Bought

Blair took a deep breath. Another. He'd made himself a deadline. Today was that day, that deadline. Today he would make the first step in his war to become more than a faceless, discardable, replaceable Guide. He took a third, timorous breath. Squared his shoulders. Tensed. Decided. Resolute. He was ready.



He didn't move, waiting until his courage built up, agreed with his resolve. His long fingered hands were cradling his mounded belly, taking strength from the knowledge of the life he was shielding inside. He would win, because failing was unacceptable. Failing would mean this little life he carried would have no more hope than Blair had now.



It was time. Now was the time. His gaze drifted to the windows, desperate for a distraction, he'd settle for one of any kind. Dark outside, rain falling in a patter against the loft's windows, one or two cracked open a mere inch to let a little of the freshness that always followed rain into the loft. It was warm, and homey, and Blair felt reasonably safe. He felt protected from the world outside. But not from the reality that lingered inside.



He watched the two Sentinels moving around each other in the kitchen. Rafe had come home with a limp that was slowly getting better as he gingerly walked it out, bending from time to time to massage the big muscles of his hamstrings. Ellison was quieter than usual, and more solicitous of his Companion, once stopping the other man to examine his leg with careful, but thorough hands while Rafe stood, docile. Those kind of hands, that kind of touch, Blair could live with. He clenched his jaw. It was time. He didn't move.



Blair wondered what had happened during the day. Rafe had come to pick him up out of the Care Center, had been limping them, almost dragging his leg. Obviously Rafe had been hurt, but how? And by who or what? Blair had wanted to offer to help him, to offer his shoulder as support, but they were in public...and he was afraid to push it.



Blair watched as Jim wrapped an arm around Brian's waist, tugged him near, taking the casserole dish out of his hands. It thunked on the counter, a frozen block of ice. Well, dinner was going to be late. It had to thaw first. Which would take hours. Jim held Brian against his body, running a hand up and down his spine. His head was only inches higher than Brian's, and was bent down so that their eyes were level. They, or rather, Ellison, was speaking, and Rafe was listening, his body melting into the touch that smoothed up and down his spine.



Blair wondered if he'd get some of that tonight. Warm touches. Caring touches. He wasn't ignored as much as he had been at first. When they let him alone, let him chose his sheltered places in the loft, places where he could hide, where no one could find him, sneak up on him without his knowing, seeing. But things were changing. A little.



More and more lately the younger member of the mated pair would put a dish for Blair at the table with real food on it, not Guide Chow, dry, processed "Pregnancy Treats for your Guide", or something equally repulsive. Ellison would frown, serious, but not stop him. Rafe had presented Blair with a sliced and cored pear just this morning. Blair had almost slipped in the drool that ran down his chin as he ate the fresh fruit.



Now he heard slicing again, the knife making it's quiet impact on the well scrubbed cutting board. No chance of any lingering, food borne bacteria in this house, not with two Sentinels obsessed with cleaning, and supplied with unending quantities of bleach, baking soda and Mr Clean. Jim had stepped back from Rafe and was now the one in front of the board wielding the knife. Blair felt a tiny wave of disappointment. It was Rafe who liked to slip him tidbits.



Maybe two inches taller than his tall enough Companion, wider, thicker with defined muscle, and sporting less hair, Ellison was an impressive figure. He didn't walk around without a shirt, but nor did he try to hide from Blair. Blair had seen him naked, sweaty, hot, and in the throes of hard, energetic sex many times now. Jim made no protest, took no action to eject Blair from the area when he and Rafe coupled.



Blair's heart had pounded wildly, overcome with fear and loathing the first time. He'd had flashes of his own assaults while he listened. The second time he'd crept up the stairs and caught flashes of what was happening. He's gone up there because he had to be sure the noises coming from Rafe weren't sounds of pain. He couldn't bear it if he didn't try to find out. What could he do if it was force? If Ellison was forcing Rafe? Hurting him? Nothing, really, but he had to know.



The tableau of the two men together, it was stunning. Ellison's back was rippled with muscle, his buttocks and thighs clenched and released, beautiful, and terrifying. Blair shook as he made himself not leave, made himself be Rafe's witness, in case things turned brutal. Jim's response to seeing Blair was no response at all. He continued to drive himself into Brian's splayed body, bending down occasionally to lick at the sweat beading along the back of his mate's neck. An action that always made Rafe shudder and moan.



Blair stayed, crouched along the stairs, poised to flee if he was approached. He watched. He watched as Jim bent Rafe's head back, fist tangled in the luxurious brown hair, full of it, tugging Brian up, bending his head to the side, twisting, until he could kiss him, claim the open mouth, swallow the gasping, breathy moans and cries as he was taken with authority, passion.



Shock was the perfect word for how Blair felt seeing the kiss, the arch of Brian's neck, the trickling sweat slipping down his throat, his bobbing Adam's apple, the clean line of his chin, his spit shined lips, and Jim's as they fed on each other's mouths. Jim pulled away and Rafe's tongue followed a fraction of an inch out of those swollen lips. Jim had looked down at him, heard the sounds of his aroused mate, and pushed Brain face down onto the bed. And proceeded to fuck him hard and unrelenting.



It was then when Blair realized just how strong the younger Sentinel was. With Jim's power pushing down on him, he flexed his body, heaving, lifting their combined weight up off of the bed, pressing his hips hard into the cup of his dominant partner's pelvis, his arms out thrust, ripping the heavy cotton sheets with no effort, the tearing sound only making the whole scene hotter. Blair gaped.



Now, weeks later, here Blair was, watching the men prepare the evening meal they would share. They moved together as well as practiced dance partners, sliding around each other, never in the way, like a choreographed ballet. Even the new limp didn't effect their awareness and ability to anticipate and match each other's moves.



Jim reached out, his hand extending, plucking a fruit from the bowl on the kitchen island. The knife sliced through the tender flesh, parting it easily. Blair's mouth watered. He imagined he could smell it, a tendril of juicy sweetness in the air. Succulent and moist, the pear was at the peak of ripeness, it's pale green skin blushed with red here and there. Juice dripped as the blade moved in a slow arc, cutting away the inner core and seeds, then quartered the remainder, then into eighths. Jim set the pear on a dish, washed and wiped his hands, then handed the dish to Brian.



Brian seemed unprepared for that and it wasn't until Jim's head tilted toward the Guide perched in a tight crouch at the end of one of the couches, that the younger Sentinel caught on. He looked over at Blair, who, under his veil was licking his lips, unable to stop the flow of saliva rising in his mouth at the idea of that efficiently sliced pear. Darting an incredulous look at his Senior, Rafe hesitated, then at Jim's almost smile, more a relaxing of his stern features than a true smile, he went to kneel at the end of the couch in front of Blair.



It was now or never, Blair told himself. What better chance would he have than this apparently sanctioned contact between himself and Rafe? Hands trembling he lifted the edge of his veil, not all the way, but enough that from his vantage point on the floor, Rafe had his first clear view of Blair's mouth.



The impulse that hit Rafe was to turn his eyes aside, not to look. One did not look on the unveiled face of a Guide that was not fully his to see. It was wrong. But, heart thumping, Rafe did what was forbidden, what was not to be done. He looked, and seeing, he failed to look away.



The full lips were naturally tinted coral, moist and parted just allowing a glimpse of small white teeth, the tip of a pink tongue, as Rafe watched he saw the Guide lick his lips, a quick nervous motion, leaving a trail of damp across the lower one. Brain could smell the want on the Guide. The need... He groaned sub vocally, only just suppressing it, keeping it from echoing in the loft. Was the almost sound loud enough for Jim to hear? He didn't know, he didn't look to see.



He held out the dish in both hands, holding the rim firmly, making it clear, he hoped, that he would not relinquish it to the Guide's hands. Blair's shrouded hands rose up, up, and molded around his own, only the one layer of finely woven, shimmering cloth between them, their skin. The heat was glorious. Rafe dropped his head, inhaled, smelled ripened fruit, silk, warmth, and Blair. He smelled his own reaction, pheromones splashing into the air around them, escalating.



Shaking, he freed one hand, then the other, letting Blair take the bowl, move it to his chest, reaching with bare fingertips into the dish of wet slices, selecting one. Rafe watched from less than a foot away, leaning in, forward, close. Blair raised the slice to his mouth, bit into it, his lips fitting, framing the bit, his teeth biting into it. Juice lingered on his chin. Rafe started to shake.



Blair swallowed, something was not right. He hesitated before taking another bite. Vainly he tried to see through the now doubly thick veiling over his eyes. He couldn't see... and the dish was bumped, he glanced down, saw tanned fingers, shaking, reach into the dish and draw out a slice of pear. He watched as the slice was lifted, moving up, towards his half revealed face, to his mouth. What choice did he have? He accepted the offered fruit, taking it delicately between his teeth, sucking, drawing it into his mouth. Delectable. Juice filled his mouth, rushed over his taste buds. Fresh, sweet, tangy. He swallowed the nectar. Parted his lips, hoping for more offerings.



Slowly they progressed. Slice by slice, two, four, five...and a shadow fell over them as they huddled closer, robes brushing shirt, trousers, fingers sneaking tiny touches, accidental, except that they were calculated, deliberate, wanted. Blair felt a thrill of triumph. Rafe was touching him, gentle, careful, touches that were filled with desire. He would have him. He would care. A thumb brushed Blair's bottom lip, light, only a whisper, but the touch flew through him like fire. His toes curled.



And Rafe was gone, or at least not in front of Blair, not touching him any more. He was face down on the rug, Jim over him, holding him down, a knee in the small of his back, a hand cupping his head stroking his thick, shining cap of hair as Rafe forgot himself and struggled. There were words, a constant stream of them, being spoken to Brian as he

writhed, too quiet for Blair to hear anything but the tone. The soothing, deep rumble. And slowly, gradually, Rafe quieted. Lay still. Jim stroked his hair, and again, moved to straddle him rather than kneel upon him.



Blair sensed it when the Senior Sentinel's attention was on him, rather than on his Companion. He shrank into the cushions. Hung his head, let the veil fall to cover his face. Oh, god, what now? Had Blair pushed too hard too fast? Heat, strength, the large body of the Senior Sentinel was there, crowding him back further into the cushions of the couch. The man was all around him, lifting him high, setting him down, between the iron hard thighs.



Blair felt an overwhelming urge to scream. Something cool, sweet, tender touched his compressed lips, he jerked away, before the taste registered. More fruit. His veil was tugged all the way off of his face, but he faced away from the Sentinel behind him.



Pulse racing Blair relaxed by inches, fractions of an inch. The pear slid into his mouth, Jim's finger making light contact with his mouth. Blair chewed, swallowed, his head tilting back on his slim neck, the back of his skull finding a cradle on Jim's chest. Resting there. Another piece, wet, delicious. Blair ate. Hand fed. Until the last slice and there was no more fruit.



Sticky fingers pressed his lips, feeling on the edge of a faint, on the brink of disaster, Blair parted his lips, gasping, panting, his mind not able to reason, to think, to decide if this was right, or if he should run, flee, hide. Gently the finger touched his teeth, slipped past, into his mouth, along his gums, over his tongue. Soaked with juice the finger was tartly pleasing. Bravely Blair closed his eyes, drew in a sharp, shuddering breath as the finger went deeper, gently.



He sucked. Suckled. The chest under his head and shoulders tensed, contracted, and rumbled against his back. The second hand, the one not belonging to the finger Blair was nursing, came up to caress his face, his puckered mouth, his cheeks. Blair licked at the finger, wanted to roll his tongue around it, but found he couldn't. His mind was already spinning, warning him to stop, to run. Before it was too late. It was too fast. Too soon. He drew back, fast, pulling off the finger, turning in a spasm of terror clinging, irrationally to the man on who's lap he rested, in who's arms he shook, and who's finger he had first suckled then rejected in the span of a few moments.



No blows fell on him. No words of censure. No slaps, nor was he turned to his back and put to use. He was rocked. Held. Then lifted and settled on the couch robes tucked all around him, snugly. From his vantage point he watched the big form of Jim Ellison move to the figure of his Companion, still spread eagled on the carpet. He watched as the fruit dish was set aside.



Blair watched as Jim tugged down the pants his Companion wore and with little preparation entered him. Rafe crying out. Straining, taking it all. Clawing at the rug, at the man behind him, lifting his hips. Meeting thrust for thrust. His flat belly off of the floor drum taut, his hips flexed hard, tilted. Head flung up. Eyes, a hot chocolate, glittering with more than a hint of madness, fastened on Blair as the Guide lay in his cocoon of silk, knees drawn up to his chest, tucked in tight beneath his chin.



There was a strange, fierce beauty to them as they came together, mating, an animalistic way in which they moved and responded to each other. It wasn't gentle it wasn't soft, it was all power overflowing, battling and writhing, two sweating grunting men, clothes ripping as they fought in an ancient dance of supremacy. Every time it was like this, alpha fighting for the top spot, and winning, by a hair. The straining, defeated male surrendering with ill grace, always starting at a disadvantage, face down, yet knee trembling gorgeous as he submitted to the victor, to the one who always won.



Blair could see him, could see how hard, how erect he was, Rafe's neglected shaft vibrating, flushed with blood, hanging below his belly, visible between his spread and braced legs. Neglected as he was used, his hips held by rigid, triumphant fingers digging in. Yet he was beautiful. He head fell forward, his shoulder shook, tightened, his dark coppery disk nipples stood out, aroused nubs amongst the light sprinkling of flat, smooth chest hair. One single set.



Blair's hand moved up his own body, to his lowest set of nipples. Not a Guide's body. A Sentinel's lean rangy frame. Built for struggle, for battle. For competition. There was a reason, beyond senses that Sentinels made up the lion's share of the troops, the police, the law enforcement agencies. Pound for pound they shattered any notion of an equality of physical strength and ability. Mundane man could not touch them. Guides had no chance to resist.



Rafe's head went back hard, Smacking into Jim's shoulder. He hissed, then let out a howl as trembling took him head to foot. His ejaculation shot across the floor, into the air, untouched, falling like liquid pearls, translucent essence. And Rafe hit the ground himself, both hands smacking hard, his back stone-stiff, Jim glued to his back, his buttocks, tight driven, then shaking, balls taut against his pelvis, his lips peeled back in a grimace of pure, joyous conquest.



And then they fell, one on top of the other. Still but for the panting. The sweat rolling down heaving sides. Limp, stacked. Jim's knee slid down Rafe's hip to thump against the carpeted floor. Thump!



Blair drew in his first breath of the last few minutes. His head spinning. Oh god. How could he? How was it...no, he couldn't. His hands clenched over his baby. He had to. There was no choice but to do it. He would, because he had to. Or he had to give up everything. He'd made the first move. And this had happened. He had had an influence. They reacted to him. He had a chance. They would see him. He wouldn't be just an anonymous Guide, hidden in layers of exquisite, expensive cloth.



He'd begun. He'd revealed, willingly, his face to them, in full light. They had looked on him. Or at least part of him. He'd had Jim's fingers in his mouth, both of them had touched his bared skin. It hardly mattered it was touch lighter than a feather. It happened, just as he'd hoped. And he wouldn't chicken out now. He'd be more than a Guide, more than a warm wetness to sink into, to breed, he'd be Blair. Or he'd die trying.



On the carpet Ellison stirred, Rafe letting out a noise of protest, wordless. Blair watched as the older man reached out, finding the empty dish that had held the incredible pear, and dipped a single finger into the juice that filled the bottom. One finger, shining, wet, lifted from the bowl. Ellison brought the finger to Brian's mouth, and Brian's eyes flew open, sniffed, and then engulfed the finger in his mouth, lids fluttering as he tasted Blair mingled with the juice. He sucked.



Blair shivered, undecided if it was a good, or a very, very bad shiver.