Bending Over Backwards - akablonded

Blair Sandburg smiled before he was fully awake. It was a smile of remembrance, of contentment, and of wishes fulfilled. Perhaps having been loved into a boneless puddle for the first time right after dinner last night had something to do with the look of supreme satisfaction gracing the unshaven, strikingly handsome face. Then, of course, being turned into carnal goo during the second session at the stroke of midnight certainly brought a heightened sparkle to those dreamy, blue eyes of his. And, finally, that last time right before the alarm clock went off, when Naomi Sandburg�s favorite -- and only -- son considered the distinct possibility that you could, in fact, be fucked to death, rendered him exhausted and giddy and happier than any one person had a right to be.

Yes, indeed, Blair Sandburg found himself in this strange and wonderful new reality, because of yoga. Well, yoga shaken up and turned on its ass by a series of break-neck changes to his life -- kind of like meditation while on the best E-ticket ride at Disneyworld. The image of the Dalai Lama in the lead car at Space Mountain made Sandburg collapse back into bed, laughing helplessly. Blair was doing a lot of that these days.

The �big picture� that people always talked about had been turned topsy-turvy for Blair Sandburg by love. Love with a capital �El.� As in �Ellison.� Jim Ellison. As Blair began to touch himself slowly and deliberately, intense thoughts of his �real� pleasure center, embodied in 200 lbs. of indisputable maleness, danced through the teacher-slash-student�s fertile brain. Jim Ellison had more stamina than any 10 men Blair Sandburg had ever known. If Blair hadn't been in such good condition himself -- one of the many perks of being a yoga instructor and practicing daily -- he'd need a year of bed rest to recover from these past three months with his new lover. Three months. Like a cosmic, 90-day trial period. Maybe if the relationship with the man of his dreams didn�t work out, he could try something � or someone -- else. �Yeah, sure.� Sandburg snorted. It would be easy to replace Cascade PD Detective Jim Ellison in his bed and in his life. Just about as easy as replacing Blair�s right arm. Or the heart that beat in his furry chest.

Who would have thought that a last-minute teaching assignment at the police department could turn out to be the most serendipitous event of Blair Sandburg's life? It had come about as most good things do � unexpectedly. The Mayor's wife � a woman of varied interests -- had convinced her politically-correct, reelection-seeking husband to have yoga offered to municipal workers, as a means of stress management. That included all of the police departments and divisions. Mrs. Mayor had taken several of Blair Sandburg�s classes herself and thought his easy-going manner, non-threatening teaching technique, and charming personae pegged him as a perfect candidate to take on the project.

Not everyone agreed that it was the best idea to come down the pike. Some people, particularly at the PD, thought it was damned crap. With that said, several of the �stress-ees� had opted for the mandated six-week class, rather than have to spend couch-time with the department shrink, or visit grade schools as part of the �Officer Friendly� outreach program. Nevertheless, they were, equally unhappy with the prospect of being bent into uncomfortable positions for no good reason, being made to breathe like a dragon in the Chinese New Year�s parade, or having to chant incessantly like members of religious groups you find, more often than not, at airports.

Yet, even though Blair Sandburg experienced open hostility during the first week of class from one or two of the more churlish detectives and police officers, he�d been welcomed by notable exceptions, like Jenny Lombardi, a thoroughly likeable officer from the Canine unit, and Jim Ellison, the tall, no-nonsense gold-shield detective in Major Crimes. From day one, Sandburg had been immediately taken with Jim�s chiseled face and laser-blue eyes raking over him during the pre-class warm-up and stretch. Then, of course, there was Ellison�s military bearing and striking musculature, which was much a tribute to good genetics as countless hours spent working out. Yes sir, Sandburg had sat up and taken notice of the total package. It made his mouth alternately go dry, then water like an irrigation system on the fritz.

But more than just another a �pretty face� with a body fighting its way out of a police department tee-shirt, the seemingly laconic Ellison stepped up to the plate and displayed leadership which head to be an integral part of his makeup. With a look and a well-placed word, Jim Ellison had put a stop to the kind of hassling that members of the police force visited on outsiders. Jim had silenced one of the more vocal dissenters in the group who had sniped at Sandburg throughout the first class. Even though Blair had had a great deal of experience standing up for himself � always being the youngest and smallest had made him learn how to fight the good fight -- he was aware that somehow he�d inherited a �Blessed Protector� for the duration of Yoga for Beginners.

And over the next six weeks, Blair Sandburg was progressively impressed by just about everything where Jim Ellison was concerned. Outside of class, they�d started circling one another slowly, erasing the line of personal space. Somewhere in the middle of the program, they�d gone out and shared a cup of coffee and plate of buttermilk donuts. That, along with Blair�s winning ways, made Jim Ellison more talkative and less guarded about himself and the problems he'd been having with all of his senses over the last few years.

The conversation kicked Blair Sandburg�s mind into overdrive and his butt back to the library at Rainier University, he suddenly discovered in the archival copies of news magazines that �his� Jim Ellison was �that� Jim Ellison: the Army Captain, the sole survivor of a doomed military unit, who had been lost in Peru, on some hush-hush mission. When the story originally broke, the on-again, off-again graduate student had read virtually everything he could get his hands on about the Cascade hero. The Blair had been knocked out by story, which sounded like a script from a Hollywood action picture, and the whole �Beyond the Call� thing. First, Ellison�s men had all died in a helicopter crash. The captain had buried them all himself. Then, he�d contacted the indigenous Chopec tribesmen. Together, they�d successfully defended the area from guerilla activity until search team rescued him some 18 months later.

But that was only half the story. Since he�d resigned from the Army and come back home, Jim Ellison experienced what could only be described as heightened senses, none of which he seemed to be able to control. Sounds deafened him. Lights blinded him. Smells turned his stomach. Food and drink tasted foul. And the most common of fabrics felt as though they were rubbing his skin raw. The list of Jim�s complaints seemed somehow familiar to Blair Sandburg.

And then, the works of Sir Richard Burton, the 19th century Victorian explorer, not the actor, he�d read as a scrawny kid in Enid, Oklahoma, came rushing back: the history of the Mormons in Utah, the exploration of East Africa, even the translations of the Kama Sutra, and his book on sentinels. A week of intensive research brought Blair the answers he needed. Jim Ellison was the living embodiment of a sentinel, a person born with a genetic advantage whose heightened sensory abilities were beyond what was considered �normal.� In primitive cultures, under the watchful eye of a shaman, sentinels learned to use their skills for the common good of the village: to monitor enemy action, track animals, warn of changes in the weather, anything to protect and serve the people.

Blair Sandburg would have gladly shared the exciting information with Jim Ellison after class that Thursday evening, but a bullet grazing Jim Ellison's right temple put the plan on the back burner. Blair had rushed to Cascade Hospital when he�d heard that the big man had been shot in a scuffle with an angel-dusted perpetrator. Immensely relieved that Jim was still in one piece, Blair had given the somewhat disoriented detective a ride back to his Spartan loft on Prospect Avenue, stayed the rest of the night, and following morning, to play Florence Nightingale to the wounded man.

The pain meds prescribed by the ER doctor had made Jim mellow, malleable, affectionate, and needy. Jim Ellison needed Blair Sandburg, more than the big man could know. Every sentinel needed a partner, someone to watch his back and take care of his needs. A guide. But not just any guide. The �right� guide was crucial.

The physical attraction between the two was evident, but there was no doubt in Blair�s mind that a deeper, more lasting bond was also growing. So, it wasn�t surprising that as Blair tenderly planted a kiss on the bigger man's forehead that fateful evening, the teacher thought in his mind, and felt in his soul, "Bang! Holy Grail time..."

But the real deal between Jim and Blair was brokered at a vegetarian restaurant where the couple shared their first real meal together, ostensibly to celebrate the end of the yoga course. The promising evening continued at Blair Sandburg�s waterfront apartment where the road to true love had one or two false starts.

At first, Jim resisted. Fear made him run. But, even as he ran, sentinel Jim Ellison was drawn back, inexorably, to his fate: guide Blair Sandburg. Metaphorical hat in hand, the big man retraced his stumbling footsteps back to the door of the warehouse and knocked. Jim fully expected to be ignored and locked out of the young yoga instructor's life forever, for his stupidity and clumsiness with something so precious as Blair Sandburg�s love.

But Blair never ceased to amaze him. And this was no different. The younger man opened the door to his waterfront home, and the one to his waiting heart. Kindly.

Compassionately.

Magnanimously.

Blair Sandburg welcomed Jim Ellison home. Jim tumbled into the comfort of the Blair�s arms. Hungrily, the pair milked one another's lips to the color of late-summer strawberries. Then, as Ellison buried himself to the hilt in his lover�s giving and demanding body, the detective knew that leaving Blair Sandburg simply wouldn�t be possible. Ever. Their lovemaking was fast and hard and messy and noisy. It was also meant to be. The taste of Blair in his mouth, the feel of Blair in his arms, was right. It was more than that. It was primal. Elemental.

And for the first time in James Ellison's life, he truly wasn�t alone.

***

So, except for a bad episode of cold feet, an abortive attempt on Jim Ellison's part to throw up smoke screens, to run away from the inevitability of Blair Sandburg, sentinel and guide finally found one another. Over the next three months, they�d come part and parcel of one another�s lives. Jim brought stability, practicality, and something Blair was unaccustomed to: need, both spoken and unspoken. No one had ever really needed Blair Sandburg. Oh, people always wanted a taste of the pleasing young man. His quick charm and open personality drew acolytes to him like moths to a bright flame. But none had any staying power for him, and vice versa.

Until Jim Ellison.

And Jim got back as good as he gave. Blair brought intelligence, a sense of adventure, and a kind of contagious joy that crept into everything they shared, including their bed. Besides loving and lusting, Jim and Blair laughed. Blair�s quirky humor would have it no other way. When Sandburg�s ridiculous Ren & Stimpy briefs somehow got tangled on Ellison�s left ear and the phone by the side of the bed, they laughed themselves silly. In the afterglow of brain-melting sex, Jim Ellison�s face practically split in two and almost fell out of their king-sized love nest when the smaller man whispered, �I just heard about an elephant with three balls. It seems they walked him, and pitched to the rhino.�

That�s how it was these days. A smile on Jim Ellison�s face that could melt Permafrost was the rule, rather than the exception. Everybody noticed: the neighbors in his building; his colleagues at the PD; even the bagel girl who sold the detective an extra large coffee and muffin every morning.

As for Blair, his body ached happily most of the time. Like this morning, as he remembered just �how� it had gotten in that particular condition, Sandburg recalled the much-loved voice of his partner whispering before he left, �Later, babe. Oh, by the way, here�s a little something for you.� Blair�s eyes slid shut, he relived the strong, firm hand fondling his ass, which happened to be hanging out for his Sentinel�s eyes to see, and, yes, for his Sentinel�s teeth to bite. Sandburg would be willing to bet cash money that the love-nip was heart-shaped, like all the others. Not for the first time, Blair wondered how the hell the orally talented Jim Ellison had managed it.

A knock at the door roused Blair from his reverie. Thinking that Jim must have forgotten something, he pulled himself out of the extremely warm bed, into the decidedly cold room � Ellison preferred it on the cool side � and donned the tall man�s navy blue bathrobe laying in a heap on the floor next to the nightstand. The garment had been one of the first �personal� things to find its way into Blair Sandburg�s waterfront warehouse. Sandburg remembered the first time he�d seen Jim in it, early in their relationship. With �sleep hair� going every which way, Ellison had wandered through the enormous area, ticking off the things he wanted to build, install, level, raze, plane, plumb, plunge, paint, stain, reupholster and generally spruce up for �his� Blair. On his own initiative, Jim had attacked Sandburg's bathroom and kitchen area with a vengeance, since the sentinel�s sense of smell could sniff out the dust, mold, and mildew which Blair�s "relaxed" approach to housekeeping pretty much allowed to flourish.

Practically bouncing to answer the door, and fervently hoping to convince Ellison that a fourth-time quickie was doable, Blair Sandburg mimicked every bad gangster flick he'd ever watched, yelling in a whiny nasal voice, "Get away from the door, 'copper!'" He threw it wide open -- to find archeologist Mark Lambert, his former lover, standing there.

Shit. This was trouble with a capital �T.�

***

"Mark." Blair Sandburg blinked owlishly, mentally noting that six months in the Kalahari had done nothing but burnish Mark Lambert�s skin, bleach his naturally blonde hair even lighter, which made those jade green eyes dominate the stunning face. He hadn't changed. Except for the better, God damn it.

"Hiya, kiddo. It�s been a long time." The old nickname rolled off Mark's tongue with the practiced air Blair alternately hated - and loved. The taller man dipped the beautifully shaggy head down to plant a kiss on Sandburg�s startled mouth. Instead, Blair jerked away, and tied a Gordian knot in Jim's bathrobe.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Mark's eyes zeroed in on two large passion marks that were in plain view under Blair�s left ear, then skirted past the suddenly tense figure in front of him, over to the shambles of a bed in the middle of the room. As Lambert�s hand traveled past Blair�s waist, he flicked the knot in Sandburg�s robe with his thumb. The gesture of familiarity made Blair uneasy and uncertain. Christ, Mark Lambert was still the most self-centered, egotistical son-of-a-bitch that could twist your soul more easily that an arm.

He�s waltzed back here, thinking he can pick up where we left off. Wrong.

Blair Sandburg didn�t need this now. He didn�t need his old boy friend to know anything about his life: how he�d pulled himself together after the last time Mark had bailed on him; how, thanks to a family legacy, Blair had come into enough money to be able to continue his education without interruption, and never have to depend on another person again for anything -- unless Sandburg wanted to. Finally, and most definitely, Blair Sandburg didn�t need him to know about Jim Ellison.

Mark Lambert was the type of man who would definitely try to do something about Jim Ellison. And it wouldn�t be anything nice.

***

It had been six months since the dashing Dr. Lambert rocketed in and out of Cascade, treating Blair Sandburg to stimulating conversation, a week or two of R&R, followed by a dazzling array of love pyrotechnics and �company� sex. That's how Blair once described it to Naomi, his freethinking, life-affirming mother. That�s when romantically-linked people spent very little �calendar� time together, which made them polite to one another, with best manners in place and few-if-any fights or arguments occurring, because there simply wasn't enough time. There were shared meals, nights out playing �catch-up,� then back to either Mark�s hotel or Blair's apartment for several rounds of bedding and boffing.

Initially, the no-strings arrangement had been good enough for Blair Sandburg. Better than good. It had been wonderful. Until that last time. After announcing what was tantamount to �Mark�s Very Excellent Adventure,� Lambert had traipsed off to see what was around the next corner and over the next mountain. A hastily-scribbled note left on their bed, still rumpled from ships-in-the-night fucking, was what Blair found when he returned to Mark�s old apartment on Delany.

Dear B.,
Jeffreys called and wants me for the Kalahari project. Isn�t it great? The trip's a major commitment. But I have to do it, right? Grab for the brass ring? You understand. You always do. And we have this great relationship we can come back to whenever either of us wants. I�m heading out at noon, so I�ll probably miss you. This is the best way. I hate goodbyes. Once I get there, I'll send you an address and phone number where I can be reached. The apartment�s yours until the sublet runs out. Love ya, kiddo. Take care.
M.

Blair Sandburg was numb. In 100-words-or-less, Mark Lambert had succeeded where previous lovers had failed: he'd broken Blair Sandburg's heart and made him feel superfluous. Like a human afterthought.

In the following months, Blair had tried to follow Naomi's "detach with love� mantra. Abstractly, it was a good philosophy. In the reality of Blair�s life without Mark, however, it sucked. Big time.

And so it had taken the young man a long time to feel good about himself again, and he wasn�t about to throw all of that away, no matter how smooth or how seductive Mark Lambert could be.

"So can I come in?" brought Blair Sandburg back to the present.

"Uh, no, yeah, sure. Sorry. " Blair took a small step backward into his foyer. Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, Sandburg pressed as close to the wall as possible to allow his unexpected guest to enter. His early-morning voice was husky, and unintentionally sexy. �So, how�ve you been, Mark?�

�Great. I�ve been just great. The field study was incredible.� As he continued to speak, Lambert�s eyes flashed around looking for more "tells" about what was going on in his former lover's life. "Just get up, �Sandman�? You always sounded like that right after � you know..." Mark let the loaded comment hang in the air waiting for his host to respond. Blair did -- by blushing furiously. So, the kid�s got a new playmate. Oh, well, we'll have to do something about that.

"Any coffee, Blair?" The use of his first name startled Sandburg. He'd had three months' worth of "Chief" and "Teach" and in more intimate situations, "Lover" and even "Babe."

"Blair" said with sexual nuance made him distinctly uncomfortable. And �Sandman� � Sandburg found himself trying to pull the knotted belt around his waist even tighter. No. This time wasn't going to be like all the others. This is how it always started. Mark breezed back into town, presuming that everything would pick up exactly from where they'd left off, with Blair being a reliable port in the storm.

The ironic thing was that, as much as he was able, Mark Lambert had loved Blair Sandburg. But Mark Lambert loved like a bird of prey: solitary, untouched, in, out, exciting while it lasted, when it was over, it was over - until the next time.

Blair Sandburg knew he deserved better. He needed commitment, to pair off like a wolf, which mated for life.

�I don�t know. I think there is. So, how�d you know where I was living?�

�Pete Norton told me.� Blair made a mental note to kick Pete Norton�s ass and big mouth all the way from his office in Hargrove Hall to the Northern Cascades and back the next time he saw him.

"Aha! There�s light at the end of the tunnel. I see you do have some java left for an old friend.� As Mark poured himself the remaining cup of Kenyan Roast that Jim Ellison had made before he left this morning, the archeologist observed,� You're looking good. Better than I ever remember." And it was true. Blair�s body was more muscular and tanned, thanks to a spate of uncharacteristic-for-the-Pacific-Northwest sunny days. He was also wearing his hair longer. The bronze highlights made it seem to have a life of its own as it bounced around Sandburg's shoulders, brushing them with every move and inviting the casual observer to �come in and play.�

And there was something more. It was in the eyes. Whatever had happened to Blair Sandburg since the last time Mark was in town, it had made those blue eyes almost incandescent.

One thing was for certain: the yoga instructor had come into his own. Whatever -- or whoever -- was responsible had taken Blair Sandburg from being just an incredibly pretty boy to a downright head-turning, got-to-have-it breathtaking man, even with the five-o-clock shadow threatening to take over the face at nine in the morning.

"So, I'm going to be in town for a few weeks. Let's get together and catch up."

"That�s not such a good idea."

"Blair, I have so much to tell you. Have dinner with me.� Mark reached out with his index finger, and ran it under Sandburg's chin. "Come on, kiddo. You�re not afraid of your old friend, are you? It's just 'dinner,' for God�s sake.�

But nothing was ever 'just' what it appeared to be on the surface where Mark Lambert was concerned. Before the 'no' could fall from Blair's lips, Lambert deflected the refusal with, "You can bring a date along, if you'd feel safer. From the looks of the bed, he's big enough to protect you from me."

Anger got the better of Blair�s judgment. "I don't need anybody�s protection."

"Good. Then, how about tonight?"

"No ... uh ...I can't tonight. I'm teaching a class."

"Great! I haven't had a good yoga workout in I don�t know how long! Mind if I drop in?"

"Well...�

"It'll be fun. What do you say?"

"Dinner would be better, I think."

�You think?�

�No, yes, I mean, dinner is OK.� Blair Sandburg was feeling off-balance, the way he always did when Mark Lambert was within arm�s length.

Maybe within �dick�s� length was a little closer to the truth.

"Terrific. I have to spend the day taking a few meetings over at Rainier. What time's good for you?"

Blair's mind whirled furiously. "Uh, 8:30."

"Should I pick you up here or do you want to meet me at my hotel?"

"Where are you staying?"

"The Stanford."

"The Stanford? God, you're coming up in the world."

�Kiddo, you don�t know the half of it.�

The �smart� part of Blair Sandburg shot off warning flares about a reunion dinner with Mark Lambert, the quintessential deal-maker and breaker, at a swanky, five-star hotel.

�No, meet me at the Cascade Community Center. It�s on the corner of Sixth and Highland. Make it around 8:30. Then we can grab something to eat.�

�Casual, huh? Can�t wait. OK. Thanks for the coffee.� Mark put the cup down on the coffee table � atop Jim�s well-thumbed copy of On the Road. �I never knew you were interested in Jack Kerouac. Funny, the things you don�t know about people you sleep with.� Mark stared at the shorter man long enough to make Blair feel uncomfortable again. �God, Blair, you look � positively edible. See you later.� He bent down and kissed the tip of Blair Sandburg�s nose. As he headed out the door, the extremely adaptable Dr. Lambert began to plot the evening�s seduction. You�re going to end up being dessert tonight, Blair Sandburg, if I have anything to say about it.

***

�Hello.�

�Hiya, chief. Glad you�re finally up.�

�Well, I�m awake.�

�Maybe we can work on the �up� thing later.� Jim Ellison grinned broadly, then dropped his voice a notch, doing a passable imitation of purring into the receiver. �How about I pick you up after yoga tonight, then maybe we can try that new Thai restaurant you�ve been jonesing over.�

�Uh, I can�t.� Blair�s tone suddenly stopped being playful. �I have � something I have to do tonight.�

�Oh? OK. So, then, I�ll swing by the warehouse later. I�ll even bring Chunky Monkey.� The Ben & Jerry�s flavor was Sandburg�s hands� down favorite. Ellison had learned to use the ice ream as a shameless, calorie-filled aphrodisiac early in their relationship.

�Jim, can I just take a pass?�

Jim Ellison stared at the phone as he tried to pinpoint the mood Blair Sandburg was in, but couldn�t fathom what had happened since he�d left the drowsy, happy, and damned satisfied younger man earlier this morning.

�You mean on �all� of tonight? What�s wrong, Sandburg?�

�Wrong? Nothing�s wrong. Why does something have to be wrong?�

�Your voice sounds funny.�

�I�m a funny kind of guy.�

�Cut it out, chief. You know what I mean.�

�Listen, Jim, don�t make a bigger deal out of this than it is. The way you always do. Something came up that doesn�t happen to involve you.� As soon as the words spilled out of his mouth, Blair regretted them, and seriously considered that maybe he�d loss IQ points along with massive amounts of body fluids in bed this morning. Nobody as intelligent as Blair Sandburg was supposed to be would say such stupid things. Especially to smart, overly protective, highly suspicious detectives.

�Sounds like I caught you at a bad time, Sandburg.� So much for all of that �two halves of a whole� crap. The words stung like a taser on wet skin. Ellison hadn�t felt this vulnerable since � he actually couldn�t remember the last time.

�Jim, hang on --�

�I�ll talk to you tomorrow, Sandburg. That is, if your schedule opens up.�

�Wait, I ��

�I have to go. Later, Sandburg.� The detective hung up before Blair could finish whatever it was that he was going to say. Jim Ellison feared few things in life. Being an ex-Army Ranger in Covert Operations had seen to that. The word �goodbye� from anybody he was close to or involved with was one of them. But he always got over it, because there wasn�t much else you could do.

For some reason, if he�d heard the �g� word from his young lover�s lips this morning, it would have shot to the top of things Jim Ellison couldn�t bear to hear with his sentinel ears.

***

�Shit. Shitshitshitshit.� Blair Sandburg muttered to himself and the dead phone in his hand. What the hell was he thinking, saying �yes� to Mark Lambert and �no� to Jim Ellison?

But, Blair had to get this out of the way. Until he did the definitive R.I.P. to what he had with Dr. Mark Lambert, Blair would never really be free. The �what ifs� would always stand between him and his wonderful cop-lover. Teacher and student Blair Sandburg needed to be free. Free to love his Sentinel, James Joseph Ellison, and no one else.

Especially not Mark Lambert.

***

Over the din in McMurray�s Bar, Captain Simon Banks was offering his well-considered opinion on the Jags� latest acquisition � a 21-year-old, 6�9� guard from the University of New Mexico -- as he watched Jim Ellison, his best detective, toss down Jameson�s Irish Whiskey. Neat. Both the choice of the drink and the way it had been inhaled told a story. Banks just wasn�t quite sure what the story was. Earlier in the day, the head of the Major Crimes division had heard the tail-end of a conversation between Jim and someone, which had been abruptly terminated on Ellison�s end. The captain guessed it was Blair Sandburg whom Jim � what was the politically correct term? Hell, the only phrase the superior officer could come up with that Jim Ellison �had fallen head over heels in love with� the Cascade PD�s new yoga instructor. And even though Simon Banks normally had little to say about his gold shields� private lives, he did realize one thing: Jim Ellison was a better man for being involved with the bright, intelligent, and terminally decent Blair Sandburg.

But something had happened this morning. Something big. After the relatively short call, Jim Ellison was different. Unsettled. In point of fact, he was more like his �old� self � brusque and abrasive. Jim looked like a storm front over the Cascade Mountains. The other detectives had given Jim a wide berth, knowing full well that to cross Ellison when he was in this sort of mood would make everybody�s life a little more miserable. Fifteen seconds after Rhonda Lewis, the department secretary, had her head almost handed to her on a plate by the detective for some minor glitch in the Danvers arson report, Banks knew it was time to step in. He�d given Jim Ellison a look that would congeal the blood in most people�s veins, then ordered him into his office, where he pulled the other man up by the short hairs, listened to a half-assed explanation and a grunted apology of sorts. The captain warned Ellison that the ice under his feet was thinner than it had ever been, and left him alone for the rest of the day.

But when the captain came out through his office door at 6:00 PM, and saw the tall man still sitting and staring at his sign-off computer screen, Simon Banks couldn�t just say goodnight.

�So, Jim, care to join me for a beer?�

�A beer?�

�Yeah. And some dinner.�

�Dinner?�

�Yes. Dinner. I was thinking McMurray�s.�

�McMurray�s?�

�Ellison, do you always answer a question with a question?�

�Do I?�

�Come on, man. Get your coat. The bad guys will still be here tomorrow.�

�Is that a threat � or a promise?�

�Both. So, Jim. Steak, baked, and a brew. How about it?� Banks gave his detective an �out.� �Unless you have other plans...�

�No. No plans.� Jim Ellison swallowed up the rest of the sentence. �Seems I don�t have any place to be.�

***

�Ladies, breathe slowly, push away from the floor � use your thighs. Thighs, Terri. That�s it -- and move into The Bridge asana.� The 13 people in Blair Sandburg�s Thursday night intermediate yoga class lifted their torsos and arched, more or less successfully, above the floor. �In for five, out for eight. No � � Blair momentarily lost his train of thought when he raised his eyes and found his dinner companion for the evening at the back of the room, a good 45 minutes early. � � holding your breath.� There stood Mark Lambert, like some elemental force, casually elegant, draped in cashmere and confidence. Abstractly, Blair marveled at the cool figure, almost posing, a combination of indifference and territoriality that Sandburg could feel even up at the front of his class. A nod and a flash of dazzling teeth momentarily distracted the yoga instructor from watching his students� efforts. Then Blair snapped himself back into the moment and his responsibilities as a teacher. �Miriam, don�t try so hard.� Feeling centered and himself again, Blair spoke to the older woman near the window who was struggling with the asana � the position. �If you can�t, you can�t. Stop worrying; it�ll come with time and practice. Would a shana punam like this lie to you?� It was the same Yiddish phrase meaning �pretty face� that 74-year-old Mrs. Mankowitz, had exclaimed the first night of class when she�d met Blair Sandburg. Now, hearing him use it, she couldn�t help but laugh, and crumble �bridgeless� to the floor.

�Sweetheart, from your mouth to God�s ear.�

�OK, people. Let�s try it one more time. And remember our breathing.� The Bridge was one of those yoga positions difficult for almost everybody. The feel of bending over backwards seemed unnatural, as though it went against the physiology of the human body. Some people positively hated it; others were just plain afraid of the asana.

As Blair observed the participants� techniques, he was reminded of a conversation he�d had with Jim Ellison, who categorically refused to do this particular position, even though he was an excellent yoga student. It had been pillow talk, really, during their first week together. Tangled in Blair�s mane of hair, Jim had sleepily confessed that, he�d always been afraid of breaking his back and becoming a paraplegic, even from the time he was a little kid. It had started right after his mother, Grace, had walked out on the family.

For whatever reason, Jim Ellison held onto the fear as an adult. The idea became a constant companion to be revisited again and again. When Jim enlisted in the Army, it also �joined up.� The most terrifying part of the �paralyzing� scenario was that if it had happened to him, there was literally no one in the world close enough to Jim Ellison to put him out of his misery. For that, you had to have best friend or somebody who loved you enough to put you out of your misery. The confession had touched Blair on some deep, unspoken level.

The following morning, his big lover made light of the conversation, blaming it on too much wine and not enough sleep. The arm-chair psychologist in Blair Sandburg didn�t buy the explanation for a minute. Part of Jim Ellison was still paralyzed, keeping people at arms' length, unable to have the closeness he craved. It was a paradoxical quandary: a sad, self-fulfilling prophecy. Jim did love Blair; he felt it in his bones. But the man was standing behind an unyielding wall of his own making, one that Blair was unable to scale. What�s worse, this insane meeting tonight with Mark Lambert wasn�t going to win him any Guide brownie points, or help him scramble over the top of Jim Ellison�s self-made barricades.

Stupid, Blair. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Sometimes, a high I.Q. really didn�t equate with being smart.

***

Somewhere around 8:30, Simon Banks loaded a slightly tipsy Jim Ellison into a waiting cab, gave the driver $20, and his best detective�s loft address on Prospect Avenue.

�Sleep well, my friend. And don�t worry about the truck. McMurray will lock it up in his lot. Tomorrow will be better. You�ll see.�

As Captain Banks watched the vehicle pull away from the curb, he didn�t catch Ellison�s sad response: �Not if I don�t hear from �him,� it won�t.�

***

Like the lord of the manor surveying his property Mark Lambert stood, watching the clock on the wall tick away. The class continued, paying little to the visitor. Blair�s courses always had people dropping by. Word of mouth pegged it to be one of the best yoga experiences in the city. Blair Sandburg was forever encouraging outsiders to stop in, see what actually went on during the 55-minute sessions, and even take a free class if they were so inclined.

Tuesday night eventually drew to a close in the usual way, with The Corpse position and five minutes of guided meditation. At 8:00 pm, all the members gathered up their mats, coats and purses, and said their goodnights to Blair and one another. Like always, they scanned the back of the room, fully expecting to see Jim Ellison, the tall, handsome police officer standing there. Most of the women thought the detective and their yoga instructor made a striking couple, their looks and styles complementing one another beautifully. So, the class was more than a little surprised to find someone else standing in Detective Ellison�s spot.

Mark Lambert nodded gallantly as each woman passed by, but he would have had to be blind not to catch the questioning looks, and deaf not hear the whispered comments. Mrs. Mankowitz�s distinctive voice lingered as she made her way out of the gym. �I wonder where Jim Ellison is tonight? He�d better get over here FAST.�

So, thought Mark Lambert, someone named �Jim Ellison� was the x-factor in the Blair Sandburg equation these days. He turned his attention to Blair who was in the process of turning off the heat and the overhead lights before locking up.

�Nice moves tonight, kiddo.� Blair was beginning to positively detest the nickname. �And your yoga wasn�t bad either. Ready to go?�

�No, I�m not.�

�Need to get your stuff together?�

�My stuff�s together. It�s been together for quite a while. I�m canceling dinner.�

�Problem?�

�I thought there was, but I just realized there isn�t.�

�Good. Then, let�s go to dinner.�

�No.�

�No? I don�t understand.�

�You don�t understand the word?� Blair Sandburg zipped his jacket, picked up his duffel bag and mat. �OK, no games, Mark. We�re done. History.�

�What are you saying?� The charming fa�ade was beginning to crack.

�I�m saying �goodbye.��

�Does this have anything to do with the �Jim Ellison� that old bitch was talking about?�

�First of all, don�t EVER call anybody who�s a student and a friend of mine an �old bitch.� Second of all, it�s none of your business. You gave up all rights to any part of my life the last time you walked out.�

�Oh, stop being such a drama queen, kid ��

�And if you call me �kiddo� one more time, I swear to God, I�m going to knock you on your ass.�

�And just how would you do that?� Mark took a step toward him, somewhere between intimidating and possessive.

Blair raised himself to his full 5�7� height and stood his ground. He wouldn�t back down this time. Because the most important thing in Blair Sandburg�s life was on the line: his relationship with one James Joseph Ellison.

�You don�t scare me, Mark.�

�It was never my intention, kid- � Blair.�

�No. But I was afraid. Afraid of losing you. Of being left behind. And the two things I was most scared of happened anyway. You left without me.�

�Oh, Christ, this is beginning to sound like a bad soap opera.�

�Have you always been such a sarcastic bastard? But you need to listen to what I�m saying. I�m not afraid anymore. Because now I have somebody who�s really in my corner.�

�Oh, Christ, is this going to be a God-damned tribute to the �incredible� Jim Ellison whom everybody seems to love?�

�Most people admire Jim. He�s one of the �good guys�.� Blair�s voice was remarkably steady. �But then I�m prejudiced. I�m the one who�s �in� love with him.�

�'I�m the one who�s in love with him.�� Mark Lambert raised his voice into a mocking, falsetto register, throwing Sandburg�s words back at him. �If you knew how stupid that sounds.�

�Only to somebody like you. I can�t figure out what the hell I saw in you, Mark.�

�Well, here�s a reminder.� Lambert swooped down, practically climbing into Blair�s mouth with a brutal, yet tantalizing kiss � one of the 10 best Sandburg had ever been on the receiving end of. Even though the other man was still chewing them with great determination, a small smile crept onto Blair�s lips. Mark released Sandburg to admire his �handiwork.� The kid had really gotten with the program. It looked as though tonight�s score would be: Lambert, 1; Ellison, 0.

�Liked that, didn�t you?�

�It was good, Mark. I�ll admit it. But I�ve had better.�

�From the god-damned pillar of the community?�

�From the man who loves me. The man I love. �My� brass ring. Have a good life, Mark. I have to go. Don�t hurry on my account. Stay as long as you like.�

�I�m leaving. You and the big, dumb cop deserve one another. Goodbye, �yoga boy.�� With that, Mark Lambert stalked out of the room, the air around him thick with cashmere and anger. Sandburg could almost see the vapor trail.

Well, that goodbye scene certainly put a crimp in one set of Blair Sandburg�s dinner plans. His other option was going to involve a large helping of crow.

Blair just hoped that Jim Ellison had a decent bottle of white wine to drink with it.

***

More sober than not, Jim Ellison heard a familiar knock at the door coupled with the heartbeat he�d learned to distinguish from all others behind it. He also smelled something unsettling: another surrounding his Guide�s. Extremely male, laced with pheromones and arousal. Jim felt physically ill, and almost irrational at having something � or someone � of his claimed by another. Ellison practically smashed the door open, with the power only an out-of-control Sentinel could generate. The tall detective loomed over his smaller lover who stopped dead in his tracks.

Summoning up all the courage he could muster, Blair asked, �I know it�s late, but can I come in, Jim?�

�It�s not that late. Didn�t your other �thing� work out, Sandburg?�

Blair ignored the sarcasm, knowing it masked a wall of hurt, and walked into the loft, a place that had become his second home. Home was anywhere that Jim Ellison was.

�Have you been drinking?� Sandburg could smell the faint odor of whiskey on Jim�s breath. He hoped that it wouldn�t cause major problems with Ellison�s senses. They were both pretty new to this sentinel business.

�Smart boy. Nothing gets past you, does it?�

�We need to talk, man. About � ��

�So, who�s the �something you had to do?� Mr. Right-for-tonight?�

�How did you ��?

Jim tried to tap the end of his patrician nose with a finger, and nearly missed. �You can never sneak anything past a Sentinel, Sandburg. Isn�t that on page one of the �Guide� book?�

�It wasn�t what you thought.�

�Oh, yeah? You a friggin� mind-reader now? Maybe �you� should be the freak. You have no idea what I thought.�

�First of all, you�re no damned freak. And I do know what you thought. You thought I was �with� somebody else.�

�So?�

�So � you�re right.�

Jim Ellison stood there, stunned. His chest tightened. Almost calmly, he thought if he could survive this moment, he could pretty much survive anything. Jim couldn�t quite remember if any men in the Ellison clan had died of sudden, massive coronaries. Thankfully, no one came to mind.

�But you�re wrong, too.� Blair hastily amended his statement when he saw his lover�s face go stone cold gray.

�Well, which is it, chief?�

�Please, listen to me.�

�Sandburg, just say whatever the fuck it is you came over to say. Then do us both a favor and get the hell out.�

�No, I�m not leaving until we clear this up.� Blair ripped his jacked off and threw it haphazardly onto the back of one of the kitchen chairs. As if on automatic pilot, Jim Ellison scooped up the garment and re-hung it on its usual hook to the left of the front door. He stood stiffly, motionlessly, yet holding onto a slim shard of hope about what Blair might say next. Sandburg wouldn�t have come over, right out of another guy�s bed, to blow him out of the water. Would he?

No. His Guide wouldn�t be that cruel. Or that stupid.

�Well?�

�I�m sorry, really sorry, Jim. I should have been straight with you.�

�Very funny. The �straight� part.�

�Mark just got back into town. He was part of my past -- somebody I knew.�

�It �smelled� like you knew one another. Or were getting to know one another �real� well.�

�Are you going to listen, or are you happier being an asshole?�

�Sandburg, I have a headache. I want you to get out of here now.�

�Shit, Jim, you have to have a little faith in me.�

�Like every good little sentinel has in his guide?�

�No, you moron. Like Jim Ellison should have in Blair Sandburg, his lover.�

�You mean while you�re around ��

�What the fuck does that mean? See, that�s the problem. You don�t think I�m in this for the long haul, do you?�

�I know you think you are ��

�You son-of-a-bitch! You�ve been fucking me for, what, the last three months, and you still think I have one foot out the door?�

�I never �fucked� you, Sandburg.� Ellison was now shouting back, irate at the implication. �I made love to you! And three months isn�t very long. You�re the one that�s always �going with the flow� or whatever the hell it is you call it.�

�Yeah? I�m letting you warm my bed until something better comes along, is that it? You really are the stupidest dickwad in Cascade. No, make that in the world.� Blair scrambled to pull his jacket off the hook, throw it on, and get out of Jim�s proximity before he took a swing at the taller man. Karmickly, it was ill advised. Practically, Ellison would mop up the floor with him. �And three months � hell � three �days� are enough when it�s right. You think about that. Right now, I am �so� out of here.� As Sandburg ineffectively wrestled with his Jags jacket, Jim grabbed him from behind, encircling the struggling man with arms of iron. He squeezed hard to keep Blair from escaping the loft, and his life.

�I�m sorry.� Jim breathed into Sandburg�s hair. �You�re right. Like always. Please don�t go. Look, whatever you can give me, it�s enough. If this other guy --�

�� �Mark� ��

�If � this other guy still needs to be in your life, I can ��

�What? Share me?�

� ��

�Maybe the three of us can work it out. What do you think? Him and me when he drops in from Indonesia, or New Guinea, or Mongolia? You and me during the �in-between� times when I�m slumming? Or is that just a little too much, even for you, big guy?�

�Stop it, Sandburg! That�s not what I meant, and you know it!� Ellison loosened his grip enough to spin the shorter man around so that hey were now facing one another.

Blair took in the resigned air that seemed to wash over his lover who was now pressing against him. Their bodies were so in tune with one another, that both were becoming incredibly aroused.

�You know, Jim, you�re so full of shit, it would take a dozen pens and at least three weeks for me to tell you why. So, let me cut to the chase �� Sans fanfare, Sandburg unzipped Jim�s form-fitting chinos and pushed them open until Ellison�s penis stood at attention, bare, glistening and full of want. In a graceful, similar move, Blair slid off his sweats and kicked them all the way to the living room sofa. �I�m yours. Jim. Nobody else�s. Not Mark Lambert or any other ghosts from the past. They�re all dead and buried. I belong to you. Body and soul � the whole, fucking enchilada. And you and this � �he grabbed Jim�s dick which seemed happy to �see� him and feel the familiar hand again, �are mine. Forever. Got it?�

Blair Sandburg grabbed Jim Ellison�s �other� head with his strong, left hand and pulled it forcefully toward his own. When they were no more than a hair�s breadth apart, Blair whispered into the taut lips hovering over his. �Open up to me, Jim. Open your damned mouth.� Sandburg�s tongue poked at the bigger man�s provocatively. �Open your body.� Blair rubbed his narrow hips and thick cock into Ellison. �And the toughest part: open up your fucking heart to me.� Blair Sandburg -- the irresistible force -- kissed and licked and massaged, until Jim Ellison -- the immovable object -- began to obey, bending his strong will to a stronger desire. Feeling the response above the detective�s neck, and, as impressively, below the waist, Sandburg flashed a supremely satisfied smile upward to his taller lover.

�So, what do you say, Jim. Do we make a go of it together? Or are you and I over? I�ll leave it up to you.� Blair couldn�t quite hear the response. �What? Louder, please, for those of us without bat ears.�

�Yes! Together, dammit! I want you for as long as you�ll have me! All right?�

�You old sweet-talker, you.� The yoga instructor took less than two seconds to literally climb onto the bigger man with his legs wrapped python-like around Jim�s small waist, heels locked behind the strong, muscular back. Blair embraced the well-corded neck, pressed his riot of curls against Jim Ellison�s left shoulder, and sighed in unequivocal satisfaction. They had turned a corner, annealed by an unexpected baptism of fire named Mark Lambert, the bond between sentinel and guide would only grow and flourish. That�s if Blair Sandburg had anything to say about it.

�Now, kiss me, Jim. Like our damned lives depended on it.� Blair heard his own voice crack as he spoke, so he tried to lighten the moment with another �order.� �Come on, �Beef Stick,� you can do it.�

�Where the hell did you come up with that?�

�Your buddy, Rafe. He�s got Major Crime hots for you.�

�Cut it out, Sandburg.�

�I think he thinks you�re the greatest thing since erector sets -- and twice as much fun! Are you blushing? Come here and let me take a closer look.� With that, Blair Sandburg slid his supple ass checks down the pole jutting from Jim Ellison�s groin. The sensitive area around Blair�s anus and perineum could feel pre-cum wetting the most private part of his body. But, It wouldn�t be nearly enough � not for what the yoga teacher had in mind.

�Lube, Jim. We need lube. Lots of it. Now! Where�d we leave it the last time?�

�Under the ��Ellison staggered backward, carrying the two of them into his living room until his legs touched the front cushions of the couch. Squatting down, the way he�d done thousands of times at the gym, Jim frantically dove under the afghan with his left hand and found the buried treasure. The two of them awkwardly settled onto the sofa. Ellison flipped the top of the lube up with his thumb, a skill honed over the last few months, and squirted some on Sandburg�s extended fingers. Flashing a blinding smile, Blair warmed the Astroglide using dragon breathing, his oxygenating yoga exercise. Jim listened to the �freight train� sound and watched the quivering, huffing lips, almost hypnotized by the pulsating rhythm. When Blair�s slicked hand wrapped lovingly, possessively around his partner�s cock for the second time, Jim almost quantum leaped to orgasm. �Easy, easy, big guy. Focus on me. Look into my eyes.� The sentinel obeyed, as he felt his guide�s fingers stroke him to somewhere between maximum hard and break-it-off-at-the-source.

And then Ellison experienced what was tantamount to sensory overload as almost absorbed the purple head of Jim�s engorged penis into his own body, then slid down the entire length in one, graceful, deliberate movement. Finally, his ass rested against the detective�s golden brown pubic hair.

�Breathe, lover, before you pass out.� Again, Jim followed Blair�s instructions.

�Chief � I � can�t hold out ��

�Oh, yes, you can. And you will.� The smaller man ordered. �Now, start bending, Jim. Come on. Bend over backwards. Slowly. S-l-o-w-l-y. Vertebra by vertebra. That�s it. Just like The Bridge asana we practiced.�

�I can�t, Blair. You know I can�t.� Suddenly, Jim realized where his enthusiastic, highly acrobatic lover was going with this. For a minute, the tall man couldn�t believe his eyes. What they were attempting was almost impossible � and probably illegal in a half-dozen states. �Christ, chief, are you nuts?�

�Shhh. I have to concentrate. And trust me, big guy, you �can��and I�m �not.� Do it now.� The hesitant pupil listened to the voice of his more experienced teacher/lover, and began to lean backwards. �Stop there for a minute, and brace yourself on your elbows before you continue the position.� Once Jim had placed his arms correctly, he curved his torso upward, and was treated to the sight of his smaller lover, quite literally, staked on his throbbing dick.

�Now, just for you, Jim Ellison �� Blair rolled back slightly, then, reversed the movement and lowered himself, inch by inch, toward Jim�s abdominal muscles. Sandburg stopped when the top of his curly head rested against the washboard-hard stomach. The odd posture was a prelude to the most amazing thing that Jim Ellison had ever seen � something Blair had told him about, but he�d never really believed possible.

Blair Sandburg, yoga instructor extraordinaire, reached down surprisingly easily � and pulled his own rigid, spurting cock into his mouth. Sandburg licked and sucked it provocatively, teasing Jim mercilessly. If Ellison�s brain hadn�t almost imploded from the sight, he might have been able to verbalize how damned impressed he was.

�Jesus Christ, chief! I � Oh � oh, God --� Jim tried to control his impossibly-aroused body, but the outrageous sight was just too much for him. Sandburg released his saliva-slick organ, just in the nick of time as Ellison began to thrust deeply into the pliant body. Blair rode through the hard, passionate fucking, jerking his own dick rapidly, in time with Jim�s strokes into his tight, welcoming butt. The two lovers screamed as they �hit the wall� of an orgasm so incredible that it took several minutes afterward to tumble back into the reality of the loft. Jim only had enough energy to pull out of his inventive lover. Blair had even less, and could only smile lazily.

�Uh � � Jim groaned when his finally found his voice. �I�m never going to survive being with you, chief.� As the sentinel gathered his guide�s pliant body into his waiting arms, he heard Blair mumble something sweet and tender.

�Better than trying without me, lover.� Blair Sandburg nestled into his mate�s strong shoulder, as though it were the only place on earth he wanted to be. �And, see, you �did� it. Pretty good for someone who can really be an unbending son-of-a-bitch sometimes.�

�Kiss my ass, Sandburg.�

Blair yawned as he gave into sleep. �That�s the position we�re going to shoot for next, Sentinel Man.�

The End.

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Acknowledgements: Thanks to the ever-understanding Lisa, Lisa's uber-tech Hubby/Honey, PattRose1 and all the artists who worked their collective hoofies to the quick so that my contribution to this latest e-zine could have some wonderful illustrations. And a pox on whomever thought the Nimda virus would be fun to share with the world-at-large while I was trying to finish this story.