Identity
by Trekker

Looking back a little while later, I realized I should have known there would be trouble. I should have known the moment we walked out of that bar, completely plastered, and completely lacking the company of members of the opposite sex. The whole walk home that night, it was all I could think about. What happened? I, Blair Sandburg, had been unable to pick up a girl in a bar? That wasn’t right. That just didn’t happen. And Jim? Jim should have had girls all over him. Granted, they all would have had criminal records as long as my arm, but they should have been there. But they weren’t.

We staggered into the loft, Jim tossed his keys in the general direction of the basket and missed terribly, and then we both collapsed on our respective ends of the couch.

“Ow,” I muttered, rubbing my back where I had landed on the arm of the couch. Damn thing was hard. I leaned back, draped over the side of the couch, feeling my vertebrae pop and sighing with relief. Ah, that felt good. I stared upside down out the balcony doors. For a moment, all was well. And then I remembered my cock, which for the better part of the evening had been, and still was, hard as a rock and trapped in my too-tight jeans.

“Damn,” I said, to no one in particular. “I’m drunk and I’m horny.”

In this position, my body was stretched taut, and the bulge in my jeans had to be impossible to miss.

Jim confirmed my suspicions when he said, in that dry, slow voice that he tended to use when he was really drunk, “No shit, Sandburg.”

“Man,” I continued in a drunken drawl, as though Jim hadn’t even spoken. “I don’t get it. The chicks were digging us, man. How’d I end up here, with you? It’s probably your fault.”

Jim didn’t make any effort to deny this charge. Looking back, his silence made perfect sense. Of course, at the time, I just figured he was too drunk to say anything. I sat up with a wrench of my abdominal muscles, and the room spun around me as I teetered for a moment at the edge of the couch cushions. Then I steadied myself so that I was perched with one leg folded under me and the other bracing me against the floor.

The reasons for what I said next are... complicated. It’s just... Jim looked so noncommittal, so stoic, I wanted to shake him up a bit. Well, that, and my cock was so hard it fucking hurt.

“Hey Jim,” I said, sounding, for a brief moment, almost sober, “you ever suck another guy’s dick?”

Ok, wait, I admit it. I have no idea why the hell I said that.

Jim was clearly nowhere near as sober as he appeared, and in his current inebriated state, I guess he saw nothing wrong with answering, “Sure. Coupla times.”

I, in *my* current inebriated state, didn’t really have a problem with this.

“Cool,” I said, “Always wondered what that’d be like. What’s it like?”

Have I mentioned that my mouth has a mind of its own? Especially when I’m drunk? Yeah, that would be why I don’t get drunk on a regular basis. Anyway, Jim gave this totally inappropriate question some thought, and then just said, “Wanna try it? I’ll do you first.”

Well, as Jim reports it, my eyes just lit right up, like a kid in a candy store. That’s what he said. He’s responsible for the rampant cliches, not me.

“Sure, man,” I said, digging myself in even deeper, “Cool.”

Without warning, Jim lurched across the couch and stopped when he was over me, supporting himself with both arms on either side of me, looking down at me with all the intensity he might devote to a criminal he was interrogating, or an editorial he strongly disagreed with in the morning paper.

“Lay down, Chief. Unzip your pants.”

Well, what can I say? I did. I slouched down under him, with one foot on the floor and the other leg propped awkwardly between Jim’s body and the couch. He was warm, and his body was hard, and with every breath, his chest expanded and pushed my leg rather painfully into the cushion. I snaked one hand between us and undid my fly, the sound of the zipper loud in the sudden quiet of the loft, then I wrapped both arms around the back of my head and shut my eyes.

“Do you worst, man. Bet you can’t make me scream.”

Gods, I had no idea. I heard Jim rustle around above me, felt the crushing pressure of his body ease up on my leg, and suddenly, there he was, his big hand, warm and slightly moist, fumbling around in my pants, then wrapping firmly around my dick. I jolted, and yelped a little, I think. It was incredibly weird feeling a masculine hand on me like that. One that wasn’t my own, that is...

Well, that particular sensation didn’t last long anyway. Almost as soon as the cool air hit my skin, it was replaced with Jim’s hot mouth. A lot of Jim’s mouth. The man fucking deep-throated me. Hell, that alone should have tipped me off. Unfortunately, my brain wasn’t really functioning at the time. Actually, my brain was about as functional, neurologically speaking, as a bowl of tapioca pudding.

Because, let me tell you right now, sort of as a very lame excuse for everything that follows... that man gives a hell of a blow job. He is every bit the sex god he appears to be.

And, yes, I did scream.

So anyway, after I came back to myself from what must have been a genuine out-of-body experience, I, naturally, being the fair and giving person that I am, tackled him to return the favor. He didn’t resist at all, just settled back against the cushions and raised his hips a bit to give me better access to his crotch. It was kind of hot. I mean, in a purely, um, theoretical sort of way. You know, having this big guy who could kill you with his little finger just lying there under you like a kitten, trusting you with his most private... crap, I’m just shutting up, now, ok?

So I got the guy’s dick out, and I was kind of thinking, I have no idea what I’m doing, and he opened one eye partway, looked at me and said, “No teeth, Sandburg.”

And so, now that I had some guidelines, I thought, what the hell, and I bent over, and slurped him in. And man, it was incredible. He just exploded under me, his back arched clean off the couch, and he shouted my name (Sandburg being my name, of course, not Blair). I wasn’t ready for it, so I had to pull back as fast as I could, but I was hooked. That was power. I had never seen Jim lose control like that.

I went back down on him, and this time I was ready for him to react, and he did, but he had himself mostly back under control. Pretty soon, I was really getting into it. I mean, it was weird, make no mistake. Tasted weird, felt weird, nothing in any way at all like a woman. But not really unpleasant. It was fun. I tried to do things that I liked to have done to me, and I tried a few other things, too. Jim seemed to appreciate my efforts. In fact, it got to the point where all I really had to do was hold still while he thrust up into my mouth.

Then, suddenly, he grabbed me by the hair and pulled away. I was about to ask him what the fuck he was doing, when he came. All over the coffee table, man. That’s gotta break some house rules.

For awhile, we both just kind of lay there, panting. Then, he pulled himself out from under me and headed to the bathroom. He returned a moment later, bearing towels, one of which he tossed at me, the other of which he used to attack the mess on himself and the coffee table. That was when I realized that he hadn’t swallowed either. I was impressed by his ability to think so clearly. Not that I really wanted to acknowledge the possibility of either of us having an STD.

Neither one of us spoke until almost an hour later, when Jim finally tossed the towel into the hamper. He looked at me for a long time. I was still sitting on the couch, flipping through a magazine. I stopped and lowered the magazine.

“What?” I said, meeting his eyes defiantly.

He looked away, and mumbled, “’Night, Sandburg,” then headed up the stairs. Sure, sure, the signs were all there. I ignored them. We were drunk. It happens.

I tossed the magazine onto the now-clean coffee table and headed into my own room.

***

Now, I’ve had my share of regrets the morning after, but panic attacks are significantly rarer. And let me tell you, panic attacks combined with hangovers really, really suck. I woke up, and everything was blissfully peaceful for a whole split-second. I even felt kind of good... that feeling you get after a really good lay. And then, at precisely the same instant, the headache, and the memories, surfaced. Let the panic begin. Christ! I fucking sucked Jim’s cock last night! Christ! A man! I had sex with a fucking man! I had sex with Jim!

I sat up so fast I fell out of bed, and suddenly the sheets were tangled around me, and my head hurt so bad I couldn’t see straight, and I fucking slept with fucking Jim last night! Christ! I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think enough to wonder why some quasi-pagan, technically Jewish guy like me kept appealing to Christ... I just wasn’t processing.

Naturally, Jim heard this all commotion and burst into my room in full Blessed Protector mode. By the time I regained rational thought processes, he’d managed to get me untangled and was clutching me close to his big, hard chest, murmuring to me, “It’s all right, calm down, you’re ok. Jesus, Sandburg, what the hell was that?”

I drew in a deep breath.

“I’m ok.”

He let me go, sort of pushed me to arm’s length and looked at me, with that all-right-now-explain-everything look in his eyes. I tried to collect my thoughts, and I’m sure there was a reasonable response right at the tip of my tongue, but what came out was, “Christ, Jim, we fucking had sex last night!”

He frowned slightly, and I felt my heart constrict. Crap, he didn’t remember. He didn’t remember and now I was going to have to explain every- He squeezed my shoulder, hard, with one big hand.

“Relax, Chief, deep breaths.”

I took a few deep breaths, and then he continued.

“For heaven’s sake, Sandburg, it was just sex. Nothing to get all riled about.” At that point, he stood up and turned to go. “Come on, Chief, we’re going to be late.”

***

So, for the rest of the day, my take on the situation got gradually more and more wrong. I figured, ok, so we’re both guys, big deal. Doesn’t mean I’m gay just ‘cause I get off on having my dick sucked. I mean, really, there’s no difference between a woman’s mouth and a man’s... and I masturbate. A lot of guys masturbate. Therefore, they use a necessarily male hand to bring themselves to orgasm. That sure doesn’t mean they’re gay, right? And the whole thing about reciprocating... well, that’s just returning the favor. I mean, really, Jim did me, and HE’S not gay. Oh, no, I thought, someone big and buff like Jim? No way.

Basically, this was a win-win situation. It was sex with no strings attached. We’re best friends, we’re roommates. Hell, with a little convincing, Jim might even agree to try it on a regular basis. And then... well, then I wouldn’t even have to date anymore. At least, not just to get laid. Of course, I could still keep looking for Ms. Right... but until then, I was covered. Because, as I mentioned earlier, Jim gives an incredible blow job.

***

“So... um... about last night...”

Crap, here it was, the discussion I’d been dreading. I kind of cringed a bit and stared down into my chili as though it were a new life form. Jim was quiet a moment, and I thought he might have dropped the subject, so I looked up, just moving my eyes so that I could just barely see him through the blurry sort of haze from my eyelashes. He was gripping a roll in his hands, slowly tearing it to little squashed pieces. Good. I wasn’t the only one who was nervous about this... gotta feel kind of sorry for the dinner roll, though. It didn’t do anything to deserve that kind of treatment.

I felt safer, so I raised my head and took a sip of water. Big mistake.

“I... don’t regret it, Chief.”

Of course I choked on my water. Damn near got myself drowned AGAIN. And of course, Mr. Oh-So-Concerned over there was laughing his head off by the time I was able to breathe again. I drew in a few lungfuls of dry air and snarled, “You did that on purpose, you asshole.”

Then, the laughter stopped suddenly, filling the loft with this eerie silence, and Jim looked down at the table and said, “No. No, I didn’t. I really am ok with last night. It was fun. In fact, I was... wondering if....”

In typical Jim fashion, he spoke rest of that rather vital sentence at a level even a Sentinel couldn’t have heard.

“What was that, Jim?”

I was kind of taken aback when he looked up, right at me.

“I said, I was wondering if you might like to do it again sometime.”

My cock certainly seemed to like that idea. Heck, I agreed with it. Jim, sex god, remember?

***

So that’s basically how it all got started. That’s how it got to the point that three weeks later, it was not at all shocking when Jim walked into the loft, raised his eyebrows and said, without preamble, “Hey, Chief. Wanna have sex?”

I was reading at the moment, a novel that I’d been meaning to read forever, but hadn’t had the time for until now. I had a lot of free time now. Let me tell you, you have no idea how time-consuming dating is until you stop doing it.

I smiled and dropped my glasses onto the coffee table as I stood up.

“Sure thing, Jim. But you eat first. I am sooo not going to deal with a hungry post-coital Jim Ellison.”

Jim rolled his eyes and changed cross to head for the kitchen.

“Yes, mother,” he teased.

“Mother? Your mother said things like that to you?” I said, as he retrieved a pair of beers from the ‘fridge and I pulled the casserole out of the oven. “I do NOT want to know, Ellison.”

I got a cuff on the shoulder and an affectionate insult for my pains. We ate dinner quickly, while carrying on a conversation that a few years earlier, I would never have been able to stomach anywhere near food. We’d been working with the Feds to investigate an apparently drug-related killing spree which seemed to span the entire west coast. There’d actually been only one victim in our area, but even the Feds realized we were two of the best cops on the coast, so they’d commandeered us. Simon was about ready to go on a killing spree himself, just to steal us back. It had been a rather stressful week, to put it mildly.

But now, it was Friday, and we were guaranteed to have the whole weekend off. I foresaw a lot of sports on TV, and a lot of sex on any available surface. Basically, life was good.

We finished dinner, put the plates in the sink to soak, and then Jim got suddenly quiet. I glanced over at him, cause it always freaks me out when he gets quiet like that, and found him eying me with this predatory look. That look is so hot. That look means I am about to be screaming Jim’s name while coming so hard I lose IQ points. Yesss... that look has connotations that make my dick very hard, very fast.

“Upstairs, Sandburg. Naked.”

Yes, yes he does still call me Sandburg. You’d think once a guy knew the location of a majority of your erogenous zones, he might start calling you by your first name. But, no, not Jim.

Well, actually, to tell the truth, I didn’t really mind. Sex, even the kind of impersonal sex that we had is still... dangerously intimate. And, much as I liked Jim, I didn’t want to be intimate with him. He’s a guy, you notice. Feeling a need to maintain some control over this situation, I faked nonchalance as I wandered towards the stairs.

“Oh, and who died and made you god, huh?”

Something crashed into me from behind with all the force of runaway semi, and suddenly the world was upside down and moving. I scowled into Jim’s back as he hauled me up the stairs slung over his shoulder.

“You really are a throwback, you know that?”

Jim grunted.

“Me Tarzan. You Hairboy.”

“Oh, ha ha, that’s sooo fun-”

I hit the bed flat on my back and bounced a few times. Jim turned his back to me and stripped off his clothes with military efficiency. I sat up, still muttering to myself and peeling off my shirts and pants. Jim, of course, was naked in seconds and stood there all but tapping his foot as I tossed my boxers defiantly over the rail. I flopped back down on the bed and squirmed around til I was comfortable.

Jim didn’t disappoint me. A moment later, he pounced, and within a matter of minutes, he had me reduced to a quivering mass, his tongue doing incredible things to my dick. And then, he moved down, first sucking on my balls, then moving down to my perineum, and then down to my- oh my fucking god!

I lunged away from him so fast it took me a moment to figure out how I’d come to be sitting up against the railing.

“What the hell was that?”

Jim sat up, a small “v” of annoyance craved between his brows.

“It’s called rimming, Chief. Is that a problem?”

“It’s gross.”

“Says the man who drinks algae shakes every morning,”Jim said, looking disgusted.

Ok, algae shakes versus someone’s butt. I didn’t see the relation. I crossed my arms.

“That’s algae, Jim. That’s completely different from my ass, man. That can’t be healthy.”

“Just lie down and give it a chance, Sandburg. You’ll like it.”

That tone allowed no argument. And besides, Jim’s my best friend, and my Blessed Protector. I trust the guy. I lay down, with a brief disclaimer.

“Man, if you get sick and die, don’t you dare say I didn’t warn you.”

He didn’t answer. Just lay down on his stomach and started in again, twirling his tongue around my asshole. God, it felt good. He rested one arm on my thigh and started slowly pumping my dick as his tongue licked, prodded, and... penetrated. Jeeze! Now it was my turn to practically buck off the bed.

He paused a moment, and said in a voice that perhaps was intended to sound amused, but instead sounded husky and aroused, “Like that, Sandburg?”

What could I say but, “Oooooh yeah”?

He went down on me all of a sudden, relaxing his throat to take me in as far as possible, and he slipped one finger into my ass. Before I had a chance to object to him putting fingers in orifices that shouldn’t have fingers in them, he touched something there inside of me that sent a bolt of fire up my spine, and I was coming so hard and fast, he barely managed to back off in time to avoid swallowing my come.

He waited while I panted, and then I finally said, “What the hell was that?”

He rocked back on his heels and smiled a very contented-looking smile.

“That was your prostate. It’s going to become your best friend.”

His cock was hard by this point, and I had a thought I probably wouldn’t have had, if I hadn’t been high on endorphins.

“Hey Jim... Will you... uh... fuck me? I’ve always wondered-”

Ok, now it was Jim’s eyes lighting up like the aforementioned kid in a candy shop. I wasn’t entirely sure if I liked that... but curiosity got the better of me, so when he asked if I was sure, I said yes. He got up for a moment, and began to dig around in his dresser drawers, muttering to himself. I turned my eyes away from him. Yeah, it’s stupid, but I still felt uncomfortable seeing him naked like that. He’s a guy. I wasn’t attracted to guys. This whole thing was just for fun. Two guys getting their rocks off. That’s all.

It never felt too weird while we were actually engaged in the act... but sometimes, during the day, at odd moments like while we were both sitting doing paperwork at our desks, I’d glance over at him, and I’d realize all over again that I knew how to make him come. And then I’d have an extremely brief panic attack again, my breath catching in my throat, my heart doing this painful little twist thing in my chest... Jim always noticed, of course. His pale blue eyes would jump up off of whatever he was doing and fix on me. Then everything would be ok again. It was Jim. We were friends. Just friends. He was the same old Jim, I was the same old Blair, everything was cool. No need for an identity crises.

To be honest, I had one of those moments right then, as Jim scooted back onto the bed, tossing a tube of KY - about two-thirds full - and a condom packet onto the bed beside me. I fought to get my breathing back under control, and he touched my shoulder, just once, briefly, a ghost of fingers. It actually helped.

“Hey, Chief, we don’t have to do this.”

I sat up and rested my elbows on my knees. This way, I felt a little less exposed.

“Nah, Jim. I’m cool. What do I do?”

He talked me through the procedure, and a short while later, I found myself in a very odd position, on my hands and knees, my butt feeling slick and stretched as Jim gently slipped his fingers out. I felt another microscopic wave of panic, and, instantly, Jim’s clean hand was there, soft but firm on the small of my back.

“You good?” he asked. His voice sounded hoarse and strained.

“Yeah, Jim, I’m good,” I said. Hey, so did mine.

He kept his hand there on my back as he moved around behind me. I felt the bed shift and dip under his weight and then - oh, god, what am I doing? - his dick pressed up against me.

He was panting, but he managed to say, “Just say stop, Sandburg. Say stop, and I will.”

I nodded, my throat tight with... what? Apprehension? Anticipation? I didn’t know, didn’t really have time to analyze it either, before I felt an increase in the pressure on my ass, and then, a spike of pain as... as... as, god, Jim’s dick pushed past the barrier and... into me. Jim’s hand rubbed shaky circles on my back.

“I know, I know, it hurts at first. You ok?” he said, when he heard my sharp intake of breath.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m o- You know?”

He groaned.

“Not now, Sandburg, please, hold that thought.”

He rocked his hips a bit and sank deeper inside me, and I couldn’t think of anything else anymore. I had no idea. I mean, no wonder guys are gay. Not that I was, mind you. But in any case, this was... incredible.

“Jesus, Jim, that feels good.”

He was still stroking my back as he pushed the rest of the way in, then pulled out, slowly. When he thrust in again, a little faster, a little firmer, his dick brushed against my prostate and sent a flare of pleasure racing through my body. I shuddered.

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes,” he groaned, as he began to move faster, pushing and pulling, angling his cock so that it would hit that magical spot with every stroke. My body broke out in a sweat, and I began to rock back against him, gasping at the sensation, encouraging him wordlessly to go faster, harder, god, I was being fucked and I was loving it. What the hell did that mean? Oh who the hell cared, it was good, it was damn good. Jim’s hand left my back and moved around my side to grasp my hip, to pull me to him.

I could feel the moment he lost control, or maybe just let it go, he began to pound into me, I distantly heard myself crying out in pleasure, and realized that I was hard again when he reached around with his slick hand and began to pump my cock in time with his frantic thrusts. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shouted and came all over his hand. A moment later, he went over the edge as well, with a final series of erratic thrusts.

As he came, he screamed my name. My given name. Blair.

***

We both fell asleep after that, too exhausted to even take a shower or change the sheets. At least Jim had the presence of mind to roll off of me, or I probably would have suffocated during the night.

I woke up in his bed the next morning. Boy was that a shock. I opened my eyes and found him gazing, yes GAZING, down at me, with a small smile playing over his lips. His hand was slowly petting my arm, in long strokes. That hand and that smile scared me more than anything else that had happened between us. I jerked away from him and sat up, my legs hanging over the side of the bed, my back to him. I felt a twinge from the general vicinity of my ass. God, it had really happened. Definitely one of those thing that just can’t take the cold, clear light of morning.

“Man,” I said, scrabbling wildly for words, “That was... different.”

I heard Jim sit up behind me and stretch.

“You have such a way with words, Chief.”

I hopped up and quickly began reassembling my clothes, careful not to look at him.

“It’s early. Give me a break.”

It was a huge relief to escape down the stairs and into the shower. I scrubbed my skin with a lot of extra vigor that morning, but it didn’t really make it go away. I’d been fucked by a man, by Jim, and I’d loved it. Then, I’d woke up in the morning in his bed, with him beside me, practically caressing me, for crying out loud.

I’m a straight man, ok? Trust me, you have to be completely confident in your heterosexuality if you plan on walking into a police station with long hair and pierced ears. You just have to be. And I am. Confident, that is. I love women. Women are the greatest things in the universe. I’m comfortable around them. They’re so much... well, not simpler than men, exactly... they’re just... easier for me to talk to. And they’re a hell of a lot of fun to sleep with. I’m straight.

So why did I like Jim fucking me up the ass? That’s kind of... well, a traditionally gay thing.

Jim tapped on the door, and then called, “Hey, Chief, you want to go fishing?”

Um. that was a non-sequitur. I switched gears and said, “Sure, Jim, sounds great!”

And it really did. Two guys and the great outdoors. Just what I needed. Something completely testosterone-saturated. Ahhhh. Um. Yeah, ok, so my masculinity was feeling threatened. Ok? Look, I don’t have to defend myself to you, ok?

We went.

***

Several hours later, I slogged out of an ice-cold river, water spraying around my waders and seeping into my jeans, my hard-won prey dangling from my hand. Jim had already started cooking the fish he’d caught. He was sitting on a log, prodding the fire with a stick. He looked up when I approached and smiled.

“Hey, Chief.”

“Hey, Jim. Smells good,” I said, dropping down on to the log beside him, grabbed a pan to clean my fish in, and started in on some long rant about something. Hey, even I don’t listen to me sometimes. But Jim never seems to mind.

Once the fish were done, we sat in companionable silence as we ate. There was a quiet breeze in the tree branches, and the scent of campfire smoke brought back a flood of pleasant memories... most of them involving Jim. I could remember countless camping trips, sitting beside him, staring up at the stars, testing his senses, talking long into the night.

You know, I’ve never had a friend like Jim. I’ve never had anything like Jim. Even my mother and I weren’t really as close as Jim and I. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, focused on the task at hand. My friend. My best friend. I felt a sudden rush of sadness that just made no sense.

We finished eating and set our plates aside, still not saying much. The evening was growing darker and chilly. I leaned closer to the fire, but Jim must have seen me shivering. He edged closer, and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pressing me tightly to his side. It was nice. Warm and cozy. And then... and then... then we both made mistakes.

I started to say something, I don’t know what, but I turned my head just as he turned his, and we were face to face. And before I could turn away... he kissed me. He fucking kissed me. Right on the lips. With tongue.

I exploded away from him, so focused on just getting away it’s a miracle I didn’t stumble straight into the fire. Startled, he leapt to his feet, and suddenly we were standing, facing each other, both of our chests heaving from panic, our eyes wide and locked together.

“Blair?” he said, and my name was the last straw.

I wiped the back of one hand across my mouth, and held the other out in front of me, warding him off.

“I am not gay. I’m not. Stay the fuck away from me.”

How could he do that? Didn’t he know me? He said himself it was just sex. Just sex. It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t! Damn it!

He made no attempt to get any closer, just stood there with the flickering firelight playing over the folds of his jacket, shining on the incredible sadness in those blue eyes. Oh god, anger I could handle, but this? This pain?

I spun around and stormed up the path. I had to get away. Had to. This wasn’t me. That wasn’t Jim. Jim was straight, I was straight. He did not just kiss me.

But... he did just kiss me. I had to get away.

He caught me about halfway up the path.

“Jesus, Sandburg, at least let me put out the fire and pack the tent, ok?”

I stopped and glared at him.

“No, it is not ok. NOTHING is ok right now, you got that? Nothing.” I started down the path again, my shoulders slumped. “I’ll be at the truck.”

He appeared at the head of the dark trail about a half-hour later and got into the truck without a word. Neither of us spoke throughout the hour long drive back to Cascade.

***

As soon as we reached 852 Prospect, I jogged up the stairs without waiting for him to unload the truck. I let myself in and made a beeline for my bedroom, and grabbed the one thing I needed, a duffel bag that was already packed, that I always kept packed. I never thought I’d need it again, though. I turned and headed back for the door just as Jim walked in, loaded down with our camping gear.

I paused long enough to slap my keys to the loft down on the kitchen table before I walked out.

Jim didn’t say anything. He stood there, frozen, his arms wrapped around our tent, our fishing poles, but I didn’t stop. Nothing can stop a fleeing Sandburg. One of the many reasons, I’m sure, that I never knew my father. Naomi never looked back.

Right before I slammed the door behind me, Jim finally spoke. Just one word.

“Chief.”

And then, the door closed and I was on my way down the stairs.

***

I ended up spending the night at a Comfort Inn just outside the city. I woke up the next morning after a restless night, and just sat there on the bed, staring, unseeing, out at the city. The air-conditioner was rattling away beside the window, chilling the air in the room to the point where it was almost cold enough for a jacket. I didn’t bother getting up to turn it down. Except for the rattle, the room was really quiet. And big. And empty. I was feeling something, and it took me a long time to figure out what it was.

Homesickness.

I’ve never been homesick before. Never. I’ve never had a home to be sick for.

But now I did. And it wasn’t really a place. It was a person. Jim. I missed him, and I wanted to go home. But how could I? Nothing would be the same. How could I look Jim in the eye now, after something like that? There was no mistaking the message in that kiss. He wanted involvement, he wanted a relationship. I shuddered.

Let me explain something briefly for those of you who now think I’m a total bigot. I have no problems with gay men, ok? That’s fine. That’s their choice or whatever. That’s ok. For them. I, on the other hand, am another story. I don’t want to be gay. I’m different enough already, you know?

And yeah, ok, the sex was great. But, sex, that’s one thing. Holding hands and kissing and hugging and all that... that’s something else entirely. I mean, that’s the kind of thing you do, well, with... with someone you... um... care about. When you absolutely have to. Someone who’s... female. To put it another way, the idea of two guys doing the nasty is not nearly as icky as the idea of two guys holding hands, kissing, and calling each other... snookums. Eww.

Not that I can even begin to imagine Jim calling anyone snookums... it was just the first term of endearment that came to mind.

Then again, I’m not really a huge fan of romance in general. The idea of a guy calling ANYONE snookums was rather repelling, actually. And the only reason I give my girlfriends flowers and such, to be perfectly honest, is to get laid... But I certainly knew of guys who love romance for romance’s sake. I wondered briefly if Jim was one of those guys. I’d never really seen him involved in a long-term relationship. Before yesterday, I wouldn’t have thought so, but then, before yesterday, I didn’t think Jim was attracted to men, either.

Without warning, I realized that it would be kind of nice to get flowers. And I also realized that Jim already had a whole arsenal of affectionate nicknames for me... I mean, really... guppy? I smiled suddenly, then quickly forced it away with a frown. No, I was not going there.

The problem here was emotion, and attraction. I was feeling these things. I didn’t want to be. I really needed my meditation candles. Badly. Someday I’ll remember to pack those in my panic bag...

There was a knock at the door. Who would be here... except maybe... oh shit, not Jim. I got up, heart pounding, walked to the door and peered out. A hotel employee was standing there, holding a small box in his hands.

I opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Sandburg?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

He handed me the box.

“Someone dropped this off at the front desk and asked that it be delivered to you.”

“Um. Ok, thanks,” I said, tipped him, and then shut the door and walked back to the bed. I set the box down in front of me. No strange wires protruded from it or anything. It was pretty light, too. Probably not a bomb, but knowing my luck... Oh well. I opened it.

Inside was an envelope with “Blair” written on it in Jim’s handwriting. My glasses. And my candles. I picked up the envelope and heard something slide and clink inside of it. My hands started to shake.

I don’t know how he found me. I don’t know how I could have thought that he wouldn’t find me. I remembered how he looked, standing there with the tent, stunned, forlorn, lost, like he’d just had his heart torn out of his chest. Like he’d just lost his best friend. Hell, he had. And so had I. But, unlike me, he wasn’t running like a coward at the first sign of trouble.

I opened the envelope with my pocket knife. My key to the loft fell out onto the bed as I pulled out the letter. I stared down at the key for a moment, then unfolded the letter, noting the straight, sharp creases. I smiled slightly. That was so Jim.

I had to take a deep breath before I could read it. The first line after the “Chief -” had been crossed out several times, impenetrable blocks of ink completely concealing Jim’s false starts. I scanned down to where the letter really started.

“It’s scary, isn’t it? I know. Believe me, I know.”

I reached into the box and put on my reading glasses. Jim has very small handwriting... and I was kind of stalling.

“I was sixteen the first time. He was twenty-one. We were at a party, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. I tried to justify it to myself. I tried to tell myself it was hero-worship. It was, but that wasn’t all.

“He got my number from one of our mutual friends - I don’t know what excuse he gave him for wanting it - but he called me the next day, asked me out. I screamed a few obscenities and hung up on him. I was terrified, I was angry, I swore I’d punch his lights out the next time I saw him. But luckily, I didn’t.

“He was persistent. He didn’t let me get away with anything. He was a lot like you, actually. Anyway, it took him almost three months to convince me but I finally agreed. I didn’t regret it then and I don’t now.

“We only had six months together. Then he got transferred. I never saw him again.

“I know I should have told you, right from the start, or when you moved into the loft, or after that night, but I couldn’t. I was afraid you would do exactly what you did. And I thought you knew. You know everything else about me. I’m sorry.

“This isn’t easy for me to write. I’m so afraid I’ll just push you farther away. Well, Sandburg, you brought it on yourself. You always wanted me to talk about my feelings. Now I am.

“You are the most precious thing in the world to me. Everything you do is pure joy to me. I can’t sleep without the sound of your heartbeat. I can’t imagine life without you. I want you, I need you, you are my life. I wish you would stay with me for the rest of my life.

“I was never good at saying I loved someone. I couldn’t say it to Carolyn, I certainly couldn’t say it to my father. Maybe that’s because I’ve never really wanted to say it. But I want to say it to you. I want to shout it off the rooftops.

“Please come home. I’m nothing without you.

“I love you, Blair.

“- Jim.”

Home. Love. Security. Forever. All my life, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. More than I wanted to be an anthropologist. More than I wanted a Noble Prize. More than I wanted fame. And to think, I already had it, and I didn’t even know it. Or maybe I did know. I thought I gave up my life for Jim, but maybe I gave it all up for me. And, if I could give up my doctorate and my career, why couldn’t I give up a few stupid inhibitions?

Talk about your light bulbs going on, man.

The words blurred in spite of my glasses, and I realized that the burning in my eyes was tears. Tears. Now I was practically crying. Good god, I was failing all the traditional tests of masculinity right now.

But then, whoever said I was traditional? Whoever said I wanted to be traditional? What was I so afraid of? Was I afraid of Jim? How could I be? Jim’s the one person in my life that I trust implicitly. Why was I running from him?

I used the matches Jim had tucked in the box to light the candles (no doubt violating hotel rules... but this was an emergency) and I settled myself on the floor in a loose lotus position and shut my eyes. The mingling scents of lavender and sage filled the room and a I drew in a lungful and felt myself relax.

Man, what I’d give right now for a snarling panther to appear and tell me what the hell to do. Actually, though, I knew exactly what the panther would tell me to do. He’d tell me to get my butt back to the loft. But to do that, I had to face three difficult facts.

Difficult fact #1: I love Jim’s body. Jim is beautiful. Sometimes all I want is to just look at him, drink in my fill of those muscles, perfect like a Greek sculpture. Come to think of it, homosexual feelings were actually expected of Greek men back then. And I’ve always wanted to run my hands over him, my tongue over him. Man, just that thought is enough to get my dick’s attention. The thought of touching him, tasting him, holding him...

Um, ok, moving on. Yes, that’s right, my dear hormones, I AM moving on. Stop it. Wait your turn.

Sorry about that.

Difficult fact #2: I love Jim. He’s my heart, my soul, the yin for my yang, the... um... Juliet for my Romeo, (Don’t tell him I said that) the love of my life, my Holy Grail in so many more ways than one.

There. That wasn’t so bad. I’d already sort of admitted to myself that I loved Jim a long time ago... I just didn’t think I meant it quite that way.

Now, difficult fact #3: I’m gay. Well, or bi.

Ok. That one was still giving me problems. Oh well. I’d always have the first two.

I unfolded my legs and stood up, feeling a twinge in my knees. I guess that took longer than I thought it did. I reached for the phone and dialed. The phone burred in my ear, and then, I smiled as a sharp voice said, “Ellison.”

My throat constricted, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. Jim didn’t say anything either. Maybe he could hear my heartbeat on the other end. I cleared my throat, and said, “Hey, Jim.”

“Chief. You all right?”

I sat down on the bed, feeling shaky suddenly.

“Just wanted to hear your voice, man.”

I didn’t have to be a Sentinel to hear his breath catch before he said, “Oh yeah? So... um... are we ok?”

He just barely breathed the last part. The damn stubborn tears were threatening again.

“Yeah, Jim. We’re good. I’m... I’m really sorry. I screwed up.”

“No, you didn’t. I moved too fast. I’m sorry. Blair...”

“I love the way you say my name.”

“I love saying your name.”

I grinned.

“Well, that’s good, man, cause I don’t think I could take it if you called me snookums.”

There was a brief silence, and then Jim said, “Snookums, Chief?”

I could hear the barely-contained laughter in his voice.

“Never mind,” I said, “It’s a long story.”

“So... are you coming home?”

“Uh,” I cleared my throat, again, “actually, that’s kinda why I called. Y’see, the Volvo was doing great until-”

We both laughed at the same moment, and I felt a thrill run through me as I let myself think what a beautiful laugh he had.

“I’ll be there in a half-hour, Chief.”

“Ok. Thanks man.”

There was a long, long pause, then Jim whispered, “I love you, Blair.”

I shut my eyes and pressed the phone harder to my ear. I could hear him breathing. Come on, I told myself, you can do this. I drew a deep breath, and let the words out in a rush before I could freeze up.

“Love you, too, Jim.”

***

I must have paced back and forth that hotel room 200 times before I heard a knock at my door. My fingers fumbled with the locks and my throat went dry. I heard Jim laugh through the door.

“Breathe, Sandburg.”

“Funny, Jim, funny,” I muttered as I finally got the chain lock to come out of its track and opened the door. He stood there in the hall, smiling. I faked a scowl and slung my bag over my shoulder. I took one last look around the room where I’d had my epiphany, and then stepped out into the hall.

He didn’t step back like I expected him to, so when I started to close the door, I found myself bumped right up against him, feeling the light pressure of my shirt brushing against his. He lifted his hand every so slightly, and wrapped it around mine. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and then loosened his grip, as though to let go. But I didn’t want him to. I tightened my hand fiercely around his, and his eyebrows jumped a bit, then, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.

I wanted him so bad.

“Jim...”

He lowered his head, inclined it towards me, ever so slightly, the subtlest of invitations, and I surprised even myself when I threw my arm around his shoulders, hauled him down to my lips and kissed him with a desperation I never knew I could feel. Shit. I wanted to devour him, to kiss him so long and so hard we would both pass out, all the suppressed desires of the past five years hit at the same time and I needed him with every bit of my body, my mind, my soul.

His arms suddenly hooked together below my ass and he lifted me clean off the floor, and I found myself taller than him, craning my neck down instead of up to get to that mouth, that taste. To get to Jim.

He shoved the door open and then slammed it shut behind us with his foot, crossing the few feet of floor between the door and the bed and toppling us both down on it. His body, big, hard, hot pressed me down into the sheets and it felt so good, so right, so perfect.

“Jim! Jim, yes, yes, more.”

He tore my shirt open, disregarding buttons that flew everywhere, never once taking his mouth from mine until the shirt was completely out of the way, and then he pulled back, and I groaned at the loss until his mouth returned, hot and wet and sucking on my neck. God, I was going to get a fucking hickey, everyone would know... but who cares about that anyway? My hands clenched fistfuls of his shirt, pressed down on his broad, strong back. I could feel his muscles rippling beneath them and god was it a turn-on, Jim’s body, Jim’s body. I could touch it all I wanted, he was touching mine, all right, biting, licking, sucking his way down my chest, burying his nose in my chest hair. Fuck yes.

I arched my whole body beneath him, begging silently for more of that touch, and he responded eagerly, moving to take my nipple ring in his mouth, to suck it, tug on it.

“God! Jim!”

I couldn’t take any more of this, so I suddenly flipped us over, capturing his body beneath my own and ducking my head to kiss him again, to suck his tongue into my mouth, just to taste that taste again. He groaned, the way he normally does only at the moment of orgasm, that height of pleasure, but tonight, I hadn’t even touched his cock yet. He turned his head away, gasping out, “Blair. Oh Blair. Touch me, please, please touch me.”

He was hot beneath me, almost feverish, and writhing, humping, his cock seeking something to rub against. I slid down his body, stopping to kiss his neck, lick the hollow behind his ear, fill my mouth with the unique flavor of Jim Ellison as my hands worked to unbutton his shirt. Once I’d gotten halfway down, his own hands took over that task, and mine were free to fulfill my darkest fantasies, to roam over his wide chest, trace his muscles, tease his nipples. Free to shatter the countless boundaries we’d danced around the past three weeks.

He was panting, his chest heaving with every ragged breath as I worked my way down, running my tongue over his smooth, hairless pectorals, and then down further, tracing the distinct lines of his abdomen. I could taste his sweat, his desire. I stopped at his navel and just dropped a light kiss on it, loving the shudder that ran over his whole body at the tenderness of that touch.

“Make love to me, Blair.”

It was too much for a moment, the intensity too strong, so I pressed my face to his skin, drawing in deep, slow breaths of the scent of him, the lingering traces of lavender and sage, his stomach rising and falling rapidly beneath me.

“Oh Jim,” I whispered, but it was probably too quiet even for him to hear.

I felt a warm strong pressure on my head, and then felt his fingers slowly weaving their way through my hair as he stroked me, gently, soothingly. I could have stayed there forever, his hand on my hair, his sweat-damp skin under my cheek, his cock, harder than I’ve ever felt it, pressed against my chest.

“Blair...” he said, like he was saying it just to feel the word on his tongue. I heard my name rumble from deep inside his body.

I raised my head.

“Do we... do you have... have what we need?”

He shifted his hips, brushing his cock against my chest.

“I’m ready for you. Right now. Please, now, Blair...”

He lifted his legs, looked down his body at me with desire-darkened blue eyes. I met his eyes for a long moment, feeling his thumb move against my head, caressing my hair, and then I moved forward on my hands and knees, stopping when I could reach his mouth again, could kiss him again. I kept my eyes open long enough to watch his flutter closed with pleasure, then I shut my own. He wrapped his legs around my back, and then reached between us to take my cock in one hand. He took only a moment to rub his fingers over the head, spreading the pre-cum a bit as lubricant before he raised his hips again and guided my cock right where he wanted it. It only took one good thrust, and I was inside of him.

My mouth caught his cry as he moved beneath me. I waited a moment and pushed in further, feeling the slick, incredibly tight walls of his body close in around me. There are no words to describe the sensation I felt just then, being inside of him, opening my eyes and seeing his face below me, tight with pleasure, lips parted slightly, breath gusting against my neck in quick puffs.

I moved again, and this time, went all the way in. He threw his head back and just screamed my name, once, and then chanted it, quieter, over and over as I began to thrust, as the world became lost in the perfect sync of our rhythm. His legs tightened around my back, pulling me down closer, close enough to feel the sweat on his chest, the heat rising from his body. I slowed down, savoring the moment, and he opened his eyes and looked up at me, and I felt his hand twine around mine again, and give a gentle squeeze. And then I lost it, just as he had only two nights ago. I pounded into him, and he lifted his hips to meet my every thrust and then, he came, before I’d even touched him. The combined stimuli of his semen hitting my skin, and his voice, shouting, “Love you, love you so much. God, Blair!” was more than I could take. I came deep inside him.

***

It still took awhile to get used to some things. I still have trouble calling myself gay, even though, looking back over my life with a less biased point of view, I realize that my attraction to guys is not actually a new development.

In typical Sandburg fashion, I spent a few weeks in therapy... but I wasn’t alone. Jim actually agreed to couples counseling. I was so shocked I nearly passed out. It helped, though, having him there, and hearing him talk about his own experiences.

I’d like to say that we all lived happily ever after, and to a certain extent, we have. At least, so far. But we’re still Jim and Blair, trouble magnets, and we still have our moments. Jim has a real territoriality problem (no big shock there) and can get jealous if I so much as glance at someone else in what he deems a suspicious manner. I still have the occasional panic attack, but they’re fewer and farther between.

We’re having a commitment ceremony next week, though, so things are going pretty damn good. Naomi will be there, and Stephen, and a few close friends from Major Crimes. Basically, we’re happy, we’re adjusted, we’re forever.

Oh, but there is one slight problem...

Jim calls me Snookums.

The End
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