New J/B Snippet: Getting It Right (R)
Jun. 25th, 2007 01:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow00Title: Getting It Right
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arrow00
Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: R
Wordcount: 514
Summary: It's heavy. It's Blair's gun.
Notes: This is for the brilliantjanedavitt, who likes protective Blair.
Getting It Right
By Arrow
It's heavy. That's the first thing you realize when you pick up one of these things. It's not like the squirt gun you played with when you were a kid—not that I did; no way would Naomi let me even touch such an obvious tool of the military propaganda machine. But this is no toy—it's heavy as hell. Hard to hold steady at arm's length. Takes real effort.
The next thing you notice is the coiled, oily black power of the thing. It is potential energy incarnate—death waiting to happen. Feels like the damned thing will bite you if you take your eye off of it for a second.
It's so terrifyingly obvious, when you heft the cold, unexpected weight of it, that its purpose is to kill people. Make them bleed. Stop their hearts from beating. That is its only real purpose.
I've had to hold one a bunch of times, once even fired a submachine gun when we were trapped on an island with a drug gang. But this is the first time the gun I'm holding is mine. Mine to carry, mine to use (please not any time soon.)
Jim is sitting at the kitchen table and looking across at me expectantly. He's about to teach me how to clean my weapon. His own, a SIG Sauer, is sitting on a matching towel in front of him, the barrel pointed away from us.
He opens his mouth and starts talking about safe practices—checking to make sure the chamber isn't holding a round even if the clip is out, keeping the safety on regardless. Then he starts pointing and rat-a-tatting component names—bore, bolt, receiver—and I'm storing it all like I used to do with class lectures, but the whole time I'm looking at his hands, at the way his fingers are moving—lovingly, almost sensuously—on the diamond-patterned grip.
He starts taking it apart, showing me the steps. His voice is soft, patient. The process is slightly different for my Beretta, but he walks me through it. He pulls out a couple of soft rags, tosses me one, and puts some solvent on his before starting to clean the bore. There's this frown of concentration on his face, an intent look that itches hard at my memory. I look down at his hands again, at the way he's cradling his gun, and then up at his face, and I get it.
He looked just like that the first time he held my cock in his hands. His face had the same, incredibly intense focus, as if it getting it right were imperative—a matter of life or death.
And this is. It is. I shake my head and get to work mirroring his actions, because this is no lecture hall, and I'm not on the outside anymore, observing.
This is my gun. It's heavy, but I need the weight. I need every ounce of its power if I'm going to use it, if I'm going to protect him.
I'm going to use it to protect Jim.
And that's the most important thing in this world.
....................
2007.06.25
Author:
arrow00Pairing: Jim/Blair
Rating: R
Wordcount: 514
Summary: It's heavy. It's Blair's gun.
Notes: This is for the brilliant
janedavitt, who likes protective Blair.Getting It Right
By Arrow
It's heavy. That's the first thing you realize when you pick up one of these things. It's not like the squirt gun you played with when you were a kid—not that I did; no way would Naomi let me even touch such an obvious tool of the military propaganda machine. But this is no toy—it's heavy as hell. Hard to hold steady at arm's length. Takes real effort.
The next thing you notice is the coiled, oily black power of the thing. It is potential energy incarnate—death waiting to happen. Feels like the damned thing will bite you if you take your eye off of it for a second.
It's so terrifyingly obvious, when you heft the cold, unexpected weight of it, that its purpose is to kill people. Make them bleed. Stop their hearts from beating. That is its only real purpose.
I've had to hold one a bunch of times, once even fired a submachine gun when we were trapped on an island with a drug gang. But this is the first time the gun I'm holding is mine. Mine to carry, mine to use (please not any time soon.)
Jim is sitting at the kitchen table and looking across at me expectantly. He's about to teach me how to clean my weapon. His own, a SIG Sauer, is sitting on a matching towel in front of him, the barrel pointed away from us.
He opens his mouth and starts talking about safe practices—checking to make sure the chamber isn't holding a round even if the clip is out, keeping the safety on regardless. Then he starts pointing and rat-a-tatting component names—bore, bolt, receiver—and I'm storing it all like I used to do with class lectures, but the whole time I'm looking at his hands, at the way his fingers are moving—lovingly, almost sensuously—on the diamond-patterned grip.
He starts taking it apart, showing me the steps. His voice is soft, patient. The process is slightly different for my Beretta, but he walks me through it. He pulls out a couple of soft rags, tosses me one, and puts some solvent on his before starting to clean the bore. There's this frown of concentration on his face, an intent look that itches hard at my memory. I look down at his hands again, at the way he's cradling his gun, and then up at his face, and I get it.
He looked just like that the first time he held my cock in his hands. His face had the same, incredibly intense focus, as if it getting it right were imperative—a matter of life or death.
And this is. It is. I shake my head and get to work mirroring his actions, because this is no lecture hall, and I'm not on the outside anymore, observing.
This is my gun. It's heavy, but I need the weight. I need every ounce of its power if I'm going to use it, if I'm going to protect him.
I'm going to use it to protect Jim.
And that's the most important thing in this world.
....................
2007.06.25
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 03:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 06:42 am (UTC)>i just watched 1.03 tonight where Jim's telling him he'll feel safer if Blair's carrying and Blair's all, no way, man'.<
That's the hard stretch, right there. I'm still in second season viewing-wise, and have only read fic of the final season, so I know how the series ends, and it's hard for me to imagine...but Blair strikes me as pretty damned adaptable and resourceful and resilient.
Love your icon, btw. I do love to see Jim handling his gun. :) I must go find me some gun shots. Caps. Well, you know what I mean.
(Typos, schmypos. I've got a billion of 'em. I'm amazed you do so much typing without touch-typing.)
no subject
Date: 2007-06-26 12:54 pm (UTC)And yes, Blair's all of that. The way he incapacitates villains over the course of the show is pretty effective really; Siege is the tip of the iceberg.
I keep thinking I should take a break and learn to touch type but it takes too long. I'm fast enough with my middle fingers; it's just not very accurate. Which is weird as I type looking at the keyboard,
I discovered when it got dark gradually and I didn't notice as I typed that if I don't think about it and close my eyes my fingers do pretty much know where to go instinctively but if I think about it, bam, I freeze up.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-27 07:06 am (UTC)Yes, Blair is a most imaginative combatant. :) The MacGyver of at-hand weaponry.
(Maybe consider trying one of those typing game programs? I know one that's a little like playing a video game: letters appear and you type them before they hit the bottom. Makes learning kind of fun. I'm sure I can find a freeware version for you if you're interested.
The interesting thing to me is that I'm a better/faster typist when I'm not looking at the screen (say when I'm transcribing a story I've written.) If I'm watching the screen I get hung up.)
no subject
Date: 2007-06-27 12:30 pm (UTC)One day. One day...