Damned, by Virginia Vaughn
virgule@dangerous-minds.com

Disclaimer: Petfly, Paramount and now I suppose Sci-Fi
own pretty much everything.  I just like playing with
their toys.

WARNING:  This story contains issues relating to
consent.  It is not an easy read, but there is no
physical violence. This may not be the way you see Jim
and Blair.  It's not always the way I see them either,
but it's certainly a possibility in my mind. As always, 
my deepest thanks go to Maigret and Subrosa for their
wonderful beta work. Good betas are worth their weight
in gold. If there's any mistakes left -- they are all
mine. 

***********************

I wonder if this means I'm gay.  If maybe I have been
all my life and just never knew it.  Repressed memory
does that to you, makes you unsure of everything you
ever thought you knew about yourself.

The thing is, I think I would have noticed if I'd been
turned on by guys before.  I did the group shower thing
through high school, college, the army and police
academy.  Never spent any time looking at another guy's
equipment and thinking anything more about it than to
feel smug or a little envious.  But never in a sexual
'I want a piece of that' sort of way.

I've never experimented with a buddy, never taken part
in a circle jerk, never felt anything but the pleasure
of pushing myself to the max in the gym, on the court,
on the mats.  But now things have changed, and it's
nothing I ever expected to deal with.

Sometimes I think maybe I should ask Sandburg.  He'd
know.  He always has all the answers, even when he has
to make them up.  Except I know exactly what he'd say. 
He'd tell me that this is the way it was meant to be
between us, that it was as inevitable as my senses. 
And I'd agree.

But I wouldn't be any closer to understanding.

***************************

The first time it happened, it was just a normal
Saturday afternoon.  Sandburg and I had been out
shooting hoops, enjoying one of the half dozen rain
free days Cascade gets every summer.  We always have
good time and stay within a few points of each other,
though you'd figure we'd be mismatched big time. 
'Spud' may be short, but he's damned fast -- sinks
everything he throws and he knows every trick in the
book to get past any advantage my senses give me.  The
game got a little hot, a little physical and we'd each
spent a some time face down, measuring concrete.  

Blair had taken an accidental elbow in the cheek from
me and I had twisted a knee trying to match his dodging
and ducking.  So we were back at the loft, happily
commiserating and drinking our beer, waiting to cool
down a little before hitting the shower.  I had one of
those gooey blue gel packs wrapped around my knee and
Sandburg was holding a package of frozen berries
against the side of his face -- going on about some
holistic bullshit.

When I started to get off the couch, my knee sorta
buckled and Sandburg went to grab me.  He's strong and
he's quick, but I have a good forty pounds on him, so I
ended up flat on my back with him on top of me.  That's
when I felt it -- the guy was sporting major wood.  

The surprise must have shown on my face.  It was the
last thing I was expecting, the farthest  thing from my
mind.  Sure, we'd been having a great day and we'd gone
all out pumping up the testosterone.  I was completely
relaxed and happy.  Apparently it had a different
affect on him.  I turned so red my face felt like it
would catch fire.  Don't laugh, I've been known to get
embarrassed a time or two and curse the fact that I'm
not as dark skinned as Simon.

But Sandburg wasn't embarrassed.  He just looked at me,
his eyes kind of wild and intense,  he growled out my
name...then he kissed me.  I mean, one minute there we
are, two guys guzzling beers and belching and talking
NBA stats, and the next he has his tongue down my
throat.  

I didn't know what to do.  All I could think was, this
is how a deer feels just before the truck behind the
headlights plows it down.  But I didn't fight him off,
I didn't try to stop him.  I never told him no.  

I know I didn't zone.  It was too weird, too unnerving
for me to focus on anything long enough to trip off to
LaLa-Land.  I remember how strange and rough his razor
stubble felt against my face.  I remember thinking that
maybe, just maybe, I'd actually taken a fall and hit my
head or something.  Because none of it felt *real*. 
Except that it was all *too* real.  

Sandburg has this way of launching himself at things. 
He sees something he wants, his incredible brain clicks
on and he goes after it, afterburners blazing at full
bore.  I've seen him do it a million times with women. 
The last one -- Pamela something or the other -- always
had this shell-shocked look to her.  Suddenly, I knew
precisely how she felt.  

He took my lack of struggle, my stillness, as
compliance.  And it was.  I didn't have a clear idea of
what he wanted from me, but I knew whatever it was, I'd
give it to him.  Because that's what I do.  That's what
I always do. 

At one point, when I realized that I was naked and he
was naked and he was still on top of me, fear finally
kicked in and I tried to move out from under him,
shoving hard against his chest to push him off me. 
Sandburg didn't flinch, didn't budge, just took my face
in his hands and asked me to trust him.  Told me how
much he wanted me, how much he knew I wanted him too. 
But...as much as I trusted him -- always trust him -- I
couldn't ever remember wanting him that way.

I lay there staring up at the ceiling, getting a little
lost in the swirls and knots in the wood, while he
pushed and rubbed and grunted against me.  I knew I
should respond somehow, but I didn't know what to do
with my arms, my hands.  I tried settling them around
his back, but the feeling of his skin and his sweat was
too much.  I couldn't do it, couldn't touch him, so I
kept a grip on the cushions of the couch.  It must have
been a hell of a grip, because my hands ached for days
afterwards.

He kept talking the whole time.  I've never been able
to talk much during sex, but I guess that's not so
surprising.  Sandburg kept up this monologue about
everything he wanted to do with me, to do *to* me. The
sound of his needy, breathy words, the friction and the
motion finally got me moving too.  Even if the parts
are different, even if the smell, the texture,
everything is different -- a dick is still a dick. 
With a mind all its own.

I was pushing up with my hips, searching for
something... more, something familiar.  The feel of his
chest hair and the smell of his body were so different
from what I was used to, completely strange and alien. 
He worked his hand in-between us and began pumping
hard, rubbing our cocks together.  That was good.  That
squeeze, that stroke was familiar and pretty soon I was
riding the edge. 

The feeling and the smell of his come pumping all over
my chest, jerked me back to reality.  Outside of porn
films, I'd never seen a guy shoot his wad.  Compared to
me, Sandburg is pretty impressive, he spurted clear up
to my chin. 

Whatever bit of eroticism the situation might have had
up to that point was gone.  I levered him off me and
struggled off the couch, stumbling to my feet.  He
didn't seem to notice, just sprawled back against the
cushions with a pleased, sleepy smirk on his face as I
high-tailed it into the john.

I stared in shock at the complete stranger in the
mirror.  I couldn't even meet my own eyes as I cleaned
up the come that was running down my chest to my dick,
which lay dead and limp against my thigh. 

I scrubbed at my belly and chest until I was almost
raw.  No amount of soap and water seemed to eliminate
the smell or the feeling... the feeling of another
man's come on me, the heavy, peculiar scent of it. 
Maybe I was over reacting.  I don't know, but I ended
up in the shower. 

Just when I thought I had things under control again,
Blair pulled back the shower curtain. He stood there
looking at me for a second and asked me if I was okay. 
I forget what I told him.  Probably said I was fine. 
How do you tell your best friend, the one constant that
keeps you safe and sane, that what he's done has
confused and terrified you more than anything else in
your entire fucked up life?  How do the hell do you say
that?  

I couldn't look at him, not after a quick glance told
me exactly *how* he was looking at me. The thing is, I
wasn't afraid of him.  I've never been afraid of him,
just afraid of what he's asked me to do.  So I stood
there and nodded, repeated that I was okay.  I didn't
do anything but move over when he stepped into the
shower with me.  

He slid the washcloth out of my numb fingers and
proceeded to soap me down with long gentle strokes down
my back that felt damned good.  Sandburg kept right on
talking, telling me how good everything was going to be
between us, how good he was going to make me feel.  And
he delivered on his promise; my dick stood up and took
notice when he started stroking that too.  

I struggled just a little when he worked a soapy finger
between my ass cheeks and started probing.  He murmured
for me to loosen up, to relax.  Hell, he can get me to
relax and follow his direction under gunfire, so it
wasn't any surprise that it worked this time.  I can't
*not* relax when he uses that tone of voice.

I'd never considered my prostate as anything but an
uncomfortable part of my annual physical until that
shower.  With a few skillful strokes outside and in, he
showed me something that gay men have known for
millennium; with the right amount of pressure, just the
right touch, you shoot off just like a damned firehose. 


I came so hard I grayed out for a while.  The next
thing I knew we were in bed and he was finally quiet,
because he'd fallen asleep.  That's when the shakes
started.  Sandburg told me later it was only overload,
and I suppose that must have been it.  All I knew is
that for about two hours while he slept, I couldn't get
warm and I couldn't stop shaking.

*****************************

I'm going to be okay with this new thing between us. 
Sandburg's been really patient with me, because I've
been a little slow to get with the program. 
Eventually, it will feel normal rolling over in the
night and feeling his hairy, too-hard body pressed up
against me.  He tells me the soreness in my ass will
fade and I'll like the things he does to me a hell of a
lot more.  That I'll want to do the same things to him. 


And I want that.  I want this to be right, to be right
for him.  

I still get the shakes sometimes, but it doesn't seem
to worry Blair.  Not that it matters too much.  Because
this is the way it's going to be.  This is who I am
now.  This is what we are.  Sentinel and Guide, bonded
in every way two people can be.

Because in the long run, we both know I can't live
without my guide.