Pet Fly and Sci-Fi, but not I. Sigh. No filthy lucre from this action, just fun and personal satisfaction.

Part of the Slash Advent Calendar Challenge situated at http://www.kardasi.com/Advent I'm dipping my toe in Sentinel waters, here, so be kind. And, oh, yeah. holiday schmoop warning. 'Tis the season, after all.

Jim Ellison wearily settled himself into the embrace of his sofa, casting a bemused glance at the brightly ornamented Christmas tree that Sandburg, in the grip of some kind of seasonal fever, had insisted on putting up. That wasn't the end of it, either. The entire loft was abundantly adorned in a schizophrenic blend of December holiday traditions. Jim couldn't even identify some of them. Even the upstairs railings hadn't escaped.

Jim supposed he must have the most PC decor in all of Cascade, but it was the Christmas tree that regularly drew his attention.

The Christmas tree.

In Jim's opinion, Christmas trees had always been the exemplification of every failed holiday expectation. Every disappointment. Every loss, from the year his mother had abandoned him and his brother to the year he and Carolyn had admitted their marriage was a sad mistake, and all the years in between. Years spent on Army bases or in foreign countries or on frigid stakeouts. As for the time Jim had spent in Peru... at least he'd been living on Chopec time, then, and not by the tyranny of the calendar. Christmas had passed unnoticed, which was just the way Jim preferred.

Or had preferred.

Somehow, Sandburg managed to sweep Jim up in his solstice furor, until Jim actually found himself enjoying the season, as difficult as it was on sentinel senses. Carols blasted willy-nilly, either in tinny muzak or tunelessly whistled by passersby. Hordes of shoppers stampeded around town dragging along the obligatory screaming kids and there were all the smells that accompanied masses of humanity. And everywhere there were lights, tinsel, and garland, glittering in wild colors never seen in nature.

If it hadn't been for Sandburg, Jim thought he'd likely stay zoned from Thanksgiving until after New Year's.

But, there was Blair Sandburg. Blair Sandburg was there, and somehow, somehow, with just a husky-voiced "Dial it down, Jim" and a hand placed on his shoulder or back, the holidays stopped being a painful monument to failed expectations and somehow, somehow, became symbolically representative of peace, love, and joy.

Of course, Jim mused, it wasn't what the holidays brought you that determined how much you enjoyed them. It was what you brought to the holidays, and this year, thanks to Blair Sandburg, the peace, love, and joy was within him.

Jim Ellison settled into his sofa, inspected the Christmas tree, and smiled.

Blair Sandburg, on the other hand, was standing on a sidewalk in the relentless rain, busily cursing Christmas, the weather, shopping in general, and specifically, anal-retentive impossible-to-buy-for Jim Ellison in all the languages he could think of. It was an impressive, if rather futile, litany.

"Bah, humbug!" He finally ended his tirade in grand tradition, glared around him at assorted wide-eyed passersby (who all ducked and hurried away), then proceeded down the block to the next place where he was hoping to find an appropriate gift for the most important person in his life.

At least he had plenty of hair he could tear in his frustration. Plenty of cold, wet, stringy, dripping hair, at that.

He squeezed out the excess moisture as best he could before entering The Jealous Mistress, an art gallery presumably named for the Emerson quote. As soon as the door closed behind him, he relaxed, almost against his will. First of all, the place was warm, both in ambient lighting and temperature. Nothing like any other gallery he'd been in that day, and hadn't he been to every one in the metro area? Instead of chilly hardwood floors and tracklights, this shop was lavishly carpeted, had a merrily blazing fireplace against one wall, and was conspicuously free of seasonal decorations. Even the background music was non-holiday-related, being a soothing, subtle background of tribal drums and flutes. Sniffing, he could identify white sage and incense burning somewhere. It was so totally familiar that he fully expected Naomi to come waltzing out of a back room.

Blair closed his eyes and let out a deep, heartfelt sigh, opening them to find a plump gray-haired older woman cheerfully grinning at him from behind the cash register.

"Welcome to The Jealous Mistress. You look like you could use a cup of tea. Orange and spice? With honey?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you," Blair said gratefully, and started his perusal of the paintings and sculpture that dotted the room.

Landscapes of fantastical creations, brilliantly colored abstracts and smooth marble forms that cried out for hands-on treatment vied with a number of more traditional figurines and pictures. He saw a great many things that he liked, a lot, but nothing jumped out at him that might appeal to Jim Ellison. Impossible-to-buy-for Jim Ellison.

"What made me think he'd like a painting, anyway?" Blair asked himself irritably, startled when the clerk seemed to materialize at his elbow.

"Many people do," she remarked, handing him a steaming stoneware mug.

Blair buried his nose in the steam and inhaled.

"Thank you," he said again, and she smiled at him.

"You're welcome. Such nasty weather. It should be snowing, but-" and she rolled her eyes. "Cascade in December. I'm Nana Crofford, by the way."

"You're the artist!" Blair said, having noticed the signature on most of the paintings. "I'm Blair Sandburg. I love your work. I'm just not sure if-"

"-if the man you're buying for will. I understand, believe me. I've got one at home who's difficult to indulge."

"That's it exactly. Jim doesn't need anything, so whatever I get him will be an indulgence," Blair admitted.

It was precisely that train of thought that had led him to look for artwork in the first place, and he wanted something special for Jim this year. Something to mark the sea change that had taken place in their relationship. More than friends, more than partners, more than Sentinel and Guide; he and Jim were lovers now, and the romantic within him wanted to find a gift that would say "I love you" every time Jim looked at it.

Particularly since the words themselves were so seldom spoken.

Blair said them frequently, of course, although maybe less often now than when their friendship had first become sexual. He'd grown reluctant to declare his love, because Jim had such a hard time expressing how he felt. Blair occasionally had to wonder if that was because Jim didn't feel the way he did, although nothing about Jim's behavior ever even remotely indicated that might be true.

As usual, Blair dismissed his concerns immediately. He refused to let himself get bogged down in negative thinking, especially while trying to find Jim's gift.

He sipped at his very good tea, caught Nana Crofford inspecting him appraisingly, and asked himself how much his expression had revealed.

"Friend, relative or lover?" She asked when their eyes met, and got her answer when Blair blushed. "Come up to my studio. Something tells me I have just what you're looking for."

Nana called to her goddaughter to watch the shop, and when Blair Sandburg didn't seem to notice the pretty young woman who came out of the back room, Nana knew she was right.

Reminded once again that everything happens for a reason, Nana laughed to herself and led her gorgeous client up the stairs.

She just loved Christmas!

"As you can see, it's not quite finished, and now I know why. I was waiting to see your face, Blair. Do you have a picture of your man?"

Still speechless with astonishment, Blair absently pulled out his wallet and handed Nana a couple of pictures of Jim, and one of himself and Jim together. She studied them for a moment then lifted one eyebrow and nodded.

"Very nice. May I keep these? I'll have this done by the 21st and you can pick it up then, and the pictures, too."

"But how did you- I mean, it's-"

"When I paint, I suit myself. When I sculpt, I suit the stone. That's what it told me to do. I think it's some of our best work, actually."

"I don't know if I can afford-"

"How much were you planning to spend?"

Blair named a figure and Nana Crofford gave him another approving smile.

"That will be fine."

He took her free hand and lifted it to his mouth in a gesture that might have seemed theatrically flamboyant or overly personal under different circumstances. Right now, it seemed like the only proper thing to do.

"Wow, Nana, thank you. It's going to be perfect. Thank you so much."

"You're very welcome, Blair. It's my pleasure, believe me."

They went back downstairs, where Blair picked out a small (easily portable), luminously watercolored seascape for Naomi. It was a very cheerful, contented Blair Sandburg who finished the last of his holiday shopping that day.

Christmas Eve found Blair and Jim curled up together on the sofa. They had both learned that by simply cuddling at the end of the day, they could stop being Detectives Sandburg and Ellison, Guide and Sentinel, and could just decompress. In their shared oasis of peace, Jim was discovering he could safely drop his stoic facade, while Blair found he didn't need to hide behind a barrage of anxious conversation. It had become a valued routine, much to their privately held wonder.

Dinner had been eaten at the coffee table in clear violation of a no-longer-enforced house rule. Nothing fancy, but still unusual enough to be special; barbecued ribs with fixin's and beer. They'd taken great delight in licking each other's fingers clean, both enjoying the fact that everything they did together was a form of foreplay, even clearing away the assorted debris and washing the dishes.

The only illumination in the room came from the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. A CD recording of Handel's 'Messiah' played low in the background, while the faint aromas of cider, cinnamon, and barbecue sauce hung sweetly in the air.

Jim sighed in satisfaction, his stomach full of good food and his arms full of Blair. He nuzzled his way through silky curls to whisper into an available ear.

"This is the best Christmas I've ever had."

Blair smiled, although part of his heart ached at hearing that rare admission. It always saddened him to realize how unhappy Jim's life had been. Of course, that merely strengthened his resolve to make Jim happy, and keep him that way.

Blair had recognized years ago that a happy Jim made for a happy Blair.

"Even though I have to work tomorrow?" He teased gently, both of them having already come to terms with the fact that, as low man on the totem pole, seniority-wise; Blair was stuck with pulling holiday duty.

"Even though I'm having lunch with Dad and Stephen," Jim teased back, genuinely untroubled by the prospect. When he held Blair in his arms, Jim honestly believed there was nothing he couldn't handle. "But I think I'm going to work on Simon. If he bases next year's holiday schedule on our closure rate we should both end up off."

"Mmm." Blair lazily pondered the notion, pretending not to notice as Jim's tongue tasted the side of his neck. "That might work if everyone else will agree. Then you can take it to Simon as a motivational technique."

"Motivational techniques are good," Jim agreed, sliding one hand under Blair's shirts to pet and pull on Blair's chest hair. "Can I motivate you up to bed?"

"With that technique? Oh, yeah, man." Blair would have purred if he could. "But I want to give you your Christmas present first."

"You aren't it?" Jim asked with well-played surprise, tugging lightly on Blair's nipple ring and loving the low groan that resulted. "You know you didn't have to get me anything else."

Given that they weren't going to spend Christmas day together, they'd already exchanged a few small practical gifts (although Blair initially insisted there was nothing practical about the several pairs of silk boxers Jim had given him. Jim had countered by saying Blair in silk boxers would be a present for them both, and Blair certainly wasn't going to argue). They'd originally planned to exchange their big gifts on Christmas night, but Blair decided his couldn't wait.

"Get real. Besides, I think you're going to like this."

"I already do," Jim said, his arms tightening around Blair, whose face turned up for an unhurried kiss. Then, seeing the anticipation that shone from those sapphire eyes, Jim relented. "Okay, Darwin. Go for it."

Without rushing, and with the maximum amount of body contact, Blair slid out of Jim's arms and retrieved a largish, elegantly wrapped box from beneath the tree, which he carefully set on the coffee table in front of Jim.

Jim took a moment to appreciate the artful packaging, then ripped it off unceremoniously, opening the box. He lifted something out that was securely wrapped in several layers of bubbled plastic, and when he finally unraveled what was inside, caught his breath back in a gasp.

"Oh, Blair," he managed to whisper, and his reaction was everything Blair Sandburg had hoped for, wished for, when he'd seen what Nana Crofford was creating with the stone.

Two men, meticulously carved in black marble, worked in such a way that the rippling veins in the rock somehow echoed the natural movements of muscle and hair. Standing, not one behind the other, but side by side. The shorter figure had one hand on the shoulder of the taller one, whose head was slightly canted as if he was listening for something, a hand at his partner's back.

Jim ran his sensitive fingertips over the cool marble, tracing the subtly suggested lines of clothing to the meticulously detailed hands, then along the almost mobile fall of the shorter figure's wild curls. It felt almost alive in his hands, this graven representation of two men supporting each other with simple touches.

Two men, with faces clearly recognizable to Jim as himself and Blair.

He became aware his mouth was open but nothing was coming out.

Tearing his gaze off the sculpture in his hands, Jim gaped at his lover. Blair's eyes were suspiciously bright, and although Jim rarely gave voice to his feelings, he suddenly found some words that weren't difficult to say, after all.

"Next to you, this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. This is the way I love you, set in stone, Blair. Forever."

Blair closed his eyes long enough to draw in a shuddering breath, then curled his hands around Jim's, around the sculpture.

"That's what I wanted it to mean, because that's the way I love you, Jim," Blair promised, holding Jim's gaze. "Like the stone, eternal, even after we've left this world behind."

Jim pushed the box aside and set the sculpture on the coffee table, its sturdy base belying the caution he used. His fingertips drifted over the marble one last time, then he turned to Blair. Cupping his hands around that precious face, Jim brought their mouths together in a kiss that spoke very plainly of his love.

When Jim drew away, Blair's eyes were nicely glazed and his breath was hitching in unsteady pants.

"Thank you, Blair," Jim murmured, more words too seldom said. Blair's lips curved into a joyous smile that Jim found himself returning automatically. Some time went by before Blair cleared his throat and spoke.

"So, uh, you really like it, huh."

Jim heard that faintly hesitant question and had a revelation of sorts. It didn't matter how much or how often he showed Blair how he felt. Blair needed to hear it said, and hadn't he already decided that he'd give Blair anything?

"I so like it," Jim amended, intentionally using a Blairism just to see that bright smile again. "It's perfect. How did the artist do it? Do my face?"

"I showed her your photograph." Blair moved until he was straddling Jim's lap. "But, Jim, she had everything done except for our faces when I met her. She said she sculpts what the stone tells her to. Pretty weird, huh?"

"A lot of things that I used to believe were weird don't strike me that way anymore." Jim began the time-consuming process of removing Blair's many shirts, his movements focused and intent. "Like eating ostrich meat, or seeing ghosts, or hearing your heartbeat from two blocks away. And before you ask, I'm glad about it. Well, maybe not the ostrich meat."

Jim finally succeeded in peeling the last layer of clothing off his lover's upper body.

Now free to look and touch, Jim filled his palms with the firm flesh of Blair's chest, scritching his fingernails through the always unexpected softness of the hair there. He let his thumbs rub tenderly over peaking nipples, smiling to himself as Blair's head fell back on a low hum.

"You are beautiful, you know," he whispered, part of him relieved to be saying the things he'd been thinking for so long. It was easier than he'd suspected. Sliding his hands around Blair's back, Jim pulled them closer together. Close enough for him to taste that bared throat, then nip at it, actions that satisfied some primitive urge that lurked in Jim's soul.

"Beautiful?" Blair's voice shuddered out breathily, like he'd never heard the word and didn't even recognize the language. His own hands had moved to hold Jim's head, hips rocking forward involuntarily as Jim seized a mouthful of skin and marked him. "Oh, God, Jim."

"Oh, yeah. I can see the lights from the tree, reflecting in your skin and your hair, like you're covered in rainbows, Blair. Beautiful."

Jim moved his lips to a new spot and left another mark, growling in the back of his throat when Blair writhed and moaned against him.

Sometimes, given the way Blair responded to him, he thought Blair was the one with the hyperactive sense of touch. That artless, freely offered response was always incredibly provocative to Jim, making him feel possessive and wild, while at the same time inducing a bone deep need to protect and cherish the man in his arms. He'd stopped trying to understand it months ago, accepting it all as one more part of the dichotomy that was Blair Sandburg, who protected him, owned him, cherished him, and ravaged him to a stupor on a regular basis.

He buried one hand in the thick curls at the back of Blair's head and pulled, bowing his lover's chest out so his mouth could play over that nipple ring. Blair, like this, was a feast for his senses, all his senses, as he caught the strangled sounds his efforts drew forth.

Jim dialed up his hearing, listening to the blood that rushed to fill Blair's body, grounding himself on the familiar rhythms of that big heart. The heady scent of Blair's arousal poured forth and mingled with his own, further stimulating Jim, until as good as this was, it wasn't enough.

He needed to have Blair naked, now. Needed to be naked with him. Needed to reduce that busy, brilliant, stubborn brain to mush. Needed to engrave his love on Blair's soul to the cellular level, so Blair would take it for granted in the best possible way.

Jim just needed.

Blair's world tilted on its axis. He landed flat on his back on the sofa, barely able to parse his momentary abandonment before Jim was unfastening his pants and pulling them off, underwear carefully drawn over his throbbing erection. He took fleeting thankful notice of the fact that Jim left his socks on (the room was a bit cool), then all his attention was taken up in watching Jim strip, and Blair was nothing but warm.

Jim removed his own clothes like a man on a mission, which judging from the feral gleam in his eyes, Blair reckoned he was. A moan escaped Blair as Jim shucked his jeans, baring his hard luscious cock, and Blair reached out automatically. Jim, damn him, stepped back.

"What do you want, baby?" Jim asked, making Blair whimper. Having Jim call him baby got him right in the groin, and he certainly couldn't say that it made him feel at all effeminate. It just made him feel wanted. He let his head loll over to the side, drooped his eyelids and licked his lips, rewarded when Jim visibly shivered.

"You're such a fucking prick tease," Jim accused hoarsely, and it was Blair's turn to shiver. Jim was, without a doubt, the most physically expressive lover he'd ever had, but Jim seldom verbalized during sex. Hearing Jim now was a huge turn-on for Blair, who simply loved the sound of Jim's voice.

"Not teasing. Want you, Jim." Blair's whisper would have been inaudible to anyone else. Jim let out another subvocal growl that vibrated through Blair like the visceral thump of a bass speaker.

His hips moved involuntarily, and Jim knelt beside him with a rather speculative expression, one-handedly catching his hands and pulling them over his head. Jim's other hand went to Blair's mouth, not to gag him, but to play, one long finger sliding into Blair's mouth to rub over the tip of his tongue. Blair gave it a lingering suck, intent on sending a clear message about what he wanted, feeling Jim's skin flush hot in response.

"Do you know what you look like, lying there like that? Like every wet dream I ever had, spread out and offered up like some kind of sacrifice to pleasure. I never know what I want most, your beautiful tight ass or those cocksucker lips wrapped around my dick. I just know that I want you, Blair."

Jim trailed his wet finger along Blair's straining length from base to leaking tip, winning a harsh groan when he brought his finger to his own mouth, tasting Blair's essence. The flavor exploded over his tongue, making him grateful for his senses, even though it seemed to Jim that his skin ached for Blair. He released Blair's hands and crawled up onto the sofa, blanketing his lover's body with his own.

Blair's arms and legs wrapped around him, holding tight. Their erections rubbed together, the sensation clouding Jim's mind, but he was determined that Blair would know exactly he felt. He put his mouth next to one sweet ear and spoke, raspy-voiced.

"I want you because I'm in love with you. Because you fill up my empty places. I love you so much, Blair. Don't ever doubt it. Don't doubt me and don't doubt us."

"I won't," Blair swore raggedly, almost beyond thought, let alone speech. "Won't. Never again, I promise. Please, Jim. Move!"

And Jim did, taking Blair's mouth in the kind of kiss that was its own sex act, fucking tongues as instinct moved their lower bodies. Blair lost it first, having been halfway to coming just from hearing Jim's words. He stiffened and arched beneath Jim, keening out a shriek that Jim fortunately muffled, as his climax exploded in a burst of pure joy.

Too much stimulation for Jim... hearing Blair's orgasm erupting even before it pulsed free to paint their skin in wet heat. Catching the scent of Blair's completion, feeling it slick the glide of their cocks, Jim threw back his head and roared, overwhelmed and coming hard.

Blair kept them from flying apart through a series of shuddering aftershocks, gradually gaining awareness as Jim levered up on his elbows. Gentle fingers brushed Blair's temples, and it was only then that Blair became aware of the tears seeping out from underneath his tightly closed eyelids.

"Blair?"

"I'm okay," he insisted, forcing his eyes open, knowing Jim would worry otherwise. He and Jim were practically nose to nose, so much devotion in those pale eyes that Blair felt instantly guilty for ever having had doubts. "I'm sorry."

Somehow, Jim understood exactly what he was apologizing for.

"I can't promise to say it enough, Blair. I'll try to do better, but you have to know, whether I say it or not, I feel it all the time."

Jim watched a glorious smile move across Blair's face, that special sunrise smile that he knew was for him alone, then Blair's hands were holding his head still for an exquisitely tender, too brief kiss.

"If you never say it again, I'll know. I love you, Jim."

"I love you too, baby. Want to go upstairs and wish me Merry Christmas?" Jim asked casually, shifting just enough to draw his fingers over Blair's belly, tasting the flavor of their mingled seed.

"Insatiable." Blair pulled Jim's head down so he could whisper in Jim's ear. "Not that we always celebrated them, but this is the best Christmas I've ever had."

"You haven't gotten your big present from me yet," Jim protested. He reluctantly got to his feet then helped Blair stand, running one hand over that fine firm ass.

"Oh yes, I have. Now, take me to bed, and give it to me again, Santa."

"Ho, ho, ho!" Jim replied with a leering grin that turned into laughter as Blair scrambled up the stairs.

Jim brushed his fingers over the marble sculpture, marveling, then kicked their scattered clothes under the Christmas tree.

It was the perfect touch, he thought, following Blair to bed.

End Set In Stone by Polly Bywater: Pollyabywater@yahoo.com

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