I've been meaning to write a Sentinel story for a while now. A few nights ago, my dear friend, Little Miss S, challenged me to use certain elements and certain--how shall I say it--descriptive terms and phrases in a story. She let me choose the fandom, and it turned out that the only person I could hear saying those things was Blair. She gave me those elements and beta'd, so, my friend, this is for you.
NC-17, m/m
Language, sex, stream-of-consciousness, a metaphor carried entirely too far.
Jim and Blair go camping. Blair has some revelations and goes out on a limb. What can I say, it's all been done before. This is my version. I do at least have the advantage of having been a long-term resident of western WA...
The characters aren't mine, but the words are. I'm just taking them off the shelf for a little fun, and promise to put them back neat and clean. Suing me is probably pointless, seeing as I've got a five-digit student loan debt. Send rotten vegetables or offers of marriage to Tiriel –feedback is like a drug for me. I craaaaaaaave it. *g*
Wood
By Tiriel
In a bizarre but completely explainable reversal of our normal routine, I was up, dressed, and at the campfire making breakfast when Jim came out of the tent, wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, to stretch in the morning air. He reached towards the sky, his shirt hitching up to reveal a tiny glimpse of skin. My eyes, completely independent of my brain, were drawn down, to the prodigious bulge in his shorts. I was staring.
"What the hell are you staring at, Sandburg?" Jim followed the path of my eyes to his groin, and understanding dawned on his face. "Oh, that. Just a little morning wood." He didn't even have the decency to blush. I did. I looked away, finally, and he went back into the tent.
A "little" morning wood? There was nothing little about it. That thing was a fucking redwood. A sequoia among woodies. I had never seen a more magnificent woody. The man was hung. Another incredible feature on an incredible body. Hell, the man is a redwood. Just my luck that the gods would be this cruel. My gruff, gorgeous, gigantic partner, practically perfect in every way, displayed before me daily, and I can't have him. I mean--I have him, he's my partner, my roommate, my friend--I have him, just not the way I'd like. Naked, sweating, every one of those rippling muscles rippling just for me, that majestic wood standing proudly, my name on his lips. Somebody please tell me who I have to sell my soul to to get that, because, baby, if the powers of darkness could offer me that in return, I'd be first in line to sign up. But he's never shown any indication of being interested in men. Then again, neither have I.
Let me rewind a little, let you, my imaginary listener in this imaginary lecture, in on the details of how I, Blair Sandburg, ladies' man extraordinaire, wound up in this predicament. I suppose it must have been coming on for a while now--I mean, things like this don't just pop out of thin air, after all. I must have been falling in love with him gradually, over time. Hel-lo, hang on a second there. Did I just say "in love" as in, well, love rather than--okay, fine, in addition to--lust? Oh, shit, I did. Well, I didn't say it out loud of course, just in my head, thank goodness. I didn't say it out loud, did I? No, I must not have, or right now I'd be on the receiving end of the "you're a really great person, but..." speech. A speech I must admit I've given at least as many times as I've received, but still, not what I want to hear.
So, back to the business at hand. I suppose I must have been falling in love with him for a while now, but I didn't actually realize it until this camping trip. This damn camping trip. Man, talk about repression. I hereby declare myself to be the new world champion of denial. And avoidance, which is what I'm doing right now. Damn. So, I was rewinding.
It's late July. One of those late Julys that we get in Western Washington, where it stops raining altogether, sometimes for as much as six weeks. And it's hot. Sticky hot, where being outside feels like swimming through bathwater, it doesn't get bearable until after dark, and dark doesn't come until about 9 or 10. But because it's only unbearable like this for at most a few weeks a year, most average folks don't have air conditioning. Not that the Sentinel and Shaman of the Great City would really be average folks by most definitions, but the bottom line is--no AC. So when I came home yesterday evening, I found Jim packing a cooler.
"Damn, man, it's hot!" Instead of closing the door, I fanned myself with it, enjoying the breeze. "Hey, Jim, where're you headed off to?"
"We, Chief, are going camping. Slightly cooler mountain air, a nice cold river nearby, no stuffy indoors."
"Cool," I said, then chuckled at my choice of words. So I packed, and we loaded the truck and left. No different from a hundred other camping trips. I told Jim about the class I'd taught that afternoon at the U. Jim told me about a break in the case we'd been working on the day before. Turns out the perp had been picked up by the Washington State Patrol for a traffic violation. Sometimes that old cliché actually happens.
If you'd asked me at that moment, I would've said that yeah, of course I love Jim. He's my best friend. I had no clue that a few hours later my whole world would change like this.
The air in the mountains was indeed cooler. Just the right temperature for a warm, comfortable summer night. We set up camp, ate, and talked more around the fire. Still perfectly normal.
"This was a really good idea, Jim. It's a great night."
He just smiled at me. We sat in easy silence for a while.
"About ready to turn in, Chief?"
"Yeah, just about. You go ahead. I'll take care of the fire and be along in a minute."
So he went into the tent, I took care of the fire, and then I went in, too. He was lying there, on top of his sleeping bag, stripped down to boxers and t-shirt, already asleep. I thought about it for a minute and decided that he was right. It was just a little too warm for a sleeping bag, so I crashed on top of mine, too. That's why it happened.
It can't have been too long before I woke up. Jim had rolled over in his sleep. His arm was draped over me, and his hair was brushing against my cheek. He'd had it cut just the day before on his lunch hour, and the sensation was surprisingly pleasant.
When I was a kid, traveling with Naomi, there was an artist in this commune, a painter. I was fascinated by her work. She let me help--fetching and carrying kinds of stuff, mostly--but sometimes I helped clean her paintbrushes. I loved that. I loved the feel of the brushes. When we left, she gave me one. It must have gotten lost at some point, I know I don't have it now, but I remember how good it felt to run the ends of the bristles across my skin, like I was painting myself. Well, that's what Jim's hair felt like against my cheek. Soft, gentle, not ticklish, more of a tingly feeling. I reached a hand up tentatively to touch it. It felt just as good under my fingertips. He shifted in his sleep then, and I jerked my hand back, afraid of waking him.
His hair wasn't touching my cheek any more, and I felt a sudden and startling pang of loss. He shifted again, this time flinging a leg over me. My dick sat up and paid attention to that, let me tell you. I lay there in shock for a moment. I tried to convince myself that it was a simple conditioned response. I'd never had anyone other than a woman throw a leg over me in the middle of the night before. I therefore associated it with sex. That worked, for a minute. My erection started to fade away, until I thought about Jim's hair again. Then it was back, with a vengeance.
Now, women go on about my hair all the time. They love it. A lot of them say it's a turn-on. I'm used to that. But, well, first of all, Jim doesn't have much hair, so if I'd been planning to list his features that would turn someone on, his hair would have been pretty low on the list. Secondly, until that moment, I'd had no intention of listing things about Jim that would turn someone on. Thirdly, even if those things had crossed my mind, the hypothetical person that would be turned on by them certainly wouldn't have been me.
So, there I was, in a tent with my sleeping best friend, his right leg and arm draped over me, suddenly discovering that I found him attractive in a sexual way. Talk about your revelations. I was too tired and too horny to want to consider the implications right then, though. I had to get rid of this boner so I could get some sleep. I tried thinking of grisly crime scenes, but my mind jumped to Jim's concern for me, his reassuring presence at my side when I have to face things like that. I tried thinking about my mother, but my mind jumped to how wonderful Jim is at getting along with her, despite her quirks. I even tried thinking about almost dying in the fountain, but my mind jumped to the way Jim called me back from wherever it is that I was going. I couldn't seem to think of anything but Jim.
Then my thoughts turned to other ways to solve the problem. Images flooded my brain. Images of Jim kissing me, of Jim--oh, God--going down on me, of driving that erection so deep into Jim's ass that I wouldn't know where I stopped and he began. I had never really considered the asshole to be a sexual orifice before, but in those few minutes I ran down, like, a whole laundry list of possibilities.
Finally I couldn't take it anymore. It seemed that sleep and sex were both out of reach. I gently moved Jim's arm and leg, grabbed my clothes, and left the tent. I went for a swim in the cold water of the river to solve my little problem. Well, not as impressive as Jim's, but not exactly little, either. Then I got dressed and rebuilt the fire. I've been sitting here ever since, pondering what it means that I've suddenly found myself lusting after Jim. I was just cooking breakfast when he woke up and put on his little display.
I've been in close proximity to him hundreds of times. I've even seen him naked. I don't know why I never noticed before, why it wasn't until last night that all this hit me. All I know is that I am in love with Jim Ellison. The fact that he's a man throws me for a little bit of a loop, but I always believed that I'd know when I found the right person for me. Sure, I assumed that person would be a woman, but this feeling is unmistakable. I need him. I want him. I love him. No doubt about it, he's the one. And I have no idea what to do.
What I'd like to do, to return to my earlier metaphor, is go into that tent, push that redwood of a man down on our sleeping bags, and, well, climb that tree.
"What's so funny, Chief?"
Oh, great. He's back. Now how do I answer that without telling him that the reason I was laughing is because I suddenly had a Monty Python sketch running through my head. The one with the lumberjack song. I do, after all, wear a lot of plaid flannel. No high heels, though. Quick, think of something.
"Nothing important, Jim. It would take a while to explain, and it's not that funny."
"Okay."
Thank my lucky stars, he seems to have accepted that answer. But now what? Can I possibly go on like this indefinitely? Knowing that I'm in love with him and that he isn't in love with me? Unless he is. What if he is and he thinks I'm not?
"So, why are you up so early? Trouble sleeping?" He sits down by the fire and I hand him a plate of food.
Maybe I should bite the bullet here. Even if I get the "you're a really great person, but" speech, at least I'll know. It's a risk. But if there's a chance he feels the same... And I am all about taking chances.
"A little, yeah. Doing some thinking."
"Yeah, what about?"
"Have you ever had this, like, amazing and terrifying moment where you realize all at once that a relationship isn't what you thought it was? Not in a bad way, I don't mean that. What I mean is that you suddenly know that the person you thought of a just a friend is actually the person you've been falling in love with?" I've been talking quickly, not breathing much, and I can feel that my face is flushed.
He looks at me, so casual. How can he be so casual? He's still eating breakfast, for Pete's sake. "Sure. I think everybody has. So, who's the lucky lady?"
"What if it weren't? A lady, I mean. What would you think of that?" The words are out before I have fully thought them through. But since I'm this far out on a limb already, what the hell. "What if it's you?" The words are quiet, but I know he hears them.
The silence is probably just a second or two, but it feels like years.
"Is it?"
Is it what? Oh, that's right. Is it him? Moment of truth time. "Well, that depends." Good. Keep it light. Smile.
"On what?" I can't read his voice or his face.
"On what happens if I say yes. Because if the response is the ‘you're a really great person, but' speech, then of course it's not--I've just been speaking hypothetically. But if the response is any one of the possibilities that have been running through my head since last night, then, yes, it's you." Chickenshit. I am such a chickenshit. Tell the whole truth. This is too important. "It is. It is you. But I can totally deal with it, man, you really don't have to worry. I will be, like, the world champion at being just friends. Nothing changes. It's all good." I said it. I did. I'm backpedaling already, but at least I said it.
He puts down his empty plate and stands up. He paces, circling the campsite. Great. Maybe he's going to pretend I never said it. Probably for the best. He circles again. And again. This is making me crazy. One more circuit around and I'm gonna have to either scream at him to stop pacing or get the hell out of here so I don't have to watch. I stand up to leave. Oh, good. He's stopped, somewhere behind me.
"What if I want it to?" His voice is low and dark.
"What?"
"What if I want it to change? What if I'd like to hear all about those possibilities that have been running through your head? What then?"
"That-that'd be okay." Understatement of the millennium. My mouth is dry.
"What if it meant no turning back? No more leggy post-docs?" His voice is closer now.
"Just you and me, permanent?" I wonder what my pulse sounds like to him. It's pounding in my ears. "Well, I was already planning on being your partner at work forever. This would just be, like, a bonus. The best fringe benefit ever." It feels like a dream. Unreal. In less than twelve hours, my world has turned on end not once, but twice. It's almost easy, like it was meant to be.
"Because, Blair, if this begins, I won't ever want it to end. I should have told you--every time I almost lost you I should've said it--I will not lose you, not again." His voice is right there, in my ear, his breath moving my hair. He sounds so fierce, so serious. My skin prickles. It would be so easy to turn my head so that our lips would meet.
"Last night, Jim, you rolled over in your sleep. You were very much in my space, and I got so hard--well, so hard that I can't even think of an adequate metaphor. I started thinking about it, about why. And even though I only realized it last night, even though I don't know when it happened, even though I'd never before seriously considered the possibility that the one for me would be a guy, and this sounds a little crazy even to me, I do know. I am sure. I love you."
I turn my head. His eyes, he's so close to me. His eyes are huge. His lips quirk into a sexy smile. "So, what were those possibilities of yours?" His face gets even closer.
I jerk my head back. Am I crazy? "Oh, no man. You are so not getting off that easy. No pun intended. I confessed, now you're supposed to do the same."
"Now?" He's in front of me now. His face is getting closer again. He drops soft, light kisses along the line of my jaw. It's getting harder to think clearly, and his lips are getting closer to, oh God, my mouth. I'm tasting his lips, his tongue, and my hands have somehow reached up to touch his hair. He pulls back. "I love you. For ages now, but I was sure you didn't feel the same. And while we're confessing, I was awake last night. Not at first, but your heart rate jumped and my ear was right by your neck. I figured I'd enjoy being close to you, just for a minute. I even gave in to the temptation to get a little closer. I felt you get hard, and that gave me my first hope. If you hadn't said something, I might have. I was thinking about it. Enough of a confession for you?" A kiss. "Want a signed statement?" Another kiss. "Or are you finally going to let me in on those possibilities of yours?"
"And your little display this morning?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." He's trying to sound innocent, and he's failing miserably.
"Bullshit." I step closer to him, run a hand down his chest, gently, down, down even farther. "You wanted me to see this." Punctuated by a gentle squeeze. He shudders under my touch. "Trying to give me a little push? Impatient? You know, it hardly seems fair. You've been unrequitedly lusting after me for, what, months? Years? I've been lusting after you for just a few hours and now I'm going to have you." When did I switch gears from yearning and confessing to merciless pricktease? Well, maybe not completely merciless. I feel a "shut up" coming on. But he's found a much more effective way to quiet me down. The earth is moving. No, wait, we are. He's carrying me off to the tent. "Caveman."
"At least I'm not dragging you by your hair."
"At least I have hair to be dragged by." That worked nicely, he's kissing me quiet again. Into the tent we go. "Take off your clothes, Jim." Not words I ever thought I'd say, but damn do they sound good. And he's actually doing it. Guess I'd better do the same.
Hel-lo, there it is. Right in front of me, and I didn't even have to sell my soul. Hope I don't get any splinters. If I weren't already grinning like a fool, I sure would be now.
"Well? You're the one with the ideas, Chief. Now what?" Man, I love that sexy smile.
I want to taste him. I have no clue what I'm doing, but I know what I like. Besides, I'm sure enthusiasm can help make up for a lack of experience. We'll start with a lick.
"I don't think--damn, Blair, hold on."
"What is it, Jim?"
"You said something about having me? Now would be a really good time. I don't think I can last very long."
"You mean--"
"That weird sunscreen of yours is water-based, isn't it? And you carry a condom or two in your wallet, don't you?"
"Um, yeah." Something tells me he's done this before, but that's a question for later. Oh, wow. He has done this before, because he's showing me how to do something I've only heard about in fairly vague terms from gay friends--he's stretching himself for me. Holy shit, I'm really going to fuck Jim.
"Can I do that?" My voice sounds so shaky. And I'm doing it, and this is different, but also good, and is it time? I'm looking at him and he's nodding and damn I'm really really going to do this, no, we are going to do this.
So hot. Literally and otherwise. I don't want to hurt him, but he's showing no sign of pain and oh, there it is. I'm in. I am so in. And damn, my eyes are stinging. I'm on the verge of tears, this is so beautiful. There is a God, and She has been very good to me.
"I love you, Jim."
"I love you, Blair."
I'd like to do this slow and dirty, just enough to keep us both on edge, but that will have to wait. That look on his face, is he? Oh, wow, he is. He's focusing in on touch, focusing there, and here I go. I haven't gone off this fast since I was a teenager. Oh, and him, too. Isn't that nice? And his chest is such a great pillow.
"You just giggled, Sandburg."
"Did not." Oh, I guess I did. I just did it again.
"Why?"
"Because I think my brain has turned into, um, I don't know, something mushy. Melted ice cream, maybe, where it's all soupy and runny."
"Speaking of..."
"Oh, yeah. Here's my t-shirt."
"Thanks."
"Man, you are going to have to warn me next time you focus in like that."
"What for?"
"Because it was just about the sexiest thing I'd ever seen."
"Just about?" Mock outrage.
"Well, there are so many to choose from, all within the last hour or so. I think I need to do more research to pick one."
"Now that’s the kind of research I could get very interested in."
"Well, then, let's get started."
THE END