In a fit of madness I posted all of these to Senad over the course of one weekend...

Snap One:

OH yeah... the Big Guy stretched out on a bed, bound spreadeagle to the four corners, those lovely muscles tensed in bold releif as he anticipates the next.... touch. Blair stands over him, wearing only a few stragically placed strips of leather. In his hand, a lit candle. A drop of molten wax hangs, poised to join the trail that leads down the sculpted chest toward the groin...

Snap Two:

Blair kneels, bound hand to ankle, face upturned, mouth open, waiting. A single lock of auburn hair falls over his blindfolded eyes. Above him stands his lover, muscles outlined by the flicker of the roaring fireplace. He is reaching down to stroke the proffered cheek, a look of mingled awe and lust suffusing his features.

Snap Three:

The Sentinel is bent over the kitchen table, dinner dishes scattered and overturned around him. His hands are bound behing his back with a dishtowel, his pants and boxers tangled around his ankles. Blair stands to the side, one hand between his shoulder blades to hold him down, the other held high. Jim's neck is craned back, his eyes wide and feral with sudden shocked passion. A perfect firey handprint stands out against the alabaster mound of his ass.

Snap Four:

Blair sits naked on a plain wooden chair, his ankles secured to it's legs, his hands cuffed behind him. His head is thrown back, baring his collared throat. Jim kneels before him, supplicant, the tip of his tongue protruding slightly in concentration. The razor in his hand rock steady as he shaves carefully around the steel nipple ring.

Snap Five:

A trail of discarded clothes leads from the door to the couch, where Blair sits with a weighty tome in his lap. His glasses have slipped to the end of his nose and he peers over them at the figure before him. Naked, Jim is crouched at his feet, arms outstretched, palms upturned, wrists touching but as yet unbound. An offering, a plea.

Snap Six:

A darkened alley, a chain link fence. The metal bites into Blair's cheek, his wrists held tight above his head in his partner's massive hand. His pants dangle at his knees, and raw need blazes on his face as Jim enters him roughly from behind.

Snap Seven:

In an empty garage a Harley sits, gleaming chrome, dark leather. The Sentinel straddles the seat, black chaps baring the perfect globes of his ass, hands chained to the handlebars. He peers over his shoulder at his young lover, clad only in a motorcycle jacket. Blair holds a can of motor oil in his hand as he prepares to mount his steed.

Snap Eight:

Private Ellison stands at parade rest, his rampant erection jutting from the open fly of his jungle fatigues, patiently awaiting his commander's next order.

Snap Nine:

A dusty pickup truck pulled to the side of a country lane. Jim sprawls on a bale of hay in the truck bed, cowboy boots & hat, nothing else, grinning widely around a piece of straw. Blair stands between his outstretched legs. Barechested, overalls puddled around his ankles, a length of rope dangles from his hand. Reaching out, he gently strokes his lover's powerful thigh.

Snap Ten:

A dim and drafty warehouse. A packing pallet leans against a crumbling brick wall. From the broken skylight a single dusty beam of sun illuminates the alabaster planes of Jim's body. Rough ropes bind him, wrists and ankles, to the pallet, his nipples tight and peaked. From the shadows, Blair approaches his lover, a predatory grin spread across his face.

Snap Eleven:

A cool forest, a still pond, a weather beaten wooden raft floats tethered in its center. Blair dozes face up, bare body sun baked, auburn curls a damp halo about his head. Jim lies face down next to him, head pillowed on his folded arms, eyes half open to watch his sleeping Guide. Drops of water, slowly drying in the heat, bead his muscular back. Only their feet touch.

Snap Twelve:

A long stretch of deserted beach, trapped remnants of the tide reflecting the firey fingers of the sunset. Blair stands at the land's edge, a retreating wave curling past his bare toes. His gaze is fixed upon the far horizon, a shadow of wistful longing darkening his eyes. Jim stands close behind him, arms wrapped around the smaller man, chin resting in his curls, sheltering his lover from the cool breeze which springs up at day's ending.

Snap Thirteen:

An abandoned building, crumbling walls, rubble strewn corners. Behind a fallen door, Blair hides, his expression frightened, but his eyes glow with delighted mischeif. Jim stands, outlined in feeble moonlight from a broken window. His head thrown back, his eyes half mast, his nostrils wide. The hunter has scented his prey.

Snap Fourteen:

A sultry night, the air hot and stifling, unmoved by the fans that crowd the loft. Blair reclines on the couch, rivulets of sweat plastering the hair to his chest. Jim crouches beside him, drawing a careful line down his throat with an ice cube.