Markers
by Mab
I wrote this story for Bee, with thanks for her donation to Moonridge.This story is the third of my stories set in the universe of The Children of Cascade
Rishka giggled as he zipped past Blair, despite the feint, and booted the ball toward the rose bushes. Blair hadn't seen rose bushes that grew six feet high with pale green, succulent leaves the size of his palm and bright purple flowers half the size of his head before he came to Cascade; however, old usage applied to new discoveries had been a given throughout the expansion to other worlds. Jim was holding back, letting Rishka have his turn and Blair smiled at him, full of the simple glee of physical activity. There were times when enjoyment had seemed aeons in the past, and it was good to see Jim having fun.
"Score!" Rishka shrieked, hands reaching to the sky in triumph.
"Yeah, sure, you're the man. I think I should be on your team now. Your father's getting too much of the glory. He'll get smug."
Jim did indeed look smug. "You think you can take me? Bring it on."
Blair laughed. The sky was pure and bright, the sun was warm, and he was happy. "Come on, Rishka. Let's go for it."
Rishka's dark eyes sparkled. "Full on," he bellowed with all the power of an eight-year-old's lungs, before he kicked the ball towards the opposite end of the garden. Then it was undeniably full on, a quick dance of kicks to the music of giggles (and not just a small boy's giggles either) until Rishka, intent on dribbling the ball, put himself almost directly under Blair's feet. Blair jerked backwards and sideways to avoid trampling the child and his foot found the slightest uneven patch in the grass. His ankle twisted with a burning, hollow pain and Blair thumped to the ground with an utter lack of dignity.
"Fuck," he blurted, before he remembered that Jenda had strict rules about proper language in front of her son. Even as he reflexively curled to grab his ankle, he comforted himself with the thought that Rishka would have heard it before anyway.
"Blair!" Jim ran the few steps he needed to reach Blair's side, and Blair winced as he jerked Rishka out of the way with a hand across the boy's upper arm.
"Hey, hey," Blair protested. "I'm fine, it's just a sore ankle. Cold pack and I'll be great – "
He was cut off as Jim turned to his son and said in sharp, venomous tones, "You need to pay more attention to what you're doing."
"Jim." Blair's ankle still ached sickeningly, but he leaned forward to grasp Jim's wrist. "Settle down." Furious blue eyes turned to his face. "Settle down, man, come on." Blair could feel Jim's pulse under his fingers, harshly quick. "It's a sprained ankle, not the end of the world." He kept hold of Jim's wrist as he spoke to Rishka. "It's okay, just a knock."
The boy's face was twisted in distress. "I'm sorry."
"No need to be sorry, these things happen, and it'll teach me to pay attention." Blair turned back to Jim. "Help me up, huh? I know there's a cold pack somewhere in the kitchen fridge."
Jim, suddenly blank-faced, nodded, and hauled Blair to his feet. Blair gestured to Rishka. "Come here, help me keep my balance." The child scampered to his side, and Blair kept just enough weight on the hand he placed on Rishka's shoulder to balance him and let the child know that he was being useful. They made a slow, hobbling progress to the large, comfortable lounge that had its doors wide open to the garden, and Blair was lowered into the cushions of a completely sybaritic couch.
"Rishka, you get a footstool for Blair. I'll get that cold pack from the kitchen."
Jim's intention was forestalled by the appearance of Stephen. "Here." Stephen dropped the pack into Jim's hand with an irritated expression which lightened as he gestured to Rishka. "It's time to feed the lop-ears. Your mother's mixing up their food now. The other children are there but she'll need your help. And Hanky-panky will want a cuddle once she's had her food."
Rishka finished his very careful adjustment of a cushioned footstool under Blair's foot, before with a smile at Blair, but not at his father, he was gone with an obedient "Okay, Uncle Stephen".
"You're lucky Jenda was out on the other side of the yard," Stephen said.
"She coddles that boy," Jim said, his shoulders hunched defensively as he knelt beside Blair to apply the pack.
"Maybe she does. But it's not your place to make like a snapfish at him either." Stephen sighed. "Talk to him, Blair," he commanded, before he left.
"Actually, don't talk to me, Blair." Jim's head was lowered. Apparently, the placing of a simple icepack required tremendous powers of concentration.
"No problem. I don't need to because you already know that you acted like a cranky idiot." This observation earned him an ice-blue glare. "Still it's the first outbreak of cranky idiot behaviour in three whole days." Blair's voice turned fond. "I think that this break is doing you good."
Jim's hand rested on Blair's shin. "Three whole days without a display of temper from me. Joy."
"You've been stressed. We've both been stressed. But this has been a nice holiday, and I refuse to let a little accident – which was just an accident – destroy the mood. Sit up here, Jim. I don't know where Stephen found these chairs, but they are amazing."
Jim rose from the floor to settle himself beside Blair on the couch. "I'll have to get you a bandage. You need pressure on that as well as the cold."
"Yeah, but not right now."
Jim tucked Blair's head under his chin and inhaled sharply.
"So, what does the nose know?" There were worse places to be than with his head leaning against the solid warmth of Jim's chest, listening to the steady thud of Jim's heart.
"Everything," Jim replied, with a small huffing breath of satisfaction.
"Well, that's great, then. Everything's the way that it's supposed to be, right?" Blair tilted his head against Jim's arm. "Everyone said that things would work out just fine, and they were right. Just a little glitch, and things are working out now, and we should totally enjoy this time-out, Jim, because chances like this won't come our way too often."
"Thank you for the lecture." The words were dry but Jim angled himself to briefly kiss the tip of Blair's ear, before he stood up. "Since no-one is going to come near ogre-like me, I'd better go and get you that bandage."
"Sure," Blair said agreeably. "And then you can help me to the bedroom. I have to keep an injury like this elevated." He sighed, and put as much long-suffering into his voice as he could. "What will I do to keep from getting bored in there? Any ideas?"
Jim smiled, a sweet, clear look on his face. "Maybe."
In the evening, they ate with the rest of the family: Stephen and Kyla and their children, Regan and Jenda as well as Rishka, and one of Regan's nephews visiting while his mother bonded with a new child. A full house, but Blair didn't sense any particular emotional undercurrents, even though he was alert for it. All was forgiven and forgotten it seemed; or at least allowances were made for a sentinel under stress. After the meal, Blair scraped and stacked the plates and cutlery because it was the easiest job to do sitting down. Jim and Rishka took everything out and ensured that all surfaces in the dining room - table, sideboard, floor - were as pristine as the sight of two sentinels might permit.
Rishka's standards were perhaps less keen than his sight. Jim was not interested in excuses and Blair watched in amusement as the two sentinels had a not-quite joking power struggle. Then Jim hoisted Rishka onto his back, with stern injunctions that he was not allowed to splash his cousins in the bath, as Rishka waved good night to Blair, his face peeking over Jim's shoulder. Light and dark, Blair thought, as Rishka rubbed the top of his father's head with one small brown hand. Blair could sentimentally wish that the boy had inherited his father's striking blue eyes, but that profile was unmistakable.
Jim bore Rishka away and Blair hobbled back to the bedroom, deciding that he and Stephen were far more upset by Jim's irritability with his son than Rishka had been. But then he and Stephen knew why Jim was irritable.
Blair had been intending to work for some time before bed. He and Jim had napped earlier, after lazy, affectionate sex, and he knew he wouldn't sleep for a while. But instead of letters or lectures or analyses, he couldn't help opening up the medical assessment from Ana Li, the neurological specialist they'd seen recently.
She'd phrased her findings reasonably simply for a doctor, Blair thought, although the full medical report was attached as well. He skimmed his eyes down the information, even though he'd read it several times already.
"The disruption is certainly anomalous and may be related to the earlier haphazard formation, breaking, and re-formation of the bond. Also, Blair Sandburg's non-Cascadian genetic inheritance may have some effect. Certainly, some markers common in the Cascade population are absent from his make-up.
The spontaneous return to a normal bonding state is representative of the anomalous nature of the event. Regretfully, I can give no assurances that such a disruption will not occur again. Equally, there is no reason to assume that that bond will not simply continue in a normal manner. Certainly, tests indicate that all appropriate neuro-active proteins are present once more, that receptor function is normal...."
The door opened. Blair closed the file and looked up to smile at Jim.
"I think I see why Regan looked so pleased when you volunteered for bathroom duty."
"She reckoned that someone else should get wet for a change." Jim did look damp. The cuffs of his shirt, rolled up his forearms, hung heavy and there were water spots down the front of his trousers. "Hard at work?"
"Entropy waits for nothing and no one."
"Sounds likely." Jim stood behind Blair, hands gentle upon his shoulders, before reaching under Blair's hair to knead at his nape. Blair leaned back, while the warmth of the big hand working him sent tendrils of warmth spreading through his body. Jim leaned down and kissed Blair's temple. Then his tongue darted out to lap at the skin.
"Again?" Blair asked.
"Why not?" Jim purred.
Blair shut his eyes. There was a feeling in him that he didn't know how to define, but that he'd come to recognise as his own manifestation of the literal physical connection between them. Something reassuring and comforting that murmured 'Jim, Jim's here'. He'd hardly even known it was there until those two panicked weeks when it was gone.
Blair drew Jim's hands down, clasped the strong forearms, and said with a sigh. "Like you say: why not?"
It was Rishka's birthday soon, which had been the public excuse for the retreat to Stephen's country home. Three days after the great disaster of the football game (Blair's melodramatic tones when he called it that made Rishka laugh every time), Blair, Jim, and Stephen took one of the household's two little cars down to the main shopping precinct of Riverhead, perhaps an hour's drive away. This area of Cascade was geologically stable, unlike the area around Independence. Where Independence featured timber, Riverhead featured stone, and favoured pointed arch windows. Like Independence, pedal traffic was ubiquitous.
Blair smiled apologetically. "Sorry, guys, I think I was over-estimating my ankle." Even well-strapped, it was beginning to ache.
Jim rolled his eyes in an 'I told you so' way, but it was good-natured. "Library's over there," he said, pointing to a building to their left.
"So it is, but that eatery over there – they have berry square."
Stephen laughed. "Fine. You go indulge in gluttony and Jim and I will carry out the great present quest. It's a good enough plan." He struck a stylised stance, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by the tendency of his hair to flop across his forehead. "We go forth, brother mine!"
Jim stroked his hand across Blair's cheek, and they smiled at each other. "It's a quote from a set of children's stories," Jim explained.
"You loved them as much as I did," Stephen said.
"If you say so," Jim said dryly. If it was possible to exaggerate the smallness of a hand gesture, then Jim did so, pointing towards a covered way. "Forth?"
Blair chuckled, and waved good bye to them both before walking with care to the eatery, and ordering a piece of berry square and a pot of his beloved red tea. Then he sat down with a sigh of relief on a seat in a quiet corner.
His snack was brought to him and Blair looked at it with pleased anticipation. Three layers of feather-light pastry, filled with two layers of the most delectable fruit mixture Blair had ever tasted, more fruit on the side and a smooth dressing with just a touch of sourness to add to the mix of texture and flavour. Stephen was maybe not so wrong about the gluttony.
Blair was chasing the last smears of fruit syrup with the last crumbs of pastry when he looked up to see a man seating himself in one of the other chairs at the table.
"My apologies for disturbing you, Blair Sandburg."
Blair frowned. The face was vaguely familiar, and he was reasonably sure that he'd seen this man in meetings with Home Security, but the name escaped him.
"I sorry. I don't recall who you are." Blair's voice was repressive. He didn't appreciate this sudden government intrusion.
"Gary Rivier, Blair Sandburg." Rivier was fair-skinned but dark of hair and eyes, with a sharp-cut face and an ectomorph's long limbed body. He might have been somewhere in his thirties. Blair remembered him now. He'd been a background feature at a couple of HS briefings – someone's assistant and run-around man. Rivier's dark eyes were intent on Blair's face." I trust that you're well?"
"Yes, thank you. Very well. And enjoying my holiday." Blair would have liked to have dropped his eyes in the face of that exceedingly rude stare, but keeping an eye on Rivier, like a snake charmer watching his snake, seemed to be a good idea. Was there a flicker of something in Rivier's eyes when Blair declared himself well?
"The HS bulletin said that you were spending time in the country to recover from illness. It didn't say that you were injured."
"I'd hope that the HS bulletin doesn't record my every little misstep. Not the physical ones anyway. Why are you here, Gary Rivier?"
"Home Security shares responsibility for your safety, Blair Sandburg." This was said with zealous intensity.
"And are there any issues with my safety?"
Rivier's voice became strange, almost – flirtatious? "None that I can't deal with, Blair. But that doesn't mean that we shouldn't all maintain vigilance. Or care."
The over-familiar use of his first name further unsettled Blair and he stood abruptly, almost knocking his chair over. "Then thank you for your - care. If you'll excuse me..." He walked towards the door at a good clip, despite the protests from his ankle. The encounter was creepily irritating, and Blair had an urgent, irrational yearning to see Jim, to make sure that everything was all right. He took out the small phone he carried.
"Hey, sweetheart." Jim's voice, and seldom so welcome.
"Where are you?"
"What's wrong?" The lightness left Jim's tone.
"Nothing, nothing. I think. We need to have a chat with HS about their surveillance. That's all."
"HS is here?" Hard anger. Jim was no more fond of Home Security than Blair.
"So somebody called Gary Rivier claims." Blair kept walking towards the covered way where he'd last seen Jim and Stephen.
"Where are you?" Jim asked.
"Still in the square."
"Stay there. We'll come and get you."
There were seats around a fountain and small garden area. Blair sat, feeling foolish, but not foolish enough to quell his anxiety. Home Security had supposedly been well investigated and purged following the attempt on his life five years ago. It was a trustworthy organisation, with a vested interest in the health of the Child, but also with a vested interest in the status quo. Blair was pleased when he saw Jim come striding towards him, Stephen close behind. Then he wondered if maybe he shouldn't have simply put up with the creepy Gary Rivier. Jim looked strained and Blair's heart sank at the thought that Jim might return to the angry, anxious mood he'd suffered in Independence.
"Hey." Blair stood and put a hand on Jim's arm. "There's no need to look so grim. You know me and over-reacting around HS people."
"They should damn well leave us alone. Where is he?" Jim's eyes scanned the crowd.
"I don't know. He was in the eatery. Look, let's just go home."
Jim looked again around the square, his gaze lingering on the entrance to the eatery, but then he shrugged. "Yeah. Let's go home."
"Mission accomplished?"
Jim nodded. Stephen grinned and said "One puppy arranged." The lop-ears were cute, but they were a commercial enterprise first, and pets second. Regan and Jenda had been agreeable to the idea, after some basically amicable negotiation.
The car was parked a brief walk away, left under a shady tree. The three men turned a corner and then stopped short, because there was a man waiting by their vehicle. Rivier.
Blair rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. Just great."
"That's him?" Jim asked.
"Yes, that's him all right."
Rivier took a few steps forward.
"James Ellison." There was something about the way the man stood, the purpose in his voice, that made hairs stand up on the back of Blair's neck. He made an aborted move to stand in front of Jim, but Jim's hand bit into Blair's shoulder and pulled him to a halt.
Jim growled out, "HS is supposed to follow the proper channels. Not accost us in our private time."
"This is *my* private time. James Ellison, I challenge you for your guide."
Blair's startled "What?" was counterpointed by Stephen's nervous laugh and Jim's short, low, "Don't be stupid."
Stephen moved forward. "You're a little old for play-acting, I'd have thought."
"I'm not play-acting, Stephen Ellison. Please step aside."
"The hell I will. Get out of our way, or I'm calling the city-guard."
Blair fumbled in his jacket pocket for his own phone, although he had plans for a less mundane contact than the local city-guard post in mind. He half expected Jim to stalk forward and deal with this idiot, but Jim remained stock-still beside Blair, his hand still gripping hard enough to hurt. Another time or place, Blair might have protested. Not now.
"That's some hold you have there," Rivier said. "If you had any right to him, maybe you wouldn't need to keep such a tight grip.
"Oh, for..." Stephen said impatiently, but his anxious look at his brother must surely have mirrored Blair's expression. This was bad, but even worse would be if this crazy fool provoked Jim into a loss of temper. Five years of knowing Jim Ellison suggested that his control was balanced on a knife-edge right now. Blair could feel fury bubbling in himself at Rivier's behaviour, and could only guess what perceptions or instincts might be at work to aggravate a sentinel's mood.
Stephen was speaking into his phone, tersely requesting help. Blair shifted even closer to Jim, crowding him, and frantically wished that he knew the finer nuances of whatever was going on. Challenges were archaic, ridiculous. They didn't have to take this clown seriously - but Jim was ominously silent.
"I know why you needed your little holiday," Rivier taunted. He was sweating and red-faced, and his hands were clenched. He said something else, but low under his breath. Blair couldn't hear it, but Stephen looked appalled, and Blair felt rather than heard the hitch of Jim's breath, like a jolt within his own throat.
It had always been going to end in violence. Blair had known that almost from the moment when Rivier said Jim's name, but Jim's blurred, silent rush to attack was still shocking. "Jim!"
Rivier looked half gleeful, half unbelieving at Jim's furious charge as he dodged a ferocious kick that would have taken him in the left knee. "Shit!" Blair was overcome with a desperate need to do something, to get between the combatants and do something, but he knew it was futile and stupid. Equally, it was close to impossible to stand there and do nothing. When Stephen grabbed his arm he tried to wrench it away.
Stephen's face was pale. "Don't be a fool. You can't do anything. The man's crazy. Rogue."
"They're both crazy," Blair snarled, horrified by this street brawl. There was already a small crowd of equally horrified watchers, and more faces peering out of windows and doorways. "Oh, god." It was clear that Jim was going to win – the fight was short, but brutal, intense and without restraint. Blair winced as Jim struck three vicious punches straight into Rivier's gut. Rivier dropped to the ground, curling away from the possibility of a further assault, but Jim wasn't satisfied with this apparent surrender. His foot planted itself solidly in Rivier's lower back, and Blair could stand it no longer. He dashed forward, and yanked at Jim's arm even as Jim drew back his leg for another kick, his face terrifyingly serene.
"Enough!" Blair roared. "That's enough! He's down."
Jim's chest was heaving. Distractedly, he looked at Blair, and then down at Rivier. "Stay away from him," he groaned, and Blair truly didn't know if it was addressed to him or the man lying on his side in the street. Blair was flashing hot and cold with shock and anger, and Jim – Jim was shaking under his hands and looked as if he'd be delighted to throttle Rivier where he lay.
"It's over," Blair said, quietly now. His ankle was aching badly. He'd jarred it in his own rush to get to Jim, and he was holding on to Jim's arm almost as much to hold himself up as to hold Jim back. Stephen appeared beside Blair and Jim made an unnerving noise.
The calm of Stephen's voice was nearly as unnerving. "It's me. You know me. I have Kyla. Kyla for me, Jim. You have Blair, he's safe." Jim stared at Stephen, and then he nodded, once. One of his arms twined across Blair's back and ribs in a hold that was punishingly tight but at least meant that Blair didn't have to support quite so much of his own weight. In that same calm voice, but with carefully enunciated speed, Stephen said, "Blair, you need to drive Jim back home. I'll stay here and try to deal with this. At the least, I want to know what this piece of shit has to say for himself." The even voice roughened at the reference to Rivier. Stephen, Blair noticed, wasn't looking either of them in the face; it was a formal gesture - deferential. To which one of them, Blair wondered. Jim? "I'll – I'll call ahead to Kyla, make sure she keeps people out of your way. Just take him straight to the quiet room."
"But – " Blair began, but he was cut off. Stephen's agitation bled through the attempt at calm.
"Trust me, Blair, Jim won't thank you for leaving him in the public eye in this state."
Jim offered no protest at being talked about like he wasn't there, which scared Blair about as much as the barely past violence.
"Looks like Stephen's in charge of the show, then. Come on." Jim was still watching Rivier, tensed and waiting for any evidence of a will to fight. There was none, which Blair was grateful for as he softly spoke Jim's name. "Jim, time to go, man."
Jim's eyes focused with a predator's sharp-eyed attention. "Go where?"
"Home. Home, Jim."
Jim turned his head to rake down the small group of spectators with a suspicious glare, as if he thought that more strangers might come forward with outrageous assertions. "Okay," was all he said.
"Yeah, okay. Let's get out of here." Blair steered Jim into the passenger seat, and shut the door, desperately relieved that the car operation would only need the use of his good leg. He pulled away from the kerb. Stephen stood alongside the collapsed Rivier, his face strained and angry, not bending down to assist Rivier but standing guard over him as his brother had done. Blair had one last glance of him in the mirrors, before the scene was behind them, although hardly gone from Blair's thoughts.
Getting on to the main carriageway required all of Blair's concentration. An elderly couple in a pedal cart demanding right of way over spoiled upstarts in motorised vehicles was a standard joke on Cascade, but it wasn't one that Blair was prepared to be amused by right now. Once they were on the open road, with essentially a clear run back to the house, Blair realised that he was so shaky that he was only barely safe to drive. He kept expecting to see the black and yellow cars of the city-guard behind them, or maybe one of the anonymous and modest cars that were driven at need by staff of Home Security or the Foreign Corps; even a completely immodest and very obvious flyer above them. But there was nothing that wasn't normal for this road; an occasional bus or truck going by, and a farm vehicle that Blair easily overtook and that fell fast out of sight.
"Jim?"
Jim was hunched in his seat, body turned towards the window, hand sheltering his face; he was still silent.
"So. You want to explain what that was about? Not that I expect you to explain Rivier because, *clearly*, total nutcase, but you... You made the first move there, which I have to admit was - unexpected, whatever the hell Rivier was saying." There was no answer. Blair continued, trying to be conversational about this, and failing miserably. "So what did he say? That thing that I couldn't hear? Stephen looked weird about it and you..." Blair wished that he didn't need his hands to control the vehicle. Words weren't enough to express his feelings right now, but he needed to keep a grip on the steering wheel. Certainly, somebody needed to have a grip right now. Blair wondered how the consequences of this would play out. Cover up? That bothered him immensely. But even more distressing was the idea of Jim dragged through Justice for assault, however provoked. Maybe especially if provoked, because that would mean that private circumstances would be presented in public extenuation. Blair's mouth tightened.
Still that withdrawn silence.
"Jim, you are freaking me out here."
"Then you should have stayed with Stephen. He's used to explaining his throwback brother." Jim's voice was controlled, but somehow harsh and wounded all the same. Blair took one look at him and pulled over.
He turned to Jim, awkwardly hugging him. He was startled when Jim hauled him closer, and kissed him voraciously, one arm pinning Blair as close as possible, the other clasping Blair's head, adjusting the target that was Blair's mouth, the skin of his face, his eyelids. Blair murmured wordlessly, surprised, but increasingly turned on. He never had been able to resist the way that Jim would touch him, would kiss him with devout intensity, and this was that intensity a hundredfold.
Cascade, however, had its rules about public displays of sexuality. When Jim's hand dropped to Blair's crotch, Blair pulled his mouth away and tried to protest.
"Jim. We're parked on the side of the road. Okay, empty road but that could change... Jim. Jim!" The abandoned recklessness began to frighten Blair as much as it turned him on. As long as Blair had known him, Jim was a man for public restraint; not that there was anything restrained about kicking the shit out of somebody in the street at eleven o'clock in the morning. He yanked at the hand groping at the fastening of his pants. "I don't think so, not now, anyway. Come on."
Maybe it was the touch of his hand on Jim's, skidding over skin and bone as he tried to hold Jim back. Maybe it was the sound of his voice. Jim stopped, and stared into Blair's face, his eyes blown to black as he struggled with whatever drove him. Then he jerked back from Blair as if electrocuted and sat very still for a few seconds before landing a double handed blow on the dash in front of them that left it with a vertical split running down the surface. There was a terrible silence. Jim leaned forward, elbows on knees, his face in his hands, propped more or less against the broken fittings.
"Just get us back, Blair."
Blair took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. "Sure." His voice trembled. No wonder Stephen had said to use the quiet room. Blair pulled out onto the road. Anxiety, anticipation, and the ache of frustrated curiosity made a mess of his concentration. Still, he got them back to Stephen's small estate in one piece, which he regarded as a minor miracle in the circumstances. Kyla was waiting by the door. Jim swung out of the car without a word or a look at either her or Blair and stalked inside.
"Stephen called me. I sent the children out with Jenda. Regan will meet them away from here, and I checked that everything's in order in the quiet room. There's only me in the house. What a mess." She hadn't lowered her eyes to Jim, or now to Blair. Another guide, and therefore not a threat right now. Blair was sure of that much.
"I can't keep him waiting. Thanks." Waiting for what? Blair knew exactly what on one level, but five years was not enough time to understand every little shade of Cascade behaviour. What the hell was he expected to do here, besides the obvious? There was only way to find out.
Public and private had odd boundaries on Cascade, especially for sentinels, and quiet rooms were one solution: soundproofed, specially vented and filtered, and usually furnished with a large bed and a conference table and chairs. The small bathroom was the only area defined as separate. Cascade had no embarrassment about the explicit purposes of the space. Whether a sentinel needed the room to retreat from the world, or anyone wanted privacy for business or sex – the quiet room was the place.
Blair wasn't so far behind Jim but he opened the door to find him already naked and looking almost painfully aroused. He closed the door, leaving them in an enclosed world where instinct was all that was left. Jim hauled Blair into his arms and bent his head for more of those desperate kisses and Blair decided that he should enjoy the ride, hope that he didn't break any important Cascade traditions, and figure out what the hell was going on later. Much later, after he'd finished putting his hands all over Jim's gorgeous skin.
When two people were both in agreement as to one course of action, such as getting Blair naked, it ought not be so awkward and seemingly slow. Finally, Jim finished stripping Blair, who found himself sitting on the edge of the bed after a move from Jim reminiscent of a tidal surge. It left Jim on his knees in front of Blair, sniffing and nuzzling Blair's belly and flanks while Blair tried to soothe some of the desperation that he saw, and that he felt in himself, by touching whatever of Jim he could reach: shoulders, back, face, hair. It was inevitable that Blair's cock would receive its share of fervent attention, and he sighed at the flex of Jim's jaw under his fingers, the heat of Jim's mouth.
Jim's hands were warm also, and greedy, spreading out over Blair's body in possessive exploration. Blair stroked the fine, soft bristle of Jim's hair. He cupped Jim's nape under his palm and placed the fingers of his other hand in the bend between neck and shoulder, learning anew the movement of muscle and bone there, while Jim suckled at Blair's cock and moaned deep in his throat.
Blair's face twisted, and he cried out as he came, his hands digging into Jim's shoulders now, fumbling for something to hang onto while pleasure swept him away. Jim coaxed the last aftershocks of feeling into renewed arousal, until Blair took his face between his hands and tilted Jim's head up to look at him. Jim stared at him with a blind, searching look until Blair bent and kissed him with sloppy enthusiasm. He grasped at Jim's cock which sat high against his belly, darkly flushed with the blood that sustained it. Too far away, Blair thought reaching out to touch that gorgeous length. He slid off the edge of the bed, to land almost in Jim's lap – but mainly on the floor. Solid flesh rested in his hand, heated, sturdy, and Blair's gut twisted in a complicated thrill that was seated as much in emotion as physicality. He wanted to please Jim, make him feel good, and he was taken aback when Jim placed his own hand over Blair's, and gently pulled him back.
"I want to be inside you," Jim whispered. "Want it. Blair, have to fuck you..."
"Yes, yes," Blair assured him but it was so hard to move, to grab at more, because what he had now delighted him so much; Jim's body under his hands, the yearning, sexual hiss of his voice, the feel of Jim's mouth against his shoulder, on his jaw. There was better to come, Blair knew that, but he was more than willing to gorge his senses on what was available here and now, in this moment. It was Jim who hauled them up and then back down again to lie on the bed.
There were bruises on Jim's skin and marks on his knuckles. Rivier had landed a blow or two before Jim took him down, and Blair lifted his head with sudden fury to snatch at Jim's mouth, to kiss him with clumsy avarice. Someone had thought that they could separate them? Could deny them this? No. Not a chance. He whimpered as Jim drew back and sat astride him, staring at him for long moments.
"You said that you want to fuck me." It came out as almost a complaint.
"I will." But Jim didn't move, didn't reach for the container of lubricant that Kyla had so practically left at the edge of the mattress. Instead he stared at Blair. His left index finger ran across Blair's chest, fingering gently at the nipples. They were tight, raised, and very sensitive, and Blair didn't even try not to moan. Jim made no sign that he heard that helpless sound. His finger tracked a firm line along Blair's upper arm, his eyes intent as if the secrets of the universe lay just under Blair's skin, before Jim's finger centred itself upon Blair's lower lip.
"Jim? Please..." Blair wanted to suck that finger into his mouth, to bite it, to wrap his tongue around it and *taste*, but he lay still under Jim's regard, even though he felt ready to burst with lust. Jim hadn't come even once yet, so Blair waited and honoured the intent patience with his own as best he could. Finally, Jim nodded, more to himself than Blair, and reached across the mattress and slicked his cock with speedy delicacy, his eyes always on Blair.
Jim shifted, lifted Blair's hips, and then pushed and pulled him into position, his eyes mapping out every inch of skin. There was the gentle tease of fingers along Blair's perineum, a slick finger entering him, moving in him. Jim's gaze switched now and again from his hands to Blair's face. Blair smiled, but Jim didn't smile back, and Blair suddenly felt oddly alone.
"Jim, speak to me, huh?" Blair's small, interrogative sound ended with a grunt as Jim finally chose to replace his fingers with his cock. "Jim?"
Jim loomed above him, in him, but somehow not with him, and Blair reached out in entreaty. Jim bent his head to kiss him, with a quiet, "Shhh,". It was an awkward, strained position, but Blair didn't mind so much as Jim began to move, all the while kissing Blair, demanding the use of Blair's mouth, even as the increasing pace of the sex challenged their ability to breathe and kiss at the same time. Jim would lift himself, his face caught up in pleasure and effort to stare at Blair with that amazing (frightening) intensity, and then he would lower himself again and mash their mouths together, his tongue pushing, licking, swiping – every sort of oral caress imaginable. It was enough to wipe the unsettled moments of reservation from Blair's thoughts, and leave him entirely in the now of profoundly good sex, and yes, he was going to come again, gasping, heaving for breath, but still trying to pull Jim's weight closer, tighter.
Blair emerged foggily from his post-orgasmic haze to consider his options for helping Jim to feel as good as he did, and cupped Jim's head in his hands as his lover leaned down to him once more. More kisses, Blair presumed. That was fine, that was absolutely great, and anticipation made his shock all the more when hot, sickening pain bolted like a lightning strike through the join of neck and shoulder. A noise, a howl, of protest ripped out of Blair's throat, and he stared in uncomprehending dismay as Jim lifted his head, lips pulled back in a snarling search for the breath to finish, to reach his own climax. The lines of Jim's teeth were limned in red; he'd bitten Blair, hard enough to draw blood. Jim's head dipped, hiding the stained mouth, and with a long, low groan, he finally finished, and collapsed over Blair like a dead thing.
Not quite a dead thing. Jim shifted, moved, and with a rush of breath nuzzled his face against Blair's neck, ignoring Blair's hiss of pain. The bite throbbed, and Blair jerked as if stung when the wet heat of Jim's tongue probed the wound.
"Shit! Jim, what the fuck are you doing?" Then there truly was stillness, and a silence that was as heavy as Jim's weight pressing Blair's ribs. "Come on, Jim." Blair tried to speak gently, but he felt overwhelmed with the need to be able to move. "Just move over, huh, time to let my lungs expand, come on." Tension strung the big body lying upon Blair, and then with the same suddenness that had so startled Blair in the attack on Rivier, Jim was standing. There was blood smeared across his face, and Blair saw the bulge of Jim's tongue under his lips as he licked across his teeth. Blair sat and craned his head, but he couldn't quite turn enough to see the bite, although he could see blood smudging the skin. There were a few bright marks of it on the sheet behind him.
"Blair?" The question was hoarse in tone, as if Jim had been shouting all this time, instead of being so very quiet.
"Yeah?" Blair responded, suddenly unsure. The aftermath of sex was usually filled with hugs, with teasing talk or jokes. But this time was different, and the soreness of Blair's shoulder was a smarting reminder of that. That and the stricken look on Jim's face. "Hey, I'm okay, well, not exactly okay given that you - uh – bit me, but it's not like it's that bad, and the sex itself was really great, although I know that we need to sort out the mess with fucking Rivier – "
"Blair," Jim said, very low, but very firmly. "Shut up."
"Shutting up. I mean – yeah – shutting up." They stared at each other.
"I bit you." Jim's voice was blank, disbelieving; as if he didn't have the taste of Blair's blood in his sentinel-sensitive mouth.
"Yeah."
"Shit. Let me look." The mattress dipped under Jim's weight as he knelt behind Blair, and gently pulled hair aside, gently tilted Blair's head, gently fingered the skin around the bite with shaking hands. "Shit," Jim said again. "You should show this to a doctor."
Blair shook his head.
"Blair, it's going to scar if you don't. Hell, even if you do."
"It doesn't matter if it does," Blair said stoutly.
"Don't be stupid. It's a bite. They get infected more often than not."
"Fine. All the more of you in me. That's the idea isn't it? The sex and the sloppy kisses and all? And if you think that I'm going to give any privacy suborning bastards more ammunition to hurt you with then you have another think coming." Because that was what had happened, wasn't it? Cascade had so many strictures about privacy, about etiquette, and look! They were dumped as quickly here as anywhere else when people wanted to fight dirty.
"I know why you needed your little holiday," Rivier had said. Blair dropped his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry," Jim breathed.
"Not your fault." Blair shuddered once, and leaned back against Jim. After the briefest hesitation, Jim's arms closed around him. "I'm trying to figure it out, you know?" Blair said plaintively.
"Well, it's good that someone's thinking."
"Stop that, Jim." A shrug jerked against Blair's skin.
"Come to the bathroom. We need to clean this." Fingers ghosted again across the broken skin.
"See?" Blair turned to look at Jim and tried out a smile. "You're thinking, too." He stood and headed for the bathroom, Jim a silent shadow behind him.
There was a well-equipped medical box in the bathroom and Jim rinsed and dressed the bite with quiet efficiency, while Blair watched him, both directly and via the mirror. The primal mood seemed to be burned out of Jim now, leaving him tiredly morose. Blair could empathise.
"Was he for real? Rivier? Because I'm getting nasty little visions of someone seeing an opportunity and siccing him on us."
"He was for real. I wouldn't..." Jim adjusted the seal of the dressing he was laying out. "I wouldn't have gone off like some porn show if he hadn't been. I could - he wanted you. You don't fake that, not to sentinels." He bent to put the box away in the storage under the sink, his head ducked and his face hidden for a moment. "Which doesn't mean that someone didn't sic him on us. They just let loose a wild animal instead of a trained one."
Blair leaned against the sink. "What did he say that set you off?"
"Nothing that shocking – not to your offworlder sensibilities. Just telling me that I had no claim."
Blair lifted his eyebrows. "So?"
"It was an old form. And spoken so you couldn't hear it – sentinel business, not for mere guides. God. Like we lived six hundred years ago in some back country inbred village and you were property." Jim's mouth quirked, not so much a smile as an acknowledgement of something sour. "That might have been strategic on his part. Or maybe he was crazy enough to really believe that."
"And so you proved I wasn't property by kicking his ribs in on the street? Way to go, Jim." Blair meant it as a joke, but immediately knew it was an ill-judged one. Jim's expression closed as neatly as the cabinet door he shut.
"I'm cold. I should put my clothes back on."
"We could just go back to bed – wrap up and talk. There's a ton of things to work out here."
Jim's palms faced out in a 'whatever' gesture, but he followed Blair to the bed. Blair hastily dropped scattered pillows over the blood marks and burrowed under the covers. Jim spooned up behind him with a hand across his waist.
"How much trouble are you going to be in, Jim?"
"Probably not that much. Provocation and my high latency peculiarities will be accounted for." Bitterness there, and Blair tried to draw Jim over him like a blanket.
"And that's the problem. We have to publicly explain why you were at flashpoint." Blair took a breath. "Is it really going to matter that much? The bond disruption?"
"Spoken like a true offworlder. Yes, it'll matter."
Jim had argued for them accepting, even using, the public idea of them as some romantic ideal of a bonded pair. The old forms of ceremony they'd used, and that image, helped offset Blair's ongoing campaign against the isolation policy, against the ideas that had brought him to Cascade as a prisoner. He had a meeting – ostensibly private, but still symbolic – with the Eminent of the First School next month. Blair had worked hard for the opportunity. What had happened, and why, was certain to reach the Eminent. Blair wondered how it might affect his reception, or the Eminent's receptiveness to Blair's ideas.
"It doesn't matter to me," Blair said, intending to reassure. Or maybe he was looking for reassurance for himself, the promise that the bond wasn't all that there was.
Jim's arm withdrew as he sat up in the bed.
"Doesn't matter to you. Would it matter to you if I broke my neck?"
Startled, Blair turned. "Yes, of course it would." Jim's face was haggard. "Jim. I don't mean that..."
"I know what you mean. But I'm not like you. I can't pick at the strands of what we are and nominate that piece Jim the sentinel and that piece Jim the man. They're all the same. Don't tell me that the bond doesn't matter to you. Don't."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant..."
"I know. But don't. Don't express that idea where anyone else could hear you. And don't ever put it in anything you write." Jim swiped his hands across his face.
"Do you think that Doctor Li was right? That the bond disruption is because of me?" That's right, Blair thought, keep picking at the scab.
"She didn't say that." Jim lay down again, and his hand cradled Blair's jaw.
"If it's her report that's leaked and not just the basic information..."
"They'll have plenty of innuendo to throw around."
"And it might harm me, but it's going to hurt you more. Bastards. Shit eaters."
That made Jim grin. "More like shit throwers. I have faith in your ability to dodge."
"My ability to dodge is too damn dependent on you cueing me on which way to duck. While you take the hits."
"I don't care."
"I do."
Jim's eyes slipped shut – not so much tiredness, Blair suspected, as a desire to end the conversation. If he was going to pretend to be asleep, then he couldn't complain if Blair watched him.
Just a few hours ago they'd been joking, enjoying the modest sights of Riverhead; Jim and Stephen had been preparing to 'go forth' to buy a gift for Rishka. And now...Blair looked around the room, the peaceful soothing room, before his gaze returned to Jim, who lay still, dropping into genuine sleep instead of the pretence of it. Blair's sentinel; his lover; his steadfast ally despite Jim's occasional uncertainties. Soon, they would have to leave this room and face all sorts of consequences.
"Screw them," Blair said, low voiced. Maybe there was the hint of a smile on Jim's face. Maybe not.
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