Real

by Lanning Cook

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept."

                          - Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

Jim Ellison paused on the stairs as the scent of incense reached his sensitive nose. He nodded to himself thoughtfully. Blair was meditating. Again. Jim bent down to remove his shoes, moved softly to the door and turned the key in the lock as softly as he could, wincing as the scraping of the tumblers assaulted his ears. He pushed the door open gently, his eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness of the loft. His gaze was immediately drawn to the small pool of light around a white candle in the middle of the living room floor, and to the man seated in the glow of that light, legs crossed, palms upward, and eyes closed.

Jim swallowed hard at the sight. His Guide was so still that if Jim's senses hadn't been several notches above the norm, he wouldn't have been able to tell that Blair was breathing. But he was. He was. Jim drew a deep breath himself and closed the door softly behind him, then lay his keys gently in the basket and his shoes on the floor, his gaze never wandering from the silent, motionless figure before him. The candle had burned very low, and Jim wondered how long his friend had been at it this time. Blair had come close to breaking Naomi's Big Sur record the other night. Four and a half hours. Jim grimaced. Something was definitely up, something Jim didn't know about. This had been going on every night now for the past three weeks.

Jim crossed the room and eased himself onto the floor beside his friend, searching that youthful face carefully. The strain of the past few weeks was still visible there, even in Blair's serene state. A man who had just had his entire life ripped apart couldn't keep it from showing in his face, no matter how hard he might try. And God knew Blair had tried. Jim watched in silent gratitude as Blair's chest expanded and contracted, almost imperceptibly yet comfortingly, then let his gaze wander again to Blair's face. His friend's hair was unbound. Blair had trimmed his hair by a few inches the day before he had started at the Academy, but the mane of curls was already growing to his shoulders again. It wreathed a face that Jim had come to believe belonged on Renaissance canvas or stained glass, like a praising angel. Unique ... beautiful ... no, exquisite....

Jim snorted softly. Well, it was official. He'd lost it. He smiled ruefully, imagining Blair's reaction to the idea that Jim - or anyone else - imagined him an angel of any stripe. He'd probably just give Jim that quizzical little look of the anthropologist cataloging yet another bizarre manifestation of Sentinel behaviors. "Beautiful, huh? Been chug-a-lugging the cold medicine again, tough guy?" Or maybe he'd get pissed and give Jim one of his patented punch-in-the-shoulder-request-for-retractions. "Let's go down to the basketball court and play a little one-on-one, pal. We'll see how 'exquisite' you think I am when I whup your ass." And he could do it, too. He had. And Jim had found him just as 'exquisite' sweating and swearing on the basketball court as he was right now in ethereal candlelight and serene contemplation.

Jim leaned closer to Blair and indulged himself by drawing in a soft breath of his friend's scent. Warm. Sweet. He must have washed his hair with that herbal shampoo again. Jim, with difficulty, resisted the compulsion to stroke those curls. He wanted to touch them, to bury his hands in them, to feel that silk between his fingers. And then he wanted to slide his hands down, slowly, to touch Blair everywhere, softly, gently, till he had explored all the places he had never dared to touch. Jim drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes, ruthlessly cutting off the thought at the knees. No. This had to stop now.

A deep sigh diverted Jim's attention. He opened his eyes quickly and stared, startled, into the pair of smoky blues gazing at him with a slightly bemused expression.

"Hey," said Blair in a faraway voice, his mouth turning up slightly at the corners.

"Hey yourself," returned Jim a little gruffly. He cleared his throat. "You okay?"

"Uh-huh." Blair tilted his watch toward the candle and whistled as he unfolded his legs, grimacing. "Oh, man ... over five hours...." He cleared his throat and pushed his hair back from his face.

"Personal best, family record," said Jim, smiling, unable to resist watching the shimmer of the candlelight on the dark curls.

"If I know my mother, she's raised the bar again," returned Blair wryly, stretching. He lay back on the floor, spreading his limbs as if about to make a snow angel in the rug, then looked up at Jim searchingly. "Rough day."

It wasn't a question, and Jim nodded, wondering when he had become so transparent. He hoped to God that he wasn't as transparent about other things. "Yeah, a little. You?" he asked before Blair could continue his line of questioning.

Blair shrugged, his gaze sliding from Jim's. "Not bad."

Not bad. The same answer Jim had been getting every day since Blair had started at the Academy. Damn.

"So … how rough is rough?" pursued Blair softly, looking up at his friend again.

Jim considered the question carefully. Actually, rough was pretty damn rough when he was without Blair for any length of time these days. Jim had slowly realized, over the past few weeks, just how much he had come to depend on Blair Sandburg, partner.

There had been a time, not all that long ago, when the suggestion that Jim Ellison was the kind of guy that needed somebody, in any capacity, would have sent him into an unreasoning rage. Real men didn't need anybody. Real men went about their business and did their jobs without anybody's help, didn't take anything from anybody and gave only what was in the job description. Real men knew who and what they were and stayed that way. And nobody who knew Jim had ever questioned the fact that he was a real man, except perhaps Jim himself.

But during Blair's press conference, as Jim had watched Blair sacrifice everything he'd worked for his entire adult life, destroy his reputation as both a scholar and an honorable man, and give up everything he'd thought he was, all for Jim's sake, Jim had become suddenly and irrevocably convinced that there was more to being real than a man's barren pride in his self-sufficiency. Because there was no man more real to Jim at that moment than Blair Jacob Sandburg.

Jim knew that the realization hadn't really been a bolt from the blue. He'd been changing his mind about a lot of things over the past three years, and this change was just one among many. But everything had come together as he'd watched Blair falter courageously through that speech, and face with quiet determination all its painful consequences. Jim had always loved Blair like a brother, but watching him shoot his life to hell in order to preserve Jim's, then slowly, painfully begin to build it up again from scratch, stirred feelings in Jim he'd never known he'd had, feelings that he'd never known he'd been capable of.

How could Blair have done it? Where had he found the strength? Jim asked himself, for the hundredth time since he'd stared slack-jawed at that press conference, whether he could have done the same in Blair's place. Given up everything he was, everything he'd ever wanted to be. Given up his reputation, the respect of colleagues, the trust of friends. All for one man, and a man who'd let him down more than once at that. What the hell had Blair been thinking?

"That bad, huh?"

Blair's quiet voice startled Jim out of his reverie. "No, no worse than usual." Jim heard the slip and groaned silently. He must be more tired than he thought.

"Trouble with your senses?" Blair propped himself up on one elbow and searched Jim's face with a worried expression.

"No, no trouble. I'm just--" Jim hesitated, looking up at Blair's anxious face. "--not used to flying solo anymore." He cleared his throat uncomfortably as Blair's expression softened. "I'll be glad when I can have my partner back."

A shadow touched Blair's face. "Not too much longer," he said quietly, lying back on the floor again.

Jim let the silence fall again, troubled. By all accounts, Blair was doing extremely well at the Academy. But every time it came up in conversation, Blair would become strained and quiet, then change the subject.

"Did you eat?"

Case in point. "Yeah. You?"

"I grabbed a sandwich on the way home."

Jim nodded. Blair wasn't eating much these days. He hauled himself to his feet. "Think I'll get myself a beer. Want one?"

Blair sat up and shook his head, smiling. "No thanks, man."

Jim felt Blair's gaze follow him into the kitchen, and he turned to look at his friend as he opened the refrigerator. "Uh … how about some of that herbal tea?"

Blair's smile deepened. "Yeah. That'd be good. Thanks."

Jim swallowed hard. Damn, that smile did dangerous things to his libido. He turned away and busied himself setting the water to boil, forcing himself to think about something, anything, but that dangerous smile. He pulled the box of tea from the shelf with hands that were remarkably unsteady.

What was going on with Blair? It wasn't that he wasn't doing well at the Academy. Jim had friends there, and he'd made it his business to keep track of Blair's progress - and to keep his ear to the ground for any instructor or cadet who thought it was his business to give Blair any hell for his supposed crimes against Jim Ellison. But as far as Jim had been able to find out, there had been no serious incidents. And yet there was still something wrong.

Sure, Blair needed time to get his head together. He'd had his entire life turned upside down and all his dreams shot to hell. But some instinct told Jim that there was more to it than that. Maybe he'd jumped the gun by offering Blair a badge before his friend had come to terms with losing his academic career. Maybe the selfish part of him had deliberately taken advantage of Blair's vulnerability at that moment to make sure he didn't lose his Guide, his friend, and … well, whatever else Jim wished Blair could be to him and knew he never would be. He'd backed Blair into a corner in front his mother and of all of Major Crimes. What else could the man have said but yes?

No career, Sandburg? No problem. I've got one all picked out for you. Wouldn't want me to be inconvenienced in any way, would you? Wouldn't want me to feel any guiltier than I do already, right? Of course not. So let's just hustle you into the Cascade PD as fast as we can. No, you don't need any time to think about it. No time like the present. Just sign on the dotted line….

Jim winced inwardly as he poured the boiling water into a mug and stirred furiously. "Chief."

"Uh-huh?"

"You sure everything's okay?"

"Sure. Everything's fine."

Jim grimaced at the perfunctory response and looked over at Blair, who was rather pointedly avoiding his gaze. Sighing softly, he picked up the mug of tea and his beer and walked back into the living room. He handed Blair his tea and sat down beside him, taking a long pull on his beer. Damn. He wasn't used to this, for crying out loud. He just wasn't used to coaxing confidences from Blair; it had been the other way around for as long as they'd known each other. Jim had never thought about what he'd do if the shoe were on the other foot. The idea that he'd ever want to know more than Blair was willing to tell him about anything had simply never occurred to him.

"Chief. If something were wrong--"

"There's nothing--"

"You'd tell me, right? I mean, it's important that you'd tell me. Important to me." Jim cleared his throat. He just wasn't cut out for this heart-to-heart stuff. "You can tell me stuff, you know."

Blair's eyes widened slightly, and that incredibly dangerous smile reappeared. "Thanks, man. I appreciate that."

Jim nodded, swallowing. "So?"

"So?" Blair's eyebrows rose inquiringly.

Jim restrained his rising impatience with difficulty. "So what's going on?"

"Nothing much. What's going on with you?" returned Blair calmly.

Jim growled inarticulately and took another long pull on his beer. "You're a board-certified pain in the ass, Sandburg," he snapped finally.

Blair chuckled wryly as he sipped his tea.

"Most pigheaded guy I've ever known," muttered Jim. How the hell had Blair gotten him to talk? There must be some trick to it.

"Jim, there's nothing going on. Everything's okay."

"Dammit, Blair, don't tell me everything's okay," snapped Jim, worried and angry. "I know you. You're not okay. Something's eating you up inside."

The smile faded from Blair's face and he turned his gaze to the floor. "I will be okay, Jim," he said quietly. "I just need to work a few things out."

Jim swore softly. Role reversal was a bitch, but this had to stop now. "Look. Chief. If I pressured you into going to the Academy…. I mean, if you're having second thoughts--"

"No," said Blair sharply, his head coming up. He stared at Jim with his most stubborn expression. "No second thoughts."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," pursued Jim softly, persistently. "It's a hard-180 for you, Sandburg. 'Tyranny of the pigs,' and all that."

Blair sighed. "Jim, that's Naomi. That's not me. You know I don't feel that way about cops." He looked up quickly. "You do know that, right? You do know that--" he paused to take a breath and then pressed on determinedly, "--that I admire you. Admire what you do. More than anything."

Jim felt his face grow hot and his heart hammer against his ribs. He hadn't known. And the thought that Blair admired him was absolutely intoxicating. "Thanks," he stammered. "Thanks, Chief."

"Okay," muttered Blair, looking away again. "So I want to be your partner, got it?"

"You'll always be my partner, if that's what you want." Jim watched Blair's face intently, surprised and shaken. Was being his partner really that important to Blair? He lay a hand on his friend's arm without thinking. "No matter what you do for a living."

"I can't be your partner if I can't ride with you," said Blair unevenly. "And I can't ride with you if I'm not a cop. My 'observer' days are over."

"But if you don't want to be a cop--"

"I do."

"No. You want to be my partner. They're not the same thing, Chief. They haven't been up to now, anyway."

"Jim, I want to be a cop. I don't have a problem with the change. When you think about it, I've really been a cop for a while now. It's just--" Blair pulled up short and dropped his gaze to the floor again. "I've got a few things to work out," he repeated softly.

"Like what?" Jim leaned toward him anxiously, craning his neck to see into Blair's face.

Blair sat motionless for a few heartbeats, his hands still clutching the mug of tea. "Jim," he said finally, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, Chief." Jim patted Blair's arm in an awkward attempt at comfort.

"Do you remember the first time you killed somebody?"

Jim sat still for a moment in sudden, dismayed comprehension. He remembered. All too well. "Yeah. That's not something you ever forget." He paused for a moment. "Blair--"

"I've tried to imagine it," said Blair tonelessly. "During weapons training."

Jim flinched at the thought of Blair tormenting himself that way. "Chief. Don't do that."

"I have to do that." Blair's voice grew sharper; he lay his mug on the floor and rose to pace the room restlessly. "I have to know whether I can … kill … or not."

"The purpose of weapons training isn't to produce killers." Jim did his best to keep his voice level, watching Blair's every move with growing alarm. "It's to prepare you to defend innocent people, and yourself, if necessary."

"And my partner." Blair turned to face him with a strained expression.

Jim stared back at him, perplexed. "Yeah. And your partner. If necessary."

"And what if someday it is necessary, and I just can't do it?" Blair's voice rose in intensity, his face drawn in anguish. "What if I just can't kill?"

Jim cursed himself thoroughly for not having foreseen this. It had been inevitable that the one unbridgeable gulf between Blair's world and his own would foster this crisis of conscience in a man so passionate about the sanctity of life. He rose to stand in front of Blair, laying his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Maybe you can't," he said gently. "Look, Chief, a lot of cops go their entire careers without firing their weapons--"

"A lot of cops aren't in Major Crimes, and they aren't partnered with you," returned Blair grimly.

"No one expects you to turn into some kind of killing machine, Sandburg," said Jim with quiet insistence. "Not me, not Simon, not any of the guys we work with. That kind of guy makes the worst kind of cop."

Blair shook his head dismissively with a frustrated expression. "Don't oversimplify this. You know that's not what I'm talking about."

"I know you'll always be the last cop to draw his weapon, the last cop to fire, and the last cop to shoot to kill. That's part of who you are."

"No, Jim. I'm the cop who probably can't shoot to kill. If I can't even watch my partner's back--"

"You've been doing that for over three years now with no gun at all, and you've been doing a damn good job." Jim wondered if Blair had any real idea of the courage required to follow Jim, unarmed, through the many deadly situations of the past three years. He wondered if he'd ever find the words to tell Blair how much he admired his courage and his loyalty. He doubted it.

Blair uttered a skeptical, self-deprecating little laugh. "Think so?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Jim gave his friend's shoulders a squeeze and resisted the urge to pull him into his arms with everything in him.

"Yeah, you're here," murmured Blair, unaccountably flushing. He cleared his throat. "Jim--"

"I said you were the best cop I know and I meant it," continued Jim doggedly, determined to do the thing thoroughly if it killed him. "I said you were the best partner I could have, and I meant that too."

"I know you meant it," faltered Blair, his gaze everywhere but Jim's face. "But--"

"But what?"

"What if I'm not? What if someday we're in a situation--"

"Sandburg, there's no percentage in what-ifs."

"--where I have to shoot to kill? To protect someone. To protect you. Then what?"

Jim could actually feel Blair shaking. "Then you'll do the right thing. You'll make the right choice." Jim bent toward him comfortingly.

"You can't know that," grated Blair. "You can't just blindly trust me with your life that way."

Jim laughed raggedly. "Jesus, Sandburg. What do you think I've been doing for the past three years?" He flushed as certain words spoken in haste and bitterly repented of during many a sleepless night came back to him, and he hurried on before Blair could say anything. "When I was thinking straight, I mean. Hell, yes, Blair. I trust you with my life."

Blair drew a little breath and looked up at him, candle-lit tears plainly visible. "Jim--"

"You should trust yourself too," husked Jim. God, he was so damn beautiful. Jim knew he should pull away. He was too close. Too close for two guys who were just friends. Even best friends.

"Ah, Jim," murmured Blair, shifting towards him slightly.

"Uh-huh." Jim didn't move, entranced by the warmth of Blair's body, his sweet scent, his comforting presence.

"Since we're being real here…."

"Real?" Jim snapped out of his daze and straightened quickly, pulling his hands from Blair's shoulders. "Yeah. Sure. Real."

"There's something else we need to talk about." Blair's voice became strained; he cleared his throat.

Shit. "Okay," Jim stammered. "What's up?"

Blair stared up at him blankly for a moment as if whatever he had been about to say had completely escaped him. "Jim. Look, I…. You…. Oh, hell," he muttered finally, his face a study in scarlet frustration.

"You … you can tell me, Chief." Jim forced himself to speak evenly, more convinced than ever that the jig was up. Blair had figured it out. What was he trying to say? Sorry, Jim, but what's really bugging me is that I can't live with a guy who wants to get into my pants. Or be partnered with him. Or guide him. Or be his friend. "Whatever it is." Jim braced himself and forced his gaze straight into Blair's eyes.

Those eyes went wide with something akin to bewilderment for a moment, but before Jim could take another breath, he found his face enfolded in Blair's large, warm hands, felt his head being pulled down, felt Blair's mouth pressing against his own. Jim froze in delighted amazement as Blair's lips moved slowly, gently against his in a loving, chaste caress, his body twining around Jim's tentatively. Jim's body started involuntarily, his throat uttered an instinctive and deeply pleasured little moan, and Jim finally realized that this wasn't a daydream. This was real. He instantly drew his arms around Blair tightly, returning the kiss with all the enthusiasm of a man who'd been fantasizing about this moment for weeks.

Blair gasped into the kiss and pulled away, his expression and every line of his body language registering his astonishment. "You kissed me back," he stammered.

Jim looked at him a little dazedly. "You kissed me."

"But you kissed me back!"

"Yeah," said Jim vaguely, reaching for Blair again. Blair offered no resistance as Jim hauled him back into his arms.

"Aren't you going to, like, punch me in the face or something?" faltered Blair in obvious and complete confusion.

"Being punched in the face turn you on, Chief?" Jim slipped his hands into Blair's hair and sighed in pure pleasure as the curls spilled over his fingers, dancing across his tactile responses like spun silk. It was more of a turn-on than he'd ever imagined.

Blair leaned back into the caress with eyes half shut. "Hell, no. You know I don't do pain. But you--"

"Kissed you back," murmured Jim, leaning close to breathe in Blair's scent. He could smell the faint, deliciously intoxicating scent of his partner's building arousal. "Yeah. Liked it, too."

Blair drew in a sharp breath, eyes opening wide. "Man. Oh, man. Liked it. Jim. Man. You couldn't have liked it. You're … you're Jim Ellison." Blair made a gasping, moaning little sound as Jim's hands ran slowly down the length of his body.

Jim nuzzled the sweet skin under Blair's ear, touching and tasting, reveling in Blair's responsiveness. "Who?" he murmured.

"Jim. Ellison," breathed Blair in Jim's ear, his arms twining around Jim's waist. "Remember him? Tough guy. Double-Y. King of the Macho HetMen."

Jim briefly considered the image of himself he'd clung to for so long, acknowledged both its truth and its deception, its strength and its weakness - then chuckled softly as he let it go. "Oh, him. I don't have a problem with the change." He paused as Blair subsided into a stunned silence, then continued very quietly. "And you're Blair 'Casanova' Sandburg, the Love-'Em-And-Leave-'Em Chick-Magnet."

"Um … haven't heard much from him lately," mumbled Blair against Jim's chest. "Not since … since I fell in love." Blair's voice dropped to a breathy, almost frightened whisper as his hands lightly caressed Jim's back.

Only Sentinel ears could have caught the last few words, and Jim paused in his caresses as Blair lifted his head to face him with an apprehensive expression. Jim examined Blair's flushed face tenderly, tracing Blair's jaw with one feather-light touch of a finger. In love. Oh. So that's what this was. Jim smiled. He was in love. In love with Blair. That surprised him a little. This sure as hell didn't feel like anything he'd called 'being in love' before. But he knew now that it was true. And it was that simple. He almost laughed at his own denseness.

"Love you too, Chief," he whispered, and he kissed Blair again, deeply this time, his tongue gently exploring Blair's mouth, savoring every taste and texture. Blair groaned and returned the kiss with hearty enthusiasm, his arms tightening around Jim, his tongue dancing languorously around Jim's with such sensuous abandon that Jim felt himself go hard, felt his legs begin to shake. He came out of the kiss breathing hard.

"You kissed me back," murmured Blair again, with quiet, happy satisfaction.

"You should have told me," said Jim shakily. "You can talk to me, Blair."

"God, Jim, I was scared to tell you. I really thought--"

"That I'd punch you in the face?"

Blair laughed weakly. "No. That you'd show me the door."

The unspoken again hung between them for a moment.

"That's not going to happen. This is your home," said Jim finally, struggling to keep his voice from quavering. "Our home. It has been for a long time, really. I just couldn't see it. And when I finally did, I was too damn scared to say anything."

"Because I'd punch you in the face?" Blair grinned up at him affectionately.

Jim laughed softly, then sobered as he realized that Blair expected an honest answer. "No." He cleared his throat and pressed on. "Because you'd leave me."

"Leave you?" Blair looked at him blankly.

"Yeah. This isn't exactly in the Guide's handbook. Hell, until a couple months ago it wasn't in mine either. How much more could I expect you to take? You've already had your whole life ripped apart. I figured this would be the last straw. You'd leave. And I couldn't take that, Chief," continued Jim huskily, sliding his hands up under Blair's shirt to touch the soft, warm skin on the small of Blair's back, relishing the physical contact. "I couldn't stand losing you."

"Losing me? Hell, man, you just found me." Blair hugged him, looking up at him fiercely. "Forget the damn handbooks. We'll write our own."

Jim's vision blurred and he nodded, swallowing. "Okay." He drew a shaky breath. "Blair. Don't be a cop because you think it's what I want, or need, okay? You've given up too damn much for me already. Just--"

Blair smacked him gently on the side of the head with an exasperated expression. "What is it with you? Are you nuts? Do you think I'm doing a hundred squat-thrusts a day because I like it?"

"That's what I'm--"

"I'm doing it because I want to be with you. I want to be your partner, your Guide. I want to share the world you've shown me, share the work you've taught me. Because I know now that that's where I'm supposed to be. It's right and it's real." Blair paused, his vehemence putting him slightly out of breath. "You must have had that feeling when you decided to be a cop."

Jim nodded in remembrance and sudden understanding. "Yeah. There are some jobs you choose, and there are some that choose you."

Blair's face lit up. "Yeah," he said softly. "That's it. It chose me. The only thing that scares me is that I won't measure up."

"You've already measured up," husked Jim. "You're the best."

Blair's eyes went very bright. "Guess I'll have to fly on your faith, partner," he whispered.

"I've been flying on yours since the day we met," whispered Jim back honestly, his lips inches from his partner's, then touching them, then moving, then parting enough for loving tongues to pass. Jim felt Blair's hands caressing his back, his sides, his chest. He sighed into the kiss, slid his hands around to Blair's belt buckle and fumbled with it, hands shaking.

They came up for air, Blair's eyes darkening as Jim loosened his belt. Blair moved as if to take his shirt off, but Jim caught his hands. "No." Jim released his partner's hands and slowly unbuttoned Blair's shirt, his eyes never leaving Blair's face. "Let me." Even in the scant light of the single candle, Jim could see Blair's color rise and his breathing quicken as each button gave way. The shirt fell to the floor, and Jim stroked the soft skin through the fine chest hair, wondering how he could have lived with this man for so long without wanting him.

Blair's eyes drifted shut, his expression one of dreamy pleasure. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, Jim." His fingers started unbuttoning Jim's shirt.

"Yes," breathed Jim. He slid his hands down to unsnap Blair's jeans and slide the zipper down slowly.

"I've had dreams like this," said Blair faintly, pushing Jim's shirt open and touching the older man's chest almost reverently.

"Good dreams?"

"Oh, yeah. The best." Blair opened his eyes and looked up at him, smiling. "But we're awake, right?"

"Yeah," breathed Jim, gently pushing jeans and boxers past Blair's hips. "We're awake." Blair stepped out of them, twining his arms around Jim's neck. Jim shrugged out of his shirt and pulled Blair close, feeling his friend's erection press against him, letting his hands wander down the small of Blair's back and then, after a moment's hesitation, caress Blair's ass gently.

Blair drew in a startled little breath and withdrew his arms. Jim pulled his hands away quickly, an apology forming on his lips, but Blair's quick fingers were already at work on his fly. Blair looked up at him with a smile that was as tender as it was mischievous. "Relax," he murmured soothingly. "I liked that. Do it again."

Jim swallowed hard and put his hands back where they had been with tentative uncertainty. He felt as inexperienced, awkward and unsure of himself as he had on the night he'd lost his virginity in the back of his father's El Dorado. "Chief, I've never--"

"You can't do anything wrong, Jim," murmured Blair gently, easing Jim's pants and boxers past his hips, tantalizing Jim with light touches of hips and thighs. "I want you to touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere."

"Want you to touch me too," said Jim thickly. He bent to kiss Blair hard, then lowered his mouth to kiss and taste the soft skin on his neck, one hand sliding over Blair's hip and down one leg toward the firm, warm cock pressing against Jim's thigh. Before it could get there, Blair's hot fingers curled around Jim's erection, and Jim nearly jumped out of his skin as the pleasure of his friend's touch danced across his tender skin.

Groaning against Blair's throat, Jim curled an arm around his friend's waist and started to move Blair toward the sofa, intending to get his friend horizontal and stationary as quickly as possible. Urgent need pounded through Jim's every nerve ending, a need to look at, listen to, smell, touch, and taste every inch of this man, to imprint every sensory manifestation Blair could produce on Jim's mind and body, to experience Blair in every way possible.

Blair seemed to divine the plan and willingly backed up in the direction of the sofa, but Jim's first step told him that something had gone awry. Something soft yet unyielding suddenly snagged itself around his ankles. Jim struggled to retain his balance, but he was so entwined around Blair that he couldn't pull back, and with a muffled yell he toppled over against Blair, who in turn lost his footing and sprawled backward against the sofa before tumbling onto the floor. Jim landed on top of his friend with a grunt and a loud "oomph" from Blair.

"Shit," gasped Jim, winded. "Are you okay?" He cradled Blair's head in his hands, scanning his friend's face anxiously.

Blair gazed up at him blankly for a moment, then burst into loud, hearty laughter.

Jim stared down at the man in his arms in nettled confusion. "Dammit, Sandburg, are you hurt? Talk to me!"

"Fine … fine," gasped Blair, still laughing. "Yeah … that's my … Sentinel. Doesn't do … anything … half way."

"I tripped," growled Jim, flushing a brilliant scarlet as he struggled to disentangle himself without hurting Blair.

Blair, however, seemed blissfully unconcerned with being hurt, and made no effort to escape from Jim's tangled embrace. He continued to laugh helplessly. "Go for … the gusto. Tackle … the Guide … pin the Guide … screw … the Guide. Bang … zoom … zip-dang!"

"I didn't zip-dang! I tripped, okay? I fucking tripped." Jim wondered if it were possible to feel any more humiliated, and whether zoning restrictions permitted digging a hole large enough to crawl into and pull in after him.

"On what?" Blair peered around Jim's shoulder, took one look and started laughing even more hysterically.

"What?" snapped Jim. He craned his neck to see what had felled him and swore softly at the sight of his pants and boxers rolled, wadded and tangled over his white socks and shoes to form a sort of cotton-blend leg-iron that bound him from mid-shin to toe. He had been so completely riveted to Blair's responses that the small matter of getting his clothes off had escaped him. He had tripped over his own damn underwear.

"Smoooooooooooth," chortled Blair helplessly, caressing Jim's face tenderly. "Ooh, lover, leave them socks on."

The absurdity finally hit him, and Jim started laughing, laughing hard. Of course. He should have known. Had anything between them ever gone smoothly, or come easily? No. It had taken a very long time to get this far, this close, to build this trust, to become the men they were at this moment. The two of them had been through things that would have broken weaker men, and shattered more fragile friendships. Nothing worth having was easy, and you were bound to fall flat on your face the first few times. Why should making love be any different? And what else could you do about it but laugh and love and try again, and thank God for the gift? He looked into Blair's laughing face and felt his embarrassment fade at the acceptance and love in the eyes of the joyful spirit he held in his arms.

Without hesitation, awkwardness forgotten, he slid his body up against Blair's, pressing flesh against flesh, need against need, and kissed his friend deeply. They both came out of the kiss with a gasp as their erections brushed each other briefly. Jim buried his hands in Blair's hair, pressing lips, teeth and tongue to the willing flesh under Blair's ear, moving gently back and forth, his straining cock gliding against Blair's with such excruciating pleasure that Jim groaned aloud. Blair groaned with him, his arms curling around Jim, his strong hands moving feverishly and tenderly across Jim's back. The younger man's hips bucked upward, accentuating the contact, and Jim cried out, knowing then that he wasn't going to last, that this was going to end much too soon, and even as he was thinking it, he was coming, shouting Blair's name joyfully. He felt Blair shuddering beneath him as Jim's hot seed splashed their chests and stomachs, then felt Blair come, his semen joining Jim's as it coated the two bodies still moving rhythmically against each other. Blair uttered something between a shout and a sob, clinging to Jim as if determined to make the moment last as long as possible. The two held each other tightly, breathing hard, for a long time.

Jim finally raised himself enough to look into Blair's face, trying to steady his breathing and still his trembling as he searched it anxiously for any sign of regret, but he saw nothing there but pleasured peace and happiness. He drew a deep breath. "You're … you're beautiful, Blair."

Blair's looked up at Jim in breathless astonishment, eyes wide. "Wh- what?

"Beautiful," repeated Jim quietly, stroking Blair's hair. "Not just outside. Inside, too." He cleared his throat very softly.

Blair stared up at him wordlessly for a moment, eyes bright. "You're beautiful, too, Jim Ellison. Very beautiful." His voice seemed to fail him; he swallowed hard as one hand traced the line of Jim's jaw.

Jim looked into Blair's face uncertainly, startled. No one had ever told him he was beautiful before. "We're still being real, right?"

Blair drew a shaky little breath, drew Jim's head down gently, and gave Jim a kiss so soft and warm and tender that Jim knew the soul-deep, reassuring comfort of it would last a lifetime.

Both Jim and Blair came out of that kiss smiling, then started to laugh very, very softly, holding each other closely.

 Once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.

                 - Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

End

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