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The Sentinel

"Domestic Primates"
by the.other.g.m..

Blair wrapped a warm, plushy towel around his freshly showered mid-section, and stepped out into the coolness of the hallway. He glanced toward the living room. Jim stood in front of the balcony windows with arms outstretched, unmoving in the golden shaft of mid-morning light. Odd, but It's probably nothing. Blair's fingers combed the dripping curls from his face, as he walked to his bedroom. Nagging doubts re-surfaced in Blair's mind. Doubts had the annoying habit of always doing that, but Blair Sandburg was Blair Sandburg, and doubts and anxieties were always at the edge of his consciousness waiting for their turn at bat.

Blair stopped and listened. The silence was deafening.

During the entire time that the two of men had been roommates, he had never seen Jim stand so trans-fixed in front of the window like that. Almost like Jim was meditating, but he hated meditation, or anything even remotely similar to relaxation techniques. Maybe he had focused his senses on something, or maybe he had zoned out.

Curiosity got the better of Blair. He stepped carefully over a pile of opened books and went back into the living room."Jim?"

Ellison remained motionless. A living, well-sculpted statue clad in grey flannel workout shorts. Blair walked over and put a hand on the larger man's shoulder. "Jim. Buddy? You sensing something?"

Powerful arms grabbed Blair, yanking him close, burying him in muscular bulk. Blair squirmed, uneasy at the enforced closeness. He felt the intense heat of Ellison's skin, warmed by the sunlight, pressing tightly against his own exposed torso. The driving, primal drum beat of Jim's heart assaulted his ear. The embrace became too close... too comfortable. He tried to push away, but was powerless against Jim's unrelenting strength.

"Jim! Can't breathe!" Blair said, his voice straining to be heard through a mountain of muscle.

Realization of what he was happening slowly dawned on Jim. Muscular arms lessened their boa constrictor-like hold on the smaller man. "Sandburg?"

Blair lifted his head from Jim's chest. His face was red, from being squeezed mercilessly against Jim's well-developed pecs. "Ouch," Blair said. He untangled himself from the bearhug, eyeing Jim cautiously. "You okay, man?" Blair rested his hands on Jim's forearms.

"Sure, Chief," Jim said, acting as though nothing had happened.

Blair felt that something was still not right. "For a minute there," he said, adjusting the towel around his waist. "I thought you were gonna squeeze the stuffing out of me." He eyed Jim with a watchful gaze. Had Jim zoned out? What had caused it? Maybe there was more to the zone out than he suspected. One thing was certain, Jim was never this affectionate with any of his friends, and he only used that tone of voice when he was holding back something. But what?

"Sense something," Blair asked, trying to steer to the heart of the matter. "You were just standing in front of the window. I thought you might have -"

Jim shook his head, and said nothing.

Curiosity nipped at Blair. "Anything you want to... tell me?" Blair offered, trying not to sound too confrontational.

Jim remained silent. He watched with amusement the short, anxious bundle of nerves standing in front of him. It was always fun seeing Blair grasp at straws, trying to figure out what was going on. In the end, Blair usually figured it out. But it was the winding, twisting road of discovery filled with hair-pin turns that he took, which was so entertaining to those around him. Stuffing. Blairs. Bears. Teddy bears. Images of cute, cuddly Blair bears, chanting "Please don't squeeze. Please don't squeeze," floated through Jim's imagination. Jim labored to keep a straight face.

Uncertainty always put Blair on edge. "Your not leaving--" Blair said, a slight trembling in his voice.

Jim cocked his head to one side, and raised an eyebrow. This was too easy - and so much fun. He crossed his arms, and put on his most serious expression.

A totally ridiculous, highly improbable thought surfaced in Blair's mind. "Your not dying, are you?" Blair said, worry speading across his face. Blair looked deeply into Jim eyes, trying to find some hint to what was going on. That wasn't it. "What are you thinking Blair," he said to himself, running his fingers nerviously through damp hair. "Of course he's not."

This was too good. Jim's ample chest heaved uncontrollably. A snort exploded into laughter. Jim's deep, almost spaced-out laugh, resonated off of the balcony windows the two men were standing next to. Jim doubled over in laughter.

"You're right," Blair said. "I'm being silly."

Jim grabbed onto Blair with both arms, and strained to catch his breath.

"But it wasn't that funny," Blair said, eyeing with concern the deep shade of red Jim's face had turned.

Jim put a finger to Blair's lips, as Blair was about to say something. "Don't say... anything." Jim's words degenerated into laughter.

After a few minutes of laughter and hoarse coughing, Jim's giddiness passed. His expression became more controlled -- the Jim Ellison that Blair had become accustomed to. Jim wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. He saw the depth of concern on Blair's face; the soulful hunger in those deep blue eyes. "Just a good zone out buzz, Chief."

"Buzz," Blair said, a note of suspicion still in his voice. "From what?"

"Sunrise," Jim said, motioning towards the balcony windows with both arms. "It was so warm. I got caught up in it."

Blair crossed his arms, unsure whether to accept the explanation, and still confused by the sudden laughter and unexpected show of affection from his roommate.

"Maybe I got a little carried away," Jim said. Blair knew that this was the closest he would ever get to an acknowledgement of the hugging incident from Jim. Digging for anything more would be like interrogating a brick wall. He nodded and walked back to his bedroom.

Blair held a giggle from behind. He felt a tug, and then a sudden chill. His looked downward - the family jewels were on public exhibition. Without thinking, he covered himself with his hands. As he turned, he saw Jim twisting the towel into a whip. "No! Jim. Man." Blair put an arm up defensively and tried to back away. Jim surveyed Blair's lean, furry physique, looking for a sensitive, unprotected area to attack. A devilish grin appeared on Jim's face, spreading from ear to ear. Blair panicked and ran for the other side the couch.

WHACK! WHACK! Like a viper, the towel struck Blair's defenseless backside in quick, successive attacks.

"Run for your life hair boy!" Jim said. He bellowed in victory.

Blair raced around the couch and into the dining room, with Jim in hot pursuit. Jim's expert use of the towel herded Blair, like a cowboy steering an errant calf.

"Jim! Jim, please!" Blair said, pleading with the ruthless attacker. "That hurts man."

Jim paid no attention, he was too caught up in the thrill of the hunt. Blair nervously kept the table between Jim and himself. Jim slowly paced around the dining room table, watching for the single perfect moment to attack. Nothing. He decided to try a different strategy: he let the towel uncoil, and begin slowly twirling it back into a whip. It worked.

Sensing that a few seconds delay on Jim's part might offer time to escape, Blair ran as fast as he could to the safety of his bedroom.

WHACK!

As he entered, Blair felt the bite of the towel upon his bare cheeks. He slipped on some ungraded papers and went flying through the air, landing on the bed with an audible "OOMPH". Jim stopped just inside of the doorway to Blair's room. Realizing that he would be trespassing on Blair's "safe place" if he entered, he backed out of the room.

Blair laid motionless. Jim's smile faded into a look of concern. Movement. Blair looked back towards the doorway, brushing the mop of damp hair from his face, trying to see if he was safe from the flannel-shorts-clad predator standing there. Blair noticed a brief half-pucker on Jim's face, just before Jim walked off to the bathroom in good spirits.

After catching his breath, Blair walked over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of white briefs. Jim was definitely in an odd, quirky mood today. That quick little half-pucker that Jim made seemed somehow familiar. Memories of Primate Studies classes came flooding back. That expression was an abbreviated form of primate lip smacking, and when used by human males, indicated affection or close friendship, i.e. stereotypical male-bonding. So, Jim's feeling frisky and friendly today. Blair stepped into the soft, white briefs.

The underwear's elastic waistband snapped against Blair's waist, jogging his memory. And the towel whipping, what was that? That could be the title of my next paper: "Fraternal Towel Whippings As Mock Anal Assault" by Blair Sandburg. I'm sure that will be really popular in academic circles. Blair chuckled.

Jim walked past Blair's room carrying an arm full of dirty laundry -- mostly Blair's clothes from this morning's shower. Blair scratched his head, puzzled by Jim's behaviour. Jim never does that. He always bitchs at me about cleaning up after myself when I take a shower. Blair shrugged and resumed his search for a pair of matching socks.

Jim paused in the living room and held out a crumpled, white sock, eyeing it suspiciously. "Hmm...stiff socks," Jim said loudly, ensuring that Blair would hear every word of it. "Dating scene been a little slow, Sandburg?" Jim was the alpha male in the loft, and he rarely let Sandburg forget it. Content that his status was now secure for another day, he headed for the apartment block's laundry room.

Blair cringed. He imagined the smirk on Jim's face when Jim had said that. He's toying with me, and loving every minute of it. Besides, the guy could hear EVERY sound that comes from my room, if he wanted to. Let it slide. Blair rummaged through the closet for his favorite shirt with the "My Sentinel went to Peru and all I got was this stupid lizard" on it. The one that matched Jim's "My guide went to Peru and my panther ate his lizard. Yum!" t-shirt.

Jim headed out the front door, but stopped. "Hey, do I use a half cup or quarter cup with your stuff?"

Blair walked cautiously out into the dining room wearing only his favorite t-shirt and a snug fitting pair of white briefs. "A quarter cup."

Jim nodded and started out the door. "Hey," Blair said. "Thanks man. For doing the laundry."

"Blair," Jim said. "All that this morning. I went to the dentist. Replaced a filling. Nitrous oxide, it does that sometimes."

Realization dawned, spreading across Blair's face, like warm sunlight breaking through grey, stormy cloud cover. Jim looked his barely dressed roommate over from head to toe and smiled. "Yum," he said, pointing to the t-shirt.

Blair noticed that Jim made that half-pucker expression again just before he closed the door behind him. The title of the paper would have to be changed, not that it would actually ever see the light of day at any university. Maybe "Male-Bonding Behaviours Between Same-Sex Domestic Partners" by Blair Sandburg. Nah, sounds too gay. Laughing away this latest, ground-breaking anthropological paper, he walked back to his room to finish getting dressed.

"Jim was so not-himself, " Blair said. "Maybe I can borrow some laughing gas from the university."

*** end ***

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