SEN: Blessing in Disguise 1/1
Title: Blessing in Disguise
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Summary: Blair ruminates on his love life...
Blair Sandburg was cursed. That was the only explanation he could come up with. His last five attempts to attract the attentions of the opposite sex had failed. When Wendy dumped him unceremoniously outside of the restaurant where he'd booked a reservation five weeks in advance because it was so crowded, he thought maybe he had problems with body odour, but a quick not-so-subtle question posed to Jim took care of that possibility.
"Jim?"
"Hmm?"
"Do I smell?"
His earnest question was met with a blank look.
"You know, like, badly?"
Another blank look.
"You'd tell me if I was offensive to the nose, right?"
"You smell fine, Sandburg. Like peaches, or something. It's nice. Now shut up, the game's on again."
So instead of spending the evening at a hideously expensive restaurant, he sat on the couch with Jim eating popcorn, drinking beer and watching the game. The Jags lost by forty points.
When Francine phoned to cancel their date, and cancel their entire relationship at the same time, Blair thought maybe it was his clothes. The Salvation Army Reject look wasn't really 'in', and his love of flannel was perhaps a bit off putting. The long hair got him some strange looks, and his earrings sure didn't endear him to the older, more conservative demographic.
"Hey, Jim. Do you think I should change my look? You know, cut my hair, lose the earring. Go for the Gap look?"
"Cut your hair?"
"Yeah. I was thinking. I'm almost thirty. I should be more mature. Besides, the women might not like it."
"Cut your hair?"
"You having problem with your hearing today? Maybe I should do some tests."
"No! I mean...no. You look fine. Adorable, even."
"Come on, be serious. I really want to know."
"Do what you feel is right, Chief. But think about it. How you look is a reflection of what you are. Don't change unless you've changed."
Blair blinked. "Wow, Jim. That was...deep."
"Still waters and all that, Sandburg. Now, can we get back to the paperwork? Simon's waiting for this report. Chop, chop."
So the earrings stayed. The hair remained and his comfy flannel endured. Simon yelled at them for totalling another department vehicle and told them to go home.
When Darla called him a selfish bastard for not remembering her birthday, causing a brief panic ridden flashback to his fling with Samantha from forensics, he wondered if he was a self-interested prick. He had forgotten her birthday. The excuse that he was tied up and sitting over a bomb while Jim tried to locate his kidnapper hadn't gone over that well. She had dumped ice water in his lap.
"Jim, can I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Am I selfish?"
"Aren't we all?"
"No, I don't mean self interested. Psychologically we can't help that self-preservation drive. I'm talking about ignoring the interests of others to the detriment of one's moral integrity."
Jim blinked.
"So, am I?"
"Are you what?"
"Selfish."
"Nah. Don't worry about it. Oh, by the way, thanks for new aftershave. The rash never came back."
So he was fairly sure that his inability to remember birthdays, excusable or not, was not the problem.
When he found Janet in bed with another man, using handcuffs and some rather scary sex toys, he figured that he had become too boring. His usual romantic overtures had become stale, cliche. And so he was sure he had found the problem. He simply needed new material, he needed to become exciting and adventurous.
"Hey, Jim. Am I boring?"
"What kind of stupid question is that?"
"I'm serious, man. Am I boring to be around?"
"Blair, if I had my hands free..."
"I just don't want to fall into the trap of being predictable, monotonous. You know."
"Blair, we're tied to the top of a crane after chasing down transvestite arms dealers."
Blair pursed his lips. "Yeah. I suppose it you look at it that way..."
So it wasn't that he was boring. In fact, he realized that his life had been filled with excitement since meeting Jim. That wasn't the problem.
When Martha revealed she was leaving him to join a cloister in Mexico, it was sign from God, metaphorically and literally. It was simple. He was unlovable. He was doomed to live a loveless life.
"Hey, Jim."
"What's the matter, Chief?"
"I'm cursed."
"Oh. Too bad."
"Martha's becoming a nun."
"You sure know how to pick 'em."
"It's tragic, really. I mean, I really hoped I'd fall in love. But now I see I'm destined to be alone. I'm just not loveable."
"Bull shit."
"No. It's true. No one will ever love me."
He blinked as Jim leaned over and pressed his lips against his mouth.
"You've just been looking in the wrong places."
Blair didn't have a reply. He couldn't reply, as Jim proceeded to map the interior of his mouth with his tongue, and the exterior of his body with delightfully sensitive, Sentinel fingers.
Lying upstairs in the warmth of Jim's arms, Blair realized he had been wrong. He wasn't cursed. He was blessed.
Finis
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Summary: Blair ruminates on his love life...
Blair Sandburg was cursed. That was the only explanation he could come up with. His last five attempts to attract the attentions of the opposite sex had failed. When Wendy dumped him unceremoniously outside of the restaurant where he'd booked a reservation five weeks in advance because it was so crowded, he thought maybe he had problems with body odour, but a quick not-so-subtle question posed to Jim took care of that possibility.
"Jim?"
"Hmm?"
"Do I smell?"
His earnest question was met with a blank look.
"You know, like, badly?"
Another blank look.
"You'd tell me if I was offensive to the nose, right?"
"You smell fine, Sandburg. Like peaches, or something. It's nice. Now shut up, the game's on again."
So instead of spending the evening at a hideously expensive restaurant, he sat on the couch with Jim eating popcorn, drinking beer and watching the game. The Jags lost by forty points.
When Francine phoned to cancel their date, and cancel their entire relationship at the same time, Blair thought maybe it was his clothes. The Salvation Army Reject look wasn't really 'in', and his love of flannel was perhaps a bit off putting. The long hair got him some strange looks, and his earrings sure didn't endear him to the older, more conservative demographic.
"Hey, Jim. Do you think I should change my look? You know, cut my hair, lose the earring. Go for the Gap look?"
"Cut your hair?"
"Yeah. I was thinking. I'm almost thirty. I should be more mature. Besides, the women might not like it."
"Cut your hair?"
"You having problem with your hearing today? Maybe I should do some tests."
"No! I mean...no. You look fine. Adorable, even."
"Come on, be serious. I really want to know."
"Do what you feel is right, Chief. But think about it. How you look is a reflection of what you are. Don't change unless you've changed."
Blair blinked. "Wow, Jim. That was...deep."
"Still waters and all that, Sandburg. Now, can we get back to the paperwork? Simon's waiting for this report. Chop, chop."
So the earrings stayed. The hair remained and his comfy flannel endured. Simon yelled at them for totalling another department vehicle and told them to go home.
When Darla called him a selfish bastard for not remembering her birthday, causing a brief panic ridden flashback to his fling with Samantha from forensics, he wondered if he was a self-interested prick. He had forgotten her birthday. The excuse that he was tied up and sitting over a bomb while Jim tried to locate his kidnapper hadn't gone over that well. She had dumped ice water in his lap.
"Jim, can I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Am I selfish?"
"Aren't we all?"
"No, I don't mean self interested. Psychologically we can't help that self-preservation drive. I'm talking about ignoring the interests of others to the detriment of one's moral integrity."
Jim blinked.
"So, am I?"
"Are you what?"
"Selfish."
"Nah. Don't worry about it. Oh, by the way, thanks for new aftershave. The rash never came back."
So he was fairly sure that his inability to remember birthdays, excusable or not, was not the problem.
When he found Janet in bed with another man, using handcuffs and some rather scary sex toys, he figured that he had become too boring. His usual romantic overtures had become stale, cliche. And so he was sure he had found the problem. He simply needed new material, he needed to become exciting and adventurous.
"Hey, Jim. Am I boring?"
"What kind of stupid question is that?"
"I'm serious, man. Am I boring to be around?"
"Blair, if I had my hands free..."
"I just don't want to fall into the trap of being predictable, monotonous. You know."
"Blair, we're tied to the top of a crane after chasing down transvestite arms dealers."
Blair pursed his lips. "Yeah. I suppose it you look at it that way..."
So it wasn't that he was boring. In fact, he realized that his life had been filled with excitement since meeting Jim. That wasn't the problem.
When Martha revealed she was leaving him to join a cloister in Mexico, it was sign from God, metaphorically and literally. It was simple. He was unlovable. He was doomed to live a loveless life.
"Hey, Jim."
"What's the matter, Chief?"
"I'm cursed."
"Oh. Too bad."
"Martha's becoming a nun."
"You sure know how to pick 'em."
"It's tragic, really. I mean, I really hoped I'd fall in love. But now I see I'm destined to be alone. I'm just not loveable."
"Bull shit."
"No. It's true. No one will ever love me."
He blinked as Jim leaned over and pressed his lips against his mouth.
"You've just been looking in the wrong places."
Blair didn't have a reply. He couldn't reply, as Jim proceeded to map the interior of his mouth with his tongue, and the exterior of his body with delightfully sensitive, Sentinel fingers.
Lying upstairs in the warmth of Jim's arms, Blair realized he had been wrong. He wasn't cursed. He was blessed.
Finis