Author's website: http://writingonthewall.slashcity.net/~angelise7/toc.htm
This work is not intended as an infringement upon the rights of those that own these characters and is meant solely for non-profit entertainment purposes only.

Just letting you know that this is the second to last chapter. The muse has decided it's way past time to write 'the end' for this series.
Original characters Sharrie, Dawn and Chloe belong to me.
Light My Fire' Award Nominee for Best Non Jim/Blair Pairing.
Young Love relationship--James is in high school. Also, this Blair is so not canon. Move on if you have a problem with authors who dare to mess with the OTP. ;-)
This story is a sequel to: http://Work of Desire, Chapter 21

"Mack, please."

Simon gripped the armrests of his chair instead of the broad shoulders belonging to the man blowing him.

"Mack."

No answer was forthcoming. Instead, a blazing heat swallowed the head of his cock. The delicious warmth tortured him for countless minutes before being replaced by callused fingers that knew much too well all of his pleasure spots.

"Mack!"

"Please what, Simon?" his companion finally answered. "Please suck me? Please fuck me? Please what?" The incredible heat returned, this time engulfing his entire shaft.

Tightening his grip, Simon threw back his head and groaned. The answer was right there on the tip of his tongue, ready to be offered to the man who had slaked his hunger and eased his suffering so many times in the past. Fortunately, his heart remembered who he belonged to and snatched the words back, replacing them with action that left absolutely no room for misinterpretation.

"Damn it, Mack! Would you please stop!"

Simon grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his oldest friend, Mack Wolfe, away from his groin. Sharp teeth accidentally grazed sensitive flesh, setting off a mini-display of fireworks inside his skull, but even that didn't deter him. He dumped his friend on his ass. While Mack was dealing with the rejection, Simon got the hell out of Dodge.

Clambering to his feet he quickly placed himself out of temptation's way. Once his chastised erection was hidden from view and his clothes put to right, he turned and apologized to his visitor. "Sorry about that."

"You and me both, partner," Wolfe answered.

Simon hardened his heart against the longing he could clearly hear in his friend's voice. He knew Mack was free to love him and would do so in a heartbeat if he'd just say the word. Why then didn't he say it? Why didn't he just give in to the hunger that was demanding satisfaction?

James, his heart replied. James, that's why.

Wiping the sweat from his face, Simon listened to Mack stumble to his feet. Once the man joined him by the pool he extended his hand. "Really, Mack, I am sorry. You know I don't nor---"

"It's okay, Simon," his friend interrupted. "Par for the course, actually."

A wry chuckle followed but the sound was hollow. Simon almost caved. "Mack . . . ."

"Let's see," Wolfe continued, "I've quit the force, lost the lease on my condo, got knocked on my ass by my best friend. Like I said, par for the course."

"Damn it, Mack," Simon replied. "If I wasn't already in a relationship, you know I'd be welcoming you with open arms."

Wolfe took the proffered hand, but instead of shaking it, he used it to pull Simon into a hug. Who the hug comforted most, Simon wasn't quite sure.

"I certainly hope your young man knows how fucking special you are," Wolfe whispered in his ear.

"Believe me, he does." Simon pulled Mack closer and squeezed hard. "It's just a little rough going for James right now, but as soon as he's got a handle on things, I'm sure we'll be---"

"Hush."

Simon fell back a step when Mack abruptly released him. "What?" He narrowly missed falling into the pool and automatically grabbed for his friend. "What did you say?"

"Quiet." Wolfe guided Simon to his chair. "Hush for a second, okay?" he instructed. "There's somebody out there."

"Maybe it's James," Simon suggested and grunted in pain when the fingers clutching his shoulder bit deep. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Wait here," Wolfe insisted. "I'll be right back."

Simon stayed where he was despite the fact that it was killing him to remain silent. What if it was James? He leaned forward in his chair, straining to hear what was going on.

Please let it be James, he prayed. It had been so very long since the teenager's last visit. All Simon wanted was to call his lover to his side and hold him in his arms for the next millennium or two.

Silence continued to be his only companion, and Simon sighed heavily. His friend had guessed correctly; he was tired and lonely and in need of some serious loving. Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, Simon moaned softly. God, he missed James, missed him more than he ever thought possible.

Not only that but the enforced separation his lover insisted on was playing havoc with his emotions. So much so that Simon was actually considering making an appointment with Dr. Montelaro, his personal psychiatrist. He was suffering in a major way and realized he needed professional help to keep him from slipping into another depression.

Simon applied pressure to his throbbing temples. He hated with a passion taking anti-depressants, but if he didn't do something soon, Dawn would surely kill him.

Simon chuckled for a brief second when he thought of his personal assistant. She, along with Mack, had been his salvation following his break-up with Blair.

The day he had discovered the Braille note his former lover left taped to his favorite coffee mug was the day his entire world had crashed down around him. Without a doubt, he would have gone insane from the heartache if it hadn't been for his two best friends.

In fact, the mental torment had gotten so bad that he'd even gone as far as to contemplate suicide. That insanity had been thwarted when Dawn discovered him in his study fingering the antique Colt .45 his grandfather willed to him the year before. Furious beyond measure, his assistant had taken possession of the gun which, if he remembered correctly, was still missing to this day. She'd also arranged for Mack to fly in from Hawaii. Both had put their lives on hold, remaining with him until his depression had lifted.

Simon abruptly shut the door on those particular memories and redirected his attention to the matter at hand. "Please let it be James," he whispered once again.

Bowing his head, Simon prayed his friends would not have to lend him their shoulders a second time.

+++++++

"Fuck!"

James snapped shut the cover of his cellphone with a vengeance. For a second he actually considered trashing the damn thing by throwing it as far as he could. Maybe throw it at that fucker who was---

"Shit!"

His left foot caught in an unseen hole in the ground and down he went. Shoving his phone in a back pocket, James touched a hand to his chin and stared in amazement when it came back covered in blood. Obviously he'd bitten his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed, but hell if he could remember doing so.

"It's not like I don't have other things on my mind." Closing his eyes in concentration James felt another drop of blood well up and slip down his chin. Normally he would have marveled at this strange talent of his, but tonight it only served to remind him of his current dilemma.

Once again he cursed Blair Sandburg.

"Of all the fucking times for you to be out of reach. Aren't you my guide? Don't we have some sort of mystic bond that connects us to each other?"

James rammed a fist into the ground. What the hell good was a guide if he wasn't around to help his sentinel dial down the excruciating pain crushing his heart?

Struggling for breath, he stared at the blood on his fingertips but, instead of zeroing in on the stain, all he could see was Simon, his Simon, getting it on with another man.

"How could you, Si?" the teen questioned the surrounding darkness. "How could you do that to me? Cheat on me with that slick bastard?"

James ignored the voice inside his head that reminded him of how he had neglected his lover's needs over the past several months. Hell, it wasn't like it was deliberate. Simon knew how difficult it was for him to get a handle on his senses, knew he didn't want to risk a zone-out while making love and thus require Blair's assistance to bring him out of it.

Anger reigned for a second, and James dealt with the emotion by ripping free handfuls of grass from the manicured lawn. For Christ's sake, Blair had the hots for him. It was as plain as the nose on his face. Did Simon really want to risk their relationship just because he needed to get his rocks off? Couldn't he keep it in his pants for a little while longer?

Obviously not, James thought, recalling what he'd just witnessed.

Unbidden moisture clouded his vision. "How could you, Si?" he mumbled, swiping at his eyes. "How could you let another man touch you? You're mine, man, mine."

The longer James thought about Simon and his guest, the madder he got. Cursing under his breath he struggled to his feet and headed toward the house. He had only taken a few steps when someone tackled him from behind.

"You better have a damn good explanation for trespassing on private property, Junior."

Recognizing the man's voice, James twisted free. "Get your fucking hands off me, you son of a bitch." He stepped forward and hit the man dead center in the chest with his fist. "In fact, keep your hands to yourself period. Simon's mine, you jackass. And if I ever catch you touching him again, I'll---"

James found himself lying flat on his back. "What the fuck?" He glared up at the man looming over him. The old geezer had taken him down without warning and wasn't even breathing hard. "Why you---"

A booted foot planted itself on the hand that had curled into a fist. "If you're James, and I'm betting you are," the stranger announced, "Simon's by the pool, waiting for you."

"Waiting for me?" James asked sarcastically. "Yeah, right. Waiting for you is more like it."

"Not me, Kid. Simon turned me down flat. It's either you or nothing for my friend."

James grunted when he was unceremoniously hauled to his feet. The rough handling caused him to overbalance, and his weak leg gave way under the extra weight. "Shit!" the teen cried out as he fell.

Familiar arms clumsily caught him before he hit the ground. "James? Are you okay? Did you hurt your leg?"

Instinctively James turned and buried his face in the open vee of Simon's silk shirt. He inhaled the man's unique scent and felt his tumultuous emotions calm immediately. "Si." Pressing his lips to the pulse point at the base of his man's throat, he sighed with utter bliss when his own heart matched its rhythm.

"James, dear God, I've missed you," Simon whispered. "Please say you'll stay with me tonight."

Soothing fingers tangled themselves in the strands lying against the nape of his neck, and James shuddered at the gentle touch.

"Si, I---"

"Ah hell, here comes another one."

"Mack?"

James lifted his head and looked at the stranger standing guard beside Simon. The man had his head cocked to the side as if he was listening to something. He was about to ask what was going on, but his lover beat him to the punch.

"What is it now?" Simon inquired.

Wolfe assisted both James and Simon to their feet before asking, "Damn, Simon, just how many young bucks are you fucking?"

Simon reached for Mack's arm and grasped it once located. "I have no idea what you're talking about. James is my lover, my only lover. There's no one else."

James stared at Simon in surprise. "Si?"

His lover turned toward him, allowing James to see the truth of his words written on his face. The older man's declaration suddenly put an end not only to his anger but to his thoughts of betrayal. In that moment James realized it was his own actions that had caused Simon to seek the comfort of another man's touch. The thought of Simon with Mack hurt like hell and no doubt would keep him awake for many nights to come, but at least he now knew his man still loved and wanted him.

Mack's voice invaded his thoughts.

"Hell, Simon, this one's so hungry for your ass, he's drooling." Wolfe pinned James with a pointed look. "And I'm not talking spit, if you get my drift."

James suddenly tuned into the voice moving in their direction. "It's the Professor, Simon, and I'll be damned if your friend isn't telling the truth. I can smell him from here." The teen peered into the darkness. "His crotch is damp, Simon. I can see the stain."

Simon looked back and forth between the two men flanking him. "Blair? Here? What do you mean . . ." The older man stopped mid-sentence. "Mack? How is it you can hear Blair? I didn't hear a damn thing, and I'm standing right beside you."

Wolfe pulled his arm free. "The dude's muttering loud enough to be heard in the next county. Hell, the kid here heard him."

James moved to where he could look the stranger full in the face. "You're like me," he exclaimed. "You're a fucking sentinel."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Junior." Wolfe pushed the teenager to the side. "I'm heading back to the house, Simon. Holler if you need help with your fan club. My rod's still willing, if you are."

Rolling his eyes, James ignored the crude offer of assistance. Instead, he lowered his voice to an almost inaudible level and asked, "Are you saying if Simon did holler, you'd come running?"

"What are friends for?" Wolfe replied without hesitation.

"You're a fucking liar," James accused the older man. Reaching out a hand, he grasped Mack's upper arm. "You are a sentinel."

"Oh my Goddess."

All three men turned as one.

James let got of Mack's arm and stepped closer to Simon. He welcomed the arm circling his waist with a gentle touch to his lover's hand. Warm lips pressed against his temple and, if it hadn't been for the strange tableau unfolding before him, James would have returned the kiss a hundredfold.

"Tell me what's going on," Simon whispered in his ear. "Tell me what you see."

James looked first at Blair and was stunned to find his guide staring up at Mack as if he was this week's winning lottery ticket or better yet, as if Mack was that damn cup those knights of King Arthur had searched for. What was it called? The Holy Grail?

"James?"

Simon touched a finger to his mouth, and James couldn't resist licking the digit. Turning his head, he lightly bit the man's jaw. "God, I so want you to fuck me."

"Later, Tiger."

A hand that trembled slightly found its way between his legs and gently cupped his dick. It felt so good James nearly let himself zone on the feeling.

"What's your game, Chief?" he heard Mack ask Blair. "If I remember correctly you're the little shit that broke Simon's heart several years ago. What the hell are you doing back here?"

With a predatory smile, Wolfe moved closer to the shorter man. "As far as I know Simon's got himself a new man. So, Curly Locks, let me ask you again, what's your game?"

"Curly Locks? Good going, Mack." James could feel Simon's smile against the side of his neck.

Blair continued to stare at the stranger towering over him. "I, uh, I'm tutoring James."

"Try again, Shortcake."

Wolfe invaded Blair's personal space in a major way, but it didn't seem to faze the younger man at all. He remained mesmerized by Simon's friend.

"You're not gonna believe this, Si, but I do believe Blair's met his match or . . ." James took a closer look at his guide. He saw the man's dilated pupils, the beads of sweat on his upper lip, heard the increased beat of his heart. "I'll be damned. The Professor's got the hots for your friend." He dropped his gaze and instantly started chuckling.

"James? What is it?" Simon asked.

James took hold of the hand still fondling his family jewels. "Blair's sporting a major boner," he whispered aside to his lover. The teen sentinel sniffed the air. "Not only that, but I bet if Mack laid hands on him right now, the Professor would come in his shorts."

Wolfe obviously heard their whispered conversation. He glanced over at the teenager and winked. "I'm waiting, Chief," he reminded the man standing before him.

Blair moaned when Mack reached out a hand to him and brushed back a curl tousled by the night breeze. "I'm---"

"The truth, Sandburg. Don't lie to me again."

"Tell him the fucking truth, Blair." James stepped away from Simon but retained contact with his lover by taking hold of his hand. He didn't know why but tonight of all nights his senses were online and working properly. For the first time in his life he felt in control.

"The dude's a sentinel," he explained. When Blair refused to acknowledge his statement, James hit him on the arm with his fist. "Are you listening, moron? Mack's a sentinel."

"A sentinel?" Blair looked Mack up and down and then up and down again.

"I may not know what the hell you two are mumbling about," Wolfe chuckled when Sandburg's gaze lingered a little too long on territory south of his belt, "but I do know I'm lovin' the attention."

"Oh for Christ's sake, Professor, get your mind out of the gutter." James hit Blair a second time. "Did you hear what I said? He's a sentinel."

The teen slapped at the itchy fingers reaching for Mack's crotch. "The dude heard you coming way before me." James pulled Simon to his side and gave the man's hand a quick squeeze. "He smelled you, too."

Blair shook his head as if waking from a dream. "Unbelievable," he whispered. The anthropologist began pacing back and forth while digesting the information James had laid on him. After a minute he stopped dead in his tracks. "What about your other senses? Are they off the charts, too? Touch, taste? What about your vision?"

"Twenty-twenty last time I checked, Sweetness." Without warning Wolfe grabbed Blair by the arm and yanked hard. The second the younger man was secure in his arms, he grinned at him. "Lend me those luscious lips of yours, and we'll see just how good my sense of taste is."

For a moment James thought Blair would actually consent to a kiss. The man's gaze fused itself to Mack's hovering mouth and remained there until Simon's voice rudely interrupted the moment.

"Would someone kindly tell me what the hell is going on?"

Blair jumped back as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He collided with James who then fell against Simon. All three went down in an undignified heap.

"I'm warning you, Professor, either remove your hand or else I'll---"

"James, my hand, your elbow is crushing my---"

James rolled off his lover as fast as possible. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he took possession of Simon's hand and gently cradled it against his chest. He easily sensed the pulsating flow of blood in the extremity and marveled at how perfectly it matched his own. Why had he never noticed it before?

Memories cascaded through his mind, reminding him of when he and Simon first got together -- reminding him of how often Simon's mere presence soothed his confusion, of how one touch, one kiss from his lover settled him down when nothing else could.

James looked at Simon. Yes, things were somewhat skewed because of Blair's intrusion upon their relationship but still, like tonight, there were times when all he needed was Simon's arms around him and suddenly his world back on track.

James shook his head. If that was true, then why did he need Blair as his guide?

Past discussions crowded out the memories, and words like `predestined,' `chosen,' `instinctual,' rattled around in his brain. Had Blair been blowing smoke up his ass all this time? Hell, if the Professor truly was his guide then why did he feel so in tune with Simon? Wasn't that a complete contradiction of what they'd been told by their so called expert?

Letting go of Simon's hand, James clutched at his head and moaned. Something didn't quite make sense. Was Blair feeding him a line or telling him the truth? Was he his guide or was he using him to get at Simon? The dude had already confessed he still had feelings for his former lover, not to mention had repeatedly flirted with James in such a manner that was anything but subtle. Could it be that all this sentinel-guide shit was just a way for Blair to get laid?

Movement beside him told him Mack was helping Blair to his feet, and momentarily his attention shifted away from the mental debate he was having with himself. Closing his eyes he concentrated on the beating hearts of the other two men. What he heard had him falling flat on his ass. "What the hell?" he murmured.

"Come on, Tiger," Simon said, breaking into his thoughts. "This ground is too hard for my old bones."

James kept his senses focused on Blair and Mack and once standing, placed himself directly between the two men.

"You're his guide," the teenager angrily declared. "Not mine. You never were my guide, were you?"

Blair sputtered, Mack glared and Simon, well Simon decided it was time to move indoors. "I'm not sure where this conversation is heading, but I do know where it should take place. Inside, gentlemen. Inside where there are comfortable chairs, plush couches and lots of cold beer to drink."

Simon held out his hand. "James?"

None too gently James shoved Blair out of the way. He spared a glance over his shoulder for Mack and frowned when he saw the man take charge of steering Blair through the darkness. "What's with your pal, Simon?" he asked his lover. "First he puts the moves on you, and now he's making nice with Blair. Been a while since he's scored some ass?" James jumped when his rump was tenderly fondled.

"Mack's not the only one who hasn't, as you so delicately put it, scored some ass in a while."

Simon pulled James close and kissed him until he was hard, breathless and begging to be fucked. "Si, Si," the teen mumbled. "I need . . . need you."

James twisted around and rubbed his ass against the solid bulge tenting Simon's slacks. "Can we? Tonight? Please say you'll---"

The teenager turned back around. He quickly rid Simon of his shirt and devoured the rigid tits hidden within the thicket of hair spread across his lover's muscular chest. "Forgive me for being a stupid prick," he whispered to the heart that continued to echo the rhythm of his own. "Forgive me for blowing the whistle on our love, for hurting you in more ways than one."

James dropped a hand to Simon's groin and gently stroked his erection. "I never meant for you to suffer, Simon. Never in a million years."

Fingers lightly danced over his face. "I love you, Tiger," Simon softly said, "and that love has nothing to do with scoring some ass. You're my world, but if you need space, you've got it. For as long as you want."

Simon pulled James back into his arms. "Just don't shut me out completely, okay? Your problems are my problems, and I want so bad to help you work through them."

James welcomed the lips nuzzling the area behind his ear with a hitched sigh. "Sometimes it's hard, fucking hard, for me to put my feelings into words. I just don't know how to---"

"Shhhhh." Simon kissed James lightly on the lips. "Beloved, I realize Blair is the guide for your senses. Won't you consider letting me be the guide for your heart?"

"Oh hell." James threw his arms around his lover's neck and hugged for all he was worth. Kisses soon followed. It wasn't long before the mere brush of Simon's body against his own was enough to ignite the fire that had been smoldering for weeks on end. When his lover's hands slid slowly down his back and clutched at his ass, James exploded in his jeans.

The pleasure of his climax doubled, then tripled, and finally quadrupled when Simon followed in his footsteps. While the older man recovered from their brief moment of shared passion, James deliberately immersed his senses in the physical evidence of his lover's release. He listened to Simon's pounding heart, tasted the sweat that had collected in the hollow of his throat and inhaled the unique scent of his semen. The combination was addictive, and James felt his dick hardening again.

Carding his fingers through the tight curls at the nape of Simon's neck, he put a hold on his hunger and turned his full attention instead to the one person who'd given him everything. "Yes, Si," he whispered hoarsely. "Please, be my guide."

"What . . ." Simon struggled for air. Once he could talk without wheezing, he asked, "What about Blair?"

James slid into the pair of arms reaching for him and surrendered his mouth and his heart. "Fired. Damn Professor's fired."

End

Work of Desire, Chapter 22 by Angelise: angelise7@hotmail.com
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.