Rumor, Meet Reality

by Jane Davitt

He's good. So good. Oh, he's the best. The things he does with his tongue -- God, yes; he told me he learned that trick from a tribe in, well, somewhere hot. Where he went naked for weeks. Naked? Mmm.

He's heard conversations like that ever since he introduced Sandburg to the PD. Half the time, he wonders if the source of most of the rumors about Sandburg's gold medal performance in bed is Sandburg himself, because he's done the math. He knows where Sandburg is, for every hour of his schedule, and it doesn't leave room for the sexual epics that spice up break room or restroom chatter for so many women who should know better, dammit.

Sandburg spends most of his spare time with Jim, anyway. And Jim never gets to feel that tongue (he can curl it, you know, when it's down there, curl and kind of flick -- Oh, stop!)

Yeah. Please. Stop.

Stop right now.

Because he knows the man, not the legend, and he knows Sandburg's normally sized down there, pretty shy about showing it off, and has a wide-eyed wonder about women and sex that would belong better on a twelve-year-old. Not a virgin, no; Sandburg can shower but he can't hide, but maybe, just maybe, not all that experienced, after all.

Jim's thought about it, probably more than he should; the guy's college years, the golden years, he was barely shaving and couldn't drink; what kind of social life had he gotten? Zero. Zilch.

Yeah, he thinks, and makes himself laugh aloud doing it. Sandburg's a shy, timid little fawn, he really is. Not. As usual, the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

No one knows Sandburg better than he does. It's something he feels proud about, which is on the weird side, but when it comes to their relationship, what about it isn't?

There's just this one gaping hole in his knowledge -- what's Sandburg like to fuck with --where all he's got is theories and one hell of a lot of curiosity.

He's also got places Sandburg's tongue is more than welcome to visit, curled or not; a bed with sheets just waiting to get scorch marks from the heat they could generate rubbing together.

And he's got a few tricks of his own, and if he picked them up on an army base Stateside, not a more exotic location, well, no one's perfect…

Not even Sandburg. Which is why he --

Yeah. Why he, that.

And the next time he sees Sandburg smirk happily when even he can't help hearing what's being said, he's going to drag the guy off someplace quiet -- yeah, a bedroom would work well -- and see how much of those rumors are based on fact.

He hopes none of them are. He's kind of fond of the idea of doing some guiding of his own.

There, God, yes, you're doing fine, Chief, doing real good, right there…

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