The Mistress was wise as always. They needed the vacation. They needed the play even more. Blair felt better than he had in weeks. But something tugged at his mind. It was there just at the edges pushing for attention. And it was troubling him.

It was the blue cows. Not that cows painted blue bothered him, per se, but he recognized that they were a criminal motif. And he knew that the motif would escalate and that they would almost certainly be drawn into the weirdness once again. Blair couldn't understand that about his beloved Sentinel. The man could handle drug lords and homicidal maniacs without getting strange. But let some whacko with a strange MO appear on the scene, and it's all that the Guide could do to keep the Sentinel out of a cape and tights.

Blair found himself wondering about the blue cows in the pre-dawn hours while he should have been enjoying the arms holding him and the wonderfully warm, muscular body he was sleeping against. The Guide admonished himself, but not for worrying. He was certain they would soon have a villain of some sort to contend with. But he shouldn't allow himself to miss out on enjoying just being with Jim any moment that he could. Blair snuggled closer then drifted off to sleep once more.

Jim awoke first to the sounds of the city beyond Genevieve's quiet neighborhood. The servants were stirring below. Breakfast wasn't even started. It was very early. Jim gently turned the man sleeping almost on top of him until he was on his back. The Sentinel wanted a chance to look at his Guide. He hadn't had a chance to just look at a sleeping Blair in some time. More often than not, he would awake with that glint in his eyes and a rock hard erection poking Jim's thigh. Both were hard for him to resist. But there were times when all Jim wanted to do was just look at the man he was holding and appreciate his beauty.

Jim gently swept a curl back onto Blair's forehead. He did like the way the shorter cut set off his love's features and the length made the curls even more springy. But sometimes, Jim missed the longer locks. He liked imprisoning Blair by the long curls and he loved how they looked fanned out on the pillows. But Blair was still beautiful. He'd probably be beautiful to Jim bald.

When Jim grew bolder, risking a gentle brush of his finger tips along that pouty mouth, Blair stirred. His breathing changed. A moment later, his eyes fluttered open. There was no glint though, only curiosity.

"Jim?" He asked. "Something wrong?"

"No," he replied softly. "I'm just thinking."

Blair smiled at him. "I don't think the Mistress wants us to do that here unless it involves a provocative position. What were you thinking about?"

Jim stroked his love's face with the tenderest of touches. "You're so beautiful, Blair."

The intensity in Jim's voice shot through his nerves filling his heart and making him hard. But there was a cloud over Jim's pale blue eyes. Blair had seen it before and he knew what it was.

He reached up to stroke Jim's jaw. "Don't do this, man."

"Do what?"

"Wonder why I'm with you… if you aren't being selfish for not letting me go… that I would be safer and happier with someone younger," Blair relied. "I know that look. I am very happy with you. I can't imagine life without you."

Jim considered his words and his eyes in silence. Blair sighed.

"Let me try this another way," he murmured. "Do you consider The Mistress a fine judge of flesh?"

"She would have to be," Jim conceded.

"And would she humor someone to spare their feelings?"

Jim shook his head. "She thinks it kinder to be brutally honest that to delude someone."

"She just spent what is probably a tidy sum of money to have your body immortalized in bronze just so she could look at it when you aren't around," Blair said. I think that means you're beautiful. And I've told you before," Blair murmured. "Stop dissin' my squeeze."

He gently tugged Jim over his body looping his arms around his neck. His eyes had darkened. His gaze was intent. "You know what I want now."

"Do I?" Jim smiled.

"You should by now," Blair replied softly.

"You want my kiss," Jim said. His voice was soft and husky but he didn't lower his head any closer.

"I've needed them every day since the first time you took me in your arms," Blair said. "I still don't know how you can make me feel possessed and cherished and loved without feeling trapped. I love that kiss."

Jim lowered his head the remaining distance to first brush against his love's soft, lush lips. He settled against them as Blair opened his mouth to be gently but thoroughly ravaged. And once the Sentinel had his Guide writhing and moaning from the kiss, it was only logical that he taste the rest of this sweet flesh. Despite the early hour of waking, the pair was nearly late for breakfast.
 
 

Blair's early morning concerns manifested itself in the person of Inspector Albion. He was a dour little man who appeared at Genevieve's door just after breakfast. Blair was especially disappointed at his timing as the Mistress wanted to do some shopping and that meant that he and Jim would finally get to explore Paris together. Genevieve was as displeased as Blair at this unexpected arrival, but civility prevailed and he was allowed to join them for coffee.

"So, Inspector, what brings you to my door this day?" she asked.

"I assume that you know of the Blue Cows?"

"Yes," she said patiently. "What about them?"

"We feel that this lunatic will escalate these strange offenses until lives or valuable property are at risk," he replied.

"That's entirely likely," Jim concurred. "Fantasy fulfillers often have to escalate their pursuits to get the same satisfaction. It's like drug addiction."

"Yes, that's very interesting, but what has it to do with us?" Genevieve asked to Blair's relief.

"We have evidence that this Blue Cow Man is, in fact, Guy Cirroq - the Wall Crawler. He escaped from prison about four weeks ago," Albion replied. "We were hoping for some insight into the case."

Jim ran a hand through his hair. "I still don't see where we could be of much help, sir. We caught the Wall Crawler because he was stupid enough to register at a hotel under his own name. I'm sure he hasn't become any smarter since then. He'll make a mistake."

The inspector sighed. He pulled a plastic covered piece of paper out of his attache case. "We received this note yesterday. This is why I am here."

Jim took the note with a sigh. "The gist is that he wants to challenge the infidels who caged him to a fair test of skill."

"I appreciate your position, but just because some nut issues a challenge doesn't mean we have to accept," Blair said.

"In fact, it could be dangerous to do so," Jim concurred. "Paris police are among the world's best. I really don't think this man will be much of a challenge for you. We'll be here for a while, if there is a problem. But I really doubt that there will be."

The inspector finished his coffee then bid his goodbye. Blair thought the man was surprised that they didn't jump right into the case. And he seemed relieved that they declined. Blair certainly was.

"Well done, cherie," Genevieve beamed as she returned from seeing the inspector out. "I'm pleased to see that you have taken my advise to heart."

"The mistress is wise," Jim replied. "And I wanted to enjoy Paris with my favorite tormentors."

"Well, said," she laughed. "As a reward, we go on the town. I have some shopping to do, but you dear ones can romp about while I do that. Then, we'll meet at one of my favorite restaurants where I can show you off."

"That sounds great," Blair smiled.

"Dress nicely, but wear comfortable shoes. I'll give you the address of the restaurant before you leave. Be on time," she said.

They agreed readily and were off to change. In a very short while, they were out in the crisp spring air enjoying the sights and sounds. Jim thought it best to see the city in it's entirety before looking at individual sights. Thus, the Guide went from a morning of being kissed senseless in bed to an afternoon of being kissed senseless on the Eiffel Tower. There were some shocked glances. There may have even been comments. For all Blair cared, they were the only people in that space, and it was wonderful. By the time they got out of the tower, sightseeing would have been rushed. So the pair decided to do some shopping of their own in the quaint little neighborhood near the restaurant. They got little gifts for the gang in Major Crimes and a little trinket for their hostess.

Genevieve was all smiles and surrounded by three times as many packages when they found her in the restaurant.

"You looks radiant. I take it you had fun?" She asked hugging them each in turn.

"It was great, but I wish we had a camera," Blair said.

"I'm glad we didn't. I liked looking at you look at everything," Jim said softly. "Besides, we'll be here for a while. We can go back with a camera and enjoy them again."

"My goodness," Genevieve purred. "Five minutes in the Parisian air and he's become such a romantic."

Jim blushed. The waiter came around with a bottle of wine and three glasses, a platter of cheeses.

"I've already ordered for us," Genevieve said. "And the wine list is excellent."

The wine was wonderful. Jim let his senses go allowing the flavor of the wine and the delicate scents in the restaurant to mingle with the scents of his companions into a heady ambrosia. He felt intoxicated from it all.

He pulled out a small box with a bright red ribbon wrapped around it. "This is from us in thanks for all you've done."

Genevieve carefully opened the box and pulled out the gold charm bracelet that was inside. It had a tiny panther, a wolf and an angel dangling from it.

"This is so lovely," she said. "I know who the animals represent, but who is the angel?"

"You, Mistress," Jim said quietly.

"Me? An angel?"

"That's how we think of you," Blair said. "We couldn't find one wielding a whip, so we got this."

"You are dear ones," she sighed.

Genevieve's eyes were misting a bit. She quickly changed the subject to the vintage of wine and the fine quality of the cheeses. Jim was in agreement. In fact, his mouth was in love with everything on the table, but he had the distinct impression that he was being watched. He scanned about the room for anyone resembling the Wall Crawler, but there was no one that even matched his build. He could still feel eyes upon them.

"Mistress," he said. "I think we're being watched."

"I know we're being watched," she replied without concern "Oh, here comes the soup."

"Mistress," Blair whispered. "Can you clue us in here? We get a little paranoid."

"My apologies. I forget how much intrigue is part of your every day existence," she said. "They are various people from the Scene in Paris. Someone undoubtedly saw me shopping and knew it was likely that I would come in here for a meal."

"And that we would be with you," Blair said.

"Well, that was not as definite. They knew that I probably wouldn't leave you alone. However, I've seldom brought my playmates here," she said. "Most can't come close to earning that privilege."

"We thank you," Jim said. "This food is amazing."

"You should not concern yourselves with them. Their kind of club isn't really my cup of tea, and I wouldn't think of having you there," she said between spoonfuls of the delightful bouillabaisse.

"Is it like the club in LA?" Blair asked.

"No," she replied. "It's the sort of place that by entering you have given permission for all sorts of things. There are no safe words and there is no acceptance of the word no. They want to bring back the era of the Marquis de Sade. Or that's what they have in their mission statement."

"They have a mission statement?" Blair sputtered.

Genevieve shrugged. "I've tried to talk to them about that and some of the other practices too gruesome for the dinner table. They've given law enforcement all they need not only to shut them down but to try them for criminal acts should someone complain. They've been lucky enough to choose guests who won't do that."

"How can that be?" Blair asked.

"Too afraid, too ashamed, too much to lose, I imagine," she said thoughtfully. "And some undoubtedly like to play that way."

The waiter took away the soup bowls and served another tasty palate cleanser.

"They've screwed up enough courage to stop by after we finish eating ," Jim said as he considered another piece of cheese.

"Really!" Genevieve said. "Have they no decorum. You'd think they were Americans… no offense dears."

"None taken," Blair smiled.

They settled into the meal and each other's company. Blair had completely forgotten the nouveau sadists. The meal was amazing. It was like an orgasm on a plate. And as much pleasure as he got in eating it, he got even more pleasure watching Jim eat his food. It was still perplexing to Blair that a man with such a keen palate and appreciation of great food could also adore Wonder Burgers. He had been savoring the feel of the last spoonful of mousse in his mouth when someone spoke from behind him.

"You do not exaggerate, my dear," an accented feminine voice purred. "They are exquisite. Can it really be true that you won't share?"

Genevieve gazed up levelly. Her expression was one of strained patience. "It is quite true. First off, they are not mine to share. I'm assisting Blair in training Jim. They are an exclusive pair."

"Do you mind if we hear that for ourselves?" Another voice asked.

Genevieve shrugged her lovely shoulders. "If you must."

Blair was not pleased, and he let that seep into his tone. He did not even turn his head. "I'd prefer to comfortably see whom I'm talking to."

There were a couple of strained pardons and shuffling about before Blair found himself seated across from Madames Rochet and Beauchamp. They were both tall and lithe. Madame Rochet was the cool elegant blond reminiscent of Hitchcock film heroines. Her hair was even in an elegant twist. Madame Beauchamp's dark hair was cut very stylishly against her head and swept forward. It was difficulty to determine their ages. They looked as though they could be in their 40s, but they were well cared for and could have been in their 60s. That didn't bother Blair. He was all for sassy seniors. Their gaze was unsettling. It wasn't predatory the way Genevieve's was. Blair was certain that they weren't at all interested in how to make him or Jim come. They were interested in how much pain it would take to make them break. Since there was no way they'd get to find out, Blair immediately resented their taking up any of his time.

Genevieve signaled the waiter to bring more wine. The table promptly had five filled glasses of the lovely dessert wine. Jim sipped his drink but kept his eyes down. He was the lucky one. Blair had to face down those stares.

"You are not beginning very well here," Blair said softly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"And you don't even understand your trespass," he muttered. "We were having a lovely meal, and you've insinuated yourself at our table because you believe Mistress Genevieve is lying."

"Oh, no! I wouldn't ever say something that drastic," Madame Rochet said over her glass. She was startled by Blair's attack "It's just that when it comes to the really rare finds, some in the scene do whatever they can to keep their stash hidden."

Blair sighed. "Even if I were inclined to believe the Mistress capable of such game, and I'm not, it still doesn't excuse your behavior now. Don't these sorts of establishments have beautifully engraved invitations you could send?"

"But a cold invitation could never be as persuasive as a word in person," Madame Beauchamp smiled. It had all the warmth of a crocodile. "We just have to have you both there. It's sensations to the very extreme. You would have many willing and a few resistant backs or butts to work on, and your Jim would get the kind of attention that would make him an even better slave."

"I see," Blair said. He was glowering at the oblivious women. "Well, that's flattering in your circles, I'm sure, but we're not interested. First off, no one touches either of us without permission which is not forthcoming. Second, we're here to spend time with Mistress Genevieve."

The women looked at Blair like he was speaking Martian.

"Incroyable!"Madame Beauchamp gasped. "Who is he to turn us down?"

Genevieve arched a brow at them. "I told you. Thanks for stopping by."

They left without finishing their wine huffing their way out of the restaurant leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume.

"It's not just that they won't take no for an answer," Blair said. "It's that they're too dense to understand it. I'd never let them near Jim or anyone else for that matter."

"They are more than tiresome," the Mistress agreed. "But they are often requested as guests at my salons here. Thus, I must try to be civil. But I'm glad you weren't. That was fun to watch. I think Jim enjoyed it as well."

Blair glanced over at Jim to find him blushing with his eyes still cast down.

"Look at me, Jim."

"Yes," he murmured. Blair was startled at the expression in his love's eyes. There was need at war with need naked in his pale blue eyes.

"Let's get you home," Blair said. "Mistress?"
 
 

Within a half an hour, they were back at the townhouse. Blair handed off their purchases to Tammi as did Genevieve.

"I want you in the playroom now. Take all of your clothes off when you get there and wait for me," Blair said sternly.

"Yes," Jim replied. The Guide could hear the anticipation in his voice.

"May I impose on you again for equipment," he asked.

"It's no imposition, pet," she replied. "I am more than repaid in seeing what I get to see."

Blair didn't take long. He changed into a pair of leather pants leaving his upper body bare. The Guide was intrigued with Jim's swift and strong reaction to the encounter with those crones. He didn't think it was because his love found the offer interesting - at least that was the hope. More than likely the Detective was responding to Blair's command of the encounter. The man sure enjoyed his being forceful. He would find out the reason. He planned to make Jim admit it and enjoy doing it.

Blair's creativity was high that evening. He had Jim standing in the center of the room with his legs shackled to a spreader bar and his arms suspended over his head in leather cuffs attached to a single chain. The Guide walked around his Sentinel with an eighteen inch suede lash in hand considering the beautiful skin before him. Jim had his eyes down and seemed relaxed, but Blair could feel his anticipation.

"I'm going to give you all the sensation you can handle," Blair whispered. "I'm going to make that beautiful cock fill to it's nearly bursting. And I'll keep building it until you have to come or lose your mind. But you're not to come... Jim... you're not to come until you tell me what about those two crones made you so excited. I know you hate to talk... that the words are hard for you, but you'll find them. I'll give you the right incentive."

Jim inhaled sharply. As he exhaled, Blair began. He'd chosen a soft whip wanting to build the sensations with each stroke. The Sentinel, even with the dials at normal would feel each strand on his skin for at least ten additional strokes. Blair started with Jim's beautiful butt and moved at random around him. The strokes weren't hurried but he did not give his sub time to really rest between them. Jim was pink all over within minutes. He was very hard and breathing in short breaths though his mouth.

"Keep that dial at normal," Blair murmured. "You won't rush this, love."

Jim tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened his eyes, there was a little more control. That didn't last long though. The sheen of sweat on Jim's skin gave the lash more sting. He started to moan. Blair chuckled then lashed his cock. It was gentle enough, but it made Jim jump.

"So, tell me what were you thinking about at the restaurant?" Blair asked softly.

Another moan was the reply. "Can't.... please..."

Blair slapped his cock again making Jim hiss. "Yes, you can. Tell me. Tell me and I'll sooth that skin with my own body, and I'll let you come in my hand."

Jim fought for breath as Blair kept up the strokes not allowing him to rest but not ratcheting up the pain so he could focus on that. He was becoming so sensitized that he began to tremble.  Jim groaned in frustration. "You... you were so strong... aaahhh"

Blair didn't let up. "Tell me."

"You... you could have taken them. Made them do anything... take anything... grovel... beg... and ," Jim choked out.

"And.. come on, love..."

"But I'm yours... you only want me..."

"That's right. You are mine," Blair said softly from behind him. He quickly bared his groin then reached around Jim pulling flush with that hot moist skin to take his erection. Within a few strokes, Jim cried out. The younger man hadn't realized how sensitized he was himself. A few thrusts along that slick hot crease and Blair came. He milked Jim dry then wrapped his arms around his waist to hold him up.

"Lower the chain," he said then eased Jim onto the floor. Blair chuckled. He felt like a large leaden marionette.

They were exhausted in the aftermath. He and Jim slumped in a heap unable to go any further. Tammi appeared with wet cloths and robes. It took some work to peel Blair out of his pants and free Jim from his bonds. Their limbs remained leaden, so the men weren't much help at first. By the time Tammi brought them cold water, they had managed to move to the sofa where they were wrapped in robes and each other.

"If I were diabolical, I would have those crones at one of my salons where they could witness this, but still not be able to touch," she laughed. "They would hate me for certain… but not enough to stop attending my salons, unfortunately."

Before Blair could comment there was a huge racket from below. It sounded to Blair like a heard of very angry cows. The four people in the room exchanged puzzled glances then headed for the window. Below them was a van painted in blue cow print. The "herd" was coming from a loud speaker.

"Call the police," Jim sighed.

"I want the ones called Ellison and Sandburg."

Jim winced at the feedback. "What do you want Wall Crawler?" He called out.

"I am the Wall Crawler no longer," came the reply. "You have sullied that name forever. I am the Artist."

"The Artist formerly known as the Wall Crawler?" Blair asked loudly.

"Non, mon Dieu! Just the Artist and I challenge you to a battle of wills!"

"We've heard," Jim replied.

"Well?" He demanded.

Blair looked at Jim in trepidation. Jim smirked.

"No," Jim said.

"No?" The Artist exclaimed.

"No," Jim stated firmly. "Je suis en vacances. Besides, the police are en route."

"You called the police… why?"

"Perhaps it's because you are an escaped felon?" Jim asked the air. "You're an idiot Artist. Just turn yourself in before a cow bites you."

There was a string of expletives that made Genevieve chortle, then the van peeled off seconds ahead of the police.

"I think he's actually gotten dumber," Jim muttered. "That should be the end of that."

Blair wasn't so sure. He figured that the Artist would be pretty determined. That is, if he got away from the police that night. But what troubled Blair more was that Jim's eyebrow was up - all the way to the hairline. He drew closer to his lover. He'd best savor the moment. They would soon be crime busting.

Blair slept well that night despite his anxieties. And the next morning, Jim made sure that he had very little mind left to think about anything. And he was still quite silly from pleasure when he made his way to the Mistress in the dining room while Jim finished shaving.

"I do hate to change that beautiful expression, but I have some bad news," she said with a heavy sigh. "The police did not catch the Artist last night."

Blair sank onto a chair. "Terrific."

"We could order him to remain here and there are delightful ways to keep him still and keep his mind occupied," Genevieve said.

"I know. He may even go along with that," Blair replied. "But this is part of who Jim is. He seems to have a cultural imperative to mirror his quarry at times. It's not a bad price to pay for such a wonderful man. I just have to make sure that he doesn't kill himself. Or wear tights and a cape."

Genevieve shook her head. "You have amazing patience, pet."
 
 

Jim took the news calmly. His eyebrow remained in neutral.

"I still don't think we should be involved. It's not our jurisdiction, the man is an idiot and the police are competent. Eventually, he'll really slip up and then he'll be caught," Jim said. "Besides, he doesn't have anything in his motif that will do anything more than annoy people and some farm animals."

Blair looked at Genevieve incredulously as Jim turned to get some breakfast. Their cautious optimism ended with a phone call. While digging into his eggs, the Guide got an earful of very angry French from across the room. He knew that the Eiffel tower and the color yellow was mentioned, the rest made no sense. She hung up the phone shaking with rage.

"What's happened?" Jim asked.

"That was Andre Toulon," she said. "The Artist broke into his studio last night and left a note saying that he was going to somehow paint the Eiffel Tower yellow."

"That wouldn't make you this angry, would it?" Blair asked.

"No… no… he also stole something to make sure that you two fought him," she replied. "He's got the molds for the bronzes and is threatening to throw them off the tower if you don't and I quote 'join him on the field of battle.'"

The eyebrow reached the hairline that time. "He stole our asses?" Jim asked.

"Oui," the Mistress replied .

"He stole our asses!" Jim exclaimed.

"Oh, geez," Blair sighed.

"I want him punished for taking what's mine," Genevieve said quietly. "This is an affront to everything I am."

"Yes, Mistress," Jim said. "Come on, Chum. We have work to do to get ready."

"Chum… great," Blair replied. "Where to?"

"We need to do some shopping," Jim said resolutely.
 
 

Jim had that expression that told the Guide that they would get the job done come hell or high water. It was a look Blair had seen often in their police work and one he was unusually glad to see, Blair was just as determined on their shopping excursion. He purposefully steered clear of costume and dance shops to make sure that there was no loud spandex or capes in the offing.

They ended up in a sporting goods store to Blair's great relief. He found some black cargo pants amidst the camouflage hunting gear. He could live with those, a black shirt and jacket. They would still look like what they were - American tourists. And the pants had a lot of pockets for whatever stuff Jim came up with. Blair was wondering how and where Bruce Wayne shopped for the things in his utility belt, when Jim returned with some items of his own.

"I found this in the ski wear," he said excitedly.

It was a unitard and it was lime green spandex. Blair snatched it from him and handed him the cargo pants. "First off, you'll roast to death. Second, you are so not wearing that color spandex in my lifetime. And third, you are not wearing a cowl of any kind."

"It's not a cowl. It's a hood," Jim said indignantly.

"It's a cowl and it ain't happening."

Jim looked so hurt that he almost relented. Then, Blair thought about the press.

"Jim, your mind is clouded with all sorts of things that I don't understand right now," Blair said gently. "Your instincts are telling you to be like the Artist. But I know that when your head clears and you look at the newspapers, you won't appreciate my not stopping you from becoming a laughing stock. Just think what the comedians in Major Crimes would say and do to us."

He considered that for a moment. "You're sure?"

"Yes, Jim. I'm so certain that this not the right path for you," Blair said gently. "And you do trust your Guide, don't you?"

Jim nodded. "I love him, too."

Blair finally smiled. "I love you, too. Now let's get some stuff for all these pockets."

By the time they reached Toulon's studio, Inspector Albion was there. He was actually smiling. Blair finally realized that this very serious constable did not like dealing with the weird and would just as soon have someone else handling it.

"So it is true that you've decided to help," he said. "That's most fortunate because the stakes have become quite high."

"How?" Jim asked. "Isn't it just yellow paint?"

"It's some sort of lead based powder from what we could tell in his apartment," Albion replied. "If that stuff is released, it will poison the water supply."

"Terrific," Blair muttered. "How did he get the equipment up there to set all of this up?"

Inspector Albion looked embarrassed. "He had credentials to put up a sculpture on the observation deck. Apparently it looked very authentic."

Blair shook his head. He had been hoping for a simple take down. Now, they had to get him before he could release the paint. And they'd have to get goggles. Jim didn't find anything at the studio that would help them, so they headed back to the townhouse.

Getting dressed even in that simple, comfortable gear took time and coordinated effort. There was so much equipment to consider.

"Okay, now I really don't get how the TV Batman and Robin could get those tights right sliding down a pole when I can't get my pants to work," Blair muttered. "They should have been strangling something important. And I don't even want to think about the rubber suited one sliding down a chute. And they do it within seconds of the Bat signal."

"It's probably a matter of practice," Jim reasoned. "We could practice."

"Jim, we don't have a pole, nor do we have a chute," Blair replied patiently. "And before you suggest putting one in, let me say that I'd rather you build one of those shaving chairs. There are far more fun things to practice at the loft."

Jim blushed. "Yes, I suppose there are. Let's do it."

Genevieve admonished both to be careful and steer clear of heroics, then they were off. A full police escort sped the pair through the Paris streets. They didn't use sirens as Jim didn't want the Artist to expect them. It was hours before the real deadline. In fact, Jim had them dropped off block away to make their way through the crowd of disappointed tourists waiting to go up the tower.

"Jim," Blair panted as they jogged up to the base. "How are we going to surprise him. He'll be watching for the elevator moving and I'm NOT going up the side."

"He'll be looking for the elevator car, Chief," Jim replied. "We're going to go up the elevator shaft."

"Oh, that's much better," Blair muttered.

They got in the elevator, climbed up through the ceiling then onto the top. "Put on your harness," Jim said. "When I pry the door open at the top, you go after the molds. I'll shut down the paint sprayer. Don't risk yourself for the molds. We can always make them again. We'd have to get another shave."

Blair looked up to see the ghost of a sweet smile on his face. "Don't you do anything crazy either. The hazmat teams are out there just in case. Promise me, Jim."

"I promise," Jim said. "I'm signaling Albion."

Jim hit the cell phone autodial. They put on their goggles and held up the grappling guns. There was the sound of a car crash. They fired the guns and were soon hoisted up the shaft at a high rate of speed. They were suspended over the shaft for a few moments while Jim listened for the Artist. He eased the door open just a little and looked about.

"He's on the other side of the observation deck yelling at Albion," Jim said. "The paint apparatus is just in front of us. Change of plans. You take down the machine, bag the canisters then lower them down the shaft. I'll get the Artist."

Blair wasn't happy about that, but he nodded in agreement. He didn't want to stay dangling in that shaft any more than necessary. The door eased open enough for the men to roll out of it. Even Blair could hear the Artist shouting. Blair watched Jim head off in the direction of the voice. Blair turned to deal with what looked like a giant home paint spray gun. He shrugged. It was no sillier a piece of art than that enormous clothespin or the binoculars. The paint powder was still in large garbage bags. All Blair had to do was lower the bags then sabotage the machine. That was done very quickly. He signaled the inspector then headed off in the direction Jim took.

"Miscreant!" Blair heard Jim shout as he rounded the corner. "Unhand my ass!"

Blair rounded the corner to find the Artist standing near the railing holding one of the molds over the edge and the other mold was just under one foot.

"Ah, there is the other one. I suppose you've dispatched the painting array," he sneered. "You betrayed our bargain by coming early. You don't know the meaning of honor."

"You don't know the meaning of sane," Blair shouted. "Give up before you get hurt."

"All I wanted was a fair fight on the roofs where you thwarted me and where I once reigned," he babbled. "I've been caged like an animal where once I soared free."

"They were simple burglaries and trespasses," Jim reasoned. "You were going to do less than a nickel."

"An eternity! And it's your fault," he insisted. "You're going to pay. I'll destroy your precious molds."

"We can make new ones, Artist," Jim said. "Let's end this so that you can get some help."

They advanced on the man. At some point in this juncture, the Artist noticed that Jim and Blair were telling the truth. He dropped one mold and crushed the other before they could react. A split second later, he turned climbed up above the fence then leaped into the night. Blair was about to shout when he saw the parachute unfurl.

"Until next time!" The Artist shouted.

"Not 'until next time,'" Blair moaned.

"I still think he's an idiot," Jim said. "But our work is done here. Let's get back to Genevieve."

By the time they could get the elevator working again, an hour passed while Jim and Blair enjoyed the clear night and the spectacular view in each other's arms.

"Still no camera," Blair murmured. "We'll have to come up again. In the elevator though."

Jim smiled into the temple his lips were resting against. "Sounds like a plan."

When Inspector Albion reached them he was all smiles.

"Why the happy face," Blair asked. "We lost him."

"Only temporarily," he replied. "The winds took him out of the city limits and put him down in the field of an angry farmer whose cow had been decorated. He has the Artist tied to a tree. Thank you. Is there anything you need?"

"Just a ride back to Ms. Arnaud's," Jim said.

"If you find yourself in need of anything, let me know," the Inspector said. "The entire city is grateful."

Jim raised a brow and his arms went akimbo. "That's out job… protecting the city -- even a vacation the city. Let's go, Chum."

Blair was again somewhere between heaven and hell strapped in that chair with his ass in the air legs spread wide. The soft leather gag prevented him from making a sound. The cool of the blade provided a marked contrast to the warmth of the lather. Jim was nearly done. That fact was the only thing keeping the Guide sane. It was so difficult to keep still when all he wanted to do was buck backwards demanding Jim take him. Sweat poured off his body from the effort. Genevieve looked on with a serene smile on his face.

"I should send a note of thanks to that Artist fellow," she said. "Re-creating the molds was a delightful idea."

"I think he's had quite enough praise, Mistress," Jim murmured.

There was no anger in Jim's tone. It was mellow and warm -- maybe even amused. Blair was relieved. If he was still as angry as he was the night before, the Guide did not want him around his dangly bits with a straight razor.

Genevieve laughed softly. "You know how insane the art world is, pets. It shouldn't surprise you that they's want to celebrate those awful blue cows. Or actually put that sprayer thing outside the Louvre."

Blair had been incredulous as well despite what he knew about the absurdity of Modern Art. He concurred with Jim's concerns that the money from these sales would allow Cirroq to make restitution and the art community would undoubtedly back him for early parole. It made no sense at all. But somehow, none of it mattered with Jim's hands on his skin.

"As they once said 'I may not know art, but I know what I like,'" Genevieve said mirthfully. "And I'm looking at a masterpiece."

Jim wiped the remaining lather off with a warm damp cloth. Blair sighed in relief finally allowing his straining muscles to relax. The gag was removed.

"Blair would you not agree that Jim has been very good these weeks?"

"He's been incredible," Blair replied. His voice was husky with desire.

"Then, he deserves a reward," she drawled. "What do you want, Jim?"

Blair felt those large warm hands cup both cheeks. He moaned loudly.

"Good choice," Genevieve purred. "Tammi!"

Moments later, Blair had been lubed and opened and Jim was pushing inside. Before Blair lost all coherent thought as Jim pumped slowly and deeply inside the Guide's willing body, he wondered if they would ever be able to get back to their routine. He certainly had incentive to delegate if it meant more of this.

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Siren Saga 17: Order Out of Chaos