by Francesca

Disclaimers: Nothing's mine but the words; everything else belongs to Pet Fly. No infringement is intended, and I'm not makin' a dime. (Who needs money when you've got love?) (Well, okay, but I'm still not making any money!) Please go away if you're under 18!

Summary: Jim has to deal with all the ramifications of the trick he played on Blair.

Warnings: None. Maybe language. I've got a fairly foul mouth, sorry.

Notes: OK, for everyone who protested that I left the sex out of Gone. I'm nothing if not responsive to feedback (hint, hint). Though I have to warn you: its over almost before it starts, but that's sort of the point. Meanwhile, I realize that there were a lot of different interpretations of Gone, and so I also warn that this sequel follows my interpretation of what happened, namely that Jim never lost his senses at all, and was just faking it to gauge Blair's feelings for him. If that bugs you: well, you were warned.

"I'm going to kill you! I am going to break every bone in your fucking body! I am going to rip you apart and dance on the pieces! I'm going — I'm going — I — I — " Blair Sandburg dissolved into incoherent sputtering, but his flying hands continued to eloquently express that he wanted to do James Ellison some serious damage.

Jim grabbed Blair's hands and stilled them. "Blair, I'm so so sorry, you have to believe me. I had to know — if you...well, if you cared for me, or if you only cared about the Sentinel thing."

"You could have asked!" yelled Blair.

"And you would have said?" asked Jim..

"That I love you! That I've always loved you, you asshole!" yelled Blair.

"I thought you might just have been really invested in the project," said Jim, and he had to tighten his grip on Blair's wrists to keep Sandburg from slugging him.

"Did you want me to wear a sign?" said Blair, furiously struggling with him.

"That would have helped!" Jim yelled back, his pumping adrenaline stimulating his own argumentativeness. "I've hardly had a date in three years — you've porked everything that's moved!"

"I have not!" roared Blair. Jim shot him a challenging look, and Blair amended his statement angrily. "Well, I'm not dead! And it wasn't everything that moved! And I didn't think I had a chance with you — "

"Ah hah hah HAH!" said Jim triumphantly. "So if you didn't have a chance with me, why should I have thought I had a chance with you — answer me that, smartass! Ahhhhh — Mr. Smartass has nothing to say, here!"

"Wait, wait — give me a minute, give me a minute," said Blair, irritably, pulling his wrists out of Jim's hands with a yank. "Okay, I got it — because I moved in here! Yeah! 'Cause I make you breakfast! Because I've thrown myself in front of speeding bullets, attacked thugs, jumped out of planes — followed you where I had no business being! Cause I put my entire goddamn life on hold for you, that's why!"

"Research," said Jim, dismissively, waving a hand.

"RESEARCH!!!" shrieked Blair, nearly hysterical. "I did my Master's thesis on the Chibcha — do you see me shacked up with the chief, dodging tomahawks?! I am not that committed, man!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" shot back Jim. "You seem pretty committed — in fact, you're so obsessive about the thing that sometimes I think maybe you should be committed. You're such an intellect — did you ever wonder why I let you move in here? Why I let you stay here? It was supposed to be a week, Sandburg — it's been three years! Can you tell time? I take you everywhere with me — why do you think I do that?"

"You're afraid you'll zone in public and your life will be ruined!" answered Blair heatedly. "So you keep me around, and get nice meals out of it, besides!"

"I can hardly bear to be apart from you, you little shit!" roared Jim, smacking the side of his head. "And at least when you're with me I know that you're not out fucking the entire Cascade City Orchestra — "

"I wouldn't!" interrupted Blair, howling indignantly. "I don't — this is slander!"

"I can hardly keep my hands off you, can't you see that?" Jim hollered back. "What'd you make of that, Master of Analysis?"

"That's just your nature," replied Blair irritably. "You touch people."

"Sandburg, I do not touch people! You ever see me touch Simon? Are you blind?"

"Me blind! Oh, that's rich! I look at you like you walk on water — "

"You look at the Sentinel like he walks on water — "

"Well, you're the Sentinel, aren't you?"

"Yes, but that isn't the point! Or rather, that is the point! That's exactly the point! I needed to know where you were invested! In the Sentinel thing, or in me? Would you stay if I weren't a Sentinel? Would you still care as much as you seemed to?"

"YES! Okay? Yes! Is that enough? Are you happy now? Anything else you want me to do — you want it written in blood, maybe? It's you, all right? It's not because you're a Sentinel — it's because you're an uptight, grumpy asshole who treats me like shit! How the fuck could I resist that? When I see the man or woman guaranteed to give me the worst possible time — that's when I make my move!" said Sandburg, snapping his fingers, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"So make it! Make it, already! While I'm still relatively young! I want you so bad I could scream," Jim said urgently, and Blair stopped and looked hard at him.

"So shut up and take your clothes off and get in here, man!" he said, quickly ripping his T-shirt off over his head and tossing it on the floor.

Jim pulled off his clothes and slid into Blair's bed — Blair's bed! — and he could feel Blair's body heat on the sheets as Blair moved over to make room for him. He took a deep breath and looked at Blair and felt suddenly shy — and then Blair reached out with both hands and caressed his head tenderly and Jim felt Blair's leg brush against his under the covers and the shyness left him, and he reached out and pulled Blair close, pulled Blair's body up against his, shivering excitedly at the feeling, finally, of full body contact, of skin against skin.

Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's back and his hands moved smoothly, restlessly, over Jim's body and he heard Blair moan, "...love to touch you..." and that was it, really, for rational thought as far as Jim was concerned. Rational thought was sent to take a walk around the block — and told to take its time — as Jim grabbed Blair's head in his hands, fingers delighting in the soft cushion of dark hair that surrounded it, and leaned in for a kiss, wanting again to be drowned, drowned, drenched in Blair's soft, warm, wet mouth.

Neither Jim nor Blair were sexually inexperienced, but the urgency of the situation, the intensity of their feelings, quickly sent sophistication scurrying out to check up on rational thought as they scrabbled at each other awkwardly, wanting to touch, feel, explore as much of each other as possible while keeping their mouths pressed together. Jim excitedly registered that this felt like the first time — like all the first times rolled into one and magnified by a hundred — the first kiss, the first touch, the first terrifying nakedness, and he suddenly, physically, remembered the trembling astonishment that such things were possible, the sheer exhilaration of it, the drunken feeling of one's own incredible boldness in touching, in allowing oneself to be touched, in secret places, private places — the rumbling, shuddering crash of barriers falling, of boundaries crossed, of taboos smashed between one's self and another, the exquisite, torturous vulnerability that co-existed hopelessly with giddy, adolescent arrogance because someone — some wonderful someone — was going to let you get away with it! — when sex was still something you got away with, a snatched, fleeting joy, an explosive "HOORAY!" before you got older and practiced and so damn mature about it, before it became a well-choreographed dance, the expected last act of a stale comedy, something to be handled with savoir faire and adult sophistication — "top or bottom?" — an exercise, an expectation, a performance to which your adult life entitled you and which was never half as good, never a fraction as good, as that stolen kiss under the bleachers or that first grope in your girlfriend's basement or that first blow job in that cheap motel on a weekend pass, where the delirious passion of the moment was tempered by the fear that perhaps one wasn't experienced enough, sophisticated enough, that perhaps you weren't good enough looking or your cock wasn't big enough — but you were and you were and you were and it was and wow. Holy fucking wow, and Jim had thought that nothing would ever be so good again — but here he was, doing that frantic, graceless dance with Blair Sandburg, and he was young again, and he felt Blair awkwardly grasping his cock and he pushed himself ineptly into Blair's hand as Blair humped his hip like a teenager and covered his face with clumsy, heartfelt kisses, and Jim knew that this was going to be rough and quick and messy and he thought that was just fine.

His heart soared as he felt Blair start to tremble in his arms, and he clutched him tightly, almost brutally, as the trembling became convulsions and Blair came hard with a helpless, drawn-out moan that signified intimacy as nothing else ever could and left Jim shuddering with desire. He felt sticky wetness across his hips and thighs, kissed Blair hard, and thrust urgently into his hand, sensation seizing his limbs and driving his movements faster and faster until he was bucking uncontrollably and then he was coming himself.

He lay beside Blair, panting harshly, listening to Blair bringing his own breathing under control, and then suddenly Blair laughed and lifted his semen-covered hand and said, "Oh, yuck!" and Jim grabbed his hand and pulled it to where Blair had come on his hip and laughed as he made a face. "Oh, man — that was suave," said Blair, ruefully, grinning.

"That was great," said Jim, and then he grabbed Blair's wrist tightly with strong fingers as Blair moved mischievously to touch Jim's face — "oh no you don't — don't you dare! — " and they struggled and Jim pinned Blair down with his weight, trapping his arms underneath him, and said, suddenly, "I love you to bits, Sandburg," and bent to press soft lips to Blair's forehead and Blair closed his eyes and murmured, "Oh man, this is going to be good."  

The End