New J/B Fic: Letting Go (NC-17)
May. 25th, 2007 11:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow00Title: Letting Go
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arrow00
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: J/B
Rating: NC-17 (not very graphic)
Wordcount: 6,767
Categories: First-time, angst
Warnings: Spacey!Jim
Summary: Jim is out of rope, so Blair throws him a line.
It took five minutes, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, for the echo of the engine's vibrations to leave his skin, for the numbness in his lips to ease, for Jim to gear himself up to get out of the goddamn truck and into the apartment.
Notes: Not sure if canon contradicts the basic premise
here. If it does, spank me and call this an AU.
(xpost to sentinelfic): Letting Go
Letting Go
By Arrow
Everything was too much today. He'd been pushing the dials down so hard it felt like he'd been doing mental bench-presses for the past eight hours, and when his strength gave out they spun right back up, so high he'd barely managed the drive home. It took five minutes, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, for the echo of the engine's vibrations to leave his skin, for the numbness in his lips to ease, and for Jim to gear himself up to get out of the goddamn truck and into the apartment.
On his way up the stairs the air tasted heavy in his mouth, and his head rang with a hundred grabs for his attention—traffic noises, water rushing through pipes, televisions and radio shows mashed with pop/rock/country twanging in his skull until he was ready to strangle someone. Preferably Sandburg, who'd been out of town for two days on some sort of granola-ass hippie retreat for the holiday weekend, leaving Jim alone to deal with this shit.
He staggered into the loft at last, wincing at the sound of his keys dropping into the basket and the knob turning in the lock with a grind. Time to WD-40 that sucker again.
It was better in here, though. Better at home where the sights and sounds and smells were familiar. He needed a shower; he knew before long the sensation of dirt and sweat on his skin would overpower the last of his self-control, but getting under the needle-like spray right now would be torture.
Maybe a bath. Yeah, a bath.
Once clean and resting in the soft lap of the water against the sides of the tub, his headache started to ease. He got out and dried off quickly before blindly making his way upstairs. It was dark enough now that he let his eyes squint open as he put on his oldest, softest pair of boxers and nothing else. He couldn't bear the thought of anything else against his skin except the clean, soft sheets of his bed. Even the eye-mask would be too much tonight. With a groan he rolled onto his belly and tried to relax.
Easing up a tiny bit, he heard the quiet clinks of people eating dinner, the whisper of clothes tumbling in the dryer down in the basement. Almost peaceful. He eased up a little more, eyes closed, splashes of color still painting his lids, but not too bad. Not too bad. Smell of his sheets, familiar as his own skin, his own sweat, clean.
Easy. Easy.
The sound of the front door opening roused him from his drifting. It was Sandburg, dumping what sounded like a backpack on his bed with a deep thump. Jim winced and held his breath, but Sandburg was quiet. Jim heard the soft sound of material sliding on skin, and then the click of the bathroom door.
More water sounds, like soothing white noise. Jim had forgotten his white noise filters earlier—he was that out of it—but now Sandburg was providing an alternative. And Sandburg sounds were familiar, welcome. The sound of him getting dressed, padding into the kitchen. The clink of bottles in the fridge as the door swung open. The rattling ball-bearings of the kitchen drawer, and a paper sound, maybe a loaf of bread. Yes, there was the saw of a knife through the thick crust.
Jim relaxed again, easing his choke-hold on the knobs. Sometimes it felt like they were alive with a will of their own to jump higher and higher. Sometimes he wondered just how high they could go; the thought terrified him.
Easy. Easy.
Suddenly a piercing sound tore the air open, grabbed the breath from his lungs, and had him curling tight in a ball, his own yell of agony thrusting against the violent, shattered space around him. He felt all his dials spin wildly; he lost his grip, and went screaming into the void.
"Jim. Jim. Oh, God, Jim, come on back, okay? It's off. It's okay."
The voice was soft, tugging, insistent, but Jim's eyes remained screwed shut, his hands clamped over his ears. He heard his own harsh panting, a rough, rhythmic wash of sound, counterpoint to the soft voice pleading with him.
"C'mon, partner." Blair's hands were over his, trying to pull them away. Jim turned toward the pillow and curled tighter, pressing his palms harder, trying to squeeze in the pain that was threatening to blow his skull apart.
"Okay. Okay." Blair stopped trying to move his hands, and instead started stroking Jim's back. The motion registered vaguely, familiar from a hundred zone-outs, except this time Jim's back was bare, so Blair was stroking his skin. It felt...weird, just strange enough to pull him back to full awareness.
He straightened, dropping his hands and taking stock of the situation. Touch and hearing were back. He slitted his eyes open. Blair was a blur staring down at him, his face twisted with concern.
"God, I'm sorry, Jim. It was the smoke alarm."
Smell came back then in a hurry, bringing Jim the odor of...he sniffed, and pulled in the acrid scent of burned bread.
"I forgot the toaster oven was on," Blair confessed sheepishly. "I just went into my room for a minute..."
A minute. Right. A minute didn't exist for Sandburg, whose attention span was measured either in milliseconds or hours, depending on how deeply he was into something.
Jim groaned and rubbed his face, wearily grabbing for the dials again.
"Damn it, Sandburg." He meant to sound angry, but his voice came out in a weak, uneven whisper.
"Bad day, huh?" Blair's voice was still soft. He reached over to pat Jim's arm, but Jim rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed.
"You have no fucking idea," Jim said. His body ached as if he'd just gone ten rounds with a heavyweight. "Christ, how could you be so careless?"
He heard Blair draw in an angry breath, but Jim just waved his hand. "Can it, sport. Or, at least shelve it until later. I can't take any more right now. Fuck."
"Try to dial it all down, Jim—"
"God!" His own shout hurt him, but Jim didn't care. "Fuck the fucking dials. I can't...you don't have a clue, Sandburg. I'm tired of controlling them. It's like lifting weights all the time, no downtime at all, just hanging onto them until I lose my grip and they go flying again. I thought I was safe here. I need just one place I can go where...I need—"
It was hopeless. Totally hopeless. It wasn't even Sandburg's fault, really. If it wasn't him, someone's car alarm would have gone off, or someone would crank their stereo, or break a bottle of perfume. It was hopeless. There was nowhere safe. He fell back onto the bed, stretching out with a stifled sigh.
"Wait." Blair sounded upset. "You're saying when you set the dials they don't stay where you set them? Is this new?"
Jim couldn't believe it. "It's always been that way. I have to keep holding them there. You mean you didn't know?" He thought Sandburg knew everything.
"No, I—" Blair jumped to his feet and started to pace. "You mean always? I mean, not just when you're having trouble with them? You have to hold onto them all the time?"
"Well, yeah." Jim was startled when Blair spun and lunged, kneeling on the bed to grab Jim's arm.
"Jesus, Jim. Jesus! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why—? Shit, Sandburg, they're your fucking dials. You made them up!"
"Yeah, but Jim—" Blair shook his head, the curly hair bouncing around his shoulders in a swirl of brown. "Oh, man. Oh, man. I have to go think about this." He let go of Jim's arm and got up again, giving him a once over.
"You okay? Everything under control for now?"
Jim did a systems check. Yeah, everything was set, but his grip wasn't the steadiest. His arm ached where Sandburg had grabbed it.
"I'm okay. Just no more surprises tonight, all right? I don't think I could take it."
"Sure, Jim. I'm...I'm sorry, man."
"That's okay, Chief."
Blair disappeared downstairs, and Jim rolled back onto his stomach. He put the filters in and let the white noise fill his ears.
Jim's back was still tingling with the memory of Blair's hand stroking his skin as he slipped into sleep.
>>><<<
Blair took off his shoes, padding around in his socks until squeak of a board underfoot made him stop in sudden alarm. No moving. He had to stop moving.
Jesus. Poor Jim. All this time, hanging on, not allowed to relax for a single second. It was crazy. Wasn't he supposed to be a scientist? How could he not have known?
He settled himself down to meditate, forgoing the candles because he didn't want Jim to smell anything burning. Then he tried to slow his breathing, and his heartbeat, but every time he focused on them he realized Jim was probably hearing them, too, and that made them speed up again. Then he started to smell the stink of his own anxiety rising from his armpits. Finally, as quietly as he could, he snuck out the door, carrying his shoes until he was down on the street.
He had to get to the library and do some serious fucking thinking. Jim was depending on him.
>>><<<
"Just trust me, Jim." Blair was all color and movement, dashing back and forth between his room and the bag he was packing on the couch. He'd disappear for a moment then reappear thirty seconds later with another book or packet of papers. Jim sat and sipped his coffee, trying to quell his nausea at the blur of motion.
"I do trust you, Chief. It's just that I know I'm not up to any tests right now." His senses were only slightly better after a night of broken sleep.
"But that's just why this is the perfect time." Blair stopped his packing long enough to wave his finger at him. "You need this. But I don't want you thinking about it or worrying about it. I want you to go in without any preconceptions."
Jim closed his eyes. The headache was just barely tolerable. No way was he going to survive a drive, especially not in Blair's old piece of crap, which set Jim's teeth on edge even when he wasn't about to puke at the thought of all the groaning and vibrating the thirty year-old chassis would make.
But Blair was giving him that wide-eyed, begging look. God, his eyes were so blue.
"We have to take my truck, then," Jim said wearily. "You drive."
"Really?"
Jim winced at the squeak in Blair's voice.
"Really. I trust you, Chief." And he did. Probably the reason Jim was in such a bad way to begin with was due to Blair's two-day absence. Something about having the guy around made it easier for Jim to carry the weight of his senses.
"Right! You better." Blair shot him a wry glance which quickly turned into a full-blown grin. Jim couldn't help smiling back.
"Let's get this show on the road, then." Jim stood and went upstairs to dress. Christ, even his socks felt rough and angry on his feet. He debated leaving his gun, and then strapped it on anyway. It just didn't pay not to go armed when entering the Sandburg zone.
The drive wasn't quite as torturous as Jim had been anticipating, for all they were traveling mostly on winding gravel roads heading up into the woods. For once, Blair was quiet, almost as if he knew just how close to losing control Jim really was.
But still, the hum of the engine and the whine of the transmission were making the bones of Jim's skull grind together. He just hung grimly onto the seat, and about an hour later Blair pulled them into a dirt parking lot in front of a small concrete building.
"This is it. My buddy Tony is going to let us in."
"What is this place, Chief?" Jim took a look around. The building had the feel of a military-style bunker, a sensation that made the hair rise on the back of his neck.
"It's part of the University," Blair said. "But that's all I'm gonna tell you for now." He led the way around a path to the entrance. When he pushed the doorbell, Jim didn't hear any accompanying buzz.
"I don't think it's working," he said.
"Don't worry," Blair said confidently.
Sure enough, the door opened after a moment, revealing a short, skinny kid with glasses and dark, curly hair.
"Hey, Tony." Blair did a little bounce. "Thanks so much for letting us come. You're a real life-saver. This is Jim."
"Hi, guys." Tony shook Jim's hand, saying, "I have to admit I can't think of any emergency that the tank can help with; at least, nothing legal." He gave Blair a wink.
"Legal—?" Jim stopped in his tracks.
Blair grabbed his arm, tugging him inside to follow Tony. "Nothing like that, Tony. It's for my diss. An academic emergency." He squeezed Jim's arm as if to caution him to silence. "Trust me," Blair said under his breath.
They walked down a long, cool hallway and then into an elevator. Tony was blabbing about something; Jim couldn't make head or tails of it. Something about mineral levels in Yucatan cenotes. Blair responded eagerly while Jim rubbed at his temples. He was tired again. The few hours' rest he'd had weren't enough for the drive and two academics going at it full bore.
The elevator took them down quite a few floors, and when they got out Jim was suddenly aware of the dead quiet around them. He couldn't hear a damned thing outside their footsteps. He listened harder, dialing up cautiously. He picked up a faraway buzz of a fluorescent light somewhere, and a very low-level hum of electrical wiring, but that was it.
He felt himself smile a little. Hell, the trip was worth it just for this. Maybe he could ask Blair for a couple of hours curled up on the linoleum before they started whatever new tests he had cooked up.
Tony led them down a narrow corridor and to a big door. He pulled the handle, and it swung open so ponderously that Jim was tempted to lend a hand.
"This is the lowest tank we have," Tony said, waving his hand. "We're two hundred feet underground, nothing but solid concrete from here to the surface. We've got ten tanks in all." He sounded proud.
Jim's eyes followed Tony's gesture to a large, slanted metal box set in the floor. There was a door set on the side tilted closest to them.
"You said you've done this before, Blair, so just a few things as a refresher. That—" Tony pointed at a small red bulb set in the ceiling, "Is the call light for the front door. There's one in every room. But there aren't any scheduled students for the rest of the day 'cause of the holiday weekend. So as soon as I leave, you guys are on your own. Now this—" He put his hand on a small control box set with dials, "—is the timer control. Pretty damned simple. You can choose one of eight different alarm sounds. All of them cycle up really slowly from soft to loud so no one gets a rude awakening. This is the temperature control. Take your basal temperature before you get in the tank, and set this to match. That's about it."
Blair had been nodding and taking notes, the scratch of his pencil so familiar it hadn't really registered on Jim's hearing, which was struggling to handle the nasal quality of Tony's voice.
"Thanks, Tony. You really are the best," Blair said softly. "I'll be sure to give you a big shout out in my footnotes."
"Ha, ha. Better yet you should set me up with one of those babes that keep falling into your lap."
"As if," Blair said vaguely. He subvocalized, "Say goodbye, Jim."
"'Bye, Tony. Thanks."
Tony left with a wave, and Blair immediately took hold of Jim's arm, pulling him over to the wall.
"Blair, what the heck is this place?"
"No way, man." Blair pulled something from a shelf next to the control panel. "Don't tell me you never saw Altered States."
Jim grimaced. "I don't alter my states, buddy boy. And you'd better not be suggesting—"
"No! No way." Blair stopped fiddling with whatever was in his hands and turned to face him. "That's what Tony meant about being legal. Some kids like to alter their states and then do the iso tank. You should know I wouldn't mess with your system that way. Completely defeats the purpose."
Jim shook his head. "You know, I only half-understand you on the best of days, Chief, and I'm not really running at optimum level, here." His head gave a throb of warning.
"That's an isolation tank, Jim. We're going to put you in there." Blair gripped Jim's arm, and Jim winced backward. Blair let him go, and softened his voice. "Look, until you told me yesterday, I had no idea, man. No idea that all this time you've had to keep hanging on to your dials all the time. That sucks. This is going to give you a chance to let go. I mean really let go of all of them—sight, touch, sound, smell, and hearing. We are two hundred feet underground, and for the next four hours or so, you will get no unexpected sensory input. Nada. Zip. Nothing outside the sounds and sense of your own body. You get it?"
Jim blinked. He almost swayed on his feet at the sudden understanding and hope that filled him. Nothing at all? No traffic noise? No glaring lights, no ugly smells? No vibrations?
He was still reeling with shocked delight at the idea when Blair touched his arm and gestured him toward a curtained cubicle.
"Okay, this is the one thing, Jim. We need to get your true basal body temperature. Which means, uh, here..." He handed Jim a small, plastic-wrapped bundle.
Jim held it, the crinkle of the plastic distracting him as he tried to figure out what was inside.
"You have to...you know."
The hesitancy in Blair's tone keyed Jim to the identity of the object. A rectal thermometer. Jim felt his face flush.
Blair spoke quickly. "I know, I know. Right now it's probably the last thing you want to deal with," he babbled, "but we need to get the water temperature exactly right." He shooed Jim into the cubicle and even drew the curtain for him while Jim was still trying to word an angry refusal.
"Jim?" Blair said hesitantly after a moment. Jim realized he was still standing there with the damned thing in his hand.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jim muttered. "Could you do me a favor and give me a little more privacy? Like, get out of here, Chief."
"Going. Going."
Jim heard Blair's quick steps, and then the curtain billowed from the air stirred by the door.
Jim unwrapped the thermometer and used the small foil packet of lubricant to grease up the plastic sheath covering the medical sensor. Of course, he'd forgotten he needed to get his pants off, and now he couldn't put the greasy thing down. So he fumbled one-handed with his pants and underwear, and then did the deed, pressing the button and inserting the probe end.
It was uncomfortable. This was probably the most sensitive skin in his entire body, which was already overloaded with sensation, so having hard plastic pressing in there was not a happy feeling. And it wasn't like he was used to sticking things up his ass. If he hadn't heard the obvious compassion in Sandburg's voice, Jim might've mentally accused him of playing an elaborate practical joke.
After too long a time, the thing beeped at him, making him jump and then wince. He pulled it out and checked the temperature reading.
There were paper towels and a medical waste bin for him to dispose of the sheath. He did it quickly, then got his clothes in order and stepped out.
He found Blair sitting on the floor of the corridor just outside the door.
"98.99 degrees, Chief," Jim said, staying in the relative shelter of the doorway to hide his flush.
"Hey, that's higher than normal," Blair said.
Jim grunted an affirmative.
"Are you feeling okay? Not getting sick?"
Jim grunted a negative this time.
"Hmm. I wonder if the higher temperature's a Sentinel thing, or a Jim thing, or a bad-sensitivity thing, like maybe on those days you can't control your dials that well you detect the cool of the air too much so your body compensates—"
"Can we get on with this, Chief?" Jim was barely hanging on at this point. The feeling of that hard plastic against his sensitive tissues wouldn't go away. It felt like he'd scraped himself down there.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Blair pushed past him and went over to the control panel to set the temperature. Then he walked over to the tank and strained to get the door open.
"Could use a hand, Jim."
Jim lent his strength and the door swung up and over, revealing the dark interior. Blair crouched down and pointed.
"That button right there activates the intercom system. Sometimes people really freak out in these things. Not that I think you will, big guy," Blair said hastily. "But, just in case. Hit it, and I'll be on it to talk to you right away. Got it?"
Jim nodded.
"Okay, well..." Blair clapped his hands together. "Get undressed and get on in there."
Jim gave Blair a pointed look over his shoulder.
"Oh, right." Blair turned his back. Jim undressed quickly, glad to be out of his clothes, to get any and everything away from his skin. The idea of lying in a warm pool of water for four hours in this quiet atmosphere was enough to set his heart singing with gratitude.
He stepped down into the tank and the slightly cool water flowed up his thighs and waist. As he lay back, the water rose until it was level with his chin and his ears were covered. He was floating.
Oh, God. Heaven.
"Jim?"
Blair's voice came muddied through the water and Jim raised his head.
"You all set?"
Jim nodded wordlessly. He was afraid to speak. His throat felt tight with relief.
"Okay, here's how it's gonna go. After I close this door, I'm going to take the elevator up to the surface level. That should get me far enough away so you won't hear me at all. There's no one else here, Jim. For the next four hours, you're not going to hear anything you don't expect, see anything but darkness, feel anything but the water, which has a higher saline content so you should be able to float with just your face above water. Four hours, Jim, unless you want to stop sooner. After four hours I'll come down and call your name, but probably you'll hear the elevator first. Okay?"
"Okay." Jim's voice was rough.
Blair tilted his head, hesitating.
"Okay, Chief. And...thanks."
A quick grin flashed across Blair's face.
"I'll need your help to let the door down easy."
Jim nodded and crouched up. Blair grunted as he lifted the door, and then Jim put his hand up, watching his guide's face until it disappeared behind the door, which shut with a dampened clang, leaving him in darkness.
The sound was still enough to jolt Jim's system, and he quickly slid back down into the water, letting it rise above his ears until just his face and arms were exposed. He tracked Blair's quiet progress out the door, the pause as he lifted his pack to his shoulder, and then his steps down the hall to the elevator, so faint with the water filling Jim's ears and muffling the sound.
Once the elevator noise ceased, Jim relaxed a little. He let himself float, his arms out to the sides. All he could hear was his breathing, the thrum of his blood traveling through his body, the thud of his heartbeat in his chest, and the faint kiss of the water as the final ripples settled.
After a while, he realized he was still listening for something—listening with a flinch ready—but there was nothing. He eased his controls a little. After a little more time had passed, he discovered he couldn't feel the exposed skin of his arms, and he twitched, making the water lap against the walls of the tank. It must be nearing his body temperature. Where before it had felt slightly cool, now he could barely feel the line of differentiation between water and air. After a period of focusing on the difference, his skin started to itch a little as if reaching out for sensation.
Jim turned away from touch to focus on sight. The darkness was absolute, but he still found himself straining to see, trying to catch the tiniest glimmer of light. He closed his eyes. There was nothing, nothing, and then a sudden, dim splash of color behind his eyelids. He opened them, but the light didn't change. It wasn't real. He closed his eyes again, arching his back in a careful stretch. Water moved against his skin, the only sensation. His heartbeat slowed.
Gradually, in fits and starts, he tried to ease his controls and release the dials. It was difficult because the action was so foreign. He wasn't even sure he knew how to do it. He found himself clutching them convulsively over and over in a panic. But each time he let them ease higher, nothing happened. He relaxed the last of his grip, until finally he did it.
He let go.
The dials spun up, up, totally free of his control.
And there was...nothing.
He was safe.
Tears filled his eyes, stinging them. His sudden relief was so profound his chest tightened with it. For the first time in as long as he could remember he didn't have to fear the sudden internal attack of a sensory spike. He could feel his dials spinning wildly, jacking up and down as they often did in reaction to stress, but it didn't matter. There was nothing to hear. There was nothing to feel or see, no pain at all. There was nothing to spike on except the salt of his tears burning his temples.
After a while, there wasn't even that.
>>><<<
You know you're crazy doing this to him. What if he freaks? Sensory deprivation for a Sentinel? You could put him in the nuthouse!
But the solution felt right to Blair. He couldn't believe Jim had hung on as long as he did, through the impossible stress of his job and the injuries to them both. Sleep was probably the only time Jim could recharge a little, and it wasn't like either of them got a hell of a lot of that.
For the first hour Blair couldn't even read he was so worried. But by the time two hours had passed and Jim still hadn't hit the panic button, Blair began to relax. He pulled out a stack of bluebooks and started grading essays.
By the third hour, he was willing to declare it a success. Even if Jim only slept, he'd never had this restful an environment to sleep in. That alone was worth the price of the ticket.
Blair flashed on the final image he'd had of Jim as he'd closed the door—Jim's exhausted face, belied by the rippling bulk of his nude body. Jim had always been a perfect contradiction of strength and fragility. The image of his muscular form was then overlaid by the figure Blair had found curled up in his bed the previous night, hands over his ears, face contorted in pain.
Blair's fault.
But it was worth accidentally putting Jim through that, if only because now Blair finally knew the true price Jim was paying for control of his senses. No wonder the big guy got cranky on him sometimes. Blair couldn't imagine having to exercise that kind of vigilance minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour.
His admiration for Jim increased every day he knew the man, and it wasn't like it was lacking to begin with. He remembered Jim's embarrassment at having to use the rectal thermometer, the flush on his cheeks that had made Blair's own cheeks burn with arousal. He was glad Jim was too out of it to notice his sudden heat.
Eventually, of course, Blair wouldn't be able to hide his attraction any longer. He was resigned to that. He only hoped he'd made himself essential enough by now that Jim wouldn't just boot him out on his ass without a second thought.
A ping at the control board and the sudden crackle of the intercom startled Blair out of his reverie.
"Blair."
Jim's voice sounded...strange, as if he were floating. Of course, he was floating, Blair realized with a grin.
He leaned over the table and hit the mic button. "Yeah, Jim. I'm here. Are you all right?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Um." Blair struggled to identify the tone. Jim almost sounded...stoned. "Are you done?"
"Yeah, I'm done." The intercom crackled off.
Blair rose and stuffed the papers back into his pack. He was still scratching his head, wondering what to make of a spacey Jim, when the elevator hit level ten.
He opened the door just enough to slip into the chamber. The tank was still closed up tight, but when he pulled on the handle it rose as if by magic. Blair tried to control it as it landed against the side, but it still gave a thunk that made him wince.
He was still cringing when he turned back to face Jim.
Jim rose out of the tank, water sheeting from his nude body. He took one step forward, and before Blair's brain could form the thought oops, forgot the towel, Jim opened his arms and pulled him into a sopping wet embrace.
Uh. Uh.
Thoughts weren't coming. Jim was holding him. Naked Jim, holding him. Blair heard him whisper, "Thanks, Chief," and then, finally, Blair's mouth started working again. Before his brain, unfortunately.
"You, um, need a towel."
"Mmm." Jim still held him, and finally Blair couldn't resist lifting his own arms, letting his hands rest on the broad, slick back.
Holy Moses. Jim's skin was soft under his fingers, probably softer than normal after such a long soaking. Actually, Blair prayed that was true, because nothing should be so soft and so firm at the same damned time.
Blair's dick wasn't in agreement.
His best interests would lie in getting out of this crazy situation as soon as possible, but how often was Blair going to have his arms wrapped around a naked Jim? Not very.
"You're a genius, Sandburg," Jim said, his voice still soft and dreamy. "I think I love you."
Blair's dick had something to say about that, too, oddly enough, and Blair tried to pull out of the hug. His hands slipped to the small of Jim's back, and then onto his hips. At least, he told himself they'd slipped. Inadvertently. Yeah.
"Jim? Me, too. I mean." There was something caught in Blair's throat. Maybe it was his tongue. He possibly might have swallowed it.
Jim tightened his arms for a moment, then let him go to walk over to the changing cubicle. He came back with a towel, which he rubbed casually over himself, not bothering to hide his nudity.
Blair had to swallow hard and force himself to look away. He busied himself by picking up Jim's gun and his clothing, which was scattered next to the tank as if Jim had momentarily lost control of his anal-retentive self. Actually, that was probably the case, and told Blair more about Jim's state of mind at the beginning of this experiment than the clay-faced mask he'd adopted since they'd left the loft.
Blair handed the articles of clothing over one by one, careful to keep his eyes up and averted slightly.
"We have to come back here, Chief," Jim said once he was dressed. He seemed slightly less spacey, but hardly like Blair's usual poker-faced partner. There was an openness to his face and body language that was more than a little disconcerting, and Blair had to rally himself to respond.
"Sure thing. Tony says we can come back whenever it's not too busy."
"Great. That's terrific, Blair."
Okay, this is really getting creepy.
"You ready to go?" Blair wanted to get Jim home just in case this was one of those calm-before-the-storm deals.
"Sure. Only, maybe we can stop somewhere on the way home? Stay in the woods tonight? I'm off tomorrow." Jim grinned, an easy, open grin. Blair's mouth felt dry.
"I guess I could find a hotel. That what you want?"
Jim nodded and just smiled and smiled.
>>><<<
They found themselves at a Super 8 just outside of Cascade, still close enough to the woods to smell pine and not brake-dust. They'd picked up some burgers along the way, and Jim was working his way through his second. Blair could hardly eat half of his. All of his attention was on Jim, and the disconcerting changes that still lingered.
It was like Blair had never seen him before. The only thing that came close was when they went on one of their deep camping trips, but even then Jim was always at least alert for wildlife or the occasional poacher armed with automatic weapons.
This Jim was...Blair suddenly wondered if Jim had been like this when he was younger, before the senses had come back.
He'd never know.
"What're you thinking about, Cosmo? You look kinda troubled." Jim's voice was calm, curious.
"Just wondering if this was a good idea."
"Hell, yeah," Jim said easily, crumpling the wrapper for his burger and tossing it into the trash. "I needed it. I can't tell you badly I needed it. And I figured out some stuff while I was in there."
"Can you talk to me about it?" Blair took a sip of his water and steeled himself for the usual refusal.
"Sure."
Blair had to cough a little when the water tried to go down the wrong pipe.
"It was amazing, Chief. At first, I couldn't even figure out how to let go of the damned dials. I've never tried before. It's never been safe to try. I didn't even realize my fingers were stuck to the damned things until I tried to let them go."
"Sure, that makes sense."
"After a while, though, I finally did it, and it was like...like I found—" Jim broke off and his eyes went dreamy again.
Blair just stared.
"I think it was peace. I don't know. Never felt anything like it before."
"God, Jim—"
"And the other thing I realized is I have you to thank for it. Actually, I pretty much have you to thank for anything good that's happened to me for as long as I can remember." Jim's blue eyes were cut crystal, wide open, staring into him.
Blair swallowed, tried to speak, but nothing came out.
"Wish I could pay you back somehow, Chief. Wish I could show you how good it makes me feel to have you around." Jim slid off his chair mid-speech and ended it kneeling in front of him.
Blair stared down at him with his heart thumping hard against the walls of his chest.
"Jim," he croaked. "What're you—"
"If I'm wrong about this, I'll say I'm sorry afterward, all right?" Jim pushed his legs apart to move in between them, an easy feat since all of Blair's muscles had suddenly turned as loose as an overstretched rubber band.
Then Jim leaned up and kissed him.
Okay. Okay, not panicking. This wasn't panic, was it? Just because his heart rate shot into three digits at the first touch of Jim's lips against his? Just because he could suddenly feel his pulse trying to pound its way straight out of the veins in his neck?
Possible stroke event. Watch for blurred vision.
Jim's lips were moving gently back and forth, but his hands were gripping Blair's hips not-so-gently. After a moment, he pulled back an inch.
That's when Blair made his move. Or, that is, his body moved, while his brain was still in lock-down.
He tightened his thighs around Jim's torso, trapping him, and then grabbed the strong shoulders to hold him still. Then Blair moved in, lips first, tilting his head to get a good seal, and put his tongue into play.
Jim arched his neck and leaned into it, opening his mouth.
The unexpected surrender brought Blair's cock up hard. He moaned and tried to adjust himself, but his hand collided with Jim's, which was already busy on his button fly. Jim gave a fierce tug and the buttons let go in a quick succession of muffled pops.
Holy Mother.
Jim reached into Blair's boxers and freed his aching erection. Blair gasped and tried to make his brain function.
"Jim, are you sure you—?"
"Nope," Jim said softly, staring down at Blair's cock. "I have no idea what I'm doing. Does it matter, though? I mean, I promise to give it my best shot, sport."
He thinks I'm worried about his performance. That was the last thing Blair was worried about, seeing as he was ready to blow just from watching Jim stare at his cock. In Jim's hand.
To repeat: Holy Mother.
"No, I mean are you sure this is what you want?" Blair said breathlessly.
Jim looked up at that.
"Oh, yeah."
It was the same thing he'd said in the tank when Blair asked him if he was all right. He had that same, peaceful tone to his voice—Blair could identify it now—and if it made Blair feel vaguely ashamed, as if he'd somehow brainwashed his best friend, his guilt only lasted for second or two, because right after that Jim bent down and took Blair's cock into his mouth.
Blair's entire body jolted as if hit with a shock prod. His cock was in Jim's mouth. Jim was sucking him—sloppily, a little awkwardly, just barely covering his teeth, but that didn't matter because it was Jim's mouth, Jim's beautiful mouth and tongue and lips catching him, stroking him hot and sweet.
Blair came in under a minute, suddenly and without a chance to warn Jim, who choked a little but gamely hung on until Blair went limp with a heartfelt groan.
"Jesus Christ," Blair whispered, still shaking.
Jim gave a choked laugh and looked up, his eyes bright. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then lowered it to his own lap.
"Hey! No way, Jim. 'Smy turn!"
Jim collapsed backward on the floor and groaned, saying, "No time. No time."
"Nuh-uh." Blair gathered his spaghetti limbs and pounced on Jim to straddle his legs.
Jim shook his head weakly. "Won't even get my zipper down," he gasped.
Blair hurriedly popped the top button of Jim's jeans and then slowly, carefully lowered the zipper. The ratcheting sound was followed immediately by a deep moan, and then Jim was jerking under him, come shooting from the thick cockhead peeking from the waist of his boxers. Blair rubbed his palm against the spasming thickness.
"God," Jim moaned. "Oh, God."
Raising his head to look at Jim's face, Blair was blown away by the expression in Jim's eyes. Pleasure, affection, and that deep new peace seemed to shine there like polished stone.
"Blair," Jim whispered.
"Jim." Blair lowered himself on top of the big chest to press a dozen kisses against Jim's lips. He had to stop when Jim started laughing.
"What?" Blair pulled back, a little offended.
"Just thinking—you're gonna ruin all your hard work today, Darwin."
"Oh, yeah? How's that?"
Jim pulled him down again, his fingers warm against Blair's neck. "I think I could spike just from the touch of your mouth," he murmured.
Blair smiled. "Guess we'd better get started with the testing."
Funny, but for once Jim didn't object at all.
.....................
2007.05.25
More about isolation (sensory deprivation) tanks.
(And if you've never seen Altered States, it's well worth it if only for the nudie shots of a young William Hurt.)
Author:
arrow00Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: J/B
Rating: NC-17 (not very graphic)
Wordcount: 6,767
Categories: First-time, angst
Warnings: Spacey!Jim
Summary: Jim is out of rope, so Blair throws him a line.
It took five minutes, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, for the echo of the engine's vibrations to leave his skin, for the numbness in his lips to ease, for Jim to gear himself up to get out of the goddamn truck and into the apartment.
Notes: Not sure if canon contradicts the basic premise
here. If it does, spank me and call this an AU.
(xpost to sentinelfic): Letting Go
Letting Go
By Arrow
Everything was too much today. He'd been pushing the dials down so hard it felt like he'd been doing mental bench-presses for the past eight hours, and when his strength gave out they spun right back up, so high he'd barely managed the drive home. It took five minutes, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel, for the echo of the engine's vibrations to leave his skin, for the numbness in his lips to ease, and for Jim to gear himself up to get out of the goddamn truck and into the apartment.
On his way up the stairs the air tasted heavy in his mouth, and his head rang with a hundred grabs for his attention—traffic noises, water rushing through pipes, televisions and radio shows mashed with pop/rock/country twanging in his skull until he was ready to strangle someone. Preferably Sandburg, who'd been out of town for two days on some sort of granola-ass hippie retreat for the holiday weekend, leaving Jim alone to deal with this shit.
He staggered into the loft at last, wincing at the sound of his keys dropping into the basket and the knob turning in the lock with a grind. Time to WD-40 that sucker again.
It was better in here, though. Better at home where the sights and sounds and smells were familiar. He needed a shower; he knew before long the sensation of dirt and sweat on his skin would overpower the last of his self-control, but getting under the needle-like spray right now would be torture.
Maybe a bath. Yeah, a bath.
Once clean and resting in the soft lap of the water against the sides of the tub, his headache started to ease. He got out and dried off quickly before blindly making his way upstairs. It was dark enough now that he let his eyes squint open as he put on his oldest, softest pair of boxers and nothing else. He couldn't bear the thought of anything else against his skin except the clean, soft sheets of his bed. Even the eye-mask would be too much tonight. With a groan he rolled onto his belly and tried to relax.
Easing up a tiny bit, he heard the quiet clinks of people eating dinner, the whisper of clothes tumbling in the dryer down in the basement. Almost peaceful. He eased up a little more, eyes closed, splashes of color still painting his lids, but not too bad. Not too bad. Smell of his sheets, familiar as his own skin, his own sweat, clean.
Easy. Easy.
The sound of the front door opening roused him from his drifting. It was Sandburg, dumping what sounded like a backpack on his bed with a deep thump. Jim winced and held his breath, but Sandburg was quiet. Jim heard the soft sound of material sliding on skin, and then the click of the bathroom door.
More water sounds, like soothing white noise. Jim had forgotten his white noise filters earlier—he was that out of it—but now Sandburg was providing an alternative. And Sandburg sounds were familiar, welcome. The sound of him getting dressed, padding into the kitchen. The clink of bottles in the fridge as the door swung open. The rattling ball-bearings of the kitchen drawer, and a paper sound, maybe a loaf of bread. Yes, there was the saw of a knife through the thick crust.
Jim relaxed again, easing his choke-hold on the knobs. Sometimes it felt like they were alive with a will of their own to jump higher and higher. Sometimes he wondered just how high they could go; the thought terrified him.
Easy. Easy.
Suddenly a piercing sound tore the air open, grabbed the breath from his lungs, and had him curling tight in a ball, his own yell of agony thrusting against the violent, shattered space around him. He felt all his dials spin wildly; he lost his grip, and went screaming into the void.
"Jim. Jim. Oh, God, Jim, come on back, okay? It's off. It's okay."
The voice was soft, tugging, insistent, but Jim's eyes remained screwed shut, his hands clamped over his ears. He heard his own harsh panting, a rough, rhythmic wash of sound, counterpoint to the soft voice pleading with him.
"C'mon, partner." Blair's hands were over his, trying to pull them away. Jim turned toward the pillow and curled tighter, pressing his palms harder, trying to squeeze in the pain that was threatening to blow his skull apart.
"Okay. Okay." Blair stopped trying to move his hands, and instead started stroking Jim's back. The motion registered vaguely, familiar from a hundred zone-outs, except this time Jim's back was bare, so Blair was stroking his skin. It felt...weird, just strange enough to pull him back to full awareness.
He straightened, dropping his hands and taking stock of the situation. Touch and hearing were back. He slitted his eyes open. Blair was a blur staring down at him, his face twisted with concern.
"God, I'm sorry, Jim. It was the smoke alarm."
Smell came back then in a hurry, bringing Jim the odor of...he sniffed, and pulled in the acrid scent of burned bread.
"I forgot the toaster oven was on," Blair confessed sheepishly. "I just went into my room for a minute..."
A minute. Right. A minute didn't exist for Sandburg, whose attention span was measured either in milliseconds or hours, depending on how deeply he was into something.
Jim groaned and rubbed his face, wearily grabbing for the dials again.
"Damn it, Sandburg." He meant to sound angry, but his voice came out in a weak, uneven whisper.
"Bad day, huh?" Blair's voice was still soft. He reached over to pat Jim's arm, but Jim rolled away to sit on the edge of the bed.
"You have no fucking idea," Jim said. His body ached as if he'd just gone ten rounds with a heavyweight. "Christ, how could you be so careless?"
He heard Blair draw in an angry breath, but Jim just waved his hand. "Can it, sport. Or, at least shelve it until later. I can't take any more right now. Fuck."
"Try to dial it all down, Jim—"
"God!" His own shout hurt him, but Jim didn't care. "Fuck the fucking dials. I can't...you don't have a clue, Sandburg. I'm tired of controlling them. It's like lifting weights all the time, no downtime at all, just hanging onto them until I lose my grip and they go flying again. I thought I was safe here. I need just one place I can go where...I need—"
It was hopeless. Totally hopeless. It wasn't even Sandburg's fault, really. If it wasn't him, someone's car alarm would have gone off, or someone would crank their stereo, or break a bottle of perfume. It was hopeless. There was nowhere safe. He fell back onto the bed, stretching out with a stifled sigh.
"Wait." Blair sounded upset. "You're saying when you set the dials they don't stay where you set them? Is this new?"
Jim couldn't believe it. "It's always been that way. I have to keep holding them there. You mean you didn't know?" He thought Sandburg knew everything.
"No, I—" Blair jumped to his feet and started to pace. "You mean always? I mean, not just when you're having trouble with them? You have to hold onto them all the time?"
"Well, yeah." Jim was startled when Blair spun and lunged, kneeling on the bed to grab Jim's arm.
"Jesus, Jim. Jesus! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why—? Shit, Sandburg, they're your fucking dials. You made them up!"
"Yeah, but Jim—" Blair shook his head, the curly hair bouncing around his shoulders in a swirl of brown. "Oh, man. Oh, man. I have to go think about this." He let go of Jim's arm and got up again, giving him a once over.
"You okay? Everything under control for now?"
Jim did a systems check. Yeah, everything was set, but his grip wasn't the steadiest. His arm ached where Sandburg had grabbed it.
"I'm okay. Just no more surprises tonight, all right? I don't think I could take it."
"Sure, Jim. I'm...I'm sorry, man."
"That's okay, Chief."
Blair disappeared downstairs, and Jim rolled back onto his stomach. He put the filters in and let the white noise fill his ears.
Jim's back was still tingling with the memory of Blair's hand stroking his skin as he slipped into sleep.
Blair took off his shoes, padding around in his socks until squeak of a board underfoot made him stop in sudden alarm. No moving. He had to stop moving.
Jesus. Poor Jim. All this time, hanging on, not allowed to relax for a single second. It was crazy. Wasn't he supposed to be a scientist? How could he not have known?
He settled himself down to meditate, forgoing the candles because he didn't want Jim to smell anything burning. Then he tried to slow his breathing, and his heartbeat, but every time he focused on them he realized Jim was probably hearing them, too, and that made them speed up again. Then he started to smell the stink of his own anxiety rising from his armpits. Finally, as quietly as he could, he snuck out the door, carrying his shoes until he was down on the street.
He had to get to the library and do some serious fucking thinking. Jim was depending on him.
"Just trust me, Jim." Blair was all color and movement, dashing back and forth between his room and the bag he was packing on the couch. He'd disappear for a moment then reappear thirty seconds later with another book or packet of papers. Jim sat and sipped his coffee, trying to quell his nausea at the blur of motion.
"I do trust you, Chief. It's just that I know I'm not up to any tests right now." His senses were only slightly better after a night of broken sleep.
"But that's just why this is the perfect time." Blair stopped his packing long enough to wave his finger at him. "You need this. But I don't want you thinking about it or worrying about it. I want you to go in without any preconceptions."
Jim closed his eyes. The headache was just barely tolerable. No way was he going to survive a drive, especially not in Blair's old piece of crap, which set Jim's teeth on edge even when he wasn't about to puke at the thought of all the groaning and vibrating the thirty year-old chassis would make.
But Blair was giving him that wide-eyed, begging look. God, his eyes were so blue.
"We have to take my truck, then," Jim said wearily. "You drive."
"Really?"
Jim winced at the squeak in Blair's voice.
"Really. I trust you, Chief." And he did. Probably the reason Jim was in such a bad way to begin with was due to Blair's two-day absence. Something about having the guy around made it easier for Jim to carry the weight of his senses.
"Right! You better." Blair shot him a wry glance which quickly turned into a full-blown grin. Jim couldn't help smiling back.
"Let's get this show on the road, then." Jim stood and went upstairs to dress. Christ, even his socks felt rough and angry on his feet. He debated leaving his gun, and then strapped it on anyway. It just didn't pay not to go armed when entering the Sandburg zone.
The drive wasn't quite as torturous as Jim had been anticipating, for all they were traveling mostly on winding gravel roads heading up into the woods. For once, Blair was quiet, almost as if he knew just how close to losing control Jim really was.
But still, the hum of the engine and the whine of the transmission were making the bones of Jim's skull grind together. He just hung grimly onto the seat, and about an hour later Blair pulled them into a dirt parking lot in front of a small concrete building.
"This is it. My buddy Tony is going to let us in."
"What is this place, Chief?" Jim took a look around. The building had the feel of a military-style bunker, a sensation that made the hair rise on the back of his neck.
"It's part of the University," Blair said. "But that's all I'm gonna tell you for now." He led the way around a path to the entrance. When he pushed the doorbell, Jim didn't hear any accompanying buzz.
"I don't think it's working," he said.
"Don't worry," Blair said confidently.
Sure enough, the door opened after a moment, revealing a short, skinny kid with glasses and dark, curly hair.
"Hey, Tony." Blair did a little bounce. "Thanks so much for letting us come. You're a real life-saver. This is Jim."
"Hi, guys." Tony shook Jim's hand, saying, "I have to admit I can't think of any emergency that the tank can help with; at least, nothing legal." He gave Blair a wink.
"Legal—?" Jim stopped in his tracks.
Blair grabbed his arm, tugging him inside to follow Tony. "Nothing like that, Tony. It's for my diss. An academic emergency." He squeezed Jim's arm as if to caution him to silence. "Trust me," Blair said under his breath.
They walked down a long, cool hallway and then into an elevator. Tony was blabbing about something; Jim couldn't make head or tails of it. Something about mineral levels in Yucatan cenotes. Blair responded eagerly while Jim rubbed at his temples. He was tired again. The few hours' rest he'd had weren't enough for the drive and two academics going at it full bore.
The elevator took them down quite a few floors, and when they got out Jim was suddenly aware of the dead quiet around them. He couldn't hear a damned thing outside their footsteps. He listened harder, dialing up cautiously. He picked up a faraway buzz of a fluorescent light somewhere, and a very low-level hum of electrical wiring, but that was it.
He felt himself smile a little. Hell, the trip was worth it just for this. Maybe he could ask Blair for a couple of hours curled up on the linoleum before they started whatever new tests he had cooked up.
Tony led them down a narrow corridor and to a big door. He pulled the handle, and it swung open so ponderously that Jim was tempted to lend a hand.
"This is the lowest tank we have," Tony said, waving his hand. "We're two hundred feet underground, nothing but solid concrete from here to the surface. We've got ten tanks in all." He sounded proud.
Jim's eyes followed Tony's gesture to a large, slanted metal box set in the floor. There was a door set on the side tilted closest to them.
"You said you've done this before, Blair, so just a few things as a refresher. That—" Tony pointed at a small red bulb set in the ceiling, "Is the call light for the front door. There's one in every room. But there aren't any scheduled students for the rest of the day 'cause of the holiday weekend. So as soon as I leave, you guys are on your own. Now this—" He put his hand on a small control box set with dials, "—is the timer control. Pretty damned simple. You can choose one of eight different alarm sounds. All of them cycle up really slowly from soft to loud so no one gets a rude awakening. This is the temperature control. Take your basal temperature before you get in the tank, and set this to match. That's about it."
Blair had been nodding and taking notes, the scratch of his pencil so familiar it hadn't really registered on Jim's hearing, which was struggling to handle the nasal quality of Tony's voice.
"Thanks, Tony. You really are the best," Blair said softly. "I'll be sure to give you a big shout out in my footnotes."
"Ha, ha. Better yet you should set me up with one of those babes that keep falling into your lap."
"As if," Blair said vaguely. He subvocalized, "Say goodbye, Jim."
"'Bye, Tony. Thanks."
Tony left with a wave, and Blair immediately took hold of Jim's arm, pulling him over to the wall.
"Blair, what the heck is this place?"
"No way, man." Blair pulled something from a shelf next to the control panel. "Don't tell me you never saw Altered States."
Jim grimaced. "I don't alter my states, buddy boy. And you'd better not be suggesting—"
"No! No way." Blair stopped fiddling with whatever was in his hands and turned to face him. "That's what Tony meant about being legal. Some kids like to alter their states and then do the iso tank. You should know I wouldn't mess with your system that way. Completely defeats the purpose."
Jim shook his head. "You know, I only half-understand you on the best of days, Chief, and I'm not really running at optimum level, here." His head gave a throb of warning.
"That's an isolation tank, Jim. We're going to put you in there." Blair gripped Jim's arm, and Jim winced backward. Blair let him go, and softened his voice. "Look, until you told me yesterday, I had no idea, man. No idea that all this time you've had to keep hanging on to your dials all the time. That sucks. This is going to give you a chance to let go. I mean really let go of all of them—sight, touch, sound, smell, and hearing. We are two hundred feet underground, and for the next four hours or so, you will get no unexpected sensory input. Nada. Zip. Nothing outside the sounds and sense of your own body. You get it?"
Jim blinked. He almost swayed on his feet at the sudden understanding and hope that filled him. Nothing at all? No traffic noise? No glaring lights, no ugly smells? No vibrations?
He was still reeling with shocked delight at the idea when Blair touched his arm and gestured him toward a curtained cubicle.
"Okay, this is the one thing, Jim. We need to get your true basal body temperature. Which means, uh, here..." He handed Jim a small, plastic-wrapped bundle.
Jim held it, the crinkle of the plastic distracting him as he tried to figure out what was inside.
"You have to...you know."
The hesitancy in Blair's tone keyed Jim to the identity of the object. A rectal thermometer. Jim felt his face flush.
Blair spoke quickly. "I know, I know. Right now it's probably the last thing you want to deal with," he babbled, "but we need to get the water temperature exactly right." He shooed Jim into the cubicle and even drew the curtain for him while Jim was still trying to word an angry refusal.
"Jim?" Blair said hesitantly after a moment. Jim realized he was still standing there with the damned thing in his hand.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jim muttered. "Could you do me a favor and give me a little more privacy? Like, get out of here, Chief."
"Going. Going."
Jim heard Blair's quick steps, and then the curtain billowed from the air stirred by the door.
Jim unwrapped the thermometer and used the small foil packet of lubricant to grease up the plastic sheath covering the medical sensor. Of course, he'd forgotten he needed to get his pants off, and now he couldn't put the greasy thing down. So he fumbled one-handed with his pants and underwear, and then did the deed, pressing the button and inserting the probe end.
It was uncomfortable. This was probably the most sensitive skin in his entire body, which was already overloaded with sensation, so having hard plastic pressing in there was not a happy feeling. And it wasn't like he was used to sticking things up his ass. If he hadn't heard the obvious compassion in Sandburg's voice, Jim might've mentally accused him of playing an elaborate practical joke.
After too long a time, the thing beeped at him, making him jump and then wince. He pulled it out and checked the temperature reading.
There were paper towels and a medical waste bin for him to dispose of the sheath. He did it quickly, then got his clothes in order and stepped out.
He found Blair sitting on the floor of the corridor just outside the door.
"98.99 degrees, Chief," Jim said, staying in the relative shelter of the doorway to hide his flush.
"Hey, that's higher than normal," Blair said.
Jim grunted an affirmative.
"Are you feeling okay? Not getting sick?"
Jim grunted a negative this time.
"Hmm. I wonder if the higher temperature's a Sentinel thing, or a Jim thing, or a bad-sensitivity thing, like maybe on those days you can't control your dials that well you detect the cool of the air too much so your body compensates—"
"Can we get on with this, Chief?" Jim was barely hanging on at this point. The feeling of that hard plastic against his sensitive tissues wouldn't go away. It felt like he'd scraped himself down there.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Blair pushed past him and went over to the control panel to set the temperature. Then he walked over to the tank and strained to get the door open.
"Could use a hand, Jim."
Jim lent his strength and the door swung up and over, revealing the dark interior. Blair crouched down and pointed.
"That button right there activates the intercom system. Sometimes people really freak out in these things. Not that I think you will, big guy," Blair said hastily. "But, just in case. Hit it, and I'll be on it to talk to you right away. Got it?"
Jim nodded.
"Okay, well..." Blair clapped his hands together. "Get undressed and get on in there."
Jim gave Blair a pointed look over his shoulder.
"Oh, right." Blair turned his back. Jim undressed quickly, glad to be out of his clothes, to get any and everything away from his skin. The idea of lying in a warm pool of water for four hours in this quiet atmosphere was enough to set his heart singing with gratitude.
He stepped down into the tank and the slightly cool water flowed up his thighs and waist. As he lay back, the water rose until it was level with his chin and his ears were covered. He was floating.
Oh, God. Heaven.
"Jim?"
Blair's voice came muddied through the water and Jim raised his head.
"You all set?"
Jim nodded wordlessly. He was afraid to speak. His throat felt tight with relief.
"Okay, here's how it's gonna go. After I close this door, I'm going to take the elevator up to the surface level. That should get me far enough away so you won't hear me at all. There's no one else here, Jim. For the next four hours, you're not going to hear anything you don't expect, see anything but darkness, feel anything but the water, which has a higher saline content so you should be able to float with just your face above water. Four hours, Jim, unless you want to stop sooner. After four hours I'll come down and call your name, but probably you'll hear the elevator first. Okay?"
"Okay." Jim's voice was rough.
Blair tilted his head, hesitating.
"Okay, Chief. And...thanks."
A quick grin flashed across Blair's face.
"I'll need your help to let the door down easy."
Jim nodded and crouched up. Blair grunted as he lifted the door, and then Jim put his hand up, watching his guide's face until it disappeared behind the door, which shut with a dampened clang, leaving him in darkness.
The sound was still enough to jolt Jim's system, and he quickly slid back down into the water, letting it rise above his ears until just his face and arms were exposed. He tracked Blair's quiet progress out the door, the pause as he lifted his pack to his shoulder, and then his steps down the hall to the elevator, so faint with the water filling Jim's ears and muffling the sound.
Once the elevator noise ceased, Jim relaxed a little. He let himself float, his arms out to the sides. All he could hear was his breathing, the thrum of his blood traveling through his body, the thud of his heartbeat in his chest, and the faint kiss of the water as the final ripples settled.
After a while, he realized he was still listening for something—listening with a flinch ready—but there was nothing. He eased his controls a little. After a little more time had passed, he discovered he couldn't feel the exposed skin of his arms, and he twitched, making the water lap against the walls of the tank. It must be nearing his body temperature. Where before it had felt slightly cool, now he could barely feel the line of differentiation between water and air. After a period of focusing on the difference, his skin started to itch a little as if reaching out for sensation.
Jim turned away from touch to focus on sight. The darkness was absolute, but he still found himself straining to see, trying to catch the tiniest glimmer of light. He closed his eyes. There was nothing, nothing, and then a sudden, dim splash of color behind his eyelids. He opened them, but the light didn't change. It wasn't real. He closed his eyes again, arching his back in a careful stretch. Water moved against his skin, the only sensation. His heartbeat slowed.
Gradually, in fits and starts, he tried to ease his controls and release the dials. It was difficult because the action was so foreign. He wasn't even sure he knew how to do it. He found himself clutching them convulsively over and over in a panic. But each time he let them ease higher, nothing happened. He relaxed the last of his grip, until finally he did it.
He let go.
The dials spun up, up, totally free of his control.
And there was...nothing.
He was safe.
Tears filled his eyes, stinging them. His sudden relief was so profound his chest tightened with it. For the first time in as long as he could remember he didn't have to fear the sudden internal attack of a sensory spike. He could feel his dials spinning wildly, jacking up and down as they often did in reaction to stress, but it didn't matter. There was nothing to hear. There was nothing to feel or see, no pain at all. There was nothing to spike on except the salt of his tears burning his temples.
After a while, there wasn't even that.
You know you're crazy doing this to him. What if he freaks? Sensory deprivation for a Sentinel? You could put him in the nuthouse!
But the solution felt right to Blair. He couldn't believe Jim had hung on as long as he did, through the impossible stress of his job and the injuries to them both. Sleep was probably the only time Jim could recharge a little, and it wasn't like either of them got a hell of a lot of that.
For the first hour Blair couldn't even read he was so worried. But by the time two hours had passed and Jim still hadn't hit the panic button, Blair began to relax. He pulled out a stack of bluebooks and started grading essays.
By the third hour, he was willing to declare it a success. Even if Jim only slept, he'd never had this restful an environment to sleep in. That alone was worth the price of the ticket.
Blair flashed on the final image he'd had of Jim as he'd closed the door—Jim's exhausted face, belied by the rippling bulk of his nude body. Jim had always been a perfect contradiction of strength and fragility. The image of his muscular form was then overlaid by the figure Blair had found curled up in his bed the previous night, hands over his ears, face contorted in pain.
Blair's fault.
But it was worth accidentally putting Jim through that, if only because now Blair finally knew the true price Jim was paying for control of his senses. No wonder the big guy got cranky on him sometimes. Blair couldn't imagine having to exercise that kind of vigilance minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour.
His admiration for Jim increased every day he knew the man, and it wasn't like it was lacking to begin with. He remembered Jim's embarrassment at having to use the rectal thermometer, the flush on his cheeks that had made Blair's own cheeks burn with arousal. He was glad Jim was too out of it to notice his sudden heat.
Eventually, of course, Blair wouldn't be able to hide his attraction any longer. He was resigned to that. He only hoped he'd made himself essential enough by now that Jim wouldn't just boot him out on his ass without a second thought.
A ping at the control board and the sudden crackle of the intercom startled Blair out of his reverie.
"Blair."
Jim's voice sounded...strange, as if he were floating. Of course, he was floating, Blair realized with a grin.
He leaned over the table and hit the mic button. "Yeah, Jim. I'm here. Are you all right?"
"Oh, yeah."
"Um." Blair struggled to identify the tone. Jim almost sounded...stoned. "Are you done?"
"Yeah, I'm done." The intercom crackled off.
Blair rose and stuffed the papers back into his pack. He was still scratching his head, wondering what to make of a spacey Jim, when the elevator hit level ten.
He opened the door just enough to slip into the chamber. The tank was still closed up tight, but when he pulled on the handle it rose as if by magic. Blair tried to control it as it landed against the side, but it still gave a thunk that made him wince.
He was still cringing when he turned back to face Jim.
Jim rose out of the tank, water sheeting from his nude body. He took one step forward, and before Blair's brain could form the thought oops, forgot the towel, Jim opened his arms and pulled him into a sopping wet embrace.
Uh. Uh.
Thoughts weren't coming. Jim was holding him. Naked Jim, holding him. Blair heard him whisper, "Thanks, Chief," and then, finally, Blair's mouth started working again. Before his brain, unfortunately.
"You, um, need a towel."
"Mmm." Jim still held him, and finally Blair couldn't resist lifting his own arms, letting his hands rest on the broad, slick back.
Holy Moses. Jim's skin was soft under his fingers, probably softer than normal after such a long soaking. Actually, Blair prayed that was true, because nothing should be so soft and so firm at the same damned time.
Blair's dick wasn't in agreement.
His best interests would lie in getting out of this crazy situation as soon as possible, but how often was Blair going to have his arms wrapped around a naked Jim? Not very.
"You're a genius, Sandburg," Jim said, his voice still soft and dreamy. "I think I love you."
Blair's dick had something to say about that, too, oddly enough, and Blair tried to pull out of the hug. His hands slipped to the small of Jim's back, and then onto his hips. At least, he told himself they'd slipped. Inadvertently. Yeah.
"Jim? Me, too. I mean." There was something caught in Blair's throat. Maybe it was his tongue. He possibly might have swallowed it.
Jim tightened his arms for a moment, then let him go to walk over to the changing cubicle. He came back with a towel, which he rubbed casually over himself, not bothering to hide his nudity.
Blair had to swallow hard and force himself to look away. He busied himself by picking up Jim's gun and his clothing, which was scattered next to the tank as if Jim had momentarily lost control of his anal-retentive self. Actually, that was probably the case, and told Blair more about Jim's state of mind at the beginning of this experiment than the clay-faced mask he'd adopted since they'd left the loft.
Blair handed the articles of clothing over one by one, careful to keep his eyes up and averted slightly.
"We have to come back here, Chief," Jim said once he was dressed. He seemed slightly less spacey, but hardly like Blair's usual poker-faced partner. There was an openness to his face and body language that was more than a little disconcerting, and Blair had to rally himself to respond.
"Sure thing. Tony says we can come back whenever it's not too busy."
"Great. That's terrific, Blair."
Okay, this is really getting creepy.
"You ready to go?" Blair wanted to get Jim home just in case this was one of those calm-before-the-storm deals.
"Sure. Only, maybe we can stop somewhere on the way home? Stay in the woods tonight? I'm off tomorrow." Jim grinned, an easy, open grin. Blair's mouth felt dry.
"I guess I could find a hotel. That what you want?"
Jim nodded and just smiled and smiled.
They found themselves at a Super 8 just outside of Cascade, still close enough to the woods to smell pine and not brake-dust. They'd picked up some burgers along the way, and Jim was working his way through his second. Blair could hardly eat half of his. All of his attention was on Jim, and the disconcerting changes that still lingered.
It was like Blair had never seen him before. The only thing that came close was when they went on one of their deep camping trips, but even then Jim was always at least alert for wildlife or the occasional poacher armed with automatic weapons.
This Jim was...Blair suddenly wondered if Jim had been like this when he was younger, before the senses had come back.
He'd never know.
"What're you thinking about, Cosmo? You look kinda troubled." Jim's voice was calm, curious.
"Just wondering if this was a good idea."
"Hell, yeah," Jim said easily, crumpling the wrapper for his burger and tossing it into the trash. "I needed it. I can't tell you badly I needed it. And I figured out some stuff while I was in there."
"Can you talk to me about it?" Blair took a sip of his water and steeled himself for the usual refusal.
"Sure."
Blair had to cough a little when the water tried to go down the wrong pipe.
"It was amazing, Chief. At first, I couldn't even figure out how to let go of the damned dials. I've never tried before. It's never been safe to try. I didn't even realize my fingers were stuck to the damned things until I tried to let them go."
"Sure, that makes sense."
"After a while, though, I finally did it, and it was like...like I found—" Jim broke off and his eyes went dreamy again.
Blair just stared.
"I think it was peace. I don't know. Never felt anything like it before."
"God, Jim—"
"And the other thing I realized is I have you to thank for it. Actually, I pretty much have you to thank for anything good that's happened to me for as long as I can remember." Jim's blue eyes were cut crystal, wide open, staring into him.
Blair swallowed, tried to speak, but nothing came out.
"Wish I could pay you back somehow, Chief. Wish I could show you how good it makes me feel to have you around." Jim slid off his chair mid-speech and ended it kneeling in front of him.
Blair stared down at him with his heart thumping hard against the walls of his chest.
"Jim," he croaked. "What're you—"
"If I'm wrong about this, I'll say I'm sorry afterward, all right?" Jim pushed his legs apart to move in between them, an easy feat since all of Blair's muscles had suddenly turned as loose as an overstretched rubber band.
Then Jim leaned up and kissed him.
Okay. Okay, not panicking. This wasn't panic, was it? Just because his heart rate shot into three digits at the first touch of Jim's lips against his? Just because he could suddenly feel his pulse trying to pound its way straight out of the veins in his neck?
Possible stroke event. Watch for blurred vision.
Jim's lips were moving gently back and forth, but his hands were gripping Blair's hips not-so-gently. After a moment, he pulled back an inch.
That's when Blair made his move. Or, that is, his body moved, while his brain was still in lock-down.
He tightened his thighs around Jim's torso, trapping him, and then grabbed the strong shoulders to hold him still. Then Blair moved in, lips first, tilting his head to get a good seal, and put his tongue into play.
Jim arched his neck and leaned into it, opening his mouth.
The unexpected surrender brought Blair's cock up hard. He moaned and tried to adjust himself, but his hand collided with Jim's, which was already busy on his button fly. Jim gave a fierce tug and the buttons let go in a quick succession of muffled pops.
Holy Mother.
Jim reached into Blair's boxers and freed his aching erection. Blair gasped and tried to make his brain function.
"Jim, are you sure you—?"
"Nope," Jim said softly, staring down at Blair's cock. "I have no idea what I'm doing. Does it matter, though? I mean, I promise to give it my best shot, sport."
He thinks I'm worried about his performance. That was the last thing Blair was worried about, seeing as he was ready to blow just from watching Jim stare at his cock. In Jim's hand.
To repeat: Holy Mother.
"No, I mean are you sure this is what you want?" Blair said breathlessly.
Jim looked up at that.
"Oh, yeah."
It was the same thing he'd said in the tank when Blair asked him if he was all right. He had that same, peaceful tone to his voice—Blair could identify it now—and if it made Blair feel vaguely ashamed, as if he'd somehow brainwashed his best friend, his guilt only lasted for second or two, because right after that Jim bent down and took Blair's cock into his mouth.
Blair's entire body jolted as if hit with a shock prod. His cock was in Jim's mouth. Jim was sucking him—sloppily, a little awkwardly, just barely covering his teeth, but that didn't matter because it was Jim's mouth, Jim's beautiful mouth and tongue and lips catching him, stroking him hot and sweet.
Blair came in under a minute, suddenly and without a chance to warn Jim, who choked a little but gamely hung on until Blair went limp with a heartfelt groan.
"Jesus Christ," Blair whispered, still shaking.
Jim gave a choked laugh and looked up, his eyes bright. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then lowered it to his own lap.
"Hey! No way, Jim. 'Smy turn!"
Jim collapsed backward on the floor and groaned, saying, "No time. No time."
"Nuh-uh." Blair gathered his spaghetti limbs and pounced on Jim to straddle his legs.
Jim shook his head weakly. "Won't even get my zipper down," he gasped.
Blair hurriedly popped the top button of Jim's jeans and then slowly, carefully lowered the zipper. The ratcheting sound was followed immediately by a deep moan, and then Jim was jerking under him, come shooting from the thick cockhead peeking from the waist of his boxers. Blair rubbed his palm against the spasming thickness.
"God," Jim moaned. "Oh, God."
Raising his head to look at Jim's face, Blair was blown away by the expression in Jim's eyes. Pleasure, affection, and that deep new peace seemed to shine there like polished stone.
"Blair," Jim whispered.
"Jim." Blair lowered himself on top of the big chest to press a dozen kisses against Jim's lips. He had to stop when Jim started laughing.
"What?" Blair pulled back, a little offended.
"Just thinking—you're gonna ruin all your hard work today, Darwin."
"Oh, yeah? How's that?"
Jim pulled him down again, his fingers warm against Blair's neck. "I think I could spike just from the touch of your mouth," he murmured.
Blair smiled. "Guess we'd better get started with the testing."
Funny, but for once Jim didn't object at all.
.....................
2007.05.25
More about isolation (sensory deprivation) tanks.
(And if you've never seen Altered States, it's well worth it if only for the nudie shots of a young William Hurt.)
