Archive of Our Own

The belong to Petfly on paper, but they belong to me in my twisted little mind. No dollars were injured or incurred in the writing of this story.
The bottle enjoyed itself immensely.

Partially dedicated to Kristin, who suggested that you can seduce someone with nothing but a soda and a candy bar.

Fourth in the "Blair's Food" series, after "Frozen", "The Popcorn Incident" and "Fresh"

This story is a sequel to: Fresh

Bottleneck

Simon glanced up at the bullpen. All quiet. Henri was doing his best two-fingered typist performance at his desk, working on the unofficially dubbed Beanie Baby Brouhaha (otherwise known as the QT Collectibles robberies) while Jim was clacking away at his desk doing research on the McKellan/Anderson homicides. Rhonda had gone to lunch and everyone else was out on assignment or chasing leads. Turning back to his budget review, he sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

Ten minutes later when Henri knocked on his door, he hadn't made it any further than the same paragraph he'd been trying to read for twenty minutes. He waved at the detective to enter and tossed the report aside.

"You'd think they could make a budget review more interesting to read," he groused, indicating for Henri to close the door as he took the case file offered him. "I mean, financials should be interesting, shouldn't they? Like a jigsaw puzzle, and you have to make all the pieces fit. This reads as dry as my Aunt Sophie's overcooked pork roast."

"They don't want you to read it, Captain," Henri grinned. "If you do, you might figure out what they're up to and find a way to argue the budget cuts." The stocky detective in green Hawaiian print and settled into a nearby chair.

"We barely even HAVE a budget anymore," Simon quipped. "How could the cut us any further?" He quickly held his hand up to no one in particular. "Forget I asked that," he said quickly, his eyes heavenward.

"Too late, you're jinxed now," Henri chuckled. Simon glowered at the man before glancing at the file in his.

"Brown, why is there an obvious coffee stain all over your case file?"

"Um..." Henri blushed as darkly as a man of his skin coloring could achieve. "Well, you see sir, it was what I was working on the other day..." He trailed off. Simon raised his eyebrows, but waited patiently. "The day... the... popcorn, sir..."

Simon suddenly understood only too well. Sandburg and popcorn. It had been a VERY difficult day. "Got it," he sighed and glanced at the file. He'd almost managed to forget that day. Just as prior to that, he'd almost managed to forget about Sandburg and Popsicles.

Almost.

"Captain?"

"Sorry, Brown. Just... remembering."

"Yeah." The two men sat in silence for a moment. "So... you're not really going to ban Blair from eating in the bullpen, are you?"

"What?" Simon sat up straighter. Oh yeah, the rumors. "No, of course not. I... couldn't justify it without banning everyone from eating, and I REALLY couldn't explain doing that."

"Good," Henri nodded. At Simon's slightly surprised expression, he amended, "I mean, you know... good you won't single Blair out. You know the kid doesn't mean to be so..." He waved his hand in a completely pointless gesture, but Simon nodded his understanding. "Hairboy's just... he's, well... you know. It's part of who he is."

"Believe me, I know," Simon growled. "That's the problem, isn't it? He doesn't mean to be a complete distraction, but he is. He doesn't mean to get into trouble, but he does. He doesn't mean to be way too helpful to get rid of, but he is."

"Simon?"

"Don't worry, Brown, I didn't mean it like that. Sandburg's a good kid. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell I can do about this, so that I don't keep worrying about my people having a sexual revolution in the bullpen while also not offending or embarrassing my civilian observer."

"Have you asked Jim to talk to him?"

"You're kidding, right?" Simon laughed, glancing quickly toward the Sentinel on the other side of the office glass to see if he was eavesdropping. Thankfully, nothing in Jim's body language indicating he was paying any attention at all to his coworkers behind closed doors. Well, at least he took THAT conversation to heart, Simon thought ruefully back to their discussion on Appropriate Use of Sentinel Hearing in the Workplace.

"How exactly would put that request? 'Jim, please ask Sandburg not to eat any food at the station, as watching him eat makes the rest of us horny?' I don't think so." The captain rubbed the bridge of his nose absently. "This is worse than when we had that temp who wore those incredibly short skirts that showed WAY too much off."

Brown nodded, an amused smile crossing his lips. "Yeah," he said dreamily. "Ernesta. I really liked those skirts, man."

"Down, boy," Simon sighed. "That's EXACTLY why I had to talk to her. Guys like you were practically falling down whenever she walked by. If she hadn't been so completely oblivious to everything around her, I can only imagine the sexual harassment lawsuits."

"Yeah, but she looked GOOD, Captain!"

"I'm not denying that, but the office was no place for her to be showing off her... assets." Simon took a long drink on his coffee. "I had to actually get an HR rep - a female rep, mind you - in here to bare witness that when I discussed appropriate office attire with her that I did so professionally and without any hint of impropriety or bias. I practiced my speech on that for three days."

"But this isn't the same thing."

"No, it isn't." Simon poured Henri a cup of coffee and handed over the desk. "In this case, the problem lies in a fundamental part of Blair's being. In who he is as a person. I can't chastise him for who he is."

"Especially since he doesn't even know he's doing it."

"Has he always been so... erotic?" Simon asked bleakly. "Did I miss this before? Or have I just not been watching him eat?"

"No, this all started with those Popsicles," Henri said. "Until I saw him eat a Popsicle, I had no idea watching anyone eat anything could be sexual. Never got into those food scenes in the movies, you know? Like the one in '9 1/2 Weeks'. Does nothing for me. But Blair... Did I mention that Rafe is having a crisis over his sexual orientation about this?"

"He's not the only one," Simon sighed. "Henderson told me he's been seeing the department psychologist over it."

"He is?"

"Yeah. I mentioned in passing that I couldn't eat popcorn anymore and he just blurted it out. I told him to relax, that it's a Sandburg thing, not him. For crying out loud, we're none of us immune." The Captain glanced toward the bullpen, as though checking to make sure the grad student was still absent. "It was the stakeout last week that did him in."

"The one by the warf? You, Jim, Megan, Henderson, Rodriguez?"

"Yeah. Blair was there. He ate a candy bar."

"Anybody else, I would say 'So?' but knowing Hairboy... what happened?"

"He just... Every single one of us had to take our turn at going for a short walk after his was finished."

"Come on, Captain. Dish."

"You know, Brown, you're as bad as Rhonda sometimes."

"Worse. And proud of it. Come on, give."

Simon sighed heavily. Knowing his detective would just badger him incessantly until he sang like a canary, he conceded. "It was a Three Musketeers bar. Figures Blair can't even eat a simple candy bar normally, doesn't it? First he unwrapped it - completely. Not bit by bit while you eat or squeezing it out of the wrapper... no, he COMPLETELY unwraps it.

"But he doesn't just remove the wrapper either. It was like the candy bar was stripping, for crying out loud. Little peels, bit by bit. And of course, the whole time he's chatting at Jim about something or other - Lord knows, I can't remember a thing about what he was saying. And bit by bit, the wrapper is being removed. Reminded me of those old movies you see of Gypsy Rose Lee.

"And then, once the wrapper is off, which took a good three minutes minimum, he fondles it. It was cold enough in the van that it was pretty hard, so Sandburg had to warm it up some before he could eat it. So what does he do? He FEELS UP the candy bar. Just chatting, and stroking... it was downright disturbing. I DO remember what he was talking about at that point, because I was trying to focus on ANYTHING other than the fact that he was molesting a Three Musketeers."

Henri grinned wickedly. "And just what WAS he talking about, Captain?"

"The hunting rites of the Massai tribal warriors," Simon said pointedly. "Definitely anything BUT sexually stimulating. Anyway, so eventually Megan managed to get the topic of conversation to something we could all actually participate in, and Blair focuses more on eating his candy bar. Megan was facing out the front in the driver's seat, so she missed most of it - which was good, since she ended up carrying the conversation. You see, Blair eats a Three Musketeers from the inside out."

"Huh? How?"

"He eats the chocolate off one end first, and then... he licks out the filling."

"Licks?" Henri gulped, paling a little. Simon nodded, shifting in his chair.

"Licks. Carefully, so that the chocolate coating remains in tact." Both men paused at the thought of Blair's long, wet, red tongue dipping gracefully inside the fragile outer rim, scooping out the light, fluffy interior...

Finally, Henri grunted. "It's frightening, isn't it?"

Simon tossed his glasses on his desk and rubbed at his face. "I keep thinking... maybe if we keep him out of the station for a few weeks, everyone will be able to reset their resistance levels. I mean, this is new just the last few weeks, right? But how do I do that without hurting his feelings? The kid's so unsure of himself around us, how do I pull this off without damaging his fragile ego?"

The men sat in silence for a minute before Henri piped up thoughtfully, "Isn't the semester coming to an end at the University?"

"Yeah, three weeks left."

"And things are usually pretty hectic for Blair the last few weeks of the semester, right?"

"Right..." Simon murmured carefully. "I see where you're going. Blair will have less time for us anyway, so if I convince him that I'm going to confine Jim mostly to desk duty... maybe I can find some internal research project to stick him on... The kid would probably jump at the chance to lighten his work load."

"You'll have to let him know that Jim mentioned how worried he was that Blair might overdo things during finals, and that it would make Jim feel better if the kid didn't try to help out so much. Blair won't bail on Jim just because he's not on the street."

"Good point, but he WILL do it if I ask him to because Jim's worried about him pushing himself too hard. We'll make a detective of you yet, Brown."

"Gee, thanks Sir. Oh, hey, then after school's out, you could send Ellison on a week's vacation. Tell him to take Blair some place - camping or somewhere - to relax after the stress of finals."

"Perfect. I can tell him that Personnel has been on my back to make him use some of his back vacation time. That will give us all three full weeks away from the kid to work this all out of our systems."'

"Or to let him work out whatever's going on with him."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a theory Rafe has, sir. He thinks that Blair's working his mojo to get Ellison to make the first move."

"The first move?"

"You know..."

"But Blair's straight, isn't he?"

"I thought so, too. But hey, you've met Naomi; he was raised by the Queen of Free Love. Maybe he's just pickier about the guys he dates."

"So Rafe thinks that Blair's doing this on purpose?"

"No, not exactly. You'd have to ask Bri to go through the whole psychological aspect of it - he completely lost me there. But he said something about Blair's subconscious being at work here. Especially since he only seems to have that extra erotic oomph when Ellison's around. He went to lunch with Brian and me last week while Jim was out with Megan, and that special whatever of his was completely absent. He was just good old Hairboy again."

"Really? Go figure, Sandburg repressing." Simon chuckled and pulled out a cigar to munch on. "Lord knows Ellison is so hot for the boy it's pathetic. But he'll never move on his roommate. He's too much of a Boy Scout."

"I don't know, sir. I've been watching Ellison's reactions lately. That man's ready to pop."

"I don't know. I've known Jim a long time, and I don't see anything Sandburg does ever getting Jim to pounce." Simon glanced out at the bullpen and sighed heavily. "Ah, here comes our favorite torture device now."

Blair bopped into the office, his backpack thoroughly laden, his arms filled with bags. He unloaded onto the chair next to Jim's desk as the detective looked up and smiled brightly, saying something in greeting that made the younger man laugh.

Simon and Henri watched the anthropologist present Jim with a large brown bag from which the eager-looking detective retrieved a humongous hero sandwich and a huge bag of some sort of chips. Blair pulled a smaller sandwich and a banana from another bag - obviously for himself - before he presented Jim with what was obviously the coup de gras - a pair of long necked glass bottles filled with a glowing red beverage. Between Blair's flourish and Jim's highly visible delight, the meaning of the bottles was fairly plain.

"What's that?" Henri asked. Simon grinned.

"Doc Bayberry's Original Fountain Soda," he said wistfully. "Cherry Vanilla flavor. The only deli I know that carries it is Mama Milton's over on Nellerby Street."

"Wow, that's way out of the kid's way," H whistled.

"Yes, but it's Jim's favorite. Blair knew Jim was stuck working on that background check on Arthur Mahoney, so he obviously decided his friend deserved a special treat." Blair looked up just then and saw the Captain and Henri. The young man waved, grabbed another larger brown bag and practically skipped over to the door. Simon opened the door just as he arrived.

"Hey, Simon, H. I brought you guys a treat this afternoon." He handed Simon the bag, which clanked with the recognizable sound of glass bottles. "I got Jim lunch from Mama Milton's, and I got enough Doc's for everybody. There's at least five of every flavor, since I wasn't sure what people would like, and enough for two a person." Henri grinned wide and dove a hand into the bag, snagging a root beer.

"Cool! Thanks, Blair! Simon was just mentioning that this stuff is Da Bomb." Simon took a Grapes-n-Cream before letting Henri relieve him of the bundle and take it to the conference table.

"Yeah, Jim's crazy about the Cherry Vanilla," Blair said. "But since Mama's is all the way across town, he insists on depriving himself. The other flavors are good, too. I prefer the Black Raspberry myself, but I know I won't drink it all, so I usually get Cherry Vanilla and then Jim will finish off what I don't drink."

"You're the best," Jim called, chuckling from his spot.

"Tell you what, Blair," Simon said. "Why don't you give Jim the second Cherry Vanilla, you take a Black Raspberry, and I'll finish it if you don't. I won't drink a whole two myself - the ol' stomach won't take that much carbonation anymore - but I can finish yours off if you don't."

"Cool! Thanks, Simon." Blair pulled a bottle of the dark wine-colored soda and trotted back to his desk. Simon waved Henri back to his seat and closed the door again.

"Ellison's an idiot," Henri said frankly. At Simon's questioning stare, he elaborated. "Hairboy's obviously nuts about him. Nobody goes running all over town just for soda for someone they aren't head-over-heals in love with."

"Nonsense, that's the kind of person Blair is, isn't he? He goes out of his way for anyone. Remember when you were laid up after you caught that bullet on the Siverson case? Blair was the one who rallied the troops to make sure your house stayed clean and you weren't forced to eat take-out every night."

"Blair? I thought Rafe did that."

"No, you're partner was a main player, but Blair was the one who begged, borrowed and bullied."

"Wow. He gave Brian the credit."

"Yep. And he was our 'mysterious benefactor' of the five dozen chocolate pastries from Payard's after that hellish week last month when we were all on our last strangled nerve. I think Jim might have chipped in some, but it was Blair's idea, and I know for a fact he agreed to baby-sit Kathleen Payard's triplets for three months' worth of Fridays to get a discount on the treats."

"Damn. Those were good, too."

"They better be. Regular price on each one is about five bucks."

"FIVE?? APIECE?????"

"Brown, have you ever been to Payard's?"

"On a cop's salary? No way. But... they're just little snack cakes!"

"No, they are - and I quote the website, which I looked up after thinking we could get Daryl's birthday cake there - they are 'the quintessential example of the finest in French patisserie, a tradition of excellence that is only imitated elsewhere'. By the way, a lunch at Payard's will run you easily forty to fifty a person."

"Like I said, not on a cop's salary. So, just how much would Daryl's cake cost?"

"You don't want to know. I decided the boy can go ritzy when he gets married. I went with a Baskin Robbins ice cream cake. He wouldn't know the difference, anyway."

Both men spent a moment in silence, their thoughts variations on the same theme. Finally, Simon shook himself and pulled up to his desk to study the file, just as Henri glanced out into the bullpen.

And froze.

Simon looked up at the sudden stillness of his detective, then followed his gaze... and shivered.

Blair, comfortably settled cross-legged on the chair next to Jim, was drinking from his bottle while obviously completely engrossed in the textbook he was reading. The bottle was about half empty, and the dark liquid had thoroughly stained the student's lips to a deep crimson. He were staring at the pages before him, at the book carefully propped so that he could look straight forward without having to hold it or crane his neck, but his eyes had an almost dreamy glaze to them that suggested that he was lost in thought about something he had recently read.

Jim, consequently, had mutated into a piece of obsidian - solid, cold, motionless. Staring at his partner wide-eyed, his entire face screaming of lustful desire and not just a little pain.

Blair idly ran his tongue over the mouth of the bottle, swirling it around the opening of the bottle in a slow circular motion. His lower lip was glistening with residual moisture as he tasted the cool glass, drops of red soda lingering from the last swallow he'd taken. After a moment, he moved his lips together and sucked gently on the rim of the bottle before taking a long, slow sip.

But, having taken in the beverage, the bottle didn't then leave his lips; rather, it remained in contact as he swallowed, as though to lose contact would cause a worldwide disaster. Blair pursed his lips, rubbing them together slightly as he tasted the flavor on his own skin, then he opened his mouth slightly and slipped the mouth of the bottle inside, slipping his tongue slightly into the opening. His tongue played against the upper edge of the glass, teasing slightly, then thrust in deeper, creating a small popping noise every time he pulled out.

Jim let out a deep, rattled breath, but Blair apparently didn't notice.

The next swig was a hearty one, two fast tilts of the bottle as Blair swished the liquid through his teeth, and for a moment Simon thought perhaps the danger was over. But no, once those swallows had past, the distracted scholar was back to playing, blowing puffs of breath over the opening while he mouthed it tenderly, his lips toying with the curved ridges.

Then it was back to licks, his tongue sliding over the outside of the bottleneck, over the outer curls, dipping into the opening and then out again to the top and swirling... A deep drink of the sweet nectar within was followed by the soft smacking of moistened ruby lips.

The bottom lip made contact again, and this time the bottle was moved slowly back and forth across the full shape of the lip, while soda-colored tongue followed the shape of the top. Then another swallow, another smacking of lips, and the tongue snaked lazily over those lips to collect any errant drops. Lips returned to the bottle to suckle noisily for a few seconds.

Jim made a small strangled noise.

Suddenly the student uncrossed his legs, never taking his eyes off his book. "Mm, gotta hit the head, man. Be back in a few." He climbed out of his chair, reached for his book and took it with him, eyes buried in text as he wandered toward the door.

Three pairs of eyes watched as Blair sashayed out of the bullpen. Two pairs of eyes flickered to watch Jim stare open-mouthed at the door where Blair had disappeared. Open-mouthed and panting hard, and a deep shade of purple. And sweating profusely.

"Henri, hand me that blue folder on my desk."

"Blue... folder?"

"The vacation approval forms. Ellison's taking TWO weeks."

END

Author's Post-Script - in case you cared:

There really is a Payard's Bistro and Patisserie - but no Kathleen that I know of, and the website 'quotes' are also fictional.

The real Payard's is in New York City on Lexington Ave in Manhattan between 73rd and 74th Streets. Their website (for serious cyber-drooling) is at www.payard.com/. Despite the price, this should be on every connoisseur's list of Dream Eateries on their NYC tour!

End Bottleneck by Kitipurr: [email protected]

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