Hairy Blairy

by alyjude


Jim Ellison was standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out his coffee cup, when he noticed a glob of hair in the drain. He pulled up the grate and scooped out the hunk of mushed fur. He held it in his hands, his face scrunched up, and realized that this was just like having a dog. A small, hyperactive, yapping dog. A small, hyperactive, yapping *shedding* dog. A dog that shedded 24/7.

There was fucking hair everywhere. He was constantly finding long silky strands of the clinging stuff in the shower, on the furniture, but now in the *kitchen* sink? Maybe that explained why he found hair in his food even when Blair *didn't* do the cooking. Why, just the other day, eating a Wonderburger with Guacamole, he'd pulled two strands out of his burger and Blair hadn't even been with him! And don't argue, Jim Ellison was a Sentinel, he "knew" Blairhair.

And when he'd gone to pay for the burger? Well, someone really needed to explain how Blairhair got into his wallet?

And what about at work? He was constantly finding hair in files, file drawers, in *his* drawers, hell, the year 2000 would be no problem for his computer, it will have died by then; of strangulation. Hair strangulation.

And how in the fuck is a Major Crimes Detective supposed to explain to Deputy D.A. Sanchez, why she was pulling long, curly strands of brown hair (well, browngold sometimes and redgold when the light hit it just right) out of a brief Jim had returned to her after taking it home to read?

And let's not even talk about Simon Banks, who *has* to be sick and tired of pulling those beautiful strands out his coffee cup, not to mention his danish. Why just the other day he said, "I'm fucking tired of pulling hair out of my damn coffee and my guava danish!"

Of course, Jim Ellison, while famous for his ability to repress just about anything, including every single time Blair Sandburg was *right* about anything, knew full well what was really going on.....The real problem was, he thought, as he stood there, running his fingers through the mess in his hand, that he wasn't pulling those strands out of his bed. Or his mouth. That was the real fucking problem. He wanted that hair all over his pillows, tangled up in his sheets, stuck on tubes of lube, on his clothes, on *him* and most definitely in his mouth, like after making hairyBlairy scream in passion, curls flying, shedding hair in every direction, fingers digging into Jim's shoulders, and coming so strong in his mouth, that Jim could barely keep up and swallow every last, "hairy" drop.

As he fingered the mush, he acknowleged another issue.....he really wanted to know if Blair's pubic hair felt different from his chest hair.

And did his chest hair feel different from his head hair? And his facial hair? And the hair on his arms? And his legs? Kind of run his own test. A Guide test. Seemed only fair. Sentinel tests, now Guide tests. And how would one go about cloaking that suggestion?

"Uh, Chief? I really need to test something and I'd like to use you as my test subject."

"What am I testing? Well, how effective I am at discerning the differences between certain, uh, er, substances. Like, oh, I don't ~ hair, maybe?"

"How would I go about doing this? Well, simple really....I would just, like, um, go down on you."

Why didn't he think that would fly?

Ellison was suddenly startled out of his hair reverie by the voice of

the hair owner.

"Hey, Jim? You with me? We're going to be late to work."

"Oh, right Chief, just thinking - about experiments. Let's move it."


Later that night:

Jim stood at the front door, impatiently tapping his right foot, his keys jangling, his head moving from the kitchen clock to the french doors.

"Chief, get out here."

"No. I'm not coming out."

"Chief, you agreed to this."

"No. It's not fair."

"Blair, for god's sake, you're a cop now. Take it like a man."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Look, you *know* how important this is....Shoemaker is deadly, and this is the only way to bring him down."

"No. N-O. What part of that didn't you understand?"

"The part that went like this: "Oh, Sim-o-n, I can do I a real cop now, or not? Please? Please?" And then you batted those eyelashes at him. Remember?"

"You dickhead."


"Am not."

"Are too. Now get the fuck out here."

"Am not and I'm coming. But you should have warned me."

"What? You think I'm stupid?"

"No, I think *you're* the chickenshit."

The french doors opened and Blair Sandburg walked out.

"Holy Christ."

"No, cheerleader. Now tell me again, why *this* outfit?"

But Jim Ellison was stunned. He couldn't figure this out. How could Blair look ~ fucking ~ *hot*?

Blair stood before him, wearing a tight, hiphugging blue sweater with the letters "RU" across the front, embroidered in gold. His hair was down, and very "fluffy", surrounding his beautiful face like a nimbus.....

//Whoa! A nimbus?//

Ellison's eyes moved down, to the very short, gold, pleated, flared skirt, which hugged Blair's ass, and somehow Jim managed *not* to pant, then his eyes continued their downward move, to the surprisingly nice, blue tights-clad legs, and ending at the tennis shoes.

"Jim, so help me.....unless you have a death wish?"

"No, no, Chief, you look....good. Really."

"Liar. I look like a fool. So, remind me. Why this fucking outfit?"

Jim knew he had to answer, to tear his eyes away from the way the skirt clung.....

"Um, well, the club we're going to, it's dress up night. And Shoemaker likes, well, he likes cheerleaders. Cute, short, longhaired cheerleaders. Guess who fit the bill?"

"Fuck. I *knew* I should have cut this stuff off at the academy. Just knew it. But noooo, I had to keep my sense of self....".

"Uh, we should be going. You ready?"

"As I can be...and Jim? Why aren't you in costume?"

"I'm your bodyguard, bodyguards don't dress up."

"You know, I memorized the Police Manual from cover to cover, and gosh, I just don't remember ever reading any such rule."

"Well, try this on....because *I* said so."

"You are a dickhead."


Club Eternity was the hottest nightclub in Cascade, catering to the elite, to the international crowd and to the college crowd. It was a haven for straights and gays alike. A gay college student could easily find himself rubbing elbows with a straight banker from Geneva, or an arms dealer could find himself rubbing, well, rubbing something, with an undercover cop dressed to kill as a cheerleader.

As Ellison and Sandburg prepared to enter, to pass the bouncer, Blair quickly reminded Jim to "turn it down, man," and Jim was immediately grateful. As clubs go, Eternity was unbelievably loud. And smokey, and crowded.

As soon as they'd made it all the way in, he scanned the huge room, spotting Megan almost immediately and next to her, Rafe, dressed as a cowgirl, and no, he had no intention of pointing that out to Sandburg, especially since Rafe looked, well, ridiculous and Blair looked so ~ good.

He knew there were other undercover detectives throughout the club, and all with one goal, to catch Chuck Shoemaker, arms dealer, Club Eternity patron and cheerleader affcienado, who had gone underground five days ago, after the DA had finally issued the required warrant, but who was rumored to be unable to avoid the club. *And* beautiful, male cheerleaders on "Dress Up" Night.

He guided Blair over to the bar where they immediately, thanks to broad Sentinel shoulders, squeezed their way in and took two empty chairs.

The bartender ambled over, his eyes raking up and down, Blair's fine form, and then asked, "What'll it be, guys?"

"Two beers, on tap." Jim answered, with just a touch of steel in his voice.

The man nodded, tore his eyes away from the "cheerleader", got the beers and set them down in front of each man.

"You running a tab?"

Jim nodded and the bartender moved off, sending one last glance back, sighing, before turning his attention to another customer.


"Nurse it, we may be here awhile. It's only ten, and this place is just heating up. Relax and enjoy, Chief, just your kind of place."

"My kind of place? Since when?"

"Oh, come on, you're loving it already."

Blair shook his head in disgust. "Man, do you know me at all? Even when I could, I would never have come into a place like this, except maybe as research."

"Research? Is that what it's called now?" And he snorted into his beer.

"You know, you're a real piece of work, Ellison. It amazes me that after three years, you still don't know diddly squat about your guide." He pushed back away from the bar, swiveled and got up, "Excuse me, I'm heading to the little cheerleaders room.....before I strike a fellow officer."

Before Jim could hurl a retort back at his guide, Blair had disappeared into the crowd.

Swell. He knew Blair was feeling ridiculous in his undercover "garb", and he still had baited him. What was wrong with him? He got up, with every intention of going after Blair, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"It's okay, Jim. Carl has Blair. He followed him," Megan said, sitting down at Blair's now empty seat.

"He looked mad. We should have told him, this was cruel. And maybe not the best kind of initiation?"

"Thanks Connor, I needed that. And he's mad at me because I put my foot in my mouth ~ again."

"I didn't think you ever bothered to take it out anymore. Convenience, you know?"

"You do know how to cheer a fellow up, a definite strong point."

"Thank you. I can but try. So, think Shoemaker will show?"

"God, I hope so. We'll never get Blair in that outfit again."

She chuckled, and added, "You're so right. But he does look cute."


Blair came out of the men's room, in no hurry to get back to Jim. He was angry, and maybe a little hurt. But mostly angry. He'd really like to put Jim in his place, just once. His place being at the sexual mercy of Blair Sandburg.

He started back out into the club, but at the last minute, changed his mind and went back, to the side door that led out to the alley that ran behind the club. A breath of fresh air was exactly what he needed.

Once out, the noise of the club abating, he took a deep breath and gave not a single thought to how he would look to anyone passing by.....a man in a skirt. He'd known, as soon as Simon had given him the outfit, that they were all waiting......Sandburg's first real assignment and he got to dress up as a girl. They waited, but he did his level best to put up a brave front, to laugh, to ensure that they laughed *with* him and not at him....until he'd gotten home and put the damn thing on....


He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't hear the back door open and didn't realize he was no longer alone, until an arm dropped on his shoulder.

"Hey, beautiful. Lonely out here."

He turned to stare up into the light brown eyes of Chuck Shoemaker. And thanks to his tight outfit, he had no gun on him. Swell.

"I was a bit lonely, until now," he purred, and leaned into the big body.

"Well, maybe you'd like to go someplace more ~ private? Like my place?"

"I was just thinking the same thing. Only I was thinking of *my* place."

"How far?"

"Only three miles. Big, blue building? Cascade Police Department? Know the place?"

And before Chuck Shoemaker could react, Blair Sandburg had the man's arm up and behind his back, and was pushing the bigger man against the wall. He then identified himself, searched the arms dealer, while reminding the man of his rights and then yelled, "Ellison, get your ass out to the alley ~ NOW!"


Chuck Shoemaker was sitting comfortably in jail, his lawyer making no headway in getting him out anytime soon. There had been much cheering back at the squad room, as Sandburg was congratulated on his first collar.

But now, they were home. And Jim was miserable. Blair was still mad, *and* he'd changed. Damn.

Jim was sitting on the couch, too wired to sleep, and praying that Sandburg would join him. His prayers were answered as a thud and a plop announced the arrival of a Blairblur as the young man jumped over the back of the sofa to land beside Jim.

"Uh, Blair?"

"I'm not talking to you. But wasn't I terrific tonight?"

His enthusiasm was contagious.

"Yes, Chief, you were. You're first collar, and brilliantly handled and I'm not even going to lecture you about going out into that alley."

"Yeah, good decision. I'd hate to spoil the evening by shedding blood. Yours."

"Look, I've got to explain something."


"Well, you know when you were in grade school? And you first discovered that you were attracted, well, in your case, the opposite sex?"

Blair's eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

"Remember how you acted when you realized you had a crush? Your first crush?"

Blair's eyes remained in a squint, but he nodded again.

"Do you remember how you showed, attraction?"

"Well, *I* blushed, stammered, hemmed and hawed, while you, on the other hand, being as old as you are, probably stuck her "pigtails" into the ink well, or put a frog in his desk."

Jim choked, and with a strangled voice, replied,

"Yes, well....exactly."

"Exactly what?"

"You. Pigtails. Inkwell. Frog."

Blair's brain finally kicked in. Him. Pigtails. Inkwell. Frog.

"Oh. So insulting me is your way of sticking pigtails into a inkwell and putting a frog in my desk?"

Jim just nodded, glumly.

"Oh. I see."

Blair got up, walked into his room, rummaged around and finally came back out to stand in front of Jim.

"Ellison, stand up."

Jim stood.

Blair reached over, unbuckled Jim's belt, unsnapped the button, then crooked two fingers in the waistband of Jim's slacks and with his other hand, which he'd kept behind his back, until now, he stuffed something down Jim's pants.


It felt....slimy, and icky.....and he was fumbling, his hands frantically trying to pull the object out as Blair stood back, arms across his chest, a huge smile plastered on his face.

Fingers finally found it and pulled it out.

A rubber frog. A god damned rubber frog. And wet too!

The significance of the item finally hit home.


"Come on, let's go upstairs and I'll let you dip your pigtail in my inkwell."


Jim pulled a long, curly brown hair off his pillow.

Alright! Mission Control, the hair has landed.

He lovingly ran his eyes over the sleeping form next to him as he trailed his fingers across the silky mass of chest hair....

Jim Ellison finally knew all the minute differences between every single strand of hair on his lover's body. He quickly recapped.

Chest: very silky. Soft even.

Head hair: Springy. And silky soft. And frizzy and very curly underneath. Tiny, soft fuzzy curls. Arms: Not as dark as Jim's, finer, more like down.

Legs: short, coarse, but delightful

Pubic: Gives Springy a whole new meaning, but surprisingly soft.

Face: wonderful, erotic stubble. And grating across his nipples? Shit.

Oh, yeah, he knew now. He reached over and pulled a soft strand of head hair and twirled it around his finger.

"You really have a hair fetish, don't you?" A sleepy guide inquired.

"Only your's." He let go of the bouncy hair and pulled Blair into his arms and immediately they locked lips.

Okay, his mouth, while hairless, was every bit as wonderful as the rest of his body. And his tongue? A miracle machine. It should be advertised on an informercial......It licks, it tangles, it laps, it twirls, buy one today at this one time bargain price of, Blair's tongue, like the man himself was priceless.

"Oh God."

Blair had moved his tongue down, to Jim's nipples. And then he added teeth. Just barely nipping, but teeth, just the same. And Jim shot to the moon.

"Chief," he managed to gasp out...

"Ssh. Just relax. My turn."

His turn? Thank you god.

Blair moved down lower, his tongue leaving a wet trail down the smooth chest, then dipping into Jim's navel, where he stayed a while, licking, twirling....oh, yeah, Jim could make a fortune with this tongue.....but it would be better to keep this to himself....

Blair slid lower, lapping at the tender spot, the sweet crease between hip and thigh, and Jim jerked, his hips bucking, so Blair moved to the other sweet crease, then down even further, to the motherlode. He'd never done this before, but God, Jim looked so beautiful, his face suffused with passion, his head rocking from side to side, and Blair really wanted Jim's cock, it was beautiful, enticing, alive, so he took it.


He took it all the way, letting his throat tighten, then loosen, then he'd swallow, constricting those muscles again and he felt Jim's hands lock onto his hair, holding his head in place as he fucked his mouth like a madman and it was fantastic, and his own body was reacting, as Jim rode his mouth, and he realized how hard *he* was, that he was about to come, just from Jim fucking his mouth, and then Jim did come, and Blair struggled, but got it all, swallowing fast and furious, his own body jerking, and he felt a scream well up from deep within, and then he was coming.....


"Nice doggy."

"Excuse me?"

"You. Hairy. A dog. Shedding."

Jim reached down and began to *pet* his hairy Blairy.

"You do realize that there never was a dog who *didn't* own his master. You realize that, don't you?"


"Good human. Nice human. Rub my tummy?"

Jim Ellison rubbed Blair Sandburg's flat, somewhat furry stomach and realized he'd forgotten to catalogue *that* hair......but Blair was busy licking his ear, so he decided to catalogue it later. Much later.

Besides, there was still a pigtail that needed inkwell dipping....


The End