SquidgeWorld Archive

Title: Scrapbook
Author: Tayla
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: FRT13
Category: Drama, First Times
Status: Completed January 14, 2003
Archive: Yes to WWOMB/Peja. All others please ask
Feedback: Yes, please. All constructive criticism will be graciously accepted
Email: tayla36@aol.com
Authors Web Site: http://www.geocities.com/tayla36/index.html
Series/Sequel: No (But take that no with a grain of salt. I never know when my muse is going to inspire me to make a series out of a stand alone.)
Disclaimers: The Sentinel and its characters belong to Pet Fly Productions and Paramount Network Television. No copyright infringement is intended. The author makes no profit and exists solely on the accolades from fellow fans.
Authors Notes: Challenge from Jane, the Evil Mistress of Plot Bunnies.
Summary: Jim finds a very "special" scrapbook in Blair's room while trying to locate a case file brought home from work. Discovery leads to a First Time
Warnings: Slash

"Damn it!"

Jim's voice was muffled, but it could still be heard echoing around the loft. That is it would have been heard if anyone else had been home to hear it. Blair was working late at the University, trying to catch up on his grading. Jim was spending the evening at home. He had planned to read up on a case that he was supposed to be helping Joel with tomorrow. They were trying to put together a profile on a serial bomber. Joel had wanted Jim's input on the case. Really he wanted Blair's input, too, but Blair could come up with stuff off the top of his head. Jim wanted to study the file first.

Except he had misplaced the thing.

Which was why his voice was muffled. He was stretched out on the floor with his head under the sofa, trying to reach what looked like a file folder that was determined to stay just out of reach.

He pulled his head out from under the sofa, and got to his feet. Only to lose his footing on the polished hard wood floor when a mighty sneeze knocked him on his ass.

He got himself off the floor and with much swearing he heaved the sofa over two feet so he could get to the elusive paper that was underneath.

Only to find that it was a three month old edition of National Geographic and not the elusive file that he had been searching for.

He had brought it home last night, but he hadn't had a chance to look at it. He distinctly remembered leaving it on the coffee table when he had gone to bed. He didn't remember seeing it this morning, but then again, he wasn't really looking for it this morning.

Maybe Blair had taken it with him. Maybe he had mistaken it for one of his own folders and stuffed it in his backpack. He picked up the phone and dialed Blair's office at the University.

Busy signal.

He dialed the cell phone.

And got that stupid message "The customer you are trying to reach . . ."

Jim hung up the phone with a snort. What good did it do for the kid to have a cell phone if he forgot to turn it on?

Well, maybe he didn't take it him. Maybe it's in his room. Jim opened the French doors and entered Blair's room.

He always teased Blair about his housekeeping skills, but the room wasn't really dirty. There was no dirty laundry on the floor, and his shoes were all lined up neatly at the foot of the bed.

No it wasn't dirty.

Just . . . cluttered.

And very, very Blair.

He had artifacts scattered on every spare inch of space. Statues and pottery and figurines. And on the walls were drawings and photos. And there were books. Oh my, there were books. The bookcase was overflowing and there were stacks of books on the floor and on the desk. There were also papers on the desk, notebooks and binders.

But no file folder, not on the desk, not on the dresser, not on the bookcase and not on the night table.

Just for kicks, Jim decided to look under the bed. He got down on his knees and peered underneath. There was something under there. He had to stretch out prone on the floor and wriggle part way under the bed to reach it, but he managed to pull it out.

It was a scrapbook. The kind a kid would keep.

He sat on the edge of the bed and opened to the first page.

My Scrapbook
Blair Jacob Sandburg
March 24, 1976

was scrawled on the first page in red ink. Jim laughed to himself and prepared to turn the page to see what kind of things a seven year old Blair would consider to be important enough to save for twenty years.

The first page was a cover from a 45rpm record. The Bee Gees in all their white satin glory smiled up at him. On the facing page was John Travolta, tight black pants and all.

"Well, I'll be damned. Blair was a disco kid. I'll bet Naomi just loved that."

He turned a few more pages and found Blair's tribute to Starsky and Hutch. TV Guide and magazine covers. And publicity photos. Two 8X10, glossy, black and white, suitable for framing photographs. One of David Soul and one of Paul Michael Glaser, complete with illegible autographs.

Naomi the cop hating flower child must have been really thrilled that her son was a fan of the violent cop show. If she had even known about it.

He kept turning pages.

Pictures cut out of magazine. Some of celebrities, some of advertisements. Occasionally there was a date on the top of the page to show the passage of time.

It took Jim a little while to realize that all the pictures were of men, although it didn't really dawn on him what the significance of that was.

Along about the time Blair was twelve, according to the date on the page, there started to be drawings interspersed with the pictures. Pencil and charcoal and some in ink. Some of celebrities and some of unfamiliar faces, with names and places written on and a small "BJS" in the corner of each drawing. He hadn?t known that Blair could draw so well.

When the passage of the dates at the top of the page showed that Blair was almost fifteen, the photographs started. There were still cut outs from magazines and still some drawings, but now there were photographs, too. Not just snapshots, but well done photographs from a 35mm camera.

Seems that Blair had a good eye as well as talented hands.

As the book chronicled Blair's college years, the magazine pictures almost totally stopped to be replaced almost entirely with Blair's own photos and drawings.

They were still all men.

And then there were naked men. Photos and drawings.

Not pornography, but tasteful nudes.

Blair was collecting nude male pictures. Not just collecting them, but drawing and photographing them himself, and Jim finally started to get a clue that there was more to his Guide than he had known.

Then the poetry started. Jim read and learned even more about his friend. The poems and writings told a tale of self discovery, of Blair realizing that he was far more attracted to his own gender than any woman he had ever met. Of his confusion and his struggle to come to terms with that. His fear of being more different than he already was, worry that his friends and classmates would think he was a freak.

That one really struck a chord within Jim.

He was approaching the back of the book, now and there were only drawings and poems. The writings now told how Blair was comfortable with who he was. He had come to terms with his sexuality.

But he was still waiting. He wrote how he was unwilling to explore that side of himself until he had found someone he trusted. Until he found the man he could fall in love with. He wanted to give his heart as well as his body.

Jim felt for his young friend and wondered if he had ever found that man.

And then he turned the page and gasped.

There was a drawing of himself. The same receding hairline and laugh lines around his eyes that he saw in the mirror every morning.

And the next page.

And the next.

Dozens of drawings of him in various dress and poses. They must have been done from memory. Jim was sure he would have remembered if Blair had been drawing while he was in the room.

Drawings of him asleep on the sofa, and standing at the stove fixing dinner. Standing on the balcony watching the sunset.

And there were various action poses also. In his Kevlar vest and PD cap firing his weapon.

And then there was the very interesting drawing of him in the shower. All of him.

"Little bastard peeked." Jim said, recalling the case on the oil rig, where he had stripped down in front of Blair, before he got in the shower.

The last drawing in the book was unfinished. He was naked, kneeling on the floor facing the fireplace. There was a figure kneeling in front of him, back to his chest. There was enough detail to make out that the figure was Blair. The hair was the same and so the study compact body. The head was thrown back to rest on his shoulder and Jim's hands were roaming across the broad, hairy chest.

But the face was unfinished, just a blank space on the page.

To his great surprise, Jim's mind rushed to fill in the details imagining a look of ecstasy on his partners face as he explored with his hands. Surprisingly, the thought didn't disturb him. He discovered a passion inside himself that he didn't know was there.

He could imagine himself making love to Blair, and the image was compelling. In fact he closed his eyes and began to recreate the scene in his mind, the scene that Blair had drawn. How they would kneel, facing each other at first, slowly removing clothing.

And kissing.

He wanted to kiss Blair, feel those sensuous lips against his. How he would dip his tongue into Blair's mouth. He wondered what he would taste like. That was the only sense that was missing. Over the past couple of years he had caught fleeting tastes of Blair, when the other man had taken a drink from his cup, or when they had shared a beer. But he had never gotten a full taste.

He continued, in his mind, to undress Blair and himself. And when they were naked he would turn Blair around and draw him back against his chest and run his hands down the muscular hairy chest and stomach and then lower, he would take Blair's cock in his hand, feeling the hardness, the smooth skin. He wondered how big he was. Was it long and thin? Or short and thick? How would it feel to touch it, to suck on it, to feel it sliding into his body?

And he certainly was surprised by that thought. He had never ever considered having a male lover before. Not even in the army, when it was happening all around him.

Why was he considering it now?

Because after seeing Blair's scrapbook and reading his poetry and knowing that his partner took time out of his busy schedule to draw pictures of him, he suspected that Blair was in love with him.

And the thought of that suddenly thrilled him.

He got up from the bed and was about to put the book back under the bed when Blair breezed into the room. Jim had been so engrossed in thoughts of the man that he hadn't heard him coming home.

"Hey Jim, how come the sofa is shoved across the floor?" Then he looked at Jim in confusion.

"Why are you in my room?" He asked quietly.

"I was looking for the case file I brought home yesterday.

Blair noticed the book that Jim still had clutched in his hands. "And you thought you'd find it under my bed? And you mistook that" he pointed at the book "for a file folder?" Conflicting emotions crossed Blair's face. He was angry at Jim for invading his privacy, but he was also worried that Jim would be angry with him and throw him out.

Jim answered him. "No I didn't mistake it. I was just curious."

"Curious about . . .?"

Jim grinned a bit. "About what a seven year old Blair Sandburg found interesting enough to put in a scrapbook." He handed the book to Blair, who smoothed one hand over the worn red leather cover.

"I liked the Starsky and Hutch page. Your Mom must have had a fit when she saw that."

Blair stared down at the book instead of looking at Jim. "My Mom has never looked in this book. She respects my privacy."

Jim was immediately guilty. "I'm sorry, Blair. I shouldn't have looked at it."

"You're right. You shouldn't have. But you did. So what do you think?"

"Are you gay?" Jim found himself asking.

Blair chuckled. "I think so."

"You think so?"

"Pretty sure, actually. There's just one thing I need to do to be totally sure. Did you get to the end of the book?"

"Oh yes." Jim whispered.

Blair caught the change in tone and dared to finally look up at Jim. The emotion he saw in Jim's eyes made him gasp in surprise.

Jim smiled gently at him, and reached out to touch his face. His sensitive fingertips felt the heavy beard stubble, before he continued the motion and slid his hand into Blair's silky hair. He saw his partner's eyes widen, as he bent to take Blair's lips in a gentle kiss.

The book dropped unnoticed to the floor as Blair wound his arms around Jim's neck and gave himself over to the kiss. He opened his lips slightly and Jim immediately took advantage of the opportunity and slipped his tongue inside, getting his first unadulterated taste of Blair.

He promptly zoned.

Blair noticed his partner's lack of movement, and stepped back from him. He studied his partner's still form for a moment. He had not expected this when he walked in the door tonight. Finding Jim with his scrapbook had nearly given him a heart attack. He had never told Jim that he thought he was gay, mainly because he didn't want to try and explain why he had never done anything about finding out for sure. He didn't want to try to explain how he was still a virgin, in that respect.

But Jim had understood. He had seen the scrapbook. He had read the poetry, and seen the drawings and he wasn't angry. In fact he seemed willing to make all of Blair's dreams come true.

He took Jim's face in both his hands and began to speak. "Hey Jim, come on back now. Please Jim, we were just getting to the good part. No fair zoning out on me now."

Blair continued to speak and gently stroke Jim's face until the big man suddenly blinked and snapped out of it.

"Blair?"

"Yes Love?"

Jim blinked again. "You called me 'Love'. Then you do love me?"

"Yes, of course I do."

Jim's smile was brilliant. "I thought so. After seeing all those drawings of me." He got serious then. "I'm not sure I understand why, though. I think you could do so much better than me."

"No, I don't think I could. And I've been looking."

Jim gestured towards the book. "Yes, I noticed."

Blair blushed.

"God you're cute when you blush."

"Jim!"

"What? Come here. I want to try that kissing thing again."

"Promise not to zone this time. I've been waiting for this a long time." Blair said as Jim pulled him back into his arms. He sighed as Jim's mouth came down on his again.

Once again Jim's senses were inundated with the taste of pure Blair, but this time he engaged his other senses so that he wouldn't zone. He could hear Blair's heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the soft silky texture of Blair's hair as he carded his fingers through it. And he could smell his partner's arousal.

And anxiety?

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Blair stepped back a bit. "It's just that I've wanted this for so long and I had started to give up hope of anything ever happening between us. It's a little overwhelming."

"Well then, we'll go slowly."

Blair just stared at his partner and shook his head.

"What?" Jim asked

"You are amazing. You find the scrapbook; find out that I've been hiding this from you. You find out that I've been in love with you, and you just . . . take it all in stride. It doesn't bother you? You're not upset or angry?"

"No, I'm not."

"That is so not you, man."

Jim laughed. "I know. Weird isn't it?

"Come on, Jim. This is serious." Blair smacked him on the arm.

"I know that. Would you prefer it if I was angry?"

"I want you to be honest. How do you feel?"

"Honestly I feel . . . exhilarated. Giddy even. Blair, when I looked at those drawings, and realized that you were in love with me, I started imagining making love with you . . . nothing in my life has ever felt so right. I'm not upset; I'm not going to get upset. I promise I'm not going to hurt you.

Blair stepped back into the warmth of Jim's embrace. "You promise?"

"Promise. Now let's get to the good part."

"It's all good parts with you."

"Well that was mushy."

"Get used to it, Big Guy. You read my poetry?" Jim nodded. "Then you know I'm just a big old mush ball at heart."

"I think I can survive that. So where do you want to go?"

"Go?"

"Well, were about a foot and a half away from your bed. Or we could go upstairs to my bed. Or . . . "Jim trailed off.

"Or what?"

"We could go start up the fireplace and camp out on the rug."

"Oh, you did get to the end of the book, didn't you?"

"Oh yeah."

"Okay then. Why don't we go start that fire?"

End

Authors Note: My original intention was to make this a PWP, because Jane likes it hot. But the muse had other ideas. It turned all poignant on me so I left it as a 'kiss and fade to black' kind of story. Hope you liked it.