Warnings: Some very minor spoilers for Sentinel Too.  This was supposed to be a PWP, but then turned into TMWRPWP (The Most Well Researched Plot What Plot); and then actually had the audacity to develop something of a plot. We hang our heads in shame, and subsequently have agreed to write under the guise of the Writing Team of Boris and Natasha.. ..the moose is of course optional.

Notes: This is loosely a sequel to my story “The Bridge Back” in that it references some of the things that happens in that story. But you don’t have to read the first story to understand any of this.  Paulette and I just had way too much fun researching the Chopec language for “Bridge” and decided to team up and write something more on that subject. I’d love to take credit for all the translations, but I’m just not that smart. . .all the credit goes to Paulette. . .she’s much more brilliant than I.  Please understand though that neither of us speak Quechua, so on the off chance that someone out there does, if we’ve mangled the language we apologize. . .it was mangled in the name of love.

****All English translations are listed in brackets <> right after the Quechua.

Language Barrier

By The Writing Team of Boris and Natasha

        He'd died and risen from the dead. Seemed rather ironic that three days later he was expected back at work.

         Blair had to admit that he was rather nervous. Maybe it was the fact that they still had to deal with a certain amount of paperwork concerning Alex Barnes' abduction of him, and her subsequent death.  Or maybe it had to do with the fact that word had gotten out on the newswires about his supposed 'zombie' experience. Not every day a man is declared dead, shipped off to the local morgue, and then abducted and brought back to life by a demented female terrorist with the hots for him.  Actually Simon had told the press that Alex had wanted Blair for his knowledge of police procedure, culture and languages so she could make good her escape from the country, since they couldn't exactly tell the press that Alex had actually wanted Blair as her Guide on her trek into Sentinel land.

         Or maybe he was just nervous because he and Jim were venturing out together for the first time since starting their newfound relationship as lovers. Not that they were going to tell anyone this, of course. Neither of them were really certain how it would be perceived in the station, and there was the real worry that if worse came to worse, Blair's observer status might possibly be revoked. They both knew neither of them could handle that. They'd just discovered what precisely the Guide/Sentinel relationship meant to both of them. A forced separation wouldn't do either of them any good.

         Still, Blair wasn't certain how to handle his feelings. He'd never been good at hiding them. And he'd never been *good* at outright lying. And most of the time, he just couldn't shut up. He'd spent the last three days loving Jim, and telling Jim repeatedly that he loved him--in a half a dozen different languages. Granted, Jim didn't understand most of those languages, but that hardly mattered. And amazingly the Sentinel had had the most unexpected reaction to French. . .anything spoken in French worked almost as good as the  'Guide Voice". Blair was determined there'd be tests later.

         Still, he could hardly stand around in a bullpen full of cops and tell his Sentinel that he loved him. Sure, it would be no trouble for Jim. Jim was used to being a closed-mouth, unemotional statue. (Fortunately, a godlike statue that had all his parts, Blair added silently in admiration.) In any event, it wouldn't be much hardship for him. But Blair wasn't certain how he was going to manage. He had one idea, but Jim had made him promise that he wouldn't start whispering to him. . .so softly only a Sentinel could hear. Jim had told him that it would be hard enough as it was keeping his hands off of him. Anything more would be torment.

         The whole thing struck Blair as decidedly unfair. Jim got to escape torment by making Blair promise not to whisper, and Blair had to suffer for the exact opposite reason. . .because he *couldn't* talk.  So much for equality in their relationship.  Maybe it was time Blair got the upper hand.  Blair never had a problem losing control---especially with Jim. But an out-of-control Sentinel just might be a beautiful thing.  And it was early enough in the relationship that Blair could push the limits and still play innocent.  He knew these games; he had learned from the master of manipulation---Naomi.  He had studied at the knees of the best, and how proud she would be at his expansion.  The wheels began to turn.....

         "I'm sorry, Chief," Jim said as they drove together to the station. He reached over and stroked Blair's hand, squeezing it lightly. "I wish we could have spent more time alone, just the two of us."

         "Me too," Blair smiled back. "Three days seems like an awfully short honeymoon."

         He'd meant it as a joke of course, but the flush in Jim's features told him that Jim hadn't taken it as that. For a moment he feared he'd gone too far, stepped over some line. But the smile Jim shot him quickly cured him of that notion. Jim liked the idea of a honeymoon. "That settles it, Chief. I'm requesting a vacation. You and I are going away together as soon as possible."

         Blair returned his smile. It still blew him away that Jim Ellison actually loved him.  "Sounds great, Jim. Truth be told, I could use a vacation. It feels like I have a lot of things to process." He couldn't help wondering what it would be like to unleash a certain panther and wolf into the wild too. So many possibilities!

         Jim nodded in agreement, and an haunted gleam entered his blue eyes for a moment. "God, when I think that less than a week ago, I thought I might never see you again. . ." he broke off with a shudder. "You can't imagine what it was like, Chief. . .how empty I felt."

         "Yeah, I can, Jim," Blair said quietly. "I felt the exact same way."

         Jim's eyes darkened, and he moved his hand to Blair's head, gently fingering his curls. "Yeah, I guess you did. God, Blair, I keep thinking about what I said to you. . .I was so sorry about. . ."

         "Jim!" Blair cut in, silencing his words. "We agreed we weren't going to dwell on any negativity. That's all the past now. Our future is what counts; we're both alive, and whole, and here together. . .nothing more matters."

         Jim took a deep breath and grinned at him, letting the darkness slip from his gaze. "You're right. No more negativity. But damn it's going to be hell today not being able to touch you!"

         Blair laughed at that. "Well, you had better not stop touching me all together. You always touch me. If you stopped entirely that would certainly raise eyebrows."

         Jim thought about that for a moment. "Maybe," he agreed slowly. "But I don't know, Chief. If I touch you, I'm going to want to keep on touching you. Not sure I can control myself."

         "Oh, come on, Jim!" Blair protested, a bit alarmed at this thought. No talking *and* no touching? He'd never survive the day.

         Jim just shrugged. "Well, you know how we throwbacks-to-precivilized-forms-of-man are, Chief. Me Sentinel, you Guide. I might go all Tarzan on you right there in the bullpen. . .and then what would we do? Somehow I don't think we could explain that away as some psychic aberration."

         "Oh, man!" Blair groaned, fighting off that visual. Jim was right. The day was going to be sheer hell. But the night would be grand if Blair had anything to say about it.  And he had a feeling he did.

         As they pulled into the station parking lot, he gave Jim one more pleading look. "Please, Jim?" he asked quietly. "Just a little bit of whispering?"  One last chance before I go into action, buddy....

         Jim just shook his head firmly. "Control, Sandburg. No  whispering. You promised."

         Yeah, he'd promised. Control--ha!, he'd show Jim Ellison a thing or two about control.  And his experiment with languages these last few days had been giving him ideas since Jim's first espousal of 'rules for the bullpen.'  He'd been reading through that 'Dialects of Peru' book. He'd picked up an amazing amount of Quechua in the last few days. And it's not like Jim could even really complain. After all it had been Jim's idea to give him a Chopec name. . . Enqueritacu. . .Beloved of Enqueri. So technically it *had* been Jim who'd started all this. He grinned suddenly as he watched Jim get out of the truck. No whispering, huh? Okay, he could live with that. . .but that still left a lot of options.

         "What?" Jim asked curiously, seeing his smile.

         Blair just shrugged, his eyes gleaming. "Nothing, Jim. No  whispering. I got it. No worries here."

         "Why am I suddenly worried?" Jim asked, as they headed toward the elevator.

         "Maybe you're developing a sixth sense," Blair replied. "We might have to do tests."

         Jim just groaned as they made their way up to the bullpen.

          After all the welcome back handshakes and back-pats, Blair was ready for a nap.  But he had a plan, and that gave him energy.  As Jim sat at his desk to check messages, Blair leaned over and asked him, "Pitam wayllunki?" <Who do you love?>

         Jim looked at him curiously, but without hesitation answered, "You."

        Blair thought to himself, 'this is gonna be a great day,' and just smiled back.  The game had begun.

        The day began like any other they'd had in the bullpen. Largely, they worked on paperwork, and Blair suspected this was due to the fact that Simon just wasn't ready to put either of them back out on the streets. He'd discovered in the last three days that in the entire week he'd been with Alex, Jim had not slept. Neither of them were fully recovered yet from their ordeal, and Blair was just as happy to spend the day catching up on paperwork.

        But kidnapping/notoriety had a funny effect on people. Everyone Blair had ever known had heard of his ordeal, and shortly after he and Jim got to work, gifts began to arrive. Mostly they were just flowers, cards and candy, but they quickly began cluttering up Blair's desk.  The rest of the cops reacted kindly to the interruption, especially when Blair began spreading the candy around the bullpen. But Blair found himself somewhat embarrassed by the attention. To his shock there was even a rather impressive fruit basket from his Dean and the President of the university. . .with a card promising to increase security on campus.

        Jim grinned at him as he read the card over his shoulder. "I hope they do feel guilty," he said with a great deal of satisfaction in his voice.  "A campus full of students, and no one saw anything..." he growled and shook his head.

        "It wasn't their fault, Jim," Blair said reasonably. He really  didn't want to think about that moment in his office when Alex had walked in on him, gun in hand.  "It's not the sort of thing you expect, you know?"

        "I know," Jim murmured, placing his hand on Blair's shoulder. It was meant to be a casual touch, a clap on the shoulder between two friends. The gentle caress of Jim's fingers against his skin, however, sent entirely different messages to certain parts of Blair's body. And then just as quickly as the hand was placed there, it was gone, leaving Blair feeling bereft and cold.

        Blair frowned. Okay, time for step one of the plan. Jim was a Sentinel--a single touch like the one he'd just given Blair could give him a plethora of information.  Jim could have sensed his skin temperature, the pressure of his pulse, the motion of air moving over his neck, the nearly untraceable smoothness of oil on soft skin. Jim could have captured his scent, would have known that touch had aroused him.

        But Blair. . .he was left with nothing to cling to.  It was about time he changed things a bit.

        Jim had returned to his own desk and was busily rifling through the pile of papers on his desk, looking for all the world like a man content in his place. Blair smiled and very slowly began rubbing his fingers lightly across his own lips, remembering perfectly the tactile sense of Jim's mouth against his own.

        He knew sooner or later the rhythmic sound of skin brushing across skin would draw Jim's attention. And the moment it did, he slowly licked his lips. Jim's eyes narrowed and darkened, focusing on the motion.

        "Blair, what are you doing?" Jim asked quietly, keeping his voice low so that no one else would overhear him.

        Blair smiled. The motion had done the trick. Now for the words. "Munankichu willanayta?" he asked in a normal tone of voice. <Would you like me to tell you?>

        Jim raised one eyebrow in surprise. "For starters--and then tell me why."

        Blair grinned. "Yakunayawachian. Yarjawanmi. Chiriwanmi," he explained simply. <I'm thirsty. I'm hungry. I'm cold.>

        Jim's surprise turned into concern. "Do you want a jacket? It's too early for lunch, and we just had breakfast before we left the loft. But I could go get you something from the machines. You still need to put that weight back on."

        But Blair just shook his head. "Manan," he murmured, and the sound of his voice froze Jim in place.<No.> His blue eyes widened slightly almost as if he knew what Blair was going to say next. "Ñoqa muna-ni qam simiku, hitaiku, qualloiku..." <I want your mouth, your lips, your tongue...>

        He saw the shiver that moved through Jim's body, and even without Sentinel senses, he heard the catch of Jim's breath in his throat. Nervously the Sentinel shot a look around the bullpen. Blair had made no effort to keep his voice down, and a number of people had heard his words. But no one understood them. Nearby, Rafe gave them a grin and nodded, and then went back to his own work.

        "Blair. . ." Jim said quietly, his voice strained. "That's not funny. You promised."

        "I promised no whispering," Blair agreed . "Well, I'm not whispering, am I?"

        Jim stared at him in wary alarm. "Just how long did you stay up reading that language book anyway?"

        Blair smiled slowly at him, a wicked light filling his eyes. "Long enough," he purred.

        Jim's eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

        Simon's booming voice suddenly echoed through the crowded bullpen. "Ellison, Sandburg! My office."

        Jim didn't move. "Blair. . .," he began slowly, a pleading tone in his voice.

        "Come on, Jim," Blair grinned, bouncing happily to his feet. "Simon is waiting."

        He led the way toward Simon's office.

        Simon was on the phone as they entered the office, but he motioned to them to take a seat. "Yes, sir," he was saying, repeating the phrase often. He had a look of martyred patience about his features, and he frequently rolled his eyes to the heavens as he continued nodding. Both Jim and Blair knew it had to be the Mayor on the phone. . .no one else made Simon quite as crazy as Cascade's mayor.  "Yes, sir, I'll certainly get the paperwork submitted." Another long pause. "Well, I don't know. . .I'll have to talk to him about . . .." Another eye roll. "Of course he'll be honored. . . who wouldn't. . .." A head shake of exasperation. "Yes, sir, I'll find out."

        "The Mayor?" Blair asked Jim quietly.

        Jim nodded, but it was obvious he wasn't listening in on the conversation. He was trying instead not to stare too openly at Blair.

        Blair grinned at him. "What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly so they wouldn't disturb Simon's phone call.

        Jim glanced guiltily at him and flushed. "Nothing."

        "I know what I'm thinking about. Remember last night when. . ."

        "Blair!" Jim hissed.

        Time for phase two, Blair decided. "Kayta ruwaqwachkankita munani, kikin ruwasayki," he told Jim plainly. <I love what you do to me, I am  ready to return the favor.>

        Jim's eyes widened in shock and his face flushed several shades deeper. "Blair," he murmured, a warning and a groan.

        Blair smiled. Jim was responding better than he'd ever hoped. But then again, Jim always had responded well to his voice. "Llaqwasayki, muchasayki, mullkusayki, qamtaqmi kayta gustanki," he continued. <I am going to lick you, kiss you, stroke you - and you are going to like it.>

        At his words, he saw Jim bite down on his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut.

        "What was that, Sandburg?" Simon bellowed, as he slammed the phone down into the receiver.

        Blair jumped and stared at the captain. "What? Oh, nothing, sir. I was just discussing some Sentinel stuff with Jim, that's all."

        The choking cough from Jim drew Simon's suspicious gaze. "Sentinel stuff?"

        "Yes, sir," Blair continued on blithely. "Isn't that right, Jim? I'm working on new Quechua phrases to help Jim relax. Like. . . .Ima qeruta, ima ukuta satisayki simanaman musyawanki." <I am going to fuck you so hard and so deep that you are going to feel me next week.>

        With a strangled gasp Jim leapt from his chair and headed toward the coffee pot. "Coffee anyone!" he all but squeaked out, keeping his reddened face turned away from Simon.

        Simon raised one eyebrow doubtfully. "Relax? It doesn't seem to be working, Sandburg."

        Blair shrugged impishly. "Ah, well, I still need to work out a few of the kinks."

        The word 'kinks' caused Jim to spit his coffee out in shock, and he glared at Blair.

        "Hey, you all right, Jim?" Blair asked with mock concern.

        "I'm fine!" he snapped tersely

        "Yeah, he definitely doesn't seem relaxed to me," Simon commented. "You must be doing something wrong, Sandburg."

        Blair just sighed. "You're probably right, Simon. Maybe I just need to use more visual cues or something. Like. . . waskata kawitoku." < A rope and a large bed.>

        Jim's eyes widened in shock, and he quickly took a deep gulp of his coffee, his entire body going utterly and perfectly still.

        "Well, that seemed to help!" Simon remarked encouragingly, chomping on his cigar.

        "You're right," Blair agreed.  "Seems to me, I'm on to something.  Noqa kapuyki akna qamqa kapuwanki." <As I am yours, so will you be mine.>

        Something dark and feral gleamed in Jim's eyes, catching Blair's gaze only for a moment before Jim turned away to keep Simon from seeing.  Blair shivered. Jim had looked at him like that last night when he'd made love to him. His entire body began to tingle.

        "What was that, Sandburg?" Simon demanded. "You going to translate any of this, or should I just use my imagination?"

        "Well," Blair began. "You see, it's rather complicated. . .I was telling Jim. . ."

        "Amaña," Jim said quietly. <No more> But he added a soft,  "Urpichallay," to the end of the phrase that nearly made Blair give up all further thoughts of torment. <My little dove.>

        Blair just smiled at him and turned his attention to the confused Captain. "It's rather hard to translate, sir," Blair explained. "Was there something you wanted to see us about?"

        Thinking a truce had been called, Jim came cautiously forward, taking his seat once again beside Blair.

        "Actually, yes there was," Simon replied. "When did you learn Quechua, Blair? It's one of the romance languages, isn't it?"

        Jim stifled a startled grunt and looked quickly away, ignoring the look Simon gave him.

        Blair grinned, and raised an eyebrow. "You called us in here because you wanted to know when I learned to speak Quechua?"

        Simon shook his head. "No, of course not, I just. . . never mind. That was the Mayor on the phone. It seems he and the University President have been discussing your recent kidnapping.  The President went on and on about what an asset you are to the school, and what sort of publicity this has caused, but that the school can't possibly be held to blame for this incident since it's clearly a direct result of your police work."

        Blair sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, man," he groaned. "How much trouble am I in?"

        "God, Simon, they can't be blaming this on Blair, can they?" Jim exploded, leaping to his feet.

        Simon waved him back down. "Calm down, Jim. You're in enough trouble as it is."

        "What!" Blair cried, leaping to his feet in defense of Jim. "What did Jim do? He didn't do anything! Why should he be in any trouble? I was the one. . .!"

        "Sandburg!" Simon shouted. "My God, you two are worse than newlyweds. Shut up both of you."

        Chastised, they both sat back down, glancing warily at one another. "Now, I just meant that Jim pissed off most of the FBI while we were looking for you. . .that's all. Nothing any of us can't handle, and it's not as if Jim hasn't pissed of the feds before. No big deal. But as for you, Blair, you're not exactly in trouble. . .just employed."

        Jim and Blair both stared at Simon in confusion. "Employed?"

        Simon nodded. "To finish my story, the Police Commissioner pointed out that you weren't actually working at the police department. . .you were working on a project for the University.  So essentially the Mayor had the opportunity to either tick off the University President, or the Police Commissioner. The President donated more to his campaign fund, and voila, you are now an employee of the Cascade PD. . .which completely absolves the University of any potential liability regarding your kidnapping."

        Blair was utterly amazed, momentarily speechless. But only  momentarily. "You mean I'm going to get paid for what I do here from now on?"

        Simon nodded. "You are officially a consultant to the police department, assigned primarily to Major Crimes, and as such are under my jurisdiction. And since I know it's pointless to try and separate you from Ellison, you're officially assigned as his partner."

        Blair turned toward Jim, eyes bright with happiness. The grin Jim was giving him mirrored everything he was feeling. It was all Blair could do not to throw his arms around his Sentinel. Under the watchful eyes of their captain, however, they settled for an enthusiastic high five. They'd celebrate that night in private.

        "Now, you both have a ton of paperwork to fill out," Simon insisted. "So get to work. And Sentinel stuff or not. . .try to stay out of trouble, Sandburg. I don't think I could go through another week like the last one."

        "You and me both, Simon," Jim breathed.

        Word spread pretty quickly through Major Crimes that Blair was now getting paid for helping out, and more congratulations abounded. Celebration aside, there was plenty of good natured teasing when someone from personnel dumped a pile of forms that Blair was required to fill out in triplicate to make everything official.

        "Hey, don't look at me, Chief," Jim grinned. "I have all the case file paperwork to finish. You're on your own with that."

        Blair just sighed. "And to think, someone once said the age of computers would create a paperless society."

        "Well, at least it will keep you occupied and out of trouble for the day," Jim mused. "Man, when Simon asked for a translation I nearly died."

        Blair smirked. "Good thing no one around here speaks Quechua," he agreed.

        "Please tell me you have now exhausted your vocabulary?" Jim pleaded.

        Blair shrugged and nodded. "Pretty much," he agreed. "I might know a few more words, but nothing that comes to me at the moment."

        Jim breathed a sigh of relief. "Good," he nodded, and then turned his attention to his files.

        "Well, except. . .Ñoqa muna-ni mikuy-qam uchuj-yoq." <I want to eat you with a spoon.>

        Jim shivered and groaned, and buried his face behind a file folder.

        Blair turned to the first document he had to fill out. Somehow he had the feeling that this day was going to be very interesting.

        The two of them worked hard to finish up their paperwork, and throughout the day Blair tormented and teased Jim with descriptions of what he was going to do to him that night. He delighted in watching Jim squirm in his chair, pretty much held prisoner in his seat by the fact that he had a raging hard on. If he got up from his desk, all of Major Crimes would get an eyeful. 'And what an eyeful it is,' Blair thought gleefully to himself.

        But amazingly, beyond the occasionally soft pleading, Jim did nothing overt to stop Blair. Up until now, Jim had been in control of their love making--the ordeal the two of them had been through making him crave the intensity of domination. He'd been driven these last few days to claim Blair, mark him--territorial imperatives overriding any sense of equality.  Blair now needed to know if Jim would be willing to give up control to him. He wasn't certain Jim was capable of that, but he needed to find out.

        He figured he was in for one of two reactions. Either Jim would be so turned on, he'd grab Blair and fuck him clear into next week the moment they were alone, or he'd let go entirely and give up all his power to his Guide. Much as Blair liked the first option, he needed to know that the second option was also possible. His Shaman sense told him instinctively that the Sentinel had to trust his Guide with his body, mind and soul. Nothing less would do. And even though Jim had told him he loved him, he wanted to test their bond, confirm to both of them that what existed between them could tear down all the walls life had built inside them.

        And so the dialogue continued.

         "Inkariypa kuyasqan, chayta sutiwanki---nis, kay ninanta  yachakusun.  Ñoqata munaptinkiqa, pudirniykita kacharinkichu?" he said as Jim checked his email. <Beloved of Enqueri, that's what you call me--- well, we are going to find out just what that means.  How far are you willing to let go with the one you love?>

         He saw Jim close his eyes, shivering, his hands trembling as they moved over the computer keyboard.

         Blair continued, while Jim scribbled notes on a paper.  Blair talked again of that large bed, and the rope he'd mentioned earlier, smiling when Jim nearly ripped the paper he was writing on in half from gripping his pen so hard.  He wished Quechua had a word for handcuffs...

         "Qapawayta atinki, uyariwayta atinki, riwayta atinki, ichapa  llamiwayta manam atinkichu, simiwan malliwayta manam atinkichu, mana kunsyintuy kaqtinqa. Ñoqaqa manam chayraq kunsyintusaq," Blair went on. <You will be able to smell me, smell my arousal.  You will be able to hear me. You will be able to see me.  The two things you won't be able to do is touch me or taste me without my permission.  Which I do not intend to give freely.>

         Jim all but shredded another piece of paper, knocking his  stapler off his desk in the process.

         Megan, passing by their desks, stopped and picked up the  stapler for him. She smiled at both of them. "Hey, Sandy, hey Jim," she greeted. "You okay, Jim? You look a bit flushed."

         "I'm fine," Jim said much too quickly, grabbing the stapler from her. He stared at the object intently, his mind obviously very far away.

         "Ah, don't mind him," Blair told her. "He's just frustrated. . .from all the paperwork, you know. Probably because I'm getting mine done faster than he is."

         Megan gave the two of them a knowing smile. "Ah, I see. Jim's got his giblets in a twist."

         Jim glared at her. "My giblets are just fine, thank you very much!" he growled.

         She smirked. "My, my--aren't we a wowser today. . .I may be a Bluey, but I don't want a blue with you.  Take a Bex, head for the dunny and wet your face, you'll feel better."

         Jim threw his hands up in despair. "Shit, doesn't anyone speak English anymore?"

         "Not if we can help it," Blair replied with a laugh.

         Megan winked at him and headed off. "Don't let your mate give you too hard a time, Sandy," she called.

         Jim's eyes widened in shock and he glanced warily at Blair. "Did she just. . ."

         "Mate, Jim, as in friend, partner, compadre. . .she's not from here, remember?"

         Jim breathed a sigh of relief. "Right. I knew that."

         "Chakaykikunata kusitam cheqewanki.  Antis qamwan tukusaq, sayanankipi qamta sakwaqniyta ruygawanki.  Qamqa kayta munanki," Blair added for good measure. <You will spread your legs for me willingly, begging me to take you before I am through with you.  And you are going to love it.>

         Jim just quietly whimpered.

         Blair gave Jim some time to calm down before lunch, since Brown, Rafe and a few other officers from Major Crimes were taking them both out to a nearby restaurant. But afterwards, Blair continued with his quiet Quechua seduction. Toward the end of the day, Jim was called into a meeting with Simon, and Blair decided to grab a ride home with Rafe. Before he left, however, he wrote a quick note to his partner, leaving it on his desk where he'd be certain to find it.

         "Chakaykikunatam cheqesayki killaman kachasaykitaq," the note read. <I am going to spread your legs and send you to the moon.>

         Blair left with a smile on his face, anticipating Jim's arrival at home.

    It took all of Jim's will power not to turn on his siren to  get home. He wanted Blair, needed him, needed to touch and to taste him. Returning from that meeting to find him already gone had nearly sent him screaming from the bullpen. He'd managed to survive the day by filling his senses covertly with stimuli from Blair. . .the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his skin, the way the light gleamed in his eyes.

         He'd caught Blair chewing on the end of a pen earlier that  day, and when Blair had put the pen down to get a cup of coffee, Jim had stolen the pen and tasted it himself. He'd been able to vicariously taste his Guide. But it wasn't enough. And he'd been waiting all day to get Blair into the truck. . .or the elevator. . .or the bathroom. . .anywhere alone. . . quickly. . .so that he could touch him, kiss him, hold him. Anything to relieve the tension building within him.

         Blair's words. . .God, he hadn't known it was even possible to talk dirty in Quechua. These words were painting a picture in his mind so vivid, he didn't know if he'd be able to survive the reality. When even a simple caress from Blair could send him off the deep end, how was he supposed to endure a thousand times more? Blair was going to kill him. . . but God, death had never looked so sweet.

         Could he do it? he asked himself as he drove frantically home. Could he let go entirely, give Blair the power he'd asked for, let him do what ever it was he wanted or needed to do?

         Could he not do it? another equally loud voice asked. This was his Guide, his love. . .he'd already given Blair total and complete power over him in the other parts of his life. He might as well just sit back and enjoy the ride. And if it satisfied some need in Blair, then nothing could content Jim more. All he wanted, all he'd sworn a thousand times to what ever god would listen to him while he begged the heavens to return his Guide to him only a week ago, was that he spend his life trying to please Blair. What the hell, he could share control. . .

         He reached the loft and raced up the stairs. He dropped his keys twice, cursing softly under his breath. He could hear Blair's heartbeat inside as he tried to unlock the door. That simple sound washed over him, and that alone lit his body on fire. He groaned when the key refused to turn in the lock. "Blair," he whispered, fumbling again to find the right key.

         His Guide's scent hit him next as he opened the door. Blair's scent mingled with the aroma of candlewax and herbs. The loft was dark save for the flickering lights of candles upstairs in the bedroom. Jim quietly shut the door, locking it, then stalked toward the stairs. His entire body was taut with need, aching for a touch he'd been denied all day. Their morning together in bed seemed like a lifetime ago. His  mind was spinning with all the things Blair had said to him. . .send him to the moon, taste him, touch him. . ..oh, God, hadn't there even been mention of a spoon or something?

         Blair was sitting in the center of the bed, his legs folded in a lotus position, back straight, eyes closed, face composed. He was wearing nothing more than a pair of silk pajama bottoms, and the candle light gleamed off his bare chest and arms, highlighting the lean muscles. He looked utterly breathtaking, and Jim felt his heart begin to race in his chest.

         Blair had always been beautiful. But now he looked divine, otherworldly, and somehow untouchable, as if this precious image would shatter if Jim dared to lay his coarse hands upon him. But he so desperately wanted to touch. "Blair," he whispered again, held immobile by the image of firelight upon his Shaman and Guide.

         Blair's eyes opened, the deep blue piercing Jim's soul. He saw joy and mischief in those eyes, power and passion. Blair's seductive lips curved ever so slightly, and the movement shot a wave of need straight to Jim's groin.

         "Undress," Blair ordered, his voice Sentinel soft, and yet  still somehow so powerful. Jim doubted he could have disobeyed even if he wanted to.

         He stripped his clothes from his body, and stood before his Guide, aching and trembling, his erection throbbing with need. Blair moved then, but not toward him. He simply slid to one side of the bed and resumed his lotus position. But it left room for Jim to join him on the bed. "Lie down here, Jim," Blair told him softly.

         Jim stretched out on the bed beside Blair, his gaze never  leaving Blair's face. He watched as his Guide studied him, that deep blue gaze moving over the long line of his body. There was such heat in that gaze it was like a caress, and Jim groaned softly.

         "Put your hands over your head, and hold onto the headboard," Blair told him then. "I won't tie you, but you're not to let go. You're to do this of your own free will. Do you understand, Jim?"

         Jim nodded nervously, and did as Blair asked. He wasn't certain what his Guide was going to do to him, but at the moment he didn't care. . .not as long as it somehow involved loving him.  He closed his hands firmly over the bars of the headboard, his muscles so hard with tension they hurt.

         Blair smiled, and the slow movement of that silken mouth drew Jim's gaze like a moth to a flame. He licked his own lips, drawing on memory for Blair's taste. He wanted those lips on him, wanted to feel them kiss him, touch him, love him.

         "Not yet, Jim," Blair whispered, as if knowing what Jim was thinking. "First I want you to listen to me."

         Oh, God, Jim thought in despair. They were going to talk. . .more talk, more words. . .he didn't know if he could stand waiting any longer.

         But Blair just continued to smile at him, and when he spoke this time, his voice had dropped into the soothing tones of his Guide Voice. "Listen to me, Jim. Do what I say. I want you to turn your sense of touch up, all the way Jim. . .as high as it will go. Don't worry, you won't zone. You just need to listen to my voice, that will keep you grounded, keep you focused. You have to trust me completely."

         He did trust Blair, and he did as Blair had asked. He pictured the dials in his head and turned his sense of touch up as high as it would go. Instantly he could feel everything. . .the air, the currents, the dust, the grain of the wood beneath his self-imprisoned hands, the weave of the fabric under his body, the pressure and temperature, the pulsing of blood in his own veins, sweat on his skin.

         "That's it, Jim," Blair murmured. "I want you to focus on the air, on the currents all around you."

         He could feel the currents in the air like the wings of butterflies brushing over his body.

         "Every time I talk Jim, the current changes," Blair told him. "My breath is touching you. Feel my words caressing your skin."

         He could feel it. Every time Blair spoke it disturbed the air currents. They moved and danced to his Guide's voice. They washed over him with each phrase, taunting and teasing, soft and then harder when he spoke certain words or turned his face a different way. Jim gasped, closing his eyes as the sensation washed over him.

         "Can you feel my words on your lips, Jim?" Blair asked softly. "Feel the currents touching your lips, sliding over them, kissing you so softly, so completely."

         He felt the kiss of air, and he parted his lips with a moan.

         "You're so beautiful, Jim. Feel my words against your face, touching your cheeks, your eyelids, caressing your chin," Blair continued the soft narrative, and each word sent new currents rushing at Jim. His hypersensitive skin felt them all, felt the brush against his mouth, his face, curling around his ears, moving down to touch his neck, and he shivered and moaned at the phantom touch. . .so sweet, so tormenting, so alive with passion. His body burned, ached, his muscles singing with each touch of Blair's words against his skin.

         Each time Blair talked he made Jim aware of a new part of his body, moving slowly over it word by word, breath by breath, exploring all of it. He all but screamed when Blair's words sent currents of air brushing over both rock hard nipples simultaneously. His hands tightened against the headboard, his knuckles turning white as he gasped, desperate for release.

         But Blair was far from done. "God, Jim," he whispered, and that simple oath stroked across the muscles of his chest, over his shoulder, burning his arms, tangling with his fingers. His heart was pounding, sweat streaming from his skin, and even the slide of sweat over his body was an agony of pleasure.

         "So beautiful," Blair murmured, and that soft praise moved down his hard stomach, swirling into dip at his navel. Jim moaned incoherently, beyond words himself. "Can you feel me touching you, Jim? My words kissing your thighs, moving over the muscles, stroking the soft skin of your inner thigh. You're so hot, Jim, so strong, so passionate, so perfect. Feel my breath against your cock, surrounding you, stroking you."

         On and on it went, the tormenting words, the fiery touch of air possessed now with a power Jim had never imagined. He was transformed, transfixed, carried off into a new realm of sensation he'd never experienced before. There was no escape, no release. . .not even a zone-out threatened because of the total surrender to his Guide's control.

         He moaned Blair's name, arching his back, straining toward him, no longer even aware of the fact that his own grip on the headboard was all that kept him from his Guide. He'd lost the ability to think for himself. All he could do was feel, feel Blair's phantom touch, his vocal caress.

         Over and over again the air currents consumed his body. Blair had become a disembodied demon, arousing him with power alone, an Incubus sending waves of energy coursing through his body, sending him reeling into a realm of pure ecstasy where all that existed was this coiling, burning, ascension to bliss.

         He sobbed now with each word, desperate for release, craving this to never end, knowing he'd go mad if it didn't. He heard himself crying Blair's name, begging him, pleading with him, giving up his soul to this creature who held him captive with nothing more than a word.

         And then finally, at last, when he'd reached the point of no return, there was a single touch. Not air this time, but lips. Blair's mouth, soft and sweet with the only taste that existed in this realm of passion, brushed against Jim's with the lightest of kisses. That kiss undid him, and he came with scream, his body exploding into a million pieces, riding a shock wave of pleasure so extreme he lost himself completely.

         He drifted then, calling to Blair, knowing his Guide would never leave him alone in this world of pure sensation. "Not alone!" he cried, and felt warm arms wrapping tightly around him. He was cocooned in strength, in love, in light.

         "Shhh, Enqueri," Blair murmured against his throat. "We'll return together."

         Fingers touched him them, probing his body, caressing him in a place no one had ever touched before. "Yes," he gasped, spreading his legs, giving Blair better access. He felt Blair's finger penetrate him, sliding past the hard ring of muscle, stroking him. He groaned and surrendered, whispering Blair's name over and over again.

         Blair stretched him gently, and all the while he held him, murmuring softly to him, keeping him grounded and anchored so that he didn't drift away forever in this new world of sensation his Guide had created. His body shook and trembled, no longer entirely human as fire filled it. He burned, he ached.

         Possessed first by words and voice alone, he needed to be possessed by body. And when at last he felt the hard shaft of Blair's cock entering him, his possession was complete. . .two bodies joined as one, two souls so entwined they created something boundless and infinite.

         They moved together, Blair thrusting deep into his body, touching off a storm of desperate rapture that carried them both to heights undreamed. And once there, poised in both silence and song, they came together, and fell at last back into each other's earthly arms.

         Blair was holding him, stroking his hair, murmuring softly to him as he slowly came back to himself. Both of them were sated and exhausted, and Jim had never remembered feeling so complete in his entire life. He was lying in his beloved's arms, head against his chest, listening to the sound of Blair's heart beating in time with his own. A smile stretched his lips and he leaned up finally to gaze into Blair's eyes.

         "Never again," he murmured.

         "What?" Blair asked uncertainly.

         Jim kissed him, "I'll never again tell you that you talk too much."

         At that Blair laughed softly, kissing him back. "You liked it then?"

         "Oh, yes," Jim whispered. "God, Blair, what you do to me! I've never felt anything like that before in my life. I couldn't feel anything like that before. . .only with you."

         "I love you, Jim," Blair told him, his heart in his eyes, his love shining so brightly that Jim knew neither of them would ever be lost in the darkness again.

         Much later, still wrapped in each other's arms, Jim chuckled softly. Only Blair would use words that way. Only Blair could learn a language in three days, drive him absolutely insane with desire, and then talk him through the most incredible experience of his life.

         "Layqa," he laughed. "Ñoqa waylluni Layga-yoq!" <Sorcerer.  I'm in love with a Sorcerer!>

         He felt Blair shift, his own laughter mingling with Jim's as he gave his Sentinel a gentle nudge. "Didn't Inchacha tell you, Jim? Ama Oodichu Pusakuta!" <Never Fuck with The Guide!>

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