayed quiet. You remember that?”
“Yes.” Jim’s tone said Go on.
Blair suddenly remembered, “I bit into your jacket, trying so hard to be quiet. I got saliva on it. When we got back from the hospital, you smelled your jacket where my mouth had been.” So, this isn’t just about touch. That was both wondrous and a little scary. “I’m not sure – because I wasn’t really looking – but I think you may have tasted that same spot on your jacket. Did you?”
Finally, Jim looked a little uncomfortable. He placed his beer on the coffee table and sat forward in the chair, gazing at the floor. “I-I did.”
Blair released a breath. Okay. We’ve got a sentinel who seems a little obsessed with experiencing a particular person; at least, we don’t know if this would apply to others. “Do you know why you felt compelled to do that? Or maybe I should first ask: did you feel compelled or was it a conscious decision?”
Jim rubbed a finger along his lip, then looked at Blair. “I’m not sure the two can be separated. I was consciously aware that I wanted to do that – smell and taste the part of you that had been on my clothing.” He reached for his beer.
Blair’s heart quickened even more. What an admission that had been. But what did it mean? “Okay. And what about in the closet? Your hand was running up and down my back – the back of my head, my rear end. You almost seemed mesmerized. Almost in a zone, but not quite.”
“You felt good.” Jim was again gazing thoughtfully at the floor.
“So… because I felt good, you were… cataloging me? Taking inventory of how I felt at each point of my body that you could reach?”
“Something like that.”
“And you’ve done it at other times, including this morning in the bullpen when you were rubbing and squeezing my arm and shoulder?”
“You felt good.”
Blair restrained a sigh. He had a feeling he was talking to Jim the primitive sentinel, instead of Jim the cop. He leaned forward. “Jim, you can’t… feel me like that in public. You do realize that, right? It’s inappropriate. That’s why Megan made the comment that she did today.”
Jim tilted his head back to finish off his beer. Then, “It seemed harmless enough.”
Blair rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jim, there’s a time and a place for everything. You can’t go copping feels from me whenever you feel like it, to say nothing of the question of what if I don’t like it?”
“You do like it.”
Blair’s mouth fell open. He watched Jim take his beer bottle to the trash. The statement had been made with one hundred percent confidence. Okay, I can’t deny he’s right. And it’s not like he would push himself on somebody who doesn’t want it. A new, uncomfortable though emerged. Does he think I was asking for it? He waited until Jim sat back down. “Let’s go back to the warehouse. You had me pressed against your jacket to make sure I stayed quiet. Then when the worst of the danger was passed, you started… petting me, almost. What was going through you then? What were you thinking? Feeling?”
Once again, the mellow obedience was there. What would I have given to have him this willing in the early years. We could have saved ourselves so much pain. A new thought struck Blair. Has he realized that now, hence the difference? Blair wasn’t sure he even liked the thought, for it suggested that Jim had up and realized some sort of truth that had left Blair behind, because Blair didn’t know when such a transformation would have taken place.
Jim said, “You were close to me. My hand was on your head. You felt good.”
Blair shifted. “Did you have your sense of touch dialed up?”
“Yes. I knew I could do that, because you would allow it. You aren’t afraid of me.”
Blair’s eyes narrowed, having the feeling – again – that this new situation was because of something he had done, or not done. “No,” Blair said carefully, “I’m not afraid of you. But are you talking about… afraid of your feelings, or afraid of your senses?”
Jim looked toward the ceiling. After a long moment, he said, “It’s hard for me to separate them, one from the other. My senses and my feelings are both a part of me.”
Okay, we aren’t going to get anywhere with that. “So, because I allowed it, you wanted to explore me more?”
“Yes.” The answer was soft, reflective.
“If you knew someone else who wasn’t afraid, do you think you would want to explore them, too?”
“I-I don’t know. I don’t care. I know you feel good. I think you smell good, up close. I think you probably taste very good. Your spit tastes very good.”
Blair shuddered. Oh, man. One little lick of Blair’s saliva on his jacket, and Jim thought he tasted good? And why was this coming up now, when Jim had had five years to touch and smell – and even taste – Blair? Did it really all start in the closet, which forced them to be so physically close for a relatively lengthy time?
Blair teetered between panic that there was something going on that he couldn’t understand, to elation that he was the focus of this special man’s attention, to rational thought that there was an explanation somewhere for this. The scientist in him fell upon the latter. “Okay, I want you to listen to me. I have a theory about why this is happening, and I want you to consider how legit it sounds. I know that, for myself, the past year has been quite an adjustment. I mean, always before, I was trying to obtain something, especially all those years at Rainier. Now, since I’ve become your official partner, things have become more settled. It’s been an adjustment for me to not have a particular goal to strive for.”
Good, he’s listening. “In your case, I’m wondering if something similar is going on. You’ve had an adventurous, shall we say, past of being in Peru, a rocky marriage to Carolyn, then the sentinel stuff and meeting me… the whole long-term mess with my thesis, helping me get through the academy. And now, suddenly, everything is… calm. No more uproar. So, I’m wondering if, subconsciously, you’re,” he waved his hand apologetically, “bored with the way things are, and you’re looking for some excitement. And I’m right here. So, I’m wondering if, perhaps, you’ve become infatuated with me. You see me as ‘safe’ excitement.”
There was the barest twitch of Jim’s mouth corner, as though he was amused by this. “Infatuated or not, I guess you could say it’s ‘exciting’.” Jim’s head shook. “But it’s not a substitute for boredom.”
He sounds so sure, Blair marveled, feeling his heart pound. He hesitated before asking the next question that came to him. “What…,” he had to swallow to speak, “what do you want to do with this exploration, or cataloging, that you’re doing? What do you hope to gain from it?”
Jim was silent a long moment. Then he moved to the dining table and sat down at the head of it, folding his hands on the table top. “I’m ready now to answer a question you’ve wondered about for a long time.”
Intrigued, despite his scientific determination to keep a distance, Blair got up and walked to the table. He sat at the end opposite Jim. His left hand went on the table, and he found a piece of junk mail and played with the edge. He looked up at Jim, waiting.
Jim began, “I know you’ve always wondered about sex and how it’s affected by my senses.”
Oh, God. Blair’s heart beat faster. Was the mystery really going to get solved right this moment? He released a silent breath. He had a feeling this date – July 28, 2000 – was going to prove momentous in his life. He nodded at Jim, swallowing audibly.
Jim’s voice was quiet, careful, tentative, as though touching on a sacred subject. “I suppose that, since the emerging of my sentinel abilities, I’ve made love to maybe a dozen women, tops. Of course, I didn’t do it at all at first. I had to feel some confidence that nothing crazy was going to happen at an inappropriate moment.”
Blair watched as Jim’s gaze lowered. He felt a sudden surge of compassion – unexpected where this subject was concerned.
“The truth is,” Jim continued a bit unsteadily, “that once you taught me to dial down, and that helped my control, I would dial down as low as I could before things got too serious when I was with a woman. So, there wasn’t anything unusual about the sex at all.” A wry grin spread across Jim’s mouth. “Not that the ‘usual’ was anything to complain about.”
Blair sat, stunned. And feeling foolish for having not anticipated that this was the typical, protective James Ellison. All these years, Blair had been determined to think of Jim as some sort of mechanical Adonis, getting the utmost from his sexual encounters.
Blair could be silent no longer, as he rifled through the times he’d known Jim had had sex. “But the woman whose pheromones you were attracted to. Surely, then – “
“Especially then,” Jim corrected, finally looking up. “I may have been aroused beyond my control, but not beyond my ability to dial down. I think, before you even taught me about the dials, I was dialing down when it came to sex.”
Just as Blair was about to open his mouth, Jim anticipated his next question.
“With Lila, when I had the sensory spikes, that was only when I was near her purse while she had the assassin’s dagger. Once we went up to the bedroom,” he shrugged, “it wasn’t that much different from normal, which means I was dialed way down.”
After a moment, Blair realized that Jim had stopped talking. “Man,” he said.
Jim gazed at him with an affectionate smile. “Not only did I feel none of it was your business, but I think I’ve also put off telling you because I didn’t want to disappoint you. You seemed to want to believe that the sex was out of this world.”
“Yeah, man,” Blair agreed, running his hand back through his hair. “And I was envious as heck.” But now, shooting past the envy, was the feeling of wrongness in the irony that Jim had a special gift of extraordinary physical senses; and, yet, he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, use them for life’s greatest sensual experience. But he’s not looking for sympathy. Blair had to backtrack to remember that Jim had revealed his sexual normalcy as an explanation for…?
Blair shifted, fingering the corner of the envelope. “And, now, you feel this is my business because…?” He glanced up.
Jim’s gaze lowered, then looked up to meet Blair’s eyes. “Because you feel good to me.”
Ah, man. This is too much. Blair reminded himself that keeping it scientific could allow him some measure of control over this new experience between them. “I thought,” he said cautiously, “you said my ‘feeling good’ to you didn’t have a direct connection to sex.”
Jim’s expression grew distant. After a long moment, he gently said, “You’re having trouble understanding me because you want to keep sex and intimacy separate. I think if you would allow yourself to consider that the two will interact at some point, it would all make more sense to you, without your needing to work so hard at analyzing it.”
Blair had to work those sentences through his brain a couple of times. He’s taking the easy way out by attacking me, even if his weapon is harmless kid gloves. “Jim, we’re not talking about me,” he said firmly. “We’re talking about your recent behavior. I have to ask questions to get to the bottom of it.”
“I know you do,” Jim conceded. Blair had the uncomfortable feeling that Jim did, indeed, understand a lot more than Blair himself did.
“Let’s review,” Blair decided, mostly for his own benefit. “One. You’ve exhibited recent indications of wanting to touch me a lot. There was also one incident of taste and smell concerning hours-old saliva on your jacket.
“Two. You have testified your belief that these urges to ‘experience’ me, via your senses, are for the basic reason that it’s sensually pleasing to you. You deny that there are direct sexual connotations. You also deny that this sudden pleasure from ‘experiencing’ me is due to boredom.
“Three. In light of your just now revealed sexual history, it’s apparent that you have been repressing your potential sensual experiences during the sexual act. You consciously dial down so that your intellect can remain in control of the encounter. The fact that you have chosen to tell me this at this particular time indicates there is a link between your casual-contact urges, which we’ve been discussing, and your sexual urges, which you obviously brought up for a reason.
“Four. The above connection needs further study. There is no identified reason for these casual-contact urges of yours appearing now, when they’ve never appeared before. Also, it has yet to be tested if others might ‘feel good’ to you in this new way.
“Point Five. One hypothesis for point four is that the need for casual contact started when you and I were in close physical proximity for an extended length of time. If that origin was not coincidence, then it reinforces the question of what if I had been somebody else? Would you now be having the same urges to touch and taste and smell that person?” Blair paused, wondering if he had forgotten anything. Jim looked patiently tolerant.
Blair finished off the last of his beer. Then he said, “Jim, I don’t mind what you’re doing – not at all. The touching and everything. But, man, you can’t carry it to an extreme when we’re around other people.”
“Okay,” Jim replied, not sounding at all chastised.
Relieved by the easy acquiescence, Blair’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “Would you be willing to test your responses to another person?”
“Who would you recommend?”
Blair shrugged. “Maybe Simon?” he asked hopefully.
“What kind of experiment with Simon would satisfy you?”
Blair was still uneasy with this mellow, agreeable Jim. He ran some scenarios through his mind, then quickly decided that Simon wasn’t a good idea. He was a superior, after all. And how could he ever be talked into it? “What about Megan?”
Jim’s expression didn’t change. “What do you want me and Megan to do?”
Yeah, this could work. “I’ll explain to her that it’s a sensory test and see if she’s okay with you holding her close – you know, non-sexually. Like with me in the closet. And you see if she ‘feels good’ to you, if you get urges to keep touching her, even though you know it isn’t going to culminate in a sexual experience.” He suddenly remembered what Jim had said to him in the past about love versus sex, especially where Megan was concerned. “Uh… do you think you can do that, Jim? Or would you rather test with another guy?”
“I’ll do whatever you think is necessary.”
This is too easy. “Megan makes the most sense to me, because we don’t have to explain much.”
Jim merely shrugged.
“Okay, I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” Blair realized they had talked this through all that they could tonight. He released a heavy breath, feeling the fatigue come over him. He realized it had been a while since he’d had reason to reflect upon Jim’s senses.
He liked having reasons.
Jim switched off the lamp next to the bed and crawled between the covers. Burned into his mind was the image of Blair, right arm in a sling, sitting across the table from him. Ever so patiently playing the part of the objective scientist and supportive friend, putting so much effort in trying to work this through, to explain it to himself in a way that was safe.
Jim closed his eyes. One day, perhaps, Blair would be able to put aside all his carefully crafted ideas about love, sex, and intimacy. Until then, Jim would help his young partner keep his veil of safety. It was a pleasant enough task.
“I’m not sure what else we can do,” Jim said as he followed Blair into the men’s room. “Who knows when this Tommy Sanchez character is going to be back in town so we can question him.” Sanchez was the college student who was training Legend’s Lair for polo. However, he was on vacation in Europe, and it was an open-ended trip, so he could potentially stay there until the fall term began in September.
Blair took a moment to unveil himself before the urinal, since using his left hand made it awkward, even after having the cast for over a week. “Yeah,” he said as Jim took his place at the urinal beside him, “you can’t help but wonder if he high-tailed it out of the country because maybe he murdered Carter. And it’s kind of hard to tell Melinda to keep an extra watch on the horse, in case somebody else has been hired to do the dirty work and is supposed to snatch Legend’s Lair instead.”
Jim zipped up and moved to the sink. “And what does it do to Legend’s value to have his polo training put on hold until Sanchez returns?” He spent a half second washing his hands, and then reached for a paper towel. “Maybe we can approach this from the other end and look into polo pony dealers who might be looking to buy.”
“That might take some doing,” Blair said. He was hunched over awkwardly, trying to hold his trousers taut with his cast while his left hand tugged at the zipper. “I’m under the impression,” he muttered while battling the metal, “that the polo pony world is pretty small and exclusive. It’s not like you can just look them up in the telephone directory. FUCK!”
Jim went over to him and, repeating a common ritual since the cast, put his arms around Blair from behind. He grabbed the top of Blair’s fly with his left hand, and yanked the zipper up with his right.
“I’m not even going to ask,” Simon said as he entered and headed for a urinal.
Jim grinned and stepped back, but chose to stay silent.
Blair moved to the sink, muttering, “You have no idea how handicapped a cast on your right arm can make you. You can’t even zip up your own fucking fly.” He turned on the hot water with his left hand and quickly ran it underneath the faucet.
Jim grabbed a paper towel and handed it to Blair, who said, “I know I shouldn’t have worn these pants. The zippers on my others are easier to work with.” He took the towel, crumbled it up in his hand as a bastardization of drying, and threw it toward the trash receptacle.
They left the room.
“Hey, Megan,” Blair greeted as he stepped back so she could enter the loft. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sounds too intriguing to miss,” she replied, nodding at Jim, who stood by the sofa. “Besides, what else have I to do on a Sunday afternoon, other than laundry and house cleaning?”
Jim said, “Apparently, I don’t have anything better to do, either, than subject myself to Blair’s tests.”
Blair let the banter roll off. In fact, he was glad his two participants were relaxing with each other. He peeped through the video camera, perched upon a tripod, yet again. Then he straightened as Jim took Megan’s sweater. “Unfortunately, Megan, I really can’t tell you much about this, nor can I discuss it with you afterwards. I’ll just say that it concerns Jim’s sense of touch. In all honesty, you’re just being used as a convenient, warm body.”
“Well,” she said good-naturedly, “at least you aren’t wanting me to be a cold body.”
“Don’t give him any ideas,” Jim said, and they all laughed.
“Okay,” Blair said, falling back into the instructor’s mode he had once used for teaching, “this is what I need you two to do.” He gestured with his left hand. “Sit on the sofa, where the camera is pointing, and sort of face each other the best way you can.” He watched as they moved to obey, grateful that the two didn’t fight each other as much as they had the first few weeks after Megan had arrived in Cascade. “Megan, I’m going to need you in an upper body hug with Jim. But, it’s going to be more that he’s embracing you. Don’t put your arms around him. But… more rest against him, if you can.” Blair watched, pleased, as Jim was taking charge of the mechanics, simulating their positions in the warehouse. “Megan, you need to rest the left side of your face against Jim’s left shoulder. Okay… good.” Blair hesitated. Megan looked awkward, and he couldn’t blame her. “Meg, I need you to really relax, like you’re secure that Jim’s protecting you.” He watched her take a deep breath, and saw the relaxation in her shoulders. “Good. You can let your head rest real heavy on Jim’s shoulder. He’s protecting you; you can let him take charge. You don’t need to do anything.”
Blair paused. Jim’s hands were on Megan’s back. “Okay, Jim, when I start the video running, you can just run your hands, gently, up and down Megan’s back, and see where that takes you – what it makes you want to do.” He realized how that might sound and quickly assured, “Megan, if Jim makes any cheap moves, you have my permission to belt him. I’m not expecting this to go in a sexual direction. But, seriously, if either of you gets uncomfortable with where it does go, please stop. You’re both my friends, and this experiment isn’t worth hurting either of you over.”
They both sat quietly, in their embrace on the sofa. Jim’s hand moved gently along Megan’s petite back.
Blair switched on the video camera’s auto switch, and refocused the viewfinder. Satisfied that it was working, he straightened. “Okay, we’re recording. I’m going to leave the loft for ten minutes. Megan, you don’t need to do anything. Jim, you do whatever your senses compel you to do.”
Blair left the loft and took the elevator down. He couldn’t imagine trying to pull this off with Simon, even though Jim and Simon had a lot of trust in each other, and Simon would be willing to do just about anything to help with furthering their understanding of the Cascade PD’s number one asset – Jim’s senses. But expecting Simon to relax in Jim’s embrace and feel protected… no, much better to have an understanding woman, even if it did mean running the risk of hormones interfering. But Jim and Megan weren’t interested in each other that way. And what could go wrong in ten minutes?
At the ground floor, Blair exited the building, then leaned back against the concrete wall with his left thumb hooked in the pocket of his jeans.
He wondered if anything was happening upstairs. If Jim was rubbing his hands all up and down Megan’s back, perhaps even her buttocks. If Megan would be okay with that and let it continue. If Jim was squeezing her, wanting more. Maybe running his hand through her hair.
If so, what would it mean? Why would Jim suddenly be so anxious to experience his senses with another human being when, historically, sentinel senses were used only to protect the tribe?
Is he lonely? Jim had revealed the truth about his sexual experiences, needing to share that. Is he feeling some sort of mating imperative, like with Alex, only this time it’s originating from his own needs, rather than from her availability? Surely, as a man, Jim feels a need to mate, and he hasn’t been out with anyone in a while. With him being a sentinel, maybe the urge to mate is all the stronger, because the tribe’s long-term survival depends upon new sentinels. But…there’s never been any evidence that those who are sentinels produce offspring who are sentinels. The genes are more randomly spread than that. And, besides, what would the mating urge have to do with his interest in me?
The confusion welled up full-force. What was all that touchy-feely stuff about the past few weeks? And was this little experiment going to help them get any closer to the answer?
Blair glanced at his watch. Two minutes to go. He went back into the building and summoned the elevator.
When he entered the loft, Jim and Megan appeared to be almost in the same position. They looked relaxed and content. “Time’s up,” Blair announced. He watched Jim drop his hands and they shifted away from each other. Blair clicked off the video camera. “Sorry, Megan, but Jim and I need to discuss this in private.”
“So, you warned me,” she said, standing. Then she bent and placed a kiss on Jim’s forehead. “If I ever need a warm hug and some TLC, I know who to call.”
Jim’s mouth corner twitched, but he didn’t reply.
Blair met Megan at the door and took her sweater from the wall hook. “Thanks, Meg. I really appreciate it.” He kissed her cheek.
“Sure, Sandy, anytime. I hope it helps with whatever you and Jim are doing. Bye.” She exited, and he closed the door behind her.
Blair went back to the camera and took the tape from it. He popped it into the VCR. “I guess you can talk to me about what you were feeling as we watch this.” He picked up the remote and moved back until he was sitting on the sofa next to Jim. He pushed “Rewind”. While listening to the tape spin around, he asked, “You okay?”
“Fine.”
It clicked off a moment later, and Blair pushed “Play”.
Jim and Megan sat together on the sofa. Jim’s hands moved slowly and deliberately up and down Megan’s back. Then they moved up into her hair, massaging the back of her head. After a moment, Jim bent his head forward. His nostrils dilated. “You’re smelling her hair,” Blair realized.
Beside him, Jim nodded. “The sense of touch wasn’t affecting me much, so I tried smell. It didn’t do much for me either.” His tone was merely informative.
“But… how did she feel to you?” Blair watched Jim’s hands gently slide up and down her back. “Not unpleasant?”
“No, of course not. I felt… protective. I guess because I knew the trust she had to have in me to allow me to hold her so close.”
“But feeling protective,” Blair said worriedly, “that didn’t make you restrain yourself from feeling her up, so to speak?”
“No, Chief,” Jim said with a hint of impatience. “I understand the point of the experiment. We were seeing if being close to her made me want to keep feeling her, smell her, taste her. But no. She didn’t feel good to me the way that you do.”
Blair’s heart skipped a beat. “Well,” he said, watching the boring tape continue, “another inconsistent factor, besides gender and the fact that she’s not me, is that I had a broken arm. I was more vulnerable. Not that I can see how that would make a difference….”
Jim was silent.
Blair clicked off the VCR when snow appeared on the screen. “I wonder if we can try with someone else.”
Jim shifted impatiently. “Chief, we can try with Simon. We can try with Taggert. Hell, we can try with my brother. But all those tests aren’t going to illuminate the truth that you’ve been so carefully avoiding.”
Blair looked at him, his stomach knotting. “Avoiding?”
“Yes, avoiding.” Abruptly, Jim was on his feet. “Look, if we continue experimenting with this, don’t you think it’s time for a different approach?”
“What approach?” Blair asked. What is he talking about?
“That instead of focusing on who I might want to be more physical with, we should instead focus on who I do want to be more physical with.” His voice became more intent. “We both already know who my senses trust enough to allow them the full range of personal experience with another human being. So, maybe it’s time to experiment with just how far they want to go with that chosen recipient. But before we waste our time on validating it, I can tell you right now that my senses want everything they can have from you. I don’t need it analyzed to death. I know. You feel good, you smell good, you taste good. You look good. I like the sound of your voice when you speak to me,especially when you guide me. It’s… enriching to me.”
Blair struggled to draw a breath. He didn’t understand how Jim could feel so certain about this. “But J-Jim. Why now? I’ve lived with you five years. Why am I suddenly so appealing to you?”
Jim also took a breath, leaning against the beam beside the kitchen. He spread his hands. “All I know is that, in that warehouse, I’d never really been that physically close to you before, for that length of time. You appealed to me. Maybe the results would have been the same two, three, four years ago. Maybe not. Maybe… it would have been different then, because our trust level was different. Maybe, like you’ve always told me, there’s no such thing as coincidence, and there’s a reason why the warehouse happened two weeks ago instead of two years ago.” He drew another breath. “All I know is that you’re the only human being on the planet my senses respond to this way. If you don’t want to pursue this – or need to spend however long,” Jim waved a hand dismissively, “explaining it to yourself before you can accept it as the truth, there’s nothing I can do about it, except wait for you. It’s not like I’m going to go looking elsewhere instead.”
Blair felt a numbness settle over him. This can’t be happening. A tightness was still in the pit of his stomach. Jim sounded impatient. But also accepting. And… he knew himself – knew his senses – in a way that Blair could not. And Blair was supposed to be Jim’s guide?
Jim was still leaning against the beam. But now his voice was very gentle. “You’re a scientist, Chief. First and foremost. I don’t want to take that away from you more than I already have.” Blair cringed inwardly, thinking of his denounced thesis. “I understand that you have to work things through a certain way before you can accept them as fact. You tell me what you need me to do here. If you want to take a step back and not do anything at all, I can do that, too.”
The knot in Blair’s stomach began to unravel. Why can’t I just accept what he says at face value? He decided to take the easy way out. “What do you want to do here?”
Jim’s expression changed, becoming more intense as he looked at Blair. Into Blair. “You feel good to me. I want to enjoy how good you feel to me.”
Blair blinked. Then gulped. Jim was leaning against the beam, dressed in slacks, a flannel shirt, an undershirt. Blair’s eyes lowered to glance at Jim’s crotch. I can’t tell that he’s aroused. That made him feel better. What is he, ultimately, wanting from me? He couldn’t bring himself to ask.
Throat tight with the implications – of a turning point – Blair reached out with his left hand. His heart thundered as he watched Jim straighten, then move to the sofa… grasp his hand. Sit to his right, because there was more room there, hands still awkwardly clasped.
Blair gulped again, forcing himself to meet Jim’s clear blue, hungry eyes in the late afternoon darkness. He rasped, “You can do anything you want to me. Anything at all.” Fate sealed.
Jim’s expression softened. He turned on the couch, putting a knee up so that he was facing Blair. The next thing Blair knew, he was being gathered up in strong arms. His right cheek was pressed against a powerful, expansive shoulder. A hand furrowed through the back of his hair, using gentle pulls. His hair band was unraveled, allowing his strands to rest along his shoulders. One hand against his hair now, the other against his back, in between his shoulder blades.
Dear God. Checkmate. Point, game, set, and match. Home run – out of the ballpark. Nirvana. As Tina Turner would say, “Simply the best.”
Deep inhaling motion. Jim was smelling his hair. The big hands tightened protectively.
Blair exhaled a breath of his own, then relaxed completely. The hands started to move, fingers stretching to feel. The one in his hair moved the strands away from the left side of his neck. Then heated skin was pressed against there, hot exhaled breath. Then the nostrils turned to his flesh and drew a deep, deep whiff.
Blair quivered and released a noise of agreement.
He wondered where his left hand was. It was against Jim’s torso. Blair moved it, circled it around as far as he could. Then he squeezed, gripping the flannel at the back of Jim’s shirt. Have always wanted to do this… hold on to Jim. Finally, he was.
Jim’s hands stopped where they were and squeezed back.
Blair gasped. Too good. Too beautiful. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded against Jim’s shirt. Too special.
Movement. One hand at his back, moving in a circle. Slow, gentle motion. Megan didn’t get circles. He squeezed the flannel again, fingers digging in. Don’t stop. Such a large man Jim was, the best kind to be a protector. The best way to feel protected, by someone so strong. Blair had to know, had to ask, “What do your hands feel?”
“Not now,” Jim pleaded in a whisper, his hands still moving. “I don’t want to talk now.”
“’Kay,” Blair whispered back. He mentally traced the movement of one hand down to his buttocks. There the hand rubbed, and Blair had to refrain from moving. He didn’t want to move unless Jim wanted him to.
His hair was pushed aside, exposing his neck. A kiss was planted there. Oh, man. His whole body quivered. This is going to stop being innocent real fast. But he’d always known that, hadn’t he? The words hadn’t been spoken directly, but that had been the whole point of Jim bringing up sex and his senses, and the fact that he could experience Blair with them. Because Blair wasn’t afraid.
A series of kisses now. Gentle. Forming a circle around his neck, and now at his throat.
Kiss me, Jim.
Jim pulled back. His fingers went to Blair’s oversized T-shirt and began lifting it from his waist.
Oh, God. Just bare skin underneath, because he hadn’t wanted to spend time dressing on a Sunday, and hadn’t bothered with his sling. Just needed to be decent enough to greet Megan. He’s undressing me. He let Jim do the work; just ducking his head as the shirt came over it and off his left arm. With great care, Jim widened the sleeve and slipped it over the cast. He tossed it aside.
Blair’s chest and stomach were bare. His belly quivered and the instinct was there, full force, to yield to the sensations that awaited.
But Blair was a scientist. And Jim’s guide. Jim was expanding his senses in a new way and might need someone to watch his back. I’ve got to be an observer more than a participant. He needed to be playing with a full mental deck as these new discoveries unfolded between them.
Hands were on his chest now, fingers spread, slowly rubbing… exploring. Jim bent and applied his wide, wet tongue to Blair’s belly, then dragged it up the center of his body.
Blair gasped, feeling a jolt go through his whole body, centering on his groin. He dropped his head back, gasping again, and supported his weight on his left elbow and the cast.
Jim paused and took Blair in hand, shifting him so that he was lying back on the sofa, his head supported by the armrest. Then the tongue was back, running noisily and sloppily up Blair’s body.
Not trying to tease, Blair realized. But using the entire top of his tongue, to give his taste buds the fullest possible experience. He saw now the clear truth: there was no one else Jim could have done this with. He was exploring, cataloging, essentially in his own sensual world. Not trying to tease, but that seemed to be the only result for the recipient.
Blair threw his head back and groaned as Jim laved sloppy spit across his collarbone. How tempting to yield to it, to let his intellect shut down and his body simply… feel.
No. He gulped thickly, wrestling back control as his head was lifted to meet the wet strokes that went up the side of his face. Kiss me, Jim. It seemed a natural place for it, and Blair opened his mouth as the wide tongue moved across his lips.
Damn. Jim’s lips bypassed without kissing, his tongue having only wanted to lick, and now was going up the other side of Blair’s face. Blair closed his eyes and stopped trying to clamp down on his groin’s reaction. Can’t fight nature. Just try to keep a clear head. Soppy, devouring lips in his hair now, tongue licking at his scalp. Too much. Blair shuddered from head to toe. Jim grabbed his left arm and squeezed, raising himself up to get to the top of Blair’s head, Jim’s own body trembling as it hovered over Blair.
Oh, man, like that party in college, when that guy was on top of me. He gulped. Jim was so big, so strong….
Why am I not afraid? Blair wondered with amazement. Is it just because I’m on my back instead of my stomach? I’ve given him permission to do anything.
Jim released Blair’s arm, and the licking stopped. Both hands went to Blair’s hair, bringing it to pile on top of his head. Jim’s bent to rest his face in it. He inhaled deeply.
Christ. Could he really smell so good that Jim found it necessary to take such huge whiffs?
Blair’s groin tightened again, and he was relieved when Jim finally released the grip on his hair and sat back. Then he moved off the sofa and down to Blair’s feet. He slipped off a loafer from each foot and dropped them to the floor. Then he turned and reached for the waistband of the khakis.
Oh, shit, Blair thought, as he accepted that his partial erection was going to be subjected to Jim’s scrutiny. And then the horrible recollection: I haven’t showered since last night. What would Jim’s superior sense of smell think of that? He was tempted to warn Jim, even as he arched his hips so his pants and boxers could be pulled down. His hesitant erection popped free, his eyes darting to Jim’s face.
Jim hadn’t seemed to notice. He was intent on pulling the clothing down the rest of the way. Blair moved his feet to allow them to clear, all too aware that he was completely naked while Jim was completely clothed. He shivered.
Jim pushed Blair’s legs to one side and sat down on the sofa. He bent and laved at where Blair’s thigh met his torso.
Blair gasped loudly, jolting, feeling his erection take advantage of its freedom. What is Jim going to do about it?
Jim’s wide flat tongue ran down the top of his thigh, to his knee. The saliva was so thick that one stream ran down the inside of his thigh to the sofa. Blair groaned. He knows my spit tastes good. Why won’t he kiss me? He shuddered with a new thought: What if he truly sees this as all innocent and he has no intention of adding an element of sex to our relationship?
Another jolt went through Blair’s body, this one centering on his groin. Wrong! That wide tongue had found the sensitive creases between his thigh and his erection. Now it was licking loudly at his testicles. Oh, my God. Blair’s head fell back again.
Jim pushed Blair’s thighs apart, making Blair quiver with exposure. Oh, my God. Dear God. Then that large face pressed against his sac, inhaling mightily.
Oh, Jesus God, Jim. Blair reached out and grabbed the top of Jim’s head. Please, Jim. His erection was swaying with need.
Jim shifted, and Blair prepared to be swallowed. Abruptly, thumbs parted his ass cheeks and he felt Jim’s head dip.
No!
Too late. Soft, wet, wide flesh licked over his anus. Jesus, no. Surely, Jim’s nose could tell how rank he was before his tongue ever touched the depression.
The tongue licked again. And again.
Blair’s body erupted in goosebumps. He cried out in both amazement and protest, then yielded. A distant memory drifted across the haze of his brain. Jim searching for a clue on the loft floor, hoping to find where former CIA agent Brackett had come from. Jim’s smell, then sight, found a small splinter that had been tracked in by Brackett’s shoe. Without hesitation, Jim had placed the splinter in his mouth, unwavered by Blair’s disgust that, “You don’t know where that’s been!”
Okay, so Jim was very oral. Blair heard his own breath coming out in deep pants as his sphincter muscle spasmed around the slippery tongue that was trying to push into his body. Jesus, James.
Relief, finally, when the tongue came up the right side of his body, via his testicles, his pubic region, and into the crease at his thigh.
Blair drew a deep breath, trying to calm his erection as the tongue moved farther away from it, toward his right knee. Blair’s hand fell away from Jim’s head. He’d done a good job so far, he thought, tolerating this delicious torment without losing himself in the sensations.
Jim turned Blair’s right leg, and then pressed his face against the back of Blair’s knee. He inhaled and then exhaled against the depression there, like a suffocating man finally exposed to oxygen.
I had no idea, Blair marveled. He enjoyed the power he felt when guiding Jim’s senses during an investigation. But this vulnerability, when Jim was enfolding himself in pleasure… Blair wasn’t sure he enjoyed the idea of having so much power over it. Instead, he wanted to construct a veil of protection around Jim, so Jim could indulge his sensual whims without risk.
A pleasant sensation erupted along Blair’s ankle. Jim was now on the floor beside the sofa, leaning over to reach Blair’s lower right leg, tasting all along the top of it. Blair was getting used to the licking sensation, and he got up on his elbows to watch, breathing easier now that his erection was accepting that it wasn’t getting further attention.
Does it really taste that good? Blair wondered, watching Jim’s tongue negotiate the curve from his ankle bone to the top of his foot. He couldn’t see Jim’s face, but he suspected it had the same intense look that had been there since this started.
This started. Blair wondered what “this” was, exactly. Neither of them had really come out and said. He lay back and relaxed, closing his eyes, as he mentally followed the roaming tongue on his lower left leg. I thought it had to be sex. But he hasn’t kissed me, even though my saliva is supposedly a treat to him. He hasn’t sucked me, even though he’s had his tongue all over my nuts. As for my ass, I don’t know what that was all about. Jesus, James. And then there was the smelling, the deep inhalations, as though Blair’s body gave off some urgently-needed scent. Yet, he used to complain about the smell I’d leave in the john. (“Use the spray.”) Why would that have changed?
Jim placed a slow kiss on the top of each of Blair’s toes.
Ah, man, that’s so sweet.
Jim straightened, revealing clear blue eyes in the evening darkness. He shifted on his knees on the floor, moving closer to Blair’s upper body, establishing eye contact. With a tender smile, he picked up Blair’s left hand, pressing it to his lips, and resolutely kissed each fingertip. He smiled at Blair as he placed the hand back on the sofa, then took his cast and carefully brought it forward. He leaned over Blair, closed his eyes, and kissed each digit that protruded from the plaster.
Before Blair could wonder what was next the weight of Jim’s broad forehead was against his own. Jim’s hand rested in his hair, and Jim gently inhaled. Blair brought his left hand up to press against Jim’s face, feeling the hint of whiskers.
How wonderfully cozy and intimate this moment felt. Perhaps it could last forever? Blair no longer felt the least bit conscious of his own nudity, even next to Jim’s clothed body. His cock was shriveled and content against his scrotum. He murmured, “Mmm.”
Jim petted his hair in answer.
I love you. It seemed such a natural thought.
“Blair?” Gentle words after a long silence. “I want to turn you over.”
No. It was so nice just how they were. But Jim wasn’t done yet. Apparently, Blair’s backside was due for a saliva bath, and perhaps its own round of sniffing. But he lay still, hoping the need to move would go away.
Jim starting urging him, gathering him. Blair ended up in a sitting position, and his left arm was tugged forward as Jim placed a sofa pillow at the opposite end of the couch. Blair realized that made more sense than simply rolling over, since if he lay face down at the opposite end, his cast would be supported by the back of the sofa. Lazily, he complied with Jim’s tugging demands.
As he settled against the seat cushions on his stomach, he was again aware of his nudity. His penis responded to the somewhat course material of the sofa. Under normal circumstances, Jim would never allow the possibility of pre-cum leaking onto the furniture.
Would things ever be back to normal?
Blair’s heart accelerated as Jim’s weight was abruptly on top of him. What is he -- ? Disbelief consumed Blair as Jim’s clothed groin rested full weight upon his naked ass. One of Jim’s hands pressed Blair’s left wrist against the sofa arm, pinning him.
Why would he do this when he knows my feelings about being pinned down by someone stronger?
Jim’s flanks pressed full force against Blair’s buttocks, and Blair could feel the large body quiver with arousal, the growth of the stiff erection against his crack.
He’s doing this because of what I told him. Jim was testing him. No – warning him. Showing him what it was going to be like between them. I’ve told him he can do anything to me.
Blair smiled to himself as his heart steadied. Nice try, big guy. But my trust is too strong. You can’t scare me. Fuck me. Do anything to me. Anything that feels good to you.
The weight of the hips eased, sliding down to the empty space between Blair’s legs. Now Jim’s hands released him and began bunching up his hair, this time clearing the back of his neck. Is this how it felt to people, centuries ago, who were about to be beheaded? He shivered.
Lips touched his neck. A few kisses, and then Jim’s tongue took over, laving with large servings of saliva. Blair closed his eyes, knowing this was going to take a while. He was resigned to enjoying it, while at the same time trying to convince his cock that it wasn’t going to have any part of the activities.
His penis rebelled and acquiesced, in turns, as Blair quivered and relaxed in reaction to Jim’s various enjoyments. He was surprised only when Jim’s tongue started down his ass crack. His anus was tasted and probed a second time, and he didn’t understand why Jim wanted to spend so much time there. His buttocks were squeezed while the tongue was at work, and Blair didn’t try to control his undulation against the sofa. But, as before, nothing came of it, and his erection was hesitant by the time Jim was licking the bottom of his feet. That tickled, and Blair couldn’t help the impulse to keep darting his feet away. Finally, Jim massaged them with his hands, and that felt very good.
Jim had only seemed frustrated when he’d nuzzled at Blair’s armpits. Blair had applied deodorant when getting dressed, and the residue and perfumed aroma made his armpits too unpleasant for a sentinel to kiss or lick or smell.
Finally, Jim encouraged Blair to sit up at the end of the couch they had started from. With the same lack of self-consciousness that had been present throughout, Jim bent over the sofa cushion where Blair’s cock had been. He pressed his face against that spot and inhaled with his eyes closed. Then he stuck out his tongue and licked at it, his head moving back and forth with the motion.
Blair almost groaned out loud. Oh, man. His penis swelled, and he wondered if Jim wasn’t realizing that he could have all of that particular flavor he wanted, just by sucking from the source.
Blair wanted to close his eyes, to spare himself the torment, but he was too enraptured. After licking a while, Jim pressed his nose into the sofa and, apparently still finding it not quite clean, he licked at it some more. He repeated this a few times before finally straightening.
What happens now? Blair wondered as Jim sat beside him, facing him.
Jim reached to the floor and took Blair’s boxers. He held them out near Blair feet. Puzzled, Blair stepped into them. He lifted his hips as Jim pulled the waistband snug around him. Is he dressing me? Slacks were next, Blair not being required to do anything except shift at appropriate moments. After the snap had been fastened and the fly zipped, Jim placed each of Blair’s feet into a loafer. Then Jim picked up Blair’s shirt, spent a moment laying it out, then very carefully drew the right sleeve up past the cast. He stretched the neck so it could go over Blair’s head. Next, he bent Blair’s left arm so that it could be pulled through its sleeve. Jim pulled the shirt down until it was taut.
He was dressed. Blair rested his head against the back of the sofa. He could feel remnants of his bath inside his clothing, especially in the creased areas of his body that had trapped Jim’s saliva. He flexed his anus, not certain if he was imaging it, or could genuinely feel the moisture there. What happens now? he wondered again.
Blair watched as Jim rested his cheek against the sofa back, looking as mellow and exhausted as Blair felt. Thinking of all the things that hadn’t happened, Blair whispered, “You had my consent.”
“I had your curiosity,” Jim corrected.
Blair considered the difference but didn’t think it applied here. Consent was consent, regardless of the reason consent was granted.
Jim said, “This was all I wanted right now.”
Right now. There would be more. How much more and for how long?
Jim’s finger reached out and traced Blair’s lips in a gesture that made Blair feel soft all over. “I wish,” Jim whispered, his breath warm on Blair’s face, “that I could explain to you what you feel like to me – to all my senses.”
Blair blinked. He wished Jim could, too. He couldn’t fathom this, his specialness in this way that Jim was embracing.
Jim said, “I want you to be mine. I want to take care of you.” His finger dropped from Blair’s lip.
Be mine. Take care. Blair lowered his gaze. What was he supposed to do with words like that? Especially from a man who might be suffering some sort of sensory spike?
Jim’s eyes closed for a long moment. When they opened, he was straightening and the whisper was gone. “I’ve got some errands I need to take care of.” He squeezed Blair’s shoulder, as though in reassurance. “I’ll be gone a couple of hours.” He stood, looking down at Blair. “Need anything?”
Just maybe my sanity on a silver platter. Blair gazed up at him, shook his head.
“I’ll be back,” Jim said, heading for the coat rack.
He thinks I need reassurance, Blair thought. Maybe I do. He watched Jim take his black leather jacket off the hook and reach for the door. Jim glanced back, nodded at Blair. When Blair nodded in return, Jim left, closing the door behind him.
Blair sat on the sofa, wondering what he was supposed to do with this time Jim had allotted for him. His mind was numb, his body sated in a way that had never happened before, in the absence of orgasm.
He was torn between being relieved that Jim had gone away… and wishing he would come right back.
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