Eager to escape the cold rain and colder streets of Cascade, Blair trudged up the stairs to the loft, unwilling to wait for the elevator. Drenched because his Corvair had broken down four blocks away, tired because midterms had had him running on three hours of sleep for the past week, all he could think of getting to his room and to bed. Not even the prospect of a hot shower to warm him up first was enough to persuade him not to head straight for slumber.
But halfway down the hall a wonderful smell assaulted his nose: homemade beef stew. Specifically, Jim's homemade stew, rich with vegetables and spices, and Blair was willing to bet that his roomie of just over a year had made dumplings to go with it. Perfect comfort food on the perfect day for it. Suddenly he wasn't as tired as he'd thought he was, and his steps took on a shadow of the bounce that was normally in them.
He went through the door to their apartment already shrugging out of his soaked pack and jacket, shooting a wide grin at his friend's reaction to his bedraggled state. The sentinel grinned back at him, automatically reaching for a towel.
"Let me guess - car trouble again," Jim said.
"Transmission went," Blair said cheerfully, not at all put out by his car's idiosyncrasies since he considered it worth them. Catching the towel tossed his way, he began soaking up the worst of the wetness from his clothes before even thinking about crossing the immaculate floor.
"Sandburg, I don't know what causes you more problems; your ride or your girlfriends." Jim went on with his meal preparations, deftly putting away his cooking tools and unused food.
"Neither," Blair disagreed ruefully. "It's my students, man. Midterms brings out the mean in them, opposed to finals which brings out the desperate. I spent my office hours wishing I was at the station with you; crooks are easier to deal with."
The look Jim gave him at his words was one of surprise mixed with a shy pleasure that peeked around the edges of it, catching Blair off-guard. Though his friend went back to his task, Blair kept staring at him, really *looking* at Jim for the first time in what seemed like a long while.
Dressed in an oatmeal-colored cable sweater and khaki's, gun still in place at the small of his back, Jim puttered around the confines of the small kitchen, obviously relaxed and happy in his surroundings. He wore the designer apron that Blair had given to him as a joke for his birthday, somehow looking all the more male for the feminine accessory, and he occasionally popped a vegetable tidbit into his mouth as he worked, apparently savoring the flavors as he chewed.
He was a far cry from the tense, stressed-out man who had thrown Blair against an office wall, or the focused, no-frills cop he worked with at the station. This was the Jim that he had seen more and more frequently since their trip to Peru to rescue Simon and Daryl. Blair liked this side of his friend, liked it a great deal. He enjoyed the teasing and horseplay, basked in the casual consideration and inclusion in Jim's life, and felt privileged that he was trusted to the point that Jim felt comfortable lounging around with him in his psychic underwear, so to speak.
Now if Blair could just get him to literally lounge around in his underwear, life would be complete. Though the sentinel wasn't at all body conscious, Blair wanted him to be willing to be naked with him on a daily basis, just so he could covertly drool once in while.
He'd made a few, extremely cautious passes at Jim before they'd started living together; enough to know that the man wasn't against an occasional change. But he didn't take Blair up on any of them, and once they'd become roommates, pushing the issue didn't seem like a good idea. If it hadn't worked out between them, he could have wound up with a place to live or dissertation subject.
On the other hand, he'd never stopped admiring the merchandise, either, and Jim never seemed to mind when he caught Blair at it. So he leaned back on the door for a moment, toeing off his soggy shoes, and looked his fill, ogling his roomie under lowered lashes. Even if he couldn't touch, he could at least have that much.
And damned if he wasn't glad to see Jim. He was happy to be in this warm, quiet place with an evening of uncomplicated companionship and maybe a few good laughs to look forward to.
Something about his hesitation at the door, or maybe a change in Blair's scent or heartbeat brought Jim's head up so the he could stare across the small distance between them. Then, with a gentle smile the likes of which Blair rarely saw his friend wear, he wiped his hands on a dishcloth, took off the apron, and walked over to take Blair's face carefully between his hands.
"Welcome home," Jim said simply, and kissed him tenderly, full on the lips.
For a shocked second, he could only stare at him, wide eyes out of focus because of proximity, then Blair sighed and leaned into the contact, letting his eyelids droop shut. The ferocity of the desire that roared up through him caught him by surprise, and if either of them had had any intention of keeping their first kiss tentative or exploratory, it was quickly blown away. Within moments both were completely erect, and if Jim was nearly pushing Blair through the door in an attempt to get as close as possible, Blair was helping him by pulling him against his body with full strength.
Moaning hungrily, they opened their mouths to each other, tongues colliding, caressing, trading places with each other in a frenzied rush to arouse and satisfy. When the barrier of clothes proved to be too much to bear, Jim roughly jerked his head away, thumbs immediately brushing over Blair's swollen lips in apology for leaving before targeting buttons.
Concentrating, probably because his hands were shaking, Jim hurriedly undid the top layer of flannel, groaned in frustration at the Henley underneath it, rucked it and the t-shirt under it up out of the way. For his own part, Blair dug under the sweater blocking his access to bare flesh, content that he was able to finally touch the taut muscles he'd wondered about so many times. They were as solid as he'd expected, but the skin covering them was a shock of smooth that his fingers couldn't get enough of.
Jim seemed to have the same problem; rejoining their mouths, his hands swept over Blair's chest, sides, and back, over and over, lingering in the spots that produced a low cry or hitch in breathing. Finally he settled over both nipples, pinching and tugging gently until Blair was nearly screaming from the penetrating ache in them. When he realized that he was going to finish, just from that careful torment, he shoved his cock into Jim's equally ready hard-on, making begging noises.
Drawing back enough to mutter, Jim asked, "What? What do you want, Chief?"
Dazed, more turned on than he'd ever been, Blair demanded, "Touch me!"
Without hesitating Jim laid his palm over the hot bulge of Blair's need, going to his knees to use his lips to continue his devotions to the fiery bits created by his fingertips. It took him a few moments to lower the zipper against the considerable pressure behind it, but he patiently worked at it until the hard cock was free, jutting straight at him as if insisting in its own way for his ministrations. He willingly did as commanded and wrapped his fingers around the steely shaft, thumb smoothing a drop of pre-cum into the ruddy head.
Nearly fainting from pleasure, Blair threw back his head and thrust into the loose grip. "JIM!"
"Incredible," he answered thickly. "You're so damn hot like this." Jim licked a wet farewell to the bud he'd been sucking and mouthed his way down, mumbling Blair's name over and over all the while, letting Blair use his hand to pump into as he did. When he reached the base of the straining thickness, he nosed through the dense curls there and muttered, "Need to taste you."
Breathing "Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god," Blair gingerly cupped the back of the dark hair and coaxed him closer, encouraging him to do just that. Expecting a wet swipe or cautious dab to the tip, he arched his back and went up on his toes in pure shocked ecstasy when he was quickly swallowed to the root. "Damn! Gonna... oh, god... can't... oh!" he tried to warn.
In answer Jim slipped his free hand into the loosened waistband of Blair's jeans, filling the palm with one ass cheek. With careful pressure he urged Blair to fuck and with a last, "Oh, God!" he did. Ruthlessly he used Jim's mouth fast and hard, helplessly racing toward climax, unable to deny the heated suction on him. Too quickly he came, his seed jetting out in blinding pulses of sensation, so far down Jim's throat that he couldn't have possibly tasted it.
When the last faint spasm passed, letting his mind clear, Blair locked his knees to keep from sagging to the floor, and lovingly stroked the head resting on his tummy. As soon as he had breath enough, he asked, "Why now?"
Rubbing his face over the soft hairs under his cheek, Jim murmured, "You were glad to see me."
"Glad?" Blair asked with rising confusion. "Jim, there have been times when I've been positively ecstatic to see you, and it didn't end like this."
"To see me," Jim answered with mild emphasis on the last word. "Not Ellison the cop, gun in hand, not the sentinel, abilities under the microscope, or even Jim the roommate willing to give a helping hand. Just *me.*"
Not at all sure what to make of that, Blair deliberately put aside the whole issue, and tugged on one of the short strands under his fingers. "Well, I was. And if you come up here, I'll show you just how much, okay?"
With a soft laugh, Jim stood and tangled his hands in Blair's curls, holding him steady for eager, penetrating kisses. Thinking his new lover probably needed release badly, Blair snaked down a hand to help, only to find lax dampness. Despite that, Jim was acting as if they were still in foreplay, as if he hadn't just come from only servicing Blair.
An odd uncertainty reared its head, cooling his passion, but before he could decide why or what to do about it, Jim whispered in his ear, "What to take this upstairs?"
Shivering a little, suddenly aware of the soggy cloth at his shoulders and his cold, wet feet, Blair blurted honestly, "I'd rather get dry, if you don't mind." Jim stilled instantly, but he plowed on, "And that stew smells too damned good to wait; I can't remember the last time I had anything but a cold sandwich."
When Jim pulled back enough that Blair could see his face, there was nothing in his expression except a chagrined concern. "Sorry about sidetracking you like that. Why don't you go shower and change to get the outside warm, and I'll finish up with dinner so you can get the inside heated up, too."
Honestly appreciative, relieved that his friend wasn't going to take the rejection personally, Blair gave him a fast hug. "Sounds good. Thanks." Gathering up the soaked towel that had fallen forgotten to the floor, he headed for his room, fully intending to do no more than change in it that evening.
But half way through the meal, a call came in for a case and Jim left. Insisting that it was only a crime scene and Simon could help out with the sentinel thing if needed, he went by himself, giving a nonchalant, "Sleep well," when he went out the door.
It was the start of one of the roughest months in the P.D. that Blair had known, and all during that time Jim never so much as flirted with him. Thinking that the next move should come his friend since Jim was so overworked, Blair put his attraction to Jim back on the back burner and just tried to be as good as partner to him as he could. In time the whole episode faded to the status of a fantastic dream, one that he sincerely hoped he'd have again, but didn't expect he'd be that lucky.
It became so unreal that he made a date with one of the Anthro secretaries in front of his partner, not realizing until later that Jim would take it as a way of saying 'not interested' to him in no uncertain terms. Cautiously he tried several times to correct the misconception, but if he had any success, his roomie never acknowledged it. Eventually Blair put aside his hunger and tried to let it go. After all, what they had was already the best relationship he'd ever known.
***
Few things can evoke memory as well as scent, and when Blair opened the container of frozen stew, the faint aroma of it brought back the night of the only time he and Jim had made love so clearly that he was literally staggered by it. Leaning on the frame of the refrigerator, he made himself breath in and out slowly, silently repeating his mother's mantra, "I'm letting this go, I'm letting this go...." After a long, long day of dealing with the politicians and bureaucrats he had to navigate through on his way to becoming Jim's official partner, the last thing he needed was to be reminded of the chance he'd lost. The past year had been hell enough without dwelling on that, and the next few months of this one promised not to be a bed of roses, either.
Resolutely he concentrated on the now, relishing the dear familiarity of the loft, being snug and warm, away from the ever growing insanity lurking on the other side of the door. On impulse he decided emphasizing that would be the way to go to take the teeth out of his regrets, and he put on the stew to warm. Digging out Jim's apron, wanting the symbolic closeness though he wouldn't have minded a flour splatter or two, Blair made dumplings, using Jim's recipe, then roamed around the loft adding a few other touches.
Lighting a fire as much for the cheery light and crackle of burning wood as for the heat, he closed the shades against the cold rain and colder city lights, then added a few brightly burning candles, their fragrance complimenting the smell of the wood smoke. Thinking beer was too cold for a stormy night, he opened a bottle of wine to breath, and was just going over the short list of CD's that he and Jim both enjoyed when he heard the steady, heavy thump of Jim's cane-assisted tread in the hallway.
He looked up from his seat on the floor next to the stereo just as his partner limped in, drenched to the bone, his face pale and set. Propping his cane against the wall, Jim wiped at his face and eyes, blinking a little at the lingering moisture. Unintentionally echoing that night, Blair asked, "Truck break down?"
Head bent over his coat buttons, Jim answered shortly, "Construction on Peterson, remember? Parking from that street spilled over to Prospect, and the closest spot I could find was on the waterfront." He looked up, taking in the atmosphere of the loft, and his expression changed, becoming that of a long distance runner seeing the finish line ahead. It shifted again quickly, so quickly that Blair wasn't sure of what he'd seen, to one of appreciation. "Dinner smells great; got enough for two?"
Getting to his feet, chiding himself for an overactive imagination, Blair headed back to the bathroom for a bath towel, hoping to spare his partner's bad leg. "Three, even," he answered, knowing he'd be heard. "Bruce Willis' latest is on the tube, later; thought we'd chow down then spend a couple of hours making fun of the 'action' sequences in it." He came back down the hallway, in time to see Jim straighten from where he'd been leaning on the wall, masking pain as he did. "Leg really bothering you?" he asked with the right shade of casual concern that would get him an honest answer.
Reaching for the towel, Jim started to speak, but his hand, cold and clammy, closed over Blair's where it held the terrycloth, their eyes meeting at the same instant. He saw the recognition flare in his partner's eyes, knew the similarities between this evening and the other were hitting Jim, too, and with a desperate leap of hope, he laid his palm on the smooth plane of Jim's cheek. "Is it too late to take you up on that offer to go upstairs?" Blair asked quietly, praying sentinel senses were picking up on how much he wanted a 'no' to that question.
Eyelids drifting down, seemingly against their owner's will, Jim leaned into the touch, mouth opening on a soft, gasping inhale. Heat from his body rose between them, luring Blair into stepping closer, bringing them chest-to-chest, but other than that he waited patiently for Jim's reply.
"I don't think I can." It came out hoarse and pained, but Jim made no move to push him away.
Somehow sensing that it wasn't the injury causing either the hurt or the refusal, Blair said simply, "Why?"
"One night stands don't do much for me," Jim said roughly, finally turning his head away from the tender fingers on his face, shutting down in the way Blair knew all too well.
His words were the twist on the microscope that brought everything into focus for Blair, letting him see their first time together from his partner's point of view. Jim *didn't* do one-night stands, didn't go to bed with any one at all unless his heart were already involved. That's why he'd been waiting for Blair to want him - not a go with a sexy body, not a lay with a real life sentinel, but to want to make love with Jim, the man. And he must have been waiting a long, long time, to judge by their fervor when they had come together, how excited Jim had to have been to shoot in his pants from simply tasting Blair.
With a hidden groan at his own shortsightedness, Blair finally understood that the invitation to go upstairs had been far, far more than a request for an encore. It had been Jim's way of asking if he was serious about him, if he wanted to be more than fuck buddies. At the time he'd been too wrapped up in the moment to look beyond the heat of it, something he had a bad habit of doing, and he hadn't been used to thinking in terms of commitment where sex was concerned back then.
No wonder Jim had shut down on him then, and now.
Warned by a tenseness in the long form that he was about to retreat physically, as well, Blair put his head in the center of Jim's chest, ignoring the dampness and listening to the racing heart inside instead. "I don't want any more of them myself," he confessed. "Had my fill for a while now."
"Yeah?" The tone was a clipped as the muscles under him were tight, but Blair wrapped both arms around the trim waist, and nodded.
"Yeah," Blair affirmed. "I've been hoping to find someone who doesn't believe all that garbage the press printed about me, and who doesn't mind if I end up carrying a gun. You know, someone who sees me for myself."
Jim slowly sagged back onto the door, arms going up for a hug. "Been looking for someone like that, myself."
"Well, I don't think you need to look any further than right here." Despite wanting to keep things sane until they'd cleared the air between them, Blair couldn't stop his body from reacting to his partner's nearness. Trembling, he grew hard and heavy in his jeans, and he instinctively pressed his need into Jim's groin, relieved to find a matching bulge waiting for him.
With a soft groan, Jim brought his lips down to brush over Blair's ear, but said seriously, "Are you sure I haven't fucked up things between us too much, Chief? That bitch Alex, the whole thing with the dis, causing you to lose your PhD.... I wouldn't blame you if you wrote me off as bad news, relationship-wise, and I'd still want you for my partner."
"I've got enough regrets about what did or didn't happen this past year," Blair whispered. "Not going to lie - some of them were caused by you." Unwillingly he saw in his mind's eye a wolf and black jaguar merge, felt the rush of some un-named and un-nameable sensation through mind, heart and soul. He clung tighter to the only person who could share that and what it meant, and prayed deep inside himself they'd finally be able to talk about it soon. "Don't give me another," he whispered fervently. "Please."
Holding him so tightly Blair could barely breathe, Jim said, "I can't promise you that, but I will promise to try with everything I've got."
Turning his head toward the trickle of breath carrying that oath, Blair blindly rooted for Jim's mouth, found it as his lover opened to him, and sank into a sweltering kiss. It lasted until spots from lack of air were dancing over the back of his eyelids, and he eased away reluctantly, trying to drag enough oxygen through his nose so he wouldn't have to give up the incredible taste of his partner.
Jim stopped sucking on Blair's tongue to mutter, "Upstairs, please. Now."
Inching back, taking his lover with him, Blair nibbled at Jim's lower lip, said "Yes, now," stepped back another foot, still holding him close, licked the juncture of throat and collar bone, then added, "I think we'd better hurry."
Limping forward a step, Jim deliberately bumped their erections together, moaned, then growled, "Not going to make it if we don't." But he dove back in for another taste, which Blair gave up eagerly, then jerked away as if realizing what he was doing. "Chief..." He didn't get any further because Blair hadn't had enough of his flavor yet, and he dragged Jim's head back down, sealing their mouths together again.
Cold hands burrowing under his shirts made Blair jump, breaking their kiss, but before he could remind his lover they were supposed to be going up to bed, Jim muttered, "Fuck it." He gingerly sank to his knees, letting Blair support some of his weight, then went all the way to the floor, holding onto flannel to take him down as well.
Blair settled on top of him, his own legs between Jim's thighs to keep his weight away from his lover's injury. Not that the wound slowed the man down. He hissed an appreciative sigh as their groins met again, rocking up even as Blair rubbed onto him. Too turned on to find a rhythm right away, they ground erratically into each other, relief rushing at them regardless, then matched tempo as if their bodies had known all along what was necessary.
"God, Blair!" Jim groaned and came, shuddering violently from his release.
Bracing himself on his hands, Blair lifted to watch his lover's face, nearly finishing himself at the rapture he saw there. With a guttural cry, he shifted positions slightly, Jim automatically accommodating him by lifting a knee to fit him better into the valley between his legs, and pounded away at the yielding flesh. The very thought of how close his cock was to what he wanted most was all it took. With a last nearly brutal plunge against the heated crevasse, he convulsed through a climax more intense than he could have imagined surviving.
It wasn't enough. Though mind and body howled with pleasure, he couldn't stop trying to get closer to his partner, burrowing his face into the dark, humid curve of Jim's neck. "Want more," he panted. "Fuck me? Or let me fuck you? Don't care what. I suck cock - maybe that?"
Jim chuckled a bit breathlessly in delight, and took a handful of curls to tug up Blair's head. "Here? Or do you think we might actually make it as far as the living room this time?"
Against his will Blair laughed a little, too, and calmed somewhat. "It's going to have to be here," he admitted ruefully, "Unless you know a way to magically transport us to the couch. Can't convince myself to let go of you."
"All right, then," Jim said contentedly. "The cold, hard floor it is."
Stricken despite the teasing tone, Blair realized how wet Jim was - it was beginning to soak into *his* clothes - and that the floor wasn't the best place for a man with a hole in his leg. Something which he unfortunately knew from experience. "Damn! Stupid, stupid... this isn't the welcome home I meant to give you. Here, let me..."
Not letting him finish, Jim took another lung-aching kiss, revving them both back up to restless humping. When he finally ran out of air, he drew back, met Blair's eyes calmly, and said, "I can't think of a better one, Chief. Or one I've wanted more." Then he went back to proving he meant what he said.
finis