Title: What Kind of Question is That?
Author/pseudonym: Lori J
Fandom: The Sentinel
Paring: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Rating: PG
Status: . New/Complete
Archive: Of course, m'lady
E-mail address for feedback: lojojan@worldnet.att.net
Series/Sequel: No
Other websites:
Disclaimers: The boys aren't mine, they belong to TPTB.
Notes: My first slash fic. It's all Alyjude's fault! (Not really, she just encouraged me)
Summary: Blair has to ask Jim a very important question.
By Lori J
"Jim?"
"Yo," Jim sounded bored.
"I have a really important question to ask you." Blair said seriously. /It has to be asked. It must be asked./
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Jim closed the magazine he previously been enjoying. /Guess 'Guns and Ammo' will have to wait for later. I was really looking forward to the article on the new Smith & Wesson 9mm with laser sights!/ "What's your important question, Sandburg. Can't you see I'm reading?"
Blair made a face. "Right! Like you read 'Guns & Ammo' for the articles. You just sit there and drool over the centerfolds. Remember last month? 'Chief, look at this new silencer! I need one of those!' Anyway, this fits in perfectly with my question," Blair paused, thinking of the nicest way to phrase it.
"Blair!"
"OK, OK. Man, you are impatient. That's something we need to work on. Maybe it's related to your senses..." Seeing the older man's glare, Blair cut his thought short. "...but we'll save that for later. My question is this: Why do you always drop your gun?"
The mouthful of beer Jim had just taken spewed across the coffee table. "Wha...huh...wha," he sputtered, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. Regaining some composure, the Sentinel thought very carefully about what to say. "What kind of a question is that?" said in a very calm, toneless voice.
Blair's eyes widened. /Uh-oh, may have pissed the big guy off. Quick Sandburg, say something to cover it, or no sex for you tonight! You know Jim won't put out when he's pouting./ "What I meant to say was, um, it just seems to happen a lot is all." he finished lamely.
Jim calmly stood up and walked to the kitchen. Grabbing a paper towel, he calmly walked back to the sofa, sat down, and proceeded to wipe up the beer. Taking extra time blotting his magazine off, of course. "So what are you saying here, Sandburg?"
"Uh, um, j-just never mind, Jim. I was thinking one night, you know how it goes, up late grading papers, and the idea popped into my head. It seems like every time you pursue a suspect, they hit you from behind, you drop your gun, and hand-to-hand combat ensues. You see where I'm going with this? Then I got to thinking, what if it's a Sentinel thing? Man, that would be too cool! Your subconscious wants to deal with the scumbags one-on-one, mano a mano. Don't you get it, Jim? This could be a whole new side to the Sentinel in you!" Blair bounced lightly on the couch, face lit with a huge smile, waiting for Jim's opinion.
Jim sighed inwardly. How to tell the kid that he didn't *mean* to drop his gun. It just happened. Was it his fault that he had been blessed with abnormally sweaty palms? No, it was Blair's fault. Blair's fault that he was so damn sexy. Thank God they were lovers, or Jim would be dropping more than his gun. So, how to tell his lover that it was his fault?
"See, Chief, it's like this," Jim said, edging closer to Blair. "I don't do it on purpose, it just happens."
"Oh, c'mon, man! You expect me to believe that? I think you just like manhandling those guys." The grad student was starting to feel as if *he* should be the pissed off one!
/Warning! Pout ahead! Change course to avoid, Captain Ellison! / Pulling Blair into his arms, he began placing little kisses on his lover's face and neck. "Now, Chief," *kiss* "you know" *kiss* "that" *kiss* "you're" *kiss* "the only one I want to manhandle. The only one I want to go one-on-one with."
"Oh yeah, well why don't you prove it!"
Jim spent the rest of the night convincing him.
The End