Tummy Rub




It could have happened in so many different ways.

It could have happened in the heat of an argument, when passions run high, or it could have happened in a quiet, introspective moment for one that was shared with the other. It could have happened in a moment of extreme danger, when the belief may be that a last moment was being lived, and that maybe confession was good for the soul.

Or it could have happened on a fishing trip. The call of the wild, the romance of a dark, starry night, two people alone.....

Or, it could have happened in a car.....on a stakeout. Bored, two bodies so close, confined.

It could have happened after a near miss for one, allowing the other to realize how important the person was to them......

Or it could have happened in close quarters, both trapped, forced to press against one another, bodies touching, breath intermingling......

But it didn't, which is odd, because all of the above happened. But without a flash of light, no sudden need for honesty, no burst of insight, no overwhelming need to confess, or possess.

Strangely enough, most of their friends and family thought *it* had *already* happened.

In fact, if, say, an excellent investigative reporter were to interview the friends and relatives of the two in question, one would easily see that *how* it happened would never have been even remotely guessed at because almost everyone already had decided the when and where.

"So, you're Inspector Megan Connor? You work with the two in question?"

"Why, yes. And they've been together since forever. Well, certainly as long as I've been here, which is over a year now. And as to how it happened? Well, I'd say.......after Mexico. Yes, after Mexico. You had to be there."

"And you're Detective Brian Rafe? You also work with the two?"

"Yes, I do. And we get way too many serial killers here in Cascade, and they always seem to go after...well, anyway, that's when it happened. He was kidnapped, you know. It was a close call. But that's definitely when. Definitely."

"And you're Captain Joel Taggert? Now Detective Taggert?"

"Um, yes. And they were meant for each other. They've been together for about, um, at least since the kidnapping."

"Ah, yes, the serial killer."

"No, not that kidnapping, the *other* kidnapping. Right after they met. Hell, he even handcuffed himself to a chopper to get him back."


"And you're Detective Henri Brown?"

"H. Just call me H, everyone does. And who are you talking about?"

"Detective Ellison and Mr. Sandburg."

"What about them?"

"I'm interviewing their friends, co-workers and family as to how long they've been a couple."

"A couple? A couple of what?"

"Yes. Well. Moving on.....You're their boss? Captain Simon Banks?"

"Yes. And none of my people are in any way *entangled*. Get my message?"


"You're Naomi Sandburg?"

"Yes, I'm Blair's mother, and aren't they the cutest couple? I predicted it, you know. From the very first moment I saw them together. A few months after they met. They were *together* then....I mean, I slept in Blair's room. So where did my son sleep? Exactly. I just wish they'd come out, I mean, tell me. I'm his mother, after all."

"And you're William Ellison?"

"I've no time now, have your secretary call my secretary. And he's dating some tall, leggy blonde."

So there you have it. So many certain it has already happened. So many wrong. Almost four years. Not a clue.

So how did it happen? Would you believe it started with a tummy rub? At a police conference in Portland? Read on.




"Oh, man, I can't believe Simon let me come."

"And why not? You're valuable. You contribute, and you'll have a great deal to contribute in the round table discussions on Friday."

A hand was worriedly placed on a forehead.

"Sandburg? What are you doing?"

"Fever. You must be feverish. You said something nice. About me. Oh, I get it. You're a pod person, right?"

"You just don't appreciate me. I say nice stuff all the time. About you. You're just not usually *there*."

"Uh, huh. Riiight. Move up, we're next."

Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg were in the registration line at the Rivermount Hotel in Portland, Oregon. It was a long line, as most of the many police officers and detectives from across the United States had all decided to arrive within the same thirty minute window.

A shove in the small of Ellison's back sent him forward, to the registration desk.

"Detective Jim Ellison, Blair Sandburg, Cascade P.D."

A pleasant young woman smiled up at the handsome detective, then at the young man at his side. Her smile widened.

"Yes, I've got your registration right here. Shouldn't there be three of you?"

"Our Captain will be arriving later this afternoon."

"Ah, yes. All right, let me see......oh, yes. Detective Ellison, you and Mr. Sandburg are in room 323, and Captain Banks is in room 324, across the hall. If you'd like, I can check all of you in right now?"


A nervous hand was tapping on the counter. A larger hand gently clamped down....

"Chief, relax."

"Sorry. My first police conference."

"I'm well aware."

"Um, Detective Ellison, would you like to leave a credit card impression for phone calls and incidentals?"

Jim pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and slipped his American Express card out and handed it to the young woman.

"Mr. Sandburg?"

"Don't worry, on mine."

"Oh, well....yes. Of course, Detective." Her chipper mood went into a slight decline.

Fast fingers worked over the keyboard, then she pulled out a card and handed it over to the detective.

"Here you go. Your room cards. Just take the elevator behind you and you're on the third floor. Have a nice stay."

Blair grabbed the cards before Jim, and was already moving toward the elevators. Jim sighed. It promised to be an energetic week. As he followed his partner, the young lady sighed as well. It was always the cute ones.




They walked down the long hall, and finally stopped in front of 323. Blair inserted the card, waited for the green light, then pushed.

They stepped in - and froze.

King size bed. One. Kingsize. Bed.

"It's a king."

"Yes, Jim, it is. Your sight is incredible."

A slap on the back of the head stopped any further *quipping*.

"It's okay, Jim. I don't exactly take up much room." He managed *not* to snigger.

"But, but, a *king*. One bed."

"So? We've shared *one* sleeping bag, remember?"

"One night, Sandburg, one night. Emergency. This is four nights. Four."

Blair dropped his bag and flopped down on the *one* bed. "Wow, comfortable. Very comfortable. And big, Jim. Very big. Roomy. Don't be a wuss."

But Jim walked over to the phone and dialed the desk.

"Yes, this is Detective Ellison in 323. Is there another room, with *two* beds? Like - double beds?"

He waited, his foot tapping, while Sandburg watched, amused.

"None? How about room 324? King also? I see. Thank you." He put the phone back.

Blair jumped up and started unpacking. He wisely hid the smirk.


"Unpack. You *know* I don't snore. Now relax and enjoy."

Easier said than done. After all, Sandburg didn't have a boner for him. Jim shifted uncomfortably. It was going to be a very long week. But no one could accuse *this* Sentinel of not having will power and control. No, sir.

He unpacked.




"Dinner was very good. And was Simon making eyes at that Forensic Director from Tacoma?"

"Sandburg, not everyone *makes* eyes. You do, but not everyone. And yes, I do believe he was. They went to the Academy together. And who was that guy *you* were talking with?"

"Dave Champion. Imagine. We went to Rainier together, back when I first started. He was a govenment major. Now he's a cop. Small world."

"Toss for the shower?"

Blair frowned up at his friend. "Why? You always get it first at home, this should be different?"

"Fine. I was trying to be accomodating. Cold day before you see that again."

"Jim, we live in Cascade. I won't have to wait long."

Ellison threw a dirty sock at his partner. It hit him square in the face.


"And tonight....you have to sleep with me."

Sandburg held his nose.

Jim walked into the bathroom, using his middle finger to wave good-bye.

An hour later both men were clean, relaxed and as Sandburg watched television from the *king*, Jim lay on the other side, reading some of the conference material he'd been given at arrival.

Blair lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head, legs splayed out in front of him. Jim was resting with his back against the bedboard, knees up, holding the sheaf of papers.

As Blair continued to watch, Jim shifted. And shifted again. Each time he shifted, he somehow moved a bit closer to the middle of the bed. He was completely unaware of his movements. So was Sandburg.

Blair wore old sweat pants and a cropped Cascade P.D. t-shirt. With his hands behind his head, the shirt rode up, revealing his stomach.

As Blair watched The Streets of San Francisco, a show he thought appropriate for the week, he felt a hand on his stomach. He looked down and Jim's hand was.....well, *petting* him. He looked over at Jim, his head cocked. He waited. Jim kept reading. Blair looked down as the hand began to rub small circles on his tummy. He looked back up. Jim continued to read.

"Uh, Jim? You want a dog?"

Jim didn't look up as he answered, "A dog? Are you crazy?'

"You don't want a dog?"

"Of course not. Let me read."

The hand had stopped and dropped to the bed. Blair shook his head and turned back to the exciting chase, as Detective

Mike Stone, who had to be at least sixty, ran after the bad guy.

A few minutes later....the hand was back.

"I'm getting you a dog, as soon as we get back."

"Don't be silly. We can't have a dog, we're never home."

Blair watched, in a strange, detached manner as the hand started to - well, play with some of the hair on his stomach.

"Jim, I am getting you a dog. A furry dog."

Jim turned to face Sandburg. "What the heck is all this about a dog?"

Blair let his eyes do the talking by an exaggerated *waggling* down to his stomach.

"You're petting me, Jim. I don't have that much hair on my stomach, but whatever floats your boat. You definitely need a dog."

The hand lifted as if burned.

"Shit. I - don't ......what to.....I mean. Shit."

Blair smiled and went back to watching as Steve caught the bad guy. With a tackle that should have at least broken both men's back. And would have killed Stone.

The hand stayed on it's side of the bed. The large body shifted - to the far edge.

Half an hour later, the show ended and Blair turned off the television, the light on his side, took off his glasses, got under his half of the covers, rolled over onto his side, *away* from Ellison, and said, "I'm going to sleep. You can keep reading, the light won't bother me. Night Jim. Still think you need a dog."

Jim didn't answer. He kept reading, doggedly. The same sentence over and over again.

After the sixth reading of the same line, he glanced over at his partner. His back. His hair, on the pillow. His even breathing. Lungs - in, out. The curve.....the ass....Jim took two deep breaths.

This was not going to work. Not as long as he sleeps on his side. Not as long as Jim had to look at that round protrusion, that perfect, round mound. And the hair......not going to work.

He put the papers together and back in the folder, placed it all on the night stand, got up quietly, grabbed his robe and walked to the door.


"Go back to sleep. I'm going across the hall, Simon needs to talk. I'll stay with him. He sounds - terrible."

"Uh? How....I didn't hear the phone ring..."

"I can hear him. Real bad, Chief. I'd better stay with him. You know?"

Blair watched in amazement as Jim opened the door and stepped out. Then he watched as the door closed. Blair was alone.

He stared. He blinked. Jim was gone. Shit, was he really that bad? Jim couldn't even stand to be in the room with him for one night?

He sighed. It was suddenly going to be a very long week. The fun was gone. His joy, deflated.

Four more nights. David said something about his room. Maybe he had double beds. Blair could bunk with him and Jim could have the bed all to himself. The bastard. Some people would give their eyeteeth to share a bed with Blair Jacob Sandburg. They would. Dammit.


Just not here. Just not Jim. Fuck.

He'd check with David tomorrow.


((())) (((((((()))))))) ((())) (((((((()))))))) ((()))


Simon Banks was roused from a very nice dream involving a warm sandy beach, palm trees swaying in the breeze, and Kathy Evers, Forensic Director from Tacoma, wearing only a thong.....

Banks was not happy as rude knocking forced the delicious dream to dissolve. He fumbled for his glasses, hit the light, swung his legs over and stumbled to the door.

He opened it a crack and saw one blue eye blinking back at him.


The man in question walked in as Simon stepped back in surprise.

"He....um, snores. Can't sleep. Do you mind?"

Simon was about to tell Detective James Ellison just how much he *did* mind, but one look at the man's misery stopped his words. Something else was going on, and he hoped it had nothing to do with recent events. Jim had just come out of a bad IA investigation that left both an old army buddy and an old girlfriend dead. His recovery had been slow and the strain on his relationship with Sandburg had been telling.

"It's okay, Jim. Just don't hog the blankets."



Blair looked at the agenda.

*General Session for The Annual Specialized Law Enforcement Task Force Conference will begin at 9:00 in the Oak Room.*

*Guest Speaker: Captain Lew Collins, New Scotland Yard - Special Investigations Unit.*

It was a little before eight. Plenty of time to hook up with Jim and Simon for breakfast in the Luna Room.

He walked across the hall, knocked and stood back fully expecting a grouchy Simon. He got no answer. He stood there - dumbfounded. They'd left without him. Without him.

He experienced a momentary twinge of hurt, but he was fast growing accustomed to the change in his and Jim's partnership since Veronica. Okay, he'd hoped this conference would be different, but there it was. He shook off the sadness and headed down to the buffet.

When he arrived at the Luna Room, there was a long line of men and women, all having decided eight o'clock was the perfect time for breakfast. He craned his neck and thankfully spotted Jim already seated at a table. He squeezed past the bodies, pointed to Jim when he reached the hostess and slipped in....

"Hey, Jim. Simon better this morning?"

Ellison looked up, startled, a fact that didn't escape the notice of his guide.

"Simon? Oh..yeah. Better, but...."

"...You're thinking you'd better stay with him again, tonight?"

Jim looked down at his half eaten breakfast and nodded. "Probably should." His answer sounded lame, even to him. He grabbed his bill, signed it and stood.

"Try the Pecan waffles. You'll like them. I'm going to check on the arrangements for the panel discussion. Catch you later."

Sandburg was too stunned to respond, as once again, he was left alone. Maybe....there *was* no partnership left.

He ate Pecan waffles - alone - and wondering where the next possible expedition to God Knows Where, would be leaving.




By eight-fifty, Sandburg was standing outside the closed doors to the Oak Room and trying *not* to look for Jim. In the act of *not* looking, he noticed Dave. He worked his way through the throng of detectives until he was next to him.

"Hey, Dave."

"Blair, my man. Have any luck last night?"

David Champion was thirty-three, tall, blonde, with the much sought after All American good looks. He was also a confirmed skirt chaser. Even today, Blair often wondered how he'd made it through that first semester.....what with the noise and all.....

"The story of my life, man. No."

"Hey, don't worry, only the first night."

"Got a favor to ask. Didn't you mention that you had double beds in your room?"

David was busy checking out the female attendees as he answered, "Yeah, yeah, man, doubles, why?"

"Roommate - snores, big time. Could I bunk...." he didn't finish as David pounded him on the back hard enough to send him into Idaho. "Sure, no problemo, squirt." Blair winced at the old nickname, "Besides," David continued, "If all goes well, I won't be spending much time there," he winked suggestively as he added, "If you know what I mean?"

Oh, Sandburg knew all right. A sixteen year old sharing a dorm room with a twenty year old horny government major? Yeah, he knew. Some intiation into the wonderful act of college sex, listening through paper thin walls. Blair wondered if David still grunted and hollered liked a banshee when he climaxed.

"Look, I'll get the other room card and we can meet up at the lunch break, that way you can move your stuff at your leisure, okay squirt?"

"Thanks Dave, I really appreciate this."

"Just like old times, squirt, just like old times."

Blair sincerely hoped not. No walls this time.



Blair sat through the surprisingly informative General Session, alone. He was now resigned to the fact that these four days would be spent solo. But that knowledge gave him no motivation to meet anyone. None. His usual spirit was considerably dampened.

In the back of the huge room, Jim sat, focused on his partner and chastising himself. He was several kinds of a fool. He'd been really looking forward to this week with Blair. But damn, that king had really thrown him. Blair so close. Oh, yeah, like double beds would have been much better? Hell, it was getting increasingly difficult at home with seperate bedrooms, a floor apart.

It should have been a great week. His life was full of *should haves*.





He turned around to find his partner smiling up at him.


"Thought I'd mention....you might want to cancel our room. I've kind of - hooked up with someone and with you staying with Simon, and all.....," Blair's voice trailed off.

Jim didn't hear much after, "I've kind of hooked up with someone....." and it took a gentle poke from Sandburg to get him back.

"Jim, man, you with me here?"

"Yeah. Room, cancel. Heard you. I'll check with Simon." Jim checked his watch and whistled, then, "I'm up in a few....you going in for the panel?"

Sandburg gave Jim a slap on his back and said, "Wouldn't miss you in a panel devoted to "Subtle Interrogation Techniques"....gotta watch your five minutes, you know? Knock 'em dead and I'll see you.....ah, maybe, later, maybe."

How James Ellison, Sentinel, missed the longing in his partners voice, would remain a great mystery.

The two seperately miserable men went their miserable and seperate ways.




Jim stood on the stage, surrounded by a cluster of men and women, all eager to rehash the whole panel discussion. He tried to pay attention but he was busy locating his partner, and when he finally did.....David Champion had come up behind Blair and the two men were now laughing together. Jim watched as David took Blair's hand and pressed a room card into his palm and Jim focused on the words, without the slightest hesitation.

//.....the key to our den of delights......//

"Ellison, I'm not sure I fully understood your statement on non-violent body contact and how it can usurp a perp's confidence. Don't you think a lawyer might misconstrue your motives?"

"What? Oh, yes, it's certainly possible."

//......move your stuff and then it's you and me......//

"So, Ellison, you're saying that *good cop/bad cop* is an outdated interrogation technique?"

"Uh? Oh, well, it certainly seems to have worked for Starsky and Hutch, but then that was television and hardly related to the real world."

Champion now had his mouth inches away from Blair's ear.....

//.....skin like silk....//

"I say it's still a viable technique, Ellison."

//......so hard......//

"Well, you keep using it, Andy. It's always seemed to be a popular method with the NYPD."

Jim moved out of the circle, eager to get to his partner, but by the time he'd arrived at the doors, Blair and Champion were gone.

Blair and Champion. Blair and a man. A *man*. Well, hell. And Jim had stayed with Simon last night. What fools these

mortals be......




By nine o'clock, Blair was bleary eyed with exhaustion. The lounge was smokey, the noise intolerable. David had split over an hour ago, with the lovely petite brunette of the skin like silk and Blair had yet to connect with either Jim or Simon. He was bored, unhappy and wanted to go home. He went up to his new room instead.

On the way up, he spotted Simon with the lovely Miss Evers, both laughing and Simon not looking the least bit troubled. Not that Blair had ever believed Jim's story.

He opened the door and wasn't surprised to see the mess that was David's room - already. Some things never change.

Blair stripped down, climbed into bed and swore to himself that tomorrow, he'd go home.



Jim socked the pillow, then flooped over on his side. He couldn't get over it....Blair - with a man. And he, Jim Ellison, hot to trot for Sandburg, holding back. Because Blair didn't *do* men. He flipped over to his right side and punched the pillow again. Blair and a guy. And Jim Ellison, wanting to be the guy Blair was with, but wasn't, was kicking himself. He sat up, grabbed the pillow and threw it with all his pent up frustration and anger. It thumped against the door, then dropped down and died.

Jim went for a walk. A walk that not surprisingly enough, took him to the room where Blair slept. Jim had become adept at locating Sandburg's heartbeat. Never knew when it could come in handy. Partner and all.

As he listened, he came to the amazing conclusion that Blair was alone. In bed alone. Alone. No Champion.

That's when he realized he was standing outside a hotel room, panting, sweating and looking like a refugee from Thwarted Lovers Anonymous. He decided to slink back to his own room.

As he rounded the corner, he caught Champion and a young woman, at a door, necking.

Jim saw red. No one screwed around on his partner. No one.

David Champion was enjoying the delicious feel of Samantha, their tongues dueling delightfully when a big hand grasped the collar of his jacket and he was whirled around and before he could say, "I didn't know she was married!" a fist slammed into his face.

Jim looked down with some satisfaction and muttered, "No one cheats on my partner."

He walked off.


An earthquake.

Blair rolled over, waited, and decided, no, only someone pounding on the door. He blindly made his way over and pulled it open.

A huge mass forced his way in and said, "Get your clothes. Now. You're coming back to our room."

He really needed his glasses. And did everyone with glasses suffer from this phenomenon of not being able to hear when they couldn't see? Was that why people always yelled at the blind?

He found them, slipped them on and peered up at someone who looked a lot like Jim Ellison.

"Uh, Jim?" He asked, timidly.

But the mass was gathering up clothing and throwing them into Blair's bag.

"Uh, that's David's. So's that. Jim. Stop."

Jim stopped. Turned. Looked at his sleepy guide. Tousled hair, sticking out in twenty different directions, glasses slipping down on his nose, wearing that cropped t-shirt and those thin, worn sweats......

"I'm taking you back to our room. David Champion is a prick. Do you know where he is right now?"

"Um.....the bathroom?"

"No, Sandburg. He's off putting the moves on some woman. Well, right now, he's nursing a hell of a black eye. You sure know how to pick 'em, Sandburg."

Jim stuffed Blair's shaving kit into his bag...."I mean, doesn't it even bother you that you let that scumbag fuck you and then he's gone, fucking some woman? You must have some morals, some standards."

Blair frowned, scrunched up his face, bit his lip, then ran his fingers through his hair. He rubbed his hand over his eyes.

Looked. Nope, Jim was still there, still packing. Blair needed to handle this very carefully....with kid gloves.

"Fuck off, Ellison, and get the hell out of my room."

"You're not staying here, you understand?"

"You've got thirty seconds. Then I haul off and beat the shit out of you."

Jim cocked one eyebrow, looked the smaller man straight down in the eye, and laughed. Big mistake.

Blair's eyes narrowed dangerously. He moved in close. "You get out now. You may have the brawn, but I have the brains. Don't make me use them."

Jim made the mistake of pushing past Sandburg to grab his jacket from the back of the chair. He turned and said, "Here, put this on....." which was when Blair's fist connected with his jaw.

He flailed back, arms winding like a windmill, catching a lamp and toppling it to the ground.


Jim rubbed his sore jaw. Blair had hit him. A damn good right cross. Who knew?

"He's a jerk, Blair. He's two-timing you. You deserve so much better. You deserve the best."

"No, you're the jerk. And you two-time me. Have I left you? No. I stay. So fuck off, or I don't stay."

Jim frowned, scrunched up his face, bit his lip, ran his hands through the bit of buzz cut hair. He rubbed his hand over his face. This needed to be handled very carefully. With kid gloves.



"He's no good for you."

"Neither are you."

"Yes, I am. Very good for you."

"You're a fool."

"Agreed. But a fool in love is to be pitied."

Blair stuck his index finger in his mouth and gagged.

"Please, Blair. Come back with me."

Blair sat down on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. Un-fucking-believable.

"You, Jim Ellison, are un-fucking-believable."

"I know. Please."

"Do you really think I'd be caught dead in bed with someone like David? God, you are such an asshole."

"So, we're both agreed. I'm an asshole. In love with you. And does that mean you didn't let that dickhead fuck you?"

"He is a dickhead and of course I didn't. *You're* the only dickhead I'd let fuck me."

Jim sat down beside his partner.

"I am?"

"Yes. You are - a dickhead."

"So, we're both agreed again. I'm an asshole, a dickhead, and I'm the only one allowed to fuck you. Right?"

Blair put his head in his hands. Last night - a tummy rub, tonight - fucking. Strange conference.

"How's your hand?"

"How's your jaw?"

"Sore. Good move."

"Thanks. And sore."

"You'd better let me check it. Something might be broken."

Blair held out his right hand. Jim took it gently and let his fingers probe....

"Nope, nothing broken. Already starting to swell."

"So's your jaw."

The two men sat.

"Ice would help."

"Nah, it's okay."

"How does punching me out constitute as using your incredible brain?"

"You weren't expecting it, were you?"


"Brains over brawn."

"Jim over Blair."


They turned and smiled at each other. Jim let one hand rise and stroked a finger gently down Blair's jaw.

"I love you, you know."

"So you say tonight. But will you respect me in the morning."

"No one I respect more, Chief."

Jim leaned over and kissed Blair.

When he pulled away, it was to find Blair frowning. "Jim, why is Dave nursing a black eye?"

Jim blushed a deep crimson. "Um, because I hit him?"

"Oh. Of course. I should have known. You are an....."

".....asshole. We've established that. Let's go back to kissing, and stuff."

They went back to kissing. And stuff.

It wasn't long before Jim was indeed over Blair. And on top, and below, and alongside. He found himself fascinated by Blair's neck. By his adam's apple, and the muscles as Blair strained in passion, by the sound of his moans as Jim teased him, and how those moans *felt* through the corded muscles, humming against his lips, thudding into the pit of his stomach, and the small trickles of sweat that pooled in the sweet indentions on either side of his adam's apple......

For Blair, it was Jim's hands. He couldn't seem to get enough of Jim's hands. He watched them as they traveled over his body, fingers trailing slowly, deliciously, rubbing, or pinching, or moving in wonder, and Jim's eyes, the long thick lashes lowering as Jim closed his eyes, a gentle smile on his face, and then those eyes opening, the pale blue now a deep, rich black, taking in every inch of Blair, every expression, watching for pain or discomfort, those hands, gentling him, moving down his thighs, soothing, and the nonsensical words, choppy, but delivered in such wonder....

Blair was near a pinnacle. He needed Jim inside him, now.

"God, please, Jim, now. Please."

Jim held those hips, ran a hand soothingly down the taut, sweating back and pulling the body slowly towards him, he began to enter Blair.

Nothing could have prepared Blair for the feeling. Nothing. No books he'd read, no chats on the internet, no first hand stories, nothing.

The fullness, the incredible fullness that was Jim. Inside - him.


Jim froze, a testament to his desire to protect Blair.

"God. God. I need....you."

"I'm hurting you."

"No. Just wanted to - wait. Enjoy. Do you understand?"

Jim smiled, "Yes."

Blair moved back a bit, which succeeded in impaling him further and he moaned in need, so Jim thrust a bit deeper, and Blair's moans increased, and Jim thought he was going to lose it, the sight of those shoulders straining, that beautiful ass rising to meet him.....and he needed Blair against him, their bodies close...

"I'm going to bring you up, Blair.....all the way. Okay?"

"Uh, huh."

Jim gently pulled the body into his chest, slowly, and his cock was completely engulfed by Blair's body. Blair shuddered, his head dropping down on Jim's shoulder, his hands grabbing onto Jim's hips, and pulling, which was nearly the end of him.....

"Oh, god, Blair...."

They set up a rhythm then, moving slowly but hard, Jim doing his best to hit Blair's prostate, which served to increase the thrusts and Blair's moans. Jim's eyes were closed now, his body feeling everything, every minute detail of their lovemaking, and he was immersed in it, the heat, their sweat, their groans, the feel of Blair's skin, of his hair against Jim's face, but he needed more, more contact, and his mouth found Blair's neck, and he began to suck and bite and they both moved to completion, Blair coming first, his cock held firmly in Jim's hand, and as he came, his body tensed, and his ass clenched around Jim's cock, trapping it, and that was all it took for Jim as he came with a yell, his head thrown back, Blair's name filling the room.



Blair rose up from the depths of the deepest sleep he could remember enjoying, feeling warm, and .......held. He turned his head and bumped Jim Ellison's chin. He was in Jim's arms, on his side, Jim spooned up behind him.

And Jim, even though sound asleep, was rubbing Blair's stomach. Again.

"I've got to get this man a dog," he whispered.

"Good, Blair, good doggy, good Blair."

"God damn you, Ellison."

The hand continued to rub his stomach and he smiled, snuggled deeper into the body behind him and went back to sleep.



The next morning, as Simon Banks came out of Kathy Evers' room, he caught sight of Jim and Blair coming out of room #712. They were smiling at each other as if they'd just won the lottery.

What the hell were they doing in room 712? And Blair had his luggage. God, he was so confused. A permanent state of affairs since the partnership of Ellison and Sandburg had been formed.

As Banks came up behind the two men, he heard,

"I'm still getting you a dog, Jim."

"Oh, no you're not. As long as I have your tummy, I don't need a dog. And damn, but you heel good."

"You know, I still have the brains in this outfit, and I'm not afraid to use them."

"No way, not now. It would be spousal abuse. I'll call a cop."

A fist thumped against a large, muscled arm and Simon decided to interrupt.

"Someone call a cop?"

Both men turned in surprise and exclaimed, "Simon!"

He looked at his best team, and beamed. He wasn't confused about everything, not anymore.

"What's up, Simon?" Jim asked.

"Well, off hand, I'd say you two." Then he pulled out a cigar, stuck it in his mouth, gave a deep chuckle and walked past them.




Blair and Jim never made it to any other conference events. And Jim began to show a real appreciation for their Kingsize bed. And tummy rubs.

David Champion decided to curtail his sexual activities for awhile.

Kathy Evers decided to move to Cascade. She hated long distance romances.

And Simon Banks was still confused about *why* Jim and Blair had been in room 712, but he was no longer confused *about* Jim and Blair.


So ends - Tummy Rub.