Distortion, a Sentinel adventure by Glacis. Rated NC17. No infringement intended to Pet
Fly et al for the loan of their universe. This is for Ann, for the input, the
letters, and the support for our Sentinel. Thank you. This was the happiest
ending I could manage.
Freedom was illusory. Ephemeral. Carried a high price tag. Was worth every drop of blood and
every lie he'd told to get it back. He would play their little game for as long
as he had to in order to do what he had to do. Then he, and his adjunct, would
disappear. He was, after all, a master gamesman.
Just one of the things they had forgotten in their efforts to control
him.
Lee Brackett took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and willed the images
away. Eighteen months of confinement, experimentation, interrogation, isolation
and sensory deprivation. A year and a half of
near-hallucinatory madness. In the end, an open door, and an obligation
he would honor exactly as long as it suited his needs.
They had no idea what they had created. What they had unleashed.
He twisted the last two wires together, clipped them off, closed the
gray metal box and sat back with a small sigh. He was
tired, but the adrenaline was beginning to sing along his veins again. The old surge of heat that hit him right before a big op, when his
mind and his body would be stretched to their limits, and he would fight hard
before coming out on top. Every time. With two exceptions. The first one, an FBI agent who had
made the mistake of entrapping him, was long dead. The second, a detective and
his partner, still lived. Soon, that would be remedied.
Well, one of them would die, anyway. He had plans for the other.
Leaning forward slightly, he twisted the small knob on the front of the
box, shifted to get comfortable in his seat, and stared across at the video
screen in front of him. Shapes took form, two men, moving through the three
rooms he had wired. Hanging jackets, eating dinner,
squabbling over the remote for the television. Chattering
from one, attentive nods from the other. The images were crystal clear,
the audio equally so, and his enhanced sight and hearing caught even minute
details of those he observed. They sat together, ate together, laughed
together. His eyes narrowed and one finger tapped unconsciously at the side of
his lean jaw as he watched. Listened. Waited. Planned.
Smiled.
"Oh, c'mon man, that is so unfair!"
Jim laughed silently at the hint of a whine under the expressive voice.
Blair could wrap him around his little finger even before they became lovers.
Now that they were together, really together, it had gotten to be as
natural as breathing. Every once in awhile he had to get a
little of his own back. Besides, the kid loved it, even if he wouldn't
ever admit it until it was tickled out of him. He stared down at the wild hair
spread over the pillow, the sturdy naked body writhing under his own, trying
unsuccessfully to escape hypersensitive fingers that knew just where to brush
to send him into paroxysms of laughter. It was addicting.
"No, Jim, c'mon, let go of my wrists, please, how can I touch you
if you're holding me down like this, man? And I really gotta
touch you." The whine was being replaced by a darker, huskier plea as
Blair rubbed his crotch teasingly against Jim's stomach. The heat and musk
rising from his aroused lover overwhelmed him for a moment, and abruptly the
tickling stopped and the lovemaking began. Loosening his hold on the strong
wrists, he slid his hands the length of Blair's arms, then down his ribcage,
firmly enough to sensitize, not lightly enough to tickle. Blair caught the
change in mood immediately and whimpered briefly in expectation. All the
play-fight eased out of his body, and he began to arch rhythmically up into
Jim.
Placing one spread palm directly over Blair's sternum, Jim held his
torso steady and slid his other hand down further, slow, steady circles
gradually getting smaller and slower as it pressed against his stomach, across
his upper thighs, back around to his navel, back down to his groin, always
coming close but never quite contacting the heat of Blair's erection. The flesh
was straining against him, light, needful brushes against his forearm, his
chest, along his jaw as he moved further downward.
"Please, Jim, please, gotta move…"
The tortured whisper brought his attention back to Blair's face. It was
beautiful in arousal, flushed and sweating, eyes wide and dilated black with
lust. Not breaking eye contact, he used the heat as his guide, and dipped his
chin to open his mouth, taking the head of Blair's cock in his mouth.
"Oh, god, oh, yeah! More!" The sharp command was at odds with the velvet softness of
the quivering crown he was ringing with his lips, goading him on. The hand he'd
been holding at Blair's chest swept down now to grasp the base of Blair's cock,
squeezing it, holding it steady for his mouth to plunder. His questing tongue
traced the edge of the head, the rim of the glans,
the small slit now leaking pre-ejaculate over his taste buds. Long fingers
wrapped around his head, framing his skull, urging him forward. He refused to
be rushed, enjoying the taste, tracking it as it slid down his throat. He
varied the pressure by tiny increments, testing the entire surface of the head
before allowing more of the shaft to slip into his mouth. Blair was making
small appreciative moans now, interspersed with an urgent "yes!" or
"more" once in awhile. The noises went directly to Jim's groin,
reinforcing his own arousal.
Curling his fingers around Blair's sac now, he pulled the heavy
testicles gently in time with the suction he was creating with his mouth.
Deeper, then relaxing, deeper still, he rocked until he was swallowing the
entire length. The moans were constant, as Blair spread his thighs and dug his
heels into the mattress, seeking more purchase to thrust harder into Jim's
throat. Bringing both hands into play, he concentrated on his sense of touch,
using the variations in heat and the almost imperceptible shudders under the
skin to focus his attentions. His hands danced over Blair's perineum and up
along the crease between his buttocks, parting them, playing with the shrinking
opening, teasing it with one finger tip, then another. Blair was humping
frantically now, close to coming, between the fingers working into his anus and
the throat massaging his cock.
Jim dialed everything down, then, except his touch, closing his eyes,
muting the exciting sounds he was forcing from his lover, not allowing the
taste he loved to overpower him and take his control. The earthy scent
surrounding him was seeping into his pores, but he dialed that down as well,
wanting to give to Blair, wanting his lover to feel everything, trying to make
it last. Of course, it didn't -- it couldn't, such intensity being too high to
sustain for long.
"Yes, yes, please, now, man, Jim, gotta
come, please, let me come, Jim, please, god, please." The sounds were
making very little sense by this point. Blair's temperature spiked, his
testicles contracted, his anus clenched tightly around the fingers probing it,
and he thrust hard, screaming his pleasure wordlessly as he lost himself in
orgasm. Jim held him tightly, swallowing as quickly as he could, knowing the
contractions of his throat milking around the shaft only made it better for
Blair. The effort at control was worth it to see the end result, his Blair,
sprawled bonelessly across the sheets, mouth open,
panting for breath, lashes feathered across flushed cheeks, shivers running
along his frame as he came slowly down from his climax. Jim almost came himself
as he let his senses loose, nearly overwhelmed by the experience of being
surrounded by his love. One hand reached down, discreetly, to pull at his
erection and push himself over the edge.
"No."
He stopped. Blair's eyes were open. They were slightly hazy, but clearer
than he would have expected. He was staring at Jim's hand. For all their
openness and lack of shame with one another, Jim was still a modest man, and
there were some things he had a very hard time doing in front of anyone.
Touching himself was one of those things. Blair knew this, of course. Jim was
beginning to believe there wasn't a damned thing about himself that Blair didn't
know.
"What do you need, baby?" he managed to croak. He was
blushing, a little. Usually he did himself while Blair was still recovering
from orgasm, and had his eyes closed. He felt very … exposed, somehow. Silly,
perhaps, but he still had a few modest hang-ups.
"You," Blair answered him. He didn't understand, looking at
his Guide for explanation. Blair raised a hand lethargically and waved at Jim's
aching erection. "Want to watch you."
The arousal, which had flagged a little at the interruption, surged
suddenly, taking Jim by surprise. He'd never been an exhibitionist, he was much
too private a man for that, but right now, at this moment, he wanted nothing
more than to do this for Blair. He shuddered. "Watch me what?" As if
he didn't know. But he needed to hear the words. Needed to
hear them in his Guide's voice. As always, Blair caught on almost before
Jim had figured it out himself. Settling himself against the rumpled pillows,
Blair lowered one hand to his softened genitals and began to play with them,
gently stroking his fingertips along the tender flesh. Jim watched, mesmerized.
"Do this." He reached out instinctively toward Blair. His
lover laughed softly and caught his hand, redirecting it back toward Jim's own
cock. "No, big guy. I want to watch you do
yourself."
Jim shifted over onto one side, looking from Blair's slowly growing
arousal to his own groin. He wasn't sure he could do this, in the light, under
the bright spotlight of Blair's avid stare. Tentatively, he reached down and
curved his fist around his cock. He was so hard he ached, but residual
embarrassment froze his hand in place. He took a shallow breath, and groaned.
"Unwrap your fingers, Jim," Blair
directed, employing the Guide voice that Jim followed instinctively, but with
an added depth and darkness that was unique and unfamiliar. He found himself
following the instructions without thought, and shuddered again at the
intensity of sensation in his cock. "Take two fingers and stroke yourself,
yeah, like that," the voice continued, and he felt himself slipping under,
his world whiting out into the slick slide of hot skin under his fingertips,
the sparking explosions of pleasure arcing through his balls. "Take a deep
breath," and he did, the scent of his own arousal weaving around him,
interlaced with Blair's scent, distracting him from the threatened zone out. He
anchored himself on Blair's voice, dividing his attention between what he was
doing to himself and the rich caress of the words along his eardrums.
"Yeah, that's it, just like that. Slide down a little further,
uh-huh, that's it, Jim. Open your eyes."
Heavy lids raising, he saw that Blair was mirroring
his action. They lay side by side, watching one another. His left leg was held
down by the weight of Blair's right crossing over it. His lover was stroking
his half-filled cock with one hand, gently twisting each nipple in turn with
the other. Jim moaned and reached out to him.
"No. Watch me. Listen to me. Touch yourself." Jim's hands
returned obediently to his body. "Just like that, you can do it. That's
good." The far corner of Jim's mind that was still functioning recognized
the speech pattern as the same Blair used to bring him through sensory tests,
but that corner was soon washed away with sensation as his Guide continued to
direct him. "One hand under your balls, now, yeah.
Lift them, squeeze them, roll them. Um-hmm, just like
that. So good. So beautiful. So fucking hot." He was, he
was burning up. His other hand roamed restlessly, rubbing at his nipples, up to
his throat, as he watched Blair doing the same. He was caught up in a sensory
fugue, feeling what he was doing to himself as if it was Blair's hands doing
it, feeling the satin skin under his fingertips as if he was touching Blair
himself.
"Lift up, now, Jim, yeah. So fucking gorgeous.
That's it. Spread your cheeks, yeah, like that. Finger yourself, just the one,
uh-huh, yeah. Yeah. Now take your cock in your fist. That's it, Jim, pump
yourself. Harder. Harder.
Give yourself more." They were moving together now, as Blair thrust his
own hand into his ass, matching Jim's movements perfectly. The bulk stretching
his anus combined with his rapid milking movements on his cock were meshing
with the sight of Blair doing the same, the scent of their combined arousal,
until he couldn't tell where one of them began and the other ended. "Yeah,
another finger, that's good. Fuck yourself, Jim, let
me watch you fuck yourself. Deeper. So
fucking sexy. Yeah, push harder. Watch me, Jim. Scream for me, lover.
C'mon, man, do it, do it!" He was close, so
close. He shoved as hard as he could back on his hand, his wrist knocking his
testicles to the side, as he hunched over and pumped into his fist. Blair was
curled toward him now, their knees rubbing one another, a single point of
contact between them. Then Blair shifted, bent over, pumping hard at his own
cock. Keeping just enough distance between them that he didn't actually touch
Jim, he angled his head so that his face was mere inches from Jim's frantically
pumping fist.
"Don't touch the head, Jim. Jerk your cock, harder, now, yeah. Fuck
yourself. Harder. Come for me, now, Jim. Do it!"
The moist breath flagellated the head of his cock like a whiplash. He shoved
his fingers as far up inside as he could reach, squeezing his cock hard,
convulsing as he came, screaming Blair's name.
When he came back to himself, Blair was straddling him, shaking, pumping the last of his orgasm across Jim's belly. Semen ran
down his cheeks and across his mouth, dripping from his chin where he'd caught
the force of Jim's climax. He arched, one final time, and crumpled across Jim,
who caught him and settled him close to his side. Unthinking, Jim stretched
over and began to lap up his spendings from Blair's
cheek. His lover relaxed against him and raised his face to be cleaned,
dabbling in the come spread across Jim's stomach, offering a fingertipful for Jim to lick clean. The mingled taste of
their semen warmed him.
Blair slid sleepily down his body, pillowing his head against Jim's
torso, lazily licking at the liquid there. Reveling in the warm, silky weight,
breathing in deeply to imprint the scent even more firmly in his soul, Jim
smiled hazily down at his love and drifted off to sleep.
Two weeks later, the Guide knicked his finger
while slicing a bagel for breakfast. In the bedroom, the Sentinel unconsciously
stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked away the sting. The hidden watcher sat
up straight, peering intently at the screen.
Three months and a few interesting sensory
exercises after that, the Sentinel cut himself shaving. In the living room, the Guide abruptly dropped his backpack and rubbed at
the sharp pain along his jaw. Forgetting it as quickly as it happened,
unimportant as he believed it to be, he shrugged the
pack over his shoulder and went on his way to the University. Thoughtful eyes
watched the figure bounce out of view of the hidden camera, and wove a plan.
It really had been ridiculously easy. Watching them, listening to them,
discovering the depth of their bond, and the elements of its foundation. Trust,
he could work on, eventually. Need, that he had.
Intellect, well, he certainly had Ellison beaten in that respect. Intimacy,
between them, would not be a chore. The pieces fell together, and he knew just
how he could revenge himself upon the Sentinel, and claim
the Guide for his own.
"Let's go, Chief." Jim grabbed up his jacket and tossed
Blair's to him. "We got a tip on the Wylie case. Sneakers comes through again."
"And this time I don’t even have to go home in my sock feet," Blair
grumbled behind him. He grinned to himself.
Climbing into the truck and setting course for an old house in one of
the most rural areas of the county, Jim kept most of his concentration on his
driving and the rest on Blair. His partner was rattling about some new exhibit
that was opening at the
Wheeling into the empty lot that served as the front drive for the
decrepit building, he pulled to a stop. As they approached the front door, he
gestured for Blair to get behind him. Listening hard, concentrating on cutting
out the extraneous noises, he heard nothing suspicious. Just one heartbeat, a
little rapid, not out of line for a snitch giving information on one of the
major importers of drugs in the Pacific Northwest. He didn't smell any gun oil,
couldn't see anything unusual. Stepping into the darkened house, eyes
automatically adjusting, he didn't recognize the significance of the straps
crossing the dark blond hair until it was too late.
His gun fell from rapidly numbing fingers as his eyes began to close. He
recognized Blair's familiar weight as the smaller man fell against him from
behind, already unconscious, sliding down his back. As the darkness closed in,
narrowing his field of vision to a pinprick, enhanced sight flared once more.
The still figure turned, staring down at them.
He knew those eyes.
He couldn't tell how much time had passed since they'd been taken, but
he knew it was quite awhile. Jim twisted his hands against the metal chains
cuffing him to the straight-backed chair he was restrained in, staring through
the dim light in the small room to check out his partner's condition. Blair was
restrained as well, with padded manacles at his feet and ankles, and a soft
looking gag over his mouth. The other man wasn't strapped to a chair, as he
was, but was curled up on a mat on the floor. As he watched, trying to work his
jaws free of the material gagging him, drowsy indigo eyes opened. They swept the
room hazily before settling on him, a worried look chasing the last of the
confusion away. He tried to project as much reassurance as he could through his
own look, but had a feeling he was failing miserably.
Before he could get any further than discovering the cuffs had no give
to them, the door creaked open and Lee Brackett stepped into the room. Jim saw
Blair's instinctive flinch before looking up to meet his enemy's eyes.
"Hello, Detective Ellison," he said in a deceptively friendly
manner. Jim stared at him as if he was an insect. The charming smile widened.
Turning to Blair, he tilted his head to one side and stared at the student for
a very long time. There was something predatory in his stance that instantly
put Jim on guard. "And Mister Sandburg. You're
looking … well."
Yeah, definitely something going on. Before Jim could begin to sort it out, Brackett leaned down and hoisted
Blair over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. Jim instinctively tried to get up,
stop him, protect his Guide, but it was a useless effort. The chains held him
fast. Sandburg was trying to squirm, but the residual effects of the gas were
making his movements uncoordinated, and Brackett controlled him easily. For a
moment, the cold eyes met Jim's, and he read an odd sort of triumph in their
depths. Then the door swung shut behind them.
Staring at the blank surface of the door, he concentrated on listening,
trying to track their movements with his hearing, but he'd been anticipated. A
white noise generator coupled with a high, piercing whine similar to a dog
whistle blanketed everything, and quickly made his head ache. Shaking off the
effects the best he could, Jim bent all his efforts on loosening the cuffs
enough to try to get free, rocking in the chair at the same time, hoping to
break the frame and loosen the chains that way. Not nearly enough time had
passed for him to do any good at either before the door opened again, and
Brackett stepped back into the room. There was no sign of Blair.
"It's not going to do you any good, Jim," Brackett stated
quietly, moving to stand directly in front of him. The first punch caught him
by surprise, slamming his head back, as the blood began to flow from the cut
along his cheekbone. "You can't escape." The next was a body blow,
stealing his wind, and he distinctly heard a rib break. "You're going to
die here." One surprisingly strong hand wrapped around his chin, forcing
his head up to meet Brackett's gaze. "But not quite yet."
"Wha--what do you want?" His tongue
felt like it was wrapped in cotton.
"You, dead. Sandburg, with me." The smile
accompanying the words was solid ice, with a slightly mad edge to it that
caused Jim's skin to crawl.
"Why?" Keep him talking. He was feeling a little more alert,
and if he could buy enough time, he might find a way to get out of this mess
and rescue Blair.
"Your death? You didn't play the game, my friend, not the way it was supposed to
go." The hand gentled on his chin, slid down, wrapped around him throat,
held him firmly. "The Agency has their own method of dealing with rogues.
Not pleasant. Not at all pleasant." The pressure
on his trachea increased for a moment, then eased.
"I found out a few other things. That's where your little lover comes
in" He tensed under Brackett's hand, unable to still the reaction. His
captor nodded. "Oh, yes, I know any number of things about the two of you.
That's why you're not dead yet. I need to form a connection with him, bind him
to me, before I break the connection he has with you. And I can only do that if
you're still alive, until he is mine. Then, you'll die." The hand squeezed
once, briefly, then let go, and Brackett walked behind him. "Until then,
you can think about it." From somewhere behind his head, he heard the
suction of a plunger depressing into a syringe. He shied away, but didn't get
very far. "Oh, and feel free to eavesdrop, if you can," the hatefully
cheerful voice concluded, before the prick of the needle at the side of his
neck made the world go fuzzy again.
Pulling his concentration in with all the fierce control he could
muster, desperate to save both himself and his partner, he called to mind
everything Blair had taught him about controlling his body's reaction to
chemicals. The residual effects of the first dosing and the strength of the
second combined to defeat him, and the world whited
out into nothingness.
Jack Kelso sat in his office at the University, knowing he should be
concerned with sorting his notes for the afternoon's lecture on comparative
regional governing structures in the post-Soviet republics. But something was
nagging at him. Staring unseeingly at the neatly printed papers scattered over
his desk, he rubbed a weary hand across the back of his neck and gave a deep
sigh. Whatever it was had to be important, or it wouldn't be bothering him so
much. Closing his eyes, he sorted through the few unusual events that might be
causing the breakdown in his concentration.
It wasn't his classes. None of his students were causing any real
problems, and the staff left him pretty much alone, with the exception of his
friends. None of them were in trouble, that he knew
about. It wasn't the doctor's report. He'd known the further damage from the
sniper's bullet was going to cause some problems with his spine. He had a
suspicion Blair was going to feel unreasonably guilty about that, so he was
trying to keep quiet about it. No reason for the kid to take on any more
burdens, especially when they weren't his to bear. It wasn't the latest update
he'd gotten from his sources within the Agency. Not all that much was going on
right at the moment, and most of that was routine. A counterinsurgency op being
closed down, another opening up, an Emily sting going down on a foreign diplomat,
an assassination or two, a test subject being released, to be picked up again
as needed, a prisoner exchange in the middle east that might lead to some
additional information on the bioweapons front … his
eyes popped open.
Something about the test subject.
Prisoner release.
Exchange.
For the benefit of the agency.
Swearing softly under his breath, he reached for his keyboard. Tapping
in an urgent, coded email, he clicked the send button and stared at the screen.
They couldn't have.
Oh, hell, of course they could have. Would have.
Might have.
A beep from his machine caught his attention, and he quickly opened the
message and decoded it. Staring at the words for a split second, he cursed
again, more loudly this time.
They had.
Kelso grabbed his desk phone and pressed a preprogrammed button. The
telephone in Blair Sandburg's office rang eight times before he settled the
handset back on the machine. A quick call to the department secretary confirmed
that he had not been seen since the previous day. He reached for his cell
phone, dialed a number from memory. Three rings later an answering machine
clicked on. Not at the loft, either. Punching the disconnect button, he typed
with his left hand, calling up the desired number from his computer address
book, and dialed it into the phone with his right.
"Cascade Police Department, Major Crimes
Division."
"I need to speak with Detective Ellison please." His fingers
squeezed and released around the phone, nervous energy needing an outlet
somewhere. An eternity on hold later, a raspy bass voice came over the line.
"This is Captain Banks. Detective Ellison is not at his desk. May I
help you?"
"Captain Banks, this is Jack Kelso." The affirmative noise
from the other end of the line reassured him that the man did remember him.
"Have you heard from either Jim or Blair today?"
"No," Banks replied slowly. "They didn't come in today. I called
but got an out of range signal from Jim's cell. They went out to contact a
source yesterday afternoon. It's not unusual for Jim to be incommunicado for a
little while when he's in the middle of an investigation. Why?"
"I have reason to believe that Jim and Blair are in extreme
danger." He didn't try to hide the urgency in his voice. Blair was a good
friend, and he was in deep trouble.
"From whom, Mr. Kelso?" There was a cautious
blend of urgency and disbelief in the deep voice.
"Lee Brackett has been released from custody." The bellow
through the receiver made him wince, and he hurried on, cutting across the
questions spilling into his ear. "We don't have a lot of time, Captain. I
know Brackett. He's a nasty son of a bitch, and he's got a grudge going
here."
Less than an hour later, a TA was covering his lecture, and he was
ensconced in Simon Banks' office, running down every lead he could possibly
think up.
Lying on a rush mat on a cold cement floor brought back way too many bad
memories for Blair Sandburg. The last time he'd been immobilized like this,
David Lash was busily creating an altar of his personal effects and preparing
to drug him, torment him and drown him. He was trussed up again, drugged again,
scared half out of his mind again, and fully expecting to be tormented. The
only similarity his frenzied thoughts couldn’t come up with was the drowning
part. Brackett would probably just break his neck. It was not a comforting
thought.
Caught up in his memories and his fears, he didn't see Brackett until
the man knelt beside him, running one hands gently through his tangled curls.
He started and tried to wriggle away, but Brackett's other hand hooked firmly
into the chain running around his waist stopped his attempt at flight. He
stared up through the tendrils of hair falling into his face, eyes fixed on
Brackett, waiting to see what his next move would be. The hand moved up to
touch his cheek, then down his side to his ribs, gently soothing the cramp he
had there. He lay rigid, not trusting this gentle touch.
The hand in his hair tugged back, forcing his head up so that he was
staring fully into Brackett's face. The normally cold eyes were surprisingly
warm, staring at him with what looked strangely like approval.
"I've been watching you." A shiver ran along Blair's spine at
the soft voice. "I didn't fully understand why the entire concept of
Sentinels fascinated me so, until the last two years. Do you know what happened
to me, Blair? I hope you don't mind my calling you Blair. Mr. Sandburg is so
formal, and we won't be at all formal with one another."
Blair stared up at him, wondering just when Brackett had completely lost
his marbles. The other man took his enforced silence for consent and his
trapped look as interest, as if he wasn't still firmly gagged and held fast.
"Sensory deprivation and solitary confinement are tried and true
methods of breaking a recalcitrant man. They did something else in my
case." The fingers on his side spread, slowly stroking his ribs through
his shirt. "They triggered the development of something in me that had
lain latent for my entire life. I can hear water dripping a mile away now. I
can hear someone's heart beating in another building. I can see in the dark as
if it were broad daylight."
As the recitation continued, Blair's body stiffened under Brackett's hands. No.
No fucking way. There was no fucking way on earth Lee Brackett was a Sentinel.
"I can smell fear." Suddenly he moved, bending closer, his
face inches from Blair's. "I can feel your skin through your
clothes."
His breath started rasping through his nose as a full blown panic attack
hit. Blair's muscles started to shake, and the world began to gray out as he
hyperventilated. Dimly, he was aware of an ease of constriction, as the chains
around him were unlocked and unwound. Then he was gathered up against a warm,
hard body, long arms wrapped comfortingly around him.
The wrong arms. The wrong body.
Screaming inside his mind, he clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut
and fought off the panic. When he had his breathing under as much control as he
could maintain, he scrambled as quickly as he could from the enveloping
embrace. Ricocheting into a corner of the room, his enemy between himself and
the door, he held his hands out warningly.
"Stay the fuck away from me, man!" he howled as Brackett advanced
on him.
"I'm a Sentinel, Blair-"
"NO FUCKING WAY!"
"-and I need a Guide." Brackett stopped a few feet in front of
him, and smiled down at him. "You."
Blair feinted right and broke left, sprinting for the door. Brackett
caught him before he got three feet. He swung back, kicked, squirmed, snapped at the hands holding him as if he was a wild animal
caught in a trap. Brackett simply held him, tightly, wrapping himself around
Blair's back and holding him against his chest until the exhausted young man
subsided.
"I know you have a bond with Ellison." Blair jerked
reflexively at his lover's name, but wasn't able to break free. "It's as
genetic for you to bond with a Sentinel as it is for a Sentinel to bond with
you. You're a Guide. Sentinel and Guide are matched sets." The soft voice
continued inexorably in his ear, pounding into his head. "It's built into
you. You have no choice but to bond, but it doesn't have to be with him. It can
be with me."
"No! I love Jim! I hate you!! You're a goddamned maniac!" He
was panting with exertion now, still twisting in Brackett's grip.
"It will be good, Blair," the voice tried to soothe him.
"I'll make it good for you. Pretty soon you won't even remember him.
You'll be mine. My Guide."
Pure enraged frustration poured off Sandburg. "Go fuck yourself!!"
"No," this time there was a tinge of amusement to the tone.
"I'll be too busy fucking you."
"Not on your life!" Blair screamed, lunging against the arm
around his abdomen.
"How about on Ellison's?" came the
calm response. Blair froze. "Cooperate with me. Come to me willingly. If
you do, I'll let him go. If you don't, I'll kill him."
"Bullshit." He wasn't buying that at all. "You're going
to kill him anyway."
"Maybe." There was a short pause, then, "Maybe not. Perhaps it's just a
matter of time. If you fight me, I'll kill him immediately. Right
now. If you make love with me, I won't. Fair
exchange?"
Blair chewed it over, trembling with anger and fatigue as the options,
limited as they were, tumbled in his thoughts. He knew he couldn't be
responsible for Jim's death. He had to do whatever he could to make sure it
didn't happen. His gut clenched, but he did his best to ignore the sickness in
the pit of his stomach. Jim needed time. His partner wasn't dead,
he was fighting to find a way to save them both. Blair didn't know how he knew
that, but he did. His job was to buy as much time as he could and give Jim the
chance to do his thing. Coming to the only conclusion he could reach, he forced
himself to relax as much as possible against Brackett's hold.
"Have sex," he finally whispered, Sentinel-soft.
"What do you mean, have sex?"
Shit. He heard that. Blair swallowed a moan of sheer disbelief, and said
more clearly, "Have sex. We will not make love. But I will have sex with
you."
Brackett nuzzled against the back of his neck, burying his face in the
heavy curls there. He could feel the smile on the bastard's face.
"Semantics."
That's where you are so wrong, he thought, but kept his mouth shut.
Brackett turned him slowly, keeping careful watch on him. Blair went with the
movement obediently, waiting for an opening that never came. The next hour was
a waking nightmare.
Brackett undressed him gently, caressing every inch of his skin as it
was uncovered. He tried to remain passive. It didn't work. Those long fingers
seemed to know him, moving unerringly to every erogenous zone he had. By the
time he was naked, he was erect, aching, and in shock. His mind was protesting
every move, but his body betrayed him, caving in to the pleasure.
"Undress me." He didn't want to, but his fingers reached out,
and his hands peeled the black shirt and jeans from the muscular body in front
of him. Similar in height to Jim, the resemblance ended there. Brackett was as
furry as he himself was, toned body covered with a light golden down,
thickening and curling into a golden brown tangle on his chest, arrowing to a dark curly thatch surrounding a long, thick
cock. He was already hard, pre-cum leaking from the tip, bobbing gently to burn
against Blair's stomach as they stood close.
Backing Blair up to the cushion on the floor, Brackett proceeded to
demonstrate his own control. With his hands, mouth, tongue and teeth, he
brought Blair to the edge of climax again and again. Blair was moaning, shaking
his head back and forth in denial, but his body responded of its own accord to
the wicked touches making him shiver. Fingers plucked at his skin, teeth nipped
at his neck, bit at his nipples, lips worked at his mouth, his throat, his
wrists, his fingers, his abdomen, the tender skin behind his knees, the outline
of his ankles, the curve of his back, the fullness of his ass. He gave up
resisting and tried another tack, trying to come as quickly as possible,
wanting to end the torment, the pleasure his mind was shrieking that he
couldn't be feeling.
Brackett didn't allow him the release. One hand slipped down between his
thighs to pull firmly at his balls, stopping his orgasm. He cried out, a broken
plea, and soothing kisses rained over his face, closing his eyes, following his
cheekbones to the corner of his mouth, lingering at the mole to the left of his
bottom lip, then sliding in and pressing against his tongue, invading him. The
touches lightened then, until his body quieted and the over-riding need to come
calmed. Then they began again, building up, tightening his nerves like steel
springs, then calming him again.
He forgot who he was, where he was, what was happening, who was doing
this to him. All that remained in the charred ashes of his mind was the need
for it all to be over, for the pressure to finally ease, for him to finally be
allowed to come. When he was convinced that he would not survive, that he
couldn't take another trip up that crest without falling over or dying of
unresolved need, he was turned onto his stomach. His hips were canted up into
the air, his head pillowed on his crossed arms. From what sounded like a great
distance he heard a voice begging for release, almost inhuman cries of arousal
and desire.
Fingers like talons split his ass, and warm air blew over him as a rough
wetness bathed his asshole. He was pushing back against it, needing to be
filled, needing this to end. As if answering his
inarticulate pleas, a snub-nosed bludgeon probed at his hole, stretching him
past the point of pain. Caught as he was in the insanity of finely wrought
desperation, the pain was another facet of the pleasure, and he let loose a
keening wail as he fought to impale himself. Strong hands caught at his hips,
slowing and controlling his descent. When he was finally fully seated, one hand
slipped around the sweating waist to curl possessively around his angry cock,
pushing backward along the wet muscle, countering the hard thrusts into his
ass.
It seemed to go on forever, and he could make out words, his own words,
running together, tripping over his lips. No, yes, god,
please, stop, stop, no, fuck, please, fuck me, let me come, god, no. And under them, a drumbeat, an unceasing rhythm of guilt and
disbelief and anguish. Jim. Jim. Jim, jim, jim, jim, jim, jim.
Where are you? Help me? Please? Make it stop? Make him stop? Let him
stop. Let him come. Please, please, let me come.
Then he felt the change, as Brackett, with deliberate intent, altered
the angle of his thrusts. Pushing against the small gland hidden deeply, turning
Blair's responses against him fully in the final act, he set a deep,
irresistible rhythm, both hands working at Blair's crotch, fucking him
thoroughly, riding him hard and stroking him just as hard. Blair's mind caught
fire, and the drums beat through his head, through his chest, until he was the
beat, and nothing existed but the fire. He spasmed, ass clenching tightly around Brackett's cock,
pulling it in, humping up against him to maximize the sensation of the orgasm.
He heard a triumphant shout behind him as Brackett arched deeply against him,
pumping into his as he also came. He felt the weight blanketing his back, the
sticky blood-warm mess against his groin and stomach, the scraping against his
knees, the cold of the concrete seeping up through the cushion they lay on into
the side of his face as Brackett collapsed on top of him. There was something
salty and wet on his cheek, trickling into his mouth. Tears.
He closed his eyes tightly, and whispered a heartbroken plea.
"Jim."
He didn't know how long the white-out lasted. He came to himself to find
every muscle in his body clenched, fighting the effects of the drugs. Brackett
had taken his Sentinel abilities into account when concocting the drug, but
Sandburg had done a lot of work with him in the last two years, and he was able
to at least hold back the effects, even if he couldn't completely counter them.
Something was beating at the back of his brain, panicked, frightened. A part of
it was his own emotional reaction to the situation, combined with his fear of
what that nutcase would do to his partner. But part of it was outside himself, and some protective instinct warned him that
something very traumatic was happening to his Guide. Ignoring the pain from his
broken rib as best he could, he began to rock in the chair until he finally
overbalanced it. The crash as it landed winded him, and the pain nearly caused
him to black out, but he fought it back with everything he had.
Blair was in trouble. He'd find him and help him if it killed him.
The crash did have one result he'd been hoping for. The frame of the
chair had cracked. Shifting and heaving his not inconsiderable bulk as much as
he could, he eventually worked one of the side supports free from the back of
the chair. That loosened the chain enough to slip one hand free. From there it
was simply a matter of time and a high pain tolerance level, accompanied with
dialing down on the pain as much as he could, to drag himself out of the
remains of the chair and escape the small room. His legs were still almost
entirely numb, and he could feel the drug saturating his system, threatening to
overcome his controls. Pushing forward on sheer instinct, he managed to stagger
along the corridor outside the room, following his Guide's pained voice.
His mind wasn't working right. It couldn't be. Because he couldn't
possibly be hearing what he thought he was hearing. As he entered a relatively
large room, he stumbled over an obstacle on the floor and went down hard. The
jarring pain wrenched a little of the control from him, and he felt his legs go
completely numb as the effects of the drug made themselves known. Rolling onto
his side, fighting to stay conscious, his eyes opened
on a scene from his worst nightmare.
Blair was on his knees, stark naked, being fucked by Lee Brackett. He
was crying out, moaning, leaning into his arms, hiding his face, and humping
back hard into the reaming the bastard was giving him. Brackett's hands were
busy at Blair's crotch, working him to climax, which came as Jim was watching.
Blair came first, writhing and groaning. Jim could see the convulsions rippling
through his body, could smell the familiar scent of semen and sweat and musk.
Brackett came immediately afterward, yelling, wrapping himself around Jim's
lover, claiming him. Jim's mind went blank as his senses overloaded on what he
could not be seeing, and he started to shut down. Instinctively, he listened
for his Guide's voice.
"Jim."
A cry for help.
The details began to fill in again, bringing his vision on line. His
gaze sharpened, taking in the tracks of tears along the side of his partner's
face, the tightly clenched jaw, the white-knuckled
fists. Determination swept through him, and he tried to respond, needing to get
Blair the hell away from there, end this, kill
Brackett.
His legs didn't move.
His lapse in attention had cost him dearly, losing too much ground to
the drug still in his system. He collapsed back onto the floor, heart racing, coppery taste of blood in his mouth where he'd bitten his
lip. From beneath him, he heard a slight scrape, felt the bulk of soft material
that was Sandburg's jacket. In the pocket, the small square shape of the cell
phone. Twisting behind himself, he snagged it with one hand and rolled over as
far as he could go into the shadows. If luck, who had been mighty fucking
fickle lately, decided to be on his side, Brackett would be exhausted enough
that he wouldn't hear Jim in the far corner of the room. God knew Blair wore
him out often enough, put him in a haze that left all his senses swimming.
Maybe it worked with Brackett as well. Jim could only hope.
Dialing from memory and touch, not taking his eyes off the two men
crumpled together across the room, Jim muttered under his breath as the phone
rang. "C'mon, Simon, be there, pick up the fucking phone--"
"Banks!" The harsh bark nearly broke his eardrum. He shook off the shock and
spoke clearly, frantically, and quickly.
"It's Jim, Simon. Trace this call. Brackett has Sandburg and me.
He's going to kill us." Well, him, certainly, he wasn't sure about Blair.
But living with whatever Brackett had planned for the kid would undoubtedly be
worse. He quickly described the surroundings, knowing they had been moved from
where they had originally been trapped, but unsure how far.
Within four minutes they had a trace and a location. Help was on the
way. Jim had never been so happy to hear from back-up in his life. He focussed on getting the feeling back in his legs, and watched
his partner being gathered up in a close hug by a man Jim would give his eye
teeth to kill.
Lee Brackett was submerged in pure unadulterated satiation. All he heard
was the steady thumping of the heart beneath his head, thundering through the
broad back he was pillowed on. All he could see was the clear white skin
stretched across the shoulder under his cheek, all he could smell was the
earthy spice of the man he had just fucked so completely. The survival
instincts bred into his bones forced him to reach for his pants and shoes,
uncurling himself from Blair just long enough to dress himself,
and to wrap his new lover in his own jeans and torn shirt. Then he settled back
down onto the mat, pulling Blair into his arms, burying his face in the
fragrant curve of his neck.
The bonding had begun. He could feel the links forming as they'd made
love, as their bodies had reacted to one another. Oh, his Guide had fought him.
Of course he had. Loyalty was one of the traits, along with curiosity and passion, that made him who he was. But that loyalty would
shift, given time and no alternative. He had a place they could go, just the
two of them. They would stay there until the connection was completely forged,
until the part of Blair Sandburg that was bound to Jim Ellison was subjugated
to the majority of the Guide, who needed the Sentinel. He would tie Blair to
him with everything he had, would seduce him and pleasure him until he had no
other needs, and had surrendered to the inevitable. Then, with Blair beside him
to Guide him, he would utilize these newfound abilities to the utmost. With
Ellison dead and Blair with him, nothing could stop him.
He felt the tension finally begin to drain out of the compact body he
was cradling close, and allowed himself to relax a little at last. It was going
to work. He wouldn't need his contingency plan after all, because it was
actually going to work. He smiled against the soft skin of Blair's neck and
nuzzled closer.
Blair's mind was in serious denial. His body was exhausted, the drugs
and the sex, the adrenaline, anger and fear, all combining to wipe him
completely out. But his mind was hyperactive, jumping from one scenario to
another, all centered around escape, several including the violent death of the
man currently cuddling him close.
The man who had caused him to betray his partner. His lover. His Sentinel.
His best friend.
He felt filthy. Ashamed, not just of what had
happened, but at his own participation in it. The rational part of his
mind argued that he had been coerced, that it had been rape as surely as if
Brackett had held a gun to his head and forced him. But the guilt lurked there,
too, and ate at him. He was a loser. A hopeless, stupid, slut
of a loser. No, he thought fiercely, a victim, god
damn it.
The lassitude in his body and the well used ache in his hindquarters,
the strained throat from screaming for more all mocked him. He had hated it,
sure he had, that was why he was yelling for Brackett
to fuck him, right? Suuure. His mind might have been all pure and restrained, but his
body had caught like wildfire when the other man had touched him.
He wanted to puke. Or cry. Or both. Dying
sounded real promising, too.
Except that Jim was out there. And he had to get to him. He couldn't let
… what he had done … be for nothing. He had to save Jim. Forcing himself to
relax, he waited, concentrating completely on Brackett's reaction. Finally, the
other man did what he'd been hoping he would do, and dropped his guard enough
to loosen his hold on Blair's arms.
Taking a deep, calming, centering breath, Blair jack-knifed into
Brackett, kneeing him as hard as he could in the groin while swinging his fist
up in a clubbing motion toward Brackett's face. It was a damned good attempt.
It failed.
The knee was just barely deflected by a hard thigh twisting Brackett out
of the way. The fist impacted, but the evasive maneuver changed the angle of
the punch, and it slid along the other man's cheek instead of catching him
directly in the nose. Blair scrabbled desperately to escape, but only managed
to get a few feet before Brackett tackled him. Writhing in his hold, cursing in
as many different dialects as his subconscious could throw out,
it was a few minutes before he heard what Brackett was saying. When he did hear
it, he wished he hadn't.
"You should have cooperated like I told you to, Blair. I see now
that it's going to take something more final to make you understand. You're
mine now. Ellison is dead. I'm going to have to kill him, now, right now. As
long as he's alive you won't give up, I see that now. I thought you might be smarter
than this, Blair, but I guess you're just too caught up in--"
"Oh, god, please, don't kill him," Blair broke in, turning as far as
he could in order to make eye contact. "Please. I'll cooperate, man, I
swear, I'll do whatever you want, just please, please don't kill him-"
Whatever reply Brackett might have made was lost as the outer door
suddenly burst open, shattering on the hinges. Five black suited men boiled
into the room, kevlar coating their chests, black
caps and jackets proclaiming them Cascade's finest.
Brackett swung around immediately, bringing Blair up in front of him as a human
shield. The tall man in the lead of the group steadied his weapon on the rogue
agent and barked at him.
"Don't be a fool, Brackett. The house is surrounded. You're not
getting out of here. Let Sandburg go, and give yourself
up!"
Blair beamed at Simon, opened his mouth to say something, anything, and
closed it again at the touch of sharp steel against his windpipe.
"I don't think so, Banks," Brackett replied calmly. Then he
backed out of the room through the side door, keeping Blair between himself and
the drawn weapons at all times. As Blair stumbled along in the strong grip, a
sound at the far corner of the room drew his attention. Flicking a glance out
of the corner of his eye, concentrating on keeping his balance so he didn't
trip and cut his own throat on Brackett's knife, he saw a bulky shadow in the
corner next to the hall door.
Jim.
Oh, but that sucked. Big time. How long had he
been there? What had he seen? His heart rate tripled at the thought that
his betrayal had actually been witnessed by his partner, and his stomach turned
over. Before he could react any further, Brackett dragged him backward through
a door, then pushed Blair ahead of him down a steep,
rickety staircase. It was pitch dark, and Blair only kept himself from falling
by grabbing hold of the thin railing.
When they reached the base of the stairs, the door above flew open, and
a shot was fired down the stairwell, barely missing Brackett, and winging
Blair. He yelped in pain as the bullet drew a shallow furrow along the top of
his shoulder before embedding itself in the wall. Even without Sentinel hearing
he could make out Simon's words as he growled at the over-enthusiastic cop
who'd nearly taken out the hostage trying for the criminal.
He quickly lost track of direction in the dark as Brackett pulled him
along behind, but it didn't matter. He knew they were in some sort of tunnel,
outside the house now, didn't know where. He had to slow Brackett down, had to
stop him, couldn't allow Brackett to take him with him wherever the hell he was
going. Blair dug his feet into the ground, clutched at any object going by,
anything he could do to slow their flight. It was working, too, he could hear
the cops following them, closing in.
Brackett could hear it too. Biting off a curse, he grabbed Blair by the
hair and pulled him close. He whispered something, it sounded like 'won't see
you hurt' but Blair couldn't tell, then a hot mouth closed over his, plundering
him thoroughly. Blair did the only thing he could do, since his hands were
caught between them and he was too close to kick the bastard.
He bit him. Hard.
Brackett retaliated with a swift clip of the handle of the knife to the
side of Blair's skull. There was a ringing pain, a swinging moment of vertigo,
then nothing at all.
It was an overnight stay in the hospital for both partners, one to flush
the last of the drugs from his system, the other to watch for concussion. Simon
debriefed them separately, wondering at Blair's resistance to Jim's insistence
at seeing him. When Jim finally got enough sensation back into his legs to move
under his own steam, he grabbed his IV pole, belted his robe around him, and
trundled over to sit beside Blair's bedside. The nurse was not happy. The
doctor was even less happy. Simon was confused, Jim was determined, and Blair
was off in a little world of his own, too sunk in depression to pay any
attention to the minuet being staged around him.
Jim wasn't his best with words, anyway, and when Blair went nonverbal on
him, Jim didn't have any idea how to get his partner to talk to him. It was
unique in his experience with his lover. Blair normally talked the hind leg off
a mule, and even when they made love, Blair was the talker, not he.
Then again, these weren't exactly normal circumstances.
Blair had been hurt any number of times since entering Jim's life. But
this was a different kind of pain. This was self blame, and self castigation.
Shame, and anger, and a lot of other things Jim wasn't completely sure about. All of it completely silent.
Not knowing what else to do, he simply sat, quietly, watching the
downcast eyes, the pale face. Blair wouldn't look at him, instead staring down
at his fingers, twisting in the edge of the sheet. Finally, Jim leaned against
the side of the bed, captured the restless hand, and twined his fingers with
Blair's. He dropped a kiss on their clasped hands, laid his head next where
they lay on the bed, and closed his eyes.
"I love you, Blair." He didn't let go as the fingers flinched
and tried to pull away from him. He just held a little tighter, brought them up
to his cheek, and gradually fell asleep.
Blair still wasn't talking the next morning, signing the discharge
papers then sitting beside Jim in mute agony all the way home. By the time they
reached the loft, Jim was at the end of his tether. He knew he couldn't get
mad, couldn't let the fear riding him blow his temper, because that was the
last thing Blair could deal with right then. But he had to do something.
Hanging their jackets up and turning back to ask Blair if he wanted an
early lunch, he wasn't surprised to find the room empty. He was surprised,
though, to hear water running. Blair had taken a shower at the hospital, both
the previous night and this morning. This was weird, even for his
unconventional partner.
Or maybe not.
Focusing his eyes through the small crack along the side of the door
where Blair hadn't shut it completely in his haste to get under the water, Jim
watched the young man. Blair was washing thoroughly, almost obsessively, all
along his chest, his arms, his stomach and his genitals. Even from here Jim
could see how rapidly the skin was turning red from the harsh scrubbing. It hit
him with the force of a fist to the gut.
Blair thought it was his fault. Felt dirty.
Well, hell. That wasn't right. And he couldn't allow it to continue.
Without a second thought, Jim stripped down and dropped his clothes in
the hall, consigning house rules to hell for the moment. Slipping into the
steamy room, he called out softly, not wanting to startle his partner, with all
the kid had been through the last couple days.
"Blair? Baby, it's just me."
His partner started violently, even with the warning, and turned to face him. Finally. What he saw in those wide dark eyes nearly broke
Jim's heart. He stretched his hands out to cradle Blair to him, stopping cold
when he saw the way the other man flinched from him. Moderating his approach,
he reached out with a single hand, gently running his fingers along Blair's
arm. Goosebumps rose along the path of his touch. Caught up in watching the
reaction of his lover's skin to his light touch, it took him a moment to
realize that Blair was muttering something.
"I'm so sorry, Jim, I tried, I mean, I couldn't … he was … I had to
… you were …"
Talking things out had never been Jim's strong suit. So he fell back on
what he knew best, and let his actions speak for him. Determined to wipe away
every memory of Lee Brackett's touch, he set about replacing it with his own.
He didn't draw it out, didn't tease at all. They needed this, both of them, a
reconnection between them to strengthen that which had been ripped apart by
Brackett's revenge.
"Don't let him win, baby," Jim managed, wrapping his arms
around Blair and drawing him close. He began to rain kisses all over Blair's
face and throat, carding his fingers through the long curls to pull him into better
position to taste him. "None of this was your fault." He suckled the
side of Blair's throat, coaxing a moan from deep within his chest. Strong hands
slid up Jim's side to anchor themselves at his shoulders, and Jim slid his own
hands down, cupping Blair's buttocks, palming and kneading them. Blair
shuddered, once, and Jim leaned back a little, staring down at his face.
"I feel filthy, Jim," he admitted, staring up with confusion
and pain clouding his eyes. "Had to do what he said, man. Needed to give you
time. But he pushed every button I have, even though I tried so hard not to
turn on. I fought it, Jim, but he got me anyway." His voice broke at the
end, and he tried to draw away. Jim held on tighter, holding him against his
chest, resting his cheek atop Blair's head.
"You're human, Blair. After a certain point, it doesn't matter
who's doing what, if the right places are touched, you're going to respond.
Doesn't mean you wanted it. Doesn't mean you failed, or that it's your fault.
You did everything you could, and you did it to save my life. I heard you
begging him, Chief."
Another shudder ripped through the sturdy frame in his arms, and he
heard an incoherent denial against his chest. He ran a hand soothingly over the
tensed shoulders, maneuvering Blair so that the hot water beat against his
spine, hoping to relax the tight muscles.
"Begging him not to kill me. Telling him you'd do whatever he wanted to save me. You fought him
every way you could. And you won." Blair stilled completely, and he smiled
into the curls. "You won, because you and I are here, together, and he's
gone, and I've got you. Don't give that victory back to him, Chief. Don't let
him take you away from me." His voice dropped to a whisper, and he touched
one hand under Blair's chin, easing back to get enough space between them to
lean down and drop a kiss on full, trembling lips. "Please."
The mouth under his opened, suddenly, voraciously. Jim would have crowed
with triumph if he'd had the air, but his partner was too busy sucking it all
out of him for him to be able to spare any. As it was, he dove into the kiss
with as much need as his love, and only broke the contact when he started to
get light headed. Something in what he'd said must have struck a chord, because
Blair began to touch him, caressing him, rubbing at his back and hips, kissing
everywhere he could reach. There was a hint of desperation there, but he damped
down the concern he felt, knowing that with time and distance it would ease.
Until then, Jim reassured him the only way he could, by kissing him back just
as thoroughly as he was being kissed.
Working one hand between their bodies, Jim found Blair's hard length and
began to stroke him, a firm, loving touch that had them both at the brink in
moments. Before he could give into the temptation and fall over the edge, Blair
pulled away. He forced his eyes open and looked at him with concern, just in
time to see the curly head dip down as Blair went to his knees. Then that hot
mouth opened over his cock and sucked it in, and the unexpectedly aggressive
move made his muscles melt.
Leaning one arm against the wall of the shower, he managed to turn them
just enough so that his back protected Blair from getting sprayed in the face
with water. Blair was working at him with a will, one hand rolling Jim's balls
from side to side while the other pulled at his own cock. The sight of Blair
swallowing him whole nearly short circuited Jim's brain. Very soon, too soon,
he felt the tension running from his toes and his scalp, meeting in a fireball
in his groin. The universe contracted into the steady suction drawing the life
from him, the tiny lashing of wet strands of hair against his groin and thighs,
the scent of Blair's semen as he came filling Jim's head and stealing his mind
away.
Cold water streaming down over his butt and legs brought him back to
reality. Shivering, he reached down and hooked unsteady hands under Blair's
arms, drawing him up into a shaky embrace. Pulling him from the shower, he
flipped off the water and grabbed a towel. His lover came back to life enough
to help him dry them both, then they stumbled together up the stairs and
tumbled into bed.
Lying together, with Blair's head pillowed on his chest, Jim let his
hands drift down until they cupped the rounded buttocks that fit them so
perfectly. He felt Blair smile into his chest.
"Tomorrow is another day, big guy." The contentment in the
sleepy voice made his heart trip, then double up beats to catch up. It was
going to be okay. It had to be.
"Yeah, Scarlett," he teased gently.
"And when it's here, this," he squeezed gently, and Blair wriggled
delightedly if somewhat groggily against him, "is mine."
"Always," the deep voice slurred, then
dropped into a tiny snore. Jim smiled into the darkness. Blair was his, and he
was Blair's. Forever.
Less than six blocks away, the fugitive stopped packing long enough to
stare at the quiet image on the screen. Leaving the set-up in place for
possible future use, he slung the small pack over his shoulder and turned to
shut off the equipment prior to leaving. A softly spoken word caught his
attention.
Always?
A long time.
He had the time. And he could wait.
Forever, if need be.
~e~n~d~
Distort (di stort'),
v.t. 1. to give a false
meaning to. 2. to twist awry or out of shape. 3. to reproduce inaccurately.