Title: Raspberries

Author: Roy's Lady 51

Email: royslady51@yahoo.com

Status: Complete

Archive: Yes

Fandom: The Sentinel

Rating: ?

Pairing: Jim/Blair

Disclaimer: I don't own nothing but my cat and puppy, and I'm on a fixed, low income. I DO qualify for Foodstamps, though. But even if someone were to try to sue me, they couldn't get those. Foodstamps, like my medicaid, are non-transferable!

Warning: Drabble/Humor attacked while listening to Fleetwood Mac's Greatest Hits CD. I therefore refuse responsibility for my actions.... this is also why it is written in BibleScrT font...

Raspberries
by Roy's Lady 51


"Christ, Sandburg...what the hell have you been eating?" Simon Banks asked in disgust at the sound of a rather loud fart that seemed to echo forever in the conference room. Rafe was regarding the student in awe, there was a look of respect on H.'s face as well. Simon stared as the kid belched. It was huge, it literally bounced off the walls.

"Just the normal style lunch around here, Simon." Came the answer. "Ask Rafe, he brought it."

"Brian...just what the hell did you feed this guy?"

"Fried hard salami...why? You eat it!"

"What do you mean, why?" Simon was hit by a wall of pure hell in the form of almost visible gas. He hadn't heard a thing... "Damn it, Sandburg! What the hell was that?" He choked, gasping as he yanked the door open. "No more, people! From now on, Blair will be choosing our lunches. If that's what that shit does to him, I'd rather not know what it's doing to me!" He snapped even as Blair bellowed out another loud burp. It smelled worse than the fart.

Everyone's eyes were watering, their noses were trying desperately to run away, and Blair just sat there ripping out one gas cloud after another. He had warned Jim, of course, and Ellison had elected to eat elsewhere.

"No more, Sandburg...here. Take this, please, take this!" Brian Rafe pleaded as he held out a bottle of Mylanta. Christ...."

"Oh yeah," H. put in, in gas caused tears of nasal pain. "I wished to God I had never offered the idea of farting contests and a form of male bonding!"

"You WHAT?" Simon nearly screamed. "You know good and damned well he'd never really believe that crap! You knew he'd do something like this to find out! Oh God, we'll never get the smell out of that conference room!"

Blair swallowed a good stout mouthful of the stuff as he walked toward the elevator. He didn't want to stink up his car or the loft, after all. He still didn't quite understand the awe that had been in Brian's eyes, or the respect in H.'s...and Simon had only complained of the smell. He hadn't said a word about the social acceptability of the belching or farts themselves. Blair shrugged, and just accepted his new status as King.

END