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crack_van2012-02-03 10:01 am
laurie-ky.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2012-02-03 10:01 am
Entry tags:
Moving On by Alyjude (Mature adult for sexual themes)
Fandom: THE SENTINEL
Pairing: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Length:14381 words.
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alyburns
Author's Websitesalysbasement and Alyjude's page at ASR3.
Why this must be read:
Ever decide to say or do something only to find that the response you thought would happen, didn't?
For me, when I was seven, it was deciding to give the illicit ice cream cone I'd bought from the Mr. Softie truck to my dad, thus thwarting my brothers and sisters plan to tell on me. After all, if I said I'd bought the ice cream for Dad, with my very own dime, then I wouldn't be in trouble for breaking the no-buying-ice-cream-without-permission rule.
I fully expected my dad to appreciate my gesture and as a reward, tell me that he was letting me eathis my ice cream cone. So I watched in disbelief when my plans were crushed when he just said, “Thanks” and ate it in front of me.
In Moving On, Blair decides that he's going to panic Jim into making a play for Blair by telling him he's thinking of moving out into his own place. He gives Jim some very reasonable reasons why it's time. What he expects is for Jim to tell him not to move out, and sexy times will commence.
That's not what happens.
This is an enjoyable story with plenty of funny moments (I got a kick out of Blair talking to himself, and his interactions with his new friend, a hooker with a heart-of-gold) but will also tug at your heartstrings. (Note, there is an animal death in the story). Plus there's great banter with the Major Crimes guys, some wonderful insight by Simon Banks, and kittens.
Summary:
Wherein Blair decides that Jim loves him as much as he loves Jim and that lighting a fire under the man is the answer.....he's wrong. Yeah, angst, the kitchen sink, pink elephants, the works.
As Saturday neared and Jim said nothing more about Blair's moving, the young man realized that he'd just successfully dug a hole, jumped in and was about to pull the dirt in over him. And of course, he didn't have a place to stay.
Oh, the web we weave when first we practice to deceive.
Yadda, yadda.
So. His idea had failed. And going back now and saying that maybe he wouldn't move out was impossible. Right? He'd invited himself out; he couldn't very well invite himself back. Especially - since apparently - Jim was - happy.
Jim was happy. He wasn't singing or anything, but he wasn't morose either. He wasn't dragging his feet or coming up with reasons why Blair should stay, or, or, or.......anything. What he was doing was rearranging the living room.
The nerve.
Okay, it wasn't a major rearrangement, but he had moved the chair to the other side of the room.....all of six feet. But still, what did that say? Okay, it didn't say anything...exactly. Except that maybe, now that Blair was moving out, Jim would put things where he wanted them and not where Blair had moved them. So Jim was - glad. Happy.
The sap.
And during Blair's lunch hour on Thursday, he found himself looking in panic for an apartment. That he could afford. Riiiight. He might be a cop now and be making pretty good money for a rookie, but he had student loans, bills, and that didn't leave a whole lot for rent.
So he sat in his car parked at the curb, a tuna fish and sprout sandwich on the seat beside him, a diet coke in the cup holder, perusing the classifieds. And making check marks and circles and taking the occasional bite from his sandwich.
That night, when he could have been enjoying Jim's company in front of the fireplace and the television, stomach full thanks to Jim's chicken tetrazzini, he was instead looking at apartments. And blanching.
On Friday, his fat was removed from the fire. Oh, not that fat, not the fat that said, "Blair, don't move, I love you." No, not that fat. Rather, the fat that said, "Jim, I lied. I don't have a place to move, can I stay." Miraculously, at the twelfth hour, he'd been saved. An apartment had been found.
Apartment was too - nice a word. Hovel. Hole.
Roof over head. Those were the right words.
He circled the room, eyes noting the broken window....the only window....the grease on the walls, the newspapers on the floor, the front door with the shoddy repair on the lock, the broken tiles on the floor not hidden by the newspapers....the bathroom....no, it would be better not to go back in there.
Home, sweet home. His. Pride and Joy. For the remarkably low price of $895 a month. And did he mention the neighborhood? No? Good. That was left better unmentioned. It would be enough to state that the Cascade PD, Vice Department, would have a very good working knowledge of this part of town.
Blair Sandburg felt his legs give way and slowly he sat down in the middle of the room on the dirty floor and tried to stall the tide of a rising panic attack.
God, what had he done? And why?
That was unfair. He knew exactly what he'd done and why. He'd been in love with his roommate for quite some time, thank you very much, and didn't Jim feel the same way? So, a little urging, a little push, a little.....stupidity was needed. Tell Jim you're moving out and watch as the man stutters and blushes and tells you that you can't leave, that you mean everything to him, that he can't live without you, that you make his big heart go pitt-patt, that....that...that nothing. You don't make his big heart go pitt-patt, you maybe drive him to drink. He doesn't love you, he maybe likes you. Okay, he likes you a lot, but he's obviously glad you're moving out. Finally.
Moving On by Alyjude at ASR3
Pairing: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Length:14381 words.
Author on LJ:
alyburnsAuthor's Websites
alysbasement and Alyjude's page at ASR3.Why this must be read:
Ever decide to say or do something only to find that the response you thought would happen, didn't?
For me, when I was seven, it was deciding to give the illicit ice cream cone I'd bought from the Mr. Softie truck to my dad, thus thwarting my brothers and sisters plan to tell on me. After all, if I said I'd bought the ice cream for Dad, with my very own dime, then I wouldn't be in trouble for breaking the no-buying-ice-cream-without-permission rule.
I fully expected my dad to appreciate my gesture and as a reward, tell me that he was letting me eat
In Moving On, Blair decides that he's going to panic Jim into making a play for Blair by telling him he's thinking of moving out into his own place. He gives Jim some very reasonable reasons why it's time. What he expects is for Jim to tell him not to move out, and sexy times will commence.
That's not what happens.
This is an enjoyable story with plenty of funny moments (I got a kick out of Blair talking to himself, and his interactions with his new friend, a hooker with a heart-of-gold) but will also tug at your heartstrings. (Note, there is an animal death in the story). Plus there's great banter with the Major Crimes guys, some wonderful insight by Simon Banks, and kittens.
Summary:
Wherein Blair decides that Jim loves him as much as he loves Jim and that lighting a fire under the man is the answer.....he's wrong. Yeah, angst, the kitchen sink, pink elephants, the works.
As Saturday neared and Jim said nothing more about Blair's moving, the young man realized that he'd just successfully dug a hole, jumped in and was about to pull the dirt in over him. And of course, he didn't have a place to stay.
Oh, the web we weave when first we practice to deceive.
Yadda, yadda.
So. His idea had failed. And going back now and saying that maybe he wouldn't move out was impossible. Right? He'd invited himself out; he couldn't very well invite himself back. Especially - since apparently - Jim was - happy.
Jim was happy. He wasn't singing or anything, but he wasn't morose either. He wasn't dragging his feet or coming up with reasons why Blair should stay, or, or, or.......anything. What he was doing was rearranging the living room.
The nerve.
Okay, it wasn't a major rearrangement, but he had moved the chair to the other side of the room.....all of six feet. But still, what did that say? Okay, it didn't say anything...exactly. Except that maybe, now that Blair was moving out, Jim would put things where he wanted them and not where Blair had moved them. So Jim was - glad. Happy.
The sap.
And during Blair's lunch hour on Thursday, he found himself looking in panic for an apartment. That he could afford. Riiiight. He might be a cop now and be making pretty good money for a rookie, but he had student loans, bills, and that didn't leave a whole lot for rent.
So he sat in his car parked at the curb, a tuna fish and sprout sandwich on the seat beside him, a diet coke in the cup holder, perusing the classifieds. And making check marks and circles and taking the occasional bite from his sandwich.
That night, when he could have been enjoying Jim's company in front of the fireplace and the television, stomach full thanks to Jim's chicken tetrazzini, he was instead looking at apartments. And blanching.
On Friday, his fat was removed from the fire. Oh, not that fat, not the fat that said, "Blair, don't move, I love you." No, not that fat. Rather, the fat that said, "Jim, I lied. I don't have a place to move, can I stay." Miraculously, at the twelfth hour, he'd been saved. An apartment had been found.
Apartment was too - nice a word. Hovel. Hole.
Roof over head. Those were the right words.
He circled the room, eyes noting the broken window....the only window....the grease on the walls, the newspapers on the floor, the front door with the shoddy repair on the lock, the broken tiles on the floor not hidden by the newspapers....the bathroom....no, it would be better not to go back in there.
Home, sweet home. His. Pride and Joy. For the remarkably low price of $895 a month. And did he mention the neighborhood? No? Good. That was left better unmentioned. It would be enough to state that the Cascade PD, Vice Department, would have a very good working knowledge of this part of town.
Blair Sandburg felt his legs give way and slowly he sat down in the middle of the room on the dirty floor and tried to stall the tide of a rising panic attack.
God, what had he done? And why?
That was unfair. He knew exactly what he'd done and why. He'd been in love with his roommate for quite some time, thank you very much, and didn't Jim feel the same way? So, a little urging, a little push, a little.....stupidity was needed. Tell Jim you're moving out and watch as the man stutters and blushes and tells you that you can't leave, that you mean everything to him, that he can't live without you, that you make his big heart go pitt-patt, that....that...that nothing. You don't make his big heart go pitt-patt, you maybe drive him to drink. He doesn't love you, he maybe likes you. Okay, he likes you a lot, but he's obviously glad you're moving out. Finally.
Moving On by Alyjude at ASR3
no subject
But thank you for the reminder of a classic old TS story! (I'm off to read Alyjude's other stuff now - I may be some time...)
no subject
Laurie
no subject
I love your ice cream story. :-)
(I'm also pretty fond of the fic. I can't imagine TS without Aly's fics...)
Yay for you and Crack Van!
no subject
Laurie