"Are you sure this weekend's over?" Jim glanced at his partner. Blair leaned against the passenger side door, trailing a fingertip out the open window. "Sunday afternoon followed by a 7am shift usually ends the weekend, Sandburg," he called over the rushing breeze. Both windows were open at Blair's insistence. Jim had never heard of "stale air filter syndrome," but if Blair believed, he believed. "The wages of sin, man," Blair opined. "More like the wages that pay for dinner," Jim replied. "Gambling, Jim. We gambled and it looks like Simon lost. Sure, he has to close up the cabin, but we have to go back to civilization sooner. " Jim's grin widened as he thought of their boss left high and dry with the chores to finish. "I'm sure he thinks we have the better end of that deal, buddy. How did you know he had trash in his hand?" "I didn't. You watch Simon and I watch you. Whenever he's holding crap, your pupils dilate like a cat's at a mousehole. The question is, how did you know?" Jim laughed and downshifted for a steep grade on the mountain road. "He starts to take a deep breath, then stops breathing because he thinks I'll notice." Blair's laugher flowed along the breeze, fresher than any scent of spring. Jim resisted the urge to lean into it and purr. The road curved and continued down at a deep angle. Old growth evergreens crowded the asphalt ribbon, gorgeous to look at but obscuring even a Sentinel's view of the road ahead. Jim breathed a little easier when the road took another turn and leveled off as the tree-line fell back. A meadow opened to either side before them. "Spring has sprung, my man," Blair said, taking in the grassy vista. Wild flowers dotted the area, adding gold and white accents to the vivid green expanse of new grass. Jim had just enough time to let the peaceful sight of Blair -- framed in the truck window, curls aloft on the spring breeze, backed by the fertile meadow -- brush over his senses when the truck lurched hard to the right. "What..!" Blair exclaimed, reaching with both hands to brace himself on the windowsill and edge of his seat against the sudden motion. Jim grimly kept his hands on the wheel, steering into the skid. A loud flapping sound from the front passenger side of the truck eased Jim's ferocious scowl to a harsh frown. A flat! He quickly gained control of the skid and steered the truck to the right shoulder of the road. Blair sagged against his seatback in relief as the vehicle rolled to a stop on the pavement. "Is that what I think it is?" Blair asked, breaking a deep, breathing silence. Jim slid a glance at his partner. "If you're thinking it's a chance to impress the hell out of your boyfriend with your tire-changing skills..." "I'm pretty sure tire-changing falls under the protection of the tribe," Blair hedged. "Sounds more like a job for the backup, while the sentinel stands guard." "No, no...definitely care and maintenance of the tribe. Burton had something in there about it..." "Yeah, Burton four-wheeled it all over South America. Move your ass, Chief. Time for an exercise in cooperative tribal care." The two men unbuckled their safety belts and opened the truck doors. Neither commented on the residual shakiness about the knees or knotting in the guts that followed that first lurch off the edge. Blair stretched tall, arms over his head, and sighed deeply as the tension seeped out of him. Jim walked around the truck bed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Blair's shirts rose just enough to show a narrow strip of furry belly. Simon was one of the best fishing buddies a man could ask for, but a serious cramp in the style of a horny sentinel. Two hours early down the mountain was no hardship; it meant two extra at home with Blair. Jim rolled the tension out of his own shoulders with a supple twist and hauled his attention back to the matter at hand. Blair moved to stand out of Jim's way but close enough to assist when the time came. Jim worked the latch on the storage box and handed tools over his shoulder, knowing Blair would be there for them. For him. It was one of a thousand small, unthinking habits the younger man had developed over their years together. As Jim moved to dig the spare out of the gear-laden truck bed, Blair carried the jack and tire iron to the punctured tire. He half-expected to see powder burns or a bullet hole, but nothing more sinister than a bent nail had ambushed them. "Road debris," he commented, setting the jack to one side. Jim nodded and got to work unloading the camping gear. Seeing the cooler land by the side of the road gave Blair an idea. "When we're done here," he said, grunting a little over the stubbornly stuck hubcap, "we can finish off the sandwich stuff as a picnic. Less to unpack when we get back." "When we're done here, Sandburg, I just want to get you home," Jim said absently as he opened the spare well. Blair paused and looked over at Jim. "Get me home? What did you have in mind, cowboy?" Jim straightened, pulling out the spare and setting it on the ground with a little bounce. He lifted an eyebrow. "Everything that makes a weekend with you perfect that Simon doesn't need to know about. Why do you ask?" Blair leaned on the tire iron and gave Jim a thorough once-over. Jim felt a throb begin low in his body. Then Blair looked up with a wicked grin. "Are you saying a picnic isn't part of a perfect weekend?" Jim rolled the spare up and leaned it against the door panel. He stood up and met Blair's gaze. "If it's the kind of picnic we couldn't invite Simon to, that might round off this weekend just right." "Whoa there, Trigger!" Blair replied, turning back to the recalcitrant hubcap. "Splendor in the grass sounds great, but that's a public road over there. Where'd Joe Friday go? I want to report some solicitation of lewd and lasciv--" Blair broke off as the hubcap came abruptly free, landing him on his ass. "My next pit crew, Chief," said Jim with a small round of applause, "will not have you on it. Give me that thing. We'll be here all day with you working the lugnuts." "I'll have you know this tire iron and I have been through a lot together," Blair said, rolling to his feet and surrendering the tool. Jim clutched it protectively. "What did you do to my tire iron?" he demanded. "Relax! I just borrowed it to change a flat on the Volvo last week while you and H were on that stakeout. Yours works much faster than that cheesy little thing that's been rusting in my trunk for years." Jim opened his mouth to respond, then closed it with a snap. Take all the easy ones, and the harder ones got away. He knelt by the flat tire and fitted the lugwrench aperture over the first bolt. One quick twist, and... The wrench slipped off the bolt. Jim frowned and refitted wrench end to bolt. Maybe with a slower twist... The tire iron slipped again. "What the hell?" Jim muttered, tilting the cross arm up for a look. "Yeah, it was starting to do that a little when I was finishing up with the Volvo," Blair said helpfully. Jim peered at the smooth cavity that should have been his lugwrench, then up at Blair. "You stripped my tire iron." "I did not! It was still grabbing the lugnuts on the Volvo, it just slips a little!" Wordlessly, Jim shoved the end of the tire iron under Blair's nose. "Oops," the other man said quietly. Jim sat down on the pavement and pulled the damaged tire iron into his lap. This thing is useless, Jim thought, hefting the tire iron. We're stuck by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, and I have no desire to kill him. Jim decided that he might be onto the meaning of true love. "Jim, man, it's not the end of the world!" Blair started, then stopped when Jim raised a hand. "I know, Chief," he said. "Simon will be along sooner or later, and I'm pretty sure he has one of these." Jim raked another glance over Blair. "Looks like we get that picnic after all." Blair shifted gears from CalmAngryJim to CoolOffHornyJim almost faster than his target could think "syncro-mesh." "Picnic, yeah. But we can't invite Simon to yours, remember? So it looks like we'll be having mine." Blair spun on his heel and headed for the cooler. Jim remained seated long enough to admire Blair as he bent over the piled up gear. With an appreciative sigh, Jim rose to his feet, set the tire iron next to the spare and walked over to his rummaging roommate. Blair straightened from his survey of the cooler's contents and waved Jim over. "You pick what you want, man. I'll dig out the dishes and blanket." I've picked out what I want, Chief, Jim thought, but bent obediently over the cooler as Blair began shoving gear around with a will. The leftover lunchmeat was looking a little pre-fab in the light of day, and what was left of the cheese lacked a certain appeal in its wrinkled wrappings. Jim dug a little deeper and found the jelly from that morning's breakfast along with the peanut butter from last night's special recipe s'mores. Apples and soda filled out the menu. Jim stood up, arms full of edibles, just in time to catch sight of a butt-wiggle from Blair, who was head down in the truck bed, reaching for all he was worth. Jim had to swallow hard before he could speak. "Sandburg, what the hell are you doing? Mess gear is on the ground in the bag next to the cooler!" "Got it!" came the muffled exclamation, accompanied by another frisky twitch of that pert rear as Blair worked his way upright. He brandished a scarlet Frisbee with a triumphant grin. "Man does not picnic on blankets and mess gear alone, Jim!" he said. "We need an alternate activity to keep your head in the Simon-permissible version of this picnic!" Jim rolled his eyes and crouched to gather up the messbag himself after some rearrangement of his food supplies. "Just don't forget the blanket, Shirley Temple. Jeans that touch wet grass do not touch my seats." Blair scooped up the blanket and followed Jim off the shoulder and onto the soft, springy meadowgrass with a grin. "C'mon, man! Over here, under the trees!" "Chief, there are ants under the trees," Jim said after a cursory glance. "It's a meadow. There're going to be ants everywhere." Jim stopped and looked around the meadow until he found a spot several yards from the road. "Not there." Blair looked skeptical. "You're just saying that." "There are no ants here, Sandburg, and if you don't make a mess out of your sandwich, they'll never know to come over." Jim paused and shrugged. "Well, at least it might take them some time to find us." "Thanks for the vote of confidence, pal," Blair replied. He put down the Frisbee and snapped open the blanket with a practiced flick of his wrists. "Get much action on blankets in meadows, Chief?" Jim inquired. "Not in sight of a highway, no," Blair replied, cheerfully reaching for the messkit. Jim relinquished the dishes and sat down on the drab green blanket to organize the foodstuffs. Nothing like getting back to the basics. He'd packed the supplies himself when Blair appeared ready to empty the contents of three cupboards into the cooler. Blair set aside the paring knife in the messkit in favor of his Swiss Army knife to cut up and core one of the apples. He fed a piece to Jim, who was busy spreading peanut butter on the multi-grain bread, and brushed his thumb lightly across Jim's lip in the process. Jim crunched quickly through the apple, and offered Blair a peanut-buttered slice of bread, returning the sensual caress. Blair flushed, but grinned, and offered another juicy sliver of apple. Jim leaned over to lick it from his finger. "OK, Tom Jones!" Blair said, remembering where he was with a start and pulling back. "I see where this is going. Time for that alternate activity, before things get out of hand." "Sandburg," Jim said reasonably, "the apple is still in your hand." Blair stretched across the blanket away from Jim and grabbed another shiny red object. "And now, there's a Frisbee in my other hand. First one to drop it cleans up. On your feet, soldier, and prepare to go long!" Long was not going to be a problem, Jim reflected as he rose slowly to his feet and watching Blair toss the apple aside and dart across the grass toward the trees. He leaned over, set the half-made sandwiches on a plastic bag, and wrapped them up. No point sending out an ant APB. Make the little crawlers work for it. Jim paced a ways from the blanket and turned to watch Blair pick his Frisbee-tossing spot with all the care normally given to a search for gold. After a couple of upper body twists, either to warm up or out of some delusion he could put a feint over on a Sentinel, Blair let fly with a sizzling toss. Jim ran back toward the picnic blanket, and with a leap and a twist of his own, plucked it out of the air. He spun on the ball of his foot as he landed and flung the toy back to his playmate in a low, flat arc. Blair, who had been peeling down to his T-shirt, had to dive for it, but caught the Frisbee before it touched ground. Blair touched ground instead in a smooth roll that left him covered with evergreen leavings and a delighted grin. "Look familiar?" Blair called as he tossed the scarlet Frisbee on high. "Nice try, Chief, but there isn't a garbage truck for miles," Jim replied, catching the Frisbee effortlessly. He angled his next throw to head high and to Blair's left. Blair recognized the throw and raced only halfway to the spinning disc, knowing it would curve toward him. A spring breeze chose that moment to interfere, and executed a Frisbee toss of its own...right into the trees at the very height of the arc. After a stunned moment of silence, Jim said, "You'll have to be careful when you re-pack the gear, Chief. There're breakables near..." "You're kidding me with this, right?" Blair said incredulously. Jim folded his arms over his chest. "I caught everything you threw at me." "I SO did not drop that!" "You didn't catch it, either." Jim smiled contentedly. "I could be talked into letting you off the hook if I have enough fun watching you climb up and get it down." Blair's jaw hung loose in disbelief for a split second, then re-engaged. "Oh, no. That's not how this is gonna go. I have climbed WAY more than my share of trees in this relationship. It is completely your turn." "We don't share tree duty. I spot the target, you climb and get it. Why mess with the system now?" "No, no system! We never had a system!" Blair craned his neck back, hair swinging across the top of his shoulders. Jim counted glints in the reddish bits until Blair turned back toward him. "New rule, Jim. You throw it, you climb for it. There is no way I'm going after that thing without an elevator." Jim eyed the route up the tree to the Frisbee and began stripping off his own shirt. He'd never, in fun, tested Blair's hesitation where heights were concerned -- and he didn't intend to start now. He strode over to the base of the tree. "OK, Sandburg. Just give me a leg up to the first branch and watch how the pros do it." "And do the pros get a leg up?" Blair asked as he slowly approached. Jim saw the furtive glance across his bare chest and suppressed a grin. "Now that you mention it, not usually," Jim replied. Crouching slightly, he jumped up in a long reach for the lowest branch. He caught and hung there for a minute, studying his next move. "Jim, I was only kid..." Blair's voice trailed off as Jim chinned himself up on the branch and eased himself astride it with a graceful twist. He swung his feet a bit as he looked down at Blair. "You were saying, Chief?" he prodded. Blair closed his mouth and Jim saw his throat muscles working in a hard swallow. "No-nothing, man. Just admiring the professionalism of your technique." Jim smiled benignly, then edged along the branch to the tree trunk. Keeping an eye on his prize, he climbed upward with all the lithe economy of movement one would expect of his spirit guide until he reached the last branch sturdy enough to take his weight. Bracing himself against the rough bark, Jim batted one branch against another until the Frisbee slipped loose and fell. He caught it easily and placed the Frisbee between his teeth. The climb down went a little more slowly, being backward and all. "Shall I call the fire department?" Blair razzed softly from the ground. "They like rescuing kitties from trees. Good PR." Jim emitted one irritable grunt around the Frisbee and swung back to the first branch. He balanced on it for a moment, enjoying the solid feel under his feet, then hopped off and caught himself on the way down. Hanging in the breeze, Jim spit out the Frisbee and took a deep breath to verify a hypothesis. Pheromones were odorless, but the organ that sensed them was located in the nose, and a good sniff with smell dialed up seemed to enhance his pickup. Sure enough, the wave of arousal that indicated an elevated level of pheromones in the air swept down his body. Mission accomplished, Jim eyed the ground for a good place to land. It wasn't that far, but the deeper the cushion of evergreen debris, the easier it would be on his knees. He watched Blair approach him as if pulled by a chain. "Jim, man, you are so HOT in a tree," Blair breathed. Jim nearly chinned himself up the branch again at the frankly predatory look on Blair's face. "Uh, Chief, if you'd just wait a minute, I'll be right..." Blair grasped the denim encasing Jim's left leg and tugged. "I want you NOW, Jim," he said. Jim's grip on the branch loosened in his shock, and he dropped to the ground. A desperate mid-air wiggle kept him from taking Blair to the ground with him, a development of which Blair clearly disapproved. Jim wobbled a bit in his landing crouch and fell on his butt to the spongy ground. Blair followed him to the ground, squatted between his knees and brushed aside the restraining hand Jim raised. "Oops, looks like someone's ass can't touch the truck seats." He paused, going to work on Jim's fly. "At least, not in these jeans." Jim pulled himself together, reached for Blair...and pulled off his T-shirt. He flipped it over his shoulder for ground cover, then went after the buttons on Blair's jeans. "Dirty knees," Jim explained as one of Blair's eyebrows went up. "Jeans must go." Jim pulled Blair's pants over his butt, then executed a quick twist and roll that put his lover on the ground and wriggled his own jeans to half-mast. They'd mess with shoes later; Jim was too intent on surfing the pheromone wave at high tide to bother with such niceties. Blair squirmed to the right, half off the T-shirt, and shoved Jim to the ground on his side. He rolled up to his knees, then lowered himself back to the ground facing Jim's crotch. "Sixty-nine," he murmured, before latching on. "No waiting," Jim replied in kind, taking Blair in hand, then mouth. Jim messed with the dials for a heartbeat, then gave it up and let Blair's taste fill his mouth however it wanted. The crisp, musky scent of his lover lying on the damp, fertile earth turned him on like nothing else had throughout an entire weekend of sniffing his partner on the sly. The moist suction on his cock and the feel of Blair's hand smoothing up and down his hip folded Jim into a pure state of bliss. He flung an arm over Blair's hip and hugged his lover closer in. A flick of the tongue up the underside of Blair's cock elicited a deep groan that vibrated up Jim's spine to the base of his skull. Drawing one finger down the crease of Blair's butt resulted in a thrust he matched with one of his own, and together Jim and Blair just let it all go. When the tremors had subsided enough for him to move, Jim turned himself right side up to Blair. They lay there, panting in the aftermath. Blair traced a finger over Jim's lips, then moved to follow with his tongue. He grunted a bit in discomfort and paused. "Blair?" Jim inquired softly, drawing his lover close. "Jim, not wanting to wreck the moment or anything, but this T-shirt isn't big enough for the two of us." "No shit, Sherlock. And I told you there were ants over here." Blair twitched violently, almost clearing Jim's arms. "That's not YOU tickling...?" Jim freed Blair and rolled to his back, laughing as hard as the post-coital daze allowed. He managed a deep chuckle as Blair leaped to his feet, swiping frantically at his own backside, and tripping on his half-down jeans. Jim sat up just in time to catch Blair in his lap as the younger man went over like a felled tree. "Laugh it up, cowboy. Coulda been you..." Blair muttered. Jim gave him a boost to his feet and steadied the younger man while Blair pulled up his jeans and zipped carefully. Jim stood and pulled his clothing together with an economy of motion. He saw Blair eyeing the distance between their shady spot and the blanket as if the paparazzi stood four-deep, awaiting their walk down a red carpet. Both men were covered head to toe in loamy soil and evergreen detritus. "Look at us," Blair said, with a half-hearted swipe at his grimy jeans. "Easy, Blair. No one for miles. Sentinel certified." He scooped up the T-shirt, then nodded toward the Frisbee and the rest of Blair's discarded clothing. "All yours, Chief." Blair scooped up his outer shirt and the Frisbee. "Good thing. If Simon could see us now..." "All he could say is wow," Jim finished with a grin. "Let's get this picnic going. The mountain air is giving me an appetite!" "Mountain air..?" Blair sputtered in outrage, then trotted after Jim. "Let me at the salad oil in that food bag, and I'll show you mountain air!"