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Tongue is Great

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Tongue is Great

by April Valentine

Author's website: http://aprilvalentine.livejournal.com

I don't own Jim or Blair, but they kindly talked to me while I was writing this story. It's just for fan consumption and does not intend any copyright violation.

It was after five o'clock when we finally got away from the Cascade Dam and could head home. I was exhausted and Jim looked positively strung out, pale and haggard after the ordeal he'd been through. He'd tried to save Lisa Hughes, managing to grab the girl by her jacket when she'd stepped off the dam, but the doped-up teenager had unzipped her jacket, sliding out of Jim's grasp to fall with millions of gallons of water to her death.

Though the objecctive side of Jim knew that he had done all he could, that in her drugged state Lisa hadn't been rational, he still felt he'd failed her, failed at his job. Jim Ellison, the cop, the former Ranger, had been trained never to accept failure. He'd also been trained to never leave anyone behind, so I'd known from the moment I saw her fall that we'd be staying until her body was recovered.

When they finally brought up the battered, dripping form of the slender girl, his jaw clenched so hard I could almost hear it. I made my way through the gathered EMTs and firemen and cops to where he stood watching the divers pull her out. When I put my hand on his back, I could feel the minute trembling in his body.

"Come on, Jim. It's over now. You can go."

He looked down at me and for a moment I wasn't even sure he recognized me. Then his eyes cleared and I had to gulp at the expression on his face. He looked... I don't know how to explain it... like he was grateful I was there. He knew I was there for him and it helped him to know that.

I knew what my responsibility was.

I took him by the arm, my voice modulated and patient as I urged him to leave the scene. He hesitated, and his whispered words carried to me.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... "

"Jim, nobody blames you. She wanted to go over the side. Nobody could have done anything. It's not your fault."

I tugged on his arm a bit more forcefully and he finally turned to go with me. He was silent as we made our way back to the truck and made no comment as I took the keys from his pants pocket and climbed in on the driver's side.

Jim didn't argue with my decision to drive and didn't complain about my driving either. It seemed like it took a long time to get home.

At a stoplight, I glanced over at him. Jim was slumped against the door, his eyes unfocused, his face still pale. He looked zoned and maybe that was okay for the moment. If he was zoned, he wasn't thinking. He wasn't remembering.

We got to the loft and I parked the truck, then turned to Jim. "You okay, man?" I asked him softly, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. "Jim? We're home."

He drew in a ragged breath and blinked, turning to face me. "Thanks for driving, Sandburg," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"No problem," I dismissed. "Let's go inside now."

He opened his door and swung his long legs out of the truck, wordlessly heading into the building. I followed quietly, knowing any conversation on my part would grate on his nerves now. When we entered the loft, he proceeded to check the mail, sorting it into a pile of his own and a pile for mine, then hung up his gun and his jacket and headed into the bathroom. A moment later, I heard the sound of the shower going on.

Sighing, I went to the fridge to see what I could throw together for dinner. Jim would say he wasn't hungry but I hoped I could find something that he'd eat anyway.

I ended up heating up some lasagna that was in the fridge. "Sorry it's just leftovers," I told him when he sat down at the table, remembering I'd intended to go to the store this afternoon.

"This is fine," he mumbled, picking up his fork. I watched his listless movements as I ate my own dinner, trying to figure out where he was. He seemed to be all right, but he was good at keeping things bottled up. He probably figured it wouldn't be manly or something to be all upset and talk about what happened. Okay, I could respect his attitude. I decided to keep an eye on him though, just in case his emotions caused something to go wrong with his senses.

I was thinking about the papers I had to grade for tomorrow when the sound of a fork slamming down on the table startled me. "Jim?" I asked.

His face was white and he had that unfocused stare again. After a few seconds, he shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Shit!"

"What is it, Jim?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and reassuring.

"I keep seeing her go over the side. It's playing over and over like a news broadcast. If I can't keep from seeing it now, when I'm wide awake, I know I'll never get any sleep tonight." He sounded more annoyed than upset.

"It must have been awful watching her fall," I offered, thinking about Jim's sense of sight, how he probably had been able to follow her all the way down and maybe even once she was in the water. If a normal person watched something over and over, persistence of vision would fill in the blanks when the sight was gone from view. I imagined Jim had even stronger persistence of vision. "You're really seeing it over and over?"

He had his eyes clenched shut now and nodded, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I know it's not real," he said, sounding frustrated, "but it's like it's right there in front of me." He scrubbed at his eyes harder.

"Hey," I said, getting up from the table to go to him. I took him by his wrists and tugged his hands away from his face. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep that up." His eyes were already getting bloodshot. "Come on; come sit on the couch, Jim."

He let me lead him to the living room and I sat facing him, clasping his wrists in my hands. "Look at me, Jim," I told him softly.

He peered at me through his reddened eyes, his brow furrowed with the apparent effort to focus.

"Are you seeing me okay?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes... yeah, I guess so. I see you, but the picture of her falling is there too. Damn, this is stupid -- "

He tried to pull away but I held his arms tighter. "No, it's not. A regular person would have the same thing happen after witnessing something like this, but it's worse for you because you're a Sentinel."

He frowned and looked in the opposite direction, toward the windows, his disagreement palpable.

I sighed. He was going to be difficult, I could tell. "What do you see there, Jim? Do you see the water? Boats? Or do you see her falling?"

He wrenched his right hand free and impatiently brushed at his eyes as though he really thought he could get rid of the sight that way.

I released his other arm and grabbed his shoulders, turning him back toward me. "Jim, we can manage this. Just relax a minute and let me help you, okay?"

He sighed but didn't protest. His red eyes were focused on my face.

"Okay." I took a deep breath and knew it was time to pull another magic trick out of my hat... as if I had an unlimited number of them in there. Maybe it seemed I did to Jim, considering the trusting way he was looking at me then. Sometimes I truly didn't know where my ideas to help him came from so they might as well have been magic. They sometimes grew out of my Sentinel research but other times, they just popped into my mind like intuition, like somebody put them there and when the need arose I was able to find them. Whatever, that wasn't important now. Helping Jim was. "You just need to focus your senses somewhere else."

"Like where, Sandburg?" he asked impatiently, the way he always did when we'd first settle down to try something. I answered with the first thing that came to mind.

"On me, Jim. Look at me, focus on my face, hear my breathing, my heartbeat... " Watching closely I saw him try to comply.

After a few seconds, he shook his head again. "I can see her," he protested. "I can hear the water falling."

"Okay, let's go for scent," I offered, hoping my morning shower and deodorant hadn't worn off yet. Or maybe, if they had, it would be better, more for him to smell, though embarrassing for me.

Jim closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Some of the lines between his brows eased a little.

"That's it, Jim. Breathe me in. You can smell me, not the water. You can hear me breathing and my heart beating. Focus just on me."

He nodded, still keeping his eyes closed and inhaling slowly. "You smell good."

"Glad to hear it," I said it jokingly.

"No, you do," he repeated, leaning closer. His face was angled so he could get his nose close to my throat. I leaned my head back to give him better access and felt his breath on my neck, felt his nose in my hair. He wasn't cautious about it. He was solid, warm, scent-hungry, nuzzling at my neck. Goose bumps sprang out on my arms and sides and I gave a little involuntary shiver.

Jim's arms went around me and pulled me to him, inhaling deeply. "I've got you," he murmured. I could feel his chest against my own as he burrowed more deeply into my hair, pulling in deep breaths.

"You've got me," I acknowledged, rubbing at his shoulders while he scented me. God, he was good to be close to. Though Jim was a toucher, he didn't often get this familiar, observing the unwritten rules about how men could interact with each other. Still, there had been times when his senses acted up and he let the boundaries between us fall. My heart started pounding when I realized this could be one of those times.

"How're you doing?" I asked him softly, hoping the whisper would conceal the tremor in my voice. "Still seeing things?"

"Just you," he breathed back. "Right here with me." The hand he had around my back splayed wider and he pressed me closer to him. "Feel you." Without breaking contact, he slid his hand around to rest it over my heart. "Hear you." His hand came up to tangle in strands of my hair again and he buried his nose in them. "Smell you." A long inhalation later, he said one more thing.

"Want to taste you."

Oh, God.

My heart started racing and of course he could hear it. Yep, this was gonna be one of those times. I don't know how it got started, but we did physically comfort each other, every now and then. If things got physical between us, where was the harm, if in the long run it helped Jim with his senses, I'd tell myself when we first started doing it. Or if it helped me get to sleep without nightmares? We kept it simple, just hand jobs usually. Just under duress -- sure, we were both straight, weren't we?

Jim's fingers delved into my hair and his nuzzling continued, his nose and mouth close to my ear, sending quivers through me. I was torn between controlling my reactions, trying to remain the detached guide, and letting him know it was turning me on to have him smell me this way. Then I thought, if I was his guide, how could I stay detached?

"Please, Chief?" he whispered, his breath warm and moist against my lobe. I shuddered, not knowing how far he wanted to go, but past caring. My body knew what it craved and Jim's open nuzzling had made it want him, need him. I'd probably let him do anything to me, I was that hard, that hot.

I tried to stay rational. Who knew how Jim would react if he regretted this later? How could I think about getting myself off when it was my sentinel that needed help?

But after all, he'd asked. The thought of his tongue on my body -- anywhere on my body, was too much to resist.

It wasn't really going to be like using him, was it? And it wasn't like he wouldn't benefit.

"Blair... " he pleaded, lips nearly catching my earlobe in his need. But he wouldn't do it if I didn't say he could.

"Yes, Jim. You can taste me." I sounded like I was begging for it.

Jim moaned in relief and his tongue flicked out, tasting my earlobe at last. He closed his lips, sucking delicately and I almost passed out; the pleasure was that intense. He wrapped his arms around me as though to keep me upright.

"Okay?" he checked, mouth still occupied with my ear.

I tried to answer, only managing a strangled moan of assent, but apparently that was enough for Jim. Bolder now, he licked at my ear, making it wet, breathing over it to deliberately make me shiver. Then he trailed his tongue down the side of my neck, nipping and sucking his way to my collar. His hands pulled at my shirt and bared more of my flesh to him and all I could do was sort of hang there helplessly in his grasp, letting the pleasure roll over me.

He took his fill of my neck and I gradually became coherent enough to reach up to unbutton my shirt for him, not wanting him to rip it in his eagerness. His mouth followed as more skin was revealed and his hands stripped the shirt off my shoulders with experienced moves. I grasped the hem of my undershirt and he helped me pull it off over my head.

He eased back enough to look me over and the expression in his eyes was indefinable... tender, hungry, fascinated. He couldn't be that admiring of me, could he?

He didn't tell me. Instead he took me by the shoulders and eased me back on the couch, leaning over me and locking eyes with me for a long moment. I let all my reassurance and willingness show in my gaze.

He leaned down, careful with his heavier weight, licking his lips just seconds before he tasted my adam's apple. His mouth was open and wet and it moved freely, sliding downward, tongue tasting every inch of me as it went. Jim was maddeningly slow and I wanted to grab his head and push him where I wanted him, but I didn't, nearly sobbing as he took his time. My nipples were in hard points already, my back arching with the need to have him suck them.

His tongue plowed through the hair on my chest and I remembered women who'd complained it got into their mouths. Jim didn't seem to care, as he thoroughly wet what seemed like every single hair. He finally found my left nip, favoring it with one long, delicious lick first, then settled his mouth over it to suck. He lavished the nub with attention and I thought I was dying. Women too often gave my nipples only cursory attention, moving right down for the main event. Not that I minded, figuring men's nipples were just for show anyhow and not necessarily a big erogenous zone. Jim showed me differently.

He did everything to them you can with a tongue and teeth and lips, first one and then the other, the one with the ring, where he tugged on it with his teeth and nearly had me yelling out loud. As it was, I spent most of the time groaning deep in my throat, needing to vocalize my appreciation for his ministrations. The only problem was the nipple not being sucked on got lonely. Then I remembered Jim had asked only to taste.

I reached down and fumbled to find his hand, carefully positioned on the waistband of my jeans, tugging it up toward my chest. "You don't have to just taste," I panted, "you can touch me too."

Jim moaned in answer and his fingers unerringly pinched at my nipple, teasing and rubbing as his mouth continued to devour the other one. I was in heaven. My hips were rocking up and down and nothing existed in the whole world but my body and Jim's tongue and fingers.

"You taste so good," he murmured, his voice ragged with emotion. "I want to remember this, save it... "

"It's okay," I soothed him. "Don't worry about losing it. I'm here." It wasn't like we were making promises or even needing them. I just wanted to comfort him, to let him know I was fine with what he was doing, that it was going to be okay between us even after.

He slipped off the couch to kneel at my side, leaning over me as he licked his way down my chest and stomach, both hands now playing with my nipples so they wouldn't feel abandoned, one bent arm pressed against my groin. I arched into the pressure, rubbing myself against his forearm and he obliged me by pressing down harder. He glanced up at me, eyes hot and uninhibited.

I could barely gasp out my answer, my wish. "Go ahead," I told him, already fumbling with my belt. "Taste me everywhere. Here too."

Together we got my jeans undone and pushed down. My cock bobbed free, standing up straight and I would have been embarrassed except that Jim smiled unabashedly and handled it right away, wrapping his fingers around it to heft it and learn its size. I found his hand was just right for holding me, his strong fingers perfect for stroking me. My legs shifted, parting as far as they could with my jeans bunched at my knees. Given the access, Jim let his fingers explore, skimming over my balls and up behind them, then back around and up to pull at my dick. Stuff leaked out to trickle over his fingers and, eyes sparkling with curiosity, he bent over to taste.

It was just the tip of his tongue, just carefully probing the slit and gathering a little of the fluid, but I thought I was dying. He closed his eyes as if savoring, then went back for more, this time licking thirstily.

"Gonna get drunk," I heard him mumble and the image made me smile. I brought a hand up to stroke through his hair and encourage his exploration, glad his hair was shorter than mine so it didn't block my view. I could see everything as Jim opened his lips and slid the head of my cock into his mouth, his tongue bathing in swirls that made my world start spinning beneath me.

He licked my penis liberally, his focus so intense a bomb wouldn't have disturbed him, then when it was thoroughly wet, he took it in his mouth once more and went down on it, sucking to take as much of it as he could. My hips started moving, thrusting my cock farther down his throat and Jim didn't complain, his moans of enjoyment nearly as loud as my own. He used his fingers to stroke my balls and play with them, sending sparks of electricity down both my legs. When his fingers explored further, one circling then delving inside me, sweat broke out all over my body.

It felt delicious and dirty and so intimate. I closed my eyes and let myself soar, thoughts evaporating as touch became all encompassing, until I thought what it must be like for Jim to zone, to focus entirely on just one of his senses.

He stopped sucking me but his finger stayed where it was. His tongue started washing my balls, leaving no intimate spot untasted, unscented, unseen. Everything he did to me, he kept his finger inside, moving just softly, circling a little, pushing in and out slowly. I was amazed by his boldness, but I didn't bother worrying about it as the enjoyment overwhelmed anything rational left in my mind.

No, there was one last coherent thought in my brain. All of this was doing great things for me, but Jim wasn't getting anything out of it. I wasn't reciprocating. Taking it all in like a hedonist was fine, but certainly not fair.

I tried to sit up and got myself balanced on my elbows, pushing at him to allow my escape. He looked up at me, eyes pleasure-fogged and confused, his mouth all red and wet.

"Get up here," I told him, shifting my legs so he'd have room. He didn't look like he had a clue what I was talking about. I kicked off my shoes and jeans, and pulled at him, manhandling him into position for me so he was resting on his back and I could get on top of him.

"Don't you want to be tasted?" I asked, already slipping open his shirt buttons.

He made a noise like a gasp of surprise but I wasn't stopping. I got his shirt open and his tee shoved up so I could see those fantastic pecs of his. "You used your tongue on me; don't you want to let me use mine on you, see what you taste like?" Without waiting for his answer, I bent over his chest and started licking, hearing a strangled groan above me that didn't sound like a 'no.'

I wasn't as methodical as Jim had been; there was no time for his subtlety. I nipped at his tits and sucked each one briefly, fearing any minute he'd shove me away. This might have all been fine with him in control, I belatedly realized. My making a move might unnerve him. But I could feel a long, rigid shape pressing into my thigh that told me how aroused he really was. I continued, licking wantonly down his sculpted abdomen, thrusting my hips to slide my own erection over his cloth-covered one.

His hands found my shoulders, fingers digging in with desperate intensity. I looked up to meet his eyes. There was no denial in them, only longing. "Let me," I breathed, turning my attention to his belt.

He let me undo it, keeping his hands on my shoulders until I had his penis out where I could see it. I'd handled it before, but never sucked it. Before I could lose my nerve, I bent over him, opening my mouth to lick and taste. Jim's flavor shot through me, the taste turning into electricity that sizzled along my nerves. If his taste did this to me, I thought, what had mine done to him?

Whatever it did, he still wanted it. He used his strength to reposition us so that I was on top and could suck him while he did me. My cock slid back in his mouth as his finger slid back into my ass. I could feel his tongue swirling over and around my dick as he sucked me and nearly passed out from the rush it gave me. I knew I was close and Jim's balls were drawn tight, alerting me to his approaching orgasm. I reached to lick them thoroughly and he nearly bucked me off when I did it.

"Geezus, Chief, your tongue is so fucking good," he moaned, barely getting the words out before he went back to feasting on my cock.

"Yours too, man," I returned the compliment. It was the last statement I was capable of.

The only remaining sounds in the room were the creaking of the couch, the wet smacks of our mouths, the rough groans of appreciation I couldn't hold back. Jim was silent again except for his ragged breathing.

I love oral sex and he was hitting all my buttons, doing me so good I could barely keep up with him. Part of me loves going at it 69, but another part hates the way it divides my attention. I wanted us to come together and for that I needed to keep tabs on his reactions. That's usually hard for me to do, but as Jim and I both climbed higher, I realized with him it was easy, like instinct, like we'd done it this way a thousand times before. Whether it was because we're both men or because of some sentinel and guide mental telepathy, I didn't know or care.

Jim was finger-fucking me and sucking like a man dying of thirst. Half delirious, I put my all into sucking him too, massaging his balls in our accelerating rhythm.

Like a huge tornado, the orgasm ripped through us, flashing back and forth between us like lightening. Jim shook hard and I hung on tight, swallowing his come as fast as it pumped into my throat. He hung on as spasm after spasm of mine filled his mouth too. A distant whisper warned me we'd just had "unsafe" sex, but it died away like dry leaves blown by a storm. I'd worry about that later, in about a century or two, when I could lift my head up again.

I drifted in a long silence that held us like a comfortable hammock, my nose pressed into Jim's crotch, his hands gently clasping my butt. What would happen next, I didn't know and I was half hiding from the consequences of the thoughtless escalation of our physical relationship. This was way more than a quickie hand job to take the pressure off.

I felt Jim stir beneath me and his warm hands caressed my ass before he shifted position, alerting me that it was time to move. I tried to be careful but where we'd been as agile as gymnasts earlier, awkwardness was rearing its ugly head and I think I kneed him in the stomach as I crawled off him to find my pants on the floor. Better than kicking him in the head, I figured.

I stayed bent over, occupying myself with my tangle of pants and boxers and socks despite the silence from Jim's side of the couch. It seemed like a long time passed.

Then I felt his hands at my bare shoulders, tugging me around to face him. My hair was a disaster, all in my face, and his fingers felt like heaven as they pushed the tangled mess out of my eyes.

His weren't bloodshot anymore. And to my relief they weren't dark with apprehension or reproach. His mouth was slightly open -- lips swollen as a matter of fact -- but he wasn't saying anything.

It was my job to go first then. I decided to continue the notion we'd started with, that I'd been helping with his senses. Yeah, I'd sure given him something else to focus on, but I couldn't say it had anything to do with control.

"Still seeing things?" I asked him, not unaware of the sheer idiocy of the question at this point. "Or are you better now?"

"I'm better," he said, the barest amount of pink heating his cheeks. He glanced away for a second, then met my eyes again. "I'm fine." He swallowed, then spoke again. "You?"

Knowing how he was hanging on my answer, I smiled, letting all the pleasure he'd given me show in my face. "Don't worry," I told him. "I'm here. I'm good."

He smiled, his whole face lighting up. "You are amazing, Sandburg," he said, picking up a strand of my hair and tucking it behind my ear.

I shrugged. "Anything for a friend, man." I was treading on ice, trying to take my cue from him and I was certain he didn't want to hear any Sentinel theories at the moment, any more than he wanted a declaration of passion.

I realized I was right as he ducked his head. "I'm going to remember this, Blair," he said softly. "Thank you."

"S'okay, Jim," I answered earnestly. Saying he'd 'remember' this told me he didn't plan on repeating it any time soon or going any deeper into what it meant. What he'd probably do tomorrow was pretend it never happened, like usual. I didn't think I'd be any good at discussion right now anyway, so I decided to let it go. Maybe it would happen again, maybe the next time he was under duress. Or I was.

We gathered our discarded clothes and Jim headed for the bathroom while I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. He came out and put a hand on my shoulder just as I was closing the dishwasher door.

I looked up to find a fond smile on his face. He looked relaxed and calm. He'd probably sleep fine without being bothered by visions of a teenage girl going over the dam. That was enough to satisfy me for the night.

"Goodnight, Chief," he said softly, lifting his hand to let his fingers trail through my hair once more. It wasn't quite like a shove to the shoulder, but it wasn't exactly a good night kiss, either.

"Night, Jim," I answered, not sure if I'd never know what a kiss from him would feel like or if it was only a matter of time 'til I did. That was cool, though. I felt so good at the moment, nothing was going to bother me.

We went to our separate bedrooms and I shoved my ungraded papers into my bag, figuring I could get them done tomorrow. I was too wiped to concentrate. I settled into my bed and let the smooth covers caress my still singing body. I didn't even remember drifting into sleep.


The next morning Jim was up early, and the smell of bacon and pancakes woke me up. He was all smiles when I emerged from the shower. Breakfast felt cozy and comfortable. Jim informed me he'd set up a meet with the snitch he called Sneaks.

"Sleep well?" he asked, refilling my coffee cup.

"Oh yeah. Just great." I looked up at him, catching his arm as he turned away. "You don't want to, like, talk about what happened, do you?"

He covered my lips with his fingers. "Uh... no," he answered, but he was still smiling. "I'd probably say something stupid about how great your tongue is."

I gave a hoot of laughter. That Jim was actually cool about this was a hopeful sign.

"Yours is fantastic," I added. He made a fist and mock-punched my chin.

Our high spirits lasted until we got to the diner where Sneaks was to meet us. Jim ordered donuts, even though we'd just had breakfast and I decided not to nag him about it.

I was in the middle of asking Jim why he called the guy 'Sneaks' when he arrived, acting as jovial as Jim and I felt.

For some reason, the guy looked under the table to check out our shoes, his eyes going wide at the sight of my new Nike Severes. Jim's hiking boots hadn't seemed to impress him. He asked me my shoe size, in between Jim's questions about golden.

I was trying to keep up, laughing along with Jim though I wasn't sure about what, when Sneaks asked another question.

"How's that defense mesh tongue?"

Huh? The only tongue I had been thinking about lately was Jim's.

"Tongue is great," I answered, meeting Jim's eyes so he'd know what I was thinking.

Jim was right with me, his eyes agreeing with me about the greatness of "tongue" and even slapping my hand conspiratorially.

I was so distracted, I could barely follow the rest of what Sneaks said, so when he asked Jim about a 'bonus,' it caught me totally off guard.

We left the restaurant, Sneaks with his old shoes slung over his shoulder and my Nike's on his feet, me in my socks and Jim smug as an evil older brother.

"Sneaks! Short for 'sneakers!' Why didn't you tell me?" I complained, swatting Jim on his shoulder.

He muttered something about being reimbursed from the snitch fund and I groused about the cost of my favorite argyles.

I waited until we were in the truck to tell him he was going to owe me more than just a new pair of shoes.

"Remember, Jim, tongue is great."


End Tongue is Great by April Valentine: aprilvalen@aol.com

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