Subject to Error
by Zelempa
Shamelessly inspired by Jane Davitt's post of Desperate Housewives screencaps of RB tied to a bed.
It's becoming rapidly apparent that my M.O. in ficwriting is to string together some tangentially thematically related scenes, look at them in despair and confusion, send them to Yolsaffbridge, and have her identify the good parts and talk to me until we figure out what it is I'm trying to do with a story. This one was no different and I want to thank her once again for continuing to perform her invaluable services with wit, perspicacity, and enthusiasm even though I have started sending her fic, like, hourly.
Commentable LJ post is here.
Sandburg was a kinky bastard.
Jim had to admit this when, only his third time in bed with the guy, he found himself lying on his back with his wrists tied to the railing behind his bed.
The first time had been a hard and fast jerkoff session. They'd just gotten home from the bar after facing down a storm of crossfire, and they'd both been high on adrenaline and slightly drunk. From the moment Blair's lips hit Jim's while Jim was searching his face for wounds, they'd been caught in an escalating feedback loop of exhilaration: I can do this? We can do this?
The second time had been slow and tender, following a long evening off at home. Jim had been expecting their usual dinner-and-a-movie routine to feel awkward, now that they'd crossed the line, but instead it felt--well, romantic. He couldn't remember if Blair usually sat that close, and from Blair's autonomic signs of nervousness, he was pretty sure Blair didn't know, either. Jim had no idea what was happening in the mystery they'd rented, so he just shut off the TV and turned Blair's face to his and kissed him, long and slow. They'd spent the next few hours touching each other, every inch, delighting in the freedom to explore one another while in full possession of their faculties: yes, we can do this!
And now here he was three busy days later. For him it was a rare morning off, for Blair a break after an early class, for both their first time hooking up in the daylight. It was also the first time for a lot of other things, including
1. The pair of strong scarves Blair had produced from somewhere in the clutter of his room. Jim wondered how many other wayward sex toys had found their way there.
2. The delicate piece of gauzy silk, fluttery and air-light, which Blair trailed along parts of Jim's body never hitherto regarded by him as particularly sexy--his collarbone, the inside of his elbow, his ribs--making him shiver.
3. The video camera, still on loan from the Rainier Anthropology Department.
The camera was really the only problematic part of this arrangement. Jim suspected Blair had anticipated his objections and purposely introduced it in the same session with the restraints. If he had been free to move, he would certainly have done his best to keep out of shot.
He could hardly say no, though. Blair's pleas on behalf of the camera had been so emphatic and breathlessly turned-on. And Jim had an idea how important it was to him. Shortly after their last encounter, Jim, home alone, had absently turned on the tape in the VCR, and found one of Blair's research videos of himself examining evidence. Even though the Jim on the screen was whining, he could see, now, how admiringly, lovingly, the shots were framed. Jim wasn't going to come between Blair and his amateur filmmaking kink, even if it wasn't exactly his own thing.
Now that he was tied down, though, totally naked, with Blair standing behind the camera, apparently focusing it squarely on his erection, he was beginning to understand the appeal. He'd never considered himself much of an exhibitionist, but his cock was straining under the gaze of the viewfinder.
"Okay," said Blair. "Ready for me to turn it on?"
It wasn't already? Jim tried to disguise his arousal with a grudging, "Better get it over with."
"'Oh, get it over with,'" Blair mocked. "Y'know, you're pretty obviously having fun, there."
"Speak for yourself," said Jim, eyes drawn to the bulge in Blair's jeans as he approached the bed. "Aren't you going to strip for the camera, Gypsy?"
"In good time. Right now, let's focus on you." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the feathery cloth.
Jim braced himself as Blair knelt over him, passing the cloth over his chest. Ever so lightly brushing a nipple, which instantly zinged to attention. His sense of touch keened until it seemed to extend beyond his skin, reaching out for more of the cloth's teasing touch. Blair looked lovely in his intense concentration, holding his sleeve back with his opposite hand. He was being careful not to disturb the sensation with any careless touch of his own, but Jim could feel the heat of his hand hovering above, giving his body time to prepare for the cloth's destination. Down, down, over the line of his abs... round the curve of his hip... the inside of his thighs. He wouldn't give Blair the satisfaction of begging him to touch his cock, but he thought he was more than ready for it--until it arrived, more tickling and intoxicating than he'd imagined. He'd been sure his touch was dialed up to max, but his cock seemed to have some extra focusing power. He moaned involuntarily in the back of his throat, and rolled his head back into the pillow, closing his eyes, blocking out his other senses.
He was enjoying the touch, carefully skirting the edge of a zone, and was totally unprepared when the sudden, warm, firm pressure of Blair's hand surrounded the base of his cock, and hot wetness engulfed its tip. Jim cried out, unable to form coherent words in time to warn Blair.
He dimly heard Blair cough and then laugh, "Should've expected that," as his senses settled back to their normal equilibrium. He lifted his head and found Blair wiping his mouth and then turning to wave at the camera. "And I'm all right!"
He looked down at Jim. "You?"
"Auuuh," said Jim. "That was."
Blair smirked. "Thanks."
"Untie me," said Jim. "Let me."
Blair obliged. "Just touch me, man. You have no idea how hot it is just to watch you. I'm practically there."
As soon as Jim was free he pushed Blair down in front of the camera, said very seriously into the lens, "Observe," and shoved down his jeans and boxers. He hadn't lied about being turned on--his cock was startingly large and hard and wet-tipped--but he had lied, a little, about being ready to go, because he held out for at least another minute, writhing and gasping against Jim's increasingly rapid strokes. Finally he came on his own belly and collapsed in spent satisfaction. Jim looked around for something to wipe him off with, then decided he didn't care, and wrapped him in a tight hug.
"Mmm," Blair moaned happily.
"Good time?"
Blair raised his eyes to Jim's face. "Like you have to ask," he grinned. "You?"
"Likewise," said Jim. "How did you--how did you even think of that?"
"When it comes to the various forms and means of human sexual expression, Jim, I am neither undereducated nor inexperienced."
Jim rolled his eyes.
"Also," said Blair, "I was thinking about it while I was supposed to be writing my lecture. And that's the story of why the kids got to leave an eight-fifty-five class at nine-fifteen."
"Oh, that has nothing to do with you knowing that I was home?"
"Well, maybe just a little," Blair admitted. "I just came up with this hypothesis, you know, that this would work for you."
"Good hypothesis."
"Yeah, this was a very productive experiment," said Blair. "I think I'll continue in this line of research. Next time, I'll ride you hard as I can and take note of what happens."
Still smiling a wicked smile at that prospect, Blair relaxed into Jim's arms. His body was warm through his sweat-damp shirt and jeans. Jim himself was still ostentatiously naked, wearing only the scarves that trailed from his wrists.
He suddenly felt awkward and vaguely ashamed. Over Blair's shoulder, the camera's red light was blinked at him knowingly.
*
Blair couldn't stay home long; it was approaching finals, and he had a full roster of frantic students to counsel. When he was gone Jim finally hauled out of bed to make himself breakfast.
Papers were spread haphazardly over the dining table. Jim couldn't help reading the heading on the top page: "Request to Submit a Thesis." He rifled through the forms out of a sort of morbid curiosity. No pages from the dissertation itself; Blair was too secretive to leave those lying around. Jim considered turning on the laptop, which Blair had forgotten in his haste to shower and change and get out the door, but he decided he'd rather not think about the project at all.
It had been a long time since he'd had any length of free time with no Sandburg clamoring for sensory tests, and he couldn't remember what he usually did with himself. He decided he might as well give the mystery movie another shot since they already had to pay late fees on it, but there was already a video in the machine. It was the damn research video, labeled "SE04 10/95-12/95 - forensic uses." What did SE stand for anyway, he wondered--"SEntinel"? "Sensory Experiments"? "Subject E.", E for Ellison? He hoped it wasn't that, but then he was almost sure that it was.
He wondered how the video they'd made this morning would be labeled. Imagined it on the end of Blair's project notes shelf with the others: "SE09 04/98 - sexual observations." Imagined Blair, in glasses and a sport coat, earnestly screening the video for a roomful of nodding colleagues, indicating items of interest with an eraser-tipped pointer.
It was ridiculous, of course. Not even Blair would do that. Still, Jim felt panicked, like he'd gone too far down the wrong road, and there was no way back. They'd crossed the line. There was no longer any barrier of privacy between them, nothing held back, nothing that belonged only to Jim. And as for the line between Blair-the-academic and Blair-the-friend, Blair-the-lover--had there ever been one? Now that Blair knew everything, all-access pass--how was he going to use that knowledge?
Jim pushed the tape back in and hit play. When he'd looked at the video the other day, it had seemed like a tribute of love. He wouldn't mind feeling loved right about now.
There he was on screen, stroking the chassis of a wrecked car. Reciting his observations to Blair behind the camera, who said, "Good, good. What else?" Was that it? Jim couldn't see, now, what had seemed so remarkable to him the other day. Of course Blair was filming him carefully. It was necessary for his project. The long shots, the slow focuses in on Jim's face and hands, now seemed to him like nothing more than cold, scientific precision.
He turned off the TV.
*
He went to work in the afternoon and spent most of the day following up on unpromising leads. When he checked in at the station around ten, Sandburg was there, just in time to join him on a raid at the home of a suspected murderer. It felt good to have his partner watching his back, and as it turned out, he was the hero of the hour. The idiot suspect was actually home, and Blair, even though he was doing his best to stay behind Jim, was the first to run into him; thinking quickly, he opened a door in the guy's face, knocking him down, and giving Jim the opening he needed. The whole team went for drinks afterward to unwind, and in front of the others, Blair acted just the same as always. It was almost possible to pretend they'd never started down the path of no return.
Until they got home. Blair, still buzzed from the excitement, put his arms around Jim's shoulders as soon as the loft door closed behind them, sucked Jim's lower lip into his mouth. His scent was thick and sexy and beery, just like the first night they'd gotten together.
His breath was hot against the shell of Jim's ear. "Should we try that experiment now?"
Jim suddenly felt un-into-it. "Uh," he said, stalling for time.
Blair must have felt him freeze, because he pulled back to look at him. "You okay?"
"Fine," said Jim.
Blair continued to examine Jim's expression, his brow knit so tight Jim could practically see the gears turning in his head. Analysis cycle complete, he drew his arms back from around Jim's waist. "I get it. Too much, too soon, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so," said Jim gratefully, surprised to find his feelings summed up so neatly, before he'd even figured out himself what was wrong. Blair got there before he did; so what else was new? "I'm not--I mean, I think I just need some time to think."
"Sure. No problem." Blair flashed a brief smile that Jim worried was a facade and turned toward his own room.
"Hey, Chief." Blair turned back, and Jim shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry."
"No big deal. Actually I'd've expected you to freak out a lot sooner," Blair informed him cheerily, and closed the door behind him.
Well, that had gone about as well as it possibly could. Still, Jim couldn't help but feel insulted. Was Blair keeping a Sentinel freakout schedule in one of those little black notebooks of his?
He went upstairs and undressed and lay down, and felt like a complete fool for every minute he spent not going downstairs and climbing into Blair's bed. He'd changed the sheets, but he could still smell sex in the air. He remembered how good it had felt, how they'd laughed together. And yet he couldn't help but notice the distinct lack of getting up to go climb into Blair's bed. As vividly as he could recall the good sensations, the whole memory was tinged with a nebulous negativity he couldn't explain.
Regret? No, he knew regret: the desperate yearning to turn back to the clock, the certainty that it must be possible because the present state of things was just unacceptably awful. He felt that every time he saw blood gushing from his partner's head. This was something else. It was impossible to regret crossing the line with Blair; it had been such a long time in coming that there was a kind of inevitability about it. If he could go back, he couldn't guarantee he'd do anything different.
Anger? Hard to say. He was always vaguely angry at Blair, because Blair was annoying, and left the milk out.
Maybe it was like Blair said: too much, too soon. He just needed time. Distance. They'd been too much in each other's space lately. He'd take a couple of days and go to the lake on his own, clear his head. Blair had gotten upset last time he'd tried that, but surely now he would understand why it was necessary.
Fear. Fear might be justified.
Jim sighed. If Blair knew what he was thinking now, he'd get plenty of data for Chapter 13: The Sentinel as a Paranoid Caveman. Blair had proven himself trustworthy again and again. He already guarded Jim's secrets, already watched his back. Jim had no basis for mistrusting him.
Except... where was this thesis project leading, exactly? Keeping Jim's secrets, watching his back--that benefited Blair, too, at least for the time being. But what if Jim asked Blair not to publish? Sure, Blair was all pro-Sentinel now, but if it ever came to a choice--the man or the project--which way would he go?
He glanced at the watch on the nightstand. Late. Okay, plan: he'd catch up on work tomorrow and take his time off starting the day after, if possible. He definitely needed to get away. Get away from this whole mess. Get away, for once, from Blair.
*
The next day Jim was busy enough at the station that he didn't even have time to actively avoid Blair. Then when a stakeout he'd counted on taking all night wrapped up with an early arrest around midnight, he went home actually hoping Blair would be around, because he wanted to tell him his travel plans. He supposed he could leave a note, but he didn't want to be completely wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am about it.
So he was pleased to open the door to the sight of Blair bent over a thick stack of printouts at the dining table. He was wearing his glasses and chewing on the end of a pencil--in other words, deep in scholarship-mode, and completely oblivious to the world around him. When Jim came up behind him and said, "Blair," he jumped a foot into the air.
"Uh, hi, hi!" He jammed the papers under the cover of a nearby notebook.
But it was too late. Jim had already seen the header. He snatched up the notebook, feeling sick to his stomach. "What the hell is this!"
"Nothing!" Blair jumped up from his chair and tried to take back his papers, but Jim held them away, restraining Blair with one arm. "It's not what you--"
"'Sexual Practices and Preferences of the Sentinel,'" Jim read. His face heated into a determined blush as he read the first few lines on the page:
and as such, levels of stimulation that would be undetectable or inconsequential to a normal person can under ideal circumstances produce intense arousal or even climax in JE. Physical restraint seems to enhance
Words failed Jim. No, wait, they didn't. "Sandburg, this is private shit!"
"I know!"
Jim threw down the notebook, the better to gesture angrily. "Sleeping with you was not tacit permission to publish the intimate details of my sex life!"
"I know, I know! Jim--"
"This is what it was all about, wasn't it? Just another chapter for your damn thesis! I wouldn't tell you what I did in bed, so you decided to ride along!"
"It wasn't like that, I--"
"You were experimenting on me!" Jim exclaimed with sudden clarity. "Upping the ante to see when I'd crack!"
"What? No!"
He'd been a fool not to see it--how Blair had been guiding their sex sessions, escalating them. Obviously Blair had been reaching by the time he got to the bondage video. He'd been sure Jim would freak out sooner!
He'd been a fool, too, to think there were no more walls between them. There was one-way glass a mile thick, and through all this Blair had remained squarely on his own side. Taking notes.
"Did I provide you with good data?" Jim demanded. "Sex sells, right? This book of yours is going to fly off the shelves! Do I get a cut, or is that not the way it works? I know, you're the scientist here, I'm just the subject. Did you ever stop and wonder what I was getting out of this? Do you even care?" He grabbed Blair by the shoulders and shoved him back into the brick, pinning him. It wasn't more distance he wanted. "I love you, you little bastard!"
"I wasn't going to publish it!" Blair insisted urgently. "It wasn't going to go in the dissertation, I swear!"
"Bullshit, Blair! Why else would you be writing it?"
"Because it gets me off, okay?" Blair shouted.
Okay, that was unexpected. Jim dropped his hands.
"I'm sorry," Blair pleaded with enormous eyes. "I did it all wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't know how long I was going to get to, you know, do things to you, so I thought I'd cram in my fantasies while I could. But this--this is just for me. You gotta believe me, Jim."
But Jim was still a few seconds back in time. "Research gets you off?" he asked incredulously.
"Well, not all research, obviously," said Blair, "or grad school would just be one orgasm after another for me."
"It is," Jim pointed out. "You can't go ten minutes without finding something to put your dick in."
"Not fair!" Blair cuffed him with the back of a hand, but then became thoughtful. "Although, you could be onto something. I have had a disproportionate amount of sex in libraries."
"You sick fuck," said Jim, trying to shake his head solemnly, but finding it difficult to suppress his smile. It was too weird, and made too much sense, to be a lie. Maybe this was going to be all right after all. "You're a research fetishist."
"I can't help it!" Blair shrugged, grinning. Relieved. "And now I get to share these intense physical experiences with this amazing, complex--" Jim was sure he knew what word Blair would choose, but Blair surprised him, "person, that I've been analyzing and scrutinizing and idolizing for three years. It's unethical as hell, but Jim. Jim. Can you imagine how hot it's been for me?"
"I was there," Jim reminded him gruffly.
They were talking about it like it was all in the past. Blair must have noticed it too, because they both looked up from the floor, sent darting, questioning glances at each other, and looked back down again.
Jim didn't have any answers, and all Blair's papers were still fanned out over the floor, so he took action, and bent to pick them up. He took one last look before handing them off.
"You promise nobody else will see this?"
"Cross my heart. It's already deleted off my hard drive," Blair assured him. But he must have observed the way Jim was still frowning at the hard copy, because he added after a moment, "I'll--I'll burn it if you want."
Jim stared at him. He didn't know how far that offer extended, but for now, it didn't matter. It was touching that he had volunteered to do it at all. He looked like he was certain Jim was going to take him up on it, too, because he was gazing dolefully at the papers as though they read "Dear Blair, someone has kidnapped your puppy!" If he always looked this sad at the prospect of destroying any of his work, Jim would probably be the first to cave. "That depends," he said slowly. "What were you going to do with it?"
Blair shrugged. "Put it under my bed with the other homemade porn."
Jim couldn't help laughing out loud. So that was how the video was classified!
Blair grinned in response, and it occurred to Jim that the kid was looking pretty good right about now; his face was flushed from relief or adrenaline or--Jim had another thought.
"Proofreading that thing must have got you pretty hot, huh?"
Blair backed up to the wall as Jim advanced into his space once again. "Maybe," he admitted. "Does that make me a nerd?"
"Yeah." Jim pushed him against the wall again and kissed him hard.
"Seriously, Jim, though," Blair said breathlessly, turning his head away so he could talk, "I mean, I've thought about it, and I'm pretty sure the only reason I've been, like you said, you know, fetishizing this project is because--it's about you, man. You're like, you're my obsession. I mean, you say you love me, you should see how much I love you. None of this would mean anything if it weren't for you."
Jim nodded as he spoke. "Okay."
"Okay?" Blair searched his face for verification.
"Yeah." Jim smiled and brushed Blair's hair back with his hand, and Blair smiled back, and Jim leaned down to kiss his neck. He glided his hands down Blair's arms, reached out to clasp his hands. Blair slipped his fingers into Jim's and squeezed, gently, comfortingly. And that was nice; but Jim was close enough, now, to tell that Blair was half-hard--still, or again. They could do the lovey-dovey stuff later. He shifted his hands and tightened his grip, holding Blair's wrists fast to the wall.
"Ah," Blair breathed. "I see. I see where this is going. All right, sure, Jim, you bet. Turnabout is fair play. I know when I'm" and here he had to stop, because Jim was kissing him.
"Note to self," said Jim in his most official voice. "Subject becomes verbose when nervous."
Blair laughed. "Okay, Professor Science. You've got me. What do you want me to do?"
Jim pressed his body to Blair's so that there was nothing between them but their clothes, and that impediment was only temporary. "Just observe."
The End