Mother May
by saraid
"Oh, shit. Oh, shit, Jim..." Blair's low voice rolled through the darkened
loft.
It was cool and goosebumps stood out on his skin as he held himself still,
the better to feel what his lover was doing to him. On his hands and knees in front
of the couch, the rug rough beneath him, his head hung so that his hair trailed the
floor.
"Almost there, babe. Just a little more." Caressing Blair's ass, Jim's hands
spread him wider as the older man did Blair's absolute favorite thing.
"I can come just from this, man." Blair panted as Jim's tongue again sought
his opening, tickling at the edges, teasing. His hands spasmed on the rug,
searching for an anchor as a wave of pleasure threatened to wash him away.
Colored lights flashed through a crack in the curtains, the flickering of
Christmas lights strung on the building across the street. They danced on Blair's
skin, reflecting off the patches of sweat that gathered on him, caught in his body,
even in the cool.
There were no holiday lights in the loft, no tree, although the big day was
less than a week away.
"Goddamn, Jim!" Grunting, Blair tried to push back on the pointed tongue
that thrust delicately into him. "Harder!"
"You said I could fuck you if I opened you this way first, Sandburg."
Lifting his head away, Jim bit an asscheek, hard enough to sting. "So, let me do it
the way I want to, okay?"
"You're evil, man." Twisting his head to glare over his shoulder, Blair bit
his lower lip hard. "Okay, okay, whatever you want. Any position you want. Just
don't stop!"
The sounds and scents of the outside world faded away as Jim bent his
head to his task. His agile tongue circled the small opening and then stabbed at it
quickly. A low groan rewarded the action. Blair's head slumped forward again.
He rocked his hips carefully in time with Jim's thrusts, hands kneading the rug
ruthlessly, movement to voice his frustration.
"Feels so good, Jim..." he panted. "Don't stop..."
Pulling his head away, his tongue feeling stiff and thick, Jim quickly
surveyed Blair's vital signs. The smaller man was panting, wriggling, his body
tense and yet loose.
Sucking on two fingers, knowing Blair heard this and knew what it meant,
Jim steadied him with a hand on his ass and carefully probed him.
"You're loose, babe. You're ready," he announced, giving the ass a friendly
slap.
"Aw, no, man, I want more! I want to come that way!" With a grumble of
discontent, Blair flipped to his back, legs spread wide, chest heaving as he panted,
hands flopping over his head.
"I like it better when you come while I'm fucking you." Leaning over him
on all fours, Jim evaded an attempted kiss and nuzzled Blair's neck instead, biting
gently. With a moan and a sigh, the younger man stretched out beneath him, tilting
his head, offering his neck. With a smooth movement, Jim straddled him, both
hands sinking into Blair's tangled hair as he sucked on the junction of neck and
shoulder, leaving a mark.
"I've told you not to do that," Blair protested. "It looks unprofessional."
"I can't help it. You taste so good. You like me to eat you other ways,"
the bigger man said, half-teasing as he pulled away. "C'mon, let's do this my way."
His body loose and flushed with desire, needy, Blair crawled up as Jim lay
down, climbing over the larger body and aligning himself with Jim's cock, his
hands gripping the bigger man's shoulders.
"A little more lube," Jim murmured, one hand spreading wide on Blair's
flank as the other slid between his legs, beneath Blair's heavy cock, testing him.
"Rise up a minute." Blair did, grunting as Jim used three fingers to push a glob of
lubricant deep into him, the tube sliding off to lie on the rug beside them. "There,
that's good." Jim's hands closed on Blair's hips, urging him downwards.
With a hiss and a belly-groan, Blair sank onto Jim's long, thick cock. He
tensed, stomach muscles quivering, and Jim lay very still under him. Blair's eyes
were closed tightly, his mouth drawn into a grimace.
"Too deep?" Jim asked, mildly concerned.
"Nah, it'll be okay. Give me another minute." Blair panted out the words.
Jim waited patiently, his erection stiff inside the hot channel of his lover's
ass. Before him, Blair's own cock softened, down to half-size. Jim's hand
spider-walked over the quivering, furry belly and then tickled at the edges of
Blair's pubic hair for a few seconds before sliding down to encircle the flagging
erection and stroke it with sensitive fingers.
"Yeah," Blair panted softly. "Distract me, man."
"I think I can do that." Grinning up at him, the older man slipped his
fingers over the cock, as he'd learned Blair liked, repeating the movement until
Blair moaned softly and his hips moved gently, testing.
Blair couldn't stand to be pumped vigorously, or squeezed too tightly. His
cock was very sensitive, more so even than Jim's, which secretly amused the older
man.
"Yeah, baby," Jim encouraged, letting his fingers twirl around the swollen
head of Blair's cock. "Do it to me."
With a sudden, arching stretch, Blair settled completely on Jim, taking him
even deeper, his ass pressed firmly to the older man's lap.
"Show me what you got," Jim urged, his eyes wide and dark with lust.
Bracing his other hand on the floor beside him, he continued to play with Blair's
cock gently as the younger man used his knees, thighs working, to raise and lower
himself on the cock that impaled him. Jim moaned and spread his legs wider,
trying to go even deeper. "Yeah, like that, like that." He grunted and bent his
knees slightly, trying for still more depth.
Blair rode him gracefully, lithe body rising and falling in time with Jim's
grunts, gradually speeding up as Jim's attentions to Blair's own cock became more
intense. Now Jim had one hand tenderly rolling Blair's balls, a finger pressed to
the stretched opening where it both inflamed Blair and caressed Jim's cock as it
went in and out, in and out, and his other hand was running fingers over Blair's
cock, throbbing now in his hand, cupping the head, pulling at it gently with them.
"Faster, man," Blair gasped. Sweat ran down his chest, dripped to Jim's
belly, where the muscles rolled with each thrust.
Spreading his legs even wider, Jim began lifting into each movement,
thrusting up as Blair came down, his back arching off the floor, weight on
shoulders and feet.
"Yeah, yeah!" Blair shouted suddenly, shattering the relative silence around
them. His movements sped up and then, suddenly, he was fucking Jim with frantic
purpose, fucking himself on Jim's cock, fast and hard. His hands braced on Jim's
hips so he could remain upright, he pounded himself on Jim, the slide and thrust of
each stroke drawing a grunt from the man beneath him. He was moving so quickly
Jim couldn't keep up, he just held himself there and let Blair do the work, amazed
that the kid could do it so fast, mildly put off by this enthusiasm but too horny too
care.
Blair was his first male lover and Jim supposed that all gay men acted like
this, really.
His thoughts were forcibly returned to the present as he felt Blair's balls
draw up, tightening in preparation for orgasm.
"Oh, baby!" he bellowed on cue, the way he'd learned Blair liked him to.
Then Blair came and Jim's orgasm was ripped from his body as Blair clung to him,
his thighs clasping Jim in a vice as the strong young body pumped helplessly into
the air. His come splattered over Jim's chest and stomach and the older man
couldn't restrain a grimace of distaste as it hit him and clung, hot and sticky.
With a last groan, Blair slumped to the side, Jim's cock pulling free, and
they both lay in silence, panting desperately.
Blair landed right in the path of the curtain crack, the lights flickering over
his face, red-green-blue-red-green-blue.
The effect was eerie and Jim found himself frowning.
Painted in Christmas lights, Blair's face was far too masculine. The thick
shadow of beard stubble caught the blue, his heavy sideburns bristled under the
red, and the angular planes of his cheekbones, which Jim had always thought of as
beautiful, were starkly outlined in green.
The overall effect was far more male than Jim was comfortable with.
"Jim?" Blair raised his head, removing his face from the lights. His eyes
were wide and anxious, the post-orgasmic daze already fading.
"Yeah, babe, c'mere." Reaching for him, Jim pulled the smaller body close
and held him warmly. This he understood, this he was comfortable with. Blair
always got nervous after they had really good sex, as if he was afraid Jim would be
repulsed by what they'd done.
And sometimes Jim had to admit, privately, to himself, that if he really let
himself think about it when he wasn't horny, he probably would be. But he would
never tell Blair that.
The kid couldn't help being who he was.
"I love you." Blair's whisper tickled the older man's neck.
"I love you, too," Jim answered, running his hands through the hair he was
encouraging his lover to grow longer.
Soon Blair would be asleep. Jim would carry him up to bed, clean him off,
and then take a shower himself before going to sleep, relaxed and content. He
loved Blair, there was no doubt about that, but sometimes he doubted the reasons
behind that love. It was the Sentinel/Guide thing, he knew that, and that made it
okay.
It wasn't like he was gay or anything.
* * *
"I'd like you to just go down and give the scene a look," Simon said,
nodding at the file he'd just handed his detective. "It's been a couple of days since
the accident and there's been rain, but maybe you'll be able to pick something up."
"I'm not a bloodhound, Simon." The mild objection was more form than
function and both men knew it. "But I'll see what I can do."
"You do that. Sandburg with you?" Sitting back in his chair, one graceful
hand occupied with an unlit cigar, the captain glanced out the uncovered window
into the bullpen, his eyes lighting on an empty desk chair, against the wall behind
Ellison's. "He hasn't been coming in as often."
"My senses are fine. I haven't zoned in weeks." Jim realized he sounded
defensive and cut off his words.
"Is there something you're not telling me, Jim? Something I should know?"
Leaning back against the conference table, Jim crossed his arms over his
chest, the file dangling from his fingers. He shook his head, then his ears caught a
familiar sound-Blair's heartbeat.
"No, Simon, everything is fine. Here's Sandburg now."
Both heads turned to watch as the younger man came through the far door.
Detective Henri Brown, at his desk, made a comment that made Blair smile, but
Rafe got up and moved away as he passed, earning a shrug. Then Rhonda pointed
at the office and Blair was trotting toward them, ever-present backpack slung
carelessly on the floor beside Jim's desk.
"Hey, anything happening?" He knocked and entered simultaneously,
getting a growl from the captain.
"A hit-and-run that just became ours - the guy died this morning."
"That's too bad, man. I heard on the news they thought he was going to
make it." Blair's expressive face saddened, sympathy for this stranger he'd never
met.
"He didn't, Sandburg, so the two of you get to work and catch the guy that
killed him." Simon's short words were harsh, but the student took them in stride,
already turning to head out the door.
"I guess we need to go to the scene and see if you can pick anything up,
right, Jim?" He left the same way he'd come, only a bit slower, giving Jim a chance
to catch up. The older man shrugged at Simon and they exchanged long-suffering
looks and then Jim was after Sandburg, using his longer legs to make up the
distance.
"Ellison!" Rhonda's voice caught him as he was going out the door.
"Phone!"
"Take a message!" he called back, seeing Blair holding the elevator doors
open, waiting for him.
Automatically dialing his hearing up to see if he could hear who was on the
other end, he stepped into the elevator. Blair stepped closer to him as the doors
closed and Jim took two more steps to put some distance between them.
"No, I'm sorry, you just missed him, Mrs. Ellison," Rhonda's pleasant voice
was cheerful. Drawing in a quick gasp, Jim held it.
"Yes, I'll tell him you called and give him the number. Cascade Inn? Room
405? I've got it, thanks."
"Jim?" Blair's voice, hesitant and low, snapped Jim from the zone that was
threatening as the smaller man kept his distance. The floor dinged and the doors
opened before Jim answered.
"Hm? Sorry, Sandburg, did you sat say something?"
"No, man, just making sure you weren't zoning."
"I'm fine. Let's get to work."
Together, they walked through the parking garage to Jim's truck and
climbed in. While walking, Blair drifted closer to his lover, but the bigger man
always adjusted for that, keeping a polite distance between them. And in the
truck, Blair sat very carefully on his side, with no contact between them at all.
* * *
"The report says the man was going at least seventy." Holding the open
folder, Blair read from it as Jim walked the pavement. They were alone on a
narrow stretch of road that exited the freeway just at the city limits.
"The posted limit is forty." Jim observed the sign that stood only a few
yards from the fading chalk outline of a body. Other chalk lines marked tire treads
and a long braking pattern.
"A lot of kids from Willow Heights use this as a drag." Closing the folder,
Blair watched as Jim knelt, running his fingers through a little pile of debris that
had collected at the base of the sign.
"The rich kids, I know." Jim looked up, a scrap of paper in his fingers. "I
used to be one of them. Stephen and I would compete here."
"Were there ever any adults around when you did?" Going around the
truck, Blair put the folder away.
Jim snorted. "No. If there had, we wouldn't have done it."
"So, chances are this didn't happen during a drag competition."
"Chances are," Jim agreed. Blair stepped closer, eyeing the paper Jim was
holding.
"What's that?"
"A receipt. It hasn't been here long or it would have decomposed by now.
It might have fallen from the car."
"That's a pretty big stretch." Grinning, Blair shook his head.
"I don't want to go back to Simon empty-handed." Jim's eyes were
half-closed. He was watching his partner. Evening was rapidly approaching and
the last of the afternoon sun was caught in the curls that brushed Blair's shoulders,
making them gleam like strands of liquid bronze.
"Chief." The nickname spilled out of his mouth and Jim couldn't stop
himself from stepping closer to the younger man, didn't really try to stop when his
arms slid around him and pulled him close, their bodies pressed tight together.
"What?" Blair's voice was suddenly husky, and his eyes were looking up at
Jim through his lashes, making him look pretty and fey.
When Jim didn't answer, Blair smiled a little half-smile, almost secretive,
and wriggled slowly against Jim, his erection pressing into the older man's thigh.
"Okay." Sagging slightly, he rested his head against Jim's chest, his weight
on Jim's arms. "You got me." His voice was muffled by Jim's shirt. "Now, what
are you going to do with me, Detective?"
Lowering his head, Jim walked Blair backwards until the younger man's
back was against the truck door. With a low rumble, he kissed Blair's neck, behind
his ear, and then nibbled on tender flesh.
Blair moaned and both of his hands came up to catch the sides of Jim's
head, pulling him away. "No marks, man. C'mon, I really don't like that..."
Succeeding in saving his neck from a week-long hickey, Blair tilted his own
face up and parted his lips, moving to cover Jim's mouth with his own. But the
older man released him, rather abruptly, keeping an arm around his waist until
Blair was steady on his feet again, and then Jim stepped away.
"What the fuck?" Confused, and a bit hurt, Blair used both hands to push
his hair out of his eyes.
"You need a shave." Turning away, the detective fished a small plastic
baggie out of his pocket and carefully slid the forgotten receipt into it.
"Jim, I need a shave about an hour after I've had one."
Hearing him move up behind him, Jim stood still. First Blair's hand
touched his back, stroking lightly, and then it slid down and caressed the curve of
his ass through his slacks.
"Listen..." Blair was almost whispering now, leaning close to him, letting
his erection just brush Jim's ass. "When we get home tonight, why don't you shave
me? It can be very erotic, all that creamy foam and sharp edges and trust..."
"I'll drop you at the loft, Chief, I have an errand to run." Still unmoving,
unresponsive to the caresses and the heat of his lover's voice, Jim breathed a small
sigh of relief when Blair backed off, disappointed.
"I could come with you, man. Keep you company."
The sun had set now, and with it the rays of light that had illuminated the
younger man.
Now, in darkness pierced by Sentinel sight, he looked stocky, his jaw too wide, his
shoulders too broad. Coarse and masculine.
"I know you have a lot of work to do, Chief. Order a pizza, I'll treat, and
I'll be back before bedtime, okay?" Knowing Blair couldn't see him clearly, Jim
managed a grin that was more grimace, but the younger man answered cheerfully
enough.
"Yeah, cool, thanks. Then I'll shave and be ready for you, how's that?"
"Mmm, perfect." Making an appreciative noise, Jim hopped into the truck.
The light came on when he opened the door and he thought he saw something in
Blair's eyes-a touch of sadness. But then Blair climbed in and started talking
about all the things he had to do over the weekend and Jim told himself that he
was imagining things. Blair loved him, and they were happy, despite everything,
and that was all that mattered. Right? Of course, he thought, gripping the wheel
with one hand and reaching his free hand across the seat to clasp Blair's, making
the younger man beam at him.
That was all that mattered.
* * *
"Yeah, hi." Blair winced as he shouted into the phone, trying to be heard
over a dreadful line. "Hey! Is Naomi there? Naomi Sandburg!" He waited,
easing himself to sit carefully on the arm of the sofa, balancing his weight on one
hip rather than irritate his sore bottom.
It always seemed to hurt worse when he did most of the work, but the
books said that would fade as he got more used to it. Unfortunately, it also
seemed that he would get used to it because it seemed that Jim preferred things
that way.
He'd expected his partner to be...active in bed. Not quite so passive.
It just didn't seem like Jim.
A voice came on the other line and he concentrated, trying to hear what
was being said.
"Yeah. Yeah? This is her son, Blair. I said, THIS IS HER SON,
BLAIR!" he shouted again, and then, suddenly, the line cleared. And he could
hear the man on the other end, saying the same thing he'd heard from seven other
people tonight.
"You don't know where she went? She didn't leave a number?"
A minute later, he hung up the phone with a sigh, clutching a scrap of
paper with a number written on it, This guy thought that maybe she'd gone to see
these people.
"Dammit, mom, why can't I ever find you when I need you?" he cursed
without heat and settled himself into the sofa cushions, lifting the phone again and
dialing. He was unhappy and that made him anxious; his finger slipped and he had
to start over.
"Dammit."
The outburst was unlike him and he set the phone down and leaned back,
trying to breathe properly and calm himself down. After a few minutes, he felt he
was in control again, and this time dialed the number without a mistake.
It rang twice and then clicked on and a deep male voice, clearly recorded,
came on the line.
"You have reached 940-767-0836. If you would like to leave a message
for either the Sharps or a guest, please speak freely to the machine."
Closing his eyes, Blair sighed again.
"Hi. This is Blair Sandburg, calling for Naomi Sandburg. Mom, I need to
talk to you. It's not urgent, but I could really use your advice right now. So, call
me as soon as you get back, okay?"
He hung up before the tape ran out, and then slumped back on the couch,
cradling the phone to his chest.
He needed someone to talk to. Someone safe, someone who wouldn't get
them in trouble at the station or the university. That ruled out Joel or Megan, who
was fast becoming a friend.
And although he hung out with a lot of other TAs, he didn't consider most
of them friends and none of them knew Jim, so they wouldn't be able to offer
advice.
Because Blair loved Jim. But he was beginning to wonder just exactly how
Jim felt about him.
* * *
The hallway was cool, pleasantly so, and smelled mildly of fresh flowers
and various cleaners. Not unpleasant, even for a Sentinel nose.
Listening at the door of the hotel room, Jim hesitated before knocking.
Inside, the television was on, tuned to some religious program that was featuring a
woman who was gushing about how God had saved her from herself, and how
happy she was now, in service to her husband and church. That prompted a
reluctant grin from the detective as he tried to imagine those words coming from
his partner's mouth. Yes, Blair believed in giving back to the community and he
loved to take care of Jim-but he would never accept servitude to anyone. And he
would probably think it was sad that this woman saw it that way.
Blair was strong and self-confident, characteristics he'd learned from his
mother, no doubt. He would never use religion as an excuse for the decisions he
made in his life.
Of course, Jim thought, if he said the same about what he called the
Sentinel thing, then who became responsible for some of the choices he had been
making lately?
Not enjoying this bout of spontaneous soul-searching, Jim raised his hand
and knocked on the door.
"Coming."
The voice-warm, but stern-brought a flash of memory and a sudden ache
that clenched his gut. Sucking in a breath, he held it until the door opened and he
was face to face with the one woman he had thought to never see again.
"It is you." The breath whooshed out in a sentence filled with decades of
pain and anger.
"Jimmy! I'm so happy to see you. Come in, come in." Without even
replying to his words, she held the door open wide and gestured to him. "The
room isn't too bad. Your father was kind enough to get it for us, since we couldn't
very well stay with him." Although the words flowed briskly, reminding him in
some small way of Sandburg, there was no emotion on the still-pretty face to
match them. Her blue eyes were cold, her hands clasped behind her back as she
released the door.
Closing the door behind himself, Jim stood with his back to it, mind
automatically cataloguing the furnishings, and then latching onto the one thing
she'd said that interested him.
"We?" His hearing expanded just enough to cover the two-room suite, and
a third heartbeat teased his ears, beating much faster than his own or his mother's.
"Who's here with you?"
"Sit down, son, and let me look at you." She ignored the question and he
ignored her request.
Stepping forward, Jim grabbed his mother's arm by the elbow, making her
stop talking immediately. He shook her gently.
"Who is here with you? Is it her?"
"Well, who else would it be?" Accepting the impolite treatment stoically,
she tilted her head to look up at him. He realized that she was almost exactly the
same height as Blair. He hadn't remembered that.
But it had been nearly thirty years since he'd seen her last. Since she'd left
home, abandoned him and Stephen for a life he still didn't understand...
Growling the word, wondering how anyone could connect positive
emotions to it, Jim shook her again. "Mother..."
"Sit down, James, and release me." Now her voice was as cold as her eyes.
Slowly, trying to demonstrate to her that he wasn't intimidated-although
some ten-year-old part of him wanted to be-Jim let go of her arm and sat on the
nearest chair, which coincidentally faced the doorway to the next room.
"Go and get her, Mother. Let me meet my sister."
Hands on her hips, the woman studied him. She came closer, bent over,
and scrutinized him. After enduring long moments of this, Jim gave in at last and,
well, fidgeted. That seemed to please her, for she straightened and put her hands
on her hips.
"I can't do that, James. I wanted to, and I brought her here for that very
reason... But first I have to know if your father was telling the truth about you."
Gripping the arms of the chair, struggling to remain calm, Jim sought for
something to calm himself. As always, Blair's voice came to him, speaking
soothingly, quietly in his ear, drawing him back from the cavern he contemplated.
"What did he say?" Growled again, at least the words weren't spat.
"That you are involved in a sinful-an ungodly-relationship. He said that he
had tried everything to save you from this and that you wouldn't listen to him, and
that I am your last chance."
Before Jim realized it, he was standing, and towering over his mother.
Opening his mouth to shout, he bit it back and snarled instead. "I haven't spoken
to the man in nearly a year, what the fuck does he know?!"
Her arms went behind her back, her head bowed, and Jim saw her lips
moving. He didn't have to listen to hear what she was saying.
"Dear Lord, please forgive my son. He has been seduced from the path of
righteousness, but the fault is mine. I left him with that money-launderer that
fathered him and now I shall reap what I have sown. Lord, give my words the
strength they need to-"
"SHIT!"
Backing away from her, and then moving around her, Jim shoved for the
bedroom door. Immediately, she was on him, grabbing his arm and jacket, trying
to pull him away.
"No, no, no, you can't see her! She is pure, unspoiled. Even seeing an
abomination like you will destroy her!"
"Get off of me!" Jim's shout rang through the room. It startled his mother
enough that she let go before he let himself hurt her, and then he had the door
open.
And the woman sitting on the bed was staring at him with wide, wide eyes,
the same shade of pale ice blue as his own and Stephen's, and he stopped.
Stunned.
"Rachel?"
He was unable to say more.
"Jim." Her voice was cool and pleasant and hesitantly friendly. "You're
Jim, right?" Her eyes flickered from him to their mother, who stood behind Jim
with one hand on the door. "Mama said I can't see you." Now they dropped to
the floor and color flooded her pale skin. "She said you-you're unclean." She
hunched her shoulders protectively. Her mother rushed forward, but missed her
grab at Jim's arm as he slipped around to crouch before Rachel.
"Hey." That soft voice he almost never used, reserved for wounded
children and men too badly hurt to be offended by it.
Blue eyes, round and glimmering with a hint of tears. They stared at him
and Jim blinked, another set of tear-filled eyes suddenly filling his vision. The last
time Blair had cried-after they got home, after Lash. And Jim had patted him on
the back and made general comforting noises. At the time he'd accepted it as just
another sign that his partner wasn't like other men.
"Look at me. There's nothing wrong with me."
"You do evil things." She turned her face away and Jim bit his lip.
Then their mother was there and tugging on Jim's arm, her mouth set into a
thin line. "You need to go before you upset her."
"She's not a child, you can't tell her who to talk to."
"I will not speak to you."
Rachel's voice was sad and quivered with tears, but her face had a stubborn
cast Jim recognized. It reminded him on his own. He gave in and stood. ""I'll be
back to see you tomorrow."
There was no response. She was watching the television again now.
Shaking off his mother's hand, Jim turned and left the room. In the front
room of the suite, he stopped, and spoke to her without looking at her, eyes fixed
on the door opposite him. "I'll be back tomorrow."
"She means what she says, Jimmy. She won't talk to you until you give up
this unwholesome life and beg God for forgiveness."
"And where would that leave Blair, Mom?" Now he did turn, his anger
mutating again, seeking targets large enough to withstand it, ever-growing. "I've
promised to love him and take care of him. I can't turn my back on that!"
Her next move was a surprise as she stepped forward and hugged him.
"I know, Jimmy. I know how responsible you are. Your father told me
how you took care of Stephen after I left, how you looked after him. It's in your
nature to take care of people close to you, but this little man-he's taken advantage
of you, twisted you to see things his way, seduced you with his charms."
"Seduced...yes, he did seduce me," Jim said, feeling old yearnings rising to
the surface, a desperate hunger for that one love he'd never really had, now being
offered to him. The most important one.
His mother's love.
He'd never been good enough before, but maybe now-if he could just show
her that he was worthy....
"But I didn't fight it." He had to be honest, even with this at stake. "I
didn't reject him. I do love him."
"But he took advantage of that love."
Disengaging himself, feeling completely off-balance, his head swimming in
emotions his heart wouldn't even touch, Jim drew away.
"I'll be back tomorrow." Leaving, he extended his hearing, and was further
startled to hear quiet sobs from Rachel. It was almost enough to make him turn
around and blunder back in, but he restrained himself.
He had some thinking to do, and the place to do it was at home.
* * *
Sitting on the sofa, curled a bit in deference to the chill of the air, Blair
was watching a video. Not a rented one; this was a tape made at the last Major
Crimes Winter Holiday Party-so named to include all the religions represented in
the diverse group, including Blair's own Judaism. Rafe had done most of the
taping and given him a copy a couple of months later when Blair asked for it,
without asking why. A good friend to both of them, but even now Blair wasn't
sure how he-or anyone-would take the news of his and Jim's relationship.
And maybe that was the real issue here. Watching Jim flirt with Rhonda
and Joel's wife-Bomb Squad was traditionally invited to Major Crimes parties and
vice-versa-Blair let his eyes catch other things. The way Jim's hand lingered on
Simon's shoulder when he gave the captain his gift. Jim's eyes lighting up as
Brown's pretty date walked past him with an inviting wiggle to her hips. And Jim's
eyes closing, a soft smile creasing his lips, as he danced with his ex-wife Carolyn,
in town to visit her family over the holidays.
Jim had never danced with Blair. Never asked to. Even in the privacy of
their home, though music played often, and some of it, thanks to Jim's tastes, was
suitable to dance to. When Blair had stripped for him one night, Jim had been
appreciative, but he hadn't smiled like that.
Blair had never looked up or back or down during sex with Jim and found
the older man's eyes closed in that content expression.
The conversation with Naomi had left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Blair Sandburg..." His mother had been insistent. "If you let that man
treat you as trash, then that's what he's going to think of you. You find out exactly
what is going on in his head and you deal with it."
Silent, Blair held the phone tightly to his ear and fingered the tassels of the
pillow he clutched to his stomach.
"Blair..." There was a warning note to her voice now.
"I know, Mom. I know. But I love him. Can't I-can't I just be what he
needs me to be?"
"Not if it makes you into someone you're not," she answered briskly.
"But-"
"Blair..."
"But-"
"Blair..."
"But-!"
"Blair!"
"I know," he'd shouted. "I know, Naomi. But if knowing means that I
have to give up the only person I've ever really loved, I don't think I can!"
"Sweetie, I'm sorry you're hurting. I would do anything to stop it, you
know that."
"Kiss it and make it better?" Though tears threatened, he grasped onto this
one true thing; his mother would always, always love him.
"With ice cream on top," she promised, as she had when he was little.
"Blair, I know Jim loves you. But that isn't always enough. You have to love
yourself first."
"Yeah." Unable to hear more, he'd hung up. She wouldn't be offended,
she knew him too well.
There was knowing, and there was knowing.
And now, watching Jim slap Henri on the belly much the same way he did
Blair, Blair wondered if he knew what was going on at all.
He was just getting up to take it out of the player when he heard Jim's key
in the door. Continuing, putting the tape away in its neatly labeled case, he felt his
lover's eyes on him as he bent over to slide the case into the slot at the bottom of
the stack tower that held them. Wearing only a pair of boxers under one of Jim's
sweatshirts-oversized, much-washed, it was soft and loose, hanging around his
sturdy body in comforting folds that smelled of Jim-Blair had dressed for comfort.
Attraction had been the last thing on his mind, but as soon as he turned, he could
see that it was now the first thing on Jim's.
Since Jim had been staring at his ass when he was bent over, when Blair
turned it meant his eyes were at groin-level. And despite everything, Blair's cock
couldn't help but harden beneath that gaze.
"Hi. I didn't know when you were going to be home, so I had a sandwich.
I can fix you something," Blair offered, arms at his sides, making an inner effort to
not be seductive or attractive or any of those things that would lead to sex.
"I'm not very hungry. I think I'll just take a shower and come up to bed.
You should go on up, you look tired."
The observation wasn't welcome, but Blair accepted it, his eyes busy,
searching Jim's face, looking for that softness, that peace he wanted to find there.
He wanted to be the one Jim came home to, but he wanted Jim to be happy
about it, dammit.
"Yeah. Okay. I am sorta tired..." Talking mostly to himself, Blair turned
away. An involuntary shiver ran through him and then Jim was behind him, a hand
on his shoulder, turning him partly.
"I'm sorry I didn't call, Chief."
"I'm not your mother, man, you don't have to call me to say you'll be late."
It must have been the wrong thing to say, because Jim snatched his hand
away like he'd been burned.
"I'll see you in a few," he said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had
happened.
"Kay." Not even thinking about it, not willing to, Blair shushed his
mother's voice as she scolded in his head.
"If he can't even touch you without feeling guilty, there's something wrong
here that no amount of love is going to fix, sweetie..."
Later, Naomi, he promised mentally.
Stripping off his boxers before crawling into the big bed, he left the shirt
on. Like a teddy-bear sweatshirt, he thought ruefully.
Tonight he was going to ignore his better judgement and just do what came
naturally. He might pay for it tomorrow, but tonight-the way things were looking
he might not have many more chances-he was going to be Jim's lover.
* * *
It wasn't long before Jim surfaced from the shower and came up the stairs.
Without turning on the light, he slid into the bed and stretched out, not reaching
for Blair or getting close to him.
A few minutes passed.
Lying flat on his back, Blair felt himself grow harder with Jim's proximity,
and shifted to lie on his side, his back to the other man. He wanted sex, yes, but he
wanted Jim to come to him. He never wanted to hear the older man say that Blair
had seduced him into it.
That first time...it hadn't been intentional. Blair had stepped out of the
shower and Jim, running late after a stakeout and in a hurry, had let himself into
the bathroom to shave. Blair couldn't help that his body had reacted so strongly to
Jim's presence in the small room, with Blair nude and Jim only half-dressed.
It wasn't like he had teased him or something.
Just like he wasn't teasing him now.
His heartrate was up, he was breathing a little faster, but Jim was being
polite about it. Not making it an issue.
Then Jim's hand gently grasped an asscheek and Blair wondered if maybe
Jim hadn't seen the movement itself as an invitation.
Did he think because I turned my back to him I was offering?
It had never occurred to him before, but now that he thought about it....
"Jim?"
"What, Sandburg?" The gently caressing hand stopped, resting lightly on
his skin.
"I-I, uh, when I turned over, I didn't mean-"
The hand withdrew.
"Sorry."
Now Blair rolled back over, and kept going until he was only inches away
from Jim.
"No! I mean...not that I don't want to. Just that I wasn't hinting, y'know."
Jim held still. "You smell like you want to."
"I can't help the way I smell, man. I probably smell like I want to at least
ten times a day, and not always around you."
Sounding vaguely reassured, Jim almost chuckled as he answered, both
hands coming over to wrap around Blair's waist and pull him closer. "That's
encouraging."
"I'm usually thinking about you..." Blair panted, and then the words were
cut off by Jim's mouth as the larger man rolled them so that he was on top.
"Light, man?" Blair asked, knowing that Jim could see him, but needing to
see his partner.
"I'd rather not." The hands that had been teasing their way up beneath the
sweatshirt paused, and Blair shivered.
"Okay. Never mind. Whatever you want, man." Thrusting his hips
upwards, Blair rubbed his now aching erection into Jim's bent thigh.
"Be still for a minute, Chief," Jim said, panting now himself. "Turn over."
"Like this tonight." Hearing the note of pleading in his voice, Blair
struggled to defeat it, but the sound stayed, as did the emotion. "Please, man, like
this. I want you-I want to kiss you while you're inside me."
Straining to see Jim's face, all Blair could make out was the shine of his
eyes, which vanished for a few seconds as those eyes closed and then opened
again.
But he didn't think they had closed so that Jim could look at him with
happy contentment, the way he had looked at Carolyn on the tape.
"Jim?"
Hating the way his voice shook, Blair reached up and smoothed his hands
down his lover's arms, feeling the tension in them.
"Sure, Chief. If that's what you want. I've just heard it can hurt that way."
"That's okay. I can handle a little hurt, if you'll kiss me."
"If that's what you want," Jim repeated, more quietly now. He didn't say
anything else as he prepared Blair, spending a long time at it, making sure his
younger lover was as loose and ready as he could be. Blair moaned and threw his
head back and pumped himself on Jim's fingers. Protected by the darkness, Jim
grimaced at the sight.
Blair's legs were spread wide, knees bent, hips tilted to give Jim better
access. His hands clutched the sheets on either side of him, and his stomach
quivered with each roll of his hips, while his head tossed slightly from side-to-side.
He looked completely out of it, and all because Jim had three fingers up his butt.
Feeling Jim's eyes on him, Blair slowed his movement. He'd really been
getting into that, why wasn't Jim doing anything?
"Ungh...Jim?" he gasped out, worried. All of the fears he'd had that
morning streamed back in, filling him up. His erection wilted under that onslaught.
"Just watching you, Chief," Jim said, and it sounded somehow...neutral to
Blair. He sat up, arms crossed protectively over his chest, staring into the
darkness where all he could see was the sheen of Jim's eyes.
"We don't have to do it this way, man. Not if you don't want to. I'm not
going to push you into anything."
"I-" The swallow was audible even to Blair's normal hearing. His erection
shrank more, less than half-hard now. He wondered if Jim was turned on at all.
With a shrug that cost him more than he would admit to himself, Blair
relaxed and lay back down, rolling to his stomach. Obediently, he raised his hips
when Jim stroked them and grabbed a pillow to tuck beneath them. His body was
reacting again, wanting what was coming, but his mind's preoccupation was
preventing it from getting fully involved.
Leaning over him, pressing his body to Blair's, Jim nuzzled into his hair at
the back of his neck. It was damp with sweat and Blair worried that it smelled.
He worried a lot that he wouldn't be attractive to Jim. But right now the hot flesh
poking at his little hole didn't seem to be having a problem.
"I love you, Chief." The words, seldom said, had a desperate edge tonight,
and Blair reacted to that by twisting himself so he could kiss Jim open-mouthed,
hunger backed by fear and a dawning pain.
Then Jim pulled his head away, pressed his cheek to the smooth spot
between Blair's shoulder blades, and entered him with a smooth stroke that made
the smaller man cry out and shudder with something other than desire.
"Ahh!" he gasped as Jim remained still for a few minutes, not speaking.
Then, finally, when the sudden sharp pain had faded, Blair wiggled slightly, but still
Jim didn't move. "I'm okay now. Go ahead," he said, although his desire had gone
almost completely at this point.
"I'm sorry," Jim panted. "I forgot I couldn't just-couldn't just-"
"Couldn't just slide in, like with a woman, I get it," Blair said, and groaned.
He'd been pretty loose and well-lubed, so there shouldn't be any permanent
damage, and the pain was nearly gone. "It's okay," he added, wriggling cautiously.
There was no pain. But Jim was raising up on his elbows, as if he was going to
pull out. "No! No, Jim, man, it's okay. You forgot, but you opened me real well,
I'm fine."
Above him, Blair could almost hear the thoughts churning in his careful
partner's head.
"I want you," Blair said quietly, simply.
This might be the last time Jim touched him this way.
"You're sure?" Jim's cock was still hard and hot within him.
"Yes. Please, Jim. Make love to me."
Lowering himself gingerly, as if he was afraid Blair would shout again, Jim
used both hands to smooth the curly hair and then kissed the back of Blair's sweaty
neck.
"Mmmmm," Blair sighed, relaxing again. His cock stirred, pressed into its
pillow beneath him.
"You like that?" Jim sounded surprised.
"Yeah, man, I love having my neck worked on. Kissed, sucked, nibbled..."
"I didn't know that." Jim punctuated the words with a warm sucking kiss
that made Blair shiver, for entirely good reasons this time. "Why didn't you tell
me?"
"You never-ah-never asked." Blair shivered again as Jim held his weight
on one elbow and used his free hand to card through Blair's hair while he seduced
the younger man's neck, where it was pale and vulnerable. "Mmmm. M-mmm."
Practically purring, Blair began to move, just a little, not wanting to distract Jim
from what he was doing too much.
All too soon, though, by his standards, Jim responded to the movements of
his hips and began thrusting gently into him. Pressing into the pillow and then
back up to meet Jim, Blair gathered the pillow under his head and bunched it up,
holding it tightly.
"Ah, yeah. Oh, Jim, that feels so good." He panted the words,
wanting-needing-his lover to know how much he liked being a part of him. "I
love it when you're inside me. It's like-it's like-like having you with me all the
time..."
"...love-you..." Still rather desperate, the words were ground out between
Jim's teeth as he hardened further. Blair felt it, he always could, and now he
moved faster, talked faster.
"As long as I have you, as long as you love me, I can handle anything, Jim,
any-THINGGG!"
The last word broke on a low moan as his cock stiffened and jerked and he
came, thrashing helplessly while Jim held on for the ride, quickly coming himself.
They lay, panting, Jim trying to hold himself up so he didn't squash Blair.
Then he kissed him on the back of the neck again, one last time, and pulled out,
rubbing Blair's ass with a large hand when the smaller man winced.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, fine," Blair managed. It hurt, but not badly. More of a sting as
things readjusted themselves.
"You should probably go take a shower." Rolling slowly off the bed, Jim
went to the closet and grabbed a clean set of sheets off the shelf. "I'll clean up up
here."
"Uh, yeah." Feeling stupid and thick-tongued, Blair followed suit,
staggering slightly as he stood, steadying himself with a hand closed around the
railing. "I'll be right back," he told Jim, who was already moving to strip the bed.
"I'll be here."
There was a flash of white that could have been a smile, but Blair
wondered as he went down the stairs, a hand on the wall so he wouldn't stumble in
the dark.
When Blair got back upstairs, Jim was already asleep.
Blair told himself that Jim would pull him close in his sleep if Blair cuddled
close, but he decided not to. Why disturb him, after all? It wasn't like Blair was
cold or needed the comfort. Right?
Right?
With a heavy sigh, he scooched down further into the covers and fell asleep
listening to Jim breathe and wondering if he was right or not.
* * *
The busy sounds of a large city police station surrounded Blair. Working
at Jim's computer, going through files of paint chips-thankful that they were
computerized now and he didn't have to do this manually-he was trying to match
the scraping that had been found at the hit-and-run site with a manufacturer's
composition.
There were so many colors-he'd had no idea. Did Jim see this many shades
all the time, in everything he looked at? They'd done some tests a while back, but
those had all focussed on using available light and the actual spectrum, not on the
shadings of color Jim could see...
Excited, Blair turned to his partner and laid a hand on his thigh while he
leaned in to distract Jim from the preliminary report he was writing.
Jim jumped as if he'd been bitten and his head shot up, eyes searching the
room with concern. "Sandburg!" he hissed.
Removing the hand, Blair felt the excitement fade. Sitting back in his own
chair, he bent toward the computer again, swallowing hard to clear the sudden
lump in his throat.
Not at the office. He knew that. And it wasn't just Jim's idea; he didn't
want to be harassed any more than Jim did...
There was that feeling of being watched, the one he was more familiar
with, ever since he realized that Jim watched him all the time. That was one of the
reasons he'd believed the older man when Jim said he was in love with him,
because Jim couldn't seem to stop staring at him, especially when he thought no
one was looking.
The sensation grew stronger and Blair raised his head slowly, hoping to
catch Jim at it, maybe looking apologetic. He would smile sheepishly and whisper
sorry just loud enough for Blair to hear and then they would go to lunch and Jim
would tell him 'anywhere you want today, Chief'...
But Jim was still bent over his report, and Simon was standing in his
doorway, leaning slightly against the frame, his cigar between his teeth but unlit,
the dark green and umber of his sweater contrasting nicely with the
supposedly-calming blue of the bullpen walls.
Blair blinked.
Simon's face tightened, he worked the cigar around in his mouth for a
minute. Then he removed it and gestured toward Blair.
Automatically, Blair reached for Jim, then drew his hand back and spoke
instead, ignoring the quick shake of Simon's head. "Jim, man, I think Simon wants
to see us."
"Hm? Oh, sure, Chief." Standing, walking around the desk, Jim didn't
wait for him, but that, Blair thought as he trailed behind, was par for the course.
Uncharacteristically, Simon waited until both men had passed him before
going into his office. He shut the door firmly behind himself and remained there,
staring at them, his jaw working the cigar again. Blair decided that it wasn't going
to be fit to light if he kept that up.
"I hope that's not an expensive cigar, man, because you're turning it to
mush there," he said cheerfully as he perched on the conference table, feet
dangling, elbows on knees.
"I'm not worried about the cigar, Sandburg," the captain answered, but he
did take it out of his mouth. The other two men waited for him to move behind his
desk, his place in the room. But he stayed where he was, subtly changing the
atmosphere of the room.
Then Simon relaxed slightly from his stiff posture, and his body language
changed, crossed arms easing into something less threatening, his handsome face
softening into the beginnings of a smile.
"You gentlemen know what I did before I became a captain, don't you?"
"You were a detective," Jim said with a shrug. He'd chosen to remain
standing, at least a foot separating him from Blair, who watched him out of the
corner of his eye.
"I must not have been terrible at it, since they promoted me," Simon
continued, now removing the cigar so he didn't have to talk around it. "And I
always liked it. Observing, gathering clues, putting the pieces together..."
"We've got a couple of leads on the hit and run," Jim said. Blair glanced at
him, and saw the muscle jumping in his jaw that meant he was tense. It would
have been nice to reach out and touch that spot that would be sore later, to ease
the strain and make Jim calm again, but anything that intimate would be a dead
giveaway. So instead he switched his gaze to his own hands, now clenched in his
lap to resist the urge to sooth his lover.
"Sandburg."
Simon's voice was calm, and friendly. Even encouraging.
Blair looked up, a lock of unruly hair falling into his face, tickling his nose.
"Although my feelings are hurt because neither of you chose to share this
with me, it's okay. I understand."
"Understand what?" Jim's voice was low and angry-sounding.
"But I need you to admit it, at least once. So I can be sure I'm not seeing
things. If I'm wrong, I'll go get my head examined-" He held up his hand to stop
Jim from speaking. "-But if I'm right, we'll need to start thinking of ways to
protect you."
With a dry mouth that tasted of ashes, Blair managed to bite out the words.
"Just say it, man."
"It's obvious to me. I waited until I was sure, didn't want to put any
pressure on you if you were still working things out, but now I'm pretty damn
sure."
Simon paused and Blair couldn't force himself to look up. He could see
Jim's fist tightening on his leg, just that few inches from his own.
"You're involved. In love, in lust, in a relationship, I'm willing to bet. I
know, Jim, that you don't do things halfway. It's all or nothing for you. So tell me
how long this has been going on to satisfy my curiosity and then we'll sit down and
talk about what we can do here at the station to make things easier for you."
"Excuse me, sir!" Jim's bellow shook the closed blinds and Blair flinched
visibly. "I don't know where you got such a perverted idea, but that is the most
ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"
The last words rose to a roar, and Simon raised both hands, palms forward,
moving away from the door in the face of Jim's rage. "Okay! Okay! I said it was
a theory, obviously I was wrong! But it's definitely not the worst thing anyone
here has ever said about you, Ellison!"
"I don't give a damn what anyone here says!"
With that last outraged shout, Jim stormed out of the office. But he didn't
stop in the bullpen, he just snatched his jacket off the back of his chair and kept
going.
Simon stared after him, as did every other person in the room.
Except one.
Slumped forward, Blair had his arms wrapped tightly across his stomach,
and his eyes clenched tightly shut. Head bowed so that his hair screened him from
the captain's worried gaze, knees locked so he wouldn't fall as he absorbed the
shock.
Closing the door again, quietly, the captain stepped over and looked down
at the young man.
Blair bit his lip, restraining an unmanly sound that tried to escaped him.
"Sandburg?" A hand on his shoulder, tentative.
"I-I'm okay," he blurted, one part of his mind remembering that he had said
the exact same words to Jim the night before, in the exact same way, for an
entirely different reason. But pain was pain, and his body reacted to one type in
much the same way it did another.
"You look sick." Crouching now, Simon used his large hand to turn Blair's
head so he could see his face.
"I think I'm going to throw up," Blair said stoically.
"Here." Snagging his metal wastebasket with one hand, Simon dragged it
over in front of Blair.
Hanging his head, Blair opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Maybe it
was all blocked behind his heart, which had moved to his throat. He shook his
head and peeled a hand free to move up and push his hair back, aware that he was
sweating heavily.
"I was right," Simon said, his hand tightening on Blair's shoulder. "God
damn, Sandburg... I'm sorry. He obviously wasn't ready to be confronted about
it."
Sighing wearily, Blair managed to relax a bit more, the initial shock
wearing off. He sat back, straightened gingerly, noted that his stomach was still in
a knot. "I would call that an understatement, man."
With a relieved smile, Simon stood again, but took the chair beside Blair
instead of retreating behind his desk. "So I was right?"
Shaking his head again, Blair answered slowly. "You may have been right,
Simon, but it really doesn't matter now. Something has been wrong between us
from the beginning. I can't make him talk about it and we can't fix it if he won't
talk, and I'm not going to let him treat me like this. If he can't acknowledge me to
you, his best friend, what chance do we have? I'm not going to stay with someone
who's ashamed of me..." He paused and then whispered the rest, both hands
coming up to rub at his face. "...No matter how much I love him."
"Sandburg-Blair-don't give up so easily."
"Believe me, man, I'm not." Standing, Blair offered Simon his hand.
Startled, the older man stood, himself, and took it, shaking when Blair did. "I've
tried, Simon. You'll never know how hard." His mind flashed again to the night
before, the way he had begged shamelessly, used his body wantonly, for any little
crumb of reassurance from Jim. "But there are limits. Naomi says I can't let him
make me into someone I'm not, because I have to love myself before I can love
him the way he needs me to."
"So you're going to give up?" Simon's eyes hardened.
"I'm going to take some time and think, man. I think I'm entitled to that
much."
Now Simon was nodding his head, his face set in a frown, but trying to be
encouraging. "That's what you need, both of you. Some time, some distance.
Then you'll get back together and things will be good again."
At the door, Blair stopped and turned around, facing him squarely, hands
on his hips. "You separated with your wife before you divorced. Is that the way it
worked for you?"
Sticking his cigar back into his mouth, Simon bit down on it and didn't
answer.
"Yeah. It's been nice working for you, man." The words were harsher
than Blair had intended and he softened them with a smile. "Actually, it has been
cool. I've learned a lot, and you were way nicer to me than you had to be. So,
thanks for that."
Then he turned and left. The captain walked to the window and lifted the
blind and watched Blair Sandburg pack up everything of his that was in or around
Jim Ellison's desk, and leave, with only a few quiet words to the other people
working there.
* * *
"It's me."
Speaking through the closed hotel room door, Jim rested one hand flat on
it, noting that his skin was almost the same color as the peachy paint. Both held a
hundred variations of color and shadow and he wondered why he'd never
mentioned that to Blair. But there were so many things he'd never told Blair. As
the door opened and his mother eyed him carefully, as if he were some specimen
presented for inspection, he realized one thing; that he had never-and now would
never-tell the exuberant young man how much Jim envied him his free-spirited,
loving and supportive mother.
"Jimmy." His own mother didn't sound happy to see him. "It's early in the
day-what can I do for you?"
"Can I come in, Mother?" The words brought a flash of memory; himself,
all of eight years old, at the door of her parlor, a rich room of cream and white,
lace and velvet. Jimmy and Stephen were only allowed in on the rarest of
occasions. But on that day Jimmy had brought home a perfect report card, an A+
in every class and in conduct, with a glowing note from his teacher. His mother
had put aside her book, one of her many bibles, and invited him up onto the white
sofa with its delicate mauve and pale fuschia roses woven into the heavy linen
fabric. And she had put her arm around him and let him lay his head on her
shoulder while she read to him from Paul.
Today her answer was wary. "Are you going to be reasonable?"
Jim nodded, unable to trust his tongue. It wanted to say goodbye now and
tell his feet to take him back to Blair, so he could kiss him and taste him and tell
him how sorry he was.
The television was again on in the second room. His mother shrugged
faintly when he glanced at the closed door, taking a seat on the small plain sofa.
"She's never seen television before. Since we can't leave the hotel, it gives
her something to do besides read and sew. I hope it won't do any permanent
damage," she finished.
Jim sat. He looked at his mother. For the first time, he noticed the
changes in her face. As it had with his father, awareness of her age startled him.
She must be sixty by now...
"So." She interrupted his line of thought. A shout of 'Praise the Lord!"
rose from many voices in the TV, cutting through the blocking door like it was air.
"Are you ready to talk?"
"I..." Instinctively, Jim reached out with his senses, searching for
something to ground him. But the sound he was searching for, the scent that
could fill him with ease, wasn't there.
Blair's scent, Blair's heartbeat.
The last time he'd heard that rhythm had been less than an hour ago, and it
had been racing, fueled by pain and anger and fear. The memory was too upsetting
to soothe him. Closing his eyes, Jim skipped over his mother's heart-there was no
trusting her heart, as much as he wanted to-and latched onto Rachel's.
Calm, regular, rhythmic. The way Blair's-Stop thinking about him!
-seldom was. Except after they had made love and Jim was holding him close and
Blair felt safe in his arms, secure in his love.
Running one hand over his face, Jim scratched at the base of his skull,
where a headache was beginning to throb. With more patience than he'd ever
given her credit for, his mother waited. Serene, composed, hands in her lap, lost in
the full folds of her plain navy skirt.
"I love Blair," Jim said, with conviction.
She didn't respond.
Rachel's heartbeat grew loud in Jim's ears.
"But...I'm...not...happy...with...him. With my life with him."
"That's because you know it's wrong, Jimmy. The pleasures of the flesh are
reserved for man and woman, within the sacrament of marriage."
Now Jim shrugged, helplessly. "He loves me. He takes care of me. He
accepts me."
"He pulls you down to his level." Her hand reached out and rested on his
knee. Jim's heart faltered in his chest at the contact. "If he can take a blessed soul
like yours and taint it like his own, then he can feel good about himself despite the
twisted things he does."
Unable to respond verbally, his heart in chaos, Jim tentatively covered her
hand with his own.
"Let me read to you," she urged, her voice conveying more tenderness than
he could ever remember hearing from her. "Rachel can come out and listen with
you. Let me show you how something you think of as good can unwittingly be
evil."
"Unwittingly?" He blinked at the word.
"I'm sure your...friend...is a good man at heart, or at least thinks he is. He
just doesn't know any better. No one ever took the time to explain to him what
he's doing to his soul."
"He-he is a good person," Jim agreed quietly.
"He would have to be, at least a little bit, to get close enough to you to
draw you into this. But the devil comes in many guises." Then, with her hand still
on Jim's leg, she turned her head and called out. "Rachel! Jimmy is here and he
wants to listen. Come and sit with us, darling."
Staring at his hand, feeling the wrinkles in his mother's aging skin, Jim
didn't look up until his sister took the chair opposite his, scooting it a little bit
closer.
"Jimmy?"
She sounded so kind. So he looked up.
She was very pretty, especially without makeup to blur her features. Much
as his mother had looked at this age. Although he didn't know her exact birthday,
he could calculate her age from the time his mother left. Wearing a dark green
skirt and shapeless black sweater, her hair was braided down her back, the same
sandy brown shade as Stephen's, lighter than Jim's own. Skin clear and pale, it was
obvious she didn't spend a lot of time in the sun.
"When is your birthday?" he blurted, because he had to know.
"December 25th, of course." Her smile held a hint of mischief, but the
words brought a chill to Jim's belly.
She had been born on that Christmas Day, the day his father forbade the
boys from ever speaking of her again. The first of every following childhood
Christmas that passed unannounced, uncelebrated, only noticed by two little boys
who remembered it as a day of enforced silence and plain meals eaten alone in the
kitchen. No tree, no presents, no turkey or ham. Just their father, hidden away in
what had once been Mother's parlor, transformed into a manly, masculine study,
and still a room they weren't allowed to enter.
A vision of his own home, the loft he shared with Blair, as it was today,
four days from Christmas: barren, bare, undecorated. No hint of the holiday
season that engulfed the city to be found within those walls.
Well, now he knew the why of it. That Christmas part of it, anyhow.
"Two months after yours, Jimmy." His sister reached to touch him, but
was stopped by a look from their mother.
"Pray with us, Jimmy," his mother said, turning her hand over to clasp his,
her free hand grasping Rachel's.
At a loss, Jim closed his eyes. And then felt Rachel's hand-cool, soft,
strumming with the pulse-beat of her heart-take his. Gently, he held it, aware of
her as fragile, delicate. His mother' voice vibrated through him, but the beat of
Rachel's heart grounded him. Suddenly Jim Ellison knew what it was to feel
peace. Not the love he longed for, unadmitted. But some measure of peace that
had eluded him for twenty-seven years and more.
He ignored the little voice in his heart that said he had found a better
peace, and could find it again, if he only would.
* * *
When Jim finally got home, the loft was empty. It was more than empty, it
was practically abandoned.
The only things left in it that belonged to Blair Sandburg were his mother,
and a teabag. On the sofa, in a flowing tunic and pants of a surprisingly soothing
shade of mango, Naomi sat back and crossed her feet beneath her, sipping the tea
as Jim stood in the doorway and stared.
The Mayan dream doll was gone, leaving a hole on the bookshelf.
Blair's two hand-thrown tea mugs were missing from their hooks.
The carved tribal mask no longer leered from its agreed upon corner, which
now looked dusty.
Gracefully, Naomi waited until Jim had studied everything for long minutes
before she spoke. "Come in, Jim, and close the door." She smiled faintly. "Before
the neighbors notice."
"I didn't think you cared what the neighbors thought," Jim responded,
obeying. Instead of sitting, he leaned on the kitchen island.
"I don't care what they think, I just don't want them stopping by to
investigate." Setting the teacup-one of Jim's coffee cups-down on the coffee
table, she laid an arm on the back of the couch and the other on her knee. "Tell me
about her."
Mouth open, brow furrowed, Jim tried to process the request. "Who?"
"This woman you spent the day with. After you denied my son's existence
to your best friend."
"There's no..." Crossing his arms over his chest, Jim dropped his head.
"It's my mother."
Looking interested, Naomi shifted, both hands on her knees now, looking
at him with bright, kind concern. "I thought your mother was dead."
"No. She left and it was easier to let people think that." With a shrug, Jim
moved to his yellow armchair. It smelled of Blair, instantly reminding him of the
night a month or so ago when he'd found his lover asleep in it, curled around a
book. Blair's hair had been damp and the perfume of it had permeated the fabric
and clung stubbornly.
"You do like to do things the easy way," Naomi observed sadly. Jim's
head snapped up and he yanked his hand away from the arm of the chair he had
been subconsciously caressing.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's easier to tell people that your mother is dead than it is to admit she
abandoned you. Just as it's easier to tell Simon Banks he's crazy for thinking you
could love my Blair than it is to live with the consequences of that love." She
spoke with a mother's voice and a mother's love and Jim couldn't raise his eyes to
face that.
"My mother loves me." He said it softly, defensively.
"Is she why you've rejected Blair?"
"No!" He met her eyes. How could he tell her? How could he tell her,
Blair's mother, what her son was like in bed? How wanton and sensual he could
be, how free... "I-I was having second thoughts before. Before she came back."
"And you didn't share these thoughts with your lover?" she scolded gently.
"I didn't know how to tell him, Naomi." Without meaning to, Jim pleaded
for understanding. "I love him, but sometimes...the way he acts, the way he
moves... I'm just not made to love a man!"
His voice rose on the last word, but she leaned forward, legs uncrossing,
bare feet hitting the floor, and she picked up on the first half of his protest with
typical Sandburg intuition
"The way he acts? The way he moves? Are you talking about the sex,
Jim? Are you saying you have a problem with the way Blair makes love?"
Amused but astonished, her eyes gazed at him sternly.
"Yes!" Throwing himself from the chair, Jim didn't pace, just strode to the
other side of the room and stood by the stairs. "He's too...too eager! No man
should be so happy to let another man fuck him."
She flinched at the obscenity, but pressed on, her eyes bright. "Even if he
loves so completely, Jim? Blair loves you with a depth and commitment I never
thought he'd be capable of. He lies down and gives you everything he has, shows
you everything he is, and it repulses you?"
There was a pause as she took a deep breath, visibly calming. "If this were
about sex, I could understand that. But I know it's more. He loves you and you
love him, and I know there's something else going on here, even if Blair hasn't said
so in so many words."
This time the pause was longer, and soon it became a silence.
"Naomi, I do love him." Slowly, Jim sat on a stair. "But I can't love him
that way. Not anymore."
Looking as if she wanted to say something, the slender woman shook her
head and stood. "He loves you, enough that he would have stayed here and let
you destroy him. But I love him too much to let him do that to himself, or to
you."
Crossing the room, she picked up her sandals and came to stand in front of
Jim. "Whatever made you feel this way, remember this; to truly love someone,
you have to love them just as they are."
Sounding tired and defeated, Jim answered with a shrug. "I know that."
"And to give yourself fully is a sign of true love."
"Stop it, Naomi," Jim snapped. "I've had-" His words were cut off when
she leaned over and hugged him, pressing his head to her shoulder with one hand
while the other held him close.
"I love you, too, Jim Ellison. Because my son loves you and because
you're a good and true person." Drawing back, she released him with a sad smile,
and he stared. "Just the way you are, Jim. That will never change."
Bending, she slipped on the sandals. Jim just watched. And then she
walked away, opened her bag, and lay a piece of pale pink paper on the dining
table.
"When you're ready, call this number."
Jim Ellison didn't say a word as yet another person walked out of his life.
* * *
Unfortunately, from Jim's point of view, this was the year he'd won the
schedule jackpot. All detectives worked on a rotating schedule of days off and this
year he had the three big ones-December 24th, 25th, and 26th. He didn't much
want them and he'd more or less planned on going to work anyhow so someone
with a family could go home early.
City policy stated that trading shifts was against the rules, but most
supervisors-particularly in the PD-turned a blind eye to these unofficial acts of
kindness.
Still, as he slogged through an aggravating December 23rd, Jim realized
that he didn't have to come in on Christmas. The hit-and-run case was going
nowhere; notices had been released to all auto shops and garages in the projected
radius, asking mechanics and technicians to be on the lookout for a damaged
Chevrolet with paint that matched the scrapings they'd found-'Sterling Green,' a
color the manufacturer had used from 1972 to 1988-but the odds were that the
damage wasn't bad enough to warrant repair on such an old vehicle.
Uniforms on the beat and traffic cops were all on the lookout, but
thousands of cars had been painted that color in those years and many of them
were still on the road, so Jim really wasn't expecting much there.
After spending the day tracing the receipt he'd found, Jim was no closer to
solving anything. The receipt was from a dry cleaners on 53rd Street and made
out to an elderly woman named Lola Clark, who drove a white '92 Cadillac Seville.
She thought it might have blown out the window, but after hearing her heartbeat
and checking her record, Jim decided that she'd been dumping trash from the car.
She'd received a ticket and $200 fine for doing just that two years ago. So he'd
warned her not to do it again and there was that lead all dried up.
Sometime the night before, he had checked out Blair's room-his old
room-and been unsurprised to find it empty. Although the student had been
settled in, most of what he owned could still be thrown in boxes. No furniture had
survived the explosion in the warehouse, so books, clothes, and artifacts had
comprised most of his worldly possessions.
Oddly, he'd left the sheets for the twin bed, although he had bought them.
Clean, neatly folded, they sat on the bare mattress in an accusatory fashion.
Remembering the times they hadn't made it upstairs, thrashing together in this little
bed instead, Jim quickly understood that choice.
It bothered him more than he wanted to admit, that Blair had taken none of
the mementos of their life together. Pictures, videotapes, all of it was still there,
untouched. Unwanted.
Just like these damned thoughts.
Now, scrubbing his face with both hands, Jim glanced at Simon's office. It
was dark and empty, locked up. The captain didn't have Daryl for Christmas this
year, so he was celebrating with his son this day instead, before the boy and his
mother flew out to Chicago to stay with her family.
Jim's phone rang, drawing his attention from the memory of yesterday,
Simon's words and Blair's shock.
"Ellison!" he barked.
"Jimmy, it's Mother. I just wanted to chat with you. Have you been
thinking about what we talked about yesterday?"
Friendly, almost impersonal. But she did come to the point quickly, a trait
Jim admired. So he returned the favor. "It's over, Mother. He-Blair-is gone. He
moved out last night."
Not adding that it had been Blair's initiative and not Jim's own, he
continued, almost surprised by the words that left his mouth. "Will you and Rachel
come to dinner tonight?"
A moment of silence followed, during which Jim idly let his hearing slip
over several conversations through the building. He owed Blair for this-his senses
were pretty much under control now.
"You can tell me more about the retreat," Jim added. He wasn't truly
interested in her restrictive religious lifestyle, but he did want to know more about
her, and Rachel.
"Is your home safe for her, Jimmy? There can be no evidence of sin or
debauchery that could influence her."
"I think so..." The Jags poster would probably have to come down-men in
shorts must be a no-no -but he couldn't think of anything else right off hand that
could be described as sinful or debauched.
"And the food-you have to be careful with the food. Don't buy anything
that a man might have touched."
"I know a restaurant, mother. The woman who runs it is a good woman, I
can ask her to prepare the food for us and I'll go pick it up."
"Nothing rich or arousing. You may get the food, but you must put it
away; I'll fix it when we get there."
Annoyed, Jim held onto his temper. "Do you want me to pick you up from
the hotel?"
"Oh, no. She can't be in a car with a man. I'll call a cab and request a
woman driver."
"Mother, I'm her brother. How can it hurt if I pick you up?"
"You may be her brother, but you are still a man. A man who has been
tempted and succumbed. Rachel cannot be seen by any man outside of our home."
Then how can I talk to her? Jim asked himself. He would just have to find
a chance, maybe while their mother was fixing the dinner he would buy.
"All right, then. Seven o'clock?"
"Yes, and we will leave at eight-thirty. She must be home in time for her
prayers."
"Okay." Unsure how to respond to that, Jim just agreed. "Do you need
the address?"
"Your father sent it to me years ago, when you bought the apartment."
As that statement caused pain and anger, Jim felt a streak of sadness as
well, but ignored it. This was his chance; now he could get to know his mother
and earn her love. Okay, so she would never be like Naomi, but she would tell him
that she loved him, eventually, and he could get to know the sister he'd never
known he wanted.
"You've known where I lived all this time and you never wrote or
anything?" Swallowing his pain, he shoved it down deep to join the others this
woman had caused.
"I had other responsibilities, Jimmy. I've given your sister the kind of
purity your father wold never have let me give you."
Maybe he should thank the man, after all, Jim thought. Surely his
childhood had been better than Rachel's. He'd had sports, friends, fun. Yes, parts
of it had really hurt-but at least no one had expected him to accept that hurt as a
gift from God.
"I'll see you at seven," he said, a little hoarse.
"Yes, dear."
She hung up without saying goodbye and Jim found himself relieved that
the conversation was over.
He still had to make it through dinner.
* * *
The bedroom door opened and Blair rolled from his stomach to his side,
facing it. There was no curiosity about who would be coming into his room-the
room he was using at the moment-this late at night.
"Hey, Mom."
"Hi, sweetie." Wearing a warm red robe and barefoot, her face softer
without makeup, Naomi sat on his bed, turning the reading lamp on low.
Tenderly, she brushed his wild hair back from his face. "I knew you wouldn't be
asleep."
"It's lonely." He shrugged, with a half-grin that made her smile as both
recalled the many times as a child he'd used that excuse to sleep in her bed.
"Yes, it's hard to sleep alone when there's someone you love to sleep with."
With a sigh, Blair rolled to his back, hands wrapped around the pillow
under his head. The sheet and blanket slipped down to bare his chest and stomach,
the waistline of his boxers just above the crumpled edge of the covers.
"Since when do you sleep in these?" she teased. "When you were sleeping
on the couch, I understand, but why now?"
"Jim didn't like sleeping in the nude, and I kinda noticed he didn't really like
it when I did it, either." Unself-consciously, he scratched his chest and left his
hand to lie there when he was done.
"Blair, we adapt to our lovers. That's okay. Sometimes they want more
than that. They want us to change."
"I can change for Jim. I mean, if he doesn't want me to be so into it, I can
chill out. I don't have to be verbal and active during sex. When I was dating
Cathy my freshman year, I was really quiet and careful."
Running her fingers through his tangled hair, his mother smiled at him.
"Cathy was a paraplegic, you had to be. There was a reason to be restrained with
her," she chided gently.
"She really liked it, though," he said wistfully, turning his head to give her
more room and closing his eyes. "It was hard sometimes, to remember, but she
said I made her feel whole." He stopped, but Naomi knew him well enough to
wait, knew he wasn't finished. "That's how Jim made me feel, Mom. Whole. Like
I was finished and where I was supposed to be."
"I know." She crossed her legs and continued the caress. "You haven't
mentioned Cathy in ages. How is she?"
"Still teaching school in Texas. She married that guy, the football player."
"And you were happy for her."
"Yeah. We had a good time and I learned a lot, but we were never
serious."
"You never really loved anyone." Her hand paused, rested on his cheek.
"Before Jim."
"I always knew I was waiting for someone special. I didn't care, y'know, if
that person was a woman or a man."
"But that does matter to many people." She resumed stroking, her quick
fingers detangling tough snarls.
"I didn't think it mattered so much to Jim. He made the first move-he was
the one that leaned over and kissed me like I was air and he was drowning!"
"It's okay to be mad." Drawing her hand back, Naomi sighed.
"I'm not mad. I'm hurt and sad and lonely and really horny. But I'm not
mad." There was a minute and then Blair opened his eyes and looked at her. "I
could change. Be the way he wants me to be."
"But then you wouldn't be you." She shook her head, hands moving
expressively. "And he would know that it wasn't really you and he would feel
guilty for doing that to you and then he would resent you because you made him
feel guilty."
Eyeing her, he grinned reluctantly. "Are you sure you majored in Art?"
"I minored in Psych," she said, and they both laughed softly. Then Naomi
crawled all the way onto the bed, her back against the headboard, and opened her
arms.
Blair shifted, lying his head on her breast, wrapping an arm loosely over her
slender waist.
"Jim would think this was weird," he said, the words muffled by her robe.
"I will always be your mother and that means I can cuddle you no matter
how old you get." Petting his head, she spoke lightly now. "Are you still horny?"
"No!" Blair answered with a snort of laughter. "Those mom-vibes killed it
dead."
"Then everything is kosher." She chuckled.
Closing his eyes and sighing, Blair mumbled, "No offense, Naomi, but I
really wish you were Jim right now."
"So do I, sweetie." She stroked Blair's head as he began to relax into
sleep.
After a few minutes of silence, she began to sing, crooning, really, in a low,
quiet voice. "Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and
Thyme... Remember me to one who lives there, he once was a true love of
mine..." Her voice filled the cozy room and her son rested in her arms, having
found a haven, however temporary, from his stormy heart. "...then he'll be a true
love of mine..."
* * *
Hearing the women coming down the hall, Jim stood and paused, surveying
the room. It was as clean as he had ever gotten it, possibly the cleanest it had
ever been.
Anything that he'd thought might be offensive had been put in Blair's-the spare
room, he reminded himself-where his six-pack now nestled beside a stack of
magazines like Sports Illustrated, both covered by the Jags poster, surrounded by
an eclectic selection of other belongings.
"Hello, Mother." He opened the door just as she stepped in front of it.
"You shouldn't do that," she said sternly, walking into the room and
stopping. Rachel followed, swaddled head-to-toe in a voluminous hooded blue
robe. It looked like a size XXX men's bathrobe, made of simple terrycloth.
And it looked rather stupid.
"Shouldn't do what?" he asked, closing the door.
"Use your special gifts for everyday tasks. They should be saved for God's
work."
"You know about my senses?" There was a sinking feeling in Jim's heart
and he suddenly wondered. His father thought his senses made him a freak. To
his mother they were a gift from God that he apparently had to use as that Being
commanded. Neither of these interpretations felt right to the detective with the
senses. Would anyone other than Blair understand that they were just a part of
him? That they didn't mean anything?
"Your father told me. That was the first time he asked me to come back
and talk to you."
Moving to Rachel, Jim began pulling off the robe, but his mother stopped
him. "You can't do that."
"She can't stay wrapped up in that for dinner."
"I'll do it. You go set the table."
The words brought another memory, this one less painful, of the many
times he'd done that when he was small, each place set just so.
"Yes, Mother," Jim answered, just as he would have as a child.
As he laid placemats on the table and pulled glasses and plates from the
shelves, his mother freed Rachel from her robe and laid it over the big yellow
armchair for her to sit on. Glancing, Jim bit his tongue and didn't comment.
"I got lemon-grilled chicken breast with salad and rolls," he told his
mother, coming around to sit on the couch. "You can heat it in the microwave or I
put pans on the range for you to use."
"Lemon chicken sounds very natural." Going into the kitchen, she opened
the fridge and studied the contents.
"I'm glad you like it." Resisting the urge to help her, as politeness would
dictate, Jim remembered Naomi making herself at home in this kitchen, cooking
tongue and other treats for her son. Blair's bright, open face practically glowed
from her attention. He bounced more and smiled wider when she was around.
Of course, when they first fell in love and started making love, you couldn't
beat the smile off his face with a stick then, either.
"What makes you smile?" Rachel asked, and the expression became a
frown as Jim realized he'd been grinning like an idiot, thinking about how happy
Blair had been.
"I, uh, I don't think I should say."
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" she whispered in a conspiratorial
tone.
"Yeah." Sitting back on the couch, Jim rubbed at the back of his neck. "I
don't think I was fair to him."
"You miss him."
For a moment, Jim stopped rubbing. His head was still lowered and
half-turned so that he wasn't quite looking at her. The dark brown of today's
skirt-and-sweater was entirely too old and drab for a pretty young women who
wasn't even thirty yet.
"What are you talking about?" their mother asked from the kitchen.
"We're discussing destiny, Mother," Rachel announced, keeping her eyes
on her hands, lying in her lap motionless. Jim twitched, but managed to bite back a
snicker at the picture she presented.
"Tell Jimmy about yours, my darling," Mother said. Jim could hear her
putting the boxed food into pans on the stove. Somehow he'd suspected she
would reject the microwave.
Rachel's lie had been completely unexpected. His face must have shown
that, for she smiled sweetly at him. "We are talking about it now, Jimmy."
"I hate that name." He smiled back, pleased to see this side of her, to feel
this air of childhood conspiracy. But it made him nervous as well. "I think of
myself as Jim."
"Then I will call you Jim." Peeking up at him with a dimpled smile. "Tell
me about your destiny."
Startled by her attitude and the request, Jim went with the truth. That had
always worked for him. Too bad he'd stopped trying it with Blair.
In answer to the question, he shrugged and spoke ruefully, "Now I don't
have one. Before, I had a life with Blair all planned out. What we were going to
do when he got his doctorate, how we were going to live and grow old together
and travel the way he wanted to. Now-no plan, no goals." No life... The words
echoed in his head, unsaid.
"Eventually you'll start looking for a nice woman," she consoled, but he
shook his head.
"Been there, done that. I'm not going to try this again, ever." He said it
with such finality that she stared.
"We need to talk," she said at last, and then their mother called them to the
table.
* * *
Later that night, Jim lay in bed. Unable to relax enough to sleep, his
thoughts were drawn back to the odd, abbreviated conversation with his sister. It
had not been at all what he had expected. She was smart, yes, but almost sneaky,
in a way he wasn't sure he liked. What had she had to do to maintain a sense of
self while being smothered by their mother all these years?
It had only been two days, but already the loft felt the way it had before.
Before Blair.
Cold. Empty and clean. Not sterile, but certainly not well-lived-in. And
Rachel's words-not exactly out of the mouths of babes-had pretty much summed it
all up for him.
He loved Blair.
Which begged the question: so, what was he doing here alone?
Perhaps he'd committed a sin deadlier than loving a man.
Had he cast Blair aside for something less than his own sanity? The menial
sin of pride?
* * *
"Hey, Sandburg, are you playing or what?"
Looking up from his unplanned contemplation of his shoelaces, Blair
picked up his towel and rubbed briskly at his hair, which was stringy with sweat,
and pushed himself off the bench.
Although cold outside, it was overly warm in the intramural gym at
Rainier, where pick-up games of prison ball could be found practically any time of
day.
It had been a long time since he'd come over here to play, but today he felt
like he needed it. To lose himself in the motion, grunting and sweaty and
slamming into guys, most of them bigger and taller than he was, and meaner, too.
The world had quickly narrowed to that stretch of hardwood, his eyes
drawn by the orange of the ball, his body sore and bruised by mid-air collisions as
he used his better-than-average jumping ability to compensate for a lack of height.
His jumping ability and his stubbornness-it took both for a 5-foot-8-inch guy to
snag the ball from a 6-foot-3-inch freshman who knew the rules of the game.
Basically, prison ball had the same rules as basketball...with a few deleted for
expediency. Although biting, punching and kicking were still frowned upon, pretty
much anything else went.
Taking his spot behind the tip-off, Blair felt the ache in his shoulder double
in intensity as he body-checked a big kid who tried for the ball when it was batted
out of the tippers' range. Then he was going up himself, his hands reaching for it,
grabbing it-fingers sticking to the almost-sweaty surface-and he was down, curled
protectively around it as he looked for a pass.
And was shoved, hard, as a teenager masquerading as a bulldozer went
through him, knocking the ball loose and slamming Blair to the ground, his head
hitting hard enough to make his teeth rattle.
"Unghhh..." With a low moan, he curled up, feeling nauseous.
"Sandburg. Mr. Sandburg?" The worried face of the bulldozer hovered in
his vision, and Blair recognized him as a student in his intro class.
"You're flunked," he grunted, reaching for the offered hand. Gaining his
feet, he felt dizzy and swayed, and several hands grabbed him, leading him to the
bench and sitting him down.
"Want me to call Jim, Blair?" Another TA, Brad Verhovem, sat beside him
while the others hovered.
"No, man. Didn't you hear? We broke up."
"Aw, no." Various murmurs of sympathy surrounded him, along with a
few comments about Jim and police in general.
"Just can't trust the cops, man."
"He got too tight-assed, huh?"
Waving a hand, Blair shook his head, but quickly changed his mind and
wagged his fingers instead. "It was mutual. There's nothing to talk about here."
With an effort, he stood, relieved to find that he wasn't dizzy anymore. "I'm done
for the day, guys. See you next time."
Towering over him at 6'6", Brad looked worried. "Are you sure you can
drive?"
"I'm fine. It's only a couple of miles, and my mom is in town. She'll take
care of me."
"Get some ice on that knot," Brad advised, letting him go reluctantly.
Feeling shaky, Blair was careful driving home, but one thing was clear in
his mind as he putted down the road in the old folks' lane. As much as he loved his
mother, he wished Jim were going to be there to take care of him today.
* * *
Christmas Eve.
It certainly didn't look a lot like Christmas in Jim Ellison's loft.
Surprisingly, that bothered him. Sitting on his couch, watching a college football
game, drinking a cold beer, the bareness of his home nagged at him.
Perhaps because it was such a fitting analogy for the bareness of his life.
"Oh, shit, is that the best you can do, Ellison?" he asked himself, clicking
off the television. "Sit here and talk romantic nonsense to yourself until you're
convinced you screwed up the best thing in your life?"
Without the cheering of the football crowd, it was suddenly too quiet for
comfort.
He put the remote on the coffee table and sat back, rubbing the back of his
neck tiredly. The ache there wasn't particularly painful, but it was annoying and
seemed to have become permanent. A doctor's visit was probably the wisest
course of action, but there was no way he was going to the doctor. It was a
military thing, he'd always thought; avoid the medics until you were either too sick
to get away or obviously bleeding to death. And even then you should try to
staunch the flow yourself first. Considering the level of medical care the military
sometimes inflicted upon its soldiers, it was a healthy attitude. But there was no
fighting it. After living with Blair, living alone had lost any appeal it may have
held after his marriage to Carolyn.
Caught up in his thoughts, he didn't hear the footsteps approaching his
door until they stopped and there was a hesitant knock.
Extending his hearing, Jim jumped from the couch. He reached the door
in minus time and was careful to open it slowly, not wanting to frighten the person
standing on the other side.
"Rachel?! What are you doing here?" Nothing could have kept the
surprise and the worry from his voice.
"I've run away," she said, with a hint of that mischievous smile, but mostly
she looked frightened. Spreading her hands, she gestured to indicate that she had
nothing with her. "A supplicant, if you will, come empty handed."
"You've..." Without repeating her words-it would've sounded pretty
stupid-Jim gently grasped her arm and pulled her into the loft and closed the door
behind them.
"Wow." Staring at her, he studied his sister. "I thought-well, I thought
you weren't what I was expecting-but I really didn't expect this."
"Can I sit down?"
"Of course. Here," Jim pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and held it
for her. "Would you like something to drink? I have some tea left, I think."
Folding her hands together on the table-top, she looked at him with eyes so
like his own. "Actually, I would love some coffee."
"You drink coffee?"
Without waiting for an answer, Jim turned around and reached for the can
in the cabinet. He needed a few minutes to organize his thoughts, to settle himself.
He felt off-balance, awkward, as if the world had just shifted slightly but he was
still in the same spot.
"Whenever I could sneak it." Behind him, his sister answered softly,
sounding as if she might be talking to herself, but Jim listened as he measured
grounds, poured water and set cups to saucers. "The last couple of years Mother
has gotten less vigilant. Once a week or so, she lets me go to the public library in
town. When the lady librarian is there, of course. So I wouldn't be exposed to
anything harmful. She trusts me to maintain my purity there."
Turning back to the table, his own nerves forgotten as he absorbed her
almost-confessional tale, Jim rested his hands on the counter behind himself, then
realized that this position threw his pelvis forward in a way that could be seen as
suggestive. So he straightened and stood at parade rest, hands loosely clasped
behind his back, trying to be comfortable while he listened.
Distracted by his movement, Rachel looked at him and smiled, giving her
head a little shake. "Sit down, Jim, it's your home."
"I'm waiting for the coffee."
"You're making me nervous." What might have been a complaint from
someone else was only an admission from this quiet woman.
"I'm sorry." Jim sat and his hands matched the position of hers on the
table. "I'm just really surprised to see you here." When she didn't speak again, he
urged gently, "Tell me. I want to know about you. You-you're why I went back
and listened to Mother preach. Not because I want to change my life... I wanted
to know you."
"I guessed. It gave me courage. I thought if you would do that... And
you're a good man... I need to start at the beginning, is that all right?"
"Whatever you need." Seeing the tears shimmering in those eyes, making
them shine like crystal, Jim covered her hands with one of his own. "Take your
time."
"There's not that much to tell. I betrayed my mother and my upbringing,
but I couldn't help myself. And I wanted to," she said a little defiantly. "I spent all
of my life doing what she said and becoming what she wanted me to be." She
looked ashamed. "And then I finally realized. That there was a world, a life that I
knew nothing about. And I started thinking...that maybe God wanted me to make
my own choices. Or at least explore the options."
"I have always believed that God wants that," Jim said. The drip-drip of
the coffeepot filled the brief silence that followed. It always made Jim think of
mornings and new beginnings.
"After reading the Bible so many times, that was the conclusion I came to
as well," she answered. Her hands turned over to hold onto his. "So I got into the
computer and I read things. I didn't like a lot of it, but a lot I did. And I started
thinking about you-Mother always held you up as an example of failure, because
there were so many things you could have done and you chose to be like everyone
else."
"That not exactly it."
"I mean, a sinner like everyone else."
"We're all sinners, Rachel. We all make mistakes. I know this sounds
stupid, but it's just life."
A few of the tears escaped and ran slowly down her face. Grabbing a
napkin, Jim offered it to her and she freed one hand to use it.
"Let me get the coffee." He got up and poured two cups, putting
non-dairy creamer and sugar on the table and setting hers before her.
She went through a little ritual of measuring in the sugar and creamer.
"I would drink it at the library and then chew on a piece of paper so she
couldn't smell it," she said, glancing at him when she noticed him watching.
"Why didn't you just leave?"
"Jim. I have no formal education. I never went to school. I know I'm way
behind in things like math and science because she thought those things would
corrupt me. I'd never heard the word evolution before I read it in a book."
"You were scared." Jim was trying to be understanding.
"I still am. I'm not strong enough, Jim. I can't do this by myself. I won't
go back, but I'm afraid that if I don't have help-your help, maybe Stephen's, when I
get to meet him, or even Father's-I'll just become this little mouse who only creeps
out when she has to before running back to her safe hole."
"Of course I'll help you. Whatever you need, I'll do it. You can stay here.
We'll redecorate Blai-the spare room. It can be yours."
"I don't want Blair's room." Her eyes grew wide at the thought and Jim
frowned, narrowing his eyes.
"Blair's room isn't good enough for you? Do you think it's contaminated
somehow?" It was an effort to keep his temper in check and not jump to
conclusions.
"No!" Her eyes rounded like saucers. "Oh, no, Jim. I've read enough to
know-love is the one thing that's never wrong. If you're not hurting somebody,
love is always a good thing. I just don't want his room because I think you should
try to get him back. At least talk to him. I can tell just from the way you talk
about him that you love him very much."
"But sometimes love isn't enough," Jim said, relaxing in his chair. "Or
maybe it's me that wasn't enough."
"I bet he feels the exact same way now," she said.
Because she was still looking a little frightened, Jim got up, went around
the table and took her hand, urging her from the chair and leading her to the
couch.
"Here's something you need to learn that I can teach you," he said, sitting
and pulling her down beside him. "It's something Blair taught me."
"What?"
Pulling her body close to his, Jim wrapped an arm around her shoulders
and guided her head to his shoulder, then wrapped the other arm around and laid
his chin on her soft hair.
"I remember this. I think I did it once or twice when I was very small."
Rachel's voice was sad and still frightened.
"It's called cuddling. And it's good for almost anything that's wrong," Jim
said. "Now, shhh. You have to be quiet for a cuddle to work properly."
* * *
Lying in the bathtub, Blair shook his head when the door opened and
Naomi entered, carrying a tray with tea and cookies on it.
"Privacy is a concept you've never quite grasped, isn't it?" he said lightly,
teasing.
"If you have anything there I haven't seen before, I'll shoot it and run," she
retorted, sitting on the rug beside the tub, balancing the tray on the edge.
"Nope. Nothing's changed much since I was sixteen or so."
"The last time I saw you completely naked was the summer before you
moved in with Jim. Remember that?" Pouring him a cup and handing it over,
Naomi nibbled at a cookie.
"Skinny-dipping at Harold's place. That was great."
"The man almost had a heart attack when you started stripping." She
smiled.
"I thought he had had one when you did!"
"He seemed to be having some trouble interpreting my messages." She
smiled. "But he got it loud and clear after that."
They sipped tea and Blair ate three cookies.
"I guess your head is better. Your appetite is back."
"Yeah, it was fine when I woke up this morning. The knot still hurts."
"I think you should have taken Jim skinny-dipping. It would have been
good for him."
"Umph? Ow!" Startled by her statement, Blair gulped his swallow of tea
and sat up too quickly, spilling it down his chest. "That's hot!" He sank into the
water up to his neck, the cooler bathwater easing the mild sting. "Jim
skinny-dipping? I don't think so."
Looking at her over the edge of the tub, his face hardened. "Besides. I'm
not doing anything with Jim anymore."
"It's been two days, sweetie. You need to at least talk to him."
"What about all that stuff you said? About me changing myself and him
resenting it?
"That's what you needed to hear then," she said complacently, taking
another cookie. "This is what you need to hear now."
"You know I really hate it when you change your advice mid-crisis."
Closing his eyes, Blair sank further into the water, letting it lap at his jaw.
Then he shrieked as icy cold water splashed over his head, rising from the
tub with a lunge.
"Na-o-miii!"
"There. Woke you up, didn't I?" Smiling snugly, the woman allowed her
eyes to travel her son's stocky form. "I hadn't seen that one before." She eyed a
particular piece of body jewelry with interest. Blushing from his hair to his neck,
Blair yanked a towel off the rod and wrapped it around his waist.
"There are times when mother-son closeness just isn't a good idea, Naomi."
"I'm going. You go to the loft. I happen to know that Jim is home today;
he didn't go in to work."
"And how do you know that?" Blair called after her, stepping out of the
tub carefully so he wouldn't knock over the tea-tray.
"I called that darling Captain Banks..." His mother's voice floated back
carelessly through the open bathroom door.
"Oh, man." With that suspiciously whiny comment, Blair pounded out of
the bathroom to get dressed.
* * *
"Jim?"
"Yes?"
"I read about you. About how you were lost in Peru and by yourself for so
long."
"It was an interesting experience," the man hedged. He'd been sitting here
holding his sister-his sister!-for almost an hour now and grew more comfortable
with it every moment.
"I think that's how I feel right now. Like you must have in Peru. You
were scared, weren't you?"
"At first, I was terrified, but I didn't have time to deal with it. So, it sort of
went away, but sometimes it would sneak up on me at night."
"Is it going to sneak up on me during the night?" Rachel's hands,
previously in her lap, came up to grip Jim's shirt.
"I'll be here for you if it does."
"I feel like such a child." Now she was crying softly. "It was so easy once
I did it... Mother went to see an old friend and told me to wait and to not watch
the television and I just picked up the phone and asked the man at the hotel to call
me a cab and charge it to the room..." Crying harder now, she turned her face into
his chest. "Why didn't I do it before, Jim?"
"You weren't ready," Jim said, beginning to rock her. No sound had ever
pounded his ears like Rachel's sobs. "You had to wait until you were ready."
"But my life is half over and I haven't done anything."
With this new and entirely focussed sound filling his senses, he didn't hear
the door open. But the voice that cut through it was one he'd never been able to
ignore, even when he wanted to.
"Dear God."
"Blair!"
Trying to stand, stopping in an awkward crouch as he belatedly realized he
couldn't just abandon his crying sister, Jim met his lover's eyes. Blair took a step
back, hurt flooding the sapphire blue, his breathing changing as he tried to breathe
air into suddenly recalcitrant lungs.
"How long?! Were you seeing her while you were fucking me or did you
just dash out and grab the first woman you found to prove your manhood on?
JIMMMMM-" The name rose to a wail of anguish as Blair knotted his hands into
his hair and pulled. "-How could you?!"
Rachel was scrambling away from Jim, allowing him to get up, mopping at
her face with the sodden napkin and trying to adjust her skirt with the other hand.
Her brother just sat staring stupidly, so it was Rachel that tried to explain,
haltingly, overcome by embarrassment and emotion. "B-Blair. You're Blair.
I...I...I'm-I'm Rachel..."
Stuttering and ducking her head so avoid his eyes, she blushed prettily, but
the hands knotted into the folds of her skirt, still rucked slightly around her hips
and twisted, betrayed more discomfort than the blush could have.
Responding to that, Blair yanked his hands through his hair, pulling
brutally, and recovered himself, stepping all the way in and closing the door
quickly before turning to face her again. "You're not going to faint or something,
are you?" Trying hard to be concerned when he was obviously still enraged.
The battle was clear on his mobile face and that was what finally got the
stunned version of his ex-lover off the couch. Gaining his feet quickly as he
recovered, Jim put his arm around Rachel and pulled her close to him. She
stiffened, resisting, and he frowned, but then she relaxed and allowed herself to be
held.
Blair stared, the hurt filling his eyes so completely Jim's own stung in
sympathy.
"Sandburg...Rachel-she's my sister."
"I would say, 'you don't have a sister, Jim,'" Blair said slowly, reaching for
the back of a chair to lean on, "but there was a time I thought you didn't have a
brother, either. So what do I know? Another Ellison sibling appearing from thin
air? I should be used to it."
"I didn't know, either. My mother brought her to town. To meet me."
"But he had to give you up," Rachel added from her protected place by
Jim's side.
This time the shock drained the blood from Blair's face and he swayed. Jim
reached for him, worried, but Blair got around the chair and sat down in it heavily.
Dropping his face into his hands, he made a low pained sound.
The older man stood undecided, just staring at his friend, until his sister
drew away from him and gave him a push toward the younger.
"Tell him," she said.
"Tell him what? Rachel, we didn't break up just because of you and
Mother."
She looked stricken. "Oh. I thought-I thought that was why. I thought
you loved him and left him because of what Mother tried to teach you."
Leading her to another chair, Jim took a third himself. Now silent, Blair
hadn't moved at all.
"I know you don't know much about relationships," he told his sister, his
eyes flickering between her and Blair. "But other things can cause them to fail
besides outside interference. Like different expectations."
"Or different styles." Mumbling, Blair scrubbed at his face with his hands
and looked up, his eyes sliding over the woman and resting on Jim's tense face.
"Man, I just need to talk to you-y'know? I don't want to cause trouble."
There was a softening of Jim's posture and he released an audible sigh. "I
think we should do that, Chief. Talk." He was sliding a hand across the table
when he stopped and his head jerked up and he started at the door. "Company,"
he announced. Then he looked at Rachel. "Not anyone you want to see, I'm
thinking."
Now she was paler than Blair had been. "Already? I thought she would be
gone longer." She stood unsteadily and looked around, her eyes a little wild. "I
can't see her. She'll make me see things her way and I'll never be free."
She was already moving toward the stairs when Blair caught up to her.
Flinching when he grasped her arm gently, she then stood still, quivering, in the
middle of the living room.
"You gotta face her, whoever she is. I just figured that out for myself
today, but if you don't say the things that need to be said, you'll never be easy with
this."
Listening to him, Jim nodded as he went to the door. He paused, waiting,
and Rachel nodded at last. Her trembling grew.
Jim opened the door.
"You evil bastard. You will burn in hell for this." The voice showed more
character than he'd heard in it since he was a child.
"Hello, Mother. Would you like to come in or just shout at me from the
hall?"
There was a sharp crack and Blair winced in sympathy as she slapped Jim
hard, the handprint instantly rising on his face, red and angry.
"You didn't know that, did you?" she went on, voice still cold and filled
with scorn and hatred. "You are a bastard, James Joseph Ellison. Your father-"
she spit the word out and Jim flinched involuntarily, "seduced me. I was only
fifteen. I was going to be a nun. I knew God would love me when no one else
did. But he said he loved me and he seduced me and then we got married and I
hated him. Every time he touched me, I knew he should not, I was meant for
better things. I put up with it for ten years and then I found out I was going to
have a daughter of my own."
She looked past Jim, her eyes at once stormy and beseeching. "You were
my chance, Rachel. My last chance to prove myself worthy of the Lord. If I could
keep you pure and make you good, you would be given all of the gifts I had
coming to me!"
"What a crock of shit."
The new voice rang out and Jim did a double-take, then stepped back and
waved his mother into the room. But she refused to enter and Naomi pushed past
her, going directly to Blair and gathering him into a hug.
"You were supposed to wait for me, sweetie."
"Oh, yeah, there's a conversation I wanted to have in front of my mom."
Rolling his eyes, Blair addressed Jim's mother. "Mrs. Ellison, why don't you come
in and we can discuss this like rational beings."
"I will not enter this home. It and everything in it is contaminated."
Mother stared at Rachel, hard. "There's nothing here that I want."
"Mother!" Rachel's cry was filled with pain, but her mother ignored it,
turning away and almost running down the hall.
After a moment, Jim closed the door.
Naomi had moved her hug from Blair to Rachel and was now holding the
woman as she sobbed. She looked over Rachel's heaving shoulder at the two men
who stared with identical worried faces.
"I think this is a girl thing, guys. Why don't you go walk around the block
ten or twelve times? We'll get this worked out."
Jim looked at Blair, but the younger man was looking at the floor. Then
Jim took his hand and Blair jerked his head up, curls flying, and stared at him.
"I can walk and talk at the same time," Jim said.
"As long as I don't try to chew gum, we should be fine," Blair said, the
words tilted. His eyes lingered on his mom's face as Jim led him from the loft.
And then they were outside. Walking. Side-by-side. And Jim was holding
Blair's hand. Until the younger man stopped and pulled it free, facing his friend,
hands on his hips, anger and confusion on his face.
"I don't get this, Ellison. Two days ago, it would have killed you to admit
to your best friend that you love me-and now you want to announce it to the
world?"
"Not the world." Jim managed a half-shrug. All he really wanted to do
was grab Blair and hug him close, tightly enough to threaten bone structure.
"Maybe Cascade."
"Just the neighborhood?" It would have been a joke if not for the anger
that still laced the words. "Fuck. Man, can't you even be honest with yourself? I
wanted to talk to you and now suddenly you have a sister, a mother that is clearly
not dead, and you want to come out."
"Chief-" Jim reached for him now, but Blair backed away.
"No, Jim. Not until we get this sorted out. I can't come back to you if
you're going to be ashamed of me, and I just don't feel like a couple of days is long
enough for somebody like you to change his tune so completely."
"Naomi said to walk," Jim sighed. "So let's walk. And you can tell me
what you need to."
He watched as Blair thought about it. The smooth brow furrowed as the
younger man studied him, looking for signs of weakness.
It was cold, and Jim hadn't thought to grab his jacket, but he forced down
the shiver that squirmed up his spine and met Blair's gaze.
"Ten or twelve times around the block," Blair said at last. "Not very long
to fix our lives, is it?"
"If your mom thinks it's long enough, then it must be." Jim flashed him a
smile and started walking.
"Okay, but we go once around before either of us says anything." Falling
into step beside him, Blair took a quick step sideways and bumped into Jim before
retreating to a polite distance.
"Putting the pressure on," Jim agreed. And then they were walking.
* * *
After fifteen minutes and uncounted squares of concrete sidewalk had
passed, they reached the starting point again, and paused. Blair looked at Jim and
Jim looked at Blair.
"I've found that sometimes things work better when you have a system,"
Jim said quietly as they stood there, both unwilling to step ahead and start the
conversation, but knowing they needed to.
"Yeah, I've noticed your fondness for structure," Blair agreed, his
expression guarded.
"So maybe this would be easier-less awkward-if we developed a system
for it." Now Blair looked skeptical and was quite obviously biting his lip to keep
from saying something. "So-when we step into this next square, you get to ask a
question. And I don't have to answer it until I step into that square."
Looking doubtful, Blair spoke. "It could take along time to walk around
the block that way."
"We can do this, Sandburg." Jim's hand squeezed Blair's shoulder.
"We can." Blair gave him a half-smile, the ghost of the loving smile Jim
had once basked in. "Okay, man. We'll try it your way."
With a deep breath, he stepped over the crack in the sidewalk, and stood
in the center of the square, looking down at it.
It was too dusty to really be grey, and the thin film of ice that had gathered
around the edges wasn't pretty and clear, but scummy. A tuft of stubborn brown
grass clung to the left in a slightly larger crack than the others that spider-webbed
across it.
"Come on, then." He shrugged at Jim.
"Not until you ask your question. Then I step in that square and answer
it."
"Fine." Still looking at him, his expression growing sad, with a hint of
pain, Blair hit Jim with the hard one.
"Why didn't you just say you didn't like the sex?"
With a visible flinch, Jim considered. Then he took a big step and went
right over the square Blair was standing in, landing in the one past it.
"Jim!" Shocked, Blair whirled and glared at him. "You think this is a
game?!"
"No, I just need time to think about that one. You can do the same on
your turn."
"If we both keep skipping the answer part we'll be here for years."
"Blair-" Jim's voice wavered. "There really aren't that many questions to
ask, are there?"
"No, man. I guess not." Deflating somewhat, Blair stepped into the same
square as Jim.
"Let's go around the block so you can answer me, okay?"
With a nod, Jim started walking, and Blair followed.
As they walked, six inches of space between them feeling like six miles one
minute and six millimeters the next, Jim distracted himself by counting the squares
under his breath, until halfway around, in front of the dry cleaners, Blair spoke up
quietly.
"If you add obsessive-compulsive to anal, Jim, you're going to be a prime
candidate for any number of mood-altering drugs." That prompted a snort of
laughter from his unsuspecting friend.
"I'm not obsessing, Sandburg. I can stop anytime I want."
"So stop now, man, and tell me what's going on." Blair stopped, hands on
his hips. "I don't want to wait until we get to the other side. Tell me now, Jim.
Why didn't you ever just say 'Hey, Chief, tone it down a little. You're killing my
mood here'?"
Stopping with him, Jim spread his arms, and shot a glare at a man who
crowded him as he walked past.
"It was hard, Blair. Actually, it was impossible. I couldn't-couldn't
reconcile what I felt while we were making love to how I felt thinking about it
afterwards."
"So, you liked it when it was going on?"
Leaning close, Jim bent his head down to answer quietly, his mouth close
to Blair's stubbled cheek. "I loved it," he said, and then straightened. "And that
bothered me more. How can I do that to a man and still think of myself as one.
How could you-?"
Abruptly, he closed his mouth and turned, walking again, his hands in fists
at his sides as Blair took double-strides to keep up, his own arms wrapped around
his chest. This time he waited until they got back to that one particular square,
which had no distinction except that it had been designated as the square, and this
time he moved in front of Jim and put his hands on the larger man's chest, keeping
him there. Bending from the waist, Jim took a step forward, but then gave way
and stood firm.
"How could I do that and still think of myself as a man? Is that your
question, Jim?" The smaller man was angry, his words hissing between clenched
teeth. "It is now, because I'm fuckin' gonna answer it." He closed his eyes, took a
deep breath, released it with deliberate slowness. And continued with them still
closed, slowly removing his hands from Jim's chest.
"I could be that way-take you up my ass and love it, which I honestly
did-because it made you so damn happy, man. I could be on top and look down at
you and the wilder I got, the harder you panted, the more you groaned and the
louder you yelled."
"I yelled because it turns you on, Chief," Jim blurted.
Blair rocked back as if he'd been hit by the words, literally staggered by
them. "You didn't like it?" Eyes open wide, face drained of color, mouth hanging
open in shock.
"I did like it. But it bothered me that I liked it and it bothered me more
that you liked it so much." Striving for honesty, Jim could tell he was digging his
own grave.
"I can't go back to just being friends, Jim."
"I can't imagine life without you, Blair."
"Then what the hell do we do now?"
At an impasse, they stood silent, both of them crowding the cement square
that now defined the limits of their relationship, with its cracks and desperate
weeds and crumbling edges.
"This time we'll talk to each other." Jim said it with the sincerity of a
promise. "We just fell into it in the beginning. We didn't talk about things, didn't
worry about the details."
"The devil is in the details," Blair responded softly. He didn't resist when
Jim took his hand and carried it to his lips, kissing the back of it softly, holding his
lips there while he closed his eyes and scented deeply, breathing Blair's scent in.
Then, as if he couldn't stand it another second, Blair gave a low moan and
yanked himself against Jim's body, plastering his own sturdy one to Jim's larger
form, mashing his face into Jim's shoulder. "I love you. You can hurt me, so bad,
with only a few words, Jim. Please don't do that again."
Catching Blair in his arms Jim squeezed him tight, his own face in the
brown curls, tangled and smelling of anxious sweat. "I won't. I won't, Chief, I
won't, I won't."
Setting Blair back onto his feet, Jim kept hold of his hand. "I love you,
too. Let me prove it to you."
Blair's eyes were shining with emotion, but he swallowed and produced a
shaky grin, his fingers curling around Jim's. "I would love to, man, but we still
have to walk like ten more times around the block."
"Like you always mind your mother," Jim scoffed, nonetheless turning and
beginning to walk again, their clasped hands swinging between them, the six inches
now filled.
"Sometimes she's right." Blair looked at him, hair falling in his eyes. While
he continued, Jim used his other hand to push it back behind his ears. "She told
me I had to leave to respect myself and that I had to talk to you to love myself."
"I'll bet she used a lot more words," Jim commented with a teasing smile.
Blair chuckled. "Well, yeah. And she dumped cold water on me while I
was in the tub, then ran away before I could kill her."
"You wouldn't even think it, Sandburg."
The silence between them still wasn't comfortable. There were too many
questions left to ask, but at least it was companionable. When they reached their
square again, Blair stopped and tugged at Jim's hand.
"It's really cold out here. Let's go into the bakery and have a cup of coffee.
We can go back upstairs in a little bit."
* * *
After coffee, with a danish for Jim and an orange-nut muffin for Blair, both
men felt it was time to go back up and face whatever music would be appropriate
to these circumstances. During their snack, the subject of their relationship had
been avoided by talking about Rachel and Jim's mother.
Sympathetic and appalled by turns, Blair was still hurt, it showed in his
eyes, and angry as well. But he didn't say anything until they were in the hall in
front of the loft door, when he laid a hand on Jim's arm and stopped him from
opening it.
"Jim-I need to know what's going to happen next. What we're going to be
after we go inside. How we're going to work things."
Stiffening, the older man frowned, but then willed the expression away,
summoning a hesitant grin.
"There aren't so many things to decide," Blair continued, finding a nervous
grin of his own to offer.
"Tell them to me." Folding his arms over his chest, Jim waited. With a
deep breath, Blair began listing them, his voice calm and even.
"Are we going to be lovers? If we are, are we going to change the way we
make love?" He breathed again, eyes briefly flickering from Jim's face to the floor
and back again. "Is this a lifetime commitment with everything, or a
separate-but-equal one? Or will we be together just 'as long as it lasts'?"
Now he stopped again, his arms crossing over his own chest, mimicking
Jim's posture. "Are we in the closet or out? Can we be both? Where am I going
to be sleeping tonight?"
"In our bed," Jim said quickly, then softly repeated. "In our bed. Do we
have to answer all of those right this minute?"
"I need to know before I go in there, Jim. I won't feel safe going in there
without those answers."
"Fine." Sounding mildly exasperated, Jim reached with both hands and
framed Blair's face. "Yes. We are lovers. No, we'll just talk about the lovemaking
more to be sure we're both comfortable with what we're doing and that neither of
us is misreading a signal. I'm in this for the duration, Chief. Joint checking
account, your name on the deed to the loft and matching outfits if you want them."
Shaking his head a little, Blair gave him an exaggerated look of horror at
that suggestion.
"And there are people we need to tell," Jim finished, more seriously. "My
dad knows, though I doubt I'll ever find out how he found out. But Simon and my
brother and the people we work closely with-they deserve to know, and they need
to know, so if anything happens to me you'll be taken care of."
Covering Jim's hands with his own, Blair frowned fiercely. "Nothing is
going to happen to you. You can't leave me, Jim. This was bad enough."
"I'll do my best." Roughly pulling the smaller man close, Jim nuzzled
Blair's curls while they held each other tightly. "You know Rachel is part of the
bargain."
"I've always wanted a sister," Blair mumbled into his neck happily. And
then, finally, he pulled away and reached for the door. "So this is it." He met Jim's
eyes.
"The first step of the rest of our lives together." Jim nodded solemnly and
then Blair snickered and Jim guffawed and they both went through the door
snorting with laughter.
Sitting on the couch, Rachel stared at them with wide wondering blue eyes.
Still chuckling, Jim locked the door behind himself and went to sit beside her.
Spotting Naomi on her knees in the kitchen, her head and shoulders in a lower
cabinet, Blair joined her, one arm hugging her around the waist.
"Where do you keep your iron pot, sweetie?" Her voice echoed and there
was a crash of falling metal that made Jim wince.
"Are you feeling better?" Jim asked Rachel, taking her hand, pleased when
she didn't draw back.
"It's under the sink, Naomi," Blair answered, pulling out several pans and
restacking them after she sat back, watching.
"There was a leak and we didn't have time to fix it and after we did, it just
seemed like it belonged there then."
Watching them, Rachel's fingers tightened on Jim's.
"I feel like I may survive this," she said after a moment of careful thought.
"I was going to make blackpot chicken for you," Naomi told Blair, who
smiled but shook his head.
"You don't need to cook tonight, Mom. We'll order something in. Chinese
sound good?"
"That would be nice. You know what I like." Using the countertop to pull
herself up, his mom went over to the couch and patted Jim absently on the head as
she passed him, taking the armchair.
"Rachel and I have been talking, dear," she began, and Jim tilted his head
slightly, as if to see her at a better angle. Sensing a potential confrontation, Blair
put down the phone he'd just picked up and walked over to stand behind Jim, his
hands on the older man's shoulders.
"Naomi..." he said in a warning tone. "You told me to talk to the man."
"Yes, I did and I'm thrilled everything worked out so well." She beamed at
both of them, but then became serious again. "Rachel and I have talked, Jim. We
share some of the same concerns...one of them is that her presence will intrude on
a delicate time in your relationship, and perhaps upset it."
Before Jim could speak, Rachel raised her hand and laid a finger on his lips,
making him stare at her. "Listen, Jim. Please?"
When he nodded, she took the finger away and Blair kissed the top of his
head, rubbing his stubbled cheek in the soft short hair.
With her hands weaving patterns in the air much as Blair's did-only hers
were more graceful and refined, as suited her-Naomi continued. "There are so
many things Rachel wants to see and learn. As much as she loves you, Jim, you
may not be the right person to teach her right now."
"Like what? What can't I teach her?" Sounding angry and desperate, Jim
twitched as he struggled to stay seated.
"About being a girl, Jim, and a woman. A woman like any other."
Leaning over his lover, Blair whispered in his ear, his hands stroking Jim's
shoulders and back. "Hear them out. Just listen to what they have to say."
"So, we-Rachel and I-are proposing a solution."
"I don't think I'm going to like it." Jim frowned.
"It's not bad, brother. I'm going to go to Big Sur with Naomi for a few
months. I can study and get caught up for school and when I get back, I can take
the high school equivalency exam and maybe think about college. I'll have peace
and quiet and a woman to talk to and you can call me whenever you want."
"Or chat online," Naomi added.
"But I just found you." Turning to his sister, Jim struggled for words.
Blair's hands gripped his shoulders, lending strength
"I'll be back, Jim. I feel like-like a butterfly. I want to fly, but I need
someplace quiet to dry my wings for a little while. And you and Blair-you need
some time to yourselves to work on things. I want to live here with you when I
come back and you have to be happy for me to do that."
The mischievous grin was back, but faded as Jim continued to frown.
"We can visit her," Blair told his lover softly. "She can come back every
couple of months."
"Think of it as sending me off to college," Rachel added.
"Once Blair left for school, he forgot all about me," Naomi pouted.
"Mom!" Staring at her, Blair look chagrined. "I did not, I was just so
busy..."
"I know. With Jill and Sue and Sarah and Tammy and Kelly and
Chelsea..."
"Mom!" Blair wailed. "Not in front of Jim!"
Snapping her mouth shut, Naomi smiled at the man who was almost her
peer. "Jim, he never stayed with anyone for more than a few months, no matter
how much he thought he loved them. He's been with you for years. So don't think
badly of him because he wasn't lonely while he waited for you."
"When do you want to go?" Jim asked.
"The day after Christmas. I want to have dinner tonight-something spicy,
something I've never had before! -and then for breakfast I want some sugary
cereal other kids got to eat."
"Like this?" Jogging to the kitchen, Blair pulled out an almost-full box of
Coco Puffs and rattled it. "Do you know it turns the milk chocolate?"
"Wonderful!" Rachel beamed and Jim groaned.
Setting the box on the countertop, Blair jogged back and plopped on the
couch beside his lover and leaned to talk to Rachel behind his back. "Don't listen
to him, I've caught him eating them dry."
"When it was the only thing in the house, Sandburg!" Jim protested with a
yell, grinning. He grabbed the younger man and stuffed Blair's head beneath his
arm, squeezing his neck, and noogied him while Blair writhed and yelped.
"Uncle! Uncle! I promise I won't tell her any more big Jim Ellison
secrets!"
"None?" Rachel pouted, enjoying the game, while Naomi watched
indulgently.
Released, Blair stood and moved a few feet away before answering. "Well,
not where he can hear me," he hedged. Jim made a mock-lunge, but Rachel
grabbed his arm.
"We can celebrate your birthday tomorrow," he said, as if he'd just realized
that. "It can't be too late to get a tree and things."
"I'd like that." His sister smiled and Blair beamed.
"A real Christmas? Cool!"
They discussed trees and lights and the menu for the next day until Rachel
bounced up from the couch, her face bright and animated.
"I'm starving. I was so nervous this morning, I couldn't eat a bite of
breakfast, so of course Mother decided that I was fasting to cleanse myself. Can
we go out to dinner? I've never gone out to dinner."
Immediately, both men exchanged glances and said, "Yes."
"But I don't have anything else to wear..."
"We'll get Italian," Blair said reassuringly. "Nobody at Tirelli's dresses up
and they have the best lasagna you ever tasted."
"Better than mine?" Naomi arched an eyebrow at him.
"Well, theirs has meat," Blair explained, going to hug her from behind. "I
think you and Rachel are going to make a great team, Naomi."
"I think we're going to have a lot of fun," his mom replied, leaning back
into the embrace.
Jim just scooted over and hugged Rachel close for a moment. Then he
pulled away and looked at her closely. "You have my eyes."
"But my hair's lighter than yours." Suddenly self-conscious, she played
with an escaped strand.
"It's like Dad's and Stephen's. They're going to be happy to meet you."
"When I get back, okay? Okay, Jim? I'm not ready for that yet..."
"Whatever you want," he said.
* * *
Whispering into the darkness, held close to Jim's side, Blair tried to look up
at his lover, but it was too dark. Jim's hand stroked through his hair, soothing him.
"Is she asleep yet?"
"Getting there. I knew all that heavy sauce was a bad idea."
"What's life without fettuccini alfredo?" Blair chucked softly. "You ate it,
too, three bowls of it."
"They call it the never-ending pasta bowl, Chief," Jim teased. "At least I
quit."
"I only had four," Blair defended himself. "And marinara sauce is good for
you."
"What about a pound of grated parmesan cheese?" Rolling to his side, Jim
snuggled Blair closer. "I couldn't believe it when you told the waitress to go ahead
and leave the grater at the table."
"She offered!"
"I love you," Jim said suddenly into the dark. "Rachel is sleeping now."
"Pepto always works," Blair said seriously.
"I want to make love to you. I know I was kidding this afternoon when I
said what I did about this being the first step of the rest of our lives, but, as corny
as that is, it's true as well."
"I think the fact that it's true is what makes it last despite being corny,"
Blair answered, pressing his body close to Jim's while the older man turned the
bedside lamp on low, casting a soft gleam that cut through the shadows. "But we
have to talk about this. What do I do that turns you off?"
"Nothing," Jim answered honestly. "The problems I was having were
about you being a man, not about loving you."
"So now you realize that I can get fucked and keep my dick, huh?"
Nudging Jim's thigh with that dick, now swelling nicely, Blair nuzzled Jim's neck.
"Just...slow down a little, okay?" Jim's hands closed over Blair's shoulders,
dragging him up the bed where he could kiss him. "Sometimes I like things
less...vigorous."
"I can do that." Blair kissed him, opening his mouth hungrily, and Jim
tugged at him, pulling him back a little, and Blair blushed faintly. "I can. But we'll
have to practice."
"Practice a lot?"
"Until we get it perfect. And you can be learning to like things rougher and
noisier."
"I do like them. Just not every night."
"Are we going to be having sex every night?" Lying on his back, Blair
pulled Jim up over him, the big man covering his smaller body.
"We'll definitely try." Taking Blair's mouth, Jim kissed him sweetly and
slowly, deeply. There was a second when he actually thought he'd touched Blair's
tonsils with the tip of his searching tongue. Blair warbled a moan from deep in his
chest and Jim laid a hand over Blair's heart, feeling it beating against the skin like a
captured bird.
Breaking away, he gasped, "We can't wake Rachel."
"She doesn't need to learn this yet," Blair agreed, panting.
"So we'll both be quiet," Jim said, and stopped moving until Blair was still,
too. "Tell me what you'd like me to do."
"What I'd like? I don't know, Jim, 'm almost afraid to ask because I don't
want you to feel like you have to do something you don't really like because you're
feeling guilty."
"I'm not feeling guilty, Sandburg. I'm trying to learn about you here. Tell
me what I do that turns you on."
"You don't know?"
"I have an idea." With a wink, Jim licked his lips.
"I do like that," Blair said with a shiver. "But I don't really like the way
you do it."
Taken aback, Jim lifted up and straddled Blair on his knees. "But you just
said you like it."
"I don't like being on my knees when you do it. I can't relax. And I don't
like having you behind me where I can't see you or touch you."
"I never thought of that. I like the way it excites you and I like the way
you smell." Jim smiled.
"And the way it tastes? I kinda worry that it's gross, man, and you're just
doing it to get to the good part faster."
"No, no." Scooting down between Blair's legs, pushing the blanket down
and them apart as he went, Jim rested on his elbows between them.
"It may seem gross, but I like the way you taste, even there. You taste like
you. I guess I tune out anything else."
"Really?" Up on his elbows, Blair looked down at him.
"Really, Chief." To prove his words, Jim licked the fold of skin between
Blair's groin and thigh. His lover groaned softly and lay back down. Taking his
time, Jim worked his way to the perineum and spent minutes suckling at the tender
patch there, making Blair writhe and moan quietly.
"I want to touch you, too," he gasped. "I need to, Jim. Need to feel you."
Hang on." With a grunt, Jim spun himself around, using his hands on the
backs of Blair's knees to pull his legs up and wider, burying his face between them,
Blair's cock poking him in the chest. His own was pressed to Blair's cheek and the
younger man turned his head to lick it up and down while his own hands kneaded
the muscles of Jim's ass.
"Oh, yeah," Blair sighed.
"That feels good," Jim echoed, before nudging his head in deeper and
locking his lips over Blair's rosebud hole.
"Aghhhh!" Using a fist to cut off his shout, Blair froze and Jim pulled his
head out, cocking it to listen.
After a minute, he relaxed and Blair did, too.
"I don't think you woke her."
"I'm trying to be quiet. You just took me by surprise."
"Shocked the hell out of you is more like it," Jim teased, both with words
and tongue at the clasping hole.
"Mmmm, yeah..." Dreamily, Blair returned his attention to Jim's cock.
They kept it up for a little while. Blair licked and kissed and nuzzled Jim's
hard cock, which was almost purple with arousal, and Jim rimmed him thoroughly,
eagerly, making contented noises as Blair wriggled and moaned and begged for
more in gentle whispers.
When he quit at last, moving to the side, Blair used his own hands to hook
behind his knees and hold himself open.
"Like this, please, Jim?" he begged up at him.
"Won't it hurt?"
"Not if we're careful. It will help us remember to take it slow."
"I just don't want to hurt you." Using a liberal amount of lubricant, Jim
began to open Blair with his fingers. The younger man was unusually quiet and
still during this process and Jim rewarded him with ample quantities of petting, all
over his sweaty, trembling body.
"Ready?" he whispered the word into the hushed room. Instead of
answering out loud, Blair only nodded, spreading himself a fraction wider.
Entry was long and slow, careful. The last thing Jim wanted to do was to
tear Blair or bruise him in this more vulnerable position. At last his hips were
pressed to Blair's pelvis, their balls swaying together and they both sighed.
"Very nice," Blair crooned, wiggling just a little bit.
"I can't ever get over how good you feel. How perfectly we fit together."
Adding his own slow motion, Jim began to pull out, just a little bit, and then push
back in with the same speed.
"Mm. Press harder. Right there, that's the spot." With a moan, Blair
began to rotate his pelvis with more purpose, encouraged by the pressure inside
him.
"That feels good? Am I hitting the hotspot?" Jim asked. He was using
both hands on Blair's groin, to either side of his cock, to control his penetration.
"Exactly the right spot," Blair panted quietly. "And I'm getting hotter by
the minute."
"Tell me about it." Jim panted with him, their movements becoming a
rhythm, slow and easy and good. "It's like having my dick in a vice-a heated
vice!"
"Just keep going-just like that-aw, man-"
"Slow and easy wins the race, Chief," Jim grunted out, and then both of
them gave up on words. When Jim felt the heat gathering at the back of his balls,
he reached with one hand to squeeze Blair's cock and roll it in his palm, making the
younger man moan louder but not loudly.
Blair's legs trembled with fatigue and the cords stood out in the muscles of
his arms and neck as the work of keeping them up began to tell on him. His
abdomen rolled with each twist, like belly-dancing horizontally. Fascinated, Jim
rested his other hand there to feel the ripples.
"Strong," he grunted.
"No wuss, man. No girl, either," Blair managed to answer. Then he
arched up, driving Jim in deeper, still staring up at his lover. "Gonna come, Jim.
Just a little more."
"Come for me." Jim met that stare and returned it. "You're beautiful when
you come, Blair. Come for me now."
His hand tightened on Blair's cock and he felt it swell. With a shove, he
buried his cock as deeply inside his lover as he could, wanting to feel the orgasm
from the inside.
Silently, jaw clenched shut, Blair came, his come arching up in spurts that
landed on his belly and chest and Jim's hands.
Jim groaned deeply as the muscles of Blair's ass gripped and massaged him,
and then he let go and came, too.
After resting only a few seconds, he sat up and helped Blair straighten his
cramped legs.
"That was beautiful."
"I love you, too," Blair grinned at him.
Lying down next to him and holding him so he could kiss him, Jim rested a
few minutes before answering. "I never doubted that, Chief. Not even a little bit."
"So we'll have Christmas tomorrow," Blair sighed contentedly, watching
Jim's face. Now he could see that happiness in his lover's eyes.
"And go back to work the day after." Jim sounded petulant. "That
hit-and-run driver is going to owe me for this."
"You'll find him, Jim," Blair reassured sleepily. "And I'll help."
"We'll help each other," Jim whispered. "Help each other learn to be
together."
This time Blair didn't answer, because he was asleep. So, Jim slept, too,
confident and content.
End
