Something To Talk About

by alyjude



History making events start so innocently. Like, Blair Sandburg, just sitting, minding his own business, typing reports. Nothing earth shattering. Just - typing. Until he found himself surrounded by Brown, Connor, Taggert, Rafe, Wilson, and Petrie. All staring at him, some as if he were the main entree on a menu, others as if he were some strange bug.

"He sings. *And* plays the guitar."

"He's definitely cute. He'll get the female vote."

"He qualifies now, he's one of us."

"But how *well* does he sing?"

"Trust me guys - he's so cute, he could stand on the Palladium stage and warble like a sick rooster and no one would care."

"Gotta agree with the lady. Those eyes, the hair, those lips...."

Five heads swiveled toward Rafe, who just shrugged and said, "Am I wrong?" The heads swiveled back to Blair, who'd been listening with an amused expression on his face.

"Guys? I'm gonna finish up this report and when you're ready to include me in this conversation, just whistle. You do know how to whistle, don't you? You just put your lips together and - blow, as in - leave."

Everyone started to talk at once, completely ignoring Blair's invitation to skidaddle. Blair went back to typing, still grinning. A wolf whistle from Connor finally shut the group up.

"Alright you guys! Shut up while I explain to Sandy what the deuce we're talking about!"

Sandburg kept typing, knowing full well it would be another three to five minutes before they stopped *discussing* who'd tell who what.

Five minutes later, Connor cleared her throat and Sandburg looked up and said, "Yes?"

"It's like this," Joel started.

"The Annual Cascade Civil Servant Charity Band Blow Out, Sandburg. And we need," Rafe continued.

"A lead singer, a frontman," Henri interrupted.

"A *cute* lead singer." Megan added.

"A lead singer, a frontman who can *sing*," Petrie chimed in.

"And *we*," Wilson indicated the other five, "nominated *you*."

Sandburg sat back, crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Taggert. "Is this a good thing, Joel?"

"We've never won, Blair. Not once in the history of the competition has the Cascade Police Department won. We've never even placed. Hell, we've never even received honorable mention. Every year a different department is chosen to represent the PD. This year, it's *our* turn. Last year, it was Vice. They came in dead last."

Henri cut in, "But we've got *the* band, we just don't have a....".

"A lead singer," Joel said.

"Or sex appeal," Megan concluded.

"And singing ability," Petrie stubbornly reiterated.

"What's the charity this year?" Sandburg asked.

"The Civil Servant Association supports two homeless shelters, the Marin Home for Abused Children, The Abbott Wildlife Sanctuary, The Cascade Zoo, our sister city in Bolivia, Tarija, and the winner of the competition gets to add their own."

"Families of Officers Killed in Action Fund," Henri added.

"We start rehersing when?" Sandburg queried.

Six heads swiveled in six different directions before Connor said, "I think he just said yes."

"Did you? Say yes?" Taggert asked, his excitement evident.


"THAT A WAY, HAIRBOY!" Henri yelled, high fiving Rafe. Then he turned and said, "First rehersal is tomorrow night, my garage. We have two weeks."

Blair gulped. "Two - weeks? That's it? Two weeks?"

"Well, they just chose us." Connor explained.

"I can see why the Police Department never won, if they've never had more time than this to reherse."

"We can do it, Blair. Me and the guys have played together before, you've heard us. We can do it." Henri said, almost pleading for Blair to agree.

"Hey, I'm not worried about *you*, it's me who could use another five or so weeks!"

"But you said yes! You can't back out now, Sandy."

"I'm not backing out...relax. So, what about a name? You never did name your band, H."

Silence greeted Sandburg's question. A name? They looked at each other, than up at the sky, as if the answer could be found on the ceiling of Major Crimes.

"It's got to be hot...."

"And topical...."

"And job related..."

"Major Dicks?"

"That would be me. But not necessarily the rest of the gang....."

"Shut up, H."

"Gun Shy?"

"That would be me, but not nec...."

"Shut up, H."

"The Hot Pistols?"

"That would be...."

Six voices yelled, "SHUT UP, H!"

"Criminal Intent?" Blair suggested.

Every one looked at the new frontman, then at each other.....

"Criminal Intent......" they intoned, savoring the name, rolling it around on their tongues....

"I like it...."

"It's fucking brilliant...."

"It's perfect...."

"If he can sing...."

Five voices yelled, "GIVE IT A REST, PETRIE!"


Simon stood just inside the door, Jim behind him. Six detectives made themselves scarce.

Simon stalked into his office, but not before shooting one of his patented "Sandburg, this is your fault" looks. Blair held up his hands and shrugged. Simon answered by slamming his door *and* closing his blinds.

Jim hung his jacket on the coat tree and sat down beside his partner.

"What crawled up Simon's ass?"

"Captain Jeffers. Ran into him at court, and he couldn't resist rubbing Simon's nose in the fact that the Cascade PD has never won the...."

"Annual Cascade Civil Servant Charity Band Blow Out?" Sandburg finished, "I know. And this year, Major Crimes gets the wonderful opportunity to represent the PD."

"You got it. And Captain Jeffers further pointed out that the Fire Department, as represented by *his* Squad 52, has won the last two years and that left Simon a bit....."

"Pissed off?"

"When did you start finishing....."

"Your sentences? Day one, man, day one."

"Annoying, Chief, annoying. And why was everyone gathered around our desks when we came in?"

"No particular reason. Just discussing the Blow Out, the Major Crimes band and that I'm the front man."

Blair's blue eyes twinkled happily as he noted Jim's fallen jaw and wide pale blues blinking rapidly back at him.

"Cat got your tongue, Jim?", he sniggered.

"You!" Jim squeaked.

"Me. What's the matter? Don't tell me my singing in the shower has slipped your notice?"

"Everyone sounds good in the shower, Chief, that does not mean they should be singing in the Blow Out."

Blair gave his best pout as he said, "I'm hurt, Jim."

An eraser thudded against his chest and as he unerringly threw it back to land against Jim's chest, he said, "You're not really worried, are you? I did sing in a band for a couple of summers....."

"Yeah, yeah, while working your way through college. That and gambling, trucking, bartending, carpentry, and what else?"

Blair dropped his head down and pretended to study his computer screen as he muttered, "Interior decorating."

Jim slapped his knee and chortled loudly, "Yeah, that's it, *INTERIOR DECORATING*"

"You will pay for that, Ellison. I carry a gun now, you know?"

"And still can't hit the broad side of a barn, I'm not worried."

"Barns are not the issue. *You* are. Watch it, Jim. And we will win this year."

"Small wager?"

"You'd bet against your own guys? Against *me*?" Blair asked incredously.

"Well, you do sound pretty good in the shower, and you clean up so-so.....we might just have a chance this year."

Another eraser flew through the air to land against Jim's forehead.



Thursday Night - Henri Brown's garage

Two weeks and one night before the big event...


Henri sat on a stool, guitar in hand. Standing behind him was Wil Evers, Detective Second Grade, acoustic guitar; next to him, Detective Martha Givens, Detective First Grade, trumpet; at the keyboard, Detective Brian Rafe, Detective First Grade; and at the drums, Detective Second Grade, Mike Petrie.

They were warming up, with Henri fiddling with the sound system, straightening wires, and watching in amazement as their frontman sat in front of his laptop.

"So, does anyone have any ideas about what numbers we should try?" Petrie asked.

"Well, how about something by Depeche Mode?" Rafe offered.

"Or, maybe The Stones?" Martha suggested.

"I think we should do something a little more - *now*, " Petrie stated, "Like, The Backstreet Boys?"

Henri pretended to throw up as Martha and Rafe stared openmouthed.

"Okay, so maybe that wasn't such a good idea, anyone got any better ones?" Petrie remarked snidely.

"Uh, guys?"

Everyone looked over at their frontman, who was staring at the computer screen.

"Have any of you bothered to take note of what songs have won in the past?", he asked.

Henri got up, walked over to Blair and as he looked over Blair's shoulder, he asked, "No. Why? And what are you looking at?"

Blair tapped the screen with his index finger and said, "This is the webpage for the Blow Out. And they list all the winners and the songs that won. It might be worth considering since there is definitely a pattern."

"A pattern? To winners? You mean beside the Police Department never winning?"

"Well, yes, Martha. In looking at the winners... well, every winning song was a popular song, not always current, but highly recognizable, and here's the kicker.....*every* winner was a song written and or performed originally by a woman."

Blair continued, ignoring the blank stares, "Every single winner in the last five years. A song written and or performed by a woman."

He turned in his seat and looked at the others. "Are there any other rules? Like what type of music we *can't* do?"

Henri nodded, "Yes. We can't do heavy metal, or gothic, and this year, the preference is either country, pop rock or latin influenced music."

"Um. So. We need to come up with some stuff written and or performed by women. Latin, or pop, or country."

Everyone nodded and the wheels started churning.

"How about....."Like a Virgin"? Madonna?"

"Rafe, I am *so* not going to stand up on a stage and sing, "Like a Virgin", okay?"

"Right. Okay, how about that new song by Jennifer Lopez? "Waiting for Tonight"? It's got a good latin beat."

Nods, then Martha added, "Or how about something by Bonnie Raitt? Or Leann Rimes?"

"Or Melissa Etheridge?"

The suggestions kept coming until they had about five songs to consider and reherse. The rules said each group needed two songs, in case of a tie. Most groups rehersed three or four, in case of a tie, and the top three groups then each played one additional song.

Rehersals began in earnest.




At twelve-thirty *am*, Blair dragged himself into the loft. He wasn't surprised to find that Jim had already crashed. On the couch. While trying to wait up for him. Blair stood over the sleeping man, smiling.

Even after almost four years, Jim Ellison still *waited* up for his partner and roommate. Although he'd never admit it. And after almost four years, Blair was the only human who could enter the loft and *not* wake the man up.

Blair picked up the remote and clicked off the television, then gave Jim a little shake.

"Hey, man, wake up. I'mmmmhommme."

Jim stretched, yawned and peered blearily up at Sandburg. "How was rehersal?"

"Great. We've got our songs. And two weeks to turn ourselves into a well oiled machine."

Jim sat up and ran one hand back over his buzz cut, then down his face, then stood and stretched his back. Blair shook his head in loving disgust. "Man, you have got to stop - falling alseep on the couch, you know? Bad for old and ancient cop backs."

"Who are you calling old and ancient?"


"We'll see who's old and ancient after two weeks of rehersals *and* police work. You'll be wishing you were in the kind of shape I'm in, while you're dragging your sorry ass all over that stage."

"Go to bed, Jim. Want me to bring up some warm milk?"

"Want to see my middle finger?"

"oooh, so afraid here."


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The two weeks sped by and all the members of Criminal Intent felt another two weeks was really needed, but they could only do their best. The good news was that Petrie had stopped his noises about how good Blair could sing. No one was worried on that account.

Friday dawned bright, and oddly enough, the criminal element of Cascade played along and behaved themselves. No hostage situations, no mass murders, no bombings, just plain old everyday crime. No members of the band were shot, knifed, kidnapped, or beaten up. Reports were filed easily and on time, and by 5:00 pm, all members were on their way out and to the Palladium.

The show was scheduled to start at seven, with eight different bands scheduled for the competition. Seats for the Blow Out went for $250 a person, or an entire table could be purchased for $2,000. Eight tables were set aside for the departments being represented by the bands, but all other tables/seats had to be purchased. The Blow Out was one of the biggest events of the year and could be counted on to bring in over $350,000 in contributions.

Backstage, Blair fidgeted, as Jim watched, smiling.

"Little nervous, are we?"

"Heck no. Do I look nervous?"

"Heck yes. And how does one get into leather pants anyway?"

"Man, not easily."

Jim sat on the corner of Blair's dressing table, one leg swinging as he watched Blair fuss with the midnight blue silk shirt that he was wearing over a black t-shirt and the black leather pants. His hair was down, and he was wearing his gold hoops in his right ear. Jim reached over and fingered them.

"I miss those."

Blair looked at him strangely, "You're kidding, right?"

"No. I really do. They're a part of you. A part that you put away to become a cop."

"Nah. A part I put away when I turned thirty, man."

"Well, I still miss them. You could wear them, sometimes, maybe?"

"Man, you're going off the deep end here. Get out, go to the table, you're making me nervous." And Blair swatted him on the back.

"All right, I'm going, I'm going. Break a leg, Sandburg."


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Backstage - Palladium


Blair and the rest of the band stood backstage, nervous, twitching, waiting. At 6:30, the emcee, Deputy Mayor Sutcliff arrived backstage, holding a large bowl containing several pieces of paper. A member of each band was invited forward to pull a square, and the number on the paper designated their starting place in the competition.

Blair desperately wanted to draw number eight, knowing full well that the last band would be the freshest in the memories of the crowd. *If* the last band was any good. Before Blair drew, one of the band members from the Fire Department drew and held up his number - 7. Blair went next and drew out his - 8. He and the others sighed in relief, albeit shortlived. As they grouped together, Petrie reminded them that twice out of the last five times, the Police Department had pulled the final number.

Blair looked at the rest of the band, nodding in approval at the different shades of blue, all with black as the underlying color. They looked good. He glanced over at "The Firebreakers"..... dressed in countrywestern attire, but so far, Blair had yet to see their lead singer.

At seven sharp, the lights went down, the spotlight hit the stage and Deputy Mayor Sutcliff. He welcomed everyone, took several minutes to introduce several "famous" personalities, like several members of the Cascade Jags Basketball team, radio and television personalities, heavy hitters in city politics, and of course, Mayor Gail Browning.

Sutcliff then explained how the evening would work, how each person had a small computer pad at their seat and at the conclusion of the competition, each band would be re-introduced and each voter would press a number between *1* & *10* on the pad, designating the band's score. A *1* being the lowest, and here Sutcliff made a little joke about Cascade's finest, and how they were very used to that particular score, up to the number *10*, which of course was the highest score possible. Sutcliff then cracked a few jokes, that were rather humorous, and suggested that everyone gather for a moment of silence, in the hope that no crimes, fires, or trash emergencies ocurred during the evening.....he got a good laugh with that one....

With a drumroll, the evenings competition began, with the band from Animal Control, aptly named - "The Beasts".


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Blair was pacing. Only two bands left, before Criminal Intent. And of course, one of them was the same band that had won the last two years. Except, they had a new lead singer, a still, as yet unseen new lead singer. Everyone was curious about the new member, and Squad 52 was the talk of the bands backstage.

No one said a word about Major Crimes. Well, there were a few sniggers, and a few sympathetic pats on the back, but no one actually addressed the fact that the Cascade PD had never won, until Jack Worthington, a paramedic with Squad 52 and their keyboard player came up with a couple of band members from Water and Power.

"Hey, Henri Brown, how ya doin?"

"Fine, Jack, just fine."

"You know Matt and Paul, from Water and Power?"

The men all shook hands, and as Blair and the others came up alongside Henri, Jack turned to Matt and Paul and said, with a great deal of sincerity, "Listen guys, no matter who wins or loses, the losers have to be graceful about it. You know? And if you need any pointers on *how* to be a graceful loser? Just talk to any of these guys. The Cascade Police Department is the reigning expert on losing."

Matt and Paul had the grace *not* to laugh outright, but Jack thought he was the funniest thing since Johnny Carson. He slapped Henri on the back, and guffawed loudly.

Blair just smiled, and smiled, and smiled. Then, when Jack was apparently done, he said, "You're fly is down. But don't worry, nothing worth noticing." Blair then grabbed Henri's arm and they all walked backed to the corner where their instruments were piled.

"That was so...."

"Juvenile, Henri, the word is juvenile."

"Yeah, but - really cool."

They all looked at each other and started snickering then full out laughing.

"We are so bad." Blair managed to gasp out.

"Yeah, we are, and ain't it good?" Henri added.


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At nine o'clock, Deputy Mayor introduced the second to the last band for the evening.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I bring you band number seven, the winner in the last two consecutive competitions, from the Cascade Fire Department, Squad 52, here are "The Firebreakers", with their lead singer, Jolie Edwards!"

Blair and the rest of the band moved forward to watch as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose to the beat from Shania Twain's "Man! I Feel Like a Woman."

Blair's mouth dropped open, followed by Henri's, Martha's, Rafe's, Wil's and Mike's.

The new lead singer for the Fire Department was a woman. And she wore - next to nothing.

Jolie Edwards was tall, slender and stacked. She had honey blonde hair that was long, wavy and down. She wore navy blue short-shorts, very short-shorts, with fringe. And a navy blue halter top, with fringe. And white cowboy boots, with fringe. And a cowboy hat, with a feather. Long legs moved in perfect time to the beat, and her voice.....was, well - she was *good*, but it was the sex. She was selling hard, hot sex. Every move was practised, hot, and inviting. With every word, every gesture, she was saying you could have her. Now. Anyway you wanted her.

In the audience, men sat forward, eyes glazing over. Backstage, Blair looked at Henri and Henri looked at Blair.....

"We've got to change songs." Henri said quietly.

"I've got to change, period." Blair added.

"What song?"

"I'm The Only One. And heavy on the percussion, and up the amps, H. Up 'em high. And tell the lighting guy to move to number 3 and 5."

"You got it, Blair. And you?"

"Don't you worry about me," then to Rafe, "Brian, give me your vest, now." Rafe frowned but pulled it off , leaving him in just his black jeans and blue t-shirt. "I'll be right back. Don't start without me, you hear?" Then he was gone.

The Firebreakers were coming to the end of the song, and Jolie was close to the edge of the stage, moving, inviting, her hips gyrating to the beat. Pure, unadulterated sex. Pure heat. And the men in the audience were eating it up. And the women were pissed. Henri tried to guage the audience, the women. Tried to decide if they could outdo Jolie.....and shook his head. Blair was cute, he was good, but damn, this was about sex......and he'd have to win *both* the women *and* the men.

Jolie ended the song on the very edge of the stage, and with the last little screams, the last few words, asking if they felt it....she bent at the waist, letting her hair flow, and giving everyone an excellent view of her attributes. Then it was over.

The Palladium exploded. Men were on their feet, stamping, clapping, whistling....and as Henri peeked out around the edge, he noticed the gang at the PD table on *their* feet, whistling just as loud.


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As the crowd sat back down and the curtain closed so that the last band could set up, Simon turned to Jim and shrugged.

"Why do I think I'll be eating crow tomorrow?"

"Simon, you underestimate our band."

"Jim, I'm not underestimating....but there is no way in hell that Blair can do.....*that*."

Jim smiled smugly.

"Sir, care to make a bet?"

Simon squinted at half of his best team, "What do you mean?"

"Blair. Again, you underestimate him. Care to put twenty bucks where your lack of faith is?"

Simon looked up at the stage, back at Jim, thought of his bouncy, short, long haired newest detective.....okay, he was good-looking, in a strange, hippy sort of way....but hell, this called for.....he couldn't even come up with the equivelant for what they'd just seen. He pulled out a twenty and set it down on top of Jim's.

"You're on."

"I do hate to take my Captain's money. Yes, I do. But I will."

Simon just snorted.

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Jim wouldn't have been nearly so confident if he could have seen the panic going on at that moment, backstage.

"Where the hell is he?" Mike hissed.

"He's coming, don't sweat it. Just remember, heavy on drums."

"Don't tell *me* how to play this song....", his voice petered out as Blair walked on stage.


At Mike's statement, Henri turned to look.


Martha licked her lips. So did Rafe. Wil just oggled.

The stage manager gave them the signal.

Everyone got into place, Blair with his back to the curtain. He winked at Henri who was now smiling broadly as he gave him the thumbs up sign.

Out front:

The lights went down for the last time, and again the spotlight hit Deputy Mayor Sutcliff.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, our evening is almost finished, as I now have the pleasure of introducing our last band for the evening. Please give a big hand to the Cascade Police Department and their band from Major Crimes - "Criminal Intent" featuring Blair Sandburg!"

The curtain rose and the beat of "I'm The Only One" started, guitar only at first, then as the drums and the rest of the band joined in, the spotlight hit Blair and he turned and started to sing, low, throaty, moving toward the audience.

He still wore the leather pants, tight, conforming to every inch of him, hugging his rear, showing off his *front*, riding easily on his hips. But now he wore no shirt, just the short, buttonless, black leather vest he'd taken from Rafe. He'd pulled his hair back into the ponytail he wore at work, but it served the purpose, making him look sexy and dangerous. And it highlighted the earring in his ear, the gold catching the spotlight, glimmering brightly. But not as eyecatching as the other gold hoop. In his left nipple. He'd taken one out of his ear, and placed it in his nipple and as he moved, it glinted, tantalizing, inviting.....and women, all over the floor, gasped as they caught sight of it.....buried so deliciously in the soft chest hair, hair that their eyes could follow down, and down, to that narrow line of dark hair, to Blair's navel, and below, and more women gasped to find.....the top button of the leather pants, undone.......

There is a vast difference between sex and sensuality. Between animal magnetism and flaunting the body. The audience was seeing sensuality in it's purest form, the essence of sensual pleasure. And the beast, strutting, moving, singing low, husky, his voice just for each person in the room, promising pleasure never experienced before, *delivering* pleasure as never seen before.....and the men and women in the audience sat, spellbound, watching every move, listening to every word, and they fell....they fell hard.

He moved across the stage with grace and sensual lines, strutting when needed, hips swinging, pelvis thrusting almost unconsciously, eyes glinting, long lashes dropping, then rising in an invitation.....

The sweat glistened off his chest, small drops catching in the curls on his chest, radiating out like diamonds, and it ran down his temple, and hungry eyes followed every drop, wanting nothing more than to lap up each thin line....but only one person in the audience said the word, only one person said, "Mine." And he said the word as lyrics were sung, as he heard, "I'm the only one....", and he smiled, because the word was true. Mine.

Blair finished the song.

A moment of silence. Then pandemonium. Once again, the crowd was on it's feet, but this time - the *whole* crowd rose, stamping their feet, clapping wildly, whistling, women rushing forward, in gowns by great designers, like Vera Wang, Donna Karan, and Bob Mackie, wearing jewels from Tiffany's and Van Clef and Arpels, and still they rushed forward like teenagers, and the men followed suit.

The band took their bows, and Deputy Mayor Sutcliff came out and the curtain came down, and the lights came up, and everyone moaned, but took their seats as Sutcliff raised his hands to get their attention.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now time to vote. Please pick up your individual pads and as the curtain rises, all eight of our bands will be on stage. I will call each one and as they step foward, please press the desired number."

The curtain rose and the bands stood, waiting their turn, waiting the vote. But at least six of the bands knew it was a second or third place they were hoping for.....

".........And for band number 7, "The Firebreakers" and Jolie Edwards?" Sutcliff yelled out...and the applause was thunderous, and fingers punched, and the band and Jolie stepped back, smiles of victory on their faces.

"And for band number 8, "Criminal Intent" and Blair Sandburg?" Sutcliff yelled....and this time the applause was deafening and fingers punched hard, and Simon was grinning like a fool, stomping hard on his cigar as he punched in the number 10. The band stepped back and as Sutcliff made a few jokes to pass the few minutes it would take for the tabulation, Jolie looked over at Blair and winked. He smiled.

A man came onto the stage and handed Sutcliff an envelope and the crowd became quiet.

He smiled and held up his arms, then, "Well, here it is, the tabulations have been made, and we have our winners." He tore open the envelope and pulled out a card.

"In third place - give a big hand to "The DrainPipes" from the Department of Water and Power!"

To huge applause, the five members stepped forward and accepted their trophy, took their bows and stepped back.

"In second place - give a big hand to "The Firebreakers" from The Cascade Fire Department!"

Jolie, Jack and the others stepped forward, hard, tight smiles on their faces and accepted the second place trophy. The applause was wild, but slightly restrained, the audience knowing number one was coming up.

"And in first place, please give a big hand to our new champions, from the Cascade Police Department, "Criminal Intent"!"

The cheers were loud and long, with everyone on their feet, and Simon was ushered up on stage, along with Commissioner Enwright, to personally congratulate the winners.

Down on the floor, Jim tucked two twenty dollar bills into his pocket and grinned from ear to ear, the rest of the gang thumping him on the back and hugging and kissing each other, some even crying.

As the audience quieted down, Sutcliff announced that the top three bands would perform one more number, for the audience.

The curtain was dropped and everyone scrambled off stage to allow "The Drain Pipes" room to reset up.

Blair and his fellow band members converged in a corner, Simon having gone back out front. They looked at one another, then started smiling, then they were hugging, and jumping up and down like kids. They began to talk at once, "Can't believe you thought up that get up, Blair" and "That vest never looked so good on Rafe," and "God, Mike you were hot on those drums," and "We're number one!"

"The Firebreakers" went out and did their number, and if some of their enthusiasm was dampened, well, too bad.

While Jolie was singing, Blair and the band decided to do the song they'd originally planned, the song Blair had chosen. Bonnie Raitt's "Something To Talk About".

Blair wisely stayed in *costume* as they once again took the stage, to so much applause they had to wait several minutes before they could start. But finally start they did.

The song meant a great deal to Blair....and he sang it almost humorously, especially lines about whispers and undercover lovers, and "stand just a little too close", and "could you be falling for me".....but the audience thought he was singing to them, and they loved it. They began to move in their seats, and finally they got up and danced as Blair and the band went through another chorus.

But eventually, the song and the evening ended. Winners were congratulated by the other bands, and Jolie came up and suggested to Blair that maybe he'd like to join her for a little after party celebration, and he smiled and declined. She walked off in a bit of a huff, ignoring Jack as she brushed by him.

Major Crimes and several other departments met at Hannigan's Pub for their own celebration party, and the next three hours were spent reliving, congratulating, and even Henri and Blair taking the small stage and doing a duet. At one, they even managed to get Jim up and on the drums, to accompany Blair and Henri.

All in all - it was a very good evening for the men and women of the Cascade Police Department. A very good evening.


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"You were great tonight, Chief."

"Thank you, sir. You are most gracious."

"How much beer have you had?"

"How much have you had?"

They were in the truck, on their way home. It was after three a.m. and both men were exhausted, but happy.

"I'm driving. I had one beer and upteen sodas."


"You were great. I'm serious."

"The band was great."

"I'm glad you're still wearing those leather pants, Chief."

"Yeah? Why?"

The truck stopped at a signal, and Jim's hand settled on one leather clad thigh.

"So I can peel you out of them."

"You sure you wouldn't rather *peel* Jolie Edwards out of those short-shorts?"

"Oh, I'm postive. She doesn't have the moves, Chief. She just doesn't have the moves.....or the ass, or other equally important equipment."

"Like the pierced nipple?"

"Among others....."

"You really should drive a little faster."

"I'm going fifty now, Chief."

Blair leaned in and breathed in Jim's ear....then nipped his earlobe. "So, go fifty-five."

Jim groaned and pressed down on the accelerator. "If we get in an accident, how do I explain it?"

Blair took Jim's hand and placed it on the zipper of the black leather pants, "You were trying to get me out of these pants, you should always tell the truth, Jim. Always."

"Oh God." Jim yanked the truck over to the curb, shut if off, twisted in the seat and let his fingers finish the job.

"Shit, are you crazy? We're on a public street. In your truck!"

Jim lifted his head, looked around him, opened the door, pulled Blair out, shut the door, then pushed him rather into the alley to the left of the truck. He moved them in deep, then plastered Blair against the brick wall.

"There. We're not in public, we're not in the truck. And these pants are coming down. NOW!" With that, Jim brought his lips down to Blair's in a hard, brutal, wonderful kiss, and Blair's hands came up and held Jim's head in place as Jim's hands began to pull at the zipper, and then tug leather over hips, hips that had tantalized the man all evening. And he wasn't in the least surprised to find no underwear beneath the leather, just springy pubic hair and finally, Blair's cock, released, hard, throbbing. Jim thrust his tongue in one more time before pulling away, to a groan from Blair, but his words hushed his lover, "You were so hot tonight, and all mine. For me, and no one else....." and Jim's lips trailed down to the stretched neck, where he lapped up the dry sweat, and the new sweat, and the salt burst forth, the tang of Blair, and then he was kneeling and taking Blair in his mouth.

"God, alley, someone, could, uh, oh god, yeah, please, jesus, Jim, you are insane...." and Blair let his head fall back against the brick, and he closed his eyes, lost in the sensation of Jim's mouth, his tongue, the heat and the suction driving him insane, and he grabbed Jim's head and held on, bucking now, frantic as Jim's hands grasped his hips, fingers digging in, bruising, and then Jim took him all the way and Blair nearly screamed, the darkness of the alley, the danger of it, and he was coming, coming hard, bucking like there was no tomorrow, and finally collapsing on Jim, who held him as he swallowed, moaning softly.

Blair opened his eyes, and saw only darkness. He was still in Jim's arms, still against the brick, and now could feel Jim's hardness pressing against his thigh. He reached up and stroked Jim's cheek.

"Got a little problem there? Need some help?"

Jim whispered the answer in his ear, his tongue snaking out, flicking into Blair's ear. "Oh, yeah."

Blair's hand took Jim's zipper and pulled, then pushed slacks and shorts down, then he turned in Jim's arms and braced himself against the wall, then pushed back until his ass rested against the hard, dripping cock.

"Oh, god, Blair. I love you."

"Oh, sure, here, now, in a dark alley, at three in the morning, but what about later? In our bed? When it's just plain old Blair Sandburg, Detective? What then?"

Jim's hands soothed over the smooth, round globes, bending and kissing, and licking, then he stood and using his own precum and some of Blair's cum, he quickly prepared himself and Blair, and whispered, "Then I go for Jolie."

Before Blair could answer, Jim entered him in one, long, smooth thrust, impaling his lover immediately, trapping him against the wall, capturing his hands, and begining to move.

"You bastard," Blair hissed out, as the pleasure of Jim's entrance burned though him.

"Uh, huh."

Blair had no more thoughts as Jim drove into him, harder, deeper, and he arched back, met every drive with one of his own, and still Jim held his hands, his body so close, Blair could vaguely wonder how Jim could get so much power into each thrust......and he took Blair to the edge, again and again, and Blair hardened and his moans filled the alley, echoing off the walls, and Jim brought one hand down and began to pump Blair's cock, and he changed his angle and began to strike Blair's prostate, and now Blair was nothing more than animal, writhing, pumping back, all of his strength going into meeting Jim's thrusts, but knowing all the time that it was Jim, inside, and it was heaven and hell, burning, hunger, sweat, love, mating, and Jim began to pound even harder, and Blair went over, his climax wrung out of him, his body shuddering, and Jim made two more deep, hard thrusts before he came deep, one, long groan his answer.




They were on their knees. Still in the alley. Jim was breathing hard into Blair's neck and hair, and Blair found that he couldn't hold his head up, so he dropped it back on Jim's shoulder.



"You should wear leather more often."


"Tease. I'm glad you chose "Something to Talk About"."

"Hey, man, our song."

"Yeah. And you are a tease."

"And you're a prick. And how can I be a tease? You just *did* me in a god damned alley."

"I did, didn't I? And it was the audience you teased, knowing full well you belonged to me."

"Belonged to you? To *You*?!"

"Yes. To me."

"You really are a piece of work."

"By Rodin."

"God, and modest too."

"Wanna go home?"

"Very much."

"Can you stand?"

"You shit. Yes, I can stand."

"Ah, but can you walk?"

"Jim, you are so going to pay for that remark."

"But can you walk?"


Blair smiled in the dark as his Sentinel chuckled.

"You really are a prick, Jim Ellison."

"But I'm *your* prick."

"And I'm yours."

"Come on, Champion, let's go home."


Wherein Jim Ellison unceremoniously threw his sorta leatherclad lover over his shoulder and walked unsteadily to the truck. To dire threats of imminent destruction and "....just you wait, James Ellison, until tomorrow, when I fuck you through the floor and into Mrs. Webster's livingroom! That'll give the neighbors something to talk about!"


The End