B.J Sandburg

Part Eight.

by Gillian

"Dance," Jim repeated. His mind was spinning with this unbelievable concept. Blair could have a baby.

Blair.

A baby.

"Yeah." Blair looked anxious. "You still want to go don't you?"

"Sure," Jim agreed, shoving the bizarre thoughts into the back of his head along with all the rest of them.

It was getting pretty crowded back there.

Blair looked relieved. "Great. I was thinking of The Isis."

Jim frowned. "That Egyptian place?"

"I know it's pretty tacky," Blair defended, sipping his wine. "But they have this huge dance floor, and on Friday nights the band is supposed to be excellent."

"Great," Jim said gloomily. "I was already looking forward to some head-banging tonight. Now I have Egyptian head-banging."

"No head-banging," Blair promised with a chuckle. "I promise. This is the kind of music you'll enjoy."

Jim gestured for the bill, and they finished the last of the wine. "No driving for you," Blair lectured. "We better leave the truck here and get a cab."

The waiter arrived with the bill on a platter, and Blair automatically reached for his wallet. Jim grinned at the dumbfounded expression on his face when he realised he didn't have a pocket, let alone a wallet.

"My treat," Jim said expansively, tossing a credit card onto the tray. The waiter gave him an 'I-should-think-so' look, and Jim dropped a wink at him.

"Now who's being chivalrous," Blair joked.

"You know," Jim ventured as they exited the restaurant. "We could just walk to this place. It's only a few blocks away."

Blair tilted his head thoughtfully, umber curls brushing his shoulders. The night was unseasonably warm so he had his coat slung over his shoulder. "Yeah, why not," he agreed. He looked down at his strappy sandals. "I'm sure glad I didn't go for the high heels."

"I'm stunned, actually. The way you've been determined to 'embrace this concept', I was sure you'd come tottering in on stiletto's."

Blair looked embarrassed. "Well, I did try them on," he admitted.

"And?" Jim asked with a wry grin.

"And I almost snapped an ankle. I don't think you'll see me in high heels any time soon, Jim." Blair tugged at the top of his dress for the dozenth time. "Or a strapless gown either."

"Stick to the jeans, Chief," Jim advised. "You've got nothing to prove."

"I'm getting used to the feel of a skirt around my legs though," Blair confided, spinning around so that the filmy blue material swung gracefully around him. Jim watched with a smile. It was hard not to smile at such unrestrained enjoyment.

"Just remember when we dance," Jim reminded him. "I lead."

Blair spun to a stop, chuckling. "Well duh," he said impudently.

They walked for a while in cosy silence, Blair skipping a step every now and again.

"Chief, tell me something?"

Blair swung into a comfortable lope. "Sure."

"Is this the way you pictured it? When you thought about this year?"

Blair considered the question thoughtfully. "I guess," he said finally. "I mean, most of my life I figured I'd be alone during this time, you know? Maybe have Naomi's support, but mostly alone."

Jim frowned. "Why?" he asked, curious.

Blair shrugged. "It's just the way it's always been done. When Naomi changed, we went to another town, used different names. The works."

"And when did you change your mind about going into hiding when your turn came?" Jim asked, watching Blair's sombre profile intently.

"When I met you, I suppose. You really seemed to need me a lot more back then."

"I still need you Chief," Jim protested.

Blair tilted a smile at him. "Thanks, Jim."

Jim blushed a little, grateful for the darkness.

"Anyway," Blair continued. "After all the stuff we've been through together, it just seemed easier to imagine telling you about what was going to happen." He turned a grin on Jim. "It was kinda fun, actually. Watching you spend that last week looking for a way to get me into a straight-jacket."

"Keep you outta one, more like," Jim said fervently. "I couldn't understand how the sanest man I knew could go off the deep end like that."

Blair punched him in the arm playfully. "You need me and you think I'm sane?" he joked. "I'm on a winning streak tonight."

"Put it down to my innate gallantry," Jim retorted. "I always was a sucker where women were concerned."

"Really? I never noticed," Blair remarked innocently. He raced ahead and stopped outside a brightly lit building. Two Sphinxes lined the stairs, and garish coloured murals graced the walls.

"You are yankin' my chain with this place," Jim said in disbelief.

Blair darted back and grabbed his arm, tugging him up the stairs. "No, seriously, you'll love it."

"You've been here before?" Jim asked, allowing himself to be dragged.

"Yeah, but I was a different person back then," Blair said seriously, then he dissolved into laughter.

"Again with the giggling," Jim moaned under his breath. He paid the pricey cover charge, and pushed through the beaded curtains, not expecting much. He was pleasantly surprised. "This is kinda nice," he said, looking around.

A large wooden dance floor dominated one side of the dim room, behind it was a stage where a band was tuning up. Small cosy tables filled the rest of the large area, each set with a flickering candle in a coloured holder.

"I told you," Blair said smugly. "Just wait 'til you hear the music. Santana, The Eagles, right up your alley."

"Okay then," Jim said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "This is okay, I can do this."

"Ladies and gentlemen," a man in a tuxedo spoke softly into the microphone. "Welcome to The Isis. Our band tonight is Old Fifty-Five. Please enjoy."

The band swung into a lively tune, and for one dumbfounded moment all the two men could do was stare at one another. Then Jim took another look around him, noting the patrons eagerly taking to the floor. Rock Around the Clock blared out, and dozens of grey haired couples twisted and twirled gaily.

"Santana?" Jim said wryly. "Sandburg, you've bought me to an Oldies night!"

"I don't understand," Blair said in confusion. He gestured to a waiter, who leaned over and listened intently. Jim focused his hearing, filtering out the noise of the music and the dancing couples.

Blair thanked the waiter, and turned a contrite look on Jim. "You heard that?"

"Fifties Night." Jim shook his head. "Call yourself a researcher?"

"They only changed it a few weeks ago," Blair defended. He looked gloomy. "We could go somewhere else?"

"Oh, no. I'm not tramping around town looking for somewhere to dance. Knowing you we'll end up in a punk club next, and I'll have to listen to some guy with a safety pin through his nose, screaming out obscene lyrics to a bunch of doped up imbeciles."

Blair heard him out patiently, arms crossed in a classic pose. "Finished?" he asked politely when Jim wound down.

"I need a drink," Jim retorted, gesturing to the waiter again. He ordered for both of them, then sat in silence while the band belted out its lively tune.

"I suppose we should just go home," Blair said, tugging at his dress again.

Jim felt a pang of guilt at the nervous little gesture. It wasn't Blair's fault the place had changed bands after all. And it really could have been worse. This place looked like belly dancers were going to swing out any second.

Their drinks arrived and Jim took a grateful sip. The band finished Rock Around the Clock with a flourish, and swung into another lively tune. Finishing his drink with a gulp Jim stood up, offering his hand to Blair.

The young woman looked up in surprise. "It's not exactly my era," Jim explained, feeling unaccountably nervous. "But I guess I can manage a turn around the floor."

"You want to dance?" Blair asked, looking stunned.

"Isn't that what we came here for?" Jim returned, irritation replacing guilt.

Blair slowly put out a hand, laying it in Jim's. "I guess."

Jim tugged him up, then gestured to the floor with his other hand. "You know how?"

"Hey, you're leading, remember?" Blair reminded him. "I just follow."

Jim led him to the edge of the dance floor and turned, holding out his hands in a classic pose. "Ready?"

Blair looked at one of Jim's hands, and then the other, before wiping his palms on the front of his dress. "As I'll ever be," he sighed. And then he was in Jim's arms, one hand resting on Jim's shoulder, the other clasped in his, their palms touching.

Jim was aware of a range of impressions - how small Blair seemed in his arms, how familiar his hand felt, how unfamiliar his scent still was.

Blair was looking down at his feet, and Jim imagined he could hear him counting under his breath.

"Relax," Jim whispered. "This is supposed to be fun, no one's grading you."

Blair looked up with a quirky smile. "I just don't want to step on your toes."

"I doubt I'd notice," Jim scoffed. He tightened his grip on Blair's narrow waist, and turned him gracefully, swinging him into a gentle arc.

"Whoa," Blair said, holding Jim's shoulder firmly. His hair swirled out, and he leaned into the turn, laughing in delight. "Hey, that was great."

Jim smiled into happy blue eyes. "Try this then," he invited, spinning again, skillfully navigating them across the crowded dance floor. Blair gamely kept up, feet never missing a step as Jim twirled them to the fast beat.

The music ended with a flourish and Blair collapsed against Jim's shoulder, chuckling merrily into his lapels. "That was excellent!" he cheered.

"Not bad," Jim said modestly. "Not exactly my vintage, but true talent will out."

"Like true modesty," Blair retorted, wiping at his forehead. The band played a few bars, and then a slower tune began, gentle notes whispering across the floor.

Blair looked up at Jim, and Jim looked down at Blair.

"Sit this one out?" the young woman suggested.

Jim glanced around at the older couples surrounding them. Feminine heads rested against masculine shoulders, softly lined hands clasped thickened waists tenderly. Blair's eyes were wistful as he followed Jim's gaze, and the sensuous beat caught at Jim's feet. Before he knew it he was tugging Blair closer.

"What the hell," Jim whispered.

Pliant in his arms, Blair allowed himself to be drawn against his partner's body, his hands falling to Jim's waist and clasping softly. Jim's hands wrapped around Blair's lithe body feeling the supple warmth of skin through the thin material.

Soft breasts pressed against his chest, and Blair's curly head seemed to curve of its own accord into Jim's throat.

"Whoa," Blair breathed again, this time a quiet puff of breath against Jim's skin.

"Okay, Chief?" Jim murmured, swaying to the soft beat. Blair's hips moved in time with his and his hands stroked down, tracing the newly rounded contours in wonder.

"Um," Blair muttered back.

The tune was on the tip of Jim's mind, and he absently began to hum, scattered lyrics coming to him from nowhere. Moments later Blair joined in, his humming a sweet vibration against Jim's throat.

As if Jim's hands had been given license they took off, caressing smooth gentle lines, exploring pastures he'd been curious about for what seemed like forever. The once sturdy waist was now narrow and fragile, the strong, wide ribcage was now a subtle curve with a necklace of backbone tracing up to a feminine flare of shoulder blades.

Now Blair's bare skin was under his hands, impossibly smooth, umber curls brushing sensitive finger pads, clinging to masculine calluses with tenacious delicacy.

"Um, Jim?" Blair whispered, fingers kneading his waist.

"What?" Jim whispered back, inhaling the fragrance of Blair, imprinting it on his senses in indelible ink.

"I think... I think..."

Jim blinked at the incoherent mutter, pulling his head back and gazing down into Blair's eyes.

Lambent sensuality stared back at him, flickering blue fire that licked at his skin hungrily.

"Ithinkwebettersitdownnow," Blair forced out. His hands clutched Jim's waist possessively.

Jim came back to his surroundings in a rush. Music was still playing, a different tune now, but still soft, still inviting the couples to sway to its sensuous rhythm. His hands were buried in Blair's hair and his legs were spread, his partner curved so closely against him they were like a single body, joined at the hip.

And Jim was hard, impossibly, achingly hard.

"Shit," he swore.

Blair blinked, hands softening their grip. He winced as Jim tugged his fingers from the curls. "I need a drink," he said hoarsely.

Jim untangled them, releasing Blair and taking a small step back, feeling the chill sting of nothingness on his chest. His insidious erection was dwindling in the cold light of revelation and he struggled for words.

"I... I..."

Blair's expression relaxed a little. "Drink, Jim," he said kindly. He took Jim's arm and led him back to their table. Jim felt his chair against his legs and sat with a bump, still feeling the dazed after-effects of their unexpected dance.

"I didn't expect that," he managed finally, avoiding Blair's eyes.

"Me either," Blair admitted.

"Maybe it was my senses?" Jim ventured when their drinks arrived. He grasped his eagerly, draining half of it in one swallow.

Blair finished his and called for another. "I don't see how," he frowned.

"You know," Jim groped. "I just tuned into your... femininity, and forgot the rest."

"Like you zoned on me?" Blair asked incredulously.

Jim finished his drink. "Maybe," he said defensively. "It could happen."

"So, you're telling me you just forgot who was in your arms?" Blair said suspiciously.

Had he?

"I guess," Jim admitted reluctantly.

"Bullshit," Blair said, his words slurred a little. Jim realised with a start that there were three empty glasses in front of each of them. Blair raised his hand to the waiter and Jim reached forward and grabbed it, feeling the dizziness of the alcohol buzz in his head.

"That's enough," he said firmly. Blair's outraged eyes went in and out of focus for a second, and then he dropped his hand and slumped back into his seat.

"Yeah, right," he agreed, wrapping his arms around his chest.

Jim looked around the dim room, watching the swaying couples with dislike. "Let's get out of here." He peeled off a few bills and tossed them on the table and then stood, grabbing the back of his chair for a second to steady himself.

"Guess it's true," Blair was muttering. "Women have a lower tolerance for alcohol than men."

"Three in a row like that is gonna knock anybody off their feet, Chief," Jim said, grabbing his arm and steering him through the crowd. All the tables were full now, and the band was taking a break, canned music blaring out of the speakers by the stage.

"Whose idea was this anyway?" Blair grouched as he collected his jacket at the door.

"You wanted to dance," Jim pointed out, stepping gratefully outside and drawing in lungfuls of clean fresh air.

"I wanted to dance, Jim," Blair stressed, sounding clearer. "Not make out on the dance floor."

"You were right there along with me," Jim said accusingly.

Blair held up his hands. "I'm not the one using Sentinel senses as an excuse," he returned.

"So what are you gonna say?" Jim said venomously. "Female hormones?"

Blair rubbed his face tiredly, then dropped his hands, looking at Jim squarely. "Yeah," he said simply.

Jim stared back, noting the tangled curls, and how small the oversized jacket made him seem. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jim looked down at his feet, then back up at Blair. "So, it was just a man woman thing?"

"Well, you're a man and I'm a woman," Blair said plainly. "It's not the first time I've been turned on while slow dancing. You?"

"You were turned on?" Jim said blankly. Somehow it didn't seem so bad if Blair had been caught up in it too.

Blair clutched his coat around him. "I'm surprised my nipples didn't punch holes in this dress," he revealed.

Jim turned away, throat tight. His imagination was filling in his memory's blanks, and now his skin was burning with the remembrance of Blair's excitement pressing against him. "Too much information, Chief," he muttered.

"Just tellin' it like it is Jim," Blair sighed. He was silent for so long Jim turned around. Sad blue eyes looked back at him. "Still want me to stay?"

Jim turned on his heel and began walking. After a moment he heard the slap of Blair's sandals behind him.

They walked for a while in silence, and then a cab cruised by, its light on. Jim hailed it and it pulled up next to them. He opened the door and then turned back to Blair.

The young woman was standing on the curb, coat clutched tightly around her. She looked sad and forlorn standing there in her man's jacket, fingers twisting in the supple leather.

Jim stepped back and gestured into the cab. "After you."

Blair darted him a quick glance. "Where are we going?"

Jim shrugged. "Home."

The ride home was silent. So was the ride upstairs in the elevator.

"You never answered me," Blair said as the front door of the loft closed behind them.

"I don't wanna hear that question every time something goes wrong over the next year," Jim returned. "And I think we can guarantee, things are going to go wrong."

Blair's fingers relaxed a little.

"Going wrong is one thing," he ventured. "But what happened..."

"Like you said," Jim interrupted. "It was your hormones and my senses. That's all."

Blair looked doubtful. "Okay," he agreed cautiously.

"Only natural I guess," Jim continued, hoping he sounded more sure of himself than he felt. "After all, most woman have their whole lives to learn to control those kinds of... urges."

"Urges?" Blair repeated.

"If you think about it, it makes sense," Jim reasoned. "You were bound to get carried away the first time a man got close to you."

"Excuse me?" Blair sarcastically. "I got carried away? Whose dick was punching me in the kidneys?"

Jim flushed. "No need to get coarse," he said stiffly.

"Excuse me," Blair said grimly. "How unladylike of me."

"And there's no need for sarcasm either," Jim exploded.

"Then stop laying all the blame for this on me, okay?" Blair yelled back. "We both got turned on, all right? Both of us."

"All right!" Jim admitted loudly. "I got turned on, all right? I can hardly deny it. But it was a purely involuntary reaction."

"Well so was mine," Blair flung back.

"Right," Jim agreed grimly, turning for his stairs.

"Fine," Blair spat out. He clomped towards him room.

"Just one more thing," Jim called back.

"Go to hell," Blair muttered, slamming his door.

The door was flung back on its hinges. "I said, just one more thing," Jim said ominously.

"And I said, Go. To. Hell." Blair enunciated slowly.

"This just proves my point," Jim said, leveling a finger at him. "You're not fit to be let out on your own."

"Ooh," Blair breathed in frustration. He picked up one of his colorful cushions and flung it at Jim. The big man dodged it easily.

"Well, you dragged me into this mess, and now you're stuck with me," Jim announced with satisfaction. "You thought you had a Blessed Protector before, you ain't seen nothing yet."

"Get out of my room!" Blair yelled.

"I am sticking to you like glue, young lady," Jim smirked. "We'll keep those hormones in control if it's the last thing I ever do!" He turned and stomped away.

"It just might be!" Blair shrieked after him.

End of Part Eight.

Part Nine

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