dann_0 | PSL: Sentinel AU

Eliot's always so careful with this, dialing his senses back to almost human so he doesn't get overwhelmed by the intensity. And that's just with normal humans, where he doesn't have anything to worry about but his own tendency to get lost in the hot slide of skin, the scent of want and need, the sound of a racing heart with nothing more behind it than simple human lust. He's blown wide open right now, every sense hyperfocused on Danny, on trip-hammer beat of his heart, the slick-hot slide of his tongue, the heat of his hands and the catch of his breath and the thick, musky scent of his want that thrills along his nerves and lights him up from the inside the way nothing ever has before.

He couldn't hold back right now even if he wanted to... fortunately there's nothing he wants less than to give up even a fraction of this. His own breath hitches on something like a growl as Danny's hands push at his clothes, fumble his belt open, and he reciprocates immediately by letting go of Danny's face so he can pull at his shirt. The buttons are an inconvenience he doesn't waste so much as a moment's thought on, just grabbing the fabric and tugging sharply so they pop free, letting him push Danny's dress shirt open so he can get hold of his undershirt and yank it up, get his hands on skin--hot and smooth except where it's coarse with hair and fucking perfect--and he bites at Danny's lips with a low, rumbling moan.

He's far past the ability to verbalize anything, too wound up and hyperfocused on Danny, on every reaction no matter how minute, but he understands enough to respond. To push a hand down the back of Danny's slacks and jerk him close, grind up against him with a gasp at the pressure and friction even through so many layers of clothes. It's not anywhere near enough, though, and he fumbles to follow Danny's lead, pushing and tugging at clothes to get them out of the way, to feel as much skin as possible as quickly as possible.

One of Danny's belt loops is a casualty, and Eliot manages to tear the neck of his own t-shirt in his hurry to get it off, but every inch of skin bared settles something deeper in him. Lets him separate this from everything that's ever gone before. When he finally pushes Danny's slacks and shorts out of the way he sets both hands at the smaller man's hips and pulls him in so they're absolutely flush, cocks trapped in the slick heat between their bodies as he rocks against Danny. He still can't manage words, but he ducks his head to find the mark he'd sucked into his skin already and darkens it a little further. His.

Danny's breath catches when Eliot tears the shirt of him and he looks down with a bit of a smile, later he might make a comment, but he right now he doesn't want to waste breath on that. He runs his hands over Eliot's skin. Feeling the muscles and the strength. He feels nothing but safe right now, he trusts Eliot. He knows it is odd to trust someone after having met them twice but he does. It's the same sort of trust he has for Steve.

Then Eliot pulls him close, nothing but warm skin against Danny's own and Danny's thoughts are cut short. It is hard to focus on anything but the way he feels, the way his skin tingles comfortably where it touches Eliot's the warmth of him and oh good god the way his cock slides against Danny's skin. He moans, his nails dragging along Eliot's spine. He rolls his hips. That alone causes a whimper from him. Desperate again. But he doesn't stop, fuck no. He just wants more, more of the release he already now can feel building.

It's not what Eliot wants, it's not enough, but it's going to have to be for now, because he doesn't have enough higher brain function left to manage anything more complicated right now... or the self-control required to wait long enough to manage it. Right now he just needs heat and friction and the scent of Danny's arousal so thick on the air it's the only thing he can smell, the sound of his little whimpering moans as Eliot rocks desperately against him.

He's gripping Danny's hips so tight now it's almost certain to bruise, but he's too far gone to notice and even if he did he'd just be glad of the marks he's leaving on him. It's still... it's... christ... it's not enough. He needs something more, but he's too overwhelmed to figure out what and he almost growls as he reaches around to get a handful of Danny's ass and pull him even closer.

The growl sends a shiver of delight down Danny's spine. The hands gripping his hips and now his ass is painful but in a way that only feels good. He's long known he likes it a little rougher than most, he likes sex that leaves marks he can feel for days. He likes having his limits pushed. And he is starting to suspect Eliot likes that too. Or at least likes leaving those marks.

He leans in tongue running over Eliot's shoulder before he bites. Hard enough to hurt but still only testing Eliot's limits. He tries to slide a hand between them, to wrap around Eliot's cock. Then he licks his lips and glances up as he starts to kneel. He's not sure the Sentinel is going to let him, it does mean loosing skin contact. But he wants to taste the guy, wants to hear him moan Danny's name.

The fact Danny's so enthusiastically on board with everything Eliot's done so far is only serving to ramp up his arousal, and his possessiveness. He's so completely focused on the other man, on his scent, on every stuttering beat of his heart, every hitch of his breath and sound of pleasure, that there's no way he could miss it if Danny were anything other than completely, enthusiastically committed to what they're doing.

The bite... christ, he jerks almost convulsively against Danny, fingers digging bruises into his skin as the shock of it burns along his nerves. It feels almost like there's a direct line from Danny's mouth to his cock, and Eliot doesn't even try to bite back a whine as he tips his head to the side, inviting more. He wants, needs, to be marked just as badly as he needs to mark Danny. Needs to be claimed in a way that might horrify him if he were capable of thinking clearly.

He's not capable of thinking about much of anything other than how badly he needs this right now, though. Heat and skin and friction and a kind of deep, visceral need that somehow makes him feel more solidly connected and grounded right now than he ever has in his life. He can barely make himself give Danny the room to work a hand between them, but when he does he jerks into his grip with a growl, grip on his ass tightening to hold him close.

"No," he rasps, the one word he's managed to form since this started, and shifts one hand to thread through Danny's short hair, tipping his head back with the grip so that he can catch his lips again in an almost searing kiss. He knows what Danny wants to do, and christ he wants to feel the heat of Danny's mouth, wants to be able to look down and seem his lips stretched around him, but he wants to hold him and taste him and feel him pressed flush against him even more, at least right now.

"No," he repeats, just to make sure he's been clear enough as he bites at Danny's bottom lip, then the angle of his jaw as he thrusts against him in an increasingly urgent rhythm.

Danny kisses him back, just as eagerly as he leans against Eliot. He lets Eliot take control, claim him. The pull on his hair has him arching offering his neck. His hand is still working. No longer simply teasing but rather a proper handjob. The time for teasing and exploring will come later. His own cock is so hard it hurts, neglected for now and he squirms against Eliot, little desperate thrusts of his own.

Then he shifts and moves so he can wrap his hand around both their cocks at once. It is a little awkward but fuck the feeling of Eliot's hot cock against his own is worth it. He groans with need and tries to move in to bite at Eliot's neck again, to mark him properly. He is Danny's now and Danny isn't going to let him go.

Eliot doesn't even try to resist the invitation of Danny's bared throat, just slides his mouth down over the big tendon straining along the side of his neck and then a fraction in, until he can feel Danny's pulse rabbiting against his tongue where it's pressed to his skin. He groans, deep in his chest, as he sets his teeth to the spot and bites down, just hard enough to leave the imprints of his teeth in skin, then sucks hard to draw a bright bloom of blood to the surface of Danny's skin in a mark that almost mirrors the first.

He loosens his grip on Danny's hair--just a little--when it becomes clear the other man's not going to try and slide to his knees, and he's just tipping his own head to the side in offering when Danny shifts his grip to wrap around both of them. It knocks the breath right out of Eliot and he jerks gracelessly into the grip, his groan sounding almost more like a growl as he feels the velvet slide of their cocks together. It's a little dry, but at the rate he's leaking pre-come it won't stay that way for long and it's, christ, it's perfect, he just wishes he had a wall to shove Danny against for leverage as he rocks into the sweet friction and heat and rockets towards the edge.

Danny groans as Eliot marks him, but it is of need rather than in protest. He leans in to leave a mark of his own, a nice red bruise that he knows is going to stay. He's left more than enough of them when he was younger. He then leaves a trail of little bites down towards one of Eliot's nipples. He grins a little before he nips at it, testing Eliot's pain tolerance in one of the more sensitive spots.

He isn't far behind Eliot towards the edge and with both of them leaking it isn't long before his hand is plenty slick enough for a good handjob. He moves his hand, a rough and fast pace as his other arm is wrapped around Eliot, holding on. He moans, and then gives another needy whimper as he tenses. It isn't long now.

Eliot curls down a little over Danny, groaning in pleasure at the press of teeth against sensitive skin. It won't leave a mark, but Danny's already taken care of that higher up on his neck, the warmth of the fresh bruise something Eliot can feel even now. It's just one more sensory input adding to the almost overwhelming pulse of want and need thrumming through him, one more thread tying him inescapably to this almost stranger who already feels more familiar--more safe and solid and his--than almost anything or anyone ever has.

He's reached the point where he can't focus past anything beyond the need to chase his release, and every touch, every sound Danny makes is just pushing him there faster. The almost brutal drag of Danny's hand over their cocks, the heat of his mouth against his skin, the thick scent of his arousal and the way his body tenses against Eliot's as he rockets towards that edge almost in sync with Eliot. It's that last whimper more than anything that pushes Eliot over the edge, tensing against him with an almost tearing moan as he comes, pulsing hot over Danny's hand and cock and belly, fingers clenching tight at his ass and in his hair as he shudders with the force of it.

That's about what it takes for Danny too and a few strokes after he follows Eliot over the edge. He shudders, clinging to Eliot with everything he got as he bite the Sentinel to muffle the moan. His own cum mingles with Eliot's making a mess out of both of them, but he does not mind. For a long moment he just leans against Eliot and breathes, little shudders echoing though his body.

Finally he gets his mind together enough to place a hand on Eliot's chest and push him down towards the couch. Provided Eliot obeys, Danny climbs into his lap, straddling him and kisses him hard. "Fuck you feel good."

Eliot nuzzles into Danny's neck, breathing heavily and lapping gently at the skin over his mark as he shudders through the aftershocks. Danny's weight against him is perfect, solid and grounding, and the way their scents have mingled and merged is intoxicating, enough so that Eliot has to draw back for a moment to suck in a handful of deep, open-mouthed breaths, to taste them at the back of his tongue.

He lets himself be pushed down onto the couch without protest, though he doesn't give Danny any real choice about following him down, humming in pleasure as Danny settles into his lap. He tips his head back to meet the kiss, hands slipping around to cradle Danny's ass, to seek out the faint warmth of finger-shaped bruises coming up on his skin and press lightly against them in reminder.

When Eliot draws back from the kiss again it's to look at Danny with a dark, lust-blown gaze, and he reaches for his come-streaked hand without looking away from his face. He curls his fingers unerringly around Danny's wrist and draws it up between them, and only then do his eyes slip half-shut, his expression blissed out as he drags his tongue over Danny's palm then up and between his fingers, methodically licking away every trace of their mingled come he can find.

Danny gives a little hiss as Eliot presses against the bruises. Little thrills of pain running along his skin and he loves it. He presses into the kiss more for as long as it lasts. When Eliot pulls away he meets his eyes and he is just about to open his mouth and say something when Eliot takes his hand.

Danny's transfixed as Eliot licks his hand clean. Not just getting his hand cleaned but even more importantly, Eliot's gorgeous like this. Danny had no idea the man could look so.. happy. And it is Danny's doing. He smiles, pride evident on his face. When Eliot is done he reaches out to cup Eliot's cheek and get him to meet Danny's eyes. "You're mine."

Eliot tips his head obligingly at Danny's urging and blinks lazily up at him, fucked out and relaxed as he listens to Danny's heart rate start to slow and his breathing even out, breathes in their mingled scents and traces the marks he's left on the Guide by memory and feel. Happy might not be the exact right word for it, but for the moment at least he's content and grounded and absolutely blissfully present in the moment... and then Danny claims him and the words ping some dark corner of his mind that sits up and takes notice as a chill runs down his spine.

"Not-" He has to pause for a moment, words still slipping away from him in the torrent of sensory input, but he needs to say this and his eyes sharpen and his jaw clenches even if, when he tries again, his voice is still a little slurred. "Not some thing you can own."

Danny freezes the moment Eliot reacts and he lets go of his hair and sits back a little, but he stays in Eliot's lap. "You're not a thing. I didn't mean it like that. You're my Sentinel, not something I own. You're a person. I just.. Shit I didn't mean it like that Eliot. People are not things, not sentinels, not guides, not anyone. And I don't want to own you." He looks serious, and his hands have dropped to stroking Eliot's shoulders, keeping the contact if his Sentinel needs it.

The sudden loss of contact as Danny lets go of his hair and leans away from him is disorienting, even with paranoia starting to bubble up from the depths of his fucked out, almost zoned out brain. The fact that Danny stays firmly settled in his lap is all that keeps the paranoia from doing a completely irrational shift into fear of being abandoned and Eliot clenches his hands tighter against Danny's skin to keep him from moving completely away.

It helps, once he can engage his brain enough to focus on it, that Danny's reaction was immediate and emphatic, that there's no hint of a lie in his scent of his heartbeat, that his hands are smoothing over Eliot's skin, soothing and grounding.

He probably shouldn't believe it this easily, even with his senses as confirmation. Probably shouldn't have ever let himself get anywhere near the man, certainly shouldn't have let this happen, but knowing that, in some still vaguely rational part of his brain, doesn't stop him from leaning forward to chase Danny's lips, from sliding his hands up to his shoulders so he can pull him in flush against him again with a ragged sigh at the warmth and solidity and rightness of him.

He can feel the incipient bond tugging at him, demanding that he let it snap into place, and the only thing that keeps him on guard against it even now, with every sense straining towards the Guide in his lap, is the knowledge of exactly how completely it would destroy him if it were ever snapped.

Danny lets himself be pulled close as his hand slide back into Eliot's hair. Combing through it and gently massaging the scalp. "You're not a thing, Eliot, and I don't own you. You're my sentinel, that is all." Well, it is hardly all. Besides he isn't the only Sentinel.

He kisses Eliot again, keeping it soft and sweet and slow. It feels right being right here, in Eliot's lap. Finally he pulls back enough to lean against Eliot's shoulder, just being close. "How are you feeling? Want a doughnut or something?" Well he might have to get new ones, the bag has been sitting on the floor while the two of them have been having their fun. But he wants to check if Eliot needs something.

He usually doesn't let anyone touch his hair--has snapped a couple wrists on instinct before he had time to think through the reaction over the years--but he tips his head into Danny's hands, eyes slipping shut as his fingers slip through his hair and gently work over his scalp. It's good. Almost as good as his voice, as the words that feel like they're sinking under his skin and settling into his bones. Not a thing. Not owned or controlled. But wanted.

He lets himself sink into the kiss, nothing urgent about it anymore. It's perfect in a completely different way than before, slow and easy and warm instead of bruising and hot. It's all gently exploratory now, as they learn each other, and Eliot slides his hands slowly along Danny's shoulders and back, down his flanks and over his ass, just because he needs to touch. Needs to feel every inch of him and commit it to memory, and when Danny pulls back and leans into his shoulder Eliot nuzzles his face into his throat again, nose pressed lightly to that soft spot beneath his ear as he listens to the steady beat of Danny's heart and lets it lull him.

It takes him a moment to process the question, so focused on Danny's heartbeat that the words are just noise at first, but then he huffs without moving, breath washing warm over Danny's skin. "Donuts?" It's lazy and low and rough, not quite slurred anymore. "Fuck that, I'll make you somethin' better." If he can make himself let go--or even move--long enough to manage it, anyway.

Danny doesn't really move yet, instead he just stays that close, pressing a soft kiss to Eliot's neck. "Or we could grab lunch somewhere. I had planned to grab something after I checked out that lead so.." He hasn't eaten much yet. Eliot's breath on him warms him to the core and he is in no hurry to move. But finally he leans up, kissing a trail along Eliot's neck until they are face to face.

"Unless you feel like making lunch. If you're as good at lunch as you are with dinner I have a feeling I'll enjoy that."

Eliot shivers at the kiss, humming contentedly against Danny's skin, though he makes himself move to accommodate Danny's clear desire for eye contact as the other man works his way up his neck with small, warm kisses. The look he gives Danny is heavy-lidded and warm, and his lips twitch up in a smirk at his last words.

"Def'nitely rather feed you, sweetheart," he rasps, one hand slipping up to cup Danny's jaw, let him press a thumb to his bottom lip, still red and kiss-swollen. "That way I don't hafta worry 'bout keepin' my hands to myself."

Danny grins and nips at the thumb before he captures it with his lips and sucks ever so gently, the grin is still playing on his lips and obvious in his eyes. "Could be fun watching you struggle to be a good boy, but not tonight."

He shifts and finally moves to stand, looking around for his clothes. He rather quickly finds the pants and pulls them on and then he searches for the shirt. When he finds it he holds it up, studying it. "Well, there isn't any blood on it so that is better than with Steve the first time. Our first case together, I managed to get shot in the arm. I punched him for it later and he just smiled."

Eliot's eyes darken impossibly further at the quick press of teeth, at the way Danny wraps his lips around his thumb and sucks. It's too damn easy imagining them wrapped round his dick, and there's no way in hell he's agreeing to either of them walking out that door any time soon.

"Got no interest in bein' good," he answers, low-voiced and rough, and it's hard to even let Danny slip off his lap and stand. He doesn't make any move to follow, though, just watches from beneath half-lidded eyes as Danny collects his clothes and pulls his pants on, catalogs every mark he's left on pale skin with possessive satisfaction.

If he weren't damn near forty he'd probably be hard again, though the satisfaction slips from his face to be replaced by a look of narrow-eyed displeasure at Danny's words. He's still too off balance to be able to conceal his emotions, and isn't sure he'd be able to with Danny even if he was more settled and in control.

Either way, his hackles are instantly up, possessive and threatened by mention of Steve in this context, no matter what the other Sentinel had said about not being bonded. It makes it only marginally better when Danny continues and it... seems like he's not talking about sleeping with Steve. Though fuck knows Eliot's gotten laid with more than a few bullet holes in him over the years.

"He said you weren't his." It's almost a growl, harsh and tense and, under it all, harder to find, worried. He knows he can't have this, can't keep it, but he's not ready to deal with it falling apart on him already.

Danny frowns and turns, looking at Eliot as the tone changes. He shakes his head. "We're not fucking. We live together because he has space and all I can afford is a crappy little apartment that isn't a good place to have Grace over. And we're not bonded if that's what you're worried about. Steve says he can't." Danny doesn't know much about the whole thing so he has to trust Steve.

"But he is my Sentinel. You both are." He also isn't going to lie to Eliot. He deserves the truth. "He is also my boss and my partner. But none of that changes that you're my sentinel too. That this -" He motions to the two of them " -works. It doesn't change that you feel right and safe and that I trust you. It is different with Steve because I trusted him before I knew I was a guide, but... You're both my Sentinels. I don't know how it works. But it just feels right with both of you. And it feels like I can help."

Eliot listens, but his expression doesn't shift, tension and suspicion barely hiding hurt and fear as the words wash over him. They may be true, but that doesn't make them any kind of reassuring, not when what they're saying is exactly what Eliot's known, or should have, from the beginning. That he can't have this. That Danny won't stay. That he's upended his life and wrecked his control, shattered well over a decade of hard-fought coping mechanisms and he's going to leave. Go back to his boss, his partner, and his family and his job and leave Eliot here, hemorrhaging what's left of his sanity and control.

He pushes to his feet, expression shutting down, going blank and tight as he reaches for his own pants. "Shouldn't'a done this," he snarls as he pulls them on, not bothering with his underwear. He just needs dressed and out, as quickly as possible. "I was fuckin' fine before this, I've been fine for over fifteen god damn years!"

There's less rage in his voice than he's comfortable with, more hurt and a fear he can't let himself look at, because he's lying. He's lying to Danny and he's lying to himself, has been lying to himself for years now. Because he's not fine. Maybe he never has been. He's figured out how to get by, how to balance on the knife's edge of something like sanity, but it's never been easy. Never been fine. And it's been getting harder year by year, to do something that's not even supposed to be possible for his kind--to stay sane and functional without a Guide to anchor and balance him. Leverage has helped, Hardison and Parker and the kitchen have helped. And he's leaned on them harder and harder the last few years, even if they haven't really understood that he was, let alone why. But even that's not enough, and he's known for a while now, even if he's refused to look at it head on, that it's just a matter of time--weeks, months, maybe a couple more years if he's lucky--before he loses his painfully maintained balance and slips one way or the other. Either zoned out so far he can't claw his way back, or feral and bloodthirsty, needing to be put down.

He's known, and even without letting himself fully face it he's started making plans, because he can't risk hurting his team when it happens. Can't leave Parker and Hardison hanging without backup because he's so lost in his own head he can never get out again, or actually hurt them, kill them, himself because he's finally lost his mind entirely. And Danny might have blown his carefully built and precariously maintained defenses straight to hell with his presence, but all he's done is speed up the timeline. And Eliot knew, or should have known, from the second he caught his scent in the bar that there was no other way this could end if he let himself get reeled in.

"How the hell is this helping when you're just gonna fuckin' leave?" When he's just going to go back to Steve.

Danny reaches out for him. The hurt and fear he hears in that voice cuts way deeper than any rage Eliot could have had. He swallows. He can't leave even if he wants to tell Eliot he'll stay here with him. He has Steve and Grace and they both need him too. He takes a deep breath.

"Eliot. I am not leaving you for good. I am going to come back here as soon as I can if you let me. If you want me to. I want to try to work this out. I want to be your guide. But I have to be around for Grace. I can't move here, I have to go back to Hawaii. But I'll come back here as often as I can, we can talk on the phone everyday. There are ways to make this work."

"How?!" he demands, barely managing to make himself take a half-step back. Because even now everything in him is demanding that he move closer, that he take that outstretched hand. "How the hell is that s'posed t'work?"

He lifts a hand to massage at the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Just hop on over from Hawaii for the weekend?" It's not even that he doubts Danny means it, that he wants to help, that he intends to try and be there for him, it's that he doesn't know if he can accept that it'll work... or risk that it won't. No matter how damn much he wants to.

Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Re: Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Re: Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Re: Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Re: Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Re: Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Re: Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Re: Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

Danny and Eliot: Save my ass

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