Disclaimer: Jim and Blair belong to Pet Fly, not me. Damn..
A/N: First completed Sentinel fiction, knocked out in about half an hour. This is in response to Challenge #44 - Deprivation on sentinel thurs Live Journal community.
Without
Four weeks. That's how long it had been. Four weeks without; far longer than he'd ever been before. His colleagues had noticed the deterioration of his mood, little things like shadows under his eyes and a bite in his tone of voice. They'd begun to count down the days until Blair returned and they were eagerly anticipating Ellison's return to good humour.
The loft was shadowed and empty, bereft of the warmth that came with his lover being there. The scent of home was missing and Jim ached to once again breathe deeply and draw him close, letting his senses loose to imprint the smell of that which he was missing so much.
As Jim stood on the balcony, a beer held loosely in his hand, the sound of Blair's Volvo caught his hearing. Narrowing his vision, the headlights came into view and Jim straightened, his stance alert, nostrils flaring as the familiar scent tantalised him. Moving slowly into the middle of the room, he waited, anticipating the moment when Blair's key would sound in the lock, muscles tense and almost quivering with need.
He tracked Blair's progress by his scent alone – down Prospect, parking outside Collette's, the slam of the car door, the snick of the lock and that special smell, the one that got him through the day, the one that he'd been lost and miserable without. Head up, smile curling softly over mobile lips, he waited. The elevator rattled and shook, bringing his lover closer and closer until he was there, just down the hall, about one minute away. Jim started across the floor, eager to have the door open and waiting, welcoming Blair home from the symposium of Anthropology. God, he'd missed him so much..
"Hey, Jim." There he was, the light from the hallway shining into the dim loft, highlighting chestnut curls flowing softly over his shoulders, a bag gripped tightly in his hand.
"Hey, Chief." That sweet smile, reserved for Blair alone, blossomed and drew him into the loft, making him feel he was the centre of Jim's world. One hand on Blair's cheek, a thumb brushing over the lush bottom lip, the other slid over his shoulder and down his arm to the bag in his hand.
Blair caught his breath at the hunger in Jim's hooded eyes, his heartbeat thrumming as desire spiralled in those blue depths. His fingers opened and the bag slid into Jim's waiting hand.
"Do you know how good you smell, Chief?" Jim's voice was husky with longing that sent a shiver down Blair's spine. "Do you know how much I've missed this?"
"I can guess." Blair's own voice lowered seductively.
"Can you really?" Jim's tongue flicked out to wet his lips and Blair groaned in need as he spun away towards the kitchen; their second favourite playground. He sighed as Jim put the bag on the table and ripped into it, the contents spilling into his hands.
"Four weeks without Wonderburger? I can guess." Blair smiled indulgently.
end