Fire in the Jungle, a Sentinel and Guide story by Glacis. Rated NC17. No copyright infringement intended.
"Harder, Jim! Now, goddamnit, harder!" It wasn't enough. The feeling had been building for weeks, and the gentle touches and careful loving weren't enough.
"Fuck, Sandburg, any harder and I'll break you in two!" Jim growled at him through clenched teeth.
That was the point, though, wasn't it? Blair stared at his whitened knuckles, clutching at the railing, jolting with each impact Jim's hips made against his ass. To break him, to split him in half, to fill his head and his body with sensation until there wasn't room for anything else. Not cases, not paperwork, not lectures he could only attend now as a guest. He had rearranged his life for his partner and to be true to himself. Given his life's work up for his life's work, remade himself to enable him to be the Guide for his Sentinel. Shit, he'd even cut his hair for the first time in ten years. Every once in awhile, when the pressure built too high, he called in his marker.
"Break me," he whispered, knowing Sentinel hearing could make out the words over the slamming of their bodies together, the slide of their skin, their harsh breathing, the creaking of the bed springs and the myriad noises of two men loving one another. The check in forward movement confirmed that he had. Then Jim slammed into him once more, pulling on Blair's cock, and they were coming, Blair a heartbeat after Jim.
He had Jim's promise. It was enough for the moment.
Nothing was said of his demand for the next few days, but Friday morning when he came back from claiming his mid-morning shot of caffeine in the break room, it was lying across the uppermost file on his stack of paperwork. A slender, flexible, unbreakable plastic pipette, set exactly perpendicular to the edge of the file. Blair stood behind his desk, the picture of serene reflection to anyone else in the bullpen. Inside, the sizzle of arousal snapped from his tailbone to the crown of his head, tightening every muscle from his balls to his jaw. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jim's head tilt, although his partner never paused in his conversation with Brown. Blair took a deep breath.
Setting down his tea mug, he bent over the desk under the pretext of looking more closely at the papers scattered there. He angled his pelvis so that the edge of the desk was at the base of his now erect cock, and the front of the desktop flat against his balls, then deliberately pressed forward. The sharp pain against the heavy vein at the front of his erection and the flattening pressure crushing his sac against his thighs took care of an incipient explosion. He held the sigh of anticipation laced with pain behind his teeth.
When he looked up, Jim was staring over at him from half-closed eyes. Blair smiled, knowing he'd been heard. Jim walked up to the desk, tapping the top of his head, a caress disguised as male bonding.
"You up for the rainforest this weekend, Sandburg?" he asked lightly. "No phones, no beepers, just you and me ... and the jungle."
Blair smiled blindingly at him. Confirmation. "Lead the way, Jim."
His Sentinel smiled at him twice. Once with his mouth, to throw the others off the scent of the truth. Once with his eyes, to assure his Guide that he would get what he needed. No interruptions.
Just the jungle.
Blair stepped through the door first, his inconsequential chatter of the drive home stopping at the threshold. The door closed behind him, and the deadbolt shot into the jamb with a sound that made him shiver. Jim stepped up to him, breath hot on the closely shaved nape of his neck. The whisper of air over his skin intensified the shiver.
He couldn't contain the grin. His eyes glued themselves to Jim as his partner stalked around him, securing the premises, turning off the ringer on the telephone, turning down the volume on the answering machine. Drawing the shades and the curtains, reaching for the small trunk of tools that masqueraded as an unobtrusive holder of South American tribal object d'art in times when he didn't need to turn off his brain.
His fingers moved automatically, efficiently stripping off jacket, shirt, undershirt, belt, jeans, boxers, socks and shoes. He hung and folded and stacked without taking his eyes from his partner. He needed this so much. Not simply the rush of sensation to drown out the thoughts in his head. But the enforced silence of normal speech, the commandment to stillness, the giving over of the control he kept so well hidden under the layers of charm and double-talk and activity.
For these rare times when he was no longer Blair Sandburg, detective, anthropologist -- defrocked or not, student of human nature, keeper of his Sentinel. When he was just a nerve ending, a muscle, a free-floating endorphin. When pain burned into pleasure burned everything else away.
Jim finished his perimeter prowl and returned to stand in front of him. The primitive side of his Sentinel allowed this to happen. Without it, without the trust between them that his Sentinel could read him down to the cellular level, without the strength of the man, Blair would never be able to let go. If he could never let go, he would shatter.
The first touch of Jim's fingers pinching at his nipple ring made him catch his breath. He stared up, knowing the dilation of the crystal blue eyes was mirrored with his own, his field of vision filled with Jim's face. The fingers pulled at him, and he stood his ground, until the flesh stretched as tightly as it could without tearing. He whimpered.
Jim smiled. His other hand came up and pinched Blair's other nipple, repeating the stretching process, then twisting them both. The whimper grew into a moan. Slowly, Blair's gaze tracking his movements like radar, Jim bent his head and bit into the stretched tissue.
The moan broke into a yelp.
Blair's wide-eyed stare transferred from the short bristles of brown hair on Jim's head to the delicate precision with which Jim was biting between his stretched nipples. The flush of his skin was deepening until the natural dark cinnamon of his nipples was turning a light plum color. The yelps were blending together into a low cry.
His cock was already leaking.
He kept his hands firmly at his sides, concentrating on not moving, not his hands, not his feet, not even to arch his back to take the strain from his chest. His knees were starting to shake. The tremor rose from his legs through his torso to his chest. Jim bit at him until the shaking became noticeable even to normal sight, then with precision he let go of the unadorned nipple at exactly the same time that he bit, hard, at the tip of the pierced nipple.
Blair screamed. His knees gave out. He came, semen spurting against the front of Jim's slacks.
A large hand caught him by the thick hair at the top of his head, and the second hand finally left his abused tit to catch him by the balls. Held that way, swaying, light-headed, he gradually focused on the grip keeping him upright. His scalp ached, as did his testicles, but Jim was good at this, attuned to him, and kept him precisely balanced so that neither point of pain overcame the other.
When he regained his balance, he smiled up at Jim. "Gag?" he requested quietly. Jim looked down at him.
"Not yet," he answered just as quietly. Then he unwound his hand from Blair's cropped hair and led him across the living room floor to the couch. "Down."
Blair finally allowed his knees to give out and sat down on the soft cushions. Jim followed him closely, not losing his grip on Blair's sac. The movement, combined with Jim's subtle manipulation, was working to get him hard again. Jim gave a final tug to his balls then let them go. Blair frowned.
"Clean me up," Jim ordered him, his tone as relaxed and even as it would be throughout the weekend. Blair leaned forward immediately and began lapping and sucking at the stains he'd left on Jim's slacks. He could feel Jim leaning over him, heard him fiddling with the clasp on the trunk, heard the clatter and jangle of leather and metal, but ignored it all to burrow his head against the wet cotton. Soon, he'd licked the material clean, leaving wet splotches decorating the zipper and the hard lump of Jim's erection behind it.
Blair lay back against the couch, lifting his shoulders to present his chest without having to be told. He licked his lips, partly to catch the last taste of himself, partly because they'd dried when he saw the small clamps in Jim's right hand. And the large one in Jim's left. He barely managed not to moan. "Gag?" he asked again. He got two chances.
Jim leaned down and kissed him, hard, forcing his tongue into Blair's mouth. Blair sucked at it, trying to keep it, but Jim backed away too quickly.
"I want to hear it," Jim answered, a simple negative. "You need to hear it."
Blair's eyes closed. Jim was right, damnit. He did need to hear it. Needed to let it go. Fingers pinched at his bruised flesh, and his eyes popped open.
"Watch," Jim commanded. It was barely a whisper, but it echoed in Blair's head.
The clamp had teeth. They bit into him, tiny pretenders to the bites Jim had given him. He whimpered. Jim carefully pushed the ring out of the way, poking the end of his nipple out through it and clamping the nub snugly against the ring. Then, watching Blair closely, he set the larger clamp aside and took hold of the hook ends of the clamps.
Twisted them a hundred and eighty degrees toward the center of his chest.
Blair could restrain neither his scream nor his arch into the burning in his tits. Jim held him there, not moving, until Blair could relax into the pain. Then he uncurled the last two fingers of his right hand and showed Blair the short chain. Blair panted as Jim looped the chain over the hook ends of the clamps, the tension in the chain keeping them twisted, the movement of the clamps digging the teeth into his skin.
He was sweating already. Blair forced his shoulders up again. Jim curved his hands around Blair's hips and pulled him forward on the couch until he was sitting on the edge of the cushions. Then he reached over Blair's shoulder and took out a broad harness, pulling Blair's hands up in order to place it around his shoulders, allowing the leather strap to dangle down along his spine. The position stretched his chest further, and the teeth bit deeper. Blair moaned.
Once the harness was on, keeping his shoulders back, Jim reached down and kissed him lightly. Blair licked the taste of the kiss from his lips, loving it, loving the fire in his chest, radiating from his nipples through his shoulders and down into his hands. His fingers were clenching and uncurling spasmodically.
Jim reached over for the larger clamp he'd laid aside earlier. He trailed the edge of it over Blair's half-hard cock, pressing in at irregular intervals. Blair fought not to thrust into the touch. Fought just as hard not to beg, and fought even harder not to think. By the time they were through, the battle would be lost, and he wouldn't have to fight. He wouldn't have to think. He could just relax.
Relaxation was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment, however. Jim was rapping the edge of the clamp against his glans, smearing the last of Blair's cream over the flesh with the metal. Blair stared, fascinated at the play of light across the silver, against his flushed skin, the darker shadow of his pubic bush, the paler flesh of Jim's fingers. The sudden strike of the clamp as it bit into the end of his cock made him scream, and would have made him jump if Jim hadn't planted his hand against Blair's stomach and pinned him to the couch.
Tears welled up in his eyes, and he shifted back and forth against the cushion and Jim's hand, fighting the urge to tear off the clamp and the conflicting urge to revel in its weight dragging down his cock. Jim held him through it until he regained control. Then he flicked the clamp with his fingertip.
The jolt of pain rocked him, sending a flash of fire down through his cock into his balls, directly to his ass. It joined the fire in his chest and made him feel as if every nerve from his neck to his thighs had been touched by lightning. He was babbling now, but he didn't know what he was saying.
"Just getting started, sweetheart," Jim assured him gently. The words cut through the fire and calmed his body. With the cessation of movement, the fire banked down to a controllable level.
"Please," he managed. Jim smiled down at him. Curved his hands back around Blair's hips, then lifted and turned him as if he weighed nothing.
The new position, draped over the back of the couch with his knees spread on the seat cushions, hands splayed across the back, head dropping forward, rubbed his chained nipples against the soft material of the couch. The fire was welcome, now, weaving into his brain. Jim reached between his thighs and dragged his cock down, using the clamp as a handle. He screamed into the couch.
God, but that hurt. The pain washed through him, sensitizing him. He wondered, briefly, as he did every time he begged for this, if this was what a sentinel felt, as if he could feel every molecule of air impacting against his skin. The feeling of cool leather being positioned against him distracted him.
The leash from the shoulder harness was aligned with his spine, and a thick belt feeding from it was buckled around his waist. His wrists were firmly drawn down to his sides, tightening the nipple chain again, drawing his attention from the fire radiating from his cockhead to the fire sparking from his chest. His hands were secured at his sides by well-padded cuffs attached to the thick waist belt. His fingers immediately clenched into fists, now that he could afford to lose control of them. Now that they were safely strapped down, and he couldn't betray himself by plunging them into the fire spreading through his body.
Jim left the other thin leather straps dangling for later use, and Blair loved the teasing whisper of leather against his hips, his ass cheeks, the tops of his thighs. A promise of things to come. The awkward position his cock was trapped in, pressed down and into the cushions, and the clamping off of his glans, kept him from coming fully erect, but the pressure was there. Another old friend.
"Hold them open," Jim told him, and his fingers automatically unclenched, his hands stretching down and back as far as they could. Jim reached down and assisted, pushing Blair's ass cheeks apart, allowing Blair to hold them in place, baring his crease to Jim's gaze.
Blair fixed his eyes on the far wall, wishing, not for the first time, that he could talk Jim into buying a large mirror for times like this. He wanted to see what was happening to him, wanted to wallow in it. But there was a certain satisfaction in blindness, as well, in not knowing if the next touch would sting or kiss, be flesh, leather or plastic.
It was leather. It both stung and kissed.
The thin lashes struck true, with a Sentinel's sight and a soldier's aim. The striations of fire spread across his hole, along his crease from bottom to top, striping him from perineum to the dimples at the base of his spine. His fingers clenched in reaction, in perfect timing to spread himself further open for the second strike. He could feel his ass cheeks bruising under the force of his own grip, feel the blood rushing under his skin where the whip landed, feel the swelling start at his hole. A third flash-point of fire blazed, joining his chest and his cock, which was trying valiantly to harden.
He lost track of how many times the lash landed, but that was alright. That was the purpose. Jim knew, and he was the only one who had to know. Blair was sobbing into the cushions, trying to thrust, not away from the pain, but into it. Every aborted movement pulled at the chain between his nipples, rubbed the clamp at his cock, and spread his ass cheeks again for the kiss of the whip. When it stopped, he didn't realize it, until he felt a gentler warmth overlaying the fire.
Jim's tongue followed the path the lash had taken, soothing and worrying at the bruised skin. He suckled and licked from the base of Blair's testicles all the way up past his hole, bypassing it to soothe and lap at the crease. Finally, he returned to the twitching muscle in the center, bright red, Blair knew, swollen and hot to the touch. The tongue working its way into the abused hole had Blair sobbing again. He wanted to come, needed to come, couldn't even get completely hard.
It was wonderful. There were sparks behind his eyes, almost as if he could see the individual nerves flaring. His world was narrowing, to his tits, his cock, his ass, but it wasn't nearly narrowed enough.
They had time.
The warmth of Jim's tongue left him, and he whimpered again. Strong fingers slid down between his thighs and wrapped around his sac. They clenched, suddenly, and Blair jumped, yelling at the abrupt pain as Jim crushed his balls in his fist. The jump pulled his sac down and pushed his clamped glans hard into the cushion. He collapsed again, panting harshly.
"Thank you," he rasped out. The pressure to come, without an outlet, finally subsided and he was able to concentrate on the fire again. A finger rapped the clamp, a wave of burning sensation pulsed out, a nonverbal 'you're welcome'. He grinned into the cushions.
Pressure was back at his hole again, and he cautiously arched his rump. His fingers were beginning to cramp, and he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. He knew Jim knew this, and the tail dildo was the result. Eight inches long, two at the base, with a smooth ring at the end that would keep his hole stretched without actually tearing it, and a two foot weighted leather tail hanging from the end of it. One of his favorite accessories. The dildo was ridged, and he moaned with each rotation as it was pressed into him.
It was also lubed. At that moment, Blair knew it would be a weekend to remember, and a long time until he got the fucking he was going to beg for. Something in the lube was causing him to itch, a light, tormenting feeling along his internal walls. He moaned garbled sounds, not realizing he was saying "Yes. Yes, yes," over and over. Finally, it was seated in him, filling him, stretching him, making him twitch uncontrollably with the need to be fucked. He knew it would get much stronger before it was over. It wasn't really a case of getting worse before it got better. More a case of getting incredible before it was finished.
Jim reached over him again and took another tool from the trunk. Blair watched, still moaning, still wriggling, the pain from his nipples now a deep-seated pleasure, the grip of the cock clamp another layer of intense sensation, all wrapping around the bulk in his ass. Jim lifted a light, flexible wooden paddle from the chest and said, softly, "Let go."
Blair's hands unclenched from around his ass cheeks and curled back into fists. The first slap of the paddle, directly across both cheeks, pounded them and jolted the dildo buried in him. His cock surged against the cushions again. Random thoughts about Egyptian circumcision rituals, the manhood rituals of the Spartoi and the ancient Mayan practice of seeking audience with the Gods through piercing the foreskin with a stingray spine rebounded through his brain.
Not quite there yet. It was good, but it wasn't quite enough. He was still thinking.
The spanking continued, each solid impact of the paddle flaming through his ass and pushing against the embedded dildo. Whatever had been in the lube was causing his gut to clench, as if thousands of tiny fingernails were scraping him from the inside, leaving behind more need than they met. Fluid was dribbling out the end of his cock around the metal clamping him shut, pressure overpowering stoppage, seeking and finding a trickle of escape.
The absence of sound reached him first. Then he realized that hands were running over his ass where the paddle had been striking him. He arched into the touch as he'd arched into the blows, unconsciously, needily. Fingers pinched and soothed, palms slapped and smoothed. With every twitch he made, the tail attached to the end of the dildo thrashed his inner thighs. His entire body was involved now, only his feet and his face untouched by sensation.
Jim pulled him back still further, until his knees started to slip off the couch before Jim turned him. He fell onto his back, Jim's hands guiding and controlling the fall, and Blair watched through glazed eyes as Jim positioned him on the couch, his feet over the arm, knees spread. His ass burned and the dildo pushed deeper inside, caught by the rim that held it at his hole. His thighs spread involuntarily and he pushed against it.
A hand reached down and caught his cock by the shaft, stopping his movement. "No," Jim said quietly, in that same command voice that froze Blair in place. Jim didn't use it very often. Usually, Blair only heard it at times like this, when he was naked, Jim was not, and his entire body was on fire. Maybe the Sentinel kept it in reserve for those times. He sure as hell never used it when he told Blair to stay in the truck, or Blair's ass would be glued to the seat permanently.
He never stopped to wonder about this except at times when his brain was being forced into overload. It would have made a good question for his dissertation, when he still had a dissertation. Why not use the command voice that actually worked on the Guide in times of physical danger? Why only in times of sexual dominance? Was it hard-wired that way? A manifestation of the need to physically bind the Guide to the Sentinel that would be diluted if used in the everyday world? Or was it just Blair Sandburg's personal kink, and Jim Ellison's amazing ability to ascertain that kink and work it until they were both exhausted?
The stretch of leather separating and binding his balls to the base of his cock cut off that thread of thought and threw him directly back into the moment. That was the best part of times when they cut loose. Jim never let him think too much. It was the only time it ever happened. The only time the motormouth in his brain shut the hell up.
Warmed metal circles slid over his cock, stretching it out, weighing it down, until the final one nestled next to the clamp on his glans. Jim leaned over him, kissed him gently, then finally unzipped his now-dry slacks and took his own erection in hand. Blair's mouth opened like a baby bird's awaiting breakfast. Jim shucked his slacks and briefs, then carefully straddled Blair's shoulders, feeding him his leaking cock. Blair latched onto it and sucked for all he was worth. His throat was a little dry from all the screaming. Nothing like a load of cream to ease the ache.
In very little time, Jim was shooting down his throat, and Blair drank greedily. He wanted to touch, wanted to cradle, but could do nothing but lie there, hands cuffed to his sides, tits and ass and cock tied and stuffed and chained, as Jim fucked his mouth. It was ... incredibly liberating, if more than a little bit frustrating.
Jim unstraddled him with the same care he'd shown climbing onto the couch, and dressed himself silently. Blair licked his lips and watched him. When Jim was fully dressed, not a hair out of place, no indication whatsoever of what he had done and was doing to Blair to be seen, he stepped forward. Kissed Blair, deeply and thoroughly. Then uncuffed his hands and drew him to his feet.
"Jags game on in an hour. Make some dinner then come back in here and we'll watch the game." It wasn't a suggestion. Blair grinned at him.
"Stir fry okay?"
Jim nodded. Blair turned and half-walked, half-staggered into the kitchen. Every step pulled at something, either the chain on his nipples or the links dragging his cock down between his thighs. Every step caused the tail on the dildo to sway, working it around in his body, starting the itching all over again. It was a test of will and need to ignore them, continue on with the cooking as if it was a regular day, as if he wasn't bound and naked and dripping as he chopped vegetables and heated oil, ground seeds and tossed chicken.
He stood behind Jim as they ate, shifting from foot to foot in an effort to ease the itch inside his ass, only managing to enflame it further. The teeth in his nipples and digging into his cockhead were starting to bleed, tiny trickles of red fluid welling up around them. Dinner took forever, and was over before the game started.
Stacking the dishes in the sink, he was reaching for the faucet when Jim called, "Leave it." He was surprised, but didn't question his partner.
On these days when they went into the jungle together, he never questioned his partner. About anything.
Jim gestured, and he walked around to stand in front of him. The Sentinel sniffed, and leaned forward. "Time for a change, Chief," he said softly. "Present."
Blair stood as straight as possible as Jim picked up a small tube of cream from the side table. With no forewarning, he unclamped the right nipple. A shudder ripped through Blair, and he gasped. The full weight of the chain and empty clamp now hung from his pierced nipple. Jim took his time rubbing the antiseptic cream into the tiny ring of holes in Blair's flesh. The contrast of soothing cream and light pressure on one side of his chest and tearing fire and biting teeth on the other caused his cock to surge against its restraints. Jim didn't look up from his leisurely work on Blair's tit.
Eventually, he pushed his thumb hard against the now slick nipple. Pain surged through the bruised flesh, and Blair groaned. No blood came out of the small holes now. Jim nodded once, satisfied, then just as abruptly released the clamp on Blair's pierced nipple. A yelp escaped at the easing of pressure and the accompanying spike of pain. Jim hummed under his breath, keeping time with the tinny, muted sound of the national anthem coming from the television set. Almost game time.
More cream was massaged into the pierced nipple, Jim making sure all the tiny puncture wounds were clean, pulling on the nipple ring once in awhile to keep the fire fresh. Even with the clamp still on his glans and the straps cutting into his balls, Blair's cock was drooling. By the time Jim pressed his thumb through the ring and into his tit, he was panting again. Jim pulled Blair between his knees and bent his head over Blair's leaking cock.
Jim drew in a breath, then at the same time that he unclamped the glans he streamed breath across the swollen, lightly bleeding flesh. Blair screamed and jumped, not much, just enough to get the head of his cock in striking range for Jim's mouth. The sudden suction made his cock pulse, pushing up against the unyielding rings, swelling still further. Jim pulled back and licked at the head of his cock like it was a snow cone, then, flashing a wicked smile up at Blair as his only warning, bit down. Hard. At the same moment, he reached down with one hand and crushed Blair's bound sac in his fist.
The world exploded in Blair's brain. All thought ceased. All sensation coalesced into a fireball at his groin. His entire body ached. He came without ever coming. The edges of his vision grayed out.
When he came to again, he was draped face-down over Jim's lap. The first quarter of the game was nearly over, and Jim had one hand wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle and one hand wrapped around the base of the dildo in Blair's ass. He was shifting it in minute increments, just enough to dig at his prostate, just enough to deepen the itch. Blair sighed happily.
Welcome to the jungle, man, he grinned to himself.
The Jags won by sixteen, a good omen for the weekend. Blair's attention was split between the game, the hand at his ass, the kisses Jim scattered along his back, and the water Jim kept making him drink. It was an early night. Blair could barely keep his eyes open, for all that his hips couldn't stop moving. Jim unbound him long enough for him to pee, then took his own sweet time replacing the tail dildo with a shorter, slightly thicker one, to keep him stretched and itching all night long. The night was short. His dreams were chaotic. He awoke in the morning to gentle hands on his limbs and the sensation of floating.
He must have slept more soundly than he thought. Jim had managed to rig up the sling and place him in it without disturbing him at all. Blair looked at his fingers, now clasped loosely around his ankles, and felt the air currents shift around his exposed flanks as Jim moved closer.
Unable yet to completely turn off his brain, knowing Jim had a handle on all the mundanities and he didn't need to worry about it, Blair still took mental stock of his physical condition. Yet another indication that he wasn't quite there yet. His ass was sore, but not unbearably, the bruises coming up nicely between his legs. His cock was cramped, but still perfectly happy in its harness, and his balls agreed. His tits were damned sore, and looking down he could see that they were swollen and dark red. He nodded happily. He was going to feel this one for awhile.
Good. He needed to feel. Needed the escape from the cage of his thoughts that his body, with Jim's help, could give him.
They started early, and the day began to blur. Moments stood out with crystal clarity : Jim's fingers taking the place of the dildo and twisting inside him; tiny bites from clamps in between the metal circles enclosing his shaft, tightening further the stretched skin of his balls, along his ribs, under his arms, at the back of his knees, and the spikes of fire as they were knocked off, one by one, by precise flicks of the whip; drinking from Jim again, then a third time, and bathing in his come at least once.
The brightest moment was when he teetered over the brink into the final slide, the one that would strip him of all thought, force him to give himself up to the fire. He lay on his back on the bed, as Jim held his unbound cock straight up from his body and gently, firmly forced the flexible pipette into his pee slit and down his urethra. Fire slid through the stretched channel like a blow torch and he screamed around the gag pressing into the center of his tongue. Begged, though he didn't hear the words. His hands pulled at the cuffs holding him stretched, and his ankles did the same, to no avail.
When Jim began to squeeze him rhythmically around the blockage, he lost his voice. Lost his mind, for a heartbeat. Jim didn't often indulge him in this, but he knew, as he always did, when Blair needed the final knife edge to pry away reality and let him escape. The last time they'd done this, Blair had just branded himself a fraud and agreed to become a cop. He'd needed it then.
He needed it now. The reality had been as tough to live through as it had been to anticipate. It was worth it -- anything was worth it to be what he was supposed to be, had to be. But the bonds on his mind had tightened too far, and he had to break out.
Blair knew they had down times, knew he ate, knew he drank, knew he rested, but didn't care. That wasn't what he was there for. Wasn't what he needed.
The fire grew all day, well into the night, and peaked, finally, in the early hours of Sunday morning. If he'd followed his mother's faith, he'd have to say Jim had worshipped him all through the Sabbath, and if Jim followed the faith of his father, Blair would have to think that Sunday was the day of rejoicing. Because he flew, that day.
He was on his knees, hands tied to the rail and belly forced up against it, when his mind finally lost its stranglehold on him and he broke free of himself. Jim's cock had replaced the variety of dildos he'd held in his ass. The itch was finally being scratched. His cock ignored the tie that failed to keep his balls drawn down. The pressure succeeded in forcing the pipette from his cock on a rush of fluid. Jim caught it as it began to shift and pulled it out with one sure tug.
Blair shot and shot, ejaculate pulsing out the end of his cock, as Jim pounded into him all the way through his orgasm. Jim's palm covered the end of his cock, forcing it down even as it spasmed, venting the fluid onto the towel placed over the rail. It was a measure of how successful Jim had been in removing Blair from reality that neither man had a thought about cleanliness, anal retentiveness, or boy scout attributes. Blair was too busy fragmenting into a million tiny flaming pieces to worry about the fact that Jim didn't want to clean up the after affects of a spunk shower on hard wood floors.
He was crying when he came back to himself. Jim had gotten them into bed, and they were lying in darkness, deeply shadowed, impossible to see through the blurriness in his eyes. Yet another release, tension draining from him along with the tears. Jim held him, not saying a word, just smoothing those strong hands up and down, up and down along Blair's back. The harness was gone, the tether was gone, all the tools they'd used to break down the barriers were gone. It was just the two of them, naked, together.
Blair buried his face in the curve of Jim's shoulder and allowed himself the luxury of simply feeling. The softness of Jim's skin. The warmth and tensile strength of his muscles. The comfort of his arms. The fire that had raged through his body banked down again, content in its work, waiting for the next time it would be needed. He stretched his legs against Jim's and curled his arms around Jim's waist. Eventually, the tears dried up, and his breathing evened out. His last conscious thought, if it could be called one, was an incoherent jumble of breath ruffling his hair, a heart beating under his ear, arms around his back and legs shifting under his own.
Home. Safe. In the jungle.
When he finally woke up it was late Sunday afternoon. Jim lay beside him, one arm wrapped around him, the other hand flipping the pages of a book. Blair squinted at the cover. Dylan Thomas. It figured.
"Better?" Jim's voice rumbled softly down over his head. He noted absently that the command tone was gone, put back wherever it was that the fire went, until it was needed again.
"Much," he rasped out. Before he could ask, Jim unwrapped his arm from Blair's back and reached over to the bedside table. A glass of water appeared in front of his face. He grinned shakily, then wrapped his fingers around Jim's and drank deeply. When it was drained, he let go, and Jim put it back on the table.
The hand that had held the glass now roamed lightly over Blair's body. He sighed and snuggled into Jim's chest, content to allow his Sentinel to do a personal perimeter check. Fingers ghosted over his buttocks, slid down his crease to play at the hole, then between his thighs to run lightly around the mark at the base of his sac where his balls had been restrained. The touch lingered for a moment, and Blair took a deep breath, feeling the beginnings of an erection.
At that, the touch tightened, just enough to send a jolt through his cock and kill the hardness before it got a good hold. Blair opened his mouth to protest.
"Two days off before another move, Chief," Jim told him firmly, just a touch of command underlying his words. Blair subsided, hiding his grin against Jim's chest. The chuckle that shifted the muscle beneath his cheek reminded him, again, how damned sensitive Sentinel skin was.
"What's so funny, monkey-face?" Jim asked him, leaving off with the health-check and crab-crawling his fingers over Blair's ribs.
He raised his head just far enough to give Jim a skeptical look. "You really think we can hold off two whole days?"
Jim grinned back. "Have a little control here, Sandburg."
Blair stretched up and dropped a kiss on that smile. "With everybody but you, man."
A hand patted the top of his head, and he settled back against Jim, closing his eyes and relaxing again. Lazy Sundays; just the thing to recover from having one's brain blown to smithereens.
Monday morning was its usual insanity. Too-fucking-cheerful Jim rounding up barely-awake Blair over bagels and seaweed. Piling into the truck and heading to the precinct ... if Jim took more care than usual over potholes and Blair loosened the safety belt and sat lightly balanced against the seat, neither mentioned it. Blair felt more relaxed, sharper and more alert, once he woke up, than he had in weeks. The space between himself and his Sentinel practically crackled with energy, an almost tangible bridge.
As they walked into the bullpen, or Jim walked and Blair very carefully bounced, Simon looked over at them and smiled. Blair beamed back at him.
"Good camping trip, guys?" Simon asked, teasingly. His voice seemed to say, 'as if it could've been anything but great, the way you two look.' Blair glanced up at Jim and answered for both of them.
"Nothing like the rainforest to recharge the batteries, man." Beside him, Jim laughed softly.
Simon nodded. "Good, because while you were off swinging in the trees, the Vincent case blew up."
Blair managed not to crack up, and firmly glued his eyes to Simon, refusing to look at Jim. Swinging in the trees was one way to put it. Jim put a warm hand in the small of his back and gave him a gentle push back toward the door.
"We're on it, Captain."
Blair felt Jim's eyes on him and looked up again. They shared a quick grin. "You know, Jim, it's all a jungle out there," he said solemnly. Jim nodded agreement.
"I like ours better."
Blair couldn't help but agree. "Later, man." When we need it again. When I need it again. "We can't go primal primate all the time."
As they headed out the door, he almost didn't hear Jim's whisper. "Too damned bad."