Jim heard the panic in Blair's voice and dropped the spoon he was using to stir the pasta sauce, groping instinctively for his gun before common sense prevailed. Frowning at the splattered mess on the counter and his white T-shirt, he walked to the bathroom door. "Make this good, Chief. And don't use all the hot water; I'm going to need a shower myself now."
"I need you in here," Blair called out, his voice strained and pitched higher than usual.
Jim chewed his lip and then shrugged in resignation. He tapped on the door in an unneeded warning and went in.
Blair was naked, plastered trembling against the wall, his eyes huge.
Jim looked at him, looked away, looked back.
The shower was running and the air was damply fragrant with shampoo and soap and-- Jim cleared his throat, recognizing a familiar scent. The odds were good that Blair wasn't going to add an erection to the list of things Jim had to avoid seeing. Trying to breathe through his mouth in shallow sips, he fixed his eyes on the toothpaste. "Chief. Towel?"
Blair made an impatient gibbering noise. "Jim. Focus."
On what? The dark tendrils of hair clinging to Blair's shoulders; the white lace-trace of soap on his ribs; the soft, questioning curl of his cock?
Jim didn't think so. He concentrated on the small print on the toothpaste tube. Triclosan 0.3% w/w. Good to know.
"Over there." Blair pointed to the corner with a shaking hand.
Jim decided walls were safe and let his gaze zigzag over to it: toothpaste, sink -- well-timed blink going past Blair's hip, hollow dent beside it, a thumbprint wide, a kiss deep -- wall. Easy.
"I don't see anything."
"You don’t --" Aggravation seemed to be calming Blair down; the agitated leap of his heart was decreasing. "Jim, you're a freaking Sentinel! Guard my border! There."
Jim squinted. Oh. "That incy-wincy spider?"
"That monster arachnid," Blair corrected him.
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is." Blair was scowling at him. Jim wasn't looking at him, but he could tell. "And it came this close to landing on me when I had my eyes shut."
"If you had your eyes shut, how could you --?"
"I sensed it," Blair said coldly. "Now kill it, squish it, do whatever you have to do, just get it out of my world!"
"I'm not killing it," Jim said, rolling his eyes. "And what's with you? You weren't freaking like this when you and that kid had them crawling all over you, deadly ones, ones that could kill you, and you were tied to that chair, helpless, waiting, watching them… oh."
"Oh," Blair said bitterly. "Yeah. Are we getting it now, Jim?"
Jim sighed. "I'll take it out. No squishing."
"No squishing?" Blair sounded wistful.
"You'd hate yourself in the morning." Jim risked a peek at Blair, a sidelong, fleeting peek. If he was going to be spider-wrassling, he needed motivation.
Because it was a monster. Hairy-legged, glittering eyes, clashing mandibles…
"Jim?" Blair's hand was warm and damp on Jim's arm. "Why don't I get a mug and a coaster and capture it? I can take it out on the patio."
"Did I zone?" Shouldn't have focused on it, zooming in close like that. Rookie error.
"You went pale and nearly passed out."
"Oh." Okay, that was worse than zoning; that was embarrassing. "Up close, they're just not that cute."
"No, they're not." They shivered together, joined in atavistic revulsion.
And Blair, Blair was still naked. And touching him.
And potentially scarier than the spider.
"The sauce is burning," Jim discovered on his next breath, not moving an inch.
"I think it's crawling toward us," Blair murmured, moving his hand in an absent-minded way, (up the spout again…) to cup Jim's neck, pull him closer, get him wet.
Way scarier. Hairier legs, too.
Blair clearly needed squishing.
Between Jim and a mattress should work…
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