By Audra Rose

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Rating: R

Summary: Morning after schmoop, a little humor. If you really dug the angst-fest, ignore this. :-)

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Blair woke up remembering the texture of Jim’s skin beneath his fingers. He remembered everything, as if it were all one violent motion – taking Jim down to the floor and trying to touch him everywhere, bruising Jim’s lips and marking his throat.

He remembered leaning over and using his mouth to find the places on Jim’s body that turned him drunk and begging. He remembered surging up into heat and friction and the slick slide of skin on skin; bodies moving together until he came hot and hard all over Jim’s hands. He remembered wanting to stand but then giving in to Jim’s arms and his own sated haze.

There was nothing after that until the minute he woke lying on the floor with Jim sleeping warm and naked beside him.

He wondered what Jim would remember.

The tangled nest of blankets and cushions shifted, and suddenly Jim’s hand closed hard around his hip. Blair felt an instant of dread before the soft, drugging touch of Jim’s mouth fell against his shoulder blade. Blair closed his eyes.

“God, Jim. I’m so sorry.”

“Okay. You’re forgiven,” Jim murmured, pressing his lips to the base of Blair’s neck.

Blair turned his face into the throw pillow he’d slept on, and shivered at the touch. He leant his head forward so Jim would do it again.

“Somehow, I don’t think it’s going to be that simple,” he said miserably.

“You think too much.” Jim licked the edge of Blair’s ear. “Why are you so sure this is going to be a problem, anyway?”

“Because I know you,” Blair whispered. “And even if you can figure out a way to do it, I’m not sure I can forgive myself.”

Blair felt the heat against his back disappear as Jim moved away, and the loss was painful.

“You really regret this.” Jim’s words were flat, emotionless. Blair turned to watch Jim lie back, saw his expression become closed and blank.

Blair knew that look, and deciding that it wasn’t necessary to be careful once a thing was broken, he reached out to touch Jim’s face.

“Yeah, I regret it,” he said softly. “If it costs me what we have, I’ll probably regret it forever.”

“What do we have?”

“Jim –“

“I’m asking you a question. What do we have?”

Blair let out a breath and lay back down. “We’re friends.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good friends,” he continued, glancing over at Jim. “And we’re partners. We work really well together.”

“Friends. Partners.”

“And we have that whole Sentinel thing I told you about. Remember?”

“Yeah, that was yesterday, Sandburg. Why wouldn’t I remember?”

Blair looked at him warily. “Well, you know… amnesia…”

“So, that’s it?” Jim asked, as if Blair hadn’t spoken. “Friends, partners, the Sentinel thing?”

“I think that’s a lot.”

Jim shook his head. “If that’s all, then I don’t regret what happened last night.”

Blair felt surrounded by silence, as if Jim were speaking from very far away. He nodded once, and took a deep breath.

“Everything we have together,” Jim continued, “is it enough? For you, I mean.”

“Well… yes.”

Jim was looking at the ceiling, and Blair watched his profile, feeling a little at sea.

Jim finally said, “I don’t think it’s enough. I think eventually you would have found something else – another research subject, another school, another Borneo opportunity for god’s sake –“

“Jim?”

In one fluid movement Jim moved over Blair, pressing him into the carpet, sealing their bodies together. “You would have gone looking for what was missing, and I would have let you go. So I don’t regret anything.”

Blair closed his hands in Jim’s hair and pulled him down.

“Don’t forget, Chief,” Jim whispered, just before he touched Blair’s mouth. “I know you, too.”

Fin

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