Title: Love Restrained

Author/pseudonym: Kelly

Fandom: The Sentinel

Pairing: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg

Rating: R

Status: New/Complete

Archive: Yes, please archive

Series/Sequel: Illusion Series; Illusion #2

Disclaimers: The characters do not belong to me. They belong to Pet Fly Studios. I am making no money from this; I am doing it for sheer love of the characters and my own personal fulfillment.

Summary: Blair is upset because Jim is keeping a secret and then leaves the loft without him, and then he finds out the results of Jim's run-in with trouble.

Warnings: male/male sexual fantasy, masturbation

Love Restrained

By Kelly

"When I look into your eyes,
I can see a love restrained…
But darlin' when I hold you…
Don't you know I feel the same?"
--"November Rain," Guns N Roses, Use Your Illusion 1

*Damn, what a day.* Sandburg walked into the loft, and dropped his backpack onto the floor beside the door. He looked around to see Jim wadding up a sheet of paper, and as he walked in to greet his partner, the wad of paper came sailing through the air towards the trashcan and almost hit him. *And the hits just keep on coming,* Blair thought sourly to himself. He bent down and picked up the paper as Jim walked over towards him. "Whatever it was, I didn't do it." As he noticed Jim's scowl, he frowned himself. "Jim?"

He threw the paper back at Jim, who tried to stuff it into too-tight jeans as he answered. "Yeah, Chief?"

Blair noticed that Jim was nervously tossing the paper from hand to hand, and he walked closer, snagging it as he talked. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing, just thinking," Jim answered. He tried to stop Blair from taking the paper, but the Guide's reflexes were quicker.

Blair started tossing the wadded paper from hand to hand. They had played this game before, trying to improve Jim's coordination and hand-eye reaction time. "About what?" Blair asked, trying to interrupt Jim's concentration.

"Work, mostly."

Blair wasn't paying much attention to Jim's answer, instead concentrating himself on keeping the paper wad out of Jim's hands. But with each swat, Jim's hand got closer to the wadded paper. His fingertips brushed against it, and Blair snatched it away. "That's great, Jim! That's the closest you've come yet! A little more practice and your reflexes will be right on a par with your senses!" Blair was so thrilled with Jim's willingness to work with him on this that he was bouncing, and he was doubly thrilled that it was actually turning out to have results.

Jim seized the opportunity to grab back his discarded attempt at poetry. "Thanks, Chief."

"Jim, what's on that paper? You've been antsy ever since I came in!" Blair's brow furrowed as he regarded the Sentinel.

"Just some notes," is all Jim said.

Blair's face told Jim plainly that the Guide didn't believe a word of it. But he was willing to let it drop. "All right, Jim... maybe it's just me. I did pull an all nighter last night."

"Why don't you go and get some rest, Chief?" At least Jim's voice sounded concerned.

"Maybe I will," Blair said softly. He wouldn't admit that Jim's keeping something from him hurt him. "Goodnight, Jim."

* * * * *

As Blair got into the shower, he leaned back against the wall and turned on the spray. The hot water felt good against his tired muscles. It had been too long of a day, what with one of his research papers due and having several conferences with students in his classes who were just not cut out for them. He always hated those sessions. Closing his eyes, he tried to steer his mind onto a subject that was slightly more relaxing, and as they usually did, his thoughts turned to the man he lived with.

*Sandburg, that is Mr. Straight as an Arrow that you're talking about there. Yeah he's your buddy and he'll slap you on the shoulder, but if you're thinking that you're going to get anything else out of Mr. Military, don't bother.* Blair always tried to convince himself of that, but he could never succeed. There was always something in the way that Jim's hand on his shoulder lingered longer than normal but never long enough to raise questions made him still hope otherwise. Instead of trying to continue convincing himself that Jim would never have feelings for him, Blair mentally flipped through his catalog of what he fondly thought of as "Jim fantasies," and finally settled on Jim the Handyman. Jim, standing in the bathroom door, wearing his tool belt and a smile, come to fix a leak. Blair's hand slid down his chest to stroke himself, and he whispered that here was a leak Jim could fix. Smiling, Jim entered the bathroom and touched Blair, stroking his head, shoulders, chest, arms and legs. ~in reality Blair knew he was touching himself but refused to let it enter the fantasy.~ He bit his lower lip as Jim reached down, sliding a large hand over his nipples and then his stomach, and finally reaching the rampant erection that Blair cradled with one hand.

Firmly the older man gripped the hard organ and stroked, ~no that is not your own hand~ harder and faster until…

*slam*

Blair shuddered as he came, the sound of the front door slamming bringing him out of his fantasy with an orgasm. He paused for a few seconds to catch his breath, and he forced his trembling voice to be steady as he called out. "Jim?"

Quickly he stepped back under the spray of the shower and rinsed himself off, and then grabbed the towel hanging on the rack and dried the water from his body. "Jim!" he called out a second time, and still received no answer. Blair cursed to himself and grabbed Jim's robe from the hook behind the door, and belted the too-big garment around his waist as he stepped out into the hallway. "Jim, if you're here, answer me, I heard the door while I was in the shower." When he waited and didn't receive a reply, he figured his friend had fled. "Nice, Sandburg, you just ran him out of his own place," Blair said aloud to himself, walking into his bedroom. As soon as he walked into his door, the first thing he noticed was a crumpled sheet of paper placed carefully and precisely on his pillow. He walked over to it and ran one hand through his still-wet curls and with the other, picked up the crumpled sheet of paper.

His breath caught in his chest as he recognized the handwriting and read the first two words on the sheet. ~To Blair. My eyes are always searching for you. Across the room I seek you out, finding that I can't pull away. Even as you start to speak I hear music in your words and it fills me with joy.~ As he read on, his hand fell out of his hair and gripped the bedspread tightly. Now he knew why Jim had been so worried about that sheet of paper. He hadn't wanted Blair to see it. But, then when Jim had hurt the Guide's feelings… he had left it here for Blair to find. And then left. *And just why did he leave? So you wouldn't know he was a fag?*

*No!* Blair answered his inner voice firmly. *He didn't want to be here when I read this because he wasn't sure how I would react… the idiot doesn't know how I feel about him.* The voice was quiet after that, and Blair paused for only a second or two more before bolting out of his bedroom, the paper still clutched in his hand. Blair sat down on the couch, staring at the paper and re-reading the words again. *Jesus, Jim, why didn't you tell me?* He thought about Jim standing indecisively in his bedroom, picturing the care and precision with which Jim had placed the paper on his pillow. He got up and walked to the window, pulling Jim's robe tightly around him as he looked out and then walked back to the couch. He got up and down several times, before forcing himself to stay seated by the phone. After twenty minutes of fidgeting, he couldn't stand it any longer and started pacing again. After several minutes of pacing, he couldn't stand doing that either, and he decided to try calling Jim.

He hurried over to the phone, and just as he reached out to pick it up, it started to ring and Blair grabbed it before the first ring finished. "Jim?" Somehow, the Guide just knew it was his Sentinel on the other end of the phone. But Jim didn't answer, and Blair asked again, starting to worry. "Jim, is that you?" Then he heard a sigh on the other end of the phone as it was disconnected.

Blair picked up the receiver and dialed Jim's cell phone number. He was determined to let it ring until Jim answered, but after fifty rings, he hung up and then redialed. Another fifty rings. He hung up again and redialed a third time, and he lost count of the number of rings before finally giving up.

*Don't you get it, Sandburg? He doesn't want to talk to you.*

Blair looked from the telephone to the paper in his head, which he read and re-read until he had the verse almost memorized. *He probably doesn't know what to say to me.*

Blair alternated between staring at the phone and willing it to ring and watching the clock. The hands crawled past eight, which is when he'd stopped trying to call Jim. Now, he was watching the clock creep towards eight thirty and willing the Sentinel to call and say that he's all right.

Eight thirty, and still the phone hadn't rung. Blair took a quick surf through the television channels, hoping to see a special break-in with Jim's face on it but no luck. Now he was thoroughly worried about his Sentinel. A lot of bad things could happen to a Sentinel without his Guide.

Eight forty-five and Blair was definitely edgy. He was pacing back and forth in front of the telephone, willing the damn thing to ring already. He had picked up the basketball from its last resting-place and had resorted to dribbling it a mile a minute as he paced.

Nine had Blair ready to absolutely jump out of his skin. He had ten different scenarios about what could be happening to Jim running through his mind, and none of them good. The first thought he had is that Jim was driving emotionally zoned out. Maybe scared, maybe guilty, maybe both and he was out in that truck. Then there is the fact he could have wrecked the truck--he drives like a maniac anyway, and he panicked at the thought of Jim trapped in a heap of twisted metal on a deserted turnpike somewhere. Then another; he was lying dead somewhere, trying to be a Sentinel without a Guide and getting himself killed for it. Blair could already feel the guilt for that one. The worst scenario that he thought of was Jim just leaving and never coming back.

At about five minutes after nine, the phone rang. Blair almost jumped out of his skin, and then dove for the phone. "Jim, that better be you!" The long pause on the other end of the line told him it wasn't.

"Sandburg, it's Banks."

Immediately Blair knew it was bad news, and he fell backwards onto the couch. "What happened, Simon?" The captain's first name slipped out, and Simon let it pass.

"Jim's down, Blair." The captain's voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "There was a shootout at the museum. Jim came in on the middle of a robbery attempt of the Inca exhibit and they shot him twice--" Simon didn't get to finish his sentence.

"Oh my God… Jim's… can't be." Blair slammed the phone down and dressed quickly in the jeans he'd peeled off earlier and one of Jim's sweaters. He grabbed the keys to his Volvo and laid rubber as he peeled out into the driveway, driving like a demon to get to the museum.

End