By Spikedluv

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Rating: NC17

Summary: Blair has a nightmare.

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Blair came awake with a startled gasp. His breathing was ragged and his heart beat a rapid tattoo in his chest. He lay in the dark, trying to slow his breathing down as he attempted to make sense of the dream he'd just had. All he remembered were jumbled images and loud noises; faces contorted in anger, raised voices, a flash of light, screaming, and violent splashes of red.

"Chief, what's wrong?" Jim asked from the open doorway of his room.

"Bad dream," Blair managed to get out, even though his throat was still squeezed shut with residual fear from the nightmare.

"You okay?" Jim asked worriedly, moving into the room.

"Yeah, I will be," Blair said. "But I don't think I'm going to be able to get back to sleep right away."

"How about some tea?" Jim asked as Blair shoved the blankets back and sat up.

Blair plucked at the sweaty t-shirt that clung to him. "That sounds good, but you don't have to...," he began.

"I know, but I want to," Jim assured him. "I know it's still early, but maybe you'd feel better if you took a quick shower."

"You ever notice how fear-sweat is stickier than regular sweat?" Blair asked lightly, trying to put the dream behind him.

"Yeah," Jim agreed, but it didn't stop him from putting his hand on Blair's shoulder. "Why don't you take a shower while I heat up water for your tea?"

"Okay," Blair agreed, eager to get the stink of fear off his body. If he could smell it, he wondered how Jim was faring. "Thanks, Jim."

"No problem, Chief." Jim patted his cheek, and Blair gave him a small smile.

Ten minutes later, Blair was freshly scrubbed and dressed in clean, dry sweats and t-shirt. He sat cross-legged on the couch and used a towel to squeeze excess water out of his hair. He hadn't planned on washing it, but the mere thought of the dream had him wanting to get as clean as he could.

Jim brought over a mug of tea fixed just the way Blair liked it, and set it down within easy reach on the coffee table, then sat at the other end of the couch.

"Want to tell me about the dream?" Jim asked. "This smart guy I know would tell you that it might help to talk about it," he quickly added before Blair could refuse.

"He sounds like a real pain in the ass," Blair commented dryly from behind the towel.

"He can be," Jim replied, and Blair could hear the grin in his voice. "But he usually knows what he's talking about."

"They're the worst kind," Blair returned, not looking at Jim. He laid the damp towel in his lap and reached for the tea, then blew on it before taking a sip of the hot brew. He held onto the mug, warming his hands around it.

Jim reached out for the towel, busying his hands with folding it. He waited silently, patiently, for Blair to speak. Finally, Blair couldn't stand the waiting.

"It was about the Paulson case," he said softly.

"I thought it might be," Jim responded just as softly. "That one was...bad."

"I've never seen anything like that," Blair said.

Jim squeezed the towel in his hands as if he could strangle it. "I wish you hadn't had to see it."

Blair gave a sharp bark of slightly hysterical laughter. "Me, too, man, me, too." He let go of the mug with one hand and reached for Jim, whose hand was there immediately to take his.

"I should never have taken you there," Jim berated himself.

Blair narrowed his eyes and squeezed Jim's hand. "Don't be ridiculous, Jim. As much as I wish I hadn't to see that, and hope to God that I never have to see anything like it again, I would never let you go into a crime scene like that without me at your back. So don't you even think about leaving me behind one day," he said firmly. "You need me, and I need to be there for you, so don't shut me out, man. No matter how bad it is. I'll deal."

"We'll deal."

Blair smiled. "We'll deal," he agreed.

"I just wish you didn't have to."

"Oh, man, me, too!" Blair put the empty mug on the coffee table and leaned forward. "Thanks, Jim."

Jim rubbed his thumb over the back of Blair's hand. "You're welcome, Blair. You think you might be able to sleep now?"

Blair's heart started to beat another tattoo in his chest, though for a completely different reason. If Jim didn't stop touching him like that, sleep was highly unlikely. "Yeah, sure, Jim," he lied, swallowing hard. "I'm good now."

"Chief?" Jim dropped the towel and reached out to touch Blair's hair, which Blair was using to hide his face. "Is something wrong?"

Blair gave a strangled laugh that held little mirth. "No," he squeaked. "But we might have a problem if you don't stop touching me, man."

"Blair?" Instead of letting him go, Jim tilted Blair's head up so he could see his face.

Blair pulled his hand out of Jim's grasp and leaned back so that Jim's hand fell away from his hair. "Don't worry, Jim, it's nothing. I think I'll hit the sack. Things'll look better in the morning, right?"

"So they say," Jim replied, his tone noncommittal.

Blair stood and took the mug to the kitchen on his way to his bedroom. Jim rose and followed him. While Blair rinsed his mug out in the sink Jim placed his hands on Blair's shoulders.

"You still seem a little tense, Chief." Jim squeezed his shoulders. "I bet I know just the thing to get you relaxed. You go lie down, I'll be right back."

Jim disappeared up the stairs to his bedroom before Blair could protest, and Blair shuffled into his room. He had a very bad feeling that he knew what Jim had in mind, and it was very, very bad idea. There was no way he could make it through this without exposing his feelings to Jim.

Jim reappeared with a bottle of massage oil before Blair made it to the bed. "Take your t-shirt off, Chief," he said, holding up the bottle. "This'll send you right off to nod."

Blair didn't want to contradict Jim out loud, but he had a feeling that he'd be less able to sleep after the massage than he was now. Without looking at Jim, Blair removed his t-shirt and laid down on the rumpled bed. He shifted over so Jim could sit on the edge, then watched as Jim poured some oil into his cupped palm and warmed it between his hands before applying it to Blair's back.

"Oh, god," he moaned as Jim dug into tight muscles.

"I knew you were too tense to sleep, Chief," Jim said, and then the only sounds were the rasp of Jim's hands over Blair's back, and Blair's groans of pleasure when Jim's fingers bit in deeply.

Blair felt like a melted puddle of goo, and was ready to drift off to sleep to the feel of Jim's hands on his back when those very same hands moved lower. Much lower. Without a word, without even pausing, Jim pushed the waistband of Blair's sweat pants down and began to massage his butt cheeks.

Blair buried his face in his pillow to keep from moaning aloud, and then lifted his head to speak. "Jim?" his voice quavered.

"Is this all right, Blair?" Jim asked.

Blair had to bury his face back into the pillow as the meaning of Jim's question penetrated. He was afraid to say something in case Jim stopped touching him, even as he pondered the ramifications of what they were doing here.

"Tell me now if it's not."

"It's okay," Blair got out before he could talk himself out of it.

"Good," Jim said, gently spreading Blair's cheeks and running a thumb along the cleft between them.

Blair jerked. "Jim," he gasped.

"Lift up," Jim said, gripping the waistband. Blair lifted his hips and Jim carefully pulled the sweats down Blair's thighs. Silently, he got more oil and began once more to massage Blair's ass. He moved his fingers down Blair's bared thighs and then reached between them to massage his sac.

Even burying his face in the pillow couldn't hide the little noises Blair was making at Jim's touch. He was so hard, and he struggled not to move. Only when Jim spread oil between his cheeks and over his hole, and then pushed a finger inside him, did Blair allow himself to thrust against the bed.

Jim pulled his finger out, and for a moment Blair was stricken with the thought that he'd done something wrong. He nearly fainted when Jim said, "Roll over."

His body flushed with heat, Blair did as Jim asked. Eyes locked on his, Jim slid oil-slicked fingers up Blair's stomach and through his chest hair, pausing to tease his nipples. Jim leaned over him, bringing their faces closer together.

"You still all right with this?" he whispered.

Blair nodded, then moaned when Jim kissed him. After what seemed like an eternity, Jim lifted his head. Blair groaned in protest.

Jim grinned. "I've never seen you this quiet, Chief."

"Oh god, Jim!"

"I knew you couldn't maintain your silence," Jim teased, stroking his prostrate and eliciting a new form of Blair-babble. "That's it, Blair," he encouraged, "talk to me."

Jim bent down and took Blair's stiff cock into his mouth as he continued to thrust two fingers into Blair, and Blair discovered that his imagination wasn't even close to the real thing. Jim's tongue was doing things to him that made him want to cry. He spread his legs as far as he could, silently encouraging Jim with his body even as he couldn't stop himself from begging for more.

Blair strained to not thrust into Jim's mouth, but as if he could read his mind, Jim's hand on his hip encouraged him to do just that. Blair moved his hips and his cock slid down Jim's throat. He was too aroused-by Jim's tongue and fingers, and by his own prior imagination-to last, and three thrusts later Blair felt his balls tighten. His entire body stiffened, and his hips jerked as his cock spurted into Jim's waiting mouth.

Despite his body's lassitude, Blair felt Jim gently suck him clean and carefully withdraw his fingers, then straighten his legs out on the bed before pulling the blankets out from beneath him and covering him. Jim leaned over him and placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

"Think you'll be able to sleep now, Chief?" he asked.

Blair shook his head, then sleepily maneuvered them until Jim was lying on the small bed beside him, blankets covering them both. Jim was on his back, and Blair curled up against his side. He placed his ear against Jim's chest and listened to the solid tattoo of his heartbeat. Jim wrapped his arms around Blair and held him close.

"Now I can," he mumbled sleepily.

Fin

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