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On the off chance that someone might be wondering, "where is Virg and why isn't she writing? Where are the boys?"Hmm.... Those are good questions with a very long answer. The short version is: I've been blocked and unable to write much of anything for two long and frustrating years. The one thing that I've continued to do at the urging of my wonderful 'snarker' friends is to participate in weekly timed writings whenever possible. Our weekly IRC chats and the wild and wacky topics that we use for our timed writings is the high point of my week. Boyd started posting the results of her timed writings on her page and urged me to join her. She came up with the wonderful title 'Popcorn' for her snippets. I love that... wish I'd thought of it first!So here they are: an assortment of snippets covering several fandoms (mostly TS). I've done some minimal editing, nothing has been betaed. Be prepared for some very rough characterization, dialogue and settings. If you find them unreadable -- you were warned!
Due South:
"Frayze, buddy, I think we're in trouble." The snarling Rottweillers were closing in, the hair between their shoulders standing on end, teeth shining in the half-light. "Stay calm, Ray. They don't want to hurt us. This is strictly a territorial response." "Territorial schmorial, they're planning on having us for lunch!" "They can smell your fear, Ray. You need to think happy, pleasant thoughts and slowly back away." Benton was doing exactly that, backing toward a pile of crates in the corner of the warehouse, as Ray mumbled invective about the probability of happy thoughts at the moment. "I don't know what's worse, Frayze, getting eaten or getting air-conditioned. When those guys find us, they're gonna use us for target practice." Ray was backing up too. They reached the pile of crates at almost the same time. With his usual grace under pressure, Benton turned and scrambled onto the top of the crate directly behind him. Reaching down a hand, he grabbed Ray's collar and lifted the squawking detective up beside him. The dogs launched themselves at the crate, jumping forward at the last minute. One of the Rottweillers managed to sink his teeth into Ray's running shoe, just as Ray was pulling his foot out of danger. Ray aimed his 9 mm at the dog, "I'm gonna shoot you, you crazy, four-legged sack of shit!" They tussled for a moment and Ray's shoe came free. The dog fell backward, chewing angrily on his prize. "Fraser, the son of a bitch got my shoe!" Not pausing to answer, Benton grabbed Ray's arm and pulled him farther up the stack of crates. Just as they reached the top, flattening down side-by-side, the warehouse door was flung open. The barrel of a mini-14 edged its way into the opening. Keeping their heads down was an effort. The Rottweillers howled
with rage and the sound of toe nails skittering across the concrete echoed
through the steel building. Angry shouts and shots rang out.
One of the dogs whimpered, then a ragged scream pierced the air.
The Professionals:
"Dammit!" "Tsk...tsk.... Such language, young man." "I don't give a..." "If you say it, I really will have to put this gun to some good use." "You're having delusions, mate." "Oi, so now I'm your mate? What about last night." "That's what I asked this morning, innit? Didn't seem to care then." "Sunshine, this isn't the time or place. Why don't you take a little kip and we'll talk about it later." "No, we won't talk about it, Bodie. We don't ever talk about it." "Damnit!" "Keep it down. You and your bloody big mouth!" "Watch your language, you cretin. What time is it anyway? I'm gettin' a crick. If we'd waited outside like the Cow told us, instead of you racing in here like you were storming the Bastille, we'd still be all comfy like in me auto." "How was I to know there'd be five of them?" "By waiting in the car for bloody backup!" "Sure, it's what you'd like. Sitting around like a couple of lazy coppers...." "Oh shadup, why don't you? I'm tired of hearing about it. Your mind's like a train always running on one track."
Due South:
The table sat slightly askew in the corner of the room. One of Benton's perfectly polished boots sat on the floor next to it, where the other one was, was anyone's guess. A dirty bare bulb above the table cast the only light. In the dim corner opposite, two men lay on the floor back-to-back. Next to them were two over turned chairs. On closer inspection, it becomes clear that the men are tightly bound together, with their hands behind their backs. "Fraze, what the hell are you doing back there?" "I'm attempting to loosen the ropes, Ray." "Well, cut it the fuck out. You're making mine tighter!" "This may be a little painful, but if you would simply be patient, I'm sure I can --" "No, Ben, you can't. I don't have any blood in my arms now. I don't want to end up with gangrene!" "You sound uncomfortable, Ray." "Christ! What do you think? Plus, I'm so hungry I could gnaw off my own foot right now." "We were just fed." "Well, my yogurt had a fucking fly in it! I don't eat pink shit with a fly in it. I didn't see you rushing to eat mine! What kind of demented kidnappers feed their captives yogurt anyway? You know, this shit only happens when I'm with you, Fraser. I'm thinking, maybe I should catch a clue here...." "As I recall, the kidnappers are acquaintances of yours. And your theory while partially right, does seem to be a little unwieldy when considered in the light of --" "Shut up, Fraze! Besides, they know you too. They're Canadian, aren't they? So, they'll be back soon, don't you have any ideas?" "If you could attempt to reach one of your shoes there might be a chance...." "Why do you need my shoe?" "It's the shoelace that I'm after. I think I have enough slack in these ropes to tie a loop in one end." "And that'd get you what, exactly?" "I believe that I could hook it to that oosik over there, and with a little leverage, I could use it to stretch the ropes." "Fraser... what exactly is an oosik?" Ray flopped as much as he was able, pulling his legs under him and his feet closer to his hands. "It's a piece of bone, Ray. From a Walrus." "No kidding? Why would anybody keep one of those around? Is it some Canadian thing?" Ray grunted and finally got his shoe close enough to begin working at the lace. "It's a -- bit of a conversation piece." "You start conversations over a piece of Walrus bone? What part of the walrus does it come from?" Silence. "Ben?" "It comes from the male walrus...."
The Sentinel:
Jim gazed blearily at the two way mirror that separated him from his tormentors. Whatever drug was in the last injection was powerful. He felt like he was burning up inside. Sweat poured off his face and ineffectual as it was, he tried to wipe it off on his shoulder. If only his hands were free, but no amount of tugging and pulling could budge the straight jacket. The nondescript voice behind the speakers began again, "Mr. Ellison, how are you feeling? You seem to be a little under the weather today." "You think you're quite a jester don't you, asshole?" He snarled. Forcing himself backwards along the floor he reached the padded wall. With incredible effort he managed to brace himself against the wall and push himself up until he was standing. Stepping away from the wall left him reeling, balancing delicately on feet that felt like they were a million miles away. Jim's legs felt like rubber bands... and he knew that his feeble show of rebellion was going to be short lived. With the last of his energy he launched himself headfirst into the mirror. His forehead rebounded off the plexiglass, then his shoulder. The pain lancing behind his tightly clenched eyes was all consuming. Flashes of red hot agony dulled his vision and his hearing as he slid down to the floor again. Blinking slowly, Jim came back to awareness. For a moment he wished that he'd stayed under just a little longer. How long had it been since he'd slept? Had anything to drink or eat? The light suddenly seemed to burn brighter, making his eyes water as he squinted trying to focus on the sounds coming from the door. The noises were so loud they beat against the unending pain in his head, until he thought they would deafen him. His dials and controls were all gone. With a horrendous sound the door swung open, Two technicians stood motionless in the opening. They both held clipboards, and were jotting down notes as they observed him. The taller one came closer, moving slowly as if he were approaching a wild animal. Jim grimaced at the thought. He felt like little more than an animal. "Come to check the laboratory experiment?" The sneer in his voice fell flat. "We need to get your vitals." The shorter technician pulled a thermometer from his pocket.... "I hope you know better than to think you're going to stick that thing in me, anywhere."
The Sentinel: Jim and Blair are on vacation (writer's choice
of location). Start with the following dialogue:
"Whoa, man did you get a look at that?" "Come on, Chief. I thought you'd left that attitude back home." Blair pushed his reflecto, mirrored sunglasses (the really cool ones that cost twice as much as he'd admitted to Jim) up his nose and continued to gawk. Really, he wasn't a prude; after all his hidden, super-secret, much maligned middle name was L.C. Which stood for LoveChild. (Naomi had so much bad karma to atone for.) Being a child of the 60's he was all for free love. He just wasn't ready for free-for-all love. He could swear the group writhing under the shade of the date palm had at least sixteen legs and twenty pairs of arms. There was no way those people weren't double jointed... in every joint. A steely hand gripped the back of his neck and dragged his head around. "Listen, Chief, you can't keep this up. You're going to give yourself eyestrain." Jim's eyes glinted in the strong sunlight as they passed over him. "Among other things." "Yeah, well, I noticed you did a double take too! I can't believe you booked this place for our vacation, man! Just wait until we get back home. Nobody's ever going to believe our vacation slide show." Jim kept pulling him by the neck down the soft, sandy path to the beach. "You show pictures and nobody'll ever find the body. How the hell was I supposed to know that 'Natural Element Rainbow Resort' meant a little more than nudity? I did the bathhouse scene in the '70's and god knows it was tame compared to this. His partner continued mumbling to himself as he hustled them along. "Jim, Jim, Jim! Wait a sec.... Get a look at that!" Jim froze in his tracks. From the corner of his eye, Blair watched Jim's face go from shock to incredulity to... the frozen, slack-jawed blankness of a zone. For once he didn't care. The scene next to the gazebo was too amazing. Was that even anatomically possible? It couldn't be. And the little guy was big. Scary big. Yeah, scary was exactly the word for him. "Jim, man, how can he have enough blood in his body to uh, make that
thing
work?" Ignoring the lack of response from his frozen lover, Blair's
feet drew him closer to the scene. "That's got to be a record, don't
you think? I know there's someplace where they keep track of statistics
like that.... You wouldn't happen to have a tape measure in the beach
bag, would 'ya? Nah, I'll just go on guesstimation. What
would you say? Thirteen inches? Fourteen?"
The Sentinel:
His ass closed around my dick and the fierce, hot tightness almost made me blow like a geyser. Holding my breath and gritting my teeth, I slowly eased farther inside. Jim moaned and bucked beneath me. "Easy, guy, easy... I'll take this slow. Just keep breathing through it." Those luscious cheeks clenched and flexed and clenched again. He heaved a huge sigh, I could feel him gradually begin to relax. "That's it. You're doin' fine." My words were choked and breathy, definitely not my 'guide voice'. But who the hell cared. All I could think about was the feeling of my dick in his ass. And it felt good. It felt better than good, it was the only place I ever wanted it to be. Hell, I felt like I wanted to climb up inside him and never come out. All the way in finally, my arms gave out and I was resting heavily against his back. Every tiny twitch of muscle, every breath he took rocked me to the core. Jim moaned and the vibrations reverberated right down to my balls. "Burns, Chief." His voice didn't sound any more steady than mine. "Let me get some lube in there." Reluctantly, I pulled out. His tight hole quivered as I eased some more Slick inside him. I realized I has huffing like a freight train, just the sight of my fingers disappearing inside him, his tissues stretching all pink and welcoming, was almost enough to send me off. With a shaking hand, I relubed the condom then slid inside him again. "Yeah, babe. That's so good." Rocking slowly, I inched in and out the tiniest bit. This time when Jim moaned there was no hint of pain or fear in the sound. Bolder now, I pulled out and thrust back in. "Unggg. Y-yeah. That's good, Chief. That's reeeally good." He was getting into it. Just in time.
The Sentinel:
"Will you just cut it out!" He shifted uncomfortably in the lumpy seat. The worn upholstery was slick; it felt as if any wrong move would send him sliding onto the floor. "No, I won't cut it out. There's nobody here to see. What good is coming to one of these things if I can't cop a feel or two." A hand reaching for his groin punctuated the statement. "Get that any closer and I swear I'll cut it off." He thought about dumping his soft drink, ice and all into the lap of the man seated next to him. "What do you think you're doing? This is supposed to be a stakeout. You know? What part of that term aren't you understanding?" He ignored the hand, which after a momentary retreat, was creeping around behind his shoulders. Fingers brushed across his nape, sending goosebumps down his spine. The arm that finally settled around him was warm and it was hard not to relax into the touch. "That's better. Just keep it clean, okay?" A muffled grunt was the only acknowledgment he got. Five minutes later, he was squirming again. The hand that had been resting lightly on his shoulder was now running up and down his upper arm, finger tips lightly caressing a tingling trail of awareness along his now sensitized skin. "That's enough!" He meant to whisper, but unfortunately there was a break in action in the film and his words came out in a hiss that carried through the quiet theater. Holding his breath and praying for patience. He refused to look over at his partner. Said partner had wisely removed his busy fingers from the danger zone. Long minutes passed with no more groping, and he relaxed a little, munching the greasy popcorn that was so much better than anything made at home. He was just taking a sip of pop when the roving fingers settled possessively around his cock. The screech that followed was piercing. His cup flew into the air landing upside down all over the lap of his partner. "God damnit! You deserved that you... you... you masher! Blair leaped from his seat and stormed from the theater leaving his bemused sentinel behind.
The Sentinel:
The loft was unnaturally quiet. Blair stumbled coming out of his room, wondering what had happened to the lights. It was still early, only a little after 9 pm. For a moment he thought he was alone, but in the dim light from the window, he saw the shadowy outline of Jim's head and shoulders rising above the back of the couch. "Jim." The question in his tone was unmistakable. Not a movement or sound answered his query. Blair made his way carefully around the sofa, his eyes gradually adapting to the lack of light enough to keep from stumbling again. He strained to see if Jim had zoned sitting alone in the dark. As he sat on the coffee table, the faint glitter of light reflected from Jim's eyes, showing him that the sentinel wasn't zoned. He simply wasn't choosing to respond. Blair swallowed hard. "I know we said a lot of things that, maybe we wouldn't have said if we weren't angry. I hope you understand that. It was the heat of the moment...." His voice trailed off when he realized that he wasn't raising any reaction. "I know you didn't mean it when you said you were leaving. I know that. It just made me so angry. Here I'm finally finishing the academy, going through all this shit, just to be able to ride along with you as a real partner. It made me crazy for a minute. I couldn't think beyond that. "There's something going on here that you've got to explain to me. 'Cause I'm not getting it. What's happened, Jim? What's wrong? Did something happen today?" He waited, desperately hoping that Jim would make sense. After all this time, after all his studies, he knew Jim, better than Jim knew himself. Even the fiasco with Alexa had been reasonable, once he sat down and thought about how he should have been extrapolating the data, he knew exactly what was going on in that beautiful prehistoric brain. But, the Jim that walked in the door after work that day was a stranger. This Jim was someone he'd never met before, someone he didn't understand, couldn't understand. Jim stood slowly. Not answering, not saying a word. He made his way unerringly up the stairs to his loft room and returned in moments with a duffle over his shoulder. Returning to Blair's side, he carefully laid his shoulder holster and side arm on the coffee table next to Blair. After a moments hesitation, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his badge, placing it next to the holster. "Give these to Simon." Blair launched himself at Jim, gripping his arms hard. "Don't do this, Jim. You've got to talk to me. We're a team now." He backed off a step, dropping his hands from Jim's tense biceps. "This isn't who you are. I know who you are and who you were meant to be. Protecting is what you do. You can't turn your back on being a sentinel. Don't turn your back on me... on us." His voice broke. "Maybe I can't be that person anymore," Jim hissed, before turning and walking out the door.
The Sentinel:
The vision floated into Major Crimes, soundlessly gliding in on gilded, slippered feet. Yet somehow the impact echoed. The restless clicking of keyboards slowed and stopped. Squeaking and creaking ergonomic chairs ground to a halt. The drone of voices droned no more. She moved with a shimmy, pure poetry in motion. Sequins sparkled, winking star-bright explosions up and down the tall figure. The skin-tight midnight blue gown clung to a form that was too bold to be ignored. Larger than life. Long dark hair curved in soft curls caressing a face that was... almost familiar. Blair's stomach pitched and for a minute he felt the familiar nauseating vertigo that accompanied an express elevator ride down ten floors. "J-Jim?" Jim didn't answer him. He simply sat there gaping. Resisting an urge to kick the stupid look off his partner's face, Blair cleared his throat. "Can we help you with something, Mis... uh Ma'am?" Hot blood raced to his face making his scalp itch with prickles of freshly beading sweat. The voice that answered his question was a throaty, husky rasp... sending goose bumps dancing down his spine. "I'm here to talk to Jim." The long lashed eyes that met his were a brilliant, shining jade. Blair swallowed thickly and nodded toward his partner. Jim glared, his brow furled into a broad swath of crinkles across his forehead. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Jim's harsh insult filled the breach, drawing near silent gasps from around the room. The vision tossed a lock of hair off her generous breast and over her shoulder. The shape of the graceful hand caught Blair's gaze. If he hadn't been sure before the broad palm and blunt yet slender fingers confirmed his suspicions. As gorgeous as she was, she wasn't a she after all. "Is that anyway to greet family? You should be glad to see me, Jimmy." The vision's eyes glittered a hint of hurt and malice. Long fingers rose to toy with the antique silver locket that nestled in her cleavage. "Gracie wanted you to have this. You knew that didn't you?" "Alex, this is not the time or the place." Jim's voice was a menacing hiss. Blair noticed Jim's normally pale skin had taken on a pasty, gray-white tone. His hands were clenched in tight fists. She lifted her hands to the back of her neck and unfastened the heavy chain. Turning the locket over and releasing the catch, it sprang open to reveal the tiny miniature portrait within. Mother and son.... Madonna and child.
AU's R Us: How do we keep 'em Jim and Blair when they're not?
Pick a fantasy location, historical setting, futuristic scenario, or something
that strikes your fancy. Setting and backstory are important... but
keeping the characters canon is important too. So, let your imagination
"You there, Captain.... " The lone prisoner, standing separate from the rest, refused to answer, keeping his eyes level, staring off toward the horizon while standing rigidly at attention. The dreaded pirate, Bloody Beau, Captain of the SeaWolf and scourge of the Spanish Main stood in front of the captives, hands on his hips. His eyes narrowed and his crew shuddered at the look that came over his face. They knew that whatever was going on behind those smokey orbs spelled the end of any resistance the Captain of the captured British Ship, Amazing Grace might show. Beau stepped purposefully around the Captain, taking in the blue jacket that so perfectly matched the color of his prisoner's eyes and the snug white breeches that hugged the long legs and muscular thighs. "You have the look of an arrogant man, Captain. Too much arrogance for your new found position in life. Now that I have your booty in my hold, I have little need for your crew. The sharks should eat well tonight!" A shudder shook the frame of the tall man, but still he refused to speak a word. Beau's brow lowered and he raised his voice, calling to his second in command. "Prepare to hang his first officer from the yard arm!" He leaned forward and spoke directly to the Captain again, "We will hang them one by one Captain and then we'll see how silent you can be!" The crowded group of prisoners eyed the pirates with fear, clustering even closer together. Making short work of it, Beau's second in command took hold of the tall, dark officer and dragged him to the mast. A moan broke out from among the ranks of British sailors. "Hold!" The Captain shouted, his hands clenched in hard white-knuckled fists. "What do you want from me, you scoundrel!" Beau leaned forward, his cutlass tip tracing along the strained tendon of his captive's muscular neck. "I'll start with your name.... Later, alone in my cabin, we'll see what else you have to offer." The cold blue eyes flickered for a moment and the rigid back went impossibly more straight. "Do with me what you like, but spare my men. Unlike your crew they are all good men and honest sailors." The cutlass dug into the pale skin of the Captain's throat. "And your name would be?" "Captain James Ellison of her Majesty's Navy."
The Sentinel:
They drifted slowly through the alternating light and dark as overhanging trees cast them into shadow. The canoe needed little guidance on the wide and lazy river. Blair reached over the side and cupped a handful of water. "It's so clean here. Do you think it'd be safe to drink?" Jim came out of his half drowsing lethargy slouched down in the stern just in time to keep from letting go of his paddle. "Hum? Guess again Chief. Appearances can be deceiving...." Blair snickered and cast the water over his dozy partner, "Well at least it's good for this!" The water sprayed out in a thousand sparkling drops before it hit Jim square in the face and trickled down his naked chest. Cold as hell and bracing enough to jerk him wide awake. "You know, I've told you a thousand times... my motto is: don't get mad, get even!" He choked down a chuckle as he launched himself at the prow. The canoe rocked insanely for a moment while Blair howled with laughter. Pinned and terrified of making any quick moves that might overturn the tippy craft, Blair struggled without any real will. His hands rapidly switched from pushing Jim away to hastily undoing the buttons of his jeans and pushing them down Jim's hips. Not to be outdone, Jim showed off his skill in covert action... divesting Blair from his fishing vest and t-shirt with hardly a motion from the canoe. The unwanted garments flew over the side of the boat sailing into the river a yard or two upstream. "Hey! That was a brand new vest!" Jim husked into Blair's ear, "Don't' worry about it, I'll get you another one." He pressed his hips forward into the cradle of his lover's pelvis and groaned. Not to be outdone, Blair quickly shimmied out of his jeans, rocking the little canoe again, making Jim clutch at the sides. His murmur was throaty, "It's okay... I'll forgive you just this once." Mouths and tongues collided, seeking and searching, hunting for the tenderness of palate and the smooth surface of tooth and gum. Jim lazily traced the edge of Blair's lower lip with his tongue, then placed a soft kiss on each of his eyelids. "I'll never forgive you if you land us in the water, Chief." His chuckle was muffled against the tender skin of Blair's throat. They soon discovered tippy nature of their hideaway kept them from engaging in anything too strenuous. Jim made due with a brief taste of the sweet precome gathered at the tip of Blair's swollen cock after Blair's frantic thrusting convincing him that sterner measures were called for. Pinning Blair securely into the bottom of the canoe he flexed his hips, mimicking the gentle sway of the canoe as he thrust against Blair.
The Sentinel:
"Jim, Jim, Jim! You awake? Hey... Jim, you awake?" Jim ignored the irritating buzzing in his ear and stayed determinedly turned away from his lover. Frustrated, yet determined, Blair began again punctuating his comments with judicious pokes to the ribs with his boney index finger. "Jim. Come on Jim. I know you're awake, you're not snoring or drooling or humping the mattress." "Enough, Sandburg!!" Jim flipped over as he roared his irritation at his bedmate. The roar was followed by a wimper, as his movements pulled the skin on his injured posterior taut. The whole of his rump and upper thighs was red, swollen and mottled with road rash. "I can't sleep Jim." Blair ignored the painful sounds Jim was making. The selfish bastard thought nothing of rolling over and catching some shut eye, leaving him to stay awake alone. "I have a concussion, Jim. C.O.N.C.U.S.S.I.O.N. As in, I can't sleep for another -- " He turned to look at the bedside clock, making sure he bounced just enough to make Jim wince again, "-- nine hours." "I don't give a damn! I'm tired. I hurt. I want to sleep." "But I can't sleep, Jim and I need some company." "Do I have to remind you why you have a concussion and I have a raw backside?" "It seemed like a good idea at the time?" Jim ignored the minor pain in his ass to grab the major pain in his ass by the shoulders and pull him closer until they were nose to nose. "I want to sleep. I hurt. I have to file an insurance report in the morning. One where I explain why I went off the road, while doing all of 25 miles per hour, with no traffic, no distractions, dry and bare pavement. What do you suggest, 'Mr. I want to grab my boyfriend's dick while he's driving the motorcycle'?" "Geez, Jim.... You need to relax a little. I think you're about to rupture a blood vein in your neck." Blair let out a dirty chuckle as he dived in for some serious suck face. "You know -- "Blair broke away from the kiss, licking and nipping his way across Jim's jaw until he had his lips pressed behind his lover's ear. "-- you could go for the stray cat defense. It could have been a panther vision." "No, it wasn't a goddamned vision. It was the feeling of having the fucking zipper dragged across my dick." Jim shuddered, his arms wrapping around Blair as his hands traced gentle circles across Blair's back. "Oh man. I told you it was an accident! I wasn't expecting that bump. Here, let me kiss it all better." Blair wiggled out of Jim's arms and worked his way down the long torso, placing tender, moist kisses on pecs, abs and ribs. Following the thin line of downy fur, he stopped, placing his final kiss at the base of Jim's cock. Jim's very hard and very red cock.
X-Files
One day he just walked in my office and said to me, "So, what exactly do I have to do to get you to stop pretending you don't want me?" At least he took the precaution of locking the door behind him. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as I'd always thought. No, that couldn't be right. He was as crazy as I thought. Worse... this was a guy who let a whacked out psychiatric charlatan drill holes in his head. And, I had real fear that he'd enjoyed it. Leadership is nine tenths waiting around for decisions to make themselves. I am a master at letting subordinates swing in the wind until they are forced to make a move and then taking credit for the results. "Of course I want you, Agent Mulder. I want you to get your reports in on time, I want you to submit budgets that make sense and for once even balance. Hell, I want you to show up at the annual Halloween party wearing something other than that stupid alien costume." Good old J. Edgar would have been proud of me. I swear he blanched. That's when I noticed the slight trembling in his hands. Those amazing gold green eyes were fixed on the floor and his 'GQ' model's posture had collapsed into a sloppy slouch. The insane bastard actually meant it. Frightening. "I guess it was just my imagination. I really though you... wanted me." His indrawn breath sounded suspiciously like a sob. I'm a hard man, but I'm no monster. Besides, he's actually one of the best profilers of the decade, if not the century. So, I weighed my options and the firm outline of his nicely rounded buttocks in his Armani slacks. What the hell. In two seconds I had him up against the wall, one fist wrapped around his hideous imported Chinese silk tie and the other buried in his overtly bad, $40 designer haircut. He moaned like a horny cheerleader and I chuckled. He really wasn't half bad. Pressing my hips into his pelvis, I rubbed against him and just before sucking a three alarm hickey into the side of his neck, I whispered, "Let's start with me fucking you into the floor. And if you're not too raw after that I'll see if I can get really original." He groaned and shuddered, putty in my hands. "Sir... God. I-I've wanted this so long, I need you so much -- " I could tell he was winding up for a soliloquy. The obvious cure was to tongue fuck his mouth into oblivion. Worked like a charm. Two minutes after that I had him down on the carpet, naked and whimpering. You know, if he hadn't made the first move, I might have missed out on all this. Who knew the way to finally shape up my most wayward agent was to bury my cock in his rosy butt? Think I'll offer up some suggestions at the next management skills building meeting.
The Sentinel:
"Say something." "What do you want me to say?" "Start with, 'I'm sorry I doubted you'." "I'm sorry I doubted you." "How about, 'I'm sorry I ignored you and ran into this vault'." "You really are pushing things here." "Me? Me?!" ..... "Stop that! I can hear your teeth grinding. You know what the dentist said; you'll end up losing your enamel and having all your molars pulled. Who's going to trust a superhero with no teeth?" "Smast sofbth...." "Sorry, my ordinary human hearing didn't catch that. Care to repeat it? First, let me warn you, I carry a gun now and even without super sensitive eyesight I can still shoot off your kneecap." "You are such a little smart ass." "Better than being a big dumb ass." "Cut it out! I told you to let me go in first. I told you that these old basements are easy to get lost in and filled with pitfalls. Did you listen? Of course not. How about me screaming at you, 'Don't go in the vault!', couldn't you hear that?" "You know I won't talk to you when you get like this." "Whaaaat!?" "You heard me. When you're ready to calm down and discuss things like an adult, you can bring this up again." .... "You didn't really think that Cassie was good looking did you?" "Are you kidding? What were you looking at? The woman had fantastic tatas." "That's the first thing you notice, is it?" "Not always, sometimes I notice a nice set of pecs first." "Really?" .... "So how long do you think we've been in here?" "About two and a half hours." "Do you know how big the vault is?" "Yeah, right after they slammed the door shut, I calculated it using the echo from your bitching." "Ha, ha. So how big is it." "About ten by fifteen feet, the ceiling is good and high, 12 feet." "So, is it all solid? As in... airtight?" "Yeah, couldn't you feel it when the door shut? The pressure did a number on my ear drums." "How long before someone finds us?" "It'll be hours before anyone comes looking, Chief." "It's not big enough is it?" "Not big enough, Chief... not nearly big enough." .... "Hey, I just thought of something." "Don't talk, Chief. Save your air." "No, really. I've got to say this." "So shoot already." "I'm glad I'm here. I mean, I'm glad we're here. Together, I mean." "Yeah, I gotcha, Blair." "Hey, cool, you called me Blair." "That's your name isn't it?" "I wonder sometimes if you know." "Like you'd ever let me forget?" .... "Just keep holding me, Jim." "I'll never let you go."
The Professionals/The Sentinel:
Bodie watched as sweat beaded and rolled down the face of the young man writhing on the bed. The lad was really getting into it now. He leaned forward and exhaled a gentle breath through pursed lips, watching the softly curling pubic hair ripple and the flared head of the boy's cock pulse and swell impossibly harder. So silent. Crystal drops of precome welled out of the slit, only to fall like tears across the corrugated surface of the lad's flat stomach. "Please! Don't tease!" He stifled the unwise laughter that threatened to bubble out of him. It had taken the Yank long enough to finally say something. Their love making was always done without a lot of words. Vanity had forced him to push well beyond his own needs, pushed him to force the plea from his normally silent bed partner. Taking pity on the young man he leaned forward on his elbows between the wide flung legs and took the very tip of the cock between his lips. The bitter sweet taste of precome teased his tongue and he delved deeper into the slit searching more. His fingers sought out the delicate rounds of the lad's testicles, gently rolling them back and forth in their silky pouch. "Bodie.... Damn it!" This time he didn't bother bottling up his laughter and he threw back his head with a shout. Pale blue eyes glared up at him, with an accusing glint to their depths. Getting back to the business at hand, he swallowed up the entire shaft, greedily taking the length and breadth that forced his tongue to flatten and his throat to open. Moans and threshing were the only sounds to be heard, as Bodie coxed his lover to climax. In the final muscle clenching thrust there was a gasp and a hard sobbing exhale of breath that might almost have been a death cry. La petite morte. The little death. Truer words were never spoken when it came to Jim. He'd grown used to the long moments of stillness that marked Jim's final topple into ecstacy. Once again Bodie thanked whatever stars had led this young military man into his arms and his bed. Their time had been brief, yet sweeter than the sweetest summer fruit of the vine. "Ah, Jimmy mate, you do my heart good." Lifting himself up onto his knees, he grasped the long legs and pushed them forward, until they were hooked over his shoulders. With gentle determination he breached the opening that waited between the hard muscled buttocks and pushed until he was firmly seated all the way to the balls. The rhythm of his passion took over, plunging him into the ancient rhythm of advance, retreat, advance. Too keyed up by the long wait to last, he came with a joyful shout. The room was growing darker, the light from the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the bed. Bodie hugged Jim tighter and pulled the duvet closer around them. It felt so good to have his warm body close, to feel the softness of Jim's close cropped hair on his shoulder. It wasn't hard to put thoughts of what a head-full of much longer, curling locks would feel like, far from his mind.
Highlander:
The crowd glittered in the flickering lights of the torches that lit the trendy garden party. Like a assembly of proud peacocks they posed and preened in their colorful designer clothing, as brittle and transparent as the fine crystal champagne flutes they held in their hands. Methos circled the groups of chattering socialites, his air of casual relaxation enhanced by his understated Seville Row suite and open, collarless silk shirt. He ignored the eyes that followed him, meeting the facile greetings of acquaintances with bemused nods as he discreetly searched the crowd. The tingle of presence thrummed through his nerves, yet his prey was nowhere in sight. Methos suppressed the urge to sigh. It was his own fault, he knew it. The problem was that at no time in his five centuries of experience had he ever dealt with the situation he currently found himself in. It had started as a lark. After so many years since his last contact with the broody Scot, he'd decided to break with his normal persona. Thinking that the cure for the ennui that dogged him would be to once again become someone else, someone more exciting than the low-key existence he'd favored of late. He ignored the voices that told him that it would do nothing to end the dreams of what might have been, that had haunted him for more than two decades. It surprised him not at all how swiftly he'd established himself as the brilliant new artistic talent in the social circles of Europe. Considered a wizard of style and taste, the decadent and the jaded flocked to his angry imagery, heralding him as the most innovative newcomer since Warhol in the last century. Fame was a two edged sword. His instant celebrity finally attract the attention of a semi well-known antique dealer from Paris, but only after his life was so fully wrapped up in the social whirl that it was almost impossible breakaway and meet with McLeod in private. Discreet inquiries as to where Mac might be staying while in London, led him nowhere. The last two times he'd thought he had the highlander cornered, the elusive Scot had slipped from between his fingers. Admittedly the rather crowded circumstances, not so different from tonight's fete were not conducive to the kind of meeting he had planned. It was still galling to find that for some reason, though Mac was willing to attend these gatherings, he stayed on the outskirts of the crowd and ghosted off long before Methos could corner him. He finally caught sight of a dark silhouette outlined against the greenery that marked the entrance to the box hedge maze at the edge of the garden. Something about the tilt of the head, the shape of the shoulders held his attention. Hastening through the crowd, he abandoned his typically languid pace and ignored the looks of surprise and disdain his jostling left behind. Arriving at the entrance to the maze, he found it deserted. The passage was narrow and lit with small pathway lights at ground level. He had no trouble making his way deeper between the hedges, following the course faultlessly to the center. A fountain stood in the center clearing, with a bench beside it. Standing gazing at the shadowed statuary, Duncan had his back to him. Without turning, Duncan said, "I wondered how long it would take you. You seem to know your way quite well." "It helps that I helped to design this one...." The dark head slowly nodded. Methos couldn't help but notice that the Duncan's hair was longer than ever. The short cut he'd secretly despised was gone and the luxuriant curls caught back in a silver Celtic knot cascaded almost to the small of Mac's back. His hands ached with the need to reach out and touch the silken strands, and an answering ache grew in his chest. "I never expected you to be so much of a wallflower, Mac. I've been spotting you lately at these little functions, but you never seem to stick around long enough for me to talk to you." Methos couldn't miss the stiffening of the long back as Mac squared his shoulders and turned around. "I wasn't sure you wanted to talk to me. It's not like you haven't known where to find me." "It's not as easy as you might think. Besides, have you thought that I might be feeling the same way? Wondering if you wanted to see me?" His eyes caressed the planes and surfaces of the face that had changed so much and yet was still the same. As it was with their kind, no new lines or strands of gray marked the passage of time. It was the eyes that were different. Once so clear and innocent, or fired with the passions of youth and justice, they were dimmed now by more than the absence of light. "I thought we were friends. I wasn't the one who left without a forwarding address." Methos stepped forward with a small half swallowed sigh. Without thought his hand reached out until it settled upon Mac's shoulder. His courage surged when he felt the trembling beneath his hand. Whatever else was between them now, the same shivering anticipation still marked their touches. "I didn't think it mattered, Mac. It was time for me to go. You seemed to have things well in hand with Amanda, and I was ready to try something new. Something with a little less strife than life tends to have around you." The moment the words left his lips, he knew they were a mistake. Too late to call them back, too late to try to soften their intent. The dark eyes that a moment ago had met his so candidly dropped. The expression tightened and then blanked.
The Sentinel:
The night was warm, but had the unmistakable feeling of fall underlying the heat. Shadows blanketed the living room as twilight fell. Blair began switching on lights, wondering what was keeping Jim so long. Usually a quick shower and change of clothes before a night out, meant about fifteen minutes to his oh so orderly, and decisive partner. Just how long could it take to shower, shave that granite chin and slip into fresh dockers and a pullover? Blair had showered first, giving him extra time to let his hair dry naturally, since even with the diffuser on the hair dryer left him looking like Cousin It's taller half-brother. Deciding what to wear was simple. He'd sprung for a new pair of shrink-to-fits with his first paycheck as official consultant. Black for a change of pace. His blue silk turtle neck clung to the newly defined lines of his chest, something he had Jim and endless hours hefting weights to thank for. Over it all he was wearing the black bomber jacket that Jim gave him three months ago for his 30th birthday. Running his fingertips down the sleeve, he couldn't help but smile at the smooth, butter soft texture. Even after taking the time to fiddle with putting his earrings back in, after their long sabbatical in tucked away in the nightstand, still hadn't killed enough time... Jim wasn't ready yet. Pacing idly across the room, he wondered if it was a mistake to have suggested going out tonight. Or at least to have suggested going out to the Pink Flamingo. Maybe Jim was having a crises of nerves or something. He heaved a shuddering sigh and then cast a guilty glance toward the bathroom. The water had stopped running ages ago, and who knew if his Sentinel was listening? Just when he had decided to give it up and yell out for Jim that he'd changed his mind, the bathroom door opened. As Jim walked into the living room, Blair thought for a moment that his heart had stopped. Who the hell was this guy? Standing there idly, with his weight resting on one leg and one hip thrust out, was the most fuckable man Blair had ever laid eyes on. Jim smiled shyly at Blair and did a slow pirouette. Skin tight leather pants rested low on his hips, circled by a heavy black leather belt adorned with silver studs and a heavy silver buckle. The pants were so tight they looked like a second skin, skimming down legs that were so long, they had to reach clear up to his lover's armpits. In the midst of the turn, Blair couldn't help noticing the crease in the seat that cupped buttocks so smoothly firm, he was sure Jim could crack walnuts with his ass. On his feet were heavy black biker boots, with silver chains buckled across the instep and arch. The heels gave Jim a completely unnecessary two inches of height, and explained why his already long legs suddenly looked so much longer. Above the hip skimming pants was a skintight, black mesh tank top that came inches from reaching his navel. The band of flesh showing around the bottom begged for human touch, and drew Blair's eyes to Jim's well defined six-pack. It also left bare the 'treasure trail' of hair that arrowed down from Jim's navel right down to where it disappeared behind the silver buckle. Blair let out his breath with a huge exhalation. There was no way... no fucking way. "So, Chief. You like what you see? Is this okay for the Pink Flamingo?" "No, no, no, no, no. It is so not okay. What the fuck are you thinking? You can't possibly imagine...." Jim raised his arm and rested his hand against the support post in between the kitchen and living area. Helplessly, Blair's eyes followed the flex of muscle and bone. His tongue slipped out to moisten his lips as he visually traced the line of blood vessels that delineated the powerful forearms. "What's wrong? I thought this would be okay. I'm even wearing the earring you gave me on Valentine's Day." Jim turned his head so the large fake diamond glittered. "It was a joke Jim. A joke gift." "I wish you'd just spit it out. I can't look that bad." "You know, sometimes I wish you were back in the closet". Jim's mouth gaped open. "What?" "You heard me. No fucking way you are going anywhere dressed like that!" Blair had some small inkling he was being worse than unreasonable. Too bad. Reasonable had taken a long break and unreasonable was feeling mighty damn righteous at the moment. The skin over Jim's cheekbones turned a bright shade of pink. "But this is what you wanted, wasn't it? All that talk about not hiding, about being who I am. You were the one who convinced me that it was time to forget about appearances!" "Appearances! Right, exactly! You are not appearing like that anywhere. As a matter of fact you can just march right upstairs, right now, and get that outfit off." "You don't want to go out?" "NO! I don't want to fucking go out!" Jim's face fell. He sighed and turned and headed up the stairs. Blair gave him a 30 second head start. "On second thought, wait for me. I'll give you a hand getting undressed." He grinned to himself. What the hell. The Pink Flamingo would be there next weekend.
The Sentinel:
There were times when he felt that it wasn't enough to simply make love to his partner. It wasn't enough to touch, to feel, to kiss, to fuck. Times like this. Sixteen long, miserable days. Empty days. Days filled with endless mundane crap that he somehow found interesting before he found his lover. Before he discovered that there were 'more things in heaven and earth, Horatio'. Now Jim was home and they were in bed... and somehow touching just wasn't enough. He wanted to consume, to inhale, to absorb every skin cell, every muscle, every bone. Wanted to bury himself in the length and breadth and depth of everything that was Jim. Driven to take Jim inside himself while he surrounded and annihilated him. Needing to fill Jim with every thing he was, would ever be. Worship was the only concept that was big enough to encompass the thing inside him. Worship of Jim as men once worshiped Eros. Eros -- the lust that drove men and gods to sex. Eros the oldest god; responsible for the coming-together of all things. For him, Jim was all of that and more. The first principal of his universe. As ancient as the sea and the sky and encompassing everything. He came trembling with his passion to his love and threw himself on the alter of Jim while he sang praises to his Eros. With lips and tongue and hands and cock he worshiped his love. And knew inside his heart that it wasn't enough, because his frail human body and his feeble human mind could never circumscribe all the feelings in his soul. Sometime later he would fall into an exhausted sleep having spent every ounce of his long contained passion and longing and lust upon the body of his beloved. Sated and happy, yet knowing that no matter what burning offering he gave up to his god, it would never be enough.
Highlander:
Koeus was old. From a past far beyond the time of even Methos. Less than a legend, more than a myth. Where he sprang from, no one knew. The watchers first awareness that he existed was the puzzling disappearance of older immortals, even those who had opted out of the game for millennium. What was happening was a puzzle, since there were no witnesses, hardly any indication that challenges were occurring except for the mayhem left behind. Shattered glass, broken rubble scored with electrical fire... and missing immortals were the only clues. That and a name written in an ancient script that no one could decipher except a relatively unknown researcher and linguist named Adam Pierson. "Come on... answer the bloody phone, Highlander." Methos crouched in the phone booth, unaware of the seeping damp, from the mist that had fallen. "Shite!" The lanky man flung the handset at the receiver and stormed down the street, sinking deeper into his oversized coat. The loft was empty; no one Methos contacted had heard from Duncan in days. The last person to speak to his friend had been Joe. Joe who was morosely waiting at the bar, waiting for word that Duncan was among the missing... and assumed dead. The hell with that! Mac was still alive, he felt it in his bones. Even Joe had to admit that given Mac's quest to avenge the death of his oldest friends including Amanda, Gina and Robert, he could have simply gone to ground. It wasn't like Mac not to check in, but it had been a very long time since anyone had seen Mac in a killing rage. Not since the dark days of Cullodon. Stopping at the deserted intersection, Methos glanced up at the darkened building that housed Mac's loft. He'd broken in yesterday, finding nothing except the missing katana and overcoat. The T-Bird was still in the garage, so wherever he'd gone, he was on foot. And there was a good chance he was still in Seacouver since Robert and Gina had disappeared from the airport shortly after their arrival. With a sigh, he turned away, heading in the direction of the waterfront. It was as good as any place else. The sudden tingling along his spine alerted him to the nearness of another of his kind. For a fleeting moment he thought he felt the familiar vibrations that indicated his sometime lover.... But this was deeper, darker, a sullen throbbing that set his teeth on edge. Turning into the opening of the first alleyway he came to he stepped into the shadows and waited to see who the emanation belonged to. Koeus was enormous. Every bit as ancient as the watchers had guessed and he had known. Draped in a dark leather coat, he might have passed for an ordinary mortal. Except for the antediluvian blade he held in his right fist, and the half-mad gleam in his eyes. Mist swirled around him, shrouding him in cold and the odor of death. Never one to deny that sometimes there was no choice, though there were many who would doubt it, Methos stepped out of the shadow and addressed his nemesis. "At long last we meet again." "You!" The giant threw back his head and laughed. "I thought all the old ones were dead and I was only left with little fish!" "No, I still survive." "Not for much longer. Cur! It will be a pleasure to crush your puny bones beneath my heel." Methos drew his broadsword. "You might be surprised, Koeus. A wise man never counts his victories before the battle is begun." (Oops! Ran out of time... got bitten by a major plot bunny. Maybe someday I'll make something out of this one.)
The Professionals:
Bloody, rainy, London. Rain was a fact of life. His life. He liked being able to count on it: the fact that every tennis match, every cricket game, every bit of outdoor recreation was always hovered on the brink of disaster. Except for today. Today when he needed it to be cold, needed to be sitting here freezing his goolies off. Nope, today the temperature had started the morning in the high 30's and climbed ever since. Raymond the sarky bastard was enjoying the heat. As well he could afford, in his ventilated jeans and his skin tight cotton t-shit. It was the green one. The one that made his mud coloured eyes appear much too bright, much too emerald for him to ignore. Shite! "If you took off that jacket you'd feel better." "Why should I? You've stripped down enough for both of us, haven't you." Bodie shifted and tried to ignore the obscene noises the vinyl made as his sweaty trousers slid across the seat. "Don't know why the Cow's got us watching this warehouse anyway, sixteen hours in this sweat box of an auto and not one person has come in or gone out." Ray turned to him, then reached to take hold of his lapels. "Come on old son, just take it off and get more comfortable." Bodie tried to squirm away, tried not to stare at the sweat that was pooling along Ray's collar bones, tried not to notice the way his own sweat made his y-fronts bunch and rub against his half-hard cock. "Geroff! You idiot! If I wanted it off, I'd take it off." "What are you hiding in there anyway.... Leave it to you to wear a black wool poloneck and a jacket on a day like today." Ray reached around and pulled on the handle that released the seat back, flopping Bodie back then tumbled over on top of him. "Ray, you bloody great fool." Grunting as an elbow jabbed at his ribs, Bodie flailed ineffectively at Ray's hands. "Would you sod off!" His voice trailed off to an unmanly squeak. Crowing with his success, Ray jerked the suit jacket off of his partner and flung it into the backseat. "Oh ho! Now for the poloneck." Bodie felt the beginnings of ice cold panic run through him as Ray threw a leg over him. Twisting furiously he tried to move his pelvis away from the daemon bent on stripping him. "Christ! Would you look at that." Ray jerked away from him. Bodie went from cold panic to the blazing hot of humiliation so quickly his heart skipped a beat. His hard cock was clearly outlined in his trousers.... Standing up as straight and proud as tailored gabardine allowed. He wished fiercely that he could simply melt into a puddle of sweat and embarrassment. Until he felt the heat of a sweaty palm against his groin, outlining his erection. "That's what you've been hiding under all these clothes?" Ray's face was split by a smile that was partly amusement and wholly lascivious.
The Sentinel:
Darkness is relative, you know? For most people having the lights out would mean that besides the possibility of seeing dim outlines from the glow of street lights outside, or the odd electrical appliance light, nothing would be visible. But for a Sentinel? Hey, might as well be high noon in here. So I do the best I can to work around his little foibles. The fur-lined blindfold I bought at 'Sweet Stings' last week does a reasonably good job. Jim was pretty willing when it came to using the blindfold. Maybe it's because he can crank up the dial and use his sense of hearing to map out his space... maybe it's because he uses a sleep mask when he's on night shift. I like to think it's because he knows I'm here. What Sentinel has anything to worry about with his faithful, trusty guide looking out for him? The point of the blindfold and the darkness was to try to get 'Big, Bad' Jim to calm down and relax. Yeah, sure I can force tension man to listen to my voice and do some serious guided spirit walk crap. But that doesn't resolve the tension thing and he was starting to have some very bad physical reactions to the strain that has been winding him up tight. Just touching his shoulder reminded me of gripping a bundle of rubber bands, all stretched to the breaking point. Something had to give soon and I was worried it was going to Jim. So here we were in the dim loft... hey I figured I could use the darkness to help set the ambience for me too. I'd lit my meditation candles and was humming along with the soothing new age earth music CD I'd slipped into the stereo. Pan flutes and didgery-dos are amazing when combined with the sounds of whale song and waterfalls. The occasional call of a barn owl punctuated the harmony, setting just the right tone for a nice relaxing meditation. I could tell Jim was getting into the mood and feeling the peace and harmony surrounding him. Until I tripped. It truly was accidental. Honestly. I didn't mean to catch the toe of my Reebok's on the rug, the damned thing snuck up on me! Luckily I landed on something semi-soft. Well... maybe not soft. But certainly yielding. I mean, muscles which aren't flexed do have some give. Except in this case it wasn't muscle that gave it was Jim's favorite shirt. Oops. Oh well, it's only instinctual to grab at something when you're falling. I'm sure he's forgiven me already. Um, well, there was also the little problem with static electricity. But hey, I never told him to dial up like that. Besides the snap crackle and pop of static that zapped out of my hair and into his face was just a freak accident. It wasn't like I had planned it that way or anything. So... I guess I could try meditating. It's nice here in the dark. With the blindfold on. With the fur-lined cuffs from 'Sweet Stings' keeping me here on the bed. Really. But I'm a little too tense to try it. Laying here naked all I can think of is what Mr. Spiteful is going to come up with in revenge....
X-Files:
"I'm so sorry." I hated saying those words to him. It was enough that his life had been filled so much disappointment, so many dead ends. I'm no fool; I could see the light in those fever bright eyes flicker and then extinguish. But what else could I do? I'm almost fifty years old and even in my wild and woolly youth I never had any need to play those kinds of games. I couldn't help stopping him as he turned and fled for the door. He'd come to me so hopeful, so sad, soaking wet in his standard G-man issue trench. My hand settled on his arm and so help me his flesh under the wet coat was so warm it felt as if it might vaporize the water droplets clinging to the fabric. Fever? Could be. His color was high under that pale ivory skin. As if it had a mind of its own, my hand brushed across his damp cheek. Much more tenderly than I intended. The whisker stubble prickled, unfamiliar yet somehow… right. He was warm. Warm due to the embarrassment, the humiliation he must be feeling? Warm because it was the night after the end a grueling ten-day case, where leads were slim and sleep a rarity? A case that had Fox so deeply inhumed in the killer's twisted psyche that Scully begged me to remove him before he broke down. A request I was forced to refuse. How could I? The killer was still on the loose and he was escalating. So I had to push, I had to let the boy struggle through until it was done, until it had almost consumed him. Poor Fox looked as if a strong wind could destroy him. Was the comfort I tried to offer in my guilt for pushing him misinterpreted? Had I unknowingly given him the wrong idea? If so, it was now up to me to make things right and to try to take away the sting and the harshness. Taking the sodden coat off his shoulders, I led him into the living
room. Ignoring the stiffness of his limbs, the rigidity of his posture,
I sat him on my overstuffed couch. As my one nod to comfort in the
too empty room, it was practically decadent. Soft and oversized and
covered with a warm brown velvet. Sitting in the middle of it, Mulder
looked lost and about fourteen years old.
Picking up my own glass of scotch, I sat down next to him. A little closer than I normally would, but his silence his bowed head, his stillness worried me. Where were the wise cracks, the frenetic fidgeting that marked his normal state? Why did the lack bother me so? "You don't have to do this. You don't have to be nice to me. Just let me go." "Is it so unreasonable that I want to be kind? I don't want to hurt you." His voice hitched on what was nearly a sob; "I'm okay. You didn't. Please, just let me go." I needed to see his face; I needed to look into his eyes. It wasn't the manly thing to do. Maybe I thought at the time that it was the fatherly thing. I don't know. Reaching out, I grasped his chin, and turned his head. Right away, I wished I hadn't. There was too much sadness there, too much loss and under it all was… shame. And then it hit me. He had been so very brave. He had surrendered everything for me. To me. And I had thrown that back at him. Not in cruelty, but in pompous, over kind words that had done worse than wound him. I had shamed him. The heartlessness of it, of what I had done undid me. Without thinking I pulled him gently into my arms and against my chest. Why? Did I think that token of kindness, an innocent hug would cure the grief I had wrought? The rigidity of his posture crumbled. I felt as if he had suddenly become boneless and he melted into my body, fitting tightly against me in a way that no other human being ever had before. His breath against my skin where his face was buried against my neck was like fire. I was being burned, consumed and refashioned. The burning caught spreading virus like from one skin cell to the next until my entire body was aflame. And most of the liquid inferno was centered squarely in my groin. Christ above. How can a man know himself so well, and yet so little? I pushed him away, not far, just enough to look at his face again. To look into those eyes. He kept them closed until I shook him. Gently prompting. Then his lids lifted and connection was made. What he saw in mine I don't know, but his pupils dilated and I swear for a second his features were lit from within like a goddamned Christmas ornament. Kisses. I never knew about kisses. They were the thing you did with women, because they liked it. It made them pliable and plaint and willing to spread their legs. This wasn't a kiss; it was… diving into a wet dream. The kind where you come so hard your balls feel like they are trying to climb out your throat. Frantic, growling, animal noises were distracting me, but I couldn't take time to think about them, I was too busy pulling myself free of the clothing that was constricting me, keeping me from touching every inch of the debauched focus of my every desire. Did Fox help me undress myself, himself? I don't know. About the time I realized those sounds were coming from me, 'silent' Walter, we were both naked and I stopped thinking about anything. I couldn't get enough of him. The smell of him, the feel of him. I lay over him and rubbed my entire body against his trying to absorb his essence into my skin, drawing him in through my very pores. Did it take an hour or an instant to come? Whichever, it felt like a lifetime. A lifetime of rigidly thinking myself one thing and then discovering that I was something else entirely. An instant where the stodgy, middle-aged bureaucrat died, frozen and shattered, blown away like dust on the wind, leaving behind the core of who I really am. And I'm never going to be sorry again.
The Sentinel:
"It's called an atlatl, Jim. They were used by almost all of the new world aboriginal peoples until the introduction of the bow." It took all my will power to keep a straight face. Blair the beloved, Blair the invincible, Blair the dorky grad student was almost too much for me to watch without rolling on the ground and laughing until I cried. "Yeah, Chief. I got that. So what's this little stick supposed to do?" I held the slender, limber shaft in my hand like a sword and took a couple of play feints at Professor Windy. Just like a trout rising to a fly, he gaped and huffed and lunged into full attack at my lack of understanding. "No, no, no! It's not an actual weapon; yet it's one of the most deadly weapons invented by primitive man." He was warming to his topic, his chest expanding as he sucked in the necessary cubic feet of oxygen to launch the lecture that was about to spring forth from his (undeniably luscious) lips. See now why I didn't mention that the Chopec were adept at use of this particular weapon and I had mastered the art? "The atlatl is sometimes called a throwing stick. Its used to launch small spears or darts at the intended target. Usually small game, but in some cases like the Aleutian Islands off Southwestern Alaska, it was used to bring down animals as large as Walrus. The force and velocity of the dart is so enhanced by the stick, its invention was almost singlehandedly responsible for the extinction of several species of game animal. "Think about it, Jim, how the velocity of the dart is enhanced geometrically by the use of the atlatl. It's amazing! Think of the physics involved. It's as enormous an invention as the wheel, as the design of the pyramids... bigger! A fine-tuned atlatl can be used to throw a dart 120 to 150 yards, with accuracy at 30 to 40 yards." I couldn't help it. The more involved he got with the topic, the more attractive he became. He was gyrating on the balls of his feet, his curls were bouncing along with his arm motions. At every pause for breath, he licked his lips. It was an invitation. Had to be. The next thing I knew, he was pushed up against me, his glorious backside snuggled tight against my pelvis, while trying to get me to take hold of that stupid stick and launch a dart with it. It was the work of seconds to shove him up against that maple. His face was a study in astonishment. My hips thrust forward, grinding my groin into his. "I've got a throwing stick here for you, Babe. Wanna see how far I can propel it?" I'd like to say that at this point the love of my life caught fire, that he subsumed his need to lecture to the passion of the moment. I'd like to say that my statement of undying love and attraction was appreciated and received with open arms. I'd like to say that the kiss that followed was the kiss that goes down into history as the one. It didn't happen that way. Did you know that if you laugh hard enough, long enough, you can dislocate your jaw? I didn't. Neither did Sandburg. He'll be just fine in a few days. Won't be able to talk though. Or kiss. Or open his mouth far enough to suck on anything important. <sigh> I gotta learn some better lines, or find a guide without a sense of humor.
That's all for now folks, more to come as they are written!
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