This work of fiction is owned by the author and may not be reproduced in any fashion without the author's express written permission. The Sentinel, its characters, and its situations are owned by Pet Fly Productions, UPN, and Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended. All other rights available under the law belong to the author. Copyright June 2000.
Many thanks to Iris Gray, Chance, and Beth who betaed this drabble.
"Man, I don't think this could get any worse."
Privately, Jim Ellison had to agree with his partner. Things couldn't get much worse. Out in the middle of nowhere, not expected back home for another week, and captured by some militaristic yahoos who naturally weren't planning to leave any witnesses. They'd been captured because he'd taken a day off from being the Sentinel of the Great City, just taken his guard down and relaxed. He had the right to do that, didn't he? Every once in a while?
This was where that attitude had gotten them. They'd even been sleeping when the bastards invaded their camp. Sure, Jim remembered hearing something walking around but he'd disregarded it as probably deer or raccoons or some other form of wildlife. Only when the business end of a hunting rifle had poked him in the back had he realized what was going on.
He still wasn't sure what the bad guys were doing to, well, make them bad guys, but it had to be a doozy if they were willing to go to such extremes. As far as he could tell, they weren't doing anything, really. Just a small separatist paramilitary style group that he'd never heard of and, if the snatches of conversation were any indication, these morons were extreme right-wing members of the Flat Earth Society.
Thinking about that made Jim want to groan. When he heard about this, Simon would never let him live it down. Assuming, of course, that both he and Blair survived for Simon to tease unmercifully. That wasn't proving to be a very likely thing. After all, he'd practically threatened Simon into not calling for that whole week. Now, Jim regretted that. By the time anyone thought to look for them, he and Blair would probably be dead.
That realization didn't exactly ease his mind. The only good thing about this whole fiasco was that their captors had seen fit to tie them together. Not only were they bound at the ankles and wrists, but bound face to face. Of course, this meant that Blair's feet dangled somewhere around his own shins and left Blair sprawled on top of him, but hey, who was complaining? After all, Blair was smaller and it was only fair and reasonable that he was on top. He could do reasonable. Besides, laying on their sides was no good because their respective weights and heights left their collective asses lopsided.
In a manner of speaking.
Blair's voice faded into his musing. "... Hey, Jim, come on back. Jim, man, follow my voice. Jim?"
"I haven't zoned, Sandburg, I was just ... thinking."
"I hope you were thinking about a way out of here."
"Haven't thought of a good plan yet." Which was true, Jim hadn't been thinking about plans. He'd been thinking about why having his partner lay on top of him was such a good thing. He'd been thinking about ways to get the words out of what he really felt. He'd been thinking about Blair, and how little time appeared to be left to them.
Now or never, and this was the end of the line. The train labeled 'Ellison and Sandburg' would derail any time now. How could he let this go? How could he not say what was on his mind? It wasn't like Sandburg could punch his lights out or leave in a huff. Still, he didn't want to die with such a pain -- if that's what would happen -- between them.
Still.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Chief ..."
"We're tied up and probably going to die here and you're off in la-la-land. What is so fascinating that it's turned your mind into oatmeal?"
No, he wasn't going to have this conversation with Blair. Not now, not ever. Not even if things were going great, which they weren't, by the way, thanks so much. Jim knew that tone of voice Blair was using, that seriously-pissed-off-Guide voice that made the Sentinel leap up from under his skin and take notice.
"I think I'm in love with you." Where the hell did that come from? Why the fuck did I say that? Jesus Christ....
There was silence from his companion for several minutes, during which Jim wondered whether his runaway mouth had just doomed the best friendship he'd ever had in his life. What the hell was I thinking?
More importantly, what the hell was Sandburg thinking? He'd not moved nor said a word yet. Jim reached his hearing out, just to check, and, yes, he was still breathing. His pulse was a bit fast; Jim could feel it pounding in an ancient beat next to his own skin ....
"James Joseph Ellison, don't you fucking dare go out on me now!"
That voice in that tone he couldn't ignore snapped him out of his near-zone in a half-second. Shit, Jim thought ruefully, I zoned on his heartbeat.
"Well?"
"I'm okay."
A snort from above him came in reply. "Now that I sincerely doubt." Before the sentinel could respond to the insult, Blair continued. "I just can't believe you hid this from me. What, did you think I would leave in disgust and renounce you to the world as --"
"A freak?" Jim stared straight ahead, slightly off to one side in an effort to avoid Blair's eyes. He turned his face away then, resolutely ignoring his partner's harsh breath on his face, avoiding the hateful words certain to follow.
"Goddammit, Jim, that's not what I was going to say!"
"Then what were you going to say?"
He felt Blair's eyes on him, could nearly hear his pupils opening up like a shadow-dark rose, lined with blue, precious for its color, esteemed for its fragility. This bloom, though, was no hothouse flower; it grew scraggly, in-between rocks and in poor soil on a cliff face, resolute and determined. Blair's voice, softly, panting in time with his heart, came through the static fogging his brain. Actually, Jim was fairly certain of brain-fog; he'd never waxed so poetic before in his life.
"As a man ... I could fall in love with ..."
"What?" Jim wasn't certain what he'd just heard. He could fall in love with me? My Blair? Really? "What did you say?"
"A man I'm in love with."
He is in love with me? Jim could feel his own pulse speed up in a joy he almost couldn't believe. "That's not what you said."
"That's what I meant!"
"Then why didn't you say it the first time?"
"I thought you said you couldn't hear me the first time!"
"I couldn't believe that you said ..." Jim's voice trailed off as he saw the exasperated expression on Blair's face. Sandburg sighed and began rocking them against the nearest wall, knocking his head into the side. A moan erupted with each slam.
A moan that was making Jim uncomfortable, and, in their current position, was a very bad idea. Who knew that pain and suffering could be so sexy? "Stop that!" He knew any reproach came a bit late, and hoped Sandburg wouldn't notice.
"Make me!"
Now that was a challenge if he'd ever heard one. Jim rolled them, so he was on top, before leaning in, pressing his body against his smaller partner's, trapping his curly head against the dirt. He attacked those soft full lips with a vengeance, and was delighted to take some hits of his own.
Neither wanted -- or was sufficiently able -- to leave the field of battle before his opponent fell in supplication to him. Somehow, the bindings wrapped around their bodies made the contest more intense. Tongues searched, mouths fought, lips demanded. No mercy expected, and no quarter was given. A war of passion was fallen upon two foes, the irresistible force had met its immovable object.
The resulting collision created an explosion of heat, a lust meltdown of nuclear proportions.
Situation critical.
Call the Coast Guard for a wetdown.
When the blessed relief came, all hostilities faded. Cease fire, and let the bells of peace ring.
Several minutes later Jim raised his head from where it rested on his lover's shoulder, near the breastbone and practically in the dirt, and considered the damage. There was plenty -- love bites scattered everywhere their mouths could reach, their faces flushed by exertion, and come coating the insides of their jeans -- and neither of them could do a damned thing about it.
Blair moaned softly just as Jim realized the meaning of the sounds in the back of his mind. Before he could speak, the door slammed open and bright light streamed copiously into the small room. The light was followed by a stream of Major Crimes personnel, streaming inside, their guns drawn, led by Simon.
"Oh god," Jim groaned, allowing his head to drop back down onto Blair's body. He knew it was fairly obvious what had happened here and it was only a matter of time before Simon -- or someone else -- figured out what they'd been doing. Whether or not he wanted his captain to make that connection, Jim knew they'd never live this down either. 'When captured by the enemy, did you attempt to escape?' 'No, Blair and I decided it would be a good time to fuck each other silly.'
Yeah, that would go over well.
"We got them, guys. Don't worry --" Jim could hear Simon stop and consider what had been going on before they arrived, could almost hear their captain ticking over the possibilities and consequences. "-- But I see you haven't been." Jim risked a glimpse to see that the room was empty again and Simon was closing the door with a big smile on his face.
"Wha' happened?"
Jim silenced Blair with a kiss to that wonderful mouth. "It just got worse."
Please feed the Muses.
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