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Whiskey Sour
by Chrys
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: J/B, J/B/R implied
Series: The Edibles
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It's hard for Jim to swallow.
For the Zoo Crew, especially Fox, because she asked, for Beaver, because she reminded, and Meerkat, because she shared... Thanks, guys.
Jim swallowed, regretting it immediately. Then he sniffed, and that just made it worse. So he lay there on the couch, feeling sorry for himself.
No one else was feeling sorry for him, after all. Both of his lovers were out having a good time, while he was stuck in the loft. He conveniently forgot that Brian was on stakeout and Blair was teaching a late class. That wasn't important, after all. What was important was that neither one was there to take care of him.
God, he hated being sick. It turned him from a self-sufficient grown man to a four-year-old, wanting to be spoon fed pieces of red popsicle.
The worst part was that he knew exactly how pathetic he was. He just couldn't stop it. Blair and Brian were sympathetic, but he had to be getting on their nerves. He was getting on his own, after all.
Longingly he thought of the days when he could take cold medicine. It might not do anything for the cold, but it would numb the pain in his raw throat. Guiltily he considered taking some of the stash Blair thought long gone, but shook his head. He'd only regret it later, after his Guide found out, if nothing else. It wouldn't be worth it, even if it worked.
Shifting position, he waited for someone to come home so that he could whine at them.
Blair tiptoed into the loft, hoping that Jim had managed to fall asleep. The Sentinel felt so bad - even an hour's rest would help him. Sighing at the hoarse greeting, he closed the door and hung up his coat.
"Feeling any better, big guy?" he asked. Jim just shook his head.
"Well, it's time we do something about that."
"What?" Jim rasped, his face flushed. Blair crossed the room to stand next to the couch, smiling down at his ailing love.
"An old family recipe," he assured Jim. The Sentinel shook his head again.
"No roots."
"No," Blair promised. "No roots."
Bending down to kiss Jim, he frowned as the detective turned away.
"Jim?"
"Won't get you sick," Jim insisted.
"I keep telling you, if I'm going to, I will, whether we kiss or not."
Jim's face remained stubbornly turned to the side, and Blair sighed. "Okay. I don't agree, but it's your call."
Moving toward the kitchen, he opened a couple of cupboards, smiling as he took down the ingredients he needed. He wasn't sure this would work. Old Henry had sworn by it, but... Well, Jim could hardly feel any worse.
Besides, (and his smile turned to a wicked grin,) he was pretty sure Henry hadn't planned on the addition he was going to make to the recipe.
Finished mixing, he returned to the living room, handing Jim the full glass.
"Drink this," he ordered gently.
Jim looked up at him suspiciously, then sniffed at the liquid, growling at his non-functional nose. Blair laughed at him.
"I promised, big guy," he teased. "No roots."
"No moss or anything, either, right?"
Sitting next to Jim, he shook his head. The Sentinel looked at the glass, then shrugged, taking a large gulp. His eyes widened with surprise.
"Blair?"
"Does it help?"
Jim took another swallow. "I don't know. But it'll kill anything living down there."
"That's kind of the point."
The two men sat together companionably for a few minutes as Jim slowly emptied the glass. When he set it aside, Blair shifted position to face Jim.
"It's time for phase two of the treatment," he said, his voice dropping.
Jim stared at Blair, his throat feeling better, his nerves on edge from the sudden shift in Blair's tone. "Phase two?" he repeated.
Blair grinned at him and Jim swallowed. He knew that look.
"Well, you won't let me kiss your lips," Blair said, pouting for an instant before the grin returned. "So I have to kiss you somewhere else."
Pushing Jim's loosely belted robe aside, he bent down, his breath hot on Jim's suddenly stirring cock. Jim stared at the curly head, wondering if he should let this happen, knowing it wasn't his decision anyway. Blair's tongue darted out and traced the edge of his glans, and he hissed as the blood rushed toward the swelling organ.
Blair chuckled, the sound warm on Jim's ears, then took the tip of Jim's penis into his mouth and sucked, gently at first, then harder, the talented tongue moving in spiral patterns along the underside. Jim moaned, fighting the urge to thrust. Blair's hands moved to his hips, holding them still, and Jim moaned again at the light restraint.
He couldn't last, it had been too long, and soon he was crying out as he came into Blair's mouth. Blair sucked and swallowed until he softened, licking him clean, then tucking the robe back over him as he lay sated on the couch. He stirred in protest. "Chief? Let me..."
"No," Blair said firmly, putting a hand on his chest to hold him in place. "This was for you, Jim. Part of your cure, remember?"
He subsided, mentally planning a special night for Blair. "My cure, huh?"
Blair nodded.
"I like part two best," Jim said. Blair's delighted laughter rang out.
"You do, huh?"
"Yes," Jim said, his voice husky again, but this time from love, not
pain. "You're much better than a whiskey sour."
