Notes: This story is slash. It features a sexual scene
between two adult males of differing racial background. It is not
a Jim/Blair pairing. If any of the elements I have listed bothers
you, feel free to back out of the page. Perhaps you could try my gen stories
located elsewhere on my site.
This story has not been beta read. If you would like to critique the work, feel free to. I have a fairly thick skin, so don't worry about offending me.
Now... on with the story.
Simon stared out the window of the office, not really seeing the world that moved on the other side of the glass. He leaned back further in his chair and took off his glasses, tossing them to the desktop. Two years. It was an anniversary of sorts, he guessed. Two years of 'freedom'. Two years on his own, a bachelor once again. Two years of sleeping alone in a cold bed. Two years of working 12 to 16 hour days so he didn't have to go back to that empty cold apartment he was supposed to consider a home. "Well, happy fucking anniversary, Simon Banks," he muttered bitterly to himself. Disgusted with his own self-pity, he sat up, put his glasses back on and began signing the weekly reports in front of him.
Moments later, he heard a tap on his door and Ellison stuck his head in. The tall detective, one of Simon's best friends, had his coat on and held a battered Jags cap in one hand.
"I have that report done, Captain. I'll get Sandburg to sign it and we'll get it to you in the morning, OK?"
"Yeah, sounds good. See you in the morning."
"Nope. Grab your coat, Simon. Dinner's on me."
The captain looked at his friend's determined face and nodded. He had missed lunch, after all. Dinner with a friend beat the hell out of doing paperwork or going home to watch television.
********
The restaurant they finally agreed on was a sports-themed bar and grill. They kept the conversation light until the waitress placed their beers in front of them and left with their food orders.
"Simon. What's wrong? " Jim's voice was quiet but firm.
"Who says anything's wrong?" Simon kept his eyes on the monitor a few feet away, preferring the mindless beer ad to the pity he imagined would be in Jim's eyes.
"Simon, you have been moody as hell all week. Today you yelled at Rhonda and nearly had her in tears. You've hardly slept. I know you haven't because you've been working longer days than I have and I've been busting my ass. You're having trouble concentrating. Something is obviously bugging you." Jim put down his beer. He reached out and placed a hand on Simon's forearm. "I'm your friend. Let me help."
The touch disturbed Simon. Not that it was unwelcome, not at all. Perhaps it was because he was so lonely, that it had been so long since he had felt a tender, heartfelt gesture, that he needed to connect so badly with another human. Yeah, that must be it! Because that touch -- not even skin on skin -- had brought desire and need bubbling to the surface. The need to connect with another human being, the need for intimacy, the need for comfort.
The captain looked down at the pale hand resting on his arm. He forced himself not to clutch at it and instead patted it twice with his own darker hand. "Thanks, Jim. " His voice was so quiet, Jim had to turn up his hearing to catch what he said.
The food came then and the two men concentrated on their food for a while. The silence between them lasted until they had eaten most of the food in front of them and they leaned back. When both of them sighed in contentment at the same time, they looked at each other and chuckled.
"Hey -- why don't we go over to my place? There's a game on tonight."
"Sandburg going to watch the game with us?" Simon tried to make it sound like it really wouldn't matter if the consultant was there or not. But he wasn't about to pour out his troubles in front of the grad student. He liked Sandburg, but the only friend he had who could understand was sitting in front of him.
"Nah. Probably won't even make it home tonight. He's out with whats-her-name again... that new girl in the morgue?" Jim laid a couple of bills on top of the check and grabbed his coat.
"Pamela Ciolla. Is that why he has been going down there? I wondered why he was suddenly so interested in autopsy results." They laughed together at the observer's philandering ways as they walked to their cars.
Once at the loft, Jim grabbed each of them a beer while Simon turned on the game. They settled comfortably on the same couch and watched the game in silence.
"Two years, Jim." Simon's gruff voice broke the quiet suddenly.
"Oh?"
"Since my divorce was final. Two years and what do I have to show for it? I have a son who will barely speak to me most of the time--when I get to see him at all. I have an apartment where I live alone, eat alone, watch TV alone..." his voice went down to a whisper. "... sleep alone."
Jim's only answer was to shift on the couch so that he was facing Simon and, in doing so, moved closer to him.
"God, Jim! How did you stand it? Before Blair moved in, how did you deal with being alone all the fucking time?" The big man took in a deep breath that sounded almost like a sob.
"I... didn't. I did the same thing you're doing. Worked until I couldn't keep my eyes open, went to bed. Got up and did it all again."
"Hmmm. That does sound familiar, doesn't it."
"Yeah, well you remember how much fun I was to be around then, right?" Sarcasm dripped from Jim's voice.
"God, have I been that bad?"
"Pretty much, yeah. Simon, if living with Blair has taught me anything it's that friends help each other. That's what they do." Jim made the words sound like a quote. They probably were.
"So I've heard."
Jim placed a hand on Simon's leg and gave a gentle squeeze. "I'm here, Simon. I've been where you are. Let me help."
Simon sat very still for a few moments, then covered Jim's hand with his own, gripping it tightly. Tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes and he choked back a sob. With his free hand, he removed his glasses, tossing them carelessly on the coffee table. He felt Jim's hand tighten on his fingers and his defenses crumpled under the onslaught of sympathy he felt from his friend.
Huge, wracking sobs tore from his lungs and he suddenly felt like the child he had been -- six years old and lost at the death of his mother. Bereft and abandoned, until he felt a strong arm wrap around his shoulders and his face pressed into a solid chest. He felt safe and comforted and suddenly free to unload the horrible burden of grief and guilt, anger and anguish he had carried since Joan had rejected him and their marriage. The tall, strong, gruff man wailed his pain into the shoulder of a friend and was comforted.
Eventually, the loft became quieter and the two men sat still on the couch, both with tear-streaked faces, one supporting the other as he slipped into an exhausted slumber. The large pale man held the large dark man, sliding back along the couch until it supported his back. A colorful wool afgan was pulled from the couch back to cover them both.
Jim sighed softly, running one hand in a soothing pattern along Simon's back. He hoped his friend wasn't too embarrassed when he woke up. Simon was a strong, proud man and Jim respected him immensely.
Simon snored sonorously, and Jim looked at him with an amused half-smile. The past week had taken its toll on the captain and he was probably down for the count. The release of his self-control and the exhaustive sobs had certainly tired him out as well. Jim gave into temptation and ran his right hand gently over the black, close-cropped hair. It looked so coarse, like raw wool but felt like the finest silk against his fingertips. He traced down the hairline to the face he knew so well, his inquisitive fingertips mapping the features.
If Simon were to wake right now, would he push Jim away? The Sentinel wasn't sure. They had been circling each other warily for years now. Jim was one of the few who knew the real reason behind Simon's divorce. Joan's discovery that one of Simon's old lovers had been male was just the last straw for an already burdened marriage. It was the tool she used to retain custody of Daryl and to turn the boy against his father. No, Joan didn't care that Simon had been utterly faithful to her, that the thought of straying outside his marriage vows had never occurred to him. She cared only that Simon had hidden his 'perversity' from her. 'Some people, ' Jim thought, "don't know when they have it good."
Since Simon had signed his divorce papers on Blair's back, the captain had been solitary. There had been Amy, the beautiful nurse. Between his schedule and hers, they had never managed more than a short lunch. She had decided 'it just wasn't meant to be.' There had been a couple of other women, but no one had really connected with the big man.
So Simon and Jim had maneuvered around each other. Tentative steps toward each other complicated by their work, their pasts, their fears. And now... now, where were they in this dance? Would they go back to the bullpen tomorrow and pretend that the walls were still standing? Or would they accept this closeness and work toward more? As he caressed Simon's face, soothing away the tension and heartache, Jim hoped that they were finally past the biggest hurdle.
Half an hour later, they were still in the same position. Jim still lay on the couch with Simon draped over him. Jim had his left arm wrapped securely around the other man's back and shoulders, the hand splayed over an abdomin as firm and defined as his own. His right hand wandered as if it had its own mind, resting for a moment here, on the dark-skinned jaw; a long slow slide down the shoulder to the large hand with the long fingers; brushing the back of his own fingers across the brow and the crinkly silken hair that covered Simon's head. On one of the many trips his meandering hand took down the muscled arm, as Jim's fingertips brushed the back of Simon's hand, the sleeping man awoke, blinking blearily in confusion. Jim continued his caresses.
Simon made a soft sound in the back of his throat as a pale hand brushed his forehead and tenderly moved to cup his jaw. He closed his eyes again and leaned his face into the warm hand. On some level, he had been aware of the stroking, soothing touches and couldn't quite work up the resolve to end them. It just felt so *good* to be touched, so softly, so gently, with such care and concern. Had Joan ever touched him that way? He couldn't remember.
And this was Jim. His friend. The man who had frustrated him for so long. Either they were in each other's faces on the job, sharp words flying between them or they were dancing away from each other, out of reach. Only now... now he was here, within reach. A growing sense of desire and longing welled up within him and he felt his body begin to respond. The way their legs were tangled together beneath the afgan, there wouldn't be any way to hide his erection. It was pressing against Jim's thigh. 'So, ' thought Simon philosophically, 'in for a penny, in for a pound.' Jim hadn't stopped touching him, so either this thing was mutual or his best detective didn't have a clue. The second choice just wasn't possible.
Long, quiet moments passed. Jim traced the features of Simon's face as his dark eyes closed in pleasure. He ran a thumb around the full lips and contemplated kissing them. As if on cue, Simon licked his lips and raised his head, ever so slightly. Neither man wanted to push the other, so without a word, they compromised, each offering his mouth to the other, somehow meeting in the middle with a gentle brush of lips.
With contact established, Jim gently took charge. Simon had been so long without this sort of loving touch that Jim was determined to make up for all the loneliness his friend had been carrying. Firmly, passionately, he took the dark upper lip between his, sucking and nibbling on it ever so carefully before sliding his tongue into the hot mouth.
Coffee, sweet and slightly flavored with almonds. Cigar, ever so faint. Beer, steak, ranch dressing. The tastes exploded on his tongue, swirling through his head. He filtered them out, one by one, until all he could taste was the essence of his friend. An earthy, slightly bitter flavor with a touch of spice. That was pure Simon and now the Sentinel would know it forever.
Simon's tongue slid along his, testing his resolve. The two dueled for dominance for a few moments, neither willling to give in. They paused for breath, panting slightly. Their gazes locked until Jim rested his forehead against Simon's and whispered "Let me. Just for tonight." Simon nodded and their lips met again. This time there was no struggle, no battle, no doubt. The tall, dark captain let the tall, pale detective make love to his mouth with fervor and intensity.
Soon one talented mouth left the other and began a descent down a firm jawline to a throat that was eagerly offered up to the nibbles and licks being lavished upon it. It wasn't much longer before shirts were unbuttoned and pushed away to expose firm chests to eager mouths and hands.
"Simon... upstairs? Please?"
A low, growly moan that sounded vaguely like "oooh, yeah" was the only reply Jim got. He pulled the afgan off them and the two men helped each other off the couch. They both wobbled a little as circulation returned to their legs so they grabbed each other for support. Jim took the time to look intently at Simon, searching for any sign of unease or second thoughts. He found none, only burning desire that lit the deep brown eyes.
Simon excused himself to the bathroom while Jim went up the stairs to make sure they had everything they needed. He pulled off his shoes and socks and stripped down to his boxers. He flipped his T-shirt over the rail next to his bed, where it could be seen from below.
The 'No Sex in the Loft' rule was more of a joke than a reality. If Sandburg saw the T-shirt over the rail, or if Blair hung his jacket over the back of the couch, it was a cue that the other roomie should stay out of sight or steer clear until 7 am. The arrangement allowed for a modicum of privacy for the lovers they each occaisionally brought home.
Simon was out of the bathroom now, walking slowly toward the stairs leading to the bedroom. His expression was apprehensive as he reached the top of the stairs.
"Jim, I don't..."
"Simon. It's okay. We can just sleep if you like. But you shouldn't sleep alone tonight. And I don't think you really want to."
The dark man sighed and rubbed his face. "No, I don't. But..."
Jim interrupted him again, this time with a kiss.
Again, Simon allowed his friend to take control of the kiss, to lead the way. It was long, slow, tender and more intimate than either expected. When they paused for breath, their gazes locked and the two men reached an understanding without words.
They each undressed, quickly but with control. Jim finished disrobing first and knelt on the bed as he waited for Simon to finish disrobing. His eyes skimmed over the lanky body of his friend, taking in the tightly curled hair that was scattered over the caramel-colored chest and became thicker around the genitals.
He had often imagined what Simon would look like but those fantasies were filed under "Impossible Dreams" along with the ones of Blair, Rafe and Henri. No movie stars or celebrities in Jim's wet dreams. He preferred his phantom lovers to be supported by his sense memories, to be able to remember what they smelled like, what their bodies sounded like, what he imagined their voices would sound like at climax.
Simon hesitated a moment and Jim could tell that Simon was eying him in the same measuring way. He rolled his shoulders back, knowing that the flex and play of the muscles would show his chest to the best advantage. He wasn't vain, but he knew where his strengths were.
Jim's cock had been lying quietly between his legs, slightly hard, but only now filling and lifting to its full length with that hungry stare moving lower down his body.
Simon's own cock was like the man it belonged to -- long and slender and firm. Although there had been little sign of arousal when he first climbed the stairs, it was obvious now that the man wanted to do more than sleep.
He knelt on the bed facing Jim and they met again in a kiss. Simon grasped Jim's head firmly in both hands, his thumbs on pale cheeks, as he dove into Jim's mouth. He tasted yeilding flesh then moved down a stubbly jaw to bite gently at the juncture of neck and shoulder. A soft moan encouraged him. He felt strong hands gliding down his back and returned the moan as they pulled his hips firmly against Jim's, bringing their erections together. He shuddered.
They found themselves laying on the bed, Jim moving in a sensual rythmn atop Simon, their groins grinding together in an ageless dance. No words were spoken, only soft noises of pleasure broke the stillness of the loft. They reached completion at nearly the same time and Jim collapsed onto his friend. They fell asleep that way, arms and legs entwined, heads touching and breath mingling.
end??
*****
I am not sure if this is finished or not... there is a lot left to
explore. I think the NC-17 portion is about as complete as I can
make it. Email me and let me know what you think... I NEED
the input if any more is to be done on it.
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