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The Best Medicine 
by Lianne Burwell
May 1998
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Jim flopped on the bed, all his energy sapped by the trip up the stairs. 
He'd done well from the car to the loft, but Blair'd had to support most 
of his weight up the stairs to the bed. He'd tried to suggest that Jim 
sleep in his old bed, but Jim wasn't having anything to do with *that* 
idea. Sleeping in a hospital bed had been bad enough. Jim wanted his 
*own* bed, with his lover cuddled up next to him.

He still couldn't believe what had happened. He'd been chasing a criminal 
through a warehouse, and the perp had been grabbing at barrels, pulling 
them down as he went past. One had burst open in front of Jim, drenching 
him in some sort of chemical. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in 
the hospital, three days later, weak as a kitten with Simon and Blair 
sitting next to him with worried looks on their faces. Yet another case 
of the Sentinel having a strange reaction to chemical exposure.

It had taken several days to convince the doctors to let him go home. The 
only problem left was the lack of strength, but that was expected to 
return with time and rest. Jim sighed, and rolled towards the edge of the 
bed.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

Jim looked over at the stairs with a guilty look on his face. Blair was 
standing with his hands on his hips and a stern look on his face. "Going 
to the bathroom?"

"I don't think so, big guy. That's what the bedpan is for." Blair stooped 
to pull the aforementioned item from under the bed. Jim grimaced at the 
sight, but knew that Blair was right. He didn't have the strength to get 
back down the stairs to the bathroom, then up again. Obediently, he 
filled the despicable pan. Blair tucked the covers back around him, then 
took the bedpan downstairs to empty and wash.

"If you're good," Blair called from the kitchen, "I'll let you downstairs 
to use the bathroom tomorrow."

"Jee, thanks mom," Jim called back.

Blair was snickering as he came back up the stairs. In one hand he had 
the now-clean bedpan, which he slid back under the bed. In the other was 
a mug of soup - chicken of course. He helped Jim prop himself up with 
pillows, then held out the cup of soup, along with a handful of the 
supplements from the bottles on the bedside table. Jim wasn't crazy about 
them, but he'd been told they'd help him get his strength back faster, so 
he took them without complaint.

Drinking the soup drained what little strength he had left from the day. 
Blair tucked him in, then headed downstairs to turn the lights off and 
check the locks. Then he was back, stripped down to his boxers, and 
climbing into bed. Jim opened his arms and sighed happily as his imp 
cuddled in tight against him. *This* is what he had been missing during 
his hospital stay.

Jim buried his nose the in fragrant curls and inhaled deeply. Herbal 
shampoo, sweat, pheromones, soap, book dust, ink. All those things that 
added up to "Blair". He continued to breath, and thought hopeful thoughts.

Not a twinge. The doctors said he'd be a while regaining strength, but he 
hadn't managed a single erection since he woke up in the hospital. When 
he had broached the subject with the doctor, accompanied by much blushing 
and stammering, the grandfatherly old gentleman had laughed. Kindly, of 
course. This was normal, he had been told. Just wait a while. It'll come 
back. Damnit, he wanted it back *now*.

Blair shifted against him, erection pressing into Jim's hip. A hand 
dipped into Jim's boxers and cupped the limp genitals. He sighed.

"Sorry, love. No joy there. Doesn't mean you can't..." he added, brightly.

"No way, man. Too much like rape for my tastes. If you can't, then I 
won't."

Jim rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't be, Blair." Then he thought about it 
for a moment. "Well... If you won't make love to me..." Blair shook his 
head. "Then how about a little show."

"Show?"

"Hmmmm. As in, get rid of these covers and do something with that poker. 
Give me a little show, with a reward at the end. Something warm and full 
of protein?"

Blair was thinking about it, so he did his best imitation of his 
partner's puppydog eyes. The attempt made Blair laugh, but he kicked back 
the covers and pulled away from Jim a little.

"A show, huh? But I'm such a shy and retiring kind of guy..." Jim 
snorted, and rolled onto his side to watch.

Blair was lying on his back, hair fanned out across the pillow. His head 
was tilted so that he was looking at Jim, the smile on his face making 
Jim's breath shorten. One of Blair's hands drifted across his chest. 

At first all he did was comb his fingers through his chest hairs. Jim's 
fingers twitched, remembering the silky-coarse feeling. The thumb and 
index finger of each hand reached the nipples and rolled them, until they 
were firmly peaked, then pinched. Blair gasped, and arched off the 
mattress for a moment. He subsided, then repeated the maneuver. His 
erection was straining at the fabric of his boxers, a small damp spot 
already forming. Blair's tongue flicked out to moisten his lips, and Jim 
copied the movement unconsciously.

The hands started to slip lower, stroking at the firm stomach beneath its 
dusting of dark hair. The fingers teased at the ribs and abs in the light 
touches that Jim knew Blair loved. Jim's mouth had gone dry, waiting... 
waiting...

Finally, Blair touched his cock, but Jim nearly groaned in frustration. 
One of Blair's hands went to cup his balls, while the other hand stroked 
his cock. *Through* the boxers. Jim watched him do this for almost two 
minutes before he broke down.

"Please, baby..."

"Please what?" Blair replied with a smile.

"Get rid of the shorts?"

"You sure?"

"Yes I'm sure, damnit. I want to *see* you. *All* of you."

"If you insist..."

Blair smiled again, then hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his 
boxers. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled them down. Jim watched as 
they inched their way down, until Blair's erection popped free. Even 
after that, Blair insisted on dragging it out, moving slowly until the 
boxers were bunched around his ankles. Then, he slipped one foot out, and 
used the other to kick the boxers across the room. For once, Jim didn't 
make a fuss over the resulting "mess". He was too busy trying to keep his 
tongue from hitting his chest. He made a quick check. Nope, no twinges of 
life. Drat.

Blair reclined back against the pillows again. One of his hands reached 
down to cup his balls, rolling them back and forth like a set of ben-wa 
balls. He brought his other hand up to lick the palm. Jim was glad that 
*he* hadn't been asked to do the honors, because he wasn't sure he would 
have been able to produce enough spit.

Blair reached down to grasp his cock. Slow, firm strokes teased until his 
cock was dripping with pre-cum. The other hand tugged and squeezed at his 
balls. All the while, he kept eye-contact with Jim, seeming to judge 
which moves were having the greatest effect on the big man.

Jim was breathing in time with Blair by this point. His cock might not be 
responding, but the rest of his body was. Sweat prickled on his skin, and 
his own nipples were tightly peaked. His hands itched to reach out and 
touch, but he had asked for a show, and a show was what he was getting.

His eyes were getting heavy, though, and Blair seemed to sense it. The 
movements of his hand got faster, no longer teasing, and he brought his 
other hand up from his balls to his mouth and sucked on two fingers. 
Reaching down again, he traced a damp path from the base of his balls, 
back. When he reached his anus, he swirled a finger around it, then 
pushed it in. First one finger, then two, twisting them and thrusting 
them in a fucking motion. His hips were moving, out of control, and his 
head had rolled back on the pillow, his face caught in that grimace of 
pain-pleasure.

Then his hips thrust up, one last time, and he froze, arched in the air. 
His cock pulsed and spurted into the hand held cupped around the head, 
ready for the flow.

Panting, he subsided back onto the mattress. He held out the wet hand to 
Jim, who lapped at the salty liquid captured there. Jim carefully licked 
each finger clean, still keeping eye-contact with him. Blair groaned, and 
his cock twitched, but did not swell again.

When Blair's hand was completely clean, Blair pulled the comforter back 
up over the both of them, and curled up against Jim.

"Happy?" he asked.

Jim gave him a sleepy smile. "Always, when you're around. And, when I get 
better, I'll return the favor."

Blair's face lit up. "I'll hold you to that, love. Only, Next time, let's 
provide a better backdrop. A few candles, silk sheets, incense..."

Jim chuckled, and pulled him in tighter. As he drifted off to sleep, he 
murmured into the curls.

"You're the best medicine for me..."

END