By Wistful

At first, Jim is sure.

He can feel the heat of Blair´s body. He can smell the scent of Blair´s skin. So even though he can´t see through his blindfold, and even though he can´t move from his prone position handcuffed to the bed, he feels no anxiety. Yes, there is a little fear, but that adds to the excitement stirring low in his groin, flooding his stomach.

“Yes,’ he whispers, from his throat.

Thinks: God, yes.

His fantasy, spoken to Blair late one night when he was a little too loose from wine to keep his mouth shut about things that shouldn´t be shared.

“The only way I think I could ever give myself over to a man,’ –because Blair asked, tongue too loose as well–“I think he´d have to take the control away from me. I can´t see myself having sex with him, otherwise. It would be... difficult for me.’

Blair looked at him intently.. “Do you want to be with a man?’

A difficult question. Even inebriated, he thought for a long time. “There´s someone I´m attracted to. He´s male.’ Jim gave a rueful laugh. “Yep. Guess I do.’

Then Blair passed out, and that had been that.

Apparently, that hadn´t been as that as he´d thought. He is handcuffed spread eagle on the bed, laid out on his back like some pagan offering. And then, when only stillness follows his plea, Jim starts to move against the cuffs, struggling a little, kicking at the soft ropes binding his ankles. An icicle is suddenly in the place where his stomach should be, freezing his blood.

What if...? His senses could be skewed by his desire for this to be one certain man. It´s not unheard of. He has deluded himself before into believing what he wants is true. He´s just woken up, after all. Maybe someone that isn´t Blair at all is standing by the bed, barely breathing, heart hitching. Maybe he´s been drugged. Maybe that´s why he didn´t wake as he was being bound.

Maybe. So many maybes.


Doubt bloodies the back of his throat as he waits for a response. No. It has to be Blair. Oh, Jesus, please let it be Blair. Fear is a living creature, gnawing at the tender tissues of his stomach lining. And then, a hand on his thigh, warm and a little damp.


Relief surges hard through him, almost painful, and then desire returns like it never went away.


The end

A/N: Probably horrible, I know. But hey, I'm making allowances for a first time slash writer. Also, this is basically my toe in the water of Sentinel fanfiction. This hasn't been beta read. Well, I'm sure that much is obvious. Does anyone KNOW of TS beta readers? Because I could use one in the future.

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