Jim sighed. He had been working on the pile of paperwork for two hours, but somehow -- it seemed to be growing, not shrinking. To add to the annoyance factor, a relentlessly chipper IT tech was installing new computers in the bullpen, singing to himself while he worked. Jim glared ferociously at the tech, who was apparently tone deaf. It was driving Jim crazy.

"Just tune him out, Jim," Blair said from his end of the paperwork pile.

"He's singing The Carpenters now, Chief," Jim complained.

"Jim, as your designated back-watcher, I must point out that Simon will never forgive you if you get rid of the guy before all the new computers are installed. And it's raining much too hard today for us to do a good job of hiding the body."

Jim chuckled. "You goofball, Sandburg."

"Yeah, but I'm your goofball. By the way, Jim," he asked slyly, "how did you know he was singing The Carpenters? I thought you never listened to that stuff."

Jim was spared answering by Simon's familiar bellow. "Ellison, Sandburg! My office, gentlemen."

The partners shared a puzzled glance.

"Gentlemen? What did you do, Chief?"

"Don't look at me, I'm completely innocent."

Jim snorted. "Right."

They rose and crossed the bullpen to the captain's office. Jim ushered Blair through the door, then closed it behind himself -- just in case. He sat in the chair by the desk, while Blair took his seat on the edge of the conference table.

Simon gazed sternly at them from across his desk. "I just spent twenty minutes on the phone with the Chief of Police." He leaned back in his chair and continued, "He just got off of the phone with the FBI."

"If it's about the Mitchell case --" began Blair, just as Jim cut in with "Agent Pedersen can't --"

Simon raised a hand to silence both men, the beginnings of a smile cracking his face. "It is about the Mitchell case, and Agent Pedersen is involved, but for the first time since I've known you, Jim, the Feds aren't complaining about how you treated their men." He rose and walked over to the coffeepot, poured a fresh cup of coffee, and continued on, "Pedersen was so impressed with you two and your work on the Mitchell case, he talked to his boss about it. And apparently, his boss took it to the head of VICAP -- the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. Assistant Director Wesley called the Chief personally to recruit you two for a pet project of his."

"Part of VICAP's mission is to facilitate cooperation, communication, and coordination between law enforcement agencies. Their annual conference on Law Enforcement and Interagency Cooperation is in San Francisco, and they want you both to take part in a panel on partnerships." Simon paused and positioned himself to savor the full effect of his men's reactions.

"The Chief accepted on your behalf."

Blair sat up straight, looking very interested. Jim groaned. Simon crossed to the door of his office.

"Don't even start, Jim. It's out of my hands. The conference starts next Monday. Rhonda will make the arrangements and give you the rest of the information you'll need. You have the rest of the week to clear as many of your cases as you can." He opened the door. "Don't let me delay you, gentlemen, I'm sure you have work to do. And Jim," he paused as they halted in the doorway, "I take back everything I ever said about you being nice to the Feds."

Jim hated conferences. They were invariably mind and butt-numbingly dull, and he doubted this one would be any different. But Blair had that familiar sparkle of excitement in his eyes.

"San Francisco! This is so cool. I love San Francisco! Do you have any idea how many things there are to do? This will be terrific!"

"Slow down just a little, Chief. We'll have to put in some time at the conference, and do that panel."

Blair waved away his comment. "The panel will be a breeze. And we'll have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves. And hey, you might even run into Carolyn there," he teased.

"Huh," Jim grunted in response. He had to admit to himself though, Blair's enthusiasm was contagious. At least, if he were stuck going to the stupid conference, having Blair along would keep it interesting. Carolyn would have to run into them, though. No way would he go looking for his ex-wife with his new male lover along.

"Oh, man. I'm so tired I can't even see straight." Blair said as they straggled into the lobby. "How did a two hour flight become eight hours at the mercy of the airline?"

"Two mechanical failures and one overbooking," Jim replied grimly, hefting the larger of their suitcases. He felt lucky to have it at all after the amount of rerouting they'd experienced. "I'm pretty sure making us wait on the plane in Yakima for two hours is against the Geneva Convention."

"Still have everything dialed down?" Blair asked, struggling with his own load.

Jim remembered the crowded flights and the headache-inducing assault on his senses, but Blair's constant steadying presence had gotten him through it. As they crossed the cavernous lobby to the registration desk, Jim said, "I'm beat. But we can still get a few hours sleep before the conference starts."

The young woman at the registration desk greeted the weary travelers with a sympathetic smile. "Welcome to Hyatt Regency. May I help you?"

Registration did not go any better than the flight. They had a confirmed reservation, but no room available. The flustered clerk called the night manager.

He explained that the hotel was renovating, and some rooms were running behind schedule. After profuse apologies, he offered the only room left, a King Suite, with, he assured them, a sofa big enough to sleep on.

"That'll be fine," said Jim. As soon as they finished filling out their registrations, the two men staggered back across the lobby and rode the elegant glass elevator up to their suite. Jim checked out the rooms with an appreciative eye. "Definitely better than Yakima."

At long last, Jim and Blair climbed into the spacious bed, cuddled comfortably together, and fell asleep.

The shrill ringing of the wake-up call heralded the morning. Despite only four hours sleep, Jim felt reasonably human. Now, to wake Blair.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Rise and shine." Jim's greeting was rewarded with the unintelligible grunt that was Blair's standard mode of communication before coffee and a shower.

Jim slipped out of bed. He took a quick shower, then returned to the bedroom to coax his recalcitrant partner out of bed. "Come on, Chief. We're supposed to be at the conference at 8:30. They'll have coffee."

"Mumff-hnee?"

"Yeah, coffee. Why don't you take a nice hot shower, then we'll go get some coffee."

He wasn't sure which was the stronger motivating factor, a hot shower or coffee, but the Blair-shaped lump under the covers began to move. Blair climbed out of bed, and Jim gave him an encouraging push toward the bathroom.

While Blair showered, Jim completed his morning ablutions. Just as he finished dressing, Blair stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. He seemed a bit more coherent as he crossed to Jim and greeted him properly, with a kiss.

"Morning."

"Yep," Jim agreed, adding a quick hug. He reluctantly eased back from Blair. "We need to get going, Chief."

Blair sighed, but quickly finished his morning routine. He was still feeling a bit sluggish, but stepping into the elevator snapped him into alertness. Looking out across the huge atrium and down fifteen floors, he involuntarily crowded back, closer to Jim. "Oh, man! Glass elevators."

Jim gave him a sympathetic squeeze as he pushed the button for the lobby. "Sorry, Blair. We can take a different one next time."

"No, I'm cool, really. It was just -- unexpected. I guess I wasn't paying attention last night." He shook off his reaction and changed the subject. "So, let's go get registered for the conference and find that coffee you mentioned."

They descended to the floor of the atrium and crossed the now bustling lobby, following the signs directing them to the conference on the concourse level.

They signed in and picked up their ID and information packets. Blair promptly immersed himself in the intricacies of the schedule and speakers as Jim steered them into the main hall and into their seats.

A few minutes later Blair looked up and around. Jim was heading toward him carrying a laden plate and two cups of coffee. "Coffee!" he exclaimed delightedly.

"And here I thought you were happy to see me, Chief."

"Oh, I am -- since you brought a bagel, too!" Blair teased. His expression turned serious. "Jim, William Bass is speaking tomorrow afternoon. We have got to listen to him."

Jim smiled. Blair said William Bass with the same reverence he reserved for Sir Richard Burton and Margaret Mead. "Okay, I'll bite. Who's William Bass?"

"Only the world's foremost forensic anthropologist. He practically invented the field, he founded the scientific study of decomposition."

"The "Body Farm" guy?"

"Yeah. He's, like, a living legend in anthropology!"

"Sure. What else looks interesting?"

"Tuesday morning, there's a panel on profiling. Wednesday morning, Kay Scarpetta is speaking, she's forensics for VICAP, and in the afternoon, there's one you'll like -- new developments in non-lethal weapons."

Jim took a leisurely sip of his coffee. "When is our panel?"

"Thursday morning."

Jim made a disgusted face. He was hoping to be able to get out of the conference early. Oh well. He'd just have to find some way to amuse himself until then. At least Blair was looking forward to the next few days.

The morning passed slowly as a series of FBI speakers droned on about the importance of teamwork and cooperation. Blair amused himself by observing the crowd of attendees. Jim, in turn, spent the morning indulging in his favorite hobby, watching Blair.

At last, the conference broke for lunch. They promptly escaped outdoors. It was a glorious day. The sun was shining, and it was comfortably warm. A slight breeze blew in from the bay, carrying the faint tang of salt. Blair finished his sandwich and leaned back in his chair, his face turned to the sun. "It's San Francisco's best kept secret."

"Hmm?" Jim said, since his mouth was full.

"October. In the summer it's cold and foggy, but October has the best weather, like this. You know how to spot the tourists? In the summer, they're the ones in shorts and t-shirts. In October, they're the ones not in shorts and T-shirts."

"Did you live here?" Jim popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.

"Not exactly. We visited a lot. Naomi has lots of friends in the area. I haven't been here in years."

Jim checked his watch, then rose and began collecting the trash from their meal. "Time to head back, Chief. What's on the agenda for this afternoon?"

Blair scrunched his face up in distaste. "'Federal Law and Precedence,' followed by 'Accessing the Criminal Informational Database.' We can round out the afternoon at the Director's Tea."

Jim snorted. "We should have stayed in Yakima."

They settled in for the afternoon session. As expected, the lectures were incredibly dull. Jim promptly gave up any pretense of listening and napped. Blair gave up any pretense of observing and indulged himself in one of his favorite hobbies, watching Jim. Eventually, even federal techno-geeks run out of things to say and the lectures were over. They made a token appearance at the tea, speaking to a few of the other attendees, before making their escape at last.

Although the shadows were lengthening, the day's warmth lingered. As they stood in the sunny plaza outside the hotel, Jim asked, "What do you want to do, Chief? It's still pretty early."

Blair thought for a minute. "The last time Naomi was here, she ate at this terrific restaurant. I checked, and it's still there, next to Chinatown. It's a bit of a walk, but I'd kinda like to work some of the kinks out from sitting all day."

Jim regarded him suspiciously. "It's not one of those new-age vegetarian places, is it?"

"Man, you are such a throwback sometimes!" Blair dodged the swat aimed at the back of his head with the ease of long practice. "No, it's Nepalese food -- like Indian food, but not quite as spicy. The place is called Katmandu West, on, um, Stockton street."

"Sounds good, Chief. Let's go."

The evening breeze picked up as they walked, and Blair shivered. "Hang on a sec, Jim." He rummaged in his ever-present backpack for a moment, pulled out a sweatshirt, and put it on.

Jim looked at his partner's shirt and burst out laughing. "A banana slug? That's just too weird, Sandburg."

"Hey! This used to be my favorite sweatshirt. I found it again when I cleaned out my office." He launched into an explanation. "The UC Santa Cruz Slug is, like, the most subversive mascot of any university I know of! Its evolution is a fascinating look at the development of a culture, from an underground subculture to dominance. I did a paper when I was an undergrad..." Blair continued his animated discourse as they walked toward the restaurant.

"I can't possibly have missed it! We walked up Clay to Stockton, turned right, and it's supposed to be right there, three blocks down on the left side!" Blair stared in disgust at the three buildings across the street, all clearly in the middle of renovation. "I looked the place up last week, damn it. It's supposed to be here!"

"Well, call them for directions."

Blair mumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that, Chief?"

"I said, I left my phone at the hotel, okay?" Accurately reading Jim's expression, he continued, "Don't look at me like that! It's not my fault you lost your phone in Cascade Harbor. I wanted to wait for backup!"

Jim raised his hand in surrender "Whoa, easy there, Chief." He checked out the surrounding blocks. They appeared to be in a business area, and most were closed for the night. "Hey, there's a cafe. They've probably got a phone." Jim pulled his still fuming partner along. "You probably got bad directions, that's all. And if not, we'll find someplace else to eat."

"My mouth was all set for Nepalese," Blair grumbled.

"Think of it as an adventure. After all, you're an anthropologist. You can study the natives while we hunt for food."

He laughed at Jim's nonsense. "Ooh, yeah. That's me, the intrepid explorer!"

Jim thwapped the back of his head. "Don't you forget it!" He held open the door to the cafe, "After you, Burton."

Blair decided some coffee would be nice, so while Jim phoned for directions, he ordered a latte to go, and took it to one of the small tables by the wall. He had just found a seat when a young Asian man came to the table. He was tall and gangly, with acne-scarred skin and a receding chin. As if to compensate for his looks, he was very nicely dressed in a trendy, monochrome, dark green shirt, suit and tie.

"Richard Burton?" he asked.

"The explorer, not the actor," Blair replied automatically. His eyes widened when the man sat down.

"You are very prompt, Mr. Burton. That is good. I am Haung."

Blair just looked at the man, momentarily speechless. He took in a breath to explain this was a mistake, then froze as the man reached into his jacket. He remembered to breathe again when the man pulled out an envelope.

Huang set the envelope on the table. "We will meet again on Wednesday, at two-thirty. I look forward to doing business with you." He stood abruptly and left the cafe. Two burly men got up from their table on the other side of the cafe and hurried after him. Blair slumped into his seat as Jim sat down in the recently vacated chair opposite. "You heard?"

Jim nodded.

"What the hell was that, Jim?"

"I'm not sure, but he was nervous as hell. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer." He twitched as he recognized the familiar scent coming from the envelope. "Come on, Chief. We need to get out of here."

"What? Why?"

"There's heroin in that envelope. I think it's time to visit the local cops." Jim snagged a napkin and reached out to pick up the envelope, but Blair blocked him.

"No way, man. You know how that stuff affects you, and I need you alert." He deftly wrapped the envelope in the napkin and stuffed it in his pack.

They left the cafe and headed back the way they came, hurrying down the twilight streets. They had only walked a few blocks when Jim warned, "Heads up, Chief. Stay behind me."

Several cars quickly surrounded them, spotlights glaring. A man's voice shouted "Police! Freeze!" as people piled out of the cars, guns drawn. "Okay, people, let's bring them in. Marco, call the Captain."

Dan Robbins, captain of the Narcotics Division, leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. He smiled slightly. Dinner had been wonderful, and he felt pleasantly relaxed.

"What are you thinking?" asked Carolyn Plummer, his dinner companion.

"I'm thinking how fortunate I am, to have dinner with such a beautiful woman."

"Flattery will get you anywhere," she laughed.

"No, strictly the truth. Seriously, Carolyn, thank you. I needed to get out of the office for a while."

"It's my pleasure to fuss over you, Dan. I find I like it."

"Don't tell anyone, but I do, too. Still, it's about time to get back." He signaled for the waiter. "Are you going home after you drop me off?"

"Mmhm. I need to pick up some files first, but I won't stay long."

His phone, which had been set to vibrate mode, buzzed. Discreetly, he answered, "Robbins." He listened for a moment, then responded, "Good. I'm on my way," and disconnected. "We've got them, Caro."

Jim and Blair sat in the conference room next to the captain's office. The local cops had removed the cuffs, but Jim's badge and gun had not yet been returned to him, nor had Blair's backpack or police ID. The two lead investigators on the case regarded them from the other side of the room.

Inspector Tim Hansen was tall and thin, with sandy blond hair and a pale complexion. He was fashionably dressed in a suit and tie. He was also obviously pissed off. His younger partner, Inspector D'Marco Flynn, was shorter and stocky, and dressed hip-hop style in a baggy warm-up suit and several gold chains.

They conversed quietly, and Jim listened in.

"Three weeks!" Hansen exclaimed. "Three fucking weeks gone to hell!"

"D'you buy their story?" Flynn asked.

"They're probably who they claim to be, Marco, but I don't believe the story. Nobody just innocently wanders into the middle of a buy *with* the code phrase."

Jim snorted. They had never encountered the Sandburg zone before. Both men glared at him, but Jim just looked innocently back at them.

"Just chill, man," Flynn said. "Cap'n will be here soon, and we'll get this all straightened out."

Hansen muttered to himself about a "royal ass-chewing," and Flynn worked very hard at maintaining his stone-faced expression. When the door opened, all four men turned to look at the man who walked into the room.

Dan Robbins was not what Jim was expecting. Boyishly handsome, only the silvered hair at his temples and his air of authority betrayed his age. He was about six feet tall, with a runner's rangy build. Jim estimated his age at late forties to early fifties. He was casually dressed in slacks, shirt and a sweater, and Jim had the distinct impression that here was a working captain, not a desk jockey.

"Hansen." It was a command, not a question.

"Captain. We pulled these two in after Huang contacted them. The man on your left claims to be a detective from Washington and the one on the right is supposed to be a consultant working with him. We're waiting on confirmation of their ID. They say this is all a mistake."

Flynn jumped in, "Sir, contact was clearly made with Huang, and he even left them a sample."

Robbins raised an eyebrow at that. He gave the two men from Cascade a rather chilly smile as he pulled up a chair and sat down. "Gentlemen. I'm looking forward to your -- explanation."

With a perfunctory knock at the door, Carolyn Plummer entered the room. "Excuse me for just one moment. I need the... Jimmy?"

"Hello, Carolyn."

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you let me know you were in town?" She crossed the room and took his hand. "It's good to see you again, Jim," she said with a warm smile.

Blair shifted in his seat. Releasing Jim's hand, Carolyn turned to face him. "Still have your shadow, I see." Her tone was slightly mocking, not malicious. "Hello, Blair."

"Carolyn."

Robbins cleared his throat. "I take it you know these men, Caro?"

She laughed. "We used to work together, among other things. I take it introductions haven't been made?" Robbins shook his head. "Jim Ellison, Blair Sandburg, this is Dan Robbins."

"Ah." Robbins said. "That Jim."

It occurred to Carolyn then just what she was interrupting. "Finding trouble again, Jimmy? How do you manage to do that?"

Jim looked at Blair with a wry smile. "What can I say, Carolyn? It's a gift."

A very young uniform chose that moment to stick her head into the conference room. "Sir, Inspector Binh just reported that two men meeting the description of the buyers just left the cafe."

Robbins sighed. "All right, Kelly, tell Binh to bring them in." It was going to be a long night. "Hansen, return our guests' belongings. We need to talk, gentlemen. It seems we have a bit of a problem."

The task force members gave Jim and Blair a full briefing. Narcotics had been working for some time to bring down the Three Dragons Gang. The gang now controlled the better part of the peninsula's heroin trade and was trying to expand their operations.

"The man you spoke with, Sandburg, is Li Huang. He's the number two man in the gang. This man," Robbins passed over a photograph, "is Xian Zhou. He is the head of Three Dragons. He's smart, ruthless and ambitious. Under his leadership, the Dragons have progressed from protection and gambling to narcotics, prostitution and murder. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to tie Huang or Zhou to any of these crimes directly."

Robbins went on to explain that tonight's bust had been intended to bring in the potential new distributor. An informant had given the police the time and location for the preliminary meet, as well as the code phrase to recognize the buyer, but evidently, even the Dragons had only a minimal physical description -- which, unfortunately, was broad enough to fit Blair.

The real buyer was identified as a former UC Santa Cruz Literature professor with a fondness for Victorian writers. His current occupation was a top-level dealer, looking to expand his business beyond Santa Cruz. His bodyguard was a none-too-bright bruiser with a short temper and a long rap sheet.

"Jeez, Jim, I'm insulted. I look nothing like this guy."

"Well, he's short, he has a ponytail, and he's wearing a UCSC sweatshirt."

"Yeah, but he's old and wrinkly!"

"It could be worse. I could look like that bald, brainless, no-neck thug."

"Who says you don't?" Blair retorted, recovering himself enough to razz Jim.

Blair and Jim more than willingly agreed to help bring down the Dragons. With the addition of the information from Blair's contact with Huang, Narcotics felt they could set up a sting.

Blair had the date and time of the meet, and the envelope had yielded an address -- 24 Mays Plaza, the location of the new ballpark, currently under construction.

The plan was to send Blair in to the meet, with Jim as his bodyguard. Blair would be wired and armored, and there would be cops undercover all around the plaza. They would move in as soon as the heroin was offered for sale, and Jim was to get Blair out of the line of fire as quickly as possible.

Jim asked to speak with Blair privately for a few minutes.

"I don't like it."

"It's a good plan, Jim, it'll work. But if you don't trust it, just say the word, man, and we'll walk away."

"Damn it, Chief, you know I can't do that. If there's a chance we can get that garbage off the streets, we have to take it. It's just... I hate putting you in danger."

"You'll have my back, Jim. There's nobody I trust more."

"All right, then. Let's do it."

They agreed to meet back in the Narcotics conference room Wednesday morning to go over all the details before the meet.

"Thank you, both. I know it's a lot to ask, but we really need to get these bastards off the street." Robbins gestured to his officers. "We really appreciate this."

Finally, several hours after leaving the conference, Jim and Blair were given a ride back to the hotel in a squad car. Once again, they straggled across the lobby to the elevators, and Blair didn't even flinch from the view. When they got to the room, they stripped out of their clothes and crawled into bed. Jim snuggled up to Blair, and they fell asleep.

Across town, in a lovely old Victorian house, Dan spooned up behind Carolyn. "He seems like a nice guy."

"Mmhmm. He is. And a hell of a cop. But he was terrible at being a husband. We get along much better since we divorced. We never should have gotten married."

"Why did you?"

"He was lonely, I was lonely, and I wanted to be in love. We had a whirlwind courtship, and it didn't take long to realize we'd both made a mistake."

Dan kissed her on her shoulder. "Which is why you took so long to say yes."

"Oh, Dan." She turned so they were face to face. "I guess I was a bit gun-shy at first. I wanted to be certain, and I am. I love you, I love your kids, and I'm very much looking forward to being your wife."

"I love you, too." He kissed her on her forehead. "But enough talk about the ex," he growled.

"What did you want to talk about."

"Who said I want to talk?'

A soft moan was her reply.

Jim woke to the odd sensation of having his ear licked. He wasn't quite sure if he had dreamed it, or if it was real, so he held very still and pretended he was still asleep. There it was again, a stealthy but definite lick to his ear. Lightning-fast, he seized the ear-licking perpetrator and rolled them over so he was pinned beneath his body. "Sandburg, what in the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Me?" Blair gazed up at him in mock innocence. "I was just wondering if you were awake. Since you are, let's go get breakfast. We never got around to dinner last night, and I'm starving."

It figured. Blair's stomach was one of the few things that could get him willingly out of bed before 9 a.m.

"Breakfast?" Jim growled. "Oh yeah." Pinning Blair a bit more securely, he leaned down and began to nibble Blair.

"Jim, man. Jim -- don't, that tickles! Ji-i-i-m!"

Since Blair's 'protests' and wriggling 'escape attempts' served only to place as much bare Blair skin against as much bare Jim skin as possible, Jim continued to lick and nibble his way down Blair's chest to his belly. As he worked his way almost to his navel, Blair's protests turned to moans of pleasure. Jim was totally focused on Blair -- his scent, the wonderfully wanton sounds he was making, the salty taste of his skin, the feel of him, under his hands and his lips -- when Blair's stomach growled. Loudly and insistently.

The decidedly unromantic sound, coupled with the very odd sensation of sound vibrations against his lips where sound ought not to be, startled Jim, and he sat up abruptly. Unfortunately, the movement placed him just a bit too close to the side of the bed. With his feet still tangled in the covers, he couldn't recover his balance, so despite a few desperate contortions, Jim slid completely off the bed and onto the floor with a solid thump.

The sudden loss of warmth and nibbles jerked Blair out of his sensual haze. He looked around for Jim, only to find him in a heap on the floor, still wrestling with the bedclothes.

It was too much for Blair. Despite heroic efforts on his part, a giggle escaped. It was followed by first one chortle, then another. Finally, he gave in and laughed. He laughed until tears ran from his eyes and his stomach muscles cramped.

Jim was affronted at first, but he soon saw the absurdity of the situation and joined in. At last, the laughter subsided, and they just lay where they were, trying to catch their breath. Blair's stomach growled once again, echoed by Jim's. Blair succumbed to the giggles again, but Jim managed to stagger to his feet.

"Now don't start that again," he warned. "Come on, Laughing Boy. Let's go get some breakfast. You're dangerous when you're hungry."

Tuesday proved to be far more interesting for Jim and Blair. After breakfast, they attended the morning sessions on Profiling. Active profilers with VICAP conducted both meetings, and though the subject matter was often grim, they were able to offer good information and insight into the cases they spoke of.

Lunch turned out to be a fairly boisterous affair, spent with a dozen cops from different areas of the country, each trying to top the other's most outrageous case. Blair held his own by sharing tips for the practical uses of a hotdog cart in subduing right-wing militiamen.

Jim and Blair spent the afternoon listening to Dr. Bass discuss Forensic Anthropology. The audience seemed to consist mostly of forensics specialists. Jim expected to be bored and out of place, but Dr. Bass was a clear and concise speaker with a dry wit Jim found quite appealing.

Blair took copious notes. When Dr. Bass opened the floor to questions, Blair asked several insightful ones, triggering a wide-open, sometimes passionate discussion involving the whole room. This took the session far over its allotted time. Finally, over much protest from the group, a staff member had to come in and chase them out so Dr. Bass could make his evening flight.

Free of the day's obligations, Jim and Blair reviewed their options and decided to play tourist. They took the cable car to the stop near Fisherman's Wharf, and walked along the waterfront arguing amicably over which overpriced tourist trap to eat at, before deciding on a seafood place on Pier 39.

After dinner, they found a coffee stand. Jim indulged himself with a mocha, while Blair had his usual latte. As they sat and drank their coffee, Blair entertained Jim with outrageous tribal studies of passersby, interspersed with real commentary on modern urban culture.

"See those kids?" Blair asked, indicating a group of five young men dressed in extremely baggy clothes, pants hanging precariously off their hips. "They just completed their coming of age ritual. It's obvious their tribal rituals involve a lot of fasting."

Jim coughed as the sip of mocha he was taking went down the wrong way. "Sandburg!"

Unrepentant, Blair chose another subject. "She is clearly a great warrior." His subject was an amazon in a Harley T-shirt. "Her tribe marks great achievements on the warriors' skin. Judging by the number of skulls and knives tattooed on her arms, she has had many kills."

Jim eyed the woman warily. "You know, Chief, you may be right."

Blair laughed.

Jim pointed out a group of teenage girls, dressed similarly in the latest style. "What are they, Priestesses in training?"

"Nah. That is a courtship display."

"Pink and blue streaked hair is a courtship display?"

"It is if you're are a fifteen year old boy. Watch." They watched as the girls walked past the boys in baggy clothes. The boys were posing and preening as the girls passed by. The girls pretended not to notice the boys, but whispered and giggled to each other as soon as they were safely past.

"It's kind of scary, Chief, but the weird rituals you made up make more sense than the real ones."

When they finished, they headed back to the trolley stop. As they walked, Jim nonchalantly reached out and clasped Blair's hand. Blair glanced at Jim, then down at their linked hands. "Making a statement there, Jim?"

Jim smiled slightly. "We're in San Francisco, Chief. Where else can two men holding hands not attract attention? It would be a shame not to take advantage of it."

Blair laughed. He tucked himself under Jim's arm and wrapped his own around Jim's waist. He pointed out the group of shockingly dressed "punks" on the corner with the sign that read "Photo with a Freak -- $3" who were attracting a lot of attention. "We could make out in the middle of the sidewalk, and I don't think anyone would notice," he joked.

"Good idea." Jim pulled him around into an embrace, and gave him a brief but thorough kiss, then tucked him back under his arm.

"Jim," Blair said as he attempted to un-muss himself, "What am I going to do with you?"

"Um, anything you want?"

Blair stopped, and looked at Jim consideringly. "Anything?"

"Anything."

Blair smiled slowly, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Then we should bag this tourist stuff and get back to the hotel."

Jim shivered in anticipation, and they hurried off to catch their trolley.

"Anything" turned out to be a thorough back massage, first therapeutic and then sensual. Their earlier playful mood turned serious somewhere between Blair's clothes hitting the floor and the first soft glide of Jim's palms across his shoulder blades. They both knew tomorrow's sting operation would be dangerous. All policework carried a risk, no matter how carefully planned.

Blair felt the mood change, and he knew Jim was thinking about what the next day would bring. Since he wanted Jim to sleep tonight, he decided a distraction was in order. Jim's hands had slowed to a kneading movement near his butt when Blair chose an opportune moment to roll over onto his back and gaze at his lover.

Jim knelt between his legs, still half dressed. Blair smiled, stretching languidly. "Mmmm. Wonderful."

"You know I give good massages, Chief."

"I wasn't taking about massage." Blair shifted around so he was leaning back on the pillows, propped against the head of the bed, subtly displaying himself. He casually ran one hand up and down his leg, drawing Jim's attention from his face to his hand. Jim's eyes followed along his leg until he fastened his gaze on Blair's erect cock. Blair's smile took on a wicked edge as Jim licked his lips.

"You're wearing too many clothes."

Jim blinked and looked down at himself, surprised to find he was still kneeling on the bed.

"Take them off." It was a command, not a request. Jim found it very exciting when Blair was aggressive, and his cock twitched as he moved to comply.

Jim climbed off the bed and stood next to it without a word. Slowly he stripped, putting on a display of his own. He ran his hand down his chest to the hem of his T-shirt before pulling it off over his head. He paused slightly with his arms over his head, knowing the pose emphasized his exquisitely cut torso. He discarded the shirt and once again ran his hands down his body, this time to the waistband of his boxers.

"Turn around." Blair's voice deepened and took on the husky tones of desire.

Jim turned so his back was to Blair. Listening carefully, he slid his hands under the waistband. He paused for a moment when he heard Blair's breath hitch.

He eased the boxers down his legs and stepped out of them, smiling when he heard Blair murmur "Ooh, yeah," under his breath. He turned to face Blair again.

Jim looked exotic and mysterious. The single lamp near the bed cast a gentle light through the room, defining his physique in golden highlights and soft shadows. His erect cock jutted proudly out from its nest of soft curls. He lifted his foot up and placed it on the edge of the bed as he reached down to take his sock off.

"Stop," Blair commanded. There was something incongruous about the combination of the magnificent body and the white cotton socks that was so endearingly *Jim*, that his heart gave an odd little flutter.

"Leave them on, I like it." He had enjoyed the floorshow very much, but he wanted, needed something different now. "Come here, please?"

Sensing the shift, Jim climbed up onto the bed and into Blair's arms.

"I love you," Blair whispered. "Let me show you." He maneuvered them around so their positions were reversed, Jim lying against the pillows and Blair on his knees between Jim's legs.

Blair wiggled back a bit. Starting just above one sock-clad foot, he worshipped his way up Jim's body, tenderly kissing and stroking his skin, as though Jim were precious and fragile, until Jim couldn't stand it anymore and pulled Blair up onto his chest.

He wrapped his arms around Blair and rolled them onto their sides, holding Blair close for a few moments while he regained some semblance of control.

"I love you, so much." He kissed Blair gently. Blair returned the kiss, deepened it. They stroked and caressed each other, tenderly kissing, gently rocking together.

It was sweet and gentle, this lovemaking, as if each was trying to communicate to the other, by touch and look, what words sometimes could not. Eventually, the pace of their rocking increased, and they thrust in earnest. They climaxed together, soft cries of pleasure lost in kisses.

They lay together in the afterglow, Blair half draped across Jim, arms and legs intertwined.

"Thank you. That was beautiful."

"It was my pleasure, and you are beautiful."

"We're gonna fuse together like this."

"Mmmhmm."

"Easy for you to say, it's not your hair that gets pulled out."

Blair untangled himself from Jim and headed to the bathroom. He returned a few minutes later with a washcloth. He quickly cleaned his sleepy lover, crawled into bed and snuggled up with him. Sated and content, they fell asleep, each wrapped in the safety of his lover's arms.