"Oh man, who let the llama die in my mouth?" Blair groaned as he rolled toward the side of his bed. He was a little surprised to find himself rolling off the side of the couch, barely missing the coffee table.
"Ah, Drunken Beauty awakes," Jim offered, and smell of coffee made Blair hold out one hand blindly as he used the other to brace himself on the edge of the coffee table.
"Man, I have a migraine that is eating my spine," Blair muttered as large fingers guided his hand until it curled around the cup.
"It's called a hangover, Chief. As much as I've seen you knock back from time to time, you should be very familiar with it."
"I do not get hangovers," Blair muttered before slurping at the coffee. Still only half awake, he struggled with his memories of the night before. Simon, Rafe, Brown, Megan, Jim, Ricardo, Daniels from vice—all Jim's friends had shown up for the celebration dinner. Not every cop pulled down cop of the year three times, and Jim's nearest and dearest decided to make up for the formal dinner he'd been forced to endure with some good old-fashioned beer guzzling and steak.
"For someone who doesn't get hangovers, you're pretty damn hung over." Jim turned on the television, and Blair nearly dumped coffee all over himself as the headache magnified the noise until it bruised his brain. He had brief flare of sympathy for Jim's spikes as he made incoherent noises that Jim obviously interpreted as a request to turn the television off.
"Post hoc, ergo propter hoc. Fallacy. Illogical thinking. Just because I drank last night and have a migraine today does not mean one caused the other," Blair protested.
"I do get migraines at times."
"And it's not like I drank a whole lot last night," Blair defended himself. He vaguely remembered a game of darts with Megan, and then groaned at the memory of the loser taking shots. The burn of the liquor in his throat and stinging his nose as he threw it back came back strong enough to make him choke a bit on the coffee.
"If that's your definition of not a lot, remind me to avoid you when you decide to go on a real bender," Jim said with a huffing noise.
"Oh, it was that," Jim agreed. Blair peered out of a half open eye at that tone. Jim was stilling in the chair, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned back and sprawled his arms out. He looked amused, too amused.
"Oh man, what did I do? More likely, what did you do to me?" Blair demanded, and Jim's smirk only grew wider. "Shit. Were there table tops or lamp shades involved?"
"Noooo," Jim answered slowly, leaning forward. Blair had a flash of Jim leaning forward like that on a restaurant stool, his hands coming out to catch Blair as he stumbled back from his game with Megan.
"Oh shit. I threw up on you, didn't I?" Blair closed his eyes and groaned at the thought. He searched his memories and could remember all but falling on Jim as strong hands caught him by the shoulders.
"No vomit, Chief," Jim said, and Blair cracked a bleary eye open again as he drank more coffee. Slowly the memory floated to the top of the alcohol. Jim holding him with an arm around his waist.
"I passed out?" Blair tried again.
"Not even in the neighborhood," Jim answered.
"Oh man, don't play games with me. I obviously did something overwhelmingly stupid or you wouldn't be looking at me with that gleeful expression," Blair moaned as he leaned back into the couch. Megan had laughed at him the first time he had sent the dart into the wood above the board and then stumbled forward a couple of steps. Of course, she'd also handed him the shot glass.
"Bottom's up, mate. Be a good loser."
Blair took the glass and made some snappy retort before slamming it back.
"No memory at all Chief?"
"Megan and I were playing darts."
"Yeah, and I need to talk to her about conning my naïve partner. I can't believe you didn't spot a set-up, but then again, this is the man who fell for a drug runner."
"Fuck you, man," Blair muttered.
"Jim looks happy, at least happier than when the Captain made him stuff himself in that monkey suit. Mind you, I think you mates clean up kind of nice."
"He does," Blair had managed even as he narrowed his eye in an attempt to stop the dartboard from waving.
"Yeah, Jim with that broad chest, he's made for a suit. Well, either that or he's made to peel out of one." Megan's words made Blair stop and turn to her, and she quickly grabbed his dart hand and pointed it toward the floor.
"You… thing for Jim?" he'd slurred. "Jim and Megan, sithin' in a tree, k – i – s – s – i –"
"Missin' the point, mate. What would you think of me kissing Jim, peeling that suit off him and running my hands over all that warm flesh?"
Blair concentrated on Megan, feeling something dark rise at the thought of her bedding Jim. She was nice and if she bedded Jim, she wouldn't try to kill him in the morning, which meant she might stay around in the morning.
Blair groaned as he remembered his reaction. Yeah, he hadn't wanted Megan anywhere near Jim. He had a vague recollection of Megan prying the dart out of his hand before he'd staggered over to Jim, nearly falling on him.
"Oh man, I did something stupid, didn't I?" Blair said as he rubbed his hand over his face. When he opened his eyes, Jim's smirk had disappeared under a neutral mask, the one Jim often used with suspects and poker partners.
"Did you?" Jim asked, uncrossing his legs and reaching for his own coffee.
"I don't know. It's a little fuzzy. Just tell me, did I do anything that would lead to you kicking me out of here, beating me up, or pressing charges?"
"What? No!" Jim quickly answered, putting the coffee cup back down. "Chief, you really did overdo it last night, so how much do you remember?"
"Jim, man, this is your guide saying there will be no bedding or peeling with Megan," he muttered as Jim pulled him down to the bench seat. "Promise!"
"Calm down, Chief, I promise. Megan, what the hell did you do to my partner?"
"Hey, not my fault he can't hold his grog."
"No grogging or kissing or peeling," Blair insisted, grabbing at Jim's arm to keep himself from falling off the tilting bench.
"I think the kid's ready to go home," another voice suggested, sounding vaguely like a bullhorn underwater.
"I said something stupid about Megan right in front of the guys. God, I ordered you to not sleep with her," Blair groaned.
"That's all you remember?" Jim asked softly.
Lips. Lips against lips. Jim gasping, and Blair diving in, eager to prove himself as he pressed himself to Jim's chest.
"Chief? Listen, you were pretty wasted last night, and the guys understand that."
"The guys?" Blair squeaked. His memories expanded as the kiss became a kiss on the bench, the edge of the table pressing into his ribs as he trapped Jim's body and pressed himself to it, reaching between them to try and peel Jim's clothing off as strong hands scrambled to grab his wrists. "Oh fuck."
"It didn't get quite *that* far," Jim wryly offered.
"Fuck fuck fuck," Blair hissed.
"Let's just forget it ever happened." Jim stood up, and Blair struggled to open his eyes.
"But, the guys."
Jim stopped and looked down with indifferent blue eyes. "The guys know Megan got you wound up and then pointed you at me. She got her laughs."
"But the guys. They'll know how I feel, and with you being a cop, and what if they think you're gay, and man, I so know you aren't gay," Blair let his head fall back against the couch as he considered how badly he had fucked up. He couldn't show his face at the station again, that was for sure. Blair had pretty well lost himself in pity, so the couch tilting and the warm hand on his cheek came as a surprise. He opened his eyes and found Jim's face an inch from his.
"How you really feel? Since you've shown me how you feel, what if I return the favor?" Jim whispered, and then for the second time in his life, Blair felt Jim's lips press against his own, moving and sucking and devouring. Jim got a hand under his neck and the other in his hair and Blair found himself clinging to Jim's shoulders and humping up into that huge body that pressed him into the cushions.
The Jim pulled back, and Blair panted as he lay limp under Jim. Jim rested his forehead on Blair shoulder, and Blair could feel his back heave. He couldn't decide whether Jim was breathless or the Sentinel was sniffing him, so he just waited.
"By the way, the guys say to get a room because they will arrest us for public sex if you ever kiss me like that in public again," Jim finally offered.
"I can live with that. Voyeurism wasn't one of my kinks until Megan got me drunk and jealous."
"You have nothing to be jealous of, Chief. You're the only person around here I plan to peel, grog, kiss or bed."
Blair smiled. "Yeah?" he asked.
"Yep," Jim agreed. "And if you plan on peeling anyone in the near future, change your plans because I don't share well."
"Sounds good to me, man," Blair agreed. He could feel Jim relax, his body slowly sagging down and resting on top of Blair who was now well and truly pinned to the couch. "Sounds great to me," he amended himself as he realized his headache had disappeared. Ha, he'd told Jim he didn't get hangovers. He opened his mouth, but lips pressed to his again, and he suddenly no longer cared about proving anything as he squirmed to the feeling of Jim kissing him senseless.
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