by Lady J
Sandburg pushed his way to the bar, and ordered a beer, all the while scoping out the crowd. Friday nights at Club Flash had gotten a little more crowded as of late ever since the police raided one of the gay bars up town on some meaningless code violation. Now, many of the regular denizens of the "Black Sun" had taken up residence in this campus club, at least for the time being.
Blair leaned against the bar and sipped his beer. The Black Sun was where the older guys hung out; urban mythology held that there was an unspoken rule that anyone under the age of 25 be prepared to earn their way into the bar's innermost reaches. Just what "earn" constituted was the subject of heated debate among many of Blair's contemporaries. He didn't pay the talk much mind until the day the Sun was raided and closed.
Then the world changed.
They appeared in groups of twos and threes; big rugged men who looked like they stepped out of someone's best wet dreams. They would sit on the edges on the room and watch, maybe order a beer or two and talk among themselves. But mostly, they just watched. There were a few tense moments at first. Some enterprising young man or woman confident in his/her attractiveness would approach one of the men in the hopes of a quickie (or something else). One hard stare or snarl would be enough to send them scurrying away. These men were definitely not the quickie type.
As an anthropologist, Blair could give a detailed explanation about the group dynamics involved in the club scene but what was happening here was something entirely different. The longer the men came to the club, the less tense the patrons became. What danger was there? All the Black Sun's patrons did was drink, watch and just hang. No harm, no foul.
Periodically, Blair would meet the eyes of one or two of the men and on the surface he dismissed them as harmless. And yet something buried deep within him knew better. Hunters, his mind supplied. They're hunters and everyone in this fucking bar is prey; easy meat for the taking. The thoughts sent a chill up his spine and he took another pull off his rapidly cooling beer. "I'm a modern guy," he muttered, "they're nothing more than just guys."
Liar! His mind mocked. You *know* what they are. You know it in your bones. Just like you know you'd spread your legs and get pounded if any one of them told you to do it.
"Okay, Sandburg, it's time for you to go home," Blair whispered to himself. "You've had too much to drink and not enough sleep. Need shower, need bed." He tossed a dollar tip on the bar and finished off his beer, meaning to make his way to the door.
"Leaving?"
The voice came from Blair's right, a deep, rich rolling baritone. He turned and came face to face with a very tall, very handsome black man. Wire rimmed glasses did little to soften the piercing visage that seemed to pin Blair to the spot. Attired in a brilliant white shirt, and tight blue jeans which did little to hide his considerable attributes, the man leaned down until his lips touched Blair's ear.
"I asked you if you were leaving, young one," his voice seemed to seep into Blair's bones. "I expect an answer."
"I..uh...yeah," Blair replied weakly, heart pounding. "Yeah, I was just getting read to leave." He made to move away but one large, dark hand planted itself in the middle of his chest, pinning him to the bar. Blair's assailant shifted a little in front of the anthropologist, blocking them from anyone's immediate view.
"Stay," the big man said, his hand stroking Blair's chest lightly, possessively.
Blair shook unruly curls out of his face. "Look," he swallowed, cursing the squeak that had crept into his voice. "Look, man. I'm so not interested! Maybe if you'd asked politely, we could have talked and come to some understanding...mmmph!" A single finger landed on Blair's lips, effectively silencing him. Glittering dark eyes looked down into fevered blue, sending a message that became clear in Sandburg's addled brain:
Shut up.
"Simon."
Another man pressed close to Blair on the left. Blair's assailant, no *Simon,* looked up from the younger man with a smile.
"Jim."
Blair shifted his eyes to the left only to be captured by a set of pale blue eyes that burned with a similar fire as Simon's. Ooh, two of them! Blair's mind supplied gleefully. This new player was just a little shorter than Simon was but broader in the shoulders. A well developed chest stretched Jim's jet black T-shirt to the limit and the black jeans left even less to the imagination than Simon's did. The anthropologist suppressed a whimper when Jim's hand ran through his curls.
"Nice. Very nice," Jim said. He slid his hand to the back of Blair's head, his fingers lightly massaging his scalp. Trapped between the two men, Blair felt as though his world had narrowed to the three of them. He looked out the gap between the two to see if anyone even noticed what was going on. But no, everyone was studiously ignoring the tableau at the bar. Everyone, that is, except the men of the Black Sun.
*They* were watching. Waiting. Their bodies tense and expectant as they observed the scene unfolding against the bar. Blair drew in a fearful breath but when he did, something unfurled within him. Something dark and needy; it wasn't just hunger. This kind of need went beyond the body and was rooted firmly in Blair's soul.
Both Simon and Jim seemed to sense need's rise within their prey. They looked at each other then at Blair.
"Come," said Jim and turned on his heel, leading the way through the crowd. Simon pulled Blair away from the bar and propelled him after the other man. Dazedly, Blair followed Jim, unsure of what was happening, but knowing that he should at least make a token display of resistance.
Why bother? his mind jeered. You'd never make it out of here and even if you did, don't you know they would find you?
Blair's subconscious self-mockery stopped him in his tracks, fear and newly formed lust radiating from every pore. Simon's hand landed on his shoulder and then the maddeningly seductive voice was at his ear once more:
"Keep going, young one," said Simon.
His hand tightened on Blair's shoulder and he pointed with the other to where Jim stood waiting near a door. A number of other Black Sun men waited silently beside him. Blair looked around wildly; there had to be someone, anyone who could save him...
"No one will help you," whispered Simon and he passed his free hand over Blair's ass before slapping it lightly. "But then, you don't want to be saved, do you?" He pushed Blair forward again and laughed deep in his throat. "You don't want to be saved at all."
"But," Blair sputtered, heart beating wildly in his chest. "I don't...I..." The words would not come. Too soon, he was standing before Jim, with Simon at his back. Jim reached out and threaded his hand through Blair's curls. Slowly, he pulled Blair forward until they were hip to hip then, Jim tugged on the thick hair until Blair's hair tipped back, exposing the smooth skin of his throat. Blair clutched at Jim's forearm, trying to free himself.
"Stop." The word cut through Blair's panicked fog, immobilizing the younger man. The fingers of Jim's free hand stroked Blair's throat slowly.
"Oh, god," Blair whispered. "Listen, I don't know what you want..." He hissed when Simon pressed against his back and slid one large hand around his hip to caress his cock through his jeans. "Ah, man, really...fuck...I'm...you've got the wrong guy." He couldn't help rocking his hips back into Simon; the other man kept a firm pressure on Blair's crotch.
"Wrong guy? Mmm, no," replied Jim. "I don't think so." He lowered his head and brushed his lips over the wildly beating artery in Blair's throat. The strangled whimper from the younger man made him raise his head to look at Blair again. "But then you know this."
"I," Blair began and this time, Jim jerked on his hair hard.
"Enough, boy," the words were razor sharp, and Blair swallowed nervously. "We wanted you. We *chose* you," Jim growled. "And we're going to have you."
One of their men opened the door before them and Jim hauled Blair inside with Simon close on their heels. The door shut, plunging them into inky darkness. Blair felt Jim's hand leave his head, then he was pushed forward till he hit the edge of a table. He scuttled around the edge just as a bare light bulb flared into life, revealing the starkness of the room.
Obviously it had been an office once. Now all that was left was the table, a chair in the corner of the room and an old calendar from 1965.
"Young one."
Blair's head jerked around at the sound of Simon's voice. He leaned against the wall nearest to the door, effectively cutting off the one route of escape. "Your mouth says one thing but your body and your soul say another," Simon observed.
"My soul?" Blair gulped. "What do you know about my soul?"
"About as much as we know about our own," Jim answered. He took up a position next to Simon, leaving Blair with no way to get from behind the table except to go over it. "Words are just words, but we see your soul through your eyes. And your eyes tell us everything you would deny: what you want, what you need."
Blair opened his mouth then closed it quickly. What now, Blair boy? You are well and truly caught. He looked from one man to the other and felt the obscene need rise within him and focus on his captors.
And at that moment, Blair Sandburg knew the truth of it: he *was* prey and the hunters had come for him, to claim what they knew instinctively to be theirs. Strip away the veneer of civilization, and mankind was still just a higher form of animal. He looked over at the two men by the door. There was something about them that drew Blair; against all reason and common sense. And in that moment, he was lost.
Slowly, he walked around the table until he stood in front of it, the backs of his knees resting against the edge. Simon cast a quick look at Jim and both men walked forward. Blair hung his head, his hair a sable cascade hiding his face. He could feel the rapid beat of his heart as the two men stopped in front of him.
Two fingers tipped his face upward and he found himself looking into Jim's cool blue eyes. A rough thumb ran over Blair's lips and, instinctively, his tongue flicked out to follow it.
"What do you want?"
This came from Simon. His hand carded through his hair then slid to the back of his skull to hold him steady. With only the slightest pressure, Simon forced Blair's head back to expose his throat. A deep, rumbling growl came from Jim and light fingers trailed down Blair's throat to stop at the wildly beating pulse at the base.
The question was repeated. "What do you want?"
"I don't know," Blair whispered. A hand fondled him lightly eliciting a groan from the younger man.
"You do," whispered Jim. "Say what you want, what you need. *Tell* us."
Then Blair's need boiled up from within, searing and overwhelming him. The words rushed up and out of his mouth:
"I want...I *need* you," Blair said softly. His eyes darted from one man to the other. Heedless of his vulnerable position, Blair closed his eyes and tipped his head even farther back against Simon's hand. The big man smiled down at his prey then looked at his fellow hunter.
"Here?" he asked but Jim shook his head.
"No, not here. At the Sun. Where we belong." He passed his hand over Blair's chest, tickling a nipple lightly through his shirt. The younger man squirmed under the attention and both men laughed lightly. "He is eager," purred Jim.
"That he is," replied his hunting mate. "Mark him."
Blair's mouth opened in silent scream as Jim's lips found his neck in a licking, sucking kiss. Held fast by Simon's hand, his own hands grasping at the edge of the table, Blair could only ride the tide of feeling as Jim ravaged his neck. After what seemed an eternity, Jim broke off the assault, licking lightly at the bright red mark at the base of Blair's throat. Simon turned his head slightly and nipped Blair hard, on the side of his neck, leaving a smaller but still important mark there as well.
When they let Blair up, they steadied him, oddly gentle compared to their previous behavior. They walked to the door together and it opened before them. Dazed, Blair walked out of the room, Simon and Jim at his back, one hand from each man resting on his shoulders.
The music still blazed from the speakers and couples still danced wildly on the jam packed dance floor. But time slowed around the men of the Black Sun as they looked at the three men who left the office. They saw the marks on Blair's neck, the possessive hands on his shoulders and smiled. Slowly, hesitantly, Blair smiled back. Soon they all stood in the cool night air, the sounds of the city soothing to his music abused ears.
"Come, young one," Simon rumbled. "We're going home." His hand slipped from Blair's shoulder to his waist and Jim's arm came to rest on his shoulders.
For the first time in his life, Blair knew no doubts, no fears. The need within him ceased its siren song and left him with a feeling of peace and belonging.
He, Blair Sandburg, had always belonged to Simon and Jim. It just was a matter of time until the hunters came to claim what was rightfully theirs.
**Blair Sandburg was never seen on the Rainier campus again. But once in a while, when the nights are clear, you'll see them. The men of the Black Sun.
Two men lead them, one dark as night, the other as bright as day. And if you look close enough, you'll see a third man, the one who had once been prey and now hunts the night with his mates.
Disclaimer: all things Sentinel belong to the nice people at Pet Fly and the somewhat nice people at Paramount. The Black Sun and the men who reside there belong to me.