Outside
by Kira
Jim hated himself. He hated that he was such a warm, generous, giving
person. He hated his self sacrifice, his noble suffering. He
wanted the selfish son-of-a-bitch who growled at anyone who invaded his personal
space back. He wanted the man who took what he wanted, and consequences
be damned.
He wanted the doors to disappear.
He'd put them up on a whim. It had struck him that Blair had lived
there for two years with just a thin curtain separating their private lives.
It had seemed wrong. And he couldn't help but feel bad that the heat
simply didn't stay in the room during the night. He didn't lie when
he said he
could hear Blair's teeth chattering.
And for the past four weeks, Jim couldn't hear Blair's teeth chatter. That
was good. But he also couldn't see anything else. If he strained,
he could still hear the sound of Blair sleep, his breath, his heartbeat,
his mumbling, the way his feet kicked off the covers or scrunched up depending
on the heat. Even the muffled pants as he jerked off at night.
But the thing was, Jim couldn't *see* anything.
Before, it was like a never-ending strip tease. A flash of bare skin
as Blair changed his shirt. A sliver of hair as he was bundled amongst
his covers. The brief glimpse of naked flesh as he snuck into bed.
Jim was treated to an endless stream of tantalizing sights; Blair sucking
on the
end of his pencil as he struggled to put to words the amazing jumble
of thoughts and insights that bounced about in his head; Blair sitting cross-legged
on the rug on the floor, meditating to calm the inner torment that sometimes
afflicted his gentle soul.
The doors kept that from him. The doors locked away the intimate moments
he had come to treasure. In some ways, it was of course selfish to
have such a desire to spy on his roommate. In some ways though, it
was almost like a payment for the goldfish bowl his life had become since
agreeing to be Blair's subject for his thesis: observer becomes the observed.
Payback.
But it was more than that. Jim didn't want to just look anymore.
Or hear. He wanted to touch, to taste. And it scared him.
He had never wanted to immerse himself in another person before -- let alone
another man. Was he gay? Bisexual? He had no idea.
And in some ways, he didn't care. When Blair left the doors open and
Jim was allowed to partake of the visual bounty, none of it mattered.
The attraction was undeniable.
So he faced a difficult question: was what he felt deep friendship, lust,
or love?
He ruled out friendship, even a deep, soul-binding one. The tightening
of his jeans, the wet-dreams, they all pointed past friendship. Which
was good. Because friends simply didn't want to jump their friend's
bones at all hours of the day, and particularly during the night.
Which left lust and love.
Having spent two years in the company of a scientist, one picks up certain
tips: namely that if one has a choice between two theories, if one can positively
eliminate one, it stands to reason that the other one is probably true.
All it would take would be some experimentation.
So, with single-minded Sentinel stubbornness, Jim set out to discover which
theory of the universe was correct: Jim Ellison was merely in lust after
his partner, or Jim Ellison was deeply, madly, truly in love with his partner.
The first experimental opportunity arose when Blair, for some strange reason,
amiably agreed to go to the gym with Jim. It might have been a blue
moon, which Jim had on good authority -- namely Sandburg -- actually did
occur occasionally as the pollution in the air refracted, altered,
changed the light in some way or another. It might have been the alignment
of Mars, Jupiter, and Uranus. Or it might have been the comments which
Jim knew Blair had overheard in the PD about Blair's stature, or lack thereof.
Jim wasn't ruling out the cosmic forces.
So, they went to the gym. They sweated, they pumped iron, they jogged,
bicycled, stretched and sweated some more. And then, they showered.
Never uncomfortable with nudity, Jim was more than content with the communal
showers. Blair, on the other hand, wore layers upon layers, and
Jim thoroughly expected him to duck into the more private showers.
But to his surprise, and delight at the opportunity to test one thesis, Blair
didn't. He simply grabbed his soap and shampoo, stripped to the buff
and went to stand under the tap.
As the steam rose about his short, yet sturdy, body, Jim took the opportunity
to watch. And imagine. Blair was oblivious to the covert glances,
revelling in the heat and sensation of the water. The young man tilted
his head up, the water slicking his hair back and trickling down
his back to split into small streams that curved around the mounds of his
ass and down the crease between his cheeks. He smoothed soap generously
over his skin, working into a creamy lather before rinsing it off, hands
gliding over slick skin.
Jim cranked the cold water tap and stood beneath the freezing spray.
So far, lust was looking pretty good.
The next opportunity arose and passed him by before he realized it was happening.
It was a Saturday morning, one like any other. He slept in, relishing
the break after two solid weeks of back breaking casework. When he
awoke, the smell of coffee tantalized his nose, and he could hear the clink
of metal against metal in the kitchen below.
Throwing on his robe and slipping his feet into his flip-flops, he padded
his way downstairs. Blair was in the kitchen, hair pulled back to control
the preshower fuzz that sent his hair into a halo of chaotic curls. Dressed
in baggy sweat pants and one of Jim's department T-shirts, Blair
was...
A mess. He looked like something the cat dragged in. Mussed,
dishevelled, unkempt, tousled.
And when he saw Jim standing behind the kitchen island, he smiled and handed
him a plate full of eggs (the ones with no yolks, no cholesterol), bacon
(turkey, low fat), and a bagel (low-fat cream cheese carefully spread on
the top).
"Morning, Jim. Thought you could use a pick-me-up breakfast, recharge
all that energy and all. You've been working too hard. Oh yeah,
I talked with Simon and managed to finagle his tickets to the JAGS in return
for tutoring Daryl. Front row seats tonight, man!"
Jim smiled around a mouthful of bacon, which actually didn't even taste that
bad. "Sounds good, Chief."
Lust didn't have a chance.