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FIC: Truly, Madly, Deeply (TS, Jim/Blair, PG-13)
Title: Truly, Madly, Deeply
Fandom/Pairing: TS, Jim/Blair
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Word count: 2492
Summary: Just say no. Srsly.
Notes: Utterly harmless fluff written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ts_ficathons. But wow, did I have fun writing it. :D (Prompt used: Born Under a Bad Sign)
His office phone rang at the exact second Blair noticed the ziploc bag on his desk. It was sitting there innocuously amidst the mess but it might as well have been blinking a warning light and ringing a bell.
Because Blair had to assume it didn't contain oregano.
"Hello?" he said into the phone, lifting the bag by one corner and holding it up to the light.
"Dude, thank God. Are your office hours, like, just decorative or something?"
"Trevor?" Blair opened the bag and poked at the dried leaves with a cautious finger. The scent was green and spicy, but Blair couldn't identify it. "You've never heard of a cell phone?"
"You've changed your number twice in the last six months. You're never on campus anymore... it's like you're in the witness protection program or something."
"Yeah, well. I've been kind of in transition since my apartment blew up. What's up?"
There was a short pause. "I need you to hang on to something for me while my girlfriend's in town."
Blair looked at the bag in his hand. "Oh, no. No, no, no."
"Just for the weekend! I left it on your desk." There's a longer pause. "Blair?"
Blair set the bag on his desk and rubbed his eyes. "I'm here. I'm just flashing back to eleventh grade when Timmy Horton asked me to babysit his pot plant for the weekend. I thought Naomi was going to kill me, but she just put it in the front room window so it would get enough sun... Are you out of your mind? I can't keep this! I live with a cop!"
"It's not illegal! In most countries... just don't smoke it, okay?" Trevor sounded desperate. "Or open it. Or... travel to the Phillipines. Look, I've gotta fly. I owe you, Sandberg -- I'll see you Monday."
"Trevor!" Blair hung up the phone when he got no answer and looked at the open bag on his desk. At the fine dusting of dried herbs spread across the surface.
Then he sneezed.
"Oh, hell."
**
The traffic was horrific and Blair was late; tragically, catastrophically late, but it wasn't like he'd had a choice. There was no question that he'd needed to change his clothes and shower until he was in danger of shriveling up, because Jim would have known. Blair was certain he would have managed maybe two steps into the squad room before the axe fell and then he'd have been on his way down to booking. That wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his day.
"Shift started an hour ago," the desk sergeant noted, as Blair rushed through signing in.
"Hey, surprise, I know that, but I had to go home and wash the illegal drugs off my clothes, okay? At least, I think they're illegal. In the Phillipines, anyway."
The desk sergeant looked up from the file on his desk as Blair froze in horror. Blair attempted a weak smile.
"Ha. Such a card, Sandberg," the sergeant said.
Blair touched a shaky fingertip to his eyebrow in a half-salute. "Hey, I'll be here all week." He thought about it. "Unless I get caught."
Blair spun away and with the desk sergeant staring after him he fled up to the squad room, keeping his head down as he walked toward Jim's desk with his mind racing. Get a grip, get a grip, he told himself.
"Late again, Sandburg." Rafe's voice carried through the room, lightly mocking, as he passed Rafe's desk.
Blair waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, like I didn't sign you in twice last week while you were out interviewing for that celebrity body-guard job."
Rafe looked at him, utterly apalled and Blair stared back with dawning horror.
"I said that out loud, didn't I?" Blair asked miserably.
"You're interviewing for another job?" Henri demanded, turning on Rafe. "You told me you were at the dentist!"
"Don't worry, he didn't get it. He thinks he's got a better shot at the Seattle transfer," Blair said, then clapped his hand over his mouth.
"I told you that in confidence!" Rafe said, looking angry. And hurt.
Blair shook his head, mystified. "I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry!" Then he paused. "Only, I'm not really sorry, because you should have told Henri from the start; he's your partner and it's only fair." Blair stopped talking with his mouth still open.
"Sandburg?" Rafe said, sounding slightly dangerous.
"Yeah?"
"Go somewhere else."
"Yes. Right. Okay." Blair turned and lurched toward Jim's desk, trying not to let his heart take off out of his chest in panic. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do to Trevor, but it was most likely going to be ugly.
"Decided to come in?" Jim asked as he walked up, not looking up from his computer. "And piss Rafe off all to hell?"
"I think that would be pretty obvious," Blair said. "Only now I need to go home."
Jim looked up at him blankly. "Can I ask why?"
"Well, of course, you can ask, Jim. It's not like I can stop you."
Jim crossed his arms on the desk. "Why do you need to go home, Sandburg?" he asked, with somewhat frightening patience.
"I need to hunt someone down and kill him," Blair answered. "Well, okay, not kill him, exactly; I'm not sure I could go that far, but I think I could hurt him." He paused. "Verbally, anyway. I could definitely shout invective."
Jim shook his head. "Do you even know what you're talking about?"
"I always know what I'm talking about," Blair said. Then he sat down next to Jim and leaned forward. "Look, this is important. It's a really, really bad idea for me to be here right now. And please don't ask me why."
Jim's expression sobered at Blair's desperation. "Okay." He sat back in his chair and assessed Blair carefully. "Go do what you need to do."
Blair felt a sudden surge of relief that had nothing to do with getting out of there and everything to do with the fact that Jim trusted him enough not to ask. "Thank you," he said fervently, clasping Jim's shoulder like he'd wanted to do for approximately the last six months. "I'll be back when I figure this out."
"Blair, don't you move from this room."
"Oh, no," Blair said, dropping his face to his hands as Sam planted herself before Jim's desk, hands on her hips.
"Don't even pretend you haven't gotten my phone calls."
Blair sighed and spoke through his fingers. "I got your phone calls. All fifteen of them," he said automatically.
That seemed to throw her. "Then... then why didn't you call me back?"
"I didn't want to."
Sam stared at him in shock. "Didn't want to... You know if this is over between us, the least you could do is tell me to my face, not skulk around avoiding me! You're a coward, Sandburg."
Blair's shoulders slumped. "You're absolutely right."
"And... and incapable of maintaining a meaningful relationship!"
"I hope that's not true, but things seem to be pointing that way."
"I -- I cared about you!" Sam said, eyes tearing up. She seemed to be getting into the moment.
Blair sat back at that. "Okay, you're wrong there. You really didn't."
Sam bristled. "How dare you tell me what I'm feeling!"
Blair felt like he was watching a car wreck play out in slow motion. "I mean, I think you like me well enough, but I know the main appeal of our relationship was that it was a great smokescreen for the fact that you're sleeping with Simon."
Blair imagined he could hear his future at the station shattering like glass around him.
Sam's mouth dropped open. "You little --!" She lunged at Blair before the words were out of her mouth.
Blair back-pedaled, right into Jim who side-stepped in between them and put his hands out. "Time out!" he yelled. "Sam? Take it down a notch, there, Sparky."
"Sparky?" she scoffed, wiping a hand across her mouth, but she stopped trying to throttle Blair, so Blair figured it was a plus.
"And you, Sandburg?" Jim continued. "No more talking." He grabbed Blair by the arm and started to steer him out of the squad room. "Walk with me, won't you?" As soon as they got to the hallway Jim let go of Blair's arm and said, "Do you want to tell me what that was all about?"
Blair looked him straight in the eyes. "No, Jim, I really, really don't."
Jim openend his mouth to answer, but Blair held up a hand. "Is there any way we can do this somewhere else?" Blair felt frantic.
Jim pressed his lips together. "Fine. Outside."
"Hey, are you arresting him?" the desk sergeant asked as they hurried past, but Blair just ignored him and practically ran to the truck. He had his phone opened and dialed before the passenger door slammed shut.
"Trevor? It's Blair. I'm flushing this crap, you asshole, and when I see you again? You're dead to me. Dead!"
Jim climbed in the other side of the truck and tried to pull the phone from Blair's grasp but Blair tugged it back and batted him away. "Oh, and another thing? Your thesis is flawed, man. Applying language extinction theories to the evolution of the knock-knock joke? Whoever you're blowing to get funding for that travesty should be shot."
Jim grabbed the phone with more intent this time, but Blair held on with a death grip and followed it with his head. "Also? Those white-boy dreads you're working? So 1990, dude!"
Jim succeeded in ripping the phone out of Blair's hand, flipped it shut and stared at Blair. "Jesus, Sandburg -- what is wrong with you?"
Blair leaned back against the door and panted for a second."If I had to narrow it down?" he asked. "I guess I have abandonment issues. Coupled with a sense of entitlement, stemming from the fact that I was both indulged and neglected as a child. Oh, God." Blair lay his head on the dashboard. He could practically hear Jim counting to ten.
"Explain," Jim said, and Blair lifted his head to see him sitting with his eyes closed, massaging the bridge of his nose.
Blair took a breath. "You know Trevor Wembley?"
"The surfer guy with the poncho and the --" Jim twirled his finger near his shoulder and Blair nodded.
"The blond dreadlocks, yeah." Blair took another breath. "He asked me to hang onto some... herbs for him. For the weekend."
"Herbs?" The word froze solid in the air.
"Just relax, okay? I don't think it's any kind of illegal substance -- anyway, he was really insistent I not open it, only it was too late, and I think it had some weird effect--"
Jim's look of disbelief became sharper suddenly. "You took this stuff?"
"Do I look stupid to you? Of course I didn't take it! But I think I inhaled some of it when I was trying to clean it up and I'm not sure what it's doing to me... Jim! Quit it!" Blair tried to push away Jim's searching fingers that were tipping his face up so he could check Blair's pupils, sliding down Blair's chest to cover his heart and feel it beat.
"We're going to the hospital," Jim said, with a frightening calm Blair associated with shoot-outs. "God knows what this stuff's doing to you; you could go into shock --."
Blair felt like he could scream with frustration. He pushed Jim's hands away. "No, I'm fine, really, totally fine, and I couldn't say that if I wasn't because this stuff... it's like sodium pentethol or something. It's a nightmare, Jim! I can't lie!"
Jim paused at that. He seemed to relax fractionally and the corner of his mouth twitched. "That's got to be pretty traumatic for you."
Blair slumped against the seat. "You have no idea."
Jim looked at the building across the parking lot. "So all that stuff you said up there -- about Sam and Simon and Rafe?"
"The God's honest truth." Blair pounded the back of his head against the headrest a few times. "Why does this crap always happen to me? They're my friends. Sort of. Rafe anyway. Even if he's an arrogant ass. Maybe not Sam because I don't think you can define something as friendship when it's based entirely on deception. I was using her as a cover, too, so I can't throw stones."
Blair mentally reviewed what he'd said and looked over at Jim in horror. "I didn't mean that about her being a cover! Except I really, really did. And obviously, I can throw actual stones, just not metaphorical ones. Oh, my God, why can't I shut up?"
Jim wasn't listening. He sat back and looked out the windshield. "Wow, Sandburg. If that's what you think of them, I can't imagine what you'd say about me."
And there it was, the only question he'd been dreading and the only one he desperately wanted to answer. All the things Blair had wanted to say to Jim, do to Jim, probably since the second Jim'd pushed him up against the wall in his office flew through his mind and pushed against his lips until all Blair could do was close his eyes, his fists clenched hard at his sides.
"Please don't ask me, Jim." His voice was small. "Please. I'm begging you."
The silence stretched around them, brittle and tight, like breath held and waiting until the air around them changed and Blair could actually feel Jim relax.
"Chill, Sandburg," he muttered. "I won't ask you."
Blair sagged in relief. They sat in silence, and Blair looked out the passenger window for a second. "They're never going to forgive me, are they?" he asked.
Jim seemed to think about it. "They'll forgive you. You only told the truth. And at least you said it to their faces; most people would have used that information behind their backs."
That made Blair feel marginally better. "They won't trust me again, though."
Jim shrugged, then gave Blair a crooked smile. "Maybe not. And even if they don't... hey, buck up, Chief. I trust you. "
"You do?" Blair was apalled at how needy that question sounded.
"Didn't I just say that?" JIm looked a little self-conscious. "Yeah. With my life."
Blair had to swallow until he could find his voice. "That means a lot to me, Jim. That you think of me that way."
"Well, don't get too cocky, there. I also wish you'd clean up around the apartment more. That probably has to do with one of your entitlement issues, though."
"Without a doubt," Blair agreed.
Jim smiled at him, then, affectionate and accepting, and suddenly there was too much Blair wanted to say all at once and every word of it so true it hurt. Jim hadn't asked, but that didn't seem to matter anymore, so Blair just put his hands on either side of Jim's face and dragged him close to press their lips together. He felt Jim freeze in shock, just for a second, before Jim practically hauled him over into his lap.
"If you're screwing with me," Jim warned, breath warm and sweet over Blair's lips.
Blair shook his head, feeling almost dizzy with the sudden joy of it. "Don't you remember? I can't. Not even if I wanted to."
Then he kissed Jim again; kissed him deep and hard and long, because as far as Blair was concerned, in all his life he had never known a higher truth than that.
END
Love to mel and sara-merry for running the challenge. Thanks, babies! :D
Fandom/Pairing: TS, Jim/Blair
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Word count: 2492
Summary: Just say no. Srsly.
Notes: Utterly harmless fluff written for
ts_ficathons. But wow, did I have fun writing it. :D (Prompt used: Born Under a Bad Sign)His office phone rang at the exact second Blair noticed the ziploc bag on his desk. It was sitting there innocuously amidst the mess but it might as well have been blinking a warning light and ringing a bell.
Because Blair had to assume it didn't contain oregano.
"Hello?" he said into the phone, lifting the bag by one corner and holding it up to the light.
"Dude, thank God. Are your office hours, like, just decorative or something?"
"Trevor?" Blair opened the bag and poked at the dried leaves with a cautious finger. The scent was green and spicy, but Blair couldn't identify it. "You've never heard of a cell phone?"
"You've changed your number twice in the last six months. You're never on campus anymore... it's like you're in the witness protection program or something."
"Yeah, well. I've been kind of in transition since my apartment blew up. What's up?"
There was a short pause. "I need you to hang on to something for me while my girlfriend's in town."
Blair looked at the bag in his hand. "Oh, no. No, no, no."
"Just for the weekend! I left it on your desk." There's a longer pause. "Blair?"
Blair set the bag on his desk and rubbed his eyes. "I'm here. I'm just flashing back to eleventh grade when Timmy Horton asked me to babysit his pot plant for the weekend. I thought Naomi was going to kill me, but she just put it in the front room window so it would get enough sun... Are you out of your mind? I can't keep this! I live with a cop!"
"It's not illegal! In most countries... just don't smoke it, okay?" Trevor sounded desperate. "Or open it. Or... travel to the Phillipines. Look, I've gotta fly. I owe you, Sandberg -- I'll see you Monday."
"Trevor!" Blair hung up the phone when he got no answer and looked at the open bag on his desk. At the fine dusting of dried herbs spread across the surface.
Then he sneezed.
"Oh, hell."
**
The traffic was horrific and Blair was late; tragically, catastrophically late, but it wasn't like he'd had a choice. There was no question that he'd needed to change his clothes and shower until he was in danger of shriveling up, because Jim would have known. Blair was certain he would have managed maybe two steps into the squad room before the axe fell and then he'd have been on his way down to booking. That wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend his day.
"Shift started an hour ago," the desk sergeant noted, as Blair rushed through signing in.
"Hey, surprise, I know that, but I had to go home and wash the illegal drugs off my clothes, okay? At least, I think they're illegal. In the Phillipines, anyway."
The desk sergeant looked up from the file on his desk as Blair froze in horror. Blair attempted a weak smile.
"Ha. Such a card, Sandberg," the sergeant said.
Blair touched a shaky fingertip to his eyebrow in a half-salute. "Hey, I'll be here all week." He thought about it. "Unless I get caught."
Blair spun away and with the desk sergeant staring after him he fled up to the squad room, keeping his head down as he walked toward Jim's desk with his mind racing. Get a grip, get a grip, he told himself.
"Late again, Sandburg." Rafe's voice carried through the room, lightly mocking, as he passed Rafe's desk.
Blair waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, like I didn't sign you in twice last week while you were out interviewing for that celebrity body-guard job."
Rafe looked at him, utterly apalled and Blair stared back with dawning horror.
"I said that out loud, didn't I?" Blair asked miserably.
"You're interviewing for another job?" Henri demanded, turning on Rafe. "You told me you were at the dentist!"
"Don't worry, he didn't get it. He thinks he's got a better shot at the Seattle transfer," Blair said, then clapped his hand over his mouth.
"I told you that in confidence!" Rafe said, looking angry. And hurt.
Blair shook his head, mystified. "I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry!" Then he paused. "Only, I'm not really sorry, because you should have told Henri from the start; he's your partner and it's only fair." Blair stopped talking with his mouth still open.
"Sandburg?" Rafe said, sounding slightly dangerous.
"Yeah?"
"Go somewhere else."
"Yes. Right. Okay." Blair turned and lurched toward Jim's desk, trying not to let his heart take off out of his chest in panic. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do to Trevor, but it was most likely going to be ugly.
"Decided to come in?" Jim asked as he walked up, not looking up from his computer. "And piss Rafe off all to hell?"
"I think that would be pretty obvious," Blair said. "Only now I need to go home."
Jim looked up at him blankly. "Can I ask why?"
"Well, of course, you can ask, Jim. It's not like I can stop you."
Jim crossed his arms on the desk. "Why do you need to go home, Sandburg?" he asked, with somewhat frightening patience.
"I need to hunt someone down and kill him," Blair answered. "Well, okay, not kill him, exactly; I'm not sure I could go that far, but I think I could hurt him." He paused. "Verbally, anyway. I could definitely shout invective."
Jim shook his head. "Do you even know what you're talking about?"
"I always know what I'm talking about," Blair said. Then he sat down next to Jim and leaned forward. "Look, this is important. It's a really, really bad idea for me to be here right now. And please don't ask me why."
Jim's expression sobered at Blair's desperation. "Okay." He sat back in his chair and assessed Blair carefully. "Go do what you need to do."
Blair felt a sudden surge of relief that had nothing to do with getting out of there and everything to do with the fact that Jim trusted him enough not to ask. "Thank you," he said fervently, clasping Jim's shoulder like he'd wanted to do for approximately the last six months. "I'll be back when I figure this out."
"Blair, don't you move from this room."
"Oh, no," Blair said, dropping his face to his hands as Sam planted herself before Jim's desk, hands on her hips.
"Don't even pretend you haven't gotten my phone calls."
Blair sighed and spoke through his fingers. "I got your phone calls. All fifteen of them," he said automatically.
That seemed to throw her. "Then... then why didn't you call me back?"
"I didn't want to."
Sam stared at him in shock. "Didn't want to... You know if this is over between us, the least you could do is tell me to my face, not skulk around avoiding me! You're a coward, Sandburg."
Blair's shoulders slumped. "You're absolutely right."
"And... and incapable of maintaining a meaningful relationship!"
"I hope that's not true, but things seem to be pointing that way."
"I -- I cared about you!" Sam said, eyes tearing up. She seemed to be getting into the moment.
Blair sat back at that. "Okay, you're wrong there. You really didn't."
Sam bristled. "How dare you tell me what I'm feeling!"
Blair felt like he was watching a car wreck play out in slow motion. "I mean, I think you like me well enough, but I know the main appeal of our relationship was that it was a great smokescreen for the fact that you're sleeping with Simon."
Blair imagined he could hear his future at the station shattering like glass around him.
Sam's mouth dropped open. "You little --!" She lunged at Blair before the words were out of her mouth.
Blair back-pedaled, right into Jim who side-stepped in between them and put his hands out. "Time out!" he yelled. "Sam? Take it down a notch, there, Sparky."
"Sparky?" she scoffed, wiping a hand across her mouth, but she stopped trying to throttle Blair, so Blair figured it was a plus.
"And you, Sandburg?" Jim continued. "No more talking." He grabbed Blair by the arm and started to steer him out of the squad room. "Walk with me, won't you?" As soon as they got to the hallway Jim let go of Blair's arm and said, "Do you want to tell me what that was all about?"
Blair looked him straight in the eyes. "No, Jim, I really, really don't."
Jim openend his mouth to answer, but Blair held up a hand. "Is there any way we can do this somewhere else?" Blair felt frantic.
Jim pressed his lips together. "Fine. Outside."
"Hey, are you arresting him?" the desk sergeant asked as they hurried past, but Blair just ignored him and practically ran to the truck. He had his phone opened and dialed before the passenger door slammed shut.
"Trevor? It's Blair. I'm flushing this crap, you asshole, and when I see you again? You're dead to me. Dead!"
Jim climbed in the other side of the truck and tried to pull the phone from Blair's grasp but Blair tugged it back and batted him away. "Oh, and another thing? Your thesis is flawed, man. Applying language extinction theories to the evolution of the knock-knock joke? Whoever you're blowing to get funding for that travesty should be shot."
Jim grabbed the phone with more intent this time, but Blair held on with a death grip and followed it with his head. "Also? Those white-boy dreads you're working? So 1990, dude!"
Jim succeeded in ripping the phone out of Blair's hand, flipped it shut and stared at Blair. "Jesus, Sandburg -- what is wrong with you?"
Blair leaned back against the door and panted for a second."If I had to narrow it down?" he asked. "I guess I have abandonment issues. Coupled with a sense of entitlement, stemming from the fact that I was both indulged and neglected as a child. Oh, God." Blair lay his head on the dashboard. He could practically hear Jim counting to ten.
"Explain," Jim said, and Blair lifted his head to see him sitting with his eyes closed, massaging the bridge of his nose.
Blair took a breath. "You know Trevor Wembley?"
"The surfer guy with the poncho and the --" Jim twirled his finger near his shoulder and Blair nodded.
"The blond dreadlocks, yeah." Blair took another breath. "He asked me to hang onto some... herbs for him. For the weekend."
"Herbs?" The word froze solid in the air.
"Just relax, okay? I don't think it's any kind of illegal substance -- anyway, he was really insistent I not open it, only it was too late, and I think it had some weird effect--"
Jim's look of disbelief became sharper suddenly. "You took this stuff?"
"Do I look stupid to you? Of course I didn't take it! But I think I inhaled some of it when I was trying to clean it up and I'm not sure what it's doing to me... Jim! Quit it!" Blair tried to push away Jim's searching fingers that were tipping his face up so he could check Blair's pupils, sliding down Blair's chest to cover his heart and feel it beat.
"We're going to the hospital," Jim said, with a frightening calm Blair associated with shoot-outs. "God knows what this stuff's doing to you; you could go into shock --."
Blair felt like he could scream with frustration. He pushed Jim's hands away. "No, I'm fine, really, totally fine, and I couldn't say that if I wasn't because this stuff... it's like sodium pentethol or something. It's a nightmare, Jim! I can't lie!"
Jim paused at that. He seemed to relax fractionally and the corner of his mouth twitched. "That's got to be pretty traumatic for you."
Blair slumped against the seat. "You have no idea."
Jim looked at the building across the parking lot. "So all that stuff you said up there -- about Sam and Simon and Rafe?"
"The God's honest truth." Blair pounded the back of his head against the headrest a few times. "Why does this crap always happen to me? They're my friends. Sort of. Rafe anyway. Even if he's an arrogant ass. Maybe not Sam because I don't think you can define something as friendship when it's based entirely on deception. I was using her as a cover, too, so I can't throw stones."
Blair mentally reviewed what he'd said and looked over at Jim in horror. "I didn't mean that about her being a cover! Except I really, really did. And obviously, I can throw actual stones, just not metaphorical ones. Oh, my God, why can't I shut up?"
Jim wasn't listening. He sat back and looked out the windshield. "Wow, Sandburg. If that's what you think of them, I can't imagine what you'd say about me."
And there it was, the only question he'd been dreading and the only one he desperately wanted to answer. All the things Blair had wanted to say to Jim, do to Jim, probably since the second Jim'd pushed him up against the wall in his office flew through his mind and pushed against his lips until all Blair could do was close his eyes, his fists clenched hard at his sides.
"Please don't ask me, Jim." His voice was small. "Please. I'm begging you."
The silence stretched around them, brittle and tight, like breath held and waiting until the air around them changed and Blair could actually feel Jim relax.
"Chill, Sandburg," he muttered. "I won't ask you."
Blair sagged in relief. They sat in silence, and Blair looked out the passenger window for a second. "They're never going to forgive me, are they?" he asked.
Jim seemed to think about it. "They'll forgive you. You only told the truth. And at least you said it to their faces; most people would have used that information behind their backs."
That made Blair feel marginally better. "They won't trust me again, though."
Jim shrugged, then gave Blair a crooked smile. "Maybe not. And even if they don't... hey, buck up, Chief. I trust you. "
"You do?" Blair was apalled at how needy that question sounded.
"Didn't I just say that?" JIm looked a little self-conscious. "Yeah. With my life."
Blair had to swallow until he could find his voice. "That means a lot to me, Jim. That you think of me that way."
"Well, don't get too cocky, there. I also wish you'd clean up around the apartment more. That probably has to do with one of your entitlement issues, though."
"Without a doubt," Blair agreed.
Jim smiled at him, then, affectionate and accepting, and suddenly there was too much Blair wanted to say all at once and every word of it so true it hurt. Jim hadn't asked, but that didn't seem to matter anymore, so Blair just put his hands on either side of Jim's face and dragged him close to press their lips together. He felt Jim freeze in shock, just for a second, before Jim practically hauled him over into his lap.
"If you're screwing with me," Jim warned, breath warm and sweet over Blair's lips.
Blair shook his head, feeling almost dizzy with the sudden joy of it. "Don't you remember? I can't. Not even if I wanted to."
Then he kissed Jim again; kissed him deep and hard and long, because as far as Blair was concerned, in all his life he had never known a higher truth than that.
END
Love to mel and sara-merry for running the challenge. Thanks, babies! :D
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