Balance of Power – 1/1 (Sinclair/Delenn/Sheridan)
May 12th, 2008 | →
“Balance of Power”
A Babylon 5 Story
by Jennifer Lyon: jennyann@ix.netcom.com
A. Manley Haight: anne@blastfurnace.org
and Sue Phillips: vampry@mindspring.com
Copyright (C) 1996
Babylon 5 and its characters are the property of J. Michael Straczynski and Babylonian Productions Inc., and AOL Time Warner, with all rights reserved thereto. No infringement of their copyrights is intended. Please do not replicate or distribute this story without permission from the authors. This story is not for sale, and is not subject to purchase or sale by anyone.
I co-wrote this story with two other people; Jennifer Lyons and Sue Phillips. This story also had the dubious distinction of being mentioned by name (along with the names of the three authors), as well as actually quoted, in a sidebar article about slash fic in the April/May 1999 issue of Cinescape magazine. I personally hold that publication in low regard. The editor attempted to contact us but we declined to speak with her, mainly to continue the unspoken vow that slash writers take to keep slash fic as discreet as possible, and out of the mainstream media.
Peace and quiet at last! Londo Mollari sighed aloud with relief as he wandered into the hedge maze. His situation only seemed to get worse; everything was madness. People he had considered friends now barely spoke to him, while others — who would have only ignored him before — now wanted to be his ‘best friend.’ That he could handle, if only someone treated him with real respect. Sheridan was the worst offender; the Captain made it obvious that he barely tolerated Londo’s presence on Babylon 5. It was infuriating! Thrice damned Narn sympathizer! The Centauri Ambassador took in a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Sooner or later he’d find a way to pay Sheridan back for the insults, and in the meantime, he’d finally found some time to relax. Turning around one corner, and then another, he let his feet wander where they would.
Delenn smiled when Jeffrey Sinclair offered her his elbow. Curving her arm under his, she rested her fingers on his forearm, and leaned against him as they walked. For a moment she could almost believe that they were back where they had started, when Babylon 5 had first come to life. She’d missed their walks in these gardens more than she would have thought possible. He was a kindred soul — literally — so much a part of her that she felt his absence in the night when he was gone, like an emptiness in her heart.He smiled back at her, warmly, the corners of his dark brown eyes wrinkling with gentle humor. Yet, there was a gravity to his demeanor that was not reminiscent of those earlier times, and his face had aged. Not all the lines etched around his mouth and temples were signs of laughter. Many were sorrows suffered or burdens borne. Still, there was time, however brief, to remember simpler moments. To put off the difficult path ahead for just a little while longer.
But his mind was focused, already looking past the present to what lay beyond. His hand was large on hers, and his voice was solemn when he spoke.
“The change, Delenn, what is it like?”
Her stomach clenched in her gut, her breath catching. There was no answer to that question. Even if she could find the words, how could she know whether his transformation would match her own? Her voice was barely above a whisper when she replied, stopping in place and turning to step in front of him.
“I do now know how to describe it. And even if I did…”
He shook his head at her, moving his hands to catch hers between them.
“I know.” He sighed softly, gazing down tenderly into her eyes. “I accept this. I do. I guess I just wanted some idea of what I’m getting into.” He grinned suddenly, a flash of brilliance that stole years from his age.
She reached up with her free hand to trace the scar on his cheek with a tender caress.
“I wish I could tell you more. I wish I could be with you. It is not painful so much as it is…difficult. Even the senses of vision and balance are different; it is like learning to walk all over again. I should be with you…” Her voice fell heavy with guilt and sorrow, and his reaction was instinctive, protective. Closing his hand upon hers, pressing it into the hollow beneath the high arc of his cheekbone, he leaned down to reassure her. His breath warmed her forehead as he spoke.
“Nai, Delenn, you must stay here. You are as needed here as I am…elsewhere. Si’swai’am, I will miss you, but this must be. And don’t grieve for me. My whole life has been leading to this. I know the reason for my existence; I will not shirk the responsibility it brings.” He smiled wryly, though his eyes gleamed with serenity and calm acceptance.
“Then I am glad,” she replied softly, weaving her fingers through his as their hands dropped down between them. “I will stand with you as long as I can, and a part of my soul will go with you when you are gone.”
“And mine with you.” He squeezed her hands between his, then released her and stepped to the side. Turning, he drew her with him along the path, deeper into the maze.
Londo’s teeth bared in a predatory smile as he hovered in the shadows, watching the tall man and his delicate companion fade around a corner.
“Well, well, well…” he murmured thoughtfully. “Sinclair is back on Babylon 5, and as close as ever with Delenn. It makes one wonders what the estimable Captain Sheridan thinks of all this.” Eyes narrowed, he turned and walked back the way he had come, alone and unnoticed.
“Captain Sheridan!”John Sheridan was reaching for his cup of coffee when the booming voice interrupted him. It took all of his control not to knock the damned thing over onto the papers on his desk. He didn’t have an appointment with Mollari today…did he? No. He didn’t. But Londo Mollari apparently did not need an appointment. Sheridan sighed and waited for the owner of the voice to catch up with it.
“Captain Sheridan, Centauri ships are still being charged double what they were for docking fees. This is inexcusable. Our treaty with Earth clearly states…”
“Ambassador Mollari, I have discussed this with you before. The promises received came from Earthforce and the Earth Alliance. Since Babylon 5 is no longer a part of the Earth Alliance, I’m afraid we can’t honor those. The fees we charge have been negotiated with the rest of the races who use Babylon 5. They are perfectly fair.” /Why me? Why now?/
“Please, Captain,” Mollari said with the diplomatic patience of a man well used to the subtleties of his career. “Do you think me a fool?” Sheridan kept silent. “The Centauri are the power in this part of the galaxy at the moment. You need our good will. Surely it would be in your best interests, and the best interests of the other races, to honor our request.”
“Ambassador, Babylon 5 is its own sovereign nation at the moment. Given that, I am the arbiter of what is good for the people under my care. All the people. And I’m afraid that I cannot make an exception for anyone, the Centauri or any of the other races.” Although Sheridan’s voice had risen as he spoke, he made a visible effort to get himself under control. Mollari had, of late, been able to anger him much too easily.
Londo’s face closed up.
“Not even for the Minbari?” Sheridan looked at him sharply. He’d labored under the impression that this meeting would be over now. Usually, it didn’t take that long to convince Mollari that you weren’t on his side. The man might be unpredictable but he usually knew when to stop.
“No, Londo, not even for the Minbari.” Mollari’s eyes narrowed and the gleam in them showed he was up to something, something Sheridan wasn’t really positive he wanted to know about.
“Not even for Delenn, Captain? I would think that you would wish to please her.” Unspoken words hung in the air like knives. He shook his head. “And, since she is well known to be enamored of men in power, it is understandable from her point of view. First Sinclair, then you.”
Mollari strolled around Sheridan’s office as though he owned it. Sheridan clenched his fists below the level of the desk. What was the man getting at?
“Sinclair…yes, Sinclair,” Londo mused, darting a glance sideways at Sheridan to catch his response. “They were always inseparable. It was very sad, yes, that the two of them did not get to say goodbye? That he was delivered to Minbar before she could share the pain she’d gone through for him, the change. Very, very sad indeed.” The look on the man’s face was insufferable. “I was surprised to see her and Sinclair in the gardens earlier today. They were having a — how do you call it? A tete a tete, I believe. Verrry close to each other they were. Planning something secretive, perhaps, something that would be of advantage to the Minbari perhaps. Without having anything at all to do with the other people under your care.”
The man was tenacious. Unfortunately, as Captain of Babylon 5, Sheridan had to suffer him. But — Delenn and Sinclair? Close, in the garden?
“I’m sure they were merely catching up on old times,” Sheridan replied through gritted teeth. “They were very close friends, you know.” /Right, John, keep telling yourself that. You can handle this. You’re a grown man./
But Delenn and Sinclair?
“Oh yes. Very good friends, I would imagine.” Londo’s smile was particularly galling. “I must say that it is extremely comforting to see them together again, as though all was right with the universe.” Mollari’s eyes met Sheridan’s. The Captain tried to keep himself from showing any of the consternation…yes, and jealousy…that he felt. “And, what is Commander…pardon me…Ambassador Sinclair doing back on the station, eh? This is something that was not covered in the official announcements.”
Sheridan took a deep breath.
“Ambassador Mollari, I’m sure that whatever Delenn and Ambassador Sinclair spoke about is private and none of our business. Now, I really must ask you to leave as I have another appointment in ten minutes.” In the garden. With Delenn. Make that five minutes.
Mollari gave that enigmatic smile of his as he allowed Sheridan to usher him into the corridor. His job here was done. Perhaps the minor amusement of whatever happened next was not enough to offset the higher docking fees…but one must take one’s pleasure where one could, yes?
He was humming a bit of Centauri opera as he left, the opening aria from “The Three Bladed Sword of Emperor Idaro” and chuckled to himself at the thought that this situation might well end for Sheridan as it had for Idaro. Wouldn’t that be a pretty thing to watch? The elevator swallowed him.
After Mollari left, Sheridan remained at his desk. That meeting with the Centauri had left him ablaze with unaccustomed emotions; jealousy and resentment. He hadn’t ever really hit it off with Sinclair — not on Mars and not here. He should have trusted that first instinct. But while he could accept deviousness from Sinclair, the idea that Delenn too would mislead him so was shocking.He leaned back in the chair heavily. Shock was just the beginning. He felt…betrayed. It had not been his imagination that Delenn was returning the affection that had grown in him since they had met. Something more than affection, something deep and intense that hovered just outside of their conversations whenever they were together. She had felt it, too; he could see it in her eyes. Damn, if it hadn’t been for Ivanova that one time, they would have kissed, and from Delenn’s expression, she would have let him do just about anything else afterward, too.
The sensation of betrayal became rage, and he stood up, feeling it with every breath like ice in his lungs, a cold grasp around his heart. Damn him if he was going to just stand around and do nothing while Sinclair returned to his old territory to reclaim something that was not his anymore. Sheridan’s relationship with Delenn up until this moment had been circumspect, delicate, the kind of dance that was proper between people attracted to each other the way they were. But this was not allowed. Sheridan knew that to get back what had been taken from him, he was going to have to fight for it. Well, so be it. He fought as hard as anyone, and would make damn certain that Sinclair knew it by the time everything was done.
Sinclair and Delenn had spent the entire day together, their conversations alternating between serious and reflective to light and gentle. It was the only way to talk about what was ahead of them and remain sane. So much to do, so much going on. Even they did not know everything and the sensation of wandering forward in the dark was terrifying. They had to be right, had to do everything correctly or the entire galaxy could come undone. They sensed that, lying deep in wait in the future of their plans.
Now they were in Delenn’s quarters, deliberately avoiding talk of the future, and discussing the past instead. There had been such sweet moments in it, moments of innocence, neither of them understanding the destiny that the universe held reserved for them. Even so, those had been some of Sinclair’s darkest hours — the terrible nightmares, the survivor guilt, the wondering about what had happened to him at the Battle of the Line. He had been another of the walking wounded, shocked out of his own soul by the war and trying to fill the hole. And for a time, Delenn had been there to fill that void, so gentle, friendly with him. He felt, even then, that he had always been with her.
Sinclair was laughing, and Delenn had gotten up to get them something else to drink, when the door chimed. Pausing in her path toward the kitchenette, she faced the door expectantly.
“Come,” she said. The door swung open. “John,” she said warmly, smiling at him. “Please come in. Jeffrey and I were just catching up on all the things we have missed while he was away.”
Her smile faded as Sheridan came more fully into the room, and the door closed in the chilly silence. Sheridan froze when he saw Sinclair and the temperature dropped even more in the room, Sheridan’s eyes like shards of ice. She drew a breath, and realized that Sinclair had stood; he felt it, too.
“Captain?” Sinclair said, his voice full of smooth concern. Sheridan met his eyes with the deadliest glare Sinclair had ever seen.
“Ambassador Sinclair,” Sheridan said, his gravelly voice as flat as the floor, “I can come back later if I am interrupting.” He seemed to spit the word out. “But I would like to speak with Ambassador Delenn.” The politeness was Earthforce diplomacy; the more formal it got, the more hate there was flying back and forth. Sinclair knew it well, and glanced at Delenn in confusion. “Privately,” Sheridan grated, and Sinclair looked at him in surprise.
“Of course,” Sinclair said, almost reflexively. He didn’t know the cause of Sheridan’s anger but it obviously had something to do with him, and he had no reason and no desire to be an instrument of discord. Delenn looked just as baffled, but said nothing. Clearly she wasn’t about to try to resolve Sheridan’s fury in his presence, despite her bewilderment. Sinclair nodded to her and left.
“Is there something wrong, Captain?” Delenn said when Sinclair had gone. She tried to match his formality; suddenly it seemed dangerous to attempt familiarity with him. His chin lifted slightly.
“You might say that,” he replied. His jaw worked. “Actually, I should be asking that question. I should’ve asked it a long time ago, I suppose. Pretty stupid of me, really. It was so obvious. I’m just a substitute. Any port in a storm, is that it? Or is it political? Get on the good side of the human representative for your own agenda?”
Formality was not going to get them anywhere, Delenn decided. Sheridan was being oblique enough without the added circuitousness of formality when they were much closer friends than that.
“John,” she said, “I do not understand. I can see that you are angry.” She could feel it, too, like a hurricane behind a door, something ready to explode into the room with the slightest provocation. “But I truly do not know why, even though you seem to expect me to.”
Her innocence, real or imagined, was just unbearable. He felt his rage break free inside him with a howl and Delenn’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly.
“I don’t want you around him!” Sheridan snarled. “I don’t want you touching him or kissing him or fucking him!” He was distantly aware — shocked — that he had spoken so coarsely. But enough was enough. This courtship between them had become dirty long before he could add to its obscenity by being vulgar. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he shouted. He was pacing the floor now, restless, enraged, not sure what to do with the energy. “Hell, maybe I am! Fucking stupid to not have seen it before, in the way you talked about him. He left suddenly, didn’t he? And then I appeared out of nowhere. Men of power,” he grated. “Are you just attracted to men of power? Maybe you’re glad that I’m jealous. Maybe that’s the point; to manipulate me, or both of us.”
Delenn blinked. Her mouth was open in a soundless denial, astonishment and pain not quite forming into words on her tongue. His rage seemed to prevent it. His outburst had startled her, even more his vulgarity, but she knew it was only his desperation and confusion. She realized how her relationship with Sinclair must look to an outsider — to John. Two loves, two so very different kinds of love and need. And John had seen something that was not there.
That angered her oddly; that John would leap to such a conclusion. She understood the human attitude toward that kind of betrayal. John felt betrayed in his love for her, felt used and deceived. Yet in all the trust they had shown each other, he could not find any now. Instead of coming to her and asking for an explanation, giving her the benefit of doubt and expecting that it was merely a misunderstanding, he had come in here in a fury, leveling an accusation that should have been unthinkable. She reminded herself that John was human, and did not understand the degree of insult he made by doing this, but she was furious all the same.
“How dare you say such things! You insult my friend, you insult me,” she said in a voice like cold forged iron, preventing him from speaking. His mouth was open, ready to deliver another stream of invective. “How dare you accuse me of something for which you have no proof, something that would shame me and my name for centuries if it were true. I would never lie to you; how dare you accuse me of this! After everything we have been through, after all the times I have asked you to trust me and you have given that trust, and I have trusted you in return!
“Jeffrey Sinclair is my friend. He has pledged his life, his soul, his future, everything that might have been, for the sake of us and our future. You do not know what is ahead, but we do. I cannot explain yet, but he is making a sacrifice greater than anything you can imagine. I am not his lover, but if it were required of me — if he needed that of me — I would give it without hesitation! I would give him everything I am, body and soul, if he asked it of me. Instead he is giving us everything that he is. I can do nothing but stand in awe of him and his purpose.” She moved closer to Sheridan determinedly. His mouth had closed and his eyes had lost that icy edge. He looked deeply surprised, and thoughtful.
“John,” she said, in a way that made his heart leap. “That you would be jealous of me is strangely comforting. It means I have not made a mistake in trusting you, in opening up to you. But never doubt me. Never doubt my word to you. I would not lie to you about my relationship with Jeffrey. What you have seen is the truth, and there is nothing more sinister beneath the surface.”
Her eyes were wide open, her entire body expressing honest outrage. Sheridan felt stunned. Suddenly he knew that he had been used, but not by Delenn or Sinclair. By Mollari. He shut his eyes tight, ashamed, furious at himself for having put any faith or stock in the words of the Centauri Ambassador. He knew Mollari’s nature, knew the Centauri’s devious ways, just as he knew Delenn. Deception was not her way; she was the most genuine person he’d ever met. And yet, he had listened to Londo, and let himself believe such a vicious lie.
“Oh God, Delenn,” he murmured, putting his hand to his forehead tiredly. “I can’t believe I would think that of you, that I’d ignore everything else we’ve had together and mistrust you so completely.”
Reaching out for him, Delenn tenderly drew him to the couch. He went willingly, his weariness evident. When they were both seated side by side, she took both of his hands in hers.
“Why would you think such a thing?” she asked him. “Now? After all we’ve been through together?” She spoke as gently as she could, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. He could sense it, though, and it was like a knife twisting in his gut. He tightened his grip on her hand, his eyes squeezed shut again. How could he, indeed? He never wanted to hurt her, not for anything, ever. And he had.
“Delenn,” he groaned. There was distant, raw anguish in it. “I’m sorry. Dammit, I should have known better than to listen to anything Londo says.”
“Londo?” she said, tilting her head sideways at him. A characteristic confusion stirred in her expression, the one always present when she was confronted with behavior that didn’t make sense to her Minbari outlook. Her total puzzlement and accepting tone made him look at her. He found himself smiling tenderly in response to the openness in her expression.
“Londo came to see me earlier, and when I wouldn’t give him what he wanted, he made some insinuations.” He paused, thunderous rage building again within him, darkening his eyes. “He said that you’d been intimate with Sinclair in the gardens and that you were using me as a substitute for him. And that you’d made your change for him.”
A flash of emotion, shock, sorrow, something stronger, flew across her mobile features, making his heart skip a beat. Was there a reality to Londo’s accusations after all? Delenn was shaking her head, her mouth pursed as though tasting something sour.
“I am sorry you had to hear such things, John,” she said softly, squeezing his fingers. Her eyes were clear and direct as she met his gaze. “But you have never been a substitute for anyone with me. You are you, and I am me, and what we have between us is special and unique. I could never feel for anyone what I feel for you. That does not mean that I do not care for Jeffrey, because I do, very much. But it is different.”
“How different?” he demanded, trying to hold back the desperation in those words, desiring and fearing the response at once. She smiled warmly.
“He is a part of my soul, you are a part of my heart.” From the look on her face, she obviously felt that explained everything. From his point of view, it explained nothing. He sighed. Things were never simple, were they? Dealing with a human woman was hard enough, trying to communicate with one who had only been human for less than two years — well, no one said life was going to be easy. What was it Spinoza had said? All things excellent are as difficult as they are rare.
He looked down at her hands for another long moment where he enclosed them gently. He realized he was stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.
“Well,” he said finally, quietly. “I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt and asked you honestly, rather than just accusing you without cause.” He raised his head to stare deeply into the emerald sea of her eyes. “Forgive me,” he whispered.
“Of course,” she replied, smiling at him with total approval. Well, in some things women were always the same, regardless of what race they were — they loved hearing a man apologize. In fact, she looked downright delighted with him. Definitely an improvement, but before he could lean toward her to take some advantage of her approval, she was speaking again.
“You should apologize to Jeffrey. I am afraid you quite upset him.” She frowned delicately. “This is not good. The time ahead is difficult enough without us fighting among ourselves. Such discord can only work to the Shadows’ advantage. You and Jeffrey must make amends, and as soon as possible.” Her expression was resolute, her jaw jutted forward. He wanted to kiss it, but from the look in her eyes, that was not a present option. “John?” she asked. Suddenly her face softened in concern. “Are you all right?” He nodded quickly, and smiled reassuringly at her.
“I’m fine, Delenn. Just thinking…” Just thinking about how much he wanted to taste those lovely red lips of hers… /Down boy. Not now./ He drew in a deep breath and tried to concentrate on what she had just said. “I suppose you’re right,” he allowed, grudgingly. Apologizing to Sinclair was hardly at the top of his list of things he wanted to do. She was adamant, however, and he did accept that she was right about the need to work together. All right then, if he’d found the strength to let that bastard Morden go, he could also manage a simple, and honestly-owed, apology. Even if it made him want to eat nails in the process.
She was pleased with him again, however, and even stroked his cheek before pulling him to his feet. That felt good. Maybe, he smiled to himself as she led him to the door, just maybe he could pick up on that later. A reward system was always a good thing when you had a disagreeable task to perform.
“Yes, Rathenn, that sounds fine.” Sinclair sighed as he looked up at the almost perpetually worried Minbari religious leader on the vid screen. “Proceed with it as we had discussed earlier.” Rathenn bowed solemnly.”As you say, Entil’Zha.” He paused, hesitating, as though trying to find the right words. Sinclair didn’t need to hear them, he’d heard it often enough.
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. If Rathenn and the others had had their way, he’d have spent his visit with Delenn surrounded by a half dozen Minbari warriors, all glowering at anyone who dared to get within ten feet of him. But Sinclair had been very firm about this. He was giving up enough of his life to the cause; he would not spend the remainder of his allotted time locked up in a gilded cage. Not that he meant to get into trouble; he knew better than anyone how valuable his own life had become — perhaps always had been — and he’d promised both Rathenn and Delenn that he would not put himself at risk. It was just such a…literal pain in the neck, he thought ruefully, rubbing at the spot in question.
“Yes, I am glad to see that you are well,” Rathenn was saying, peering deeply into the vid screen. “And you will continue to exercise appropriate caution…”
“Yes!” Sinclair closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, then offered his over-anxious friend a gleaming smile. “I promised I wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks and I won’t. Besides, Delenn has Babylon 5 crawling with Rangers. She must have depleted at least four of the neighboring sectors. I’m probably just as safe here as I am on Minbar.”
That did not appease Rathenn, who had had to pick up the pieces after a few of Entil’Zha’s escapades, not to mention the assassination attempt that had left his face permanently scarred. The Ambassador had shoved his own guard out of the way, saving the young Minbari’s life, and sending those responsible for Entil’Zha’s safety into the Minbari equivalent of hysterics. Rathenn’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and Sinclair sighed again, his face settling into grave authority. “Let me know when you get the report from McCabe on Earth.” That tone signified the conversation was at an end, and Rathenn bowed to it instinctively.
“As you command, Entil’Zha.” The screen blinked and went dark. Sinclair smiled at it, more softly this time, then turned and headed back for the kitchen. Garibaldi had managed to smuggle in a fine bottle of Russian vodka, and given that his time to enjoy such things was limited, he intended to take full advantage. Taking down a glass from the cabinet, he poured himself a healthy glassful, spiking it with ice and cold water, then strode back toward the couch. He had barely taken three steps when the doorchime sounded.
“Come,” he commanded, moving casually toward the door, which slid open to reveal Captain Sheridan, standing pensively, hands clenched at his sides. Their eyes met, and Sinclair felt a sharp twinge of relief that the bitter hostility he’d seen earlier in those storm-swept gray eyes was absent. Sheridan’s gaze was a much quieter dark sapphire now, though his stance was still tense, poised like a black panther ready to leap.
Sinclair stepped back and silently waved for him to enter the room. Sheridan did so, sweeping the room with instinctive curiosity. Standard VIP quarters, with little added to show the personality of the occupant. Spotless, in fact, everything neat and in its place. Which, perhaps, was an even more striking reflection of Sinclair than a pile of dirty clothes would have been. A military-reared perfectionist, indeed.
“Please have a seat,” Sinclair finally spoke, so close in Sheridan’s ear that the Captain twitched in surprise. He hadn’t heard the Ambassador move up behind him. Sinclair’s mouth twisted in a half-smile, then he gestured with a glass-filled hand. “Oh, would you like a drink, Captain?”
/A drink,/ Sheridan thought. /Yes, I could definitely use a drink./ Sheridan moved back with a slight nod, cocking his head sideways as he sat down. Sinclair smiled and turned away toward the kitchen.
“It’s vodka,” Sinclair said. “The real McCoy. Garibaldi got me a bottle somehow, and I’m not asking how.” Sheridan grinned wryly.
“I think that’s wisest,” he replied. Garibaldi had a touch for getting things done in ways that, well, sometimes it was better for his superior officers not to know the details. That comment won a real smile from Sinclair, and the men shared the first moment of ease between them since Sinclair had returned to Babylon 5.
Sinclair quietly poured another glass, then came back to sit beside Sheridan on the couch. Handing the other man his drink, he leaned back into the cushions.
“What did you want to see me about, Captain?”
Sheridan paused long enough to take a quick sip of his drink. Apologizing was not something he enjoyed doing, but this one was owed. Delenn had made that very clear. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to get along with Sinclair, it was just that the man seemed to rub him the wrong way. He was so…authoritative. Not loudly or arrogantly, but with a serene, quiet assurance that was somehow far more challenging than any ringing demands could have been. Sinclair didn’t ask for command, he took it, so easily that most people hardly even noticed he was doing so. But Sheridan noticed it, felt it like a jagged blade in his stomach in the man’s presence. It evoked a strong and unexpected reaction; a desire to strike Sinclair across the face in some kind of challenge. He suppressed it again, inhaling deeply around the heat of the vodka in his belly.
Still, they had to work together. He desperately needed every ally he could get in the war against the Shadows. Delenn had been right about that too. So it was time to swallow his male pride and do the right thing. Besides, he didn’t like the way Londo had used him against himself. That stung, badly, far more than this could ever do.
“I owe you an apology for my behavior earlier,” Sheridan replied simply. Sinclair lifted a heavy brown eyebrow, but remained silent. Sheridan clenched his jaw. “I’m afraid I…well, I misunderstood something. With a little help,” he added darkly, his spine straightening, nostrils flaring. Just the thought of how Londo had manipulated his emotions….
“Misunderstood what?” Sinclair asked, quiet concentration in his demeanor. That more than anything finally convinced Sheridan that Delenn had been telling the truth. Sinclair really didn’t have a clue. Still, this was going to be hard to explain without sounding a total fool.
Sheridan took a hefty slug of his drink, then grimaced.
“Londo came to see me this morning and he made some…insinuations…that, well, I guess I overreacted.” His eyes flashed angrily and he looked away, searching for something in the room to receive the fury. Sinclair looked confused, then abruptly the light went on in his dark brown eyes.
“You mean about Delenn and myself?” he said. Sheridan nodded, tight-lipped, still not meeting his eyes.
He couldn’t help it, Sinclair leaned his head back and laughed, his deep voice richer than honey as he howled his amusement. Sheridan stiffened, glaring at him. Sinclair stopped, choking off his laughter, rubbing at his eyes.
“I’m sorry Captain, it’s just…” He chuckled again. “Delenn and I…we…” He frowned as suddenly as he had started laughing. “I suppose there’s always been an element, and I wouldn’t…” He shook his head. Sheridan’s muscles cramped again, that buried sense of violated rage rising sharply in his gut. An element of what, exactly? Delenn hadn’t admitted to anything, but here was Sinclair…Sheridan’s eyes narrowed. If the man thought he’d…
But Sinclair was still speaking, gesturing widely. “We just haven’t been like that. Delenn and I are close, but not in the way you think, Captain.” He looked up, amber eyes open, unshielded. “We’re si’swai’aman,” he said, gaining an answering frown from Sheridan at the unfamiliar Adronado word. Sinclair’s expression softened. “The closest translation you would understand is ’soulmate’ or literally ’soul mirror’. It’s meant to describe a special kind of spiritual relationship.”
Sinclair paused, reaching for words to describe something that could really only be felt. He shrugged helplessly, then flashed a boyish grin, leaning toward Sheridan to emphasize his point. “I know you and Delenn have become very close. And I’m glad for both of you.” His expression saddened swiftly, dark clouds looming in his granite features. “Goodness knows happiness is a rare commodity these days. So you should take it where you can find it. Captain,” he said, focusing on Sheridan with startling awareness, “I’m not a threat to you. I miss my command here, yes, but it’s not my place anymore. I’m needed…elsewhere…” His eyes became suddenly hooded, and he was staring beyond Sheridan now. “We each have our roles to play in the coming conflict. I would no more seek to take yours than I would ask you to take mine.”
Then his gaze was back on Sheridan, trapping him like a wolf on a spear in the snow. But his voice was gentle with compassion. “I probably owe you an apology. If I’ve said or done anything to make you feel threatened…”
Damn, the man was perceptive. Sheridan stared at him fiercely, and for a moment Sinclair saw the aggression that had been in Sheridan’s eyes earlier in Delenn’s quarters. Then Sheridan drew a deep breath.
“Not at all, Ambassador,” he replied formally, but the hostility in his own voice sounded harsh in his ears, and he forced himself to go silent. What was he doing? This was a much needed ally, not an enemy. Time to show he was capable of being just as gracious as Sinclair; time to accept the proffered olive branch. His voice gentled, even if it was a forced softness. “I’m the one who owes you an apology. We’ve all been under a lot of stress lately, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I should have known better than to take anything Londo says seriously.” Sinclair inclined his head in acceptance of the implied apology, then tilted sideways, curiously.
“Londo?” Sinclair mused. “What exactly did Londo say?” Sheridan’s face darkened with rage, his boyish features hardening into stone.
“He implied that Delenn had a taste for powerful men and that she’s been using me as a substitute for you,” Sheridan grated. It galled him to have to explain this to anyone, especially this man. Sinclair winced, even as anger flared in eyes, darkening them from a warm amber to a forbidding obsidian.
“That bastard,” he swore. His mouth tightened. “I never would have expected any of this from Londo. He always had an ego, but he meant well.”
Sheridan nodded, then found himself sighing, staring at the drink in his hand.
“Garibaldi thinks he just got overtaken by events. Like the rest of us.” He took another drink, swallowing hard. The alcohol created a welcome rush of heat in his belly, counterpoint to his own buried rage. “And we were arguing — again. Still, it’s no excuse for insulting Delenn like that. And God, I should have known better than to listen to him.”
“It’s not your fault,” Sinclair responded with understanding. “We’re all under a lot of pressure right now. You’re tired. Judgement starts to fray a bit under these kinds of conditions.” He stared gravely at his own drink, but didn’t bother taking another sip. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s going to get any better.”
Sheridan had to agree with that. He nodded, and a somber silence surrounded them both. Sheridan took another swallow of his drink, studying the other man casually. Sinclair seemed lost in thought. Just as Sheridan was about to reach for his attention, Sinclair looked back up at Sheridan and grinned brightly.
“Too bad we can’t get Londo back for the trouble he caused. I’d sure like to see him get a taste of his own medicine.”
Sheridan found himself grinning in reply.
“That’s for sure. And who says we can’t? We’d have to be careful not to make a diplomatic incident out of it, but I’m sure we could think of something.”
Sinclair raised his glass, and Sheridan stretched out his own. A temporary truce was sealed to the clink of crystal striking crystal.
Including Garibaldi made obvious sense, but it still meant that Sheridan had to explain — again. Garibaldi took it with good natured humor, echoing Sinclair’s laughter, which stung Sheridan deeply. He already felt foolish enough; he didn’t need it rubbed in. The ease of the long-term friendship between the security chief and his former commander was glaring — understanding flashing between them in an undercurrent that Sheridan could only barely perceive. That, too, hurt, as did the memory of Garibaldi’s first words to him, “I don’t know you.” He thought he’d won the man’s trust, but it would never touch the depth of this friendship. Jealousy flared again, bright and searing. Why did he always seem to end up trailing in Sinclair’s wake?Swallowing the cold emotion, he focused on the conversation. Londo may have only been a catalyst, bringing buried feelings to the surface, but the annoying Centauri Ambassador also made a welcome target for Sheridan’s desire to take back some control. He’d been manipulated one time too many; he wanted, needed, to feel that he was in charge of his surroundings. Revenge wasn’t always an icy prospect, this time it smoldered white-hot within his gut.
Garibaldi was sipping at a glass of root beer, offered without comment by Sinclair, who hadn’t even bothered asking what he preferred. He was still chuckling, and he looked up, shaking his head.
“I can’t believe even Londo would pull something like that,” Garibaldi said. He sighed, smoothing his hand over his balding hairline, then he grinned as broadly as a cheshire cat. “So…what d’ya wanna do about it? Screw with the computer voice in his quarters? Refill all of his booze bottles with colored spacedock gear lube? I could have the temperature gauge on his shower adjusted…” Garibaldi paused, then looked around at them, confused. “Do Centauri shower?”
“Good question,” Sinclair replied, the corners of his mouth uplifted in amusement. “I know the Minbari don’t.”
Sheridan looked stunned at that, and Sinclair’s smile broadened. “Strangely enough it was one of the more difficult problems I had to deal with my first couple weeks on Minbar. They don’t shower with water, they use an astringent chemical that removes dead cells and dirt from the skin layer. I had to have the quarters in the Earth Embassy redone, plumbing and all.” He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Doesn’t tell us much about the Centauri, though. I suppose we could look it up, but I’m not sure I want to know.” All three grinned, then Sheridan pounced on the bottom line.
“Is there anything Londo, or the Centauri in general, really hate?” He bared his teeth like a lion contemplating his prey. “Anything Londo is really scared of?”
“You mean besides a na’ka’leen feeder?” Garibaldi replied. Sheridan questioned with his eyes, and it was Sinclair who answered.
“It’s a rather nasty predator found within Centauri space. It literally sucks the brain dry. One of B5’s more unpleasant denizens got hold of one a couple years back and was using it as muscle for an extortion racket. When Londo found out it was on board he was completely insufferable for nearly two weeks afterward.” Sinclair paused, considering, then shook his head. “They are illegal to possess and transport, in addition to being extremely dangerous, so I doubt Londo would fall for that. Too bad, though.” His eyes sparkled with amusement.
Garibaldi grinned, then leaned back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs idly.
“Well, there is one thing…” He shook his head, dismissing the thought as quickly as it had manifested. But Sheridan wasn’t about to let it go.
“What?” he demanded. Garibaldi hunched his shoulders, then responded wryly.
“The Centauri do have a strong cultural taboo against same-sex relationships.” At the curious glances from both men, he put a hand up in involuntary defense. “Don’t ask,” he warned. “But it is one of the few things they absolutely won’t tolerate. Less so between women, I think, but male-male intimacy is a major no-no. They’re totally horrified of it.”
Sheridan and Sinclair stared at him with mirrored expressions of dawning interest. Then Sheridan looked at Sinclair.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” he said. Sinclair turned a small, wry smile on him.
“Yes,” Sinclair said plainly. Garibaldi waved a strong negative at them.
“Uh uh,” he said firmly. “No. No way. Don’t even think about it. I’m not getting involved in something like that. What turns other people on is their own business, but if you think I’ll let another guy touch me, you’re nuts.” Sinclair chuckled, while Sheridan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“No one was suggesting that you be involved,” he replied. He turned to fix Sinclair with gleaming blue eyes. “After all, this is about us, and Delenn.” He smiled predatorially, gesturing at Sinclair. “I can see some symmetry in letting Londo think I was jealous not over Delenn, but over you…” His voice trailed off, as Sinclair’s eyes lit up like sunlight through amber.
“Now that idea I like,” Garibaldi said, smirking.
“Might work,” Sinclair responded thoughtfully. “But we’ll have to be careful or it won’t be convincing.” Garibaldi threw him a suspicious glance, recognizing that tone of voice and not liking the sound of it at all. He’d heard it many times before, every time Sinclair had gone off to almost get himself killed playing hero. The man hated sitting around telling other people what to do, much preferring being in the thick of things, on the front line whenever possible.
/Oh great,/ Garibaldi thought. /This could be serious trouble./
Sheridan, however, only heard the ring of conspiratorial amusement, and echoed it with his own.
“Yes, we’ll need to set-up him up carefully. A little subtlety to start with, then…” He paused, studying Sinclair, who was watching him attentively. “Come to think of it, when did subtlety ever get through to Londo? How do you feel about full bore in-his-face?”
“I feel fine about it,” Sinclair replied with a broad grin. He leaned back, baring his teeth in a calculating expression of joy. “And I know just exactly who should lead him down the garden path…”
She did not understand this concept of a ‘practical joke.’ Both John and Jeffrey had tried to explain it to her, but it simply made no sense. Deliberately misleading someone only to tell them the truth later, and expecting them to find it amusing…Delenn was very confused. This was one of the strangest human customs she had ever experienced. However, both men were delighted with their plan and she was deeply relieved to see them both happy. That was reason enough for her to do as they asked.But she had reason of her own. Londo had insulted her and Jeffrey’s honor by accusing them of lying to John. Such behavior was inconceivable to her, and it was a deep injury to her pride that anyone, even Londo, could believe her capable of it. The question was not her feelings for either Jeffrey or John, or even that she might desire to express those two different loves physically, for the Minbari accepted sexual expression of friendship as natural and unremarkable. It was the accusation of deception that truly angered her.
Delenn paused in front of the door to Londo’s quarters, and carefully straightened her robes and her hair. The annoying stuff was always getting in her face, but it made her look too severe when it was bound up. This was a strange concept, too, vanity, but the way John stared at her when she took care with her appearance made it well worth the trouble. She loved the way his blue eyes flared, darkening almost to a deep gray, when she looked her best. And he liked her hair down — so down it was.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed the door signal and waited for Londo to answer. It came, loud and imperative, almost angry. That was not a good sign. Londo was difficult enough to deal with when he was in a good mood, if he was upset, this would only be worse. But he had insulted her honor, that could not be ignored.
The door swished open, and she glided inside. Londo was standing against his kitchen counter, and something indeterminable flashed in his eyes before his face shuttered. It was a bland mask that she faced, all emotion closed off from public view.
“Ahh, the lovely Minbari Ambassador. What can I do for you, Delenn?”
Standing to her full, diminutive height, she glared straight at him.
“You will stop meddling in my private life.” He barely responded, his large face bland, his expression bored. Her anger and outrage swelled. She’d assumed that Londo had spoken in the heat of his argument with Sheridan, that he had spoken without forethought. But now she knew differently — knew that Londo had done this deliberately.
He opened his mouth to speak, and she shut him off with an imperative wave of her hand. Her voice cut through the air like a dagger of pure ice. “How dare you accuse me of improper behavior! I am Minbari of the religious caste. I have taken vows; I do not break such lightly. And with Jeffrey Sinclair? Entil’Zha? He is a holy man; a blessed True Seeker who has pledged his soul to heal the wounds between our two races. I would never dare to profane him in such a manner as you accuse me of! We are friends, joined in common cause. You insult us both greatly! I am Minbari, I do not lay down with those who are not of us. And Jeffrey is born of Earth, he belongs to another of his own. You will not make such accusations again!”
Londo’s mouth dropped open, and he shrank back against the counter for a moment. Delenn was half his size, but she dominated the room regardless. Her eyes blazed green fire at him. He drew in a deep breath, then fell back on years of experience at empty sayings.
Bowing his head, he said sadly, “I apologize for anything I have said that may have offended you. I merely observed to Captain Sheridan that it was good to see you and Sinclair together.” He interlaced his hands and closed them, as if symbolizing that companionship. “You have always been close — I do not believe I am mistaken about that.” She didn’t move a muscle, and he forged on ahead. “But I am deeply horrified, my dear Delenn, if I have done anything to upset you or Captain Sheridan. I know how much you mean to each other — ”
“Captain Sheridan and I are friends,” she said coldly, interrupting his insolent rhetoric. “But no more. You are mistaken to say otherwise. I am not concerned for my relationship with him, but for his with Entil’Zha. You created great trouble between them, using me as a tool. I do not like being used in such a fashion. Jeffrey and John are my friends, they are well suited for each other, and I will not tolerate anyone coming between them. You will cease and desist from any such behavior in the future. Do I make myself clear?” She inclined her head in the barest of a formal bow, turned smoothly on her heels, and glided gracefully from the room, leaving a stunned Londo staring at the door as it closed behind her.
Was this a good idea? Probably not, Jeffrey Sinclair allowed, but his entire body was tensed with gleeful anticipation, laughter bubbling in his chest, threatening to explode from him at any moment. This was too much fun, and he’d had far too little reason for joy in the past few years. His remaining time here was short, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy it to the fullest. Even so, his hands felt clammy; his pulse was racing.Sheridan, on the other hand, was leaning against the wall beside him, head back, long lean lines relaxed, at ease. The grey-lined black uniform draped him smoothly, the cool sapphire eyes were hooded, betraying nothing. Sinclair admired his poise, wondered where his own had fled.
Sinclair took a deep breath, then let his eyes wander down the hall, but found himself drawn back again and again to the other man. He studied him unobtrusively, curiously, trying to penetrate the bland, handsome exterior. It had been difficult to see his beloved station in another man’s hands, and his first inclination had been to keep his distance from the Agamemnon’s former Captain. Sheridan hadn’t allowed that, though, bursting into his life with startling energy. To his surprise, Sinclair found himself liking the man; seeing a reflection of himself, perhaps, as he once had been.
But the Ambassador had learned to cultivate his reserve, some of it a survival necessity, some of it a desperate attempt to slow the coming pain of separation. His future was his past, his life a circle, ending nearly a thousand years before he had been born. A solitary journey for a man who had learned to keep his own counsel, bear his own burdens, standing alone even within a crowd. Sheridan was already too close, winding, threading talons into him of a kind Sinclair had never known from anyone.
John Sheridan leaned back against the wall, letting the cold steel support him, wondering how he had managed to find himself in this situation, and wondering what he was going to do now that he was in it. Well, he knew what he was going to do — play a very well-deserved joke on the Centauri Ambassador. He smiled softly, grasping tightly to the humor of the situation and sinking fingers deeply into it. He needed to exercise his cunning again; had felt the lack in the past months in spite of all the delicate maneuvering. The political situation on Earth and in the galaxy abroad had left him defanged and declawed; helpless to really act once he had made a decision because they were still in the waiting/hiding stage. This felt so good — to act out his anger instead of bottling it up again. And this was a damn good joke.
He looked up at Sinclair with half-shuttered eyes, discreet like a tiger sizing up a competitor, watching as the other man’s intense brown eyes scanned the hallway, coolly appraising their surroundings. The Ambassador held himself with ramrod posture, military demeanor still evident even within the elegant Ranger cloak. His brooch flickered with the gentlest movement, a vivid reminder of who he was. Ranger One, Entil’Zha, the first and only Earth Ambassador to Minbar.
Sheridan suffered again the jolt of jealousy he often felt in this man’s presence. The Minbari treated Sinclair with such open respect, acceptance; yet never failing to turn deepseated hostility on Sheridan himself. Dammit, Sinclair had fought them, too, but they still honored him. Then again, Sinclair had been one man in a Starfury, and he had been the commander of the only Earth ship to ever destroy a Minbari war cruiser. But still…the Minbari attitude hurt. And even the human Rangers responded to Sinclair with both awe and unconditional allegiance. Yet, he had to admit that he, too, liked Sinclair. Well, at least when the man wasn’t pulling his cryptic saint bit. When he stopped sounding like Kosh, the ambassador was fun to be around. He had a sharp intellect, a dry, easy sense of humor, an earthy practicality that seemed as though it should be at odds with his bent toward spirituality, yet never truly was. Instead, those ostensibly opposing characteristics merged effortlessly into a personality that was charismatic and quietly commanding. Sheridan wondered if the man ever even raised his voice, but doubted it. The softest sound of that voice could flow like molten silver or pierce like a sword of the most unrelenting steel.
Sheridan shivered as he felt those amber eyes fix on him, and he shifted in place, preparing to move, when his link sounded two warning beeps.
Another display of Garibaldi magic, Sinclair thought with amused affection. No one knew this station better than its security chief; no one could track the movements of close to a quarter of a million people and aliens with tighter precision. If it breathed on Babylon 5, Garibaldi knew about it, sooner or later. Sinclair smiled, nodding at Sheridan who had finally peeled himself off the wall and was standing upright, poised and waiting.
The link beeped again, this time in three quick pulses, and Sheridan’s eyes melded with Sinclair’s. Cool sapphire, predatory and prepared, converged with dark honey, intense and aware. Sheridan stalked forward a step, Sinclair held his ground. They turned in unison, sliding sideways until they were facing each other, the closed lift doors beside them, a bare foot of space separating their bodies. Sheridan paused, his eyes still locked with Sinclair’s, his hands resting at his sides.
Sinclair mirrored his pose. They stood like a pair of gladiators waiting for the signal to begin to fight, muscles tensed to begin combat, balanced on the balls of their feet. The chime of the lift sounded like an alarm bell in the heavy silence, and it sent them into swift and simultaneous motion.
They collided hard, eliciting a soft “oomph” sound from Sheridan’s throat. That brought a quick chuckle from Sinclair, as he grasped at Sheridan’s shoulders to steady himself. They found balance against each other, Sheridan’s arms closing around Sinclair’s waist, hesitant, palms flat against the small of his back.
Sinclair had a bare inch or two of height in his favor, forcing Sheridan to tilt his face upwards to meet the ambassador’s eyes. They shifted against each other, chest pressed to chest, sharing the breath in their lungs, mouths held a heartbeat from touching. Sheridan’s eyes had narrowed slightly and Sinclair wondered if the height difference annoyed the other man.
The soft whooshing sound of an opening door broke that last frozen spell, and they fell together as though pulled by an invisible string. Flesh contacted flesh for the first time, lips sliding across lips. The first sensation was cool and dry, the second hot and wet. Sheridan gasped for air against Sinclair’s mouth and his body shifted, arms tightening, the soft enclosure of his arms forged into a cage of steel.
Sinclair clutched at Sheridan’s shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath his fingertips, sleek and slender. He traced the bulge of the biceps, then slid back upwards to twine his long arms around Sheridan’s neck. One hand splayed across the captain’s back, the other cradled the back of his head, supporting it as he deepened the kiss downward, looming up over the other man.
A low moan sounded in Sheridan’s throat, a soft growl that rubbed across Sinclair’s nerves, sending a tingle of electricity down his spine. The demand of his mouth increased, pressing harder, grinding, until Sheridan suddenly, abruptly, surged forward. Sheridan took hold of Sinclair’s cloak and yanked on it, throwing the other man off balance, and taking advantage of the surprise, shoved him around and backwards into the lift.
They stumbled together, mouths still clinging tightly, spinning nearly a full circle as they each struggled for primacy. Sinclair pushed Sheridan’s back up against the far wall of the lift, only to be thrown forward, sideward, ending up enclosed in the corner. The kiss itself shifted with each motion, another intimate battle, suckling on another’s lip, each gesture mimicked, intensified in return.
Londo flinched violently as the two men hit the wall next to him in the lift. He had been shocked enough to see two males kissing in front of him when the elevator doors opened, but Sheridan and Sinclair? It was too much to believe. Nausea rose in the back of his throat at the sight and sound — he shuddered — of them in the elevator with him, merely inches from his body, engaged in an intimate act that was just wrong for two of the same gender. He had been stunned to learn that such relations were accepted among humans, but he had so far managed to avoid seeing anything more revolting than holding hands in public. Now it was here next to him, the station’s feral Captain and powerful former Commander actually involved in a mating ritual in his presence. He gagged harshly; almost becoming sick right then and there. By the Gods, he had to get away from this.
Sheridan ran his hands down Sinclair’s back, learning the hard curve of muscles, then tangled his fingers in the thick, slightly coarse strands of the other man’s hair, pulling him closer. Sinclair sighed deep in his throat, the sound swallowed up into Sheridan’s hungry mouth. They had tasted each other tentatively at first, licking at each other’s lips, then suddenly, hesitantly, fervently, dove into deeper contact. Tongue struck across tongue in rough contact, sandpaper on satin, then moving, swiftly, sliding, slick across polished enamel.
Sheridan began to hum, his throat vibrating with a gentle rhythm. Sinclair’s growl was deeper, building to a crescendo then dropping to periods of utter sated silence. They pulled apart and gasped for air, filling burning lungs, then crushing against each other yet again. Time ceased to have any meaning, their senses focused totally on each other. Neither noticed the figure that darted past them into the hall, the closing of the doors, the slightly swaying motion of the lift as it began to move.
Neither noticed anything except the taste of each other, the pulse of blood in their veins, the desire stirring in their groins, until…
“AMBASSADOR SINCLAIR!…CAPTAIN SHERIDAN?!” A loud, astonished, and patently authoritative female voice shattered the storm, threw them both dizzily back to awareness of their surroundings.
“Whhhhaaaat?” Sheridan moaned, as contact was broken and he fell backwards, still clutching at Sinclair’s arms for support. Sinclair jerked his head up, wild-eyed, his normally serene composure broken, hands grasping at Sheridan’s forearms. They ended up with arms crossed in a parody of the Centauri ‘Hands of Friendship’, both angling their heads to find Commander Ivanova framed in the doorway staring at them with wide grey eyes.
Her mouth was closed tightly as she resisted the urge to fold her own arms in some kind of odd mockery. Both men stared at her in surprise, glanced at each other, then released. Sinclair spun a full circle while Sheridan ducked his head past a startled Ivanova to check the corridor.
“He’s gone,” he announced, turning back to Sinclair. They faced each other again, gazes locking, while an aggrieved Ivanova demanded:
“Who’s gone? John, what on earth…”
Before she could finish her demand, both men began to chuckle. Her mouth opened wide, then clamped shut on silence, as they both began to tremble. Mirth bubbled up out of both of them like water from a fountain. Sheridan let out a raucous bellow of laughter, which only made Sinclair roar louder. He put one hand on Sheridan’s shoulder, drawing the other’s man gaze again, and the instant their eyes met, they lost any hope for control. Together they slid down to the floor, laughter boiling out of them, clutching helplessly at their sides.
“Did you see…” Sinclair managed to get out between gasps for breath.
Sheridan couldn’t find words, his vision obscured by the tears pooling in his eyes. He shook his head, doubling over to tuck his head between his knees.
“Me neither…” Sinclair rasped, tossing his head back against the wall of the lift.
That set off another round of screaming laughter, until they both fell silent out of the sheer need to breathe. The sound of their lungs working filled the air for a long moment, then was superseded by a long-suffering demand.
“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”
Garibaldi couldn’t help feeling a small stirring of sympathy for Londo. Not that the Centauri Ambassador didn’t deserve the practical joke he was being subjected to, for he surely did, but Garibaldi hadn’t quite realized just how entrenched the Centauri taboo on male-male intimacy was. Londo’s skin had turned a vivid, purple flush by the time he had fled down the corridor (and he did look stunning in purple) and his hair crest was visibly drooping. He had run straight from the staged scene to the closest suitable men’s room, and proceeded to alternate between bouts of convulsive nausea, vigorous handwashing, and gargling. Garibaldi had followed, peeking around a corner, a few slivers of guilt mixed with his amusement. But by the time the security chief had found Sinclair and Sheridan, mutually failing to explain themselves to Ivanova, her face a precious stone mask of incredulity, he had been lost to his amusement. It had been far too long since they’d all had something to laugh about. In a strange sort of way, Londo had done them a favor.Garibaldi had been worried about Sinclair and Sheridan. From the start of the former commander’s visit, they had remained stiff and uncomfortable in each other’s presence, avoiding contact except when necessary. Nothing overt, for neither was the kind of man who would let personal tension interfere with the cause they were mutually committed to, but Garibaldi had felt the rift deeply, torn between his dearest friend and his commanding officer. He’d tried to ease the way between them the best he could, meeting a silent wall of resistance. Londo had shattered that silence, broken the glass wall — his meddling had given the two proud men a more personal common cause.
Sheridan strode down the corridor toward the elevator shaft. He didn’t know what he was going to say when he got to Ambassador Sinclair’s quarters, didn’t know how he was going to explain what he was doing there, but anything was better than sitting in his own quarters alone, aching.He couldn’t get that kiss out of his mind. Couldn’t get the smell of Sinclair’s body out of his thoughts, the taste of his mouth, the look in his eyes when they had parted in the hallway after Ivanova had interrupted them so vocally. Sheridan had gone back to his quarters that night, his belly quivering when he was still. He had sat in the dark for a while, thinking about it.
The taste of Sinclair’s mouth wouldn’t leave him.
He wasn’t aware of how he looked when he touched the door signal to Sinclair’s quarters. Otherwise he might have schooled his expression a little differently, but when the door opened, Sinclair was standing there, and saw everything in Sheridan’s eyes. Silence. Then, his own eyes calm and…distant was the word that came into Sheridan’s head…Sinclair stepped back softly and gestured for Sheridan to enter.
When the door closed behind him, Sheridan realized that Sinclair’s quarters were almost as dark as the ones he had left. Both of them meditative tonight? Something took hold of Sheridan’s gut, clenching tensely in the oppressive, male silence of the room. Sinclair was perfectly still, watching him with an oddly human interest as Sheridan paced a little, then paused, feeling conspicuous. It was in that moment of motionlessness that his eyes caught Sinclair’s clenched hand. It was trembling. He glanced up, and Sinclair met his stare with eyes like darkened amber.
He hadn’t planned on moving, not ever — Sinclair was going to start this, by God — but he was moving anyway, taking Sinclair’s cloak with both fists and pulling the taller man to him forcefully. Sinclair grunted and startled him by reaching for his mouth greedily before they were really close enough for it, closing the space between their mouths to land a kiss that started with his tongue parting Sheridan’s lips and then pressing hard to take him with a desperation that was a surprise — and quite revealing. Sinclair’s hands came up to take his shoulders, and he was flooded by that scent again — such maleness.
“You have quite a reputation on this station,” Sheridan growled, breaking the kiss and making Sinclair moan softly. Sinclair watched him, breathing hard, eyes reflecting an instant of yearning. “Half the people here think you’re God and the other half think you’re God’s assistant.” He was pushing Sinclair now, back toward the wall. Sinclair let him, pinned by the cool, blue eyes. “Messiah or not, I remember you from the Mars riots, Lieutenant Commander and you’re just a man.” Sinclair hit the wall with a hard thud, Sheridan’s hands holding him there painfully. “And men have needs.” He let go and his hands moved like serpents, down between Sinclair’s legs to draw up between them firmly, pressing into Sinclair’s groin hard, sensuous. Sinclair’s eyes closed and his knees buckled in a moaning sigh of startlement and pleasure. Sheridan wouldn’t let him fall, holding him up against the bulkhead, grinning fiercely. “Yeah, like that?” he asked in a hiss, rubbing back down again, down the shaft of a growing hardness in Sinclair’s trousers. There was an instant of exquisite bliss on Sinclair’s face and another sensual, caressing sigh from him.
“Uuurrrrmmmm,” Sinclair groaned. The voice was like velvet over gold, and Sheridan felt his own cock quiver and thicken. Then amber eyes opened again and raised to look at him. Sheridan saw that man in them now; the easy, gentle composure he had been looking at since Sinclair arrived was tearing at the edges. There was a hammer and anvil in this, amber like golden fire, white hot. Sinclair reached for his uniform jacket and had it open in just a breath. The shirt he spread open, the snaps giving way quickly. Sheridan realized suddenly how big a man Sinclair was when Sinclair came away from the wall, jaw clenched around a growl, and slipped strong hands under the shirt to hold him for another kiss. This one burned. Sinclair’s lips seemed to generate their own heat. Sheridan found his domination taken from him, just that quick, and just that deliciously. After what seemed an eternity, they broke apart.
“I’m no messiah, Captain.” Sinclair’s voice seemed far away. “And certainly no god. And neither are you.” His hand slid down Sheridan’s body to find the hard bulge between his legs. The touch fueled the fires that had already begun to burn out of control. Sinclair, smiling tightly, just looked at him, holding his gaze as he began to play with the toy he’d discovered.
Sheridan held onto him, hands clenched into his shirt and cloak, as the hand at his groin fondled him. Sinclair’s strong fingers found the outline of the shaft and head, teasing him, moving slowly down to his testicles to stroke them through his trousers. He refused to look away from Sinclair’s eyes, not giving the man the satisfaction of surrendering to the sensation. But it burned in him like hellfire, Sinclair’s touch like a searing brand even through his clothes, exquisite and overwhelming. The tight smile on Sinclair’s mouth trembled and faded, his lips parting with something like eagerness, a fierce light in his brown eyes. The hand around Sheridan’s cock gripped firmly for a moment, making him grunt, and he saw the satisfaction in Sinclair’s face. “Like that?” Sinclair asked roughly, mocking his earlier words.
“So this is a contest, huh?” Sheridan said, his breath unsteady. “Which one of us wants it more? Hm? Well.” Sheridan snaked his hand down between them again and found Sinclair’s belt buckle, undoing it roughly. Sinclair only looked at him, with that smug expression, and Sheridan suddenly found it difficult to concentrate as Sinclair’s hand found a delicate spot.
“Mmmm,” Sheridan hummed, almost involuntarily. Sinclair’s fingers were so exquisite, applying pressure to just the right place on the shaft of his cock. “Ah…you’re good,” Sheridan admitted with a wry smile of his own. “But let’s see here…” Sheridan got Sinclair’s pants open and pushed his hand into the slate colored briefs. Sinclair’s breath caught sharply, and Sheridan grinned. “Gotcha,” Sheridan murmured. Sinclair closed his eyes for just an instant, opening them again to hold Sheridan’s gaze.
Sinclair moved to match Sheridan’s gambit, tugging open the black pants and digging his hand deep within. He found his target, a faint smile escaping as his finger stroked a lazy circle around the head of Sheridan’s cock, then dipped a fingerpad softly into the hole at the tip, which was wet. Sinclair made a thoughtful noise and drew his hand out of Sheridan’s trousers. He started to bring his hand to his mouth to taste it, but Sheridan grabbed his wrist tightly.
“Hey,” Sheridan murmured playfully. “That’s mine, you know.” And he pulled Sinclair’s hand to his own mouth and took the man’s finger between his lips. At the same time, he gripped Sinclair’s cock and began kneading it sensuously. His tongue lavished Sinclair’s finger wetly and the combination of sensations broke something in Sinclair’s reserve.
Brown topaz eyes widened slightly and a perfectly obscene groan came out of his throat. Sheridan let his finger go and Sinclair drew his fingers down Sheridan’s jaw and neck, caressing him in pure, wanton desire. Sheridan moved his hand a little, adjusted his thumb to rub in a certain place, a certain way, and Sinclair made a sharp, surprised sound somewhere between a snarl and a moan. Sinclair’s hands came up to clench tightly into Sheridan’s uniform jacket, as much to keep on his feet as for any other reason. Sheridan laughed softly.
“Been a while?” he teased in a low voice like granite. “You were on Minbar for, what, almost two years, weren’t you? Two years since another human hand has touched you like this. Someone who knows how to touch you, who knows exactly what it feels like. Someone who can do it just right. Hm? Did you miss that?”
No reply except for the anthracite eyes that stared at him hungrily, hard, soft breaths, trembling body and hands gripped white-knuckled into his clothes at the shoulders. Oh, yeah. Sinclair wanted it bad.
“Let’s go back over here, hm?” Sheridan purred, pushing gently on Sinclair’s shoulder to get the man back up against the wall. “We wouldn’t want you on your knees just yet.” Sinclair didn’t resist, and once the cool metal was behind him, he sagged a little, resting his weight on it and on Sheridan’s hand. Sheridan didn’t hold him there with strength; it was the sweet grip of his hand on a desperate, quivering cock that kept Sinclair captive.
“Oh, mother of God,” Sinclair groaned, tossing his head back against the wall with a hard thud. He closed his eyes, a total surrender, and moaned achingly. It was fascinating; this utter submission that Sheridan had created by pushing the right buttons. He felt a moment of empathy for Sinclair. It had been much too long since he had had another human’s sensual touch.
It wouldn’t take long, either, from the sound of Sinclair’s soft purrs and whimpers. Sheridan fondled him luxuriously, stroking, stroking, finding a spot under the crown that made Sinclair suck in his breath when it was touched just so. But he never relented for even an instant, and wondered if Sinclair would let him do it to its ultimate conclusion, in spite of the mess.
Oh, yes, indeed. He would. Sheridan grinned as Sinclair made another of those amazing noises; this one like a rumbling, trembling growl that was almost a laugh. There was deeply repressed joy in it. Suddenly Sinclair’s breaths came hotter, faster, nearly bursting with the intensity Sheridan could see in the tawny golden eyes that met him again.
“Yes,” Sinclair growled, half to himself, half to Sheridan in permission of what was rising inside him to meet the demand of so many months of yearning. The cock in Sheridan’s hand was hard and soft the way only a cock can be, straining, close. “Yes…” It was a hiss, and Sinclair’s eyes held him like lion’s fangs. Sheridan saw the climax rushing forward to consume him, an astonishing bestiality visible in those eyes like the fiery heartbeat that pounded in his chest. “Yes yes yes yes –” It gave way to a strangled shout that filled the room with brilliant sound and weight.
Sheridan savored every breath, watching him, drinking in the pleasure and submission to the urge, coaxing him softly with his own voice to let go. He felt hot wetness cover his hand in Sinclair’s trousers, and Sheridan felt like howling himself in sheer delight.
Sinclair slumped against Sheridan in the throes of his release, his head thrown back against the wall, his powerful hands digging painfully into Sheridan’s biceps. Sheridan held him there, letting the last tremors fade and slow, drawing out the last drops, the last tingle of ecstasy with the now gentle pressure of his hand.
When it was done, Sheridan saw him swallow hard. Then, with a contented, heavy sigh, Sinclair rolled his head forward, dark eyes reaching for Sheridan’s storm-blue ones and taking hold. And Sinclair smiled — a sensual, lazy magnificence that spoke of vast satisfaction and relish. It bared his teeth to show a bright steel edge to his accomplishment, eyes glittering like sunlight against obsidian.
Sheridan knew what he was seeing in that brilliant grin. A secret knowing, private, delicious triumph. The heat of rage flooded Sheridan’s belly until he thought he would scream. He remembered a truth about war then: Only in total surrender will one find true victory.
“You son of a –” Sheridan murmured. Sinclair came away from the wall again, taking Sheridan with him like the sea taking a ship, and just as unstoppable.
“Turnabout’s fair play,” came the sensuous rasp from Sinclair’s throat, and he took Sheridan’s shoulders as if to push the man back toward the couch. A flare of something dangerous in Sheridan’s eyes, and suddenly Sinclair was being resisted. Sheridan distantly savored the brief moment of surprise in the other man’s dark gaze. They stood like that for an heartbeat, Sheridan holding him, lips pressed together and that warning in his blue stare.
The sea moved again, and became a lion come to life in Sinclair’s body. That grin on Sinclair’s mouth again, this time not entirely amused, and Sheridan felt the floor coming up hard to meet him. He hit with a harsh grunt, one of Sinclair’s hands on his shoulder, the other holding his chin tightly, large palm against the underside of his throat, fingers pressing into his jaw to keep his head on the floor firmly. Sinclair bent over him, almost snarling.
“I see the man who destroyed the Black Star is made of sterner stuff than I had expected,” Sinclair said, that voice like warm fire ash rubbing up against Sheridan’s soul. “Good.”
And the inferno of his mouth descended to consume Sheridan’s with confidence and mastery, as though he were trying to cool himself by transferring some of the heat to Sheridan. He plunged his tongue into Sheridan’s mouth and Sheridan’s hands came up to grip his shoulders tightly.
Sinclair’s hand let go of Sheridan’s face and jaw to land flat on the floor down beside his chest. The kiss was enough to hold him, but he growled dangerously. Sinclair knew the risk he was taking, knew that Sheridan’s compliance was a very thinly walked tightrope. He knew also that the only way to keep control of this situation was with sheer power. He broke the kiss and looked down, looming over the other man. His smile was not amused now, but feral, calculating.
Sheridan snarled and grabbed for Sinclair’s arms, pressing his elbows against the floor in search of leverage. But Sinclair had the advantage here, and used it mercilessly. Releasing Sheridan, he pushed himself down, seized Sheridan’s open trousers, and yanked hard to draw them down to Sheridan’s ankles in a single breath.
Sheridan moaned viciously, knowing instinctually what was coming, contrary impulses warring within him. Something deep inside him was screaming for a fight, one alpha male recognizing another, rising to demand dominion in a shriek of rage. But there was another part of him that screamed for equal recognition; desire, his blood singing, cock hard in his groin with raw wanting. The want was everything, and he hissed softly — perfectly still — as Sinclair, growling low in his throat, lowered himself to engulf Sheridan’s straining cock with the furnace of his mouth.
Strong fingers dug into Sheridan’s ass, anchoring him, wet suction drawing seemingly every ounce of blood in his body to pool in his aching cock. For a shocked instant Sheridan felt like he was going to come right then, and his back arched, hips grinding upward to bury himself deeper into the source of that incredible sensation. He opened his mouth, his throat, to scream wantonly, but just barely held it back. A shred of a desire to maintain control forced the sound down to a strangled gasp, but it rose again, sharper, when Sinclair applied his teeth, raking them across the shaft, grazing the tip.
Sinclair’s mouth was the most magnificent thing Sheridan had known in so long. He opened his mouth again, struggling to not cry out — he wouldn’t give that up without a better reason.
Sinclair sensed the holding back and rubbed strong, sensuous hands over Sheridan’s buttocks, literally holding the man’s hips up to his mouth. He sucked fiercely, ravenous, obviously wanting Sheridan’s pleasure.
Better reason or not, the urge to yell was becoming completely unbearable and Sheridan started to moan longingly. Arching his back, he gave a hiss through clenched teeth, and Sinclair pulled away from him for just a moment.
“Go on, John.” God, that voice was like sex itself. “Scream. Scream until your throat is raw. Scream until the whole damned station can hear you.” Sheridan groaned, and that voice touched him again. “John.” It was a pure caress, making his name into a sexual word. He felt a soft, wet kiss on the shaft of his penis.
“Sinclaaiirrrr,” Sheridan growled, like a curse, a frustrated damnation, a demand that Sinclair continue the sweet sucking of his cock. Sinclair chuckled quietly and Sheridan felt the warm breath on his groin. Then — suddenly — Sinclair’s tongue was a flurry of wet, heated licks and kisses, Sheridan’s testicles engulfed for an instant and the shaft of his cock was nipped and then the head was in Sinclair’s mouth again. Sheridan felt teeth on it. He arched back wildly, mouth open wide.
“RrrrraaaaaAAAAAHHHHHH!” No conscious control could have stopped that yell from John’s throat, and no hands but Sinclair’s could have held him as he thrust into that delicious mouth. He swore — a bright, vulgar word spat into the room, and Sinclair laughed deep in his throat. Sheridan screamed again, a howl of need, of fury, male savagery. It was a breathtakingly erotic, intensely human noise filled with blazing, tempestuous joy. Sinclair felt a reply from within his own belly, a need to answer that cry, and all he could do was lick and pleasure John as fiercely as he was able.
Sheridan’s hands clawed into the carpeted floor, his body wound taut like a steel coil, bucking gently into Sinclair’s gorgeous, fiery mouth and loving the hot tongue that seared him. This was going to be huge. It moved, came for him, a roaring beast up out of the hellish depths of his animal soul.
“HhhhuuuurrrrraaaAAAHHHH Sinclaaiirr, oh God dammit –!” Coherency abandoned him and everything was washed in flame as the climax consumed him.
He became aware first of sensuous, velvet laughter. Sinclair. Sheridan was panting, staring up at the VIP quarters’ gray metal ceiling.
Sinclair rolled over to the side, sprawling himself on the floor beside Sheridan with an air of satisfaction. Sheridan lay still for a moment, gulping for breath. He closed his eyes, savoring the wash of post-orgasmic warmth that rippled up his back.
“You…” Sheridan panted, “are very good at this.” Sinclair laughed quietly, a deeply satiated sound, smug and pleased. Sheridan propped himself up on his elbows and angled his head to look down at Sinclair. The Ambassador met his gaze, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.
“You know,” Sinclair said conversationally, “I have a perfectly good bed in the other room.”
Sheridan stared at him for a moment, then giggled. Pushing himself over, he leaned down to kiss the other man, still passionate but this time more exploratory, curious. Sinclair responded with a quiet eagerness, letting Sheridan trace the contours of his mouth, resting a guiding hand on Sheridan’s shoulder. Lifting back up, finally, Sheridan grinned wolfishly. He saw something in Sinclair’s eyes then, had tasted it in his mouth. Sinclair understood that this was not a pretentious game. It was not a pointless, ego-driven male posturing. No, Sinclair knew it for what it was, and Sheridan could see its promise smoldering in the dark embers of Sinclair’s eyes.
“You said something about a bed?” Sheridan murmured. He lifted up his hips with a grunt and pulled his trousers back up. As he sat up he realized he had pulled a calf muscle and eased himself to his feet carefully. He helped Sinclair up, extending a hand which the Ambassador accepted. There was still an alpha male ferocity struggling for freedom inside the bellies of both men. Sheridan felt it in the strength of Sinclair’s grasp, in the unconscious attempt to see just how much stress he could handle.
“About that bed,” Sinclair said, amused, “I should warn you it might not be up to what I have in mind.” Sheridan snorted.
“We’ll see about that,” he said, moving to walk past Sinclair toward the bedroom. Sinclair’s hand on his chest stopped him with a grunt, and he paused, looking at Sinclair questioningly.
But Sinclair was not looking at his face. The hand on Sheridan’s chest took hold of the open edges of his black jacket and snowy white shirt, holding them open to just look at him. Eyes dark like plowed earth, Sinclair stood back slightly and took in the sight of him, clothes rumpled, smooth chest rising and falling with calm breaths, belt and trousers open. Sapphire eyes clear like a summer sky.
/What an absolutely beautiful man,/ Sinclair thought softly.
Sheridan saw the calm admiration in the other man’s face, Sinclair’s lips parted in unconscious relish. Sinclair brought his other hand up and slowly pushed the black jacket and white shirt away from Sheridan’s shoulders, palms brushing skin as he bared smoothly muscled shoulders and arms down past Sheridan’s biceps. Sheridan let the clothing fall away from him, taking the jacket and shirt off to drop them on the floor beside him, allowing Sinclair’s silent examination. It was a gentle, erotic scrutiny, Sinclair’s eyes on him like a brand.
Sheridan’s breath caught as one of his nipples was brushed lightly. Sinclair didn’t smile, that intense, quiet curiosity in his eyes, studying Sheridan. The touch rested on Sheridan’s pectoral for a moment, then teased his nipple again. Even sexually sated for the moment, Sheridan was overwhelmed by Sinclair’s pure sensuality, feeling a response rising within him like a gentle wave of warmth and joy. A smile found its way to Sheridan’s lips unconsciously, wondrous and soft.
“How…” He swallowed. “How do you do that?” Sheridan asked, his voice hushed. Obsidian eyes raised to meet his gaze, glinting like polished wood. Sheridan’s breath caught. A man could drown in eyes like that.
When Sinclair’s hand closed on his open trousers, Sheridan felt fear for an instant like he wanted to bolt from the room. Sinclair heard the soft gasp and smiled.
“I want to take a shower,” he said. “Then I want you to do something for me. To me, actually.” Sinclair tugged, coaxing him although it was plain to Sheridan that Sinclair wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Sinclair dragged him into the bedroom, backing up to continue watching Sheridan. The Captain’s eyes darkened with every step, a strange level of seriousness in them. It was not the sobriety of something earth-shattering, but the gravity of something Sheridan personally held important in his own soul. Of the two sorts, the latter was probably the more violence-inducing, and Sinclair fought down a shiver at the thought of it.
Sheridan forced himself not to swallow when Sinclair stopped close to the bed, hand still on his open trousers. Sinclair was heartstoppingly provocative in that instant, a shadowy smile on his mouth, a hint of weariness in his eyes. There was secretive amusement hovering in the back somewhere, broad and warm.
“I want you to make love to me,” Sinclair said, that smile fleeting. “Or fuck me, as you prefer.” He saw Sheridan’s eyes narrow, and knew he had struck a truth in Sheridan’s private needs. He actually welcomed it, wanting to feel Sheridan’s honest, naked masculinity and sexual appetite. Sheridan had shown a strong openness before, a brazen, uncensored willingness to take the initiative. Sinclair liked it, but it had faded in the past minutes to something cautious and wary. He needed what Sheridan could give him — desperately needed it. And he felt that longing urge him now.
Sheridan felt a twinge of apprehension as something glinted in Sinclair’s eyes and the man was moving toward him suddenly, ferocity writ large in his expression and body. Sinclair took his face in both hands, not gently, standing close to speak bare centimeters from his mouth.
“What’s the matter, John?” Sinclair hissed. “Is this your body lying to me?” He touched Sheridan’s thickly swollen cock, fondling him roughly through his underwear. “Damn you, you want this. You want to fuck me so bad I can almost smell it on you. You afraid? Hm? Come on, John. You want to do it. We both know it. And I want you to fuck me. I want to hear you scream for it, hear every word of you wanting this.” Sheridan’s cock was rock hard now, his body quivering with each breath, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Sinclair smiled faintly; he was going to get what he wanted. That was certain now, from the sharp edge in Sheridan’s eyes. “Why don’t I go take that shower and let you think about it, hm?”
He heard the soft growl that followed him into the lavatory, and smiled to himself.
Sinclair left him alone in the bedroom. Sheridan stood there for a moment, trembling, then drew a deep breath and pulled his belt out of his trousers, dropping it on the floor. So Sinclair wanted a fuck. Hard to turn down an invitation like that. He didn’t know what the next hours held, but right now, playing a joke on Londo Mollari was the best thing he had ever done.
He went forward to kneel on the bed, taking his shoes off and then tucking his feet under him. His cock was hard again, just from the sound of Sinclair’s voice making that blunt and unashamed request. After a moment, he pushed his trousers and underwear off, and bent down on both hands to draw a deep breath of the bed. It smelled like Sinclair, warm and male. The scent of it made heat spread out from his groin and chest. The chance to own Sinclair sexually, to take him, would be a sweet thing. It was the only kind of satisfying act Sheridan could undertake after Sinclair had come to his station and taken the affection of his woman.
Oh, people could explain it all they liked. Sheridan himself could try to rationalize to himself that Sinclair wasn’t trying to take command back, and wasn’t romantically interested in Delenn. His animal self was having none of that. Sheridan felt the violation, saw the way the others in the command staff treated Sinclair, the way the Minbari treated him. Saw the way Delenn looked at him, like a priestess to her God…
Sheridan got up.
Sinclair leaned his head back and purred quietly, reveling in the hot water streaming over his body. Lost in the pleasure, he heard Sheridan come into the lavatory, but was startled when the shower door suddenly opened. He had time to take in Sheridan’s nudity, and the blue flame in Sheridan’s eyes — and then Sheridan invaded his space, climbing into the shower with him and shoving him hard against the wall with one hand on his shoulder and the other gripped tight around his jaw. Sheridan moved his head forcefully, baring his throat, and in the space of a single breath, Sheridan closed in and bit him hard on the neck. Sinclair grunted, surprised as much by the flame that rose in his own belly as by Sheridan’s actions. Possession blazed in every line of Sheridan’s body, in the low snarl that came from his throat as the bite went deep for just a heartbeat, bruising Sinclair’s flesh.
Then Sheridan pulled back just as suddenly, teeth bared as he panted, surveying the mark he had made. Sinclair stood still, leaning back against the wall where Sheridan had pressed him, watching water beat across Sheridan’s shoulders and back. The bite on his throat burned, aching, resonating down into his groin in a primal understanding of what it meant. He wondered what kind of reaction Sheridan expected — found himself moving toward Sheridan with something resolute and granite-solid in his mind. He saw Sheridan’s eyes widen slightly before he grabbed the man roughly and kissed him hard, painfully. Sheridan made a sound, halfway between a snarl and a moan, tasting his own blood mingled with the metallic shower water, salty sweat, smelling Sinclair’s powerful masculine scent close to him.
Sinclair didn’t pay much attention to Sheridan letting go of his shoulders, but when soap-lathered hands found his groin, he let out a luxurious, quivering groan. His cock was stiff from the promise of intense lovemaking and the pure sexuality of Sheridan’s desire. There was a certain amount of provoking in Sheridan’s teasing fondling of his cock, and Sinclair realized he was fiercely returning Sheridan’s bite, this one on Sheridan’s shoulder. Sheridan growled dangerously and, rinsing him off, pulled him out of the shower bodily, manhandling him. Sinclair caught the towel that was thrown at him, and cast a stone hard look at Sheridan, who watched him towel off with flaming eyes. Sinclair, in a burst of bright understanding, realized then what Sheridan was doing.
/It’s his way of asking permission,/ Sinclair thought. /He provokes me into responding in kind, and in doing that I am giving my consent to what follows. Strange…but perhaps the only moral way to be as rough as he is and still know I want it./
“You got something I can use for lubricant?” Sheridan asked. Sinclair was drying himself between his legs, softly rubbing his hard cock, and Sheridan’s voice was hoarse, that delicately restrained violence clenched in his jaw. Sinclair nodded, faintly amused and more than a little pleased by Sheridan’s rapture. Sinclair went to one of the bathroom cabinets and took something out. Sheridan accepted it from him and looked at it. “How do you explain this to the Minbari?” he wondered with an amused growl — it was a lubricant made particularly for sexual uses. Sinclair smiled.
“I don’t,” he said. “And they don’t ask. The Minbari attitude toward sex is…different.”
“Probably shock the hell out of ‘em,” Sheridan mused in a low voice. “Entil’Zha getting his ass royally fucked by John Sheridan Starkiller.” Sinclair snorted.
“Perhaps,” Sinclair said. “But I think you like the sound of it.”
“Damn straight,” Sheridan said, eyes like burning coal. “And so do you.” Sinclair just looked at him for a moment, then threw the towel back at Sheridan, who caught it to avoid being engulfed by the thing.
“You want to fuck me or not?” Sinclair asked wryly. Sheridan let the towel drop to the floor, already forgetting it and the moment of rage he had experienced when Sinclair had tossed it at him. This was a different sort of fury, and he nodded his chin sharply at Sinclair, ordering him back into the bedroom.
Sinclair obeyed the silent demand that rested in Sheridan’s eyes. He slid onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to put under his hips as he spread out on his belly. He writhed a little, settling his stiff cock into the soft pillow — unaware of Sheridan’s reaction to the sight of his muscular rump wriggling slightly.
There was the sound of a low hiss from behind him, and Sheridan was upon him suddenly, a naked, muscular weight coming onto the bed and sitting down on his thighs. Sinclair groaned — that hedonistic, sensual rumble that Sheridan knew he could make — rubbing his face into the bedcovers and stretching his arms out to clench large hands into the sheets.
The gesture made Sinclair’s muscles bunch, broad shoulders and back rippling with power. Sheridan held his breath for a moment, appreciating it, and he knew that another pointed teasing would soon be forthcoming from Sinclair’s throat. Sheridan forestalled him, putting a hand down to stroke Sinclair’s ass sensually, making the man groan again softly.
Sheridan’s hand spread his buttocks apart and Sinclair gasped as the cold lubricant was dribbled between them. He pushed back against Sheridan’s thighs, welcoming it, feeling the need to be penetrated rise hotly in his chest. Then Sheridan bent over him, one shaking hand in the middle of his back, and Sinclair let out a slow breath, trying to relax for what would come next.
Sheridan swallowed hard, savoring the magnificence that was spread out beneath him in Sinclair’s awesome body. Sinclair was waiting, head turned to the side, eyes half-closed, hands gripped into the covers. The marvelous ass under him was relaxing, the pillow holding Sinclair up for a good angle of penetration. Sheridan dripped a little of the lubricant on his cock, twitching at the cool sensation, and abandoned the container off the side of the bed. He put both hands on Sinclair’s rump, spreading the man gently for him, moving forward to nudge the head of his cock against the opening to Sinclair’s body. Sinclair drew a sharp breath, anticipating, anxious.
Sheridan was not a cruel man, so he was patient and steady in spite of a powerful urge to buck forward, to devour the man who wanted him so badly. Even so, as he pushed and Sinclair’s body began to yield to him, Sinclair’s hands clutched into the bed and a cry escaped him. It was the sound of a man startled and inflamed and wounded all at once — a delicious wounding, the sweetest pain he’d ever known — and Sheridan let out a cry of his own, sharp and possessive.
“Do it,” Sinclair hissed low. “All the way. You want to, come on, as deep as you can. God damn you, John –” He broke off in a bass howl as Sheridan suddenly answered him, lunging forward to ram himself until his hips struck Sinclair’s buttocks, pressed tight.
“I was trying to be considerate,” Sheridan growled, bent down close to his ear.
“I don’t want you to be considerate,” Sinclair said in a strangled groan. “I want you to yell for me. I want to hear what you are, John, every breath, every fiery howl. You’re so open, my God…so straightforward and spontaneous in your pleasure. Don’t hold back. Let me see it. Let me feel that, John. Please.” His breath caught as Sheridan moved slightly. “My God, please…”
Begging. Sinclair was begging. Sheridan felt something electric flash up his spine at the realization. With a hoarse snarl he withdrew halfway and rammed forward again, forcing a grunt out of Sinclair’s chest. Something terrifyingly bright and sweet flamed in Sheridan’s belly, engulfing his heart and breath in suffocating, delicious heat. It started sharp, but slow –a thrusting, rough invasion of Sinclair’s body.
“Please what?” Sheridan whispered fiercely, punctuating the question with a sharp, quick buck, making Sinclair grunt again. Large hands clenched tightly, reflexively, into the pale covers. Sheridan was playing with him, refusing to give in to his own want, to Sinclair’s own plea. Sinclair felt something beyond desperation begin to claw its way up through the layers of his soul.
“John, damn you…let go.” He pushed back against Sheridan with sudden force. “You like it rough, don’t you? Tell me, John.” He needed to feel and hear Sheridan out of control, needed the violent blaze of force to break open his own stony reserve to free the wildness that lived in him. For Sinclair needed to be out of control, too, and Sheridan could do it. He was certain. Sheridan was strong enough, in every way that mattered. All right…he would beg. And truthfully he would have anyway, out of sheer need. Some levels of pride and dignity vanished when needs were too great. “John…” He swallowed hard as Sheridan pressed forward again, teasing his prostate and making hot ripples spread out to fill him. “John…please…please…fuck me hard…do it the way you want it. God, scream, damn it, damn you. You sound like you’re going to rip out your own throat holding it back.”
It was true. Sheridan groaned wrenchingly, jaw clenched in a haze of pleasure. He was growling and moaning…and the noise incited answering flame in Sinclair’s groin. The delicious feel of his penis against the pillow made Sinclair shiver and he knew that his own orgasm would be intense beyond his expectation.
Somewhere deep inside Sheridan, the decision was made to answer the resonant purr that reached him from Sinclair’s throat. His mouth opened and a sound of pure awe and lust broke into the room, making Sinclair’s gut clench.
“Oh, God yes, John, do it, yell for me –” Sinclair’s words were drowned by the shout that tore out of Sheridan.
“SinclaaaiiiirrrrraaaAAUUUGGGHHH!” And his hand raked down Sinclair’s back in a gesture of possession and pleasure and sensual appreciation, expressed with an animal purity that made Sinclair’s breath choke in his throat. The hand came to rest on his buttock, Sheridan’s other hand up higher on his back, and the fucking began again with real urgency, a vicious, wildly physical indulgence that assumed everything about Sinclair’s wants and desires — and Sinclair howled, a sound to raise the hackles on Sheridan’s neck.
“Oh, GOD JOHN, YES!”
Sheridan bent down, bucking into him savagely, biting and nipping at Sinclair’s shoulders and the back of his neck. Sheridan tried to caress and hold and savor everything, every inch of Sinclair’s fantastic, powerful body, muscles bulging and that voice rising in the room like a fiery sun burning the earth in a flame of redemption. “Oh, holy God, oh, John…John yes oh please oh my God –”
“Like that idea, do you?” Sheridan grunted hard, pounding into him. “John…Sheridan…Starkiller? Huh? Has kind of a…nice ring to it…don’t you think?” Sheridan bucked particularly deep on the last word, and Sinclair sucked in a ragged breath.
“John,” he gasped. “John, I can’t…it’s so…oh God don’t stop…” Sheridan chuckled wickedly and did just that — slowing down and finally pausing. It was so hard to hold still; his cock ached and pleaded for release. He pulled free of Sinclair’s body and took the man’s shoulder as Sinclair started to rise up questioningly, horribly missing the delicious fuck Sheridan had been giving.
“Turn over,” Sheridan rasped, eyes bright. “I want to watch you come, Jeff. I want to see it in your eyes.” Sheridan took Sinclair by the shoulders, wrenched him onto his back. There was no resistance…but the look in the Ambassador’s eyes was harsh. The look changed to open-mouthed astonishment as Sheridan’s cock found Sinclair’s ass again and he shoved roughly, ensheathing himself deep again. Sheridan stared down into those amber-sheened eyes as they filled with rapture and lust, and Sinclair’s large hands came up to close on his arms. Oh, God, it was so sweet…
“Yes,” Sinclair whispered. Sheridan snarled and swiftly returned to the rageful, blissful mastery he had begun, this time able to see every push, every shift, reflected in Sinclair’s face. Sinclair’s lips would part, sometimes open as if wanting a kiss or something to suck on, other times his jaw would clench tight around a groan. Then there were open-mouthed groans, full and magnificent like a lion’s. And those dark, ebony eyes never left Sheridan’s blue, devouring stare. Their bodies moved in an old, well-known rhythm, answering another pulse of hungry blood and hearts and souls.
Sheridan’s noises were just as wrenching to Sinclair. Soft mutterings, nonsensical and guttural, whispered and snarled past Sheridan’s lips. Occasional bursts of louder joy and fury ripped out of him, sometimes with Sinclair’s name riding on them.
And then a terror –Sheridan’s hand darting out to grip around Sinclair’s throat, under his chin. Sinclair gasped hard, seeing rage in the bright blue eyes.
“This station is mine,” Sheridan spat, enforcing it with a hard buck that made Sinclair’s breath strangle. It sent a strange flare of heat with it, and Sinclair’s eyes widened. “Delenn is mine.” Another thrust. “And you are mine. Mine now. Mine forever. Mine.” He went silent, and the plunging thrusts continued, increasing in urgency, but Sinclair could hear the word with each buck — mine mine mine mine mine…
“Oh God, John, oh my God –” Sinclair felt an orgasm rise up like a demon out of hell, as if torn out of him by Sheridan’s brutal words. Was there truth in the last ones? A truth that Sinclair needed terribly in this moment? He longed to shove it all away, to lose himself in this. If he could just release everything, all the weight, the burden, the responsibility, give it all up for Sheridan, just for this precious, exquisite, extraordinary moment –God in Heaven above, if just for this bare instant of time he could simply be a man, if he could only be human just a sweet while longer…
“Yeah, do it, Sinclair,” Sheridan hissed, holding his face, bucking hard into him. Sinclair whimpered as something enormous filled his eyes. He craned his head back, arching his body, and Sheridan laughed. “Oh, yeah, Sinclair! Surrender to me, come on, just let go…” It was a crooning whisper, softly drinking in Sinclair’s expression as a force much too large took hold of Sinclair and the man began to writhe wildly beneath him.
“OH JOHN, OH CHRIST OH SWEET JESUS YES!” A roar ripped jaggedly out of his throat and he bucked hard in counter rhythm to Sheridan. He began to spend — violent, long surges of wet pleasure between their bellies, arcing over Sinclair’s chest to splash on his neck and chin. “OH YEAH FUCK ME JOHN! HA! YES!”
Sheridan couldn’t possibly hold back in the face of this wild abandonment, the delicious, savage satisfaction of Sinclair yelling his name. His own climax drove home in a slam of intensity and Sheridan screamed triumphantly, a laugh, a howl of Sinclair’s name, a bellow of pure, uninhibited mastery.
It held them prisoner for a long rush of racing heartbeats, flaming blood. And finally their bodies gave out in a wash of electric adrenaline heat, Sinclair going weakly limp with a gasp, and Sheridan bent over him, head bowed, holding himself up with quivering arms. They couldn’t have spoken if they had tried; all breath was taken in gulping pants and soft groans.
Sheridan used the last of his strength to push himself off of Sinclair and crash down on his back on the bed, panting hard. He was covered in sweat, hair matted to his forehead. Sinclair groaned deeply, a sound of tremendous satisfaction, and Sheridan laughed weakly. Still no breath for words, and even after they finally quieted, no words seemed necessary. They fell asleep like that, bedcovers in a tangle, the other man’s body close by and strong.
She was concerned. After the confrontation with Londo, Delenn had returned to her quarters and waited for word from either John or Jeffrey. But there had been nothing. She had found herself unable to concentrate on anything, wandering her quarters like a restless ghost. Even her attempt at sleep had not helped, she had tossed and turned, unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling and walls. The same questions dogged her, circling each other in her worried mind. Had things gone wrong with Londo? Or worse yet, had they begun fighting again? And why would they not come tell her what was happening? Finally, out of pure frustration, despite the very late hour, she had gone to find them.There was no answer at John’s quarters. She had rung the chime several times, just to be certain. And she knew he was not in his office, for she’d checked there also. There had not been any sign of a new crisis on the station, though it could be something of which she had not yet been informed. Still…
Well, if she couldn’t find John, perhaps Jeffrey would be able to help. She’d almost unconsciously kept her distance from him after John’s explosion the day before, but that was foolish. Lifting her chin, she marched purposely down the hallway. Someone was going to talk to her. Jeffrey would do quite well, and she was not going to let anything lessen her enjoyment of the time she had left with him.
Sheridan was sleeping peacefully, his lithe body sprawled across the rumpled sheets. Sinclair did not find peace so easily. There was too much on his mind. This was just what he had not wanted to let happen; exactly what he had been afraid of even as he had demanded it. He had desired it so badly, and yet even as he surrendered to Sheridan’s fierce passion, a small part of his mind had never stopped knowing, never stopped understanding how transitory this had to be. He didn’t yet know how much time was left to him, but he knew it was limited.
Which made this a terrible mistake. But oh, such a glorious one! Sheridan was a truly magnificent animal. Sinclair grinned as he wrapped his robe around him and wandered into the living room. Absentmindedly, he retrieved the scattered remnants of their clothes as he went, finally piling the garments into a single heap on the chair. His body ached, but it was a pleasant sensation. A physical relief, satiation, his flesh glowing with warmth like the embers of a fire. Dammit, he refused to feel sorry about this. It had been too good. He deserved it — and if pain would come of this, then he’d accept the price.
Wandering into the small kitchen, Sinclair went though the motions of making tea by rote, using the familiar Minbari ritual to soothe his emotions. By the time he was finished, he was nearly in a meditative trance, humming the Adronado chant softly. His breathing was steady and rhythmic, his pulse rate had calmed. He was at peace…
Until the doorchime rang. Tea slopped in his cup, almost spilling out onto his hand as he jerked out of his meditative state. His eyes coming fully open, he carefully put the cup down and walked back around the counter to face the door. He almost gave permission for the door to open, and then glanced at the pile of his and Sheridan’s clothes in the chair.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Delenn,” was the oddly relieved reply. He sighed, smiling. “Come,” he instructed. The door slid open to admit her. She looked sleepless and disquieted.
“I have been looking for you everywhere,” she said, taking in his bathrobed form with something close to disapproval. “I cannot find John, and I was concerned that I did not receive any word from either of you about how our practical joke has turned out.”
“And you worried,” Sinclair finished, smiling. “I’m sorry we didn’t inform you; it went well. Just as we had planned.” He looked rueful. “Actually it went better than either of us had expected. Would you like some tea?”
She blinked at the sudden shift in subject, but nodded, and Sinclair went back to the counter to get another cup for her, and retrieve his own that he had left there. Delenn was quiet, waiting, feeling no need to speak into the gentle silence of his presence and the low light of his quarters. Such quiet between them was old and comforting. Her eyes fell on the heap of clothes in one of the chairs across the room, but she thought little of it except that it was atypically unkempt for Jeffrey.
There was a flicker of movement from the doorway leading back into the bedroom, and Sheridan appeared, wearing nothing but a pair of dark gray drawstring trousers that were a little too big for him; Sinclair’s clothes. He was rubbing his eyes tiredly and hadn’t seen her yet. Sinclair turned upon hearing him, but did not seem apprehensive or embarrassed. His mouth quirked in a calm, contented smile and he glanced at Delenn with a glint of mischief in his eyes before returning his attention to the tea.
“God almighty,” Sheridan muttered. “I haven’t felt like that in years.” His hand fell away and he realized that Sinclair was not the only person in the room. His eyes widened. “Delenn,” he blurted. “I –”
“It’s all right, John,” Sinclair interrupted smoothly, turning that warm attention back on him. It was oddly protective, permissive in some way too, as if to say there was no need for any kind of apology to anyone, for anything.
Delenn, just as surprised, glanced again at the pile of clothes in the chair. She realized now what had seemed peculiar about it before; black uniform trousers trimmed in gray were among the pieces of clothing. Sheridan’s trousers.
“As I said,” Sinclair murmured, addressing Delenn, “it turned out much better than we had expected.” He was looking at her from over the rim of his own cup, and handed hers across the counter. She took it as an afterthought, studying him for a moment and then looking at Sheridan again. Sheridan had a hand over his mouth like a man caught doing something extremely crass and uncouth. No doubt he was thinking of his earlier barging into her quarters to level a rude accusation about the nature of her relationship with Sinclair. Considering his culture, he must have found the present situation to be a great deal more embarrassing than it actually was. Minbari were not particularly inhibited with respect to sexual relations among friends, certainly not to the degree that humans were. That John and Jeffrey would make love was not at all bothersome to her. Which explained Sinclair’s look of surprise when she finally spoke.
“I see,” she replied flatly, sounding quite displeased. “You neglected to inform me of the results of our practical joke because you were both…distracted after having accomplished it. And in the midst of your amusement you did not think that I might be concerned or anxious that I could not find either of you, that no one contacted me, after everything I did to assist you.” She put down her cup of tea on the counter untouched, glaring from one man to the other as she moved.
“Delenn, I can explain –”
/Really,/ Sinclair thought wryly, but Delenn was already talking over Sheridan.
“I think that the time for an explanation is long past,” she said, her hands on her hips. “You both find some unexpected pleasure in each other, and come here to indulge in lovemaking, and it does not ever occur to either of you that I would be interested? Did it never enter into your minds that I would want to be involved?”
Sinclair looked positively shocked, and so did Sheridan, who had removed his hand from his mouth to gape openly at her. Sinclair’s surprise shifted curiously to a subtle, sensuous interest, and he put his cup of tea down on the counter again, afraid he was going to drop it.
“Delenn –” Sinclair began. Delenn leveled him with a sharp stare, emerald eyes flashing.
“John I can excuse because he is human and does not know Minbari ways. But you! You who have lived among us, who have a Minbari soul! Knowing how close John and I are already, how close you and I have been, and you never once thought to include me. I am not a completely sexless creature. I enjoy physical pleasures, just as you do. I am quite hurt that you did not come to me and invite me to participate.”
Sinclair looked chastened, and ducked his head to stare down into his tea for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” he said with perfect seriousness. “I didn’t think. When I was…with John, he made me feel so intensely — so very human — I didn’t stop to think, even about you. I’m sorry, Delenn. It was never my intent to make you feel unloved or unwanted.” He looked over at Sheridan, and gave a laugh before realizing it; Sheridan looked so confused and contrite and bizarrely hungry all at the same time. “John,” he said gently, “it’s the Minbari way to make love to one’s friends as an expression of affection. It’s not considered odd at all, and Delenn is not angry that you and I were intimate. She’s angry that we didn’t include her because it implies she is not our friend.”
“Not our friend!” Sheridan blurted. “My God, Delenn…” He finally came fully into the room, approaching Delenn with penitence and need in his eyes. “Delenn, you are so much more than just my friend.” He took her hands and held them together in his own. “Delenn…” He couldn’t think of anything else, so he just looked at her, drinking in her beauty and warmth and gentle smile.
“You both keep saying my name like that,” she teased quietly. “I will begin to think you do not know any other words.”
Sheridan closed his mouth, hope and desire hardening in his chest — in his groin, gods — forbidding speech. She merely gazed at him, a dawning promise glittering in her intensely green eyes.
Sinclair heard the low growl that came out of Sheridan’s throat. It sparked something in his own belly and he moved before fully understanding what he intended to do. He came around the counter, leopard grace in his motions in spite of his height, and slid behind Delenn. Before she knew it, she was lifted off her feet by large hands on her waist.
Delenn squealed. Sheridan’s jaw dropped at the sound, but she was laughing, closing her hands over Sinclair’s and leaning her head back joyfully against his shoulder. He leaned over her, brushing his lips over the smooth skin of her cheek, then carrying her forward toward Sheridan.
Sheridan barely had time to close his mouth and lift his arms before he was assaulted with a sweet-scented, wriggling burden. Delenn’s arms twined around his neck and her feet dangled against his knees.
“Wha –” he muttered, the question strangling in his throat when she pressed her body against his, nuzzling her face into the hollow of his neck. The moist heat of her breath on his sensitive skin was the break-point, and his entire body surged in response.
He tightened his arms around her, one hand on her lower back as he rotated his hips against hers. The loose trousers he wore hid nothing, and he sought and captured her mouth with his own. She gasped as his lips claimed hers with bruising strength, her body stilling against his. He stole the breath from her lungs, then gave a fierce moan of his own when she suddenly came alive in his grasp. Her mouth clamped onto his, suckling at him with a mixture of inexperience and unfettered appetite that left him stunned. Stunned, but so hungry he wanted to lean his head back and howl with the force of it.
She wouldn’t let him go, however, and he drank of her, drawing in the exotic heat, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue so he could taste her. Her hands dug almost painfully into his hair, and he bent down, lowering her until her feet found purchase on the floor, but she pulled harder, threatening to drag them both down to the floor. He nearly let her, the very idea making the ache in his groin unbearable, but something stopped him. A crawling, certain sensation of being watched.
Sheridan drew his mouth away from Delenn’s reluctantly, feeling more than sensing her cry of dismay, and looked over the bone-crested top of her head to find the source of that sensation. Sinclair had stepped back from them both, leaning against the kitchen counter. He was smiling tenderly, his arms folded across his chest. Those honey-colored eyes were aware, but distant again, gazing at the entwined couple as though from far away, gleaming with approval. His expression was somber, sad yet accepting…pleased, but separate. Sheridan met Sinclair’s gaze, his own blue eyes darkening to a stormy, steely gray, passion and frustration, anger and determination burning in their depths.
He reached down and swept Delenn up into his arms, then moved forward purposefully. He matched each step it took the few steps to close the distance to Sinclair with a word. “Drop the martyr crap, Sinclair.” Pressing his armful of woman against the other man’s chest, he continued roughly. “You’re not getting out of this so easily.”
Sinclair’s expression never lost its composure, but he did release his arms, reaching down beneath Delenn to help support her as he looked down into her face. She took her right arm down from Sheridan’s neck and shifted to place it around Sinclair’s. Digging her fingers into the back of his neck, she pulled his mouth to hers.
They kissed long and deep, Sheridan watching, unable to feel anything but satisfaction and hard desire. Sinclair’s drawstring pants were drooping around John’s waist, the loose rub of the material inflaming against his hardened cock. He had thought he’d spent himself for the night; he’d been wrong. The desire was raging within him again, screaming for release.
Delenn released Sinclair with a bell-like laugh.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” she confided happily, rubbing her forehead against Sinclair’s cheek. He responded with a smile and a soft kiss. Sheridan was stunned to find the gesture arousing, suddenly wondering where his jealousy had fled to. Amusement bubbled in his chest, threatening to explode, as he remembered that he could hardly be annoyed at Delenn for being physical with Sinclair, considering that Sheridan himself had just had mind-blowing sex with the man a couple of hours ago.
Sheridan grinned brilliantly into Delenn’s hair, breathing in the clean, flowery scent of her. He was still a bit shocked by the situation he found himself in, but he was nothing if not adaptable. If this was the Minbari way, well, hell, ‘When in Rome…’ Delenn turned to offer him her mouth again, and any remnants of rational thought faded beneath a rising swell of passion.
They traded kisses, Delenn twisting back and forth between them to taste them equally. Sheridan loved watching her and Sinclair kiss; there was something very wet and sensuous and calm about it that wasn’t crude, but managed to be the most erotic thing Sheridan had ever seen. He could taste Sinclair when Delenn returned to his own mouth. He was rougher, and she seemed to enjoy it, moaning softly when he sucked on her lip and tongue sharply.
Sinclair’s eyes met his as Delenn pulled away, and Sheridan saw the desire that had been in Sinclair that first time in the elevator when they had begun it for Londo’s benefit. He heard Delenn chuckle softly as Sinclair reached across with his mouth and found Sheridan’s hungrily. Her breath was hot on their cheeks as they tasted each other again, this time enjoying the familiarity of it, colored by her groan of frustration. She bit at their chins, and they broke apart, breathless, laughing.
“I do not know if this is a human custom,” Delenn finally said, “but surely there are more comfortable positions in which to do this.” She wriggled suggestively in their grasp. The men’s eyes met — amber and sapphire — clung, then separated in common purpose. Moving as one, still cradling her between them, they carried her into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed. No sooner had they released her onto the mattress than she was moving, launching herself into Sheridan and tumbling him down onto his back.
“Delenn!” he exclaimed, before she silenced him with another long kiss. When she withdrew from it, she sighed with delight.
“This kissing that humans do is quite — different. I had not been sure I would like it when I saw it in human vids, but I was wrong. I like it very much.”
Sheridan stared at her in surprise. He hadn’t known Minbari didn’t kiss. She laughed low, leaning back down to give him a light kiss. “Minbari lovemaking is not quite the same as human, though there are some physical similarities.”
Sheridan swallowed harshly, the sultriness in her voice sending waves of heat through his body.
“Ummmm, what exactly do Minbari do?” he asked, but before she could answer, Sinclair moved above her, and she abruptly cried out.
“Delenn?” Sheridan called her name, steadying her, and she sank down into his embrace, gasping. When she found words, it was a simple, fierce demand.
“Do…that…again!”
Her body tensed against him, followed by the low chime of her pleasure, this time moaned against the bare skin of his chest. “Ahhh, Jeffrey,” she nearly sobbed.
Sheridan stared up over her head at the other man, who was smiling intently, half-propped on his side next to them. His hand was gently weaving through Delenn’s hair, every so often rubbing over her bone-crest. Sinclair met Sheridan’s gaze, and his smile deepened, a knowing gleam in his eyes.
He ran a forefinger over Delenn’s crest again. She shuddered in response, her hands digging into Sheridan’s shoulders.
“The bone-crest isn’t just bone. There are some very sensitive nerve endings here,” Sinclair explained casually. “In fact,” he continued, the corners of his mouth twitching, “it’s quite an erogenous zone. One of the most erotic parts of the Minbari physiology.” He stroked Delenn’s again, and she sighed, long and deep. He winked at Sheridan, then leaned over to touch his mouth to her crest, and she convulsed, moaning. Sinclair lifted back up and gazed with serene amusement at the other man. Sheridan shot him a suspicious glare.
“And just how did you learn that?”
Sinclair laughed, a deep rumble in his throat, meeting Sheridan’s glare with mischief in his amber eyes.
“As you like to keep reminding me, John, I’m not a saint.”
Sheridan’s eyebrows raised.
“Believe me, I never doubted it.” The two men’s eyes met and they both began to laugh. It was a wonderful, warm release of tension, but did nothing to alleviate the burning, searing want inside Sheridan’s belly.
It did, however, make Delenn look up suddenly, catching the interplay between her two lovers. She twisted her way between them suddenly until she was facing Sinclair and had twined her hands around his neck, pulling him down until he was at her level.
“You know Minbari customs too well, it seems.” And she kissed him. Hard, deep and long. She was really beginning to take to this human custom.
Sinclair moaned softly, inflamed by the warmth of her against him. This was something he had also wanted to do for a long time but time and circumstances had kept them apart. He wrapped his arms about her…she was wearing too many clothes…and his hands brushed Sheridan’s chest as he did so. Two people…it would be difficult leaving this. But for now, he refused to think about this. Minbari/Human…Delenn was truly becoming a bridge between the two now.
He smiled into her mouth and she pulled back just a little, just as Sheridan, who knelt behind her, ran his hand down her back and over her muscular buttocks. It was becoming a bit warmer in here, yet she knew none of them had adjusted the temperature controls. She was definitely wearing too much. She gasped again as soft, gentle hands touched her bonecrest — Sheridan playing with her. Oh, Jeffrey. Paying silent thanks to him that he’d told Sheridan about that, she tried to move her body closer to both men at once. It was an intriguing movement. Sheridan moved back and looked over Delenn’s shoulder at Sinclair again.
“You know, we’re almost naked, and here she is…” He waved nonchalantly at her body. “It occurs to me that it isn’t exactly fair.” Sinclair dazzled him yet again with that true smile and they began moving in concert, delicately releasing the catches on her robes. She was trapped between them, warm male scents from each of them, strong deft hands on her clothes. She trembled, trying to hold still as she was laid bare by these two astonishing men. Fasteners were finally all undone, and hands slipped her robes and shift off her body.
Sheridan turned her gently to look at her nakedness, his eyes hungry but she felt nothing lewd nor indecent from him. Her breasts were small but full. Sheridan bent to kiss them one at a time, enticed by her clean, marvelous smell and the taste of her skin. He spent a bit too long at one so that he didn’t notice when Sinclair had joined him at the other one. Sheridan ran a hand down her body, heard her shiver and sigh, felt her hand in his hair. She didn’t want him to go anywhere? He smiled. He didn’t plan to.
Sinclair moved away, slowly pulling Delenn’s body close to him, cradling her in his arms against his chest, wrapping his arms about her shoulders. John sat up and let him draw her away, curious to see what Sinclair wanted. Sinclair caught Sheridan’s eyes and glanced discreetly down between Delenn’s thighs. Sheridan smiled ferally. Oh, yes, that was a good idea. The two men exchanged a raised eyebrow, and Sheridan bent to his task.
He moved down Delenn’s body slowly, nibbling and tasting and licking, almost purring in the delight he was finding here. He spread Delenn’s legs slowly, gently, shifting on the bed to put himself between them. He let his tongue stroke an almost unbroken trail down her lower abdomen, down to the warm, soft lips between her legs. She was hairless there and it was fascinating, erotic in a way he would never have thought, allowing him access to every part of her, letting him watch what he was doing. Delenn moaned softly, amazed that he was actually going to –
His tongue connected with something electrifying, and Delenn convulsed beneath him, held tightly by Sinclair’s magnificent embrace. The eager response of her body only urged Sheridan to more mind-rending things and his tongue probed her curiously, shockingly supple.
Fluid trickled then pooled against Sheridan’s lips and tongue, and he lapped at her, relishing every sigh and moan as a welcome reward and working hard for each one. God, she was hot and fragrant and sweet and tangy. Sheridan didn’t think he could get enough of this. Her knees widened, her hips rocking upwards to meet him, a silent plea for more attention. The entreaty made his cock quiver. She wanted him. He growled softly; he could do this forever.
But there were more delights awaiting and others at play. Sheridan didn’t catch what was going on above him until Delenn suddenly squirmed out of his grasp. Startled, he lifted his head, still restraining her with a firm grasp on her thighs, only to find her twisted up, halfway sitting, tugging with total concentration on the belt to Sinclair’s robe. Sinclair was up on his knees, looming above Delenn, but when she finished undoing the tie, he suddenly slid away.
She cried out her frustration, pulling herself further upwards as Sinclair got off the bed and stood up beside it. His obsidian gaze was intent on her as he shrugged out of his robe and let it fall to the floor. His cock was tensely swollen before him, and he stood still as Delenn came away from the bed, deliciously naked, to approach him curiously.
“I used to wonder, sometimes, how you would look unclothed,” she said, drawing her fingers lightly up his darkly haired abdomen. It made him shiver.
“I must confess I wondered about you, too,” he murmured, “especially after seeing how you’ve changed. My God, Delenn, you’re beautiful.” He laid warm hands on her shoulders, rubbing them down her back slowly.
“I’m glad you find me so,” she said, looking briefly shy. He understood; whatever confidence she had had about her appearance as a full Minbari had been forever changed by her transformation in the Chrysalis machine. She did, to some extent, have to take John’s and Jeffrey’s word that she was beautiful since the standards by which she judged such beauty were so different now. Sinclair caressed her cheek, with an affection that was not entirely platonic. She turned her face into his palm, kissing softly, and he hummed quietly.
Sinclair caught Sheridan’s rise from the bed, and the other man came up behind Delenn slowly. There was something burning in the sapphire eyes, something that had shown itself only distantly at first. But it was hot in Sheridan’s expression now, and Sinclair felt himself respond to it in empathy. Sheridan paused less than a meter away, thoughtful, then he quickly shed his loose trousers, kicking them away on the floor with a soft rustle.
Delenn saw Sinclair’s mouth open, his gaze fixed on something behind her, and she turned her head slightly to catch John in her sight. Sheridan closed the gap between them quickly, touching her shoulders. He didn’t want her to see him fully naked just yet, wanting to tease her. It had the desired effect and Delenn made a low noise in her throat.
“John…” she said quietly. Sheridan looked up into Sinclair’s eyes — and saw wickedness.
“Allow me,” Sinclair said, his voice a smooth rumble as he turned Delenn around and lifted her off the floor again. Delenn yelped but didn’t resist, as surprised as Sheridan was by Sinclair’s actions. Sinclair growled with the effort of raising her up, holding her against him as Sheridan understood suddenly what Sinclair was doing for him.
Sheridan took Delenn’s thighs firmly, lifting her legs up as if she were to straddle him midair. He moved very close, pressing between her legs, helping Sinclair to support her weight. He saw comprehension hit her like a sword through her belly, and she reached for his face.
“John,” she whispered. His cock found her sex carefully, positioning himself for a just a moment before Sinclair lowered her onto John’s cock, impaling her on him. She cried out, leaning back against Sinclair, who held her with a fierce smile. “Yes,” she cried, “oh Valen!”
Sinclair laughed, a roar of delight and amusement at her exclamation. She realized what she had said, realized fully who it was who held her for John’s magnificent penetration, and groaned, her mouth close to Sinclair’s neck.
“Not yet,” Sinclair whispered to her in Adronado, amused. “I’m Jeffrey Sinclair now. Take advantage of it. Of me.”
“Yesssss, Jeffff…Johhnnn…” she whimpered, mixing their names in one long, cherished moan. Sheridan pressed deep, standing close to Sinclair with Delenn’s delicious warmth between them, around his cock. Her sex quivered, gripping him softly.
“You have to tell him what you like, Delenn,” Sinclair murmured to her. “He knows nothing of Minbari or of your personal kind of longing.”
“God, yes,” Sheridan whispered. She was so tight, incredible where her arms went around his neck to hold him, her breaths coming fast to make smooth breasts rise and fall. “Tell me, Delenn. Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she moaned in response, rocking her hips against him, using Sinclair as leverage. “All I’ve wanted is you…Please, John, I want all of you…Aaaah…” She was conscious of Jeffrey holding her, his warm strength, his passionate desire to be part of this for her. “In Valen’s name,” she yelled, meaning it in a way she never had before, no longer an exclamation of astonishment, but reverence and benediction, an honor given to the man she had come to know in Sinclair. Sinclair heard it, heard the gift, and his embrace tightened as he nuzzled her.
Ever so slowly, Sheridan pulled away from her, then slid back into her fluidly, while his arms reached around her, his hands closing on Sinclair’s shoulders, trapping her between them. Sinclair hummed quietly, loving this, loving her pleasure and Sheridan’s desperate fierceness.
Jeffrey was solid support behind her. She wound one arm back behind his neck, tossed her head back against his shoulder, luxuriated in the satin-sheathed steel of his body. He was a furnace of heat, burning her where their flesh touched, her back rubbing against his lightly furred chest, her buttocks creating friction against the hard protrusion of his erection. His arms enclosed her, his hands spanning her sides. She squirmed and wriggled in his grasp, wildly, wantonly, moving into rhythm with John, grinding her pelvis forward to meet him, only to be driven back against Jeffrey by the force of John’s thrusts.
Jeffrey moaned, a low growl in her ear, his purr running bass counterpoint to the rising swell of John’s voice. John cried her name over and over, turning it into the sweetest music she had ever heard. They made a symphony of sound and smell and touch, overwhelming her senses. She dug the fingers of one hand into Jeffrey’s shoulder, threaded the other into John’s hair, yanking him toward her in fierce demand. His voice strangled off as their mouths met, then he was kissing her brutally, reaching deeper into her throat with his tongue than she would have thought possible. But she gave it back to him with fire, mirroring his motions, until he tore his mouth from hers to gasp for air.
Her own chest heaved, her lungs burned with a blaze that was a pale echo of the one burning in her belly. John’s hard presence within her was like being filled with fire itself, raging hot in her so sharp and broad it was like pain, an agony of bliss. But she wanted it all, she wanted more, and she screamed out her desire, returning his name in response to his cry of hers. She drew her legs up to wrap them around John’s back, fighting to trap him even deeper inside. Jeffrey’s presence, steel arms supporting her, was subsumed into the moment, and she writhed against him, enraptured and unashamed. Her mind, lost to itself in an ocean of sensation, didn’t need to know he was there to rely upon him. She trusted him without question or consideration. He was her strength, her faith, her truth. And he gave her, yet again, all that she could ever have asked of him.
John was quickening his motion now, reaching…reaching for the edge of the hurricane, sweeping her along with him. Each movement of their bodies, now slick and glistening with sweat and her secretions, magnified the ball of fire centered in her belly, filled near to bursting with his big cock. Her voice entered the fray, clear, brilliant, above John’s quicksilver moans and Jeffrey’s low rumble, until it rose and shrieked, then tumbled with her as the dam broke and she was tossed on shockwaves of burning pleasure. Every muscle in her body clenched into a tight knot, then released, falling limp.
Sinclair held her as Sheridan followed her, muscles standing out sharply, marvelously. He howled like a demon, something huge and powerful in it, fingers digging into Sinclair’s shoulders like a vise, bruising the skin. Then Sheridan too went slack in the aftermath, falling forward across Delenn, both of their weights given to Sinclair to support. He held them both for a moment, letting them recover, then he pushed Sheridan back gently and the three of them moved toward the bed.
They collapsed together, then rolled slightly apart, breathing hard, to lay on their backs side-by-side. Delenn watched Sheridan’s chest rise and fall for a while, then turned to look at Sinclair. He was sprawled out, eyes shuttered, one arm flung up over his head, which was tilted back to point his chin toward the ceiling. The gesture made his biceps stand out pleasurably. His knees were bent over the edge of the mattress to trail his feet on the floor, and his legs were slightly spread, his still-erect cock resting lightly on his belly. It was the last that stole her attention and she eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled sweetly, green eyes glinting.
Silently and gracefully, she slid off the bed and moved around to kneel between his legs. With total focus, she reached out with a delicate, but steady forefinger and touched him, grazed him, brushing the shaft of his cock with the softest edge of her fingertip.
He came alive instantly, body jerking, eyes bolting open to look down at her. She was biting at her lower lip, a look of total concentration on her face.
“Delenn..?” he called out, questioningly, but before he could finish she smiled, eyes sparkling with a lightning bolt of understanding. If it had felt that good when John did it to her, then…
Pressing both hands down onto Sinclair’s thighs to hold him still with surprising strength, she leaned down until her hair fell in an ebony waterfall around his groin. His breath froze in his lungs as he felt first her intent, and then an excruciating split second later, the rough, hesitant stroke of her tongue. He roared, a powerful bass rumble building within his chest and reverberating outward. He trembled, and she laughed with delight at the intensity of his response to her. Delicately, she tongued him again, in slow discovery, testing the taste of him a flicker at a time. He rose up on his elbows, leaning over to look down at her, his eyes glazed with need.
“Delenn,” he moaned again, leaning his head back to close his eyes in pure bliss. This time it was a summons, the softest of demands, hunger baring itself in the race of his pulse and the sweat beginning to bead upon his flushed skin.
Every sign of his desire was a pleasure to her, and she increased the pressure with a flurry of darting licks, up and down the length of his cock. He tasted very much himself to her, a pungent, sweaty maleness that tantalized her senses. She could feel every electric shiver that coursed through his nerves, and she took fierce delight in knowing she was the cause. Humming with satisfaction, she drew back to savor the moment, then dove downward to engulf him.
He was too big for her to take him completely within her mouth, and she couldn’t help releasing a sigh of frustration, before beginning to suck up and down on him. He screamed out her name, this time in a long drawn out battlecry that echoed in the stillness of the room, colored only by the wet sound of her mouth suckling on his flesh. His voice strangled into silence, then rose again, and he began to shudder, his head thrashing from side to side.
Beside Sinclair, Sheridan had been watching with a peculiar delight, a tenseness in his groin that was echoed in the clench of his jaw. His eyes were raw, filled with a passion that seemed boundless, a need that ached soul-deep. Delenn was a delight far beyond any possible imagining, her inexperience in human ways only accentuating a natural sensuality that had been hers long since. She was shameless and sweet, naive and sophisticated all at once. Her bright eyes had nearly shimmered with clever satisfaction before she bent herself to pleasuring Sinclair, a familiar expression of dawning understanding colored by amusement. She was more beautiful every time he saw her, but never more so than now.
And Sinclair? The man was a frustrating contradiction, a physical delight, a challenge that only made Sheridan’s hunger grow moment by moment. He was lovely in a fully masculine way; a big man, wonderfully proportioned with powerful shoulders tapering to a tight waist, corded muscles rippling down the length of his arms. Sinclair was moaning now, his hips rocking helplessly under Delenn’s enthusiastic attentions, and Sheridan’s gut clenched at the sight. With a low growl, he rose up and moved fully onto the bed, shifting around until he was poised behind Sinclair’s head, facing Delenn.
Sinclair sensed the presence looming over him, and opened his eyes to stare upward into Sheridan’s face. Sheridan was bent over him, upside down, smiling evilly.
“Hi,” Sheridan said. Sinclair swallowed hard, surprised, a little nervous, Delenn’s mouth on him making everything, even thinking, an effort. “We can’t have you flailing around, can we?” Sheridan mused, putting his hands on Sinclair’s shoulders and pushing down with his weight to pin the man to the bed. Sinclair grunted, panting. The force would have been enough, Sheridan’s magnificent strength and fierceness, but Sheridan bent down to kiss him hard, and Sinclair wrapped one hand around the back of Sheridan’s neck, holding him desperately.
“John,” he gasped as Sheridan pulled away. “John, you should’ve…seen her face…” Sinclair laughed softly, wonderingly. His eyes were bright as if with unshed tears of joy. “Her face…when you put your tongue in her, playing with her…my God…oh, holy God…” He closed his eyes and groaned tormentedly as Delenn sucked on him sweetly.
Delenn had found many things about being human difficult to understand. This was not one of them. The taste of Jeffrey in her and the smell of him and John on her and around her was delightful. Her body already ached from the pleasure they had given her, and knowing that there was more to come made her groin clench like a fist, the sensation aggravated by every sound Sinclair emitted. She’d dreamed for years of touching him, being touched by him, and now –knowing that their time together was coming swiftly to an end — this was all the more desperately exquisite. And the delight of having John here with them, sharing it with her, made her want to laugh and cry at once with the sheer ecstasy of it all.
She pulled back slowly, then pushed forward again to take him in to the base of his penis, testing the limits of Jeffrey’s control. His body twisted in John’s grip, moaning bass and low into John’s mouth. She had heard what he had told John and she basked in the idea that she gave him as much pleasure as John had given her.
Her small hands clutched at Sinclair’s thighs…and the slight pain her nails gave him only added spice to the mix. Sinclair reached a hand up again, found Sheridan’s head and twined strong fingers in his hair. His lips suckled at Sheridan’s, while the noise inside him threatened to overwhelm them all. Muscles tensed throughout his body, veins pulsing within his skin, pounding in his temples. The skin drew taut over the hard lines of his face, creating a fierce expression, angry, hungry, while his eyes smoldered hotly beneath half-closed eyelids.
Sheridan watched him with equal fierceness, a passionate joy glowing within those sapphire eyes, making them gleam with a powerful, unmet need. His hands were like iron, pinioning Sinclair to the bed, while he drowned in the other man’s mouth, plunging his tongue deep, then drawing back to nibble at the exposed lines of Sinclair’s neck and chest. He found a sensitive spot along the edge of the jaw and he dug into it with his teeth, forcing out a surprised yelp, a sound that quickly swung low into a growl that reverberated in Sinclair’s throat as Sheridan tugged even harder at his skin, nibbling, then biting down violently.
Delenn suckled on him lavishly, concentrating utterly on the task before her, memorizing the taste and feel and smell of him. Drawing her tongue across the tip of his cock, she lapped up the moisture spilling free, then moved downward, engulfing him as deeply as she could, then back up again, until his voice strangled off into a breathless silence, as if he could barely reach for air itself to feed his starving muscles. She laughed, humming across his sensitive skin, aggravating his senses.
That sound tore at Sheridan, bringing his head up to stare at her, his mouth twisted in a snarl. Surging forward, he used the weight of his body to hold Sinclair down, reaching out to seize Delenn’s shoulders. She resisted at first, unwilling to give up the throbbing prize in her mouth, but finally she did look up, only to gasp as she found herself facing Sheridan, his handsome face exposed, open, caught in the grip of a need so intense it sheared away all pretenses of society and refinement.
“John,” she moaned, unable to resist as he pulled her towards him, taking her in a kiss so savage it ripped down her spine and erupted in licks of fire within her belly. He drew back from her just long enough to gulp air into his lungs, then his voice seared her senses.
“Do you want him like this, or do you want him inside you, Delenn? Do you want to feel him fill you? I want to see you ride him, hear you scream as he comes within you. Deellleeennnnn…” Her name issued rawly from his throat, hoarse and ragged, yet rising in a demand that could not be denied. He saw the understanding, the acceptance flicker in her brilliant green eyes, and he claimed her mouth once again, sealing them together in single purpose.
He reared back away from her, making her moan at the loss of his heat so close to her, sliding back onto his knees. Slipping his hands down under Sinclair’s arms, Sheridan pulled him further onto the bed, muscles bulging in his arms and shoulders as he dragged the other man’s heavy body towards him, nearly falling backwards onto the bed himself. Sinclair moaned and struggled against the sudden assault, but Sheridan had already gotten him where he wanted him. There were precious moments in Sheridan’s life when he knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly what he wanted. He moved with that certainty now, laying Sinclair down, and then he leapt up to take Delenn’s hands, steadying her as she climbed up to join them.
Delenn surged into Sheridan’s embrace, a sound of clear, chiming joy coming from her lips, not laughter, not words, but a pure expression of utter enraptured delight. Sheridan luxuriated in it, in the feel of her small, slender, yet lusciously curved body, pressed wantonly against his own, then — unable to bear it a second longer — he dove in for another kiss. And then another and another, doing what he’d spent night after night dreaming of, covering her entire face and neck with his mouth, kissing, nibbling, licking, tasting her. She was excruciatingly sweet, perfumed like a tropical flower, sweaty and female, exotic and softer than anything he’d ever touched in his life.
Her mouth sought after his, keening in frustration when he avoided her, thrusting his tongue at her ear, her bone crest — making her entire body writhe — her neck, anything he could reach.
“Joohhhhnnnn,” she wailed, her hands clutching at his hair, tightening on handsful of the dark strands. He growled into her neck, his moist breath searing her skin.
“Delenn,” he answered, naming her, claiming her.
Lost in their embrace, they almost forgot Sinclair, who suddenly reared up and wrapped powerful arms around them both, drawing them against his chest in one massive bear hug. No sooner had he done so, than they turned on him. With a grunt, Sheridan toppled all of his and Delenn’s weight against Sinclair, and even then, only barely managed to push the other man backwards so that he was sitting on his heels. But that would do, at least as far as Delenn was concerned. She’d had one thing in mind from the moment she’d climbed onto the bed, and a short dalliance in Sheridan’s arms wasn’t going to stop her. Wrapping both arms snuggly around Sinclair’s neck she clambered up into his lap.
Realizing what she had in mind, Sheridan’s mouth twisted in a feral, satisfied smile and he moved to take her firm ass in his hands. Her voice chimed, clear as a bell, as he lifted her, a sound that trickled downward into ragged laughter as he lifted her up, his jaw grinding as he took her weight, holding her as she extended her legs around Sinclair’s back.
Sinclair groaned, his head tossed back, baring the elegant lines of his neck and collarbones, while she clamped her arms and legs around him. Sheridan released her, but she held herself, her sex pressed in on Sinclair’s belly, her hips rocking as she sought closer contact. Sinclair’s hands reached for her flanks, holding her to him. She looked up into Sinclair’s face, found he was lowering his mouth towards her, and all rational thought fled again. His kiss was even hotter than Sheridan’s, his entire body radiated waves of male heat, his tongue a living thing in her mouth. She seized it with her teeth, and shared the shock of pleasure that jolted through him at her bite. Suckling on him, she slid down him, feeling for him, wriggling as she adjusted herself against him, until…
Another strong pair of hands closed on her waist, supporting her, guiding her, and she leaned her head back, knowing he would be there. Sheridan nuzzled her hair, her bone crest, making her body shake, tingles spreading down the length of every nerve, then coursing back downward to aggravate the throbbing need in her groin.
“Please…please…please…” The one syllable was all she could stammer out, but it was enough. By Valen, it was more than enough. Sheridan drew smoothly on her hips, Sinclair shifted, pushing forward, upward, and together, moving in easy concert, they impaled her upon Sinclair’s hardened cock. She just barely took the tip, but it was enough to make her scream.
Raking Sinclair’s shoulders, she shoved downward, keening her desire as she felt him begin to penetrate her. Too slow, she wanted to shout, but even that would have taken too much thought. Everything was centered on her burning sex, the emptiness that craved him, seeking his presence within, the achingly slow movement that brought him deeper. Sheridan was letting her down a bare inch at a time, and she struggled, trying to ground herself, to bury Sinclair’s fantastic cock deeper in her. He was so big, it felt as though he would drive into her lungs, spear her heart, and she craved it. Demanded it. She wanted more…
“Ohhh, sweet Mary, Mother of God!” Sinclair cried out, startling Delenn. Who was this Mary? But before she could get the question out, Sinclair growled, suddenly surging forward, upward, his big hands clamping around Sheridan’s hands, unable to control his own need to be buried within the delicious heat of her body. They cried out as one, voices mingling, fire rushing through their veins, their shouts trailing off into a shared sigh of satisfaction. Delenn wriggled slightly, adjusting herself, her lungs burning for air as her body learned the feel of him. So gorgeously huge, so strong and male, so hard and hot. This was enough, she could stay like this. The thought of him moving was more than she believed she could tolerate. But both men had other plans.
Sheridan took hold of them both and toppled them to the bed, down onto Sinclair’s back. They both gasped, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on Sinclair’s skin as Delenn moved to adjust her position, finally arching her back and settling into a seated position to straddle him, still impaled firmly upon him. Sheridan laughed triumphantly as Sinclair’s hips thrust upward of their own accord, and Delenn forced him back down, grinding him into the rumpled sheets.
Sinclair’s large hands closed on Delenn’s waist, easily spanning it, guiding her as she began to seek a rhythm. Sheridan moved around them, sprawling himself luxuriously to watch, mischievous, intensely curious, feeling the quiver of need that never left him even in satiation. Smiling savagely, he played out one hand, cupping Delenn’s breast, then sliding down across her belly to meet Sinclair’s, briefly touching Sinclair’s moist cock where they joined. Sheridan teased at the other man’s tensely erect nipples, then back up again to roll Delenn’s between his fingers. He watched, drawing in every sensation of her joy, memorizing every line of her face and torso, as it arched and bent and swayed like a storm-tossed sapling in the wind. Her hair was like an ebony splash of water that curled around her face and shoulders and fell downward to tease at her breasts. He caught a handful of it, and rising up, used it to draw her to him.
Kneeling beside them, Sheridan kissed her passionately, clashing teeth, raking his tongue against the roof of her mouth. She was lost, accepting it as one more sensation in a sea of them, everything washing back down into her groin, centering in the rub of her sex against the hard thrust of Sinclair’s cock. She rose and fell on him, a raw, instinctual movement that needed no thought. Sheridan rocked with her, his long-fingered hands cupping her face, its beauty only heightened by her pleasure, the elegant bones standing in sharp relief, her blazing emerald eyes dusky and hooded. She moaned low in her throat, a soft purr that swelled with her movements, sending a flash of fire coursing through Sheridan’s body.
A matching growl sounded from Sinclair’s throat, his own eyes fully closed, long dark eyelashes pressed hard into his cheeks. His jaw worked hard, tendons straining, his chest heaving. Sheridan slid down towards him, inexorably drawn to touch and taste, to feel those powerful muscles clench beneath his touch. Sinclair’s body was like a Roman god’s, supple and solid, massive strength beneath that deceivingly soft exterior, a physical representation of his personality writ in sinew and flesh. Sheridan was nearly hissing now, knowing they were close, exultant to find that he too, somehow, was burning with arousal, feeling his own climax beginning to tease at the edges of his senses.
With an iron control that stunned Sheridan to silence, Sinclair’s eyes opened and focused on him. One massive arm released Delenn and swung downward to seek and find Sheridan’s body. A smile that was barely more than a snarl emerged on Sinclair’s lips. Those brown eyes, like sultry, melted honey, sunlight through amber, glittered dangerously.
“John,” he moaned through gritted teeth. The grimace tightened as his hand closed on throbbing flesh, squeezing, forcing loose a strained, animalistic cry from Sheridan. Sheridan leaned forward, sprawling across Sinclair’s chest, taking him in a nearly brutal kiss. Then, raising up enough to meet the other man’s gaze, he spoke harshly, his voice like tearing steel.
“You’re ready to come aren’t you, Jeffrey? Huh? Come on, damn you, I want to hear you scream. Let it go for me, Jeff, come on…do it…do it now…” Sheridan’s voice rose and Sinclair’s followed. Writhing in Sheridan’s hold, his hips thrashing, grinding up to meet Delenn as she shoved her entire weight down on him. Her cries met theirs in a fiery crescendo then closed off into a silence that was far more potent than the sound had ever been.
Sheridan angled his head to watch her, feeling her, surging upwards to catch her when it hit. She tensed, every muscle freezing, her mouth open. She met Sheridan’s elated, joyful and hungry eyes where he pressed close to her, and somewhere in that blinding, astonishing orgasm, she opened to John completely and he saw her soul naked for a moment. In all the years after that, he never doubted her, never doubted her love for him.
And then she shuddered and went limp. Sheridan caught her, cradling her as Sinclair roared beneath her, sending one final shockwave through her body and into Sheridan’s as he let loose. Sheridan lowered Delenn onto Sinclair’s chest, savoring the slow tremors that rocked them both.
Then he knelt down beside them, cupping his cock as he watched them begin to relax. Drinking in the erotic sight of them, bodies tangled, he worked himself towards his own release, feeling his own climax swell within him. Sinclair responded to it, hardly even opening his eyes, but still reaching out again to close his big hand over Sheridan’s. Sheridan moaned, letting Sinclair guide him to final completion, drawing him out in a warm flood over his hand, spilling across his thighs, Delenn’s back, Sinclair’s abdomen. A soft cry escaping between clenched teeth, he finally let himself go limp, sprawling out beside them on the bed.
Delenn turned at the feel of Sheridan settling beside her, and she reached out to gently touch his face. “Ni san g’reelacht su’shakroon na’John-la,” she murmured, tracing his lips. He kissed her fingertips, not needing a translation to know what she was saying. And he didn’t need to say it back, the evidence clear in his blue eyes before they shuddered in surrender to the sleep that soon claimed them all.
Lt. Commander Ivanova was getting twitchy. As if things weren’t completely nuts on Babylon 5, her commanding officer had decided to waste his time playing a ridiculous practical joke on the Centauri Ambassador, despite the fact that they all had to attend an important diplomatic function tonight. It was the fourth anniversary of the station’s opening, and they had turned it into a huge celebration, trying to lift morale of everyone on board after the dreadful year they’d all just suffered through.But how was she supposed to cope with the arrangements, and manage C&C and everything else, while her commanding officer was off playing games? All right — okay — it was funny when you had time to stop and think about it. And it hardly surprised her that Jeffrey Sinclair was up to his ears in this. For all of his military precision, Sinclair had a shockingly wild sense of humor. She’d been on the receiving end of it once or twice herself, and she didn’t envy Londo the experience. She grimaced, then chuckled despite herself, remembering one occasion where he’d literally put her to sleep at the breakfast table. Monks and meditation indeed.
Even so, Sheridan appeared to have completely disappeared, and Delenn appeared to have followed him. That could be a good sign, but it could also mean big trouble. Garibaldi was utterly preoccupied with arrangements for tonight’s big bash, and Marcus was off on some mysterious mission for Jeff, which left her with only one other person she could go to for help.
Straightening her uniform instinctually, she pressed the door chime to Sinclair’s quarters. If anyone could help find the missing captain, it would be the former commander.
The door swung open, admitting her into a darkened room.
“Jeff?” she called out, but the figure that approached her, draped in a long black robe, was barely half his size. Ivanova started, half lifting her hands in self-defense — only to breath a deep sigh of relief as she recognized the woman facing her.
“Good morning, Commander Ivanova,” Delenn said warmly. Coming forward into the soft corridor light of the doorway, Delenn looked like a young child wearing her father’s clothes. The large sleeves of the robe were piled upon her arms, threatening to slide down and engulf her small hands. The bottom trailed on the floor, the shoulders drooping over her delicate form. It was Sinclair’s robe, and though she had tied it shut modestly, Ivanova strongly suspected she wore nothing else beneath it. Ivanova clenched her jaw to keep it from falling open.
“Ambassador Delenn,” she replied formally, falling back on politeness to cover for her shock. This was not what she had expected to find. This could be very serious trouble. If Sheridan found out that Delenn was here… “Ambassador,” she began uneasily, “does…ah…anyone else know you’re here?”
“You are thinking of Captain Sheridan,” Delenn responded in a voice that was at once understanding and mischievous. Her eyes sparkled. “Do not worry, Susan, please. He knows I am here. He and Jeffrey have, as you humans put it, buried the sword. If you wish, I can show you that there is no cause for concern.”
Ivanova let Delenn guide her deeper into the room, her heart pounding. She wasn’t sure what Delenn meant by this. /No, no that was a convenient little lie, Susan. You know exactly what she’s talking about and you’re not sure you have the balls to get a good, long look at it…/
They turned the corner into the bedroom, baring the scene she had expected ever since seeing that glint of amusement in Delenn’s eyes. Her stomach clenched, heat rushing through her body. Her collar was suddenly too tight, and she fumbled at it, her gray eyes wide. Even after catching them in the lift earlier, still kissing, she wasn’t ready for this.
“Good God,” she whispered.
Sinclair was sprawled out nude on his back, his head curled sideways into an outflung arm, his legs slightly bent and spread wide. His chest was rising and falling gently, a thin mat of dark hair covering the long flow of muscles, taut and strong with the promise of power etched into flesh. But her eyes couldn’t escape being pulled, inexorably, to his groin and below, to the quiescent bulge of his cock, nestled in dark curls, large and potent even in full relaxation. He stirred, shifting slightly to his side, and her eyes were then drawn to the other man on the rumpled bed.
Sheridan. Long, slender arms and legs, smooth and supple, curled up on his side against Sinclair’s bulk. He was laying partially on his stomach, one arm tossed possessively over Sinclair’s chest. Sheridan’s ass was pointing up toward her, and Ivanova had to clench her fingers to keep from reaching for that firm, taut expanse of male flesh. One of his knees was pulled up slightly, allowing a glimpse of full testicles and a soft, marvelous cock dangling from the shadows between his legs. Everything flowed perfectly from the muscular calves and thighs over the rounded buttocks up through the muscled expanse of his back and shoulders. His hair was tousled, glowing like darkened copper in the soft light.
Together, they were a steely panther curled up against a tawny lion, feline and feral even in their sleep, power held in abeyance, strength conserved, energy pulsing beneath velvet skin. Every instinct she had, female, primal, was screaming within her. Hunger, need, insatiable and undeniable, surged, and she let out a slow, controlled breath to vent the pressure of it.
“Yes, they are very beautiful,” Delenn replied, shocking Ivanova with the realization that barely a few seconds had passed since they’d walked into the bedroom. Delenn spoke with undisguised pride, a hint of protectiveness coloring her voice. Pure possession was what it felt like to Ivanova, and she had to bite down hard on the abrupt swell of jealousy that welled up in her belly.
She drew in a deep gulp of air, praying it didn’t sound as ragged as it felt, then she dragged her eyes away, feeling something tear within her as she left that glorious sight behind. Turning on her heels, she walked back into the sitting room. Delenn following quietly.
“I could wake them if it is important,” Delenn said when they stopped close to the kitchen counter, pursing her generous lips. She shook her bone-crested head. “But I would prefer not to. They both need the sleep.” Ivanova nodded, trying to gather her thoughts together. Trying to find the strength to speak with some semblance of composure.
“No reason to wake them, I just wanted to remind Jeff…all of you, about the reception tonight.” She was shocked by the calm in her own voice.
“Of course, we will certainly be there. It is an auspicious occasion,” Delenn replied softly. She angled her head to look up at the human woman. “Have you heard anything from Marcus?” Ivanova nodded again, licking fiercely at her lips, trying desperately not to think about what she really wanted to be licking.
“Uh, yes. He should be arriving here this afternoon, and should be able to meet up with Jeff at the party.”
“Ahh, that is good news,” Delenn smiled brightly. “Then we will see him there. And you as well, Commander?”
Ivanova looked over Delenn’s shoulder towards the bedroom, and decided quickly that she was going to be anywhere but at the reception that night. Nope, she was running back to her quarters for a long, cold shower, and then she was going to take an even longer shift in C&C. Facing her commanding officer now, when all she could think about was his gorgeous bare ass and how much she wanted to get her hands on it…uh uh, no way. Not if her life depended on it.
“I’m afraid someone’s got to be on duty tonight, Ambassador,” she replied, horrified by the way her voice squeaked on the first word. Swallowing hard, she edged towards the door. “But I hope it goes well tonight. I’ll see you…later.” Inclining her head at Delenn, she waited anxiously for the door to slide open — why was it so bloody slow? — and then walked from the room with carefully measured precision. The door shut beside her and she collapsed against the wall with a deep sigh.
A cold shower? Make that an ice bath!
“They did what?”Garibaldi couldn’t contain his grin; the Ranger looked like a beached fish. His eyes were dilated, irises and pupils melded into huge dark marbles while his mouth gaped open. Marcus finally snapped his jaw shut and glared at the security chief suspiciously. “You’re kidding, right?”
Garibaldi shook his head, giving a very good impression of total sincerity. His eyes surveyed the crowded Council Chamber automatically assessing his surroundings, then he leaned in close.
“Nope. And Londo bought it, lock, stock and barrel. Took one look at them and hightailed it out of there, ran straight to the closest bathroom and lost his lunch.” Garibaldi’s smile stretched from ear to ear as he turned to glance over at the Centauri Ambassador. Standing at the edge of the crowd, Londo looked particularly uncomfortable. Vir was hovering anxiously at his side, both scanning the crowd of aliens with darting eyes.
Marcus sighed dramatically.
“How come I have to miss all the fun!” A bright twinkle lightened his gaze as he focused back on Garibaldi. “So…what was it like? Did you see them?” Garibaldi chuckled.
“Oh yeah…me, Londo and even Ivanova got an eyefull.” His voice turned almost awe-struck. “It’s not my kind of thing, but…whew…it was like watching a pair of wolves circle each other. I wasn’t quite sure if they were fighting or kissing.”
Marcus’ expression quivered, as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or frown.
“That I’d like to have seen,” he said wistfully. “And I know what you mean about those two. Being in the same room with them has been like waiting for a storm to hit.” Garibaldi had to agree with that.
“Yeah, tell me about it. I’ve been worried sick. There’s no reason for them to fight, and I know Jeff doesn’t want to argue with Sheridan. But you know Sheridan, he’s very…”
“Territorial?” Marcus interposed bluntly. Garibaldi looked relieved. He nodded.
“Yeah, and Jeff…well, he simply goes and does what he does, and people just follow him. God knows I’ve done that myself.” Marcus’ gaze turned inward, his expression turning somber.
“That makes two of us. If it hadn’t been for Entil’Zha…” He shook himself like a wet dog, banishing those thoughts forcibly. Garibaldi eyed him with total understanding. /Been there, done that./ Garibaldi sighed, digging his hands into his pants pockets.
“Anyway, I think it rubs Sheridan the wrong way. The Minbari don’t help matters, they treat him like shit and turn to Jeff like he’s some kind of Messiah.”
“He is,” Marcus replied. Garibaldi stared at him, and the young Ranger qualified himself quickly. “To the Minbari, Entil’Zha is a holy man, a blessed soul come to lead them against the darkness as Valen did a thousand years ago.” He shrugged. “I’m not saying I believe it all, but they do.”
“God, don’t tell Sheridan that,” Garibaldi replied, not terribly surprised. “He’s got a bad enough case of male pride-induced jealousy as is. Londo’s meddling has finally made him mad enough at someone else to cooperate with Jeff — I don’t want to mess this up. The last thing he needs to hear is that Delenn thinks Jeff is some kind of saint.” Marcus swiftly mimed zipping his lips.
“Won’t hear it from me, and the Minbari aren’t exactly spreading the info around.” He grinned broadly. “But I hear things…you know?” Garibaldi waved a hand in understanding. Marcus chuckled, then focused back on the present.
“Actually, I’m a bit more interested in seeing things right now. I don’t suppose you got that little scene on the securcams did you?” Garibaldi leaned back, pretending to be stunned.
“The securcam tapes are confidential,” Garibaldi said. “Even assuming I did have it,” and the sparkle in his gray eyes easily communicated that he did indeed have it, “I could never show it to unauthorized personnel.” Marcus was unfazed. Leaning in close to speak into the other’s man’s ear.
“How much?”
Garibaldi grinned, turning to whisper back.
“It’s not a question of how much, it’s a question of what.”
“Heads up!” Marcus interrupted, nudging Garibaldi. “There’s Delenn.”
They both turned to watch the delicately regal woman glide into the room. She was, surprisingly, alone, Sheridan and Sinclair both conspicuous by their absence. Her dark hair was coiled over her shoulder in a single ringlet, and her small bone crest looked more like a crown than a vestigial organ. She turned, her green eyes sparking with recognition when she saw them. Inclining her head in their direction, she began to ease her way through the crowd towards them.
“We’d better talk about this later,” Marcus warned, though with a resolute look. He had to see that tape. Garibaldi nodded, grinning slyly. He’d make the Ranger pay through the nose, but he was sure they could reach an accommodation.
They both smiled as Delenn came abreast of them. She bowed formally to each of them in turn, then focused on Marcus.
“I am glad to see that you have returned safely, Marcus. Your mission was a success?”
He returned her bow gracefully. “Yes, thank you Delenn. I was expecting to see Entil’Zha here. I have information for him that shouldn’t wait.” Delenn pursed her lips, the slightest edge of a frown darkening her elegant features.
“He and Captain Sheridan will be a few minutes late, I am afraid.” She glanced up at Garibaldi. “Did you tell Marcus of our ‘practical joke’?” The unfamiliar words were formed on her tongue with obvious discomfort, her expression not quite displeased, but definitely unsettled. Garibaldi smiled reassuringly.
“Yes, I did.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” Marcus said, his expression like that of a child kept from entering a candy store. Delenn sighed.
“I still do not understand this custom,” she said, “but it does appear to have given John and Jeffrey a great deal of pleasure.” Her eyes sparked, something sweet and joyous lighting her entire face. “For that reason alone, I am glad of it. I had been concerned, but now they have finally become friends. Discord between them could only have worked to the Shadow’s advantage.”
“I am glad to hear that, Delenn,” Marcus replied sincerely. Garibaldi nodded easy agreement, then turned to stare anxiously at the empty doorway.
“Did they say how long they’d be?” the security man asked. He cocked his head towards the visibly disturbed Centauri Ambassador. “I doubt Londo’s going to survive the waiting much longer. He looks like he’s about to be ill.”
Delenn shook her head, biting at her lower lip.
“I am not certain. They simply said they would be here soon, but that they wanted to be sure to make an entrance.” She gazed confusedly up at both men. “I do not understand why they need to make another entrance when there is already a perfectly good door to the room.”
Garibaldi sputtered, stifling his laughter in a harsh fit of coughing behind his hand. Marcus grinned with easy amusement. He couldn’t prove it, but the Ranger was nearly certain that Delenn wasn’t really quite as confused by human idioms as she like to pretend. She covered well, but there was a distinct twinkle in her green eyes as she waited for their response. Even so, he played willingly to her.
“Ahhh, I believe that what they meant is that they want to be noticed when the enter the room,” he explained solemnly. Delenn’s expressive eyes widened with understanding. She nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged her small shoulders.
“I would think that they could not help but be noticed. They are really quite impressive, and rather large.” Again there was a flash of something peculiar and private in her expression, an unabashed glow of joy underlying her bland words. Marcus narrowed his eyes at her, but before he could think of a way to delicately probe further, Garibaldi interrupted in a loud whisper.
“There they are!”
Delenn and Marcus were not the only ones who turned to stare at the two men pausing negligently in the doorway. Londo’s eyes were fixated like an animal caught in a trap while a wave of soft whispers rose and crashed across the crowd.
Sheridan loped forward, agile, lean, his black and grey-draped form poised, energy surging just below the calm exterior. He moved fluidly, the long lines in perfect symmetry, azure eyes sweeping the room before him, claiming dominance without a word being spoken. Sinclair followed barely a step behind him, cloaked in subtle assurance. He was power held in perfect check, each step measured, posture held with utter precision. His dark eyes were intent, yet gentle, his expression focused, but serene. They were opposing forces, one radiating power, the other absorbing it, moving like two poles of magnet, separate, yet bound inextricably together.
Sheridan’s expression was filled with an indefinable hunger as his eyes covered the crowd, a barely constrained need bursting against the limits of his control. Sinclair nudged him.
“There he is,” Sinclair murmured. “He looks like he swallowed a puffer fish. Or like he’s about to bring one back up.” Sheridan followed Sinclair’s gaze, and his chin lifted when he sighted Londo, eyes piercing the Centauri Ambassador like a sapphire laser bore before turning away to settle upon Delenn and her two companions.
Vir prodded him, but Londo was already paying attention. Sinclair and Sheridan had just come in. They walked shoulder to shoulder, bodies touching. Sinclair was utterly serene, the dark, hooded Minbari cloak swirling around his long legs, his large hands clasped together. Beside him, Sheridan was in full black dress uniform, looking something like a Minbari himself — of the warrior caste, with that hard stare and pantherous stride. As they crossed the floor, Sinclair looked in Londo’s direction and caught his gaze. Londo froze, and Sinclair said something to Sheridan — he couldn’t quite make out what — and Sheridan’s head swiveled to fix him with a dark, predatory glare. Londo swallowed hard to fight nausea.
The Captain strode forward, the Ambassador following in his wake, looming large and leonine behind the smaller man. The crowd parted before them, sliding almost unconsciously out of their path. Sheridan smiled, baring his teeth, as he came up close to Delenn. She returned the gesture, reaching out towards his chest as he stopped beside her.
“Hello Delenn,” Sheridan let his eyes take in the other two, nodding to each in turn. “Marcus, Garibaldi.”
“Captain,” Garibaldi murmured while the Ranger simply bowed silently, then turned to give a deeper bow to the taller man standing at Sheridan’s right shoulder.
Sinclair responded with a gentle incline of his head, then looked over at Garibaldi and grinned boyishly. “Hello Marcus, Mike…Delenn.” He lifted his hand, palm facing outward, and she matched the gesture, crossing forearms, then mirroring his bow. She smiled sweetly at him.
“Hello Jeffrey. I hope your entrance was satisfactory.”
“I’d say so,” Garibaldi chuckled. “I think we probably ought to put poor Londo out of his misery soon — before he croaks on us.” The humans all laughed, while Delenn frowned unhappily. Sinclair touched her shoulder tenderly, then explained briefly in Adronado. She listened gravely, then nodded.
“Yes, I would agree. He does not look at all well. I do hope we have not made things worse with Londo. His behavior was intolerable, but I am not certain that this was the best way to make him understand. We must continue to work with him, and I fear this will make things even more difficult.”
Sheridan frowned, dark clouds looming in his eyes.
“I doubt things could get much more difficult. He needed to be taught a lesson, this was as good way as any other.” His expression lightened abruptly, an almost feral smile on his lips. “Besides, it was fun. Well worth any further trouble we might have with Londo.” He turned his head to look at Sinclair, his gaze possessive in its heat.
Sinclair acknowledged it with quiet calm, his composure never wavering, his answering glance almost tender in its understanding. His smile was sincere, dimples grooving his cheeks below eyes that gleamed like sunglazed honey.
“It was fun, and I think he actually did us some good. Things have been too tense lately, we needed to release some stress.” His eyes flickered to Marcus, waiting patiently beyond Delenn, and he sighed deeply. “Unfortunately, the relief cannot last long. You have a report for me, Marcus?”
The dark-haired Ranger nodded.
“Yes, Entil’Zha, and I wish the news was better.” His expression was somber, and Sinclair’s mouth tightened in response. Glancing towards the others, his mouth twisted wryly. “Then there’s no use putting it off any longer. If you would excuse us…” His eyes fastened on Delenn and held. “Perhaps you should join us, Delenn.” She inclined her head in acceptance.
“Of course.” Sinclair gestured for her and Marcus to proceed him, and together they relocated to a corner of the room. Sheridan and Garibaldi watched them for a moment, then the Captain turned to take another slow sweep of the room. His eyes found Londo again, and something flamed. He grinned ferociously, then his face calmed into bland diplomatic poise. Tilting his head imperatively at Garibaldi, silently indicating the security chief should follow, he strode briskly across the room, arrowing in on his quarry.
Londo looked up sharply as he realized that Sheridan was approaching him. He fought down the urge to flee — that would have been most undignified. The Captain paused, a little too close for his comfort, and smiled politely, his voice smooth as oil as he greeted the Centauri.
“Hello Londo, enjoying the reception?”
Londo reared back away from Sheridan, holding his ground but feeling distaste well in him like a bad filet of broiled cha’kara.
“Ahhh, yes,” he swallowed to find his composure. “A nice party…” His voice sheared off, as he tried to cover for his unwillingness to allow Sheridan close. Londo stared at the tall human as though he was a plague-carrier, spewing infectious germs. Sheridan smiled blandly, only the azure glitter of his eyes betraying his amusement. Garibaldi shifted uncomfortably on his feet behind him, then pushed over to stand almost between them.
“Hello Londo. Feeling better?” He turned to Sheridan, pretending to explain. “The Ambassador has been ill lately.” Sheridan assumed a properly serious expression, and Londo felt his revulsion mingle suddenly with puzzlement.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Have you seen a doctor?” He stepped forward, and that broke Londo’s self-discipline. He stepped backwards hastily, nearly knocking into the Drazi and Abbain ambassadors behind him. They both glared daggers at his back, but Londo was too preoccupied in keeping his distance from Sheridan to notice, much less care. Sheridan, however, drank the entire scene in avidly, amusement flickering behind suitably lazy eyes.
“No, I…unh, that is not necessary, Captain,” Londo said hurriedly. He gestured widely, as was his habit, only to stop the handwave in mid-air and squeeze it in to his chest. “I am feeling fine. Just needed a little extra rest.” Sheridan nodded thoughtfully.
“I understand. I’m feeling a bit short on sleep myself lately.” As he spoke, he let his eyes drift across the room to where Sinclair was bending his dark leonine head down towards Delenn as she spoke urgently to him. Sheridan’s teeth bared in an appreciative smile as he turned back to Londo, letting the Centauri get the full force of that pleased self-satisfaction. The Centauri’s eyes flew in the same direction and then back again, and his skin flushed brightly.
“I think we’ve all been a bit on edge lately,” Garibaldi broke in, trying to fill in the sudden tense hush in the conversation. “With the trouble back at home, and the recent wars breaking out, and all — it’s no wonder we’re all having trouble sleeping. That’s why parties like this are a good idea. Give everyone time to relax and have some fun. It’s not healthy to work all the time. Isn’t that so, Ambassador?” Garibaldi peered at Londo, who had obviously not heard a word he’d said. When Londo realized that Garibaldi was waiting for him to answer, he coughed, then nodded sagely, pretending to agree.
Sheridan couldn’t help grinning again, leaning forward to speak again. But just as he began to formulate the words, a strong hand closed down on his shoulder.
“Hello,” a throaty male voice interrupted. Sheridan tensed, instinctively pulling his shoulder away and spinning with clenched fists. He looked around, only to find Sinclair smiling at him, the amber eyes rich with silent mirth. Sheridan drew in a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax. Damn, the man moved like a ghost; no one else had ever managed to sneak up on Sheridan like that, but Sinclair had managed it twice now. For such a large man, he walked with a nearly preternatural grace.
Sinclair nodded to him, only the honeyed sheen to his eyes communicating his amusement. Sheridan frowned at him, his eyes speaking volumes. /Don’t do that./ Sinclair ignored it. Glancing quickly at Garibaldi, Sinclair turned to Londo and greeted him with casual friendliness.
“Good to see you again, Londo. It’s been a long time.”
Londo was turning richly purple now, his skin-tone just about matching his coat.
“Yes, it has indeed.” He swallowed hard, then forced out the insincere words. “Good to see you again, my dear friend, Sinclair.” Sinclair’s smile never wavered. Tightening his grip on Sheridan’s shoulder, he pressed in closer to the other man, stopping when their bodies were nearly touching hip-to-hip.
“You don’t look too well, Ambassador,” he purred. “Are you all right?”
Sheridan’s groin clenched at that sound; it rolled down his spine like warm molasses. Memories of the previous night swirled through his mind, and he unconsciously stirred, preened, angled his head to look at Sinclair with undisguised possessiveness. Sinclair was apparently unaware, his dark eyes hooded lazily as he waited patiently for Londo’s reply. The Centauri had to swallow hard twice, licking nervously at his lips before he croaked out a reply.
“Well, I am feeling…not quite at my best.” He paused, suddenly noticing that all three men were grinning widely. Sheridan was practically biting at his lip, trying to contain his laughter, and even the ever-composed Sinclair’s eyes were gleaming brightly with barely concealed amusement.
Garibaldi choked off a chuckle, then finally took pity on the unhappy Centauri. Startling Londo, he leaned over to pat him sadly on the back. Londo jerked and Garibaldi shook his head at him.
“You know, Londo, you should really be more careful about spreading rumors.”
“What?” Londo asked, confusion filling his broad face. Garibaldi tilted his head at Sheridan and Sinclair, both watching, one like a cat about to pounce on a mouse, the other like a hawk circling his prey. Suspicion dawned in Londo’s eyes as he stared from one to the other, then back to the security Chief. Garibaldi shook his head slowly, then spoke with exaggerated patience.
“Never mess with a man’s love life, Londo, unless you want to get burned. And in this case…” He grinned widely, then leaned in to stage whisper in Londo’s ear. “Gotcha!”
The End
Babylon 5, Fanfic
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