As he was shoved back against the spiral staircase, Blair let out a muffled "oof," but didn't let go of the body pressed firmly against his. Hands grabbed at his wrists, tugging his arms over his head. He grasped hold of the bars of the railing, his fingers clenching around the smooth wood. Cold metal surrounded each of his wrists, and, with a double click, handcuffs locked snugly.

His partner stepped back as he moaned at the sudden lack of contact. Blue eyes twinkled at him as he tugged experimentally on his bonds. His heart pounding in his chest, he managed a tentative "Um . . . I'm not sure about this . . ."

She moved closer again, her hands combing through his hair, tilting his head back as she ran her tongue along his throat, under his chin, up to his ear. Her words of reassurance were soft and low, her hand sliding down his red-shirted chest and stomach, coming to rest on the snug crotch of his black jeans, sensing the blood rushing to his already semi-hard cock, feeling it grow and tighten under her palm. "That makes you excited, doesn't it, not knowing what's coming next?"

Blair swallowed convulsively, then inclined his chin in a nod. "Yes," he moaned.

"But you trust me, don't you? Trust me not to hurt you, only to pleasure you?" Her fingers stroked him through the rough cotton of his pants.

He couldn't help it, his hips twitched toward her. "I trust you with my life, with everything, just . . . please, don't stop."

She grinned at him dangerously. "I have no intentions of stopping, just of turning up the heat." Her hands moved from his body to her hair, tugging loose the scarf that bound her locks in a ponytail. Folding it carefully, she blindfolded him with it, tying the ends tightly behind his head.

Blair inhaled sharply, fighting the urge to panic. He was helpless. He tugged at his bonds, feeling the handcuffs cutting into his skin. Suddenly he felt her against him, pushing him back against the staircase, her fingers closing around his hands, taking the pressure off of his wrists. "Blair, lover, listen to me." He tossed his head against her shoulder, his breathing taking on a ragged edge. "I will not hurt you. You know that."

"I can't see. I need to see."

"Seeing is a distraction. I only want you to feel. Feel my touch," her fingers stroked his cheek, "Feel my kiss." Her lips pressed tenderly against the corner of his mouth. "I love you, baby. Hurting you is the last thing on my mind. But if this is too much, if you feel overwhelmed, you use our safe word. What's our safe word?"

He gave in to the smile tugging at his mouth. "Champion," he whispered.

"That's my good Lobo." She kissed him then, his lips parting willingly, allowing her tongue entrance.

He kissed back, feeling his cock beginning to stir again. Her hands moved down to his waist, grasping the loose scarlet fabric of his chambray shirt, pulling the tails free of his jeans, her mouth never leaving his. Fingers tugged at his belt, loosening the end and pushing it through the buckle, then sliding it out of the belt loops. He jumped slightly as he heard it hit the floor with a clank. Her lips moved to his ear, her whispers reassuring him.

He found himself holding his breath, his stomach muscles trembling as her hands unfastened the button of his jeans, pulling the zipper slowly down. Easing her hand inside, she rubbed her fingers over his swollen member, feeling it jump in time with his pulse. "Oh, god, oh god, angel," he breathed as she slid his jeans and boxers over his hips and down his legs, her hands gliding over his taut, defined muscles. At her urging, he stepped out of the puddle of clothing, hearing the fabric being pushed out of the way.

Blair was deeply disappointed when she didn't immediately return to touching him. Then he concentrated, listening, and picked up the soft sounds of cloth rustling, then the solid plop of Levis hitting the hardwood floor, followed by a long moment of silence. "Angel?" he finally asked.

"Just admiring the view, baby. You are so incredibly beautiful."

He tried to imagine what she was seeing. Him, half-naked, his arms fastened securely to the stair rail over his head, the silk blindfold over his eyes, his chestnut curls fanning across his shoulders below the line of colorful cloth. His still-buttoned shirt was pulled tight across his chest and slightly upwards, the scrape of the fabric tickling his nipples, the drape of the tails framing his eager, aching erection. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling the smooth, cool floor under his bare toes and the contraction and release of the muscles in his thighs as he moved. He let out a low moan, realizing this was what she wanted, this hyperawareness of himself, kind of an induced form of sentinel sensitivity. The possibilities made him shiver.

He felt her approach as the displaced air raised gooseflesh on his thighs. She lay both of her hands flat on his chest, leaning in slightly, her lips, tongue and teeth teasing his face and neck. Her mouth moved down his neck, sucking lightly, leaving love bites whose ache she soothed with a quick stroke of her tongue. She began to unbutton his shirt, kissing and nibbling as each inviting inch of skin was exposed. Lips closed over his right nipple, tugging hard at the sensitive nub, eliciting a squeak from Blair. Fingers pinched and rubbed his left nipple as her tongue flicked across the right, sending bolts of electricity racing from his chest to his groin. His hips thrust forward of their own volition and he choked back a scream as his cock connected with the smooth, naked, warmth of her hip.

She pushed him back tight against the staircase, as he murmured, "Sorry, sorry," over and over.

"You are going to be very, very sorry if you come now," she warned him, her voice affectionately stern. She stopped working on his chest, which he really regretted, and fussed with his open shirt, pulling the tails behind him and tying them in some kind of knot, leaving him totally exposed from his chest down, only his arms and shoulders covered.

She left him then, and he tracked the pat of her bare feet as she moved across her loft. He heard faint noises coming from the kitchen, cupboards being opened and closed, and then the hum of the microwave. He shivered, wondering what in the world she was doing. The timer beeped, and she padded back across the room toward him. She stopped in front of him, heat and aroma emanating from something he guessed she held. The scent was dark and sweet, but he couldn't place it.

Without warning, something warm and wet and sticky dropped onto his chest, sliding down the curve of his pectoral, through the short curls. He jerked in his bonds, not noticing the pain as he nearly wrenched his arm out of the socket, a wild cry spilling from his throat. More of the stuff dripped onto him; a wavy line was drawn between his nipples. And then her mouth, oh god, her mouth, her tongue was on him, lapping up whatever it was, fierce, hard strokes cleaning his skin, raking across his nipples.

Her hand tangled in his hair, yanking his head back, her mouth covering his. He could taste the sweetness on her tongue. Honey. Oh, god, she was dripping wildflower honey on him.

She broke the kiss, and he felt more of the warm honey being drizzled across his chest, down his stomach. She licked every drop of it up, her tongue darting rapidly in and out of his navel, foreshadowing what was to come. He heard whimpering and realized it was coming from him. He hung from the handcuffs, his legs trembling, anticipating what she was going to do next, wondering if he could hold on, or would he explode at the first touch of her tongue on his swollen cock?

A sharp slap on his ass brought Blair out of the warm haze he had been floating in. The sting refocused his attention and he became aware of her mouth on the point of his hip, just above and to the right of his erect member. She sucked hard, leaving a mark he could feel; the slight pain helped him regain his control. She painted his eager cock with the still warm honey, and he managed to not embarrass himself, though he was shaking uncontrollably.

Her tongue swirled over his hard, aroused flesh, one hand massaging his tight balls, the other stroking the taut cheek she had slapped a moment before. He felt his composure rapidly vanishing. She sensed it, too, and wrapped her lips around him, taking in as much of him as she could. Surrounded by her wet, hot mouth, Blair lost it, screaming her name as he climaxed.

Sagging in his bonds as his orgasm faded, Blair tried to catch his breath. A fist slammed into his stomach, driving the air from his lungs. Agony overwhelmed him, and he tried to curl in, to protect himself, but the cuffs didn't allow the movement.

"You motherfucker! I told you never to call me by that bitch's name!" Strong fingers closed on his throat, pinning him against the wall behind him. The blindfold was ripped from his face, and Blair found himself staring into the cold, dead eyes of Alex Barnes.

Oh, fuck, oh god! What in the hell was going on? The warm, familiar surroundings of Dee's loft had vanished, and he hung by his wrists from a rough stone wall. She backhanded him across the face, and he tasted blood. This couldn't be happening; Alex was dead, Alex was dead!

She brought her knee into his crotch hard. Blair couldn't hold back his scream, and she punched him in the face again, snapping his head back against the stone. Stars exploded in front of his eyes then he was falling through the darkness.

Blair hit the ground with a jarring thump. Pain shot through his shoulder and up his arm, and he thought he heard something in his wrist snap. Crying softly to himself, he drew his knees up, protecting his aching stomach, trying to ignore the agony between his legs.

A scream and a loud crash had Jim Ellison rolling out of bed, reaching automatically for his gun. He prowled down the stairs, doing a sweep of the loft with his senses. He quickly assured himself that he and his guide were the only ones present, though his partner's heart was racing and he was sobbing quietly.

Jim opened the French doors to Blair's room slowly, unsure of what he would find. Nothing his imagination conjured up prepared him for the sight that met his eyes. His guide lay curled in a ball on the floor, amid a jumble of books and papers, one knee slightly raised on the corner of a guitar case. He was completely naked save for a long-sleeved red shirt, which in its unbuttoned and twisted state hid nothing. He held his right arm cradled tightly against his chest, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, my god! Chief! Blair! Are you all right?" That was a stupid question, Ellison, of course he's not all right, he wouldn't be lying on the floor, moaning in pain if he was. Laying his gun down, Jim knelt beside his friend, his hand going to the younger man's shoulder.

"Jim?" Blair forced his eyes open a bit, and Jim peered at his pupils. They weren't dilated, so no concussion. He moved on to the arm Blair was protecting. He could feel swelling and what he believed was a cracked bone in his wrist. Blair moaned at his prodding and clutched his arm tighter. "Hurts . . ." he hissed between clenched teeth.

"I'm sure it does, Chief, it's broken. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Blair groaned again, and to Jim's surprise, blushed furiously. "Alex . . ."

"Alex? What about Alex? Alex died in that fire, she can't hurt you."

His partner shook his head, tangled curls spilling over his face. "No, it was Dee, and then it wasn't, it was Alex and she was hurting me . . . she kneed me . . ."

Jim wasn't going to argue about his injuries. If Blair said it hurt there, it probably did. "I think you've been dreaming, Chief. Dee is in Seacouver, and Alex is dead. Neither of them can hurt you." Grabbing hold of his partner's uninjured arm, he pulled him to his feet, then helped him sit on the bed, noting the rapidly darkening bruises across Blair's lower stomach.

"No, Dee didn't hurt me. She was loving me, and it was so good . . . Then I wasn't with her anymore, I was with Alex . . ." His eyes began to slide shut.

Jim lay Blair back against the pillows, lifting his legs onto the mattress and covering them with the quilt. Now that his initial worry was wearing off, the heavy scent of pheromones filled his nostrils, and he felt the blood rush to his cheeks in embarrassment. If what Jim was beginning to think had happened here had occurred, then Sandburg would be mortified. "Listen, Chief, you stay right here. I'm going to get you a couple ice packs, okay?"

When the sentinel returned with the ice, a couple towels, and their first aid supplies, Blair was wide-awake, gazing around the room curiously. "Jim, man, what are you doing in here? Why does my arm and my . . . why do I hurt?"

Setting the supplies down on the bedside table, Jim sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't think you want to know my hypothesis, Sandburg." He opened the bottle of disinfectant, poured some on a cotton ball and began to clean the cut on his partner's lip.

Blair flinched away from the sting, but said, "If you know what happened, man, tell me. How did I get hurt sleeping? My arm feels like it's broken."

Tossing the used cotton in the trashcan, Jim wrapped a towel around one of the icepacks and laid it on his guide's wrist. Blair used his left hand to hold it in place. "Are you sure you want to know what I think?" Pulling the quilt down, he laid the second towel across Blair's stomach and genitals and set the second icepack there, then flicked the blanket quickly up again. He hesitated, then met his friend's eyes.

Blair was as red as his shirt, but he nodded gamely. "Tell me," he whispered hoarsely.

Jim stared at the mess on the floor. "I think you were having an, er, arousing dream about Dee, which turned into a nightmare about Alex. You fell out of bed, breaking your wrist, maybe because it was caught in the sheets or the bed slats, and, um, probably racked yourself on the guitar case." He felt his friend shudder.

"Oh, ow, that hurts just thinking about it."

Jim raised his eyes to meet his partner's. "Well, if you'd clean up your room, Junior, things like this wouldn't happen." He watched Blair's brow furrow in puzzlement as he tried to work something out.

"I'm starting to remember my dream, I think. But I have a question, how did you know it was an 'arousing' dream?"

The sentinel tapped his nose, and Blair's eyes widened. "Oh, man! I am so embarrassed! I'm never having a girlfriend over here again, Jim, I promise. I'll take a shower before I come home from Dee's." He shuddered. "Oh, geez, that's why the sheets are stic--"

"I am not washing your sheets, Sandburg." Gathering up the medical supplies, Jim got to his feet. "I'll run you to the hospital in the morning to have that wrist x-rayed."

"Jim, man, have some pity on me. I can't change the bedding with this wrist . . ." He turned on his puppy dog charm.

Damn, if he didn't have his swollen lip stuck out in a pout, too. Jim sighed. "Fine, I'll make your bed. Just . . . put a robe on or something." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jim realized that Blair wouldn't even be able to do that with a broken wrist. In fact, as the implications of Blair's injury began to sink in, the sentinel realized he was going to be helping Sandburg with a lot of intimate details. Getting some clean clothes out of his partner's dresser, he turned around. "Get up."

"What?"

"Get up, Sandburg. We're going to Seacouver."

Blair struggled out of bed, wincing as he straightened up. "Why?"

"Because I'm not playing nursemaid to you for the next six weeks. Dee's indirectly responsible for your injuries; she can fix them." Shrugging, Blair allowed Jim to dress him, neither of them speaking a word to break the embarrassed silence.

Ten minutes later they were in the truck, on the way to Dee's place. Blair snuggled deeper into the comforter Jim had so thoughtfully wrapped around him. "Hey, Jim?"

"Yes, Chief?"

"Um, thanks. You know, for just being there tonight."

Jim gave his friend a grin. "You're welcome." He was silent for a full minute, lulling Blair into a false sense of security. When he judged the moment was right, he said, "You realize, of course, that what happened to you is blackmail material."

"Oh, man, you wouldn't! Jim, that's cruel, that's inhumane . . ."

The truck sped on, Blair's protests and Jim's chuckles echoing in the night.

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