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The Cure for the Common Zone Out
The Cure for the Common Zone-Out, a Sentinel / Guide collaboration by Brenda Antrim. Rated NC17 for language and graphic descriptions of homoerotic sexuality. MINORS (and others who have no business reading or interest in slash) -- what the hell are you doing here? SHOO! GO AWAY! Everyone else -- enjoy.
The Cure for the Common Zone-Out
by Brenda Antrim
He was starting to feel like a ping pong ball. Between tagging along with Jim half the night, covering his classes, grading papers, counseling students and working on his own research, Blair was beginning to believe that he'd never sleep again, and that his whole life was happening between his ears. The rest of his body was feeling abused, under-used and neglected. He hadn't gotten laid in weeks and he was getting twitchy.
It didn't help that the recurring star in the wet dreams he had when he did manage to snatch a few hours sleep was his straight-as-a-poker partner. His nonverbal partner who communicated mainly by touch. Touching him.
Straight. Poker. Hard. Stiff. Long. He didn't realize he had moaned out loud until Jim's voice broke through his distraction.
"Chief? You okay?"
"Oh, yeah, man." It came out much huskier than he expected. Damn. He forced himself to sit upright, concentrating on the rain-slicked streets passing outside the truck window. Clearing his throat, intensely aware of the inquisitive sky blue eyes that kept sending concerned glances his way, he clamped down on his wayward libido and chirped brightly, "Just fine, big guy. So, where to next?"
Jim shot him another measuring glance. Sandburg had been even spacier than usual lately, and it was starting to worry him. The kid was stretched pretty thinly, and the strain was starting to tell on him. Deciding to keep his own counsel, and hopeful that Sandburg would open up to him when he felt up to it, he tilted his head in the direction of the radio and took a quick left at the intersection. "Down to the docks, warehouse at the corner of Fifth and Whitten," he relayed, answering the verbal question and ignoring, for now, the unasked questions. "Been some suspicious activity down in that area."
"Isn't there always?" The dry question surprised him, a little. The cynic was not a role too often assumed by the perpetually perky anthropology student. Before he could repeat his earlier question, Blair gave a little growl and wiggled in his seat, pulling at the seatbelt as if the restraint was irritating him. "Sorry, man, came out all wrong on that one. Just been a long day, you know? Ignore me."
Not in this lifetime, Jim thought, biting back a smile. "Whatever you say, Chief."
There was a flurry of activity on the radio as they neared the site, and Jim's eyes focused intently as they pulled up to a crime in progress. He could hear Sandburg's elevated heart rate and almost taste the sharp tang of adrenaline-inspired sweat, and he identified and cut them away along with all the other extraneous information his senses were feeding him. Time to concentrate on the job. For a split second he realized with crystal clarity that somehow, along the line, the job had transmuted from 'protect the public' to 'protect the Guide, THEN protect the public', but he didn't dwell on it. It wasn't something to think about, it just was, like the sky was blue and the rain was wet and Simon smelled of cigars. With instinctive ease he forged in front of his smaller friend, then crouched down beside his Captain, reaching for his gun with his right hand, scanning the scene intently, reaching to place Sandburg behind him with his left hand, listening for any clue to give the pinned police an advantage. Sporadic gunfire came from the gaping shadowed doorway of a rundown warehouse, and police cars were ranged in a scattered semi-circle in the muddy gravel lot, penning in the drug runners. Unfortunately, the lack of cover also made the police officers prime targets. There would be quiet for a short while, then a volley of shots would rip across the cars, causing the officers to duck and cover, pop up to fire in the general direction of the criminals and pop back under cover again. It was a nerve-wracking situation, and from the look on Simon Banks' face it had been going on for much too long.
"Jim," he nodded curtly, eyes skipping over his star detective and his unusual sidekick. "Blair. Keep your head down," he ordered, then briefed Ellison on the situation. "At least four gunmen were sighted, possibly more inside. We can't get a fix on them. Units are along the sides and two are along the back, but unless they have a boat they can levitate outta there, they won't be going that way. No pier and it backs straight onto the Sound. So they have to come out one of the two side exits on the west side, or out the front, and I don't think they're that suicidal -- or stupid."
"Could get desperate, sir," Ellison noted grimly. "And that could quickly lead to 'stupid'".
"Yeah," Simon agreed, "it could. We need to know what we're dealing with, but I can't get anyone close enough to find out. You think you could do something, Jim?" He looked at Ellison a bit like a child looked at a magician, not quite believing there was actual magic there but hoping against hope that there might be.
The detective looked over his shoulder at Sandburg. The kid was staring at the darkened entrance, eyes narrowed, chewing at his lip. "Chief?"
"Can you see anything in there, Jim?" he responded, straining to see something other than inky darkness himself, knowing that his friend's Sentinel vision could cut through it easily. Jim turned back to the warehouse, concentrating on the far corners of the building.
"Not very well," he finally growled, feeling frustrated by his failure. A warm hand patted him gently on the shoulder, then lingered there, rubbing small circles over his bunched muscles. The warmth radiated out from that spot all along his neck and spine, and the tension immediately began to ease.
"Try what worked before, Jim, with the other warehouse, the other drug runners." Jim thought back to another case, and a group of crooked cops who nearly ended his life in an insane helicopter chase. His Guide's voice brought him back from the memory. "Piggyback your hearing onto your sight. They're making noise in there, they're breathing, they're shuffling around, moving their guns -- focus in on those sounds and allow your sight to follow along the same path."
He slipped into concentrated focus, trusting Sandburg to keep him from going too far. Identifying, sorting and discarding, he filtered out the distractions of the policemen around him, keeping only the warmth of his Guide's hand on his shoulder and the gentle timbre of his voice as anchors. Slipping deeper into his task, he damped down the rest of his senses and allowed himself to hear and see only the prey he was searching out. Gradually, he heard it. The rustle of clothing, the varied, panicked beating of several hearts, softly muttered curses in Japanese and English, the slide of sweating fingers on slippery gun stocks. Barely aware of his actions, he answered the soft questions Sandburg asked, what he heard, what he saw ... shadows. Four ... no, five of them. Three to the front, one to the back, scrabbling for a way out, one to the side, slipping through the side door to SHITTHATHURT!!
The gunshots took all three of them by surprise, but they stunned and deafened the Sentinel, who curled in on himself and dropped like a rock to land in a small fetal ball in the gravel at Blair's feet. Before either he or Simon could react the three criminals near the entrance got delusions of themselves as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (plus a player to be named later) and made the incredibly stupid mistake of trying to rush nearly a dozen armed, stressed, wet and pissed off Cascade police. Sandburg instinctively dropped over Jim, wrapping himself as far around the larger man as he was physically able, trying to shield him from the ensuing gun battle. Simon screamed orders for more men to cover the side, to capture the one escaping gunman. He threw Blair a concerned glance, which the younger man waved away, signaling that he would take care of Ellison. The captain nodded, then swung around the side of the car to lead several officers into the warehouse in cautious pursuit of the remaining gunman.
Jim was shaking his head, eyes clamped shut, small, stifled whimpers escaping lips compressed so tightly that there was a thin white line all the way around them. Muscles danced along his clenched jaw, the only movement in his pale face. Blair pulled his Sentinel into a full-body hug, trying to send him as much physical comfort as he could to blunt the pain. He mentally castigated himself for his stupidity -- they'd been shooting sporadically since the damned stand-off started, why on Earth hadn't he realized that opening Jim's hearing up would also open him up to sensory overload if more shooting started? Not taking time for the full self-reaming, he concentrated on Jim, speaking softly to him, reassuring him, comforting him. Trying to bring him back.
"Can you hear me, big guy? I know, probably a stupid question, but then that's not surprising considering the stupid suggestions I've been coming up with lately. Blame it on the hormones. I'm almost glad you can't hear me. But maybe the babbling will help. Jim? I'm right here, man. Come on, now, tune it down, shake it off, you can do it, man. I am SO sorry, Jim, that was, like, the TOTAL opposite of what I'd've hoped for, nothing like relying on your Guide to blast your eardrums out of your head. SO sorry, man. Tune down the hearing, okay? Just reach in there and turn it down, concentrate on my voice, just hear my voice. Bring your other senses up, can you do that for me, big guy? Can you bring up your sight? Do that for me, Jim. Open your eyes, just a bit, yeah, that's it, that's great, Jim, you're doing great."
Watery, glazed crystal blue eyes stared up at him, pupils contracted to a pinpoint still, in reaction to the shots. Sandburg kept up a running commentary while he thought about it. Made sense, really. Jim had piggybacked his sight with his hearing, so when his ears blew it must have affected his sight. One part of his brain went into scientist-mode, immediately trying to determine a way to overload one sense in a piggybacked pair under safe laboratory conditions, to help Ellison control a situation like this in the future. The other ninety-eight percent of his brain was caught up in savoring the vision wrapped up in his arms. Jim's head rested trustingly against his abdomen, gazing up into his face, arms clutching weakly at Blair's own arms, which were wrapped completely around the bigger man's shoulders. The warm weight of his head and back pressed against his thighs were a turn-on in and of themselves, but when he took into account the sharp angle of Jim's cheekbone pressed into his crotch, and the sculpted mouth not four inches from a suddenly very-interested cock, it was really too distracting. Realizing that his libido was getting way out of control and Jim was still very nearly zoned out, he shook his head and stamped firmly on his arousal. Or tried to ignore it, at least.
"Okay. Okay, so sight won't work right now, and hearing is pretty numb ... Smell. That's it, Jim, okay, you can do this. Focus on your sense of smell. Try to pull back from your hearing and your sight, they're pretty well hammered. Smell the water, the gunpowder, the smoke from Simon's cigar. Follow your sense of smell back from the pain, big guy. And, here," he reached down with one hand and allowed himself the luxury of a slight caress, running the pad of his index finger gently down the angles of Jim's face, running it from temple over cheekbone, skirting the temptation of that mouth to trace along his chin, then return. "Feel that, Jim. Feel my touch. Combine the scents you can smell and the feeling of my hand on your face and pull yourself out of it, Jim."
Somewhere, lost in a dusky haze shot through with flashes of pure red pain, the Sentinel could barely make out his Guide's words. He knew they were important, knew he had to listen. Wanted, badly, to listen, but he was afraid if he came out of the darkness then it would happen again, that explosion of sound that had blinded him. He was vaguely aware that he was getting his senses mixed up, that they had gotten too completely entwined and had knocked him out, but he wasn't quite sure what to do about it. But Blair would know. Blair would help him. Shivering in the darkness, his Guide's voice was a warm thread that beckoned to him, reassured him, called to him. Swallowing his fear and trusting his Guide, he concentrated fiercely, and some of the words made it through.
Smell, try to smell. He could do that. And touch, there was a touch, it went with that warmth, along his face, easing the pain in his head. So he could smell, and he could touch, and maybe eventually it wouldn't hurt so damned bad to see, or hear. He took a deep breath, all of his being divided between the little brand of fire trailing along the side of his face, and the scents surrounding him.
Spices. And ... flowers? No, lighter, more delicate than that. There was something in the background : cordite, and damp leaves, mud and something coppery. Blood. Bound up as he was in his Guide's voice, his mind shied away from the connotations of his Guide and spilled blood. He focused in on the lighter scents, and isolated the one that had been teasing him. Herbs. And ... something salty. Sweat? Sweet mixture, sweat and herbs and spices and ... something unidentifiable. Blair. Unconsciously turning toward the source of the delightful scent, he burrowed his face into the nearest warm flesh and inhaled deeply. God, he smelled good.
Dimly he was aware that the litany of words had fractured, and that the warmth of the thread of his Guide's voice was now pulsing steadily with something more. He could taste something on his lips. Something ... salty. Wasn't sweat. It was familiar, but alien at the same time. Opening his mouth, instinctively trying to back up his smell with his sense of taste, he nibbled gently on the ridge of flesh under his teeth. Through the porous cotton denim he tasted ... sweat, fear and adrenaline lending it a sharp edge, and something different, coming through more strongly as the material became soaked from his saliva. Thin fluid, watery, somewhat viscous. Delicious, actually. Memory worked at the problem of identification as his skin registered a number of changes in his Guide, each one drawing him further toward reality and out of his zone-out. Flush heated the soft skin, the fine hair drew up as the skin tightened, the well -known heart beat increased, moisture beaded the skin. He realized that his hand was under Blair's shirt and he was caressing the younger man's chest at exactly the same time that he realized that he could hear again, his vision was clear, the unidentifiable scent was musk, the scent of arousal, he was chewing on Blair's erection, and his memory supplied the mystery of the salty taste. Pre-ejaculate. Hell of a way to wake up.
Sandburg couldn't have made a coherent sentence at that point if his life had depended on it. One minute he'd been talking his partner through a zone-out, trying very hard not to think about how much he wanted to strip them both bare naked and mate like minks, and the next minute his partner is doing his best to chew his cock off through his pants. And he was STILL zoning out. God, if that was the way he reacted unconsciously then if he ever got him in bed when he was in full possession of all his faculties neither one of them might survive the trip. On the other hand, what a hell of a way to die.
The sound of gravel kicking up on the other side of the car coincided with Banks' well-known bark to jolt Blair out of his reverie. Prying Jim off of himself reluctantly but firmly, he bundled his partner up against his front in an attempt to hide his aching erection. Simon already thought he was a flake and an adrenaline junkie. All it would take is seeing a boner this size after nearly losing Jim to a zone-out in the middle of a firefight and Simon'd revoke his advisor status so fast he'd get rope burn from getting his badge yanked off his neck. He smiled weakly at his partner's boss, who stared suspiciously at him before bending a concerned look at the groggy detective cradled in his arms.
"How is he? He doesn't look very good," Banks decided critically. He shot a glance at the student. "Neither do you."
"He's gonna be okay, Simon," Blair reassured him. "It was a pretty severe zone-out, but I think I know what we need to do to control it. It's going to take some work, but at least we know there's a possible drawback to using his senses this way. Now that we know it we can isolate the problem and make sure he has a coping mechanism to ensure that it doesn't incapacitate him in a situation like this again." The captain was staring at him. Hey, it was the best he could come up with. It wasn't easy to think when the majority of the blood had drained from his brain to his cock, and Jim leaning up against him sure as hell wasn't making it any easier to concentrate. To his vast relief, Simon simply shook his head as if to clear it, then pointed at Jim's truck.
"Take him home, Sandburg. I'll see you both tomorrow. You look like you need a break."
Blair nodded vigorously. Yup, a break would be a good idea. A break that included getting Jim safely home and tucked in bed so he could climb in the shower and jerk off a minimum of four times just to get himself drained enough so that Wee Willy didn't jump to attention every time Jim took a breath. Not that Willy was really all that Wee, but still ... he realized that Simon was starting to glare at him, and hurriedly led Jim away to the truck. Better get out while the getting was good.
Bundling his silently acquiescent partner into the passenger seat, he took a deep breath and concentrated on getting them home in one piece through the rain slick streets. He glanced over several times, happy to see that Jim was looking gradually more alert as the minutes passed. By the time they arrived at the loft, he seemed fully aware. They negotiated the stairs in silence, Jim preceding Blair into the loft and heading straight for the sofa. He settled himself against the cushions and looked up at the younger man, eyes calm, face completely composed. Giving nothing away.
"How you doin', man?" Blair asked cautiously, unsure how much Jim remembered from his zone-out. "Feeling more with the program, here?"
Jim smiled. For an instant, Blair was startled. There was something predatory in the smile. Then it disappeared, and the usual gentle presence that was his friend reasserted itself.
"Okay, Chief."
Blair waited a bit, then came forward slowly and perched on the arm of the sofa. Jim's mouth curled in a typical irritated grimace at the casual disregard for his furniture, and Blair brightened. This was more like it. Back to something approaching normal. He slid off the arm into the corner, snagging a throw pillow to discretely cover the still-damp patch at his crotch where his partner had been nibbling on him. The memory of that unexpected nuzzle started his heart in a trip hammer rhythm again, and he fought to control it. It was too important, right now, to find out exactly what had happened to Jim at the scene of the shooting. Only by understanding could there be control and only through control would Jim be able to operate effectively without risking his life on the job. And that was what he was here for, after all. To Guide his Sentinel. Not get hot and horny over him. He sighed and got down to business.
It was a frustrating hour on both ends of the couch. Sandburg tried every way he could think of to try to get Jim to explain what had happened during the zone-out. He patiently explained why it was so important to note if there were any differences and find ways to combat the debilitating effects of what was, in essence, a double-zone-out. Jim agreed, monosyllabically, and nodded cheerful agreement to everything Blair said. Then he sat and stared at his Guide. Happily. Cheerfully. Utterly unhelpfully.
It was making Blair nuts.
At first, he was patient. Then he got mad. At Jim's evident puzzlement, he tried a different technique, taking deep, centering breaths and pausing to study Jim after each question. Then he realized that Ellison really was trying to help, but every time he tried to recall exactly what had happened that afternoon he went into a mini-zone out. The combination of discovering two vastly different variations of zone-outs in one afternoon was too much for the grad student. Deciding to cut them both some slack, he gave up for the evening and grumped out to the kitchen to make supper.
It was pretty normal after that. If he could consider sitting staring blankly at his laptop while Jim apparently enjoyed a baseball game on the tube normal. And if the visions that kept playing across his rapidly glazing eyes were one endless series of erotic pictures of he and Jim exploring every permutation of sexual expression he'd ever heard of (and a few he made up on the spot), well, that was rapidly becoming normal too. Eventually he couldn't fake it any longer. Besides, if he stayed two feet away from the man any longer, his hard-on was going to make it impossible to walk. Better to get out while he could still move.
"Hey, Jim," he offered tentatively, trying to keep the 'please throw me over the back of the couch and fuck me senseless' plea out of his voice. "Getting late." The game was long over, and some cheesy movie with Stallone was screaming out of the TV. He shuddered. "And it's been a long day. Think I'm gonna turn in."
His partner stared at him for a moment, then smiled slightly. "Yeah. Think I will too. I'm bushed."
"No wonder, man," Blair sympathized, edging off the couch toward his room. "Been one of those nightmare kinda days, WAY too much information overload for one afternoon. Sleep well." He ducked into the small room and closed the door softly, leaning against it and closing his eyes with relief. That had been close. He knew that Jim must have noticed his heart rate and his sweat, could probably smell the pure desire running off him in waves, and thanked whatever Deities were watching over wayward Guides that his particular Sentinel was a great respecter of privacy.
Leaning his head against the door, he heard the quiet rustle as Jim left the sofa, clicked off the TV, and stepped lightly up the stairs. Nearly holding his breath, trying to stay quiet himself, he slid his tee-shirt and sweater off, then shimmied out of his jeans and shorts, kicking off his socks as he wandered toward the bed. He couldn't be bothered to find his normal boxers to sleep in -- the way he felt right now, they'd just get in the way. Both hands were at his crotch before he even got as far as the bed, and he simply fell sideways when he felt the side of the mattress at his knee. Arching into his hands, he worked quickly, in no mood to wait after being in a state of advanced arousal all bloody day. His left hand worked his balls from side to side, sliding them in the soft sac, separating them and slamming them gently back together. He licked his right palm and fisted his cock, pulling the shaft, rubbing his thumb firmly across the head and pumping back down again. It wasn't long before he could feel the tide of orgasm start at his toes, working its way up his legs to center in his pelvis, tightening his buttocks and arching his back. His left hand wrapped around his shirt, now, pressing firmly, while his right milked the head in short sharp bursts of movement, until he froze. His mouth opened, but his scream was silent, some last vestige of discretion stopping him from freaking his roommate out with his usual noisy reaction to climax.
Every muscle in his body melted after he came, and he lazily ran his fingertips through the creamy liquid splattered across his belly. Resolutely ignoring the fact that the face he had seen behind his closed eyelids had been Ellison's, and just as fiercely ignoring the fantasy that the hands had belonged to his partner as well, he snagged a discarded shirt from the untidy heap by his bed and swabbed himself relatively clean. It would have to do for now. He slid into sleep, images playing through his imagination, beyond his ability to control.
Upstairs, Jim's nose twitched.
There was that smell again. It traveled a direct path from his face to his groin.
Blair was down there. And he was alone, doing things that he should have company for. His company. After all, he was the Sentinel, and that was his Guide. His buddy. His blue-eyes. His. All his. As it should be.
None of these thoughts actually made it to his conscious mind. He had slipped back into the strange mini-zone he'd been in and out of since that afternoon. Only this time he was separated from his anchor, and he didn't approve of that one bit. Unaware of his actions, knowing only that there was too much space between him and that wonderful smell, he rolled off the bed and followed it.
The darkness in the small room was no match for his enhanced sight. Automatically noting, disapproving and then forgetting the mess, he zeroed in on the sprawled tangle of limbs and torso and hair that was his Guide. Sandburg was wrapped halfway around a pillow, face buried in the soft cotton, the top sheet flipped almost completely off the bed, leaving the long expanse of his back, flanks and legs bare to the interested gaze eagerly eating him up. Shoulders were broader than one might expect, smooth silky balls of muscle that begged his hands to cup them and a little bump of collarbone that asked to be nipped. His arms were long, and well-formed, muscular in a different way than his own, ending in long-fingered, broad hands. Hands that had led him back from the darkness many times in the three short years they'd been together.
Jim found himself kneeling beside the bed, all of his senses focused completely on his Guide. He didn't recognize what was happening, but he knew he liked it, and it felt right, somehow. His eyes traveled down the curve of Blair's ribs to the indentation at his waist, then swept the length of his legs, splayed across the mattress in relaxed sleep. He found himself caught up in the play of light and shadow in the hollow behind Blair's knee, and the line of his ankle. Lifting his eyes, he stared at the soft mounds of his ass, the shadowed cleft leading to two small dimples at the small of his back. His tongue flicked out and wet lips gone dry. Silently reaching, he trailed one finger delicately up the line of Blair's spine, feeling each individual vertebra from his coccyx to the nape of his neck, burrowing under warm curls to trace a lazy circle at the base of his skull.
Sandburg stirred under the deft touch, but didn't QUITE awaken. Jim took advantage of the change in position to brush the loose locks of hair away from Blair's face, eyes memorizing features already subconsciously burned into his brain. Long, dark lashes swept over his cheeks, darkened with beard stubble. Curve of his nose, cute little pug although he wouldn't dare tell him so when he was awake. Full lips, slightly reddened and with indentations along the bottom, as if he had bitten it earlier, slightly open, allowing a glimpse of warm darkness inside. He wanted to dive into that mouth. He wanted to cup that round chin in his hand and tilt that sweet face up and devour that mouth.
So he did.
Strong hands came up to wrap around his shoulders, pushing back in half-awake panicked reaction. The furry chest beneath his own heaved up as Blair tried, unsuccessfully, to gasp for a breath and buck off the unexpected intruder shoving a tongue down his throat. Ellison ignored it all. In fact, he didn't even notice. Every atom of his being was concentrating on his tongue. He'd never known that you could taste a scent. Gradually, he became aware that his Guide was making distressed little whimpering noises, and dimly he remembered that he also had to breathe once in awhile or risk passing out. And if he passed out he wouldn't be able to taste Blair anymore. That threat was enough to get him to raise his head a fraction.
Nose to nose with his extremely startled partner, he stared into sapphire eyes and tried to stop his senses from skittering all over the map. It was as if he was in some sort of fugue state, jumping from one focus to another, reality shifting with each instance a sense was triggered. He shook his head, attempting to clear it. This was too important -- he had to concentrate. Switching to touch, damping down smell and taste for the moment, he slowly rubbed his chest and legs against every inch of Blair's skin that he could reach. Since he was several inches taller and quite a bit broader than the younger man, this effectively allowed him to blanket Blair's whole body. He balanced himself on his knees and shins, and used his skin as one huge touchpad. He could make out muscles moving under satin skin, the silky roughness of hair on Blair's legs, the wiry nest of curls at his crotch. and the denser, softer fur covering his chest. There was an alien, hard, cooler texture at one side of his chest ... ah, his nipple ring. He shifted slightly and rubbed very lightly against it, barely tugging at it with his chest.
He could see the results of his body massage in his Guide's eyes. His pupils were gradually dilating until they nearly eclipsed the sparkling blue, and the rim of iris that remained had darkened to navy. Jim felt himself slipping away again, zoning out on the fine grained texture of skin over firm muscle that was tingling against the full length of his body, and he automatically eased his focus from touch to sight, pulling away from the depths of those incredible eyes to rove along the rest of his Guide. He was mesmerized for a moment by the contrast between his own strong, pale fingers and the warm sable hue of the curls winding around them. When had he woven his fingers through Blair's hair? It didn't matter. They belonged there. They'd been aching to do that for months, he just hadn't known it.
His gaze trailed along the tangled curls to the slightly darker, finer hair covering his chest. Through the fur he could make out cinnamon colored nipples, already peaked, begging for attention. A delicate gold ring threaded through the left one, standing out slightly from the erection of the tiny nub. The glint pulled him in, deeper, deeper, and he gasped and covered it with his mouth, unwilling to allow his sight to take over the experience. It was delicious, the tang of salt from the sweat glistening on Blair's skin, the cool metallic taste of the gold, and he realized that he could twine taste, touch and sight together.
More of the distressed little whimpers cut through his distraction, and he came back to the present to feel Sandburg's hands, pulling him closer, this time. His Guide was panting, harsh breaths cut through with incoherent pleas, interspersed with his own name, keening "Jim! Jim!" like one of his mantras, over and over. The helpless cries slipped in and out of his consciousness, warming him as Sandburg's voice always did. With less effort, now, he wove the strand of hearing into the rope that was binding him to his Guide.
As they twined into place, he became aware of the sweet, spicy musk that had drawn him here to begin with. It was radiating off Blair in waves, now, and it made his head swim. He added it to his anchor rope, now complete, binding him, freeing him, completing them both. Reaching to catch both strong wrists in one of his hands, and holding them at Blair's waist, he lowered his face to the strongest source of the musk. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes, the image of the damp, swollen cock flickering in the darkness behind his lids. Bending forward, he lapped at the straining flesh, and reveled in the lush moan that echoed from the head of the bed. As he took more and more in, the moan mutated into a wail, until it was a single unbroken undulation of sound. When he had completely engulfed Blair's cock, he swallowed.
The cry broke.
Blair Sandburg was convinced he was hallucinating. And he hadn't touched anything even mildly hallucinogenic since he'd started living with a cop who could smell it five miles away. But it couldn't be Jim, here, in his bed, rubbing every part of him, carding his fingers through his hair, playing with his nipple ring, sucking his ... oh, sweet Erotes ... he came so hard he very nearly passed out.
When the funky reddish haze finally cleared from his vision, and he was almost able to breathe normally again, he took stock of his surroundings. Yup. Still in bed ... only felt like he'd gone surfing on the astral plane. And, yeah, that was Jim, all right, whom he was lying over, draped across him like some sort of plush teddy bear with all the stuffing loved out of him. Jim, running his fingers through Blair's hair, humming softly to himself. Humming? Jim?
Okay, so if he, Blair, wasn't tripping, what the HELL was Jim on?
"You," came the contented rumble from underneath him.
"Hmmm?" He hadn't realized he could actually form words already, much less that he'd said the last bit aloud.
"You're incredible."
Great Gods and little fishes, it sounded like the man was purring! "Uhm, Jim ... are you ..." Stoned? Temporarily insane? Possessed? "okay?"
"Incredible, Chief."
Oh, man. He WAS purring. A shudder worked all the way through Blair, starting at his scalp where the long fingers were kneading away and running clear down to the soles of his feet. Definitely some kind of possession. His panicked thoughts immediately began listing all of the arcane and esoteric rituals he had ever heard of to get rid of unwanted demons. Not that this particular manifestation was exactly unfriendly -- quite the opposite, he had never been so satiated in his life -- but when the Real Jim broke through and got his body back he was gonna be WAAAAAY pissed. Better to cast it out, much as he hated to do it, than risk both of them getting killed when Jim snapped out of it.
"Uhm, we need to talk, big guy." The hand in his hair stilled, then pressed his head against a warm, solid chest.
"'Bout what, Chief?" Was there the slightest touch of apprehension in that contented voice?
"You just sucked me dry, Ellison." Well. He supposed that could have been stated a little more delicately. He closed his eyes and unconsciously held his breath, waiting for the explosion. There was a rolling rumble under his head, and the chest he was resting on shook slightly. He stiffened, then realized that his previously perfectly straight partner who was currently exhibiting the signs of a split personality at the least and demonic possession at the worst, was laughing his ass off.
"Oh, god oh god oh god." This was not good. "This is NOT good, man." This was scary, in fact. "You're scaring me, man!"
The laughter ceased immediately, and the arm around his ribs tightened to the point of discomfort. "I'm sorry, Chief," Jim apologized softly. "I never want to scare you. That's not what a Blessed Protector does, right?" This last comment was accompanied by a wide grin.
"A Blessed Protector doesn't usually climb into bed with a sleeping Blessed Protectee and blow him 'til he passes out, either!" Blair practically shrieked. It had been a long, tough, and damned confusing day. And now Ellison was TEASING him? No way.
"You did nearly pass out, didn't you?" Interest warred with some concern in the query. Blair would have started tearing out his hair at this point, except that, with Jim's hands carded all the way through it, there was no room for his own. He settled for a heartfelt sigh.
"What. Are. You. Doing.?" He could hear the thin thread of incipient hysteria in his own voice. Jim responded to it by hugging him closer and making comforting circles with his fingertips along Blair's scalp. Almost against his will, he found himself relaxing. He was a sucker for a scalp massage, especially when it was coming from a guy he (admittedly privately) adored.
"I'm making love to you."
Calm, cool, collected, like it was the most logical thing in the world for SuperCop Ellison to be 'making love' to his partner. Who just happened to be a guy. Blair fought down the giggle that was trying to force its way out of his throat. He was more than half afraid if it got out it wouldn't be alone, and then he WOULD be in hysterics.
"Okay. You're -- we're making love." Treat it like an experiment, Sandburg, he admonished himself. Maybe, eventually, this'll make some sense. "And, tell me, why is this?"
"Why's what?" He sounded distracted. Oh, no, not another zone-out.
"You're not zoning out on me, here, are you, Jim?" It was a full-throated Guide-roar, genetically designed to kick recalcitrant Sentinels back to full attention. As usual, it worked ... mostly.
"No, Chief, not really. Just ... you smell ..."
"...what?" Blair teetered between anger and that stupid attack of the giggles. So, now he stank on top of it all?
"Edible." It was more growl than word.
He swallowed against the bulk of his heart, that had suddenly ended up lodged in his throat. "Never knew you were that much of a carnivore, Jim," he joked weakly. "Always seemed to like the pasta-"
Before he could finish the sentence, a long, mobile mouth attached itself to his, and a prehensile tongue grabbed his and stilled it. As his mind tried feverishly to figure out how Jim had DONE that, fingers dragged his head to a better angle, and he found his mouth thoroughly and utterly tongue- fucked. He had never come from a kiss before, but the way this one was heading, it looked like there could always be a first time. Just at the point when he was convinced that his brain was going to explode, along with every other fluid-bearing part of his body, Ellison broke the kiss.
"You talk too much, Sandburg." Convinced that he had his Guide's rapt and undivided attention, the Sentinel continued serenely. "Don't know how it happened, but it happened today. Realized I love you." The expressive face between his palms was one large question mark at this statement. He dropped a hard, quick kiss on the parted lips and continued. "We can talk about it later, in the lab, but I figured out a way to control all of my senses at once." The full lips parted again, and he swiftly kissed Blair senseless to delay any questions. Satisfied with the dazed blue eyes sparkling up at him, he finished his 'explanation' -- what there was of it. "New way to recover from a zone-out, Chief. Bury myself in you."
A strong thrust of his hips left Blair in no doubt whatsoever about his meaning. Jim saw the realization dawn in his partner's eyes that, yes, the younger man had enjoyed the climax of his life and no, Jim hadn't, and yes, Jim wanted inside, but was silently asking permission, and yes, by giving him this permission he was tacitly accepting the change in their relationship, explanations to follow, and oh by the way, the love part went both ways, but there would be plenty of time to work that out later, and right now he had this mondo torpedo digging into his belly, and YES, please, go right ahead, be my guest and fuck me silly. What came out was a soft, "Please."
Jim did.
It wasn't until several long minutes later, after Jim and Blair had very thoroughly tasted and petted and rubbed and bitten and licked nearly every available part of one another's bodies, that he hit a snag. Lying side by side, one of his hands again securely braided into Blair's hair, the other rhythmically squeezing a muscular buttock, both of Blair's hands busily plucking at his nipples, Jim realized that the spirit -- and the applicable portions of the anatomy -- were more than willing, but the practical knowledge was nil. He'd never made love to a man and other than the deep throating that had come naturally to him, he wasn't sure what to do next. Well, he KNEW, he just wasn't quite up on the mechanics of the act. Pure frustration pulled a low growl out of him.
Maybe it was the new level of intimacy, or maybe Sandburg was just a hell of a lot more experienced than his deceptively innocent face would lead one to expect, but the Guide took over and led him through once again. Blair rolled them both over, so that Jim was on his back and Blair was straddling his hips. Leaning forward, he stretched until he could kiss Jim deeply. It was incredible -- he nearly zoned on the taste again.
Before he could lose it completely, Blair broke the contact and slid down his legs, curling over and brushing the ends of his curls over the aching erection lifting from the thick thatch of brown hair at Jim's groin. The sensation nearly sent him out of his skin. He could feel every individual hair, a silken whip of fire, hundreds of tiny needles of pleasure jolting him nearly to orgasm right there. He yelped, and his body jerked as if electrical current was running through him.
"Tune it down, baby," came Blair's soft voice, deliberately using the Guide command tone. "Feel it, but control it. You will not come now. Not until I tell you that you can." He forced his eyes open and met the cerulean flame of his lover's glare. "You come when I say so. Yes?" It wasn't a question. He nodded agreement anyway.
Satisfied with his capitulation, Blair returned to his task. The wet, rough rasp of his tongue along Jim's cock nearly killed him, but he reined it in, determined, for some reason he didn't think about too closely, to follow his Guide's command. He was rewarded by a delicate, thorough tongue bath that left him dripping and close to bursting. He was near the end of his control, hanging on to sanity with his fingertips, ripping the sheets beneath his writhing body. Blair, having prepared him to his satisfaction, reached behind himself, twisting slightly. Jim couldn't see what he was doing, but he could see the results. His partner's erection, which had faded slightly, jerked in response to whatever Blair was doing behind his back.
A flush began at mid-chest and spread rapidly, rushing along his throat and over his jawline, turning his cheeks even darker red than they had been. Blair's tongue swept along his top lip. wetting it, leaving a glistening trail of moisture in its wake. As his pulse thrummed faster and he jerked slightly, rhythmically, Jim realized just what Blair was doing back there. The thought of his Guide, stretching himself, using Jim's own pre-ejaculate to lubricate his opening, ripped a groan of pure need out of the Sentinel.
"Please, Chief, please, let me..." His voice trailed off, and he stared helplessly up at his partner.
Blair bit his lower lip, and took a deep breath. "Steady, babe." One firm hand swept up Jim's sternum, calming him. Then he reached behind his hips and grasped Jim firmly. The feeling of the strong fingers curled around his near-bursting cock just about finished him. As if he recognized how close Jim was to losing it, Blair slid his hand quickly to the root of Jim's cock and pressed the balls firmly. Before the bigger man could buck in protest, he guided the tip of the cock to his anus and, forcing the deep breath out, sank onto Jim's erection at the same rate he exhaled.
The Sentinel screamed.
It was unlike anything he had ever felt. Tight, and hot, yeah, he'd half expected that, but the muscle at the entrance was like a moving cock-ring, pure slick tension at the base of his cock, rippling muscles milking the length. He'd died, nobody'd told him, and he'd ended up in heaven after all. Heaven was Blair Sandburg in heat.
Then his Guide moved.
He had no breath left to scream. The best he could do was moan. So he did. With every breath he could drag in, he moaned one word. Over and over and over.
"Blair."
His lover shifted, leaned forward, stretched for a single, biting, thrusting kiss. Then Blair shifted back, leaning at a particular angle, and gave an involuntary yelp of pleasure. Jim tuned into his cock, not a difficult task since, at the moment, it was the center of his universe. He could feel a little protrusion, and if he gave a small, targeted thrust, he could rub against it with the edge of his glans with each stroke.
Good move. Must have found the hot spot. The response was immediate. Blair's fingers clenched on Jim's quads, his head fell back, his mouth fell open. A few carefully aimed thrusts and the young man came, hard, without even touching his own cock. A hoarse wail, vaguely recognizable as "Jim!" tore from Blair's throat. The sensation was exquisite, and ripped the remaining shreds of Jim's control from him. A continuous shudder of muscles along the tight passage combined with the spasming of Blair's sphincter pulled the orgasm from him, milking him dry, pulling out heart and mind and soul and spilling them deep in his love's body. It was the most intense sensory overload he had ever experienced.
He didn't realize he'd blacked out until he came to again. Blair was sprawled bonelessly across his chest, hair spread across his face, catching in his mouth. His cock had softened and slipped out of his partner, and he could feel the soft warmth of Blair's genitals nestled in the curve of his abdomen. He was wet and sticky from mid-chest to mid-thigh, and if they slept like that they were gonna be glued together. For some reason, the thought didn't bother him in the least. With the last of his energy, he hooked two fingers around the edge of the sheet and drew it over them, careful not to dislodge his sleeping Guide. There would be plenty of time to talk in the morning. And knowing Sandburg, they'd talk this through or die in the attempt.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
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