December 4

CRIME:

The Sentinel: Jim/Blair

Author: Lorraine Brevig
Title:  Under the Mistletoe
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Summary:  Charcoal on canvas board, 12"-h x 9"-w
Show: The Sentinel
Date of publication: Dec. 4, 2004
Disclaimer: Not mine. I wish.
Feedback address:  hisstah@aol.com
Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm

Sentinel - Jim/Blair

Author: Sara
Title: Scars
Rating: R
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Summary: Jim and Blair share scars.
Show: The Sentinel
Date of publication: Dec. 4, 2004
Disclaimer: Dis is a claimer. I claim them. Actually, no I don't they belong to Paramount and Pet Fly and many other lucky people.
Feedback: Yes, please. To sara_merry99 @ yahoo . com (delete the spaces, of course)
Advertisement: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2003 at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: There is a little bit of violence in the background of the story, but not in the story's present. There is also a wee tiny bit of bad language. And just a lot of strangeness.
Beta: Singer--who liked the idea, Zaeria--who gave me confidence, and Lyra--who fixed a lot of things and made it much better! Thanks, ladies! Where it is weak, it is probably because I ignored one or all of them.


With a gentle fingertip, Jim traced a silvery line that ran across Blair's thigh. "And this one?"

Blair laughed. "I fell off a demon disguised as a horse." Jim raised an eyebrow skeptically and Blair went on, "Naomi left me with my cousins in Texas for a summer so she could have some intensive study with her guru in India. They took me to the Rocking K Dude Ranch."

Jim pictured a young Blair as he'd seen him in Naomi's photographs--hair short and madly curly, thick glasses perched on a small pug nose, arms full of books-- at a dude ranch, and smiled.

"Get that grin off your face man. I did all right. Except the first day. My aunt and uncle and cousins were all real experienced riders. So the ranchers picked more ... challenging horses for our party. Of course, I'd never even seen one up close and personal before. And I was on this fire red horse named The Bastard."

Jim snorted. "How old were you? You sound like you were too young for that kind of language."

"Twelve." Blair smiled. "Maybe that wasn't its official name, but I definitely remember one of the ranch hands calling it that. I think it was introduced to me as Flame or something trite like that."

"So what did Flame do?" Jim said, running his hand over the scar in a soothing gesture. Though he wasn't at all sure who he was supposed to be soothing.

"Threw me almost the instant my butt hit the saddle. The scar's from where my leg hit the paddock fence." Blair chuckled. "It actually worked out just fine. The ranch gave us an extra two days there and I started again with a nice horse, Little Ben, and we all wound up having a great time. Aunt Ruth was able to stay with us and Uncle Eldon even took an extra day off work to stay there longer." Blair held up a hand and pointed to a faint scar that crossed two of his knuckles. "That one's from where the rope bit into me when I roped a goat the last day we were there. That was cool."

Jim smiled, sharing Blair's enjoyment of the happy memory. It wasn't just a reflected sharing for him, empathically sharing his partner's joy. His senses allowed him to take his own unique pleasure in it, the feel of Blair's skin as it rippled next to him as he wriggled happily, the musical sound of Blair's laugh, the wonderful, almost yeasty smell of a happy Blair. It all added up to a sensual feast that he knew he never would grow tired of.

Blair shook him out of his reverie by tackling him and pushing him over. "Hey, man. I think I'm going to insist that this bed is a no-zoning zone." Jim smiled and pretended to resist for a second before lying back. Blair studied him for a minute, hands skimming over his body, just barely not touching. "Pick one to tell me about, Jim. I know a lot of them are classified, so I don't want to ask."

Jim propped himself up on one elbow and surveyed his body. Finally he pointed to one scar on his bicep, "That one's from a surfing accident."

"Where were you?"

"Diamond Head. This was on my way back from Bali; I had two weeks of debriefing in Hawaii. I spent most of my downtime surfing there. It was amazing. The ocean is so blue and the water so warm. Incredible." Jim let himself go for a moment remembering the beauty of Hawaii. "There was a big crowd that day and the surf was huge. There was a collision out at the lineup and I got cut--I think on the fin of one of the other guy's boards."

"It looks like it went pretty deep," Blair said, studying the irregular scar.

"Yeah. I probably should have gotten stitches, but I didn't want to stop surfing. So I just bound it up tight and got back in the water."

"Didn't you worry about attracting sharks?"

"I probably should have, but I did have it well bound and kept it out of the water as much as possible. And...I just couldn't leave." Jim realized for the first time that it was curious, his reluctance to leave the beach that day. It wasn't like him to be that irresponsible.

Blair stroked over the scar and then up Jim's arm and over his chest, stopping only a moment to test the responsiveness of a nipple. Jim sighed at the pleasure, but was spent from their earlier lovemaking. Blair's hand stopped moving. "You know what I think?" Blair asked. "I think your senses were a little drunk on the sensual feast of the beach--water and sun and ocean smells. You were repressing them at the time, but as we've seen, even when repressed they're still taking stuff in."

Nodding slowly, Jim said, "Yeah, maybe. Maybe that's part of why I like surfing so much." He smiled. "So the senses were good for something even before I met you," he said, reaching out a long arm to grab Blair and pull him close. "Who knew?"

Jim could feel Blair smiling against his shoulder and started stroking along his back, feeling the knobs and bumps along his spine. At the base of Blair's spine, his fingers felt another scar, a thin, rough line, just at the top of the crack of his ass. "So what's this one from?" He asked lightly, enjoying this process of sharing histories while sharing skin.

Blair tensed for a moment, surprising Jim. Blair had been so open about everything, open and unconcealed and unprotected ever since they started making love two weeks before. And now, he would swear that his exceptional hearing was picking up the sound of Blair's self-protective barriers being erected again.

When Blair answered, a heartbeat too late and in a voice ringing with forced brightness, he said, "That's from when Naomi and I were abducted by aliens." Blair chuckled, but there was a note of falseness in the sound and Jim wasn't convinced by the clearly misdirecting humor.

"Aliens?" Jim asked, letting Blair regain his equilibrium by playing along with his story.

"Yeah. We were in the desert near Taos and a big flying saucer, with flashing red and green lights spelling out 'Ban the Bomb', came down and these grey aliens with big eyes and antennae that went beep took us. They wanted samples." Blair was telling the story like a big joke, in a country accent like so many people who claimed to be abductees.

"Samples?"

"Body tissues, skin. You know, the usual."

Jim stroked the scar at the top of Blair's ass again and very deliberately gave Blair the gift of ignoring his tiny flinch. "I thought most aliens wanted semen samples, ova, stuff like that."

Blair grinned, his heart rate still too wild for Jim to believe it. "These weren't very bright aliens, man. I think they took a shit sample."

"They must have known you were full of it, Chief." Jim swatted Blair's butt then cuddled him close for a few minutes. "Hey, let's go get dinner? My treat. I'll take you out to the Thai place you like. And I think the Arts Council is showing The Maltese Falcon in the park. The weather's perfect for it--not too hot and it hasn't rained in two days so the ground will be dry."

"Sounds great!" Blair said, with just a little too much enthusiasm. "Just let me take a quick shower and get dressed and I'll be ready to go." As Jim made the reservations, he heard Blair whisper, "Thanks, Jim, for letting it go" as his lover got in the shower.

"For now," Jim muttered to himself as he hung up the phone.

Jim promised himself he'd restrain his curiosity about that scar, his concern for Blair, as long as it took for Blair to feel comfortable enough to tell him about it.

That promise lasted only the rest of the evening. They lay in bed together that night in each other's arms as they had every night since becoming lovers. Jim said, softly, "It wasn't aliens, Blair. Tell me about that scar."

Blair rested his cheek against the top of Jim's head and said, "I can't right now. Can I ask you not to push me about it?"

Jim tightened his arm around Blair's waist and held him close, kissing Blair's shoulder where his head rested on it. "You sure you don't want to talk? You keep telling me it's better to talk about things rather than keeping them to yourself."

"Probably. But things are...I...just can't."

Jim pushed down his curiosity, his detective instincts. He kissed Blair's shoulder again and said, "Okay. That I can definitely understand. We'll leave it until you're ready."

Blair snorted a laugh and said, "Yeah. Figured you could relate to not wanting to talk about things."

Blair fell asleep quickly, as always. And, as always, Jim stayed in a muzzy state of half-sleep, listening to his partner's heart beating right under his ear. Every night he let the love he felt for Blair swell in him until his whole body tingled, buoyed by the wonderful emotion.

Their relationship was based on love, affection, caring, mutual need and many other things, not merely sex. Jim was sure they both knew it, but they didn't talk about it. Jim refused to open a discussion that would have to go through the uncomfortable and unpleasant ground of trust and betrayal, Alex, the dissertation, and the press conference. So, by some sort of unspoken agreement, they avoided the discussion, avoided the verbal expression of their mutual love, and hoped that the emotions could be conveyed through sex.

So Jim nurtured his love for Blair every night, in the silence and darkness of the loft, letting the rhythm of Blair's heartbeat become the rhythm of his whole world. Letting the feeling of love be all the light he could see, or imagine ever needing.

*******

Months later, they were sleeping in each others arms as always. The darkness and quiet wrapped around them like a blanket. A sudden moaning noise made Jim gasp and jerk awake. Blair moaned again next to him, twitching slightly in the throes of some nightmare. Blair started whimpering, a regular high-pitched noise of distress. Jim could smell the scent of tears, though he couldn't see the tracks of any on Blair's face.

Experience, particularly in the last week of almost nightly nightmares, taught Jim how best to help his love through this. He pulled Blair close, stroking over his arms and making soothing noises, "I'm here. It's okay. I'm here. Shh." He spoke softly, mindlessly, just letting the reassurance of his touch and his presence calm.

A minute later, Blair's breath evened out and he stopped shaking. A few moments after that, he snuffled and stretched and kissed Jim on the collar bone, the nearest bit of skin, and fell back to sleep, clinging tightly, with a tiny trace of moisture from restrained tears falling onto Jim's chest.

Jim held him and, wondering what it had been this time--Lash or Alex or Galileo or Golden Fire People or... fell back to sleep himself.

The next morning, Jim woke to the smells of coffee and toast and Blair beating eggs in the kitchen. Bleary eyed, he staggered downstairs to the bathroom.

By the time he emerged ten minutes later--showered and brushed and generally feeling more awake and ready for the day--the table was set, a mug of coffee was at his plate, and Blair was dishing up the eggs. "Good morning," Blair said, stealing a quick kiss as he passed.

Jim held his waist and kept him close so they could share a longer kiss. He remembered Blair's nightmare. Sometimes an easy, regular question was enough to get the story of his nightmares from Blair. Most of the time Blair didn't remember them, or said he didn't. "Good morning, Chief. How'd you sleep?"

Blair tensed and froze for a moment. Jim looked up sharply and watched as Blair said, "I slept pretty well, I think."

Jim shrugged nonchalantly, saying, "You seemed to be having another nightmare."

"Yeah? I guess I remember that there was something really unpleasant going on. I vaguely recall cuddling up to you and you holding me." Blair set the pan down in the sink and filled it with water. He turned to Jim and smiled, his face full of love and a longing that Jim couldn't understand. "You held me and I was okay then. Thanks."

Cataloging his partner's responses, like he would catalog those of a suspect, Jim was surprised that Blair wasn't being entirely truthful with him about not remembering. "You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

Blair looked up from the pan he was washing. "You're doing your lie detector thing on me, aren't you?" Jim nodded. Blair scowled, then went back to washing. "Whatever. I remember just enough to know I don't want to go there, okay?"

Jim nodded reluctantly, not completely convinced that he wanted to drop the issue, but also not willing to push his lover.

While they were doing the dishes, they got a call from Simon about a dead body at the waterfront and rolled out to start the investigation. Jim grabbed both of their heavy coats and handed Blair his as they walked out the door.

When they arrived at the crime scene, a light fall of large snowflakes was casting an almost attractive veil over the bustle of the forensic technicians and officers. Blair smiled when Dan Wolfe greeted them with a lazily drawled, "Hey, Detectives." Two officers were busy taping off the area, another was interviewing the dockworker who found the body, a few more keeping back the small group of people milling around.

Blair waved and grinned. "Hi, Dan. What have we got here?"

"Well, he's a white male, mid-30s, well dressed. Identification in his pocket says he's Michael Andrane, lives in White Spring. Pretty fancy neighborhood."

Jim looked down at the body, noticing that there were no obvious bloodstains on the wet clothes or visible wounds on the body. "Cause of death?"

Dan gave him a lazy scowl, saying, "I won't know for sure until I get him back to the lab. But right now, I'd say drowning."

Blair looked along the waterfront, at the piers and cranes and a couple of heavy ships tied up with huge cables and at the grey, greasy water beyond. "Lots of water here for him to do it in," he commented. He looked back down at Dan, his face pinched. "Time of death?"

"Hard to say. From the eyes and state of the body, probably very early morning, 3 or 4 AM."

Blair made a note of that. "Does he have any connection to the warehouses here?"

Dan shrugged, said, "Not my department," and turned away to talk with one of his assistants.

Jim knelt to examine the body. He expected to feel Blair's hand on his shoulder as usual, grounding his senses, and to hear Blair's voice providing commentary. Instead there was absolute stillness and near-absolute silence. He could hear Blair's heart, beating slowly, and his breathing, slightly ragged, but nothing else. He turned to look, Blair was staring at the body, a blank expression on his face. The only movement Blair made was to reach behind himself, toward holster he wore at his back

Jim immediately switched his sensory focus outward toward the perimeter of the crime scene, away from Blair, looking for a threat that might have had Blair reaching for his gun, but could find nothing. By the time he looked back to his partner, the strange moment of stillness was gone. Blair reached out for him, saying, "Come on, Jim, you've got to focus on the body here for a minute. Can you find anything on him?"

Jim bagged the evidence from the corpse, some stray hairs and fibers and marked a tiny bloodstain he'd discovered on the sodden cuff. He stood and waved Dan over. "Bag his hands before you transport; it looks like he might have been in a fight."

Dan nodded. While Dan and his assistant prepared the corpse for transport to the morgue, Jim took Blair aside and asked, "Where were you, Chief?"

Blair started. "Huh? What? I was standing next to you the whole time."

"You just seemed kind of out of it for a while there."

Blair blushed. "Sorry. Drowning victims...they sort of get to me." Before Jim could interject, could reassure, Blair went on, "I'm getting better though, really. I should have it entirely kicked soon. I promise." And then he walked off, marking a stain on the pavement a few feet away with a numbered cone

Jim gaped at Blair as he walked away, cursing himself for his insensitivity, for his failure to notice. Of course Blair was thrown off by drowning victims, he'd almost become one twice in the years he'd been working with Jim. He trotted up to his partner, carefully avoiding the evidence markers. "I never noticed."

Blair didn't look up, just said, "I didn't want you to. I'm sorry you noticed today."

While Jim was swabbing the stain to get a sample, Blair kept running his hand toward his lower back and shaking his head. He started when Jim touched his shoulder. Jim said, "Hey, Chief. You okay? You look like you hurt your back or something."

Blair looked embarrassed but smiled a little and said, "I'm fine, man. I may have strained it last night or something."

Jim expected some veiled reference to their lovemaking the night before, at least a wink and a grin, but got nothing other than a half shrug before Blair turned his attention to the forensics technician who had arrived to photograph the scene. Jim looked closely, listened closely, to his partner and almost swore out loud. Damn! Blair was lying again.

Blair was silent during the drive to the victim's house. He kept his hand on Jim's leg--a familiar gesture in the months since they'd become lovers, one that grounded both of them emotionally. Jim looked over at him when they pulled off the main road into the upscale White Spring development. "Hey, Chief, you okay?"

There was a delay before Blair responded, and when he finally did his voice sounded lost and a bit disconnected, "Yeah. I'm just thinking about what we're going to be telling the vic's wife."

Jim nodded. "You want me to handle it?"

"Nah. No offense, Jim, but I'm better at this than you are." Blair turned to look at Jim, his eyes a little nervous looking.

Jim gave a smile. "Yeah, you are."

As they walked up to the door of the large, ultramodern house, Blair bumped shoulders with Jim, a friendly, buddy gesture that carried a wealth of affection and love.

The woman who opened the door for them was beautiful, with dark auburn hair pulled off of her striking face. She smiled a warm greeting, as though she were welcoming friends. "Hey, what can I do for y'all?" She asked in a voice just tinged with a hint of a southern accent.

Blair pulled out his badge as he asked, "Loren Andrane?" When she nodded, suddenly more hesitant than before, he asked, gently, "Can we come in, Ma'am?"

She opened the door wide and led them both into the living room. It was a bright, cheerful room, decorated for the Christmas holidays with bright lights and greenery. She offered them both drinks and encouraged Blair to sit on one end of the long sofa while she fetched the water he asked for. Jim looked around the room, taking in the picture of Mrs. Andrane and the victim, clearly much in love, on vacation in Europe, and a note from Michael Andrane lying on the coffee table.

While he was looking around, Mrs. Andrane brought Blair's water and they settled themselves on the sofa. When Blair continued, "Ma'am, we're from the Cascade Police Department. We have some bad news for you," Jim watched Mrs. Andrane carefully as Blair told her about her husband's murder. Often anomalies of scent, heart rate, perspiration and other physical cues in these early interviews, when people weren't on their guard, were useful later on.

He was surprised when she said, "No, Michael can't have died this morning at the waterfront. He's on a business trip to Tacoma and I just spoke to him on the phone sometime around dawn. I could see the light coming through the windows. He said he was coming home."

There was no fear or alarm on her, not in her scent or her heart rate or her body language. She was simply, absolutely positive that her Michael wasn't the dead man.

Blair spoke gently. "We were able to match the victim's fingerprints with your husband's print on file with the DMV."

She shook her head. "I don't care. Perhaps the records are wrong. I tell you I spoke to him after you say he must have died. The man you have isn't Michael."

Blair turned to Jim, looking uncertain. Jim spoke, for the first time since entering the house, "Mrs. Andrane, perhaps you could help us sort this out by coming downtown with us. If you're right, we'll need to have a definite statement from you that the body we have isn't your husband."

She didn't say a word as she stood, unplugged the Christmas lights, grabbed her coat and pocket book and scribbled a quick note, which she left on the kitchen table.

The ride back to the station was even quieter than the one to the house had been. Mrs. Andrane sat in the back, silent and still. Her heart was starting to race and her scent had turned acrid; Jim could tell that she was angry and starting to become scared. Blair sat in the front, all of his attention turned inward on something that was pulling his eyebrows together into a frown.

At the station, they immediately took Mrs. Andrane down to the morgue. She refused to participate in any questioning or discussion until they had gotten clear the fact that they didn't have her husband down there.

Blair stood very close to her when Dan pulled out the drawer with the victim in it. Jim could see how quickly her defiant anger turned into horror. She looked at the face of the dead man, cried out once in a moan that sounded like it could have come from the depths of the earth, then went utterly blank. It didn't take extraordinary senses for Jim to feel the bleakness of the future she now saw stretching out ahead of her, where just moments before she had seen joy and possibility. It was written all over her..

As she stood there, swaying slightly as if she had been hit in the face instead of the soul, Blair put his hand on her elbow to steady her. Jim could see compassion and fear in Blair's face, an imperfect mirror of the fear in Mrs. Andrane's. Murmuring words of condolence and sympathy, Blair led her away from the body and out of the morgue.

During their subsequent conversation with the widow, Blair asked all the right questions: did her husband have any enemies? What was his business in Tacoma? Did she have any idea why he had returned early? Did he have any connections with the waterfront? Was there anything missing from his personal effects? But at the same time Jim could tell that he was pensive and worried.

Throughout the interview, Jim could smell the distinctive scent of fear--from the widow, of course, suddenly terrified of the future. That was to be expected. He was surprised to find that the scent also came from Blair.

*******

"Jim, we need to talk," Blair said as soon as the door closed that night.

Jim looked up from plugging in their own Christmas lights, saw the tension in Blair's posture, smelled the anxiety and said, "Yeah, okay. Sofa?"

Blair shook his head and gestured toward the stairs to the loft, saying, "Upstairs? I need ... to show you something."

Jim nodded, confused and curious and followed Blair up the stairs. At the top, Blair kicked off his shoes and started to strip, igniting a familiar heat of desire in Jim. Feeling himself grow hard, Jim began to unbuckle his belt as well, suddenly anxious to get Blair into their bed and make love to him.

He was stopped by Blair's hands on his, stilling him, and Blair's voice, very soft, saying, "Not yet, okay? Maybe later."

With a whispered, "Okay", Jim sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Blair removed his clothes, mechanically and without any attempt to seduce or tempt. Blair looked shaken, shattered, like he'd somehow been damaged by the case earlier in the day without Jim really noticing. "You all right, Chief?" Jim asked, knowing the answer but trying to give Blair something to hang on to. A friendly voice, a familiar question, if nothing else.

Blair turned to him, completely naked now, and shrugged one shoulder uncertainly. "Ask me again in a little while. It's too early to tell right now."

Jim was surprised by the answer and nodded. "Okay. What do you need me to do?" He kept his eyes on Blair's face, refusing himself the pleasure of looking over Blair's beautiful body. Something serious, uncertain, was happening and Blair didn't need to be ogled during it.

Blair nodded, as though Jim had passed some sort of test, and climbed onto the bed next to him lying down on his stomach, his head turned away from Jim. "Find that scar again."

Jim ran his hand across Blair's lower back, a clinical, business-like touch until he located the scar by feel. More or less consciously, he had been avoiding it during the months since they'd first discussed it. But now, he stroked across it with a feather-light fingertip and said softly, "It's right here."

Blair shuddered, a violent motion completely unlike the passionate shudders that often overtook both of them when they were making love. "I need to tell you now."

Jim silently stroked Blair's back, lying down so he could be closer to his love, but not touching anywhere except with his fingertips, silently offering comfort. After a few heartbeats Blair continued, speaking quietly, slowly, with a frightening surety in his voice, "There's more than one scar there. Can you see them?"

Jim focused his sense of touch on the small area, piggybacking sight to follow, and saw three overlapping scars, all fairly recent. "Yeah, they're almost interwoven so they're a little hard to distinguish, but I think I can see three."

Blair held his breath for a moment, then let it out in a small sigh. "That's all of them."

Jim felt suddenly furious, enraged at the repeated assaults on his lover, his Guide, his soulmate. He controlled the thunder in his heart, barely, and asked in a growling whisper, "Who did this to you, Blair? When?"

Blair shrank away from the rage emanating from Jim like a tsunami. "It started when I drowned."

Jim was confused, the passion of his rage swirling in turbulent eddies. "Alex didn't...when we found you, you weren't ..."

Blair, impossibly, seemed to shrink even more, until Jim was afraid he'd disappear altogether. "No, not Alex." There was a pause that seemed like the whole universe holding its breath. "Me." Blair halted for a minute, tense. Jim bit his tongue to keep from saying something angry and harsh. "With a hunting knife. I had to."

The eddies of rage and confusion and Blair's shared pain, experienced as completely as he shared Blair's happiness, flowed. Jim pushed at Blair to roll him over. He saw that he must have used more force than he intended because Blair almost rolled off the big bed, not taking any move to stop himself from falling until Jim reached out to steady him. "Why, Blair? Why did you have to cut yourself?" His voice sounded exhausted and ragged to his own ears and Jim hoped that Blair could hear the love there.

Blair didn't move, either toward or away from Jim, but his eyes focused on the point of Jim's shoulder and locked there. He spoke quickly, shakily, the only concessions to his nervousness, "It's not pathological or anything, Jim. Really it's not. I'm not like those troubled teens cutting themselves as a way of feeling something. I feel plenty, I promise."

If he'd been able to make eye contact with his partner Jim would have given him the glare that said, "Get on with it" in no uncertain terms. But Blair was avoiding his eyes, so he settled for a warning grunt and said gruffly, "You cut yourself, more than once and in the most bizarre place I've ever seen. That sounds pretty damned pathological to me."

Blair sighed and his eyes flicked through the railing of the loft bedroom down toward the door. He sighed and tensed his muscles as if to get up. "I shouldn't have said anything, left you with the alien abduction story."

The emotional eddies swirled again and Jim was scared. Scared because Blair was scared and Blair was the bravest man he knew. Scared because whatever reason Blair was going to give him for this behavior, he knew it was something he wasn't going to like--or Blair would have just come out and said it. The fear modulated his voice, his mood, and he stroked Blair's shoulder softly. "Just tell me; I'll try not to get mad."

Blair searched his eyes for a second, and then nodded. "Okay. This is going to be kind of round about though, so be patient." He paused, took a deep breath and said, "When you lost your senses in Peru, how did you get them back?"

"What the hell has that got to do with anything?" Jim asked, defensive and angry again. When Blair just shrugged and waited for him to answer, Jim looked at him, saw defeat written all over him. He blinked and looked more closely, Blair looked like he had at his press conference, a man in the process of losing everything. Like the widow this afternoon, her future gone suddenly dark.

Jim sighed and answered the question, "I had a vision with the jaguar turning into a warrior. He told me what I needed to do."

Blair nodded. "When you got your senses back after Incacha died?"

Jim fought down his impatience and irritation ."Same thing."

"How did you know how to bring me back from the," his voice cracked but he continued without a pause, "dead?"

Jim flinched. Blair couldn't have hit him harder if he'd punched him in the gut. His eyes swam with tears he could never, never let himself shed. "Is that what this is about? You dying?"

Blair shrugged. "Just answer the question, for right now, Jim. How did you know how to bring me back?"

Jim let his mind go back to that morning. The clear, bright, objectively beautiful day. The cold sinking terror when he'd seen Blair floating in the fountain. He forced his mind away from all of that, from all the horror and saw again Incacha, speaking English of all things, telling him to use the power of the panther. He reached out to Blair again, holding on to his partner with both hands, feeling the warmth, the pulse, the flow of air into slightly scarred lungs and said, "Incacha told me what to do. He told me to use the power of my animal spirit." The last words were shouted, the tide of anger flowing over him again.

Blair flinched away from the anger and the shout, but nodded. "Okay. So maybe you'll know I'm not nuts when I tell you that I was told to do it in a vision."

Jim couldn't stop the reflexive rationality that was his constant companion, that told him his life was impossible and absurd on an almost hourly basis, and he blurted out, "A vision? A vision told you to maim yourself? For God's sake! I'll call the department shrink...." but he couldn't finish the sentence because Blair was out of the bed and walking toward the top of the stairs. He stopped himself and said, "Shit. I'm sorry. Don't go. It's just hard to believe. Cut me some slack."

Blair froze at the top of the stairs, then turned slowly and began gathering up his clothes into an awkward bundle in his arms. "This from a man who revived his clinically dead partner by following the advice of a ghost and an invisible cat." His body language was completely defeated when he turned to look at Jim after scooping up the last sock, but his eyes blazed with defiance. "Why are my visions less valid than yours?"

Jim thought about that for a second before answering, "Because I don't want you to have them. They're a burden, not a blessing and I want to spare you." Jim's words clearly surprised Blair, but Jim knew he was right.

Blair sat down next to Jim, the bundle of clothes on his lap. "I can understand that, believe me. At least yours aren't telling you that you need to mark yourself with a sharp implement."

"No, mine just told me that I needed to send you away to protect you. And then you died," Jim said, his voice soft as a whisper.

Blair stroked the top of Jim's head for a moment, comforting, and soothing him. Then he was gone, sitting just far enough away that they weren't touching anymore.

Jim took a deep breath, trying to gather himself to ask another question he knew he wouldn't like the answer to. It didn't work, so he tried again before giving up and asking "So tell me about these visions. Why...this?" He stroked his hand along the scar at the bottom of Blair's back.

"After I ... drowned, when I was tied up in the temple. You were having your ... thing in the pool, then trying to help Alex." Blair gulped and shifted away from Jim minutely. "I was trying not to see, not to be there while you were kis...," he shook his head and pressed his eyes closed for a moment. "Anyway, I closed my eyes and tried to go away. After a few seconds, I could see clearly that I was in a jungle. There was a wolf there and a temple and a shaman. Not Incacha--this guy was not Chopec, though he was wearing Chopec face paint--but I could also see a voodoo gris-gris bag on him, a Tibetan dorje, some Zuni fetishes, scarring--basically he carried symbols and power items from all over the world, the Chopec among them."

Blair looked up at Jim for a minute, obviously considering something, before shrugging one shoulder and continuing. "He congratulated me for getting into the spirit world on my own." Blair's voice slipped into the well-modulated tones of the teacher. "See, that's an important thing for a shaman, the fundamental professional skill. A shaman who can't voluntarily enter the spirit world is just a psycho with a bunch of weird jewelry." Blair shook himself and continued, his voice halting again, "He told me I'd gone through the first stage of my initiation....dying and coming back from the dead."

Jim stopped Blair before he could launch another mini lecture on the importance of death as an initiatory event. The image of Blair on the ground by the fountain, cold and still and horrifically, gone was not one he could go back to. "So the cutting was a part of that initiation. Marking yourself?"

A tiny flicker of pleasant surprise crossed Blair's otherwise tense and unhappy countenance. "Yeah." He slumped again before standing and starting to dress. "Mostly," he whispered, the sound almost lost in the rustle of denim as Blair pulled on his jeans.

Jim grabbed Blair's hand when it came within reach, and tugged him close. "Mostly?"

Blair looked away, toward the door again, and said, "It's a little more complicated than that, but yeah, mostly that's right."

Jim caught the flicker of Blair's eyes toward the door, caught the self-protective tension in Blair's body and knew that if he let his partner go out that door, if he let his partner go silent, then everything would be utterly lost. Blair would be gone again, even if he continued to live in the loft. "Tell me about the complications, Chief."

Blair looked up at him, startled, scared. "Oh, I don't ... You don't really want ..." One last glance at the door and Blair sat back down on the edge of the bed, scooping up the clothes he hadn't donned, tucking his feet up under himself. "When we ... When you brought me back and we shared that vision. The panther and the wolf merged into a big ball of energy."

Jim nodded, unable to speak. The memory was too powerful.

"That energy is what brought me back. You ... your life force, so to speak, and mine together made so much more. The shaman told me it was too much, I was out of balance and needed to let some go."

"Some of what?" Jim asked, his voice rough.

"Some of that extra life, I guess." Blair shrugged. "It doesn't really translate into words well. I mean it wasn't like he and I were having a nice talk or anything. He knew things and shared them with me and then I knew them. It was all non-verbal."

Jim thought for a minute, remembering Blair after they got back from Sierra Verde, full of anger and a fire that burned too bright. Too much restless energy. Too much life? Jim's mind fluttered around the edge of an idea that he didn't really want to explore or acknowledge. He knew he had to, so he asked, "So you were bleeding away the excess life?" He didn't even try to restrain the shudder. "But you waited? You didn't do it right away?"

Blair shrugged and looked away, pressing his lips together, trying to control the slight trembling. When it had mostly stilled, Blair said, "I was fighting against needing to."

Blair's hands gripped onto the bundle of his shirts and socks, still on his lap. "I think I wouldn't have had to if you'd been ready to...y'know, take that trip right after I ... umm ... came back." He shrugged, as much as he could held close to Jim's chest. Seized by guilt, Jim clenched his jaw tight. Blair must have seen the tension, must have seen what looked like anger on his face and hurried on, "Not that I'm blaming you, man. Really. It wasn't the right time for us and you somehow sensed that." Blair pulled away again and petted Jim's head in the same soothing gesture he'd used earlier.

Jim was staggered by Blair's words and by the innocent, comforting touch. He cocked his head again and tuned his senses in to Blair's vital signs, his scent and body language. Blair seemed almost defensive, clinging to his clothes as though he were afraid that Jim would make him leave the loft without giving him a chance to finish dressing.

Jim reached out and pulled Blair close, kissing him softly on the temple and holding him gently. "So why there, Chief?" he asked with another kiss to Blair's cheek.

Blair was silent for a minute. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but surprisingly clear, "I don't know how much you know about prana and energy flow, but the base chakra is the seat of life force, primal, even sexual energy. It's at the base of the spine. It seemed like a good place to let that excess energy go. Particularly when you seemed to go from pining for Alex to pining for Veronica and I was so in...." He blushed and stopped suddenly. His heart rate shot up so fast that Jim was reminded of a hummingbird that he'd caught in his father's house as a young boy, caught and released. It had been terrified and wild and its pulse felt like a fine vibration against his fingers.

"You were what, Blair?" he asked as gently as he could, but Blair just shook his head and was silent. "You were so in love with me that you thought you were going to burst with that too. And I was trying to bury and deny my feelings for you in fantasies of Alex and the reality of Veronica. I was killing you. So you tried to bleed that away as well. That's why you had to cut yourself more than once." Blair froze, even his heart stopping for a moment. "Am I right?"

Blair nodded and pulled away, though Jim only let him get as far away as the length of his arm. Blair tested the strength of Jim's grip, as he said, hurriedly, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know you never wanted us to talk about it. I know you just wanted everything kept very light between us. Just fuck-buddies. I don't expect you to ...." Blair's eyes were cast down, his face turned half away. He looked ... ashamed.

Oh.

Damn.

So maybe Blair hadn't known what Jim felt. Maybe there wasn't an unspoken agreement after all, just a lot left unspoken. "Blair," Jim said, stroking Blair's cheek with his free hand, "you know I love you, don't you? Love you more than I can ever possibly say, more than I ever thought I could feel?"

Blair's eyes jumped up to meet Jim's before falling again. He shook his head a little. "You never said." Blair's breath hitched and Jim could smell a hint of tears. "I know you care for me, like having me around, think I'm fun in bed. But...love, no. That I didn't know." He took a deep breath, then another one. Jim wondered what he was thinking, as he listened to Blair's heart rate slow and his breathing settle down to a steady, even flow. Blair's eyes were still shining with unshed tears though when he turned them up to Jim. "Really? You mean that?"

When Jim nodded, Blair smiled, faintly at first, then it blossomed into a grin. He moved back into Jim's arms so fast they both fell over backwards on the bed. "Oh, man. I never, ever thought..." He blushed and looked away, a shadow of his former pain still there, then brightened and continued, "It doesn't matter. Everything's okay now. Better than okay." Blair leaned down and kissed Jim passionately. "God, I love you, Jim. I never thought I'd get to say it. I thought I'd be bleeding it away for the rest of my life. It's why I didn't want to tell you about the scars."

"But I had to," Blair said into Jim's neck before he pulled back away and looked at Jim with relieved eyes. "I had the vision again the last few nights, saw the shaman. I was fighting it again, delaying. I had another vision at the crime scene, though, while I was awake, and I knew it was time to do it again. There would be no way to keep you from seeing the new cut, so I had to tell you."

Jim knew there was more that prompted Blair to talk, some empathy with Mrs. Andrane, but didn't press. Instead, he squeezed Blair tight, pulling him down into another passionate kiss, before saying, "You won't have to do that now right?"

Blair shook his head, then thought for a minute and shrugged. "I hope not." He thought for a moment more. "I'm not sure."

Blair rested his forehead on Jim's for just a second then pulled back to look into his eyes, smiling and happy but with a hint of uncertainty, a trace of a crease between his eyebrows, a crinkle at the corners that Jim hated seeing there. "So you're ready to take that trip now? Not just the trip into being lovers physically, I mean, we've been doing that for months, but the trip into the mysterious, into being bonded somehow?"

Jim turned his gaze away from the earnest blue eyes that filled his vision, tensed, and fought the urge to say that he was still not ready. Was giving up his rational world the cost of keeping Blair from cutting himself? He fought a flare of anger at Blair for extorting him this way. Damn it!

Blair sagged slightly and started to move away. "Never mind, Jim. I'm sorry," Blair said, sitting up, reaching for his shirt. His voice sounded broken again, like he had when they came home. When he'd been confronted by the need to tell Jim what he'd done.

Before Jim could give vent to his anger, the image of Mrs. Andrane, quietly lost in her despair, too shattered to grieve, overlaid what he could see of Blair. He wondered, for just a second, what it had cost Blair to bleed away the love he felt.

Why would he have done that?

Looking at his shattered partner, standing now, slowly pulling on his shirts like an automaton, Jim understood that Blair had sacrificed everything in his heart to give Jim what he thought Jim needed with his body. He had expressed his love in sex and blood because Jim refused to talk about their feelings, because he thought those were the only means available to him. With that thought, the anger, the feeling of being extorted, rolled away.

Jim reached out for Blair, half standing to be able to reach him, and, with an effort, said, "No,Blair. I was just thinking. I'm not sure I'm ready, but I'm willing to try, to start the trip." He tugged gently, pulling Blair back down so they were lying next to each other. "Don't be surprised if I drag my feet, though. It's not you. It's never you. I just… I hate this sort of thing. It's ridiculous, stupid--the sort of poofy bullshit that fills the occult sections of bookstores. Visions and ghosts and spirit animals are right up there with sasquatch, the Loch Ness monster, and casting spells to make people fall in love with you. It makes me crazy that my life is filled with this crap. But it is my life, and it brought me you, and I'll try to let myself believe."

Blair relaxed and smiled into Jim's chest. "Okay. You know, I agree that sasquatch seems improbable and studies have shown that there's not enough food in Loch Ness to support a creature of Nessie's supposed size. But, surely it's not that hard to believe in stuff that's happened to you. I'm not asking you to believe things you haven't experienced, just the things you have. Deal?"

Jim smiled, squeezed tight, and answered with all his love and respect for his partner in his voice, "Deal." He kissed Blair, peppering tiny kisses over his eyes and cheeks and chin and mouth and forehead. "God, Blair. How long were you going to continue bleeding yourself for me?"

Blair looked at him seriously. "As long as I had to man. Whatever I had to do to stay with you was so worth it." He smiled then, lightly and brightly, as if he didn't realize he'd just promised Jim forever. As if this wasn't the most important moment in Jim's life.

Then Jim blinked and his perceptions shifted and he realized that Blair knew exactly what he had just done and was bursting with the wonder of being able to. With that realization, Jim smiled too, lightly and brightly, and Blair kissed him and a beautiful future stretched out in front of them, full of promise and joy and possibility.

END

Due South - Ray Kowalski/Benton Fraser

Author: Moonloon
Title: In the Round
Rating: PG
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Summary: Fraser and Ray look right from all angles.
Show: due South
Date of publication: 4th December 2004
Disclaimer: due South is not mine. The characters in this story are not mine. The parting tool, however… that is mine.
Feedback address: maryavatar@gmail.com
Website: Amused and Abused http://rivatar.com/aa
Advertisement: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2003 at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: I got so tired of all the stories where Ray is a mechanic when he moves to Canada. Not to diss mechanics, but Ray is a smart guy, he can do better.
Beta: Many thanks to Lucysmom, and hautecoffey for fast and effective beta services. They rock so much.




*In the round: "An in the round carving stands alone and can be viewed from all sides. It should look right from all angles."*

~

It was almost Christmas before I realised that Ray was still here. Well, I knew he was *here*, it's hard to miss almost six feet of attitude lounging on your furniture and complaining about the lack of cookies in his life.

"Hell, Fraser. I'd cook the things myself, but I swear there is not one spoonful of sugar in this whole damned cabin." Ray waved a 25-degree parting tool at the kitchen and sprinkled sawdust on the rug.

I checked the cupboard, and he was right. Apart from putting Smarties in his coffee, I'd somehow managed to convert Ray's diet from carbohydrate, carbohydrate and more carbohydrate to one of meat, dairy and even the occasional frozen vegetable. Like many things when it came to Ray, this hadn't been a conscious choice, it had just… happened, and I didn't notice until something forcibly drew my attention to it.

"Why do you want to make cookies?" I asked.

Ray glared at me. "It's not Christmas without home-made cookies."

And that's when I realised that Ray was still here. *Still* here. Despite our adventure having finished months before. Despite Ray's job, which I assume was waiting for him back in Chicago. Despite the fact that I'd been transferred to Inuvik and the sun had set for the winter some time previously.

Ray had asked if I minded him staying on for a while, and I'd said that would be fine, and here we were. An odd pair of room-mates living in a cabin that smelled of wood shavings and wolf hair.

Ray was still glaring at me, and I noticed that he was carving a small Christmas angel out of cherry wood. It had spiky hair and bat wings, which I suppose didn't surprise me. I'd taught him the basics of woodcarving one week in the spring, when a bad storm had us holed up with nothing better to do. Although he'd rolled his eyes and made some off-colour joke about 'whittling his wood', he'd been bored enough to try, and picked it up very quickly.

The things he carves are strange and unsettling, and I find them fascinating. I can carve a wolf and it will look like a wolf; the proportions are correct, the structure is accurate, but it's just a piece of wood in the shape of a wolf. When Ray carves a wolf it's all chip-carved angles and edges, asymmetry and rough grain. There will be something vaguely wolf shaped there, but there's also something else. I haven't been able to work out what that something is yet.

Ray spent the summer working his way through a pile of basswood while my transfer went through. Some of it he gave away, and then one day Ray got a telephone call from an art dealer in Vancouver, and now most of what he carves goes in a big box every eight weeks and travels south. Every so often another box arrives with exotic wood and oddly shaped tools.

"You enjoy carving, don't you?"

Ray blinked, probably confused by the apparent non-sequiter. "Uh, yeah."

"Why?"

Ray grinned, showing his teeth. "When you piss me off, I always have something inanimate to stab."

"Does that happen a lot?" I know I'm irritating. Enough people have told me so over the years.

Ray shrugged. "It's not so much that you piss me off, you just… frustrate me sometimes." He pointed to a carving of what was obviously a seal, without actually looking anything like a seal. "I did that one after you came home and told me you'd stuck your hands into Rob Norton's water tank to get the valve unclogged, despite the fact that you had to knock a hole in four inches of ice to do it. Ice water hurts, Fraser, and why couldn't Rob do it himself? It's not the RCMP's job to make sure Jilly Norton gets her bedtime bath."

I looked at the seal, and it did look cold. Not quite twisted up with pain, but aware there was pain in the ice, and that the cold could kill. Suddenly I realised what I'd missed in Ray's carvings. It was *emotion*. The cat sitting waiting to be wrapped for transport was boredom, the dragon half-hidden under a newspaper was sadness, the large bear in the corner was rage.

I looked at all the feelings captured in wood around me: spikes and harsh tool marks, angles and rough-hewn edges. Evidence of strong emotions I hadn't realised Ray was feeling. I had to ask, "Ray, why are you still here?"

Ray smiled at me, seemingly serene. "Fraser, you're such an idiot."

He handed me the angel he'd been working on. As with everything else he made, it felt harsh in my hands. I looked at it, not sure what I'd find. It was a ragged, androgynous creature, like some angel of vengeance, one who'd traded in feathers for something with more speed. It reminded me of Ray. I turned it over and its face took my breath away. The cuts were rough and stylised, but the emotion I could see there…

"You get it now?" Ray whispered, his breath warm against my ear. He was so close I could feel the warmth of his body all down my right side.

"Yes," I said, and turned, my face inches from his.

"About damned time. I thought I was going to have to beat you over the head with the bear."

My laughter was stopped by his kiss, I slid my hands up his back, and I was almost surprised when I didn't feel wings.

The End.
 

SCIENCE FICTION

Stargate SG-1 - Jack/Daniel

Title: Morning Star
Author: Hathor
Show: Stargate: SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Feedback: ladyraistlin@hotmail.com
Status: Complete
Rating: PG-13
Category: First Time, Angst
Warning: None
Spoilers: S3:FIAD
Date: 29 November 2004

Archive: Written as part of the Slash Advent Calendar 2004 at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm. This story is embargoed for other archives until December 30th 2004 – please ask permission first.

Author Website: http://www.squidge.org/~hathor/

Disclaimer: Sadly these characters are not mine, but Daniel haunts my dreams.

Author's Notes: Ok, it’s been well over a year since I wrote for this, or indeed any pairing, so I hoping none of the mental rust shows! Oh and I swear this one didn’t start out angsty in any way - it’s just the evil machinations of my subconscious dark side plot bunny. fyi - Danika means “morning star” in Slavic.

Summary: Off-world for Christmas

Morning Star

It is part of the vibrant pattern of the cosmos that one thing can be both a source of wonderment and joy for one being and yet a painful reminder of loss for another.

So it was for the two men sitting side by side in companionable silence on the ancient stone bench. From their natural viewpoint, the rich tapestry of the Danikan city stretched beneath them, muted earthen hues of stonework occasionally peppered with the vibrant green of giant tree tops. It was late and the sounds from the alien city were muted, unobtrusive to the pair. Spanning over them, the immense transparent geodesic dome tonight granted an unparalleled view of one of the Danikans most celebrated spectacles.

Daniel sat in quiet contemplation as the heavenly, sprightly colours danced and flickered high above, accentuated against the velvet night sky. Two moons shone like subdued spotlights, slowly circling this ethereal stage. Jack stole a quick look at his friend, catching a glimpse of the aurora reflected in Daniel’s glasses. To the younger man the interplay of the ion particles and magnetic fields was both soporific and vaguely hypnotic. To Jack they were a spectral reminder of the past as well as an irritation of the present.

This beautiful and rare event, one that had caused such celebration amongst the Danikans, was also one of disappointment for SG-1. The increase in the ionisation of the atmosphere meant on the one hand, a stunning display of the universe’s innate beauty but on the other, that SG-1 would not be ‘gating home for Christmas tomorrow.

Daniel felt the disappointment keenly for his friends, but in himself was contented with the situation. A small, selfish part of him was warmed by the fact that he would get to spend Christmas with his own defined family, especially Jack. The hospitality of their hosts, the Danika, was serene yet unsurpassed. Two small chalets on the hillside gave the visitors both a sense of privacy and of tranquility. Daily, in groups of only two or three, scientists, historians, engineers and architects - artisans and scholars of all kinds - would make the short journey up from the city to speak to the Honoured Tauri for two or three hours. Outside of this time they had granted their guests the freedom of the city.

Daniel was in his element, delighted in finding a culture whose erudite values matched his own. Jack found the whole deal uncomfortable, engaging in the polite yet animated discussions, starting with minimal murmurings of agreement when he perceived that Daniel had made an important point, through to affirmative hand gestures when their gracious hosts made an attempt to draw him into the conversation. As for his other two kids, Carter was in her own personal ‘happy-land’ of metaphysical debate and Teal’c was his usual stoic self.

Daniel broke into Jack’s internal musing. “Sam thinks that the storm’s intensity will peak tomorrow night,” he said with a smile.

“Should be a hellva show.”

Daniel nodded enthusiastically. “Yes.” He paused, gesturing up towards the dome. “Jack, it’s sights like this that keep me coming through the Stargate.”

Jack sighed deeply, causing Daniel’s cheerful curiosity to segue into in mild concern. The archaeologist raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question. Jack closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, an unconscious habit he had picked up from the younger man.

As a frown appeared on Daniel’s face, Jack elaborated. “Charlie and I used to have Aurora watching nights up in Minnesota. It was one of our…traditions. We’d listen to the weather reports; plan our ‘vantage point. If everything falls right, the aurora can stretch for miles up there.”

Daniel felt crest-fallen, the emotion crossing his face for an instance. “I’m sorry, Jack.” Reaching out he touched Jack’s arm in a gesture of sympathy and reassurance, his innate empathy visible on his face.

Jack felt a pang of regret for destroying his friend’s enjoyment of the moment. He gave a small shrug of apology and patted Daniel’s hand, still resting on his arm. “Didn’t mean to put a downer on things. Sorry, it’s just that time of year, ya know?”

Daniel didn’t want to answer that really he didn’t. He only had sketchy memories of Jackson family Christmases but he didn’t want to burden his best friend further. So he just nodded, not attempting to squash the memories of his loss of his parents and then the loss of Shau’ri just little over a year ago that played through him unbidden.

Sensing the change in mood, Jack nudged Daniel. “Come on, we should get back.”

~*~

Their shared chalet was homely if a little sparse. The Danikans technological abilities which rivaled Earth’s own had not over-ridden their aesthetical tastes, at least where living spaces were concerned. Soft curves of smooth wood shaped the rooms, lending a fresh forest scent to the air. Downy textiles soothed the senses, adding to the occupants’ feeling of contentment. As Jack stepped through the door, a smell, akin to mulled wine permeated through their temporary home.

“Did you leave the gas on again Daniel?”

Daniel blinked and then moved past Jack, earning him a patented Colonel frown.

“There’s a note.” Daniel’s voice sounded from the kitchen area. “It’s from Domovi.”

“What does our erstwhile host say?” Jack said as he strode into the kitchen.

Daniel squinted at the languid handwriting on the card in front of him.

“As is the custom of our people, find here a small gift to warm you mind, body and heart. This time is a time of reflection and celebration. Drink deep and without fear. Rejoice in those that share you life at this time. And for those who have gone ahead of you to rest in the glory of Svarga, leave a cup by the fire to cherish their memory.”

Daniel cleared his throat, and watched as Jack approached the ceramic dish, sniffing at it dubiously. After a couple of moments, he dipped a finger into the warm inviting liquid and brought it to his lips and licked. His eyes narrowed for a heartbeat and then he looked over to Daniel, his eyebrows climbing as he broke out into a grin.

“Woohoo! Local moonshine.”

Daniel peered over his glasses and gave Jack a flat glare, looking for all the world like he was seriously resisting the urge to smack his friend upside the head.

~*~

Daniel rested back against what looked like one of the four giant tree roots that radiated out from the fire. In his hand he cradled a small bowl of the heated wine, the spiced clove like scent easing the tingling of his allergies.

Jack sat on the floor leaning against another of the boughs, staring into the open fire. In front of it sat five small bowls of wine. Despite the warming qualities of the drink, the bowls were a sobering thought. Although Jack found little patience in the rigmarole of other cultures, Daniel had been adamant about wanting to follow Domovi’s instructions. Jack had quickly capitulated since if something small made Daniel happy, then he in turn was happy go along with it.

“Five,” Daniel said unhappily. Together, they had poured out one for Charlie, one for Kawalsky, one for Shau’ri, and two for Daniel’s parents. “It’s too many.”

Jack turned to look at his friend. What he saw made him cross the width of the room to settle down on the bough that was Daniel’s pew, only a couple of feet away from his best friend.

Jack’s voice was gruff when at last he spoke. “You’re right Danny. It is too many.” He paused. “It will always be too many.” Gently he reached out and laid a hand on his friend’s leg in a gesture borne of support and friendship. “But at least there are no new cups this year.” At least they hadn’t buried each other, he added mentally.

Daniel blinked back at Jack, silent for a moment as he digested the insight and wisdom of his friend’s statement. Slowly he nodded in agreement, covering the hand with his own.

Surprisingly, Jack rotated his hand to allow Daniel’s fingers to slip between his own. The action gave a sliver of excited frisson. Daniel stared at their joined hands, an abstract part of his mind examining the difference in colour, size and texture and how well they fit together, while the rest tried to process the fact that he was indeed holding Jack’s hand.

Another silence stretched between the men, but this time Daniel detected an undercurrent of something else. Frowning as he found his thoughts slightly sluggish, he gently tightened his grip on Jack’s hand. To his surprise Jack didn’t shy away, although he didn’t meet Daniel’s inquisitive gaze either. The warmth and weight of Jack’s hand was reassuring, almost exciting in its demureness.

Eventually Jack drained the bottom of his cup and then broke the silence.

“We should crash. It’s late.” Daniel nodded and did the same with the dregs of his own drink. As Jack stood, Daniel half expected the older man to release their hands, but without a word Jack activated the nearby sensor which dowsed the fire and lights and then waited for Daniel to stand.

He gestured for the archaeologist to lead the way to their sleeping quarters, a single room with a large low bed carved from the wood of the house itself. As Jack fell in step behind him, Daniel felt the hand leave his own before a moment later settling somewhat possessively on the back of his neck. The younger man felt like shaking his head to clear it of the mild intoxicating effect of the warmed wine, yet he didn’t want to cause Jack to remove the welcoming touch.

Perhaps he was reading the situation wrong, Daniel thought to himself. Perhaps he craved a comforting touch so much that he was misreading Jack’s actions, making them something they were not. Or more likely the wine had addled his brain more than he had realised.

Daniel paused on the threshold of the bedroom and turned.

“Jack?” he asked softly.

He received no reply except for a whisper against his hairline above his temple. It took a moment for Daniel to release that it had been Jack’s lips grazing his skin. The thought shook him like the discharge from a ‘zat gun.

If Jack noticed his reaction, he chose not to comment upon it. Instead he ushered Daniel into the room and then headed towards the small adjacent bathroom, snagging his t-shirt and shorts from a nearby chair on the way. Daniel stared at the retreating form of his best friend for the best part of a minute, trying to make sense of the new interaction between them tonight.

Jack’s voice filtered through, accompanied by vigorous splashing, breaking Daniel from his reverie with an “I’m almost done.” A moment later, Jack exited the bathroom thrusting a green military issue towel at Daniel as he strode past. “Do your stuff. I’ll check everything’s closed down.”

Daniel stared at the towel for another few moments, before nature’s call kicked him into action. A minute or so later he was stretched out under the soft down-like sheets, looking up at the wooden sculpted ceiling, as Jack stalked around outside, no doubt popping his head in on Sam and Teal’c next door.

A few minutes later he heard the front door close quietly.

“Jack?”

“Yup,” came the soft reply, accompanied by the sound of two heavy boots hitting the floor just outside the bedroom. Jack padded into the room, closing the door to the adjoining bathroom before leaning his P-40 against the nearby wall.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Jack asked, stifling a yawn as he climbed into bed.

Daniel rolled over to face Jack. “Domovi has invited us all to what he termed a ‘grand feast and celebration’.”

Daniel ducked his head to hide his smile as Jack rolled over and burrowed beneath the sheets with an exaggerated groan.

“Wake me up when it starts to get fun.”

Daniel propped himself up on one hand and looked at the shadowed muscular back of his friend, trying to ignore the itching building in his fingers. Things were changing. Unexpected things.

“Yousurebetcha, Jack” he murmured gently.


~*~

Dawn came gently to Danika, the muted rays of the aging sun stealing through the chalet windows and illuminating the forms within. Jack woke first and was almost immediately acutely aware of the weight on his right shoulder. It took him only a split second to identify the source - the arm of his best friend. Daniel was snuggled face down in the multitude of pillows the adored their bed, softly snoring. His arm was draped comfortably over Jack’s shoulder, his hand curved possessively at the juncture of Jack’s neck.

Jack frowned in thought for a moment before gently easing away from Daniel and rolling out of bed, ready to be up to greet the day. Daniel murmured softly at the loss, unconsciously burrowing further under the covers and into the residual heat left by Jack’s body.

Sighing softly Jack began to get ready for the day ahead.

~*~

“Jack…!” The warning was low but still managed to deliver enough edge to bring the Colonel out of his reverie. No way did this food come anywhere close to an O’Neill Christmas Dinner. He stabbed a strange looking root vegetable in petty revenge for the disruption to his thoughts.

“Daniel,” he replied levelly, as he vengefully chased the offending tubular around the plate.

A kick to his shin from Carter made him jump before he offered her a patented Colonel glare for her troubles. She gestured to the end of the long table, where Domovi stood, looking at SG-1 expectantly. Jack looked across the table to Daniel, who looked back at him with raised eyebrows.

“Daniel?” he asked quietly.

“Jack,” came back the measured answer.

On an educated hunch, and with a tight smile, the Colonel turned to the tall, pale Domovi and raised his glass and announced loudly, “Right back at ya, Dom.”

Teal’c raised eyebrow was almost as audible as Daniel’s groan. But within a couple of seconds, the Danikans carried up the toast and the long banquet table burst into animated chatter.

Rows upon rows of long tables covered the central city park. Danikans of all walks of like sat side by side, enjoying the food and fare. Old fashioned lanterns hung low on the tables, their intention to illuminate the food without detracting from the engaging aurora display far above them. The evening was a jovial affair, occasionally dancers and musicians would wend their way past the guests, pausing only for a few moments so as to entertain but not to intrude.

As the evening drew to close, groups of Danikans set aside their chairs and settled back onto the earthy floor to look up at the aurora overhead.

“It’s breath-taking,” Daniel announced softly.

“DanielJackson speaks the truth.”

There was a pause.

“See how the harmonics of the magnetic field of the dual moons stretch the aurora to higher peaks and troughs than we see on Earth.”

The three men squinted up at the sinuous play of light over the dome, before wisely choosing not to reply.

~*~

Jack paused, looking out over the city, as he waited for Daniel to catch up with his slightly longer stride. Uncharacteristically the older man had been quiet and somber through the evening’s entertainments and it had worried Daniel. Carter and Teal’c, sensing the Colonel’s mood, had headed off ahead of them, leaving Daniel to deal with whatever was running through Jack’s mind.

Leaning against one of the giant trees that the Danikans revered so much, Jack watched his archaeologist approach. Without a word Daniel came to stand by him. Although his eyes were on the city below, Jack could feel the younger man’s scrutiny.

“Jack, what’s wrong?”

Jack took a moment to collect his thoughts, images of Charlie, Christmas and pain of losing friends and family crashed over him like a horrid melancholy medley. Daniel sensed now was not to push his friend, but instead rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Jack turned to face Daniel and for an instance let his usual strong shields down, allowing his friend to read the pain in his dark expressive eyes.

Daniel cocked his head to one side for a moment and then impulsively drew Jack into a bear hug. Instantly recognising the pain and loneliness, he tried to drive them away through the strength of his arms and just by being there for Jack.

“I miss…” Jack began but then faltered.

“I know, Jack.” Daniel murmured quietly in his ear. “God, do I know.”

Jack’s arms tightened around his friend, his face buried into Daniel’s shoulder. The role reversal struck a chord with both men. Neither of them knew how long they stayed there, Daniel’s hands comforting Jack, gently tracing the lines of his spine.

Jack knew he should feel vulnerable, yet he felt safe.

Daniel knew that he should feel awkward, yet he felt secure.

In a moment of absolute synchronicity, both men realised - it felt right.

So almost perceptibly, the atmosphere between the two changed, thickening and slowing. Almost of their own volition, Daniel’s hands no longer sort to just comfort but to explore. Jack’s weight shifted and Daniel’s hands froze, frightened that he had crossed the line. But then, in a sensation similar to the night before, he felt the ghost of Jack’s breath against his skin, traveling down over his neck.

Not trusting his voice, Daniel stood still, his body querying the circumstance even as his voice could not. Instead of deterring Jack, it just seemed to spur him on; his lips open hovered above Daniel’s skin, skimming up towards his jaw line, as if breathing in the younger man’s essence.

Daniel thought that it should seem strange to be so close, so familiar to Jack. Yet at this time and in this place, it just seemed a natural culmination of all that had gone before.

A moment later Jack’s tongue flickered out to sample the goose bumped skin beneath his lips. The taste and the sensation banished away the demons that had tracked him all evening. Daniel smelt comforting, alive and distinctly male. Pulling back, Jack met Daniel’s confused gaze before smiling softly.

Daniel’s mouth opened as if to form a question, but before the words had even left his lips, Jack covered them with his own. Dry but pliant they, like Daniel’s body, responded without thought. Before either man had a chance to question or even savor the moment, Jack deepened the kiss. As Daniel’s mouth opened under his, his tongue slipped through to stroke and curl around Daniel’s. Jack moaned softly, pulling Daniel’s body to his own, feeling the hard length of the younger man crash against his own.

The action inflamed Daniel, causing him to use his strength to surge against Jack, becoming more aggressive in their kiss. Pulling back he nipped at Jack’s swollen lips, before journeying along his jaw line to lick, bite and kiss at the pulse beating wildly in Jack’s neck.

Jack’s arm tightening around Daniel’s waist, his other hand running up to cup the side of his face. With a grunt, he pulled Daniel’s face back up to his own, before meeting him with a voracious and clashing kiss. As Jack’s tongue dueled roughly against Daniel’s, the archaeologist’s mental facilities attempted to kick in. Gently he broke off this kiss.

“Jack?” Daniel asked, arousal turning his voice gruff.

“Bed.”

Daniel blinked in confusion, “Where?”

“Less than a click up the path.”

Daniel’s eyes darkened and he shook his head. “Too far. Want you now.”

The words burnt against the back of Jack’s brain, causing him to respond by grabbing Daniel for another punishing kiss. Daniel’s hands began working clumsily at the fastening on the front of Jack’s BDUs. It took Jack a moment to realise Daniel’s intent before wrenching away.

“Big bed,” he gasped, his hand waving vaguely in the direction of the path.

“Forest floor,” the archaeologist countered.

Jack’s eyebrow rose before he smugly countered with, “Pine needles?”

Daniel looked at Jack for a moment, as if to weight up the pros and cons of the situation. “Well I guess it is your ass…”

Without looking back Daniel turned and headed up the path at a fair rate, before his words could sink into Jack’s somewhat side-tracked mind.

After a couple of moments an argumentative “Hey!” followed not far behind him.

Less than ten minutes later and behind the safety of their chalet, a trail of wrestled, strewn clothes pathed the way into a new episode in Jack and Daniel’s life. The solace, which they would in time recognise as something immeasurably stronger, for now was the best gift they had to give each other this Christmas night.

~*~

And in the morning, a lone star would rise in the once again tranquil eastern sky. It would be the Morning Star and with it, it would bring a new day, filled with newly found hope and comfort.

~*~

The End.

Enterprise - Tucker/Reed

Author : Beverly
Title: What do you wish for Christmas?
Pairing: Tucker/Reed
Rating: R/NC-17
Series: none
Summary: When Malcolm doesn’t believe in Christmas, he gets an unusual visitor.
Date of publication: 12/04/2004
Disclaimer: None of them belongs to me. If they would, they would have much more fun together, believe me. But they belong to Paramount. And I promise to give them back.
Feedback address: bev_crusher1971@yahoo.de
Beta: Kristin, the quick girl with the wonderful suggestions.
Note: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm

What Do You Wish For Christmas?

"What do you wish for Christmas?"

And the day could have been so good.

There had been no attack, no threats from the outside, no hostile aliens trying to take over ‘Enterprise’. No one had been injured by their former training. And for one single moment, he thought everything was going to be okay. But no - fate was against him. For exactly seventeen minutes now, he had been trying desperately to avoid his lover’s insistent questions, and simply finish his own training lesson – but it wasn’t working.

With a deep sigh, Malcolm Reed dropped his hand which was still holding his phase pistol, and turned around to the other man, trying not to hurt him. Trip Tucker stood in front of him, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, a big smile on his face.

“Commander?” Malcolm stressed the ‘Commander’, to show his lover that they were still on duty, and that ‘What do you wish for Christmas?’ wasn’t really a work-related question.

“Oh, come on, Malc.”

Malcolm winced inwardly at the use of that nickname.

“There must be something you wish for?”

“How about finishing my lesson without any further interruption?” he suggested, his voice dry.

Trip’s smile grew even wider, and he gave the younger man a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“I just love your sense of humor. But no, honestly. You know, it’s not too long ‘til Christmas, and because this is our first one together, I want it to be special, so… what do you wish for yourself from Santa Claus?”

This time Malcolm tried to stare the taller man down. A few seconds passed by, but Trip easily held his gaze, unimpressed by Malcolm’s look. In the end the younger man had to give up. He looked down on his weapon, adjusting it.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t want anything.”

“No?” The Southerner’s voice sounded incredulous. Malcolm went on, fingering on the phase pistol.

“No. You see, I don’t really enjoy Christmas. So if we just could drop it now, that would be lovely.”

When there was no reply, Malcolm finally raised his eyes, only to find a strange and hurt expression in Trip’s eyes. Surprised, Malcolm wanted to reach out to comfort his lover, but before he could make a move, Trip turned around to leave the armory. Malcolm managed to took hold of his lover just before he could escape through the door. Hesitantly, Trip turned back to Malcolm, and looked at him.

“Trip, look. Could we continue this little…talk…later? How about tonight at eight in my quarters?”

Trip stopped, hesitating slighty. For a second Malcolm feared that his lover searched for an excuse to cancel. But finally he nodded slightly and Malcolm let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

After Trip had left, Malcolm tried to finish his lesson, but found himself unable to. Unbidden images came to his mind. Him, alone at the school his father had sent him to. The feeling of desolation he always had at this time of the year. The loneliness, that threatened to suffocate him. He took a few deep breaths. It wasn’t that he didn’t LIKE Christmas, it was that he had no pleasant memories of Christmas. Other than Trip, whose days had always been filled with love and laughter.

After a few minutes Malcolm had regained enough self control, and decided to finish his lesson for today. Not knowing what to do or to say to Trip, he somehow felt terribly confused.

***********************************

It was already half past six when Malcolm finally managed to get on his way to his quarters. The day had been long after all, and even without further interruptions of any kind, he had found himself busy up until now.

Deeply absorbed by the report he was just reading while walking, he almost missed the soft ringing of bells. Confused, he tore his eyes away from his PADD, and looked around, but he saw nothing - and no-one.

With a little frown, he tried to go back to reading his report, when he suddenly heard the soft ringing again. Nearer this time. And then came the laughter. A silent laughter, soft, tender. And almost achingly familiar.
He had heard that laughter before, but he couldn’t remember when or where. He felt his heart speed up.

“Hello?”

He was a little embarrassed at how insecure his voice sounded, but the sudden rush of emotion, caused by that all-too-familiar sound had touched him more than he was ready to admit - even to himself. And then…

“Malcolm.”

A tender, gently sing-song. She called to him - the voice that belonged to that laughter. He knew that voice. He knew it by heart, but still couldn’t place it.

“Oh, Malcolm. Come to me.”

Again that almost singing voice. Gentle, and so incredible tender.

He had no choice but to follow that voice. Almost at their own will, his feet began to move in its direction. He turned around a corner, and from the corner of his eye he caught suddenly a glimpse of something white and golden. Hesitating only for a second, he followed that glimpse into another corridor where he found himself alone. Suddenly he heard the opening and the closing of a door. He went around the next corner, and his gaze fell on something on the floor. Slowly he bent down to pick it up, and felt himself grow pale.

It felt as if a big hand was squeezing his heart.

A feather.

A single white feather.

“Malcolm.”

His head shot up, looking at the door next to him.

“Oh Malcolm. Come in. You know that I’m here.”

The door opened in front of him, and without thinking he stepped in. He was in the mess hall.

There she was.

Floating almost three feet above the floor, she was still as beautiful as he remembered her.

Remembered her?

He shook his head, trying to get that thought out of his head.

How could he remember her? He had never seen her before. Hadn’t he? HADN’T HE?

It wasn’t the angelic face that caught him. Nor the long white gown or the long red hair.

It was the big, softly swinging wings. She was held in place by big, feathery white wings.

Softly, she spoke again. “Hello, Malcolm.”

“Should I know you?”

Now that angelic face looked sad. Slowly, she floated nearer until her feet touched the ground.

“Oh Malcolm. Once you promised, you would never forget me. Once we were friends. Once you believed in me.” She stepped even closer. She was small, fragile and almost child-like, but in her eyes he could see her unending wisdom.

“Once you used to wait for me. You welcomed me. Here, let me help you remember.” With these words she laid her left hand on his heart, and involuntarily Malcolm closed his eyes.

His mind was flooded with pictures, memories long forgotten. Some were joyful, some sad; some made his soul sing, some broke his heart. Suddenly he could see it all again, all the Christmases past, spent together with his sister Maddie, and with his parents and grand-parents. Above all he could sense Her presence, feel Her love, see Her face. After a few minutes he opened his eyes again, which were now glistening with unshed tears.

“How could I forget you? Where have you been?”

She smiled, warm and full of love. “I don’t blame you, Malcolm. Life hasn’t always been kind to you. I stood by your side for as long as you wanted me to be there, and waited for me. But I couldn’t help you when you decided to spent Christmas alone, far away from those who love you. I couldn’t help you when you banned all thoughts of Christmas from you mind. But now I have to help you, for now you have hurt someone else.”

“Trip.”

Her eyes had become even more sad as she nodded. “You said Christmas isn’t important to you - but to him it is, and your indifference hurt him deeply. He wants to make things special for you because he loves you – but you push him away. You deny him what’s important to him. I have come to help you change this.”

Malcolm’s heart skipped a beat. Never ever had he meant to hurt his love like that.

“What can I do?” he whispered.

“Go to him. Open your heart to him the way you once opened your heart to me. Tell him, and he will understand.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, and suddenly Malcolm noticed that she seemed to fade. “Where are you going?”

She smiled, that beautiful, lovely smile of hers, the smile that he remembered so well.

“I’ll be right by your side, where I always have been.”

She vanished with one last little ringing of bells, and he was alone again.

To his utter amazement he noticed that he stood in front of his quarters. Not in the mood to question this, he opened the door and stepped in…

… and stopped dead in his tracks, an expression of wonder on his face.

Though it was strongly forbidden, his whole quarters were illuminated by candles, there was a bottle of Champagne waiting in a cooler, and on his bed lay a naked Trip. As soon as he saw Malcolm, Trip rose from the bed, and walked over to him. Without saying a word he took the younger man in his arms, and held him tight. For a few minutes they stood like that, listening to each other’s breathing, each other’s heartbeat. Finally Trip moved back a little, and looked Malcolm deeply in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Malcolm frowned.

“Why? You have no reason. I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m the one who…”

Trip silenced him with a kiss.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you. I know what a private man you are, and you certainly have your reasons, and so…”

Another kiss.

“Trip, love, could you stop just for a second please?”

Trip closed his mouth, cocking his head slightly, gazing at Malcolm with a question in his eyes.

“I…ah…I may have overreacted.”

“MAY have?”

“Okay, I HAVE overreacted. It was never my intend to…hurt you.”

“Hurt me?”

“Bloody hell, Trip. Can’t you help me out here? I’m trying to apologize.”

Trip laughed out loud, and gave the English man a smacking kiss.

“I forgive you.”

“You do?” asked Malcolm hopefully.

“Of course I do. I love you. And if you don’t want to celebrate Christmas the way I want to, we…”

“I want to!” Malcolm interrupted his lover quickly.

“You do?” Trip repeated Malcolm’s question without thinking. This time the other man smiled.

“Yes, I do. I was wrong, that is clear to me now. I…ah…I WANT to celebrate like you’re used to.”

Suddenly Trip moved back a bit, and eyed his lover’s suspiciously.

“Okay…where is Malcolm, and what have you done to him?”

This time Malcolm laughed out loud. And with a little wicked grin, he reached down and gave Trip’s cock a loving squeeze. His lover reacted instantly. Groaning, Trip pulled Malcolm back in his arms, and for a long while, neither of them talked about Christmas.

**********************************************

Several hours had passed. The two lovers lay together, lazily stroking each other, when Trip once more began to talk about Christmas.

“Care to tell me what changed your mind?”

Almost purring, Malcolm snuggled closer to the warm form of his lover.

“Hmmm…not really. I guess you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Didn’t I just do that? No, serious. I can’t tell you exactly what happened. Just believe me when I tell you, I met…well…let’s call her the Spirit of Christmas.”

“Her?”

Malcolm raised up on one elbow, and gave his lover his dead-glare.

“Tucker, drop it!”

Laughing out loud, Trip simply nodded, pulled Malcolm close again, pressed a kiss on his naked shoulder, and shut his eyes with a very content sigh.

It didn’t matter whatever it was that had changed Malcolm’s mind. They could celebrate their first Christmas together, and for that Trip was ready to believe almost everything.

Closing his eyes, Malcolm drifted off to sleep.

Almost.

“So, what do you wish for Christmas?”

The end
 

FANTASY

Highlander - Duncan/Methos

Title: Freddy and Jason versus Methos
Author: Linda Atkinson
Fandom Highlander
Pairing: Duncan/Methos
Rating: R (semi-explicit sexual situations and language.)
Warnings: Absolutely no redeeming social value whatsoever.
Feedback: lcollinsatkinson@verion.ne

FREDDY AND JASON VERSUS METHOS

The dry wind rattled down the empty sidewalk stirring the dead and dying leaves against the concrete. A faint tapping of footsteps echoed against the brick walls. Above the hollow clocking of a pair of run-down boothills came the muttered cursing of a baritone voice. A young-looking man, tall, slender and dark-haired was hurrying down the street. He paused and glanced at the alley between the two buildings then crossed the street to the graveyard fronting the ancient, by these modern peoples’ reckoning, cathedral.

The newer section of the cemetery was flat, unremarkable even cloaked in silver moonlight. The darker square patched of dry earth bearing flat bronze markers were deeper shadow in the darker gray of the grass. Farther up the hill a bevy of marble angles held court over a shallow fountain edged by rosebushes.

Just beyond the fountain stood the blocky form of the cremausoleum, were small marble niches would hold the urns of the deceased. The stolid presence was reassuring to the young man, the prayers of the faithful had rendered the plain little building holy ground, and now he sensed that might be necessary for him. From far behind him the echoing clock of footfalls mocked him, and he turned eyes scanning the bare grounds and empty streets.

Just a few feet more.

The sidewalk was midpoint in his hurried walk, and as he passed the marble angels their vacant eyes sought him out, following his every step. From somewhere a rough, masculine giggle caused him to start.

The young-looking man stumbled to a halt, the laugh sounded again to his right and he slowly dropped his backpack and reached into the pocket of his long, black coat drawing out a Glock nine millimeter. The gun’s barrel glimmered faintly as he turned slowly in a circle.

A pebble bounced off his back, and he whirled jerking the gun up. “I’ll shoot you I swear, so if you think I’ve got anything to steal just back off.”

“Who said we want anything you got…” the voice tickled at the back of his mind and the man paused still holding the gun out in front of him. The whisper of shoe clad footfalls on the sidewalk and a cool breeze lifted the hair falling against the nape of his neck. “Hey! Use it or lose it buddy boy.”

“Who the hell are you?” He stumbled back, knees catching on the lip of the fountain and he fell heavily the gun skittering over the ledge and into the freezing water. “Shit!” He hissed leaning over hand plunging into the fountain to his elbow. Suddenly a grinning visage appeared just behind and above him, and the man darted upwards struggling to free his hand from the numbing cold and into the reassuring warmth of his coat, to the yard of glimmering steel sheathed in the lining.

The hard, cold marble lip of the fountain scrapped painfully against his shin as he stumbled around half the width of the circular pool. In the clear yellow moonlight two figures appeared on the other side of the fountain. One figure a shambling hulk of a man dressed in worn army clothes, face obscured by a white mask. In his brutish fist was the wooden handle of a machete. He advanced around the fountain in a halting stagger.

The other figure stood poised on the lip of the fountain before dropping agilely to the ground. He stooped shoulders hitched as he drew a breath, pausing to push the brim of his brown fedora back from his burned, twisted features.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The young-looking man said hand still buried in his coat.

The hunched troll raise his hand drawing the glittering tips of his fingers over his face. He grinned leering at the younger man. “So kiddo what’s up?”

“I fucking cannot believe this. You two here?”

“Hey, it’s Halloween where else would we be?”

“Anywhere but here. I am in a hurry.”

“Got a hot date, sweetheart?”

“No…it’s none of your business anyway. Hey, you with the mask just keep it at a distance. I’m not in the mood for this tonight.”

The grinning troll held up a hand at his companion. The giant turned to his smaller counter-part and the ruined face regarded the young man gravely. “He has a name you know…”

“Oh right… how rude of me. Jason, you take one more step and it might be the last time you use that leg.”

“Hey, even if it is we’ll just get him another one.”

“Yeah, right.”


“He’s a zombie, he’s got more spare parts than Pep Boys.”

“God, Freddy who ever told you you were funny was lying big time.”

“Just ‘cause you got no sense of humor. I guess you left in your last lifetime, huh?”

Miffed the man settled down on the fountain ledge. “I have a great sense of humor; just look who I hang around with.”

“If you think the boyscout is ever gonna look twice at you you’re just kidding yourself.”

“Now you’re getting nasty.”

“Hey, psychotic monster….”

“Oh please, you think you’re a monster.”

“I’ve killed a lot of people, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid. So you’ve killed a few pathetic whining kids. My god! You prey on teenagers, half them are masturbating anyway or having sex...”

Freddy grinned tapping his knives on the fountain lip. “What a hypocrite I mean, I know what you dream and let me tell you if your right hand gets any more of a work out you’re gonna look like Popeye before too long. I mean come on if I have to listen to you screaming ‘Ohhh, Duncan that’s it… harder, harder!’ once more I’m gonna kill you just to shut you up.”

“Oh shut up, as I was saying you kill teenagers. I know a couple dozen parents and high school teachers who think that you deserve a public service award.” The young-looking man turned as the shambling giant lurched around the fountain.” And him, he’s so rotten parts are falling off. And in ten movies he’s only managed a rack up a body count of about a hundred or so.”

Freddy scrapped his knives over the concrete making them squeal. The young-looking man flinched, as the troll grinned. “You think you can do better.”

“Oh please, I was Death…Death on a horse. I just didn’t kill a hundred; I just didn’t kill a thousand. I killed ten thousand. When mothers told their children to be good or a monster would get them I was that monster…”

“Jeeze, kid you are a fucking nutcase.” Turning to the zombie, Freddy motioned to the gate at the far end of the street. “Come on I think I saw some puling brats slithering over there to do the nasty on the crypts.”

Methos watched the two figures saunter across the graveyard letting his sword drop back into its sheath in his coat. Drawing a deep breath he shook his head, reaching down to retrieve his backpack. Suddenly a solid form hit him in the back and he fell heavily to the ground.

Panting he struggle to reach the sword in his coat but a pair of strong hands grasped his wrists. His arms were tugged above his head and held in one large fingered fist as the other hand crept to the zipper of his jeans. Without one word the solid form blanketing him slithered down Methos’ body to his crotch, the blunt fingers worked inside and pulled his penis free. Before he could so much as utter a sound the length of flesh was engulfed in a warm, wet mouth and Methos arched. “Oh god. Duncan?”

“Hummm,” the Highlander purred around the length of rapidly hardening flesh.

“Oh god it is you Duncan. Not that I’m complaining what brought this on…”

Releasing his prize with an audible slurping sound MacLeod grinned. “I had the oddest dream just a little while ago. It’s really silly. You know that movie about the burned up guy that kills kids? He told me I should just blow you and get it over…So well here I am, and now I’m going too….”

MacLeod bent back over Methos/ prone form and settled between the jeans clad thighs.
Howling appreciatively Methos struggled to raise himself on his elbows so that he could watch as MacLeod sucked him. From over the bent head Methos could just make out the shadowy forms of two figures near the crypt. One of them raised his hand in a sketchy salute and the moonlight glinted off the tips of his fingers.

Panting Methos muttered. “I guess it was just a professional courtesy.”

The End

MOVIEVERSE

Pirates of the Caribbean - Jack/Will

Author: Akinaj
Title: The Storm Before Christmas
Date: December 19, 2004
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean/ Movie
Pairing: Will/Jack
Rating: NC 17
Summary: The aftermath of a storm
Disclaimer: I'm a poor student, not owning a thing, except the non-existent plot of this ficlet.
Feedback address: yellow_dragon_22@yahoo.de
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at: http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: pure fluffy smut, no plot whatsoever…
Beta: thanks to Beloved and buffyangel68 for the great beta!


A storm was brewing over the Caribbean Sea where the Black Pearl currently sailed. Black clouds were racing across the dark grey sky and the waves reached high across the railings. Jack stood at the helm and carefully steered his ship through the worst of the storm. His crew were doing their best to remain aboard, wrapping ropes around themselves and gripping tight to the railings or any other fixed object.

Will was below deck in the captain's cabin, helplessly rolling around on the bed, until he finally managed to tie himself to the bedposts.

Finally, the Pearl reached calmer waters and the wind subsided to a healthy breeze. Jack had his crew drop the anchor near a small island, and sent them off to rest on ground that wasn't moving for a change. He remained on board his beloved Pearl and went below deck to check on his lover.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
When he entered the cabin, Jack couldn't suppress a grin. While trying to keep himself on the bed during the storm, Will had wrapped ropes all around his arms and legs, and fixed them to the frame of the bed. Once the storm subsided, he had fallen asleep without bothering to untangle himself. He looked truly delicious, all ropes and bare skin, just waiting for Jack to ravish him.

Jack carefully approached the bed, trying not to wake his lover just yet. He looked down into Will's face, relaxed and so beautifully young in his sleep. His hand rose by itself to caress the dark head, but he caught himself before touching. Not yet, he reminded himself. He hurried to undress, carelessly flinging his clothes on the chest in the corner.

Once undressed, he stepped close again, taking in the bronzed skin set off appealingly by the light colour of the rope.

"Look at this nice early Christmas present," he murmured. "All wrapped up for me to open. Or not. Must not open presents before Christmas, after all." His hand slowly caressed the taut skin of an upturned arm. "So beautiful, my Will."

Will turned into the familiar caress, mumbling in his sleep. His cock, however, took notice of the touch and rose slightly from its nest of curls and tangled rope.

Carefully, Jack climbed onto the bed, straddling his sleepy lover's thighs. The rope was rough and scratchy against his bare skin.

“Wake up, sweet William!” he sang, his hands slowly sliding up his lover’s chest, until he reached his nipples. A brief tweak had them standing up, dark little nubs begging for more attention.

But Jack had other plans, leaning up further to lazily kiss Will’s mouth, those sweet lips that taunted him all day, all night, just pleading to be kissed. He did so thoroughly now, gently rocking his pelvis against Will’s cock, his hands wrapped around his wrists, pressing them lightly to the bed.

Will responded eagerly to the kiss, welcoming Jack’s tongue to his mouth and arching up into the delicious friction on his cock. Or trying to, for the ropes caught and held him close to the bed, resisting his attempts to get closer, to get more.

Jack enjoyed watching his lover testing the resistance of the ropes, rejoiced when Will continued straining against his bonds, because his lover wanted to be held, wanted to give up control, but not without fighting.

He nibbled his way down Will’s neck, back to his chest, then lower, lower, until he hovered just above his groin, not quite touching the straining cock.

“Jack!” Will moaned, tangling his hands even more in the ropes in his effort to reach for Jack. “Jack, I need… more!”

Seeing that his lover was more than ready to come, Jack finally had mercy and swooped in to swallow Will’s cock down to the root. The head barely breached his throat, when he felt Will’s balls draw up against his chin, and then he tasted him, long spurts of semen sliding down his throat, the salty-sweet taste of his lover barely touching his tongue.

Wanting more of that taste, Jack pulled back slightly, gently licking the head and softening shaft clean. Satisfied with his work, he finally pulled up to kiss Will again.

“Think I should unwrap my present now?”

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Jack woke to the sounds of the waves crashing against the side of the Pearl. Gulls were crying in their nests on the nearby island. Peaceful.

He opened his eyes to find a pair of big, golden brown eyes looking straight at him. Will smiled at his lover, his chin resting comfortably on Jack's bare chest.

"Good morning, luv."

Will's smiled widened and he crawled up Jack's body for a lazy kiss. "Merry Christmas, my love."

END

REALISTIC SHOWS

Queer As Folk - Brian/Justin

Author: Eppy
Title: Spiked Eggnog
Rating: NC17
Show: Queer as Folk
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Summary: Brian lives his life without regrets.
Date of publication: Dec. 4
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk is not mine.
Feedback address: LizzyPaul@aol.com
Advertisement: Part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2003 at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: Takes place during S3.
Beta: Theo deserves small Mediterranean islands for going over this fic.

SPIKED EGGNOG

Brian lives his life without regrets, going after what he want and fuck what the rest of the world thinks.

He doesn't want Justin.

He doesn't.

He's never wanted a boyfriend, and he hates the faux heterosexuality his friends have roped themselves into, the endless moaning and pining and drama queen shit he despises.

If he wanted that, he'd have married Lindsey.

If he wanted that, he'd just do it. He'd grab Justin, stick a fucking ring on his finger, and be done with it.

He just doesn't want to.

Really.

*~*~*

At Babylon, and as he stands in the middle of a group of writhing, half-naked men, he realized he'd rather be at home with Justin, fucking in his oversized bed. Maybe watching a movie while Justin ruthlessly mocks the cinematography and he berates the shitty acting.

The thought disturbs him so much that he grabs the nearest pretty boy and drags him to the back room. He can't remember if they fucked before, but judging by his lips Brian figures he gives good head. He leans against the wall and the boy gets on his knees, pulling Brian's zipper down in one fluid motion.

He sees Justin across from him. Justin has the nerve to give him a cheeky wave. Brian scowls. He's with a taller, muscular man. Not his type. The guy obviously wants a fuck and he can see Justin trying to decide if he's okay with that. Eventually, Justin props himself against the grimy wall and the guy reaches around to slide his pants down.

That's it.

Brian shoves the boy in front of him off and leaves without a backward glance. He hears the stream of curses that follow him but he doesn't care. Fucking queen. He storms over to Justin and pushes the guy away.

"Fuck off," he says politely. Justin's shoulders shake in silent laughter.

The guy looks like he's going to protest, but instead mutters a "fuck you," and backs off. He leans against the wall next to them, clearly waiting to watch. Whatever.

He prepares Justin with quick, familiar efficiency and slides in. He bites Justin's shoulder as he thrusts. "Why'd you come over here?" Justin asks softly. "The kid has a sweet mouth."

"Your ass is sweeter than any mouth here," Brian says.

"Wow, Brian. That was almost...nice."

It was, so Brian pushes the thought to the back of his mind and thrusts in a little harsher than necessary.

*~*~*

He whines to Michael, "I think I'm going crazy."

Michael has no sympathy. "You're in love. Deal with it. It happens to the best of us."

"Love isn't real," Brain says, and he's proud of the conviction behind his words. "I don't fall in love. And if I did, it certainly wouldn't be with an annoying, bitchy kid."

Michael just rolls his eyes. "Welcome to the real world. Sometimes it just happens. Hey! Think of it as a Christmas miracle. The frost over your heart melted by the angelic persistence of--"

"Fuck you," Brain says pleasantly. "I don't do this. I don't conform to what everyone else wants. I live my own life. I--"

"Yeah, yeah," Michael interrupts. "So what if you want Justin? Don't you think you're conforming to your own expectations, and the reputation you've made for yourself? Mr. Carefree Fucking doesn't want his rep spoiled. Can't let people know he gives a shit."

Brain declines to respond, and instead takes a long swig of Michael's drink.

*~*~*

There's mistletoe above the door when he walks in. Justin launches himself at him and they kiss pleasantly for a few moments. Brian pulls away and goes to get something to drink. Justin follows him, and he hands him a beer.

"Let's get married," Brian says, catching Justin mid-swallow. Liquid sprays out of Justin's mouth and Brain laughs as Justin tries to breathe.

After a couple coughs, Justin says, "Not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny," Brian responds. "I love you. You practically live here anyway. Let's get married."

"Wait. You love me?"

Brian gives him a stare that conveys without words how completely moronic Justin's last statement was.

*~*~*

Brian wakes up with a mild hangover and crusty eyes. He groans when he sees the time and hits the flashing button of his message machine as he shuffles into the kitchen.

"Brian," it's Lindsey's sweet voice, "are you okay? Justin told us you proposed. Is something wrong? You know you're always welcome to stay with us. Call me."

**BEEP**

"Brian. I heard the news. Are you all right? Linds told me what you did and I didn't think I sent you home that drunk. I knew I shouldn't have let you drive. Did you get in an accident and hit your head? Remember the movie where those aliens took over all the kids at the school and made them into these perfect little teen models? I want one for Hunter. Anyway, is that what happened to you? Give me a call if you're not dead and have Justin tell mom that he's...

**BEEP**

"Brian, sweetie, I heard the news! I knew you'd come around sooner or later. Now I know your probably getting hundreds of offers but you must let me plan your wedding. I'm the best, and I'll do it cheap. Maybe it could be your wedding present? Okay, you just let me know. Best of luck, sweetie!"

**BEEP**

"Hey, Brian. I'm over at Daphne's. We're looking at clothes. I'm thinking of letting her plan the wedding. Love you."

**BEEP**

"What the fuck is going on? If you're messing with Sunshine, *again*, I will personally come over there and rip your fucking balls-

*BEEP*

Brian resists the urge to throw the machine across the room; instead he settles for shutting it off with a vicious finger. He leans against his wall.

"Fuck."

*~*~*

In bed, and Justin's going down on him. "I changed my mind," he says suddenly.

Justin looks up, and Brain wriggles impatiently. "Yes, I thought you might." He leans back down and continues where he left off.

"I still want to fuck other people. But not as much." He thrusts a little but Justin holds him down and then he's coming in a hot rush. Justin swallows. Brian has to admit there's something about a familiar lover, someone who knows exactly where to touch and how long. It only feels like this with Justin.

Justin climbs up and settles in the curve of Brian's arm. He kisses a pectoral. "You want to fuck other people. But not as much. Wow. That's like, two dozen roses and a box of chocolates from a sane person."

Brian gives him his best "fuck off" glare. Justin is not intimidated. "I guess that means I have to send back the tuxes. And the flowers. And the limo. And the honeymoon suite in Hawaii-oh wait, they won't let us cancel. Fuck, I guess we have to eat that 5 grand."

There are times when Brian doesn't know when Justin is joking.

"Relax. I'm kidding." He leans up to kiss Brain.

Thank god. Brian indulges him.

*~*~*

"Debbie's going to kill me," he says. "And Lindsey."

"And Emmet," Justin reminds him. Far from looking upset at the prospect, Brian looks positively gleeful. "You're such a bastard," Justin says affectionately.

Brain kisses him. "Thanks."

Justin maneuvers around him to pour a bowl of cereal. "So what are you going to tell everyone?"

"Too much spiked eggnog," he says. "Who the fuck cares?"

Justin shrugs. "Your funeral. And I'd watch your balls. Debbie bought a knife and wrote your name on it."

Brian believes him for a split second until his brain catches up. He turns to see Justin shaking in silent laughter. "Fuck you," he grumbles.

"Always," Justin replies. He grabs Brian and pulls him over to the mistletoe. It's been a long time since they fucked against the door.


END

BOOKS

Harry Potter - Harry/Snape

Author: Lady Balinor
Title: Snape’s Secret Santa
Date: December 4th
Fandom: Harry Potter/Books
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The faculty at Hogwarts has a Christmas Eve tradition.
Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am only borrowing them for the amusement of others and myself.
Feedback address: lady_balinor@yahoo.com
Advertisement: Part of the SAC-2004 at:
http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2004/SAC-2004.htm
Note: Happy Holidays and I hope everyone enjoys this. :)
Beta: Thanks go out to the amazing magdelena1969.




Harry Potter sat in what was coming to be his regular chair in the staff room at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry had graduated from the school four years previously and had just returned at the beginning of the school year. He had defeated Voldemort at the end of his seventh year and had spent the next few years traveling the globe. Finally, he had returned to Hogwarts, his only true home, in order to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It was Christmastime, and Harry, along with the other staff members, were waiting for the Headmaster to arrive so that they could start the staff meeting. Harry was chatting with his childhood friend Hermione (who had also returned that year to teach Muggle Studies) when the door to the staff room opened with a large ‘crash,’ drawing everyone’s attention to the imposing figure standing in the doorway. Severus Snape, though named a hero in the war against Voldemort, was the same snarky, sarcastic man Harry remembered from his own school days. Severus strode into the room, robes billowing behind him as he took his normal seat next to the chair meant for the Headmaster. Said Headmaster followed Severus into the room, quietly closing the door before taking his seat at the head of the table.

"It is wonderful to see you all here," Dumbledore began in greeting. "As you all know, the holiday season is fast approaching, which means it is nearly time for our annual Christmas Eve party. For some of you," and here Dumbledore smiled at Harry and Hermione, "this will be your first Christmas Eve celebrated with the staff. I beg patience of those who have already heard what I am about to say, but I must say it again for those who are new to our staff.

"Every year, each professor pulls a piece of paper out of the Sorting Hat. The name that is on that slip of paper is the person you will buy a gift for. This gift exchange is similar to the Muggle’s idea of Secret Santa in the fact that the person you are buying for should have no idea who the gift giver is. However, something about the gift should give the receiver some idea of who sent it. Then, the receiver will guess who his or her Secret Santa is. If there aren’t any questions, we shall proceed to the picking of the names."

Dumbledore stood and picked up the Sorting Hat that Harry had not noticed was lying on the table. Dumbledore went around the room, allowing each professor to pull one slip of paper from the hat. When Harry’s turn came, he reached into the bag and drew out the only slip of paper left.

"Now that everyone has a name, I officially call this staff meeting to a close. Good luck with your Secret Santas everyone!" Dumbledore called out, eyes twinkling merrily.

Everyone stood up to leave and slowly filed out of the staff room. Harry walked out with Hermione, bidding her farewell when their paths diverged. Once Harry was back in his private chambers, he opened his slip of paper. As he read the name on the paper, Harry felt his stomach fall. How was he going to get a gift for this person?! Harry gave a resigned sigh as he fell back on his bed. The slip of paper fluttered to the ground and opened to reveal the name Severus Snape.

* * *

Harry stood outside Snape’s door, silently wondering what had ever possessed him into thinking that this plan had been a good idea. Upon concluding that he had no idea what Snape would want for Christmas, Harry had decided that if he spent some time with the man a gift idea would simply come to him. Tentatively, Harry knocked on Snape’s door and waited nervously for it to open.

Harry didn’t have long to wait. Soon, the door was pulled open and Harry was face to face with Snape. Harry had expected Snape to be angry that he had disturbed him, but such was not the case. Snape merely asked, "What are you doing here, Potter?"

"I was…erm…I just had a question for you about a dark potion that I wanted to cover with my seventh years," Harry stammered out.

"Eloquent as always, Potter. But if you really want to know about a potion, let’s not stand in the hallway talking about it," Severus replied, gesturing for Harry to enter his private quarters.

For some unknown reason, Harry’s stomach gave a little flutter at the prospect of seeing Snape’s personal space. Perhaps it was the fact that Harry had spent so much time during his school years despising his Potions Master that he had never really considered the fact that the other man was human and would want a comfortable space to relax in. And comfortable was the only way Harry could think of to describe Snape’s sitting room. Instead of the damp, dark dungeons Harry had been expecting, he found a plush rug with dark wooden bookcases lining the walls. There was even an ornate fireplace with two black leather chairs facing a blazing fire. It was to these chairs that Snape led Harry.

Once they were both settled, Snape asked, "What potion did you want to ask me about?"

"Well," Harry began, not having actually found a particular potion to ask about, "I didn’t have an exact potion in mind. I was just wondering if you could tell me about some of the dark potions you’ve come across in your work."

"Very well," Snape replied as he launched into a long lecture about the various dark potions he knew. To Harry’s surprise, he found himself enjoying the discussion even though he didn’t understand the more technical parts about the process behind making the potions. It was amazing to watch Snape as he talked – Harry didn’t know if it was the subject matter or if he had just never really watched his former professor before. Snape talked with his hands, using them to indicate the correct stirring motion for a particular potion or simply using them to emphasize a particularly interesting point. But what Harry enjoyed the most was watching the emotions passing across Snape’s face as he talked animatedly about his passion.

Harry returned the following evening, not in search of gift ideas, but searching instead for the engaging personality he had found the night before. Again, the two men began by talking about potions, but soon the conversation turned to other things – the war and those who had died, the chances they had both taken in starting their lives over again, and even, late that night, about love.

Harry kept returning night after night and the two wizards spent many an evening playing chess, talking, or simply enjoying each other’s company. At length, Snape turned into Severus, and Potter to Harry as the two men slowly grew fonder of each other. Unbeknownst to each other, the two were fastly falling in love.

* * *

Three weeks after his first visit to Severus’ chambers, Harry was sitting in the kitchens, sharing a cup of tea with Hermione.

"It’s so good to finally be able to sit down and talk to you," Hermione said, sipping her tea. "With the holidays approaching, I’ve been so busy."

"I know what you mean," replied Ha