by brooklinegirl



Summary: Written for lamardeuse, who asked for Jim/Blair, "He couldn't believe his luck." Though I fucked with the line a little tiny bit.

Okay. This is my first, and, likely, last, Sentinel fic. I started it back in fucking August. This could not have been completed without a fucking cadre of beta-readers. Thanks go to lynnmonster, who did both the initial and the final beta on this "ficlet," overcoming her Garett Maggart aversion, and to spacebabe, who once again went boldly into a fandom of which she knows very little about to provide me with in-depth grammar/pacing/logic work, and to Qlara, who did a fucking fabulously detailed beta job, and cracked me the fuck up with her right-on-the-money comments, and kept me from making Jim scamper, and making Blair into a weeping Harlequin heroine. And finally, to the lovely ms. lamardeuse herself, who, yes, beta'd her own ficlet.

It's too late at night to be thinking like this. I give in and sit up, throwing the covers off.

I wish I could either shut my brain down or make it focus more clearly, because all this weaving back and forth between thoughts is giving me a headache. It's all stuff I've thought through a hundred times before, but that doesn't stop my brain from racing. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and try to breathe deep, cleansing breaths. Calm, calmer, let it all settle.

I hear the creak of the floorboards upstairs and pull my hands from my eyes, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. Is Jim just getting ready for bed? It's late; I thought he was asleep already. Could be he's just as restless as I am. Is he listening to me, trying to figure if I'm awake, too? I realize I'm holding my breath without even thinking about it, and let it out, then freeze, wondering if he heard that.


I spend way too much time trying to figure what Jim hears and doesn't hear, what he listens to and doesn’t, and it's not all in the name of research.

I put the pillow over my face and scream quietly into it for a minute. I know he can hear that. I decide that I just don't care. He can hear me if he wants, that's fine, he's got an insane roommate, and if he comes down, then I can do the whole, "dude, it's primal scream therapy, wanna try?" deal and we'll watch how fast he runs away.

My throat hurts after the screaming and I don't feel much better. Screw it. I throw the pillow across the room, and it hits the far wall with a soft thump that probably sounds like a loud thump to my roommate's oh-so-sensitive ears. I'm tired of this, tired of being careful. Oh yeah, I'm very seriously tired of that. Jesus. I'm on edge all the time, right, so afraid he can read me, read right through me, and that can't be a good thing, so it's all careful-careful-careful.

Which is stupid. Just - stupid, because I'm lying here trying to control my fucking heart-rate, when in the daylight - all the damn time - I'm giving him signals like you'd give an airplane coming in for a landing. Right up in his face, touching him every chance I get, real close, too close, can't keep my damn hands off of him. You'd think the way he is, he'd notice. You'd think he'd tell me to quit it or follow through, back off or come closer, or something.

But I get nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. He allows it, is all. Doesn't shake me off, but he's still half the time glaring at me, and telling me to shut up, and the other half, acts like it's just normal for me to be all over him. Thing is, I'm looking for proof here. I'm a researcher, I need something, a little tiny something to work with before I can go ahead and -

What? What the hell do I think I'm going to do, really? Kiss him? Might need some cooperation from him in that matter - all he'd really have to do to stop me is stand up straight, and there I'd be, bobbing around on my toes, trying to reach his lips.

Jesus, I need to quit thinking like this. I'm smarter than this. I know I'm smarter than this. I just need to let it go. Just - let it the fuck go. Just - I need distraction. Change of venue. Rehydration.

Water. I need a glass of water.

The kitchen is dark, and the floor is cold under my bare feet. I stub my toe against the island and curse under my breath, hobbling the rest of the way to the sink. Jim can probably hear me. And dammit, I don't care. He can listen all he damn wants, I'm his damn roommate and he's just gonna have to deal. He can just listen and be annoyed and - ohfuck, he's coming downstairs.

My initial inclination is to escape back to my room - retreat, my brain is telling me- but hey, it's my house too. I make myself stay put and try to drink my water nonchalantly. In the kitchen. In my boxer shorts. At two in the morning.

I'm not sure I pull off nonchalant, exactly.

"Hey," Jim says softly, padding into the kitchen. "What are you doing up?"

"Uh, nothing," I answer in the same quiet nighttime voice. "I just - couldn't sleep, so - water." Aw hell. He's whispering to me in the dark, and that's all it takes for my dick to perk up again.

"Yeah, I know you couldn’t sleep, I could hear you."

"Hear what? You were listening?" Fuck. I knew it. My dick seems to think that Jim listening to me not-sleeping is something to get even move excited about. Fabulous.

"Nothing. No. Just -" He frowns. "What's up with you?"

"Me? What? Nothing! I'm fine." Sure. Real casual there, Sandburg.

"You're not. You sound weird." He's frowning some more and moving closer, like he's listening for something.

"You're crazy. It's 2 AM. I'm going to bed." Before I can move, he takes a step forward and blocks my path. He's got this intent look on his face. "No, listen," he says, like he's chasing a line of investigation, "Gimme a sec, it's just - " He's close enough that I can feel his body heat and it's either stay put or force my way past him using my rapidly increasing hard-on as a battering ram.

I freeze, trying to mentally redirect my blood flow.

He's leaning in towards me and he's gonna figure this out on his own in a second, and dammit. This isn't a sentinel thing. I gotta tell him myself and I gotta tell him now. Grow a damn backbone, Sandburg. Deep breath. "You just don't get it, do you, man?" I lift my chin, and he blinks at me.


Jesus, he can be slow. I ignore the pounding of my brain (informing me, "Done, you're so very done, he's gonna laugh at you. Or hit you. Probably hit you.") and then I try to ignore the pounding of my dick, which doesn't seem to agree with my brain and just wants to get on with it. Focus, here.

I speak slowly, like to a small, dull child. "I'm awake because I can't stop thinking." About you, is what I don't say. I'm trying, but it's not like in the movies - this stuff just sounds stupid when you say it out loud. I close my eyes for a second, take a deep breath. Get control here, Sandburg, c'mon.

Thing is - he's looking at me when I open my eyes. Staring, really, and… Fuck. I can see it in his eyes as the penny drops. "Oh." He dips his head in towards my neck, close enough that I feel it as he breathes in steadily. My body hurts from holding so still. "Oh," he says again, low, but right in my ear, so I hear it real clear.

I also hear him take another breath, but this time it's shaky, like he's maybe a little nervous. And when I tilt my head to look at him, he's looking at me all intent and confused. Like he's getting mixed signals and he doesn't know up from down. Or maybe he can just use his senses to detect my dick trying to poke him in the stomach.

And I shouldn't do this, oh, yeah, bad idea, should really, really not do this. But it's two in the morning, and you know, the game is up, it's just up.

So, fuck it, I lean up and kiss him. It's awkward, because of the angle, and because I'm just miserably desperate. He knows I want this, he's got to, he must smell it on me, and if I don't do it, then I'm just a cowardly loser. And I guess I'd rather be a brave loser, because I kiss him hard for about a second, then pull away.

Only, okay, I try to pull back, but I seem to still be kissing him, and it takes me way too long to figure out that he's kissing me now. Jim. Is kissing me. And I'm just standing here stupidly, because I knew he was going to pull away, or not respond, or maybe, worse case scenario, hit me, and I was ready for that. Past ready for that, because hell, doing something was better than all the nothing I've been doing for way too long.

Turns out I don't know anything. See? This is what I hate about going into a situation without completed research. I am totally clueless. I yank my mouth away from his. "Why are you kissing me?" I sound panicked.

He's staring at me, his mouth open a little, panting. "What? Why? You kissed me!"

"Yeah, but I didn't mean to!" I finally manage to push past him and stalk across the kitchen floor.

"You - what?"

I spin back around and he's looking at me incredulously. I notice for the first time that he's in just his boxers, too, and that makes me incredibly angry, because what makes him think he can just come down here and just be all - kissing me, in his boxers, and -

"God, Jim, what's the matter with you?" I burst out. I don't even have the words, here.

"The matter with me?" He sounds mad now, and I straighten my back and glare at him. His eyebrows go flying up, and he's practically sputtering as he says, "Now just hold on a second." He strides over to me and grabs hold of my shoulders again. Jesus.

"Quit that!" I try to shake him off, but he's ready for me this time, and, okay, stronger than I am. He yanks me around and pushes me against the island in the middle of the kitchen, and I open my mouth to yell at him, but he's got this look on his face - determined? - and then he's leaning forward and putting his tongue in my mouth instead. He kisses me for a long moment, and, fuming, I kiss him back. When he pulls away, he's breathing hard, and shakes me by the shoulders a little. "You kissed me, Sandburg," he says again.

"Jesus!" I'm furious. "How can you just - why would you - Goddammit, Jim." I shove him backwards hard. He takes a step back, hands spread, staring at me incredulously.

God, I just want to hit him for being so damn thick. Instead, and I'm not too sure how this really happens, I'm shoving myself against him and I'm kissing him again. All right, fine, yeah, I'm kissing him, and fuck it, just fuck it all, he was gonna know eventually, and I don't - it shouldn't - god, this is good, this kissing is seriously good. There's a part of my brain anxiously telling me, "He's not pulling back, he's not running away or hitting you, didn't you think that he'd…" But I just can't bring myself to care, because I’m busy here.

Kissing him and still shoving him back, and he's gotta be surprised more than anything else, would have to be to let me advance on him like this. Surprised, or distracted - maybe it's distracted, because his hands just keep moving all over me, up in my hair, grabbing hold tight for a second and tilting my head, before he makes a sound in his throat and lets go, moves them down my back. Hot, his hands are hot against my skin and I keep wondering what I feel like to him. He pauses for only a second before running his hands down over my ass - Christ! - and dragging me up against him.

I feel his cock hard against me - god, he's hard, I didn't think this through, he wasn't gonna go for it, didn't think - thought I was thinking too much, but I never figured on anything at all like this. We're both jolted as his back hits the wall beside my bedroom door. He stops kissing me, is staring down at me in the dark, breathing hard and looking - wow. I expected "freaked out" or "confused" or "what the fuck," but instead he's looking at me like he can't believe his luck.

He's looking at me like a guy who's about to get laid.


Which turns out to be pretty accurate, and you'd think we'd maybe take our time with this, it being the first time and all, but we've had, like, years of what turned out to be foreplay, only I didn’t know it at the time, hadn't realized. But he had, somewhere in the back of that brain of his. So he sees his chance, here, and he takes it.

Takes me. Fucks me slow and hard and sweeter than a guy as big as him and as stubborn as him and as tough as him should ever be able to. I've been missing things here. Missing things entirely. Big, huge things, stuff I should maybe have noticed, that would have had me sprawled on my bed with Jim fucking me a lot sooner than now.

"Blair," he says, and that's all, and why him saying my name like that - not even quiet or tender, just normal - why that should turn me on so hard, I don't know, but it does. I'm gasping into the pillow here, as he presses up against my back, his big hands holding onto my hips. "Blair," he says again, tightly, moving in me, real deep, but slow, moving so slow it could kill me.

"Jim, Christ." I twist my head to the side, try to breathe, need to come. God. He has me right on the goddamn edge here, I feel like I've been hard for hours - fuck, I have been hard for hours - and he's sweating and shaking and fucking me and dear god, this is good.

"Fuck, Jim," I growl, like an order, and he does, god, yeah, gotta love an army guy, he responds to commands. He groans and fucks me harder, looping one arm around my waist, his other holding him up. I can see the muscles straining in his forearm before I shut my eyes tight and push back against him and god, that's good, he knows what he's doing, and that thought may very well blow my mind, once my brain starts working again.

Now I just get caught up in the feel of his chest against my back, his breath blowing hot against my cheek, and how his hand is moving - oh god - down, sliding from my waist to wrap around my cock. He's fucking me hard and holding me and moving his hand just right, just so completely right, like he's been thinking about this, what he'd do and how he'd do it and when he'd do it - do me, he's been thinking about this and I just missed it by a mile.

And yeah, okay, my brain must have an auto-archive, because that's something else I'm going to have to think about, when his hand isn't moving on my cock firmly and quickly, his hips still moving so steady, and oh Jesus, that's it, I'm gasping and coming, spilling all over his big, steady hand.

I collapse under him and he's grabbing onto my hands, and fucking me hard and sweet and perfect and I'm still moaning into the pillows when he comes, groaning against my cheek.


When I wake up, it's all at once, and it's mostly 'cause I'm hot and I'm trying to shove the covers off. Only the covers turn out to be Jim's big heavy arm looped around me. I freeze as he grumbles at me in my sleep - oh my god, oh my god, don't wake up - and he doesn't, sliding back into sleep. Thank god. I need to - I have to just process here. Last night, I couldn't do anything that required even a modicum of higher brain power. I think I just sort of lay there in a sticky pile, letting Jim nudge me to the side, cleaning us both up a little before collapsing beside me.

I tilt my head to look at him over my shoulder. I'm kind of surprised, actually, that he stayed. I don’t know what's happening here - I didn’t question it last night, but awake, now, I realize I sort of half-thought that he'd go back upstairs after. That he might have wanted the sex - he's a guy, what guy doesn't want the sex? - but that he might not want the mess after. Not the real cleaning-up stuff, the - more complicated stuff. The talking about it stuff. The figuring it out stuff. Where we stand and all that. Everything's different and -

"I can almost hear you thinking, you know, Chief," Jim mumbles against my neck.

I jerk, startled, and panic for a second before I realize - okay, yeah, he's kidding. I knew that.

He stretches and rolls onto his back, his arm slipping away from me. I squirm a little, adjusting to not having his arm on me, and, okay, that's kind of strange, now, isn't it? Because, man, okay, every damn thing is new here, it's all an adjustment, and I maybe need to just relax and think about all this, just make a list or something…

He's looking at me. He has his arms sort of stretched loosely over his head, completely relaxed, and he's looking at me and grinning. Sort of. A tiny grin. A tiny amused grin.

"What?" Defensive. Fabulous. Maybe he's right to be amused.

"Nothing, Chief. Just - " He waves his hand at me. Patronizing. "Don't worry so much."

I laugh a little at that one. "Yeah, Jim, sure, no problem. We're just - you know - we just - last night, and all the sex and all, but I just won't worry about it. No big deal."

"Well," he says, scratching his head. "I mean, sure, a big deal, but -" He yawns, and rolls, sitting up on the side of the bed. He stretches again, and his back is just - long and muscled and smooth and - dammit. He's looking at me over his shoulder and grinning even wider now. "It's not like we weren’t practically here anyway."

"Here?" I push myself to a sitting position. "Here where? Here what?"

"You know." He gestures vaguely as he pushes himself off the bed and heads toward the bathroom. "The sex and all. Hell, the way you act around me, you'd think we were married or something."

"The way I act?" I shout, incredulously, at his receding - perfect - ass. I really wish I wasn't naked here. I fight much better not naked. "The way I act?" He - I - who was fucking who last night? Who - hey, that's right. "Who was doing all that sniffing last night?" I shout, struggling to get myself free of the sheets twisted all around me. "You started this whole thing, you know!"

I stagger to the door just as he pokes his head back in. "Yeah. Whatever. Come on. You can argue with me in the shower." He grabs hold of my arm and propels me towards the bathroom.

"You - well - don't think that I won't!" Yes, actually, at this point, that is the best argument I can come up with.

"Yeah, Chief." Jim smiles at me and shoves me through the door ahead of him. "I know."


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