*************************************************************************

Disclaimers: Jim. Blair. All previous disclaimers apply.

Author's Notes: What's For Dinner, a Sentinel J/B story. Contains 2,629 words (which means it's short, even for my work), and was written July 30, 2000 because I was leaving town and wanted to post something before I went.

Thanks to AnneZo for the beta, though she wrote "POV dammit" on her copy and is righteously peeved I won't change to a consistent POV to suit her standards (which are, you can tell, higher than mine).

Feedback: lynnzo@yahoomail.com

*************************************************************************

What's For Dinner

*********

Jim climbed the stairs tiredly, feet heavier than they needed to be on the stairs. He resolutely kept his hearing down, all the way down, knowing there was nobody upstairs to hear.

Knowing the loft was empty. Empty.

Today was the day. Borneo. Blair had been tempted, then against it, then tempted again and finally swayed by the Dean's offer of additional funding for his Sentinel research in exchange for taking this year in Borneo. The University knew that Professor Stoddard's trip to Borneo would garner a lot of attention in the archeological journals, and they wanted someone from their faculty on the team. Blair had finally given in. "It's only a year, Jim, and it's not the middle of the jungle. There'll be phones."

Jim hadn't objected. It was Blair's decision, Blair's life, he'd interfered only when he came home last Thursday to find Blair packing up his room. "Leave it, Chief," he'd said shortly. "I don't need the room, and it'll be there when you get...back." He'd caught himself there, before he said 'home.'

So now Jim let himself in the door with his key, and kept all the dials turned down. He hung up his jacket and turned to the kitchen for something to drink. He'd showered and changed at the station, unwilling to enter the loft before he had to, knowing that nothing stretched ahead of him but an empty evening, an empty year. Blair's plane had taken off at 5:00 p.m., that made it about....

"Jim."

A gentle touch on his arm, and Jim whirled, off balance, lunging backwards and nearly spilling his water. He sucked in a deep breath of air, instantly ready to fight, and reached behind him to his weapon in its belt holster.

"Whoa," Blair took his hand off Jim's arm and held both hands up in obvious surrender. "It's just me, Jim, didn't mean to startle you."

He squinted at Jim a little in the darkening twilight of the room. Jim, of course, hadn't needed to switch on the light. Blair took a couple of careful steps back and hit the switch, still talking. "I guess *that* hasn't happened for a while. You didn't hear me? Smell me, anything? What's up with that?" A silence. "Jim?" Tentative now, as Jim just stood there, staring.

"Blair." Jim couldn't help it, he just stood there, staring. Blair was here. Here, not somewhere in a plane over...over...his mind, which had been idly calculating flight times and distances, now seemed stuck there, figuring madly, Texas. Somewhere over Texas even though Blair was here, right in front of him, in the loft.

"Blair?"

Blair grinned, a little shyly. "Not sorry to see me?" He glanced around the room, giving them both a little distance. "Thought you might be having a party or something, celebrate your freedom."

Jim laid his bottle of water and his weapon carefully on the kitchen counter, never taking his eyes off of Blair, then with one step he reached out and hauled Blair to him in a bear hug. "Blair," he said again, tucking his head into the curve of the other man's neck and breathing in deeply. He still felt like his brain was somewhere over Texas, but with the warm, solid contact of the smaller man's body to his, he started to come out of it. "You're here. You...stayed?"

Suddenly uncertain, he pulled his head up to look Blair in the eye. Blair was looking as off-balance as he'd felt a minute ago, so Jim just shook him. A little. Demanding an answer. "You stayed?"

Blair blinked at him, then brought his own arms up around Jim's back and squeezed just as much of him as his arms could reach. "Yeah, Jim, I stayed."

"But. The University?" Jim couldn't help it, his hands started to move on Blair's back, stroking, feeling, holding. Blair didn't seem to mind, and if Jim didn't feel quite up to making whole sentences just now, at least Blair understood his shorthand.

Blair was flushing slightly, "I, um. Well." He took a deep breath (as deep as he could, given that Jim's hands were currently involved in seeing just how far they could reach around Blair's ribcage, pulling the younger man tightly up against Jim's chest), and met his partner's eyes steadily. "I told them I hurt my knee yesterday on a case. I told them I'd be on crutches for about two weeks. They were disappointed, but they didn't have time to wait."

Blair had fallen yesterday while they chased a robbery suspect down the street. He'd turned his ankle a little, he'd said, but nothing major. Jim's eyes narrowed. His knee? He'd hurt his knee? His hands slid purposefully down from Blair's armpits (and just when had they gotten there? Blair wondered, lost) and reached firmly for his hips. He pushed Blair back a step and lifted him onto the kitchen table.

"Whoa!" Blair clutched madly at Jim's shoulders to keep his balance, "Hey!" Jim's hands were on his knees now, exploring, feeling, and Blair squirmed helplessly, "Stop that, man, that *tickles*!" And he squirmed away and tried to catch his breath, only to fail as Jim's hands reached for his waist again and hauled him firmly back.

Jim lifted his head, seemingly oblivious to Blair's struggles. "Which knee? I can't feel anything. What's wrong with your knee? Did you call the doctor?"

Blair stopped squirming and slid his hands down Jim's shoulders to give his biceps a reassuring squeeze. "There's nothing wrong with my knee, Jim. Don't you get it? I lied."

"You lied?" Jim hadn't turned loose of his waist, so Blair sort of gave up on deep breathing and settled for panting lightly.

"Yeah. I lied."

"I thought you wanted to go."

Ah. Now, here was the embarrassing part. He hadn't been home ten minutes, and already Jim was worming the truth out of him. Damn. He'd hoped for a little time to make up a convincing story. Something better than the 'it's about friendship' line he'd used before. Something that sounded really scientific, maybe, that would have Jim believing he hadn't felt it appropriate to leave his research subject. Something that would keep the cop in Jim from seeing the truth. That, when the time came, he just hadn't been able to leave. To leave Jim. He just hadn't been able to go.

"I just, I couldn't do it. I couldn't go. Leave." With horror, Blair heard the words he'd firmly intended *not* to say leave his mouth. He gave up on panting and just held his breath. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Heart pounding with nervousness, he watched Jim's face carefully. Watched it until his eyes blurred and his lungs burned and Jim's face was closer, closer, and then it was gone as Jim's hands slid back around his back again and he wrapped his arms around Blair's ribs, again, and buried his head back in Blair's neck, just like before.

And when Blair started breathing again they were big, Jim-scented gulps of air and he could feel Jim breathing him in, his breath tickling the side of Blair's neck.

Blair sat there a second, stunned, and tried to blink his eyes clear, but he couldn't, so he just buried his own face in Jim's shoulder and hung on. "So. I take it this is okay with you?" His voice wasn't as steady as he'd hoped, but there was the thread of humor he'd been striving for.

Jim grinned against the skin of his neck, "Yeah, Chief, that's fine with me." And when he was done talking, he moved his head, rubbing his cheek up and down Blair's neck, feeling him. And Blair's breath caught again when Jim's hands moved and pulled open the two top buttons of his flannel shirt so Jim could rub his cheek over more of Blair's neck, and then more, and then Blair was straining his neck back to give Jim space, all the space he needed, and Jim was pulling his shirt open and grunting in annoyance at the two layers of undershirts he found underneath.

Blair knew he should be helping, should be doing something more than trying to breathe and wrap his knees around Jim's waist and let Jim's hands push his back down onto the kitchen table so they could reach into the waistband of his jeans and push both undershirts up his chest, and he was going to. Going to, except then Jim was rubbing his face on Blair's stomach, rubbing up and down in long, slow strokes, turning his head occasionally so that his breath tickled Blair's belly button, and when Blair finally blinked his eyes clear enough to focus, he looked down and Jim was smiling up at him, and Blair couldn't help it, he was smiling too, and then they were both laughing weakly.

Blair was thinking in the sort of muddled fashion that had been his only choice since he'd heard Jim's feet coming up the stairs that this had all happened very fast, and Jim seemed to agree, somehow, because he pulled his face sort of quickly off of Blair's chest and tugged the smaller man back up to sit on the edge of the kitchen table. Blair let him, let his own hands slide gently down Jim's back until he couldn't reach any more because Jim had stepped back a bit, and Blair had to make do with laying his own hands gently over Jim's wrists, where they still rested lightly on his waist. Blair's knees already missed the warm hardness of Jim's sides, and Blair sat there a few moments, breathing, staring at Jim.

Which wasn't hard because Jim was staring back, still with a bit of laughter lurking somewhere in the back of his eyes. Blair felt his heart lurch a bit, and he knew his hands were tightening on Jim's wrists but he didn't care. Jim looked so good, and he felt so good, and Blair had *missed* him, missed him just in the expectation of leaving him, and that had hurt, really hurt, and Blair couldn't help it, he pulled harder on Jim's wrists and wrapped them back around his own back where they belonged, and when Jim obeyed and stepped back up against him, Blair reached up with his mouth and kissed him. And Jim kissed him back, and Blair didn't know why that surprised him, it shouldn't have surprised him after all that face-rubbing, but it did, and he gasped and Jim smiled against his mouth and kissed him some more before pulling back a little to look at him.

"A little fast for you, Chief?" And there was warm understanding in Jim's eyes, and Jim was stepping back again, his hands falling away, and Blair breathed and suddenly felt a little silly, perched there on the edge of the kitchen table.

Jim was watching him carefully, watching him breathe, giving him room. He even stepped back and brought the bottle of water to Blair, offering him a drink, grinning a little harder, maybe, when Blair shook his head vaguely and rubbed his face with both hands. Blair felt like he was trying to think through molasses, somehow. He could still feel Jim's hands on his ribs, holding him but not holding him back, and Jim's mouth on his own, kissing him with enthusiasm and surprising skill.

"You might have said something," and Blair knew that came out all wrong, heard the whine in his own voice and cringed a little.

Jim leaned back casually against the counter-top, "Wasn't my decision to make, Chief." Then, as if he realized that wasn't enough, "I didn't want you to stay because I wanted you to, I wanted to you to stay because *you* wanted to."

And Blair thought his mind must be clearing some, because he actually understood that. "Well, I wanted to stay," and he sat there, breathing, wondering what to do next. "So I stayed."

Jim's mischievous grin melted into smug satisfaction and he swigged down some of the bottled water, eyes never leaving Blair as Blair watched his throat move and swallowed, hard, himself. "So, Chief. What's for dinner? Your night to cook, you know."

Blair jerked his eyes up to Jim's in real surprise. Food? He could think about food? Blair felt himself reddening, and he didn't care. All at once Jim's smug expression was a little irritating. Jim looked so calm, too calm for the way he was breathing heavy, for the bulge obvious in his jeans, and Blair remembered suddenly how Jim had rubbed his face up and down on Blair's stomach, wordless, needy, and he moved quickly to pull off both his undershirts and drop them on the table. He leaned back on both his arms in obvious invitation and dropped his head back again, like he had before, as far back as he could without losing eye contact. Jim's eyes widened, and he swallowed heavily. Blair felt his own smile grow smug and didn't care. "Me, I guess," he said, only his voice broke in the middle, and it was really more of a whisper, but that was alright because Jim was moving towards him again, and his hands were cold from the water bottle, and Blair jumped a bit when they slid slowly up and down his chest, just barely touching.

Jim's eyes were on Blair's, watching his reactions, and Blair knew he was panting again, knew his nipples were hard under Jim's fingers, knew Jim could read everything he wanted, everything he had come back for, and didn't mind Jim knowing, as long as he didn't stop touching.

"Hmm." Jim's voice was smug, it really was, and Blair might have been irritated again except he was too busy laughing when Jim lowered his mouth again and whispered softly against his lips, "beefcake for dinner? I could go there." And they were laughing, kissing on the kitchen table, and Blair turned his head once and saw his bags, still packed and sitting behind the door.

"I gotta warn you, man, I gotta be home in a year. I got this roommate who's a real hardass," and he had wrapped his knees back around Jim's waist, and his ankles kicked gently, teasing, against Jim's ass so he would get it, and Jim did, because he was groaning and laughing at the same time, and pulling Blair up off the table to stand, shaking a bit, on the floor for a second before he turned the smaller man firmly and pushed him towards the bedroom stairs, "I can't believe you said that. No dinner for you."

Blair went, racing up the stairs towards this new adventure, but he couldn't resist turning his head to grin back down at Jim, "This is *my* expedition. I'm in charge here."

Jim cleared the top of the steps, pulling his own shirt off, and just kept moving, crowding Blair until he fell, with a sense of inevitability, flat on his back on the bed. Well, Blair thought fatalistically as Jim fit his body along Blair's, seemingly careful to cover every inch, at least it's softer than the kitchen table.

Jim pushed Blair's arms around his neck and groaned again, this time in pleasure, as Blair's bare chest came into full contact with his own. He rolled suddenly, taking them deeper into the bed and bringing Blair on top. Surprised, Blair pushed himself up to look down into Jim's eyes. "Jim?"

Jim was looking up at him, solemn now, and his eyes looked a little bright. "Hey, Chief?"

Off-balance now, wondering if something was wrong, Blair responded tentatively, "Yeah, Jim? What is it?"

"Welcome home."

 

***the end***