arrow00 | New J/B Fic: Scavengers (PG)

Title: Scavengers
Author:

arrow00
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: PG (For mild description of torture)
Wordcount: 3,126
Disclaimer: I am very poor.
Categories: ER, Jim H/C
Summary: Sandburg was like a goddamned octopus in bed.

Notes: This story is a part of a series. The first
is Acceptable Damages, the second is Sense Memory.

(And oh, for crying out loud: still no nookie. Jim sidetracked
me again, the bastard.)

(Thanks to sc_fossil for the canon tip. Guest icon by sara-merry99)

Scavengers

By Arrow

Sandburg was like a goddamned octopus in bed.

Jim should have expected it. The guy was always moving, even when he was sitting still. And the way he had his fingers in everything all the time, touching, testing—he was totally hands-on.

His hands were on Jim in his sleep, too, and his arms, and his knee that kept insinuating itself between Jim's legs or the thigh that would slide over on top, trapping him.

Jim didn't like being trapped. And he wasn't used to being touched in his sleep. He hadn't slept with anyone—really slept with them—since the senses came online.

It was driving him bugshit crazy and he wasn't even sure why. It wasn't like he didn't want Blair to touch him. During sex, at least, he wanted every stroke, every eager caress, palms and fingers and those beautiful lips and agile tongue possessing him. Jim couldn't get enough of it. After two nights of Blair's sensual assaults, Jim was totally addicted.

But afterward...coming always left his senses a little raw, and he just wanted to pull back into his own skin. Was that so much to ask? He was a guy, after all. The imperative was: get your rocks off, roll over and fall asleep.

But Sandburg wasn't your ordinary guy. Sandburg was Sandburg. Now curled around him, his hair twitching over Jim's shoulder and keeping his skin awake. After too long, Jim finally drifted off, only to startle when Blair's heavy arm flopped over his side.

Jim untangled them and shift away only to wake up again a few minutes later when Blair's rough cheek rubbed against his bicep.

Sighing, he moved upward until the softer hair on Blair's head was resting on the same spot.

I'll get used to this. I'm not gonna screw this up with him, no matter what. Even if he's more clingy than Caro ever was. Jim looked down at the curve of Blair's body, the dim light no obstacle to Jim's enhanced vision. He's mine. Every grabby little bit of him.

Jim smiled and fell back asleep.

Only to wake up what felt like ten minutes later when Sandburg's knee pressed against his butt.

It's gonna be a long fucking night, Jim thought, moving away.

>>><<<

"You look tired, Jim," Simon said. He held out a cup of coffee.

"I'm fine, thank you, sir." Jim gratefully took the cup. "Did you get my eleven ninety-five?"

"Got it right here." Simon raised the form and dangled it in front of him. "So, you finally replaced your lost weapon?" He lifted a mocking eyebrow, and Jim grimaced. He'd been using his back-up piece since he got out of the hospital, but had finally saved up enough to replace the Sauer.

"Yep." Jim put down his coffee and reached for the signed authorization form, but Simon snatched it back.

"I need to see it, first." Simon held up his other hand.

Jim looked to make sure the shades were drawn, and then pulled his piece, ejected the clip, and checked the chamber. He handed it over, butt first.

"Ni-ice," Simon said, turning it over and hefting it. He ran his fingers over the grip. "Hmmm. Jim..."

"What? There something wrong?"

"Well, I dunno," Simon said seriously. "The grip seems a little slippery—"

Jim growled and snatched it out of Simon's hand.

Simon smirked. "—are you sure you don't want to rub some pine tar on there? Get it nice and sticky?"

"Smart ass." Jim snapped the clip back in and re-holstered the thing.

"That's Captain Smartass, Detective."

"Sir, yes sir. May I please have the Weapon Authorization form, Captain?"

Simon held out the sheet of paper, but held on when Jim tried to take it.

"Seriously, Jim. I'm glad to have you back in action, but don't overdo things. You really are looking a little peaked, as my gram would say."

"I'm fine, Simon."

"Okay, okay." Simon held his palm up. "Anyway, you're spending the afternoon with the D.A. She wants to go over your statement on the Geordieu case since the trial is next week."

Jim grimaced. "That's just great."

"Hey, time to hammer the lid down. The brothers won't be seeing daylight any sooner than their old man if you do this right. Kidnapping, conspiracy, assault on a police officer, attempted murder. Hell, with the photos we got of you afterward—"

"I'll talk to the D.A. right away," Jim said quickly.

Simon winced. "Jim—"

"Is that all?" Jim edged toward the door.

"Yeah. Except, tell Sandburg he still owes me the report for the Patterson case."

"Very good, sir."

Jim escaped.

After putting in a call to the D.A.'s office, he circled around Blair's desk to relay Simon's message. He found Sandburg hard at work on the same report he'd been grinding over for two days running.

"Chief, it's not a book report, you know? You're not gonna get points off for typos."

"It's my first case as lead, Jim," Blair said, still hyper-focused on the screen. "I want to make it good."

"It's plenty good." Jim leaned over to take a closer look, his chest pressing against Blair's shoulder. His warm scent, compounded of musk, oatmeal soap, clean flannel, coffee, and a hint of cardamom for some reason, tickled Jim's nose. He opened his mouth and breathed it in.

"Down, boy," Blair typed on his screen, then backspaced over it.

Jim straightened and went back to his desk. "It looks good, Chief. Just get it printed out and turn it in or Simon will start having kittens."

"And we know how attractive that would be," Blair said, snickering. He looked to the side, and Jim followed his glance.

"Detective Ellison?" A good-looking blonde in a shiny brown suit was standing in the doorway.

"I'm Ellison," Jim said, stepping forward.

Her cool brown eyes seemed to catalog his appearance. "Jillian Miller, D.A.'s office. I'm prosecuting the Geordieu brothers." She offered her hand.

Jim took it and gave a perfunctory shake. He could sense Sandburg's curiosity behind him. "Nice to meet you. We've got Interview Three clear."

"My favorite," she said dryly. Her eyes were still intent, and Jim wondered if she didn't like his clothes or something.

"See you later, Sandburg," Jim said. He almost wished Blair could come with him, and then wondered why.

He told himself it was the weird looks she was giving him that were making him so uneasy. He took about thirty more seconds of it; long enough for them to get to the interview room and seat themselves at the scarred, gray table. Then he leaned forward on his forearms and cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Do I have spinach in my teeth or something?"

"Oh!" Miller suddenly smiled. "No. I'm sorry, Detective. It's just...you look like you've recovered well from your...from the incident."

"From the torture, you mean." Jim leaned back. "Is that gonna be a problem? Maybe I should have kept some obvious scars and a limp to help soften up the jury?"

"No, of course not." Miller said crisply, "Shall we get on with it?"

"By all means." Jim swallowed, wishing he'd thought to bring some water. It was going to be a long, dry session.

>>><<<

"No, I think it was big brother Lou who bit me. We could probably request his dental records if it would help." Jim was trying hard to hold onto his temper. Two hours of reliving this shit was fucking with his head.

And Miller was plainly fascinated, in that rubbernecking-a-bad-accident kind of way. It was damned creepy.

"Noted. And these marks on you, here?" She held up the photograph again, and he kept his expression neutral while he looked where she was directing.

"Brass knuckles. Courtesy of little Frankie. Kid didn't pack much of a punch without them."

"So, after the second session the next morning, they let you down and put you back in the smaller room. For how long?"

Jim rubbed his forehead. There was a monster headache hovering behind his eyes. "I don't really know. They'd taken my watch. Couldn't have been more than a couple of hours. I think they were breaking for lunch."

"Did they feed you at all? Give you water?"

"There was a sink in the little room. I managed to stand up and get some water. I also found a packet of cheese and crackers at one point."

"But other than that, they didn't feed you?"

"No."

"Okay." Miller scribbled some more on her legal tablet. "How many more sessions were there?"

"Two. The first one wasn't so bad. Only Frankie and his pal Rico were there. They got into some stupid game, hung me up again and threw a basketball at me. The scoring system was a little beyond me at that point. I blacked out a couple of times."

"And then?"

"When I woke up again, Lou was back with the unidentified man, the one in the suit. He didn't say much, and they didn't mention his name. He also didn't participate; he just watched."

Miller shuffled through his statment. "This was the bald man with gray eyes?"

"Yes. He made a call on his phone, and I distinctly heard him telling someone named Hillman to come over. Then he left the room and didn't return." Jim rubbed at his temples with both fingers. "Look, can we take a break? I need to make a phone call."

Miller nodded. "Of course. Can you point me toward some coffee?"

"You got it."

Jim led the way to the break-room and got some water, and then he left Miller to fend for herself while he went back to his desk.

There: top drawer, right-hand side, blessed fucking ibuprofen, drug of the Gods. He was considering buying some stock in the stuff.

"Head pretty bad?" Blair stood and nudged him lightly with one shoulder before backing away.

Jim nodded. "Remind me again why we need the justice system?"

Blair shook his head. "Maybe we just have the wrong kind, man. In the Kalahari, justice is administered ad arbitrium judicis, meaning if I were the tribal elder I would just direct my warriors to lash the fuckers to death."

"Hey. Chief." Jim put a hand on Blair's shoulder and squeezed. "You're a peace-lovin' tree-hugger, remember?"

"Sometimes I forget." Blair shrugged.

Jim grinned, and his headache died down a notch. "Back to the grind."

This time, he brought some water with him. Miller was seated once again at the table, a pre-wrapped sandwich in one hand and her pen in the other.

"So," she said, putting down the sandwich. Ham and cheese, Jim identified absently. The mayo was about to turn.

"Yeah, where were we?"

She cleared her throat. "Gray-eyed man had left. I take it the brothers weren't done?" Her gaze was too intent.

The skin on Jim's forehead tightened alarmingly. "You know, I'd be a lot easier about all of this if you didn't sound so damned...eager."

Miller's face wrinkled in a very unpretty scowl. "I remind you, Detective," she snapped, "every detail you can remember is another nail in the coffin for these guys."

"But that's not what this is about for you," Jim said with sudden certainty. "You're getting some kinda weird kick out this, lady, and it's creeping me out."

Instead of backing off, she raised an eyebrow at him and gave a sharp smile. "Does that really surprise you? Surely you have the same fascination for your work or you wouldn't be as good at it as you are."

"What?" Shock stole his voice for a second, and then rage brought it back. "That's bullshit. Yeah, I love my job, and I try my damnedest to do it right, but I feel about as much fascination for the dirt-bags I deal with that I would for a bug. You're the one getting—" He stopped suddenly, finally identifying what he was sensing. "Jesus," he said, appalled.

She was literally getting off on what had happened to him.

He jolted up from his seat. "Sick. You're fucking sick." The scent of her arousal was obvious to him now. He realized the effort to ignore it was what had been causing his headache.

"Detective." Her voice was too loud. "Please sit down. We aren't finished here."

"Oh, we are finished. We are way past finished, lady. Take your notes, and your sexy pictures, and get out. You'll have to drool over the rest of it in court."

Miller stood and straightened her skirt, her hair falling forward to hide her face. But Jim could feel the heat of her humiliation—finally—and he watched in satisfaction as she stiffly picked everything up and stashed it away in her briefcase.

He waited for her to walk ahead, instinct demanding he not show his back. When she was gone, her heels echoing down the stairs, he turned toward the bullpen.

Sandburg was still glued to his chair, but he lifted his head and gave Jim an easy grin that quickly faded into a frown of concern.

Jim shook his head in a silent refusal and grabbed his jacket from the coat rack. He walked over to Simon's office and knocked on the door.

"Yeah? "

Jim leaned his head in. "Cap, I'm going to knock off for the day."

He was hoping to leave it at that, but Simon waved a hand. "Get in here, Jim."

Jim sighed and stepped in, closing the door behind him.

"You done with the D.A.?"

"We're done, yeah."

Simon cocked his head. "That doesn't sound like a straight answer, Ellison."

"She's...got what she needs, as far as I'm concerned. More than she needs. And I'm...under the weather, sir."

"I can see that." Simon's gruff voice didn't hide his concern. "Okay, check out of here. Take Sandburg with you, too. He's been driving me nuts badgering me for 'feedback' on his report. I think he wants me to grade it or something."

Jim laughed. "What do you want from the kid? He's an overachiever."

"Yeah. Okay, shoo." Simon pulled a cigar from his humidor and cracked Jim an evil grin.

The thought of piling cigar smoke on top of his headache was enough to make Jim move with a purpose. He tapped Sandburg's arm on the way out, and before long they were heading home.

The loft was blessedly cool and clean, the shades drawn and blocking the late sun. Jim hung up his jacket, stowed his weapon, and headed straight for the deck. He heard Blair behind him kicking off his shoes and padding over to the kitchen. Soon he was standing next to Jim and offering a cold beer.

The first sip was heaven. The nausea he'd been carrying dissipated, and he took in a deep breath, exhaling long and slow.

"Guess that was pretty tough—going over everything that happened," Blair said hesitantly.

"Yeah." Let him think it was about that. Jim wasn't sure he could bear to talk about Miller's kink or about the sickness she stirred in his gut. He sat down heavily in the recliner and rested his beer on one drawn-up knee.

Blair sat next to him, mirroring his posture. Jim watched the light as it glanced down, and narrowed his eyes against the spray of colors that would have translated into gold but for his enhanced vision. He remembered when seeing was uncomplicated.

When a lot of things were uncomplicated.

"It's bad enough when it's just the bad guys."

"What?" Blair turned toward him. "What do you mean, Jim?"

Jim shook his head. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. He took a sip of his beer, and found himself going on. "I mean, the sick stuff. Lou's teeth. Frankie and his playmate, laughing, throwing the basketball at me and scoring points off of making me jerk. I kept trying to get free in spite of myself, every time thinking 'next time I won't.' But my body wouldn't listen, wouldn't stop fighting the ropes. And then Hillman, with those shiny black eyes of his, like a vulture..."

He heard Blair draw in a harsh breath, but for once the professor was silent.

Jim's voice dropped. "Then she comes around wanting to hear all of it, every tiny detail, pawing those pictures of me, eating it all up, digging for more like a...God, her eyes were shining, like his. And she—" Jim cleared his throat. "She was turned on, Chief. I could smell it on her."

"Jesus Christ."

Jim turned his head, shocked at the depth of rage he could hear in Blair's voice. Blair's eyes were deep with it, fiercely blue.

"That sick bi—"

"Hey. Don't." This was why he shouldn't have said anything. Jim always, damn it, ended up telling Sandburg everything, and always got this sick feeling like he'd thrown sewage over something clean. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"No way, Jim. Don't you dare." Blair's beer spilled as he put it down hastily and crouched next to Jim's chair. "I can take it. You think I haven't seen stuff that would raise the hair on your arms? It's a scary world out there. But that's why we're around, right? You and me."

His hand squeezed Jim's forearm hard, and Jim let his own rest on top of it, relieved in spite of himself. "You and me," he said hoarsely.

"You got it."

"Chief, you're so—" Jim took Blair's hand and raised it to his face, pressing his lips to the tough, honest skin of his palm. His fingers curved to match Jim's cheek.

Blair smiled, a tired, wistful smile. "Hey, you hungry at all? I could eat a monkey's ass."

"Oh, God." Jim made a show of grabbing his stomach. "Poor, poor Larry."

Blair snorted and pulled on Jim's hand, leaning back to compensate as he dragged him to his feet. Jim let the momentum carry him forward until he had his arms full of Sandburg.

"I'd rather eat your ass," Jim whispered, filling his nose with the fresh scent of Blair.

"Jesus!" Blair's tone was indignant, but his hips moved to brush against Jim's groin.

So maybe Jim's plans didn't make it that far, because they'd barely gotten stripped and rolling on the bed before Jim made Blair come in his mouth. But the sweet pull of Blair's hands and the wriggling, eager warmth of him soon buried the ugly afternoon under pure, bright pleasure.

And after tofu stir-fry and bedtime prep they met again under the sweet-smelling sheets. And when Blair pulled him close, a protective arm wrapped around Jim's chest, Jim didn't feel trapped at all.

He felt safe.

.....................
2007.06.18