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"How am I supposed to live like this?" Jim asked. Blair sighed and crunched granola and really, really hoped the sound would annoy Jim. Jim didn't really care for the smell of granola, either, come to think of it.
When it was obvious that Blair had become one with the granola, Jim left.
Ten minutes later Jim was back. He set down a tupperware container with a red lid that was empty. Blair vaguely remembered having the munchies at a time of night he liked to think of as "why the hell am I awake" o' clock.
"We've already discussed this, Sandburg. My containers are red. Yours are blue. You ate my pie! I was looking forward to that pie!"
Blair concentrated very hard on what he was reading. He crunched even harder on his granola, hoping it would drown out the sound of Jim trying to re-educate him about color coded tupperware.
It would probably make a very good chapter in the diss, though. The whole territorialism thing. The insane need for rules. Although, that could've been just Jim. Blair tried to imagine another Jim, with slightly less anal rules about tupperware and maybe a dose less of "I Sentinel, you obey".
And the Jim he imagined was nice. He had more hair. He said thank you for dinner, he even liked to try some of the Sentinel exercises Blair put together. And Blair couldn't bring himself to like that Jim very much.
Jim gave up on the tupperware lesson.
"Chief, we gotta talk about this bathroom!" Jim shouted over the sound of running water. "You got toothpaste in the sink! Don't you rinse?"
It made a very nice mantra in Blair's head. Ignore. Rinse. Repeat. Blair contemplated getting a sign that said: "Still Ignoring You". Possibly a tee-shirt.
Then Jim came storming into the kitchen in nothing but a towel. Which had all the empowering and regeneration effects of kryptonite.
Blair didn't even crunch.
"You. Used. My. Razor," Jim ground out, and Blair wasn't sure a human being, ideally, should be that shade of red.
Blair swallowed and contemplated the razor that Jim was holding in midair.
"Let me see," Blair said.
It was really a conniving plan, he thought. Because once the razor was safely out of Jim's hand and on the table, Blair was out of the chair and very much in Jim's personal space. It was nice personal space because Jim was warm and still damp from a shower and his mouth tasted like mint and the towel disappeared.
Jim tried to talk. Blair had to give him points for determination. But no, the plan was just too conniving. It involved kissing and heavy petting. And putting his hands - and mouth - *there*. Oh yeah, there.
And somehow, someway (Blair decided to ask Jim later), the couch got involved.
Blair figured, in between gropes, that if ignoring Jim didn't work, this just might.
Besides, what else were they going to do with Jim's day off?
- END -