Author's disclaimer: THE SENTINEL and all related characters are the property of Paramount and Pet Fly Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. Please don't bother to sue me. If you do, you'll get $12.00 in loose change, and two dogs, Teddy Bear, the spawn of hell, and his sister, BooBoo Bear, the big old donkey girl. (Trust me, you do not want to go there.)
Author's notes: *Shecky = Shecky Green, the standup comedian.
Warning: None, except that this is a short piece of TS fiction (like a snippet on steroids). Sharing body fluids in this particular way is probably a no-no these days. What a crying shame.
"Dammit, it hurts!"
"Let me see!"
"C'mon, chief. It's killing me!" I'd never felt pain like this - and I used to be an Army Ranger trained in Covert Operations. Ground glass in an open would have been a day at the beach in comparison. But ever since my hyperactive senses as a Sentinel came back on-line, (long story I won't bore you with) I've struggled to control them. This morning I was losing. Big time. So I called in the heavy artillery to help me out.
"I think the gods of dirt, muck and anarchy are punishing you, Jim. Nobody starts spring cleaning in March -- except someone as anal as you."
Very fucking funny. My roommate is a God-damned comedian. But there he was, nonetheless, Blair "Shecky"* Sandburg, trying to see just what had imbedded itself in my left eye as I was scouring the kitchen sink. "Dr. McCoy/McCay" made me sit on the arm of the couch, and pressed himself up against my knees to get closer for the next phase of the operation. As he muttered something about "living with the world's tallest baby" (my hearing is as good as my eyesight), his left hand cradled my face gently, immobilizing it. He wedged my chin in the "v" formed by his thumb and index finger, even as I felt that crooked little pinky of his position itself over the artery in my neck, as though taking my pulse. He used the strong, square tips of his right hand to pull and roll back my swollen eyelid. Blair peered down intently, searching for the cause of the problem.
"It's not bad, Jim." His voice soothed me, like always. "Honest. Just a really small speck of dust."
"I don't care what you say, Sandburg. It feels like a frigging boulder. Can you just get it the hell out?"
"Stop wiggling. I don't have anything to '"
"Please, chief, it's killing me here '"
"Hang on '"
Then, it happened. Blair Sandburg, my partner, my roommate, my best friend, not to mention my one and only unrequited love, dipped his head, stuck the tip of his tongue out and removed the particle with an almost imperceptible flick of that incredibly talented body part.
In that split second, everything changed.
He touched me like he'd never touched me before. Like nobody else ever had. Intimately.
And it felt right.
I looked up to see him standing there, having pushed between my legs, and wondered if he realized that everything was different now. His face was flushed, animated and as fucking beautiful as anything these eyes have ever seen. I knew I had to do it. If I didn't tell him now, I never would. And he'd slip through my grasp like quick silver -- the way every other good thing in my life had. Except this time, I wouldn't survive the loss.
As I wrapped my hands possessively around his firm hips, pulled the small, solid torso up against my chest, and stroked that unbelievably gorgeous ass of his, I knew for a certainty I'd never let him go again.
Before a word could escape Blair's ripe, needy lips, I reached up to rub his stubbled cheek, then began to run my moist palm downward. Careening over the break in his collarbone that happened when the nine-year-old jumped out of a beech tree. Past the silver nipple ring poking through the old, almost threadbare tee-shirt. Ghosting the ribs thankfully unbruised after a nasty fall yesterday during the Eisner Warehouse chase. Until I hit the edge of the sweat pants. I stopped, holding my breath before I asked for his love.
"Yeah, chief?" Blue eyes studied me for the longest time. Passion and want poured out of them, until he finally spoke.
"What do you think, Jim?" And then he took pity on me, giving me the go-ahead to change my entire life -- and who I was -- with a simple "Yes."
I took it. And him. No hesitation. No wondering. No thinking it through. No what ifs, or supposes.
I maneuvered under the loose waistband until I found what I was looking for: hard-to-the-touch, soft-to-the-lips, forever-in-my-heart and soul, pure Blair Sandburg.
As we toppled backward onto the sofa, kissing fiercely, and began to love one another seductively, hungrily, lustfully, and every other "-ly" you could shake a stick at, I realized how quickly things can change. One day, you cross paths with a neo-hippie witchdoctor punk anthropologist, who wants to study you and help keep you from going crazy. He invades your work and your home. Before you can say throwback to a pre-civilized culture, he's living with you, eating with you, fighting with you, laughing with you, crying with you, and doing all the other day-to-day stuff that puts the life back into you. And a forty-something cop named Ellison -- who's been on the outside looking in longer than he'd care to admit -- steps up to the plate, swings, and hits one out of the ballpark.
The home team wins. Finally. Now there'll be someone there to cheer for me when I'm supposed to be a hero, and console me when I'm not even close. Someone I can be strong for, kind for, and there for. Someone I will love and cherish until I draw my last, thankful breath. And it happened just that fast. This modern-day Sentinel found the real reason to protect his tribe here in Cascade. I found my guide, my other half, Blair Sandburg. And I found us.
All in the blink of an eye.
End