At The End Of The Day - 1

By Lyn

 

It's been the week from hell. Seven days and nights of unrelenting pressure trying to find the son of a bitch who took pleasure in murdering pretty young teenagers and bragging about it. Simon took the brunt of the criticism from the Chief and the Mayor and it passed on down the line.

Yesterday was the best and the worst. We caught the bastard before he could kill again, the clues to his hiding place finally coming together piecemeal. It's the first time in a very long time that I've come so close to zoning. I needed to use pretty much all of my senses at high capacity during the search. By the time we collared the guy, I had a migraine that threatened to split my skull in two.

As usual, Sandburg copped the worst of my bad temper and, as usual, he sucked it up and ignored it for the bullshit it was, concentrating instead on finding a cure for my headache that didn't involve chemicals that could possibly just make things worse.

The headache's almost gone but my senses are fried. I seem to have no control over them at all right now. They surge and ebb and I'm exhausted just from trying to picture the dials long enough to turn them down. I could wake Blair but he's as exhausted as I am, probably more. He's still juggling a double workload with the university and riding with me, and today, had to work harder than anybody to coach me in picking up the sensory clues and then talk me through the almost zone, plus deal with my aggravation when I lost focus or went too deep. Don't know that I can face those beautiful blue eyes staring up at me while he tells me he understands and all is forgiven.

It rained during the night. I can smell the dust and grime from the sidewalk mixed in with the water and wrinkle my nose, attempting to force myself to not concentrate on it, but it's at times like these, when I feel exhausted beyond belief, too exhausted to even sleep, that my control fails me and I discover trying to corral my wavering senses into order seems to go totally in the opposite direction.

Blair shifts against me, huffing out a quiet sigh and I focus on him as I always do to ground myself. His body is hot and heavy against me, totally lax in the sleep of the utterly weary. I guess it's not surprising that one of us would snap under the strain.

Time for more pleasant thoughts...

I turn my head and bury my nose in Blair's curls. I take in a slow deep breath, and allow the scent of his herbal shampoo to waft in. My hand moves up and captures strands of hair, allowing the shiny locks to glide through my fingers like silk.

Blair mutters an 'mmm' of approval and I let my hand dip beneath his hair to stroke down the nape of his neck. Bending my head, I press a soft kiss to the sensitive skin there and nuzzle Blair's ear. At even that touch, I feel myself growing hard and pull back. While it might be just what I need right now, to lose myself in the sensations of making love, Blair is settled and needs the rest.

"You still awake?" Blair's soft voice is rough with sleep but he rolls over to face me and, after fumbling a moment in the dim light of early morning, strokes his fingers down my beard-roughened cheek.

I grab his hand and kiss each finger in turn. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"How's your headache?"

"Almost gone."

"But?"

I pull him to me and he comes willingly, laying his head on my chest. "But nothing. Go to sleep."

"Your senses are acting up, aren't they?" he says with certainty.

I sigh. I can't hide anything from him. "They'll be fine once I get some rest."

"You can't rest with your senses all over the map." Blair sits up and straddles my body. I gasp as his ass comes into contact with my erection and it's all I can do to stop myself from coming like a horny teenager. Blair grins and leans forward, kissing me lightly. "Yep, definitely extra-touchy feely."

"Wise ass," I mutter.

"Close your eyes," he orders me. When I don't respond immediately, he touches his fingers to my eyelids and gently presses them closed. "Find the dials."

"I can't -"

His finger finds my mouth and halts my complaint. "Concentrate. Find the dials."

I focus on the gentle glide of his hand down my cheek and conjure up the elusive dials in my mind's eye.

"Good," he encourages. "Now, one at a time, turn them down to one."

It takes a lot of cajoling and lecturing on his part but finally I feel myself relaxing, my mind switching off as the sensory input that threatened to drown me lessens to a tolerable level.

"You deserve a reward," he whispers.

I feel him lifting up away from me but before I can protest the loss of his warm weight, he's back and sliding down onto me, rocking gently, taking me in. I groan my pleasure and he takes my hands in his and places them on his hips. "Don't move," he says.

It's a command I'm happy to obey, though I doubt I have the energy to move even if I want to.

He rides me gently, slowly building a fire within me that I don't want to ever extinguish but I can't fight against it for long and I come deep within him, feeling his own wetness coat my belly a few seconds later. Still connected, he leans forward and rests his head once more on my chest. "I'm tired," he whispers. "You?"

"Sleepy," I agree. I coax him up and off me then take him in my arms, wrapping myself around him, grounding my weary senses in the nearness of him, and sleep.

End