Detective Second Class Blair Sandburg of the Major Crimes Division of the Cascade Police Department was... worried. More aptly, he was scared shitless, but he wouldn't acknowledge that. It was March 30. The reason for his trepidation sat across from him, blithely going through paperwork and making occasional notations on his computer: his partner, Detective First Class James Ellison. Ellison was ostensibly oblivious of Sandburg's nerves, but Blair knew that was just a show. Jim knew very, very well what was up with his partner. Very well. Pretending to read a file, Blair instead cast his mind back to the previous year -- his first as an official detective. Although this was his first year earning a paycheck, it was his fifth working with the denizens of Major Crime, since he had been functioning as Jim's unofficial partner for four long, unpaid years already. It hadn't taken Blair long to realize that jokes were an integral part of Major Crimes, probably due to the high stress of the job. He had good reason to believe this: along with his degree in anthropology, he had a minor in psychology. People working in high-stress environments frequently used humor -- often sophomoric humor -- as a means of venting said stress. And of course, sophomoric, not to mention moronic, humor is king on April first, All Fool's Day. Blair had quickly proven his prowess at April Fool's jokes by nailing the (former) king of the bullpen, Detective Henri Brown. The next year he had gotten Joel and Simon in a brilliant double-play. Megan had proved to be too enticing a target to pass up the following year, and even Rafe -- although Blair had protested it was like taking candy from a baby -- hadn't been left unscathed. The one person he hadn't gotten was Jim Ellison. And there was a damn good reason for that... but it wasn't that he would have expected instant death at the hands of his partner. No, Jim was able to take a joke... eventually. It was for the simple reason that one could not sneak up on a Sentinel. No whoopee cushions, no electric hand-buzzers, plastic flies, fake vomit or dog poop -- the Sentinel would see through them all. It took a special type of joke to take down a Sentinel, and it had taken Blair almost four years to come up with it. But he'd done it. Finally. Megan had been in on it, of course. What he had finally decided on needed witnesses to make it work, and Megan had been more than happy to oblige Blair in lining them up. She had the added bonus that a: she knew about Jim's abilities and b: she wouldn't tell him. She also hadn't known exactly what Blair's plan was, but she'd been willing to wait and see. She knew Blair... she knew it would be good. April first had rolled around. To Blair's enormous pleasure, Jim had pulled court duty that morning and would be out. The dozen long-stemmed white roses had been delivered to Blair's desk during his absence, and Blair had made sure that no one else read the attached card. The crowd had been primed for bear when Ellison walked in at a quarter past twelve. The first thing the big cop had done, of course, was sneeze. He hadn't been prepared for roses sitting on the desk next to his own. Once he'd cleared his nose and dialed down his sense of smell, he'd eyed the flowers and blinked. Blair chose that as his moment. Leaping from his chair, he'd run to his partner, his Sentinel, and thrown his arms around a very, very startled Jim, nearly climbing the taller man in his enthusiasm. "Oh, JIM!" he'd cried, his voice deliberately pitched high, "You sent me roses! I never thought you'd come out and admit it -- and at work!" And then, to the delight of most of the room and the consternation of his partner, Blair had planted one smack on Jim's lips. Several things had happened at once then. The awed and entranced audience had burst into spontaneous applause. Both H and Rafe had begun genuflecting in Blair's direction, chanting "We're not worthy!" in between guffaws. Megan had laughed so hard she'd tripped over herself and ended up falling half-on and half-off her desk, and hadn't even noticed the bruise that had formed. Joel had tried to help her but he'd been bent over laughing as well. Simon had bit the cigar in his mouth cleanly through and nearly swallowed the butt. A half-dozen uniforms in the hallway had stopped and stared, wide-eyed and dumbfounded. And Blair had frozen. As soon as his lips met Jim's, he'd frozen. Something deep inside -- that had so far been buried, repressed, all but suffocated -- had burst into flame and threatened to set his entire brain on fire. His eyes had flown open and met the astonished ones of his victim, only to see the same flame reflected in the ice-blue depths. He had found himself instantly, achingly hard. To his shock, Jim had been too. As the laughter and applause sank into his startled mind, Blair had managed to slowly peel his lips from Jim's and slide numbly back down to stand on his own feet again. He'd gulped, whispered, "Uh... April Fool's, man..." and reluctantly let go. Both men had had more than a passing resemblance to the catch of the day, but managed to recover under the pressure of their audience. Jim had pasted a frustrated, embarrassed grimace on his face that Blair had immediately seen through, but which no one else did. Blair had managed to mold his features into a semblance of humor and trepidation, which had hidden his astonishment to all but Jim. Luckily for him, Blair's adoring fan club had chosen that time to approach and congratulate him on a prank of epic proportions, well-played. And the strange moment had passed... ...but had not been forgotten. Six or so weeks later, the two men had somehow managed to become embroiled in a game of football, with the TV remote as the pigskin. Such a thing wasn't unheard of around Chez Ellison-Sandburg. What was unheard of, however, was Jim tackling Blair, coming down on top of the younger man, who tumbled into the coffee table, smacking the back of his head with a resounding crack. Instantly solicitous, Jim had winced and run his fingertips through Blair's hair, looking for and finding the slight lump. Blair, who had been laughing and saying "Ow!" in equal measures, had tried to bat his hands away to prove he was fine. Their eyes had met. And that, as they say, had been that. The two men had repeated the April Fool's kiss, shyly. Then not so shyly. Then quite boldly. Several hours later, when Jim and Blair had emerged for air -- sticky with come and sweat and drool and other body fluids -- and their eyes had met again, both had wondered just exactly what freight train had stormed through the loft at 852 Prospect, leaving dying and wounded in its wake. After showering and cleaning up, the two had talked over Chunky Monkey ice cream and beer. Jim had never been with a man. Blair had done some 'fooling around' but never noted any true bisexual tendencies. But both were aware of the attraction, of the pull between them, and both acknowledged the -- to date -- brotherly love. And so a sweet, hesitant, somewhat ridiculous courtship had begun, starting with necking on the sofa and movie dates and eventually moving upstairs. Now that it was a year later, nearly April first again, Blair found himself caught between equal measures of happiness and terror: happiness that it was one year since The Kiss that started the whole thing, and terror knowing that his roommate -- his partner -- his lover -- understood all too well that Payback Was A Bitch. Glancing up again, he noted the ice-blue Ellison eyes were trained on him... but not in speculation. Instead, they reflected gentleness and love, and Blair breathed a bit easier. Perhaps he'd be able to escape his fate. Perhaps. Then Jim smiled, and Blair gulped. "Salad no good, Chief?" Jim asked, indicating the large grilled chicken salad that sat virtually untouched on the table in front of Blair. "Oh, um, guess I'm not as hungry as I thought," Blair said, picking through the various greenery while looking for the solitary cherry tomato. "Eyes were bigger than my stomach, man," he mumbled, finding it and shoving it into his mouth. "You've got to eat, Sandburg," Jim said. "Especially..." He trailed off and the tips of his ears turned pink. Grinning, Blair blinked at him. "Especially what, Jim?" "Well..." Jim looked around the fast-food restaurant as he munched on his own lunch. "Well..." he said again, "um.... I was, well, thinking. We've got tomorrow off." "Yeah?" Blair encouraged, stuffing a grilled chicken strip into his mouth. "And, um, well..." Jim finally looked up into Blair's eyes. "I was kind of thinking... about what we might do. And, um..." "Spit it out, Jim," Blair said, laughing. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, Jim put his fork on the table and took a big gulp of milk. "You remember what we were talking about last week, when we were surfing those websites?" Blair put his own fork down and frowned in thought. "Oh! Those... um... THOSE sites?" Now Jim's cheeks got into the act. "Yeah. Um. THOSE sites. And we talked about, you know, trying..." "OH!" Blair said, leaning back in his chair. His own face was turning a lovely light pink. "Yeah. I remember... You mean... you want to..." "Uh, yeah. I mean, if YOU'D like to..." "Well... yeah, I guess... um... I'm not sure..." "I just want to try," Jim said quickly. "And... um... well... I'd... um... like to... you know... have it... done... to me?" Blair's jaw dropped. In the nine months since they'd actually become lovers, they had tried nearly everything, with varying amounts of success. Blair loved giving head; Jim actually liked sucking and rimming but hated to swallow; mutual hand-jobs (especially in the shower) were extremely satisfying for both men; sixty-nines were nice but Jim had a tendency to bite when he came. They had purchased a few toys and enjoyed them sporadically, but didn't feel any real need for them. The specter of anal sex loomed large on the horizon... but somehow, when the subject came up, they usually managed to avoid it. But now Jim was saying... "You want to bottom?" Blair asked, incredulous. Jim grimaced at him and looked around the half-filled restaurant. "Blair!" he hissed. No one seemed to have noticed. Ducking his head and modulating his tone, Blair continued, "Sorry. I was just... Are you sure?" Something in his words must have touched a nerve in Jim. "Well... yeah! What's wrong with that?" "Nothing, man, nothing!" Blair instantly back-pedaled. "It just... oh, I don't know. Took me by surprise. I kind of thought that..." "Well, if YOU want to, I suppose..." Jim said thoughtfully. "Actually," Blair winced slightly, "I'm, um... a little worried about it. On both ends," he added hastily, then rolled his eyes at his inadvertent pun. Jim threw a french fry at him, which he caught and ate. "I don't want to get hurt, but just as important, I don't want to hurt you. I couldn't stand that, Jim," he finished softly. Jim smiled at him. It was a smile of tenderness and love and it just took Blair's breath away. "We'll be careful. We've read the books, we know what to do... I just, ah, thought that when we do the shopping this afternoon, we could pick up some other stuff. You know. Stuff." "Yeah," Blair agreed, smiling brilliantly back. "Stuff." In the heat and pleasure of anticipation, he completely forgot what date 'tomorrow' was. Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning chores were never so much fun, Blair thought. Shopping, laundry, cleaning the bathroom... all of it took on a lovely golden glow because of the thought of what they'd be doing when they finished. By mutual agreement, they just watched TV, cuddled, necked a little but did nothing else Saturday night before going to bed. Sunday morning ritual included a huge 'heart-attack in a pan' breakfast, courtesy of Mr. Ellison, and a normal push-and-tug over the Sunday Cascade Times. Then they put away the laundry -- which they had folded the night before -- and the afternoon stretched out for them. Two wicked grins and a brief game of tag later, and they were on the bed, naked in each other's arms. Blair nuzzled the huge expanse of Jim's chest, loving the feel of it, while Jim carded his fingers through the tangled mass on Blair's head. "Are you nervous?" Blair asked. Fingers never stopping their light massage, Jim thought about it. "A little, I think," he replied, "but more excited. You?" "'Bout the same," Blair replied breathlessly. His fingers had just found the mother lode and wrapped themselves around it. Jim groaned. "Let's get this show on the road," he whispered, then kissed Blair hotly. It was a new, jumbo-sized tube of KY jelly that Jim pulled out of the bedside table; Blair had been hard-pressed not to laugh out loud when they purchased it. With fingers suddenly gone clumsy, Blair wrestled the cap open and smeared a generous dollop on his hand, warming it. Jim rolled over and lifted himself on his knees, exposing his center while sliding a pillow under his hips, and Blair gulped. "Y-you have to tell me, man," Blair said in a whisper, the only voice he could manage, "if I hurt you. You have to." "I will," Jim whispered back, turning his head so he could look at Blair. "I promise." Settling himself between Jim's spread knees, Blair stroked the broad back with the hand that was clean of lube. He watched, entranced, as goosebumps fluttered down Jim's spine after his hand... then he frowned. "Don't turn your sense of touch up, Jim," he warned quietly. "Make it normal. You hear me?" "Y-yeah, Chief, I do, I will," Jim replied, his muscles relaxing slightly as he turned his internal dials down. Placing one soft kiss to the soft skin of Jim's perineum -- and making the big man jump -- Blair dipped one finger in the warmed gel and began circling the small red pucker in front of him. They had gone this far before. Both men had grown to like having their asses played with, although it was an alien concept at first. Keeping fingernails short wasn't a problem, and learning to clean thoroughly was easy too. "One finger," Blair breathed, and gently inserted his index finger past the tight ring of muscle. "Ohhhhhh," Jim sighed, relaxing deeper into the pillow. "Good. Yeah." Twisting and thrusting gently, Blair spread the KY as deeply as he could. "God, this is so tight, I can't imagine what it's going to be like," he said, closing his eyes to better savor the feeling. After a few more minutes, he asked, "You ready for two fingers?" "Yeah, Chief. Do it," Jim replied. Smearing more lube on his fingers, Blair pressed two fingers inside Jim. This was more difficult, and Jim grunted. "Am I hurting you?" Blair asked, rubbing Jim's lower back with the back of his other hand. "Jim?" "No... no," Jim replied breathlessly. "Just... more. More than I'm used to. Keep going." Despite having a hard-on that could probably drill for oil, Blair kept his impatience tightly reined as he slowly, gently, twisted and pumped his fingers. He would not hurt Jim. After a few minutes, Jim relaxed more, and Blair pulled his fingers out to dip into the KY again. This time, inserting his fingers was easier -- the muscle was definitely looser. "It's working," he whispered, shaking. "Relax, Jim, relax." "Trying to..." Jim said. "Feels good. Feels really good." "Oh, yeah," Blair breathed. He scissored his fingers gently, encouraging the muscle to loosen further. He put the last of the gel on three fingers, and ever-so-gently inserted them, gradually going deeper and deeper. Jim was breathing heavily and moaning almost constantly. Blair could see his fists clenched into the sheets and feel his legs tremble. "You okay?" "Yeah, yeah!" Jim said, unconsciously thrusting his hips back. "More, Blair, babe, more! Please!" "Almost there, man, almost there," Blair replied, solving quadratic equations in his head to keep from coming just from this. He made a long arm, grabbed the small package that held the condom, and ripped it open with his teeth. Pulling his fingers out provoked a moan from Jim, and putting the condom on was all but impossible in his highly aroused state. Trembling hands applied more KY and smeared it around; then Blair took himself in hand and placed his penis at the loosened entrance to Jim's body. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and Jim snorted with shaky laughter. "Not nothing," he corrected, then gasped as Blair began to push. "Oh, GOD. No, not nothing..." he added, closing his eyes. "Jim... man... you okay? Talk to me... please... Need to know..." Blair panted, pushing as gently as he could, millimeters at a time. "Yeah... okay," Jim panted. "Slow... go... slow..." "Yessir, slow... I... can do... that..." Blair repeated, wondering how on earth he could actually manage it. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't be able to see where he was entering his lover, because he knew, if he looked, he'd just shove inside and... It was tight. It was hot. It was heaven and Blair was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to hold it. He reached his hand around Jim's hips to find a nearly limp penis and that helped. He froze. Jim was hurting. "I'll pull out..." he started but Jim cut him off. "No! No, keep... going..." Blair could feel spasming muscles around his cock and took a deep breath. "It's hurting you, Jim! I've got..." "Please, Blair... it doesn't hurt that much. Truly. Just keep going slow." Blair bit his lip and complied. He countered his tiny, gentle little thrusts with slight withdrawals as Jim's body gradually relaxed under the onslaught. Blair's hand never left the other man's penis, which slowly began to fill again. Another half-inch and Jim's entire body clenched -- hard. "OH!" he cried out, beginning to rock his hips again. "Yeah! Blair! Oh God doitagain PLEASE!" Prostate, Blair thought smugly, feeling the cock in his hands leap to life. Now it gets good. Aiming as best he could, Blair tried to rub over that spot as he continued easing inside, hearing Jim's whimpers and wild cries as just more aphrodisiac. Jim clenched around him again and Blair's eyes rolled back into his head. "JESUS! Jim..." "Good! Oh, God -- why did we wait? So good... so good... So -- fucking -- GOOD!" Jim howled as he pulsed over Blair's hand, his entire body shuddering with the aftereffects. Blair's back arched as he came into the condom -- had his vocal chords worked, he would have shrieked at the pleasure. Boneless satiation is an inadequate phrase, Blair thought, an unmeasured time later. There wasn't a muscle or bone in his body that hadn't been turned to watery mush. Jim wasn't much better... Blair could feel him breathing but he was limp as a cooked noodle. He was sprawled half-on and half-off his lover, covered in sweat, the filled condom hanging precariously from his shrunken cock. With great effort, he managed to capture the thing before it fell off onto the bed -- which was in as big a mess -- and toss it into the garbage. Jim felt the movement behind him and grunted. "You okay?" Blair rasped, stroking the broad back in front of him. "Oh.... yeah...." came the nearly inarticulate reply. Grinning, Blair mentally high-fived himself. "It was that good?" he asked after a few minutes, curious. "It was better," came the husky reply. "Better than I had even hoped." Shifting slightly, he winced. "Of course, I'm sore and sitting is going to be interesting... but trust me. It was worth it." Flushing with pleasure, Blair wrapped his arms around Jim and squeezed gently. "I love you, man," he whispered, nuzzling the sweaty neck under his nose. "Let me go run you a hot bath. The book said that would help. And when you're done, and you feel better..." Blair trailed off and Jim shifted again, looking into his face. "When I'm done?" he prompted. "Then... then... I want to try," Blair said shyly. "You sure, Blair?" Jim asked, tucking a curl behind one ear. But Blair noticed a light in his eyes that he took for eagerness. "You know I'd never hurt you, but you need to be sure." "Yeah," Blair answered. "Yeah. I want to try it." "Okay. You're gonna love it, Chief. Trust me." And what do you know? He did. He liked it a lot. Monday came all too soon, as Mondays usually did. Walking a little carefully, Detectives Ellison and Sandburg made their way from the parking garage to the eighth floor and the Major Crimes unit, the grins on their faces belying the day and the hour. Blair knew something was up when he ran into Megan in the elevator. "Sandy!" she greeted him, then touched his shoulder solicitously. "Are you all right? You sure you should be here? Listen, mate, you take it easy today. You're bound to be sore." Blinking and gaping, not to mention blushing, Blair studied his friend. "Huh?" he said, articulate as always. "Jimbo, you should have made him stay home. I don't care how small it was..." Lost, staring up at his partner who just shrugged in innocence, Blair was saved from replying by the elevator arriving on their floor. Rhonda was just passing it, carrying a cup of coffee for her boss. "Watch it today, guys, Simon's Mr. Coffee machine broke." She did a double take as she saw Blair. "Blair! What are you doing here today? I thought you'd take a sick day?" Thoroughly confused, Blair just gaped at her. Joel walked by and frowned at him. "Blair? Man, you are crazy to be here today after the weekend. When my uncle went through it he was out for a week. Ellison, couldn't you make him stay home for a few days? Tie him to the bed maybe?" The entourage moved in past the glass doors to the unit, where Brown was talking with Simon. The captain frowned thunderously as he spotted his youngest detective. "Sandburg!" he barked. "What the hell are you doing here today? You can't possibly expect to be working after what you had done to you over the weekend!" Blair was beginning to hyperventilate. Did everyone know? Carefully, he inched his way to his desk and pulled out his chair -- to find a large plastic inflatable donut on the seat. Slowly, he brought his head up, unerringly finding the laughing blue eyes of his one true love -- James 'Payback Is A Bitch' Ellison -- trained on his. "Thought it might help, Chief," Jim said blandly. Only Blair could hear the hysterical laughter behind his words. "After all, even minor hemorrhoid surgery can hurt like crazy." Blair closed his eyes and collapsed -- carefully -- into his chair, then buried his head in his hands. As Jim -- carefully -- took his seat opposite Blair, he muttered under his breath, "The winnah and still champeen..."