Back Room Blues
Wandering restlessly around
his office, Blair Sandburg
checked the stacks of boxes on the walls for the second and third
times.
Everything was sealed and properly marked, just as it had
been the other ten times he'd checked it. So he went to his desk
and hit a button on his answering machine, listening to the
squeak as the tape rewound, and then played it for the hundredth
time.
"Blair, baby, this is *Saundra*. The nurse? We met at that
club a couple of weeks ago, I know you remember. That was a
terrific night. You were great. But I'm not just calling to
convince you to call me, I was at work today and this man came
in. He was talking about sounds being too loud and lights being
too bright and I remembered what you said about your paper and
the watcher guys with the senses...I've got to get back, I'm on
duty, but I'll fax you his chart as soon as I get the chance."
It was a long message and the last word was cut off
abruptly, but the meaning was clear.
Saundra, the nurse, who possessed dubious ethics but
excellent breasts, thought she had found a Sentinel for him to
meet.
She'd left the message just after ten that morning and as a
result Blair had spent his last day in Cascade here in his
office, lazily playing games on his computer and surfing the web
instead of going out and partying with the friends he wouldn't be
seeing again for two years or more.
On the plus side it meant that he wouldn't be tired or
hungover when he made it to the airport - in less than an hour -
but it also meant that he hadn't taken advantage of his last
chance to party for two years.
The rest of the team was probably already gathering. If he
was going to get to the airport on time he needed to leave *now*.
The fax had never come.
Sighing, he picked his coat up off the floor and shrugged
into it. It was always too cool for him here and he was really
looking forward to sweltering jungle heat, steamy and thick.
Standing in the doorway, he took the time to look around
the room once more.
It wasn't much. Just a storage room, but when they'd given
it to him to use as an office he'd been ecstatic. It was the
first one that he hadn't had to share with another grad student.
Undoubtedly some other lucky TA would get it while he was
gone. His stuff would sit over there in the corner, hopefully
untouched, until he returned triumphant.
Or at least without having made a fool of himself.
Minutes after he closed and locked the office door, the
obsolete fax machine on the desk sputtered, and then spewed out
several sheets of paper that fluttered to the floor, to lie
patiently, waiting for the next occupant of the office.
Who would arrive nearly a month later, and one of her fist
actions would be to gather all the loose papers and, swearing at
the previous occupant, crumple them up and throw them away.
****
Two years, five months and eleven days later....
"Man!" I am so *glad* to be back!" With his arms raised to
the sky, Blair Sandburg stood outside the terminal at Cascade
International and shouted to the sky.
It was cold and rainy and overcast and the people around
him just sighed and pushed past him.
Dropping his arms to his sides, he grinned, a little bit
dopey from lack of sleep after his marathon 36-hour travel time,
and picked up the two bags he had dropped.
The heavy duffel was stuffed with mementos and clothes and,
most importantly, the collection of notebooks he'd filled during
his time in the jungle.
Much to his delight and the rest of the partys' dismay,
there had been a *Sentinel* in the tribe they had stayed with.
Not a complete Sentinel, she had only three enchanced
senses: taste, smell and touch, but still! He'd been vindicated,
his life's work defined.
Now he had months of notes to type into the computer,
fodder for a dozen journal-worthy papers, and a subject for his
dissertation, something he'd once despaired of ever finding.
It had been a long, difficult and emotionally draining
experience, and he was glad it was over, but he wouldn't have
traded it for anything in the world.
Gathering his bags and his thoughts, he lugged them over to
the nearest taxicab and loaded himself in.
"Yeah...right up here, in the middle-"
Leaning into the front of the cab, Blair pointed eagerly at
the buildings as they passed, happy to be almost home. Almost back
to the warehouse that he called home, anyway...
The warehouse that had apparently dissolved while he was
away.
The cab driver pulled up in front of a battered pile of
rubble and looked back at him.
"This is 1203 Denver."
"But - my stuff! My house!" Eyes wide, Blair stared,
blinked, shook his head, and stared some more.
"I remember reading about the explosion." The man offered
helpfully. "Something about a drug lab. There was a big bust."
"My place blew up?" Collapsing back into the seat, Blair
just sat, stunned.
"Oh, *man*."
"Is there someplace else you would like to go? A hotel?"
Sitting up to look out the window, Blair sighed and thought
about it for a minute.
I've got twenty bucks on me in cash. Everything else was
supposed to be sent to the bank while I was gone, but the bank
won't be open until Monday morning, and that leaves me two nights
to get through on twenty bucks...less the cab fare...
Two-and-a-half years ago he'd had enough friends that he
could have just dropped in and crashed with any of them, but now,
with the evidence of how things could change right in front of
him, he wasn't sure it would be a good idea to just drive up and
knock on doors. They might have moved or anything. And he
couldn't afford to just drive around trying to find a place.
There was one place. A place where he knew he was *always*
welcome.
"Is the Last Chance still open?" He saw the cabbie's wince
before the man answered.
"It never closes. Are you sure you want to go there?"
"Yeah. Chance Adams is a friend of mine."
Sitting back again, enjoying even the questionable comfort
of the old cab, Blair saw the man visibly bite back a comment
with a glance at the rearview mirror.
But he didn't say anything else, just pulled away from the
curb and drove.
The bar was on the far end of town, way out past the
university and anything civilized, and the drive gave Blair a
chance to shut his eyes and thinks about what he was going to say
when he got there.
He'd been a hungry, eager 22-year-old. Just back in Cascade
after leaving to get his Master's at another school.
Thrilled that Rainier, his undergrad alma mater, had
accepted him into their doctoral program, but also flat broke and
looking for work.
Not many places wanted to hire a skinny, long-haired kid
who had such a complicated schedule. It was just too much trouble
for them to work around the various study groups and night
classes and tutorials.
Depressed, he'd more-or-less stumbled onto this little bar
way out nowhere. His car was out of gas and he'd been half-afraid
to going, but Chance had spotted him as soon as he opened the door
and sent the bartender to gather him in.
Blair had quickly discovered that The Last Chance was
considered the most dangerous bar in town, and it was also
primarily a gay bar.
Drug deals were a routine occurrence, but fights were few and
far between, because of Chance's tendency to go armed with a .357
Magnum - and his willingness to use it without hesitation.
Why the man wasn't in jail was a mystery to Blair.
But Chance had been nice to him, offered him a job; first
as a barback and then, as he got more comfortable with the
clientele, tending bar. He never complained about Blair's
schedule and let him keep everything he made in tips besides what
Chance paid him.
"You're cute, the guys like to come in and look at you." He
would tell Blair. But it was made clear from the start that they
weren't allowed to touch, and none ever did.
There were a couple of special features to the bar.
One was the painstakingly restored classic Wurliztzer neon
juke box that held place of honor beside the small area that
served as a dance floor. The floor was never used, except when
stray pool balls bounced off it and had to be chased, but the
juke played pretty much night and day.
And there were two rooms in the back. Two small, private
rooms, with thick soundproofing on the walls and large mattresses
on the floor.
Barely 10x10, these rooms had doors that locked, and there
was usually a blanket or two thrown over the mattresses.
Half-blocking the narrow half that divided the rooms from
Chance's office was a set of industrial-sized washer and dryer,
usually running.
It wasn't long after Blair started there that he learned
what the back rooms were for.
For a small fee Chance rented them out to customers.
Rented the room and usually a man to go with it.
Discovering that his benefactor was essentially a pimp had
shaken the young man severely.
A few words with the young men who went into the back rooms
proved to him that they weren't being forced into anything, and
Chance was protecting them.
It had taken a while, nearly a year, but Blair had
eventually become a back room boy.
Just a few times, with customers that he was really
interested in.
It filled a need he hadn't really acknowledged he had.
A need he'd kept hidden since he was an adolescent.
They were nearing the edge of the city, and Blair roused
himself from his thoughts.
Hope I have enough to pay the man.
He glanced at the meter and saw that it read 19.25 already.
"Man, you're gonna have to let me out here. I'll walk the
rest of the way. I don't want to stiff you."
Slowing, the cab driver looked around and then twisted his
head to look back at Blair.
"I'll do it for fifteen." He said, a touch of kindness in
his voice. "Coming home and finding your place blown up is a bad
break."
"Hey, thanks." Seriously relieved, Blair grinned widely.
The Last Chance didn't sport neon lighting or a fancy sign.
It was exactly what it was called.
The last place you could go when nowhere else would have
you.
The parking lot was still an irregularly shaped patch of
unpaved earth.
The walls were clapboard and still needed painting.
In short, as the cabbie pulled up in front of the battered
steel door, Blair saw that nothing had changed.
It was early, there were only a couple of cars parked
there, but it was Saturday night and he knew it would fill up
shortly.
Handing the driver a ten and a five, Blair scrambled out,
trying to balance his bags.
"Are you sure this is where you want to be?" The man stuck
his head out the window to ask.
"It's okay." Blair smiled at him. "I've got friends here.
You don't have to worry about me."
He stood, alone in the parking lot, watching the cab pull
away, the weight of his bags pulling at his shoulders, and took a
deep breath.
The sun was still up, but hidden behind the typical cloud
cover. Everything had a grey cast to it.
Closing his eyes, he could envision the rainforest he'd
just returned from.
Deep greens and shadowed blues, droplets of water catching
the bright yellow rays that streamed down in the clearings where
the tribe built their huts...
Just thinking about it relaxed him, brought a level of calm
he'd previously achieved only through meditation.
Tilting his head back, he stared up at the sky, and smiled.
Yes, the jungle had been nice, but he was still glad to be
home. Even if his home proper had vanished, this was still the
place he'd grown up.
"In more ways than one." He spoke to himself as he walked
across the parking lot, remembering to avoid the innocent-looking
little puddle to the right of the door. In reality is was at
least six feet deep and had been known to swallow men whole.
The door swung open at a touch, as well-oiled as ever.
Stepping over the threshold, Blair kept his eyes on his
feet, not wanting to make eye contact until Chance had spotted
him. It was late enough in the afternoon that Chance would be
awake. The bar was both business and home to the ex-Navy Seal,
whenever he was tired he crashed on one of the mattresses in the
back.
One of the reasons the bar was situated outside the city
limits was so it could stay open and serve drinks round the
clock.
Chance would crash in the back whenever the opportunity
presented itself. If he had a trusted employee, as Blair had
been, they would cover for him, or he would just pop uppers until
all the customers left.
Tonight he was behind the bar. Leaning on it, on both
elbows, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his denim shirt
clean but wrinkled, his buzz-cut hair gray going to white.
His gun was clearly visible in its holster at his waist.
Setting his bags to the side of the door, Blair put his
hands behind his back and waited, biting back a smile.
There were three other people in the room, none of whom he
recognized.
Chance tilted his head and studied him, his face scowling.
"I'll be damned." He growled, the sound not particularly
welcoming. "You ain't dead."
"Reports of my death have been highly exaggerated." Blair
allowed himself to grin now. "How's it hanging, Chance?"
"They got Viagra now, kid, it don't hang at all." The
crudity brought a bark of laughter from the men at the nearest
table. Chuckling, Blair walked to the bar, weaving his way
between closely-packed tables, and hoisted his butt onto a stool.
"I'm busted, man." He said cheerfully. "Get back to town
and find my place blown to smithereens. Can I crash here?"
"Sure." Chance shrugged, already going into the small
kitchen and putting together sandwiches, talking to Blair through
the window. "You looking to make some cash?"
Standing on his stool and leaning over the bar, helping
himself to a bottled brew, opening it and drinking with a sigh of
relief.
Spreading his arms wide, Blair balanced and looked down at
himself.
Wearing the least-ratty of his several pairs of jeans, which
were still significantly past their prime, and several tattered
t-shirts, with his heavy hiking boots and three pairs of socks to
protect his feet, which had forgotten about shoes and now wanted
to blister.
He hadn't had a chance to bathe or shave, since they were
pulled out rather abruptly, practically thrown onto planes but
the Columbian government and ordered back to America.
So his last bath had been swimming naked in the river with
the tribal children, and that nearly two days ago.
Come to think of it, he was surprised they'd let him on the
plane in New York, where he'd transferred.
"Not looking like this." he answered Chance, still
thinking. Because of ethical concerns he hadn't been able to get
as close to that Sentinel as he'd wanted to, and as the youngest
and smartest person on their team, he hadn't gotten close enough
to either of the two women to find out if they were interested.
So he'd been celibate for just about 30 months now, if you
didn't count a little self-help.
In fact, the last person he'd had sex with had been that
nurse, what was her name...?
"You know where the shower is." Placing a plate in front of
him, holding two thick tunafish sandwiches, Chance studied him.
"The rough look is good on you."
"You think?" His stomach reminded him that the last three
meals it had received had consisted of airplane food, and he
devoured the offering with nary a speck of grace.
Handing him a second beer to wash it down, Chance grunted
with approval. Then he took the plate and pointed toward the
back.
"Put your stuff in the office and grab a shower. You got
clothes?"
"Clothes? They used to be clothes..." Already hopping down,
Blair shrugged. "I'm fine, man. This is great. Thanks."
He tried to put all of his appreciation into those words and
he was pretty sure Chance heard it.
There was a real bathroom
in the back of Chance's office, with a large showerstall
and privacy lock.
Every once in a while it had to be used to sober somebody
up quick, but mostly it was Chance's. Blair had on occasion
shared it with a man or two, when he was with someone he liked
enough and felt close enough to to do that.
Tonight he hogged the hot water greedily, scrubbing with a
rough brush and soaping his hair several times.
He'd given up six months into the trip and cut it,
repeating it as often as required for comfort, and now it was
just past his ears, the curls making it bushy.
Thinking about what Chance had asked, if he wanted to make
some cash tonight, he spent some extra time cleaning himself.
The movements sparked memories; one finger, soapy, inside,
then two, working the soap in, doing some stretching, getting
clean and opened up at the same time.
Under the balls, scrub a bit - mmmm, that felt good - and
then work his cock a little bit.
By the time he was clean, Blair knew the answer to Chance's
question. He *did* want to make some money tonight. He wanted to
get laid, he wanted to be fucked. It had been so long since he
was on the bottom, just thinking about laying back and letting
some big butch stud have his way with him made him hard.
He was breathing a little fast now and had to force his
hands away from his cock, telling it that it would have a lot
more fun if they waited until they found somebody to play with.
He pulled on a pair of worn jeans, more holes than fabric,
and topped it with two old t-shirts. He didn't have to put his
boots back on and that was good because his feet were feeling
tender.
Before going back into the bar he checked the back rooms.
One was a mess, with beer bottles and condom wrappers on the
floor, the mattress bare. The other had a clean floor but no
blankets either.
Helping himself, he dug through the stack of blankets on
the dryer and picked the two that were in the best shape, a bit
softer than the others but by no means downy soft.
But not too many holes and they smelled clean.
One was a baby blue, stained but still bright, and the
other was black faded to grey.
Going back, he spread them neatly on the bare mattress, the
blue on top, and grinned with expectation.
This was what he needed. Ohhh, yeah.
Sitting at the bar, chatting to Chance, telling him about
the jungle in between customer requests, Blair was on his fourth
beer. He could feel it hitting his system. The tribe the research
group had stayed with did drink, a crude form of beer the men
made, but only on ceremonial occasion, so it was likely that any
tolerance Blair had developed was gone now.
The door opened and everyone stopped talking when they
saw who was standing there. They hurriedly turned back to their
business before they made eye contact with the man coming in.
Chance looked up in the silence and just watched the man settle
himself.
He was heavily muscled, wearing a black torn t-shirt, faded
jeans worn white in place, most notably outlining his huge cock.
The clothes were clean but old. He had long hair held back from
his forehead with a bandanna and several days of unshaven beard
stubble. Scanning the room before moving forward, he made his way
through the crowd to sit at the end of the bar opposite Blair.
His actions screamed military but not his appearance.
Taking no notice of the stares he was receiving, he quietly
sipped the beer Chance slapped down in front of him, licking the
foam off his upper lip.
Blair's mouth watered as he watch the tongue sweeping
across the man's lips.
It had been a long time since he felt safe watching a man so
closely, but this one made the him think the drought was over.
Coming back to him as the noise picked up again, Chance
noticed Blair's interest. He leaned on his elbows again, getting
right down in the young man's face, and spoke with a puff of
smoke that made Blair blink.
"He's not for you, amigo. That's probably the most vicious
man in here besides me. Used to be a cop, then a busload of
people got blown up by a bomber he couldn't catch. Now he's just
crazy. Buys his stuff from Jethro over there, and I hear he isn't
too picky about the quality. You know what I mean?"
"How bad can he be?" Blair grinned brightly, his head
filled with quietly buzzing insects. "You know me, man, I like
'em big and rough."
"Not that rough." Chance said, and there was more vehemence
now. He was getting insistent. "You're a good kid, and I wouldn't
wanna see you hurt."
"You telling me you won't deal me?" Miffed and slightly
hurt, his higher reasoning abilities clouded by his buzz, Blair
half-pushed off the bar, intending to go over to the guy himself.
Intent upon their private discussion, neither of them
noticed the when the man began watching them. It was sudden, like
a switch had been thrown. He was drinking his beer, and then his
head swiveled round and his blue eyes, fogged by drugs and pain,
focussed on them.
Chance grabbed Blair's shoulders and sat him down
forcefully.
"That's what you want? Some big bruiser that'll make sure
you feel it tomorrow?" The words were completely non-judgemental,
he wasn't criticizing. Just establishing the boundaries.
Looking from Chance to the ex-cop, Blair met the blue eyes.
His body throbbed and he marveled at the strength of his
reaction.
"Yeah, man." He told his friend quietly. "That's what I
want."
"He's hurt a couple of guys, kid." Chance was warning him,
giving him plenty of room to back out.
"So? Classes don't start for another two weeks. I got
plenty of time to recover."
Standing back, the bartender crossed his arms over his
chest and frowned.
"I don't want you locking the door."
"You gonna save me?" Blair waggled his eyebrows at him and
drained his beer. He was drunk, and it felt great.
"You know I will." Chance sighed, seeming disappointed.
"I'll make him an offer. What do you want?"
"Um, two hundred." Blair grinned at Chance's snort. "Hey,
if he's gonna be rough I want him to pay for it."
After getting Blair another beer, Chance went to talk to
the stranger.
Blair was distracted by a couple of guys dancing, rather
crudely, but turned his head back when the ex-cop burst into
laughter, long and loud.
When Chance came back his face was set and hard, he was
angry.
"He says you want it too bad to pay for it." He snapped.
"Chance!" Ronny, the little guy that worked the kitchen on
the weekends called through the window. "I'm gettin' swamped
here!"
"You're on your own, kid." Turning his back on Blair,
Chance ducked back into the kitchen, where he was immediately too
involved to pay attention to what was going on out front.
The refusal was like a bucket of cold water. Blair's
arousal died and he threw the man a dirty look, but the guy had
the gall to laugh at him. He rubbed a big hand over his crotch,
where the cotton was stretched obscenely tight, and deliberately
licked his lips.
It was like he'd stepped into a sauna. Suddenly Blair was
so hot he could barely breathe. Every nerve in his body seemed to
go on alert. His hands clenched on the bottle, threatening to
break the brown glass.
He couldn't look away from the man that taunted him.
And when the man got up and padded over to him - his
movement eerily reminiscent of a jaguar Blair had had the
privilege of watching in the jungle - Blair felt his cock grow
dangerously hard.
Stopping behind him, standing casually, as if he didn't
have a steel rod between his legs, he leaned just close enough to
speak to Blair, too low for anyone else to hear.
"I won't pay for it, but if you want it bad enough you can
have it, Chief."
Turning on the stool, Blair opened his mouth and tried to
speak.
"My name is -"
But the quick shake of the other's head made him snap his
mouth shut.
Now that they were face-to-face the stranger was looking
him over more carefully.
"Do you *need* the money?" He asked, finally.
Stricken with sudden honesty, Blair shook his head.
"I got plenty in the bank."
"So that's part of the thrill." He nodded, as if he
understood that. "The part I like is holding some cute little guy
down and fucking him raw." The words were said flatly, with no
inflection, and Blair shivered.
"Sounds good to me." He managed to keep the same tone.
"Lead the way." Gesturing with one arm, making Blair feel
again that he was being mocked, the man half-bowed.
Leading him down the narrow hallway, Blair worried briefly
that Chance wouldn't know where he'd gone, but then quelled that.
Any one of the hundred men in that room would tell him as soon as
he asked, or even seemed to be looking for Blair.
He wasn't in any danger. If the guy got too rough he'd only
have to scream and Chance would come running, gun drawn. The
rooms were soundproofed, but really loud noises got out. He'd
found that out listening to others in the past.
He led the man past the dirty room and into the one he'd
prepared earlier.
Turning to watch, he spoke up when the man would have
locked the door.
"No. Leave it unlocked."
"You gonna run screaming like a virgin, Chief?" He wasn't
happy with the request. Stepping up close to him, Blair placed
both hands on the broad chest and leaned close, tilting his head
to look up at him.
"I'm no virgin, man, but I don't take chances. Don't lock
the damned door."
"Fine."
"What do I call you?" Beginning to stroke his chest, Blair
leaned closer and nuzzled under the strong jaw, which was crusted
with stubble.
"You don't call me anything." The guy sounded like he was
having a hard time catching his breath and Blair smiled.
Then yelped when he was shoved, hard, and went sprawling
backwards to land on the mattress. Remembering other times,
feeling his body remember, too, and respond by leaping to painful
arousal, he bit down hard on his lower lip and restrained the
protest that wanted to escape.
The light clicked off and he blinked, disoriented by the
near-total darkness, only a thin line of illumination coming from
the crack beneath the door, and then tensed, waiting for whatever
came next.
Fear made his heart beat faster and his cock grow harder.
His hands fisted in the blankets he'd so carefully spread
only a couple of hours before.
He hoped the guy was into foreplay, or at least kissing -
it had been a long time since he kissed someone, and he loved
that, tasting another person, breathing their air, the intimacy
of it.
The mattress dipped and he turned, reaching, and then he did
yelp, as strong, too strong hands grabbed at his waist and
flipped him over.
"Hey! Some warning, man!"
"Too late, Curly, I can't wait. I *need* this." The deep
voice growled low in his ear as the man's weight flattened him to
the blankets. Twisting his head to the side Blair managed to
breath, and he reached back with both arms, trying to touch his
bed partner.
His hands connected with slick sweaty sides and clung there
as the man yanked open his jeans and pulled them down.
"No foreplay, huh?" He said it a little sadly.
"You wanted to get fucked, you're going to get fucked." The
voice was worse now, hoarse and ragged. In the soundproofed room
their breathing was immensely loud, filling the space as well as
the darkness did.
"Yeah, okay." Wriggling his ass a bit, Blair lifted it high
enough that his jeans could be slid off. It was a good thing he'd
cleaned and stretched himself in the shower, he had the feeling
he wasn't going to get much of that attention now.
The mattress was stiff where his face pressed into it, but
the blankets smelled clean.
Just as he'd thought, as soon as his jeans were free the
man behind him grabbed his hips with big hands, those strong
hands, and lifted his ass in the air, just the way he'd wanted.
Relaxing his shoulders and back, trusting his bent legs to keep
him up, Blair closed his eyes and half-smiled in anticipation of
the next action. He could lay here and this guy could pound him
and it would feel so good.
There was no word of warning, not comment, all he felt was
the hot, hard head of the man's cock probing right up between his
cheeks, and then a splitting, searing pain as the guy shoved
right on in, without a thought for Blair.
"SHIT!" Lunging forward onto his elbows, his body suddenly
tense and tight, Blair was stopped by the grip on his hips.
Briefly he fought, trying to pull away, and then he changed
tactics, trying to turn and talking to the guy.
"Hey! Hey, man, slow the fuck down! Ease off, that fucking
*hurts*!" No matter how he twisted he couldn't get a good look at
the man behind him and there wasn't enough light for him to see
him clearly anyhow.
But one of the hands left his hip and slid forward to wrap
around Blair's shrinking cock and it quickly decided to forgive
him and swelled to renewed hardness.
The pain hadn't faded much, he still had to grit his teeth,
but at least the guy wasn't thrusting.
Yet.
He didn't think this guy was going to be giving him much
more time before they really got down to it.
Breathing harshly through his nose, trying to control his
body's response - to both the hand that manipulated him
skillfully and the piece of flaming iron currently shoved up his
ass - he tried to make a decision.
He could call for help - someone would hear him if he
screamed loud enough, it had been done before - or he could try
to relax into it and get what pleasure he could, since the damage
was already done.
Fingers stroked delicately over the aching head of his cock
and that decided it for him. Gritting his teeth and leaning into
his elbows, he shifted his hips backwards just an inch or so. The
resulting flare of pain made him moan low in his throat, but the
man understood what he was saying all too well.
With a groan that sounded like he was in pain as well, he
pulled what had to be a huge cock out of Blair's ass and then
slammed it in again.
"FUUUCK!!!!" Scrambling, Blair tried to pull away again,
but this time there was another stroke, and another before he
reacted. Then they were coming one after the other, faster and
harder than he'd ever gotten it before, and the guy that was
fucking him was moaning and spitting out words and *somehow* he
was hitting Blair's prostate and Blair's cock was thrumming with
each thrust, begging for more while the rest of him screamed.
Hazily Blair thought that this was what people must be
looking for in S&M games....
"God help me - I can't can't stand it - too much, too
much, too much!" The man fucking him was moaning.
Too far gone to hear what the guy was saying, Blair quit
even trying to listen and just dug into his resources, trying to
hold on for the ride. The pain was lessening, he was getting
slippery, but it still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Fortunately
his cock was very happy with what it was getting so he was able
to shift his focus to it somewhat and sortof enjoy the
sensations.
It was what he'd wanted, after all. Some big butch guy to
take over and do what he wanted to Blair's body.
Looked like the guy didn't mean 'fuck him raw' as a
metaphor, though.
With his elbows digging into the mattress as he took the
powerful thrusts, each one seemingly harder than the last, his
face pressed just under his arms, nose mashed against the soft
top blanket, legs spread wide with that guy between them, Blair
hung on and started wondering how long it was going to take. His
own erection was primed and ready, all he needed to do was get a
hand down there and he would come like a fountain, but he knew
the minute he moved an arm he'd be shoved flat and that would
change the angle of penetration and then it wouldn't feel so good
anymore and he knew the minute it stopped feeling good he was
going to be in a world of hurt.
So he hung on, each thrust slamming home as deep as he'd
ever been touched.
He listened more to what the guy was saying, the harsh
voice low and ragged and starting to sound desperate.
"Gotta - gotta - *need* to, want to, can't can't can't..."
So there was a problem here. Lifting his head a little,
turning it just far enough to the side that he could speak, his
own voice thick and heavy, he panted back words of encouragement,
body still rocking with each stroke.
"Come on, man, you can do it. Come in my ass, come inside
me, touch me and make me come and I'll take you with me...you
know you want it, let yourself go, man, do it..."
"Want to...need to..." The words were punctuated with
thrusts, still as strong as when they had started.
"Then do it, man. I'm hanging here, jack me already,
willya?!"
There was a single, blessed moment of stillness, and then a
hand closed tightly around Blair's straining cock.
"*God*, yes." He groaned and it only took a couple of pulls
and he was coming. Shuddering helplessly, arms collapsing,
streams of come splattering over his chest and belly, it was as
if he was a marionette, and someone had just cut his strings. He
fell into a splayed puddle of human.
He felt the man follow him down, felt the last few pounding
thrusts - these didn't hurt at all, his body was completely happy
for the moment - and then heard the deep, despairing moan,
feeling the heat of come within him, burning like it never had
before.
"Jesus." The word seemed particularly apt.
A few minutes passed in silence, and Blair's body decided
it was time to tell him what was what.
It started to hurt.
Really *hurt*.
The places on his hips that ached deep from bruises was no
big deal, but his ass was a fire of agony.
"Get off me, man, I am fucked up here." He tried to shrug,
but that hurt worse and he couldn't restrain a yelp.
"Go ear-!" Biting down hard on his own arm to restrain the
scream that threatened, Blair knew he shouldn't be surprised when
the guy just pulled right out, brutally, but then his head was
swimming and he couldn't think too well.
When he opened his eyes again, the light was on and he was
turned over and covered with a blanket.
His playmate was crouching beside him, staring at him with
a strange expression on his face.
Half guilt and half anger, with an overcast of despair, it
moved Blair to comment.
"Hey. I'll live."
"Until the next time you do something this stupid." The man
snarled. "You didn't even ask about a condom, Curly."
"You didn't give me much of a chance." Blair responded. He
was holding himself stiffly because of the pain that was
radiating from his ass and up his back. It didn't feel like
anything was broken, but he was badly bruised, inside and out.
"I told you what I liked."
"Yeah. Yeah, you did."
Closing his eyes again, he tried to relax.
"If you're leaving, will you tell Chance to bring me some
painkillers? I'd like to get to sleep before this gets any
worse."
Opening his eyes quickly, meaning to change that request,
Blair stared.
There were tears in the bright blue eyes that still stared
at him.
"You know..." With an effort Blair lifted an arm and laid a
hand on the nearest knee. "It doesn't have to be like that."
The kindness was apparently misplaced, because the man got
up and kicked the mattress, jostling Blair and making him moan.
"This is the way it is." The words ground out, and then he
was gone, leaving the light on and the door cracked open.
Closing his eyes, Blair lay very still and tried not to
think about why his ass and thighs felt sticky.
Chance would come in soon, and Chance would take care of
him.
After he bitched about Blair not listening to him in the
first place....
The exhaustion of 36 hours of travel added to the violent
sex and the beer he'd consumed all combined rather suddenly and
he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
***
"Yo, Blair? You gonna get up anytime soon? Want some food or
something?"
Opening his eyes with a moan, Blair squinted at the back-lit
figure in the doorway.
And then moaned again, when he tried to lift his head. Pain
spasmed down his back to the base of his spine, which seemed to
be locked into place. Gasping, he froze, trying not to move, but
even breathing hurt. The pounding he'd taken must have bruised
him worse than he thought. Even the bones of his pelvis hurt,
deep inside.
Dropping to his knees beside him, Ronny peeled back the
blanket and sucked in a breath. Scrambling back to his feet he
was nearly out of the room before his blurted words reached
Blair's buzzing ears.
"I'm gonna get Chance!"
"You really did it this time, kid."
Biting back more sounds of pain, but unable to keep from
making the little noises in his throat, Blair didn't reply as he
was turned over and the bar owner finished stripping him. "I told
you that guy was mean."
"Well there's mean and then there's mean -!" Blair panted,
then gasped as his ass was unceremoniously inspected. Chance was
gentle but didn't take particular care not to hurt him.
"You're kinda tore up. Might need a doctor." The touch of a
warm wet washcloth nearly sent Blair off the mattress, the slight
scratchiness igniting agony as he was cleaned.
"Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"You done did that." Chance's laughter was rough, and
totally in character. "You want a ride to the hospital?"
"No way, man, they'll make me file a report and keep me
there as long as they can." The pain eased slightly, the warmth
of the cloth soothing raw tissues as it lay still now.
"I got a friend. Want I should call him?"
"He legit?"
"He's a vet." Out of the corner of his eye, head pillowed on
folded arms, Blair saw the shrug. "Used to dealing with messy
situations, if you catch my drift. He's big in the B&D scene."
"Well, I feel like a piece of meat now, guess one more won't
hurt." Grudgingly, knowing he needed to take care of himself,
Blair agreed.
"Drink this." A shot glass was pushed close to his face and
Blair fumbled before getting a grip on it. Closing his eyes, he
gulped it down, and his eyes watered, his throat burned.
"What was that?" He choked out.
"Something strong enough to relax you." Chance said. "Don't
want to give ya anything until Davy's had a chance to look at
ya."
"Will it take him long to get here?" It would be really nice
to take a shower, but Blair was pretty sure that standing up
wasn't going to be on his agenda for a day or two. And sitting
down was right out. Good thing classes didn't start for two
weeks.
He snorted, remembering his flippant words to Chance the
night before. Fate had a mean sense of humor, and he was paying
for them now.
"Lay still, I'll send Ronny in with something you can eat."
Standing, Chance put his hands on his hips and glared down at
Blair. "You're one of my favorite people, kid, but this is
pushing it. You're cutting into my sleep here."
Understanding the kindness hidden behind the harsh words and
tone, Blair tried a small smile.
"Sorry, man. You should've known trouble was coming as soon
as I walked in the door."
Chance snorted and glared harder.
"I did."
#####
Rolling out of bed - literally - James Ellison clenched his
jaw and struggled to overcome the vertigo that overwhelmed him,
just long enough to get to his stash. The bottom drawer of his
nightstand held the dozen or so little plastic baggies that made
his life bearable now. On hands and knees he scooted to it,
fumbling with it, hands stinging at the contact, the touch of
well-worn wood suddenly agonizing.
Sounds from the street outside his loft rose to torment him
and he heard himself make a small whimpering sound as he tore
open the nearest bag with his teeth, not caring which one it was
as long as it brought relief, needing it before he was lost in
one of the sensory fogs that had been sneaking up on him more and
more often lately.
Gulping down a handful of yellow-and-red striped capsules,
he curled into a fetal ball on the floor, half under his bare
bed, and waited for the Quaaludes to take effect.
Some time later - he couldn't be sure how long - he raised
his head, and sighed with shame.
The painful flashes of sensation were fading, blocked by the
illegal drugs, but he knew he would have to add to the cocktail
or it wouldn't last. Able to sit now, and move, he picked up the
drawer and the scattered bags, painstakingly collecting each
spilled capsule, and tucked them all away again.
It wouldn't be fair to Simon to have all this proof of his
habit lying around when the man dropped by, the way he did every
Sunday afternoon. Bad enough his friend knew he was using drugs
and had had to choose between Jim's professed need and his own
integrity. Frankly, Jim was glad he'd chosen Jim over the
integrity, because spending the rest of his life in a padded room
someplace was enough to make suicide look worthwhile.
Like that wasn't what he was doing now. Slowly, but surely,
he *was* killing himself.
With a second collection of pills held safely in one fisted
hand, he carefully made his way downstairs to the kitchen. Last
night he'd been too fucked up when he got home to take a glass of
water up with him, the way he usually did.
Last night.
The memory made him moan, leaning on the bare kitchen
island, remembering the cute, horny young man he'd used so
roughly. It had been months since he'd given in to that need, the
desire to make contact with another human being. Touching someone
was usually too painful to bear, but his body demanded the chance
to release itself occasionally. And seeing how hot the young guy
had been for him had pushed him over that edge. Sex was so
difficult now, he had to work so hard to get past the discomfort
of the spiking senses to be able to come, it was as painful as it
was satisfying.
But he'd been way too rough. Even more so than usual.
Sometime today he should probably call the bar and see if Chance
would tell him how the guy was.
In the meantime he needed to shower and try to write up a
shopping list to give to Simon. His friend would get his food for
him, because grocery stores at anytime of day were too bright and
and noisy for Jim now.
A shower, if he could stand the cascading water, if not,
then he'd make do with a sponge bath. He had several silk cloths
that made that almost tolerable. Then clothes - he went nude
whenever he was alone, which was almost all the time now - and
maybe he'd even feel up to watching some television.
Crossing through the living room, which contained only a
single chair and the television, which was silent most of the
time, he entered the bathroom, which was in the same condition.
The medicine cabinet was empty, there were two towels on the
rack, both expensive velour ones with the finest nap Simon had
been able to find. There was a single half-used bar of Nutragena
glycerine soap, the only one he'd been able to tolerate in
months.
Looking at himself in the dim light of a 15-watt bulb, he
winced, running his fingers through the curly hair at his groin.
It was stiff with blood, and the sight and smell of it made him
shudder, feeling bile rise in his throat, burning.
Gagging, he retched up the diluted remnants of his drugs,
the biter taste making him gag harder, the tremors in his stomach
radiating pain through him.
But it couldn't be anything like the pain he'd put that guy
through. How had he stood it? Jim remembered the smaller man
urging, ordering him to get him off, he'd only asked him to stop
that one time, at the beginning, and then he'd pushed back and
seemed to want it...
Going to wipe his mouth, Jim flinched and turned on the
water instead, not wanting to touch the slimey stuff that coated
his chin, the harsh scrape of beard unbearable.
Then he looked into the mirror, seeing dilated, bloodshot
eyes set in a too-thin, too-pale face, sandy hair clumping
greasily over his shoulders.
It was Sunday. Simon was coming over today. Jim would
clean up, get dressed, and try to shave, if he could tolerate the
scrape of the razor. He would talk to his friend, if the captain
remembered to whisper, and give him the shopping list. Maybe they
could step outside onto the balcony for a few minutes, if the
skies were cloudy enough.
On Sundays he tried his hardest to be human, because he
needed Simon, needed his friend and only connection to the real
world. The rest of the week he could vegetate in a drug-induced
stupor until he was under control, and once in a while call a cab
and head over to the Last Chance, when he felt really good.
Wash his hair. That meant a shower. With another shudder he
turned on the water, each droplet feeling like a tiny needle
driven into his skin, but he stepped under it anyhow.
Penance, of a sort.
***
"Jim? Ellison." Coming into the loft for the second time
that day, Captain Simon Banks of Major Crime, Cascade PD,
searched visually for his lost officer.
Lost in essential ways. Since the Switchman case Jim
Ellison, Simon's friend and best detective, had been caught in
this surreal existence, trapped by the hyperactive senses the
older man at first dismissed as imagination and now cursed daily.
Remembering to lower his voice, he set the three bags
carefully on the kitchen island and crept around the chair, not
surprised to find the man curled on the floor. Jim hadn't been in
very good shape when he left, he'd showered and shaved and the
stimulation had sent his tactile sense off the scale, making him
so sensitive the very air hurt his skin.
"Jim?" Whispering, he knelt on one knee but didn't touch the
man, who only groaned in reply, not opening his eyes.
"I got the groceries - I'll just put them away, okay?"
Rising, Simon realized that he'd forgotten to take off his shoes
at the door, and the vibrations of them hitting the floor would
hurt Jim further. Silently cursing himself, he slipped them off
and continued in thick stockings, the ones he tried to remember
to wear when he came over here.
It took only a few minutes to get the groceries squared
away. It was all prepared stuff, things Jim could throw into the
microwave and heat up in a moment of control. The blandness of
pre-packaged, prepared foods was actually a bonus, it all tasted
much the same and so didn't aggravate a too-sensitive tongue.
By the time he was done Jim had managed to roll to his butt,
sitting with the care Simon associated with drug addicts who
weren't sure if the room was spinning or they were.
"I'll just make up the futon for you." He approached closely
enough to whisper, and got a jerky nod in response.
In the small spare room - no way Jim was going to make it up
those stairs today - he spread silk sheets over the overstuffed
futon, which was as comfortable to Jim as the big bed upstairs.
He himself had bought the sheets, as he'd bought the towels and
soap and groceries. The money came from Ellison's account, he'd
given Simon his ATM card nearly two years ago, the first time Jim
had been unable to go outside and get the things he needed. Simon
mused that the settlement Jim had received from his time in the
Army had served him well, supplementing the department disability
payments for post-traumatic stress syndrome that Simon had
procured for him as well. Between the two of them Jim had enough
money to live on, even enough to afford treatment, if there had
been any available for his peculiar problem.
When the sheets were pulled tight over the futon, resting on
the floor, he went back into the living room, to find Jim
stripping clumsily. The clothes were annoying him again. Averting
his eyes, he tried to ask softly, hoping for an answer.
"There's food, and I left the cash on the counter. Do you
want me to come back tomorrow?"
"No." The word was hissed. "Just leave. Before I don't have
anything left."
Wanting to help, torn between his need to help and Jim's
need to suffer privately, Simon gave in, as he always did.
"I'll see you next week. Don't worry about shaving and
showering next time, I'd rather talk to you when you stink than
not at all."
Naked now, Jim grunted, and began crawling across the floor,
hands searching the space before him, and Simon realized that he
was blind again.
"Sorry." Reaching the small bedroom, Jim muttered the word
harshly, and then went inside. Simon heard the thump of his body
hitting the futon and the hiss of pain as he adjusted.
He waited a long time, sitting silently in the single chair,
before letting himself out.
This wasn't a life Jim was living. It was hell, and his
friend could do nothing to save him.
#####
"Well, you're going to live, as long as you avoid sex for a
couple of weeks." The veterinarian, he of the unlikely name Davy
Jones, patted Blair gently on the flank after he finished the
exam and treatment of his raw and bleeding butt.
"That feels much better." Blair said thankfully. The aches
and pains had been eased by painkillers, and his sore ass was
soothed by an anesthetic cream that Davy said was used on cow
udders when they got irritated, so they could still be milked.
"I've got to find a new apartment and buy some stuff." Blair
mumbled, half-asleep, the relief of pain making him drowsy.
"I'd recommend you stay down for a day or so." Davy said. He
seemed casual about the whole thing, and Blair wondered what he
usually saw when he got calls like this.
"I'll keep him down." Chance said.
"I'll need to go to the bathroom eventually." Blair
muttered. In fact, he already did, but was avoiding it because he
knew moving was going to hurt.
"You're gonna need help getting up." Davy said. He rummaged
in the battered leather briefcase that served him as a medical
bag. "Take a couple of these, too, with the antibiotics. They'll
give you the runs, but you won't have to strain."
"Shit." Grimacing, Blair added that to the collection of
small brown bottles he'd gathered.
"Warned ya." Chance smirked.
"I'm sleeping now." Blair replied firmly, closing his eyes.
"Holler for me or Ronny when you need to get up." The
bartender gave Blair a look that was almost affectionate, and the
student wondered, not for the first time, why the other man had
never hit on him. Chance was one-hundred-percent gay, and
frequently picked guys up in the club, but had never approached
Blair. For some reason this bothered him suddenly. He opened his
eyes again to stare inquisitively at his friend.
As if he'd read his mind, Chance shook his head.
"You're not my type, kid. Too much hair. I like my men slick
and smooth."
"He was smooth." Mumbling again, Blair resettled himself
gingerly.
"Who?"
"That guy, last night. The ex-cop. Slick and smooth..."
"Sleep well, punk." Chance laughed at him as he left the
small room, leaving the door cracked open.
***
Moving stiffly, Blair got up from his mattress and wandered
out into the bar, looking around with bleary eyes, wondering how
the time had passed so quickly.
He'd stayed up *way* too late the night before, partying
with a group of guys from the military base who had come in to
see what was so special about this place. Normally guys like that
left pretty quickly when they got a whiff of the Last Chance
atmosphere - which Blair had to admit could be pretty depressing
- but these had been tougher than the usual and stuck it out.
Quarters had been the game and he'd won for a while, until his
alcohol consumption overrode his natural agility. Vaguely he
remembered crawling back to the room, alone, and crashing
sometime around dawn. Somebody had covered him up with a blanket
- the light blue one, which was now permanently stained with his
blood, faded by washing to a pale maroon - he figured it had been
Chance.
Sitting at the bar, something he'd only started doing again
a week ago, he stared for a minute at the clock, which read 5:14
p.m., and then groaned.
"Down to the wire, kid." Chance's voice came from the
kitchen, where he must've been down cleaning beneath the grill.
"You start teaching on Monday, dontcha?"
"Yeah." Blair rested his head in his hands. His adventure
with the ex-cop a couple of weeks ago had done more damage than
he'd expected. The rectal tears had healed quickly enough, with
the creams and drugs Dr.Davy had provided, but the bruising and
muscle pain had prevented him from hitting the streets and
hunting for a new place the way he needed to. He'd tried once,
and wound up taking a cab back to the bar when the ache in his
pelvis spiked to sudden agony. The consensus was that a ligament,
which Blair knew held the pelvic bones to the hips, had been
pulled and that sort of thing took longer to heal. "I'll get out
there tomorrow. I may have to use a cab the whole day, but I'll
find something."
"Why don't ya just buy a car and drive yourself?"
"I haven't driven in years, man. I don't even know if my
license is current and I'm really not up to standing in line at
the DMV for hours on end."
"You can stay here as long as ya need, but I don't think you
want to be giving your students this number to contact you at."
Straightening to where Blair could see him, Chance smirked.
"You got that right." Blair agreed. Sliding off the stool
without a wince, he went around to behind the bar and searched
one of the refrigerators. "You got any tongue down here,
Chance?"
"*Not*." A laugh sounded behind him. "Try the ham, it's
pretty good."
"'Kay, thanks." Helping himself to a thick sandwich and a
beer, Blair got himself settled again while the bartender came
back out.
"You know your playmate is due back soon. He hasn't been in
for his rations lately, he must be running low."
"How nice for him." Blair spoke around a large bite of ham
and mustard and rye.
"You ain't planning a repeat performance?" Joining him with a
sandwich of his own, Chance looked bothered by something.
"I don't have two weeks to spend recovering." Blair
answered, gulping his beer. "I admit, I've been a bit lazy this
week, but everything still hurts a bit."
"Good." The man seemed pleased by that. "I don't like to see
you hurt."
"I've been hurt before." Blair studied the man, curious.
"Not like that. I don't get it, kid - you've never played at
the B&D scene, how did you just lay there while he hurt you? I
know you *felt* what he did."
Hearing the worry and confusion, Blair tried to answer
honestly.
"I made a decision. It's not like I didn't get anything out
of it, man, I did. It felt great for a while, and I really got an
understanding of what people who do the S&M, B&D shit get out of
it. It's like the pain intensified the pleasure, a balancing
thing. But don't worry, I'm not going to be trying it again. I'm
not cut out to be a sub indefinitely."
"Amen to that." Chance said almost prayerfully, and it made
Blair laugh.
Several hours later he was laughing again, hanging out with
a couple of guys he knew from the bar in years past. Bikers, both
of them, they were as crude and rough as the others, but better
educated than most. So a discussion of constitutional theory had
developed into an argument over personal freedoms; specifically,
the right to fuck sheep, as long as they didn't object.
Laughing loudly at one particularly well-placed comment,
Blair missed the man's entrance, but the hush that fell over the
room to greet him made him turn toward the door.
Seeing the bright blue eyes staring directly at him, he gave
a little half-wave to show no hard feelings, and turned his
attention back to the conversation.
"So the fundies can file sexual abuse charges on behalf of
the sheep, right? And then collect the damages in the civil
suit." He proposed a solution.
"But if you paint the sheep *purple* the Right won't have
anything to do with it. They'll claim the sheep brought it on
itself by living an immoral lifestyle." Kyle, the bigger of the
two bikers, once a professor of history but now mostly a drunk,
snorted back.
"Don't look now, Sandburg, but your toyboy is coming over to
see you." The other warned stiffly.
Turning in his seat, Blair watched as the man he'd slept
with two weeks previously worked his way across the room toward
him.
"Must want a rematch." Kyle teased. He'd hit on Blair
several times, but the student always politely declined, and he
couldn't pursue as long as Chance was watching out for him.
"Then he's going to be disappointed." Standing, Blair
decided to meet the guy halfway. Heck, maybe he wanted to
apologize or something.
They met near the hallway and Blair stepped into it
automatically, seeking the small amount of privacy it allowed.
From behind the bar, where he was very busy, Chance was throwing
them dirty looks.
"Hey, man. You look better tonight." The honest words fell
from Blair's lips before he could retrieve them. But they were
true. The man had shaved, showing a clean jaw line, classically
handsome, and his hair looked freshly washed, flowing onto his
shoulders clean and soft. Tonight it was held back by a black
sportscap, a plain one that Blair imagined was from his police
days.
"I - feel okay." The same harsh voice, quieter now. "I was
wondering - how you are." Arms crossed over his chest, looking at
the floor and not at him, the guy seemed unhappy, as before.
Blair shrugged.
"I was pretty sore for a week or so, but I'm good now. Not
looking for a repeat performance, though, I can tell you that."
"I wouldn't ask." Now the man looked up at him. "I can't
stay long tonight, things are out of whack. But I wanted to give
you my name, find out yours."
"Really? Oh. Okay. I'm Blair. Blair Sandburg. I teach
anthropology at the university." He held out his hand, then
withdrew it when there was no motion from the other guy to shake
it. Laughing nervously, he shrugged again. "Yeah, I guess shaking
hands is kinda redundant at this point."
"I would, but - I don't like to touch other people." The man
seemed to be trying to put him at ease. "I'm James - Jim
Ellison."
"You were a cop." Blair grinned. "My mother would kill me if
she knew I slept with a cop."
"Really? Why?" Real curiosity shown from Ellison's blue
eyes, still lively as dulled as they were with drugs.
"She's from the sixties, man." Blair grinned. "Never forgave
the pigs for beating her and her friends down when they marched.
She'd have a conniption."
"What exactly is that, Chief?" He asked, almost smiling,
making Blair shake his head and smile back.
"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be pretty."
"I bet your mom is pretty. You are." The words seemed to
startle the man, Jim, as much as they did Blair. He took a step
backwards and the student reached a hand to connect with him,
then remembered and drew it back.
"Yeah, I think so. No, she definitely is." He glanced back
into the bar. People were throwing sly glances at them, and
Chance was snarling at customers. "Hey, why don't you come sit
with me and the guys? I'll buy you a drink. Jose isn't here yet,
you're gonna have to wait to do your business anyhow."
With a sharp look Jim made it clear that he didn't want to
discuss his 'business', but he accepted the offer of a drink.
"Sure. As long as you keep Chance away from me with that
baseball bat he's got back there."
"Chance worries, but he knows I'm a big boy." Blair said,
starting back to the table, which was against the wall. "I do
what I want, there's no one to give me orders."
"You wouldn't have survived long in the military." Jim said
softly as he followed.
Getting him settled in a chair against the wall, where no
one could touch him, Blair signaled for a beer and then relaxed.
Kyle and his friend were staring.
"So you were military too? That's cool, where did you
serve?"
Looking at the table, talking just barely loud enough for
them to hear, Jim spoke.
"My last mission I was stranded in Peru, a helicopter crash.
I was there for eighteen months by myself..."
***
It had been a long time since he just sat with other people,
and talked. Blair, that was the guy's name, kept the beers coming
and provided a barrier between Jim and the other two men at the
table, men who looked at him with equal measures of curiosity and
jealousy. It didn't take long to figure out what they were
jealous of - they both wanted the young man.
It seemed like he knew that, too, and went out of his way to
keep the conversation focussed on political issues and current
events.
After telling just the minimum of his story Jim was silent
again, having exhausted his resources. He noted that he felt
oddly calm in this young man's presence, just as he'd started
feeling a little better the day after their back room encounter.
That Sunday after Simon left he'd actually managed to get up and
get dressed and eat something, and then he'd watched the news on
television that night. Not a big deal by normal standards, but to
him it had been huge. Always before his painful excursions into
the real world in search of the drugs he needed and the contact
he craved had left him basically vegetative for days afterwards.
But that Sunday he'd felt better, and called Simon to apologize,
the first phone call he'd made in nearly a year.
The captain had been shocked but pleased, Jim had heard it
in his voice.
And then the next few days had been like that. He'd even
started cutting back on the tranquilizers, thinking that maybe,
finally, he was getting better, and the nightmare was going to be
over.
But then, just after a week, it had started up again. Colors
and lights had leapt up to torment him, sounds had hurt, touch
had been agony, and nothing he'd been able to do had stopped it.
So he took the drugs, thinking once more of just taking them all
and ending it, but he couldn't do that to Simon, his friend, who
would surely find his dead body.
Tonight he'd hoped that Jose would have something new for
him to try, something powerful and long-lasting. But sitting here
beside Blair Sandburg, he felt somehow calm. His senses were
still spiking, but it was manageable. It didn't seem possible,
but it felt real.
With a sudden, convulsive movement, he reached across the
small table and grabbed the man's arm, clutching it tightly.
Blair flinched and then sat very still, taking a deep
breath. Kyle was halfway out of his chair, his big beefy hand on
the knife sheathed at his waist, when Blair waved him down with
his free hand, staring at Jim, who suddenly seemed agitated, even
angry.
"What, man? Don't appreciate the finer details of academic
life?" He and Kyle had been discussing grading on a curve, a
practice they both abhorred at the college level.
"I need you." Jim blurted. He felt the pulse jump in the arm
he held, scented the wave of pheremones that rose in the air.
"I told you, man, I'm not gonna do that again. It was fun,
sortof, and interesting, but I don't have time to sit back and
recover for a week or two. I've got classes to teach next week."
"You want it." Jim snarled, tugging at his arm even though
neither of them had moved. "You wanted it then and you want it
now."
"Want it or not I'm saying no." Yanking his arm, Blair
couldn't get it free. "Who are you, man, Jekyll and Hyde?"
At the bar Chance was standing still, staring over at them.
"I - I can't explain." Jim tried to fight back the rage, the
terror that this need would not be met. "I'll let you run the
show this time, I promise. Just - please. Please. Let me touch
you. You're the only one I can."
Not quite understanding, Blair was moved by the plea. He
stood, letting Jim follow him, waving the others back.
"You try to take over and I scream, then Chance beats the
shit out of you, are we clear on that?" Standing beside the
table, feeling the fingers on his arm, knowing they were leaving
marks, he tried to set the limits he needed. But his cock was
already hard, his balls heavy, this man made him want it so bad.
The man nodded, looking torn between his need and his anger.
It made Blair wonder which was going to win out. Taking the older
man's arm, he led him toward the back.
"You punk kid!" Chance shouted, loud enough for everyone to
hear. Quiet fell over the bar. "What the fuck are you doing?!"
Turning back to face him, Blair shrugged and answered just
as loudly.
"Sorry, Chance. Something I gotta do. You cool with that or
do we need to take it someplace else?"
"Your funeral!" The bartender yelled at him, his face tight
with anger.
"Thanks, man!" Giving a jaunty wave, meant sarcastically,
Blair turned back to the waiting man, whose hand gripped his arm
more tightly than was comfortable.
The room he'd been sleeping in was the same one, of course,
that they'd been in before. Stepping inside, Blair closed the
door, not locking it, and began to strip.
"Get naked, man, it makes it better." He said roughly,
encouraging Ellison.
"Lights off." the words were short and hard, snapped.
"No, I need to see you. Keep an eye on you." Blair replied,
now nude, clothes piled carelessly to one side, between the wall
and the mattress.
"I can't - with the lights on." Leaning back against the
wall, the man seemed to have found his confidence again. His arms
were crossed over his broad chest and he was still fully dressed,
staring at Blair's nudity with hungry eyes.
"Look, man, nobody ever suggested I use a paper sack, so I
don't get how you need it dark. *I* want the lights on for my own
safety, the last time I was pretty torn up. I need to control
things this time."
Pushing off the wall and taking a step closer, biceps
bulging as he tightened his grip on himself, Jim curled back a
lip, snarling as he answered.
"You know damn well you're beautiful, and I know you use it.
I *can't* do it with the lights, can't concentrate well enough to
finish the job."
"You can't come with the lights on?" Curious, Blair asked
the question while reaching for Jim with one hand, gingerly
stroking his shoulder with the fingertips. The big man shuddered.
"I have to get rid of as much stimulus as I can, or it
doesn't work. If I try to be fucking normal about it, I get the
worst case of blue balls you've ever seen."
"Well, I wouldn't want to do that to anyone." Blair smiled
gently. "Okay, lights out, but I'm still in charge here. You just
have to tell me what you need."
"A willing body and enough time." The big man answered,
sounding unhappy about it but letting Blair draw him down to the
bed.
"I don't have anywhere to be until Monday, and I'm willing.
Okay?" Lying on his side, Blair waited patiently for the man to
settle. Ellison shifted, turned, fidgeted and then sat.
"I can't. It's too rough."
"The mattress? It is a bit tough." Blair agreed. "You get
used to it. Just try to lie still for a minute and I'll do
something about the lights." Rising from the bed, he left the
room, walking across the hallway to Chance's office and
appropriating several short half-burned candles and a lighter.
When he returned it seemed that his bedpartner had fallen
asleep, which wasn't exactly flattering, but he crept into the
room as quietly as he could anyhow, thinking the guy was unstable
enough that the shift from desperately sexual to exhausted
probably wasn't that big a leap.
Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he ran a gentle hand
down the man's jaw - and the next thing he knew he was flipped to
his back, on the mattress, with Ellison leaning over him and his
head ringing from bouncing on the floor.
And Ellison had both of his wrists.
He gagged a little, head swimming, and then managed to
speak.
"Let go!" He spat, feeling betrayed. He'd tried to help the
guy, come back here with him again against his better
judgement...
He saw the battle on the man's face, and breathed a sigh of
relief when sanity won.
"Sorry." Jim muttered, turning away and curling into a
little ball on the floor.
Wanting to give him a few minutes to regroup, Blair crawled
past him to set the candles in the corner furthest away from the
bed.
Lighting them, he went and turned off the light before
approaching the man on the floor.
Sitting behind him, he nudged with a toe.
The man flinched.
"Yo, turn over, dude. The light is off, you should be okay
now." "I don't want to hurt you."
"I can handle it. If you'll just let me stay in charge we
can do this."
"Why?" Rolling over, wincing as he touched the floor,
staring up at the young man that somehow made him feel better
just by being there.
Taken aback by the anger of the question, Blair drew his
knees up and wrapped his arms around them thoughtfully.
"Because you're hurting. Because maybe I can help, or at
least make it hurt less for a while."
He shrugged, the movement making his hair rustle on his
shoulders.
"You turn me on. I'm willing to risk a little skin to have
you."
The more aggressive words were met with a narrow-eyed glare.
"You're a sucker, aren't you, kid?"
Now the shrug was embarrassed.
"Some people might say so."
The admission brought a sigh from the big man. Moving
carefully, as if everything hurt, he crawled to the mattress and
lay down, flat on his back. His cock was stiff and angry-looking,
dribbling from the tip, standing out from his body as if it
didn't want to touch him.
"Let's try this, then." He said, looking more like he was
waiting for some bizarre medical procedure than much-wanted sex.
Carefully Blair straddled him, on his knees, not actually
touching him.
"Can I kiss you?" He asked gently.
"With your mouth closed."
Rolling his eyes, the younger man did, pressing little
kisses on Jim's face. The man moaned and reached for him, but
restrained himself, putting his hands under his hips.
"Get on with it." He snarled.
"No foreplay, huh? I remember that." Blair shook his head.
"You really look uncomfortable there, man."
"It hurts." The man moved beneath him, sharp, pained
twitches.
"What hurts?" Leaning down, resting his fingertips on the
pale face, Blair spoke as softly and tenderly as he knew how. The
concern in his voice seemed to reach Jim, who shuddered and was
still, but silent. "What hurts, Jim Ellison?"
"Everything. My eyes, my skin, my lungs...and it never goes
away, it never gets better. I'm so tired of living like this."
There was a depth of anguish in those words deeper than
anything the young anthropologist had ever heard. It made him
want to make the man feel better, to help him.
This was a need his mother had commented on more than once,
teaching him that it was a good thing while warning him not to
let it lead him where he could be hurt. This time it led him back
to his research, but his thoughts were distracted by the power of
his arousal, and he reached for the tub of lubricant beside the
mattress.
"I think there are some things you and I could talk about."
Rising to his knees, he used both hands to prepare himself,
taking a few extra minutes to be sure he was open and loose, not
wanting to hurt newly-healed tissues.
Hissing air between is teeth, Jim spread his arms out and
clutched at the edges of the mattress.
"Hurry. Before it gets too bad and I can't!" He snarled.
"Okay, okay..." Soothing with the gentlest touches he could
manage, up and down the straining, sweating chest, Blair set
himself above Ellison's cock and carefully began to sit and take
it in.
The effort the man beneath was making was obvious on his
distorted features. The only thing Blair could read from it was
pain, and he stopped halfway down, his own body quietly objecting
the stretching discomfort it was feeling.
"We don't have to do this. I could blow you or something."
"No. This. Only this works." The words were bitten off,
angry-sounding. "Do it."
Reluctantly the younger man continued until he was fully
seated on Jim's rigid cock. Then he was still, hands restlessly
stroking the air above Jim's chest, unsure if he should touch
him.
The sound of loud male laughter rumbled through the hallway
and snuck in through the cracked-open door.
After a few moments Blair put one hand on his own hip and
used the other to begin slowly stroking himself. It felt really
good, he was filled completely inside, stretched to his limit, the
pressure making his balls ache, and with his hand on his cock he
wanted to move.
"Okay?" He whispered hesitantly.
Jim grunted in reply, and shifted, thrusting his hips
upwards roughly but not far. Taking the hint, Blair half-rose on
his knees and started fucking himself on that cock.
The pace became quick, the young man moving as fast as his muscles would
allow.
Under him Jim grunted and jerked with the motions. Blair's hand closed tighter
on his
cock and he began
to descend faster, eyes closed, head dropping back as he let
himself go. Searching for that rhythm, the echo of his pounding
heart, seeking that perfect place between coming and not.
When he found it he moaned helplessly and jerked his cock
wildly, the pressure building behind his balls and low in his
belly.
He was close, so close, and he tried to tell Jim that, tried
to tell him to go ahead and come...
Opening his eyes, the words died on his tongue when he
stared down at the man he was fucking.
Twisting slowly, biceps bulging, Jim was trying to resist
what his body was telling him to do. His feet were flat on the
mattress, spread wide, back arched and hips in the air, holding
Blair up. Agony contorted his face.
Arousal fading, Blair caught his breath and slowed his
motions, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He'd just been going on,
using this guy's cock and the man didn't seem to be enjoying it
at all.
Rocking on his knees, keeping the stimulation up just
enough to stay hard, he pressed both hands to Jim's chest and
rasped out a question, his voice thick with want.
"What's wrong?"
"Too much." The words were barked, backed by an anger he
didn't understand but instinctively feared. The size and strength
of the body he was straddling was suddenly too dangerous and he
felt like he'd been playing with a match only to see a forest
fire blow up around him.
Quickly, Blair swung a leg over Ellison and pulled himself
off that cock, but he was grabbed before he got out of reach, two
*very* strong hands gasping his upper arms painfully.
"Ellison!" He shouted, frightened now. "You promised!"
"I'm sorry!" The man shouted back. "I can't! I have to, but
I can't!"
Roughly manhandled to the mattress, face pressed to the blue
blanket, knees banging onto the floor, Blair blinked his eyes
open and saw a faded bloodstain not two inches from his nose.
Bloodstain. Blood. His blood.
"NO!" He shouted, as loudly as he could, not caring who
else heard, *wanting* someone to hear. "No! Not again! Not like
this!"
As he struggled Ellison pressed him down, sprawled on top
of him, his body covering Blair's. Squirming, kicking, struggling
with all of his unwimplike strength, the student felt his legs
being forced apart despite his efforts and did the only thing
that seemed logical.
"HELP! CHANCE! HELP!"
A big hand gripped the back of his neck painfully and
forced his face down, into the blue, and his cries became screams
as terror flooded him.
This wasn't consensual sex gotten out of hand. If this
happened it would be rape.
"*CHAAAAAANNNCCEEE!!!!!!" The scream ripped out of him,
torn from his belly, which his balls were currently trying to
crawl into.
Heavy footsteps pounded in the hall and he resumed
struggling, so relieved, so relieved...
Then the light flashed on, blinding him, and he heard Jim's
scream, a wordless howl of pain, then the weight was gone and he
could breathe, he could move, he was safe.
As soon as his eyes adjusted he staggered to his feet,
already reaching for Chance, the meaty sound of fists pounding
unprotected flesh leading him to the hallway, where Chance and
the bikers were working Ellison over with vengeful pleasure.
"No, no, stop, Chance, man, that's enough...." Stumbling,
legs wobbly with Adrenalin let-down, he pushed the bigger man away
from Ellison, taking a blow on his shoulder that almost knocked
him over.
"I'm not hurt, I'm okay, quit *hitting* him *already*!" He
yelled at last.
The bikers backed off so quickly that Ellison fell to the
floor, their blows had been the only thing keeping him standing.
Curling into a tight ball, he was silent, only the
intermittent gasps for breath proving he was alive.
Looking down - he couldn't bear to look at Chance right
now, and the two goons that had joined him, well, he was
pretending they didn't even *exist* - Blair felt tears well in
his eyes at what he saw.
A man. A man that he knew instinctively had once been tall
and proud and strong.
Curled on the filthy floor in the back hallway seedy bar,
dirt and blood and who-knows-what-else smearing his fine, pale skin.
What had brought him so low?
Chance patted his shoulder.
"I'm gonna put him in a cab and then you and I are gonna
talk about this death wish of yours."
The drawl was exaggerated, but his dark eyes were blank and
his face tight. Blair knew that look well enough to know he was
pissed, but had never had it directed at himself before.
"I made a choice, man, and it turned out wrong. Thanks for
bailing me out, but he needs more than a cab."
He bent over, tugging at Ellison's shoulder.
"Hey. Hey, man, can you hear me?'
A low moan passed between clenched teeth.
"Hey, whatchu guys doin'?" A drunken voice warbled down the
hall from the bar and Blair was aware, suddenly, of the fact that
he was nude, and Jim as well.
"Call a cab, but I'm taking him home." He told Chance,
ducking into the room to dress. Throwing the blanket into the
hallway, he kept talking, the shirt over his head briefly
muffling his words. "I haven't been paying attention here, I
think *mmmph, ughng, nhga* what's going on here...should have
seen it earlier, but I pretty much had the data I needed so I
wasn't really looking anymore..."
"Looking for what? Chance reluctantly covered Ellison with
the blanket.
Surfacing from his clothing, Blair shook his head, hair falling around his
face,
tangled.
"It's not important. Look, you know I love you and all, man, but
there's
something going on here you don't understand." Crouching beside the motionless
man,
Blair frowned. "I don't know where he lives, though, and he's not up to telling
me."
"He always comes in a cab." Chance volunteered. "Checker company. They'll
know where. I'll call 'em." Turning, he left and Blair knew that was the last
time they
were going to talk about it.
Soon after Chance sent one of the kitchen boys back to tell him that the
cab was
there. Blair had spent the time wrestling clothing onto Ellison's uncooperative
form. It
took him and both bikers to carry Jim out and by then Blair was afraid he needed
to be
taking him to the hospital instead of home, wherever that was. But the cabby, a
tall,
too-thin guy called Mateo saw them coming and opened the rear door.
"He at it again?" His grin was overly friendly. "At least once a month I
pick him
up from a dive like this and haul his ass home."
"Then you know where he lives?" Blair said thankfully, getting into the
front and
leaving the cramped back seat to Jim.
"Hell yeah. First time he ever took anybody with him, though." He eyed
Blair with
suspicion. "You sure he wants you going with him?"
"Yeah, man." Giving him his second-best leer, Blair felt slightly ashamed,
but
persevered. "We didn't get time to finish before his shit kicked in, y'know? And
I'm lookin'
forward to takin' him on again."
With a grimace the cab driver drove.
"Whatever floats your boat."
When they pulled up in front of the pleasant building Blair was surprised.
"Does he work here or something? He's the maintenance guy?"
"No." Mateo snorted, getting out and going around to help pull Jim out.
Between
them they could just manage to keep him upright enough to move forward. The fact
that
he did made Blair think he was more aware than it seemed. "His place is on the
top floor
- nice place, too, but he keeps it pretty bare."
Panting, Blair sighed with relief when the elevator arrived.
"You've been in there?" He let his doubt show. Jim seemed awfully paranoid
to be
letting cab drivers into his home.
"Yeah. Carried him in a few times before. Usually he can make it, but he's
done
this sortof unconscious thing a few times, too. The key's over the door."
It was hard, but eventually they got to the door that Mateo said was Jim's,
and the
key was where he said it was. Once inside he helped Blair lay the man on the big
sofa
and said he'd drop by the next day to pick up his money. They'd done it that way
before.
The he left, with more calls to pickup and money to make, and Blair was
alone in
Jim's home. Well, not exactly alone, Jim was there with him, but, considering
his current
condition, essentially alone.
With an idea in his mind the young scientist searched the apartment, which
he
would call a loft. It was really nice, plenty big for two people and really big
for just one.
The balcony doors were cracked open, to let fresh air in.
Finding the futon covered in silk sheets was a clue, as were the bathroom
supplies.
Digging in his backpack, Blair found a fresh yellow legal and began to take
copious notes.
There was also a supply of illegal drugs in the nightstand beside the bed, but
he ignored them. The
refrigerator yielded juice, no beer, and displayed what seemed to be a weeks'
worth of commercial
pre-packaged frozen meals.
"Yech." Going to sit in the yellow leather armchair, Blair watched Jim
while he
scribbled a few preliminary notes. If he had found what he thought he'd found,
his
dissertation was going to blow the anthropological community away and the chance
of getting
those three little letters after his name were much, much better than they would
have ben with
only the one tribal Sentinel he had found. Speaking softly to Jim while he
wrote, he didn't notice
when the pale blue eyes cracked open nearly three hours later.
"It's too bad I was out of the country, maybe we could have stopped this
before it
got so bad. Not that I really know if I would have heard of you, but fate works
in
mysterious ways, and things have a way of getting around, especially if you're
looking for
them..." Continuing the monologue in his head, he bent it to write, drawing a
quick graph
that could be filled in later when he had more information on the subject, only
two arms
of it currently labeled.
"You." The raw, hoarse voice startled him, made him jump.
"Jim?" Off the couch and on his knees faster than it took to think it, he
hovered
near the older man but didn't reach to touch him. "How are you? The guys worked
you
over pretty good, I'm sorry I didn't stop them sooner..."
"Who? Did what?" The only things Ellison was moving were his eyes, which
followed Blair's, and his mouth.
"What's the last thing you remember?" Gripping the edge of the cushion in
both
hands, Blair leaned a little closer.
"Light. Too much light. It hurt."
"You don't remember turning on me during sex?"
"Can't say I didn't warn you, Chief." Slowly, in obvious pain, he pushed
himself
up on the couch while Blair watched. "I remember. But I don't remember having
somebody beat the shit out of me."
"That's my fault." Blair sighed, heaving himself to the couch as well,
hands
coming up to rub at his face. "I couldn't stop you, so I called for help. Chance
kinda
flipped out."
"What is he, an old boyfriend?" Jim snapped testily. "You might be better
off not
picking men up in front of him. Safer for them too."
"It's not like that.' Blair protested, and then closed his mouth to think.
Why was he
being defensive? Jim had hurt him, not the other way around. And Blair had been
really
nice, getting him here to safety and all. With that in mind he spoke again,
making a 180
on the conversational highway. "Tell me what's going on with you?"
"Why? You're just a punk kid who likes to get fucked. That doesn't give you
the
right to pry into my life. I should call the cops on you, you've been into my
stuff." Jim
snarled, eyes on the legal pad Blair had left on the yellow chair.
"You don't have to tell me." Blair stared at him, unmoved by the anger. "I
bet I can
guess. Tastes, sounds, lights, colors, they all seem to be attacking you, don't
they. I used
to study this, study people with abilities like yours. I've never seen anyone
who had it so
strongly, but I can still recognize it. How many senses are heightened, Jim?"
"Get out of my house!" The roar was met with a grimace that was quickly
replaced
with a serene smile.
"I doubt you could even find the phone, man, much less talk on it. Just
settle
down and tell me what's happening - I'm betting I can help."
The reply was a low growl and a dirty look.
"Okay, fine." Blair shook his head. "You want to spend the rest of your
life
popping 'ludes to dull your senses - and whatever else is in that bag upstairs,
*fine*.
But I gotta tell you, there's no telling how long that life's gonna last. You've
been zoning
out all over the place, haven't you?"
"Why are you still here?" Wincing, panting, the older man was slowly
pushing
himself to a sitting position. The sheet slipped and he realized he was nude,
catching
it with both hands and holding it bunched at his waist to cover himself.
"Nothing there I haven't seen before." Blair spared a grin for that.
"Richard Burton
- the explorer, not the actor - said that Sentinels zone when they received too
much
stimulus for their senses to process. That's why ancient Sentinels had Guides
around
to help them. They weren't always called that, but that's the easiest way to
talk about it."
Jumping up, he headed for the kitchen. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? I'll be right
back."
Propping himself against the wall, Ellison tried to get his breathing under
control.
He needed to get this little freak out of his home and then he could dose up and
rest. He
needed to rest. His head was pounding, his skin itched and breathing made his
lungs ache.
The kid was back ten minutes later with juice and toast, not his favorite things
these days.
He shook his head.
"I need the filtered water and some vitamins." He snarled when Blair sat
beside
him, on the floor.
"I diluted this with the water." Blair said, holding out a squeeze bottle
of juice.
"Water alone isn't going to give you anything you need, this has sugars and
vitamins."
"I can't *drink* it." Jim snarled, pulling away as the bottle was brought
closer. "It
burns my mouth."
"Let me try something." The younger man suddenly loomed over him, on his
knees
and leaning in, one hand on the wall beside Jim's head. "You can't go on living
this way,
what's it gonna hurt to try?" He asked as Jim turned his head away, eyes
closing.
"I just want to be left alone."
"So you can crawl into a hole until you die?" Blair shook his head,
tendrils of hair
hitting Jim's face, stinging like whips. "I"m not going to let you do that.
You've been
doing it too long already. How long have you been living like this?"
"It's none of your *business*!" Jim shouted, and then curled forward, ears
ringing
with pain, arms clenched around his head. He moaned, eyes squeezed shut.
The next sensation he felt was a gentle one. Soft, warm lips gently
traveled the
planes of his face, occasionally brushing a forearm, and moist air brushed his
skin as
Blair breathed through his nose, tenderly scattering dry kisses over his skin.
"Shh." He shushed, touching Jim only with his lips and breath. "Shh. See,
this
doesn't hurt....concentrate on my voice, feel the way I touch you...if you can
focus on this
and screen everything else out then you'll be okay."
It did feel nice. The soft warmth, slightly scratchy, seemed alive as it
touched him,
his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, chin...almost unwillingly his arms relaxed
and his curl
eased and he opened his eyes to find himself held in strong arms, Blair leaning
over him,
smiling gently.
"Better?"
Jim nodded, afraid to speak. A quiet thumping filled his ears, but it
wasn't taking
over, he was just - hearing it.
A heartbeat. This man's heartbeat.
"Let's try some juice, okay?" Holding up the squeeze bottle, Blair
questioned with
his eyebrows.
The liquid in the clear plastic bottle was orange and Jim flinched inwardly
-
orange juice was the worst, the acid burning into his tongue as if it were
sulfuric instead
of citrus. But he nodded and opened his mouth obediently when Blair touched his
chin,
and closed his eyes, prepared to gag, when the bottle came closer and a few
drops
dribbled in.
He licked his lips.
It didn't burn.
He opened his eyes and stared.
It *didn't* burn!
"More?" He gasped, reaching for the bottle.
"Hang on, not too much." Blair warned, evading his efforts to grab it.
"Just a little
at a time. Don't overdo it." He held the bottle out of reach until Jim nodded,
then gave it
to him.
Lying in Blair's lap, sucking slowly on the squeeze bottle, Jim had a brief
vision of
how ridiculous he must look. Like a giant overgrown infant, nude and vulnerable,
being
fed by this man. Cared for by him.
But it didn't feel wrong. It felt like he an infant, in many ways, and he
was being
reborn, here, in this man's embrace. Even the simple act of drinking juice had
become
such an effort that he had all but given it up, pouring out most of what Simon
brought him
so the captain wouldn't know and take further action. Of course Jim had known
that
Simon, his captain and friend, had been struggling with the concept of having
him
admitted to some psychiatric hospital, where he would get better care, but Jim
had been
hoping he would never feel as if it was really necessary as long as Jim was
eating and
taking care of basic functions. So he'd hid it when he wasn't able to eat or
drink, hoping vainly
that the weight loss would go unnoticed.
Blair held him and crooned to him, his large, strong hands touching Jim's
body at
random, stroking and petting, soothing him. He'd never been touched that way
before, at
least not since he was a child and his mother had left him.
And somehow it seemed okay to lie there and be held, greedily soaking up
the
comfort that touch provided, not caring why it felt so good or how.
For once he was just willing to accept it on faith.
When the juice was half gone Blair took the bottle and gave him half a
piece of dry
toast.
"Just something for your stomach to work on." He smiled gently. "Chew
slowly,
swallow...the usual stuff. You're going to be okay, you know. I'll take care of
you."
With a partially chewed bite in his mouth Jim paused.
"Why? I hurt you."
"Because I don't think there's anybody else who can." The man shrugged.
"I've got
hundreds of documented cases of people with one or two enhanced senses, but
never
anyone with all of them. For that research you're like the Holy Grail, man."
Jim chewed, and swallowed.
"Does that mean you'll stay here with me?"
"As long as you need me too. I'm pretty sure we can get you back online in
a few
days. Maybe a week or two - I'll have to do some tests and you'll have to learn
some
exercises -"
"tests?" Though he didn't finish the thought aloud, he knew the question
was
visible on his face. What kind of tests?
"Just to establish your baseline." Blair grinned. "Don't be so paranoid,
man. Look,
I help you get your senses under control and you let me write about you for my
dissertation, okay?"
"Anonymously, sure." Swallowing another bite - and it didn't scratch or
hurt going
down! - Jim nodded. "Can I have some more juice?"
"Anything you want, man." Blair's smile was pure happiness as he offered
the
bottle.
Eventually he laid Jim back down and took off his own shoes and jeans and
sweater and lay down beside him, in his boxers and a t-shirt, and cuddled the
larger man
close and Jim slipped into sleep with amazing ease, no drugs in his system and
actual
food in his belly.
Rebirth, indeed.
***
Waking the next day, Blair shifted in the arms that held him almost too
tightly. He'd slept
well, which vaguely surprised him, he'd expected tohave to deal with at least
one Ellison-induced
crisis during the night, but the othe rman seemed to have rested as well as
Blair had.
With a more determined effort he managed to get free of the clinging arms,
and then he sat
up, and stretched, and looked around.
The room was the same, nothing had changed, but the air felt lighter
somehow. As if some
dark spirit had withdrawn from it.
Ellison turned over, made a grunting noise, and woke, reaching for him. As
soon as his
eyes opened all the way he stopped, staring at his own hands as if he didn't
know what they were
doing.
"Morning, Jim." With a smile Blair moved back, reaching for him, but the
big man
shuddered, and pushed him away, not gently. "What's wrong now?" Trying to hide
the long-
suffering tone, the student simply sat still and waited.
"You're still here."
"So? You thought I was gonna bail on you?"
"Making yourself at home, huh?" There was a sneer on Jim's face and Blair
had to fight
down his anger. Scared, he told himself. He's just scared.
"I'm here to take care of you, man. As soon as you're better I can be out
the door."
"I need a fix." Rolling to his feet, Jim stood, and though he swayed he did
not fall.
"No way!" Jumping in front of him, Blair threw his arms wide and got in the
way. "No
more drugs, man, they just make you worse. As long as I'm here you won't need
them!"
"How can I trust that?!" Suddenly angry, grabbing the smaller man by the
shoulders and
shoving him up against the nearest wall, Jim yelled at him. "How do I *know*
that? Just because
yousay it's so doesn't mean I can trust it!"
"Never mind what I say, Ellison, listen to your body!" Shouting back, Blair
spread his
hands wide in a gesture of peace, though he knew his anger showed. "Can you see
today?! Can
you hear?! What do you feel?!!"
He was dropped so abruptly that he barely had time to get his balance
before he toppled
over. With a low groan of despair, Jim turned away and pressed his own face to
the wall, arms
over his head. He stayed that way for long moments, until Blair felt that he
should do something.
"Look, man. Jim. We can fix this. You're going to be a great Sentinel, and
a better cop
than you ever were. I don't think it will even take that long. But if you're
afraid to crawl out of
this nice dark nest you've built for yourself, you need to think about that. I'm
going to go fix you
some breakfast. I'll call you when it's ready."
There was no answer but the shift of the broad shoulders.
In the kitchen, fixing weak tea and dry toast. Hoping Jim could eat it and
not cringe from
the texture or taste. It was just done when he heard the footsteps behind him,
and he kept himself
from turning around by sheer will alone.
"Look, kid. I know you're trying to help. You *are* helping. It just pisses
me off, that I
would need it." There was an apology lurking in that low, quiet voice.
"It's okay to be pissed." Facing him, Blair dried his hands on a dishtowel.
"Your whole
world turned on its end and you don't know why and I can't give you an
explanantion much above
something you'd hear on the Xfiles. Just don't take it out on me, right? I
didn't do it."
Pulling a chair back from the table, he motioned to Jim to sit, and, when
he did so, Blair
sar right beside him, shiulders and legs touching, and carefully walked him
through the sparse
meal.
"Soon you'll be eating steak again." He grinned.
"Not soon enough." Jim grumbled, then yawned. "Damn, why am I so tired?"
"You're playing catch-up on months of bad sleep." Blair provided. "You go
lie down, I'll
come in and read, okay?"
"You don't mind?" Jim asked, the blue eyes still mildly suspicious.
"Nah. I read all the time, might as well do it with you."
"Thanks." The word came out flat, sounding as if they had never been used
before. Not by
this man.
The afternoon was spent in quiet, relaxing slumber, when they weren't
dozing, and Blair
swore to himself he could actually see the strength returning to the man he was
helping.
"Easy there." Stepping into the shower stall, the water already warm, Jim
stumbled as it
hit him, his skin spiking the pleasant sensation into something more like pain.
"Shit." He hissed. "It hurts. This isn't going to work, Sandburg."
With gentle hands the younger man urged him all the way in. He was wet and
warm and
scent rolled off him in waves, making Jim dizzy and needy. He reached for him,
hands clutching
tightly, realizing he was being too rough but unable to stop. Finally he was
under the spray and
Blair was grasped tightly to his front, his arms wrapped around the younger man
hard, crushing
the breath from him. But Blair withstood it, hands caressing the straining arms
gently, breathing
shallowly, murmuring quietly.
"It's okay, take it easy, I'm not going anywhere..."
"Too much." Jim moaned, curling over him.
"I got you." Trying to turn in those arms Blair found himself held in
place, and unable to
do much. He tilted his head back, offering his mouth to the moaning man. "Jim,
Jim, come on
man, kiss me - use me to distract yourself."
It didn't take any more urging than that. Jim's mouth covered his and Jim's
hands tightened
further, bruising, and suddenly the water didn't matter at all - all the
Sentinel could feel was the
warm willing weight in his arms.
"Please." He gasped, trying to bend Blair over his arm while still kissing
him, his body
sending conflicting messages. "Please."
"Easy." Blair muttered, struggling now to get free, needing to control this
encounter. "Jim,
ease off, I'll give you what you want, just give me a minute..."
Twisting with more purpose, made slippery by the water, he managed to get
loose enough
to grab the special unscented shower gel and dump some into his own hand.
Bracing himself on
the wall with the other hand, the bottle dropping to the floor, he started to
open himself quickly,
using as much of the slimy stuff as he could, trying to get it into his passage
before Jim came for
him.
Then Jim's hands were with his own and the older man was helping, taking an
active part
in this, and Blair bit his lip even as he smiled, feeling the flush or arousal
wash through him, totally
turned on by the way Jim's hands tangled with his, Jim's finger reaching deep
inside him along
with two of his own.
"Enough?" The bigger man gasped, pulling his hands away and reaching for
Blair's hips.
"Yeah, go 'head." Bending over further, Blair faced the wall and braced
himself on it. He
was still sore from last night, but he wouldn't reject this man for anything
right now. As long as he
gave him what he needed Jim would be okay.
It occurred to him, as he held his breath through a quick, painful entry,
stomach muscles
clenched tight in protest, that this wasn't the healthiest attitude he could
have and that perhaps he
needed to talk to somebody about the martyr complex he seemed to be
developing....
Fortunately Jim was primed and it only took a few deep thrusts before he
came, his come
scalding in Blair's tender ass. Gasping for breath he leaned on the wall over
the smaller man,
kissing his neck and shoulders, eyes closed, panting.
"You okay?" He asked at last, straightening. His cock pulled free and Blair
smothered a
moan of pain.
"I will be." Turning around, he bent over, hands searching for the lost
soap.
"You didn't come." Now the big man sounded concerned.
"It's okay. A little fast for me." Hand closing on it, Blair shuddered when
Jim's hand traced
down the crease of his ass. "No, man, not again. Give me a few hours, okay?"
"You're sore." Jim sounded sad, and regretful. "I'm sorry. I thought you
were ready."
"As ready as I could be, after last ni- Jim!" Cut off mid-sentence, Blair
yelped when the
bigger man went to his knees and sucked Blair's soft cock into his mouth. His
hands went
automatically to the short-cropped hair, clutching at Jim's head. "What - do you
wanna do that,
man?"
"Not bad." Releasing his cock, Jim nuzzled at the crease of his thighs.
"You smell good. I
can taste the minerals in the water..."
"Really?" Blair gasped, trying to control himself. "Can you - um - name
them?"
"Maybe later." A dark chuckle ran through Blair's trembling frame as Jim
mouthed his
balls. "You taste better right now."
"Aw, God, Jim..." Panting, Blair let himself lean back against the
shower-stall wall, knees
bending. Jim's hands caressed and petted his sore butt. "That feels so good."
"Then you'll like this." Lifting his head Jim licked at Blair's cock, which
was hardening
rapidly, and the younger man moaned approval. Then Jim sucked it in as far as he
could and
caressed it with his tongue.
Experimentally Blair allowed himself to thrust shallowly. Jim nodded a
little, encouraging
him, one hand going to Blair's, both of which were in his short hair, and Blair
understood. He
used his hands to guide Jim, to control the depth and pressure as he slowly
fucked the other man's
mouth, the heat and suction too pleasurable to describe. He couldn't keep his
mouth shut, words
fell out between moans, random....
"Can't believe - oh, lord, that feels great - so hot - harder, suck me
harder...thank you, Jim,
oh god..."
Briefly wondering if the man in the living rom could hear him, Blair just
as quickly decided
that he didn't care. His balls were drawing up, he was getting close - usually
he liked a finger in
his ass at this point, sparking the pleasure, but Jim was sensitive enough to
realize that wouldn't
be a good thing this time, and Blair was trying to warn him, not knowing if
ultrasensitive
tatsebuds were up to swallowing bitter semen.
"Almost there, Jim - pull back, man, unless you wanna..." His hips jerked
helplessly and
his hands tightened in Jim's hair, pulling him closer even as his mind ordered
him to push him
away, and then he was coming, in long, heavy pulses, the relief so great that he
sagged against the
wall, Jim's arms catching him around the waist and keeping him upright.
The older man kissed his belly tenderly as he gasped his way to recovery,
and then, finally,
stood, reaching for the shower gel and lathering his hands.
"I love the way it moves in your hair." He whispered to Blair as he washed
the younger
man's chest and belly.
"It's not bothering you? Not overwhelming?" Staying still, one hand on the
tiled wall to
support himself, Blair watched, speaking quietly, pitching his voice just over
the sound of the
water.
"All I can feel is you, all I can hear is your heart." Jim flashed a grin,
but Blair frowned.
"You mean you've blocked everything else out?"
"No - I can hear it, feel it, but it's background, like it should be. Like
it used to be."
Slipping lower, Jim used just the tips of his fingers to wash the crease of
Blair's ass, causing no
more pain than a breath of air on the raw skin, and Blair sighed and relaxed. "I
didn't mean to hurt
you." Jim said softly. "I won't do it again."
"Take what you need from me." The quiet words were firm. "It may sound
strange, but I
think we were meant to meet, Jim. I feel almost as if this is what I'm meant to
be doing."
"Taking care of me and my craziness?" Jim snorted. "Not much of a destiny
there, kid."
He used his hands to rinse the stocky body and then pulled him into a warm,
gentle hug.
"You're getting kinda weird on me here, Jim. All of a sudden you want me
here, and you're
acting like we've been lovers forever, that we're not just a couple of guys who
met in a bar." Blair
mumbled, sinking into the embrace, soaking up the comfort.
"We *aren't* just a couple of guys who met in bar, Sandburg." Jim's voice
rumbled,
Blair's head pressed to his chest. "I know I was fighting it, but I feel so much
better that I can't
anymore." Using both hands, he pushed Blair away from the hug and stared down at
him, gripping
his shoulders tightly. "I don't love you - but I know that if I let myself I
can. And I want to. You
need to know that I can be a real asshole to live with. But what you've done
for me, what you do
for me, it makes me whole, in a way I can't explain."
"Man." Heaving a sigh, Blair stroked Jim's water-slicked chest. "What am I
supposed to
say to that? I'm not picnic either, but ever since I first saw you I knew I'm
supposed to be with
you. I wouldn't know if it was love, I've never felt this for anyone. I just
want to help you, and
helping you makes me feel really, really good."
Their eyes met, and Blair shivered as he understood the combination of lust
and need in
Jim's.
"So you'll stay." It was a statement, not a question, so Blair didn't
bother to answer.
There would be a lot of things to work out. But at least he wouldn't need
to find an
apartment now.
Although they had slept or rested most of the day, after the exertion of
bathing they were
ready to rest again.
"Think you can make the stairs?" Blair asked when they stepped out of the
shower, damp.
"Maybe." Jim sounded doubtful. "The bed hurts, though."
"It will be better with me in it." Feeling sure of himself - even a little
cocky - the younger
man led him up the stairs. The bed was made with more silk sheets, and the
colors were calm and
soothing, and they snuggled up together beneath a warm comforter and quickly
fell into shared
deep sleep.
***
A strong, harsh hand closed over Blair's shoulder, startling him from the
warm depths his mind
was cruising, and the voice in his ear sounded very angry.
"Who the hell are you?" Half-rolling to his back, one arm still around
Jim's waist, he stared
up at the rather large black man that straddled the futon. Wearing nice jeans
and a warm sweater,
a gun hanging heavy in a holster at his hip, he looked threatening but somehow
official.
"Shh." The urge to grin passed as soon as it occurred, but it did see funny
to him that he
was protecting Jim already, as if he'd been born to it. "He needs his rest."
"I asked who you are." Hissed, angry.
Climbing to his feet, disregarding his nudity, Blair leaned to kiss Jim's
forehead and stroke
his neck when the big man stirred.
"Shh, s'okay, sleep. I'll be back in a minute..."
"Like hell you will." Grabbing him by the arm The threatening man pulled
him into the
living room roughly. "Are you another of those prostitutes he keeps finding?
I'll pay you and you'll
get out and be glad I didn't arrest your ass."
"Chill. Geez, which branch of the military spawned you?" Muttering to
himself, Blair went to
his pack, which was still in the kitchen, feeling his cock swinging against his
leg but refusing to be
intimidated into dressing. "I'm not a rent boy, man. I'm a teaching assistant at
Rainier. If you'll just
*hang on* a minute I'll show you my ID."
"You might be a student, but that doesn't prove you're not scamming here."
The man
followed him.
"And what're you, his babysitter? Doin' a piss-poor job of it if ya are."
Blair snapped back,
digging out his wallet and handing over his school identification card, the one
with last year's
picture.
"Hair's shorter." The man commented, staring from it to him and back again.
"I let it grow." Leaning one hip on the counter Blair crossed his arms over
his chest and
waited.
"Where did you meet Jim?"
"At a club. It took me a couple of encounters, but I finally twigged and
saw what was
going on with him."
"He has post-traumatic stress syndrome." Dropping the ID on the counter
than man made
a dismissive gesture with his hand. Blair snorted loudly.
"Yeah, right. That's what they're calling it, huh? Typical western medicine
- can't explain it
so they give it a name and send you home." Stepping lightly, he went around the
kitchen island
and back into the room, waving a hand at the man. "Let me grab some pants,
willya? Unless
you're getting off on this...."
"Look, you little pervert..." The man followed again, but bit his words off
when Blair went
back into the little bedroom and grabbed his jeans, shuffling out while pulling
them on, using one
hand to shield his genitals while he zipped, not at all shy about touching
himself with this
audience.
"Little I might be, man, but I'm no more perverted than the next guy."
Without anger he
retorted. "Are you here for any special reason? It took me a while to get him to
sleep, I'm not
going to let you wake him up.
"I'm Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade PD." The man growled low, looking
away while
the zipping was accomplished. "I'm his *boss*. It's my responsibility to check
on him - I buy his
food, pay his bills."
"Well, cool, then, you're off the hook." Blair grinned wryly. "I can handle
it from here on
out."
His words angered the man further and he grabbed him by the shirt front,
shoving him
back against the living room wall.
"Listen, I'm not leaving my best friend in the hands of any neo-hippie
witch-doctor
*punk*. Get your stuff and get *out* of here before I arrest you for
trespassing."
Raising both hands by his face Blair snarled back, finally angry enough to
let it show.
"Look, man, you don't want to do this. I'm the only one who can help your
friend, you
throw me out and it's like you're throwing him away!"
"Let him go!"
Banks' hands eased and Blair slid down the wall until his feet touched the
ground again
and he tried to breathe evenly.
Standing in the doorway of the little bedroom, Jim was using one hand to
prop himself up,
but he looked awake, if tired.
"Damn, I didn't want to wake you." Blair sputtered, ducking past Banks to
reach Jim,
wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him to the table. "How you feeling?
You hungry?
Think you could eat?"
"I could try." Unawares Jim let his eyes linger on the young man that had
presented
himself as Jim's savior. Behind them Banks stared, mouth open to release a
protest that didn't
come.
He watched as the scruffy student cooked up some eggs and toast and made
some juice,
diluting it with distilled water, and calmly talked Jim through the meal,
keeping him focused, on
track, not letting up until all of the food was gone. It took a while, thirty
minutes or more, but
neither of them looked at him once. Even when he went over and sat on the couch,
they acted as
if he wasn't even there.
Until the last bite was gone and Blair was beaming at Jim, clearing the
dishes away.
"That was great, man, you're adapting way fast. A few more days and you'll
have enough
control to do this without me around."
"You're not going anywhere." Jim's voice was angry and worried. "Right?
Right?"
"Right. At least, not until classes start. I do have a job, man, I won't be
able to stay with
you twenty-four-seven. But we'll get you under control so by then you can get a
life of your
own."
He was doing the dishes, the low rumble of his voice soothing Jim over the
fall of running
water, and Simon went to the table, blinking in surprise when Jim waved a hand
at him.
"Jim?" He sat, staring.
"Hi, Simon. Sorry about that earlier. For some reason I feel rather
protective of the kid."
"Good!" Blair's comment was backed with laughter as he dried.
"Who is he? Where did you meet him? It's not like you to just let some
stranger into your
life, Ellison."
"He's not a stranger, sir." Jim smiled; it was more of a baring of teeth..
"He's Blair."
"That doesn't tell me a lot." The big man grumbled.
Coming around the table the younger man stood behind Jim and hung his arms
loosely
over the broad shoulders.
"Look, why don't you hang around. I'm going to get him cleaned up and then
you two can
do some male bonding." Leaning further, he tilted his head to look at Jim's
face. "If that's okay
with you."
"Cleaned up? We washed yesterday, remember?"
"Most people bathe daily when the facilities exist." Pressing his forehead
to Jim's, Blair
grinned. "And after yesterday you could definitely use one."
"Are you saying I stink, Sandburg?" Banks' eyes widened as he saw Jim grin,
the first happy
expression he'd seen on the man's face in literally months.
"You are definately a stinker." The younger man grinned back and the
captain leaned back.
They were a couple. If they weren't in love already they would be soon....
Jim Ellison, in love with a man. A scruffy, long-haired academic who no
doubt believed in
free love and wheat germ.
He would have said something, but what was there to say? Hey, Jim, you're
straight? After
these past months he knew better than that....
Now Jim was looking at his lap, one hand sneaking up to hold one of the
student's, which
Banks noted were large and square, very masculine, even a bit hairy on the
backs.
"Showering is hard - " he began, closing his eyes. "The water, and
everything..."
"But I'll be there with you." Blair said softly, and Banks looked away.
"You'll have me to
focus on, you'll be okay."
He didn't sound completely sure of that.
Banks stood.
"I'm not leaving you alone here with him, Jim." He said sternly. "We don't
know anything
about him."
"I know his heartbeat helps me sleep." Standing as well, Jim leaned on the
smaller man for
support.
Banks frowned.
"He could clean you out and you wouldn't know it."
"As if." The student snorted again, slipping an arm around Jim's waist
again. "C'mon, Jim, let's
get you dressed. See if you canhandle regular clothes for the whole day." He led
the bigger man
back upstairs while the policeman glared at them both.
While they dressed - he couldhear the little guy chatting quietly, crooning
to Jim, and it
bothered him in ways he cou;dn't define - Simon spent a few minutes on the
phone, chatting with
a couple of acquaintances who had connections to the University, and he wasn't
exactly pleased
with what he learned. Blair Sandburg was who and what he said he was. Possibly
more, certainly
not less. There were good things said about him; he was a conscientious teacher
who cared about
his students and worked hard with them. He had some fringe theories and his
doctoral subject was
pretty much considered a joke, but people in power made allowances because of
his other
qualities. Basically he was considered a good guy. Gregarious, but a loner at
heart. A wanderer.
Hanging up the phone the captain felt guilty. He should be happy for Jim,
right? This
Sandburg guy might actually know what he was doing. But everything had changed
overnight and
it seemed to him that the recovery was coming *too* quickly and that there was
bound tobe some
backlash. A relapse, maybe.
Thinking that over, the big man made his way to the balcony, where he lit
a cigar and
smoked, looking out over the city. He was worried, and frustrated, and he simply
couldn't
understand what he'd seen this morning.
Sure, he'd known about the prostitutes. He'd known when Jim switched to the
guys
instead of the girls, and he'd listened to Jim's vague, drug-distorted
explanation of why the guys
were better. But not once in the months that Jim had been suffering had he seen
him demonstrate
affection for anyone. Shit, he hadn't seen him eat a full meal in months.
And here was this kid....
"You tired, man? Think a nap would be good? It would be better if you could
stay up,
maybe go to bed early, try to get back onto a normal schedule. I bet we can get
you back into the
world in a couple of weeks." Blair was chattering cheerfully to Jim as they
scame back
downstairs, Jim looking more relaxed and together than Simon remembered seeing
him in months.
He looked like his old self - almost. Pale and thin and there were still
circles under his
eyes, but those eyes were bright and aware and taking in everything about the
young man that
stood by his side.
"I think I'll stay up for a while, Sandburg." He replied, tangling his hand
in the wet curly
hair and tugging at it, making the younger man grimace.
"First thing we're gonna do is establish some house rules." Blair used both
of his hands to
firmly remove Jim's from his hair. "The hair is not a handle. Except maybe,
well, at certain times.."
"Jim." Simon spoke from the balcony, dropping his cigar and crushing it out
on the tile
before stepping back into the loft. "We need to talk."
"Let me get dressed, Simon."
"Mr.Sandburg, why don't you run some errands or something?" Banks said
politely.
"Hey, Simon - this is his place, too, now. I'm not going to let you just
kick him out. Whatever
you've got to say to me you can say in front of Blair."
With his hands on his hips Banks scowled.
"But he's what I want to talk to you about."
"Shit, Simon, last week I couldn't even wear clothes for more than an hour
without going nuts.
He's *helping* me!" Frustrated, Jim gestured at his body, warmly dressed, and
glared at his boss
and best friend.
"I've been talking to you naked for months now, in case you hadn't
noticed!" Simon
barked and Jim pursed his lips. "I've been taking care of you, feeding you,
paying your bills,
making sure you got your disability - because you couldn't!"
"And I appreciate that, Simon, I really do. I never meant to take so much
of your time.
But now I'm better and you can have your life back."
"So what happens when he leaves? He's just a kid, Jim, he just got back
from an
expedition, he's not the kind of man to stick around."
"I'll stay as long as he needs me." Blair stepped in front of Jim and spoke
fiercely. "I can
help him, get him back into the world, and then he *won't* need me and he'll
have a life. What,
man, you jealous or something?"
"No, I'm dreading the day you bail and he falls apart again!" Simon
shouted, and Jim was
in front of Blair, taking a defensive stance, before the echoes fell silent.
"You don't know me, man." Blair said softly, looking around Jim's larger
body, sighing.
"It's not up to you, Simon." Jim said, just as softly. "I know it seems
strange to you, but
he's what I need. And I trust him. For him to come back, for him to help me,
after what I did to
him... I trust him."
"What *did* you do to him?" Simon asked suspiciously.
"It's over." Blair snapped. "Over and done with. Nothing to worry about."
"He'll stay." Jim said, the tome colored with love. "He'll fix me."
"You'll fix yourself." With a hand on Jim's shoulder Blair moved to stand
beside him,
pressed close.
"We'll do it together." Jim turned and gave him a quick, light kiss.
"And what about me?" Simon asked, sounding lost. "Where do I fit into this?
I can't just
stop worrying and fade back into the woodwork, Jim. I've got too much invested
in you. You're
my best friend."
"And I always will be." Leaving Blair, ignoring the fact that he was
wearing only a towel
around his hips, a towel that was considering abandoning him, Jim went to his
friend and touched
his shoulder. "You kept me alive, Simon. I would have given up months ago
without your
support. You kept me alive long enough to find him and I believe there was a
reason for that."
"Like what?" Gruffly asked.
"So I can repay you, of course. I always pay my debts." Jim grinned and
Simon took his
hand, clasped it as he would a brother's.
"Come back to work for me. That will be payment enough."
"Give me a couple of weeks, and I will." Jim squeezed back.
"He's a walking crime lab with organic forensic equipment, man, the bad
guys won't know
what hit 'em!" Blair exclaimed behind them.
"It will be different now, Simon." Jim nodded toward Blair, who was
grinning brightly.
"Harder."
"If we get you back, Jim, I don't care." Simon said firmly. "There are
regulations to
protect you, and they'll be enforced."
"Jim." Leaning into his side, Blair wrapped an arm around his waist. "Why
don't we get
dressed, and then we can order pizza and I'll go grab a twelve-pack and we'll
watch the Jags
play."
"Like a regular Sunday afternoon?" Jim opened his mouth and laughed. "I
would love it.
Simon?"
"Count me in - only no pepperoni on that pizza, it gives me heartburn..."
Headed for the bedroom, where his pack lay, and his clean clothes, Blair
spoke over his
shoulder. "I got the perfect thing for that, man, this apothecary I know over on
45th street makes
this great herbal remedy, you just swallow a bit of it before you eat.." He went
inside and Jim
stood for a moment, looking at Simon with clear, shining eyes.
"I owe you a lot more than thanks." He said quietly.
"You don't owe me anything." Simon said gruffly, with a shake of his head.
"You would
have done the same for me."
"Yeah." Jim sounded thoughtful. "I would have. But I hope I don't ever have
to."
Remembering the shambling wreck of a man that he'd found only a few days
before,
Simon couldn't help but agree.
"Me too, Jim." Then he chuckled, and made a disgusted sound. "Now go get
some clothes
on, what are you, a pervert? We have indecency laws in this city..."
Without comment Jim turned and went to the bedroom, where Blair was
fighting with his
hair, and Simon went back to the couch, to find the pre-game show, and it was
the first of many
Sundays spent the way they should be.
Later, that night, in the big bed upstairs, Blair was dozing off when Jim
woke him with a
kiss to his nose.
"What?" He asked, groggy and comfortable.
"Just wanted to kiss you." Jim said, his eyes shining bright in the dim
light.
"Didn't we just do that?" Grinning, Blair snuggled closer to the bigger
man's body.
"Yeah. I wasn't asking for more tonight. Just thinking." He paused.
"About what?" Blair asked at last.
"What if we hadn't met? What would have happened to me?"
"I don't know, man, but whatever it was, it ain't gonna happen now."
Reassuring, Blair
kissed the smooth chest under his lips. "So don't worry about it."
"You're not going to be hanging out at the club anymore, are you?" A touch
of worry
drew Blair up to straddle his lover, and he kissed Jim softly, then with more
hunger, leaning
down, his hair falling around their faces in a soft curtain.
"No, Jim. I've had my fill of back room blues now, and I've got you.
There's no reason for
me to go back there."
"Good." Jim smiled, and pulled him down, hands cradling the stubbled face.
"Kiss me."
Blair did.
End.
saraid@wf.net
