Boxcar Sandburg

Jim sat in Simon’s office and listened very carefully to what the other men in the room were saying. Murder on the rails. Unfortunately, it was much more common than people realized, and recently, it had practically turned into an epidemic.

"College kids," the man was saying. "They don’t realize how dangerous riding the rails really is. It sounds romantic, adventurous. They hear about it over the 'net, or from someone who knows someone who says it’s a free way to see the country." He shrugged. "Only recently have people been hearing the other side of it. Now we’ve got six murders in Oregon and Washington alone. Our people think it’s the work of the same guy, and we’d like your help."

Afterwards, as Jim and Simon sat alone in the latter’s office, Jim rubbed a finger pensively across his mouth and said, "What about Sandburg?"

Simon sighed, sat back and stroked the unlit cigar in his hands. "Your call, Jim. This has the potential to be an extremely dangerous assignment, but you’re the perfect man for the job. When I initially heard from the Pacific Freight people, you were the first one who leapt to mine. Your senses would be perfect for this kind of operation."

"There’s no way Sandburg will stay behind," Jim said.

Simon said, "Dammit, Jim, how did we lose control over a civilian so quickly?"

Jim gave a dry half-laugh, continued to think about the case.

"You’ll have Brown with you," Simon said. "Some other folks, too, but it’s up to you about Sandburg. The senses thing has been going fine for a while, hasn’t it?"

"Yeah," Jim agreed, "but if something did happen to them, this would not be the time or the place. Nevertheless," he added, rubbing his thighs restlessly, "I’m not crazy about taking Sandburg in there with me."

There was a silence, then Simon said, "You know he would be the perfect decoy in this case."

"I know," said Jim tiredly. "College kids found dead alongside the tracks. He’d be perfect bait. But Simon…." His voice trailed off, and both men sat there for a while, thinking.

"Why don’t you talk to him about it?" Simon suggested. "He’s ridden with you for three years, Jim. Maybe it’s time to let him make a few choices."

"Well, he seems to make better ones than I do most times, so that’s fine with me," Jim said. Standing, he added, "This is going to be a doozy, Simon. I just have a feeling."

"What, are you psychic now, too? I need detectives, not palm-readers. Get going."

"It will be dangerous," Jim said later, turning away from the big windows of the loft. The rain was melting down the panes in silvery rivers, and he had watched it while behind him, Blair Sandburg had given him all the reasons why he should go along on this new assignment.

"It’s always dangerous," Blair said. "Remember the prison, Jim?"

"Where you were not supposed to be-"

"The prisoner transport thing? The fishing trip with Simon? Even when I’m supposed to be along, it’s dangerous."

"Look, Sandburg," Jim said, sitting down on the arm of the sofa, "I appreciate you sticking your neck out for me-"

"I’m your partner-"

"-but this time, I just want you to think about it first, okay, Chief? Because this is a serial murderer we’re talking about here, and it will be in the dark, and you will be in a strange environment, and-"

"You’ll be there, right? You can hear me, Jim, my god, who else would I be safer with?"

"What if I can’t get there in time, Chief? This isn’t a situation that you’ll very likely be able to talk your way out of. The guy sneaks up on them, and bam, it’s a stabbing. This is a whole other ball of wax, Sandburg."

Blair sighed. "I realize that, Jim, and I know that if you’re actually sitting down talking with me about it, then you must think it’s one hell of a dangerous assignment. But I’m your partner, man. I’m your backup, and you’re mine. No, I don’t have a gun, but I’m not totally without resources, you know."

"All I’m saying," Jim replied, "is that I won’t think less of you if you decide not to be involved. I'm serious. Simon feels the same way."

"But let’s face it, I’d make a good decoy on this one, Jim, you have to admit it."

Jim did not want to admit that.

"Right? Am I right here, man?" Blair, of course, persisted, and Jim made a face of defeat.

"But we can always find somebody else, Sandburg," Jim said.

"I’m doing it," said Blair.

And that, it seemed, was that.

A few days later, Blair and Jim were creeping through the dark Cascade rail yard, scouting for the nearest boxcar that would head North toward Bellingham. Blair, his heart pounding in the darkness, fell back in relief when he realized the car they had picked was an empty one.

"What did you expect, Chief?" Jim asked, as they crawled their way inside. "This isn’t the Orient-Express, you know. It’s not like there are people crawling all over these trains."

"Man, it’s dirty in here," said Blair. Jim glanced around the open car again before spreading his senses out into the night. It was almost dawn, and when the sun rose, they would be on their way to another yard. There they would see what they could see before heading back to hopefully mingle with more rail-riders on the popular Seattle-California route.

Jim checked in with Brown and Rafe, who were huddled with a few others at a hobo camp near the yard. Sandburg had had a great laugh seeing G.Q. Rafe decked out as a rail-rider; almost as much fun as Blair had had dressing up as one. Blair looked the part, Jim thought, glancing over at the student. The student had wrapped a navy bandana around his hair, and with his layers of purposely well-worn tee-shirts and flannel, Blair looked just the picture of a runaway/college kid cruising the yards for a free place to stay and maybe a little adventure along the way. Blair had been very up for the ruse, that was for sure. For a while, Jim was afraid Blair might decide this really would be a fine way to see America after all. It was probably the only way Sandburg hadn’t traveled over the various years of his unusually-spent youth.

When the train began to move, Blair looked over at Jim with an expression of pure excitement, and Jim thought, God, the student might as well have Victim taped to his chest. He wondered, as he sometimes did, how Blair had actually made it to the ripe old age of almost thirty with the complete naivete he could sometimes show. Although, Jim reflected, a lot of that heart on his sleeve behavior had disappeared over the past year. After…the fountain.

"I can why people might find this alluring," Blair said to Jim over the noise of the train. That was the good thing about traveling with a sentinel; you didn’t have to talk very loud to be understood.

Jim nodded and said, "Remember Sandburg, anyone we meet could be the killer," as if Blair hadn’t already gotten the general idea.

The train began to run faster, and Blair sat contentedly by the door, leaning his head back against the metal. "Too bad it’s not like the old days," he said. "When you could ride the rails safely? Like all the hobos of the thirties and forties. That would have been the life, man."

"Oh yeah," said Jim. "Nothing to eat, nowhere to find jobs. Sleeping in filthy boxcars, never getting to take a shower. You’re right, Sandburg, I’m really sorry I missed all that."

Blair made a face at him and was actually quiet for a moment. Then he said, "What would your name have been if you had been traveling the rails, Jim?"

"Jim Ellison?" Jim suggested.

Blair made another face and said, "You are such a party-pooper, man."

"Okay, Boxcar Sandburg, what would yours have been?" and Blair laughed out loud.

"Boxcar Sandburg, hey, I like that, man," and he repeated it.

"Or maybe Boxcar Sandy if you had hopped trains Down Under," said Jim.

Blair said, "You could be Boxcar Jimmy. Ramblin’ Rafe," he added, "and Hobo H." They rode for a while, and then Blair said, "What if you would have lived then, Jim? You know, I can see you in that era, maybe." He thought for a moment.

"Fighting in the South Pacific?" Jim supplied. "Because that’s where I would have been if I would have lived then, Sandburg, and then we would have never met, because you would have been too busy living the high life in the train yards."

"You know, I’ve actually thought about that before," said Blair.

"What? Living it up in train yards? You know, sometimes, Sandburg, I worry about you."

"No, dickhead. Us meeting up at another time or place."

"I could really live without the reincarnation lecture of the day."

"No, no. But don’t you think that’s interesting? I mean, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about the incredible odds of me searching for sentinels all my life, and then actually meeting up with one in a terribly coincidental set of circumstances."

"I don’t know, Sandburg," said Jim, sitting back and crossing his arms. "Maybe there are more sentinels than you think. Maybe the world is full of sentinels. Maybe I’m just the first one you happened to find. After all, there was another one in Cascade."

"Don’t remind me," said Blair quietly, and there was a silence for a while. Then Blair, who still could not be deterred from conversation, said rather defiantly, "I think I would have found you no matter when we lived, Jim."

"So I would always have been a doomed man, huh?" Jim asked dryly and Blair smiled out at the world passing them by.

"Lucky, I’d say," the student replied.

After a moment, Jim glanced at him and said, "So how would you have found me in the South Pacific, huh? Don’t tell me, you’d have been studying some forgotten tribe on some small island we were taking against the Japanese."

"Yeah, that was like way too easy there, Jim," said Blair. "Anywhere over there I could have run into you that way."

"What if I hadn’t been a soldier?"

"You’re the one who said you would be," Blair pointed out. "But you’re right. You could have been anything. A farmer in the Midwest, trying to recover from the dust bowl."

"Oh, and you would be a train-hopping anthropologist who just happened to jump off the rails in my town to study the culture there?"

"Maybe I wouldn’t be an anthropologist," Blair returned. "Maybe I would be a photo-journalist for National Geographic covering the globe in my search for the elusive man with the heightened senses."

"I thought maybe you would be doing a project photographing the bridges of some Midwestern county," Jim replied solemnly.

"Fuck you, man," said Blair, giggling despite himself, and Jim smiled out at the Pacific Northwest scenery that was rapidly passing them by.

They ate the food they had brought with them in their meager packs, and spent the day moving in and out of rail cars after the train rolled into a more Northern station. Some of the railroad police were there to back them up, but Blair and Jim couldn’t actually talk to them other than through the radios in their ears. They certainly didn’t want to call attention to themselves. They took another short trip in the afternoon, and during that time they met up with a couple of other people. Two were students traveling together, and Blair and Jim practiced their story on them; Blair was on break from school and rail-riding wherever the moment took him, and Jim was a taciturn ex-military guy who just did not want to be bothered. He sat in the back part of the car while Blair tried to make nice to the students.

"What’s his deal?" one asked, as they moved away from Jim. Jim hadn’t shaved that morning, and he had no trouble at all donning the look of a para-military type, paranoia and all as he sat glowering at them, knife out to surreptitiously carve an apple.

"Don’t know," said Blair. "He was riding up this morning. Truth is, I’m sorta glad to see you guys."

"You need to be careful," said one of the students. His name was Chris and he was taking time off from UCLA. "We heard some people got killed on this line last week."

"I heard that, too," said Blair. "You guys are smart to travel together." Then he said, "You seen anybody in the area I need to be careful of?"

"Well, first of all," said the other one, Tank, "you oughta get off when we do and ditch that guy." And he jerked his head toward Jim, who was leaning back against the far recesses of the car, legs spread, knife and apple dangling precariously in his hand. "I don’t know about you, but that knife is making me a little nervous here."

Blair glanced over at Jim. He made quite the psycho looking character all right. If he, Blair, hadn’t known him, he sure as hell wouldn’t have been riding on the same car as him. "Hey buddy," Blair said. "What’s with the knife, man? We’re all friends here, right?"

"Jesus!" whispered Chris, as he and Tank both immediately edged toward the door. "You don’t want to make a guy like that mad, Sandy."

Jim said nothing, but clicked the knife shut and obediently put it away.

"We had quite a talk earlier," Blair told the others. "He just needed to get away after he got out of the army. I think he’s okay."

Chris and Tank exchanged glances. "Man, how long did you say you had been riding?" Tank asked. "This place is going to eat you alive."

"I hitchhiked all over South America a few years back," Blair felt the need to point out. "Sometimes I just have to go on my instincts."

"I hear that," said Chris. He lowered his voice. "A few nights back Tank and I were camped out near Bellingham, and we came across a couple of rough types. They got in our face a little bit. They had been drinking. Said that pretty college boys like us sometimes got what we deserved. Let me tell you, we high-tailed it out of there real quick-like. Luckily, there were some other hobos around, or I don’t know how far they would have taken that attitude."

"You don’t think they were the people responsible for the murders, do you?" Blair asked, and the other two shrugged.

"Who knows?" asked Chris. "Made me think. I railed out to Montana last year, had no trouble at all. But you never know."

"Thanks for the warnings," Blair said.

When the train stopped at another yard, Chris and Tank hesitated and said, "Sandy, you’re welcome to camp with us."

Blair glanced back at Jim. "Well, maybe I’ll walk out with you," he said. As the three headed out across the yards, Jim said in Blair’s ear, "I’ve contacted the yard police. They’re going to throw you all out, but the guy is going to find something wrong with your ID and hold you."

Great, thought Blair, and in a few moments, all three of them were being asked to hand over identification. Chris and Tank were sent on their way with stern warnings and a threat of fines for trespassing; they shot sympathetic looks back at Blair, whose driver’s license was supposedly being called in.

As soon as the college students were out of earshot, the officer said to Blair in a low voice, "Your partner said to look like you were heading out, but duck back around and head back for the first car on the right. He’ll be there."

Blair nodded, then said loudly, "Man, I was just trying to get a free ride, okay? I wasn’t hurting nobody."

"We’ll not fine you today," said the man, "but you’re going to have to get off our property, sir." After another little lecture, Blair hurried off; the officers left quickly, and Blair doubled back and headed toward the car Jim had described. He did not see the tall blond man at the edge of the yard who watched him crawl on board the train.

"You know, I really hope Chris and Tank find another way back to LA," Blair said. "They could really be in danger."

"Yeah," said Jim, as the train began to roll back southward.

"Man, you did a good job back there," said Blair. "Creeped me out."

"Just stay alert," Jim said. "There are some other riders on this train."

"Really?" Blair asked, his heart rate jumping a bit. "How many?"

"Two, I think," said Jim. "We’re going to have to make camp when we hit the yards. Rafe and Brown are in place, but you’re going to have to sleep by yourself. I will be right nearby," he added.

"Thank god," said Blair, trying to remember just why he had volunteered for this again. To catch a serial killer, he remembered. Oh yeah. Hadn’t he already done his bit for that before?

When darkness fell, Blair found a secluded spot along the tracks and unrolled his makeshift bed. He was so nervous he could barely function. He knew there was no way he would ever sleep. Rafe and H were somehow around, he knew, and in his ear he could hear Jim say, "Try and stay alert, Sandburg."

"You too, Jim," Blair said, trying to sound a lot more light-hearted than he felt.

That night had to be the longest of Blair’s life. There were trains everywhere, and a high chain-link fence that he would have sat against if he hadn’t wondered if perhaps the blade of a knife might be able to slip right through those little openings.

"Okay?" Jim asked several times, and Blair said, "Uh-huh." It was cold, and the ground was very hard, but despite all that he fell asleep many times, jerking only when Jim would grunt something in his ear to help keep him alert. By the time dawn came, he felt like a zombie. A free and adventurous way to see America? No fucking way.

He boarded another car the next day, and he had never been so glad to see Jim sitting there in the back.

"God," Blair said, as the train started moving. "I could really go for a shower right now. How are you?" he asked Jim.

"Well, I stopped by Rafe and H’s camp, and they gave me some coffee. That helped."

"Oh, great. I’m pissing behind boxcars and you’ve having the java express."

"Brought you this," said Jim, and Blair greedily ate the blueberry granola bar Jim handed him.

"See anything?" Blair asked.

"There’s another rider who was at the station last night," Jim said. "He’s a tall guy, blond. Wandered around a bit, but didn’t see me. I think you might have been a little close to Rafe and H’s camp."

"He was wandering around me?" Blair asked, gulping his bar. "Hell, what’s the deal on that, do you think?"

"I don’t know," said Jim. "I’ve alerted everyone. He’s going to be detained if he’s spotted, and they’re going to check ID."

"Great. That’s fucking great." Blair sighed.

"Sandburg, you knew this wouldn’t be a picnic in the park," Jim reminded him.

"I know, but damn, it was fucking scary out there last night, Jim. Every moment I thought someone was sneaking up on me with a knife."

Jim looked away, twisted his mouth. "I don’t like it either, Sandburg," he said.

After a moment, Blair said, "Jim. About those victims. Were they just stabbed? Or…were they…you know, abused or anything?"

"No," said Jim. "They weren’t raped, if that’s what you’re asking."

"Well, thank god for that, at least," said Blair, shoulders slumping.

"I don’t know," said Jim. "At least that might give you some extra time," he said practically, and Blair’s eyes widened in horror.

"Jim!"

"I don’t mean that he would rape you," Jim said. "I mean that…." His voice trailed off, and he looked away. He did not want to admit to Sandburg his biggest fear about this case; that he, Jim, would not be able to get to his partner in time.

"I know," said Blair. "You just meant that any extra time would help you guys get there. I understand that. I could at least struggle for a while there."

"Yeah," said Jim.

"But that didn’t happen to the victims," said Blair.

"No."

"Well, I’m glad, at least for them," said Blair honestly.

They went North again, and on the way back, had more company. A bearded man in his forties joined them; he wore ragged denim and a bandana, and had little to say to either of them. When they stopped at the yard, he slid out of their car and away behind the trains. Jim and Blair glanced at each other.

That night, Blair sat up camp again. Jim had tried to sleep some during the day, so he was wide-awake when a bunch of kids came around trying to break into a car full of VCRs. The authorities were notified, and the teenagers were loudly sent off to a local lock-up.

Too much high-profile activity going on tonight, Jim thought, but he remained alert anyway. He even hid in a place where he could watch Blair fairly well. All night he looked and listened, jacking up his senses so that he could even hear the hitch of Blair’s breath when it changed over to the patterns of sleep. He could see Blair’s hands jerk where they were crossed against the cold, catch the wiggle of his nose, the tilt of a dozing head. By the time dawn rolled around, Jim was pretty much whacked out under the strain of concentrating that hard, and when Blair rolled into the boxcar and saw him, he said, "Jim? Are you okay?" with much concern in his voice.

"Yeah," said Jim, rubbing his eyes, and Blair crawled over to him and rubbed his arm comfortingly. Immediately Jim could feel the comforting heat rolling off his guide, and for a moment he just sat there, soaking it up. Then he said, "Sandburg, you are ripe."

"Well, you’re not exactly Giorgio yourself, pal," said Blair. They were both starting to look like real hobos, and Jim glanced at Blair’s advancing stubble with off-hand interest. Sandburg with a beard. That would be strange.

They spent that day much as they had the day before; riding various trains, sneaking around rail yards, talking with the few other transients they ran into. A couple looked to be in pretty bad shape; poor hygiene was the least of their problems. One, half-lying on a dirty piece of plastic tarp, could barely sit up when Jim said something to him.

"Man, how do people live like this?" Blair asked later when the two of them were alone. They were starting to be careful of people seeing them together. Jim’s rail persona wasn’t exactly one that would be traveling with a companion, especially one like Blair. That evening, however, they had a bit of an unexpected surprise when the train they were riding stopped without warning on the lines just north of Cascade.

"What’s the deal?" Blair asked.

Jim peered around the edge of the car; listened hard. "Some kind of problem," he said. "Stay here."

Like I’m going to be wandering around on my own, thought Blair, sitting glued to the metal edge of his hiding place. Soon Jim reappeared.

"If we want to get out of this place tonight, we’ll be walking," he said, "or actually jumping aboard a passing train."

"Hey," said Blair, "I know that’s your thing, man, but it ain’t mine. I want to keep all my limbs, thank you."

Jim was still surveying their location. "There’s remains of a hobo camp up that way," he said, jerking his head. "Maybe some wood we could use for a fire."

"Are you serious? We’re camping here tonight? What about a quick call to the boys in blue?"

"Out of radio range," said Jim.

"Oh, this is great," said Blair. "Just fucking great."

Jim almost said, I told you so, but did not.

"Won’t it look strange, us camping together?" Blair asked.

"We’re out here without back-up, Sandburg. I’d rather not chance it."

"But what if he comes along?" Blair asked. "You’d be nearby, right?"

"Are you saying you want to camp alone?"

"Well, I volunteered for this jaunt," said Blair, swallowing. "I don’t want to blow it or anything."

"The circumstances have changed a bit," said Jim.

"Not really," said Blair.

Blair ended up making a nest by himself along the fence near the well-used hobo camp. He had been there, curled up in his dirty sleeping bag, for nearly an hour or two when he heard the crunching of gravel somewhere out in the darkness to his left. His heart rate skyrocketing, he crouched down in his bag until only the whites of his eyes were showing.

Two men, both with long, ratty hair and beards, stood and regarded him.

"Nice fire," said one of them. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and an old army jacket that sported various symbols and writing.

"Mind if we join you?" asked the other, who wore denim and flannel.

Blair gave a slight shrug of shoulders through his bag. I’m trapped, he thought. I can’t run because I’m huddled down in these covers. Smart, Blair, really smart.

The other two men settled down around the fire Blair had started. One got out a small whiskey bottle and took a substantial swig.

"Want some?" he asked, holding it out to Blair.

"Take it," said a voice in Blair’s ear.

"Sure, man," said Blair, trying to hold his voice still. He reached out and took the bottle from the man’s hand.

"How old are you, kid?" asked the other man, the one in flannel. Blair tried to pretend he was drinking from the bottle, but there was no way in hell he was putting his lips on that glass. He hoped in the darkness that they couldn’t tell what he was dong.

"Thirty," he said, which was almost true.

"Thirty," said the man in glasses. "What do you say about that, Bones? Looks more like twenty to me."

"Dangerous out here on the rails for a kid," said Bones.

"Or a liar," said the other man.

Blair started coughing, tried to look spaced out, drugged-up, anything. "I don’t guess you guys got anything, do you?" he asked.

"Shit," said Bones. "You’re not going to last a day out here."

"Got to," said Blair, rubbing his nose noisily. "Can’t go back into town."

The other two exchanged glances. "Why not?" Bones asked.

Blair shrugged. "Had a little trouble with the law," he said.

"Good idea," came Jim’s quiet voice in his ear.

"You? You look pretty harmless to me, kid." The other men both laughed, but to Blair it seemed that perhaps they had relaxed somewhat.

Blair said nothing.

"So? What’d you do? Take some money from your old man? Knock up your girlfriend?" It was the man in glasses who spoke this time, and his voice was very sarcastic.

"Better not say," said Blair, looking away.

In one swift moment, Bones was over at Blair with his hand on his chin. Blair froze, fingered his knife inside his sleeping bag. He hadn’t let go of it the whole time he had been at the camp.

"I think maybe you better," said Bones. The other guy laughed, warmed his hands at the fire.

"Killed a cop," Blair said. "It was an accident. I didn’t know he was a pig."

Even Bones looked surprised at this. "A cop," he repeated. Then he said, "Tell me another one."

"Ralph Edwards," Blair said, bringing up the name of a real police officer that had been killed some months earlier on an undercover sting in Cascade. It had been a terrible crime, one that had sent shock waves reeling through the police community. "Seen his name later in the paper," he added.

The two men looked at one another. "What happened?" said the man with the glasses.

Obediently, Blair recounted as much of the case as he could remember. He’s a hell of an actor, thought Jim, who was sitting some yards away, listening. The cop didn’t think these guys were the killers, since there had been eyewitness reports of a man working alone. That didn’t mean these guys weren’t dangerous, though, or even wanted criminals.

"I’m going to Canada," Blair finished up with.

"Why’d you hang around for so long?" asked Bones skeptically.

"Had to get my shit together," said Blair, sniffing. He hoped he sounded like someone dangerous and addicted at the same time.

Bones sat back down, looked at Glasses. "Sounds like the kid’s had a hard day," he said, nodding over at Blair. Glasses pulled out a small cigarette, obviously pot, and lit it. After taking a deep drag off of it, he handed it to Blair. "Have one on us," he said.

Shit. Jim? Blair wondered. "Do the best you can," said the transmitter in his ear. "Get them talking. See if you can get some info on the killings."

Blair took the joint, tried to fake it the best he could. Despite that, he got enough smoke in his lungs to cough. Dammit, Sandburg, thought Jim. Don’t give yourself away here. Obviously Blair wasn’t as much a party boy as one might be led to believe. Blair covered it up, however, by coughing a lot, like his lungs were really messed up by a hard life on the rails. After the hacking noises he made, they were. He could feel the sharp pain that shredded through them for a moment, egged on by the cold, the smoke, and the over-acting. Vaguely he wondered if the department would help him with any needed medical expenses brought on by this little charade. He knew the answer to that, he thought dryly.

Blair acted like he wanted to hold on to the little cigarette, but Bones took it sharply from him and handed it back to Glasses. Bones is aware, thought Jim. That made him the most dangerous at this point.

"Can I have some more of that?" Blair asked, nodding toward the whiskey bottle.

Bones said, "Depends." He and Glasses exchanged looks, and Glasses was smiling. "What you got for us in return?"

"I ain’t got nothing, man," said Blair.

"No money?"

"Shit," said Blair, almost laughing. "Yeah, right."

"How about ID?" Glasses asked. "College kid like you, bound to have something."

"Did have some," said Blair. "Not my own, though. Think I lost it." He patted himself down through the bag like he was trying to remember what had happened to it.

"You know what, kid?" asked Bones, sliding over next to him. "A dumb fuck like you is never going to make it to Canada." He glanced over at Glasses. "Not alone, that is."

Blair looked up at him uncomprehendingly.

"Nah," said Bones, putting his arm around the student, "a fella like you, you need some protection. Some guys to look after you, know what I mean?"

Glasses was grinning, held the joint back over to Blair.

"You maybe don’t got any money," said Bones, running a hand over the side of Blair’s sleeping bag and the body underneath it, "but you might have something we’d find useful, what do you think, Pete?"

Glasses, a.k.a. Pete, laughed and snatched the joint away from Blair, who was still holding it with frozen fingers. Blair’s other hand was jammed in his bag beneath his thigh, holding onto his knife with a sweating palm. Shit.

"I don’t know," said Pete, moving over on his knees until his odorous mouth was only a few inches away from Blair’s, "you got, say, like something sweet for us, boy?" And he blew the pot smoke right in Blair’s face. Blair closed his eyes, tried not to look too frightened. Jim, Jim, Jim? Where are you, man? He made a lightning decision.

"Fuck," he said. "That your thing, man? Hell, whatever. I can deal. Can I have a drink, though?" He started pushing down the sleeping bag around him. At any rate, maybe he could get free of that. That way he could maybe help Jim if the bigger man decided to storm into camp and take the two of them on. Which would be okay, if that like, happened any minute now.

With another lightning move, Bones grabbed Blair by the neck and collar and threw him on the ground. He jerked the sleeping bag off of Blair’s body, the knife lying helplessly rolled up inside it.

"What we got here?" asked Glasses, reaching for Blair’s pack and starting to look through it. Blair and Jim had prepared themselves for this eventuality; there was nothing in there to incriminate Blair in any way.

"Anything good?" asked Bones. He had his hand on the back of Blair’s back, keeping the younger man pushed face down onto the flat grass.

"Buncha shit," said Pete, quickly flicking through the stuff the detectives had carefully put in Blair’s pack. "Hey, hey, some food, though." A mashed granola bar had been discovered, and Pete handed it over to Bones, who was obviously the leader in this particular twosome. Bones opened it and took over half of it, handing the rest back to Pete. Then he turned back to Blair.

"Let’s see what he’s got on him," he said, and Blair just lay there compliantly as the other man patted him down, checking the back pockets of his jeans. He rolled Blair over, ran his hands over Blair’s shirts, into the jacket pockets. Then he ran his hand down across Blair’s groin, patting him there. Blair did nothing, said nothing. Tried to act the part of a rail-riding hustler, used to such things as part of his livelihood.

Some yards away Jim flinched, set his jaw. Okay, things had gone far enough.

"Don’t want your merchandise, kid," said Bones. "Pete might, though. Sometimes he gets a little lonely, if you know what I mean."

Pete leered at him, and Blair tried not to swallow loudly. The man in the glasses moved over across Blair eagerly, stared down at him. "What you got for daddy, huh?" he asked, opening his mouth to reveal broken, yellowing teeth. Jim? Where the hell are you, man? "Daddy’s got something for you," Pete said, and he grabbed Blair’s wrist and pushed his hand right onto his, Pete’s, crotch.

Oh, shit. Underneath the zipper of the denim jeans, Blair could feel something hardening, alive. Fuck.

At that moment, a strange noise made them all look up. Immediately jumping back from Blair, Pete got to his feet as a large shape loomed out of the distance. What the hell was this? Blair thought, feeling he was jumping from one nightmare to another, when the figure emerged into the glare of the firelight, and Blair saw, with relief he could feel down to this toes, that it was Jim. And he was singing.

"Camptown Ladies sing this song, do-dah, do-dah," said Jim, and the odd noise (well, aside from the singing, thought Blair), was Jim’s gloved hands beating a tattoo on the metal side of the fence running along the tracks at this particular juncture.

"What the hell are you doing, man?" asked Pete, moving back to stand beside Bone, who had also risen. "We got us a nice quiet spot here."

"I feel like singing," said Jim, smiling in quite a lunatic manner. He wore old army fatigues and a toboggan on his head. His eyes were wide, lit with a crazed fever that almost made even Blair back away.

"Well, do your singing somewhere else," said Bones carefully. He had his hand in his jacket, obviously reaching for some sort of weapon, which Jim pretended not to notice.

Instead, Jim looked down at Blair and said, "Andy? What the hell are you doing here?" and to everyone’s surprise, dropped down on his knees and started holding Blair against him, keening with a loud, disturbing noise. "Dammit, Andy, I told you to get back on that chopper," and if Blair hadn’t been so stressed at the moment, he almost would have laughed. Instead, he tried to pull away, saying, "What the hell is your problem, man?"

"Fuck," bellowed Jim, obviously incensed now, and Bones and Glasses began backing away a bit. "I told you to fucking stay on that chopper," he said, eyes glinting dangerously as he grabbed at Blair’s ankle, and Bones and Glasses were snatching their stuff, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. First rule of the rails; don’t make trouble if you’re not sure you want to finish it.

"Hey, wait!" called Blair after them. "Guys, don’t leave me!" But his new friends had quickly disappeared into the darkness.

After a moment, Jim said quietly, "They’ve gone." More loudly, he said, "Andy?" just in case someone else was watching.

"I’m not Andy, man," said Blair, still trying to pull away. He wondered if someone else was still out there. Jim would know it if there was. "Look, man, I don’t know what your deal is, but we can talk, okay? I’m not your friend, but I can be your friend if you want."

In the darkness, their eyes met.

"Are we alone?" Blair whispered.

"Your friends have stopped. They’re watching," said Jim, barely moving his lips. "No doubt it’s a long way to the next yard."

"I can be your friend, man," repeated Blair, his hand reaching up to pat Jim’s face. "You got some money, man? Something good? Anything?"

Jim stared at Blair like he was trying to come to his senses; he could feel the others watching. "You wanna be my friend?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," said Blair, moving a hand down to tug on the waistband of Jim’s jeans. "I can make you feel real good, pal. Just for a smoke, man, you got a smoke? Something to drink?"

"That kid is fried," Jim heard Bones say. "Can’t believe he made it this long."

"You think he did that cop?" asked the other man.

"If he did, it was purely fucking accidental," Bones replied.

"Let’s let soldier boy take the kid and we can have the fire back," suggested Pete, and Bones said, "Soldier boy is a freak. He could break that kid in two."

"It’s nothing to us," said Pete.

"I’d rather not have him around. Wish he’d take Romeo and head out somewhere."

Jim leaned down, his mouth near Blair’s ear. "They want to crash here at the fire. Want to chance staying here with them?"

"You think they’ve got any info to pass on?"

"I don’t know, but we can’t blow our cover. They’ll pass our story up and down this line."

"What you need, big boy?" Blair said loudly, wrapping his arms around Jim’s neck.

"This ain’t romance, Chief," Jim whispered through clenched teeth. "Skip the pleasantries, and hustlers don’t kiss."

"I wasn’t planning on kissing you, asshole," Blair whispered, but despite himself, his stomach jumped at the strangeness of the words. He and Jim, going there…yeah, of course he had thought about it, after all, their relationship could be considered a little unusual anyway, but he had long stopped seriously thinking that it actually might happen. Jim loved to touch him, Jim loved him, but Jim apparently had never even sniffed on the other side of the fence. Not that he had. Not that he would. Well....

Blair was fumbling with the opening of Jim’s pants.

"Great," said Bones, his words reaching Jim’s sensitive ears. "Quick blowjob. Crazy man will fall over stone asleep and the kid’s not going to bother us."

"I thought I might have some of that," said Pete, but Bones said, "Not with army guy around. He might get whack-o over his new boyfriend, and who knows what he’s on? You can get some later." He added, "I hope they hurry. It’s fucking cold out here."

"They think you’re going to give me a blow job," said Jim, moving so that he could see the other two men. Blair knelt in front of him, still pretending to pull at the button of Jim’s jeans.

"Well, that’s fucking great," Blair whispered. "What am I supposed to do?"

Despite the situation, Jim’s lips quirked upward in a dry smile. "You’re supposed to give me my money’s worth, Chief," and Blair looked up just in time to see he was being had. "Do whatever," Jim added. "They can’t see you that well. Just pretend."

"God," said Blair, unzipping Jim’s jeans. "Tell me if they get closer."

"Bones isn’t interested," Jim whispered. "The other one is, though. We’ll keep an eye on him."

Blair leaned over and placed one hand on the outside of Jim’s right hip for balance. The other one he left on Jim’s waistband, moving so that his long hair and back hid most of what he was doing. Underneath him, Jim jerked.

"What?" Blair whispered frantically

In response, Jim said, "Oh. Oh yeah. Just like that, kid," and Blair realized what Jim was doing.

"Uhm," said Blair, as if he had his mouth full of something, and nearly giggled despite himself. He leaned his chin down a few inches away from Jim’s zipper and started wiggling his head a little. Jim moaned again and thrust. The movement caught Blair off-guard and Jim's crotch hit him square on the chin.

"Oh," Blair said, trying to quickly recover. Okay.

"Sandburg," Jim growled, telling him to get with the program, and Blair held onto Jim’s hip more tightly. He could feel the heat of Jim’s body, had felt the long shape underneath those boxers when it had struck him in the face, could smell both his and Jim’s scents mixed together with the other smells of the night. Trying to get back into the game, Blair started wiggling again, keeping his other hand in that vicinity.

"Yeah," Jim was saying, thrusting up, "yeah baby," and despite himself, Blair could feel the basic eroticism of the situation hit home, no matter how strangely surreal the circumstances.

"Uhm," Blair mumbled again, his finger pulling back the opening of Jim’s fly and staying there, warm against the cotton of Jim’s boxers.

"I’m gonna come," Jim whispered, and for a moment, Blair thought, really? before he realized what Jim meant. "Oh yeah, oh yeah, suck me, you little fuck, do it," said the big man, and Blair could feel some activity of his own going on down a little lower. He definitely tried not to think about that as Jim began to gasp and carry on, his pretend fever strangely jumping right on over to Blair.

"Yeah, come for me, baby," Blair replied, forgetting he was supposed to have a mouth full of cock.

Jim put a hand on Blair’s shoulders, his strong fingers pressing down into the muscle and bone, and said, "Yeah, do it, do it, I wanna fuck your mouth so good. I want you, Chief, I want you so fucking bad." And at that Blair nearly choked on his non-existent mouthful. His own cock leapt into hyperdrive. Chief? It was too much.

"Yeah, big guy," Blair said, and he dropped his mouth right onto Jim’s hard cock, latching onto it through the cotton boxers.

"Fuck!" yelled Jim, and Blair had a good idea he wasn’t acting now as Blair gummed Jim’s hard shaft before licking it right through the damp cotton. If it had been hard before, it was iron now, and Blair moved his tongue right up the shaft, Jim’s thrusting never stopping until Blair rimmed the fabric-covered head with his tongue and Jim said, "Oh god, oh god, oh god," and with a final jerk, really came.

Blair felt the swelling and then the wetness as Jim quivered beneath him, and he pulled back, heart pounding ferociously. He stared at Jim’s open fly for a dazed moment before he finally looked up at Jim, blue eyes widening into darkness.

Jim was just staring at him, apparently beyond shock. "Sandburg, what-" he started, when he heard the voices of the other men, impatient in the cold darkness beyond.

"Finally," said Bones. "Didn’t take that old fuck as long as I thought it would."

Blair was sitting back on his heels, his pulse racing. He stared back down at Jim’s fly as the older man hurriedly began fastening himself up, mess and all.

"So, love birds," said the other two men, rambling back over to the warmth of the small fire. "Mind if we share the nest now that the honeymoon’s over?"

Jim stared up at them blankly as Blair scrambled numbly back to his sleeping bag.

"No harm," said Bones, holding up his hands in a show of good will.

Jim said nothing as the two other men circled around to the other side. Leaning back against the fence, Jim watched them as Blair curled up near him, but did not touch him. Pete looked over at Blair and pursed his lips up sweetly. Blair did nothing, but felt Jim’s big hand come over and land upon his sleeping bag.

"Mine," Jim told the man with glasses, and Bones quickly said, "Hey, no problem, right, Pete? We don’t want your boy."

Jim’s hand jerked Blair’s bag closer to him, and Blair went obediently, scooting over until his head was resting right on Jim’s thigh.

"Ain’t that sweet," said Pete, nudging Bones. "I think our friend’s got a new protector."

Bones said, "Shut up, Pete. Go to sleep." Grumbling somewhat, Pete did so, stretching out below Blair in a worn and dirty bedroll.

Blair closed his eyes, too, curled up closer to Jim’s knee.

After a while, when Blair’s breathing had finally evened out, Bones said, "So, Army Man, what’s your story?"

"No story," said Jim.

Bones nodded. "No offense meant. We got no problem with you." Then he said, "Where you been?"

"You’re awfully nosy," said Jim. "You a bull?"

Bones snorted. "I look like a fuckin’ bull to you?"

Jim’s eyes were ice cold. "I don’t like people that don’t mind their own business." He looked down at Blair sleeping against his knee. "You already ruined my evening, man."

"Why?" Bones asked. "You look like you got what you wanted."

"I wanted this, man," said Jim, suddenly smiling in a horrible fashion, and with a long finger, he made a straight line right across Blair’s sleeping throat.

Bones swallowed but regarded Jim calmly. "You that guy been doing the deed up and down the tracks? Cause I got to say if you are, brother, you are my mother-fucking hero. Pete and I, we had to get rough one night with a few ourselves."

"I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about," said Jim.

After a while, Bones said, "That kid there said he’d killed a cop down South."

Jim looked down at Blair with a leer and said, "That’ll make him taste even sweeter, then."

That kid’s in trouble, thought Bones. This might have been a mistake, coming back. "I started riding the rails in the seventies," he said, anyway. "I was a kid fresh from Nam."

Jim listened to the man talk, his hand playing circles in Blair’s ringlets. He had practically said he was going to kill Blair, and the man hadn’t even cared. What kind of life was really going on out here on the rails? But at least these guys were probably not the killers. Then he said, "Blademan is the one doing those kids, man."

After a pause, Bones said, "Not what I heard."

Jim shrugged, like he didn’t care. Bones was too smart to volunteer any more information, though, so he and Jim just sat there far into the night. At some point, Bones woke Pete up, and Jim tried not to show just how tired he was. There was absolutely no way he was going to leave Blair alone with these two. By the time dawn began to lighten the sky, Jim was exhausted. He was elated when their stalled train was joined by another car, and the whole shebang proceeded to move. Bones and Pete started to head for a car, Bones standing and looking uncertainly at Blair.

"Come on, baby," Jim said to Blair, shooting Bones a dry look. "I’m not gonna kill him," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just fuck him a few times before I turn him loose. Think he’s worth a jail term? He’s not that good." And then he grabbed Blair by the shoulder and said, "Our ride’s here."

Bones and Pete made themselves scarce in a back car, and once Blair and Jim were inside one of their own, Jim leaned back and closed his eyes.

"You okay?" Blair asked nervously. They hadn’t said a real word to each other since the…incident the night before. He hoped to god Jim wasn’t mad at him.

"Tired," Jim said. Then he opened his eyes and fixed them onto Blair with mild rancor. "And I could use a shower," he added pointedly.

"Sorry, man," said Blair, for some reason having an inane urge to giggle, and when he did, Jim looked at him in complete disbelief.

"Sandburg, I am not even going to ask why in the world you did that."

Blair said, "I’m sorry," sobering immediately.

"Jesus," said Jim, shaking his head, and Blair watched him anxiously.

"Why don’t you get some sleep?" the latter suggested.

Jim said, "I need to keep an ear out for those two bozos, even though I don’t think they’ll bother us. I made them think I was going to kill you," he added, and Blair’s eyes widened in consternation.

"God," he said.

"Well, we were all doing a little acting last night, weren’t we?" Jim asked dryly.

"Killing and sex are not the same thing," said Blair.

"Sex?" Jim asked. "Don’t you mean a little blow job between friends, Sandburg?"

"Hey, okay, I got a little carried away, alright? But I’ve never done anything like that before, Jim." Blair was very defensive. "I said I was sorry." Then he added, "You’re the one saying I wasn’t worth it this morning." Yes, those words had needled, despite the fact that Blair knew they didn’t really mean anything.

Jim just shook his head in irony. "Come here, lover boy," he said, lifting up an arm, and surprised, Blair scooted over and let the bigger man pull him to him. "My fault for getting you into this mess in the first place," and Blair had no problem leaning his head against Jim’s shoulder and closing his eyes. He was tired, dirty, and hungry, and god, they still had a couple of days left in the assignment.

They both dozed a bit as the miles fled by, taking the train farther South than Cascade and riding another one back up. This time Blair sat down beside Jim on his own, leaning against his shoulder, and Jim wrapped an arm around Blair’s waist and held him there. Sitting catty-cornered, Blair rested against Jim as again, they dozed. Yeah, they didn’t do that kind of thing around other people, but occasionally they had sat close like that at home. They hadn’t in a while, though, Blair realized, and he had missed it. Really, really missed it. The first time Jim had pulled Blair close like that, Blair had thought his heart was going to thump right out of his body. He was sure they were heading toward a boundary he was not prepared to cross, but it had never gone that way. After a while Blair had figured it was just a sentinel thing and had given into it, often lying against Jim on the sofa when they both lounged there. After the horrible fountain fiasco, things had not quite been the same, except for the past few weeks or so. One thing was for sure, though. Blair had never, ever given Jim a blowjob before, even one where everybody involved was wearing clothes.

Blair closed his eyes and thought about that for a while.

Jim knew he needed to get back into radio contact as soon as possible, and at one of the yards he managed to patch a message through to Rafe up at Cascade. It was then that he was told the horrible news. The serial killer had struck again the night before at a yard near the Oregon border. The victim’s name was Chris Meadows, a student at UCLA.

"Oh, fuck," said Blair, his jaw tightening. "Oh, fuck, Jim. He got back on that train."

"There was nothing you could have done," Jim said. "I purposely had them thrown off the grounds so that it would discourage them from coming back."

"They should have been arrested!" Blair said. "That was trespassing!"

"Chief, they’re not going to thrown everyone in jail for trespassing in train yards," said Jim, but his voice was kinder.

"Maybe they should start," said Blair. He stared out at the day with empty eyes.

They rode for some time that day, Jim knowing that the time on the rails would help Blair relax more than sitting around in the yards waiting for nightfall, especially with that kind of news. They met some more students, this time two boys and a girl, all tattooed and pierced, heading up to Seattle before lighting out for the great expanse of Montana and beyond.

This time it was Blair warning them to be careful. "I heard a kid got killed down South last night," he said. "I met him the other day."

"No way," said one of the boys. He wore pants so loose and wide that they almost looked like a skirt. Jim wondered how in the world he could even jump on a train without them falling off.

"Yeah," said Blair bleakly. "That really, really sucks."

"Yeah, man," agreed the girl. She was thin as the rails herself, Jim thought. No wonder, though, with all the studs in her mouth and tongue area. Probably made eating difficult.

"So, Sandburg," he said, when the kids had departed, "you think that’s sexy, all that piercing stuff? Must really get an anthropologist going, huh?"

"Oh, ha," said Blair dryly. "You don’t see me putting extensions in my lips, do you? Believe it or not, I can write about something and not do it myself. But no, as you should well know, I have no trouble with piercings."

Jim’s eyes went to Blair’s bare ear. He hadn’t even put in an earring for this assignment.

"Hey," said Blair defensively, noticing the glance, "I can change my look if I want to."

Jim shrugged. Truth be told, he kind of missed the earrings. Then he remembered how they had felt that day by the fountain as he had cradled Blair’s lifeless head in his hands. They had been cold, even colder than Sandburg himself. Jim turned away, stared at the scenery passing them by. Sort of like his life, he thought. Where had so much of it gone? He felt Blair slide over beside him, curious, and he reached out and put his hand on Blair’s shoulder. He had nearly fallen over last night when Blair had leaned down and put his wet mouth on his crotch. Even now, his cock stirred at just the thought. It had been absolutely fucking incredible. He had never thought ladies man Sandburg would ever have gone that far in the name of undercover work, even though he knew that Blair had an insatiable curiously regarding just about everything.

Blair, still worried about how far he might have alienated Jim with his little performance, scooted into the touch until Jim had his arm around him and the student was leaning into his arms, hand wrapped firmly around Jim’s middle. There was so much he wanted to say to Jim right now. Amazingly, the one thing that stood out, was, "I’d like to do that again."

He kept that thought to himself, of course.

As the train hurtled its way toward Cascade, the deepening sky melting a dusky rose along the horizon, Blair said, "I’m not looking forward to tonight."

Jim pulled him closer. They were alone, they were together, and all of it touched something so deep in Jim that he wondered if he had ever truly felt that way before. Sitting back against the wall of the car, he pulled Blair between his legs and wrapped his arms around the student’s middle. Blair’s hair tickled his nose and Blair’s words from the night before echoed in his head.

"Come for me, big guy."

Jim was hot, his cock was achingly hard. It was all he could do not to bring his mouth to the top of Blair’s curly head and leave it there. Instead, he thought of Blair crouching before him in the firelight, those nimble fingers pulling at his zipper. Then Blair’s hot breath on his crotch; the wetness of his tongue against the thin cotton of Jim’s boxers. Why had Blair done that? He remembered the way Blair had licked the rim of his cock, knowing what he was doing; there was no doubt he had done it all on purpose. Again, why? Just for show? Jim really felt that Blair surely knew he didn’t actually have to do that for real.

Holding onto Blair now, Jim moved his hands across Blair’s flat belly, felt the solidity of it underneath the flannel and cotton. In front of him, Blair’s breath hitched as he, too, thought about what had happened the night before. The way Jim had come, jerking against him, so wild and vulnerable and out of control. About the way he had said, "Chief, I want you so fucking bad." And now Jim had his arms around him, was caressing his stomach with his big hands. What the hell did that mean? Well, obviously, perhaps, Jim wasn’t mad about what the younger man had done.

When Blair didn’t move or protest at his actions, Jim slipped his hand inside the flannel over-shirt, rubbing the cotton-covered tummy he found there. "I want you so fucking bad, Chief," Jim had said the night before. The words tumbled over and over inside of Blair’s brain now, stoking him to full erection. God, he was so hot. He was so horny. He wanted Jim so, so, badly.

Jim’s hands rubbed lower, his fingers finally reaching the top of Blair’s jeans. It was too much. Blair shuddered, pushed back against Jim’s body, and Jim didn’t have time to move back. His hard length was easily detected branding the back of Blair’s body.

"Jim," Blair breathed, and Jim dropped his head down on the student’s shoulder, making cheek to cheek contact.

"Why, Chief?" Jim asked in a whisper. "I hope you didn’t feel like I made you do that."

"No," gasped Blair, as Jim’s finger stroked his waistband. "No."

"Then why?" And Jim couldn’t help himself; he delivered a tiny kiss to the top of Blair’s ear.

"Because I wanted to," Blair admitted.

Jim said, "Then do you mind if I return the favor?" and slid his hand right down across the hard length of Blair’s cock that was straining against the zipper of his jeans.

"Oh, god!" said Blair, pushing up against Jim’s hand, his feet scrambling for purchase so he could arch better.

"I’ll take that as a yes," said Jim, burying his mouth in Blair’s neck as his hand ground against the denim of Blair’s crotch.

"Fuck, yes," said Blair, thrusting riotously. "Yessssss," and Jim drowned in the scent of Blair’s neck, exploring the smooth skin there with a questing tongue as Blair pushed hard against Jim’s hand, nearly sobbing in his desire for completion. "Oh, Jim," he said, reaching back and grabbing handfuls of Jim’s clothes, anything to hang onto, and in another moment he was squenching his eyes shut and shouting, "I’m coming, I’m coming," straining so hard against Jim’s hand that he was practically doing back-bends.

After the climax, Blair flopped back against his best friend and roommate, collapsing with closed eyes and a long sigh.

"Yeah," Jim whispered, dropping kisses onto the mashed, dirty curls. Blair turned around, curled into Jim’s lap and went to sleep. Which didn’t really help Jim’s position much, but at least it was something, he guessed. Jim simply wrapped his arms around the student and watched the world go by in the dusk, his own body aching with a thousand different desires and emotions.

When the train slowed down into the last stop before the Cascade rail yards, Jim shook Blair gently. "Chief," he said, "wake up. I’m going to try to check in with Rafe." He was in luck; he radioed in his whereabouts, and Rafe told him that another kid, Timothy Town, had gotten away from the scene of the murder the other night but had actually seen the suspect: a tall, blond man wearing a navy toboggan type hat.

"Fuck," said Jim.

"I bet that was Tank," Blair said, sitting there listening in. "He got away." He was glad they had something to talk about other than what had happened earlier between them.

"The suspect got away, too," said Jim, "and I think he was the same guy I saw at the yards night before last."

"You’re kidding," breathed Blair. "The one that was wandering around me?"

Jim nodded. He got back in touch with the station, and the various law enforcement agencies involved in this operation passed along the information that they had.

"I think we should pull Blair out of there," said Simon, patched through on the radio. "Besides, that guy could be long gone."

"He might not be," said Jim. "He does several at a time, Simon, you know that. Usually not that far apart. He may kill again tonight."

"The FBI is in on this, Jim," Simon said. "We don’t need Blair."

"I’ll tell him," said Jim. He had just turned to speak to Blair when a tall blond man swung inside their car.

Blair’s heart leapt into overdrive.

"Howdy," said the man in a friendly tone.

"Evening," said Blair. He wrapped cold fingers around the side of the door, just in case he had to jump out fast.

"Where you guys headed?" the man asked, settling in just as the train began to move again.

"Around," said Jim warily, giving him a paranoid stare.

"Just riding," said Blair.

"You fellas together?" the man asked.

Jim muttered, "I ride alone," before glaring out at the scenery passing them by.

"No," said Blair, with an uneasy glance at Jim. God, please don’t let me give it away here, he thought. He could barely speak, he was so anxious.

"I’m Randy Rails," said the man, extending a hand. He was a young forty, surprisingly clean cut for a long-term denizen of the rails, if indeed, that was what he was.

"Sandy," said Blair.

"Sandy," the man mused. "Let me guess, college student?"

Blair nodded.

Randy leaned back, shook his head. "You college kids," he mused.

Blair shot him a look.

"Always jumping into places you don’t belong," he said, but his voice wasn’t too unkind. "It can be more dangerous out here than you think."

"So I’ve heard," said Blair.

"Lots of people on these rails don’t want to be found, if you know what I mean," said the man. "They don’t take too kindly to strangers in their midst."

"It’s a free country," said Blair.

"Ain’t nothin’ for free, kid," said the man, digging in his pocket for a cigarette. He looked over at Jim. "Smoke?"

Jim just narrowed his eyes and looked away.

"See what I mean?" the man said to Blair, gesturing to Jim. While the man was lighting his cigarette, Blair scanned him for weapons. They could be anywhere on him.

"I don’t like strangers telling me what the fuck I can or cannot do," Jim announced suddenly, and both Randy and Sandy regarded him for a moment.

"Whoa, pal," said Randy. "I’m cool. Got no beef with you, man." But there was silence for a while after that. Then Randy said, "Where did you say you were headed, kid?"

And Blair said, "I heard the Cascade rail yard was a good place to crash." He lowered his voice so that it looked like he didn’t want Jim to hear. He knew damn well he could, though.

Randy’s cool green eyes regarded him swiftly. "Your parents know you’re out riding the road, junior?"

"I do my own thing, man," said Blair. He was trying to recall all the things he had heard about the case. The guy had a thing for college kids; killed them in their sleep. Robbed them, took their ID.

"Nobody ever tell you riding the rails is dangerous when you’re by your lonesome?" He gave Blair a bold once-over, and Blair hesitated for a moment. Jim had said none of them had been raped….

"I’m not afraid," Blair said boldly.

"No offense," said the man, "but you’d be easy pickings for some of the gangs I’ve seen on these rails. And let me tell you, you’d not like what they would do to someone who looked like you." He let out a long drawl of cigarette smoke. "Or maybe you would."

Blair could almost feel the tension rising off of Jim.

"I wasn’t born yesterday," Sandburg snapped.

Randy glanced over at Jim. "Hey partner, reckon we should teach this kid a lesson?"

Blair’s heart froze in fear, despite the fact that Jim was only a few feet away.

Jim looked at Randy and said, "I think I like your ass better."

"Hey, no offense, man," Randy said, quickly holding his hands up. "Just kidding. Giving the kid something to think about." He paused for a moment, then said, "I hear some college kid got smoked last night down South."

Blair glanced over at him uncertainly.

"That’s just what I hear," said the man, shrugging. "So I’d be careful, if I were you."

By the time the train stopped in Cascade, Blair was awash with tension. The earlier incident with Jim had completely faded away, although his boxers were sticky and uncomfortable. He didn’t know how Jim had stood that, as sensitive as he was. He started to get out when Randy said, "Sorry if I scared you, kid. I just think somebody should tell these kids how dangerous it is out here. Let me make it up to you. Let me make you a cup of coffee."

"I’ll take one," said Jim, his face devoid of any expression.

Randy glanced at him, obviously wondering just how much of a lunatic Jim was. "I’ve never seen you on the rails," Randy said. "You ride here much?"

"I keep to myself," said Jim, and he ran a finger along the switchblade he was carrying in his right hand.

Blair hastily said, "Think I’ll be heading down that tracks a bit, fellas."

"There’s a hobo camp just down the way," said Randy. "My advice; camp right up above it. Nicer view, and the cops don’t usually come up that far."

"Thanks, man," said Blair, grabbing his stuff, and hastily he slid out. It was full night now. He walked up the tracks, knew that Randy was watching him. Tried not to collapse under the weight of that stare.

He passed the hobo camp; felt Rafe and Brown’s curious eyes upon him. He wondered what in the hell was happening with Jim. Rafe said in his ear, "Sandburg, you okay?"

"We think the guy is here," said Blair. "He’s back with Jim on the train."

Blair didn’t look back. When he got a bit up the track, however, he sat down, prayed that Jim could find him. Wished he had a gun, though he would never admit that to Jim, of course.

From the other direction two men walked past him, both with dirty hair and baseball caps. One nodded, the other said nothing. Blair was about to fall apart with nerves.

Then he saw Randy.

He did not have time to say a thing to Jim before the blond guy said, "Oh, hey, Sandy. Yeah, good spot. Just the place, I think," and then he was holding up a long stick or something and Blair held his arms up just as a shot rang out in the darkness some yards away.

Randy crumpled to the ground, and Blair scrambled to his feet as the blood began immediately seeping from the body. In an instant, Jim was there saying, "You okay, Sandburg?" followed by the arrival of Rafe, Brown, and several other people Blair did not know.

"Yeah," said Blair, getting to his feet with the offered help of Brown. "Just glad it’s over, you know?"

The scene was drawing quite a crowd. At some point, Blair found himself wrapped in a blanket and sitting in the back of Simon’s car.

"You sure you're okay, Sandburg?" Simon asked.

Blair said, "I just want to go back to the loft."

"Jim, let’s take the kid home," Simon said. "You can finish everything up tomorrow." He frowned as Jim started to get in the front seat with him. "No way, Ellison. You stink. Back seat, please."

Jim slid in beside Blair, who just glanced over at him. Home. Blair could not wait to get into a shower and then bed. And then, tomorrow, he would see how his roommate acted when they both woke up. He was betting on total repression of their little antics on the tracks.

Closing his eyes, Blair tried to make sense of it all. Jim had just gotten him off with his hand. He, Blair, had almost been killed. He, Blair had given Jim a blowjob in front of two other people. This had been one hell of an assignment.

Simon let them out, repeatedly asking if they were okay, and then they walked quietly up the stairs to the loft.

"Man, it is so good to be here," Blair groaned, heading for the bathroom. "I think I’m going to shower for a week."

"Save me some water, Sandburg," said Jim, and Blair just staggered past him like a zombie and murmured something assent-like. Jim washed his hands really good, then got a cold beer from the fridge. Good to be on solid-ground again. Good to be inside. Good to be…he thought of Blair pushing back against his palm. Heard Blair’s gasps. Saw the man raise that stick-like weapon above Blair’s head, and felt the push inside his own body to stop it, felt himself raise the gun in a split-second decision and aim right for the man.

Shaking his head, Jim headed upstairs and stripped off his dirty clothes. Getting fresh ones, he waited until Blair finally vacated the bathroom, and headed in immediately. He could not wait to get the dirt off of him. He could not wait….

In the shower, Jim touched the flaky remnants of himself that had dried on his belly. Pictured a naked Sandburg standing there with him in the shower, saw Blair’s mouth moving down his stomach to his cock. Shit, Ellison, you just don’t want to go there. What happened on that assignment was just that, something that happened there. It stayed there. Another world, another time.

In his room, Blair dressed in clean boxers and sweatpants, then pulled on a tee. Man, it felt great to be clean again. His hair was still wet, but it felt ten times lighter and better without all the dirt and grease that had accumulated there over the past few days. Jim had kissed him on the ear. How could he have wanted to do that, Mr. Clean that he was, with Blair in that condition?

Same way you didn’t mind moving your mouth against Jim’s boxers, he thought. Need, baby. Desire.

Lust.

Blair fixed some sandwiches in case Jim was hungry, and Jim joined him at the table, exhausted, picking at his food.

"Man," said Blair, and realized he was shaking.

"The guy’s in the hospital," Jim said. "He’ll live to go to trial."

"I hope they put him away forever," said Blair, then he added, "But you know, there’s so many people out there that don’t need to be, Jim."

"You mean on the rails?"

"Yeah, well, everywhere, I guess. Like those two guys we met up with last night."

"They probably wouldn’t have hurt you, Sandburg," said Jim.

"No, not if you don’t consider forced sex anything hurtful."

"That’s not what I meant," said Jim, purposely not looking at Blair. Well, nothing they had done could have been considered forceful, right? Blair had started the one thing, and he, Jim, had asked if the other would be okay. Blair sure as hell hadn’t said no.

"Can you believe some people live like that all the time?" Blair asked, and he had to drop his hands to his lap for a moment, they were still shaking so badly.

"Sandburg, what’s wrong?" asked Jim, immediately noticing.

"Nothing," said Blair, "just got the shakes."

Jim took a sip of his drink, then got up from the table and headed toward Blair.

"No, Jim, I’m fine," said Blair, automatically pulling away, but Jim just said, "Come here, Sandburg," and Blair allowed himself to be propelled over to the sofa by his rather over-protective roommate. And almost lover, he reminded himself.

"Just rest there for a moment," Jim said, pulling the blanket over Blair’s shoulders and going back to get Blair’s drink and sandwich. "You’ve had a very stressful past few days. Especially tonight."

Blair curled up with his blanket and decided not to disagree. Why pretend, right? It had been stressful. Very stressful. "I’m just thankful I don’t really have to live like that," he said. "I can’t imagine that there are really people who have nowhere else to go, nobody else to care about them. I…I mean, I’ve always jaunted about on my own, I guess, but at least I knew Naomi was out there somewhere, and then, you know, I met you…." His eyes flicked over at Jim uncertainly.

"Yeah," said Jim, nodding. He knew what Blair was saying. Jim, too, hadn't had a lot of people in his life. Then he had met Blair, and all of a sudden he had had a partner, then a friend, then a roommate, and now, well, hell, he almost had a lover as well, he thought dryly. Blair was certainly family, no matter how you looked at it.

"I know we never say these things," Blair said, fingering the blanket around his shoulders, "but seeing the way those people lived made me realize how damned lucky I am just to have, you know, a place to bunk."

"I know, Sandburg," said Jim. There was a silence.

I love you, thought Blair, but there was no way he could say it, especially not after what had just happened in those railyards. Then he thought, I love you…a lot. Remembrances flooded him, Jim’s arms around him, Jim’s hand on his crotch, rubbing, the flick of Jim’s mouth against his ear, tongue against his neck. Oh, Jesus, Blair thought, closing his eyes. This is bad. This is really, really bad. Then he thought, wonder what Jim is feeling right now? He was the one licking your throat, rubbing your cock. Had it truly been a paid-in-full type situation? Since when did Jim Ellison do things he really didn’t want to?

"Let’s get some sleep, Chief," Jim said, standing up, and Blair nodded. "C’mon," Jim said, holding a hand down to his roommate, and Blair reached up and took it, enjoying the feel of the strong fingers pulling against his own. Then their hands parted, and Jim looked at him and said, "Good night, Sandburg. You were a real trouper on this case."

"Thanks," said Blair. Even as the words warmed him, he thought, oh yeah, in more ways than one, huh? "Thanks for saving my life, man," he added.

"You can cook dinner tomorrow," Jim said with a slow smile, and for a long moment the two roommates just stood there and looked at one another.

"Well," said Blair. "See you in the morning, I guess."

Jim nodded, and with another undecipherable look, turned and padded up the stairs to the loft.

Once upstairs, Jim slid underneath his sheets and stared up at the skylight. Jesus, what a case. The strain, the sleeplessness, the icy numbness of looking up and seeing a man getting ready to kill Blair in cold blood. Shit. Jim turned over, mashed his pillow with his face. Then he saw Blair in his arms, alive, hard, coming under that armor of denim and zipper. The way his neck had tasted, salty from sweat and dirt, yet sweet and Blair-like, too. Or how about the night before that? Jim thought, the blood racing to his straining groin. Blair’s wet mouth on your boxers? Shit. I wanted to, Blair had said.

He wanted to.

Downstairs, Blair was fevered, burning. When was the last time he had come like that? When was the last time someone had held him so tightly in their arms and stroked him with such power, such determination? And how about the way Jim had jerked underneath his mouth when he came, how breathless he had been, the way he had murmured all those words. Blair’s cock was rock-hard. He could feel the desire spreading over his balls, his entire groin, his entire body. Fuck. He wanted Jim again. He wanted Jim bad. Trying to control his breathing, he thought, I’m going to go upstairs.

What? You’re what?

I’m going to go upstairs. I’m going to show up at the foot of Jim’s bed and Jim is going to look up, and say…What the hell are you doing up here, Sandburg? But Blair didn’t care. What the hell, right? If Jim didn’t want it, then Blair could take the hint, right? Because Jim had wanted it before. He was the one who had asked to return the favor, he was the one who had been nuzzling at Blair's throat. Fuck. Blair pushed the covers back, moved dream-like out of his room and over to the stairs. His blood was so hot he thought he would boil alive.

Upstairs, Jim thought, Blair’s downstairs. Blair, whose wet mouth can make me come like a freight train (ironic), Blair, who likes to push against my hand as he makes all kinds of incredibly sexy noises…shit. He was so hard he knew he was going to have to masturbate, and unbelievably, knew who he would be thinking of when he did.

Then he heard Blair’s footsteps on his stairs.

Immediately, Jim half sat up in bed. What the hell? And then he found himself spreading his legs, knowing that Blair was probably coming up here for some other reason than that, but hoping, wanting….

Blair was standing there at the foot of Jim's bed, silent, heavy-lidded. It didn’t take a sentinel to see what was lurking behind those boxers. But maybe that was just incidental. Maybe that wasn’t really why Blair was up here. "Sandburg?" he asked, his dry throat finally finding words.

Blair moved toward him in the darkness. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say, really? Jim, can I sleep with you? Jim, I’m as hard as a rock and I need to get off? Jim, will you touch my dick?

So instead, Jim, beyond words, just turned back the covers and Blair sank onto the bed. In the gray light, the two roommates looked at one another.

"I want to…." said Blair, and Jim, in a rather harsh, hard voice, said, "Lie down."

Heart thumping, Blair did as he was told, lying flat back on the wide bed and looking trustingly up at Jim.

Without another word, Jim leaned over and pulled Blair’s boxers off and down.

Shit, Blair thought, completely breathless, we’re getting naked here. Naked. Jim is getting me naked.

Even in the darkness, Jim had no trouble at all seeing Blair’s hard, jutting cock. He was well-endowed, but Jim already knew that. The tip was leaking, and Jim, who was leaking also, found that he just needed a little taste of that. So he leaned down and licked the glistening head.

"Ah." Blair jerked, tried to keep it together. Jesus Christ. He was lying boxer-less in Jim’s bed and Jim was licking his cock. Fuck. This was just so surreal. Surreal, and completely, utterly hot. Blair couldn’t remember the last time he had been so turned on, but he was sure it had been a while.

Without a word, Jim reached down and wrapped strong fingers around Blair’s cock. I wonder if he’s done this before, Blair thought, that thought new and strange and sudden, but he didn’t have long to think about it, because when Jim started stroking him, all reason began to flee.

"Yeah," Blair moaned, one hand moving down to rest on Jim’s shoulder. He was trying not to speak, but he couldn’t help it. Then, as he watched the dim silhouette of Jim’s head lower and felt his warm breath upon his cock, Blair began to shudder, to sigh despite himself.

"Yeah, Sandburg," Jim said, actually replying in a strange, hoarse kind of voice, and for a moment Blair thought he would come right then, but he struggled to wait. Wanted to feel more, and soon he did, as Jim plunged his mouth right down on Blair’s straining cock.

"Augh," Blair sucked in, and then Jim was milking him with his mouth at the same time his hand was twisting and turning upon Blair’s hard shaft. It didn’t take very long. Jim could feel Blair begin to swell in his mouth and as he sucked harder with long, wet strokes, felt Blair’s body jerk underneath him as Blair cried out, "I’m coming, I’m coming." And he did, hard, hot, all of it greedily swallowed by Blair’s roommate and best friend, Jim Ellison.

"Oh god," said Blair, his spasming body finally allowing him rest, and he just lay there, head on Jim’s pillow, spent. Fuck. That had been…. He turned to Jim with lust-fired eyes and said, "Lie down."

Shaking, still licking the taste of Blair off his lips, Jim complied obediently to Blair’s request, even helping things along by pulling down his boxers and kicking them to the floor.

Heart pounding, Blair sat up on one elbow and surveyed Jim’s hard cock leaning toward him in anticipation. Jim was long, smooth, flushed and beautiful. Beautiful. Blair had never really applied that word to a cock before, but at the moment even he wasn’t in the mood to think about that at length. No, there were other lengths he wanted to think about right now.

Settling into a good position, the curious and still terribly aroused Sandburg reached out and wrapped his fingers around Jim’s cock. Unlike Blair, who still had a tee-shirt on, Jim was completely naked, and that body bared in front of him, even in the semi-darkness, was just about more than Blair could bear. Jim looked like a freaking model, a body-builder, a surf-boy who just hung out on the beach all day.

I feel like I’m in some kind of bad gay porno flick, Blair thought briefly, almost laughing from the thought and general surreal stress of things. Five Cop Stud. Anthropologist Rent Boy. Boxcar Sandburg, he thought, half-delirious from the high of emotions running through him. I would play a lush-mouthed rent boy who gave blow jobs to over-built railroad studs down behind the train yards. Fuck, he thought. You are losing it here, Sandburg.

Getting a better grip on Jim’s hard cock, Blair began to stroke it, exploring all of it, rimming the head with his thumb. And then he was leaning closer, closer, and his outstretched tongue made contact with Jim’s smooth, hot skin. Underneath him, Jim jerked, moaned, and that rocketed the blood through Blair’s veins as, heart pounding, he leaned down and began licking the head, teasingly at first, then harder, more demanding. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I know what feels good on me, he thought, and began trying something along those lines. Using his hand for guidance, he stroked up and down, faster and faster while his hungry mouth nipped and rubbed all the sweet spots Blair knew had to be there.

It was working. Jim’s eyes were closed and he was panting, short, breathy little sounds that ripped through Blair, making him half-hard again. Encouraged, Blair put more of his wrist into it, slurping and tasting, and it wasn’t long before he felt Jim swell in his mouth and thought, this must be it, this must be it.

"Sandburg," Jim moaned, his hand reaching down to tangle in Blair’s curls, "I’m coming, baby," and that "baby" electrified Blair as Jim began keening aloud and shooting into Blair’s mouth.

Fuck. Blair had never done this before, and it was a whole other sensation, but he was game and he wanted to please Jim, so he licked it all up and even swallowed some of it. Don’t think about that Blair, he told himself. Gagging is not an option here. You’re a man of the nineties.

"Oh, oh, oh," Jim was saying, reaching down with an iron hand on Blair’s wrist, and Blair gathered that that was enough for the sensitive sentinel – the aftermath was upon them.

Pulling back, Blair tried to catch his breath. Jim, still breathing heavily, reached over and got a tissue from the nightstand and handed it to Blair. After cleaning up his chin a bit, Blair rubbed the Kleenex across Jim’s stomach in case anything had escaped. Then Jim took the used tissue from Blair's hand, put it back on the nightstand, and Blair just sat there.

"So," said Jim after a moment. "Want a cigarette?"

And Blair, glancing quickly upward, saw the curve of Jim’s mouth and they both started laughing, shaky at first, then heartier, relieved, released, desperately glad to find solid ground again.

"Come here," Jim said, holding out his arm, and Blair gratefully moved up into the loose embrace, turned on his side toward Jim, wondering if he should feel concern about cuddling here with Jim. Why? came his other voice. After what you just did, cuddling should be a breeze. Yeah, but cuddling meant…oh, shit. What did any of this mean?

"What’s your schedule tomorrow?" Jim asked, as if they always nestled together in this manner after blowjobs.

"Uh." Blair tried to think, his head on Jim’s naked shoulder. Very aware he, too, was naked, at least from the waist down, he started pulling at the cover and Jim helped him, pulling the sheet and comforter up to their chests. Underneath, Blair tried to keep his lower body appropriately away from Jim’s. "Catching up on schoolwork, I guess," he said.

Jim reached a hand up and lazily stroked Blair’s curls. "You better get some sleep, then," he said, dropping the hand back to fasten loosely onto Blair’s shoulder.

Blair said, "Yeah."

Do you mean up here with you? Blair wondered.

"Goodnight, Sandburg," said Jim, keeping his arms loosely around the student.

"Goodnight," said Blair. I guess he does mean that, he thought, and bringing his knees up against Jim’s bare thigh, he made himself comfortable in the crook of Jim’s arm, and eventually went to sleep.

When Jim awoke the next morning, he was startled to find Blair in bed beside of him. What? And then he remembered. Oh yeah. Oh…fuck. He looked over where Blair was sleeping soundly, back to him, cuddled up on a pillow and snuffling happily. Jesus Christ, what had they done? No, Jim knew what they had done, what he really wondered was, what had they done to their relationship? He sat there for a moment, sighing and rubbing his face. If the guys at the station could see him now. Well, this was what they had all wondered about, right? He, of all people, certainly wasn’t deaf. He knew there had been tons of speculation at first, but it had died down. And now, here they were.

Quietly moving from the bed, he thought, thank god Sandburg isn’t seeing anybody right now. That could be sticky. (Not as sticky as…okay, Ellison, don’t go there). He, Jim, wasn’t seeing anybody either, not since Veronica, and he guess that was a good thing, too. Oh, sorry to cut out early on you tonight, darling, but I have to go home and give my roommate a blowjob. You understand.

Fixing coffee downstairs, Jim thought, where in god’s name do we go from here? We live together. I am going to think about him again. Let’s face it, I am probably going to want him again.

You want Sandburg.

Sighing, he was just working on breakfast when Blair appeared at the top of the stairs and then made his uncertain way into the kitchen.

"Morning," he said, eyes flicking at Jim a bit worriedly.

"Morning, Sandburg," said Jim. He hated to be so formal, but…what else could he be? "Want some toast?"

"Sure," said Blair, moving to take over the eggs.

"What time to you have to be in?"

"As soon as I can get there."

"What’s your afternoon schedule?" Jim asked, drinking his coffee.

"I’ll be in as soon as I can," Blair said. "I know we’ve got all those reports to work on from last night." Last night, Blair thought. Last night. He remembered the shadowy room, Jim’s big hands and determined mouth hot and wet upon him. Despite himself, he felt his cock throb, began to ache. He quickly turned away, missing the appraising look his roommate shot him. Guess he found his clothes, Jim thought dryly, noting the way the gray sweats fit across Blair’s round rear end. Okay, enough of that.

"See you at the station then, I guess" said Jim.

"Okay," Blair said. "Have a good one," and after Jim shut the loft door behind him, Blair let out a huge breath and sagged against the kitchen counter. My god. What in the hell had they done?

There was a blitz of paperwork at the station, and Jim didn’t have too much time to dwell on the rather unusual turn of events between him and Sandburg. When Blair got in, he had to be interviewed, too, a routine confirmation of facts that would help speed along the required I.A. investigation into a shooting by a police officer. By the time they headed back to the loft, it was almost dark.

"What a day," Jim said.

"I know," said Blair. Several times during the wrap-up, Chris Meadows’ name had come up, and that had really affected Blair. If only he and Tank hadn’t gotten back on the rails. If only Blair and Jim could have found that killer earlier. If only, if only.

"He was younger than I am," said Blair, as they sat down to a quickly prepared dinner.

"Who?" Jim asked.

"Chris Meadows, that kid from UCLA who was killed," said Blair.

"Yeah," said Jim. Another part of his work that he really did not like. The victims.

"You know, I wonder if I should call his parents," Blair mused. "Maybe tell them that I saw him. I mean, wouldn’t you want to know if someone had talked to someone you loved? I don’t know."

"Well, they’ll know that if they read the report," Jim said. "All that was documented, you know."

"I know, but…this would be sort of personal."

"What would you say?" Jim asked.

"I don’t know." Blair put down his fork, thought for a moment. "Maybe it wouldn’t be better. Maybe they’d blame me somehow, or the police department. I wouldn’t want to cause anybody any trouble."

"Well," said Jim logically, "You could tell them that you told them to be careful, you did, you know. And they did know about the killer, Sandburg. They chose to get back on – you didn’t affect that."

"I know, but come on, Jim." Blair shrugged, started eating again.

"It’s up to you, Chief," Jim finally said. "It’s a nice thought."

"If something happened to you, I would want to know everything, you know? Who saw you last, what you said…." Blair’s words trailed off, his appetite suddenly gone.

Jim glanced at him in sympathy. Sandburg had seen a lot in the past three years, but it had never dampened his kind, human spirit. Jim hoped nothing ever would.

"I mean, I just can’t imagine, losing so much." Blair stared at his plate. "Sometimes I hate this job," he said.

Jim couldn’t help but smile. "Your job? Or mine?"

Blair’s mouth curved up in return. "Both," he said. "All jobs. I think I’ll just quit the working world and hop a train to see the country."

"I hope you are not serious about that," Jim said, forking a piece of pasta.

"No, man! After that little experience? Puhleeze." Then, getting up to take his plate to the sink, Blair remembered something he had thought the night before, and said, "Just call me Boxcar Sandburg," and gave a little wiggle and a half-laugh.

Jim shot him a curious eye, but didn’t say anything.

"Nothing," said Blair hastily. He didn’t want to have to explain that little flash of porno humor.

After dinner, Blair brought his work and joined Jim in front of the TV. It was one of their favorite ways to spend the evening, though neither one of them had really thought about that much.

The material Blair was working on was rather boring, and that was too bad, really, because that freed his mind up to think about all other kinds of things.

Like the way Jim spread his legs when he watched TV.

Trying to get back to his work, Blair sighed, hoping Jim hadn’t noticed his furtive glances in his direction.

Jim had.

Oh boy, the bigger man thought, trying to look completely involved with the program at hand. Sandburg looks like he’s working up to something over there, and god knows what it might be. But Blair restrained himself, and after a while, Jim said the words they had both been avoiding all night.

"Guess I’ll turn in now," said the sentinel.

"Okay," said Blair, nodding his curly head. When Jim walked past him, he looked up, and for a long moment their eyes held, the air suddenly very warm and heavy. Blair could feel the heat spiral through him and end up in his groin.

And then Jim said the words that he had promised himself earlier he would never say. "You coming up?" Fuck! Ellison, why in the hell did you say that? Now you get to hear Blair say no, I’m not, and try to salvage your dignity before slinking off to your room like the pitiful dirty old man you are.

Hey, hang on a moment there, pal, Ellison argued with himself. I’m not the dirty old man here. I care about Blair, plus technically, he started it. And I’m not that much older than him, and he’s thirty, for god’s sake. Not exactly jail-bait, no matter how cute he looks when he’s all hot and bothered like this, and when he makes those breathy little mewling noises right before he….

Jim. Get a grip here.

"Yeah, okay," Blair was nodding, and Jim thought, shit. He is coming up. That’s even worse.

Jim turned to head up to the room, trying to look casual, and behind him, Blair stared at his laptop screen and tried not to have an anxiety attack. Blair! What the hell did you say that for? What are you hoping to gain by this? (Well, aside from that). Don’t you have any dignity left? Or are you purposely gunning for the Rent Boy of the Year Award? Just call me Boxcar Sandburg, Blair thought. Gay boy porn King of Prospect Street. Maybe I should get some new clothes, he thought inanely, some mesh bikini underwear from those gruesome men’s catalogs. He nearly laughed aloud at the thought of himself cavorting around in those. Hell, how about a pole? The loft had some support pillars he could swing around for money.

He’s not paying you.

Yeah, well, I live here rent free, don’t I?

You have for three years. Do you really think that is what this is about? Sex as trade?

Well, hell, I have no idea what it’s about.

It’s about sex, Sandburg. It’s about great orgasms and hot blowjobs. Fuck. For a moment, Blair screwed up his eyes, almost wanted to cry. How had things come to this between him and Jim? He loved Jim, really, really loved him. He didn’t want to just blow Jim, he wanted to hold him, too. Wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to kiss Jim.

Sandburg, do you….

No. He would not go there.

Getting up, Blair put his school stuff away, then headed for the shower. He had to start remembering to be as clean as possible if he was going to be sleeping with a sentinel. And what about that? Was he going to start sleeping with a sentinel? Like, all the time? What if he had a date? What if Jim had a date? Would they go out with their women friends, then end up in each other’s beds? What was the deal with that?

Then he thought, could this be a sentinel-guide thing?

Upstairs, Jim’s heart was beating rather quickly. He moved around the room, straightened it a bit, although it was always pretty neat. Finally got into the bed, wearing only a fresh pair of boxers. Thought about what Blair’s face would look like when he finally made it up those stairs – would he be shy? Uncomfortable?

He did not think why he was doing this. No, he firmly shut the door on that thought.

Jim already had the light off when Blair made it to the side of the bed. If he had the light on, Blair could see him better, and that might make things more awkward then they already were.

There was a moment of uncertainty as Blair sat down on the mattress. What did he do next? Last night he had lain down and Jim had given him a blowjob. It had been very clinical, very all ducks in a row. What if Jim wasn’t in the mood to give him oral sex? What happened if neither one of them was in the mood? (Not very likely in my case, he thought, but hey, it could happen). What would he do then? Just go back downstairs like any good rent boy whose services weren’t needed? Or maybe Jim could just leave an upstairs light on as a signal. Blowjob by one, hand-job by two, something like that.

Shit.

"Hi," said Jim, answering Blair’s unspoken question by rolling over and touching the waistband of Blair’s sweats.

"Hi," Blair murmured, lying back dutifully. This was not right, something was definitely not right, but god, did Jim look sexy there half-naked in the grayness.

"You ready?" Jim asked, moving his mouth down to the path he was clearing, and Blair said, "Uh-huh."

Tugging the sweats and the boxers all the way off (why did I bother to put on boxers? Blair wondered – mental note for the next time), Jim just sat there for a moment and gazed softly down at Blair’s hard, swollen cock. Taking a hand, he began smoothing the skin of Blair’s groin, the tops of his thighs, before gently leaning down and licking Blair’s flushed shaft.

"Oh," Blair moaned, closing his eyes and letting it happen. Something felt different tonight. Sure, it was still hot, still incredibly awesome, but Jim’s mouth was more searching, more tender, too. He lapped at Blair like Blair was something precious, something fragile, and Blair thought, it almost feels like he’s kissing me there. And then Jim moved his hand across Blair’s aching erection and Blair’s thoughts temporarily fled South. Literally.

"Uhm," Blair moaned, starting to thrust, and there was nothing gentle about Jim’s grasp now, it was all passion as he smeared the glistening drop of liquid on the tip to the smooth rim before dipping his head down for a taste. "Oh, god," Blair breathed, really, really into it now, and Jim stroked him harder as his eager mouth sucked Blair like a giant lollipop.

"Fuck!" Blair said, jerking, "I’m coming, I’m coming, Jim," and Jim never let up, intensifying his movements as Blair poured into his mouth, shrieking and moaning.

Yeah, thought Jim, supremely satisfied, and so horny he could have renovated the loft without need of certain tools.

Blair, trying to recover, was quick to remember his host for the evening, and as soon as his heart rate subsided just a bit he flipped over and looked at Jim’s straining cock with an eager appreciation. He was a bit surprised to see that Jim had already shucked the boxers.

"Oh yeah, you ready for me, big guy?" he asked, loving the way Jim looked all spread out naked in front of him.

Jim said nothing, just moved his head back, exposing a long gleaming expanse of neck in the dim light.

Fuck, thought Blair, so dazed he could barely move, I want him bad. I mean, really, really bad.

"You’re so…." he said, never finishing for various reasons, one of which was the fact that he was already leaning over to deep-throat that cock.

Hard to believe that you’d never touched a man’s dick before a few days ago, he told himself dryly as he made himself at home between Jim’s legs. Well, not quite true, there had been a rather strange incident on a field trip once, but that had basically been a bout of youthful experimentation and nothing that had ever happened again. It sure as hell hadn’t been this, that was for damn sure.

Jim was moaning, and Blair heightened his efforts on the task at hand, getting Jim off in the best, most spectacular way possible. So far things looked good, Blair thought, starting to really enjoy his work. Jim tasted good. Smelled like sex. Felt like silk that was hard, alive.

Blair? What are you saying here? Have you forgotten women? The way that feels? There was no answer from himself as Blair ignored his little voices and concentrated on Jim’s instead; the short breaths, the oh yeah Sandburg which occasionally escaped that open mouth. It was great, it was brilliant, it was a fucking experience making Jim feel like this. I think I’m hooked, Blair thought rather desperately as he felt his new sex buddy swell in his mouth at the same time Jim said, "I’m coming, Sandburg, I’m coming."

"Come on, baby," Blair managed to get out before Jim did come, spilling all over Blair’s teeth and tongue. Considerate lover that he was (lover?), Jim already had a tissue in his fingers, handing it over to Blair even as the bigger man was trying to catch his breath after that spectacular little performance. Blair used the Kleenex, both on him and Jim, but Blair had done a bit more swallowing this time, and it wasn’t half-bad. It was, actually, pretty fucking sexy. There was something extremely decadent, Blair thought, about the fact that he had Jim’s most intimate juices in his mouth. It was Jim to the core. The essence, all those barriers and defenses stripped away, just him, and Blair.

I fucking love this, Blair thought.

I fucking love….

No, don’t go there. It’s the heat of the moment, it’s the raw rush of sex and adrenaline. Forget it, Sandburg. Forget it.

Jim was pawing him with a big hand, and Blair knew what that meant, so he slid up beside the sentinel and nestled into the open crook of a shoulder that Jim offered to him.

"You okay?" Jim asked, pushing back a stray curl off Blair’s forehead.

"Yep. You?"

"Yeah."

This time, when Jim pulled him into that loose embrace, Blair let his hand rest lightly on Jim’s bare chest. Then they went to sleep.

The next morning, Jim hurried out of bed and started breakfast. He just didn’t want to think about what was happening in his life right at the moment. Repression engaged.

"Hi," said Blair rather shyly at breakfast. He had still had the taste of Jim in this mouth when he awoke. Awoke alone, of course. He guessed Jim didn’t want to stay around and cuddle, well, that was okay. Plus they had to go to work, of course. Just another day for Boxcar Sandburg and those who ride him, Blair thought dryly. Maybe I’ll go service Rafe next, he thought. Or Brown. He wondered how hard they would laugh if he told them that little idea.

"Jim, this kid’s a nut," he pictured Brown saying, laughing hysterically as he and Rafe moved off, full of humor at Blair’s expense.

"Yes, he is," Jim would say in a fond, sit-com type voice. "But he’s my little nut."

Shit. You are losing it, my friend, Blair told himself dryly.

"Listen," Jim was saying, "I’ve got to stop by the cleaners after work, can you pick up some groceries? We’re out of bread."

"Sure," said Blair, sitting down with his eggs. Nothing was different, nothing had changed. He was balling his best friend, and said friend didn’t even act like he knew it.

No big deal.

Later at the station, Jim sat at his desk and flipped his pen between agitated fingers. Where was Sandburg? He was late.

Maybe he’s with some girl, came his annoying little inner voice.

Maybe he is, so what?

So, I’ll bet she can’t make him as hot as you can.

Jim frowned, not wanting to go there. Blair, hot. Blair, so naked and trusting in his bed. Blair squirming against him in an open boxcar while the scenery of the coastal Northwest flew by around them. That’s right, Ladies and Gentlemen, see the U.S. by train.

Blair making those little…sounds.

There was a long period of nothingness, then Jim found his arm being gripped tightly by a very insistently speaking Sandburg.

"Jim?" Blair asked, trying not to call attention to them in the bullpen. It was too late – Blair looked up to see Simon watching them from his office window.

Jim shook his head, looked up into Blair’s worried eyes.

"You okay, man? I think you zoned. How long’s it been since that happened?"

"Uh, a while. I’m okay, Sandburg. Just let my defenses down a bit, that’s all." Boy, did I, he thought. And you apparently crawled right on in.

Sometime that afternoon, Simon said to Blair, "What’s with him?"

"I don’t know," said the anthropologist, running his hand through his unruly dark hair. "Could be stress. Maybe the railroad thing is catching up to him."

"Why don’t you guys take a day or two off," Simon suggested. "You guys deserve the rest after what you went through."

"You better tell him," Blair said.

Simon said, "I will. You just make sure he gets some R and R, okay?"

"Okay," said Blair. He thought, oh, boy. I’m probably part of the reason he hasn’t been getting R and R.

"Go up to some cabin somewhere and fish or something," said Simon. "Always relaxes me."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Blair said, nodding. A cabin somewhere. Great. He hoped Simon didn’t make that little suggestion to Jim.

"Well, if it isn’t Boxcar Sandburg," said Rafe, as Blair walked past he and H lounging by the coffee pot.

Blair’s head jerked around in shock.

"Jim told us about the names you were giving us," H said, chuckling. "Hobo H? Get real, Sandburg, surely you can be more original than that."

"Oh," said Blair, relaxing a bit.

"Rambling Rafe?" the dapper detective asked. "Please."

"I don’t know, that one’s kinda true," said H, and Blair left them to their break. Boxcar Sandburg. Oh yeah. Get your rides here, boys.

On the way home Blair picked up some groceries, and had supper on the table by the time Jim showed up.

"Hey," Blair said, bringing over the salad and pasta.

"Smells good," said Jim, sniffing appreciatively. Dinner’s not bad, either, he thought dryly.

"Mushroom ravioli," said Blair. "Homemade sauce."

"I’m impressed." Shortly afterwards, as they were eating, Jim said, "Simon wants us to take a few days off. Thinks I’m falling apart or something, I guess."

"What made you zone out today?’ Blair asked, genuinely curious.

Jim shook his head. "Nothing." It was a lie, but he didn’t try to elaborate too much. "Just got too deep in my head, I guess. It’s not a problem, Sandburg." Well, the zoning part wasn’t, anyway.

Later, as Jim relaxed on the sofa in his sweats and sock feet, he looked over at Blair and said, "You wanna go fishing for a couple of days?"

"Sure, if I can get the time off at the U," he said. No, I don’t, he thought. Not without knowing just what is going to be expected of me here. And what is really going on with us. We have to talk, Blair thought. He sighed, dreaded it. Dreaded it so bad.

"I’ve got to take a shower," Blair said, after a while, and when he was done, Jim was still sitting on the sofa. Blair walked over, stood behind him.

"You coming to bed?" he asked, hating himself for asking, but doing it anyway.

"Yeah," said Jim. "I’ll be up in a minute."

Up in a minute. Okay. We’re sleeping together now, thought Blair, and he could hear his pulse pound as he walked determinedly up the loft stairs.

Jim was in the bathroom, so Blair pulled back the cover and got on in the bed. He had his own side now. (Rent boys don’t have their own side, do they?) He had nixed the boxers tonight and wondered if he should just take off the rest of his clothes, too. Why not? They both knew why he was here. But he kept them on, ran his hands through his hair, his tongue over his teeth. More oral sex? Despite himself, he grew hard just thinking about how it would be – Jim turning out the light, the planes of his hard body glimmering in the twilight. Jim’s mouth between Blair’s legs, his hands so skillfully bringing Blair to completion. This was…insane.

I feel like a boytoy, Blair thought. A plaything. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. And all because he, Blair, had put his mouth on Jim’s boxers during an undercover moment of madness. Boxcar Sandburg. Just the guy you want around on a hot night in the rail yards. Well, fuck, he thought. If this is what I am, then this is what I’ll be. Almost defiantly, he jerked off his shirt and lay it across the chair at Jim’s small desk. Then he stepped out of the sweatpants and flung them there as well. Naked, he thought about just lying there spread out on top of the covers, but he wasn’t that brave. Slipping under the sheets, Blair turned over on his stomach, deliberately adjusted the cover so that it barely rode across the top of his butt. He pulled it down a bit more.

Blair Sandburg, you are terrible.

What? Fuck, I’ve stepped into this shadowy halfway place of hot, nameless sex, why not go with it? Why not see how far Jim will go before he talks about it?

Yeah, and when he does? The two of you might be over. He’s your best friend, Blair, and you love him.

You love him very much.

Jim’s footsteps sounded on the stairs and Blair just lay there, light off, heart pounding wildly.

Jim, already in his boxers, stopped and looked at his bed. Blair was…Blair was lying there on his stomach, legs slightly spread underneath the thin cover, apparently naked. And the sheet didn’t even cover the top curve of his ass. Shit. Holy shit.

Suddenly finding it hard to breath, the detective cleared his throat, walked to the bottom of the bed, stared at his roommate. Blair, who had his eyes squeezed shut nervously, wriggled a bit, opened his legs a tiny movement more. Then he opened his eyes and said, "Hey."

"Hello Sandburg," Jim growled, and reaching down, slowly pulled the cover across Blair’s ass, exposing all of the student's firm roundness. The sheet slithered over his legs, announcing the presence of hard thighs and sturdy calves; bare feet.

Blair turned over, completely naked, and in the dim light, their eyes met. For the first time, Jim saw all of Blair: wide, hairy chest, furry belly, and then the hard, gleaming cock he was beginning to know so well.

Blair spread his legs slowly, bent his knees in some of the most exhibitionistic behavior he had ever done. And he had done some interesting things in his life.

"I want you," he said.

In a moment, Jim had stepped out of his own boxers and was down upon him, straddling between his knees, kissing Blair’s belly, his groin.

"Yeah," said Blair, thrusting up to meet his lover. "Do it, Jim," he said, "do me, man," and Jim spread Blair’s legs open and began rubbing in between them.

"Fuck, oh yeah, fuck," said Blair, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, and Jim thought, what the hell am I doing? How did we get here? But he didn’t stop, just kept on in a wild rush of lust, licking Blair’s cock and balls, taking them in his mouth, wetting them, sucking them, as he made his hand into a fist and started jerking Blair off as frantically as he could.

Blair was keening now, absolutely wailing, and still Jim worked him, never letting go, never backing off, until Blair started announcing his preeminent climax by swelling in Jim’s mouth and saying, "Jim! Jim! I’m cominnnnggg," and erupting right as he had so correctly predicted.

"Oh, fuck," said Blair, flopping his head back on the pillow.

After Blair recovered, Jim moved up over him, his cock dragging across Blair’s belly, and Blair said, "Come here, big boy. Right up here." Nerves jumping, Jim moved up until he was sitting lightly right on Blair’s chest. Blair scooted down and Jim scooted up until the bigger man was straddling Blair’s face and Blair was swallowing his cock. It took a couple of attempts to get started, but soon it was working, Jim careful not to choke his young lover, and Blair moved a free hand to caress Jim’s balls, his firm backside. Every night we do more, Blair thought. What will happen next?

Jesus, thought Jim, holding onto the railing of the loft and basically fucking Blair’s mouth. Good thing no one else has a key to this place. It would be most disconcerting to be caught in this position. Oh, excuse me, Simon, let me get my dick out of Sandburg’s mouth. Blair, honey, we have company, Simon’s here.

Oh, no need to hurry, Simon would say, picking up a magazine and sitting down. Take your time, you two.

Right. More like, Jim? What the fuck?

"Oh," Jim moaned, feeling it coming, and encouraged, Blair kept on doing what he was doing until he heard Jim’s breathy warnings, felt the warm liquid hit the back of his throat as Jim threw his great head back and gasped in completion.

"God," said Jim, resting his head down on the cool metal railing. Carefully, he pulled his sensitive member out of Blair’s mouth, heard the click of Blair’s aching jaw as Blair closed it, rested.

Then Jim climbed off of his roommate and slid back underneath the covers.

There was a long silence during which Jim reached out an arm for Sandburg to snuggle into, and Blair obligingly slid into it.

"Good night," said Blair.

"Good night, Sandburg."

The next morning, Blair woke to a shock; Jim was still in bed beside him. Oh, that’s right, Simon had given them the day off. Blair’s jaw was a bit sore, and he tasted grim. Should I get up and brush my teeth? he wondered. He risked a look over at his sleeping roommate. Jim was on his back, mouth open, and in sleep he looked so peaceful, so relaxed. The cover had slipped down across his chest, and Blair looked at it, too, the hard, smooth lines of it. They had never seen each other in these positions in the light of morning. Would Jim want him to be there when he woke up?

As if in answer, Jim moved, threw a heavy arm across him. Then woke up, immediately. "Sandburg," he said, cool blue eyes opening right at him.

"Yeah," said Blair. "Surprise, huh?" He tried to gauge Jim’s mood by his expression. It seemed to be a good one; Jim just smiled and closed his eyes again. He didn’t take his arm away from Blair.

After a while, Blair went back to sleep, and when he woke up, Jim was lying there looking at him.

"You can go back to sleep," the bigger man said. "We don’t have to be anywhere today."

"I thought you wanted to go fishing or something."

"Can you go?" Jim almost looked surprised.

"Yeah. It’s almost the weekend, right? I think I can get some things switched."

"Good," said Jim. He looks great in the morning, thought Jim. Wonder if he’s hard. Wouldn’t be that difficult to tell.

"What time do you want to leave?" Blair asked rather nervously, and Jim thought, right after I touch every inch of you.

"Whenever’s fine," said Jim. It was all he could do not to reach out and fiddle with Blair’s hair, stroke the thin smooth skin of his shoulder, trace the curve of that mouth. Sandburg’s mouth. Jim felt his own erection rise again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted this much sex; well, with Laura, he guessed. But Laura had been nothing compared to this. Laura had been hot, unknown, but Sandburg…he was fire itself. Holding Blair in his arms was the deepest thing Jim had ever felt in his life. He…

Loved him.

Jim quickly turned away, sat up naked on the side of the bed, his back to Blair. "Guess we better get our stuff together, right?"

"Yeah," said Blair, lying back and watching Jim’s trim backside as the latter pulled on sweatpants, stood and got a tee-shirt.

"Ready for breakfast?" Jim asked, turning at the top of the stairs, and Blair said, "Yeah." And then Jim just stood there. In the full light of morning, Blair lay halfway on his side, the covers up to the middle of his furry chest. Despite the way Blair had an arm crossed over his groin, Jim had no doubt of what lay underneath that thin sheet.

And what he wanted to do about it.

Their eyes met, and there was a very long pause. Then Jim peeled his tee-shirt back off and went over to stand by the side of the bed. Blair, eyes wide, immediately rolled on his back to look up at his roommate, and then Jim just leaned on over and gently pulled the sheet down off of Blair. Initially Blair made a feeble attempt at grabbing the sheet, but then he let it slide through his fingers until he was fully exposed, cock throbbing underneath Jim’s intense blue gaze.

We have never done this in the daytime before, Blair thought. Without a word, Jim pulled down his sweats, his own body hard and willing, and moved over on top of Blair, starting, as he had before, by kissing Blair’s furry belly before his hand slid up to the younger man’s pulsing cock.

We never look each other in the face, Blair thought. Of course, it’s always been dark before. Then Jim said something that nearly made him stop breathing.

"Get on your hands and knees," Jim said, and Blair lay there for a startled second before he complied, scrambling over, his naked behind right in front of Jim’s face.

Oh yeah, thought Jim, almost giddy.

What is he going to do, fuck me? Blair thought for an endless moment, as Jim pulled him back against him, reached around him, and started jerking him off that way.

"Ah," Blair moaned, opening his knees wider. Jim wasn’t shy about grinding his hard dick against his ass, and that was really, really turning Blair on. Shamelessly pushing back against Jim (though I hope to god he gives me some kind of warning before he tries anything else back there!) Blair was bucking both ways: into Jim’s hand, and then back against the hard cock Jim was rubbing up against his ass.

What the hell are we doing? Blair thought, dizzy from the absolute wantoness of the moment.

What am I doing? Jim thought, grinding his dick against Blair’s round butt. The pressure was just right on the sensitive head, and then Blair was shaking, shuddering, moaning a long, pulse-battering call that jerked Jim into sympathetic action, his cock spurting right into the inviting dark that separated those two firm globes.

"Man," said Blair, collapsing face first into the bed, and Jim fell on top of him, one hand still around Blair’s stomach, his head resting on Blair’s sweaty back.

"Man," Blair repeated, turning his head to catch his breath. "That was…."

Jim kissed Blair’s back and began pulling back. He could barely turn his eyes away from the round ass spread so invitingly there before him. Blair was made so finely. He was, well, he was beautiful.

"Ready for breakfast?" Jim asked, his tone fond.

Blair moaned, "Oh, yeah," into the pillow. Leaning down, Jim patted Blair’s bare ass lightly, then picked up his sweatpants and headed down the stairs. When Blair heard the bathroom door shut, he turned over, regardless of the mess he was making on Jim’s sheets. Man. That had been…. Suddenly he was seeing all night spent alone in a tent with Jim in a whole different light. Then he thought, maybe I should take something. Like what? Condoms? Are you going to let Jim fuck you? Man, that’s supposed to hurt. You’ve never gone there before. And what are you doing, letting someone get this close to you that hasn’t even kissed you? Those words stung a bit; okay, they hurt. Jim liked his ass, Jim liked his apparent new-found talent for blowjobs. Did Jim like him? Or was he, Blair, just something to occupy bed space until Bad Woman Number 431 came along?

Legs trembling, Blair got out of bed and pulled on some clothes. He just didn’t know what else to do.

In the shower, Jim closed his eyes and let the water wash the last remnants of their activity off his body. That had been incredible. Blair, on his hands and knees…since when had he wanted Blair on his hands and knees? It seemed like there should be something fundamentally wrong with that. But hell, he thought it would be just as hot to be on his hands and knees with Blair behind him. Except that he, Jim, thought it would be hot for Blair to be inside of him.

Remembering the time, Jim hastened his bathing, scrubbing and thinking of the way Sandburg’s ass was so firm, so round. The way Blair fell into his arms and said, "Hi," so shy-like. The way he listened to Jim, took care of him, damn, it was almost like they were….

Married.

Except that they had never kissed.

And then Jim had a terrible feeling. We are doing this all wrong, he thought, the emptiness suddenly clutching at his insides. We are doing this all wrong. We should have started out kissing, made our way to this. That’s always the way you’ve done it with everyone else in your life, Ellison. Why should you give so much less to Blair, when he means so much more?

Because kissing means a relationship.

You mind having a relationship with Blair, Jim? Excuse me, but I think you already do. But a relationship meant talking. And talking was always the beginning of the end for a taciturn sentinel named Jim Ellison. It was not something he did well.

Well, try harder.

They ate breakfast, scooting around each other like always, then packed up the truck and headed for a place that Jim knew and very few others did.

Blair had that wonderful feeling he always had after good sex, and for a moment he could almost pretend that he and Jim had it all together. An easy rapport, a shared sense of humor, and great sex at night (and in the morning, he added). In short, a real relationship. The one thing which Jim had never quite mentioned in their little late-night rendezvous.

Jim’s favored fishing spot smelled fresh and clean, as slick and pungent as the grassy green carpet of moss on the rocks along the swiftly moving stream. They set their tent up near the fire ring, and Jim said, "No time like the present, huh?"

Blair’s heart jerked a bit at that before he realized Jim was pulling out the rod and reel. Uh, the fishing rod, that was. Rather uncertainly, Blair followed the bigger man into the shallow depths of the stream, accepting his fly lesson in the good humor Jim gave it.

This feels like a fucking date, Blair thought, as Jim gently put his arm around him to show him a trick or two. Jim was usually in a great mood during a fishing session, but he was in particular smashing form today, smiling down at Blair like the Jolly Green Giant of fly-casting. To his own confusion, Blair felt himself responding in kind, a creeping shyness flit across his face when their eyes met, unable not to smile in a particularly goofy manner.

Or wonder what sex in waders would be like.

On the way back to the campsite, Jim watched Blair’s butt and thought, I’ve got it bad. And when Blair turned around, eyes sparkling and adoring, Jim thought, I’ve got it real bad. He tried to keep it to himself, however, as he made himself do the normal tasks of putting the fish on ice. He could clean and fillet it now, but supper wouldn’t be for a while yet, and he had other things on his mind.

Washing up carefully, he watched Blair stand around a bit awkwardly. Then he said, "Do you want to make love?"

Shocked, Blair felt his heartbeat shoot through the roof. Then he heard himself saying, "Yeah."

Jim led the way into the tent and was already half undressed by the time Blair stepped inside. Turning to him, Jim said, "Sandburg," and started pulling at the younger man’s pants. Blair just stood there and let him, like a giant sex doll, stunned that he had gotten to this point and wasn’t even saying no.

Jim pulled the pants and the boxers down, and Blair stepped out of them, holding onto Jim’s shoulders. He was already hard, and Jim could smell it, the scent hot and thick in the dankness of the tent. Pulling Blair down to his knees in the small enclosure and leaning over eagerly, Jim took Blair in his mouth and sucked him until Blair came. Half-undressed, head thrown back in ecstasy, Blair was almost more than Jim could bear. There was nothing the sentinel wanted to do more than move up and suck the pale column of that throat.

But they didn’t do things like that.

Blair had slumped down on his heels, but now he came around, wiping the drool off the corner of his mouth with the back of one hand. In the dim light of the tent, he looked at Jim, who was also sitting back on his heels.

"You want me to suck you off?" Blair asked, choosing those loaded words deliberately, and Jim nodded, throat dry.

Leaning over slowly, knowing more of the territory now, Blair deftly started undoing the belt and zipper on Jim’s pants. Jim helped by easing his hips upward until the restricting garments were pulled down low enough for Sandburg to get his mouth on the throbbing prize underneath. Leaning over, Blair started stroking Jim with his hand even as his full lips descended on the shaft itself.

Jim jerked, closing his eyes for a second, and even the cramp he got in his calf was worth the sight of Blair’s curly head working steadily between his legs. The student was going with gusto, a little more confident of his technique these days, knowing just what moan went where and just what would happen when he did this….

Jim jerked again, and in a moment he was warning Blair with deep guttural sounds and words like, "Oh god, here it comes, Chief, here it comes!!!!!!" And flushed and panting with success, Blair put the finishing touches on a pretty spectacular blow job. Sitting back up, he watched greedily as a half-naked Jim panted in the afterglow. When the bigger man finally did bring his head back up, it was to the delightful sight of a tousled Sandburg complete with reddened, swollen lips and a shiny trail of liquid on his chin where he had wiped it with the back of his hand.

"You’re good," Jim breathed. "Come here," and Blair, grinning, went, easily falling into the comforting arm Jim offered him. Falling backward onto their sleeping bags, Jim wrapped his arm around his new lover, and they went off to an afternoon doze.

When Blair awoke, twilight was stealing across the sky outside. Trying not to wake Jim, he slid out into the cool evening to a world where he could have a moment just to be alone and think.

Wandering down toward the river, Blair climbed up on a flat rock and sat there for a while, looking out over the trees and open areas to his left. For a normal human, there was nothing to hear but the gurgling of the water. Jim, no doubt, could pick out the smell of a campfire miles and miles away. Blair could only smell the freshness of the woods, the clean, cool scent of the outdoors at dusk. Sighing, he scrabbled for a better position on the hard rock; felt its coldness sinking into the denim of his jeans. What the hell was he doing? How the hell had he gotten to this place?

Glancing back over his shoulder at the quiet camp, Blair pursed his lips, considered his options. Talk about painting oneself into a corner. Sex is great, he remembered his mother’s voice saying. Sex is natural, honey, a way to share the love between people. Of course, to Blair’s mom, love came as easily as a new favorite author or great-sounding cause. One night made a beautiful thing.

Several nights with nothing but sex made a terrible thing, as far as Blair was concerned. Sure, he had started it. God only knew what had possessed him to lean down and put his mouth on Jim Ellison’s cloth-covered dick. Go with the flow, honey, Naomi would say. Yeah, that’s so fucking easy, mom. Now my flow has gotten me here on this rock with dried cum on the outside of my belly and a hole five miles wide on the inside of my heart. It shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t just be fucking Jim.

Maybe I should stop.

Maybe next time he starts fumbling at me with those big hands I should just say, "Not tonight, man." Too bad I can’t get my period, Blair thought dryly. What the hell kind excuse could I use? It’s not like I wasn’t the one lying half-naked with my legs spread, trying to lure him on in. Not like I don’t want him so bad it’s all I can think about.

Not like I’m so fucking in love with him that I could tear my heart out right now and feed it to the fish.

In the distance, somewhere too far to judge in this landscape of hills and hollows, a train whistle pierced the chilling air. Boxcar Sandburg, Blair thought dryly. Maybe that’s your cue, man. Maybe you should just take the next train out of here. Sure, Jim might need a little extra palm action for a while, but he would eventually get over you, right? After all, what was to miss? Just a few easy blowjobs and an extra box of Kleenex? Blair’s mouth turned down bitterly at the thought. The sun had well and truly gone down now, and the light of evening was quickly fading. Soon the darkness of the woods would change from quietly mysterious to the downright unknown. He and Jim would sit at the fire, exchanging stilted small talk until they could quench the awful silence with the grateful excuse of suppertime. Then, no matter how long Blair put it off, they would soon retire to that stuffy little tent that had already felt the imprint of Blair’s knees on its nylon floor. Jim would turn to him with expectant heat and he would turn on the automation of love, spreading himself out with all the practice of a hooker.

God, Blair thought fiercely, clenching his eyes shut for a moment, I hate this. I fucking hate this.

But he loved Jim.

When Jim awoke, it was nearly dark outside, and he was alone. Immediately on the alert for danger, especially if connected to his missing guide, Jim breathed everything in – the smell of evening, the quietness of the empty fire ring, and as he quickly stuck his head out the door, the still shape of Blair sitting on a rock some hundred feet away.

Something was wrong.

Moving into the cool air of evening, Jim zipped the tent, straightened. At the noise, Blair obediently climbed down off his perch and made his way back up the small hill in the growing gloom.

You okay? Jim wanted to ask, but he was too afraid of what Blair might say.

"I should have started a fire," Blair said apologetically, walking past him, head down, and Jim felt even worse than he already did. Desperately unable to find any words, he just helped Blair lay out the fresh kindling, get everything started.

"Some fish, huh?" Jim asked at one point, hoping that by some miracle this kind of everyday talk would fix the situation, but Blair just agreed and Jim’s fish words didn’t seem to solve anything.

Blair did laugh at one point and start to reminisce about another camping trip they had taken a long time ago, and Jim jumped on that story eagerly. He usually didn’t care to reminisce about the time he had nearly fallen down a muddy hill trying to pee in the freezing rain, but tonight it seemed a fine tale indeed. Then everything got really quiet and Blair began to pick his fish apart scale by scale. Awash in a cold shower of fear, Jim said, "Do you want to go back to the loft, Blair?"

And Blair said, "Maybe we should."

Nothing was said after that; they just finished up the meal and started packing everything up like they had been there for a week instead of barely a whole afternoon. Jim’s insides were so frozen that even his brain seemed numb, unable to function. He’s leaving me, he thought, sick with emotion, and by the time they started driving out of the woods through the black forest, he was beyond reasonable comprehension.

Beside him, Blair stared out at the woods, unable to see a thing. He doesn’t care about me, he thought. He knows why we’re going back, and he doesn’t care.

They bumped their way along the Forest Service road and finally made it to a barely bigger country lane. The truck shook as they crossed a railroad track, and then the truck shuddered again and came to a complaining stop on the side of the road.

"What the hell?" Jim asked, slamming the truck into gear and trying again to start the non-compliant engine.

"I don’t know, man," said Blair, shaking his head. After a few more futile tries with the ignition, Jim got out of the truck and popped the hood. Blair looked around at the quiet forest on all sides of them and thought, what else can go wrong? Not that it matters. It doesn’t matter if I have to walk back to Cascade in the middle of the night. Jim doesn’t love me. I’m just a great pair of lips to him.

"Shit," Jim said, reappearing in the driver’s seat. "Your cell phone work out here?"

"Nope," said Blair, after trying for a moment.

"Mine, neither."

"Radio?"

"Can’t get anything."

Blair looked back out the window. He was pretty much past caring about anything at this moment.

"Well, I guess we can camp here, if we have to," Jim sighed. "We have all the stuff we need. Or we could just sleep in the truck, wait for a passing motorist."

"Yeah, I bet there’s a lot of folks passing out this way at night," Blair said dryly.

"Got any better ideas?" Jim asked, almost hostile.

"No, I don’t," said Blair, not caring if they fought or not.

Jim sighed and looked around. Then he said, "Well, you’re not going to believe this, Sandburg, but there’s an empty railcar down the track a bit there."

"Oh, great," said Blair, his voice frustrated and sarcastic.

"Might not be a bad place for shelter," Jim suggested. "I could see the truck from there."

"Why don’t we sleep in the back of the truck?"

"Sorry, but I don’t think I’ll get much rest sleeping right beside the road," Jim said.

"I don’t want to sleep in a fucking rail car, man," said Blair.

"Look, Sandburg, you’re the one who wanted to leave in the first place," said Jim, beginning to lose his temper. "There’s nobody around, not a soul. Nobody will be walking up the track this far out in the middle of nowhere this late at night."

"Yeah, well they were walking all over the Cascade rail yards," said Blair, "and that other place we got stuck in the middle of the night."

That place I first gave you a blowjob, he thought.

There was a silence, and Jim had to turn away. "Fine," said Jim. "I’m going to sleep in the rail car. You can do what you like, Sandburg." And the sentinel got out and started loading up his things from the back of the truck.

"Of course you’d say that," said Blair, muttering under his breath as he still sat there in the passenger seat. "You don’t give a damn what I do, so why would I expect anything else?"

Outside, Jim grew very still. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Then he thought…this has to tie in somehow with what has been happening with us these past few days. Does Blair…could Blair think I really don’t give a damn about him?

Jim got Blair’s things ready, waited at the passenger door until a sullen Blair finally slid out and took them from him. They said nothing as they crossed the road and made their way along the track to a lone, open boxcar.

Despite the fact that Jim had said it was empty, Blair’s heart was still pounding as they climbed aboard. There was no one there, however, and Jim quickly took out a plastic ground cloth and spread their stuff out there on it. They unrolled their sleeping bags, and in the unearthly quiet, put them on opposite ends of the tarp. Blair was having a terrible inclination to want to cry, and that was pissing him off, so instead, he saved his jerky emotions to apply to his poor innocent bedroll, pummeling it into submission as he pointedly lay down facing the other way from Jim.

I should say something, Jim thought, lying on his back so that he could keep an eye on Sandburg. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "Goodnight, Sandburg."

Somehow, this innocuous statement was too much for Blair, who said, "Isn’t this the part where you say you want to fuck me?"

Jim sucked in his breath, immediately sat up and leaned back against the cold metal of the back of the car. "What?" he asked, though he had heard it quite clearly, of course.

"Nothing," said Blair. One angry tear had escaped down his nose and he was busy subduing it.

Jim searched for words to say, but instead, opted for, "You’re the one who started it, Sandburg."

This was enough to propel Blair right back around, flipping over on his elbow and staring at Jim with unbelieving eyes. "Well, you continued it!" he accused. "You’re the one who is always wanting to get into my pants, Ellison, but never says a word about it!"

"What am I supposed to say?" Jim asked, and this was a truly heart-felt question. He wanted to know. He wanted to know immediately and in great detail.

Blair stared at him, mouth agape. "Well, how about, gee, Sandburg, you really are an okay guy and I don’t just keep you around just for a faceless blow job every night!"

"Blair!" said Jim, and Blair knew that the use of his first name indicated a real emotional dilemma here. "What the hell am I supposed to say? You know I think you’re an okay guy, and if I just wanted you for great head, then don’t you think I would have mentioned it, say, a couple of years ago?"

"Oh, I’m an "okay" guy," said Blair, nodding "Well, that’s just swell, Beave, you’re great, too. Love to hang around with you, hell, can I borrow your catcher’s mitt sometime and oh, Beave, do you mind looking the other way while I suck your dick? I wouldn’t want any eye contact or anything."

"Sandburg, we’ve had eye contact," said Jim, feeling hopelessly out of his league here, and now Blair was shaking his head, looking truly disgusted.

"Eye contact, yeah. What we’ve had, Jim, are half a dozen blowjobs. Now, maybe that’s something you do between your friends, hell, maybe I was just slow on the uptake here, but I can’t handle it anymore, do you understand? I can’t handle it." And he flopped back down on his back, covered his face with his hands.

There was a silence, and then Jim ventured, "But you started it."

Another pause, then Blair sighed, "I know. I don’t know what in the hell I was thinking, Jim. It was just that the moment was so, you know, unusual, and suddenly I thought…well, god, I have no excuse here, Jim, but you didn’t mind it so bad, did you? I mean, the next day you…touched me," and Blair suddenly looked very young and unsure. Jim’s already breaking heart hastened a bit in its efforts.

"Yeah, I admit that," said Jim, his voice unsteady.

"And then the next night…." Blair made a despairing face and bit his lower lip as he looked away. "I just…." He took a deep breath. "I have to admit, Jim, it felt good. I…."

"Yeah, it did," said Jim. Maybe all hope was not lost. Maybe they could salvage something here. Maybe Blair wouldn’t leave him after all.

"It did?" Blair asked, risking a glance over at his roommate.

"Well, yeah, I mean, what did you think here, Sandburg?" Jim asked, shrugging.

"What was I supposed to think, man?" asked Blair, sitting up. He crossed his legs underneath him, turned his intense gaze upon Jim. "You never said."

"I…." Jim’s mouth was suddenly very bitter. "I didn’t want to scare you."

"Scare me?" Blair asked. He looked dumbfounded.

"Yeah, I mean…I didn’t know what you wanted, Chief."

Blair’s eyes searched his, obviously trying to find something to hold onto. "I did want it," he admitted. "But night after night, with just sex and nothing else…I’m not saying I wanted anything else," he said hastily. "I’m just saying…can we still be friends?" he asked hopefully, and Jim sighed as the ice water of relief splashed over his hot, tortured spirit.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes."

Their eyes met. It’s not what I want, Blair thought, crushed, but at least it means he still wants me around.

"Come here," Jim said immediately, needing a hug, and then he remembered and stopped, meeting Blair’s large eyes. "Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn’t mean…."

"No," said Blair instantly. "I know. It’s okay. I mean, if you want to…hug or something."

Awkwardly, they moved toward each other, but then Blair let go of the uncertainty and sank into Jim’s comforting arms, relishing the warmth and the feel of him.

I love you, Jim thought, but he said nothing, only tightened his grip around the student in his lap.

"This is what I missed," Blair breathed.

Jim, touched, said, "Me, too, Sandburg, me, too." For some time they sat there, Jim’s back to the wall, his thick fingers wrapped in Blair’s hair.

"I love you," Blair admitted.

Jim said, "I love you, too, Chief." So much, he thought, pulling him even closer.

"It’s not like I minded the sex," Blair said.

Jim waited, heart suddenly pounding.

"I mean, obviously, I liked it," he said, his face on Jim’s shoulder. "But it was this that was missing, man."

"This, as in…."

"I guess I’m not as nineties as I like to think I am." Blair gave a half-laugh. "But I felt like I was just servicing you, man. Like I was some kind of rent-boy. Boxcar Sandburg."

"Boxcar Sandburg?" Jim was obviously mystified.

"Yeah, that was just this stupid little name I used for this whole sick thing I felt like I was in. Just there in case someone needed a quick hand job or something." Blair felt Jim’s arms squeeze him for a moment before the bigger man pulled away for a second. He still held onto Blair, though, looked down at him seriously.

"Sandburg, you were never "servicing" me. You think I would let just anybody into my bed for that sort of thing?"

Blair thought about some of Jim’s past girlfriends and didn’t answer.

"Well, I wouldn’t," Jim said rather mulishly. "I thought you wanted to be there, Chief. I’ll admit I didn’t get around to saying the things I should have, and that’s my fault. But I’m not good at stuff like that."

Blair thought this over for a moment. "What kind of things?" he wanted to know.

"Uh…like I wasn’t just using you for sex," Jim replied.

Blair thought about this, too. "I wasn’t just using you, either," he said.

There was another pause between them, and Jim leaned back again, taking Blair with him in a downright cuddle. After a moment, Jim said, "The first time we were together, well, the next afternoon, I asked you why you had done that. Remember?"

"Yeah," said Blair. We were in a train car much like this one, he thought. The coast was rushing by, bathed in the glowing rose of sunset. Yep, won’t forget that anytime soon.

Jim reached a lazy finger up to twist around a dark curl. "You said you wanted to," he mused carefully.

"Yes," Blair admitted. His breathing was speeding up quite a bit. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he had feared.

"Why?" Jim asked.

"I don’t know," Blair replied honestly. "At the time I thought it was just the heat of the moment, you know? I mean, we were pretending and you were saying all these things, and then you said, "Chief," and," he laughed, "I don’t know, for some reason that got to me."

"Because I said Chief?" Jim asked. He could feel the shrug of Blair’s shoulders against his own.

"I guess," said the student.

"Huh," said Jim. Good thing I said that, he thought.

"Then the next day thing happened," Blair said, "so I thought you weren’t averse to the idea."

Jim played with Blair’s hair a bit more. "And then when we got back to the loft, after it was all over," said Jim. After that maniac tried to kill you.... "You came upstairs."

"I know," said Blair. "I know it was me. I walked up those stairs and brought it home, so to speak. I’m sorry, Jim, if this has hurt our friendship somehow. If it has, I am so very, very sorry."

"It hasn’t," said Jim, pulling Blair far enough back to look at him. "At least, not on my end of things."

"Good," Blair breathed, and Jim could see the relief on the younger man’s face. "Because I can’t tell you…well, if it had, I don’t know what I would have done." Their eyes met again, and Jim thought, I want to kiss you, Sandburg. I want to kiss you so bad.

"I’m sorry," Jim said, caught in a moment of truth. "I’m sorry that I let it go on like it did, that I didn’t say anything. I should have."

"What would you have said?" Blair breathed, his face only inches away from that of his partner’s. In the pale moonlight, Jim’s eyes glowed like blue ice.

"I would have said that you deserved better than that," said Jim, openly stroking Blair’s hair.

"Yeah," said Blair. "We both did." And his eyes went to Jim’s mouth, lingered there for just a second. Jim felt his pulse race off into the distance.

"I love you, Sandburg," he said.

"I love you, too, Jim," Blair said. Kiss me, he thought. Kiss me.

Can I possibly be reading things wrong here? Jim thought. His hand slid onto the side of Blair's face, and the student looked up at him, eyes half-lidded.

"This is not just about sex," said Jim.

"What’s it about then, Jim?" Blair whispered, and unable to resist any longer, Jim closed his eyes and set his mouth on Sandburg’s.

"Oh, yeah," breathed Blair. Outside, a chorus of tree frogs joined the night sounds, but neither man was listening. Instead, they were kissing firmly, Blair’s arms around Jim’s shoulders as the bigger man pulled Blair to him tightly, hands warm against his back.

"Oh god, Sandburg, this is what should have been happening all along here," said Jim against Blair’s mouth, and Blair made a sound of total and complete agreement.

They kissed for some time, mouths opening easily, exploring tongues let inside to find the parts of each other that neither man yet knew. It was easily the most erotic thing they had done yet, and Blair was so hard he thought he would come on the spot.

"That’s good, baby," Jim whispered, putting his head on Blair’s shoulder. "That’s all we have to do. We don’t have to go fast, we’ve got a long time, right?"

"I hope so," said Blair fervently. He pulled back and looked at Jim, worried. "We do, uh, have a long time, right? I mean, this is, like, important to me here."

Jim gave a half-laugh. "Me, too, Sandburg. Despite whatever impression I may have given you lately, I’m not interested in jumping onto trains with anybody else. Not now, and truthfully, not ever. I don’t see me ever replacing you with anybody, Chief."

"Like we could replace each other," said Blair. "Every single moment of my life has led me to this path, Jim. I know which way the track goes now. For as long as the train runs, buddy. For as long as the train runs."

"To the trains, then," Jim said, touched, and Blair smiled, looked up at his best friend and lover.

"To the trains," he said.

"And now, Boxcar Sandburg," Jim said, snuggling down on his bedroll and pulling Blair along with him. "About those rent-boy fantasies you’ve been having…."

"You are terrible!" Blair squawked, whacking him in the chest.

Jim just laughed, ran his hand along Blair’s firm butt and jerked them closer together.

"I will say there was a pole in it," Blair admitted.

Jim said, "A pole? On a train? I am going to like this fantasy, Chief."

"Be quiet or I won’t tell you the one about me and Brown and Rafe," Blair chided.

"Suddenly I’ve lost interest," Jim said, moving his face into Blair’s neck.

"I’ve got something that might re-start that engine car," Blair teased.

"Oh yeah? I think I’ve already found something here," and in the night, the rest of the tracks were dark and silent.

One boxcar, however, was ready to be hooked up.

The End