Disclaimers: Not mine, never were, sole property of UPN, Pet Fly, and the rest of TPTB. If you sue, all you'll get is a neurotic cat, seven bucks, and a thousand more slash ideas! :)

Notes: For mcvey, my buddy. And kudos to the wonderful person--I can't remember her name--who gave me the idea for the pun in this story. Who was it...who was it...argh! Well, whoever you are, thanks! :)

Summary: Jim, Blair, and a bullpen full of watchers.

Warnings: Bad puns, a minor amount of sex, and not much else.

Coming and Going By Owlet

It had been a hell of a week, and Jim Ellison was at the end of his rope. Working six cases, all fresh and in need of his full attention, was draining him, and all the other detectives were as overworked and strung-out as he was. He looked at the clock longingly, seeing six o'clock tick past as he watched.

Beside him Blair toiled over paperwork, having taken the bulk of it onto his own already overworked shoulders to ease the burden on his partner. He was as weary as any of them, Jim thought with a kind of affection he was exhausted enough to let show, but he was still bright and good-natured, a welcome breath of fresh air in the increasingly tense atmosphere of the bullpen.

Blair looked up at him, and Jim felt himself relaxing slightly under the influence of those calm blue eyes, the breathtaking good looks of the man distracting him momentarily from what he was doing. "Something wrong, Jim?" he asked in an undertone, and Jim shook his head.

"Just tired," he admitted honestly. Blair nodded sympathetically, and reached over to give his arm a quick rub.

Just hang on, man, another hour or so and Simon'll let us get out of here. I'm almost done, anyway, and you can't do much more tonight."

Jim snorted slightly. "From your lips to God's ears," he said with a slight smile, seeing Blair light up even more at this evidence of good humor from his partner--something Jim realized had been significantly lacking these last couple of days. He flushed.

"Listen, Chief, I know I've been a bear this week--" he was cut off when Simon came out of his office and surveyed the room full of exhausted men. A brief nod, as if confirming a suspicion, and he growled out his message gruffly, as if daring any of them to challenge it.

"Gentlemen. Go home. I don't want to see any of you until nine tomorrow morning."

With that he turned around and went back into his office, leaving the door open as the stunned detectives realized that they had just been given a break. The room began to get louder as people began standing up, reaching for jackets and purses, making Jim wince. Blair moved to touch him again, looking worried, and he avoided his touch, suddenly obscurely self-conscious. *Just cause you want the kid, doesn't mean he has the right to put his hands all over you...* Something in his fuddled brain recognized the inherent illogic in that, but he was in no mood to figure it out.

"Come on, Chief, let's get out of here," he grumbled, surging out of his chair and grabbing his jacket. Blair stayed in the chair, looking puzzled and faintly hurt, and Jim sighed. "Look, Chief, I'm sorry. Okay? But I'm tired, dammit, and it's been a hell of a week, and I just want to get out of here. Now are you coming or not?" The bullpen when absolutely silent as Jim's voice got louder and louder, and his final demand almost echoed in the stillness.

Blair froze for a second, looking confused and hurt at Jim's angry, impatient tone--then his eyes lit up with an unholy light and he broke into a huge grin. "Nope, not yet--just breathing hard, *big guy*."

Jim stared at Blair in disbelief. *He did not say that. He did *not* just say that. I'm going to *kill* him!*

Blair bounced out of his chair into a sudden paralyzed silence in the bullpen. Then Rafe choked, and Joel began to grin. Simon reappeared in his doorway, staring at Blair, then one dark hand crept up to cover his mouth as his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

And as if that was the signal they had been waiting for, the whole bullpen cracked up, releasing all the pent-up anxiety and pressure and stress of the week in a single, purifying moment of pure laughter and humor.

And suddenly Jim was laughing, too, but not at Blair's comment. He was laughing at himself, for being so blind as to not have seen the warmth in Blair's eyes when he looked at him, for mistaking it for nothing more than friendship. For not seeing the honest desire hidden beneath the suggestive teasing just now. For not seeing it for so long.

And he was laughing at himself, too, because Blair was still oblivious to what he had given away, had no idea that his secret was out. That now Jim knew how he felt. And he laughed even harder as he realized the perfect revenge for Blair embarrassing him in front of every co-worker he had.

The hubbub died down eventually, leaving Jim standing in the middle of the floor chuckling to himself. He could feel the eyes on his, getting worried--*Blair's* eyes on him, getting worried. Still laughing softly to himself, he reached out and snagged Blair by the arm, pulling him tight against his body and holding him there with a heavy arm pinned low across his back. He gripped him hard, his free hand going to Blair's hip and pulling him tighter into the embrace, as he lowered his head, and captured Blair's lush mouth.

It was like falling into the sun. *Jesus,* Jim thought dizzily, aware for one moment that he was in the middle of the bullpen, with *everyone* watching, silently watching him kiss his male roommate like he would die if he couldn't taste him, have him. And he didn't care.

He gave himself to the kiss, and felt Blair do the same, moaning.

Heat exploded across his taste buds, heat and scent and taste, making him crazy, intoxicating him. He was drunk on Blair's taste, on the slick caress of Blair's tongue on his, on the nipping, arousing attention Blair was giving to his lower lip...*Oh God...*

He trembled, ground Blair's hips against his even harder, kissed him harder, until the man under him was shuddering and arching up into him--then released him. He felt Blair's body leave his with an almost tangible feeling of disjointment, and Blair actually stumbled a little as Jim let him go.

Jim looked down at Blair's flushed, stunned face, and grinned.

Then he bent down, and whispered in Blair's ear, the words pitched to carry across the whole bullpen.

"You sure you're not coming yet? Well, I think we can fix that."

The End