Archive of Our Own

 

"So he has rules, does he? Rules for this, rules for that, rules for remembering the rules and rules for changing the rules and rules for making new rules. Well, guess what? I have a couple rules of my fucking own, so there. And boy, am I going to share them. Oh, yeah. He's going to hear every single one of them. And you know what else? He's going to OBEY them too. Oh, yeah. Mr. High-and-Mighty James Joseph Ellison is going find himself on the other end of some heavy duty rule making. We'll just see how much he likes it, how he handles a few rules that don't belong to him. Oh, man, just wait--"

"Chief, what the hell are you muttering about now?"

Arms full of dirty clothes, Blair whirled around to find Jim standing just inside the loft door, keys in hand. Blair's eyes narrowed even as the pile of clothing dropped to the floor with a gentle whoosh.

"You want to know what I was muttering about, Jim? You really want to know?" He advanced on the man, who was now looking a bit uneasy. "Well, I'll tell you what I was muttering about - because you see, I have rules too, you know? For instance, from now on, you do NOT ask, 'Did you hear that, Chief?' or 'Did you see that, Chief?' And you do NOT ask what the hell I'm muttering about when you know damn well every single word I said. And when I say we have to work on your senses--we work on your senses. No excuses, no rolling of the eyes, you just do it. Got that?"

He punctuated the question with a jabbing finger in the air and could see by Jim's expression that he was glad his chest wasn't within range of the murderous digit. Feeling a surge of adrenalin, Blair moved closer and was secretly thrilled when Jim actually took two steps back, eyes fixed on Blair's finger. Blair took a deep breath and went on.

"And I don't stay behind, I stay behind you--I'm your goddamned back-up, you Neanderthal. That's why you bring me along, hello?" He made a motion as if pulling a cord for a bell. "Ding-dong, listen up. More rules coming through. From now on, you type up your own reports but I'll be the brains behind them. I'll give you the lies, but you type 'em up. Another new rule: Blair Sandburg is to have his own space in the squad room. I'm tired of stealing any chair that's unoccupied. I've been your freaking backup for three years now and I deserve my own space. Hell, I'm practically a cop--"

"Oh, now wait a minute, Chief. Let's not get carried away. You are not a cop, you don't carry, and--"

"I have more experience than any rookie on the street and know more about police procedure than over half the cops on the force. I know every code, and do all the schmoozing when you guys need something from another department or you need Serena to hurry a report. I make sure Gwen doesn't kill you guys every time you call her the 'donut girl' and do you have any idea how many dates I owe her? And I don't even want to go out with her! But--"

"Wait a minute. Gwen is exactly your type. Why the hell wouldn't you want to go out with her? I've been shoving her down your throat for weeks in spite of the fact that there are other things I'd prefer to put--yes, well."

Momentarily stumped by the sudden and very odd question and the weird way Jim had ended it, Blair paused like a robot with a short circuit. His mouth opened and shut several times, his eyes blinked repeatedly and the lethal digit did a kind of aborted punctuation in the air. Jim reached over and bopped him lightly in the head, which managed to perform a function similar to hitting the snack machine when it failed to deliver a Bronco Bar; Blair's mouth shut and his arm--and not coincidently the flying digit--dropped harmlessly to his side. But the blinking continued. And then Blair's eyebrows started to dance.

Finally....

"Okay. New rule. Important rule," Blair said quietly, his body strangely still. Strange for him since most everyone who knew him would have bet that not even in sleep would they see such a thing.

"A new rule? Over and above the ones you just laid on me?" Jim asked, more relaxed now.

"Yes. This one goes straight to the top. It beats your no flushing after ten--and do you have any idea just how disgusting that is? I get up at eleven, do my thing. You get up around one, do your thing, then again at four--and you might want your prostate checked, by the way--and by the time I hit the bathroom again at five-thirty, well, let me tell you, it's not a pretty sight, okay?" He scratched the back of his head. "Where was I?"

"The new rule that goes to the head of the house rule chart," Jim said kindly, as he lounged against the kitchen counter.

Wondering when Jim had moved into the kitchen, Blair nodded absently and said, "Right. New rule." He moved over to the kitchen and took up his usual post opposite Jim. "So here it is: Rule Number One: Jim stops pussyfooting around and just says it. No matter what it is--he says it. No subtle hints that no one on Earth would get and that even he forgets; no odd looks that could mean any number of things and aren't likely to mean what I want them to mean and no more use of misdirection, like trying to fix me up with anyone other than the one person we both know you want to fix me up with. That's the new number one rule."

Jim rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So. You don't want to date Gwen."

Blair rubbed his nose with his palm. "No."

"And you want your own chair in the squad room."

"Yes."

"And you want me to stop pussyfooting around."

"Precisely."

"But you get to pussyfoot around."

"Of course--wait, no, I never pussyfoot around."

"Sandburg, there's been an elephant in this loft for quite some time, and we've both been ignoring it, so don't tell me you don't pussyfoot around too, okay?"

Blair couldn't help it, later he'd swear on a stack of bibles that he could no more have helped glancing down at Jim's groin than he could help eating his mother's boiled tongue. Which didn't sound right at all. His mother's boiled tongue?

"Sandburg, you're looking at my--"

"I'm looking at one of the elephants, Jim."

"Ah. So neither of us are going to pussyfoot around anymore."

"You still can't say it, can you, Jim?"

"Wanna ride an elephant?" Jim said with a smug grin.

Blair lifted his gaze to meet Jim's humorous one. "Now that really bowled me over, Jim. Really. Totally. Got my heart racing, blood flowing, and--"

"And your elephant rising?"

Blair rolled his eyes, snagged Jim's belt and started to tug him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. "Oh, and another rule.  We turn my old bedroom into an off--"

"Weight room," Jim interrupted.

"Office combination weight room," Blair conceded.

"I can live with that."

"And you already know you can live with me."

"Yeah, but can I share a bed with you? The human octopus?"

"The hairy human octopus."

They were at the top and Blair was now unbuckling Jim's belt even as Jim unbuttoned Blair's shirt. As the nice chest was revealed, Jim smiled. "I like hairy."

"Fortunately for you, I can take it or leave it."

Jim pushed Blair toward the bed. "Was that an insult?"

"Not at all. You have very hairy arms and your hairless chest is an incredible playground. I'm in heaven."

"And here I always thought you preferred your playgrounds with speed bumps."

"What do you call these?" Blair asked as he ran his hands under Jim's undershirt and smoothed them across the flexing abs.

Jim chuckled. "I knew I was right about you. You put on a good show of skirt-chasing, but--"

"Yep. And you never once fooled me, not with those tight jeans and white socks of yours. Queer as a three-dollar bill, that's you, James Ellison."

"Which is why I let you move in to begin with...."

"Oh, yeah, and why I asked...."

They fell onto the bed, Jim beneath Blair. Hands slipping through the long curls, Jim said, "I have a few rules about sharing my bed and bedroom, Chief...."

Blair put his hand over Jim's mouth. "I don't think so. You're damn lucky to have me and it's our bed and our bedroom now and I sleep on the right side and you know, that railing could come in very handy later... yep, very handy. As will your handcuffs."

Jim grinned behind the gentle and slightly callused hand. When Blair removed it with the intention of replacing it with his mouth, Jim just had time to say, "I don't make the rules anymore, do I, Chief?"

"Never did, man. Never did."

The End