The Third Time's a Charm, a Sentinel/Guide dream date by Glacis. NC17 for pure sex. No infringement intended, not that anyone would EVER admit to THIS one …

Stakeouts were the worst. Sure, usually he could bring along his laptop, if the battery was charged up and he didn't need a lot of notes to input or backup his research. Or he could bring a book, and study, or a journal, and catch up on the professional literature that he never seemed to have time to read. But when the eyes got too tired, or the night was too dark, or Jim just seemed too big and too close and too far away, his subconscious would sabotage him. He couldn't really say he hated it when it did that, because it felt too good to hate, but he wondered how long it would take before the big guy caught on.

Hopefully it wouldn't be tonight.

He'd been keeping Jim company on stakeouts for the past four nights. He was running pretty low on energy, and all the coffee in the world couldn't make up for plain exhaustion. He wasn't aware when the laptop tilted, or Jim shut it off, or when his partner gathered him sideways to lean against his shoulder.

He was occupied elsewhere.

Just another day at the office. Simon, looming behind his desk, coffee cup in hand, Jim, lounging beside him, himself, on all fours on the conference table, which had somehow shrunk until it was only as high as a coffee table. Naked, except for the thin strip of leather that bound his cock at attention and held his balls back to keep him from coming and the collar around his neck, attached to the thin leash that Jim was holding in his left hand.

Okay. Not the normal day at the office. But for some reason, none of it bothered him. In fact, it felt perfectly natural.

The shades were drawn.

Then Simon got up. God, he was tall. He walked over to the edge of the table, still talking to Jim about some case the Mayor wanted solved yesterday, reached down, and started playing with Blair's cock. Long fingers flicked along the length, then across the crown, causing little jolts of sensation to travel up his body. He started to moan, and Jim jerked the leash, once, just a reminder.  His cock was already hard, red, aching. He'd been here awhile, felt like. The pain and the need to come were fighting the incredible rush he was getting off  the utterly vulnerable position he was in. Simon moved his thumb against the slit in his cock and pressed, hard. He couldn't hold back the whimper that time. God, that felt so good.

Jim didn't yank the leash again. He started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off his shoulders, unzipping his pants. The whole time he was undressing he kept up a running dialog with Simon, updating him on all his current cases, like nothing was happening. Blair felt invisible, open, naked in every way that mattered and still begging to be seen, to be used, to be satisfied.

It was an incredible turn on.

Simon dropped his cock, licked his fingers, and picked his coffee cup back up.  One finger was still shiny with the ejaculate that had squeezed out despite the constriction, and he stirred it into the coffee. Blair whimpered. His leash suddenly tugged him sideways, just enough to gain his attention.

Jim had moved to the head of the table, and had positioned himself with his shins against the edge. Tugging gently on the leash, he maneuvered Blair until the younger man was kneeling in front of him. Now Blair knew why the table had shrunk -- it was at perfect level for his mouth to reach Jim's groin.  He loved it when things worked out so well. With no further prompting, he leaned forward to take Jim's cock in his mouth, and nearly overbalanced.  That's when he realized that his hands were cuffed behind his back, and there was a thin steel rod passing in front of his elbows and behind his back, keeping his shoulders firmly pressed back. Jim caught him before he could overbalance and fall off the table, wrapping his big hands around the back of Blair's skull, using the forward momentum to impale his mouth with a good nine inches of solid leaking cock.

Of course he didn't gag. This was his dream. He could handle anything.  He leaned forward, balancing himself on his knees, giving control of pace  and speed and depth to Jim, since he had all he could do to swallow, breathe,  suck when he got the chance and not lose his balance.

His balls ached like a sonuvabitch.

Jim tasted incredible. Both hands were wound in Blair's hair now, palms against the points of his jaw, fingers spread wide to cradle his skull. Jim was thrusting steadily, giving up on his reports to concentrate on fucking Blair's mouth raw. His world had shrunk to the fire in his balls, the stiff cock hanging in front of him, bouncing with every jolt to his body, sweet agony balanced by the slick slide of heavy wet meat stretching his mouth, pressing against his tongue, opening up his throat.

Then Simon moved. The first he knew of it was when two huge hands wrapped around his hips and tipped him even further onto Jim's cock. He almost gagged, but Jim controlled the slide and kept him from strangling on cock. His knees were briskly swept apart, and he found himself balanced on three points like a tilted triangle, Jim holding up one point with a firm grip controlling his head, the other two points his wide spread knees. Jim kept his pace steady as Blair jolted from the shock as those hands shifted up to his buttocks, grasping them firmly and pulling them apart. A wide, rough tongue lapped from the edge of the leather strap caging his balls up along his crease past his asshole, then all the way back down. He would have screamed except there was no room in his mouth for sound along with Jim's meat.

The tongue came back, lingered, darted around him, then suddenly drilled him, opening him like a fish being filleted by a bowie knife. He tried to thrust back against it, feel that incredible jolt, take some control, any control, but he had none. Fingers replaced the tongue, and a moment later, the snub nose of another cock, slimy with pre-cum, split him open and rammed home. Jim held him steady, so he couldn't escape, could only submit. He writhed between the two of them, miniscule movements that did nothing. They were laughing together, timing their thrusts so that he was filled first by one, then by the other.

He thought he was going to explode.

He couldn't cry out, didn't want to escape, was relishing the complete surrender he was forced to give. His body was theirs, not his, no longer  under his command, theirs to play with and torture and fill and empty as  they chose. They pounded at him forever, until his mind was wiped blank, and  triple flares connected him from points at his throat, his ass, his strangled  cock. Then Jim pressed forward, burying Blair's nose in his bush, pulsing  hard, come pouring down Blair's throat. He swallowed, and Jim bellowed at  the constriction of throat muscles around the end of his cock. The sight along with the convulsions in Blair's body triggered an avalanche in Simon, for he leaned forward, fingers digging hard into Blair's ass cheeks, spreading them as wide as they would go, pushing his pelvis so hard into Blair's ass his balls were pushing Blair's imprisoned sac up against his rod.  The pain echoed through his gut, his cock felt like it was on fire, and his balls felt as if they were going to burst from the sac at any moment. He couldn't stop swallowing, couldn't stop the gushing into his gut, couldn't do anything but ache and moan and swallow and hang suspended, drinking in Jim, sucking up Simon, begging to come and not able to say a word.

Then Jim pulled out, wiped the end of his cock in the soft fall of Blair's hair, and led him forward gently until his head was against the table. Simon pulled out then, the heavy weight of him making a sucking sound as it pulled from the depths of Blair's body. He was empty. The fire was gone, except at his groin, where it concentrated, condensed, twisted, fed on itself.

He was invisible.

Jim grasped the bar and turned it sideways, flipping Blair slowly over onto his back. Blair's cock stood straight up, held fast by the leather cock harness, scarlet, straining, small dribbles of cum leaking out the slit despite the leather constriction. His legs were splayed widely apart, utterly exhausted from the reaming he'd gotten, head tossed back, lips and chin wet from the overflow where Jim had fucked his mouth so thoroughly. He was exhausted, but couldn't rest. There felt like there was a cord running from his balls through his cock coming out the top and tied to the ceiling. His back was slightly arched in a vain attempt to ease the ache, to finally come.

Simon finished dressing, walked to the windows, and drew open the blinds. All the cops in Major Crimes were in the bullpen, staring into the clear windows, staring at Blair, offered up like a pagan sacrifice to gods who would use him then turn from him. His eyes pleaded with Jim to help him, to cover him, to ease him ...

One hand extended slowly. Jim smiled at him, standing to the side, leaving a clear view for the others to see. The hand shifted to the side, fingers flexed, a snap was flicked, another, a third. The leather softly curled away from his cock, slithering away from his sac, dropping down between his thighs to tease at the stretched entrance to his ass. Jim brought his other hand down, gently cupping his balls, then pumped, hard, once.

Blair arched, screamed, and came, shooting into the air, humping against the tight hold. The relief made him dizzy, made him collapse, as all the tension drained out in a fierce climax that made the world explode.

Thank god. Thank you, Jim.

He shook his head, looked across the room to the bullpen and realized that no one had seen a thing. Because he was invisible.

And he felt too damned good to care.

The earth moved.

Well, it wasn't the earth. As he gradually came alive, swimming out of the remnants of a truly bizarre dream, he realized that the truck was moving. He was draped against Jim's side, head tucked against his shoulder, knees drawn up on the seat. Jim was humming quietly as they drove back to the loft.

His pants were wet.

Oh, shit. He straightened, doing his damnedest to hide the evidence. Although how do you hide the evidence of a wet dream from a Sentinel?

"Uhm, sorry 'bout that, Jim," he managed to mumble, feeling like his brain was mush and his tongue was dead. On top of that, his muscles had all melted.

"No problem, Chief," Jim assured him with a quick sideways smile. "You looked like you needed the sleep."

"Yeah." Ooookay, maybe he wouldn't have to hide anything. Maybe they were going to play 'pretend it didn't happen.' He was with that. "So, nothing came up on the stake out, so that means, what, tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel?"

Jim smiled again, a strange little smile that made Blair shiver. "I wouldn't say nothing came up, Chief."

There was a pause while Blair tried wildly to gather his sleep-numbed wits  enough to come up with a useful (and preferably believable) obfuscation.  When nothing appeared, he said, intelligently, "Uhm."

"Anything you want to tell me?" Jim asked gently.

No. No way. No way in this lifetime. "Nah, not really, big guy. You know how it is with dreams, just about anything can and will come out in them. You know a lot of cultures take the dream state very seriously. Omens and signs that foretell the future, direct personal actions, and warn of danger often come out in dream states." Jim was looking at him oddly. No wonder. He hadn't a clue what he was rattling about, just letting his tongue go while his brain tried like hell to find an out. "But often dreams are just the subconscious' way of house cleaning, sorting through the remnants of the day, before settling them and going on. Especially when a person gets extremely fatigued, dreams become almost psychedelic, and symbolism becomes increasingly abstract and difficult to interpret-"

"So you don't want me to make you come?"

The quiet question tripped him right up, and the truth came spilling out before he could get a grip on his motor mouth. "GOD, yes." Oh, shit. Oh, shit shit shit. "Er, I mean, uhm-"

The truck swerved off to the side of the road. Jim threw it into park, flipped the ignition off, and reached for Blair in one swoop. Long arms wrapped around him, hauled him into Jim's lap, and pinned him there. A mouth began to plunder him, sucking and biting at his lips, his jaw, his cheek. Muttered fragments of "smell fucking fantastic" and "little noises driving me crazy all night" and "hotter than a furnace" escaped, but Blair was too busy trying to keep up with the man gobbling him down to pay much attention. With a strangled, "Jim!" he surged into the hand clawing at his zipper, the other hand bunching his hair in a fist and holding him close. Arms and legs worked against one another in the close confines of the truck cab, as they strained to get as close to one another as was humanly possible. Blair gasped, arched, and sagged against his partner as he came in the bigger man's hand, bucking against the warm grip. A broken moan whimpered out as Jim reached out, took him by the shoulder, and shook him.

"Blair. Come on, Chief, wake-up time. C'mon, Chief..."

His eyes snapped open and he scrambled into the corner of the truck, staring with his heart in his throat at a completely dressed, utterly composed Jim Ellison staring back at him in mild surprise.

"J-j-jim?"

"Must've been a good dream," Jim grinned. Then he started the truck and pulled out into the nearly nonexistent traffic, headed for the loft.

"Uh." Dream after dream, from the feel of it. He winced at the  cold, clammy feel of wet denim and cotton bunched around his cramped  genitals. "Yeah." He could feel himself blushing all over his  entire body. Jim looked over at him kindly, gentle teasing in his  eyes.

"You gotta get out more," he deadpanned. Blair stared at him, eyes feeling like they were popping out of his head. He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything until all his synapses were firing and his tongue could be trusted.

The ride home was completed in unusual silence for the pair. Blair was still trying to wrap his head around two hot dreams in one night, both centered around his Sentinel. Jim seemed to be thinking about something, and not yet in the mood to share it with his Guide.

Two steps inside the door of the loft, he must have figured it out. Fingers hooked into the back of Blair's waistband and hauled him bodily up against Jim.  Long arms hugged him briefly, tightly, and a sharp chin nuzzled past the curls to whisper in Blair's ear, "You never know unless you ask." Then he was as abruptly released, and Jim whistled all the way up the stairs to the bedroom.  "Night, Chief!" he tossed over his shoulder.

Blair stood in the middle of the living room and stared up the  stairs. One quick, hot shower and ten minutes of hard thinking  later, he crawled into bed.

Jim's bed.

He'd learned a long time ago it was always better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.

As he snuggled against the warm bulk and burrowed into the arms looping around him, he heard a soft, "So. What's with the leather fetish, Chief?"

"Tomorrow, big guy," he slurred into Jim's neck before going under for the third time. "I wanna be awake for this one!"

end.