Cleansed - epilogue


Megan was clearly confused. And the fact that Simon *wasn't*, made her angry. Simon was, in fact, smiling that huge grin of his, the one he usually reserved for when he'd put something over on the Commissioner or the Mayor. And Jim and Blair......well, therein lay the confusion.

Since they'd all met up today, to have a bit of breakfast before heading to the small airport and catching the flight back home, she'd been floored by the sudden - um, *attention* Jim had been paying to Blair.

Shit, first he'd pulled out his chair, with this gargantuan, sloppy, grin on his face and she'd watched, stunned, as Blair sweetly lifted his middle finger. Then, as she and Simon were ordering, Jim had reached into Blair's bag and pulled out a couple of pill bottles, popped out a pill from each one, picked up Blair's hand, opened the fingers to reveal the palm, dropped the two pills into said palm, plucked up a glass of water and handed that to him too! And for the second time in as many minutes, Blair flipped Jim the bird. But he also took the pills and swallowed. To, "good boy, Chief."

And let's not even discuss how close Jim moved his chair to Blair's. No, let's not go there.

And now......on the plane. Jim and Blair. Blair and Jim. Sitting so close you couldn't slip a piece of paper between them.....they were in front of she and Simon, and Simon was still grinning. The bastard.

Connor watched as the curly head drooped, listed, and finally fell - sideways, onto Jim's shoulder, and she noted the tender manner in which Jim caressed Blair's cheek and how he looked up, and how Simon immediately got out of his seat, pulled open the overhead, grabbed a blanket and offered it....and Jim's whispered, "thanks, simon", and the gentle Simonsmile bestowed on the sleeping man.

And when Simon sat back down, and she leaned back and sideways, to glare at him, and he'd just shrugged and *smiled* at her *again* and she felt the little light bulb *ping* on, over her head and she actually glanced up, to see if it were really there, like in those Ford commercials, but it wasn't, and it didn't matter, because at least she understood now, and how she could call herself a detective - well, she was down right ashamed of herself. She turned to face Simon and when he caught her eye - she grinned right back at him.

So there.




Jim managed to get both their bags and the groggy man up to #307, shoulder the door open and get them inside.

Blair, still half asleep, glanced around and muttered, "you put everything back."

"Yeah, Chief, days ago. You ready for bed, or would you rather play a scintillating, fast paced game of checkers?"

"ooh, checkers, man, let's play checkers."

"How 'bout we play *upstairs*, in bed?"

"naked. I want to play checkers naked."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Chief. Come on, help me out're not exactly some small, petite guide....."

Blair snorted, and said, "petite....yeah, me, definitely petite. this is solid muscle, man, totally solid." And he punched his stomach to give credence to his words.

"You help me get you upstairs and naked and I'll show you solid muscle."

Blair leered up at him and let his hand move down to the bulge in Jim's jeans. "oh, yeah, solid." Jim swatted his hand away and muttered, "This is *not* going to get us upstairs, now give a hand here."

The *hand*, having gone back to it's final resting place, against Jim's *bulge* began to stroke and tease, and Jim could only imagine what they would look like to anyone......what with Jim half carrying Blair, and Blair leaning away from him, Jim's arm around his waist the only thing holding him up, as he gazed at Jim with such adoration, all the while his hand doing incredible things to Jim's now quite wide awake cock. At this rate, upstairs was never gonna happen.

"Blair, so help me....."

"that's what I'm trying to you."

"You're punch drunk."

"yep, now stop moving and let me do this right...."

"You wanna do this here, on the floor? Not my big, comfy, warm bed?", he cajoled.

The hand stopped, and Blair blinked stupidly up at him....."okay, upstairs....big, warm, comfy bed and big warm, comfy jim...."

Jim shook his head in disgust and hauled the man upstairs - finally.

He dropped him gently and began the daunting task of undressing Blair. Daunting because Blair kept trying to *undress* Jim, and evidently, when Blair was really tired, he giggled, which he was doing now, and Jim was trying very hard to keep from grinning, because a giggling Blair was quite funny and very cute, and with the giggles, came octopi hands, so Jim finally gave in and dropped down beside his giggling love, and that turned out to be the very right thing to do, because Blair was on top of him instantly, ripping at his sweater, his *good* Polo sweater, the grey one, and his fingers were tearing at his jeans, and pulling, and tugging, so Jim just lay back, arms outstretched and let Blair have his way with him.

For Blair's part, he was ecstatic. All his. This mound of flesh, muscle and Jim. He straddled the huge mountain, stretched up, whipped off his own shirt, but it got caught in his hair, and he struggled, blind now, and mumbling curses into the cloth, "god damn shirt, they make 'em like this deliberately, to keep good men from ravishing even better men....i'm gonna sue, that's what i'm gonna do..." and two large hands pulled, as riotous laughter filled the bedroom and suddenly, Blair could see, and it was Jim, laughing, but Blair knew just how to stop that....oh, yes, he did.

He bent at the waist and latched onto that laughing mouth and sure enough, the laughter stopped and Blair's hands went roaming again, because now he had to get his jeans off.....while still shoving his tongue, with great finesse, down Jim's throat, and it wasn't easy, because he *was* punch drunk, and tired, and still sick, but he was young and determined, and this *was* going to happen, if it killed him, it *was* going to happen. He struggled and wiggled and the wiggles seemed to enflame Jim, because again, two hands were helping, and the jeans were finally the fuck off, and Jim started to wiggle, so naturally, Blair helped him, but when Jim gave one last, final buck to get them off, he unfortunately, bucked Blair off, and onto the floor.

He landed with a loud "ARRRGHHH!" and a thwack as his butt hit the hardwood floor.

Jim decided that being *very* quiet at this point was the better part of valor, so he remained still.....



Okay, maybe he should move.....just a bit. He pulled the jeans the rest of the way off, and flung them in Blair's direction. They landed - on his face.

Blair caught them....held them. Sniffed them. Liked them. And curled up on his side, face buried in them, and went to sleep.

Jim waited. And waited. And then he heard it. Snoring. He peeked over the edge and his eyes widened.....Blair, nearly naked, curled up around *his* jeans, and sound asleep.

For a precious moment, Jim just - looked. Drank in the sight. Blair. Alive. In his room. Okay, he was on his floor, wrapped in his jeans, snoring softly, but he *was* alive. Jim rolled over and off, bent down, picked him up gently and set him on the bed, then pulled back the blankets, got them both under, got Blair into his arms, wrapped them both up in the blankets, rested his cheek against the soft hair, wondered what the scratchy feeling was, fumbled a bit, fingers latching onto his jeans, and with a smile, he tugged them out of Blair's grasp and tossed them behind him, onto the floor.

Just as he was drifting off, he had a vague thought......his spirit guide - with Blair. Odd.

Blair snuggled closer, turning, moaning, burying his head against Jim's chest as Jim whispered out, "spirit guide? where was the wolf?"

And Blair mumbled, "in the jungle, waiting."

And Jim said, "oh."

Then he added, "so, where are they now?"

And Blair mumbled, "probably - here, with us."

So Jim lifted his head and gazed around, and sure enough, there, in the corner, the jaguar and the wolf, shoulder to shoulder, heads touching, tails entwined, and just as Jim was about to close his eyes......he noticed a third....a small bundle, curled up around their paws....

"Oh, shit."


"They have a fucking puppy, or kitten, or pup, or whatever the hell you call a baby that's half wolf and half panther."

Blair blew a rasberry into Jim's chest and said, quite clearly, "Don't look at me, you asshole. *That* puppy's your's."