Disclaimer: The boys don't belong to me <sigh> only the twisted
tales. But I like to believe they have more fun when *I* write them.
No money has changed hands.... who would pay for this? <g>

For Noon -- she's directly responsible for me getting up the nerve to
share my writing with the unsuspecting world.

Accidents
By Virg Vaughn virgule@dangerous-minds.com


Trouble and Sandburg -- there ought to be a special reference in
Webster's just to match those two words. Better yet, there should be
a picture of Sandburg next to the word trouble and a warning printed
in large red letters. Said reference should be required reading for
all Sentinels.

I, of course, never heeded this warning even though I'm fairly bright
and reasonably well educated. It's a pity that at this age I'm
discovering that a) I don't have enough common sense to save my life
when a certain long-haired, oozing with charm grad student crooks his
little finger at me and b) even knowing about this apparent lack in
my character, I'm willing to do whatever the little bastard asks of
me, regardless of the consequences.

Years of self-discipline learned in military schools, the army, and
on the police force all shot to hell by a pair of blue eyes with
indecently long eyelashes looking at me with that damn hangdog
expression. You know the one I'm talking about.... Back in the '70s
there was this huge fad for pictures of those kids with the enormous
sad eyes -- the ones where their eyes took up half their faces. The
fad quickly expanded (much like all stupid fads) into pictures of
dogs, cats and I'm pretty sure even geckos with those same freakin'
huge, sad eyes. The really annoying thing about the pictures was
that as mass-produced and tacky as they were, there was just
something about those damn kids and their big eyes.

Yep, trouble and big eyes -- it's a deadly combination. And it
explains why I'm lying face down spending my precious time off trying
to recover enough for a six-hour plane ride back home. Six hours in
hell sitting on a part of my anatomy that has seen more abuse in the
past few days than the entire first thirty-eight years of my life.

Blair came home that Friday night looking like a half-drowned pup.
He had spent the evening at the campus library researching some vague
reference to tribal sentinels in another one of those ancient tomes
that he loves so much. He had left that morning with the fevered
glow of research lighting him up like a roman candle. Don't get me
wrong, I love that he's got an IQ that would make Einstein faint with
envy. It's just that I really prefer it when he gets that lit up
over me.

Wet hair, wet clothes ... he just stood there inside the door
dripping onto the hardwood floor like a stray. Sandburg hates being
cold and wet. Hell, if it weren't for me he'd have been thousands of
miles away from the rain and the cold, running around half-naked with
a bunch of tribesmen in Borneo. That's why I had been planning our
surprise vacation for months.

I couldn't offer him Borneo -- there is no way in hell he's going to
leave me for a year unless it's over my dead body -- of course after
the past few days that's looking like more and more of a possibility.
It's not like he meant for any of the 'accidents' to happen. He
never does.

After he was warm and I had fed him and after we were tucked up all
nice and cozy in front of the fire, I dropped my bombshell -- ten fun
filled days in Hawaii. I was more than willing to accept his rather
endearing gratitude with ... enthusiasm.

That's when I strained my lower back. It wasn't too bad, really --
he just forgets sometimes that my enhanced senses don't extend to
enhanced flexibility. The position he'd prodded and pushed me into
was something I hadn't tried since playing Twister in the eighth
grade. Come to think of it, it had hurt like hell back then too, but
I wasn't quite as distracted at the time.

By the time we were winging our way to the islands, my back was
feeling better. At least I was able to fantasize about making love
on the beach without immediately reaching for muscle relaxants. The
six-hour plane ride went by in a flash. Sandburg charmed the crew,
charmed the passengers and charmed me with wildly improbable stories
about his past exploits on various expeditions. It really wasn't his
fault that the stewardess decided to pour my coffee at the precise
moment he launched into frenzied arm movements demonstrating a Fijian
war dance. Thankfully the coffee wasn't all that hot. The scald
wasn't even all that bad -- just painful.

We must have looked like a couple of idiots grinning at each other in
the car rental line when we finally arrived. It was such a relief to
be there and know that we had ten days without cold all-night
stakeouts or stupid department or university politics to deal with.
Here I wasn't a cop -- there were no images to maintain. We could
just be two guys who happened to love each other. The condo I'd
rented was great, small and simple, but mercifully immaculate and
right on the beach.

We hit the beach as soon as we'd dug out our swimming gear. Sandburg
was wearing a pair of those gawd awful trunks in screaming neon
colors, that reached down to his knees. I was wearing my trusty
Speedo -- he had the nerve to make some vague remark about the social
implications of my 'display', but the gleam in his eyes told me that
wasn't what he was thinking.

It was great playing in the surf and the cool salt water helped to
ease the sting of the scald. By then I wasn't even limping anymore.
The beach wasn't very crowded -- there were only a few other couples
hanging around. We had a great time. Sandburg is like a seal in the
water, all slick fur and playfulness. He dunked me and I dunked him
until we'd both swallowed a couple of gallons of the blue Pacific.

It happened on the way back to the condo. Sandburg was wearing a
pair of those rubber and net 'swim shoes' in another appalling neon
color that clashed horribly with his trunks. He'd popped me one with
his damp towel and raced away across the parking lot. With revenge
on my mind I took off after him ... only to stop short when I
realized that the soles of my feet were sizzling on the hot blacktop
like a couple of fried eggs. With a completely undignified yelp, I
jumped off the ground onto the hood of the rental car. The *black*
rental car.

Yes, it hurt. Yes, I yelled again. Yes, there were witnesses....

Back in the condo Sandburg was sweetly considerate. He helped me out
of the Speedo which had melted into my backside. My ass was bright
pink and the back of my thighs looked like they'd been covered with
red barn paint. A cold shower helped, but I wasn't up to wearing
anything or leaving the room for the rest of the day. So much for
our first night in paradise and any ideas about lust in the tropics.

The next morning Sandburg decided we should go out for a drive and
explore a little. It sounded fine to me. The rental car had air
conditioning and by that time I could actually sit down again without
zoning out on the pain. It was a fabulous day -- only a few fat
clouds in bright blue sky. The island was incredible, lush and
tropical in the lowlands and the high plateaus covered with acres and
acres of pineapple fields and pasture land. We drove around until we
found a secluded spot to stop for a picnic lunch. I was more than
ready to get our vacation back on track.

Sandburg only wanted to take a picture of us together. He'd set up
the tripod and was focusing the camera before he set the timer. I'm
sure that he really didn't mean to do it on purpose. All he wanted
me to do was back up a step and then another....

When I think of cactus the first thing that comes to mind is the
desert, or maybe even Eastern Washington in the high plains. I
never, ever thought of them in Hawaii.

Luckily there was an emergency tool kit in the rental with a pair of
pliers. It made getting the spines out a much easier task. Not any
less painful, but certainly a whole lot easier. There really weren't
that many of them. Maybe a dozen or so all together. I had to ride
back to the condo laying across the back seat though. Sandburg was
great, all the way back he talked to me using that 'guide voice' of
his and I was able to dial down enough keep from moaning ... much.

Dinner was a quiet affair; I wasn't very hungry and Blair was too
busy feeling guilty to talk much. I hate sleeping on my stomach so I
spent most of the rest of the night making sure that I didn't sleep
deeply enough to accidentally roll onto my back.

The next day Sandburg was pretty much crawling the walls. I was
still laying around trying to figure out how to dial down enough to
get some pants on. He decided to go check out some of the local
tourist traps while I concentrated on recovering. Not a big deal
really, since I don't like shopping anyhow.

Sandburg was back in time for lunch with the weirdest assortment of
junk you can imagine. His idea of souvenirs isn't what you'd call
typical. He'd also stopped in at a Chinese apothecary and picked up
a bottle of ointment that he swore up and down would soothe away the
pain from the burn and the needle holes in my butt. I sent up a
little prayer that this cure wouldn't be as bad as the original
complaint and offered up my bare backside for a little TLC.

The stuff actually smelled pretty good. I quickly identified aloe,
cloves and mint, which went a long way toward easing any doubts I had
about letting myself be doctored with an 'ancient Chinese secret'.
It felt wonderfully cool and soothing on my scorched, pin-cushioned
skin. In no time at all, I was feeling no pain and encouraging those
talented fingers to explore a bit further.

Sandburg was as eager as always, kneeling between my spread thighs
with his fingers exploring the one area that had escaped injury.
Damn! It felt good; the deeper massage had me moaning and squirming.
Our vacation was finally working out like it was supposed to and I
basked in the knowledge that I was about to get nailed. Oh yeah, I
need to have the little guy's 'little guy' buried so deeply inside me
I could feel it in my throat.

Just as Sandburg was lined up and ready for action, I smelled
something else. It wasn't very strong -- just a trace hiding there
beneath the mint. Hibiscus. It's a lovely blossom that also happens
to be Hawaii's state flower. I guess it has healing properties --
for some people. I just happen to be one of the unfortunate few who
are allergic to it.

The doctor says that the swelling and the rash should be gone in a
week. It doesn't even hurt as much as it did right at first. The
itching is hell though, especially in the places where I can't
scratch.

It's really not all that bad lying here. I've got the TV and a
cooler full of beer. The air conditioning along with the ocean
provide a nice sort of peaceful white noise. Sandburg's out on the
beach somewhere. I've been trying to encourage him to enjoy himself.
As *far* away from me as possible.

Next year's vacation has been on my mind a lot. I've got lots of
time to plan. I really think there's something to be said for
separate vacations....

-=End=-


virgule@dangerous-minds.com for feedback