“Hey babe,” Jim said, tossing his keys in the basket by the door. Said basket had been placed there with only one purpose in mind - to keep his lover’s keys, which were forever being lost, strictly in one place. Ever since they’d contracted a severe case of SOG, their relationship and lives had been turned upside down but, despite the complications that had arisen with this particular disease, rules were still rules. Whether it be keys in a basket, shoes left at the front door or eating on the sofa, they still needed to be obeyed. Jim, being the alpha male, was determined that no flaunting of the rules, by either party, would be taking place.
Moving into the living room, Jim leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on Blair’s lips, but pulled back suddenly when a look of pure shock appeared on Blair’s face.
Blair wiped his flannel-clad arm - even though it was approximately one hundred and ten degrees in the shade - across his lips. “Jim, man what the hell are you doing?” he squeaked, continuing to frantically rub his mouth and make doubly sure that no trace of Jim remained.
“Giving you a kiss?” Jim replied, confused.
“Jim, we’re guys,” Blair stated in a rather blunt and obvious manner. “Guys don’t kiss when they say hello ... well unless of course they happen to come from certain countries in Europe, which, if you look at it from an anthropological point of view, you could theorise that ....” Caught in the throes of a sudden rush of ‘academic rant, bordering on verbal diarrhoea’, Blair’s mind became awash with a kaleidoscope of free-roaming molecules, all vying for attention in the over-abundance of grey matter that was sometimes referred to as the Sandburg Zone.
Moving forward quickly, Jim tapped Blair on the forehead with the palm of his hand. It was the only effective way of bringing Blair back to earth when the ‘ARBVD’s struck.
Studying Blair carefully, and satisfied that the exploding molecules in Blair’s brain had done no permanent damage, Jim leaned against the kitchen counter. “They do when the guys happen to be us, Chief,” he said, picking up where Blair left off.
“Since when?” Blair asked with an incredulous expression.
“Since the discovery of fanon, of course.”
“Fanon?” Blair began to bounce and pace, simultaneously, his usual response to the ARBVD’s. “Fanon, Jim?” he asked again, now seriously worried. “We work with canon here, Jim … canon.” His eyes suddenly grew wide with a sickening realisation. Jim was suffering from ‘OCE’, otherwise known as an ‘Out of Canon Experience’, a complication associated with contracting both SOG and COCK in a relatively short period of time. If left untreated, OCE could very well result in a writers’ strike or, in terminal cases, cancellation. Trying to avoid the look of desire shinning from Jim’s eyes, Blair unconsciously cupped his hands over his groin, carefully guarding his precious heterosexuality. He breathed deeply, attempting to find his centre. There was no time to waste. “You do remember canon don’t you, Big Guy TM?” he began.
“Cannon?” Jim questioned. His eyes twinkled with possibilities. “As in, wanna shoot off my big gun kinda cannon?”
“No Jim,” Blair gasped. “Canon as in the very foundation of what is acceptable and what is unacceptable behaviour within the realms of our relationship. A relationship that has been established ...” he lowered his voice, “long before meeting up with those kindly, but sometimes hormonally-charged ladies at the retirement home.”
Jim folded his arms across his broad chest, not able to take his eyes off Blair’s pert little ass as he paced the floorboards. “So, I’m guessing this ‘canon-based acceptable behaviour’ doesn’t include me pinning you against the fridge, pulling your pulsating cock from the confines of your baggy jeans - which I must say, Chief, have the unique and uncanny ability to mysteriously transform into tight-fitting denim that outlines every contour of your large, but not too large package- and, once it’s free, deep-throating you in one gulp.” He smiled wickedly as he finished his sentence.
Blair recoiled, feeling physically sick. Jim had just crossed the line, treading into forbidden territory
“Okay Jim,” Blair stated calmly. It was obvious that Jim had strayed deep into the realms of fanon and needed to be brought back quickly before any permanent damage was done. Rallying his thoughts, Blair dug deep and summoned the best guide voice he could muster. “Jim,” he said, low and even, “I need you to concentrate on the levels. You need to imagine a dial - a dial with slash and fanon at the very top, and canon and general right at the bottom.”
Jim played along, happy to imagine the higher-placed dials. “Got it, Chief,” he said. “Slash at the top of the dial, general at the bottom.”
“Good work, Big GuyTM,” Blair praised, trying to be as reassuring and supportive as possible, despite the mammoth task that lay ahead. “Now I need you to start lowering that dial. Just concentrate on all that is good and wholesome within the world of both ‘canon’ and ‘general’, and then bring that dial right back down for me, buddy.”
When Jim didn’t respond, Blair’s concern rose. “You do remember ‘general’, don’t you, Jim?” he blurted, panicked.
Jim was smiling like a moron. “Can’t seem to recall, Chief. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
“Okay.” Endeavouring to steady his nerves and think of a suitable scenario, Blair stopped pacing. He could do this, for Jim’s sake … he could do this. “Okay Jim, think about the times when I come down with my weekly bout of the flu. Well, general means that while it’s perfectly acceptable for you to sit by my bed all night long and bathe my fevered body, it’s not acceptable to think impure thoughts about said body.”
Jim’s expression didn’t change and Blair intensified his effort. “And on the occasions when my fever spikes to a dangerously high level, it is also acceptable for you to forego any professional medical attention and rely purely on your training as a medic. By this, Jim I mean that it’s okay for you to strip me naked and continue to bathe my naked body with a cool soft cloth, even if that means running this cloth over my naked front.
“Your naked front?” Jim queried, his eyes lighting up.
“Yes, Jim, my naked front.” Jim was once again straying into dangerous territory and needed to be immediately steered in the other direction. “But,” Blair clarified, “when you run this cloth across my naked front, you may not, under any circumstance, linger or comment on my ‘Little Sandburg’.”
Jim smiled widely. “Your Little Sandburg?”
“Yes Jim, my Little Sandburg,” Blair repeated, trying desperately to remain cool and collected.
“Why not just say ‘penis’, Chief?”
Blair’s eyes were wide again. “Because penis is not a word that can be wantonly thrown around in the general world,” he hissed.
“Ah, I see,” Jim, replied. “So what else is acceptable and unacceptable, Chief?”
“Okay,” Blair said, on the move again. “There could also be occasions when we’re going to need to bond.”
“Now you’re talking.” Jim pushed himself off the kitchen counter and placed his hands on Blair’s shoulders. “That definitely sounds like fanon monkey sex to me.”
“No, Jim!” Blair shucked Jim’s hands off his shoulders in frustration. “Bonding has absolutely nothing to do with sex, monkey or otherwise.” Placing his hand squarely on his hips, Blair stood his ground. “I mean, simply because I freely give my soul to you, making me unable to function as a human being in my own right and therefore needing you for every facet of my existence, this does not mean that we need to fall into the trap of sex to cement this bond. We can do this on a spiritual level Jim. Mind only. NO sex.”
Jim awoke with a start, his senses immediately seeking out Blair’s heartbeat, his respiratory rate, the fullness of his bladder and the amount of undigested food in his stomach. Relieved to find Blair lying peacefully and blissfully naked against him, he let out a heavy sigh of relief. It was all a dream - a horrific and terrifying nightmare.
Moving carefully so as not to wake Blair, he shifted the precious bundle closer to his body and buried his nose deep in Blair’s soft, but messy auburn curls, letting the smell of sandalwood, thyme and just a hint of rosemary wash over him and settle his senses. His nightmare and the possibility of Blair’s lapsing into the unthinkable realm of ‘general’ and a life based purely on canon had unsettled him more than he dared to admit. The very thought of never being able to bury himself deep inside of Blair’s velvet tunnel of love scared him to half to death. Snuggling closer, a growl rumbled in the back of Jim’s throat and the word ‘mine’ erupted. His steel bands, otherwise known as his arms, wrapped tightly around his guide in a protective hold. “Mine,” he growled again, leaving him wondering briefly if indeed he were man or beast. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, Jim closed his eyes and exhaled a deep, cleansing breath.
Canon had taken its rightful place on the backburner. Fanon - and, more importantly, SOG - had been restored.
All was right with the world .... until!