Jim took one last swipe with the razor and then rinsed off to examine himself critically. Not bad for an aging cop. Sure, his hair had taken its marching orders a while back, but the rest of the package was holding up okay. He gave his image a smirk and then reached for the aftershave, his hand hovering between the Night Musk and the BRUT. But he figured he could never go wrong with a classic, so BRUT it was. He patted a little on his cheeks and exited the bathroom with a towel tucked around his waist.
"Heading out on a date, huh?" Sandburg's voice stopped him at the foot of the stairs. "Guess that ol' biological imperative is rearing its ugly head."
"What the hell are you going on about now, Chief?" Jim leaned back against wall and crossed his arms.
"Just—it would be nice if we weren't so programmed, you know?" Blair gave him an earnest look over the rim of his glasses, but Jim wasn't fooled. Sandburg liked to fuck with him whenever he was heading out on a date; not that Jim wasn't guilty of the same trick when he was stuck alone on a Friday night and his partner was going out and leaving him with no Sandburg and just the TV for company.
"Programmed how?" Jim scratched off some foam he'd missed under his jaw.
"Well," Blair crossed his legs and settled into lecture mode. "We're all at the mercy of our genetic programming, right? Survive, reproduce, perpetuate the genome? But wouldn't it be nice if we could bust the paradigm, transcend the imperative and make our own decisions for once?" Blair waved his hands, his hair flying around his expressive face. "I mean, I don't know about you, but I hate following the rules, especially when I don't even know I'm following them!"
Jim wasn't having any of it. "I'm not following any rules. I'm just trying to get laid." He turned and jogged up the stairs.
"Riiiight." Sandburg's footsteps followed him as Jim went to the closet and pulled out a dress shirt and tie and dropped them on the bed. "And what do you call this?" Blair pointed at his outfit. "These are nothing but civilized abstractions signaling sexual status to other members of the same species, advertising that you're ready to mate." Blair leaned closer and gave an exaggerated sniff, then rolled his eyes. "And seriously, that aftershave? Is like hitting females on the head with a pheromone hammer. Real subtle there, caveman."
"Hey," Jim gave Blair a nudge with his palm. "What did I say about calling me a caveman?"
Blair grinned. "If the club fits."
They'd come a long way since early days when Jim had shoved Blair up against a bookshelf in retribution; this time he settled for hooking Blair in a neck hold for some serious noogies while Blair batted at him at laughed.
What Jim hadn't counted on, though, was his towel working loose and dropping to the floor. Or Blair cutting out his struggles to go suddenly pliant in Jim's hold, one arm wrapped around Jim's bare waist, the other resting on his chest.
Jim held his breath. So, yeah, maybe there was more to him getting testy when Blair went out without him on Friday nights. But maybe Blair had another motive behind his long-winded lecture as well, because he suddenly leaned in and sniffed Jim's neck again, this time slowly, his breath tickling against Jim's sensitive skin.
Jim's touch dial went a little haywire, his nipples going stiff as iron.
"So tell me, Chief," Jim said huskily, "what'm I signaling now?"
"Ah, um. Well," Blair's voice was shaky, but he was giving it the college try, "biological signals, such as resplendent tail feathers, can be classified as honest communication without necessarily reducing uncertainty to zero."
Aw, Chief. Jim tilted Blair's head up and kissed him. Take that for honest.
Blair responded fast, his eyes open and squinting in a smile. Jim reached up and took away his glasses, and then he focused his attention on Blair's mouth, on the suede roughness of Blair's skin against his smooth cheeks, on Blair's tongue against his, and the way Blair eagerly went up on his toes to press against him.
It was all going great until Blair's jeans rubbed against Jim's bare cock.
"Hang on." Jim pushed him back. "Fuck. My date."
Blair's face fell.
"Now, Chief, don't get like that. I just have to make a call."
Blair pointed at him. "You bet you do."
"Whoa. Are you getting all territorial on me? Is this you going caveman, sport?" Jim grinned and went over to the phone, feeling Blair's eyes on him the whole way.
"Maybe." Blair sounded belligerent. "You got a problem with that?"
"Not a one, Chief. Not a one."
A moment later Blair tackled him onto bed, and Jim thought maybe the phone call could wait after all, because there were definitely other imperatives at play here, like kissing Blair, and making him come, and making him realize Jim was in this for real.
From the way Blair kissed him back, it wasn't clear who the caveman was in this relationship after all; maybe both of them. The thought made Jim smile as he got Blair's clothes off and settled over him, skin against skin.
"Oh, God," Jim said, getting his first feel of Blair's cock rubbing next to his, of the hair on Blair's chest tickling his bare skin. Jim backed down and did it again, a full-body roll, and groaned when Blair spread his legs and hooked them around his waist. A few more thrusts with his skin dial turned up way too high, and Jim was shuddering his way through his best orgasm in ages, jerking hard as he came over Blair's stomach.
"Now that was some serious marking of your terri—" Blair said, laughing the rest into Jim's mouth.
Jim pulled back and slicked his hand in his own come, then took hold of Blair's cock, smiling when Blair stopped laughing quick in favor of dropping his head back with a groan.
"C'mon, monkey," Jim said, and started stroking him off, trading off watching Blair's face, the way his eyelids fluttered and he bit his lower lip, and seeing his own hand moving on Blair's cock. God, Jim wished he could get hard again watching that, the way the head flushed deeper red in Jim's fist and then, to Blair's moan, started spurting in Jim's hand.
"Yeah, that's it," Jim said, and bent over to kiss Blair's temple, to rest his cheek there as Blair trembled his way through it. "God, Blair. What the hell is the matter with us, huh?"
"For two smart guys, I mean, we can be pretty dumb."
"Speak for yourself, Neanderthal." Blair's eyes glowed happy blue.
"Oh, them's fighting words, champ."
The problem with noogies after sex was—spunk just about everywhere, according to Blair's griping. But he was smiling as he bitched Jim out, so that was okay, and when he went down to take a shower, Jim got his phone call in, catching Ella from Dispatch just in time before she headed out the door.
"Yeah, I'm real sorry about this, Ell," Jim said. "Tell you what—pick the best damned spa you can find and I'll pay for a weekend there for you and a friend."
"Hmmm. That's some consolation prize. Worth more than a date with you, Jim, to tell you the truth," Ella said, laughing.
"I'm sure that's true, honey. Thanks for being such a good sport."
But as Jim hung up, he could hear Sandburg whistling "Born Free" in the shower, and thought maybe Ella had it wrong. He must be at least little bit worth it to Blair for him to break the rules.
And to Jim, that was all that mattered.