"You see the cooler anywhere?"  Hutch asked, only his butt and legs visible as he ferreted through the stash of food in the refrigerator.  Keeping four men well fed through a long day at the park waiting for the fireworks display entailed hauling major cargo along for the ride.

"Starsky took it out to the car already," Jim responded, putting the last of the chips in with the non-perishable items in the picnic basket.  "I thought Sandburg was excited about this whole fireworks thing until we got here.  Guess the enthusiasm's hereditary," Jim said, laughing a little.

"If you're expecting Blair to settle down with age, I hate to break it to you--it doesn't happen."  Hutch set three containers of food on the counter.  "I need the other cooler from downstairs.  You wanna find out if Uncle Sam and his kid out there packed the blankets and the other stuff?" Hutch referred to Starsky, who was dressed in cut-off jeans and a garish American flag t-shirt--and Blair, who was wearing blue shorts with a red and white striped t-shirt that was a fashion crime in progress.  Standing next to each other, their clothing patterns could give a faint-hearted person vertigo.

Jim nodded and headed out to the driveway, where he found Starsky relating in painstaking detail how he and Hutch had busted drug dealers at the fireworks display three years earlier, while Blair listened in rapt fascination.  All gestures and expressions, Starsky was definitely giving Jim flashes of a 50-something Blair.

"Hutch is loading up the other cooler," Jim said, moving up to slide his arms around Blair from behind.  He nuzzled the sun-warmed hair, which was caught in a loose ponytail.  "He wanted to know if you packed everything else."

"Radio, blankets, books, and the chess board," Blair itemized.

"Chess board?"  Jim raised his eyebrows a little.

"The fireworks don't start until after dark, and we're gonna be there a long time before that to get a good spot.  Blair's been wanting to learn, so Hutch and I are gonna teach him."  Starsky's face brightened.  "You play chess, Jim?"

"I used to.  Haven't for years."

"Good, you can brush up," Starsky concluded, turning away to open the trunk to accommodate the cooler Hutch was carrying outside.

"Chess?"  Jim asked Blair in a whisper.  Blair just smiled.  "I thought you already knew how to play chess."

"I'm not all that good at it...and besides, I think my dad wants to teach me something," Blair said, shrugging.  "Which is kinda neat," he added.

"You're kinda neat yourself, Chief."  Blair pulled Blair in for a kiss, which deepened a little more than either planned.

"Guess the honeymoon's over.  You never kiss me in the driveway," Starsky groused at Hutch, putting the cooler in the trunk.

"Yeah, well, they don't know what I did to you behind the garage last night, so we're still one up on them," Hutch countered, chortling as Starsky's face flushed to nicely match the red in his shirt.

"Or what I did to you on the hood'a your car an hour later."

"At least I don't have to take it to Merle's to get the shocks tested now--we know the front end's in good shape," Hutch replied, laughing.

"Rear's lookin' mighty fine from here," Starsky retorted, watching Hutch's white shorts in motion as he headed back for the house to get the last picnic basket.

"Pervert," Hutch called back without turning around.

"Sweet-talker."  Starsky laughed, then turned back to his son and Jim, who were wrapping up their little interlude, looking a bit self-conscious when they felt a pair of eyes on them.

"Guess I shouldn't make out with your son in your driveway, huh?"  Jim joked.

"Beats makin' out with him in the neighbor's driveway."  Unruffled, Starsky made room for the last of the stuff Hutch brought outside, and closed the trunk of the Torino--which had a small American flag flying from the antenna.

"So this fireworks display is really spectacular, huh?"  Jim asked, getting into the back set of the Torino with Blair.

"Maybe we'll actually see it this year," Starsky said calmly, starting up the car, backing out.

"What happened last year?"  Blair asked, having already heard the tale of the drug dealers three years earlier.

"It rained and we went back to the car.  You can still see the fireworks from the parking lot near the park..."  Hutch cleared his throat, "if you look out the windows."

"And they're not steamed up," Starsky added, flexing his eyebrows.  "Now me, I got fireworks year round, so what do I need with some big explosions once a year?"  Starsky tugged on a chunk of blond hair, grinning ear to ear.

"You can be really *banal* sometimes, Starsk,"  Hutch chided, the smile almost audible in his voice.

"I'll take that as a compliment.  Besides, at my age, spendin' the Fourth'a July in the backseat of the car with a cute blond is reason to brag."

"Oh, for God's sake, Starsk."  Hutch dropped his forehead into his hand, but his shoulders were vibrating slightly with laughter.

"You think you'll still wanna spent the Fourth of July in the backseat with *me* twenty years from now?"  Blair asked, sliding over until Jim flopped an arm around his shoulders.

"I want to spend every Fourth of July with you, anywhere you are, baby," Jim responded, swooping down for another kiss.

The exaggerated, harmonized "Awwwww" from the front seat got the group going on the first of many shared laughs of their holiday together.

"Whoa, man, Travolta flashback," Blair said, laughing as he handed the snapshot back to his father, who was sitting on an old kitchen chair at the laundry table in the basement.  Blair had chosen to risk a stiff butt by sitting on the basement floor itself, gleefully digging through a collection of his father's and Hutch's old photos.

"Hey, I looked good in that suit," Starsky objected, evaluating the photo of himself in a white suit with a midnight blue silk shirt, complete with gold chains inside the neck, which was opened nearly to the waist.  Hutch had snapped the photo before they started out on an undercover assignment that required the garish garb.  "Hutch said I had a better butt than Travolta."  Starsky grinned evilly.  "'Course then he had to explain how he knew by comparison."

"Bet he came up with something," Blair said, confident that his fairly quick-witted adopted second father had probably defended himself admirably.

"Oh, he did okay."

"Well?"

"There are one or two memories you don't need to hear about, junior.  Just gimme another picture."  Starsky was actually blushing a little, and while he would have paid good money to hear the story behind that, Blair decided not to press.  He found another photo of both men in outfits that were probably considered very chic for the disco era.

"You were really into the whole disco scene, huh?"  Blair asked, barely stifling a laugh.

"Hey, the disco scene was no tackier than some'a that hip hop stuff with the baggy jeans and hats on backwards.  At least our pants stayed up when we were out on the dance floor."

"Yeah, you just couldn't exhale till you took 'em off," Blair said, giving in to the laugh.  Starsky had to smile then, shaking his head a little and putting the photo in the appropriate pile.  Hutch had been on him to organize the carton of photos he'd accumulated over the years, and Blair had happily volunteered to help with the project on this visit, liking the idea of revisiting some of the highlights of his father's life.

"You would'a been six years old when that one was taken," Starsky said, looking down at Blair.

"Really?"  Blair took off his glasses and sighed.

"Every time I look at my old pictures, or somethin' from back in the past, I keep thinkin' how old you would'a been, or what you were doin' then, what grade you were in..."  Starsky set the photo aside, looking at it for a moment before turning his attention back to Blair.

"I really regret all the years we didn't have," Blair said a little sadly.

"So do I, kiddo."  Starsky smiled then.  "But we've got a lotta years left in us, so better late than never, huh?"

"Definitely."  Blair smiled back and put his glasses back on, locating another photo.  "Oh, now this is classy," he said, handing Starsky a photo of Hutch in an outfit that made him look like a somewhat exaggerated stereotype of a Texan.

"Charlie McCabe, Texas tycoon," Starsky said, laughing.  "Those must be all'a the shots I kept of our undercover stuff.  Whenever we went under as somethin' interesting, I took a picture, or made Hutch take one'a me.

"Oh, brother," Blair said, handing the next one up to his father.  Dressed in a 70's-style black tuxedo, complete with a ruffled shirt and large black bow tie, this younger image of his father sported a substantial dark mustache.

"Ramon."

"Ramon?"  Blair looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

"I was under as a dance instructor.  Stuck on a fake mustache and a phony accent and taught a lotta nice ladies how to tango."

"I bet you did."

"In the dance studio, smart ass."  Starsky nudged Blair's leg with his foot.  "You always been such a smart aleck?"

"Most of my life, yeah," Blair responded, laughing.

"Good.  Better proof than the DNA test that you're my kid."

 HairBoy:  So how long is Hutch going to be in San Francisco?

GTorino74:  Too fucking long.

HairBoy:  You said that the last time he was gone overnight.  How long is "too fucking long" exactly?

GTorino74:  Three days.  I can't believe I got sick.  I never get sick.  Well, almost never.

HairBoy:  You probably forgot your Geritol. <ducking under table>

GTorino74:  You better duck, you little brat.  Did I actually admit you were MY kid? ;-)

HairBoy:  Sorry.  I got the DNA results to prove it.  You're the guilty party.

GTorino74:  Well, I had to leave someone behind to carry on the family dynasty.

HairBoy:  Heard from Uncle Nick lately?

GTorino74:  He writes to you more than he does to me.  You tell me what he's doing.  Probably getting another degree in the prison library.

HairBoy:  He'd like to hear from you.

GTorino74:  He hung up on me the last time we talked on the phone.

HairBoy:  He said you were lecturing him again.  He said that since he's over 50 himself now, he's not listening to any more of your lectures.  Maybe you ought to try *talking* for a change?  Or listening?  Now there's a concept!

GTorino74:  You don't know what you're talking about, kiddo, so let it go.  Nick's been a screw up most of his life.  I love him.  He's my brother.  Him going to prison just about killed your grandmother.  What's worse is that he deserved to be there a hell of a lot sooner than he was.  He's been peddling hot stereos for years.

HairBoy:  I hope the feds don't monitor these messages.

GTorino74:  As much as they pissed me off over the years, not everything is a government conspiracy.  Besides, I'm a *retired* cop now.  I retired so I could travel with my partner.  First decent speaking engagement he gets, I end up with the flu.

GTorino74:  I hate my life.

HairBoy:  How're you feeling?

GTorino74:  Sick and sexually frustrated.

HairBoy:  Same as last night, huh?

GTorino74:  More or less.  How's Rambo doin?

HairBoy:  Dad.

GTorino74:  I meant Jimbo.  Freudian slip.

HairBoy:  He's fine.  He's watching TV right now.  He said to tell you he says 'hello'.

GTorino74:  What he really said is 'how long are you gonna be?'

HairBoy:  How'd you know that?

GTorino74:  Because it's what I always yell at Hutch when I'm watching TV and he gets going on that damn computer and doesn't come up for air for three or four hours.  I like to make out on the commercials, and that's sort of boring by yourself.

HairBoy:  Dad, there are some things I don't need to know.

GTorino74:  Sorry.  I forgot.  Once you found out I was your father, I was neutered.  Hutch and I are just friends sharing expenses. <LOL>

HairBoy:  Sorry.  I guess I sounded a little immature there. :-P

GTorino74:  Nah, that's okay.  Makes me feel like a dad.  If you didn't get grossed out by thinking about your parents having sex, there'd probably be something wrong with you.

HairBoy:  Hutch'll be home then day after tomorrow?

GTorino74:  Yeah, probably about 4 in the afternoon.  You have classes tomorrow?

HairBoy:  I teach one at ten in the morning, and I have a seminar I have to attend at 2.  You want "do lunch"? I'll be in my office from about noon until 1:30 or so.

GTorino74:  You don't have to babysit me.  I'll be okay.  I'm just earning stock in the Kleenex company and picking up a lot of good decorating tips from Martha Stewart.  (How do you make a gagging face on this thing?)

HairBoy:  My personal favorite is X-6

GTorino74:  Or 8-X  That's when your eyes buldge because you're holding it and trying not to spew.

HairBoy:  Thanks, Dad.  I'll remember that one. <LOL>

GTorino74:  I ordered Hutch some stuff off the shopping network.

HairBoy:  He'll send it back anyway.  He always sends that stuff back.

GTorino74:  Not this.

HairBoy:  So, give, what'd you get him?

GTorino74:  A watch.  It's one of the kind with the pink and green gold leaves on the face.

HairBoy:  Black Hills Gold?

GTorino74:  If you say so. <g>  It'll look great on him.  I paid for the overnight delivery, so it better be here tomorrow.  Huggy's gonna take it out and have it engraved for me.

HairBoy:  That's really nice.

GTorino74:  I miss the old fart.  Can't help thinking...

HairBoy:  What?

GTorino74:  Nothing.  Just depressing old fart stuff.

HairBoy:  Tell me.

GTorino74:  Just that if he didn't come home, I couldn't live like this.  I miss him so much...  It's dumb.  We oughtta be over that at our ages.

HairBoy:  Over what?  Being in love?  I don't want to get over that just because I get older.  I want to feel that way about Jim forever, and I want him to feel that way about me.

GTorino74:  I guess since what happened...he has to take a plane, and it scares the shit out of me.  If we were goin together I wouldn't be worried.  At least...

HairBoy:  You'd go out together?

GTorino74:  Yeah.  And that'd be okay.

HairBoy:  He'll be okay, Dad.  He'll be home soon.  He's gonna love the watch.

GTorino74:  You think so?  I mean about the watch?

HairBoy:  About all of it.  I miss Jim when he goes on a stakeout and I can't go with him.  I know how you feel.

GTorino74:  You sure about lunch tomorrow?

HairBoy:  Yeah, sure, I'll be sitting at my desk eating a sandwich or something anyway, so let's talk.  Beats Marth Stewart, doesn't it?

GTorino74:  And Jerry Springer.

HairBoy:  Tell me you don't watch Jerry Springer.

GTorino74:  What would you rather watch?  How to make a cake with a Barbie doll in the middle of it or two tattooed biker chicks having a cat fight?

HairBoy:  Point taken.  I gotta go.  Jim's just made another snack run to the kitchen, which is his subtle way of orbiting the table and getting my attention.  You gonna be okay tonight?  You seem kind of down.

GTorino74:  I'll be fine.  I got my Tylenol handy and there's an old horror movie on the late show.

HairBoy:  Okay.  Talk to you tomorrow.  Get some sleep.  Tell Hutch we said "HI" when he calls.

GTorino74:  I will.  Thanks for babysitting a sick old man.

HairBoy:  I owe you one after showing up at your house with pneumonia last year.

GTorino74:  No you don't.  That's a dad thing.  Comes with the territory.  You were just making up for all the times you *didn't* throw up on me when you were little.

HairBoy:  I know it sounds smarmy, but after what happened a couple weeks ago, I just keep remembering that it's important to say things to people...

HairBoy:  I love you, Dad.

GTorino74:  I love you too, kiddo. :-)  See you at lunch tomorrow.  Tell Rambo I said "HI".

HairBoy:  Dad <ominous warning tone here>

GTorino74:  JIMBO.  Happy now? ;-)

HairBoy:  Goodnight, Dad.

GTorino74:  Goodnight, Blair.

GTorino has left the room.

******

Blair shut down the computer and ambled over to the couch where Jim was dozing in front of the TV.

"Hey.  I thought you were going to be on that thing all night."  Jim pulled Blair down next to him and cuddled him close.

"My dad's going a little nuts with Hutch gone to that speaking engagement in San Francisco, and he's still sick."

"He's okay, though--just the flu, right?"

"Yeah, he's okay."  Blair thought about how much his father was missing Hutch, and even though he firmly believed in *not* living his life in fear, he admitted, if only to himself, that he could understand his father's nagging unease with Hutch's air travel plans.  The wound was very fresh for the whole country, and everyone needed time to cope with the thoughts of what happened...if there was, indeed, a way to cope at all.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"  Jim ran a hand through Blair's hair, kissing the top of his head.

"I'm just glad you're here.  With me."  Blair squeezed Jim tighter.

"Would be anywhere else," Jim said through a yawn.  "Think we ought to head upstairs?"

"I thought you wanted to see that news show tonight."

"I can pass on that.  I've seen all the anchormen I need to see for the rest of my life in the last couple weeks.  Let's go to bed."

*******

Tucked together under the comforter, Jim was slipping off to sleep while Blair was still awake, listening to the rain on the windows, and feeling Jim's warm body wrapped around his from behind.  Their lovemaking had been relaxed and uninventive, just a lot of nice kissing and groping and stroking.  //Married people's sex,// Blair thought, grinning to himself as he closed his eyes and sighed happily.

As he was falling asleep, he thought of his father, and was glad Hutch would be back with him soon.  Two hearts that share a single rhythm are out of tune until they beat together again.

The flight had been delayed two hours, and the increased security at the airport had made the trip even more tiring when the journey began at two in the morning.  Hutch wondered what part of his brain had been sleeping when he'd had the inspiration to surprise Starsky by arriving home early instead of simply spending the final night in the hotel and flying home as planned--on a nice, sane flight at ten the next morning.

//Romantic old fool.  He's probably sound asleep and you won't want to wake him up anyway.// Hutch sighed audibly in the back of the taxi.

"Long day, huh?"  the driver asked amiably.

"Long three days.  Glad to be heading home."

"Got somethin' good to go home to, huh?"  the older man asked, chortling.

"The best," Hutch said, smiling as he thought of slipping into bed and wrapping himself around Starsky.

"Been married a long time?  It's been forty years for me.  Just celebrated the anniversary last week.  Married my high school sweetheart."

"Congratulations.  We've been together over thirty years, but married for twenty-two of those."

"Lotsa marriages don't last anymore.  Too bad," the older man concluded, shaking his head.  "Got any kids?"

"Just one," Hutch said. //He's my partner's long-lost love-child and we adopted him when he was 29,// Hutch added mentally, smiling.  Still, he'd have given no other response than to count Blair as their son.  He shared no biology with Blair Sandburg, but Blair was Starsky's flesh and blood, and there could be no greater bond tying him to Hutch.

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy.  He's 32 this year.  He's working on his Ph.D."

"Wow.  My daughter's a lawyer, and my son's a teacher.  Worked a lotta overtime to pay that tuition, but it's worth it.  They're great kids.  Got three grandkids now.  How about you?"

"No, no grandchildren."

"Nice area out here.  Nice ocean views.  I've been thinkin' maybe when we retire, my wife an I could get a little place out here."

"It's a great area.  We love it."  Hutch was relieved to see their driveway, and as the cab came to a stop, he handed the driver twice the fare.  "Get your wife some flowers, huh?"

"Gee, thanks, Mister.  You want help with your bags?"

"No, I got it."  Hutch knew he was grinning like an idiot, fumbling with his travel bag and briefcase as he got out of the taxi.

"Have a good night," the cabbie said with a knowing wink.

"They're all good nights," he said honestly, smiling as he hurried up to the door.

Once he was inside, he was surprised to see the light still burning in the living room.  Starsky had been sick, and since he was feeling a bit better now, Hutch fully expected his partner would be in that phase of catching up on sleep.

Starsky was curled up on the couch, wearing one of Hutch's robes, sound asleep.  He was still a little pale, and the flu had worn a few pounds off him, but he looked better than he had when Hutch reluctantly left him to fulfill the speaking engagement that was supposed to provide them a romantic getaway to San Francisco before Starsky's virus had made its ill-timed appearance.

Kneeling by the couch, Hutch kissed the sleeping mouth gently.  He watched as Starsky blinked sleepily, then reached out to touch Hutch's face with his fingertips.

"Am I dreaming?"  Starsky asked genuinely.

"No, babe.  I'm home.  Couldn't stay away from you any longer, and there was a flight tonight, so I changed my reservations."  Hutch accepted the eager, almost desperate hug that earned him.  He wasn't really all that comfortable kneeling on the floor, but Starsky was clinging to him fiercely, so he gave in and hugged back, matching the pressure.

"Glad you're okay," Starsky mumbled against Hutch's neck.  "Missed you, darlin'.  Somethin' awful."

"I'm fine, Starsk.  And I missed you, too.  Hated every minute I was gone."  He pulled back, smiling, but his expression became serious again when he looked into his partner's troubled face.  "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I was just worried about ya.  Y'know, with what's going on...takin' planes..."

"Hey, I'm fine.  The security was top-notch.  Nothing to worry about."  Hutch tugged on the lapel of the robe.  "You throw up on all of yours?" he teased.

"Just on one of 'em," Starsky answered honestly.  "This one still smells like you.  When I'm tryin' to get to sleep..."  Starsky paused, blushing a little, "it feels more like it does when you're here, close to me."

"I'm really beat.  Let's go to bed for real, huh?"  Hutch suggested, standing up and holding out a hand to pull Starsky up.  Together, they made their way to the bedroom.  Starsky shed the robe, and in just his briefs, climbed into bed.  Hutch shed his own clothing, down to his underwear, and got into bed next to his partner.

"I got you a present.  Can you stay awake for that?"  Starsky asked, grinning a little.  Hutch had a few goodies in his bag for Starsky, too.

"I think I can manage."  Hutch frowned.  "When did you go out shopping?  You were supposed to stay home and take it easy."

"Don't worry, Mom.  I didn't go out."  Starsky opened the night stand drawer on his side and pulled out a small wrapped box, handing it to Hutch.  He leaned up on one elbow and so did Hutch, unwrapping the box and opening it.  Inside was a gold watch, accented with four little leaves of green and rose gold, two at the twelve and two at the six.  "Look on the back," Starsky prodded, deciding Hutch had spent enough time examining the front.

On the back was an engraved message, the letters tiny enough that Hutch put on the glasses Starsky handed him so he could read them: "Love you more with every tick. S."

"I know it's kinda corny, but I love ya more every day, darlin'."

"Starsk, it's...I love it."  Hutch pulled Starsky into his arms and held him close.  "I love you."

"So, what'd you bring me?" Starsky asked, drawing a hearty laugh out of Hutch.  He squeezed his lover a little tighter before letting him go and kissing him soundly.

"Who says I brought you anything?"

"You always do, you big softie.  Now what'd you get me?"

Hutch got up with a little groan and went to his travel bag, pulling out a couple of bags.  Unsure of how persnickety airport security would be, he hadn't bothered to have the items wrapped.

"Two presents?"  Starsky sat up now, stuffing a couple pillows behind himself.  "What'd I do to deserve two, huh?"  Starsky asked rhetorically, and Hutch thought of a number of witty retorts.  Instead, he opted for the truth.

"You deserve hundreds, but two were all that would fit in the bag," Hutch said, leaning over for another kiss.

"Gettin' you home early is the best present of all, babe," Starsky responded, snuggling into Hutch's arms, temporarily ignoring the packages.  His disinterest in them didn't last long.  Still leaning against Hutch, in the loose circle of his arms, Starsky opened the first bag.  In it was a pair of dark teal silk boxers.

"I stopped into a store to pick up a couple things I forgot, and I saw these.  I just kept picturing you in that color."

"Good thing I lost that ten pounds I packed on, or you'd be seein' 'em with a nice little bulge of gut over the top."

"I didn't mind that little bulge of gut.  Besides, your beautiful ass still fits in my hands just like always."  Hutch slid his hands down to demonstrate, and Starsky's arms came around him, pulling him in for a long kiss.

"You've got big hands," Starsky joked, grinning.

"You're impossible," Hutch said, laughing.  "And sexy as hell."

"You're still the most beautiful blond in the world."  Starsky rested his forehead against Hutch's.  "I never get tired of lookin' at you."

"You're good for my ego, even if you are biased," Hutch responded, kissing Starsky again.  "Come on, open the other one."

"Okay, okay," Starsky said, feigning irritation at being rushed.  He opened the other bag and took out the box inside.  "The Golden Gate Bridge?"

"It's a model.  I know it's been a few years since you did a model ship, but I thought maybe...well, I figured we've got more time on our hands now, so I thought maybe we could work on this together.  It's supposed to be three feet long when it's done."

"I never saw anything like this.  This is great, Hutch.  Thanks." Starsky carefully moved his treasures to the floor near his side of the bed, and both men turned out the lights on their respective night stands.  Hutch pounced on Starsky then, smothering him with kisses and wrapping him in an embrace so tight that escape was impossible--not that any attempt was made.
"I wish I wasn't half asleep on my feet," he whispered against Starsky's ear.

"Tell you what.  You get some sleep now, and we won't get up at all tomorrow," Starsky offered, flexing his eyebrows.  "I've been hot for you for three days."

"Starsky, you've been sick most of that time."

"Okay, so I've only been *hot* for you for the last several hours since I started feeling better.  But I'm still gettin' horny for that gorgeous blond bod of yours."

"When we wake up, I'm going to make love to you all day."

"Good.  Then I can make love to you all night."

"At our ages, that could kill us both," Hutch joked.

"Yeah, but when they find us, think of the big smiles on our faces," Starsky teased back, moving in for another kiss.

 "Is there some kind of bizarre karmic rule that the only time the air conditioning breaks down in this place is when it's 95 fucking degrees outside?" Jim complained, standing in the kitchen in his boxers, holding the refrigerator door open while he rubbed the cold bottle of beer over his chest.

"You oughtta try it with no dials and another two feet of hair," Blair retorted from his sprawl on the couch, as he ufastened the button on the cut-offs he was wearing.

"If I turn the dials down any lower, I'll be comatose."  Jim wandered into the living room and handed Blair a cold beer, which was already sweating almost as much as they were.

"Shit, I've had it."  Blair unzipped his shorts, and before Jim knew what was happening, there was Blair, flushed, damp and naked, lying on his couch.  It was the stuff of fantasies, but the overheated grouch that went with the delicious sight wasn't exactly part of the dream package.  He averted his eyes, and took a drink of his beer.

"Don't hold back, Sandburg.  Make yourself comfortable."

"I don't have anything you haven't seen before, and I'm dyin' here, man."

"I was thinking about the neighbors."

"Unless they're sentinels, we don't need to worry about anybody out there," he gestured at the balcony doors, "and unless they've got x-ray eyes, nobody in the building's gonna care.  Besides, at this point, if somebody gets a cheap thrill ogling my dick, they can go for it.  I'm gonna die in a few minutes anyway."

"You can't die here, chief.  Think about what you'll smell like in this heat."

"Probably not much worse than I smell now."  Blair sat up, then pulled his hair up off his neck.  "That's better.  Makes me want to get it all buzzed off."

Blair glanced over at Jim, noting the glazed expression on the other man's face as he stared at the naked man on his couch.

"I was thinking of getting Simon's initials tatooed on my ass at the same time," Blair said, watching to see if there was any reaction from Jim.  Still, the other man stared blankly, mouth slightly agape.  Convinced now that Jim was either dead from the heat and just hadn't tipped over yet, or was totally zoned out, Blair went over to the other couch where he sat and crouched beside it.  "Uh, Jim?"  He felt a little panicky to think of a zone-out happening now, when it had seemed such a thing of the past.  Maybe the heat really was too intense for a sentinel--but that made no sense!  How did they survive the jungle if they couldn't stand the heat?

"Jim, come on, man, focus on my voice.  That's it, buddy.  Relax and breathe, man.  I know it's hot, but you've got to focus here, Jim," Blair said gently, his hand on Jim's arm.  Before long, Jim shook his head slightly, took in a mighty breath and stared at Blair for a moment.

Then two powerful arms locked around Blair's body, hauling him into Jim's lap.  Before he could get a sound out of his startled, parted lips, Jim's lips were over them, kissing hungrily, his hands sliding up Blair's sweaty back, then down again to cup his ass.

Not caring why this was happening, but reveling in the fact that it was, Blair raised up and straddled Jim's lap, this time swooping down on Jim's mouth and claiming it as decisively as Jim had just claimed his.  He felt a hot, hard erection that matched his own as he thrust against Jim, hands skimming over the muscular shoulders and up into the soft brown hair.

His climax approaching rapidly, Blair tore his mouth away and cried out Jim's name, throwing his head back, feeling Jim's mouth fasten on his throat as he shuddered his way to completion, bathing Jim's chest and stomach just as Jim came, soaking his own boxers and sucking hard on Blair's skin.  With a groan, Jim began to lick the bright passion mark, then moved back again for another shared kiss, this one infinitely more gentle than before.

"Blair...that was..."  Jim closed his eyes and sighed, then kissed the red spot on Blair's neck.

"Long overdue," Blair finished, pushing some damp hair back from Jim's forehead.

"I should have...*asked*...or something."

"My vote is to stick with the 'or something'.  It was a hell of a lot more fun than you asking," Blair responded, grinning.  Then, his expression sobered a little.  "Were we...uh...just working off a little stress here...or..."

"I...I've thought about this before," Jim admitted, almost wincing a little at the words.

"Join the club."  Blair swallowed hard, knowing he was going to take the risk of saying the scary words first.  "I...I love you, Jim."  He sat there a moment, heart pounding, barely noticing the unbearable sticky heat between their sated bodied, his hands resting on Jim's shoulders.  Jim's own powerful arms were still wrapped possessively around Blair's body.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Jim whispered, kissing Blair again.

"Sweetheart?"  Blair asked, smiling.

"I'm sorry, it just came out..."  Jim seemed flustered now, as if he'd done something wrong.  This time, Blair kissed him gently, with reassurance.

"I'm not sorry it came out.  I think I'm gonna like being your sweetheart."

"Well enough to do it for a lifetime?" Jim asked, his voice strained and quiet as he hesitantly looked into Blair's eyes.

"Just one?  I was hoping to have all of them with you."

"I think we should avoid rushing into a long-term commitment, Chief.  You know, we'll try it for this lifetime, and if it goes well, we'll get together next time around."

"Yeah, sounds good.  We'll give it one lifetime and see how it goes."

The two lovers barely noticed as the air conditioning rumbled to life, their bodies locked in a hot, passionate, lifetime embrace.

In the not-so-distant past, Jim Ellison could remember when a day off still meant getting up with the sunrise, just without the obligation of going in to work.  It was a day for playing catch-up on odd jobs and for being away from the criminal element of Cascade.  The last thing a person should want to do with a day like that was fritter it away in the sack.

Which was precisely what Sandburg elected to do with any free day that came his way when Jim hadn't managed to schedule something for him to do that dragged him out of bed at dawn.  Blair was cranky and bleary-eyed at best prior to ten a.m., but then he was a nightowl by nature, and flooring him before two in the morning was an effort.  Despite his nature, though, Jim had seen him up and running at full-speed on just a few hours of sleep.  Sometimes Blair's schedule made Jim feel worn out.

This morning though, Jim Ellison was learning the value of spending the morning of his day off in bed.  Letting all of his stress and fatigue drain away as he simply lay there in the first rays of the morning sun and listened to Blair's steady, sleeping respiration and the relaxed but strong beat of his heart.  He let his sense of vision open up to take in the bronze fire that was twined with the rich mahogany of the curls on the pillow next to his.  His sense of smell picked up the aura of sex...no...of *lovemaking*...the scent created by both of them.  He could smell himself on Blair, and Blair on himself, and he could see the slightly deeper color of the full lips, still a bit chafed from kissing that had lasted so long neither of them could keep track.

Warmth radiated from Blair, and yet he always seemed to seek Jim out, snuggling against him in the night as if it were January instead of September.  This morning was no exception, and Jim delighted in welcoming the still-sleeping body into his arms as Blair mumbled and groped and shifted until he'd found the human body-pillow that was Jim Ellison.  A hair-dusted arm and leg wrapped around him, as if to be sure he wouldn't make a run for it before the sleeping man rallied.

Jim smiled as his arm went around Blair's upper back and his hand rested on the silky skin of Blair's shoulder.

"Jim."  It was little more than a sigh, a breath, something most men wouldn't hear at all, even at this close proximity.  Jim could feel a little smile against his chest.  Blair was still sleeping, but he was dreaming...dreaming of making love, dreaming of Jim...

How incredible to have your dream, dream about you, Jim thought, smiling and kissing the soft curls near his face.

Get up early on a day off?

Fat chance.

I had a lot of misgivings inviting those two to a party like this.  It's awkward enough to introduce your son and his male partner to your friends--and I know that sounds horrible, but most of these stuffed shirts still find it shocking if a man has an ear pierced or wears his hair below his collar.  Which, of course, makes Blair something of a conversation piece aside from the speculation about his relationship with Jim.

I tried hard not to like Blair.  I finally have some hope of reconciling with my eldest son, having him show up at social functions like this once in a while...and he comes up with a boyfriend.  Of all the women in Washington State, he has to pick a man.  The difficult part of this is, I like Blair.  He's smart, he's genuine, and he cares about people.  He's ethical.  Ironically, despite his appearance, he would make one hell of a CEO.  His people would love him and he'd know how to get the maximum performance out of them while making them think it was all their idea.

Believe it or not, the shaggy little guy knows how to work a room.  He's gotten old Ruth Barnes loosened up and chattering away about the safari she took with her husband, and he already knows Al Stanford because he's on the Board of Regents out at Rainier.  They spent better than half and hour talking about what *really* should be included in the facilities for the new science building.

All in all, Blair's having a better time than Jimmy, which isn't too surprising.  Jimmy always hated gatherings like these, and five minutes after arriving tonight and enduring some polite introductions, his finger was running along the inside of his collar, and he'd found a convenient corner handy to the buffet table.  Ironic that my...son-in-law?...is taking ownership of this group while my son is taking ownership of the stuffed mushrooms.  Life has a sick sense of humor.

Jim probably gets his attitude toward these parties from me.  I'm standing here criticizing him while I've stationed myself behind the wet bar for the last hour, serving drinks and having 30-second superficial conversations with the people who'll sign the guest register at my funeral.  Black thought, that is.  Join a bunch of community organizations, work your ass off twelve hours a day, and you'll have a funeral procession that causes traffic tie-ups.  Your sons might not show up, but two hundred of your closest friends will, and by God, your obituary will take up a column *and a half* in the local paper--hopefully longer than the guy who retired from your rival company.  Maybe you'll even rate a news article in the Business section.

I guess I'm one of the lucky ones.  At least my son isn't totally unforgiving, and I'm not dead yet, so we've got a chance.  Which is something else that makes it impossible for me to dislike that one incongruous long-haired, earringed 30-something half-hippie/half-academic that sticks out in this group like a sore thumb--I know damn well that Blair has played a large part in my reconciliation with Jim.  I know he's doing it because he thinks it's best for Jim, but whatever his motives, I'm grateful.

"Hey, Bill, Ruth needs another martini."  Blair set her empty glass on the bar.  "Where's Jim?"

"Giving the buffet table police protection," I told him, mixing the drink he'd ordered for the portly socialite who had gotten her meathooks back into him for another prolonged chat.  I debated if I should tell him Ruth had an affair with their 22-year-old yard man last year, but decided against it.  Blair can take care of himself, and old Ruth is slowing down in her old age.  I think the yard man took a lot out of her.

"So, uh, what's the story with Ruth?  Is she one of these Mrs. Robinson types?"  Blair asked, accepting the drink I handed back to him to take to her.  I guess I was gaping at him, because he laughed.  "She's already invited me over to see her souvenirs from the safari, appraise her Mayan art, and tutor her grandson.  I kinda figured she wasn't that friendly with everybody."

"Take Jim over with you to talk to her," I suggested, smiling.  Was I actually suggesting he emphasize my son was his lover?  Shit, what did I put in that last drink I mixed for myself??

"Yeah, that oughtta take care of it," Blair agreed, chuckling a little.  "Look, Bill, I really want to thank you for inviting me to come with Jim.  I mean, this party...it's all your friends, and a lot of them have probably figured out that I'm more than Jim's work partner by now."

"Jim wasn't going to come without you," I said, and then I realized I'd made it sound as if inviting Blair had been something I'd done under duress--truthfully, it had been at the outset, so I supposed there was little point in backpedaling.  "I think the other guests have enjoyed meeting you," I added.  "I'm glad you could make it."  I meant it, though it surprised me a little.  The evening had been a bit less...dull with Blair's occasional animated story-telling, which seemed to draw the guests around him like kids around a campfire listening to ghost stories.  This is a well-traveled lot, but Blair's been to more than one obscure spot none of them have visited.  I wonder how many travel agents will be put to work tomorrow morning...

"Thanks.  I'm glad I came."

"So's Ruth," I said, laughing.  Laughing was something I usually didn't do at these stilted gatherings.  Suddenly, the thought of including Blair in any social invitation I extended to Jim didn't seem so bad.

"I can't believe this.  I'm an idiot."

Ignoring the statement from behind him, Jim yawned and rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the television.  It had been a bitch of a day, and now Blair was back at the table, glued to that damn laptop.  Sometimes Jim envisioned it as some sort of horror-movie-like appendage that sprouted from Blair's chest.  He was almost never separated from it.

"There's no one else on earth this stupid.  I should be killed.  No.  Maybe beheaded and my head left on a spike to rot on the bridge leading to the village."

//There's a mental image to take to bed with you,// Jim thought, envisioning some of the more graphic historical films he'd seen in his life.

"Shit, I should just die now and do everyone a favor.  Just shoot me now."

"Before I do that, you want to tell me why?"  Jim finally responded, sensing that the monologue of self-flagellation was going to continue until he broke down and participated in Blair's nightmare, whatever it was.

"I cross-posted something."

"Oh."  Jim pondered that a moment.  He'd done that once before someone informed him he shouldn't do it, and once or twice more to a couple different law enforcement lists he was on.  No one had called for his death yet.

"You don't understand."

"I know what cross-posting is.  It's when you post as both a man and a woman, right?"  Jim asked, feigning sincerity.  He smiled when he heard Blair chuckle despite his conviction that the world was about to end over this latest virtual disaster.

"Yeah, that's right, Jim," Blair confirmed, still smiling.  "I was supposed to notify a bunch of my anthro lists about a lecture that's coming up at Rainier, and I forgot to change the settings and it showed up as this massive cross-posting."

"It was a *lecture announcement*?  The way you were carrying on, I figured it was a detailed account of our last sexual encounter cross-posted to your Anthro 211 student discussion list."

"Oh, man, do *not* even joke about that."

"Since when do you e-mail the details of our sex life to *anyone*?"

"Since I started sending you those dirty e-mails on your Yahoo address."

"Oh, right."  Jim swallowed.  "Maybe that's not such a good idea."  He got up and moved over to where Blair sat.  "Maybe you need a break."  Jim turned Blair's chair, with Blair in it, around so he sat sideways next to the table.  Crouching in front of Blair, Jim reached for the fly of Blair's jeans, and in record time, had them open and was freeing Blair's somewhat languid cock from its confines.

"Jim...what--?"

"Just relax and enjoy, baby."  Jim engulfed the length of Blair's cock in his mouth, sucking eagerly, taking in the sounds of Blair's pleasured moans as he writhed in the chair under the passionate assault.  He managed to slide his hand into the partial shelter of denim and cotton and fondled Blair's balls gently, teasing and rolling them in his hand until he felt Blair's body stiffen and heard his shout just as Blair came.  Jim swallowed all he had to give, and when he was spent and sated, released the lax cock with a wet pop.

"Your turn," Blair said, still panting.

"Up we go."  Jim hoisted his languid partner out of his chair and led him to the couch, depositing him there on his back and peeling jeans and boxers off in one smooth motion.  He shed his own pants and underwear and kicked them aside with Blair's.  Blair pulled his knees up and apart and Jim reached under the couch and found the tube of K-Y they'd stashed there.

In Blair's relaxed state, it didn't take long to prepare him, and soon Jim was sliding into that welcoming, slick heat, feeling Blair's legs wrap around him as he leaned in to kiss Blair while starting a firm, steady rhythm of thrusts into his willing body.  As his cock rubbed over Blair's prostate, he could see a renewed interest growing in Blair's awakening cock, so he grasped it and pumped it, loving the way Blair's knuckles were going white where he gripped the throw on the back of the couch.

"God, Jim...yeah, do it...oh, man, that's good..."  Blair gasped, sliding his hands into Jim's hair and pulling him down for another kiss.

Jim felt his climax coming, and he let it wash over him, a couple of deep-throated shouts signaling the completion of another incredible union with his lover.  No matter how many times they did this, it was always exciting, always beautiful.  Just as his own climax was waning, Blair shouted and came a second time, his seed spilling over Jim's pumping hand.

"Wow."  Blair said, grinning.  His eyes were also drooping tiredly.  Jim unbuttoned Blair's shirt and stripped it off the unresisting body, then pulled his t-shirt over his head and left Blair lying there, completely naked and utterly sated.  He paused only briefly to shed his own shirt and t-shirt.  Then, grabbing the throw off the back of the couch, he shifted them around until he was holding Blair and had the blanket tucked around them.

"Love you, sweetheart," he said contentedly, kissing Blair's forehead.  "Think you'll e-mail me about this tomorrow?"  he teased.

"I promise I won't crosspost it if I do."  Blair laughed.

"One more thing.  Your asshole doesn't glisten."

"What?"  Blair raised up a little.  "What are you talking about?"

"You keep talking about your 'glistening hole'.  First of all, unless you're a giraffe, how the hell do you know if your hole is 'glistening', and furthermore, your asshole isn't a diamond."

"I don't believe you.  I take time to write you graphic e-mails to keep things hot between us and all of a sudden you're a literary critic?"

"It's just that now when I look at you all lubed up, I keep expecting you to...*twinkle* down there or something."

"I never said it was a 'twinkling' hole.  'Twinkling' is different than 'glistening'."

"Not much."

"Then why isn't the song 'Glisten, Glisten, Little Star'?  Glistening.  Shiny."

"Shiny I could see."

"I'm trying to be colorful here.  If shiny gets you going, then 'SHINY' it is.  My hole may only be 'shiny' from here on out."

"If you can figure out a way to make it glisten, I want to see it."

"Yeah, well, I might've done that before I was insulted."

"What if I said 'please'?"  Jim reached low and slid a long finger into the slick opening, rubbing the sensitized passage.

"Uh...oh, yeah, more...faster,"  Blair was writhing with the finger now, humping against Jim, though the friction was more pleasant than promising.  Both men were a little too sleepy for round three.

"I was just kidding, baby.  You can write it 'flashing like a neon sign' and it's okay with me."

"'My hole was a flashing neon sign that read 'vacancy', and Jim's cock was a weary--but extremely tall and rigid--traveller, seeking shelter and...uh...vibration'."

"You're one sick man, Sandburg," Jim said through his laughter.

"That's why you love me."

"No--you make my heart laugh.  That's why I love you, Blair."

From the screen of a certain laptop in Cascade, WA:

Andrea wrote:

> Actually I think Glistening could be used in this way. to me it has the  meaning of something made shiny from moisture as in "the mucousy trail of  the garden Snail Glistens in the moonlight"

"See?  I *told* you!"  Blair punched Jim in the shoulder as they sat side by side on the couch, reading from the screen of the laptop.

"I can't believe you asked a discussion list about this," Jim shot back, indignant.

"I told them it was a debate two of my writer-friends were having!  Geez, you think I'm some sort of exhibitionist or something?  I don't want to talk about my asshole with a list full of people!"

"Fine.  Your hole glistens like the mucousy trail of the garden snail.  Man, that really gets *me* hard," Jim said sarcastically, rolling his eyes heavenward.

> Hard Shiny things like diamonds and gold Glitter.  "all that is gold does not glitter.."

"Fine.  Then if my hole glistens like a mucousy trail, your cock *glitters*--it's a hard, shiny thing, isn't it?"

"Not at the moment.  I'm still thinking about snail snot."

> And things that shine with their own faint light like stars and glowworms- Glimmer.

"You know, all we need is a little glow in the dark lube..."  Blair chewed his lip in genuine concentration.

"Don't even think about it.  No part of my genitalia is going to glimmer, and the day your asshole glimmers, I'm sending you back to the planet you came from."

> But eyes can glitter with malice (being nowhere near as hard as diamonds)  and can become shiny when moist-but for >some reason I'm not comfortable with  "his glistening eyes" I think its the mucous connection. But it doesn't have  to be >connected with the mucous image-Lube'll do as the moisturizing  element.

"Okay.  Let's get this straight.  Our eyes can glitter, or be shiny, but shouldn't glisten, but my asshole can glisten or shine.  Your cock and my hole could *both* glimmer if you didn't have too many hang-ups to try a little glow in the dark lube."

"Hang-ups?  Don't make me out the weird one here.  You're the one who consulted 700 of your closest friends to determine if your asshole could glisten.  I am *not* the pervert in this relationship."

"You didn't think I was a pervert last night when I had my tongue up your--"

"Let's just call a time-out, here, Chief."  Jim let out an exhausted sigh.  Then he looked at the laptop and laughed.

"What?"  Blair wanted to stay mad, but he could rarely retain any ill humor in the face of one of Jim's beautiful, genuine, laughing smiles.  He found the corners of his own mouth twitching upward.  "What?!"  he prodded.  Jim shut down the computer and set it on the coffee table.

"Come here, sweetheart."  Jim pulled Blair into his arms, kissing him deeply.  "You shine, glisten, glimmer, glow, glitter, sparkle and shine and I love you.  Can we go to bed now?"

"You're sure about not trying the glow in the dark--"  Blair was cut off by another kiss that dismissed thoughts of anything but love and Jim for many hours into the night.