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by Valentin

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When the blinds were left open at night, the loft was never really dark, even if one didn't have Sentinel senses. To the eyes of the man standing in the doorway of the small, crowded room under the stairs, the wan illumination from the street was more than adequate to light its slumbering occupant.

He was perfectly able, for instance, to see that the sleeper lay on his back, one hand tucked into the waistband of his faded boxers, the other lying over his head, half-hidden by a tumble of curls. He could see the soft, parted lips and the day's growth of rough beard, the hair that curled at the hollow of his throat and the edges of his tank top. He saw the dark, tender curve of genitals partially exposed by the rucked-up flannel.

The sleeper shifted and muttered, but didn't wake, when he was lifted carefully and carried from the room. It was warmer in the second-floor bedroom; perhaps that was what roused him, or the dim light over the bed that he was laid upon. Or perhaps it was the leather cuffs as they were buckled to his wrists and secured to the railing at the head of the bed.

He woke slowly, eyes heavy and doped with sleep; his watcher saw the precise second that he realised he was restrained, and stepped forward into his line of sight.

"Jim! Man, I nearly had a heart attack. What the hell's going on? Hey! Get these things off me." He was tugging clumsily at the cuffs, trying to reach the buckles, but the cuffs were fastened together, the angle wrong.

"I don't think so, Chief." The voice was calm.

"What do you mean, you don't think so? This isn't funny, Ellison. Take these off now, damn it! What the fuck are you trying to prove?" He rolled on to his stomach and tried to get his knees under himself, but the other man's weight settled over him, pushing him into the mattress.

"Not trying to prove a thing, Sandburg. Just taking you up on your offer."

"Look, Jim, obviously there's some kind of misunderstanding here. If I've done something to piss you off, I'm sorry, okay? Just let me up and we can talk it out. Or if this is connected to your senses somehow, we'll--"

"Misunderstanding? I guess you could call it that. I'd say you certainly misunderstood how long I was going to put up with you shakin' it at me twenty-four/seven, flaunting it in the bullpen and expecting me to pretend I didn't notice, giving me that big blue-eyed look and touching me all the time, like you think I'm some kind of eunuch." He pushed the hard mound of his erection into Blair's buttocks. "Feel that, Chief? That's your first clue that I'm not a eunuch. I've got plenty more proof for you, too. Just so there won't be any more misunderstandings."

The struggling body beneath his grew still. "Jim. I don't know what I've said or done to make you think I wanted this, but if you let me go right now, before this goes any further, I'll go back to bed and we can talk about it tomorrow. Or pretend this never happened if that's what you want."

Jim sat up so he was straddling Blair's hips, then with a quick movement flipped the prone man over and leaned forward again, immobilising the tossing head between long, elegant hands, looking down into wide eyes.

"Well, well. If I'd known a pair of cuffs was all it would take for you to finally start thinking about what I want, I'd have done this a long time ago. See, here's what I want, Chief. I want you to stop talking. The only thing I want to hear from you is 'fuck me, Jim.' " He paused, seemed to reconsider. "Okay, maybe I'll let you say 'please', too."

A thin layer of sweat gleamed on Blair's forehead, and his lips drew back from his teeth. He stared, unblinking, into the ice-blue eyes above his. "You haven't got the balls to rape me, Ellison. I know exactly who you are. You haven't got it in you."

A flash of white teeth, and Blair flinched as if he'd been struck.

"Rape you? I don't need to rape you. We both know I've owned your ass since day one." He sat back on his heels, waiting until the frantic rhythm of Blair's heaving chest slowed, then reached beneath the mattress and came up with Blair's hunting knife. His smile widened again at Blair's frenzied thrashing.

"Settle down before you hurt yourself. You keep this sharp." He slit through the shoulder straps and notched the neck of Blair's tank top, set the knife out of reach and tore the shirt open almost delicately, carefully peeling the sundered material away from Blair's body. Blair's eyes, closed at the knife's first touch, reopened, and he watched the hands that flattened against his stomach and moved strongly upward to cup the modest swell of his pectorals, thumbs swirling over his nipples.

"I've seen you staring at my hands," Jim told him. "Were you thinking about how they'd feel on you, touching you? You'll never be able to look at my hands again without thinking about how they made you feel." He bent to lick a swath from jaw to temple, then pulled in a deep breath.

"You're itching for it, aren't you, you little fuck pig? You taste like panic and excitement and sweat and you stink of pre-come. And I've barely touched you." His hand slipped between Blair's legs.

Blair's body was rigid save for the fine shudders that rippled through him. "You're going to work for whatever you get," he gasped, clamping his thighs together.

"You're going to beg me to take it, and you know it." Reaching for the knife, Jim split the loose crotch of the boxers and pushed them up just far enough to reveal Blair's rigid erection. Lying there in the ruins of his clothes he looked wild and debauched, and somehow more exposed than if Jim had removed them entirely.

"Tell me how you don't want it," Jim suggested silkily. "Tell me this isn't the hottest you've ever been in your life, that you wouldn't be swallowing my cock whole right now if it wasn't for those cuffs." He slid the knife back under the mattress and leaned forward to flick his tongue over Blair's cockhead. Blair bit off a wordless plaint, hips bucking vainly against the powerful thighs that gripped them.

Jim brushed his panting mouth with a careless thumb and slid three fingers inside. "Anybody ever tell you you've got a natural cocksucker's mouth? Full, soft lips and little nibbly teeth, and that juicy pink tongue of yours, just perfect for licking. You know, I can't make up my mind what I'd rather have wrapped around my cock, your tongue or your snug little asshole."

Blair's mouth closed on Jim's fingers; his eyelids drifted down as though he would hide behind them, but it didn't take a Sentinel to see the flush spreading down his chest or hear the hard breaths he was pulling in through flaring nostrils. "That's it, isn't it, piggy? You want me in your ass, don't you? Can you feel it burning, wanting me in there, stretching you out?" His other hand pressed between Blair's thighs again, and Blair struggled to push himself against it, sucking desperately on Jim's fingers. Jim's eyes glowed in the dim light.

"You are a piece of work. You don't even care any more whether I touch your cock, do you? All you can think about is that hot, empty ache in your ass, and how my fingers and my cock will feel when they get inside you. Oh, yeah. You'd take anything I wanted to give you." He pulled his fingers free of Blair's mouth and tore the boxers away, the frazzled elastic giving easily. The sudden violence forced another choked sound from Blair; his eyes fluttered open at Jim's breath in his ear.

"Gonna be a good little slut and say it? You know you want to. 'Fuck me, Jim.' Come on, piggy, say it. Say it." His voice was low, almost sympathetic. "Say it, and I'll let your arms down." His tongue found the curve of Blair's ear and slipped inside; his hands slid up Blair's arms, nails scraping pale tracks along the tender flesh.

Blair's hands were white-knuckled on the railing. "Fuck you, Jim," he gasped, and his tormentor's hands tightened briefly over the restraints.

"Not exactly what I was looking for, but never mind." A few quick movements, and Blair's hands came down to push ineffectually at Jim's chest. Jim sat back on his heels without demur, watching Blair's shudder at the touch of air on his over-stimulated body. His wrists were still cuffed together, and he laid them over his eyes and dragged in gulping breaths.

"Look at me."

Blair bared his teeth in answer, and Jim leaned forward and pressed Blair's arms above his head. "I said look at me." His voice was even, unthreatening, but Blair's eyes opened. Satisfied, Jim sat back again and ran his hand down his chest, pinching a nipple through the thin stuff of his tee shirt. Blair's eyes followed the hand as it dropped to the waistband of his jeans.

"This is what's going to happen now," Jim said in that same emotionless voice. Opening his jeans, he eased out his cock. His fingers were still wet with Blair's saliva, and Blair stared in fascination as he squeezed his shaft, grunting with pleasure. His voice was a little strained when he spoke again.

"This is what's going to happen. I'm going to get up off your legs now, and you're going to get on your stomach, and you're going to open your legs for me." He moved slowly, as though his arousal made movement painful, and knelt beside Blair on the bed, stroking himself lazily. Blair's bound hands made an involuntary movement toward his own swollen cock, then tucked themselves high against his chest, and he stared at Jim defiantly.

Jim shook his head in mock sympathy. "Poor piggy. Having a hard time with how bad you want my cock in your ass? Will it make you feel better if I do all the work?" Jim was rolling Blair over as he spoke, pressing firmly on the small of his back when he tried to curl up, pinching the soft flesh at the back of his knee and moving between his legs when he jerked away.

"Oh, yeah. Pretty little ass. And it's all mine now." Jim ran possessive hands up Blair's stiff thighs to his tightly clenched buttocks. Frowning, he smacked a tense cheek.

"Stop it," he ordered. Blair's flesh had pinkened under the stinging slaps when he finally sighed and went limp; Jim ran an approving hand over the warmed skin.

"Liked that, didn't you?" he whispered. Blair's face was hidden in an elbow; he shook his head without looking up. "Yeah, you did. You were humping the mattress. Can't have that. I don't want you coming until I'm in there. Want to feel your hole clamping around my cock when you come. Spread your legs and show me what I'm getting." He was urging Blair's thighs apart as he spoke, pushing his knees up and under him so he couldn't rub against the sheets. Blair made a pleading sound and rocked his hips infinitesimally, face still buried in the crook of his arm.

"You want this bad, don't you?" Jim's voice was hoarse as he fumbled on the bedside table for condom and lubricant and readied himself hurriedly. He ran a slick hand between Blair's legs, pulling away with a reproving noise when Blair bucked against it.

"Don't make me change my mind. I'll let you come on my cock if I fuck your ass, but if you don't stop that I'll fuck that sweet mouth of yours now instead of later. It doesn't matter to me which hole I use." He smeared more lube on his fingers and pressed them into Blair, laughing triumphantly when they slid in without resistance.

Blair rose to his elbows, braced his knees and shoved backward with an unintelligible howl that resolved into a panting mantra of "Do it, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me" as he impaled himself on Jim's fingers. The chant became a command; Jim pulled his hand away, wiping it on the tatters of Blair's shirt, and claimed his inflamed and glistening prize.

"Take it," he said, and then "Fuck, fuck, god, that's so good," when Blair sank back on his cock until his thighs rasped against the rough denim, and he worked against Jim's cock and ordered Jim to fuck him hard because he'd been waiting for it forever and he wasn't going to wait any more.

So Jim pulled Blair's ass higher and fucked him hard, fucked him until he sobbed with ecstasy and came in a torrent, fucked into the ring that squeezed him until Blair shuddered through a second orgasm. And Jim loosed a feral growl of conquest and dragged Blair up onto his shaking knees, driving into him, crooning obscenities and endearments as Blair's head lolled heavily against his shoulder and his pinioned arms reached blindly back to hook around Jim's neck.

He thrust savagely into Blair's ass and cradled Blair's cock in a gentle hand, and made a noise that was half-laugh, half-groan as Blair whimpered and jerked and spasmed on his cock one last effortful time; and as Blair slumped in his arms, Jim erupted into the latex that separated them and toppled them both over sideways, still riding that blissed-out wave.

He opened dazed eyes when Blair stirred long moments later to wrestle feebly with his jeans. Stripping off the condom, he struggled out of his sweat-soaked clothes and fell back on the pillows with a grunt, pulling a pliant Blair on top of him to fumble with the cuffs.

Blair pushed Jim's hands away and snuffled against his neck contentedly, wriggling down to root briefly at a nipple before settling against the big chest, hands drawn up under his chin. Hips rocking slowly, without urgency, he told Jim how vulnerable he'd felt being naked when Jim was fully clothed, how hot it had made him when Jim had freed his cock to fuck him, how exciting it had been to have Jim talk to him like that, how he'd nearly come when Jim had spanked him.

As he talked, Jim grew quiet, motionless except for the unsteady hand that smoothed his lover's wild hair over and over.

"Blair," he finally said, and something in his voice made the other man stir and look at him with concern. "I know you wanted this a lot and I was happy to give it to you, but--don't ask me to do this again, okay? It's--I don't think we should do this again, not like this. If you wouldn't mind too much."

"Jim--" Blair moved off him and held his wrists up for Jim to free, then took Jim's troubled face between gentle hands. "It was incredible, even better than I imagined it would be, and you know I've got a hell of an imagination." He got back a pale reflection of his own grin, and dropped a light kiss on the downturned mouth. "But it wasn't the sex--well, it was the sex, but it was being with you that made it so hot. I knew I was totally loved and safe, so I could just be without being embarrassed or worrying about it turning bad. But I swear, if I'd known it was going to bother you I never would have asked you for it. Did you really hate it, babe?"

Jim lifted the hands from his cheeks and kissed each palm before pulling Blair tightly against his chest. "No, I didn't hate it. I loved it, loved it. I loved it so much it scares the shit out of me, all right?"

"Jim, information has no intrinsic morality, it just is. You've just been handed some information about yourself, special delivery: being dominant is a rush for you. I could have told you that the day we met. But you're always so careful not to get pushy in bed--I don't know, maybe that's why this particular fantasy is such a hot button for me. God knows I love making love with you, but every once in a while I want to get fucked raw by the guy who threw me against my office wall."

He cupped Jim's lax genitals. "Man, you could have jerked my jeans down and bent me over my desk right then and there. I beat off so hard and so often that night, I'm surprised my neighbours didn't call the police to complain about the noise. Hey, maybe that should have been my first clue about them, you think?"

Jim stared at him bemusedly. "Flattering as it is to know that the thought of me grunting and dragging my knuckles gives you a hard-on, I can't just ignore the fact that I could really hurt you."

"That's great, Jim. The sexual equivalent of 'Stay in the truck, Sandburg'!"

"Goddamnit, this isn't about you! I've never been with a man who wasn't as big as me--hell, I've been with women who were bigger than you! I don't know where the hell you fit!"

Blair looked at him, expressionless, for a long minute, then raised an eyebrow, and Jim barked a reluctant laugh. "Come on, Blair, it's not like there's no precedent for my losing control here."

"Yeah? When have you ever lost control of anything when you've been with me? I'd say it's more the other way around, wouldn't you? God, Jim, you trust me with your sanity, with your life. I wish you had as much faith in yourself as you do in me."

He lay back against the pillows. "Put your hands around my neck."

"Sandburg, I'm not going to--"

"C'mon, Jim, it's a test, you remember how they work. Put your hands around my neck, press your thumbs right under my Adam's apple, give a little squeeze. How does it feel?"

Face pale, Jim snatched his hands away. "Like I'm gonna puke."

"Ooh, that's romantic. Now climb on top of me and hold my hands over my head, yeah, and press me against the bed. How does that feel? Never mind, the empirical evidence speaks for itself. Are you discerning any kind of difference here at all?"

"You know, Chief, people with faces that look like they should be decorating the top of a Christmas tree just can't do sarcasm with any real credibility."

"Come on, Control King, trade places with me. Put your hands--there and let me--oh, yeah. Now, how does it feel to be completely at my mercy, cop?"

"Bossy little fuck pig, aren't you?" Jim wrapped his legs comfortably around Blair's thighs while Blair gnawed on his clavicle, growling.

"Yeah, but I'm your bossy little fuck pig, and don't you forget it." He oinked emphatically and pulled Jim's arms around him, planting Jim's hands firmly on his still-flushed ass.

"No problem. I figured out you were a keeper before I let you move in." Jim kneaded the warm flesh gently. "How's your butt feel?"

"Incredible. You fucked me into hamburger, man. I can't come again for a week, at least. Well, until tomorrow, anyway," he amended in response to Jim's sceptical snort. "Every nerve ending is like humming in the back and snoring in the front."

"I guess that's a compliment," Jim said wryly, and Blair nodded enthusiastic agreement. "So, you hungry?"

"Definitely. Let's see what's on TV." Blair was already untangling himself and sliding to the edge of the bed. Wincing, he added, "Gimme your feather pillow to sit my sore ass on, too, seeing as how my condition is totally your fault."

"My sympathy stretches as far as fixing you a sandwich, but you can forget the pillow. You're too good at talking me out of my guilt." Jim pulled on his robe and tossed Blair's over. "Tell you what. Make it worth my while, and after we eat you can lie on my lap and I'll put cold compresses on your butt."

Blair shot him a speculative look as they descended the stairs. "Lie on your lap? Have I created a monster here?"

He settled on the couch with much sighing and muttering, and nibbled pensively on the corn chips Jim tossed at him.

"So...when you say 'worth your while...'?"