The Best Form of Defence

"How did that get in here?"

OK. This is not good.

I mean, in a general way, on the list of things in my life that are good, the guy who had just walked in was pretty close to the top. In fact, he was pretty much it for the whole list, all things considered. It's just that in a specific way, at this precise moment, him walking in here and saying those exact words is definitely. Not. Good.

"Jim! How did that get in here?"

Damn. He sounds pissed. I put on my all-purpose blank expression and risk a look up. Damn. He is pissed. Those beautiful baby-blues are all stormy and he's drumming his fingers impatiently against his thigh.

I gotta admit the circumstantial evidence looks bad. There's an empty Wonderburger wrapper on the coffee table and a happy Sentinel lying on the couch. A happy, full Sentinel, who promised his Guide he wouldn't eat any more junk food this month after pigging out on pancakes yesterday.

Time for some quick footwork, after all I've been trained for tough situations. Let's start with confused innocence.

"Hmmmm?"

"I said - "

Uh-oh, dangerous pause, he wasn't buying innocence.

"HOW DID THAT GET IN HERE?"

Woah, Blair shouting. It's worse than I thought. Better fight fire with fire and go for tried and tested - Irritated Ellison.

"How did what get in where, Sandburg?"

In retrospect, irritated might have been a mistake. A flash of cold blue fire from those killing eyes and he's round the couch in a flash.

Oh god, he's got the offending article - or Exhibit A as I'm starting to think of it - in his hand now and he's waving it at me accusingly, those puppy-dog eyes full of, oh shit, disappointment.

"Oh man, I know you don't care about your health but I did think your promise to me actually meant something. Guess I was wrong."

Damn he's good. Now I actually feel like crap, like I'd popped the kid's favourite balloon or something. Time to turn the tables. After all, the DA never prosecutes on purely circumstantial evidence. I can do wounded real well, too, after all I learned from a master.

"Well, thank you very much, Sandburg. That's just great. Walk in here and jump to the first conclusion you can, Jim-lets-Blair-down. Why not just add 'again' and we'll all know where we stand."

"Jim?...Are you saying...?"

Ah, you see, that got him. He can't bear injustice and just the thought of it gets him all twisted up. Time to turn the screws a bit.

"All I'm saying, Chief, is that I've had a really tough day - "

- I find boring 'tough' OK -

"- and you've just walked in here and damn near accused me of cheating on you without even saying hello first. It's not how you normally say hi after a day apart, Sandburg, that's all I'm saying."

His face softens and an almost stricken look comes into his eyes. Careful, Ellison, you don't want to hurt him.

"Oh, Jim, I'm sorry. Tough day, huh?" and he lifts those pouty lips up to kiss me hello.

It's what I've been waiting for. With all the speed and force I can muster I grab hold of him and turn the gentle offering into a hot and horny ravishment, feeling his surprise turn quickly into something more - and the wrapper slips unnoticed from his hand as he clutches my shoulders and holds on for all he's worth. I mask the evil grin that threatens to escape and push him back against the wall, taking care to kick the wrapper under the couch as I go. As my tongue thoroughly explores his mouth he starts to suck harder and squirms deliciously in my hands. I arrange him more comfortably between my thighs and enjoy watching his eyes lose focus, become dark and dreamy as he helplessly humps against me, latching on to any bodily surface and rubbing in a way that's half-dazed, half-desperate, just how I like him.

He's always ready, my horny little anthropologist. Always hot, always willing. I swear that if I looked at him funny in the station and murmured 'I want you, Sandburg' he'd be on me or under me or in me before you could finish saying 'Gross Public Indecency'.

Of course, what you, the jury, should be asking is - how do I know? Well, let's just say you won't catch ex-Ranger Ellison, Cop of the Year, skilled in all the dark arts of interrogation, incriminating himself by answering that one. But believe me, we're very careful what we say when paperwork keeps us handcuffed to the desk for more than a few hours.

I guess it's not that amazing, given the practice I've had stripping down rifles, how quickly I can get us both naked. And you gotta say that Sandburg's giving it his all in terms of co-operation with the law. Soon I've got him on his back on the floor and I'm lubing him up with the tube I've learned to keep near me at all times since my room mate decided that one bed was all we'd be needing for the forseeable future. And there's none of this gently opening him up crap. We're both hot and horny and we both know what we're doing so I'm pushing inside with almost indecent haste, while he raises his legs high to let me in.

I hoist his hips higher and rest back on my haunches. That way I can get good and deep, just how he likes it.

And as the deeper penetration hits, I see his eyes open wide with the feeling and he tosses his head from side to side, all that hair streaming out round him. And as I look down at him, sweaty, shaking, beautiful, I feel something inside like a sudden drop on a rollercoaster and it's because I'm doing that to him, me, Jim Ellison, and just for a minute I close my eyes because it's all...too much, somehow... but when I open them again he's grinning at me and he knows, he knows, and it doesn't matter, the excuses I make for fucking him don't matter a shit because that's all they are, excuses, and we both know it. So I take a deep breath and he locks those strong legs round me with a happy moan and starts working me, banging back hard against each of my thrusts so that my dick feels like it's going all the way through him.

I used to worry about hurting him in the beginning or him hurting himself on me. But I gradually realised just how tough my little hippy witch-doctor really is and, thanks to all that yoga, just how flexible. More than that, I've never met anyone so in tune with their own body, so these days when he tells me he wants to be screwed into the middle of next week, I just do it. He'll tell me if it's too much. Trust me on that.

Now we're in rhythm and it's hard and fast and dirty, just how we both like it. And sounds have become guttural as we both drive towards that moment of truth, me fisting his cock and thrusting up, him jerking down and clenching hard with every stroke. So damn tight, so damn hot, far too good to last and we both shout and I feel him throbbing and exploding, even as I'm shooting so deep inside him.

And as the last shudders slowly stop, I collapse back on the floor, chest heaving, satisfaction rolling through me, the silent lassitude of utter satiation when -

"James Ellison! Just how did that get in here?"

And I crank open one eye to see my partner, my Guide, my lover, who I'd fondly imagined to be lying in the same blissed-out state of post-fuck exhaustion I was, sitting bolt upright on the floor and holding out half a donut in my direction.

Damn. This is not good. I groan silently to myself and then grin at him disarmingly. It was going to be a long night.

Just the way I like it.