Fastest Gun In The Northwest
by HYPERFocused

"Jim, please" Blair put on his best placating voice to talk to the man currently hiding on the other side of the bathroom door. He understood how his partner felt, but enough was enough.

"Go away, Blair." Jim's voice was gruff, irritated, but Blair knew it was more embarrassment than anything else. He could practically see the blush staining the tips of Jim's ears. Blair tried to stop thinking of how he'd been licking said ears not half an hour ago. That was sort of the problem. Neither of them could stop thinking about it. All the things they'd been building towards in their years long dance from researcher/subject to observer/cop to what they were now, he hoped: partners in every sense of the word.

"Come on, Jim, It's ok. Really. It could have happened to anyone." Blair sighed and waited for a response.

"But it didn't happen to you, Chief."

"True, but I kind of took care of things earlier. Took the edge off. But you were listening, you heard me." Blair thought a moment, then added, "You know, Jim, sex is a two way street. Why don't you come out here and help me? I really need you, man."

"Even though I already came like a god-damned teenager?" Jim asked.

In point of fact, Blair's own erection was faltering, overtaken by the urgent need to get into the bathroom for more pedestrian reasons. He'd drunk three imported beers to give himself the courage to face Jim when he got home and confronted him about the "test."

"I doubt your average teenager is dealing with heightened senses like that," Blair said ruefully. "Neither of us should have been surprised. Besides, you did that because of me. Damn that's flattering. Not to mention, hot."

Blair grinned at the picture Jim had made coming home; throwing open the door and launching himself at Blair. Jim nearly picked him up off the couch by his lapels, asking Blair, "so did I pass your fucking test?" He didn't wait for an answer, just caught his partner in a lip and hip lock that had Blair gasping, and thrusting up at him through his rapidly tightening jeans.

"It sure looks like it." Blair stretched up to get a better angle, and then went back to the kissing. They'd latched on to each other like they'd been waiting for years to do this, which of course they had. It was no wonder Jim hadn't lasted. Blair really wasn't complaining. A few moments of intense rubbing, and Jim was red faced and yelling, but definitely not angry.

"No worries, man. We have all the time in the world." Blair's hands and chest were still sticky, another reason he wanted to get into the bathroom. That particular appeal was waning. "Besides, I really liked seeing you like that. Because of me."

"I like watching you, too, Chief" his partner admitted, "I always have."

"You can do more than watch, man, if you'll just come out of there. I promise! You can help." There were some places they guided each other.

Blair backed up a step as the bathroom door finally opened, revealing a still blushing -- but smiling -- Jim. He beamed back at Jim, and leaned up to kiss him.

"You O.K, big guy?" he asked, when they pulled apart to breathe.

"I'm afraid I don't have the powers of recuperation I did at sixteen."

"That's okay. I can wait until you're ready."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to. C'mere, let me take care of that." Jim led them both towards the couch. "Forgive me?"

"Always, man. Besides, I have only myself to blame.

"How do you figure that, Chief?"

"They'd have had my ass at Rainier for proctoring a test in such an unprofessional manner.

"I'd have had your ass at Rainier, or anywhere else you wanted. You only had to ask."

"No fair, Jim, it was a legitimate test. It's just the subject matter that was a bit - iffy. But hey, you passed with flying colors."

"Come on, Blair. When you told me to try hearing what you were saying when I was at work today? You knew I wasn't expecting that. It was definitely dirty pool."

"Yeah, but it got me what I wanted. And I just couldn't say it in person. I've tried, you know. You aren't really mad, are you?" Blair gave Jim the head-tilt and adoring gaze that had always worked before.

"How could I be mad when I got what I wanted too? I really should be, though. I had a room full of recruits." Jim cuffed Blair lightly on the arm.

"Oh, God, Jim. I had no idea. Simon said you'd be working through some old case files. I-I wouldn't have. I wasn't trying to embarrass you. Really."

"I know, Chief. That's not your style."


Jim remembered: It had been almost more than he could take. There he'd been, about give a procedural lecture to a room full of first year recruits, and Blair's rough, sexy voice had filled his head:

"Can you hear me, Jim?" Blair had started, and Jim was almost amazed to find that he could, that he had no trouble picking out that one voice out of all the sounds the city cascaded - heh - in front of him. He wished the communication went two ways, so Blair would hear his reply, but at least he could tell him about it later.

Then Blair went on. It was a damn good thing Jim was standing behind a lectern when he did, because he wouldn't have been able to move, otherwise. At least not without embarrassing himself in front of forty wet behind the ears recruits, and losing any credibility. What the hell was Sandburg thinking?

"I'm going to assume you can tell what I'm saying just fine, Jim. I bet you think I'm sitting at my desk, notebook in hand, filling in boxes with my 'incomprehensible chicken scratching', as you like to call it. Or maybe you think I'm sprawled out on the couch, with my laptop, and some tribal music on the stereo. Well, you'd be wrong.

"In point of fact, I'm currently stretched out on your bed, one hand wrapped tight around my already leaking cock, wishing I had your senses so I could detect the traces of you still on your sheets. I wish I could feel the last vestiges of your warmth as I fist myself, and imagine my hands are yours. You have such wonderful hands, Jim. They're strong and extraordinarily sensitive, and not just because you're a Sentinel. Anyone would be lucky to have you touching him.

"I just don't want it to be anybody but me.

"Can you picture it now, Jim? The way I'm imagining you? The purposeful way that you'd look at me, like I had your undivided attention. Like you wanted to give me everything, but you just weren't sure where to start?

"You'd ask me what I wanted. How I liked to be touched. And I'd say, 'anywhere, man. Just get on with it. I've been waiting for so damn long.' And you'd know just what to do, because you always know. When it comes to us you've always known, even though we've never said it.

"So I'm going to say it, Jim, for both of us. Even if you come home and try to tell me you couldn't hear me, and we just go on like we've done all this time, pretending it's all about friendship, when we know friendship doesn't begin to cover it. We are so much more than friends.

"I wish you were touching me now. I wish you could see how I'm stroking myself. How cool the massage oil feels when I first pour it into my hand, and how it warms up so quickly and eases my way. It's supposed to be unscented, so it won't bother you when you get home. At least I hope it won't, because I want it to be your fingers pressing inside me next time-making me feel so much, preparing me for the rest of you. God, Jim. I know you'd feel incredible. And I'd like to think I'd feel pretty damn good to you, too."

Blair paused then, but Jim could still hear his partner. He'd heard Blair doing this many times before, though Blair always tried to be quiet and discreet. Jim loved the little noises he made when he was this close to coming, and the way he couldn't control himself at the end. It was a sound that went straight to his dick. He vowed that he would be the one to elicit such a delicious response from Blair the next time. Jim let out an involuntary gasp, and half of the awaiting students looked up in concern. "I'm fine. Allergies. Now, where was I?"

"The Coleman case, sir," one of them supplied.

Test obviously over; Jim dialed down his hearing to concentrate on the class, willing his aching erection to go down before he had to leave the room. He and Blair were damn well going to have words when he got home. This conversation had been waiting for the right opening for about as long as he had known Blair.

Reminiscing at home in the arms of his Guide, Jim concentrated on the task at hand; but not without remembering that Blair had his own lecture coming up the next week. He'd be speaking to a group of museum curators, and Jim knew the podiums at the convention center were spacious and sturdy. Ample room for a six foot one man to kneel behind unseen - especially a horny one bent on revenge.

It was going to be glorious - for both of them.


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