Every time it happened, Blair swore that it would be the last, that *this* time he would be completely satisfied and never need to do it again. Each time, when it was over and he lay alone in his bed that night, trying not to puke from the overwhelming guilt and self-disgust, he'd promise himself he was through, that the price was too high for the relief he'd gotten. He would be able to fight off temptation; he would have enough strength to say 'no,' and mean it. He would NOT betray his sentinel again.
Yet the moment Jim came home, lips pinched tight against pain and moving too slowly, Blair's cock leaped against his zipper, hardening so fast he felt faint. From far, far too much practice, he schooled his features not to show that reaction, kept his eyes on the salad he was making, and said sympathetically instead, "Bust went down bad, huh?"
"Not too bad," Jim denied blandly, though there was already a spectacular bruise coming up on his cheek. "Just one idiot that thought he could get clear of entire room full of cops who were in no mood to put up with that kind of bullshit."
"And of course he's so stupid that he tries to get past the one cop least likely to put up with that kind of bullshit," Blair said, an honest grin breaking out despite his partner's discomfort. And his own.
"I'll say this for him," Jim said, a hint of a smile undoing the uncompromising line of his mouth. "He was a stubborn idiot. Took three tries to get him down and keep him there."
"Just tell me he hurts worse than you do."
"What, and have charges of police brutality brought up against me?" Giving up all pretense at not being in pain, Jim limped toward the bathroom. "Going to use up all the hot water trying to get some of the kinks out. Don't bother to hold dinner for me."
"Just a chef's salad with that dressing Joel told me how to make," Blair said off-handedly, knowing perfectly well how much his roomie liked that particular recipe. "No problem keeping it on the back burner, so to speak. Want a beer to help unknot those boulders in your neck that I can see from here?"
"That's my reward for making it through the shower without passing out," Jim grumbled. "I get two if I convince myself before I get through with the first one not to take my gun and go looking for that idiot. He should be out on bail by the time I'm done."
"I'll do you one better." Mouth suddenly dry, heart speeding for the stratosphere, Blair still somehow managed to use a casual, buddy-to-buddy tone. "I'll give you a back rub if, *if,* you eat dinner along with those beers."
Jim hesitated, and for a moment he had the strangest expression on his face. It came and went too quickly for Blair to be sure he'd seen it, but the guilt riding in the back of his mind started screaming with panic, positive that Jim was finally catching onto his secret. All he did, though, was shake his head. Nonchalantly he said, "That isn't necessary, Chief, but thanks for offering."
Even if he hadn't had ulterior motives, Blair wouldn't have believed him. Comfort, on the Ellison scale of what wasn't permissible, was an eight plus, nearly a nine, right up there with showing weakness to an enemy. "It wasn't an offer; it was a bribe given out of sheer self-preservation. The more stiffness I can work out tonight, the less I have to put up with from you because of it tomorrow."
"I'm not that bad," Jim argued.
"Yeah, right, and that's why the last time you refused to let me give you a hand, Conner threatened to use you for target practice the next day. Less than three hours into it, I might add."
Another partial smile found its way to Jim's lips. "She promised you she'd use rubber riot bullets."
"Notice she promised me, not you." Blair put the vegetable cuttings in the compost bag, sealed it tightly, then wiped his hands dry on a kitchen towel. "And yes, that does mean she likes me better than you; can you blame her? So spare all of Major Crimes and let me work on those aches of yours."
Holding up his hands in mock-surrender, Jim said, "Okay, okay - in the interest of peace in the work place, we can do the backrub thing."
With a snort at the sarcasm in the capitulation, Blair waved him away. "Then go shower already." He reached into the fridge, took out two beers, and after making sure a certain part of him had subsided, followed Jim down the hallway to hand him one. "Consider this part of the massage; a little alcohol to blur the edges will help as much as the hot water."
Jim took it, used the bottle to wave him off, then vanished into the bathroom. Much faster than Blair expected, but not as fast as his screeching libido wanted, the both of them sat down at the table. They ate companionably, discussing everything from their current case load to Blair's chances with the new female detective in Homicide who had legs up to here, veering from dead serious tones to out-and-out ribbing more suitable for teens than grown men.
It was, in short, a typical quiet evening at home for the two of them, rare as those were, and all the more valuable to both of them because of it. By the time dinner was over, the combination of his ever-increasing guilt and his awareness of just how much Jim had to trust him to be able to share like that had Blair sure that he had a total lockdown on his base nature. All that was going to happen was a simple rubdown to relieve his partner's discomfort; that was all that was ever going to happen, no matter what.
His resolve lasted all through their preparations: putting an exercise mat down in front of the fireplace, heating the oil, getting the towels ready. It wasn't until he was kneeling beside Jim, looking down at that trim body, firm ass hidden by a towel, that the first splinter of weakness worked its way into his gut and lodged there as a faint throb. Okay, Blair thought. So he's gorgeous and I'm human. I can still do this.
Manfully ignoring the dim beat of lust in his middle, he started kneading and pummeling the broad shoulders, working out the places where the solid muscle was a little too solid. He focused on what his hands were doing, on the changes in the taut flesh under them, and on truly trying to help his friend and partner. It worked well enough that he at least didn't get hard again.
It helped that they kept their conversation going for a while, but before very long pauses crept in between Jim's responses, and he sounded more and more sleepy with every word. Battling with his conscience and nearly over-powering need, Blair almost, *almost* convinced himself to simply let him fall into slumber. Then Jim sighed deeply and all but melted, obviously finally surrendering to the care being lavished on him.
That soft sound destroyed all of Blair's restraint, turning it into so much rusty debris staining his soul. A tremor started deep inside him, but it didn't show in the steady digging and grinding of his fingers, or in his voice when he said quietly, "Stay with me, here. Just for a while, until I'm sure we've taken care of all the trouble spots."
"Mph," Jim muttered, but it was enough to let Blair know that he wasn't out of it yet.
Blair kept talking in the same even, calm voice, not saying much of anything in particular, but demanding just enough of Jim's attention that he couldn't slip away completely. Each answer was slower in coming, and sounded more and more remote, as if Jim's thoughts were far away from where he was lying. Before long, it took a direct question to rouse him at all, and then it was only to give a direct answer in as few words as possible.
The first time this had happened, oh, so accidentally and oh, so long ago, Blair had nearly freaked, thinking he had sent Jim into some strange new zone-out. Then his ever-present curiosity had kicked in, and he'd cautiously probed at his partner's altered state of mind until he realized that he had inadvertently hypnotized Jim. Except, like everything else related to a sentinel, it wasn't the same state that normal humans fell into when in a trance. It was more like a combination of zoning and a highly suggestible state, where Jim's senses took complete precedence over his conscious mind, leaving him totally open to anything sensual that might happen to him.
He became anyone's dream lover, willing to do anything imaginable and always hungry for more. At a simple suggestion, he would also forget completely that it had happened, and happily attribute his satiation and relaxation to a wonderful massage and nap, blithely ignoring any physical signs that suggested otherwise. The last was especially useful, Blair thought bitterly, though he didn't stop seducing him into compliance, for keeping an otherwise brilliant detective from realizing that his nerdy roommate had the hots for him in the worst possible way. Literally.
Not once, not even that very first time, had Blair intended to take advantage of Jim. Initially, he'd just been trying to decide if his partner was leading him on, playing some sort of a prank on him by pretending to be mesmerized. The kiss he'd dropped on the lax mouth had been meant to shock, not arouse. But Jim had kissed him back passionately, with more skill than Blair had ever had used on him, and he'd been overwhelmed, believing for that moment that it had all been an excuse to let Jim 'test the water' and see Blair was interested in sex with him.
It wasn't until they were both naked and ready that it sunk into Blair's lust-clouded mind that Jim wasn't doing anything that he wasn't told to do, though admittedly it was sometimes only a nudge or wiggle that gave the order. He'd sat up, suddenly furious, and demanded to know what the hell Jim thought he was doing.
And Jim had told him, bluntly, and in plain English. "Fucking you."
Blair had shouted, "Forget it, then. Just forget it!"
"Yes, Blair." Sounding like an obedient machine, Jim had rolled back to his stomach as if nothing had happened. He had laid on the couch where it had all begun without moving or blinking until Blair had calmed down and gathered his wits enough to add everything up, convincing himself that Jim was indeed hypnotized.
Then he had asked the question that he always asked, despite knowing the answer in advance, despite loathing himself for doing it with an intensity that had only increased since then. "Jim, do you *want* to fuck me?"
"No."
"But you will anyway if I say to."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you said to."
"Will you do anything I ask you to?"
That had finally gotten a reaction; Jim had frowned, becoming visibly upset, struggling toward regaining true consciousness. Blair quickly backed off. "Never mind, rest for a few minutes and when you wake up, you'll feel great, completely sexually satisfied, but you won't remember anything from just before I kissed you."
"Yes, Blair."
Jim had done precisely what he had been ordered to do, though Blair had enormous trouble believing it at first. A part of him remained convinced that it was all an elaborate joke, but that didn't stop him from fantasizing constantly about what they could have done. Eventually the temptation became too much for him, and after Jim had complained about a bad work out, Blair had suggested another massage, with the same results as the last one.
Except that time Blair hadn't been able to stop until he'd ridden Jim into exhaustion, both of them coming more times than he'd thought possible in one session. Panicked and guilty when he'd finally came back to Earth from his sexual daze, he fled the room - but not before giving the same final order as the last time.
Reluctantly he admitted he was going to do it this time, too. Whispering, "This is the last time," knowing that he lied to himself even as he did, Blair gave a final loving pat to Jim's bare back. He sat back on his heels, head bowed almost to his chest. For a moment his throat was too tight to speak, but he finally managed to say clearly, "Jim do you want to fuck me?"
"No."
The refusal wasn't enough to derail him, though it gave him pause long enough that Jim stirred restlessly and Blair automatically began soothing him with long, careful strokes from spine to hip. After he settled, though, the nature of Blair's touch changed, effortlessly flowing from relaxing to sexually provocative. Using the edges of his nails he scratched delicately over the contours of Jim's back, the minute sting just a step above ticklish and designed to make every nerve in the well-built body sit up and take notice.
With an indistinct murmur Jim moved again, this time opening his thighs and shifting as if to make room for a growing erection. It caused the towel he'd left casually draped over his backside to fall aside, revealing the perfect globes of his ass. As if it were permission of a sort, Blair turned his attentions toward that tempting bottom and the shadowy cleft dividing it, unconsciously licking his lips.
He palmed the cheeks apart, grinding the heels of his hands into the tempting mounds until he was shaking with the need to do more, and his insensible lover was instinctively shoving back into the erotic massage. Blair bent and dusted the tiniest of kisses over the base of Jim's spine.
At the sudden tenseness in his partner, he whispered, "Just kisses; that's all."
It was neither an oath nor a promise; Blair had already proven to himself that he couldn't keep either, at least where sex with Jim was concerned. Instead it was a line that he'd drawn for himself that simply was *not* going to be crossed. Doing that would be sinking lower than he could stand; he'd self-destruct from the unbearable burden of his guilt and self-hatred.
Besides, he loved tasting him like this. It made Blair feel as if he were loving Jim for Jim's sake, instead of his own selfishness. Softly nibbling and licking, he covered the downy crease from the first hint of division all the way down to the firm sack hanging below it, giving the dusky pucker at the center a miss for now. Then he worked his way back up to the top again, giving that little dip where the curve of the cheeks began a sucking love-bite in passing.
Only then did he properly kiss the opening to his lover's body, plunging his tongue in hard and fast, in direct contrast to all that had gone before. Groaning, Jim backed into the limber penetration, lifting his hips with an eagerness that told Blair that physical need controlled the sentinel now. Even if Jim were to suddenly become completely aware, he'd have to finish, and the rush of power that filled Blair at the thought was more intoxicating than any drug ever made.
Sitting up, he told Jim with a nudge to roll over, absently drying his face on the discarded towel before grabbing the massage oil. It was almost impossible to hold the bottle steady, he was so hungry for completion, but he managed somehow. Trembling, Blair opened himself hastily, then slicked the impressive shaft in front of him, barely aware that he was muttering hot, nasty words all the while.
"Can't wait to get this in me, lover. It's so big, so hard. Gonna sit on your cock, take it so far inside me that you're really going to screw my brains out. See how ready I am? Just one quivering hole that has to be filled. Filled by you. Now, now, now...." He straddled Jim's hips and sank down on his hard-on, taking it all in at once, nearly passing out at the rush of pleasure as he impaled himself. "God, so good! So good!"
For a moment he sat still, savoring the feeling of completion, of fullness, head tilted back and eyes close so he could lie to himself and half-believe Jim wanted him, wanted this. But Blair couldn't hold out long and soon had to give into the imperative to come that was clawing through his guts. With a hoarse cry, he began to ride, jacking himself almost violently in time to the fast rise and fall of his ass on Jim's cock.
Inside, he felt Jim grow the tiny bit harder that meant he was ready to climax, and Blair gasped out, "Don't come. Not until I tell you to."
Moaning, the sound mixed with as much pleasure as frustration, Jim clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white where they pressed into the mat. He would hold off his climax though, which meant Blair could ride as hard and long as he wanted, and the very idea of that was all it took to send him screaming over the edge into his own finish. His seed jetted out of him so furiously it splashed all the way to Jim's chin, and for a second it was all Blair could do not to pass out from the pure intensity of his relief.
When he collected his scattered brain, he was half-leaning over Jim, panting desperately and clenching tightly on the rod inside him, as if to keep it a part of him forever. A part of him wanted to rock gently while he cleaned up his spilled offering from Jim's chest, arousing himself for another round, but the saner portions of his mind reasserted itself. Jim had to go to court early tomorrow morning. He needed to be truly rested and refreshed; not the false rest that Blair could impose on him because of his vulnerable state.
Besides Blair wanted to enjoy watching him climax; something he couldn't appreciate fully if he were wrapped up in his own climb for release or exhausted from a second one in a short time. It seemed to him that Jim got more out of his finish that other men did, though the times Blair had asked while he was under, Jim had gotten so agitated at trying to find words for the indescribable, that Blair had had to let him forget the question. It wasn't worth the risk of him coming out of his trance completely.
Suppressing a shudder at the thought of what would happen if Jim ever did discover what really happened during the backrubs, Blair lovingly wiped away the wetness on Jim's chest, peppering it with small kisses as he did. In the deepest part of his own mind he acknowledged that Jim probably did remember on some level; hypnotic suggestion only repressed, not erased. That probably accounted for why trust was an issue that came up between them constantly; Jim's subconscious knew that Blair couldn't be trusted.
Ruthlessly Blair pushed away that unwanted chain of thought. If having to prove himself to Jim over and over was the price he paid for this rare, precious stolen loving, he'd pay willingly and with no regrets. Jim was definitely worth it.
Jim sighed and arched into the soft lick Blair had given a tightly budded nipple, bringing him back to the much better subject at hand. He nibbled on the other for good measure, then found his way to Jim's lips, claiming them as sweetly and thoroughly as he knew how. When he was seriously aroused again, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Jim's, hands framing his beautiful face.
"Come for me now," he whispered. "Let go and take what you need."
With a roar that sounded both agonized and triumphant, Jim rolled them both, pinning Blair under him, legs over his broad shoulders, teeth fastened into the crook of Blair's neck. Though he should have felt squashed, Blair loved being so thoroughly covered, and he locked his arms around Jim's neck, hanging for all he was worth. It was absolutely necessary to hold on so tight because his Jim hammered away at him as if he was an immovable object, and Jim was the irresistible force.
It was wonderful, better than any sex that Blair had ever had with any man or woman, and like always, over with far too quickly. Not so fast that he couldn't come again himself if that had been what he wanted, but no where near long enough for him to just soak up the pleasure of having Jim need him, using him with such abandon. Jim coming was a thing of joy, too, and Blair flexed his inner muscles, milking every last jolt of ecstasy that he could from their union as hot wetness flooded inside his ass.
Muttering wordlessly against Blair's throat, Jim slowed his thrusts to small, steady strokes meant to make the last waves of pleasure last for both of them. He let Blair's legs slip down, petting them as they straightened, obviously checking for aches or strain. Finally, when he was too soft to keep pumping, sighing with deep reluctance, he turned them to their sides and slipped free of Blair's body.
"God, Chief," Jim murmured.
His words shattered Blair's momentary illusion that his partner was a willing participant, and he hastily whispered, "Hush, hush. Just rest now." Jim frowned, and tried to speak, so Blair said more firmly, "Hush. When you wake up, you won't remember anything but a very relaxing massage, you won't notice anything unusual about me or the loft that has anything to do with sex. You'll feel good, physically, no pain or aches left, even tomorrow when you get up to go to work."
Jim melted against him, breath evening out quickly, almost visibly slipping away into sleep. For a moment Blair held him tightly, as if he had the right to do so, but his own hypocrisy grew with every second that passed. Eventually it drove him away, sending him scurrying for the bathroom to wash away the most obvious evidence of what he'd done. And if all the water that was on his cheeks while he showered wasn't from the spray, well, he didn't have to admit to that, did he?
* * *
As soon as the water started running in the shower, Jim sat up and snagged the damp towel that Blair had brought to clean up the excess oil. Running it over his face, he wondered if there was any way to obliquely tell his partner know how much he hated being sweaty and sticky after sex without running into the damn road-blocks Blair had put in his mind. Once clean enough to make do until he could find an excuse to shower again, Jim laid back down, trying to decide for the thousandth time if Blair honestly didn't know the difference between 'rest' and 'sleep' for a soldier, or if the choice of words was a Freudian slip of immense proportions.
No way to ask that, either. Though Jim had had a lifetime of recalling suppressed memories, especially where his senses were concerned, he didn't know how to cross the wasteland between *keeping* what Blair had told him to forget, and being able to *use* it when he wanted. Every time he tried to just hint that while he 'rested' he could repeat what happened over and over to himself so many times that he didn't forget when he finally did sleep, his mind would just shut down. It was like a zone, and he'd claimed that's what had happened when Blair noticed. So far, Blair hadn't questioned his assertion.
Hell, maybe it was a zone-out of a sort; an excuse happily provided by his senses to keep the chance of another 'massage.' Pathetic as it was to get what he needed so dishonestly, Jim didn't want to run the risk of never making love with Blair again. He had no doubt that the instant his partner realized that he knew everything, Blair would run fast and far, out of shame and fear.
Not fear of reprisal; Blair had to know him better than that. It would be fear of a love strong enough to keep Blair in his life despite being 'raped' repeatedly, despite how easy it would have been to let a fight go too far as an excuse to kick him out of the loft. And Jim knew beyond any question that Blair did fear loving him. Why else *always* ask the wrong thing before using him?
The shower turned off and Jim closed his eyes, willing sleep to come before his partner came out to check on him. As he drifted away, he wistfully wished that just once Blair would ask if he wanted to make love to him, so he could finally say 'yes.'
finis