Title: Freak Show

Author/pseudonym: alyjude

Email: alyjude@webtv.net

Pairing: J/B

Rating:  R

Category:  PWP, first time

Date:    August 3, 2002

Status:  Complete

 Series/sequel: Nope to both


Disclaimer: Aw, mom, do I have to? Okay, I don't own them, no money exchanged hands (Jim, stop that, I did *not* take money from Sandburg to write this) and I do this for fun and to keep Jim and Blair in lube.

Warnings: Have you ever had a souffle explode? ::shiver::

Notes: This is for Sheila, who broke her hip. I love you, Sheila. Please get well quick, okay?

Summary: Jim and Blair fight. Jim learns Blair knows best. Duh.


Freak Show

by alyjude


"You ARE a freak!"

Jim stopped pacing and slowly turned to face his partner. "Excuse me?

What did you just say?"

"I said, 'you ARE a feak'."

"Well thank you, Mr. Normal."

Jim opened the balcony window and stepped out into the night air knowing damn well it was too cold for freaky Sandburg to follow. He was wrong.  Blair followed.

They'd been arguing for the last thirty minutes about why Jim was refusing to meet with his father, and Sandburg had been ranting about giving the senior Ellison the chance he deserved. It was a discussion that had been replayed many times in the last six months and it was an argument Jim was getting very tired of having. He'd finally fallen back on his father making him feel like a freak for having heightened senses.

Acutely aware that his partner was now standing behind him, Jim said in a tired voice, "Nice to know what you really think of me, Sandburg."

"Hey, the truth is the truth, man. And you are a freak. Just like Superman was a freak and Spiderman and hell, even Wonderwoman. You're all freaks. Get over it."

Okay, that was too weird to ignore. Jim turned around and favored Sandburg with his best Twilight Zone look. "You are so—odd, Sandburg.

I'm hardly a superman. I'm just a cop with—"

"Let me guess—a cop with heightened senses?"

"*Freaky* heightened senses."

Blair shot his fist into the air, then pumped it down as he crowed, "Yessss!"

Jim wisely kept silent.

"By George, I think you've got it, Jim."

"Do I now? And what would that be that I suddenly have, Professor Higgins?"

"Freaky 'senses', not Jim Ellison the freak. Jim Ellison is not a freak,

he just has—"

"Freaky senses. Right. And has it occurred to you that you just reversed your own position? Two minutes ago you said I *was* a freak."

Blair dismissed that observation with a wave of his hand. "You *are* a freak, Jim. Geesh, you have a thirty year old man living with you in a room the size of a closet under your stairs. You let him boss you around, run obscene tests on you, follow you all over hell's half acre, yeah, you're one hell of a freaky guy."

Jim searched the heavens for a God to rescue him. Naturally, God was busy.

"Um, wouldn't that make *you* the freaky guy? *You're* the one living with a forty year old cop. You're the one living in a closet under my stairs and you're the one following me all over Cascade. Not me."

Blair's face screwed up as he said, a touch of wonder in his voice, "Of course it's not *you*. Why would you want to sleep in your own closet under the stairs when you have that great bedroom upstairs? And you can't very well follow *yourself* around, now can you? So that leaves me."

Jim pointed his finger at Sandburg and said, "AH-HA! See? You, my fine friend, are the one who is a freak. Not me."

"So you're not a freak?"

"Hell no. You are."

"So you're perfectly happy being a sentinel?"

"Hell yeah. *I'm* not the one under the stairs."

"So your father can never make you feel that way again, can he?"

"Hell n—"

Jim shut his mouth. God damn it, how had Sandburg done that?

"You love being a sentinel, don't you, Jim?"

Jim clamped his lips together. No way was Sandburg getting another word out of him. No way.

"Oh stop acting like a ten year old and just admit it. You *like* being a sentinel. Say it."

"You are so full of it, Sandburg."

Damn, he'd talked. Fuck. If a man can't trust his own mouth, whose could he trust?

"Say it, Jim. Just say it."

"You don't know beans."

"So you're saying you still hate being a sentinel? That it's not who you are?"

Stubbornness slid inside Jim Ellison like the flu. He hated it when Sandburg got that holier-than-thou-I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself tone in his voice, not to mention the body language that went with it. And he got that fucking tone a whole lot.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying, Sandburg. So what of it?"

"So stop being a sentinel, you dickwad. Just—quit. Stop. Cease and desist. End it. Turn it the fuck off."


"Sure you can, Jim. You've done it before. Do it again.


Jim turned away and muttered something under his breath.

"What did you say? Did you just say that *I* was the one you wanted to shoot? Huh? Was it, Jim? Was it?"

Damn, but his hearing was getting good. The whole sentinel thing must be rubbing off on the little twerp.

"Sandburg, drop it. Just.drop.it."

"You did, didn't you? Go ahead, Jim, shoot me. Just do it. Third time the charm, you know? I might actually stay dead this time."

Lot's wife had turned to stone when she'd gone against God's instructions and looked back. Jim might as well have just done the same thing because everything went to stone. His body, his mind, his—heart.

"Jesus that was a terrible thing to say, Sandburg. And beneath you."

"Guess what, Jim? I don't give a flying fuck. How 'bout I symbolically die? Symbolically shoot myself by leaving. How 'bout that?"

Voice dangerously quiet, Jim warned, "Now you've gone too far, Sandburg.

And we're both saying things we're gonna regret tomorrow."

"Well, if we do, only one of us will say anything about it. Can you guess which one?"

Okay, now Sandburg was really pushing the envelope. The stubbornness inside Jim moved from the flu to pneumonia.

"You wanna make a symbolic gesture of death by leaving—then go ahead.


"Fine. I'm outta here. Hasta bye-bye. Sayonara and fuck off."

Blair turned on his heel, marched to his room, went in and slammed the door. He actually slammed it. Blair *never* slammed it no matter how upset. Jim winced.

This is another fine kettle of fish you've got me into, Sandburg. God damn it.

Jim grabbed the balcony railing with both hands and squeezed. He pretended the railing was his own neck.


"Jim, I'm leaving now."

Jim didn't move.

"I'm all packed and ready to go."


Blair dropped his bags and stalked over to the man and grabbed his arm to spin him around—only Jim didn't budge.

"Well, shit. You just *had* to zone now, didn't you? I swear, you're a real piece of work, Ellison."

Blair was forced to squeeze under Jim's arms then worm his way around to face the zoned -out sentinel. With his back to the rail, and now trapped within the circle of sentinel zoned-out arms, Blair tried to decide what to do. He thought about it, acknowledged how nice and warm it felt in Jim's arms, admitted that Jim was a stubborn idiot, and finally decided to give in to the nastier side of his nature. He slapped Jim Ellison.




Sharp and stinging.

Jim shook his head and brought one hand up to his face. "What the hell?"

"Sorry, man, but you zoned and I tried everything, but nothing was

working and I finally had to—"

"Hit me?"


"And this was *after* you'd tried everything else, Sandburg?"


"Liar. You enjoyed hitting me, didn't you?"

Blair's eyes traveled up as his teeth bit down on his lower lip, then he nodded. "Yeah, yeah I did. Felt fucking fantastic. And now I take my leave of you *and* your broom closet under the stairs. See ya 'round, Jim."

"Cut it out, Sandburg. You know you're not really leaving."

"Oh yeah? Watch me."

Jim watched as Blair strode to his bags, picked everything up and headed for the door.

"We both know you're not going anywhere, Sandburg."


Blair opened the door, shuffled out, then shut it behind him.

Jim listened.

Nothing was happening on the other side. Nothing.

He waited.

Finally Blair's voice, quiet and almost—gentle, could be heard by the stubborn sentinel.

"I *am* leaving, Jim. And you really will be a freak if you let the best thing that ever happened to your sorry ass get away. Because I *am* the best thing that ever happened to you. And have you ever seen me naked?  'Cause I gotta tell ya, man, women and men the world over have swooned after seeing me naked."

Jim heard luggage drop to the floor. Blair must have moved his head closer to the door because when he spoke again, his voice was low and muffled.

"We could both end the whole freakish thing by simply moving me upstairs. Of course, then you'd be another kind of freak, but the advantage would be that you'd have me, naked, in your bed. I've been told that is a very good thing. I've been told I'm very good in bed.  *Very* good."

Jim closed his eyes. He had to admit that he'd wondered how it would finally happen. He'd never once imagined this. His lips twitched.

"You really shouldn't let me leave, Jim. Honest. I'm the miracle you've been wishing for and never knew you had. Not to mention that once I'm out there, well, I'm fair game, you know? One good-looking buff dude wags a finger at me and I'm his."

Jim caught the weary sigh on the other side of the door and realized that if he didn't move quickly, he really *would* lose Sandburg. He hurried to the door, schooled his features, then threw it open and started talking.

"I am *not* a freak. I am not Superman. I am not Spiderman, and I'm most certainly *not* Wonderwoman. And I fucking *love* being a sentinel."



Blair stared up at his friend, his brows drawn together in consternation. Then he sighed and said, "Told you so."

"I know, Chief, I know."

"Call your dad."

"I will, Chief, I will."

Slowly, tentatively, Jim reached down and picked up Blair's luggage, then immediately dropped them as if burned. Eyes wide with amazement, he said, "These are—empty, Sandburg. Empty."

"Your point?" Blair asked innocently.

"They're *empty*, as in without clothes. As in you didn't pack at all.

As in you just tried to bluff me, Sandburg."

"Tried?" Blair wiggled his head and said again, "*Tried*? I did not *try*, Jim, I succeeded. You're out here stopping me, aren't you? And I'm betting it was the naked part. You're just dying to see me naked."

Jim's expression softened as his icy blue eyes went warm. "Yeah, I am."

Blair pushed past Jim to enter the loft, stopping half way to say, "Well? Bring that stuff inside and let's get to the naked part."

Jim lifted the empty bags and followed Blair. As he closed the door, he said, "This *does* mean that you're moving upstairs, right?"

Blair was unbuttoning his shirt as Jim dropped his empty stuff, but he stopped a moment to consider the question. Finally he said, "Well, we'll see. I *know* I'm a wonder in bed and you're certainly gonna want me upstairs, I mean, who wouldn't? But you might end up being a total bust.  So for now, we'll take it one day at a time. Or should I say—one night?"

"Blair, have you noticed how much taller I am than you? And by how much I outweigh you?"

Blair's fingers froze in the act of unzipping his jeans. He glanced up and grinned rakishly. "Was that supposed to scare me, Jim? Like you could ever do that?"

Jim thought about trying to look mean, but immediately discarded the idea. Blair would never fall for it.

"Ah, Jim, just give in, man. Give in."

Resigned to his fate, Jim started unbuttoning his shirt. "I suppose if I'm to have any peace, surrender is my only option, Chief."

Blair stepped out of his jeans, did a little jump and hop to get his socks off, then wearing only his thin, cotton boxers, he sauntered over to Jim and right into his space. He took Jim's arms and placed them around his own waist and as he finished the job of unbuttoning Jim's shirt, he said, "Peace? With me? Not hardly, Jim. You are so in for it now."

"No peace for the wicked, eh?"

"You got it."

"Blair? Jim said, nodding his head in the direction of Blair's waist.

"I've seen you in your boxers."

"Well, don't just stand there—take them off."

Feeling as though his hands were *finally* doing the right thing, not to mention being exactly where they belonged, Jim rested them on Blair's hips and started gently pushing the soft material down. When he got them to Blair's ankles, the younger man stepped out of them and kicked them away. Holding his hands out to his side, Blair said, "See?"

Jim looked up at the beautiful man and whistled low. "They were right, Chief. A naked Blair is good. Very good."

Eyes going dark with lust, Blair said in a husky voice, "I've heard tell that a naked Jim is a good thing too. Care to put the rumor to the test?"

Running his hands up and down Blair's thighs, Jim said, "You've seen me naked, Chief, and right now, I've got better things to do."

Jim pulled the younger man closer and smoothed a hand up Blair's ass to the small of his back. He buried his face in the sweetness of Blair's left thigh and inhaled deeply. God, he was happy.

He felt Blair's hands on his head, moving down, lifting his chin—

"Welcome to the Freak Show, Jim. Would now be a good time to tell you how much I love you?"

Smiling softly, Jim said, "I can't think of a better time, Sandburg.

Can't think of a better time."

The End