NC-17, m/m explicit

Please mentally insert standard disclaimer here.

OF ANGELS AND DEMONS by Legion

Drained by the heat and 24 hour work day, Jim dropped onto the bed without drying from his shower. Why bother? The air was so humid, he could hardly tell it from *being* in the shower. Sleep was too close and too alluring; he pulled a pillow under his head, and fell alseep, sprawled face down.

Hours later, caught in the twilight between waking and dreaming, Jim felt the luxurous weight and pressure of a lover laying onto his back. Solid, heavy, male - Jim's sleeping mind hummed in appreciation. It had been so long since he'd had the pleasure of being taken and filled. As the erection pressed against the cleft of his ass grew, his own did as well.

As it did, so did his discomfort; he was laying on his arousal, and the combination of his own mass and that of his lover was too much. He wanted to squirm, bring his knees up to take some of the burden, but he couldn't move. Still too asleep to be alarmed, he concentrated on moving, and found the weight on his back grow oppressive, almost in response.

Unable to even groan in protest, he stopped his effort and accepted his position. His reward was the sensation of his anus being probed, opened. It was exquisite, and his hard-on began to pulse in time with his heart beat. The urge to back into the penetration was intense - and impossible to act on. If he could have, he would have been complaining, wanting more.

Slowly, so slowly he was filled, stretched, almost but not to the point of discomfort. When thrusting finally began, he could have wept with relief. Teasingly, each thrust almost but not quite hit his hot spot, leaving him ready to beg for there, right there! please!

Frustration began to claw into his throat, cutting his breathing. Need was quickly becoming pain, and he no longer wanted to meet the hard movements. He wanted to wrench himself away, turn on his tormentor, hurt him for the misery he was causing. The unholy combination of lust and anger swelled, crowding at his control. His body refused to act on his commands, not providing him with so much as a wiggle.

In a fury, he began to fight for control of his body again, and his punishment was an increase in the tempo of the pounding, driving him deep into the matress with each shove. It felt good on his cock, promising the relief Jim was so desperate for, despite his anger. Stopping his struggle, he went after the lure of pleasure, concentrating on the building of feeling. Climax was there, gathering itself together from the far flung corners of his body, and he wanted it, wanted it!

Fighting for air now, hardly able to draw any into his cramped lungs, he reached for release, hoping to find it before asphixiation dropped him into unconsciousness. The involuntary clenching of his ass muscles told him he was nearly there, just a stroke or two more, just a little more....

Outside the loft, two cars crashed together in an intersection, and the sound slammed through the room, hitting Jim with almost physical force. His eyes flew open, control to his body coming with sight, and he sat up, automatically concentrating on the fading sounds of the crash. The drivers were already cursing at each other, and none of his senses suggested that anyone had been hurt.

Pulling in a burning breath, he shook his head, the overwhelming feelings of his dream returning. He looked down at his demanding erection, tempted to smack the thing in aggravation. It had been way too long, if a wet dream of that magnitude was this thing's idea of erotic. Reluctantly, he laid back and reached for it, just wanting to make it go away at this point.

Five minutes later, hard as ever, he stopped. Stubbornly, his body simply refused to make the sensations strong enough to finish. It wasn't bad; it just wasn't *enough.* Even more reluctantly, he began to mentally page through his 'little black book' in search of a willing lady who might be interested in casual relief. Wistfully, he permitted himself a single thought on what he really wanted. One was all he allowed, and he shrugged, getting up to get dressed.

**

Timidly, Blair eased the front door of the loft open, and peeked toward the basket. Damn! Jim was home. Abandoning his hope that a woman had picked him up for a date, Blair debated. He could swing in, dash into his room with a quick excuse that he just needed to pick something up and dash back out again. Or he could sneak away and hope Jim hadn't noticed him at the door.

With luck, Jim's dark mood would be so grateful for his absence, neither action would be questioned. Perversely, Blair's own mood turned morose. He couldn't believe he was acting like this; avoiding his own home because his bad-assed roommie had some bug up said bad-ass! Self-disgust spun through him, but couldn't hold against the worry. Why wouldn't Jim tell him what was wrong, if it didn't have something to do with him? Had he pissed the older man off and not noticed?

Telling himself for the umpteenth time that Jim was far too honest and fair to toss him out on a whim, Blair forced himself to go through the door. Messing with his pack as though that had been what delayed his entry, he kept his head down, looking through his lashes for Jim's location.

To his relief, Jim was face down on the couch, apparently alseep. Carefully, quietly, Blair hung his jacket and headed for his own room. With a hand on the frame of the door to shut it, he glanced back at the sleeping man. There was a twist of pain around his heart; Jim looked bad.

For weeks now, dark circles had been growing under his eyes, and Blair had seen Jim's hands trembling from exhaustion after doing nothing more strenous than eating a meal. Despite that, Jim had been driving himself harder than ever, staying out long hours with various ladies, and spending longer hours at the gym. And that only after Simon tossed him out of the station.

Every attempt Blair made to find the cause had been silently, coldly stone-walled. Even Simon was tip-toeing around his detective after one abortive attempt to get to the root of the problem. All Blair could be sure of was that it wasn't Jim's senses at fault this time. Long ago he had managed to wrangle a promise from the Sentinel that he would come to him *any* time that was an issue.

Noticing the stifling heat, Blair hesitated. Jim usually didn't feel the weather the way he did; but if he got too hot he might not sleep as long as he could. Hesitantly, he stepped back into the living room, intending only to open the balcony doors to catch the breeze from the water.

Motion from the couch stopped him; thinking Jim was waking, he almost turned back to his room. It was the awareness that there was a wrongness about the movement that made him look more closely. Jim's t-shirt was moving, of it its own accord, as if being lifted by invisible hands. Astonished, Blair watched as the shirt split down the back, the collar parting as if were paper.

Long red welts began to appear on Jim's back like sharp fingernails were dragging down from shoulder to hips. Blair looked at his partner's face, a sick dread building. The grimace of pain and tightly sealed lips told him whatever was going on, Jim was not a happy participant in it. Not sure what he intended, Blair started forward. That is, he wanted to, but he moved not so much as a lurch forward.

Inwardly writhing, he was a motionless witness as Jim's hips were phyically lifted, his limp body held by whatever force possessed them both. The sweats Jim wore were ripped away as effortlessly as his shirt, and the welts began to appear on his buttocks and thighs. The only visible reaction to the abuse from Jim was a twitching of his fingers and a further tightening of his still seemingly sleeping features.

Jim was lifted higher, and Blair could clearly see what had to be an achingly painful erection jutting from his crotch. The welts continued onto that tender flesh, and Blair felt his own try to crawl into his body in reaction. There was not even a moan from Jim, and Blair finally understood why. His was trapped in his throat.

Swaying on his knees, Jim began to move back and forth. The action mystified Blair for a second, then his horror climbed as he understood that whatever was holding Jim was fucking into him, moving him with the action as though Jim were a rag doll. Frantically, he tried to shut his eyes, turn his head, anything but watch this violation of his friend.

Nothing happened, and small cold darts of pain pinned into his chest. They pulled at him, bringing him toward the couch. //'Resistance is futile,'// he thought, half hysterically, doing so any way. It was completely unsucessful, and he found himself standing at the head of the couch. He was knelt onto it, and Jim's face was unceremoniously shoved into his lap.

His terror became full blown, and Blair discovered he could have a complete panic attack without moving an inch. Having no choice but to ride it out, he dealt with each individual breath, thinking of nothing but that, until his mind cleared a little. When he became aware again, he realized his pants had been torn open and his penis was exposed. Jim's head was being forced back, and Blair could see cuts appearing on his lips as the sharp nails tried to open his mouth.

Recoiling, he almost lost it again, but caught the very edge of control. If Jim was fighting, he could not betray his friend by doing less.

The veins on Jim's neck stood in relief, and his face was red from strain. Blair could hear the teeth grinding as Jim locked his jaw shut. The sides of his nose turned white - his nostrils were being pinched shut - and Blair didn't know if it would go better or worse for them if Jim managed to make himself pass out rather than breathe through his mouth.

Trying to sneak an inhale, Jim relaxed a fraction, only to have his mouth invaded, pried open at that slight access. Amazed, Blair saw the tension increase in Jim's every muscle; he still fought. New welts appeared, this time deep and bleeding. His only visible response was an increase in the twitching in his hands.

Encouraged, Blair renewed his own attempt to free himself. Maybe the two of them could wear it out, or one distract it long enough for the other to get free. There was a sharp, tearing sound, and if Blair could have used his voice, he would have screamed. A long, bleeding rip appeared in his shirt, and Blair frantically tried to push the pain away.

Abruptly, Jim stopped fighting, and voluntarily dropped his head back into Blair's lap. Unwilling to look away, now, thinking he would share this shame with Jim completely, Blair watched as Jim took his limp cock into his mouth. Seeing the hair on the back of Jim's head flatten, he knew what to expect and wasn't surprised when it began to move in a mockery of fellatio.

Half expecting pain, it took him a moment to understand that Jim was trying his best not to hurt his partner. And succeeding a bit too well. A filament of pleasure twined over his softness, and it began to grow. Guilt began a fierce battle with the terror of the situation but that did nothing to stop Blair's involuntary excitement. Cringing inwardly, he began conjuring the coldest, slimiest thoughts he could imagine. It was no help. Soon, it wasn't an imitation; Jim was being moved onto Blair's fully erect cock.

The fucking action had started again, and Blair could see deep white divots being dug into the flesh of Jim's hips. On both sides, as if held, but the movement of Jim's mouth didn't stop. In fact, it became tighter, more erotic and Blair shivered as he felt Jim's tongue begin to sweep along the underside and over the tip.

Unable to deny the pleasure any longer, unable to deny that Jim was deliberately sucking him, Blair went with it. He shut out everything but the hot, wet suction on him and the ectasy beginning to blossom on Jim's face. Wanting to pump, or moan in pleasure, he looked for some way to let Jim know he liked it, wanted it from him. Finding nothing, he gave himself up to it, and found freedom.

His orgasm crashed into him, and he gripped the sides of Jim's head in his hands as he spilled his cream into that incredible mouth. Whimpering Jim's name, he hunched over the head in his lap, unconsciously trying to protect him from more abuse. He slid into darkness as he was plucked away from Jim and dropped to the floor.

**

He couldn't have been out long; the come on the corner of Jim's lips was still wet. Whatever it had been seemed to be through with them, since Jim was laying curled on one side on the couch, staring blankly into space. At the touch of Blair's fingertip to the semen mixed with blood, Jim focused on the smaller man.

"You'd better find someplace else, for a while, Sandburg," he said in a voice too tired and old to be Jim's.

Shooting him a look of disdain, Blair sat up, picked up the rags of Jim's shirt and began to dab carefully at one of the wounds on Jim's mouth.

"I don't suppose for once you could do what I ask?" Jim asked, a touch more animated.

"I don't suppose for once you wouldn't ask me to do the exact opposite of what needs to be done?" Blair's reply was tart. "You have to know..." his voice faded as the cut he was attending began to knit close, then heal completely, all traces of blood going with it. A quick check showed all the wounds doing the same, including the one on his own chest.

Jim's eyes followed Blair's hands as they ran over the unmarred skin on his chest. "It'll hurt like it's still there, for a day or so," he murmured. "And before you get started, until today I thought this was all in my head," he went on.

Dumbfounded, Blair sat back on his heels. "In your head?!"

Eyes drifting shut, Jim said, "No physical evidence. No wounds, no blood, no semen. I can't smell, taste, hear, or see anything. All I feel is weight, pressure, mass. No heat, no texture." He shifted uncomfortably, and Blair saw that he was still agonizingly aroused. "I'm always asleep when it starts."

Irresitably drawn, Blair surreptiously studied the angry looking raw spots on Jim's erection. Though the welts had healed, that proof of Jim's futile attempts at satisfaction stayed behind. Licking suddenly dry lips, he dragged his thoughts away.

Pushing his face into the couch cushions, as if that were something to hide behind, Jim went on. "First time, I thought it was only a wet dream. A particularly frustrating one, but a dream. Made a date with a woman and forgot about it." Jim started to roll away, and was stopped by a strong hand on his shoulder.

Glancing quickly down and up again, Blair said softly, "But when you had sex with her, you couldn't finish. Or with any of the other women you've been seeing lately. And the dreams kept coming, getting more and more intense."

Startled, Jim opened his eyes, met the compassion in Blair's. "Have I been that bad, Chief, that it's so obvious?"

Unable to help himself, Blair glanced back down at the hard-on Jim sported. "Let's just say that between living with you and the evidence on hand, it wasn't exactly a case for Sherlock Holmes."

The smile was wan, but there. "I suppose you have a potion to cure this or a theory to cover it."

Laying his head on the couch near Jim's, all traces of composure lost, Blair whispered, "I am like, clueless here. About all of it."

Understanding, Jim inched closer until their heads were almost touching. "I should have told you before now; but it didn't seem to matter since I wasn't seeing anyone. It's not like I've been hiding this hopeless lust for you, or anything. Tonight, at first, I was only trying to make sure you weren't hurt."

A tiny shiver chased over the bigger man, and Blair felt the vibration of it echo in him. "But you were so *there,*" Jim said, whispering to himself, "scent, taste, feel - so turned on - wanting it." Waiting for a denial, he stopped, but Blair dug a hand into the gap between their heads to touch Jim's face lightly, and said nothing. "It was easier, "Jim finished, finally, "better to try to make it as good as I could for you and shut out the rest of it."

"It helped?" Blair's voice was small.

"Oh, god, Blair..." Jim started, but was stopped by Blair's finger over his lips.

"Good." Blair nudged into Jim. "You might be the last person I ever thought I'd being doing that with, but certainly the first I would have picked. And I can think of better ways of getting to it. But all I'm concerned about *right now* is helping you."

Taking a deep breath, Blair abruptly scooted down even to Jim's hips, and took as much of him into his mouth as he could. Yelping in a mixture of shock and pleasure, Jim rocked into the contact, hands going to Blair's head. Uncertain if Jim meant to pull him off, or guide him better, Blair took no chances, and braced himself to be still. Both hands on Jim's hips, he shoved them back, tightening his lips around the shaft that slipped back from the action. Instinct made Jim drive forward, and that was all Mother Nature needed to guarantee his co-operation.

Making deep, gutteral noises, he fucked Blair's mouth, mindless in need. Doing the best he could not to bite or choke, Blair barely had time to wonder how he was going to handle Jim's come when his mouth was filled and he reflexively swallowed. Above him he could hear animal noises of pain, but dealing with the enormous load took all of his attention.

Pulling away, carefully, he milked the shaft, bringing out out the last drops to join the overflow already coating the shaft. Absently, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, feeling desire and need rise again at the sight of the still hard cock, lubricated and ready. Wondering how far his lover would be willing to go, under the circumstances, he sat back on his heels, not sure what to expect from Jim.

He was unconscious, blood pouring from a new set of gashes on his chest.

**

Taking off his glasses, Blair folded them and put them on the book he just closed. Both hands went to cover his mouth, forefingers drumming absently on his upper lip. He stared at the wall opposite his office desk, not seeing it, but seeing, rather, a shirt being torn by invisible hands.

"I'd offer a penny, but they look more expensive than that." Jim leaned on the corner of the desk, giving Blair a light touch on the back as he did.

Deadly serious, Blair swung to look up into his partner's face. "Do you believe good and evil, Jim?"

"You mean like god and the devil?"

"Or angels and demons."

Thoughtfully, Jim stood and went to the coffee machine to pour cups for both of them. Giving Blair's his, Jim took a sip, and sat in the chair next to the desk. "I've seen too much not to believe in evil," he said finally. "It's harder, somehow, to believe in true good. On my worst days, the best I can do is think it's like fairy magic - something long ago used up and gone." He stretched out, leaning his head onto the wall behind him, cup balanced on one thigh.

"Many primitive cultures don't even have the concept. But it wasn't that long ago European ones thought that there were demons called succubi and incubi that came to people in their dreams and raped or seduced them to drain their physical strength." Blair swivled his chair back and forth, restlessly, not able to look his partner in the eye.

With a snort of derision, Jim came back with, "It wasn't that long ago they thought masturbation made you insane because so many crazy people did it without inhibition."

"And that people who heard voices were possessed. We know to call them schizophrenics, now, or talk about multiple personalities." Blair stopped his chair and faced the older man squarely.

Lifting his brow, Jim said, "There's an scientific explanation for these demons?"

Temporizing, Blair told him, "Wet dreams are generally considered Mother Nature's way of testing the plumbing and keeping it in working order. Even the feeling of paralysis in some of them has a physical basis - our brain shuts off motor control during dreaming to keep us from acting them out."

Leaning back again, Jim covered his face with a hand. "Until you were caught by this, Chief, I would have bought that."

"There are those who think some schizophrenics should be called telepaths, Jim. You could call it the next level of understanding. So instead of the accepted theories on wet dreams, we go to the next level."

"Sandburg..."

"Jim, think about this. Since science thinks it has an explanation, it wouldn't look any further than what covers normal situations, average men. *You don't fit that category.*"

Jumping to his feet, slamming his coffee cup onto Blair's desk, Jim fumed, "You're telling me that this has been happening because I'm a sentinel! That *my* dreams are somehow powerful enough to reach out and grab you, drag you into them!"

Rising to stand, but keeping his voice level, Blair answered, "If you didn't think that yourself, why are you refusing to sleep when I'm in the loft? I *know* it's still happening, Jim. Damnit, I'm not blind!" He gingerly put his hand on the center of Jim's chest. "You can hardly move in the morning, you're so exhausted.

"This has been going on for how long, a three weeks? It doesn't matter when or where you sleep, it doesn't matter if you're alone or not, and the only satisfaction you've had throughout all this torture is the one time I was able to surprise your defenses. Over four days ago."

"I am not doing this to myself." Jim dropped into his coldest, most precise voice. He took the hand on his chest by the wrist. "And there is no way that *any* part of me would ever, ever hurt you, Blair Sandburg." Peeling away Blair's hand, he headed for the door, but Blair put himself in front of it.

"Listen to me, please, just listen! The main reason demons were used to explain wet dreams - aside from the Christian notion of sex being inherently evil - is because they more more likely to happen to people living sexually repressed lives: priests, nuns, monks.

"If you're repressing your sexuality, denying what you need, you don't give your mind any choice but to conjur it!"

Half expecting Jim to blow and put up him up against the door, Blair tensed and waited. It wasn't a shove that came, but a even, steady push, and when he was backed into the door, Jim tapped him once on the head.

"I have known for a long, long time, Sandburg, that it is what is in here," another tap to the forehead, "and here," a tap to the chest, "that attracts me. The rest is plumbing and mechanics. I don't make passes at people who are married, underaged or who I work with. I notice them, even fantasize, but I don't act on it.

"That's not repression, sexual or otherwise. That's being a human being instead of an animal." Loosely curling his left hand, he brought it up to stroke the knuckles up and down Blair's cheek. "I won't sleep with you in the loft because I think," he paused, obviously uncertain of words, "you're ...susceptible to whatever the hell this is. I *did* sleep with other people at the start, and they never so much as rolled over when it started. You literally got pulled into it." Leaning in close, so that his breath chased tingles over Blair's neck, Jim whispered in Blair's ear. "In fact, Chief, given how sweetly you gave it up to me, how easily you dealt with being with me, and how I've never smelt or heard you react the slightest to any guy, which of us is repressed?"

Goosebumps chased tingles, and Blair stared at the bigger man, wide-eyed. Timidly he copied Jim's gesture, enjoying the feel of the stubble on his skin. Jim drew back at the touch, and Blair wondered at the tenderness in the tired, pale face of his partner. "We should have talked about this before now," Blair said simply. "I shouldn't have hid in research, and I shouldn't have let you avoid me."

Jim gave him a half smile at the non-sequiter, but brought his other hand up to cup Blair's face. Blair tilted his head to press into the palm of it, and to give Jim permission to explore. Using the backs of his fingers, Jim did just that, and Blair closed his eyes. Somehow it made it easier to confess, "My first serious crush was on a male teacher." Blair smiled wistfully. "I had it *so* bad, and I didn't even know what I wanted from him.

"I made the mistake of telling him. For the rest of the entire school year, he treated me like shit in front of the entire class. I can't prove he had anything to do with it, but I was suddenly made a target for everything from pamphlets on how to save my soul from my perversion to out and out attacks from some of the more outspoken homophobes. "

Blair opened his eyes, meeting Jim's frankly. "Thank god Mom moved on before summer recess. At the next place, I chased girls like the end of the world was coming, and I had to get laid before it was too late." He shrugged, uneasily, "It sorta became a habit."

Strong, steady arms came around him, and Blair pushed away from the door to wrap his own around Jim. "How old were you?" Jim asked.

"Fifteen."

"And you ask me if I believe in evil." Jim shook his head.

"There was one other guy, junior year in college - it was actually worse, cause he got close. I've ran like hell in the opposite direction when I notice a man ever since." A horrified thought blazed across Blair's mind, and he blurted, "Jim! You don't think it's possible I'm.., I *couldn't* could I?"

"Absolutely not!" Tightening his arms, Jim rocked them a bit. "You weren't any where around, most of the times it happened And if that were the case, it would have stopped, not ..." He snapped off his words and started to unwind from the embrace.

"..gotten worse." Blair finished for him, reluctantly letting him go. "Jim, if these attacks - and I don't know what else to call them - are coming from outside, I don't even know where to start on how to end them."

"Maybe it's like a disease, and all we have to do is wait and let it run its course." Jim suggested, opening the door. He waited patiently there as Blair emptied and cleaned the cups, gathered his things, and shut down his office for the evening.

As he did, Blair studied Jim from the corner of his eye. *I don't think you have that kind of time, babe. I don't think you have the time.*

**

Head bent over his breakfast, Blair watched from under his lashes as Jim moved his around on his plate. He was going to have to act soon; another minute and Jim would push the plate away and head for work. Holding in a sigh, and a *huge* amount of nervous wiggling, he ran over his plan one more time. It had seemed so simple when he woke up this morning.

The major obstacle to it was sitting totally oblivious and totally intimidating, no matter how much he looked like an animated corpse right now. Pain stabbed him; that thought was too close to home.

"Sandburg, shouldn't you be getting dressed? We need to be getting out the door, here."

Jumping guiltily, Blair stood, absently tightening the tie to his robe as he did. "Ah, actually," he stopped, took a deep breath, then went to stand by his partner. "I called us in sick," Blair said, flatly. "And Simon's response was, and I quote directly, 'Thank god, tell him I don't want to see his ass down here until he's gotten some sleep - like a week or two worth.' "

Jim looked up at him, questioningly, but didn't move as Blair caught one of his ears between thumb and forefinger, tracing the back of it caressingly. With a single, lithe movement, Blair swung one leg over Jim's lap, and sat, straddled across his hips. Automatically, Jim's hands latched onto Blair's waist, to steady him. "And I am going to make sure you get it."

With a look that swept over the gaping robe and the bare flesh underneath, Jim said lightly, "With a virgin sacrifice to appease a demon?"

Loosely locking his hands behind Jim's neck, Blair answered seriously, "Not so virgin, and not a sacrifice. Remember that! You won't be doing anything to me that I wouldn't want done. Maybe under better circumstances, but since this is what we have, this is what we work with.

"Jim, we have to know more! We know it's weakening you, feeding on you somehow. And getting stronger as it does. What happens if doesn't get all it wants from you? If we interrupt the feeding, does it get weaker and you stronger? Is it the strength of your sentinel senses that's got it coming back again and again? Are you like..."

"Wait up, wait up here, Chief! I know you're trying to make yourself look at this as research, but your heart is beating so hard a deaf man could hear it."

Blair fell silent, and absently began kneading the muscles of Jim's neck where the skull met the neck. "I *am* afraid," he said finally, somehow conveying with those simple words it wasn't just the sex he feared.

Sighing, softening under his lover's touch, Jim leaned forward and placed a kiss over Blair's heart. "It's in safe keeping, I swear." He wrapped his arms around Blair's waist to hold him closer.

Holding that great head to his chest, Blair sighed, himself, and kissed the top of it. They sat like that for a minute, then Blair broke away. "Go prepare yourself, like you're expecting a lover, " he instructed, reluctantly standing again. "Use lots of oil. I'll met you in your bedroom.'

"No."

"Jim," Blair started, wearily.

"I'll make a place on the couch for us. I don't want you to have any memories of our bed but good ones."

Blair's heart pounded extra hard, twice, then sped up. "Our bed?"

Standing, Jim put a crooked finger under Blair's chin and tilted back his head. He waited, and when Blair wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, Jim dropped a gentle kiss onto them. It was a light touch, barely more than a wisp of sensation. But Blair felt it scald all the way through, marking him in a way he didn't understand. Confused, he stood frozen in place as Jim went to do as he was told.

******

Stopping mid action of turning a page, Blair looked down at the sleeping man draped over the lower half of his body. After they had built up a back rest of pillows and cushions for Blair, Jim had pillowed his head on Blair's stomach and gone to sleep almost immediately. Expecting feel trapped or confined, Blair had had no trouble with weight of his lover pinning him. It felt... comforting.

Jim's sleep had been untroubled, quiet, since then except for the normal twitches and spasms. Until now, and Blair put his book down, trying to pinpoint the source of the change. Rubbing his hand over the velvety nap of Jim's hair, Blair considered, the realized what was wrong. Jim was tense, trying to contract in on himself.

Scooting down, wriggling until he was under the bigger man completely, Blair covered Jim's mouth with his, and forced his tongue between the lax lips. Keeping the kiss for only a second, Blair broke it, then began to reassure his partner. "Jim, I know you can hear me, that you're aware even if you can't let me know. I want you to do something for me, ok? Something important. Don't fight. That could be part of how it feeds."

Running his hands up and down Jim's back and sides, he went on, "Passive resistance, man, that's the key. You're going to let what happens, happen, but you're not going to react. Dial down the sensations it's causing. Concentrate on me instead: feel me under you, feel my chest move with my breaths, the vibration of my heart. Think of my taste, my scent; fill your head with it.

"I'm the reality; I'm the substance. Everything else is shadow, insubstantial, meaningless. Foc.." he was cut off, as much by the sudden increase in weight on him as by the remembered paralysis. Following his own advice, he did his best to ignore the manipulation of his body, trying to sense Jim as if he were the sentinel.

It worked, to the point he was soon erect and inwardly reeling from the power of his hunger. If he could have, he would have been thrusting into the hard heat topping him. As it was, the forced slide of Jim's cock into the well-oiled crevass of his thighs had him at the edge without any other stimulation.

Panting, finding it hard to draw in a breath against the crushing heaviness on him, he mentally clung to Jim. Despite his arousal, he felt the impacts of blows into Jim's back, and scrambled for some way to help Jim keep his focus on him, help him dial down the pain. All he had was his excitement, and remembering dimly Jim telling him it helped, he surrendered completely to it.

Jim lifted from him slightly, allowing a deep breath, and Blair locked gazes with him, finding the lust in Jim's the last tiny bit he needed. He shuddered, came, crying out softly with each pulse of release. When it was over, they rolled to their sides, by mutual consent, and fell asleep.

****

Pulling his robe around him, Blair left the couch and joined Jim in the kitchen. "You should have woke me," he scolded lightly. "I don't need to rest as much as you do."

Jim finished taking a bite from his pear, and offered it to his partner. Holding Jim's wrist, Blair took his own bite, sucking at the juice of it as the fruit left his mouth. "Did you know your stomach rumbles like a storm when you're hungry?" Jim mumbled around his mouthful. "If it woke me, knew you wouldn't be far behind." He gestured at the makings of fruit salad on the table, then took another bite.

"Good idea. I'll shower up while you finish here."

Holding the pear out again, Jim held it steady as Blair took his share. "Could you use the unscented soap?" he asked, nonchalantly - almost. "I... like.. your scent."

Matching Jim's attitude, Blair waved a hand in the air, carelessly. "Sure." Then he grinned. "You heard me, right? It worked."

No answer, just an inclination of his head, and another offer of the pear. Blair chewed, thoughtfully, making no move to leave to shower. Jim looked better; not much, but enough that Blair was sure they were on the right track. He stayed until the pear was done, silently sharing the appetizer.

Tossing the core in the trash, Jim turned his back to Blair to take vanilla yogurt from the fridge, only to spin back at Blair's gasp. "Blair..."

"Jim, turn around," Blair ordered woodenly. With a delicate touch, he traced a line on Jim's back. "Can you feel that?"

Trying to look over his shoulder at what Blair was touching, Jim answered, "The scratches? Or the bruises?"

"No, man, the bruises are already fading."

At Blair's tone, Jim turned back and took Blair by the upper arm. "I can tell there's a pattern. Words?" At Blair's nod, he caressed the silk skin under his hand. "Tell me."

"Mine, Kike." Though the tone was blank, anyone could have felt the conflicting emotions coming through Blair's skin.

Letting his caresses run up to the smaller man's throat, Jim pulled him close and dropped a hint of a kiss on the tense mouth. "You'd think it'd be able to come up with a more original insult."

Coming back from wherever he had been, Blair shook his head slowly. The battleline had been drawn, but could he stand the battlefield? Slapping lightly at Jim's chest for emphasis, he commanded. "You *do not* sleep alone, again. You hear? Not a nap, not dozing off in front of the tube. You close your eyes longer than a blink without being in my arms, and I'll glue myself to you!"

"That's supposed to be a threat?" Seeing Blair was about to go hyper, he hastily added, "Done, Sandburg, done."

**

Restlessly, Blair roamed around the loft, the sense of urgency he'd been feeling growing as he did. He stopped in front of the couch, their bed for the past week, and stared at it sightlessly. For two days he and Jim hadn't left it, except for the necessities, finally returning to work rested, but knowing the evenings would bring more confrontation.

Neither of them were surprised when the violence of the attacks escalated during those two days. The first effort it made, next attack, was to separate the two by throwing Blair to the ground. Without prompting, Jim totally dialed down his sense of touch, and listened only to Blair's heartbeat. The beating they received in retaliation was so bad, only Blair's conviction they were fighting for Jim's life enabled them to maintain their strategy.

It soon abandoned that tactic, no longer trying to keep them apart, but trying to overwhelm Jim's tactile stonewalling. It's illusionary contact became fleeting, sensual, intimate - playing Jim's nerves like a virtuoso. Compared to Blair's honest, uninhibited desire, though, it was too artificial and staged to have it's intended effect.  

After several sessions like that, it wasn't strong enough to control Blair any longer, and that lost it the war. Free to do as he wished, with not even Jim to direct him, Blair turned the battleground into a playground. With his natural curiosity in control, and a demand from Jim to do whatever turned Blair on, he romped through the next few evenings, distracting Jim with everything from ice cubes to fingerpainting with the body oil.

They knew they had won when Jim began thrusting of his own accord, using Blair's name to plead for release. Wisely, Blair didn't try to give it to him, sure that he would still be unable to find completion. Promising himself that he was going to make Jim come three times for every time he had been denied since the whole stupid thing started, he petted and soothed his lover until they both stopped shaking.

That had been last night, and now an inner voice told him it was time. Without hesitation Blair started dismantling the mound of cushions, blankets, and pillows. Jim came home as he was putting the last of them away, and he nodded in aproval before going to the balcony to stare out at the darkening sky.

"There's a storm coming," Jim told Blair as he came to stand beside his lover.

"I can't see it, yet."

Pointing to a smudge on the horizon, Jim directed Blair, "There. It looks like it's going to be a real light show. I can already feel the charge." He pushed up a sleeve and showed Blair the goosebumps there. "See?"

With a possessive hand, Blair stroked the bared skin. "You love thunderstorms, don't you?"

With a purse of his lips, Jim began to brush away the comment, but then unexpectedly slipped an arm around Blair and pulled him tight to his side. "Yeah. Something about the wildness, the freeness of the wind, the ferocity of the thunder - I don't know, Chief. Part of me just wants to stand in the rain and howl back at the heavens."

He looked down into his lover's upturned face, saw understanding. They stayed that way, watching the mass of clouds boil and throb, overpouring the horizon and filling the entire sky. Before long, dim flashes of light to Blair's eyes became streaks of painful brightness, each coming closer and closer. Thunder went from being a barely heard mumble to crashes of sound as intense as the light that preceded them.

A wavering, weaving line of gray showed against the nearly black clouds, and the scent of rain mingled with the tang of the lightening. The wind, which had swept and hovered, fitfully, picked up its tempo, becoming a buffetting bully. Blair laughed at it and reached back to free his hair from its tie. Jim tangled his hand into the freed mass, and leaned the smaller man in to steady him.

Uping the stakes, the wind whipped a mist over them, borrowed from the oncoming downpour. Jim turned his face up to it, accepting it with nearly animal serenity. The moisture became a second skin, making the flesh under it glisten. Mesmerized, Blair followed the flow of light down the column of Jim's throat and into the shadowing of the shirt he was wearing.

Without conscious decision, Blair reached up and began to unbutton the shirt, baring more of Jim for the mist's touch. Jim watched him as he did, neither helping nor hindering. He didn't even protest when Blair tossed the shirt carelessly back into the loft. He bent to unlace Jim's boots, then removed them and his socks, tossing them inside as well.

It was only when he reached for the button to the fly on Jim's chinos that a hand come to stop his. But Jim murmurred, "Wait." Startled back into awareness of his surroundings, Blair scanned the area around the balcony. Between the dark of the evening and blackness of the storm, he could see nothing, but trusted Jim's judgement.

The faint sheen of luminscence from Jim's body drew him back into his trance, and he began to glide his fingertips over gleaming lines of Jim's abdomen. Some indefinite time later, larger hands covered his, guiding them to the waist of Jim's slacks. Removing them was uncomplicated, and they and the shorts underneath were piled with the rest of the clothing.

The rain began in ernest, seemingly an unbroken curtain, until the flash of the natural fireworks illuminated individual drops in diamond brilliance. By then, the thunder and lightening were almost directly over head, coming almost continuously. Naked, head back, Jim stretched up onto the balls of his feet, lifting his arms hgh over his head, head going back.

With physical pain, Blair retreated back into the loft. Quickly he removed his own wet clothes, and prepared himself and the room. As he was finishing, the lights in the city dimmed, flickered, dimmed, went out. It didn't matter to Blair; candles were already lit. Going back to the balcony doors, he called quietly to Jim.

Despite his absorption in the fury of the storm, Jim swivled swiftly, dropping into a crouch, as he peered into the uncertain light of the his home. He saw an angel, framed by a flickering glow, holding out both hands in welcome. Hesitating, only because it didn't seem possible such a vision could want *him*, he came in only when his angel smiled at him.

Almost shyly he took the outstretched hands, and was drawn into a loving hug. "How do you feel, babe?" Blair asked.

Jim considered for a second. He smiled, and pressed a kiss onto the bare shoulder next to him, "Effervescent - like champaign bubbles are just under my skin and working their way to the surface." He spoke with his mouth still on the hot flesh, not really hearing his own words.

Pulling his head up, Blair sampled the raindrops still on Jim's lips, then delved between them. "Hmm, vintage." Blair assured him, and reached for the bath sheets he had brought in. Using brisk movements, he dried the other man, leaving Jim flushed and tingling. When he was done, he dropped the towel to the floor, next to the padding of towels they stood on. After taking another kiss, long and sweet, he whispered, "I'm going to drink you dry." Stepping back, he added, "And I am *not* going to share. I'm going to make that plain, you understand?" Jim's reply was a visible tremor of excitement.

Blair undid one of the earrings he wore, aware of Jim's eyes on his hands, and eased it out of his flesh. When he stretched up, Jim bent down enough that Blair was able to see the piercing in the ear clearly. Not certain if it would work, he put the earring into the hole, and it went in cleanly, fastening without difficulty.

He tugged on it once, in satisfaction, then reached for the small pot he had set within reach. Taking a lock of hair, he dampened the end in his mouth, twisted the wet end into a point, then dipped it in the pot. Wet with body paint, now, Blair used it to paint his Hebrew name on Jim's chest, over his heart. This time, it was Jim who tugged in satisfaction, on the curl, and he helped Blair blot the excess onto a tissue.

Of his own accord, Jim turned, presenting Blair with his back. Sinking onto his knees, letting his hands follow the line of Jim's spine as he did, Blair pressed his face onto the curve of Jim's bottom. He reached again, this time for the lube that had been beside the paint, and coated his fingers. Covering Jim's ass with sucking, biting kisses, Blair probed for the opening to Jim's body. When he found it, he slid one finger in, just the tip. The little hole was as tight as if it had never been used, and Blair's control fragmented at the edges.

Muttering, "Mine," he gently started to work the finger in and out, going deeper each time. When he felt it was loose enough, he added a second, beginning again by barely penetrating, then going deeper and faster. As the third finger began its share of the work, he sucked hard on the skin at the top of the crevasse of Jim's ass, then bit hard enough to leave teeth marks.

All during this, Jim had been making barely audiable 'oh's' of pleasure, holding still from sheer stubborness. But when Blair's teeth left his marked flesh, he gifted Blair with what had been taken from him by force: he slowly folded down onto the floor, until he was kneeling, knees wide-spread, face to the floor, hidden on his forearms.

Blair was momentarily transfixed by this sight of total vulnerability - and trust. He filled his hands with the shape of it, then surged forward to fit his demanding erection to the place it belonged. One thrust, and he was inside, crying out incoherently as he entered. With a shout, Jim accepted him, backing into the next thrust. It wasn't just Blair's control that fragmented, at last, but Blair himself.

Eyes rolled into the back of his head, he lived for each stroke in, died on each stroke out. Superaware of the man under him, even as he lost himself, he angled each motion for the most intense pleasure he could give. Jim met him equally, move for move, saying his name every time, louder and more commanding, until finally it was a joyful roar of release.

The very sound of his name from Jim in that voice was all Blair needed. Everything in him concentrated on the sacred place that held him, then went nova, making the lightening dim.

***

It was the sensation of flying that penetrated his stupor first, and he idly identified it as Jim carrying him before bothering to open his eyes. "Sorry I checked out on you, like that, babe." He nuzzled into the chest under his cheek as he spoke.

"There goes my chance to have my wicked way with your unsuspecting body. Welcome back." After settling him onto the big bed, Jim lay next to him and tried to tangle them into an inseparable knot.

"Something wicked this way comes?" Blair punned, wriggling against the hardness poking his stomach.

"No, just my angel. Loudly and repeatedly," Jim answered seriously. Catching the rim of Blair's ear between his teeth, he nibbled down to the earring left in it, tugging on it with his tongue.

Drawing back enough to see into Jim's eyes, Blair stammered, "I'm no angel, Jim."

"Who else could fight a demon and win?" Jim asked him reasonably.

"Someone who loves you too much to live with the alternative."

A blush climbed in Blair's cheeks as he blurted the truth, but before he could fudge the statement, Jim put a shushing finger on his lips. "Neither one of us have used the words before, Blair, but I do love you."

"And *that* is why we won."

The End