Rating: R

WIND

Every single window in the loft had been opened wide in an effort to catch the merest hint of a breeze. Santana's greatest hits flowed out from the speakers; the Latino rhythm a perfect match for the languid heat of the summer.

Jim stood on the balcony, a beer bottle in his loose grip, his skin glistening, sweat making the white 'tee' cling to his upper body, his cut-offs to his ass. He was barefoot.

As 'The Song of the Wind' finished, Jim was thinking of the song he'd heard in the car as he returned home. He wasn't all that keen on Donovan, not that he didn't appreciate a good tune and decent lyrics, but somehow Santana had a 'beat of life' that found resonance within Jim's body, which Donovan's songs... didn't, except for that one today.

'I might as well try to catch the wind'.... Jim raised his bottle to his lips. That was Blair. He'd breezed into Jim's life like a zephyr, as though trying to gentle him, but had quickly developed into a whirlwind, and he took Jim along with him.

He'd blown into every dark area of Jim's life, lifting the curtains in Jim's lonely rooms, whisking away the cobwebs of the man's soul, leaving nothing undisturbed, battering down Jim's defenses until he could no more stand against Blair than he could stand in the face of a hurricane.

Jim had heard that the winds were once believed to be the carriers of the soul and Blair had his heart and soul.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy what they had. It was... amazing. It provided a comfort zone for them both against the world. With Blair in him, wrapped around him, Jim could allow his senses to find their own level, until Blair was the very air that he breathed. And Blair enjoyed himself too. The way he looked in the heat of passion -- wild, primitive, beautiful... untamed; and after he was so peaceful, calm -- he couldn't fake that, not to a sentinel. Jim had never had such a lively, imaginative, enthusiastic lov... partner.

Yet there was that one word that was never uttered. One four-letter word that Jim longed to taste on Blair's lips and Jim wouldn't say it out loud himself because of fear. Fear that it would be the final thing that would drive Blair away, or trap him into staying out of guilt and responsibility. Something Jim would never do. Try to catch the wind, indeed, he thought. So the word remained unspoken.

He heard Blair's car as it turned into Prospect. Soon the mistral that was Blair Sandburg would gust into the loft, bringing with him a breath of fresh air, and Jim would be able to breathe again.

HEAT

He's like a furnace, you know, like some frigging fire god. A Svaog, Phoebus, the warrior persona of Apollo. Get too close and you get burnt, too far away and you freeze. He's standing there on the balcony, lit by the sun, glowing.

And I want to worship him. I want to lay my body down on top of his and fan the embers until we both ignite and go up in flames.

He shuts himself away from people. Puts up these shields against the world in case he hurts them with his heat, or more correctly, they hurt him. So many people have turned their backs to him, left him to die a little instead of feeding that passionate fire inside. But I'm inside those shields. He carries my heart and soul there. He just doesn't know that.

I don't think he does know how very much he means to me. He's my hearth fire, a warm glow in a cold world -- my hothouse where I can grow and flourish -- my incinerator, he cleanses me like a wild fire rushing through my mind and body until I'm scoured clean. And he challenges me, dares me to face him, to face the heat of the forge.

I can't... don't want or need to control him, to fence him in, though sometimes he needs me to bank his fire so that he doesn't burn himself out, but when we're alone together... in bed, I bask in his unquenchable, candescent blaze.

Too poetic for Jim Ellison, you think? You may be surprised. He's no knuckle-dragging caveman, but I know he'd laugh out loud if I told him just what I feel for him. I believe that might be the final thing he couldn't deal with and I'd find my bags packed and I'd be out that door with it slammed behind me. So I don't... tell him, I mean. Like I don't mention the 'L' word, even when he's buried so deep inside me, it feels like fire running through my veins and I'm praying he'll never find his way free. I've come close to whispering it a few times.

I've felt the heat of his anger, the cold burn of his rage, and, although it no longer scares me, I still have a great respect for it. I respect him, Jim Ellison, the man. I know others share that respect, but they only see the summer flare, not the tropical heat I experience.

He's shifting now, about to turn, wondering why I've stood here so long, just soaking him up. I must go to him, even if I can never tell him how much I love him. I... we have this and it must be enough.

Blair slid his arms around Jim's waist, feeling the warmth of his body seep through their clothes. "Hi babe. Miss me?" He planted a gentle kiss against the back of Jim's neck and almost missed the brief tension in his partner's body before Jim relaxed and turned in Blair's arms.

"Like so much hot air, Sandburg!" Jim smiled to take the sting from his words. His arms moved around Blair, holding him a little tighter than necessary, and his face softened. "Yeah, I missed you, Chief." He tucked a stray curl behind Blair's ear. "How about we go inside and I show you how much?"