Back bowing completely off the bed, Blair grabbed the wire that served as the railing for the loft bedroom and held on for all he was worth. A distant part of his mind wondered if that was why Jim had set it up that way, but the vast majority of the rest of him was in the middle of a serious sensual meltdown, except a part that seemed too hard to ever 'melt' again. It also seemed that his erection was the only part that Jim *wasn't* going to touch.
Not that 'touch' was the right word for what his lover was doing. True, it involved fingers on skin, but the contact was so, so, so *insubstantial* that half the time Blair wasn't sure if he was really being caressed or imagining it. "Persistence of sensation," he babbled, then, "Oh, fuck, oh, *fuck,* do *that* again!"
Jim ignored both comments, as he had been ignoring pretty much every thing Blair had said for the past ten minutes, and shifted position so that he was kneeling between Blair's wide-flung thighs. Not that the change meant that his partner was ready to enter him, yet. Though they hadn't been lovers long, he had already learned that when Jim had that particular feral, intent gleam in his eyes, he was sating his senses, which took time. Not that Blair objected.
Knowledgeable hands skimmed from his insteps to the back of his knees, and he whimpered, muscles trembling from the impact of the careful touch. There was a pause, then the same delicate tracery started up his inner thigh. A split-second too late, his instinct for self-preservation shouted that wasn't a good thing, but before he could collect enough coherency to ask himself why, Jim found the faint lines of the scars high on his left leg, nearly at the inside crease where his testicles met his thigh.
Blair froze, then instinctively jerked away from his partner, pulling himself into a sitting position without thinking. It was the wrong thing to do. If he had let Jim explore them, he could have brushed them off as unimportant, or obfuscated an explanation that would have bored his lover into being sorry he'd noticed them. But his reaction told Jim clearly that the scars were very significant.
They stared at each other for a moment, Jim's eyes full of questions and his own probably brimming with fear and guilt, then Blair broke the gaze and calmly, coolly slid off the bed, his formerly indestructible hard-on dying as if it had never been. Not daring to look at his lover again for fear of what he would see, he walked downstairs to his office, ridiculously locking the door behind him. He dragged a long-sleeved shirt out of the closet, his favorite of the ones he'd liberated from Jim, and put it on in lieu of a robe. Not doing up the buttons or bothering to turn on a light, he crawled onto his old futon amidst the debris of odds and ends that had accumulated on it, and sat there cross-legged.
Only when he was staring out the window into the night did he let himself start to shake, let the fear have its way with him. Unbidden, his fingers went to his groin, easily finding the scars, though they weren't that obvious. Too thin and faded to be seen by normal eyes in that shadowed area, and marring his flesh too lightly for less than sentinel sensitive fingertips to find if they didn't know to look for them, he had practically forgotten they were there.
No, that wasn't right; he could never *forget* they existed. But he could and did forget that other people might find out about them one way or another, and that he might eventually have to explain them to a doctor or somebody like that. Like a lover.
Especially a sentinel lover.
For a moment he considered the possibility that it was a Freudian slip - he'd wanted Jim to find the scars. If that were the case, then why was he so terrified of who would finally come down the stairs and demand answers: his sentinel or his lover?
His sentinel would gruffly demand the who and what of the circumstances behind the scars, intent on protection and justice for his partner. Which was to be expected, Blair had learned the hard way. After he had taken up a badge, it had taken several months and a series of intense fights for him to finally understand, that, as far as sentinel mindset was concerned, safe-guarding Blair was another level of self-protection for Jim. Though Jim trusted him implicitly to watch his back and be his backup, he depended on him far more as Shaman and Guide. Those roles had to take precedence in their lives in order for them to survive on the streets as cops, and do the job as only they could.
Once he'd accepted that, Blair had quit fighting his partner's need to always be the point man, the one in danger, and the two of them had become a force to be reckoned with in the police department. Not only had it gone a long, long way to quieting the subterranean rumbles of discontent within the rank and file at Ellison's freak geek ride-along getting a badge, but what they had been able to do together had been better than any dreams of righting wrongs that a young boy Blair wearing a towel for a cape had ever had. Their successes had made the loss of his Ph.D. nearly bearable, and had created a life better than any he'd ever expected that day in front of the cameras.
He could no more imagine not being a cop now, than he could imagine not being Jim's lover.
But if it were Jim, the lover, who knocked on the office door, he would ask with serious, heart-filled eyes and gentle hands about the scars. Where did they come from and what did they mean to Blair? He would coax with devastating compassion until he had his answers, wanting to be sure that there were not matching scars on Blair's soul. That was the hidden, vulnerable part of Jim that Blair had seen hints of from the very first: the ultra-sensitive spirit that matched the hyper senses.
It had been a joy to nourish that spirit, and Blair had gone out of his way to do so, never once begrudging the effort or the occasions when Jim had warily avoided it, not sure how to accept what he'd never had before. It had taken time for him learn not only that it was safe for him to allow Blair to take care of that part of him, but that it was permissible, even good for him. Occasionally Blair thought that it had taken more courage for Jim to put his heart in his lover's hands, than it had for him to put his life there.
The fact that he did, on both counts, made Blair feel ten feet tall and strong enough to rip steel. It was no challenge to cherish his partner, sentinel and lover, cop and man. They were both, after all, simply opposite sides of the coin that made up one Detective James Ellison, melding one into the other seamlessly. It shouldn't make the slightest bit of difference to him which persona came knocking at his office door.
It did, though, and for the life of him, he couldn't say why, or which he preferred: the cop who trusted and depended on him, or the man who loved and needed him.
break
Anchoring Blair's hips by spreading his palms over well-defined bones, Jim watched his lover lock his hands over the railing, hearing a faint creak of protest from the wire at the strength of the grip. The rest of him writhed in reaction from the last gentle touch Jim had bestowed, which had merely been thumbs skating down from nipple to navel. Blair's responsiveness drove his own passion up another notch, but though Jim loved being buried to the hilt in that sweet body, he loved making Blair frantic and needy even more.
Thank god Blair seemed to love having it done to him, because as much as Jim enjoyed doing it, sometimes it was almost an absolute necessity. One sense or another would focus on his lover, and there was no stopping until lust was able to over-ride the demand to *know* Blair. It had never happened with any other sex partner he'd had; maybe because it hadn't safe for him to indulge his senses with any one else. Or it might have been because no other lover understood and accepted that he was both sentinel and man, and didn't mind riding out the sensual overload.
Either way, it was a good thing for both of them, and Jim tuned out the pleading whimpers from his lover and sat back on his heels. It put Blair's strong legs on either side of him, giving him total access to everything from toe to groin. He cupped both of Blair's feet in his palms for a second, then feathered his lightest touch up to the back of the knees, absorbing both the life humming through the hard muscles and the faint drag from the myriad of wiry hairs. The combination of sensations was intoxicating, and he took a moment to cherish it before going the rest of the way up the leg.
At the inside thigh, something snagged his attention, and he paused to tentatively trace four parallel scars hidden just inside the crease of the groin and thigh. Before he could do more than decide what they were, Blair was gone.
His eyes blanked as if the passion Jim had been creating for him was only dust-covered memories, and he folded his body in on itself, as if already removing himself physically from the bed. A moment later, he actually did, moving at a sedate pace that Jim could have blocked if he'd had a single clue as to what to say or do at the abrupt retreat of his lover. Stunned, he watched Blair go down the stairs, then listened as he went into his office and shut the doors. The sound of the lock turning would have been loud to anyone, but to the sentinel, it sounded as final as a gunshot, and he hung his head, almost to his chest, hands knotted into the bedding on either side.
He wanted, oh God, he *wanted* to go down stairs and coax or bully or smash through the door to get to his lover, then touch those four scars until lips, tongue and fingers knew them as intimately as he knew Blair's mouth or cock. Then, maybe, just maybe Jim could persuade him to tell him where they came from, so that he could kill the sonovabitch who hurt his guide and shaman.
That wasn't an option; that wasn't possible. Blair knew perfectly well what Jim's instincts would demand, and if he was downstairs, then it was because this time he wasn't going to let his partner's needs override his own. After all the times Jim had overlooked or ran roughshod over Blair's feelings, he couldn't simply dismiss his lover's choice in this. Not if he wanted them to remain lovers.
Oh, Blair would deal if Jim went barging in, though that was no guarantee that the he would get what he wanted. There was every possibility that straight answers would be as elusive as quicksilver, just like his partner, reflecting back whatever it was that Blair thought Jim wanted to hear. Even if he did manage to get the truth, he knew with stomach-hurting certainty that the damage done to their relationship would be irreparable.
Fingers digging into the bedding until he could remotely feel pangs of protest from his too-human flesh and bone, Jim admitted that it might be anyway if he *didn't* go downstairs. Though Blair wasn't the sort to play games, to run away for the sole purpose of being followed as some vague, convoluted plot to have Jim prove that he loved him, the fact was that his lover was hurting. Blair was accustomed to handling his pains and sorrows alone; so much so that he had only recently begun to respond to Jim's hesitant and awkward offers for comfort. It wouldn't take much for him to convince himself that had been a mistake, and that it was better for him to keep on taking care of himself.
That would destroy something in Jim; something he didn't have a name for and seemed to work at a level of his psyche that was beyond instinct, let alone reason. It involved the fact that when Blair hurt, he hurt, too and that Blair should never *be* hurt because he was too good and loving and precious and....
A ripping sound jerked Jim out of his internal monologue; the sheets were shredding under his hands. He blinked at them stupidly for a moment, then slowly, painfully unfolded himself from the bed and went to the stairs. At the very top step, he stopped, looking down into the gloom of the living room.
For the life of him, he didn't know what would be right for Blair - stay where he was or go to his lover and hope for the best.
break
The night sky was beginning to lighten with the first promise of dawn when Blair realized that he'd been sitting alone in the dark for a very, very long time, mind endlessly and uselessly trudging along the same paths. Puzzled because it was so completely not what he had been expecting, he looked at the door as if Jim would magically appear there at his thought, then frowned. For a second he worried about the possibility that his lover had zoned, but then dismissed it. The longest one they'd ever documented had been just over a minute, and Jim had shook himself out of it as soon as some outside factor had impacted a sense other than the one he was hyper-focused on. The problem with zones had always been the timing of them; not the duration.
If Jim hadn't zoned, then the only other reason that Blair could think of for his partner staying upstairs was because he was angry. Not just a little pissed either, or he would have stomped downstairs right after him, shouting his frustration and indignation. He had to be jaw-muscle-jumping, emotions-screwed-down-tight furious; the kind of angry that had frozen, razor sharp edges that sliced at both of them.
In a way, that was a relief. It gave Blair an excuse to get angry, as well, letting him push away his confusion about what had happened earlier. It wasn't as if he couldn't have secrets, right? Wasn't as if Jim didn't have enough deep dark places in his past that he didn't want brought to the light of the day. What was good enough for the sentinel, was good enough for his partner, and if Ellison didn't like it, tough. Maybe he needed to be on the other side of the whole 'needing to know' thing for a change, so he'd know how it felt. Might make him a little more cooperative the next time Blair needed a little personal info.
With a good head of steam worked up, Blair snorted to himself. Yeah, sure, like Jim was ever going to consider willingly giving up a single, solitary particle of anything that he had arbitrarily and anally marked 'secret' in that brain of his. A tiny voice in the back of his mind muttered something about being unfair, but he had gotten to the point where he could easily dismiss it.
In fact, he'd gotten to the point where simply sitting wasn't doing it for him any more, and he jumped off the futon to pace up and down. The room was too small to get a really good stride going, which only added to his aggravation. What he needed, really, really needed right at this very minute was to get out. Maybe go find some breakfast someplace healthy, by himself this time, so he wouldn't have to listen to that self-centered asshole whine about the taste and texture of the food.
That meant clothes, and he pulled himself up short at the closed door, then determinedly unlocked it. If Jim had anything to say while he was getting dressed, well, the big cop wasn't the only one who could pretend not to hear when he was being addressed. It was another thing that would do the sentinel good to get on the other side of for a change.
Keeping that and all the rest of his drummed up fury at the front of his mind, Blair threw open the door, then stalked through it. Eyes already adjusted to the darkness, he didn't have any trouble seeing in the dim light provided by the single lamp in the bedroom, and he headed for the stairs, only to pull up short at the kitchen table. For a moment he stared at the shadowy nude figure sitting at the bottom of the stairs, face buried in long-fingered hands, then fumbled his way into a chair, anger evaporating as if it had never been.
They sat that way long enough for the birds to begin their morning cries, then Jim scrubbed his features before letting his hands hang loosely over his knees. In a voice that sounded as if all the life had been leached from it, he said, "I didn't know what the right thing to do was." Dumbfounded, Blair didn't reply, and a moment later, he added, "What do you want me to do? Say nothing? Pretend I didn't find them? Get angry on your behalf and try to make you talk to me? What do you want me to do, Blair?"
"I don't know," he said honestly, then regretted opening his mouth.
Jim's shoulders jerked once, as if he had taken a blow. "Then no matter what I do, it's a mistake," he muttered more to himself than to Blair. "*Every* decision is wrong."
"It's not that important," Blair said hastily, trying to undo the damage. "Just some scars, no big deal. Long time ago, don't matter at all, just caught me off-guard when you found them, that's all."
Jim straightened slowly, and though his face was shadowed, it looked eerily blank, reminding Blair all too frighteningly of the non-expression on a corpse. "Maybe the scars don't, but the reason you left our bed because of them does. Don't pretend otherwise."
"I..." Blair stopped, took a deep breath, and, looking down at the floor to escape the sight in front of him, tried again. No words came to mind; just the image of a coin balanced on its edge and a sudden, intense empathy for where his lover had to be. No matter what he said, that coin was going to topple, and it didn't really make a difference which side came up, since both were wrong.
*And* right, he realized, and thinking that should be what he said, he slowly stood, one hand reaching for his lover. Before he could formulate the first word, the phone rang, paralyzing both of them with its shrill demand.
break
Though his battle-trained heart leaped at the sound of the phone, Jim didn't move except to direct a stare at the machine. At this hour of the morning, it could only be an emergency behind the call, but he already had one on hand - one far more immediate. So he let it ring, patiently waiting for the answering machine to pick up, and Blair did the same with a vague air of surprise that pricked at Jim's conscience.
His partner probably thought that he would leap for the excuse to get away, to avoid dealing with an emotional confrontation, but then Blair had no way of knowing that wasn't an option for Jim any more. They'd been moving slowly in their relatively new relationship, and he hadn't spoken of the long term, yet. That didn't mean he hadn't made the promises in his heart, and even if he never had the chance to speak them, he was going to keep them. And that meant putting everything he had to making their life together work; he had no intentions of ever giving up on them.
If there was one thing his life had taught him, it was that he had what it took to keep fighting, no matter what. The Ranger's creed said, among other things, that 'surrender is not a Ranger word.' Long before he'd joined the military, Jim had been living that concept without having the words to phrase it.
Another part of the creed said 'I will shoulder more than my share of the task whatever it may be, one hundred percent and then some.' Right now, to do that he had to make getting things right between him and Blair more important than another murder case or high profile burglary.
It wasn't until Simon's voice filled the waiting silence, the background punctuated with gunshots, that he moved to answer the phone, and even then he glanced quickly at his partner, instantly receiving a go-ahead nod. "On our way," he said shortly, listened to the location, then moved at top speed for the bedroom to get dressed, Blair right on his heels.
break
Nearly twenty-four hours after Simon's summons, Blair half-stumbled through the door to the loft, letting his keys drop haphazardly on the table by it.
"Would you like some dinner?" the polite stranger wearing Jim's face asked.
"Not really hungry, man," Blair mumbled, taking off his coat, not able to look directly at him. At the same time, he kept stealing peeks at Jim, fruitlessly looking for some clue as to what to do to get his lover back. It was like handling a crystal ball coated in oil. There was nothing for him to dig his figurative fingers into to pry away the shield of efficiency and detachment.
He'd heard about this Detective Ellison from Caroline and Simon, but had privately thought that they had either been exaggerating or just hadn't cared enough to try to get past the barriers. Not that it had been easy when he did it at the beginning. But Blair had blithely assumed from then on that he had whatever it took, whether it had been his back-in-your face attitude or simply knowledge too valuable to be overlooked. It had never occurred to him that Jim had let him through his walls for his own reasons, even if it had been sheer desperation on the sentinel's part.
That little fact had been riding with him all day in the form of a taciturn, emotionless cop that was all business, letting anything not pertaining to the situation at hand slide off his defenses without so much as blinking. Nothing mattered to Jim *but* the job, and he focused on it with an intensity that allowed him to perform as Blair had never believed possible.
They had arrived at the intersection where Simon was waiting for them, stealthily working their way past the media that had already congregated at the threshold of a neighborhood that had turned into a war zone without warning and without any reason that could be determined. The SWAT teams were holding off, waiting for intelligence, and Jim had coldly, calmly told them he was their best bet to get it. Then he had proved it, pointing out where the heaviest fire was and what direction it was going to move, all without leaving the command station.
The powers that be had given Ellison the chance, and in the long hours that followed, he located the leaders of both sides, found relatively safe ways into the 'combat zone' for rescue of officers down and terrified civilians, and basically showed that Ranger skills were never truly forgotten. By the time the last of the two warring factions had surrendered - two immigrant families with powerful community ties and a grudge that should have been left in the homeland - even Ellison's strongest detractors in the department were impressed. Blair had been beyond impressed. Jim had been the living embodiment of all that he had dreamed possible for a Sentinel, once upon a time.
Miserably sneaking yet another look at said sentinel, giving the coat a last useless adjustment on its hook, he admitted to himself he didn't give a fuck about sentinel abilities any more. He wanted Jim back. Preferably the loving, passionate man who had been making love to him last night before Blair had screwed up so totally, but he'd settle for the grumpy, anal friend he'd lived and worked with for over four years before becoming lovers. That version of Jim he at least knew how to deal with. The current one was a mystery to him, and he was too bewildered, exhausted and heart-sore to solve it tonight.
"I'm going to go on up, then," Jim said quietly, breaking into Blair's thoughts. "You coming to bed?"
"Not for a while yet," Blair said surprisingly evenly. "I need to wind down some first."
Giving a vague wave the signified understanding, Jim went upstairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he did and not looking back, as if he didn't care if Blair joined him or not. Glumly Blair went to stand in his partner's favorite spot by the balcony doors, staring out at the water, worrying that maybe, just maybe, Jim *didn't* care. The incredible pain in merely considering that made him backtrack hastily, and his heart shouted a denial that he had to listen to or shatter into so many shards of pain.
Frantic to find evidence that Jim still loved him, Blair frantically scrambled through his memories of the whole confusing day, and almost immediately found what he was looking for. Jim checking to make sure that Blair's kevlar was fastened on right; food picked up for two, but Blair eating his first under a watchful eye; a broad back as a shield against the prying eyes of the press cameras in mute acknowledgment of Blair's need to never talk to a reporter again.
Each memory quieted more of his paranoia until Blair was able finally to look at it and ask himself why he'd had the idea in the first place. Maybe he'd never seen his partner quite so tightly buttoned down, but it was hardly the first time that it had happened since he'd known him. Of course, he'd never had quite so much to lose from Jim shutting him out, either.
At that realization, the shoulders he'd been holding hunched as if to avoid blows suddenly relaxed, and Blair nodded to himself. They both had too much to lose, and they'd been forced to leave the loft with a breech between them that desperately needed healed. There was no way they could have left Simon alone in that kind of danger, though Blair knew with intuitive certainty that if he had asked, Jim wouldn't have answered the phone. His lover hadn't had any choice but to lock down; it was the only way to get through the day.
By now the... the what? What exactly had happened last night? It hadn't been a fight, hadn't been Jim going off the deep end because of some sense thing, hadn't even been a disagreement. It had been more of a disruption, a break in the way they fit together, and by now it had to look like an insurmountable abyss to Jim. He'd already confessed he didn't know what the right thing to do was, and nothing had happened to change that.
Blair didn't know, either, but he damned well knew what the wrong thing to do was, and that was letting his lover go to sleep thinking the worst. Sighing, he turned to climb the stairs, hesitated for a moment at the bottom one, then determinedly went upstairs where he belonged.
break
Resisting the urge to check the time and see how long it had been, Jim resolutely kept his eyes closed and his back to the stairwell and waited to see if Blair would decide to come to their bed. If he didn't, it told Jim that things were worse than he thought, and he'd have to come up with a fairly drastic plan to get his lover back where he belonged. If he did, but slept in a huddled ball with his back to Jim, well, that had possibilities. Blair had never managed to make it through a night's rest without winding himself around him at some point or another. That gave Jim the opportunity to cuddle and woo a sleepy armful who didn't remember he was supposed to be upset.
If Blair left.... Jim tightened his jaw until he could hear bones and teeth protest, but refused to open his eyes or move. No way was he going to let him go; if he so much as took a step for the door, he was going to learn just how much of a caveman Jim really could be. Maybe a screaming, punching, honest-to-God brawl over him acting like an asshole could let them clear the air about last night, too, in one way or another.
In the meantime all he could do was wait and try to console himself that Blair was at least as clueless as Jim was about what exactly was wrong and how to fix it. In the rare quiet moments they'd had during the day, his lover had worn a faintly distracted and puzzled air, as a part of him was constantly turning over the problem. Not that it had stopped Blair from being absolutely amazing at the job.
Despite it all, Jim smiled faintly, the image of his partner in earnest conversation shining in his mind. Blair must have spoken to about a thousand people during the crisis, getting the information the department needed, coaxing witnesses to come forward, even somehow bringing the major players to the negotiating table. Unsurprisingly Blair had been instrumental in finally convincing all parties to surrender, playing on their cultural beliefs and background to persuade them it was the right thing to do.
Sooner or later, he would know what the right thing for them, was, too. Jim had faith in that; between it and his utter, unrelenting unwillingness to lose Blair, they would get back on track. All he had to do was wait it out - something he had plenty of practice at, however bad he was at it. With that in mind, he stifled a sigh and tried to will himself to sleep, but his eyes flew open at an echo of it coming from below, then the sound of footsteps heading for the stairs.
It took everything Jim had to remain where he was as Blair climbed up to the bedroom, then undressed and came to bed.
break
Of all the times Blair had made his way upstairs, both before and after he and Jim had become lovers, tonight was the first time he'd ever felt like an intruder. Part of it was because of the broad back turned to him, but most of it was because he had been the one to exile himself from their bed. Now he was simply crawling back in with no explanation. Working on the assumption that if he really was un-welcome, Jim would politely leave himself, he put his glasses on the nightstand, turned out the bedside light and pulled the comforter up to his chin.
Laying on his back in the darkness, Blair wondered if he was ever going to be able to actually go to sleep, and if he really wanted to with matters as they were. He knew Jim was awake, too, probably thinking pretty much the same thing. It was obvious somebody needed to make a move, any kind of move, to break their impasse. For a moment he asked himself resentfully why he had to be the one to do it, but his innate fairness kicked in and said why not. However inadvertently, however long ago, he was the one who caused it.
Finally he simply rolled over and did what he'd wanted to do all day long; he threw an arm over Jim and hugged him close. The body next to him remained stiff and unyielding for a heartbeat, then Jim carefully turned in the embrace so that he could wrap his arms about him. Effortlessly they fit themselves into their normal sleeping position; tummy-to-tummy, Blair's forehead pressed into Jim's chest, his head pillowed on one of his lover's arms, the other over his waist. Rubbing his cheek into the firm pec under his cheek, Blair tucked a hand under his chin, and put the free one on Jim's hip.
A soft kiss was pressed into his forehead; a barely tangible one that he wasn't sure he felt. Whispering, "Please," he lifted his face and was gifted with more that Jim scattered over his features, lingering gently on his eyelids. The arms around him tightened almost to the point he couldn't breathe, but he kept murmuring, "Please, please, please," over and over as if they weren't any were near tight enough.
With all his strength he returned the embrace, restlessly rocking his lower body into Jim's, relieved when an erection began to lengthen against his own growing hardness. Sex wasn't really what he wanted, but he needed to cross the crevasse keeping his lover apart from him, and making love was the surest way to create a bridge. Temporary, all too fragile, but for a while they would be closer than skin, bound physically and mentally by pleasure.
Blair threw his leg over Jim's hip, opening himself in mute invitation, but to his surprise, Jim only tucked a leg between his parted thighs, though he reached for the lube in the nightstand. Hungry lips settled over Blair's just as a generously slicked hand slid between them, coating both cocks, then withdrawing, creating a delicious, wonderful friction that made him forget anything but the powerful limbs surrounding him. Crying out, he ground against Jim, willingly accepting the invader that filled his mouth as sound left it.
As if they weren't close enough, Jim cupped Blair's backside, pulling it strongly against him, dipping a still-slippery digit between the cheeks. Moaning into their kiss, Blair rocked back into the touch, then nearly screamed in ecstasy when he was pierced by two fingers that went unerringly to the nub buried in his channel. He was held captive by those fingers, by the penetrating kiss, by the hard-muscled arms and legs wound around him, but he was a willing prisoner, with demands of his own to make. With a side-trip to steal some of the lube covering his belly, Blair found his lover's opening and pushed past the guardian muscle with two fingers, nearly coming undone at the satin heat of Jim's body.
It was too much for Jim. He shuddered and began thrusting erratically, his channel tightening almost painfully on Blair's touch, warning that climax wasn't far away. That was Blair's breaking point, and he poured his finish over his lover's stomach. Each throb of his release reverberated along his spine, and he spilled out "Please! Please!" as he tried to go past skin and make himself a permanent part of Jim's body.
That wasn't possible, of course, but it didn't seem to matter when the joy finally subsided enough that he could be aware of anything besides it. Lying beside Jim, bound by the life essence drying on their flesh, Blair was content in the knowledge they were part of each other; Jim-and-Blair, two sides of the coin that made the best team any police department had ever seen, partners in a life that was far more together than they would have apart.
He started to drift toward sleep, but Jim pulled away and picked up a towel to mop up the worst of the mess, his expression so hopeful and worried that it pricked at Blair's heart. When the cleaning was done, he caught Jim's hand and pulled it down to the scars on his thigh, raising his knee and planting his foot on the mattress so they were easily accessible.
"*Anything* you do is the right thing," Blair said solemnly. "As long as you're acting out of love for me." Smiling wryly, he admitted, "Not that I'll necessarily like it, but because that's what's at the heart of you, I'll always accept it, sooner or later. Always."
Jim stared into his eyes for a minute, reading the truth there even as sensitive fingertips lovingly, carefully, traced out the four parallel lines. Then he kissed him gently and murmured, "Always out of love, Blair." With another kiss, this time to Blair's throat, he began a journey downwards, whispering between kisses, "Always."
complete