Conforming to Requirements 1/9 (slash)
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Navigation: This story is posted in 9 parts. Part 1 is on this page; the other parts are here: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9.

Summary: A novel length AU set in a parallel world, where Sentinels are prized members of society and Guides are second class citizens. Sentinel Ellison doesn’t want to Bond, and his unconventional, temporary Guide is not allowed to.

Author's Note: This epic story emerged out of a snippet I wrote for the very first challenge at sentinelsecrets. Once I decided to expand the story, posting it in installments as a work-in-progress in my personal journal, it totally gathered a momentum of its own. It ended up consuming around three months of my life, during which (apart from one brief hiatus when I freaked out at the amount of attention it was getting *g*) I wrote and posted a minimum of 1000 words per day until it was done. I lived and breathed this story during that time, and got to know so many fantastic people who accompanied me on the journey - it was a massive rollercoaster ride and an absolutely unforgettable experience.

Art: Lorraine Brevig has produced some fabulous artwork for this story: a manip, and a painting.

Acknowledgements: A huge thank you to everyone who read the first draft as it emerged on my personal LJ, and gave me such wonderful, enthusiastic encouragement all the way along, as well as specific snippets of information. Many of you influenced the twists and turns of this story with your comments and advice. My gratitude goes to my beta team: fingers,rhianne, lyn_t and starwatcher307, who went through it with a fine tooth comb in the aftermath. Very special thanks to Lorraine Brevig, who produced the fabulous artwork for this story which is shown in the accompanying icon.

Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex and violence.

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CHAPTER 1

Jim Ellison hated Guides.

He hated their sycophantic, ‘Yes-Sentinel, no-Sentinel, three-bags-full-Sentinel’ ways, and their inability to think for themselves. If he wanted a fucking lap dog, it would be just as easy to pick one up from the pound. Cheaper to feed, too.

Fidgeting in the uncomfortable, molded plastic chair, he glared up at a poster on the waiting room wall, and its depiction of a dentally-perfect Sentinel and Guide pair, apparently frolicking happily together, the vacuous Guide’s hand placed just-so on the unctuous Sentinel’s back. ‘Sentinels, Realize your Full Potential!’ the lettering screamed. ‘Get a Guide Today!’

Glancing at his watch again, Ellison wanted nothing more than to Get the Hell Out. If the garish advertisement had been selling that message instead – well he’d be totally down with that.

After what seemed to be an eternity in this synthetic, pre-hell limbo, the door opened, and a matching, plastic receptionist beckoned him, an insincere smile plastered on her doll-like face. “Sentinel Ellison? Mister Reynolds will see you now.” He was escorted into an office, where the salesman seated behind the desk rose to greet him, an arm extended. As they shook hands and exchanged banal pleasantries, the receptionist disappeared, closing the door behind her.

As soon as both men were seated, Reynolds began his sales pitch. “Sentinel, I understand you are a police detective. We have a number of excellent Guides ripe for Bonding who I’m sure will be perfect for your needs…”

“No,” Ellison cut him off. “I don’t want to Bond. I just want to hire one.”

Reynolds frowned. “Sentinel, the communication I received from Captain Banks on your behalf was quite explicit. I am instructed to supply you with a suitable Guide from our law enforcement stock…”

As Reynolds spoke, Ellison thought back to what had happened in the Captain’s office two days ago. “That’s it!” Simon had yelled. “You have zoned once too often. You will get yourself a Guide, Detective, or surrender your badge and gun right now and get the hell off the force!”

The sense memory of Simon’s thundering voice still made him wince. And the following morning the arrival of a formal written reprimand had made it official – if he wanted to keep his job, Ellison had no choice but to obtain a Guide. But whatever the consequences, he was determined that it was going to be on his terms. “My orders are to work with a Guide,” he stated tersely, breaking into Reynolds’s inane patter. “Not to ‘marry’ one.”

Reynolds was frowning disapprovingly. “Sentinel, our police issue Bond Guides are of the highest quality. You won’t be disappointed – ”

“Listen.” Ellison’s voice was quiet and controlled, but the menace within it was unmistakable, and it silenced Reynolds’s protests immediately. “I want to hire one. Now you can either supply me with what I need, or I take my business to ‘Guides-R-Us’. Your choice, Sport.”

Reynolds smiled, revealing capped teeth as false as his amiable salesman demeanor. “Of course, Sentinel,” he conceded. “If you can wait just a moment, I’ll see what we have in stock.”

A short while later, Ellison peered through a one-way mirror into a stark, brightly lit room. “He doesn’t look like much,” he remarked.

Reynolds seemed uncomfortable. “We only maintain a small stable of Rental Guides. At present, this is the only one available, as the others are all out on assignment. He is, I can assure you, fully trained.”

Something in Reynolds’s voice suggested a different story, but Ellison decided not to question it. Instead, he studied the young man sitting on the room’s only piece of furniture – a straight-backed chair. “How old is he?” he asked. Seated in the classic waiting posture of lowered eyes, both feet flat on the floor and hands open on his thighs, the Guide was thin, his hair cropped close to his skull above expressionless, fine boned features. He didn’t look to be much more than a kid.

“He’s twenty-six years old.” Reynolds kept his eyes on the Guide, not looking at Ellison. “He’s been with us a year.”

Ellison looked at Reynolds. “A year? Where was he before that?”

Reynolds swallowed. “He was living as a citizen.”

“He was rogue up to then?” Ellison snorted. “Give me a break. That’s impossible.” Guides were identified at birth, and trained their whole lives to serve one purpose – to Bond with Sentinels. Everybody knew that. Rogues were practically unheard of, and their liberty never lasted long; certainly not beyond infancy. Parents who attempted to conceal their children’s nature from the authorities attracted the full weight of the law, and for most it simply wasn’t worth the risk.

Reynolds shook his head. “He’s by far the oldest Guide ever to evade the Detectors. It has been a… challenge to train him. But he is proof positive that our methods here at Guide World are the best. He is now fully compliant, and capable of being an adequate short-term Guide.”

Ellison looked closely, extending his sight out to the Guide. The man seemed relaxed, his posture by-the-book perfect; except for the jaw clenched in either resentment or fear, visible to Sentinel sight, but not to Reynolds. “What experience does he have in the field?” Ellison asked.

Reynolds shook his head. “Actually, Sentinel, this will be his first assignment. As I said, he is – unfortunately – the only Rental Guide we have available right now. But he should adequately meet your needs, if treated with a firm hand. However, if you would prefer to consider our more experienced Bond Guides instead, I have some who are eminently suitable – ”

Breaking all the rules of Guide comportment, the man in the chair suddenly lifted his head, and wide, defiant eyes glared angrily towards the mirror, finding their echo in Ellison’s soul.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Ellison interrupted, captivated by the rebellious cerulean glower that could not possibly see him through the one-way glass. Not a lapdog at all, this one. The Sentinel grinned, as a sense of something falling into place, something beginning, enveloped him.

“He’s perfect,” he stated. “I’ll take him.”


***


Opening the door to his apartment, Ellison stepped inside, the almost silent pad of the Guide’s feet audible as he followed exactly three feet behind – close enough to touch, should the Sentinel need to be grounded, but far enough away not to step on his master’s heels. Absolutely per the regulations.

Once inside, Ellison took his time shucking his coat and hanging it up, then locking the door behind him. Then he turned and looked at his new acquisition.

The Guide had fallen to his knees in the center of the floor, head down, eyes lowered submissively. His entire posture radiated compliance, as had his demeanor during the journey from Guide World, with no sign in evidence of the momentary hint of defiance that Ellison had earlier witnessed.

Ellison picked up the bag of accessories and clothes that had been supplied and, walking over, stood for a moment, towering over the kneeling man. Then with a thud, he dropped the bag on the floor right in front of him. The Guide flinched minutely, but otherwise didn’t move.

“I don’t want or need a Guide,” Ellison stated matter-of-factly to the bowed head before him. “The only reason you’re here, is because my boss gave me no choice. Get a Guide, or lose your job.”

Ellison crouched down, and unzipped the bag. He pulled out the evil looking disciplinary crop that lay within, and registered an infinitesimal tensing of the Guide’s muscles as he held it in both hands. Ellison stood again, then without warning, he brought the crop down forcefully across his knee, breaking it in half with a snap.

As the two halves fell to the floor, the Guide, against all the rules, glanced up in shock, and their eyes met for a split second before he resumed his submissive posture. Ellison smiled grimly, nodding. That got your attention, he thought. Aloud he said, “Listen up. When we are out in the field, you do what I tell you, when I tell you. You will be a model Guide, following the rules to the letter. You fail to do that, or embarrass me in any way, you won’t get beaten – that’s not my style. I’ll just send you back and get a replacement. You understand me?”

The Guide moistened his lips before replying, as though his mouth had gone dry. But when he spoke his voice was strong. “Yes, Sentinel,” he said. His voice was deep, resonant. Ellison realized that, despite himself, he liked it.

“Get up,” Ellison ordered, and the Guide rose to his feet. “Look at me.” The Guide did as he was told, and Ellison was pleased to see that although the man looked slightly rattled, he was more than capable of meeting the Sentinel’s eyes. “Good,” Ellison acknowledged, then pointed towards the splintered wood on the floor. “Now, get rid of this mess, and go and sit down.”

The Guide swallowed; two aspects of his conditioning quite obviously at war within. Guides were not allowed to sit in the presence of a Sentinel. But Guides were expected to obey their Sentinel without question. Breaking either rule could result in a beating or worse.

Ellison watched as the Guide’s eyes strayed to the broken pieces of the crop. Inwardly, Ellison willed the man to understand what was going on, and to take a chance. To show some of the intelligence and guts it must have taken to conceal his Guide abilities for so long.

He was not disappointed. The Guide gave him a measuring look. Then he swooped down and retrieved the two pieces of the crop from the floor. There was a trashcan beside the door and, moving deliberately, the Guide walked over and dropped the pieces in. He took a deep breath, and glanced once more at Ellison. Then, when the Sentinel didn’t react, the Guide walked steadily to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

Outwardly, the Guide appeared cool and calm. But Ellison could see the sweat beading at his hairline, and smell the sour stink of fear as he wondered if he had overstepped the bounds. Moving over to stand in front of the seated man, the Sentinel noticed with satisfaction that the Guide managed to restrain a flinch as he approached. He breathed an inward sigh of relief. It looked like he had chosen well.

Ellison pulled out another chair, and sat down across from the Guide. “Guide,” he said softly, “Look at me. This is important.”

The Guide looked up, and Ellison carried on in the same soft voice; steel underneath the velvet. “When we’re here, in private and off-duty,” he said, “I want you to pull back on the Guide crap. I want to relax here, to leave my work behind. I can’t do that if you’re kneeling at my feet, and concentrating on being obedient. Oh, I know other Sentinels like that shit. But not me. Not in my home.”

The Guide was relaxing slightly, his tenseness easing at Ellison’s words. Satisfied he was getting through, Ellison continued, “That’s not to say there won’t be rules. There will be. There will be times I need peace and quiet, and I’ll expect you to be unobtrusive. I need order, so you’ll have to keep the place clean and tidy. I know there are Guide responsibilities you have, that you’re trained for, to make this place Sentinel-friendly. I expect you to excel at them. But I don’t want you flinching when I come near, or too intimidated to talk to me or even to sit on the furniture. I fucking hate that stuff, and I won’t put up with it.”

The Guide swallowed. “Sentinel,” he ventured, “can I ask a question?”

Ellison shook his head. “Don’t ask if you can ask me, unless we’re in public. Just ask.”

“Okay.” The Guide nodded, looking uncomfortable, but his voice was steady all the same. “Why did you choose me? I mean, you could have had a police Guide. You could Bond with whichever Guide you want, someone trained in your field. I’m just a reject, man. A rental.”

Ellison understood what was behind the question, and it wasn’t just that the Guide was concerned about his suitability to Guide a police officer. “Don’t worry,” Ellison stated. “It wasn’t because I felt ‘the pull of the Bond’ the instant I saw you. I didn’t take one look and think you were the perfect soulmate for me.” He leaned forward, holding the Guide’s attention. “The truth is, I don’t want to Bond. Never have, never will. With someone like you, a rental, there’s no chance of that, right? And I’m guessing the authorities would never allow it anyway, even if I was drawn to you. Which I’m not,” he added emphatically. “And,” he went on, “I’ve got to assume that someone like you, who was on the run for so long, the last thing you’re gonna want is to Bond. This way it works out for both of us, huh?”

The Guide nodded, looking thoughtful. “Yeah.”

“But understand this,” Ellison said seriously. “This is a trial period. If it doesn’t work out with you, I’ll just send you back and get another rental. You follow?”

The Guide was smart. Ellison was sure that he knew where the grass was greener. Twenty-four hours a day, three-hundred-and-sixty-five days a year of close supervision, training and discipline at Guide World; or living more-or-less like a human being with a Sentinel who didn’t want to Bond, and who wouldn’t beat him. Perhaps not exactly how he had once envisaged his life turning out, to be sure, but infinitely better than the alternative.

The Guide nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I understand. I’ll try not to let you down.”

“Good,” Ellison acknowledged. “Come on then,” he said, rising. “I’ll show you your room.”


***


CHAPTER 2

Ellison stared at the file before him on his desk.

Case Number: 96000234
Name: Sandburg, Blair J.
Gender: M
DOB: 05/24/69
Arresting Officer: Peterson, Frank B. (Lt.)
Department: Sentinel/Guide Matters

He had managed to pull some strings to get hold of it, obtaining the Guide’s name from a records’ clerk who remembered the case well. After all, it was an exceptional circumstance – that a Guide had managed to retain his liberty right into his mid-twenties. The name ‘Sandburg’, it turned out, was pretty infamous around certain sections of the PD.

The Guide himself had, disappointingly, been unable to volunteer any information about his past. When asked last night for a name, he’d stated, “I have no name. I’m just Guide 96-234.”

Annoyed with the answer, Ellison had pressed the issue, and the Guide had fallen to his knees. “Please,” he had begged through clenched teeth. “Please, Sentinel, don’t make me say it. I’m not allowed.” The fear stench had returned, and Jim had let the matter lie. But he’d watched the Guide carefully for the rest of the evening, as he vacillated between compliance with the Sentinel’s express orders as to how he should behave in Ellison’s home, and his no-doubt brutal Guide conditioning to perfect subservience.

It had been a tense evening and, in the end, Ellison had impatiently sent the Guide to bed, weary of watching him resist the urge to constantly fall to his knees, and the intense internal war the Guide obviously fought each time he sat down on a chair or the couch. But at the same time, he had silently applauded the courage and willpower it must have taken to manage even that. As an ex-covert operative, Ellison was well aware of the effects of continual brainwashing on a human being. It seemed that this Guide, while undoubtedly conditioned into obedience and observance of the rules, had not been completely broken during the process. And it made Ellison believe that, should he keep the Guide with him, he was in for some interesting times in the weeks ahead.

Sandburg, as Ellison now knew he was called, was presently undergoing the obligatory physical which would hopefully certify him fit to be a police Guide. And in his absence, Ellison intended to indulge his intense curiosity about the enigma he had rented.

Opening the file, he was first of all faced with a photograph, and it took a moment to register that it depicted the same man as the practically shaven-headed Guide he had brought into his home. The young man in the five-by-four snapshot was grinning, caught in a moment of movement, long chestnut curls whipping around a fine boned-face with startling blue eyes. There were earrings in one ear and, thinking back, Ellison realized he had seen but not consciously registered the holes which were still in Sandburg’s left earlobe. The man in the photograph was dressed in a brightly colored ethnic waistcoat, and was wearing at least two pieces of leather thonged jewelry around his neck. Ellison smiled at the sight. Ah Chief, he thought with amusement. You always did stand out from the crowd.

Opening the report, he began to read. The first few pages were background notes. Sandburg, it seemed, had been a doctoral candidate at Rainier University at the time of being apprehended. His academic record was attached as an appendix, and Ellison turned to it, curious. He whistled in disbelief. The kid had apparently been a prodigy, doing so well at school that he had entered college at the age of sixteen, where he aced his examinations. He had obtained first class honors in his bachelors’ degree, had a distinction at masters’ level, and had been close to finishing his Ph.D. No wonder the authorities were pissed – Guides were widely declared to be educationally subnormal.

Turning back to Sandburg’s record, he was not surprised, given his obvious academic achievements, to see that Sandburg had been appointed as a Teaching Fellow, and had been on the verge of obtaining tenure, subject to completing his dissertation satisfactorily.

That, of course, had all ended when Sandburg had been caught. It seemed that some malicious soul had discovered the Guide’s secret and turned him in. Sandburg had been attempting to flee town – and no doubt the country – when he'd been apprehended. He had been sentenced to be detained for life, and forced to undergo compulsory Guide re-training. Guide World, as an authorized re-training agent, had taken him on. And it would have been particularly brutal training in his case. Part punishment, part conditioning. Designed to break Sandburg of all he had been before, because intelligence and independent thought were undesirable traits in a Guide.

Ellison snickered derisively. The trainers at Guide World were kidding themselves if they thought someone like Sandburg could ever be put through their mincer and come out the other side as regular Guide. It was unlikely, given his background and apparent sheer determination, that Sandburg would ever be completely broken of his past. Still, it made him an interesting challenge for Jim Ellison to take on – except that the Sentinel was just as contrary as it appeared Sandburg was when it came to conforming to societal norms. Ellison was more likely to encourage the Guide to go against his training rather than adhere to it, as he had already begun to do. In many ways, it seemed, they were a good match for each other.

He turned to the part of the report detailing Sandburg’s testing scores as a Guide. He was no surprised to read that his infantile test reports had somehow been forged. The concealment of Sandburg’s abilities would have started early, as all citizens were tested at birth for the existence of Guide traits. Sandburg, it appeared, had been born at home, thus avoiding the compulsory hospital tests. No father’s name was listed on the birth certificate, and his mother was stated to be deceased.

He turned the page, finding the section that gave Sandburg’s test results from when he was taken into custody. And did a double take. Sandburg was a ten, all across the board – the highest score that a Guide could achieve.

It begged a question, and Ellison found that he wanted the answer. Picking up the phone, he dialed the number for Guide World, giving his name and asking for Reynolds. The moment Reynolds took the call, Ellison wasted no time on niceties. “The Guide I rented. He’s a ten in every category. Why the hell is he a rental?”

Reynolds was unfazed by Ellison’s abruptness. “I take it you have looked into his background, Sentinel?”

“Call it my natural curiosity. I am a Detective, Reynolds. So what’s the deal with my Guide? Is it because he was rogue?”

“You’ve answered your own question,” Reynolds answered. “Even if we manage to train Guide 96-234 to the full specifications of a Bond Guide, he will not be permitted to Bond. The courts instructed, when he was given over into our custody, that he remain un-Bonded for life. It is part of the punishment for his crime.”

Ellison shook his head. “Isn’t that pretty barbaric? What happens if he and a Sentinel are drawn to each other?”

“I hope you’re not talking about yourself, Sentinel Ellison,” Reynolds remarked. “Because if you are feeling the pull of the Bond to 96-234, we will be obliged to retrieve him.”

He wasn’t. He hoped. “No, I’m not,” Ellison stated. “I just want all the facts. So in that case, you would retrieve him. Then what?”

“Then he would receive further retraining until he is deemed ready to be hired out again. And if it happens too often on rental assignments, he will be withdrawn from our rental stock and kept in isolation for the rest of his life.”

It was the way life was for Guides. It was the way it had always been, and Ellison usually didn’t give it a second thought. So why did the callous disregard of Sandburg’s skills and experience bother him so much? But Ellison kept his feelings on the matter out of his voice as he wrapped up the call. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Sentinel Ellison. But a word of warning.” The underlying threat in Reynolds’s voice was undeniable. “I strongly urge you not to get too close to this Guide. Treat him as what he is – a tool to enable you to do your job. I advise no longer than a six month term as per the contract you signed – don’t try to extend the period, or you could find yourself getting too attached. Remember, also, that too much kindness while he is in your custody would be an unkindness. Guide 96-234 will never Bond, and as soon as you turn him in, he will be forcibly re-trained before his next assignment. Don’t let him think life could be better for him than that.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Ellison agreed, but felt cold inside as he concluded the call.

A nagging sense of wrongness about the whole situation plagued him for the next while, as he got on with paperwork. He had been confined to a desk, and it would be up to his Captain, Simon Banks, to certify him fit to go back out into the field now that he had a Guide.

The tedious typing of reports was interrupted by the appearance of said Captain. Simon strode into the bullpen and, before he even paused to take off his coat, he beckoned the Sentinel, his face grim. “Ellison, my office. Now.” Ellison rose and, accompanied by a nagging flashback of being summoned to see the headmaster after breaking a school window with a football, followed in Banks’s wake.

No sooner was the door closed than Banks turned on him. “I told you to get a Guide, Ellison. Not a reject!”

Ellison glared back, unwilling to give an inch on this matter. “I got a Guide. No one said anything about Bonding. I will not Bond, not now, not ever. End of story. You can’t accept that, then I’ll hand in my badge and gun right now. sir,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“Cut the crap about resigning, Ellison, and listen to me!” Banks was furious. “The Guide you’ve rented – who I’ve just seen down in medical – is nothing but a scrawny kid who doesn’t know a homicide from a robbery! He’s a rental, goddamnit! He’s had no police training at all. What the hell makes you think he’s a suitable Guide for a police detective?”

Ellison found himself feeling oddly resentful of Banks’s assessment of Sandburg. “There’s a hell of a lot more to him than that, sir,” he stated. “I believe he’s more than capable of Guiding me.”

“He’d sure as hell better be!” Banks shook his head. “Look, Jim,” his voice softened, “I just don’t get it. This kid may be able to help keep you from zoning in the short term, even without law enforcement expertise, but what about the future? Without a Bond, you know your life expectancy is limited. You’ve been zoning more and more this past year. What happens when your rental Guide has gone back, and you zone when no Guide is around, and can’t get out of it on your own? I’m worried about you, Jim. I don’t mind admitting it.”

The Captain’s concern was touching; but it didn’t change Jim’s mind one iota. “I’ve told you before, Simon. I can’t stand the idea of chaining my life to some mindless cretin. I like my privacy, and I don’t want to be somebody’s jailer twenty-four-seven.” He smiled “I’d rather live fast and die young.”

“Yeah, well, forgive me if I fail to understand. If it bugs me that my friend won’t take this one step he needs to keep him alive. You know what the life expectancy of Sentinels who are un-Bonded is – I don’t need to quote you the statistics.”

“I know.” This was old ground; they were never going to agree. Ellison knew that Simon’s anger was due to concern; and no doubt he was feeling peeved that he hadn’t managed to force the Sentinel into a Bond by making it official. “I understand the risks, Simon. It’s my choice.”

“Hmph.” Simon had apparently recognized that to continue to argue was useless. He sat down behind his desk and waved Ellison to a seat. “Well, at least you have a Guide now, even if it is only a temporary arrangement. You’re sure he’ll be able to do what you need?”

Ellison sank down into a chair. He nodded. “Yeah, he scored high on all the required elements. Voice and touch are the main things – I’d say as a ten in both he is more than capable of de-zoning me.”

“Well that’s something, at least,” Simon admitted. “He looks young, though. What, eighteen? Nineteen?”

“Twenty-six. With a lot of life experience.” Simon’s eyes widened as Ellison updated him as to the contents of Sandburg’s file.

By the end, Simon was nodding. “I remember the case. They kept it out of the press, in case it inspired more rogues. But the gossip was rife around here. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”

Ellison shrugged. “I don’t pay much attention to gossip.”

Simon looked thoughtful, then glanced out into the Bullpen. “Looks like your Guide is back, Detective.”

Ellison rose and looked out. Sandburg was just sinking to his knees beside the detective’s desk, his head lowered submissively as he settled himself in to wait for the return of his Sentinel.

Behind him, Simon said, “I hope you know what you’re doing, taking this rogue on as a Guide.”

“It’s only for six months,” Ellison answered absently. But his attention was on the Guide. Something about Sandburg’s posture bothered him, although technically his stance was by the book.

Apparently understanding that Ellison now needed to be elsewhere, Simon dismissed him. “Go on. Get out of here. See to your Guide.”

“Yes, sir," Ellison acknowledged. And he left the room without a backward glance.

Sandburg didn’t look up at Ellison’s approach, apparently having taken the warning about being a model Guide when out in public to heart. Ellison stopped in front of him. “Guide, look at me,” he ordered, and Sandburg’s head came up. His face was closed off, emotionless. “How did it go?” Ellison asked.

In answer, Sandburg held out the envelope he had been holding in his hand. It was addressed to the Detective. As Ellison took it, and moved to sit down, the Guide’s head lowered again, as he resumed his submissive posture.

Ellison ripped open the envelope and unfolded the report. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Sandburg had been cleared for duty. Reading further, he took in the detail. The Guide, it appeared, was generally healthy. He was, however, underweight for his height, and had a stomach ulcer, which was ‘stress related’. A prescription for medication was being supplied to treat it. Ellison wasn’t surprised – the kid was most definitely under stress.

Then he got to the final paragraph. “What the hell?” The report detailed that the Guide had ‘lesions to the upper torso (posterior and anterior), buttocks and thighs, consistent with discipline administered by a regulation crop. Sentinel Ellison is advised not to discipline the Guide further in this manner for at least forty-eight hours, to prevent permanent scarring or more serious injury.’

Shit! How the hell could the doctor believe that he had beaten the Guide? Standing to tower over the kneeling man once again, Ellison demanded, “Guide, look at me!” As the Guide’s head came up, Ellison asked, “Did you tell them I’d beaten you?”

The voice was barely audible. “No, Sentinel.”

“Then why the hell did they think I had? Why didn’t you tell them it happened before you came home with me?”

The Guide swallowed. His hands were shaking minutely in the face of the Sentinel’s obvious fury. But he managed to find his voice, nevertheless. “They didn’t ask.”

Ellison blinked. They didn’t ask. Of course not. Did a vet ask a dog who had kicked it? Guides were no more than animals, after all.

Shit.

Ellison’s anger and embarrassment evaporated. The Guide was hurting. He needed to be taken care of. “Guide,” he said, “Stand up.” Awkwardly, Sandburg stood, and Ellison cursed himself for not noticing before that he was in pain. “Follow me,” he ordered, keeping his face impassive with an effort. “We’re going home.”

Turning, the Sentinel exited the bullpen; the Guide following submissively in his wake, the regulation three feet behind.


***


CHAPTER 3

Entering his apartment with the Guide following behind him for the second day in a row, Ellison was more than a little pissed off when Sandburg sank once again to his knees, apparently disregarding Ellison’s order of the day before. Annoyance, therefore, clouded his voice. “Hey! I thought I told you not to pull this shit when we’re in here. Get up, damn you!”

The Guide jerkily got to his feet as if scalded. He seemed to be fighting for composure, and the foul fear stink that kept emanating from him had made an unwelcome reappearance.

Ellison sighed in frustration. Maybe this wasn’t going to work after all. As a rogue Guide, Sandburg was carrying baggage that regular Guides did not. Guides generally knew no other life other than that of obedience and servitude, and there was, in those cases, no conflict between a Sentinel’s needs and the Guide’s own, if the propaganda was to be believed. This guy, on the other hand, had lived a full and productive life before he had been identified as a Guide, and that life had been ripped away from him. Settling him into his temporary role as Ellison’s Guide was unlikely to be straightforward, and Ellison had been naïve in the extreme to ever imagine that it could be.

Reynolds’s words of earlier came back to him – ‘Too much kindness while he is in your custody would be an unkindness’. He’d thought giving Sandburg this space, where he could forget about kneeling and being subservient, would be a benevolence on his part. But instead, all he had done so far was confuse the Guide’s conditioning, making him feel adrift and afraid.

It had been the spark of life – of independence – in the Guide, that had attracted Ellison to Sandburg. But right now, during these early days, the Guide needed to have more structure, and more explicit rules. Otherwise he was never going to feel safe. And Ellison needed that – for his home, his loft to be a safe place for both of them.

“Hey,” he said more gently, “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I told you that. Remember?”

The Guide glanced up, his eyes dark with distress. “Please,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to do. I keep screwing up. Please don’t send me back.”

Ellison shook his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I won’t send you back for not understanding the rules. It’s my place to make things clearer. You’re not at fault here. Okay?”

The Guide nodded unhappily. “Can I ask...?” he began, and when Ellison nodded, he went on, “At the police station. You were angry when I gave you my medical report. Did I do something wrong?”

The kid seemed so vulnerable, so unsure. Somewhat incongruously, given his impatience with Guides in general, Ellison ached for him – something about the way those huge blue eyes in that thin, youthful face pleaded with him twisted him up inside. Ellison shook his head. “No. I’m not angry with you.” He shrugged. “A little confused, actually,” he confided. “This is all new to me too. I’ve never had a Guide before. I may screw up too, occasionally. You’ll have to be patient with me.”

That confession elicited the tiniest hint of a smile. “Okay.”

The Guide was calmer now, the fear stink having receded. And now the Sentinel became aware of other odors on the Guide – antiseptic and a lingering residue of latex from his medical examination. It reminded him of why they had come home. Deciding to deal with it straight away, Ellison directed, “Take your shirt off, Chief.”

A momentary look of panic crossed the face of the Guide, his heart rate jumping. But then he settled down, taking a deep breath. Yes, Jim thought. That’s it. I won’t hurt you. Come on, Chief. Get with the program. After a few seconds, Sandburg nodded nervously, and fingers that shook began to do as Ellison had asked. Satisfied, Ellison went to the bathroom, and pulled out supplies from the first-aid box he thought he might need. As an afterthought, he set the bath running, and grabbed his own terrycloth robe from the back of the door. When he came back out, he was pleased to see that Sandburg had undressed from the waist up, and had resisted the urge to kneel. He was not pleased, however, to see the evil looking weals that crisscrossed the Guide’s chest.

Crossing over to the kitchen table, Ellison said over his shoulder, “Take a seat over here. I want to check your injuries out. Then you can take a bath and relax a little.” He didn’t look as Sandburg obliged, focusing instead on laying out his medical kit. When he turned round, he registered that Sandburg was shivering, his arms wrapped around himself and, without hesitation, Ellison moved over to the thermostat and turned the heating up.

The Guide remained compliant and placid as Ellison’s hands drifted over his skin, using his sensitive Sentinel touch to check out the angry red marks. He caught the Guide giving him a quizzical look from under lowered lashes, and answered the unspoken question. “I had some medical training when I was in the army.” He turned his attention back to the lashes on the Guide’s skin. “These are not too deep,” he remarked. “The skin isn’t broken. I think they’ll heal by themselves if left alone.” Looking more closely, he could see how the marks overlaid other, older marks. This was not, by a long shot, the first lashing Sandburg had received, nor was it the most severe.

Moving away from the Guide, he said, “Take off your pants, and put this on.” He handed Sandburg the robe. “I just want to check out the rest of your injuries. Then you can take your bath.” He left Sandburg momentarily, to adjust the bath water. When he came back, the Guide was wearing the robe, clutching it around himself like a shield. Keeping his movements impersonal, Ellison directed him to stand and hold the robe up. Crouching down, he made a cursory examination of Sandburg’s thighs and buttocks. The weals on his thighs were the most severe, and undoubtedly painful on the tender skin there, but again, he judged them likely to heal if left to themselves.

Before standing, he pulled the bunched-up robe out of Sandburg’s hands, and pulled it down, covering up his backside. Then he rose and led the way to the bathroom. “Follow me,” he said, and the Guide fell into step behind.

Once inside, Ellison tested the bathwater, and shut off the faucet. “Right Chief,” he directed. “Get in.”

The Guide’s nervousness seemed to be abating, as this time he didn’t hesitate to do the Sentinel’s bidding. He winced as the hot water made contact with the weals on his legs, but sank into the water anyway and, after a moment, the pinched look of pain on his face began to ease and he relaxed back into the soothing water.

Drawn by an instinct older than time, the Sentinel moved closer and kneeled by the tub. He placed a hand on the Guide’s chest, feeling the strong heartbeat beneath the wet, warm skin. “I know we can’t Bond,” he said softly when startled eyes looked up at him. Ellison smiled reassuringly. “Neither of us want that anyway. But I need to know you. To learn you. I need you to trust me, to let me do this. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

The Guide swallowed, his eyes dark. But he nodded, to Ellison’s great satisfaction. “Yes Sentinel. I… I won’t fight you.”

Ellison frowned at the answer. Why should the Guide even think about fighting him? Physical touch between a Sentinel and Guide was part of the deal; a vital way for the Sentinel to ground his senses in the Guide. It felt right to Ellison to do this, to touch Sandburg, especially if the other man was to Guide him effectively. If his conditioning had made the Guide nervous of this essential act, then those blockheads at Guide World had done far more harm than good with their so-called ‘re-training’. What Ellison needed to do should be pleasurable to a Guide, comforting, not something frightening to submit to.

But there were ways of making even a Guide as skittish as this one relax. The hand that was resting on the Guide’s chest had begun a hypnotic rubbing motion, and it seemed that Sandburg’s nerves were calming a little, as his eyes began to look heavy-lidded. “That’s it,” Ellison breathed. “Relax. Everything is fine. Nothing to be afraid of.”

His other hand reached out and passed over the short, bristly hair on the Guide’s head, sliding down behind Sandburg’s neck where his fingers began to knead the tense muscles there. Sandburg let out a sigh, his eyelids drifting closed, and Ellison almost purred in satisfaction at that display of trust.

As soon as he judged Sandburg sufficiently at ease, Ellison’s hands began to move, sliding over the wet skin, mapping hairs, capillaries and the disturbingly high number of scars both visible and invisible. The touch was light, sensual rather than sexual, although he was finding as he progressed that his instinctive sexual urge towards this particular Guide was surprisingly strong. He ruthlessly pushed his own autonomic response to the Guide to one side, for that way lay danger. Sex between un-Bonded Sentinels and Guides almost always led to the Bond; and that could never happen between them.

That’s not to say that sexual relief for either of them would be out of the question during their time together, Ellison knew; just that they would have to avoid simultaneous satisfaction. The minds of Sentinels and Guides tended to open themselves to each other during mutual orgasm, creating the appropriate conditions for Bonding. It would be foolish in the extreme for him to put them in a position where that would be possible, no matter how much either of them might grow to want it.

Sandburg, it seemed, was not immune to the eroticism of this act of mapping either. As Ellison’s hands drifted up the Guide’s legs, feeling and learning the strong muscles and sinews beneath the skin, his breathy sighs got more frequent, and his involuntary erection bobbed in the water. It became too enticing a sight to ignore after a while, and Sandburg gasped when the Sentinel’s strong hand closed around it.

“Hush,” Ellison urged softly, wanting desperately to give this gift to the Guide, to show him that a Sentinel’s touch could bring pleasure instead of pain. “It’s all right,” he breathed. “Just relax.” Feeling the play of impossibly soft skin over solid strength, the Sentinel used his sense of touch to find the perfect stroke, the most sensitive pressure points. It didn’t take long. The Guide arched his back, crying out as he came, semen splattering his chest in huge convulsive spurts, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged.

Sandburg was boneless in the aftermath, almost asleep as Ellison cleaned him off. The Sentinel then continued to map the Guide’s pliant body, using the buoyancy the water lent him to raise Sandburg up in the water, enabling him to have access to his underside. And soon, at long last, he was done.

He put out a hand, and laid it gently on the dozing Guide’s cheek. “Hey,” he said. Dazed blue eyes opened and fixed on him, the pupils dilated. “Time to get out, Chief.” He took the Guide’s hands and hauled him upright, wrapping him in a towel and helping him to step out. Ellison dried him off and helped him don the robe. The Guide was trembling with exhaustion by the time Ellison had deposited him on the couch and covered him with the blanket that was on the back of it.

The Guide still seemed a little out of it, as he absentmindedly drank the soup Ellison brought to him shortly afterwards. The Sentinel let him be, allowing him peace to process his reaction to what had happened. The experience had, much to the Sentinel’s satisfaction, at the very least rid Sandburg of the nervous tension he had exhibited ever since Ellison had brought him home.

At last, Ellison urged him to use the bathroom, and Sandburg did as he was told without complaint. When he emerged, Ellison was waiting to lead him into the small bedroom under the stairs, which he had allocated to the Guide.

The sob that burst forth, as the Sentinel tucked the quilt up to the Guide’s ears, took Ellison by surprise. “Chief?” he queried, as another sob broke free, tears rolling down Sandburg’s cheek to pool on the pillow. “What is it?”

Sandburg sniffed, trying to get himself under control. “It’s just…” he began, then faltered. He tried again. “It’s just that you’re so gentle, man. It’s been so long since anyone… It usually hurts, when people touch me. It’s usually when I’m getting punished.”

Ellison put out a hand, and stroked his cheek. “I told you, I won’t hurt you.”

Sandburg nodded. “I know. I know that now.”

“Good.” Ellison’s hand moved to the short hair, his touch soothing. “Close your eyes. Relax. Everything’s all right.”

“Okay.” The Guide did as Ellison asked, and the Sentinel kept up the soothing touch, his hand lightly moving across the other man’s head in gentle strokes. Eyes closed, the Guide spoke again, his voice dreamy on the edge of sleep. “I read about Sentinels like you, so kind, so gentle. Not here, though. In tribes far away, in the jungle… ” His voice trailed off, and ended on a breathy almost-snore as, mid-sentence, he finally succumbed to the lure of sleep. Satisfied that all was at last well with the Guide, Ellison placed a gentle kiss on his head, and left the room.

Later, lying sleepless in his own bed, Ellison pondered Sandburg’s dream-like words. The Guide’s ramblings on the edge of sleep had reminded him of something he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Something that, now he thought about it, made sense of a lot of his feelings about Sentinel and Guide relationships.

Several years ago, as a result of a covert ops mission gone wrong, Ellison had found himself stranded in the Peruvian jungle, the sole survivor of the mission. He had been taken in by a local tribe – the Chopec – and had lived among them for eighteen months until he’d been finally rescued and brought home.

While he was there, he had seen many strange things. The Chopec way of life was so different from life in Cascade in so many ways, the culture so foreign, that it had taken him a long time to adjust. Chopec attitudes to sex, procreation, life and death had by turns shocked and amazed the stranded man, until he was forced to learn to think totally outside the framework of his own culture.

So many differences, that one specific thing in particular had been swamped amidst his memories of the experience. One thing that now had particular relevance to his own life.

The Chopec tribe he had lived with had counted a native Sentinel as being one of their number. And that Sentinel had been paired with a Guide.

But the Guide had not been a subservient lackey, groveling at the feet of the Sentinel. Oh no. The two had stood side by side, equals, sharing the responsibility and the burden of their respective callings. There had been other times, when one had of necessity led, and the other had followed. And at those times, the Guide, not the Sentinel, had usually been the one in charge.

The Bonded pair had been lovers too, he remembered, demonstrably affectionate in a totally unselfconscious way. Remembering the natural eroticism of their kisses, displayed for all the tribe to see, Ellison found himself thinking of the silky wetness of Sandburg’s skin earlier, and the soft sighing sounds he had made as the Sentinel had stroked him helplessly to completion.

His own loins stirred and, reaching down, he took hold of himself, pumping rhythmically; seeing in his mind’s eye a pink tongue moistening lips, and hearing the breathy moans and lapping waves of bath water as the Guide was driven to distraction by his touch. His own breath came quicker as he neared the edge, then, tumbling over it, he moaned as the world whited out, Sandburg climaxing once again in his memory.

The two of them, in his imagination, sharing the orgasm that in life they could never be permitted to share.

But as he drifted off to sleep, he held a dream Sandburg in his arms, and they lived in a world where they could stand together as equals.


Continued in Part 2



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