By Aouda Fogg

"Jim, it isn't so much that I *lied*..." Blair's voice trailed off. He could tell from the crossed arms and cocked eyebrow that James Ellison was not buying it. He tried another tack. "See, it's like in academics -- the old saying that it isn't plagiarizing, just paraphrasing?"

"Don't know that one."

Damn, that wasn't working either. Okay. Time for a concession. "Uh, yeah. Well, maybe it isn't so old. Maybe it was something a bunch of us in my lit and methods class came up with in the Master's program as a jokey motto."

"Uh, huh."

Jim wasn't giving an inch. "It's all a matter of semantics, man."

"I don't share your view of the situation, Chief."

"Yeah, I'm getting that." Blair tried a smile. *That* didn't work either. All right, time for the big guns. "Ummmm... I throw my body on the mercy of the court?"

"Oh, I've got plans for your body, alright."

Blair couldn't decide if he liked the menacing intent in Jim's stare or not. And somehow he figured throwing himself on the floor, ripping off his clothes, and begging might weaken his position. He sighed. "Sorry."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. It really did start out as a joke. But then it kind of kept growing and growing. I never should've teased you about it."

"And..."

"And I never should've called you Pookey in front of the guys, even if it was at Simon's house and not at work."

Jim uncrossed his arms and took a step toward him. Blair tried to decide if he should run now.

"Thank you, I appreciate the apology. And Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"Now would, in fact, be a good time to run."

Shit. No one knew he better than Jim.

Blair ran.

Right up the stairs and toward their bed.

Jim followed. And if he took his revenge in the form of lingering for a long, long time over his favorite parts of Blair's body, Blair didn't really seem to mind.

Fin

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