merging fandoms

Story #14 Secrets - Original Version

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Blair sat at his desk staring at the news clipping he held in his right hand. The paper was old and yellow and had obviously been torn at one point and taped back together again. The clipping was a report of a demonstration that occurred in the fall of '66. He'd found it in a box that his Aunt Cecilia had sent him -- along with the letter informing him of his mother's death.

He sighed heavily while rubbing his eyes with his left hand. He had no tears left.

Naomi was gone.

It was so strange. Just a few months ago, William Ellison had passed away, and now, Naomi. The elder Ellison's death had changed Blair's life - and Jim's - and Steven's -- drastically. The change had given Blair something he'd always wanted: A father. And as it happened, two brothers. He couldn't deny that the weeks following the revelation had been incredible, but underneath the joy of discovering that he did, indeed, have a father, there'd been an underlining unease for which he'd been unable to find an explanation.

Until three weeks ago when the feeling escalated to horror.

Jim had been on stake-out with Connor, thanks to Blair's teaching schedule. It was supposed to be a slam-dunk, but the guy they were watching had other ideas. He'd spotted them and, instead of running, he'd walked out of his apartment building, shotgun in hand. Without so much as a "Fuck you!" he'd started blasting everything and anything in sight - including Jim's truck.

Jim had thrown himself over Megan and, as a result, had taken the bullet that would have hit her. By the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, he'd lost a tremendous amount of blood.

Blair had beaten Steven to ER by minutes and, for the next 24 hours, they'd held vigil over him.

And that's when the reason for his unease at having the same father as Jim hit him - and hard.

He'd been sitting by Jim's bedside, staring at his 'brother's' pale face, willing him to open his eyes, to be all right. Then he'd taken Jim's cool hand into his own and, with that action, experienced a welling up of love so strong, so overpowering, that tears had tracked down his cheek.

That's when he realized the love he was experiencing was far different from what one brother should feel for another.

He'd discovered, in Jim's hospital room, at a moment when Jim's life was held in God's hands, that he was in love with Jim.

Blair was in love with his own brother.

Of course, Jim was home now and recuperating, but Blair found that with the joy of having Jim alive, there existed side-by-side, a pain greater than any he'd known.

Until now.


Until reading a supposedly innocuous article from a newspaper dated before he'd been born.

Slowly he set the clipping down and picked up the sheets of stationary he'd abandoned for the article. Eyes following every word, he read it again, for the fifth time, barely noticing where his tears were meeting the white paper….


Blair
Secrets destroy, but they can also free a person when light is allowed to shine in on the dark, hidden thruths. I'm shining just such a light now, on a secret over 38
-years old. But since my culpability in the maintenance of this secret is great, I must shine the light from a distance because I don't have the courage to face you.

It's true that William Ellison and I had an affair and that you were the product of that love. But enclosed, you'll find a clipping from The Seattle Tribune. I think it will prove what I have to say next.

God, Blair, I don't honestly know where to start.

Yes, I do. With you and Jim.

Honey, I've watched you with him all these years and I know love when I see it. You're in love with him and, one of these days, you'll recognize that fact and, if I don't tell you the truth now, a knowledge that should bring you only joy, will hurt you to a point that I can't imagine.

Okay, so the clipping. You know all about the demonstration that day, I've told you about it often enough, but there was more to it - much more. You no doubt recognize me, but the woman standing beside me is Mrs. William Ellison. I don't think she intended to take part in the demonstration, but when the cop grabbed me by the hair, well, she just stepped in and whacked him one. Then she took my arm and off we ran. We ducked into a small cafe and that's where we stayed until the riot abated.

Blair, sweetie, I was just fourteen and three years away from bringing the most wonderful person I know into the world, but you know my history, know about the many times I ran away from home, before that final, forever time. But on that day, this wonderful woman took me under her wing for six magical hours.

Grace (she was Margaret to her parents) was four months pregnant with the child that would be your brother, Steven. She never gave me her last name and later, when I fell in love with Will, I didn't made the connection - not for years.

Grace and I talked, shared dreams, and it was that day that a confused, hurt woman told a teenager about her one true love. A man named James Joseph Masterson.

The real father of her eldest son, Jimmy.

William is your father. Steven is your brother. But Jim -- is not.

J.J. Masterson is dead. He died before Jim was born and that was the reason Grace married William. You know as well as I do that this can easily be proven, but I leave that to you.

I don't know if I'm making matters worse, or better. I don't know what you will do with this information, I only know that I had to tell you, if for no other reason than to ensure that you would know that your feelings for Jim are safe, moral, right. That you're not feeling anything you shouldn't.

I love you, Blair. More than you will ever know.

May God forgive me for all that I've done to hurt you.

Your mother


A splotch of moisture landed on the word 'mother'.

Blair should have felt just as Naomi had intended: elated and free. After all, now he could love Jim as man and not a brother, but instead, he thought he might die.

How could he tell Jim? How could he tell him that--

He couldn't.

Wouldn't.

Jim's world was settled and, even though he'd lost his father, he'd received comfort in the fact that the two men had worked through their issues and finally, after so many difficult years, become father and son.

Blair couldn't, wouldn't, take that away from him.

His world and dreams might be over, but he'd be damned if he'd end Jim's.

Blair carefully folded the clipping and slipped it back into the envelope. He then swiveled in his chair toward the mini-shredder and, letter and envelope in hand, turned on the shredder. He held both over the whirling teeth…and as his hand shook and the blades whirled - as he stared at the last letter he'd ever receive from his mother - he wondered how long a man could live with a broken heart and shattered soul.

End - for now....

merging fandoms

Story #15 Obsenads - Part 3

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OBSENAD #8:

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 10.05.2002 07:58:10
Subject: Re: [senad] Obsenad Writing Challenge


wod wrote:

*pout* Am I the only one who thinks dead=dead?

Well, I can't read a death story so I'm hardly going to write one. LOL! That means dead has to mean something else entirely…so wait, I can do this - a death story - sort of:

No warnings necessary.

***
I am so dead. The inevitable can not be changed. She killed me.

Fuck. I feel like William Holden in Sunset Boulevard. Floating face down. Damn, at least he got a nice large pool. I get this crappy fountain. On the other hand,  we were both done in by a crazy woman.

Umm - Gloria Swanson or Alex Barnes?

I'll take Gloria Swanson. Her bullets were fake.

This fountain ain't half bad. It's not an Olympic size pool but it is heated. And how far can one float anyway?

ouch.

Yes, well. The sides of the fountain are a bit -- bumpy. Rocky?

I'm wondering if I really deserved this. I'm really wondering. Was this karmic justice or what?

Damn. This is going to really hurt Jim. Big time. He may think he hates me, but I know he loves me and this is SO going to hurt. And then there's the whole guilt thing. Of course, if I'm lucky -- he'll repress it. ::giggle::

Don't raise your eyebrow at me. Dead people can giggle. We can't fart, but we can giggle, and no, I don't know why, so there!

Speaking of this being dead thing? It's kind of -- nice. Free-floating. HA! I just made a joke. Get it? Free-FLOATING. Heh.

God, you know what chlorine does to my hair? And the smell? Okay, that was shallow. But then -- this is a shallow fountain. HA! Another joke.

Man, I'm funnier dead then when I was alive--

Umm -- what's going on? Oh. I'm moving. No, I'm being -- moved. Up, out, down.

Grass. Faces. Voices.

Sorry guys. Too late. I'm dead. So dead. Can't undo it. Inevitable. Way too late.

Sorry Jim. Really. I am. Forever. Love you. Forever. Miss you. Forever.

Would give my right hand to have kissed you. To have made love to you. To have seen you in the throes of an orgasm. I'd give my life for that. Instead, I have to give it -- for nothing. For no one.

Crap.

Oh. What's this now? Umm -- this is weird. Oh, I know. An endorphin rush. But I can see Jim. And he's crying. And his hands are on my face and we're touching and I'm --

WHOA!

Wolf.

This is SO COOL.

Hey! Jim! Yoohoo!

Aw, man. Sure, I'll come back. If I can.

Oh.

Guess I can. One small step for Blair Sandburg, one large leap for… the Wolfman!

I'm baaaaack.

Well. So much for being dead.

I'm not. Not anymore. Leave it to Jim Ellison to bring me the fucking back. Ya gotta love the guy.

Jim? I love you. Big time.

Thank you. I won't waste it.

The end.
____________________________________
OBSENAD #8A:
(a second response to the writing a 'death story' challenge on senad)

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 10.05.2002 06:33:49
Subject: Re: [senad] Obsenad Writing Challenge -


I Am So Dead #2
By aly

I'm so dead. This cannot be changed.

I swore I'd never do it, but I did, and now - I'm dead. Deader than a doornail, dead meat, dead man walking, dead end, dead and buried, dead and dying, deadhead, dead, dead, dead.

Why? My partner just heard I was in love with him.

Everything would have been fine if only Connor hadn't dragged me into the Men's Room - the Men's room! Even then, things would have been okay if she hadn't hauled me into a stall to ask me out - and finer still if I'd put the truth in a less…forthcoming…manner. Like, maybe, "Gee thanks, Connor, I'm flattered, but you know I'm kind of interested in someone else"…


But did I say that? No. Instead, the newest detective on the block (that would be me) is standing in the stall, hand clamped over Connor's mouth after just hissing in her ear, "Are you crazy, Megan? You know damn well that I'm in love with Jim--"

Well, damn! She just bit my hand, which in turn, caused me to yell out, "Fuck!"

"Sandburg? Was that you? You in here?"

Shit. Now you see why I'm so dead?

"Of course he is, you prick," says my ex-best friend, Megan as she yanks my hand down from her mouth. "It's not like we don't all know that you're a bloody sentinel and that you know damn well not only is he in here, but I'm with him, so what do you make of that, Ellison?"

She's smirking. Huh, oh. Suddenly the corner between the toilet and the stall wall looks just about my size…and if I make myself as small as possible….

"Just remember to flush, okay? Oh, and Sandburg?"

Face heating up (I refuse to say I'm blushing) and eyes tightly shut, I hear myself say with false brightness (while at the same time, planning my funeral), "Yeah, Jim?"

"Your turn to cook tonight. I feel like hamburgers."

"You may feel like them, but you look like shit," Connor snaps back in spite of my best efforts to keep her mouth shut.

"Now, Connor, be polite," Jim says. "And shouldn't you be finished by now?"

"Ellison, up yours," she says, even as she suddenly winks at me. Winks? What the fuck?

"Actually, Connor, that'll be up to Sandburg -- later tonight."

Okay, that sounded…promising. Maybe I'm not so dead after all. I glance over at Megan, who's now grinning.


"I think my work here is done, don't you?" she says, smirking. She rubs her hands together rather gleefully before adding thoughtfully, "I wonder if Simon is free tonight?"

I'm kind of bummed. Connor never wanted a date with me at all. On the other hand; apparently, Jim does. Which means I'm not only not dead, I may just get lucky tonight.

I'm not bummed anymore. Not the least little bit.

-30-
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OBSENAD #9:

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 13.05.2002 00:11:23
Subject: Re: [senad] obsenad - 3rd in the Dead challenge


Oh, Tamy. Now you've done it. You wrote:

(how about a "wrecked truck/truck POV? Anyone?)

***

"I'm dead. The inevitable can not be undone."

Boy, I'll say you're dead. When Jim gets a load of me, you are so gone. And to think I protected you. Kept you safe with my seatbelt. Aren't you glad now they don't make trucks like me anymore? Aren't you? Damn straight.

Probably not the term to use with you, eh? But still, they don't make trucks like me anymore. Built to last, that's me. Except when stupid sentinels allow their even stupider (I know, the correct word is 'stupid', but hell, I'm a fucking truck - and a dead one too) partners to drive me.

"Is it too late to run? Hide? Commit Hari Kari?"

Yep. Take it from me. He'll find you anywhere. And he will exact vengeance. He'll tear you from limb to limb, skin you alive and make new seat covers from your flesh. He'll--

"Chief!"

Oh boy. Here it comes. You are total toast!

"Oh, man, Jim, I am SO sorry--"

"God Damn it to Hell, Sandburg!"

This is going to be so good. You tell him, Jim, my man! Avenge my honor, make
him pay--

"Okay, okay, I'll -- pay for it, I'll rebuild it myself, anything, Jim, I swear it!"

It's not enough, Jim, tell him it's not enough! Squeeze the blood out of him, tear out his
hair--

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? God, you're bleeding. Chief, you're fucking BLEEDING!"

Uh?

"Aw, man, it's just a little cut - really, it's nothing."

"God, Chief, don't scare me like this. Come on, I'm taking you home--"

"No, man, really--"

The ingrate. After all I've done for that man and this is how he repays me! He cares more about that hippie than ME, his beloved truck!? Well, I dare him to get me fixed. No, I double dare him. I double-dog dare him. I'll make his life miserable if he even tries to fix me. Miserable I say!

Turncoat. Umph.

Finis
____________________________________

OBESENAD #10:

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 24.05.2002 04:03:00
Subject: [senad] Tool Belts


Tool Belts
by alyjude

This was so cool, Blair thought as he stood before his dresser wearing nothing but a ratty pair of jeans.

Renovation.

Finally, he and Jim were going to turn his old room into a den. He pulled out one of his oldest undershirts and slipped it on, then walked to his closet. He knew his old tool belt was somewhere in the deepest recesses of the small, barely there jumble behind the screen - he just had to find it.

Ah-ha, got it. With a smirk, he headed into the dining room and, after dropping the found item on the table, went into the kitchen.

Not long after it had become apparent that his one week stay with Jim was more likely to be a life sentence, he'd taken his tools and happily conjoined them with Jim's. Now he grabbed his hammer, then rummaged under the sink for a few more items he'd need. With tools in hand, he walked back to the table and slipped them all into their proper spot on the belt before lifting it and putting it around his waist. After buckling it in place, he walked to the head of the stairs and said, "Yo, Jimbo? You ready? Project Chez Sandburg-Ellison is on the landing strip and cleared for take-off."

"I'm coming, keep your shirt on, Sandburg. And what's with this *Chez Ellison-Sandburg* thing?"

Before Blair could answer, Jim appeared at the head of the stairs and -- Blair's mouth dropped open. Until he closed it.

"Um -- Jim? You're, like, wearing nothing but -- your tool belt. That could be -- dangerous, man, you know?"

"Dangerous? Are you crazy?" Jim grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye as he reached for one of his tools. He flipped it out of a slot and held it up for Sandburg's inspection.

~~~~~

Okay, who wants to finish it?

aly,
feeling sneaky
_________________________________

OBSENAD #11:
(This was a back-and-forth conversation between me and Wendy - her responses are in italics)

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 24.07.2002 06:27:35
Subject: [senad] Obsenad City


Wendy wrote:
Wow, aly, you're cranky today.

Well, duh. Someone, who shall remain nameless (JIM!) talked Blair into going on strike and they're both refusing to put out for me. Jeez.

Don't take it out on us, just because Jim barricaded the basement door, hung Blair's boxers over the hidden (you thought) camera and won't let you watch!

Who should I take it out on? Jim knew darn well that I was making that tape for my senad listsibs!!! And do you have any idea how CUTE Blair looks walking up and down, back and forth, carrying that hand-held sign reading on one side:

"Sexual Strike In Progress"

And on the other:

"If the condom fits, you must acquit!"

No, I don't get that one either, but you know Blair.

It's your own damn fault, mind you, he certainly had good cause. Did you think he wouldn't hear what you were muttering under your breath about his (HIS HIS HIS won't share HIS!) Blair? Hmph!

That's just a rumor Daniel Jackson started. He and Jack O'Neill have been trying to get into my pant--um, erm, *basement* for weeks. They figure if they cause enough trouble, I'll toss Jim and Blair out on their ass--um, er, *ears*. Fat chance.

You should know better. And those bottle rockets under their bed on the 4th -- what was that about? It took Blair almost three days to soothe his frazzled nerves!

Okay, *that* was Jack. I mean, come on. Air Force Colonel? Bottle rockets? Get it? Jack almost did, from a very upset sentinel.

Trying to apologize with a pineapple upside-down cake.

::aly hangs head::

Okay, that one was me.

There's only one way to get back in his good graces. You must return the silk pajamas you claimed were "lost at the laundry." Uh huh, a likely story.

Daniel. He's wearing them as we speak. He and Jack are marching just outside my bedroom window with signs that read on one side:

"BASEMENT OR BUST!"

And on the other:

"If the condom fits, you must acquit."

No, I don't get it either. But apparently Daniel and Blair have similar thoughts. Poor Jim and Jack. ::sigh::

And it wouldn't hurt to throw in a case of his favorite microbrew and a 3-pack of film for the Polaroid, just for good measure. Extortion, you say? Not at all. He simply wants you to show some appreciation for the many, many hours he's spent being charming for your guests.

Charming for MY guests? That would be YOU GUYS! You know, you could pitch in and help me with this damn strike!!! Soothe a few savage breasts and all?

Did that count as an obsenad <g>?

Obsenad? What obsenad? Heh.

P.S. Blair says he'll forgive you the day after Jim does, and he'd like another bottle of the massage oil?

*He'll* forgive ME? I so don't thinks so! Who spends THOUSANDS each year to keep those two men in fancy lube, uh? ME, that's who! Do you know what I go through trying to mix Blair's massage oils and Jim's hair tonic? (Have you noticed? It's working too!)  Jeez, those guys should get down on their knees and bless the ground I walk on. And while they're down there---

Where was I?

aly,
off to the basement
How Would You Make A Marriage Work?
Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a truck.
--Ricky, age 10
______________________________________

OBSENAD #12:

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 19.10.2002 20:05:05
Subject: Re: [senad] Fwd: One of those internet joke things


Now, Wod, you know someone has to do this from the other guy's perspective, so here it is: *G*

Jim is reading one of those internet joke things on Blair's computer. He reads:

5 Secrets to a Great Relationship

1. It is important to find a man who works around the house, occasionally cooks and cleans and who has a job.

Okay. Blair is... handy... around the house. He keeps me well fed, cooks things in such a way that I'd never guess I was eating tofu. He's finally learned to clean and I've found that over the years I don't mind in the least getting his underwear in my drawers nor the occasional pair of pink boxers. He has two jobs, so Blair's definitely a keeper
on this one.

2. It is important to find a man who makes you laugh.

No brainer. Even when laughter is the last thing I think I need, he gives it to me. And does he have the moves? Oh, yeah. And let's face it, how many people have someone in their lives that when they put on a simple hat, it cracks up their buddy? The Sandburg Zone, definitely a keeper.

3. It is important to find a man who is dependable and doesn't lie.

Obfuscate. Not really a lie, right? Exaggerate, embellish, but lie? Nah. Fail to disclose? Sort of, but again, not a real lie. Or is that lying by ommission? Nah, not Sandburg. He can obfuscate through his teeth, but it's always for others. And dependable? No one more so. When I count up the things I depend upon, he's at the top of the list. I'll never tell him that, but he is.

4. It is important to find a man who's good in bed and who loves to have sex with you.

All right, back the truck up right now. Sex with Sandburg?

Um, er, okay, truth: been there, done that, still doing that.

Don't tell a soul, but you have NOT had sex until you've experienced it with Blair "I am SO into you" Sandburg. Sometimes, I don't have to lift a finger. All I have to do is lie there and absorb the man like a sponge. A very thirsty sponge. Keeper.

5. It is important that these four men never meet.

Heh. A joke. Very funny. I guess I have my own little split personality Guppy. Ain't I the lucky one. All four men wrapped up in one very compact, 5'7, long-haired, blue-eyed package. Have you seen those lips? Can you imagine them all over your body? Um, excuse me a mo. Gotta go find the Guppy... now.

-----

wod wrote:

Thanks to Christi for sending the "internet joke" to me. Yay to her
mom for sending it to her! <g>

Thanks to wod for sharing it here and giving us Blair's side. <G> And Christi, your mom is super! :)

Aly,
"People who tilt at windmills themselves have no business putting
flowers in defoliant tanks." Naomi cleared her throat as Jim raised his
head with an incredulous expression. "Well, you know what I mean." -
Lanning Cook - Ministers of Grace
__________________________________

OBSENAD #13:

From: alyjude2001@yahoo.com
Date: 05.04.2003 06:51:19
Subject: [senad] obsenad for two tests


Here's a little fic that was a birthday snippet for the great and wonderful Blankstreet. This is offered up as my pitiful obsenad for running two test messages in one week. Sorry.

***
Nothing's Changed - and Yet Everything has Changed
by alyjude

Jim
-

He's still Sandburg.

He looks exactly the same. Same hair, flannel shirts, bowling shirts and same too-big jackets and colorful argyle socks. He's standing across from me now, fingering a sweater he's thinking of buying for Connor's Christmas gift. It hits me then how normal everything seems.

I watch him rub fingers over the soft material, check the label, then slide his arm down the fuzzy sleeve to the price tag. My eyes follow his hand, watch him flip the tag over and I swear I know his hands better than I know my own. They always seem to live a life separate from, and yet obviously connected to, him - so much so, that if Blair were prevented from communicating via his voice, his hands and eyebrows alone would be sufficient. I'm often in awe of that skill - one he doesn't even recognize.

When I think about it, I realize those hands have pushed me, tested me, waved me away, held me up, alerted me to danger, and with palms raised upward, have told me that he was sorry, and palms downward; expressed the fact that he'd given up on me. But never for long.

He's the same man I've known for three years.

And yet--

Everything's changed now because I know what's under all those layers of clothing, defenses, and the multitude of personalities he puts on as easily as his jacket in order to 'fit in'. I have an intimate knowledge of everything the flannel and denim hide from the rest of the world. Right now, all I have to do is close my eyes and I can see his skin glistening with sweat as taut muscles strain above my body. I can see the damp chest hair curling around hard, tight nipples as he braces himself on my shoulders and, with sounds and needy expressions, gives me the message I've needed to hear for so long.

Last night, those legs that are currently clad in 501 jeans, were locking me in place and telling me that he was never going to let me go, that I'm his, and that he needs me.

And yet today, here in this store, he's just - still and always - Sandburg.

Everything's the same, nothing's changed - but everything is so much brighter today. How is that possible? Why should such a simple thing like falling in love, acknowledging that love and then making love, suddenly give the whole world such an amazing glow? Why do cars sparkle beyond what even I, as a sentinel, normally see? And what about the diamonds bursting from the asphalt as I drive? Why does the grass that lines each side of the street seem so much edgier, every blade a separate, shining green entity? Why do even my car keys seem alive today?

Because Sandburg and I made love? Because I'm in love - and more importantly, Blair's in love with me?

Every breath I take is filled with him. He's been beside me for three years and I've breathed him in every day - but now it's totally different - special - cosmic. Of course, it could be because I can now smell myself on him and I know every square inch of him. Now I know how he sounds as his body pumps his orgasm out of him and when he smiles at me, I know it's meant for me alone and contains nothing but the purest - and most lustful - love.

I've been in love before, been in the throes of the intoxication that comes  with those first days and weeks of discovering each other. I've been there, but I can say with all confidence that this is different.

Sandburg is the same man - but life with him has changed, morphed into something I never in a million years expected.

I have to close my eyes and turn away, the beauty of the pain is too exquisite to continue looking at him. I reach out and pick up the blouse I've been considering for Rhonda. It's silk and I guess she'd call it shell pink. It's perfect for her. Funny that both Sandburg and I drew the only two women in Major Crime for the Christmas gift exchange.

Now that I'm not looking at him, not focused on him, the world should be back to normal, but it isn't. My whole body, every single cell and atom, is acutely aware that he's just a few feet away. If I wanted to, I could listen to his hair. But I won't or this blouse will never be purchased and we could both very well be arrested for, among other things, indecent exposure. Sandburg's hair really does things for me.

Since the world has changed so much, doesn't it follow that Sandburg should have transformed into some heavenly creature after last night? Shouldn't there be some sign that tells the world what we did in the privacy of our home in the wee small hours of this morning? Okay, that might not be such a great idea after all, but even though we're in public - I can look - which I do - again.

And there he is, holding the sweater now, turning it in every direction, trying to decide. Then, almost as if he knew I was looking at him, he looks up at me and smiles.

It's the same old Sandburg smile - except totally different. His face has softened, his eyes crinkling and going kind of dreamy as his lips, those incredible lips, curve up.

Wait - is he - is he glowing? Is that some kind of aura around him? Where's Naomi when you really need her?    Suddenly I glance over my shoulder to check the people around us, certain that they must see what I do - after all, the smile could light the country for a day. Surely they can see what I can? Shouldn't they be as transformed by it as I?

No, of course not. It's not for them.

I smile in return and nod my acceptance of his choice as I hold up the blouse. He nods in return and that 'just for me' smile widens as he winks.

The warmth that small gesture instills in me starts in my stomach by uncoiling before slowly and deliciously spreading its way outward. I can feel it in my hands and fingers, across my chest, in my heart, and yes, on my face. I suspect that I'm blushing.

Me, blushing. Because Sandburg just winked at me.

Man, have I got it bad.

***

Blair -

Jim's smiling that smile again. That lazy, special, "I've got eyes only for you"; the "cat-contemplating-fucking-the-canary-and-wondering-how" smile. I'm getting very used to it. Woke up to it just this morning, and I pray it's the smile I wake up to for the next fifty years or so.

I still can't believe it's coming from him, though - let alone that it's directed at me. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. No, not complaining. I've seen variations of that smile on Jim before, usually aimed at someone I then would cheerfully like to see disappear. But none of those versions, the ones that made me so jealous, were ever this seductive. Or bright. But I could very well be imagining that.

Strange how Jim looks so different today. He's been so at ease and I didn't even have to twist his arm to get him to come shopping.

He looks younger too - and so damn relaxed, Simon would swear Jim was drugged.

You know something? I like this Jim Ellison. Hell, I love this version.

Shit, Jim Ellison shopping for Christmas gifts? The old softie. My softie.

Man, I like the sound of that.

My and mine. My big old softie of a sentinel.

God, I can't believe how beautiful today is. It's like being on Golden again, only no fire people. Everything is surrounded by this shimmering, brilliant golden haze.

Must be the air. It's always so much brighter in the winter, you know? Yeah, that's it. This crystalline sparkle couldn't have anything to do with the fact that yesterday I was just me, but today, I'm me and Jim. Nah, couldn't be that.

I'm grinning. I'm in love and it feels damn good, let me tell you. I've almost been there a couple of times, but unlike playing horseshoes, close doesn't count. I wonder if I'd have felt this incredible three years ago? Would I have appreciated it half as much? Cherished it as I do now? Probably not.

I'm not saying I was too young, or even too shallow, not at all. But my head was hell-bent on science and my heart was taking a breather. Thank God I could appreciate the friendship Jim offered, and the singularity of said friendship - the rareness of it. But love? Nope, not in the stars.

The sweater in front of me seems like just the ticket for Megan. It's sapphire blue, fuzzy and soft, and will undoubtedly cling in all the right places. I'll very probably get a kick out of the fact that I'll be the one responsible for Simon's panting looks when he gets a load of Megan in this thing. Man, has he got it bad.

I run my hand up and down the sleeve again - and my mind is immediately sent back to last night and how this same hand explored the length and breadth of Jim Ellison. This one hand - with a little help from my left one - solicited moans of such pleasure from Jim that I could have come from those sounds alone. But man, when he started sucking on my fingers? Holy shit. Jim Ellison sucked on my fingers.

Jim.

My fingers.

His eyes were so Goddamned bright, liquid and velvety blue, long lashes just gracing his skin as he sucked, smiled and teased. I'm telling you, I was putty in his hands.

The things that man can do to me? Make me feel? I'm almost thirty and yet, in one night, I experienced more love, tenderness and passion than in the last thirteen years. All because of Jim.

I take the sweater off the hanger and turn it several times, then show it to Jim. He nods and there's that smile again. Only this one is even better, if that's possible. It's telegraphing all sorts of kinky, loving, incredible messages to me, but the one I'm hearing loud and clear is that he loves me.

All of this, all these feelings radiating out from him, they're all mine. Jim is mine.

He holds up a blouse for Rhonda and it's my turn to nod and smile. I add a wink and his smile broadens.

God, this being in love with Jim is so cool.

Everything's different, yet so much the same - and it's kind of scary. In a good way.     

Together we move to the check-out line and, appropriate for December 22nd, we're eight and nine in turn. But I don't mind. Jim is right behind me, half his body up against mine. I lean back just enough and it's heaven.

You know, Christmas lines aren't bad at all.

Finis

End Obsenads
Back to Table of Contents for Moonridge stories
Back to Table of Contents for the Basement
merging fandoms

Story #15 Obsenads - Part 2

 photo obsenadscoverart.jpg

OBSENAD #4:

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 24.04.2002 05:56:23
Subject: [senad] Pop-ups


"Jim, Jim! Look what popped up and I can't get it to go back down!"

Gen response:

"Blair, it just means the turkey's done."

Slash response:

"Well, thank God it isn't your gun and you are happy to see me!"

Family response:

"Just tell me it isn't your mother!"

Major Crime response:

"Shit Sandburg, close Simon's drawer - NOW! And how the hell did he get a dildo that size in there in the first place?"

aly,
back to the home now - yes, I got out again, so?
_________________________________________

OBSENAD #5:

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 25.04.2002 01:59:24
Subject: Re: [senad] Who loves more?


wod wrote:
"…waiting for aly's "10 Ways How Blair Loves Jim and 10 Ways How Jim Loves Blair…"

Okay, wod, ask and ye shall regret. *G*

The 10 Ways I Show My Love
by Blair Sandburg

1)  I let him shove me against walls  (okay, that's no biggie - I get off on that - his mouth is closer to mine that way)

2)  I follow him everywhere but I'm really leading

3)  I bottom -- from the top

4)  I clear every path he must travel on his journey as a Sentinel…

5)  …because I'm the path

6)  I make him laugh - and he's so beautiful when he laughs

7)  I forgive because, "Love Is Never Having To Say Your Sorry" (no, I never bought into that one either - but he says he's sorry in so many ways but you really need to be an anthropologist to decipher them).

8)  I threaten tofu but bring home Wonderburger three times a week - but two of those burgers are really the new veggie burger. I don't tell him and he doesn't notice.

9)  I came back from the dead for him

10) I will always -- come -- for him

The 10 Ways I Show My Love
by Jim Ellison

1)  I lead, he follows, but damn it, we both know who's the boss

2)  I put out my arm in high speed chases - even though he's already wearing a seatbelt

3)  I never ran his record when we first met - in spite of the earrings

4)  I tell him things I've never told another living soul

5)  I always do what he says -- eventually

6)  I bought the new toaster

7)   There is no one else I trust to watch my back

8)  You always hurt the one you love -- and I've hurt him a great deal

9)  I eat the veggie burgers he sneaks in as Wonderburgers

10) I bottom -- from the top

Bonus Buy:  No one can make me laugh the way Blair does - No one.

______________________________________

OBSENAD #6:

Originally posted from webtv: 18.05.2002 00:48:53
Subject: [senad] Challenge


Bed is for Two Things
By aly

"I'm just saying…bed is for two things and eating isn't one of them, Sandburg."

Blair took off his glasses, folded them, then powered off his computer. After shoving it aside, he turned in his seat to face his partner. "I see…so you're telling me that the relationship was a bust because she ate in bed?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. We had sex, she gets up and, fifteen minutes later, comes back with a pastrami sandwich, potato chips and a diet soda. She sat down, made herself comfortable and ate every last bite - in the nude."

"I'd assumed the naked part, what with you two just having had sex and all. But I'm confused: Are you upset because she ate and got crumbs all over everything, or because she didn't share?"

"Sandburg, I don't eat in bed. I-Don't-Eat-In-Bed."

"True, but it wasn't your bed and lots of people do, Jim. They read in bed, watch television in bed, do their homework in bed and some even do their police reports. Lawyers do their briefs in bed because bed is for whatever the hell you want to do in it. Personally, sex and sleep top my list, but I also like to read and yes, eat too. And there's nothing better than slipping into my oldest boxers--"

"The soft, barely-there plaid ones?"

Confused by Jim's weird response, Blair said, "Uhm, well, yeah. Anyway. Nothing better than putting those on, turning on the set and settling in with a bowl of my favorite pasta, a glass of wine and watching a great adventure flick. Although, sometimes it's a bowl of popcorn, liberally coated in butter and sprinkled with cheddar cheese and chili powders. And of course, a beer; cold and crisp. And the movie? Horror flick, man."

"Are you still in those plaid boxers?"

"For the horror flick? Nah. For popcorn, beer and horror, it's my grey sweats--"

"Oh, yeah," Jim sighed, "the ones with the holes in the rear--"

Blair drummed his fingers on the table as he regarded his friend much the same way Jim, when in sentinel-mode, looked at crime scene. Eyes narrowing, he suddenly asked, "You know what I'm wondering?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I'm wondering what you'd do if I got into your bed wearing my plaid boxers and carrying a pastrami sandwich."

Jim, glad to see that Blair had finally caught on, perked up. "Listen, you bring the pastrami, wear the worn boxers and you share," he shrugged. "No problemo, buddy. No problemo."

"Do I have to bring the movie too?" Blair asked, smiling.

"Definitely. I'm providing the bed - you provide everything else. And I'm thinking -- Guns of Navarone."

"I see." Blair sat for a few moments more before finally getting up and walking into the kitchen. As he opened the fridge, he asked, "Do we even have pastrami?"

Jim, always a fast mover, had to yell his answer as he ran up the stairs, stripping as he went. "Hell, yeah. And the movie is--"

"I know, Jim. I know. Sorted by title and genre. Action flicks on the first shelf because AC comes before AD, as in Adventure."

Blair took the pastrami out of the fridge and, as he made two large sandwiches, grinned. He'd been right - beds were made for a whole lot of things - and he was finally going to do as many as he could come up with and all of them in Jim's bed - with Jim. Way cool.

-30-
________________________________________

OBSENAD #7:

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 18.05.2002 04:44:19
Subject: Re: [senad] ObSenad: I asked...


Not to make light of what wod posted, but as I read it, this immediately came to mind:

I asked for Strength.
And God gave me Jim.
I asked for Wisdom.
And God gave me Joel.
I asked for Prosperity.
And God gave me Naomi ::Blair rolls his eyes::
I asked for Courage.
And God gave me Lash, Brackett, Kincaid, Veronica, Alex -- the list is
never-ending.
I asked for Love.
And God gave me -- Jim.
I asked for Favors.
And God gave me Simon, King of No.
I received nothing I wanted.
I received everything I needed. But mostly - I received - Jim.

Thank you, God.

Okay, so who wants to do Jim now?

Aly,
Commentary on today's youth, from the Jay Leno show:
Reporter to two teenagers at the Republican Convention:  What can you
tell us about the Republican Platform?
Teenager looking down: Well -- it's carpet.
_______________________________________

End of Obsenads - Part Two - Go Here for Part Three - Conclusion
merging fandoms

Story #15 Obsenads - Part 1

 photo obsenadscoverart.jpg


Definition of 'Obsenad': An obligatory fictional snippet posted on Senad in apology for any OT (off topic) post.


These were written many moons ago on a mailing list called, "Senad" (Sentinel Adult=Senad); the same list that gave me Jim and Blair online and spurred me to actually writing TS fiction.

During one of the Moonridge auctions, I offered these as part of a "Special Auction Item", but after the 30 days were over, I never got around to posting them... until now.


What I find interesting about them is not the writing (blech), but the peek they offer into the TS fandom; our discussions back 'in the day' - and how the world operated before Live Journal. *G*  Most include the original header, date and, sometimes, a brief explanation for the obsenad. You can also tell whether I'd purchased my first computer yet - or was still using webtv. I've also tried to post them in order (when header info was available), so enjoy ... or not. :)

OBSENAD #1:

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 01.09.2002 20:49:43
Subject: [senad] Jim and his dick :)


Okay, so as I'm seeing it now with several great posts from folks like seabreeze, Jim simply responds to the needy (other than Laura in Attraction, and technically, she fit the bill too). So the hypothesis could be that this is sentinel related.

These women are suddenly in his city, part of his tribe, and they need help.  Unfortunately, Jim sometimes confuses "needing help" with needing his dick, but hey, he's a guy. <G> So the obvious answer is: Blair needs to get into trouble. Serious trouble. He needs to need Jim's -- ahem, "help", meaning "dick"….

***

"But Jim, I need you, man!" Blair whined.

"Chief, you got yourself into this mess, now you need to get yourself out."

"That's not what you told Lila or Veronica, Jim. You helped them, gave them your all, tried to save them, so why not me, your partner? The cute short guy you live with?"

"What, are you saying you need my sentinel dick, Sandburg?"

"Duh."

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? A partner is always a partner and will give his partner whatever he needs. My dick is yours, Chief."

"It's about damn time!"

***
In all seriousness though, I think maybe Jim does have a need to help and is drawn to those types of women. He also knows he can't have them, so they are in fact -- safe. Yeah, that's it. Safe. Deadly -- but safe.
<BG>

****************************************
Aly,
"People who tilt at windmills themselves have no business putting
flowers in defoliant tanks." Naomi cleared her throat as Jim raised his
head with an incredulous expression. "Well, you know what I mean." -
Lanning Cook - Ministers of Grace
______________________________________________________________

OBSENAD #2:

From: alyjude@webtv.net
Date: 13.03.2002 04:26:33
Subject: [senad] Re: Blair protects Jim


Okay, okay, several folks brought up how Blair does protect Jim, especially regarding his senses. Vansati said:

<<He does repeatedly when he goes to Blair whining "Do something, Sandburg, my senses are out of control!" (Like in Night Train) <g>>>

Yep, I agree, but (you just knew there was going to be one, right? <G>) I'm talking the same kind of protection Jim gives so easily. What would happen if Blair started putting out his arm to protect Jim during a wild car chase? Or put himself in front of Jim while facing down a bad guy? Or insisted that he went first into a dangerous situation? Can't you just see Jim's face? LOL! 

***
Protection 1
"Uh--Sandburg?"

"Yes, Jim? And didn't I tell you to stay behind me?"

"Uh--Sandburg? What's wrong with this picture?"

Blair looked up the behind them and scowled.  "Well, it's a real shitty picture, Jim. And could you keep it down back there? We're trying to sneak up on the bad guys, remember?"

"Sandburg, not that picture--this picture. You in front of me. Now I don't mean to disparage your height or anything, but you aren't the most effective piece of armor, if you know what I mean? Half my body is exposed here."

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"So fucking duck, okay?"

***
aly,
definitely under the influence
____________________________________________________

OBSENAD #3: WARNING - This is a WIP with an unresolved ending - but will be amended soon

From: alyjude@webtv.net (alyjude)
To: windsofdawn@yahoo.com (WoD)
Cc: senad@squidge.org
Subject: Re: WOD!
Date: Wed, 3 Apr 2002 19:17:13 -0800 (PST)


Note from WoD: "Each time you contact me through the list and ask to change your status, you owe an obsenad"

Ahem. Yes. Well. Love those listmoms and making up rules as they go along -- Heh.

Okay, you asked for it and you'll regret asking. *evil cackle*

Piece from a WIP called *The Sound*….


The Sound
by alyjude

The sound. It was with him all the time, every minute, no matter where he was, what he was doing or who he was with. In the background but waiting for the moment to rush forth like the angry beast that it was, assaulting him, pushing all other sounds away, shoving him over the edge and into insanity.

He could remember the first time it barged forward; in the jungle while running after Alex, the others behind him
as he surged ahead. He could hear them, their voices, Sandburg obfuscating, or trying to, in order to cover up another inexplicable sentinel moment. He'd been able to hear the god-damned wind through the trees, his footsteps crunching on ground cover and the damp shallow river bed. The birds, big cats…and the monkeys zipping from branch to branch overhead; he'd been able to hear it all--until the other took over.

Took over and froze him in his tracks. He'd tilted his head, closed his eyes and tried to isolate the sound--it was so close, he almost had it--until--the vision that accompanied the sound slammed into him and he stumbled, almost dropped to one knee, surrendering…but a voice broke through both sound and sight…a voice he fought to hear, to catch the words--

"Jim? Jim? Are you all right?"

And he had been. He'd continued, eventually completed the mission, the so-called 'test', and had made it home…except…the sound persisted…invading his dreams, his waking moments, even while chasing drug lords, computer hackers, wife beaters; it was always just 'there'.

But today, it had almost killed him. Would have killed him.

Another chase; this time a corporate bigwig who'd forged company checks and then killed anyone - and everyone - who came close to discovering his transgressions. When he realized he was 'caught', understood the two men walking toward him were the police, he'd run. On foot, he'd hit the streets but quickly hijacked a vehicle. More cops, including Simon, had fallen in behind Jim's truck as he and Sandburg followed their 'suspect' through the streets of Cascade. The guy eventually lost control, crashed into a bunch of trash cans on a corner - but managed to climb out of the damaged vehicle to take to the streets again, on foot again. The chased and the chasers were less than a block from downtown Cascade…and a parade.

Pounding footsteps; squealing tires; the harsh breath of the running officers around him; the yelling; the static of commanding voices on two-way radios--and still he heard--the sound.

He ran, the suspect ran, Sandburg ran, Simon ran, but Jim was the closest and, twenty yards from Main Street, he yelled out, "Freeze! Cascade Police Department!"

Other officers skidded to a stop, guns at the ready and, in slow motion their suspect turned, a gun in his hand...

…and the sound overwhelmed Jim.

It took over every sense, blinded him, he couldn't breathe, his eyes began to water, his gun wavered and, even in the throes of the sound, he knew he was going to die - and could do nothing about it.

Suddenly a hard body slammed into him, the street rose up to meet him and even as he hit the cement, he heard gunfire. There was a *whoofing* noise from above him, a noise that, in spite of being so close, couldn't drown out the 'sound'.

There were angry voices--or was it just one?--and someone helping him up, asking if he was all right, but the angry voice was on the other side, louder, harsh, forcing him to listen….

"God damn it, Ellison!"

"It's all right, Simon, he's all right, just let me--"

"Are you CRAZY?"

The angry voice took on another level as the speaker's attention shifted from him to…

"And YOU, Sandburg. Are you NUTS? Since when do you…Where do you get the gall…and you call yourself an observer? Do you know how close you came to dy--"

"Simon, look at him. Something's wrong. Let me--"

"God damn it. What the fuck is going on?"

He needed to concentrate. Deep breaths. A face swimming in front of his eyes, another face, concerned but angry but his gaze went back to the first face; the blue eyes behind wire frames--

"Blair?"

"Yeah, Jim. It's me."

Blair can make the sound stop.

"Blair, please? Make it stop? Make it go away?"

The expression; the look in those eyes--Jim had to blink. There was so much pain and caring staring back at him--

"It's all right. I'll take you home. I'll take it away, Jim. Whatever it
is, we'll fix it."

He felt a warm reassuring hand on his arm and then Simon, pushing them both along and he let himself be pushed, tried to ignore the 'sound'--

"Get him out of hear, Sandburg. Pronto. We'll worry about the paperwork later. And take care of--"

"I'm on it, Simon. I'm on it."

***

He let himself be put into the truck, didn't even complain when his keys were plucked from his pocket; he gave up total control as he was driven home. Then they were parked and Sandburg was struggling to get him upstairs because nothing was working, no muscles, no co-ordination--but the arm around him, steadying him, helped, as did the voice: all he had to do was listen to the voice.

Home, the couch, a drink in his hand, another hand cupping his, helping him to drink. His world finally calming.

"Jim? Can you tell me about it now?"

He looked up toward the voice, locked eyes as he said so softly he wondered if he could be heard, "The sound, Blair. The sound. You have to make it go away."

Jim kept looking up at Sandburg, knew that he mustn't loose sight of him, had to make him understand. "It's with me all the time, and I'm going crazy. Take it away, Blair, please."

Expression both worried and thoughtful at the same time, Blair nodded. "Okay, a sound. So…is it your hearing--you're hearing too much, can't filter everything out, or…is there one…just one…particular…sound?"

"One, just one. Over and over again. It's always there." He reached out desperately, fingers closing around Blair's wrist. "No matter what, Blair. No matter what."

"Is that what happened today?"

"Yeah, yeah. I could hear everything, you, Simon, the suspect, the radios, and I yelled, and he turned…and there was nothing but the sound." He could hear the panic in his own voice, tried to calm it, took a deep breath. "The sound took over completely."

"So you, what, zoned?"

Jim pulled on the wrist and Blair sunk down next to him, worried blue eyes still locked on his as if he understood they mustn't lose contact. "No, not a real zone. Just couldn't hear anything but that--sound."

He knew his hands were shaking, knew Blair hadn't missed that fact considering one of them was holding Blair's in a shaking but nevertheless iron grip. Blair patted Jim's thigh in a comforting manner and Jim should have felt ridiculous, but he didn't - it seemed…right.

"Okay, Jim, can you describe the sound?" Blair asked, his voice telegraphing both concern and his natural curiosity. Jim would have smiled if he'd had a smile in him. Instead, he tried to answer, knowing - believing - Blair would solve this as long as he had all the information Jim could give.

"Water on water. But--light. Little plops. Plop, plop. Constant. No, not plops. Smaller. Tinkling sound but with a sense of wetness. But wrong. That's the problem. The sound is wrong, do you see? It's rushing, the water is whooshing and I can feel the spray." Suddenly Blair's hand is gone from his thigh and, at the same time, he can feel Blair disengaging his other hand from his tight fingers, but he can't stop describing the 'sound'.  "The sound should be lighter, almost not there, but it isn't."

Blair stood up and started to move away, but Jim knows he can't let him, so he tries to reach out as he continues, "Bright like diamonds hitting water, but wrong."

Suddenly Jim realized the sound was receding--but something else was taking over. A heartbeat. Thundering hard and fast causing Jim to stop describing. Instead, he just says Blair's name. "Blair?"

"I can't help you, Jim. I can't help you."

So pale. Blair is so pale. And he's shaking. Jim managed to get to his feet but stopped because Blair…Blair is…backing away. Jim holds out his hands pleadingly.  "Blair? Please? I can't live with it any longer. Please?"

God, Blair's shaking his head and his heart is so loud, it's bound to crash through the younger man's chest and suddenly Jim feels so useless because he can't help him--

He watches, helpless, as Blair turns away and starts for his room.

"I can't help you. I can't help you."

One more time, he has to try one more time.

"Blair, please?"

End - not my fault - wod's.
___________________________________________________
End Part One of Obsenads - go Here for Part Two....
merging fandoms

Story #14 Blair and His Holy Grail; a story in icons

Blair and His Holy Grail

 photo Pic1forGrail.png
There was once a young man named Blair
who was searching for his Holy Grail (preferably with hair)….

 photo pic2forgrail.png
And then one magical day - he found him.

 photo pic4forgrail.png
And though the meeting was grim, well, hell, he fell in love with him anyway.

 photo pic3forgrail.png
Unfortunately, the object of his affection had an affliction in that he tended to fall for evil-doers who were often leggy redheads who held him sway ….

 photo pic5forgrail.png

The good news for Blair (while bad for the ladies even when they tried to hide) was…
they almost always died.

 photo pic6forgrail.png
So Blair took the hint and, while he chose not to try a criminal stint,
he did take a last breath….
 photo pic7forgrail.png
But lo' and behold, Jim brought him back him back from the brink death!
 photo pic8forgrail.png
Only, God Damn it, he then refused to take a dip with Blair (who could blame Jim? After all, Blair had drowned in only two feet of water, so swimming seemed like a pretty bad idea - especially since Jim could get all the exercise he needed at the Gym).
 photo pic14forgrail.png

So our little guppy sacrificed all that was near and dear; namely his career…

 photo pic11forgrail.png
…and while I'd like to say Blair lived happily ever after with his Holy Grail and a frosty beer;  in all reality…all he got for his sacrifice was…
…a noogie:

 photo pic12forgrail.png
 Hey, nobody ever said Holy Grails
 photo pic13forgrail-1.png
were smart cookies....
merging fandoms

Story #13 Four Letter Word....

 photo lubecover.jpg

The loft was filled with the sounds of harsh and heavy breathing, the kind you might hear if you snuck into a darkened theater (usually located in the wrong part of town); the kind only men slinked into and your mother warned you about.

Yeah, that kind.

Upstairs, two bodies, on their way to the large bed, twisted, turned, and tangled. Two pair of hands roamed freely over sweat-slicked skin while two mouths, hungry for something far more satisfying than food, were fastened together….

Jesus, how could he be thinking these thoughts now? Sometimes, even he was disturbed by what his brain could do under the most incredible of circumstances. This time, however, he had to stop with the mental porn writing when he found himself about to describe their kissing as being, "…fastened together like the suction cups of two giant squids…."

"Lube…we…need…lube."

At Jim's words, and against his better judgment, Blair looked up, pushed the tousled hair out of his eyes, wiped a bit of spit from his lower lip and asked dumbly, "Uhm, lube?"

Jim's response was a somewhat aggravated reply - aggravated by lust, so Blair could excuse it.

"Need it…you, don't want to...hurt--"

Blair shot backward while his dick shot down. "Me? You don't want to hurt Me!?"

Jim, still breathing hard, focused his gaze on Blair's face while Blair, though angry, found time to be impressed by the part of Jim's body that, like his breathing, was hard.


With his short hair standing up on end, and looking cuter than any cop, let alone a sentinel, should look, Jim said, puzzled, "Uhm, yeah, you."

Narrowing his eyes while placing his hands on his hips, the ones Jim had been gripping like a life preserver just moments ago, Blair asked, "What do you mean you don't want to hurt me? This is definitely a case of me not wanting to hurt you!"

Jim blushed.


Bright.

Beet.

Red.

"Uhm, I guess I just assumed…but hey, I'm easy…I guess. Sure…go ahead, you can pitch first. So do you have lube or not?"

Blair felt his eyebrows rising at Jim's words - and then he blushed.


Bright.

Beet.

Red.

"Uhm, well, no, not really."

Blair enjoyed a moment of satisfaction as Jim's dick deflated too, then almost laughed when Jim mirrored his own posture of hands on hips because while he could get away such a posture, Jim…not so much.

"What do you mean 'no, not really'?" a now pissed-off Jim asked.

"I mean…no, not really."

"What kind of gay man doesn't have lube somewhere?"

"Yo, Jim? I wasn't, like, gay, until tonight, remember?"

"Oh," Jim said, arms dropping to his sides. "Kind of forgot that little fact, what with you doing so well and all."

Blair, feeling less like a giant squid and more like a peacock, grinned as he asked, "Obviously you must have some, right? And we're up here, so, where's the lube?"

Biting his lower lip and suddenly discovering just how fascinating the railing was, Jim responded a bit too nonchalantly, "Oh, well, you know…not exactly."

"Excuse me? To quote a brilliant detective I'm trying really hard to sleep with, if you know what I mean, and since you're that guy, you do--"

"Sandburg…."

"Right. So to quote that guy, 'What kind of gay man doesn't have lube in his nightstand, under the mattress, pillow or--"

"Chief…strictly speaking, I wasn't gay before tonight either, okay? And before you crack some joke about my age and the few women I've dated, let me just put your mind to rest by saying that no, none of my dates needed any kind of lubricant."

"Well, excuse me, Detective Lothario."

"Smart ass." Jim looked down at his bed and, seeing things only he could see on the sheet, he started to pick at it as he added, "Unfortunately, two men, no matter their age, do need lube." He looked up sharply. "And if you say we can use spit, this relationship officially ends before it begins."

"Oh, like I'm that stupid? Hello? I read, remember? I know we need something, so the question becomes, what can two previously heterosexual men use when instituting their first and forever gay relationship?"

"What about that aloe stuff you put on your hands?"

"Cool! Now that I have in my nightstand, along with…well, you know…condoms."

"Great. So go get them, doofus."

Smiling smugly, Blair moved around Jim, in what he hoped was a very seductive manner, and opened the drawer of Jim's nightstand. He rooted around a bit, felt the tube of Aloe cream and, with a 'yeehaw', tossed it over his shoulder. "I gave you some, remember?"

Jim caught the green tube and, as he started to read the directions, said, "Condoms, further back, plastic box."

"You keep your condoms in a plastic box?"

"Shut up and just get them, Sandburg."

"The romance in this room is starting to overwhelm me," Blair snorted.

Jim looked up from the tube to see Blair's ass twitching as he reached for the condoms. He smiled. "It's pretty romantic from where I'm standing."

Blair, plastic box in hand, looked over his shoulder. Grinning, he followed Jim's gaze down to his ass and deliberately gave it another wiggle before pulling a few condoms out of the box and dumped them on the bed.

"Chief? You might be overestimating our abilities the first time." He eyed the gold wrapped items now spread out on the sheet.

"Never hurts to be prepared, man. Now, about that lube?"

"I was just reading this," Jim said, his expression now one of disappointment, "and nowhere does it say it's suitable to act as a lubricant under…well, under these circumstances. I think we're in trouble, buddy."

"Only you would call me 'buddy' while we're standing here naked as jaybirds and trying to figure out how to make love. You really are a piece of work, you know that?"

"Is this going to be one of the 'relationship' bones couples bring up every time they argue, Sandburg?"

"Hell, no. I have way better bones to gnaw on than that. And do you really expect a tube of Aloe gel to actually say, '…and great for anal sex, Detective Ellison'?"

"Well, not the 'Detective Ellison' part, Shecky."

"Trust me. Aloe is perfectly safe, perfectly natural and I happen to know there are actually aloe lubricants on the market, so quit your yapping and let's get back to the fun stuff."

Looking very suspicious, Jim asked, "Do I want to know how you know they have aloe lubricants on the market?"

"No." Blair dropped onto the bed, cocked his head and, even as he tried to invite Jim to join him via what he hoped was a sexy eyebrow arch, added, "And so help me, if you don't shut up and start doing something, this is going to be the funniest thing the guys down at the station have ever heard about. Got me, Ellison?"

Waving his hands in the air as if to ward him off, Jim leaned back and said, "Whoa there, Chief. I'm more than ready." Laughing, he tossed the 'lube' to Blair. "I assume since you know so much about aloe, you know what to do with it?"

"I am nothing," Blair said as he caught it, "if not well-read and well-versed in the mating rituals of everything that walks, flies, crawls or swims." With that, he grabbed Jim, pulled him onto the bed - and jumped him.

Sometime later, after the aloe had been used, albeit sloppily, and the condoms - a few more than Jim thought they'd ever use, Blair lifted his head from Jim's chest and said sleepily, "Hey, Jim, guess what?"

Fingers tangled around Blair's damp curls, Jim yawned. "What?"

"After tonight, I guess we really will have lube in our nightstands--"

"And under the mattress, pillow, in your backpack--"

"In the glove compartment of your truck, taped under the dash of my Volvo--"

Jim put up a hand. "No way, Sandburg. We will never  do anything in that tin can of yours that requires lube. I have no desire to end up in traction."


"Fine, then your desk at work--"

"Dream on…but definitely yours at Rainier--"

"Hey, it's not like we have to have anal sex every time. In fact, it's probably a bit of a record that we started that way, you know?"

"You'd know that better than I, being so well-versed and all. But what I do know is there's very little we can do as two new but forever gay men that wouldn't go better with lube."

"Oreos and milk…sex with Jim and lube. There's a commercial in there somewhere…."



"Ha-ha, Shecky. Would you just get the aloe already? There should just be enough left...." Jim's ardor was quickly reasserting itself.

Blair reached under Jim's leg and pulled out the aloe. Waving it in front of Jim's nose, he said, "I sure hope you don't expect me to use this when I go down on you. It might good for all sorts of things, but not only is not required, it would do nothing for me, taste wise."

Cocking his head, Jim asked, "You going down on me anytime this century?"

"Ye-ah."

"Good to know. Speaking of taste…and for future reference when we buy the real thing, I think they have the flavored kind now. Just something to think about. For the future."


Blair grinned. "A chocolate-covered Jimdick? That could be very tasty."

"Would you just put the Goddamned condom on and get this show on the road? There's a mood to preserve here, Sandburg."

"Whoops. sorry."

Jim closed his eyes, heard the sound of tearing foil followed by a loud squirting sound, then--

"God. Damn. It! That's cold, Sandburg!"

Blair looked up, blew a wisp of hair from his face, and mused, "Maybe they make warm lube nowadays. In the meantime, man up, man."

Two minutes later….

"Sandburg, so help me…you bite like that again and you'll end up drop-kicked to the Marina."


I don't think you could really drop-kick me and I definitely don't think it's in the Sentinel manual so--"

Jim just pushed Blair's head back down…and smiled as his partner shut up….

Finis
merging fandoms

Story #11 Words Not Spoken

 photo coverartwordsnotspoken-1.png

"Jim, don't look so surprised. And please, let's not go through it all again, okay? This is the only way."

He'd been fighting his partner for hours - days even, but the look in Blair's eyes confirmed that Jim needed to give up. The skirmish, battle - and war - were over and he was the clear loser.

Sandburg stood at the door, a look of resolution on his face. He was wearing jeans, an old ratty sweatshirt and his leather jacket. He'd tied his hair back and was wearing his glasses, if you call it wearing when in actually, they were perched on the tip of his nose. He also had two pieces of luggage, one in hand, one hanging from his shoulder.

He'd left the academy without finishing and now was…was… He was moving out.

Jim was thoroughly confused and had no idea where this would leave them, both as partners and as friends.

Damn it, maybe he shouldn't give up just yet. He took a deep breath and said, while trying hard to keep anything that sounded even remotely like a whine, out of his voice, "But you're not just moving somewhere else in the city, Chief - you're leaving."

"Yeah, for a while. But I promise I'll be back…someday. I've just need time to think. Decide what to do next with my life. Find out who I am if I'm not your partner or a--"

"A anthropologist going for his doctorate?" Jim offered gently.

"An…yeah what you said."

The smile that graced Blair's face at that moment nearly took Jim's breath away. It was oddly sweet and very real, reaching his eyes; the first one to do so in far too many days of late.

No…not sweet: bittersweet.

Blair looked around, scanning every corner of the loft, as much, Jim's mind, to memorize it as to make certain that he hadn't left anything behind. Watching the look of longing that came into his partner's eyes, Jim came to a decision, which resulted in a kind of peace settling over him. Every muscle that had been bunched up in terror - let go as the tension drifted away in the face of his sudden resolve. No matter what happened, he could promise to be here, to wait - for however long it took Blair to find himself; to come home.

Blair looked back at Jim, hitched the bag higher up on his shoulder and said, a bit breathlessly, "Okay, I'm out of here, man."

Jim, feeling far more hopeful now that he'd made his decision, just nodded and smiled, calm at last. He had a plan.

To wait.

Blair, obviously surprised by Jim's sudden…surrender to his decision, blinked and frowned slightly before sighing and saying, "Bye, Jim."

He started for the door, had one hand on the knob when Jim spoke. "Do what you need to do, Blair, but I'll be here - waiting."

Blair stopped, cocked his head, then slowly turned back. "What did you say?"

Smiling softly, tenderly, he repeated the words. "I'll be here, waiting."

The duffle bag slipped from Blair's shoulder and landed with a soft thud. For a moment, the look of concentration on Blair's face made Jim think that maybe the younger man had failed to hear him. He started to say it again, but Blair suddenly took a step toward him and smiled brilliantly.

"Why the hell didn't you say so to begin with? Are you nuts? Do you have any idea how long it took me to pack up three years worth of crap? Man, I so don't ever want to do that again."

Twilight Zone? Outer Limits? Or better yet, given all of Blair's hair - the Planet of the Apes. Yep, that was it. Suddenly Jim was on Ape World, Sandburg style. He watched, stunned, as Blair picked up the fallen bag, walked past Jim and towards the stairs, talking all the while.

"You know, you could have said that yesterday. Or how about on Wednesday when I first told you? You could have told me then. But no-o-o-o, you wait until I'm packed, ready to go and then you propose. Your timing really sucks, man, but I suppose it's ultimately the thought that counts."

Fascinated, Jim watched as Blair stalked up the stairs - still talking, the luggage bouncing as he tried to gesture with filled hands.

Okay, this begged the question: Why the hell was Sandburg taking his luggage upstairs?

"Oh, I know what you're going to say, Jim. Yeah, I was leaving in order to stop the gossip, but now that you've proposed, well, let's face it, everyone already thinks the worst, right? The entire squad and half the cops with the PD think we're together, as in together-together, even though we weren't. But now we are - together - I mean, but we weren't, but everyone thought we were, so what's the worse that could happen now that we are, you know?"

Jim tried to follow Blair's words the same way he was following his progression into the bedroom, but really, it was kind of hopeless, even for a sentinel. He heard the luggage being dropped on the bed, heard zippers being pulled and, yes, could still hear Blair talking.

"No one will even notice the difference because, like I said, they already think we're together. Of course, mom will know, she'll notice, but she's my mom and really, in spite of you being a 'pig', she's cool with it, honest."

Jesus, Blair was unpacking. He was moving Jim's stuff and replacing it with his own!

Suddenly Blair peeked over the railing and said, matter-of-factly, "You'll have to bring my chest up here, Jim. I don't want to disturb your sock drawer. I know how important it is to you that they remain in perfect order based on color. Like white, white, white, the occasional black or grey. I know you like them in a straight line. In fact, maybe for now, I'll just leave my argyles, navy blue, purple, and these." He held up a pair of the ugliest fuchsia-colored socks Jim had ever seen. "Hey, don't look so shocked, man. They're not my fault, they were a gift, you know? It's not like I wear them, or anything. Well, okay, on a cold night, who the hell cares if you're wearing fuchsia-colored socks?"

The aforementioned socks sailed over the railing.

"Check 'em out, Jim. You can borrow them sometime, you know, when you want to shock everyone. Don't ask who gave them to me though, you'll just get jealous."

Socks in hand, Jim seriously doubted the jealously angle. After all, how could anyone get jealous about someone who actually gave a pair of fuchsia socks as a gift?

"How 'bout I take the left side of the closet and you take the right? Kind of symbolic, you know? I don't have all that much stuff to actually hang up, and thank God we built this damn thing. Of course, getting your bedroom shot up by a crazy serial killer would naturally require a certain amount of redecorating. And speaking of redecorating, what do you want to do with my old room?"

Jim was inside a dryer.

That was the only possible explanation.

He was inside a dryer and no one was using the delicate cycle. He heard the closet door slide shut and, a moment later, Sandburg started down the stairs - still talking.

"We could turn it into a gym or an office, or move the tv set in there or just return it to its original state, the famous 'everything's in its place and labeled' storage room. Although, I don't know about you, but sometimes I get - kinky. I know it's early in our relationship, well, this new aspect of our relationship, but still, you should know that about me. I can be kinky. You're probably wondering why I'm bringing this up now, but we could turn that room into... Uhm, no, scratch that."

Blair was now staring down at the floor, worrying it with his gaze as he discarded the remarkably strange idea of turning what had been his bedroom for the last three years-into some kind of kinky dungeon. And yes, Jim knew his partner could get kinky. He had ears didn't he? Hadn't he heard Sam talking to Rhonda about the bedroom hi-jinks between her and Sandburg? Oh, yeah.

Now he started to protest, recognized the attempt would be half-hearted at best, but never got the chance as Blair had already moved on - literally and figuratively - with both words and action.

Snapping his fingers impatiently, he said, "Hey, Jim, you coming or not?"

Jim blinked several times as his brain processed (a learned technique, thanks to Sandburg) everything that had happened in the last several minutes. Somehow they'd gone from Blair's leaving…to carrying his luggage up to Jim's room…to kink… Maybe he should just quit while he was ahead… Oh, shit, Sandburg was still talking….

"…so don't just stand there, we have an entire car to unload."

Jim watched his partner walk out the front door - so he did what, somehow, he always did: he followed him. He wasn't sure why he always followed him, but this time it obviously meant that his decision to wait for Sandburg was no longer necessary.

How weird.

In fact, since his partner's stuff was going upstairs, it seemed he wouldn't have to wait for anything - anymore.

He could live with that very nicely.

Suddenly the truth - and thus the irony - of the situation hit him. Blair had managed to do something that Carolyn hadn't: namely that his final words had been a proposal. Of course, in Carolyn's case, he'd finally gone after her and said the actual words - much to the misery of them both. But with Blair? No chasing required. Sandburg could read between the lines even when those hidden words were invisible to Jim - the man who wasn't saying them.

Shit, they hadn't even had sex yet and Jim was already going crazy.

But it was the kind he already knew he could handle. Grinning, Jim followed Blair out, shutting the door behind him.

Finis
merging fandoms

Story #10 Vacation

 photo vacationcover-1.jpg

Blair smiled down at the mess on the floor. Luggage and more luggage - and some of it even belonged to Jim.

This was going to be so cool. They were about to embark upon a real uninterrupted, no-bad-guys-allowed, vacation. And to add icing to the cake, their destination was Southern California; more specifically the beach, with its long stretches of soft, warm sand kissed by surreal blue water and his roommate decked out in nothing but swim trunks.

Life was good.

"Chief, we ready?"

Looking up at the stairs, he nodded. "We're so ready, we could close our eyes and wish ourselves there. Those waves are calling, man."

"Would that be the waves or was that code for beach bunnies, Chief?" Jim asked with a grin, as he joined his partner.

"Waves, lots and lots of wet waves. And don't forget the sun, never-ending sun. No rain, just balmy breezes and, did I mention, the sun?"

"I think you might have," Jim said with a chuckle.

Blair lifted his bags and waggled his eyebrows. "Well?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Just making sure I have everything - like the tickets."

"You put the tickets in your jacket pocket last Tuesday."

"Smart ass."

***

Through narrowed eyes, Jim shot another sideways glance at the famous 'leg bounce'. He might have to shoot that leg, even if it was attached to Sandburg.

"Oh, man, this is getting ridiculous. We're already two hours late and now we've missed our connection in San Francisco."

"So we make another one, Chief. Relax, you're driving me crazy."

The bouncing leg stopped as Blair managed to look just aggrieved enough to make Jim feel guilty, damn it.

***

"Which gate did she say, Chief?"

The snort coming from behind him was followed by, "Gee, Jim, which gate do you think is the absolute farthest from where we are now?"

"And we have how long to catch it?"

"Eleven minutes."

"Of course."

They ran.

As gate twelve (their destination) came into view, a man driving a cart pulled up alongside them.

"Gentlemen, can I give you a lift?"

Both would have laughed if they'd had any breath left with which to do so.

***

"But, but, but--"

"Eat your nuts, Chief."

"But, we should be having lunch, Jim. I haven't eaten all day and they promised lunch," Blair said, coming as close to a whine as an almost thirty-year old could.

"Missed our original flight, remember? Besides, how good could it have been? A dry sandwich? A piece of fruit? Come on, we're talking airline food in Coach."

A loud rumbling from the vicinity of Blair's stomach was more eloquent than words as far as responses went. Jim took pity and handed the younger man his nuts.

***

"Chief, as a sentinel, I can assure you that there is absolutely no more luggage coming down that chute."

Blair was staring at the empty carousel. "I shouldn't have checked them."

"No choice, three weeks of clothing. Even for me that translated into more than one bag."

"Easy for you to say, you have your - two."

Placing his hand on Blair's shoulder, Jim said, "Come on, let's go report your missing luggage. Who knows, maybe they've already found them."

"Dream on, Jim. I know how this goes. Our first real vacation and we both know that with us, anything that can happen - and you know what I mean - will."

Two hours and nine forms later, they were ready to take their leave of the John Wayne Airport -- without Blair's luggage, but with the promise that as soon as it was located, they'd send it on to their hotel.

As they headed toward the courtesy phones, Jim said kindly, "Don't worry, we can get you shorts, shirts, and trunks on the way to the hotel and you can use my shaving kit, which is basically the same as yours. All you'll need is a toothbrush."

Blair didn't bother to mention that what couldn't be replaced were the very ass-molding trunks, purchased specifically for this trip with the intention of wooing one Jim Ellison. And how about the soft-washed, and equally ass-molding jeans, purchased for the same reason. Then there were the necessities Jim wouldn't have, like his hair dryer, and of course, the brand new prescription aviator sunglasses purchased specifically for 'Jim-watching'.  Oh, shit, and his books...and what about his lucky beach shirt? His favorite flip-flops and his spiffy new muscle man beach towel, bought with the idea of giving Jim a good and much needed laugh?

Blair sighed heavily. He'd had such great plans.

***

"Chief, I thought you said we could catch a shuttle from the airport."

"That's what the brochure advertised, I swear it."

Both men looked at the wide array of white courtesy phones and the lovely pictures of hotels that accompanied them - but no Dana Point Harbor Doubletree Inn photo, let alone a courtesy phone.

They hadn't intended on renting a car as they'd learned early on that when taking vacations, if they left the immediate area as little as possible, it cut down on the chances for disaster. In Dana Point, everything was within either walking distance, or biking distance, and the Doubletree offered bike rentals for a nominal fee to its guests.

"I guess it's rental car after all," Blair said. "Could be for the best since we have to stop and shop, thanks to the lost luggage," he added with about as much enthusiasm as a dead snail.

Jim didn't say anything, but he was very glad he had both his credit cards. He'd find a way to fix their less than stellar start to their vacation - come hell or whatever.

***

"I'm sorry, Sir, but all we have left is a Ford Escort - it's Labor Day Weekend."

With a grunt, Jim said, "We'll take it."

***

Jim stared at the blue car that should have been labeled "Fit for Midgets Only".

Trying to hide his smile, Blair said, "We can always take out the back seat - you'd fit then…."

***

"Sandburg," Jim said gently as they passed a sign reading, 'Long Beach Airport exit', "I'm pretty sure Long Beach is north of the John Wayne Airport, while our destination, Dana Point, is south."

"Hey, I'm only following the directions Simon provided, which say, quote, 'Take the 405 freeway north, exit--"

Jim picked the wrinkled piece of paper from Blair's fingers and quickly perused it before saying, "Chief, there's chocolate smeared all over this thing, but being the sentinel I am, trust me when I say that Simon wrote '405 freeway south'."

"Chocolate? Gee...how did that happen?" Blair said, trying to sound completely innocent of having eaten a Hershey bar in the California heat outside the rental car kiosk while holding the directions. "Guess I turn this sardine can around."

***

"Hey, this place looks great, Jim. Really."

They'd finished the shopping for Blair at a strip mall along Pacific Coast Highway and had finally made their way to the hotel. Now, parked and both out and unloading, Jim gazed up at their temporary residence... and had to agree. It did look terrific. Of course, the way their luck was running, the hotel had probably lost their reservation.

As they walked inside, Blair's thoughts were running along a similar vein - except he hoped their reservations had been screwed up to the point that they'd end up in a room with one bed.

***

"Ah, yes, here it is. One room, two double beds, non-smoking and overlooking the ocean. If you'll just sign here...."

A pen was handed to Jim by the friendly clerk who asked, "Do you wish to leave your card for incidentals?"

Jim nodded and plucked his Visa from his wallet. The card was swiped and handed back along with two magnetic key cards.

"Here you go, Mr. Ellison, Mr. Sandburg. Room 312, lovely balcony and superb view of the ocean. Please enjoy your stay with us."

Following the bellboy to the elevator, Jim whistled. "Well, what do you know? Something has finally gone right."

***

Blair gazed forlornly at the beds. Everything goes wrong except the beds? For them, all is right in the world? Fuck and double fuck.

The bathroom door opened and Jim stepped out wearing his swim trunks. Blair groaned.

He fucking hated his life.

"Aren't you going to change?" He plucked at his trunks in the way of a helpful hint.

"Not just yet, man. I'm going to wait and hope the airline calls. You go ahead and catch the last of the afternoon sun, okay? Didn't your friend say they rent boards and the best waves were in the late afternoon?"

Jim nodded enthusiastically but then his shoulders drooped as he said, "No way in hell I'm going to leave you on our first day, Chief."

"Don't be silly. We're not attached at the hips, or anything. Go, have a great time. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Blair, actor supreme, smiled brightly. Jim grinned in return. "Okay, then. I'll catch a few waves, come back and we'll have dinner."

"Super," Blair said cheerfully even as his mind crowed, "Take that, Brando".

A moment later, Blair was alone -- and miserable. He looked back at the beds and stated the obvious, "I hate double beds."

***

"I hate double beds."

Jim stopped at Blair's words, heard so easily by him, thank God. Every now and then, these senses of his weren't so bad at all. Grinning, he turned away from the elevator and headed back.

***

Feeling more than a bit petulant, Blair reached for the phone with every intention of calling the airline and booking a flight home - now. But just as he picked it up, Jim stepped back inside.

"Hey, man," he said as he quickly put the phone down. "Did you forget something?"

"As a matter of fact," Jim said, "I forgot this...."

With that, he walked over to Blair, cupped the younger man's face between tender hands - and nearly kissed the life out him.

Deciding on a short break, Jim finally pulled back and, ignoring the rather 'out to lunch' expression on his partner's face, said, "You being so short and all, I think we'll both fit fine in one double bed, don't you?"

The End
merging fandoms

Story #9 Misplaced

 photo misplacedcover.jpg

It all started with a misplaced tube of lube.

Not mine. His.

You can see where this is going, right? No? Okay. Remember Ellison Rule Number One - the no sex in the loft rule? Yeah, that one. Sure, we all know he's broken it more than a couple of times (Lila comes immediately to mind as I make the sign of the -- Star of David over my heart) but overall, since he made the rule, which was aimed at me and my exaggerated libido, he's been pretty good about keeping the rule himself. And considering that this is his home and not mine, well, you can see where I'm headed.

I'm seeing some confusion on your face. Okay, I'll start at the beginning.

I was born in a hospital (don't look so surprised. what, you thought I was dropped in a field?) on May 24, 1969. Come to think of it, I probably don't need to start back that far. But really, I was born in a hospital - even though it was a converted VW van.

Anyway, let's start with today.

It was a bright, sunny day and had no relation to the kind of day I was actually having at the University.

It should have been raining.

There were tons of complaints, too many classes to teach (most of them paybacks) and far too much grading. By the time I was ready to make my escape, I had one stinker of a headache that was taking the fast track to a migraine. I figured if I hurried, I'd get home before the jagged lines impaired my vision.

I just made it.

I unlocked the door, grateful that Jim wasn't home (in spite of the migraine, I'd noticed the absence of his truck. Hey, I'm an observer, you know?) so that I could collapse in peace. Jim doesn't really know about the migraines. A little left-over gift from a recent swim in a university landmark.

So, where was I? Oh, yeah, the door. So I pushed it open and hearing something coming from inside, I naturally looked up from my armload of work. What I saw caused me to take pause, step back, check the number on the door and, satisfied that I was, indeed, in the right place, nodded and stepped inside. See, I figured if what I was seeing was really what I was seeing, then either I was in the wrong apartment, or I wasn't seeing what I was seeing, and since I'd just confirmed that I was in the right apartment, then obviously I wasn't seeing what I thought I'd seen, see?

Except…I was. Seeing it.

You're dying to know what I saw, aren't you? Don't try to fool me, remember, I'm a trained observer. Okay, okay, I'll put you out of your misery.

What I saw was a tall, well-built man wearing midnight blue satin boxers, a leather jacket, an unbuttoned shirt and...one white sock. On the floor next to him was a weird leather duffle bag. I was also quick to notice his short, dark hair, and, because he was staring at me open-mouthed, I couldn't miss his perfect white teeth. He also had dark blue eyes and, at the moment, his arm was stretched out in front of him, palm up.

Since the guy was half-dressed, I safely assumed he was not a thief. Oh, yeah, and the fact that he wasn't alone either kind of tripped me to that fact too.

I'm betting you can guess who the other man was, right?

Jim - and he wasn't half-dressed. Oh, he had something on, just not a shirt, slacks, shoes, or socks. He had nothing on but his cute, tight plaid boxers. He was also in the middle of tearing the couch apart. Two cushions had already been tossed behind him and he had the third in hand, ready to toss. My words stopped him cold - which really bothered me because it meant he'd never even known I was there - and this is Jim we're talking about, you know?

Anyway, what I said was, "Lose something?"

The gorgeous hunk with the dark blue eyes blinked at me before cleverly answering, "Er, no, and you must be Blair?"

"I must be," I said with equal cleverness. I turned to Jim and, smiling (in spite of the migraine about to burst out the back of my head and eat all of Cascade), said, "What did you lose, Jimbo?"

Straightening up, Jim dropped the cushion and, as his whole body, I'm happy to say, flushed a nice shade of red, said, "Oh…just a bottle of--"

"Lube," the handsome hunk offered apologetically - probably for the previous lie of 'oh, nothing'.

"Yeah, that," Jim agreed. "I thought I had some," he pointed down at the couch, "there."

"Well, hold that thought," I said brightly. "I'll be right back."

I moved into my room, walked to the nightstand, took out a bottle of Glide and a package of condoms, then walked back out and over to my nearly naked partner. I took his hand, put the goodies into it, and said, "Here, go to town. I've got more. If you're interested in flavored, well, feel free to help yourself-- nightstand." I looked at the two of them and, as I walked out, said, "Play safe, play happy, boys."

Of course, I ruined the whole nonchalant, "do-whatever-you-want, I'm-not-interested" effect by slamming the door - hard. Really hard. So hard, I thought my own head would fall off.

I took the elevator down, stumbled out and onto the sidewalk where I tried to take several deep breaths…but couldn't even manage one.

You're thinking it was the headache, aren't you? It was -- and it wasn't.

See, I'm kind of in love with Jim.

Kind of.

Mostly.

Okay, a whole lot.

And see, I know what to do with lube, but until that moment, when he said he was looking for his lost tube, I didn't know he knew. But he did - does. Obviously.

We both do. But haven't -- with each other. Duh. But now he's going to -- with that tall, blue-eyed god who isn't, like, you know, me.

Man, I'd give anything to know what's going on upstairs right this minute. Or not.

***

Jim winced when the door slammed behind Sandburg. He closed his eyes, focused his hearing, and winced again.

"Chuck, this may be a bad time--"

"Why? What's the problem? Thanks to your roommate, we now have everything we need, and more."

"Look, I can't really explain, so just let me say…look, Blair has a bad headache, I've got to get his medicine and he has lube. See?"

Oddly enough…Chuck did. And wish he didn't. He grabbed his jeans, put them on, grabbed his overnight bag - and got ready to leave.

***

Yep, I'd really give anything to know what's going on up there - or not.

So now you now how it started. The end of my life as I know it. I'm about to partake of one hell of a major pity party so you might want to skip out now. It won't be pretty, trust me. And I think I've lost my car. I know it was here somewhere--

"Chief?"

This is not good. One is not supposed to hear voices just because he, meaning me, has a migraine.

"Chief, stop. You're hurting and you don't know where you're going."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"I'm going -- to school."

So there. Take that you -- you -- voice.

"The university is the other way, Chief. You keep walking in that direction and you'll be taking a long walk off of a short pier. Now stop and let me give you your medication, all right?"

Hell. What do I have to lose? It's just a voice, after all, so I stop. A shadow looms over me, forcing me to look. How odd, the voice now has a face; Jim's, and he looks worried as he gazes down at me. He's holding out his hand and in the palm - my migraine pills.

Now how the hell did he know about that?

Staring at them, I say, "Jim?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me. Now would you hold out your hand."

Who am I to argue? I hold it out and he shakes one gray pill out of the bottle and into it. Then, surprise, surprise, he puts a bottled water in my other hand. Man, this guy thinks of everything. I could, like, love him forever.

"That's it, swallow. Good boy. Now let's go home, get you into bed and, when the migraine is gone, we'll consider a few ways to use the lube - when I find it."

He really should have said that after I'd swallowed the water - but alas, he
didn't, so now he's all wet - but smiling. My Jim is smiling, so I let him lead me home.

We got upstairs, and I'd be a liar if I said I didn't get tingles of…something…every time his hand lingered on the small of my back. Then he draped his arm around my shoulder as he guided me, which shocked me because it wasn't the typical 'buddy' kind of arm on the shoulders, it was definitely the more possessive type.

He managed to get me upstairs to his room without so much as a "Where to, Chief?" and promptly sat me down on the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes, thanks to the light which was suddenly way too bright, and just kind of relaxed, the remark about us doing something with the lube leaving me in a very nice limbo kind of state. I barely felt the removal of my shoes, jacket, two shirts and finally my jeans. Knowing about my cold feet, he left my socks on.

"Okay, lie back now and let me get you covered."

I should argue? I don't think so.

I can hear his footsteps fade away and realize he's gone downstairs. The next thing I know, he's back, the bed sinks beneath his weight and then…then he's actually in bed with me. He moves around a bit, but slowly and gently, aware of my head, as he gets under the covers and comfortable. The last thing he does is tenderly pull me into his arms. Being the intelligent man that I am - I slide right in.

"I pulled the shades, Chief. Just -- sleep. Let everything go and sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

"You need to find that lube - I'm counting on it," I whisper.

He chuckles, a sound that tumbles around under my ear in the nicest way. "I'll find it. I have the correct incentive now."

"Damn right. Oh, and once you find it, don't lose it again."

"Once found, never lost again, babe."

This is so cool. Of course, once this migraine is gone and he's found the lube - he's using it on himself first. So there.

Finis
merging fandoms

Story #8 It Happened During the SuperBowl

 photo CoverartforSuperbowl-1.jpg

I'm not going to say I'm straight because number one, that's a label and I'm categorically opposed to them. Number two, such a label would limit me to only half the world's population and that's just not fair. On the other hand, I've really only tackled the opposite half of the world's population where sexual encounters are concerned. But still--why limit yourself in your mind or on paper, you know? So, again, I'm not saying I'm straight, but I do have a sexual history that's been pretty much restricted to women.

And I bring this up - why? Well, at the moment, I'm sitting at the dining room table writing an article for American Police while my roommate watches the Super Bowl with six of our friends. I'm not really into football--I think it's a barbaric sport, but I am into the male bonding and junk food ritual that the Super Bowl affords. And we, Jim and I, are the kings of junk food on this day, February 3, 2002. I glance over my shoulder at our current 'spread' and marvel at the amount of food we managed to put together this year.

We have ribs, chicken (both buffalo and teriyaki), bagel dogs, chili and three kinds of cold dips. We have BBQ pulled-pork sandwiches and two kinds of hot dips. We have beer. We have chips. We have popcorn. In fact, several kernels just landed on my laptop.

Gee, isn't male bonding fun? I flip Henri Brown the bird but he just stuffs a chicken wing in his mouth and grins around it.

It's the second quarter and Jim is pretty happy. The score is currently Rams-3, Patriots-7 and one of his squares in the illegal football pool is, you guessed it: 3/7. I tear my eyes from my computer screen and focus on him.

God, he's is so the typical male in moments like these.

Perched on the edge of the couch, beer in hand, he's got this concentrated smile on his face as he watches the current play. He's leaning forward, every muscle tense, as if this were the most important moment in his life. Warner throws and--it's a first down! Jim gives a little guffaw before tossing a pretzel at Simon in celebration of his (not Warner's, mind you, but his) victory over the Patriots.

The Rams set up for the next play and now I'm watching too, my gaze ranging between the television and Jim. Players scramble, bulging muscles ripple and tight asses flash - and suddenly I'm thinking: "Jim would look great scrambling around on the field, wearing those tight pants…."

Now you know why I brought up the whole straight thing, right? Because I'm sitting here at the table and fantasizing about Jim's muscles rippling as he runs…and I can see his crotch…and then he pivots to avoid being tackled and it's his nicely outlined ass…and
I'm getting hot.

Very hot.

This is new for me.

Very new.

Major new.

Jim is my best friend and while I've always known how good-looking he was, well, it was a fact that you acknowledge the way you note that it might rain.

I should probably mention at this point that I love the guy, but until now, it was in a totally chest thumping, bring-it-on-brother kind of way. Now it's in a, "Your ass is mine," kind of way.

Which leaves me thinking--major heartache ahead.

Me, a guy - loving Jim Ellison, also a guy, can not lead to anything good.

I'm wondering if I still like women.

The next few minutes of the game find me glued to the set, watching muscles and ass.

Okay, where are the fucking cheerleaders? I need to see breasts. Large, round, perky, and probably artificial, breasts.

Aw, God. No fair. No breasts. Loads of pecs though.

When this game is over--I need to have a talk with Jim.

Oh, yeah.

***

This is good. Jim won a quarter. He's euphoric. The place is a mess, but Jim's in the 'Hundred Dollar Super Bowl Pool Never-Never Land'. I start to clean up and find myself amazed that more food ended up on the floor than in stomachs or original bowls and platters. I'm literally astounded to find two whole chicken wings on the floor by the couch.

Jim is still sitting on the other couch, the paper showing the pool names and their squares in his hand. He's chortling. No other member of Major Crime won anything.

"Hey, Chief, who's someone named Martha?"

I stop and ponder that deep question. "Um, isn't that Serena's assistant?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you."

"Yeah, it's Serena's assistant. She's short, about fifty, nice smile and pretty quiet."

"Well, she's now two hundred and fifty dollars richer."

"Cool."

I pluck the paper from his hand and dump it in the trash bag I'm carrying.

"Hey! I planned on keeping that, Sandburg. I've never won the pool before!"

"Aw, poor baby. Want I should press it lovingly into your souvenir album?"

"Dip-shit."

"You going to help or drool over the hundred bucks you don't have yet?"

Jim answered me by getting up. He grabbed the bag out of my hand and started dumping cans and bottles into it.

"Jim, you know better than that."

With a scowl that didn't fool me a bit, he carefully removed the cans and bottles which I then carried over to the recycle container under the sink.

"We have enough food left over to do this tomorrow, Sandburg."

"Just means we'll enjoy a good lunch tomorrow, thus making the rest of the gang very jealous."

"Good idea."

Jim immediately started packing everything up into his merry band of storage containers. Ah, my little neat freak.

Then it hits me.

"Hey, half of those are my Tupperware containers!"

Jim looks over his shoulder at me and frowns. "Yours, Chief?"

"Yeah, you know. Red for you, blue for me."

"I think that was blue for you and red for me."

I stare at him. He smiles. I smile back. "You jerk."

"No doubt. And we haven't had separate Tupperware in years, Sandburg. Pay attention, why don't you?"

I tilt my head at him, then close one eye. He's just standing there, grinning.

"So we don't have separate Tupperware anymore?"

"Nope."

"Then why do we still have…separate bedrooms?"

"Hell if I know."

I was wrong. No heartache ahead. Jim and I are finally in the same book, on the same page and, wonder of wonders, at the same time.

This is so cool.

"Well," I say thoughtfully, "after we clean up, why don't we move my stuff?"

"Why wait that long?"

"Good point."

We move as one to my bedroom but, once inside, we both stop dead. Jim scratches his head and says, "Where do we start?"

I smile. "With my underwear?"

As he moves to my chest of drawers, his own grin in place, I find myself thinking that he really would look good in a pair of tight--white--football pants.

End