Den of Chaos Fiction
The Sentinel

Port in a Storm
by Sandi


Summary: Jim rides out a storm. Well, actually, Blair does the riding.

It's kind of nice, lying here, listening to the storm build up. I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance, getting closer. And, the wind's picked up quite a bit, cause I can hear the wooden wind chime out on the deck, knocking against the wall, and I'm hoping we've got everything outside battened down good.

The lightning's weak still, but when it flashes through the skylight above the bed, it bathes Blair in a weird sort of surreal glow. Makes him look pale against the navy of the sheets. He's got them all tangled up around his legs, like always. Sandburg's a pretty rowdy sleeper. It's like he can't even slow down when he's unconscious, it's just not in him to be still.

He's lying on his back, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other arm flung over his head. That wild-ass hair of his all over the place. I'd complain, but it smells damn good, and then there's the way it feels on my belly when he's sucking me off, so, well, you know.

The thunder's closer now, and it's started to rain, and I've dialed my senses way down, so I don't overload. Storms were pretty hairy deals for me before Blair taught me how to do that. Hell, everything was out of control before The Professor came along. Now, it's only my sex drive that's out there. I can blame that on him, too, though.

Whoa. The lightening woke him up that time. Hey, call me romantic, but it makes my breath catch the way he automatically reaches for me when something startles him. Please, God, let me always be there to catch him.

"Hey, Jim. Storm's coming."

"Duh. I heard, Chief. I'm a Sentinel."

"What you are is a smart-ass."

"You love me, though."


Now, when Blair first wakes up, he has this voice. Maybe you'd call it 'husky' or 'seductive' or some shit like that. All I know is, it sounds sand-paperish and breathy all at the same time, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my dick reach for the stars.

At this particular moment, The Voice has slithered its way as close as possible to my left ear to state its intentions.

"Know what, Jim?"

Now, normally, I might play this little guessing game with him, but for some friggin reason, my throat's gone dry. He knows I'm paying attention, though. I think he can probably tell by the way my cock's trying to poke a hole in his thigh.

"I've always wanted to do you in a thunderstorm."

Well. Okay.

And Mother Nature herself must be susceptible to The Voice, too, cause she chooses this minute to shut down the power. Being as it's night anyway, it's hard to tell, except that the air conditioner and refrigerator quit humming, and the digital numbers on the clock go out, and we're wrapped up in this inky blackness and Sandburg's breathing so close to my ear that his lips are touching my neck in that sensitive place he knows about.

The rain's really pounding now, wind rattling the window panes, but, hell, it's nothing compared to the wild thing that is my lover. Cause now he's crawling all over me like he's on a fucking treasure hunt and when he licks at my nipples, well, I'm kinda glad for the thunder. That loud moaning I'm doing would just blow his ego way out of proportion.

And speaking of blowing, Blair's an expert at it and decides that now is a dandy time to show off his talents. Which is fine by me. In fact, its so damn fine I might just lose my mind here. The complete, total darkness just seems to make it more intense. All I've got to go on is the feel of his hair in my fists, and his mouth on me, all hot and wet and hungry and his hands spreading me wide and Christ when did he get hold of the lube??

His urgency is so damn hot, I can hear him breathing real short, and his heartbeat's out the roof and his hands are rough and then, without a word, he's just in me, up to his balls and pushing for all he's worth.

And when lightning washes the room in a brilliant glare, and I see him, reared up over me, heaving and sweating and gripping my arms so hard I'm feeling the bruises already and his hair's all wild and his eyes are just fierce and he's yelling my name. God, I don't ever remember coming that fucking hard or long, like I'm turning inside out, and not only that, but I can feel him letting go, too, in a huge way.

And now I can't tell where the thunder stops and his heartbeat begins. He's gone all boneless, still sprawled half over me, damp and shaking and trying to breathe. But, still holding on, tight. And we've weathered this storm pretty damn well.

And, that's the clincher, see, it's not just the fucking or the coming or the storm. It's Blair. It's us. It's him and me. And, as he'd say, it's just so totally awesome.


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