Title: Illegal Operation

Author/pseudonym: Silk

Email address: silkn1@worldnet.att.net

Rating: R

Pairings: Jim/Blair

Date: 2/18/01

Series/Sequel: Technical Problems; this file is a sequel to Offline.

Category: First Times, Romance

Author's website: https://www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, but I got over it long ago. I don't make any money at this either. Still dealing with that. {g}

Notes: The first story in this series, Offline, was from Blair's POV. This story is from Jim's POV. The next parts of the series won't necessarily alternate. It just happened this way. I always listen to the voices in my head. Especially when they're Jim and Blair.

Summary: Jim finds out what Blair is up to--and does something about it.

Warnings: m/m, angst

*****

Illegal Operation

By Silk

I am *not* one of those people who rejoices when the next patch for Windows comes out. I don't believe that technology is beautiful and no, I am *not* looking to make Bill Gates richer than he already is. Stupid fuck. Maybe he could pay someone to do a makeover.

But you know there must be something wrong with the world when a homely technogeek like Gates scores more than a big buff cop in Cascade, WA. Oh, yeah, that whole leggy redhead thing has been blown so far out of proportion, it's not funny.

Mind you, I'm not saying that I don't get fucked on occasion. It's just that I don't get *fucked*. See the difference? Damn. Sandburg would. That's the thing about Sandburg. He *gets* me. Gets my jokes, gets my reports, gets my coffee. Only...

...lately something's wrong. I don't know what. He's not talking. Now if you knew Sandburg like I do, you would realize that's not like him. There *is* no matter too inconsequential or too esoteric for Sandburg not to comment on. Frequently. Repeatedly. At great length.

I miss his chatter. I miss his smile. Hell, I even miss picking up his sopping wet towels after he showers. Well, no, I don't mean that he no longer showers. It's just that suddenly he's Mr. Neat. Mr. Polite. Mr. I don't-want-to-fucking-bother-Jim. But I wish he would.

Fucking bother me, I mean. He used to. I miss that. I miss...him.

He's not seeing anyone special. I would know. I can smell that kind of thing. Sandburg would undoubtedly say that it's an abuse of my Sentinel powers. Well, fuck being a Sentinel if it means that Sandburg is going to stop being Sandburg.

I was dying to know what was going on. That's how I got involved with single-handedly trying to stem the overwhelming tide of technology. I don't *do* computers. If computer illiteracy was a vocation, I would be Father Jim right now. But I had to know what Sandburg was up to.

I knew it involved his laptop. He was glued to the damn thing. But putting aside morality and ethics and violation of the right to privacy for the moment, I could not figure out how to do a simple break and enter. Not when it involved email.

There were passwords, access codes, icons that barked like real dogs when I touched them with the tip of the mouse. Those things alone would daunt a lesser man. But Jim Ellison never fucking gives up.

Besides, I...oh, fuck, I think Sandburg is worth fighting for, okay?

That's how I discovered that whoever originally designed Windows must have had a thing for cops. How else do you explain things like "illegal operation" and "fatal error" and "this program must be shut down"?

I'm getting frustrated. The harder the questions, the more elusive the answers. Nothing is quite the way it seems here in cyberland. There is a technical world here that I could never inhabit, never feel comfortable with, no matter what I do.

Dammit, if only these fucking wizards of technology made an electronic lockpick-wait! I'm in! Luckily for me, Sandburg saves *everything*, little pack rat that he is. His emails are intact. Now to scroll past the unimportant stuff. I have no idea what I'm looking for, but I'll know it when I see it.

Christ! Sandburg likes *men*? I'm trying to tell myself that this is not exactly a newsflash, but my mind is reeling. The issues that raises. The fucking possibilities.

The fucking possibilities. The possibilities of fucking.

Suddenly my mind is filled with images, images that are not as unwelcome as I expected. It's not as though I haven't thought about touching Sandburg. We touch each other all the time. It's just that I didn't know that he wanted *that*.

He didn't have to go out looking for it. I would have given him *that*. At first, I can't believe what I'm thinking. Then, I can't believe that it took me so long to think it.

As quickly as hope balloons in my chest, it fades. He wants to get fucked. He's not looking for romance. He wants a one-night stand. He's not looking for a relationship. Relationships are complicated. Relationships involve compromise. Relation-

--the fuck he is! He's already in a relationship! With *me*. All at once he wants to change the rules? That's fine with me. But give me first refusal, Chief!

Or is it that-he's *not* interested?

***

I was lucky that I didn't get caught. The only reason I was able to take the time to hack into Sandburg's laptop was because he was in the shower. Jerking off in the shower.

I know what he sounds like when he comes. I shouldn't listen, but I do. Now that I know why he's been spending so much time online, my senses are greedy for any little glimpse or smell or touch. It changes nothing. It changes everything.

I type in a response to his inquiry for a partner. I'm half-hard, my ear instinctively drawn to the wet, slapping noise of his fist against his willing flesh. I groan and examine what I wrote.

I don't have to lie or embellish the truth. I want him. I want him right now. Naked and kneeling between my legs.

My hand absently caresses my inner thigh. I press the send button. Will one message be enough? Now that I've discovered how attractive Sandburg is, I don't want anyone else to have him.

I send more. I flood his mailbox with sensual valentines. What I can't say in person comes easily at a distance.

Why didn't I think of this sooner? And what if it doesn't have any effect? What if he doesn't choose *me*?

What if he does?

End