Actions

Work Header

Talk To Me

Work Text:

Talk To Me

by PsychGirl

Author's website: http://snycock.livejournal.com
Not mine, unfortunately, and not likely to ever be (sniff).
Written for moonglow11066, for the 2006 TS Secret Santa exchange on LJ.
Spoilers for Cypher and Sentinel Too.
This story is a sequel to:


It was the approaching thunderstorm that woke him; not just the low and distant rumbles of thunder, but the pressure, the indefinable push on his skin and senses that heralded a shift in weather patterns. He'd never minded thunderstorms, as a rule, but since the senses came on line, he hadn't been able to sleep through a single one.

Although, to be honest, he hadn't been sleeping all that well anyway; not since they had returned from Sierra Verde. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were the images from his vision. Blair in danger, hurt, dead, all because of him.

And even if he did fall asleep, there were the dreams; Blair lying cold and still next to the fountain; Incacha exhorting him to use the power of his animal spirit; the wolf running towards him, leaping into him; the awful silence suddenly broken by a slow heartbeat. He'd wake in a cold sweat, his heart pounding.

His skin prickled and he felt the gentle force envelop his body seconds before lightning split the air and the skies rumbled. The rain started to fall, hard and sharp on the skylight.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily. I don't need the fucking universe conspiring to point out that I'm in love with Blair Sandburg, he thought, irritably. I know that. That wasn't the problem.

The rain beat down harder, rattling in sheets against the downstairs windows. He felt the shiver run through him again and closed his eyes against the bright-hot flash that rent the heavens. The sharp smell of ozone filled his nostrils.

He was the problem.

Thunder moved across the sky again, and he felt its echo in the waves of pressure that washed across his body. He could feel the lingering vibration deep in his bones.

Lights on, but nobody's home, Carolyn had said. Or if there was, how would I know? She had been right. His lack of trust and inability to communicate had destroyed their marriage. And it had nearly killed Blair. No, he told himself harshly, it did. You don't get to avoid responsibility for that anymore.

Even if he told Blair how he felt about him, and even if Blair felt the same way - and he was pretty sure that he did; the senses were good for that much, anyway - it would only be a matter of time until he had ruined that as well and driven Blair away. He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. Ellison, you're a pathetic excuse for a human being, he thought bitterly.

The rain softened to a patter, the fury of the storm having spent itself while he wrestled with his demons. He took a deep breath and exhaled in relief as the weight lifted and the front moved on. Scents dimly filtered into his awareness, scents that had been temporarily masked by the pressure and sound of the storm. Wood smoke, and salt.

Frowning, he rose and pulled his robe on, padded quietly down the stairs. There was a fire going in the wood stove and Blair was sitting in front of it, knees drawn up to his chest, head resting on his knees. The smell of salt was stronger now, and he knew that Blair was crying.

"Hey," he said softly, walking towards the stove, "you okay?"

Blair jerked, clearly startled, his heart rate surging. Jim saw him swipe the sleeve of his robe surreptitiously across his eyes. "Sorry, man, I couldn't sleep," he said, his voice controlled but slightly rough. "I was cold, thought I'd start a fire. I didn't mean to wake you up." But he wouldn't meet Jim's eyes. He sat and continued to stare into the fire.

Jim sat on the edge of the coffee table, his hands clasped between his knees. He was so tired of this, tired of the painful awkwardness between them, tired of the way Blair was so quiet and careful around him now. Blair had never balked from telling him how he felt before. "Sandburg," he said wearily, "just talk to me. What's the matter?"

There was a long pause, and then Blair laughed, a short, mirthless bark. "What's the matter? We shared a vision. You saved my life, you brought me back from the dead, and we shared a vision. That means something, man. That's something important. But you...you didn't want to talk about it. You said you couldn't take that trip with me." His voice had grown hoarse and it cracked at that last. There was another pause, and then he continued. "And I understand that. I know you don't like talking about the spiritual stuff." A longer pause. Then, in a voice so low and raw that it hardly sounded like his, he said, "But what I don't understand is why you would be willing to talk about it with her. After all we've been through these last three years, why would you trust her over me?"

I was scared, he wanted to say. I didn't want to admit what I was feeling, what you mean to me. I didn't know how to tell you, I didn't know what to say. But he couldn't get it out. The words piled up in his throat, crowding and choking him. He took a deep breath. "Blair," he started, but nothing else would come out.

Several minutes went by, and then Blair blew out his breath in a long huff. "Okay," he said quietly. "I...uh...I think I'm gonna go stay with some friends, until I can find another place to live. Fortunately, my stuff is still mostly packed, so it won't be a big deal." He stood up. "I'll be outta your hair by tomorrow."

He turned and headed for his room. Jim reached out and grasped his wrist as he went by. "Wait. That's not what I want."

Blair stopped and looked at him, eyes shadowed. "What do you want, then?" he asked, dully. "I don't understand. Talk to me."

I want you, he wanted to say, but the words turned to dust in his throat. There was so much he wanted to say to Blair, but he didn't know how. It was as if he didn't know the right language, the right words to say what needed to be said.

He was no damn good with words. No, actually, he was, but in a very specific way. All his life he'd been taught to use words to separate himself from his feelings. It had started with his father and his absolute refusal to discuss any kind of emotion, particularly after his mother had left. Words - those kinds of words - those were for sissies, babies. Real men didn't need to use those kinds of words.

In the Army, and in the police force, the lesson had just been reinforced. Coming up the ranks, he'd always been the one tapped to write the briefing reports, because he was so good at it. He'd readily learned the appropriate jargon, developed the ability to describe horrible, shocking acts in plain, unemotional prose. He'd even been commended on the clarity and brevity of his reports for Major Crimes.

He remembered when he'd shown Blair his report on Lash. He'd thought it would help Blair get over the abduction, that it would help him to see the facts in black and white. But he'd seen Blair's eyes change, and had known at once that he'd made a terrible mistake. To Blair, for whom words and feelings were completely and intimately connected, the report had had a different meaning. No, he'd wanted to tell him, that's not it, I did care, I was nearly crazy with worry for you...but, of course, he didn't have the words.

Just like now. Blair was going to walk away, slide quietly out of his life, because he couldn't find the words to tell him how he felt.

Maybe you should try a different language, he thought.

"Nuqa qam nayanimi," he said, in Quechua. I want you.

Blair cocked his head a little, his gaze on Jim becoming a little sharper, a little more focused, his brows drawing together in confusion.

And it was like something let go inside him, like a dam had burst, and suddenly the words he wanted were right there, right on the tip of his tongue. "Nuqa qam munanimi llamkay, mutkhiy," he murmured. I want to touch you, scent you. He got up from the couch and faced Blair, getting close to him, into his personal space. "Nuqa qam munanimi malliy. Nuqa qam munanimi qhaway. Nuqa qam munanimi riqsiy tukuy musyachiqkunaniypa." I want to taste you. I want to watch you. I want to know you with all my senses. He was still loosely holding Blair's wrist, and he started stroking his fingers across the sensitive pulse point there. He raised his other hand and slid his fingers through Blair's hair, gently cupped his face, rubbed his thumb slowly across Blair's bottom lip.

Blair drew in a ragged breath, the sudden hope and desire in his eyes almost painful for Jim to see. At the same time, it strengthened his resolve.

"Nuqa qam munanimi much'ay," he said, I want to kiss you, and bent his head to do so.

Blair's mouth was warm and firm under his, and he returned Jim's kiss fiercely. He'd meant to take it easy, keep it slow, but suddenly he found himself with his hands on either side of Blair's face, fingers tangled in his hair, kissing him hard. Blair's tongue teased across his lips and he followed it with his own, Blair's taste filling his senses.

Good, so good, just like he knew it would be. Just like his scent; spicy and warm, but somehow sweet. He couldn't get enough of it, plunging again and again into that beautiful, generous mouth. Then Blair's hands slid down to cup his ass, and it took all the willpower at his command not to strip him and push him down to the floor right there.

He pulled back slightly, more than a little breathless, his hands moving to hold Blair's shoulders. Blair's eyes were round and dark, and he was swaying slightly, his mouth swollen. "Jesus, Jim," he whispered, "I...I..."

Jim was impressed he could get that much out. "Hawaman," - up - was the best he could do, a tersely whispered command, punctuated by a gentle push in the direction of the stairs. In spite of not knowing more than a handful of words in Quechua, Blair seemed to understand, and he headed up the stairs, Jim right behind him.

Once inside the bedroom, though, he stopped and turned to face Jim, opening his mouth and drawing breath as if to speak. Jim stepped close to him and laid a finger across his mouth. "Manan tapuna, Apu," he said. No questions, Chief. He didn't mean to be dictatorial, but he didn't want to do anything to throw this off. This was working. He framed Blair's face with his hands and kissed him deeply.

He pulled away enough to slide Blair's robe off, letting it fall to the floor. His t-shirt followed. Jim skated his hands gently across the sturdy, wide shoulders, his thumbs caressing the hollows under Blair's collarbone. He stroked Blair's chest, losing himself in the incredible sensation of springy hair and warm skin stretched taut over the hard planes of muscle and bone. "Chaytukuy kallpa," he murmured, "chaytukuy sumaq." So strong, so beautiful. "Siq'u pisi lubuniy. Nuqu qam munarqanimi chay unaypaq." My fierce little wolf. I've wanted you for so long. His fingers stumbled across Blair's nipples, hard and peaked, and he tugged on one experimentally. Blair gasped and swayed, clutching at the sides of his robe for support.

Jim sank to his knees, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Blair's boxers and tugging them down as he went. Blair's dick sprang free, proud and erect, and he ran a finger along it delicately. Blair groaned, and his feet slid a few inches further apart in what Jim took as tacit permission for him to continue. He glanced up, and Blair's expression took his breath away. Blair was gazing down at him, eyes indigo with desire, his lush mouth curved in a faint smile. He curled his hand around the back of Jim's head; with the other he gently traced the line of Jim's cheek. "Talk to me," he whispered.

He held Blair's hips and nuzzled into the thatch of dark, wiry hair at his groin, inhaling deeply. A flood of odors washed over him; Blair's unique spicy scent; the strong musk of his arousal; the sharp, bitter scent of pre-come. "Qam q'apanki chaymi kusa," he sighed. You smell so good. He licked a swath from the base of Blair's dick to the tip. "Qam miskinkipis. Nuqu munanimi malliy sapa wakiq qam." And taste so good, too. I want to taste every part of you.

He took Blair into his mouth, establishing a slow, smooth rhythm, working him base to crown with lips and tongue. Blair groaned again, head thrown back, legs spread wide, fingers clenched in the short hair at the back of Jim's head. "Jim," he whispered, "God...Jim...." His hips bucked, thrusting forward in short, sharp jerks. Jim slid his hands around and cupped Blair's ass, rocking slightly to match the movement of Blair's hips. Blair was panting now, his movements becoming erratic, the tangy odor of sweat spilling out of his pores. Jim could feel the muscles in his legs trembling under his hands and knew that he was close. He stroked a finger across Blair's opening and savored the bitter, salty fluid that burst across his tongue as Blair cried out wordlessly and came.

He let Blair gently slip out of his mouth and nuzzled his groin again, then rocked back on his heels and stood up, his hands firmly around Blair's waist, supporting him. "Pay tiyan kusa," he whispered, "nuqu qam charinimi." It's all right, I've got you. Blair leaned into him, his arms around Jim's waist, and sighed deeply. Jim held him close, relishing Blair's warm, sturdy body as it pressed against his, skin against skin, his muscles quivering with the after-effects of his orgasm. He loosened his hold for a moment, just long enough to shuck his robe off and drop it to the floor, before wrapping his arms around Blair again.

Blair lifted his face up to his, smiling, his eyes luminous in the moonlight that filtered in through the skylight now that the storm was over and the sky had cleared. Jim kissed him again, unable to resist that plush, carnal mouth curving up at him so wickedly. "Chaytukuy sumaq," - so beautiful - he murmured, in between kisses, "chaytukuy kallpa, chaytukuy sinchi, chaytukuy siq'u, piru chaytukuy ruq'a, chaytukuy khuyaq." So strong, so brave, so fierce, yet so caring, so tender. He burrowed his face into Blair's neck, biting gently, seeking to drown himself in the feel of his guide; the rasp of Blair's stubble against his cheek; the steady throb of his heartbeat; his spicy, warm scent; the sweet saltiness of the skin underneath his ear. "Nuqa qam munakunimi, nuqa qam nayanimi. Pusaqaniy, paquniy, munaqaniy." I love you, I want you. My guide, my shaman, my lover.

Blair slid out of his grasp and tugged on his hand, pulling him towards the bed. He complied willingly, stopping only to peel his boxers off before following him. Blair pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, his hands slowly caressing Jim's chest with a look on his face that was somewhere between awe-struck and mischievous. "Allichu," Jim whispered. Please. "Nuqa qam munanimi llakllay. Nuqa munanimi tiyay ruri qam." I want to feel you. I want to be inside you. He was so hard he was aching. He lifted his hips, rubbing himself along the crease of Blair's ass.

Blair chuckled. "Patience, patience," he said softly. But he leaned forward and dug in the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out the lube. Jim grinned to himself. Why should he be surprised that Blair had a detailed and intimate knowledge of the contents of his nightstand? Blair rose up on his knees, slicked up his fingers, and then reached behind and started stretching himself, his eyes closed, his face still and solemn in concentration. The sight sent a rush of heat through Jim; he fumbled in the drawer and managed to find a condom, open the package, and slide it on, all without looking as he was unable to take his eyes off of Blair. He had never seen anything so erotic in his life.

Blair took him in one slick hand, lowering himself on to Jim slowly. Jim stifled a moan; when he was completely inside Blair he grabbed his hips, holding him still. "Ama kuyuchu," he groaned, closing his eyes. Don't move. He could feel Blair's heart beating, pulsing gently through his whole body; could hear Blair breathing harshly, could feel Blair's hands running restlessly over his chest and arms. "Chaymi kusa," he murmured, "chaymi achachaq, chaymi mat'isqa." So good, so hot, so tight. He bit down on his lower lip, ruthlessly dragging himself back from the knife edge of orgasm. He wanted to make this last.

He opened his eyes to find Blair looking at him, eyes wide, his expression suddenly vulnerable and lost. He relaxed his hold on Blair's hips, reached up with one hand and lightly cupped Blair's cheek. "Ama mana qasillata saqichu, pisi lubu," he whispered. "Nuqa qam tiyapuni, qampis nuqa tiyapunki." Don't worry, little wolf. You belong to me, and I belong to you. Blair's expression cleared and he smiled, almost as if he understood what Jim was saying.

Blair started moving slowly, wrenching another groan from Jim as he slid up and down. As good as it had been to be buried deep inside his guide's body, this was even better. He arched his back, meeting Blair's thrusts with his own. The swell of sensation as he slid in and out of Blair was almost overwhelming, and he knew he wouldn't last long. He'd completely lost control of his dials. He felt Blair's dick pressing hard against his stomach; he wrapped his fingers around him and started stroking him firmly. They rocked together in synchrony for short moments before Blair shuddered and came, spilling across Jim's hand and his stomach. The rhythmic contractions of his channel and the warm, musky scent of his semen sent Jim plunging over the edge after him, crying out but unsure whether it was in English or Quechua.

The world momentarily disappeared in a burst of white light and static; when his senses returned to normal Blair was sprawled across his chest, looking sleepy and sated. He must have felt Jim stir, though; he raised his head and blinked at him. "Hey."

"Hey," Jim replied.

Blair grinned at him. "Back to English, huh?"

Jim smiled a little shamefacedly, feeling a slight heat along his cheeks. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Don't be," Blair replied, still grinning. "I got the tune, even if I didn't know the words."

"Yeah, I guess you did, at that," he said, carding his fingers through Blair's unruly mop of hair. "It was just easier, I don't know why," he said, shrugging, answering the question he could see in Blair's eyes. "I couldn't find the words in English to tell you how I felt, but when I started using Quechua, it suddenly became clear."

Blair was nodding sagely, his hand stroking slow circles across Jim's chest. "That makes perfect sense," he said. "In some ways, your time in Peru was pretty simple." He glanced up suddenly, his hand pressed flat and warm against Jim's chest. "I don't mean the crash, losing your men. But living with the Chopec...I would imagine that, in some ways, it was a lot more straightforward and less stressful than your life now. "

He considered this, slowly tracing patterns across Blair's back. "Yeah, I think you're right. Life with the Chopec was...less complicated. They live almost completely in the moment. The tribe, and your duty now, that's what's important. Everything else is llachisqalla, illusion."

"So it only makes sense that you'd find it easier to express yourself in Quechua." Blair shook his head ruefully. "Man, I wished we'd figured this out a long time ago. Would have saved us a lot of trouble." He looked up at Jim slyly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What's `pisi lubu' mean?"

Jim grinned. "Little wolf."

Blair chuckled. "How about `pusaqaniy, paquniy'?"

Jim tightened the arm he had around him. "My guide, my shaman."

Blair pillowed his head on Jim's shoulder and stroked a hand idly across his chest. "How about `munaqaniy'?"

He kissed the top of Blair's head. "My lover," he said quietly.

Blair hummed to himself softly, then raised his head and looked Jim in the eye. "There's just one more thing I need to know," he said.

"Shoot."

"How do I say `Next time I'm gonna pitch' in Quechua?"


End

Talk To Me by PsychGirl: jsnyder@snycock.com
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.