Warning! If you are offended by same-sex relationships, graphic sex, voyeurism, 
mental rape by technicality, the "f-word", or s/m, you may just want to skip 
this story. If you *read* it anyway and are offended, too bad. I warned you.

A Greater Latitude
by Galenn
set during 'Mind War'

       "Anatomically impossible, Mr. Garibaldi. But you're welcome to try; 
anytime, anywhere..." Bester had said to the security chief. He had to smile -- 
the man was amazingly easy to read when he was angry, and he was amusingly 
quick to anger.
       Bester had savoured the sharp flare of outrage that followed his 
suggestion, had savoured even more the clammy chill as Garibaldi realized 
*what* he was suggesting, and then the sweetest of all:  the slow heat and 
feeble attempt to shutter his mind when thoughts of sex led to thoughts of 
Sinclair.
       Ah yes. Useful knowledge indeed, and something to keep in mind for 
future dealings with Sinclair, damn him and his ability to twist the rules to 
his advantage...
       But for now, Bester decided, he was going to indulge himself -- what 
they didn't know couldn't hurt him, and there was a good chance someone else 
might enjoy it too...
       He reached out mentally, feeling for a mind he recognized easily by its 
lusty enjoyment of pleasures -- food, drink (although that desire was locked 
away as firmly as possible), sex... especially sex.
       He slid into that mind as easily as he had earlier, riding in on the 
threads of a dream.

       Garibaldi sighed softly in his sleep, settling deeper into the dream, 
one of his hands brushing his stiffening erection...
       A mouth settled roughly on his, tongue forcing its way between his lips. 
He moaned around it, welcoming it. Wanting it...
       "No gentleness tonight, Jeff," he murmured when he could again, heat 
flaring and his cock coming up hard when the brown eyes looking down at him 
hardened and glittered cruelly.
       Outside the dream, Bester smiled -- this was far too easy! He hadn't had 
to manipulate anything yet, and he could feel the hunger and desire in 
Garibaldi growing as his dream lover smiled darkly. More darkly than the real 
Jeffrey Sinclair ever would. More extremely useful information:  Garibaldi had 
more than a couple of very exploitable weaknesses...
       He returned his attention to the dream as Sinclair nipped his way down 
Garibaldi's throat, fastened teeth hard on Garibaldi's shoulder.
       Garibaldi cried out, surged against his lover, panting hotly as an 
electric jolt of pleasure arrowed its way to his groin.
       Outside the dream, Bester gasped, caught unprepared for the intensity of 
Garibaldi's reaction. He quickly regained control, unwilling to either betray 
his presence or lose contact until this was finished. However, it had given him 
an idea:  as an experienced interrogator he was well aware just how close the 
sensations of pain and pleasure were to each other. He smiled, deciding to see 
just how far he could push Garibaldi along that razor's edge of feeling.
       Garibaldi moaned helplessly as his dream Sinclair licked and bit one 
nipple and pinched the other one sharply. As Sinclair continued to torture the 
erect flesh Garibaldi spread his legs wide, his cock bobbing with every move, 
and squirmed. "Jeff, *please*..." he moaned, bending one leg, opening himself 
further.
       Bester exerted a little control over the dream for the first time, 
making Sinclair look up at Garibaldi, smile, and ask, "Please *what*?"
       "Please fuck me," Garibaldi moaned, and Bester could feel the spark of 
desperation coming from him. Could feel the consuming hunger; smiled to 
himself. This was going to be good.
       He allowed Garibaldi's subconscious to supply the next dialogue, 
intrigued to see just how far the man would go on his own.
       Sinclair answered with a growl, manhandling Garibaldi he flipped him 
over and pinned his arms, then leaned down next to an ear and hissed, "I'm 
gonna fuck you through the mattress. I'm going to plough you so hard you won't 
be able to *stand*, forget walk!"
       Garibaldi moaned and shifted, getting his own cock into a more 
comfortable position, one where it would get lots of friction against the 
sheets, then splayed his legs wide and twitched his hips. Sinclair laughed and 
said, "Michael, you are such a slut."
       Bester smiled, feeling the heat building in Garibaldi -- just how high 
*could* he go before meltdown?
       Next, taking full advantage of the unreality of dream physics, Sinclair 
jammed two fingers up Garibaldi's tight hole. No lubrication, no loosening, no 
gentle preparation -- just savage penetration. Garibaldi was moaning, lifting 
up to meet the cruel probe, trying to drive the fingers deeper.
       Bester nudged, just a tiny bit, the part of Garibaldi's mind that 
controlled pain impulses. He smiled darkly as Garibaldi reacted:  instead of 
crying out in pain, Garibaldi moaned and the muscles around Sinclair's fingers 
contracted while another jolt coursed through his cock.
       Bester wasn't sure whether Garibaldi's nerves were genuinely crosswired, 
or he was just more masochistic than expected, but the reaction was an 
interesting one to be added to the list of useful information.
       And then Sinclair was pulling the fingers out (and from his outside 
perspective, Bester could see him contemplating his hand for a moment, making a 
fist. Garibaldi shuddered with nervous anticipation at that.) then Sinclair 
whispered, "Maybe when I'm done fucking you, Michael. Right now, I'm going to 
take you -- *dry*."
       The next surge of hunger caught Bester slightly unprepared, and the 
PsiCop moaned quietly as the sharp rush of fear, desire, and lust washed over 
him. He reexerted his control as Sinclair gripped Garibaldi's hips and 
positioned his large cock at the twitching opening. _God,_ he thought, 
_Garibaldi really is ready for a fucking,_ and then he made sure he had good 
concentration as Sinclair began to enter Garibaldi.
       Even fully prepared, the surge of pleasure nearly overwhelmed him. 
Garibaldi cried out as Sinclair shoved in to the hilt, hissed as he withdrew, 
and moaned hotly as he shoved in again. The pleasure and pain were both so 
sharp it was nearly impossible -- even for an expert like Bester -- to tell 
them apart.
       He lay back and enjoyed the sensations while Sinclair savagely fucked 
Garibaldi, enjoyed the knowledge he was gaining about Babylon 5's security 
chief. Perhaps some of those tales he'd heard about the man's previous postings 
were true after all...
       When Garibaldi was close to orgasm, Bester smiled darkly and once again 
took an active role. Garibaldi was panting out, "God, Jeff, harder -- please -- 
*harder*!"
       Bester made Sinclair ask, "You want it harder, Michael? You really want 
it to hurt?" He was buried all the way in at the moment, feeling the heat and 
tightness of Garibaldi's ass. When no answer was immediately forthcoming, a 
hand slid around to Garibaldi's throat and squeezed, and he asked again, "You 
really want it to hurt?"
       Garibaldi nodded, meanwhile pressing himself back against Sinclair and 
then writhing against the sheets. The hand squeezing his throat only served to 
raise the heat another notch. Finally he gulped and whispered, "Hurt me!"
       _Ah,_ thought Bester, _your wish is my command._
       The hand moved from Garibaldi's throat down to his rock hard penis, and 
squeezed just *so*. Garibaldi gasped in surprise at the sensation, puzzled as 
to why Sinclair was keeping him from coming.
       "Don't worry, Michael," Sinclair purred, dialogue provided by 
Garibaldi's subconscious again, "You'll get your chance." Then Sinclair was 
fucking him again; sharp, hard thrusts battering Garibaldi's prostate, 
brutalizing his ass. It felt as if Garibaldi would go mad with the pleasure, 
feeling the pressure building and unable to release it. His hungry ass devoured 
Sinclair's cock and he whimpered and squirmed, wanting desperately to be 
allowed to come.
       He nearly did anyway when Sinclair shoved deep, roaring his pleasure as 
he emptied into Garibaldi's body, the orgasm violent in its intensity.
       Once the spasms subsided, Sinclair withdrew, squeezing Garibaldi again, 
just so, making his erection fade slightly. Garibaldi whimpered, and Sinclair 
purred, "Not yet, Michael."
       He released Garibaldi and rolled to one side, sat stroking gently up and 
down the exposed crack, smearing his cum on his fingers as he did so. 
Garibaldi's anus spasmed hungrily every time fingers neared it. Sinclair smiled 
and asked, "You still want me to hurt you?"
       "Yes," Garibaldi moaned. "Please, Jeff, let me come..."
       Suddenly sticky fingers jabbed into Garibaldi, first two, then three, 
and when even that seemed too easy, all four. Garibaldi cried out, rock hard 
again as he felt what was going on, felt what Sinclair was planning. "Ohgod -- 
Jeff, do it, damn it!"
       The demon dream-lover Sinclair laughed darkly, in a tone the real one 
would never use, then folded his thumb in against his palm and shoved, *hard*.
       Simultaneously, Bester jabbed savagely at both Garibaldi's pain and 
pleasure centers, and then prepared himself for the response. Beyond keeping 
his presence hidden, he knew control would be impossible.
       Garibaldi's body opened to welcome Sinclair's fist, his cock so hard and 
ready that it hurt. Suddenly intense sensation flooded him -- the sharpest 
pleasure or sweetest pain he couldn't tell which, but it burned away the rest 
of his world until it was all that remained. Garibaldi screamed and thrashed in 
the clutches of an orgasm that went on and on, the pain and pleasure flaring 
hotter and brighter until it seemed to consume him...

       When Garibaldi's spasms subsided, Bester carefully withdrew from his 
mind and lay back against his pillows to catch his breath. He shook off the 
remnants of Garibaldi's thoughts and feelings, smiling at the throat screamed 
raw and the lingering buzz of pleasure along nerve endings.
       The experience, and the knowledge it gave him almost -- *almost* -- made 
up for the loss of Kelsey. Ironheart, on the other hand... well, he'd see what 
happened at the briefing, but he doubted he'd get any satisfaction out of 
Sinclair over the incident.
       Sinclair. The man was trouble, and eventually would have to be dealt 
with. Annoying, and time consuming, but there were a number of options...
       He stood and donned his black uniform, mind already beginning to 
formulate his revenge...

The End (Thank gods! My mind wants to take a shower now...)

Babylon 5 is (c) 1996 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended 
to infringe on these copyrights. A Greater Latitude is (c) 1996 Galenn (who 
isn't really sure she wants to own up to it anyway...)