Happy New Year by Rae

"Chief, I'm telling you, it won't fit." "Try changing the angle." "I've tried that and it still won't go in." "I told you it was too big." "It can never be too big, Chief." "Tell that to Clint Eastwood," Blair muttered, knowing his sentinel could hear him. "I don't know why you want to take it anyway. What do you think is going to happen at a Hogmanay Party?" Jim just raised an eyebrow in reply to that question. Blair capitulated with a sigh, "Okay. Haven't you got a smaller one?" "I guess I could use my backup piece." "Good; that's settled. Now hold still and let me check you out." It was a sight to set his pulse racing, his heart beating and the blood rushing to his cock. The white shirt with wingtip collars had small pleats running up and down the front and set off the plain black bow tie perfectly. The waistcoat fitted snugly around that hard muscled chest, fastening low across the stomach with three square silver buttons. The jacket, in that heavy black material, matched the waistcoat exactly and the square silver buttons were repeated at the wrists of the sleeves and on the front of the jacket. The black patent shoes shone brightly. Jim had insisted on polishing them himself and Blair, kneeling down in front of his lover, could see his face reflected. "Feet slightly further apart," Blair ordered gently. "And keep still." "Is this really necessary, Chief? It feels... funny." "Yes, and you'll get used to it." Carefully Blair pulled the laces tight through the eyelets and then, keeping the very long laces taut, he crisscrossed them up the white sock-clad calves, first the left leg and then the right. Each lace fastened tightly at the top of the long sock just below the knee. The top of both socks were turned over to hide the knot and Blair adjusted the chevrons that peeked out beneath the turned-down edge. Rocking back on his heels, Blair looked up and smiled. "God, you look sexy." "You're just saying that to sweet talk me into dressing in this... thing." Jim gestured at the final item of clothing that adorned his body. Blair smiled again. "Did you dress exactly as I told you to?" he asked coyly. There was silence from his partner. "It doesn't make any sense. Why would you go into battle dressed like this?" Jim attempted to change the subject. "You've seen Braveheart, Jim, you saw what Mel did. In fact, you are one of the few people who know what Mel looks like under his." Jim pouted. "It's cold." Blair grinned and slipped his hands under the Macgregor tartan, onto well-muscled thighs and up to a very traditional way to wear a kilt. "Cold, huh? Well, we can do something about that." Blair lifted the front of the kilt and dipped his head underneath the material. "It doesn't look that cold here," he commented with a chuckle as the apparently ‘cold' cock in front of him showed every sign of being very warmed up. Blair licked the base and heard the gasp from the man whose kilt he was lifting. Using both hands to keep the kilt out of the way, Blair attacked the object of his attention with vigor and his tongue. Gentle licks from top to bottom brought shivers from the man at his mercy. Teeth very gently joined the tongue, pulling, holding and finally nibbling at the sturdy shaft, studiously ignoring the now engorged and weeping head. He felt hands reach the uplifted kilt, trying to find his hair. Jim loved to watch Blair suck him, but this time Blair refused to let go of the heavy material hiding him from his lover. Blair felt Jim's half step back, realized he was looking for support from the back of the couch, and followed him. Jim spread his legs further and Blair felt and heard his capitulation. "Jesus, Blair," he murmured, the satisfaction heavy in his voice. Blair let his hand join his mouth. His nimble tongue now surrounded the swollen head of Jim's cock, while his fingers slowly stroked the shaft, stimulating the older man's passion. Sucking gently, setting up a rhythm that created a balance between the friction of his fingers and the suction of his mouth, Blair brought Jim to orgasm and, as he felt him lean forward into the wave of emotion, he speeded up and took all of Jim's semen as it erupted down his throat. "Oh god, oh god." Jim was almost beyond words. Blair licked Jim clean, patted the deflated cock and dropped the kilt back into place, smiling broadly up at the standing man. "Better?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. He saw Jim's mock glare and chuckled again. "That should keep you warm until we get home." Blair stood and brushed his trousers down. He stepped back and regarded the man before him. "You are so gorgeous," he sighed. "But we have to go." He watched as Jim slipped his backup weapon into his sporran then picked up his backpack and swung it easily onto his shoulder. Looking behind him, he asked Jim, "Coming?" Jim's "Nope," stopped him in his tracks. He looked back. "Already done that," Jim said, deadpan. Blair continued walking, laughing quietly to himself. Jim backed out of the parking space and turned left down Prospect. Mentally he shook his head in disbelief. He still wasn't entirely sure how Blair had persuaded him to attend this party. It was being hosted by Eli Stoddard, one of the few friends Blair had retained from his academic career. Invitations, such as this one, were few and far between for Blair since the dissertation fiasco and his subsequent departure from Rainier. Jim had felt obliged to give in to Blair when he willingly accepted the invitation and volunteered Jim's services as a ‘first footer'. "Tell me again, Chief, what's this Hogmanay thing?" Jim asked as he drove. Blair settled back into the seat and Jim could tell he was getting into teacher mode. "Hogmanay is the Scottish New Year, an excuse to go out, meet friends and party all night." "So why all the dressing up?" "The kilt is traditional Scottish wear, hundreds of years old. All Highlanders used to dress in kilts. Back then though, they weren't as formal as the one you're wearing. They indicated a man's family connections, what clan he belonged to and it was much more suitable for fighting in than the trews, or trousers, favored by the Lowlanders or, worse still, the Sassenachs." "Who?" "The Sassenachs were the English, the Auld enemy." Jim heard the unusual pronunciation of the words. "I'm not convinced that fighting in a skirt is easier than fighting in pants, but I'll take your word for it." "Nowadays kilts are normally only worn as part of a traditional ceremony like weddings, Burns Night or New Year." "So why aren't you wearing a kilt?" Jim grumbled unconvincingly. "I've told you, you're first footing." Jim could tell Blair was smiling to himself. "And why am I first footing and you aren't?" "I'm not tall enough. I will only bring bad luck." "What!" Jim took his eyes off the road momentarily to stare at his partner. Blair was looking at him, smiling. "Tradition demands that the first person across the threshold brings the household all their luck for the year. To make sure it is good luck, the first footer must be male, tall, dark and handsome." "Well, that describes me," Jim said smugly. Blair arched an eyebrow, pursed his lips and continued as if Jim had not interrupted him. Jim chuckled. "The first footer cannot be a doctor, a priest or a grave-digger." Blair paused. "Oh, and they can't have eyebrows that join in the middle." Jim laughed out loud. "How would that be bad luck?" He really wanted to know. Blair was examining his own eyebrows in the mirror on the back of the sun shade. "No idea," he said as he finished his inspection. Jim continued to ask questions until they drew up outside Eli's very large house in a quiet residential area close to Rainier. A small crowd was gathered outside. "Why are they waiting outside, Sandburg?" Jim asked, somewhat self-conscious as he realized that he was the only one in a kilt. "Jim, you are here to first foot. You have to cross the threshold first." His tone of voice suggested he was talking to a particularly stupid or young student. Someone in the crowd wolf-whistled and Jim scowled. Blair was digging around in his backpack. "Here you go." He held out his hands to Jim. In one was a lump of coal and in the other a half bottle of Scottish whiskey. "Is that coal, Sandburg?" "Yep." "Why do I have to have coal?" Jim was doing his best not to get annoyed. It was damned cold with nothing under the kilt, and the wind was blowing. "You have to place the coal on the host's fire. It will ensure that there is always a fire in their hearth for the rest of the year." Blair was trying to maneuver Jim towards the front door. "Do I get to keep the scotch or do I give that away too? Jim held back, somehow still reluctant. "You can offer a dram to anyone you greet." "What's a dram?" Jim turned back to Blair and felt the wind swirl around the back of the kilt. He quickly put the bottle of scotch under one arm and put his now free hand on the back of the kilt to prevent it lifting. He heard someone in the crowd laugh and stared at the other party-goers to see who it was making fun of him. "A shot, Jim. A dram is a shot." "So if I have to give away the coal and the scotch and if I have to wear this damn thing, what do I get out of all this?" He hadn't been able to tell who had laughed at him. "Well there is one part of the tradition that I haven't mentioned yet." Jim turned his attention back to Blair, but kept one hand on the kilt as the wind gathered strength. "What?" he wanted to know. He could tell from the fact that Blair hadn't mentioned it yet, and from the way that his lover spoke, that he needed to know what it was. Blair stood in front of Jim. The younger man was looking at his own hands, but Jim could see the smile curling at his lips. "Tradition dictates that the first footer can claim a kiss from every lady at the gathering." Blair looked up, his eyes twinkling with merriment and devilry. "Blair Sandburg..." Jim warned. Blair tried to look innocent, but failed miserably. "If I have to kiss any of the women at this party you're going to have to repay me twice over... at least." Jim lifted his hand to point a finger in Blair's chest. The wind took that moment to swirl viciously around his legs and the back of the kilt lifted slightly. The voice that had previously wolf-whistled and then laughed, muttered to itself, "very nice." Jim whirled, trying to spot the woman and hide his modesty. The bottle of scotch slipped, and in grabbing that he dropped the lump of coal. Blair bent over and retrieved it. Holding out his hand, Blair offered the coal to his partner. Jim scowled, turned and muttered, "Let's get this over with." He walked to the door and, with the hand that held the lump of coal, knocked on the door. As the door opened, an elderly man with white hair gestured Jim inside. Blair followed, smiling as Jim disappeared inside. Later that night, or technically, early the next morning, Jim and Blair sat on the couch in the loft. Jim had removed the bow tie and undone the waistcoat. The black shoes and their laces had been removed and his feet rested on the coffee table, clad only in long white socks. "That was fun, Chief," he sighed as he swirled the ice in his glass. As designated driver he had not had a chance to drink at the party and was now enjoying the bottle of malt scotch Eli had presented to him for being the first footer. "Yeah, it was," Blair replied, the slightest slurring of his words probably only detectable by his sentinel. Blair's fingers walked down Jim's thigh until they reached the bottom of the kilt. Slowly he pulled the material back up Jim's leg. "This is more fun," he purred. "I tell you those old ladies can really dance. That Scottish reeling stuff gives you a real workout." "I can give you a work out," Blair whispered pulling the kilt higher. Jim watched his lover pull the kilt all the way back. Blair pushed himself up and, stepping gently but with a very slightly exaggerated carefulness, knelt on the floor between Jim's legs. Jim studied Blair. He was staring at Jim's cock. The white lights on the Christmas tree were the only illumination in the room and, from where he sa, Blair's head was haloed in the twinkling lights. He's an angel, thought Jim. Suddenly Blair looked up. He spoke quietly. "Here's tae us. Wha's like us. Damn few, and they're a' deid!" Jim raised his glass at Blair's toast and smiled at his lover, who was licking his lips. "To us," Jim rejoined and, before Blair could move, he pulled the kneeling man forward to claim a kiss. "By my calculations you owe me another three hundred and sixty three kisses, Sandburg." He felt Blair chuckle as the younger man sucked on his earlobe. "Is that all?" he asked breathlessly. "You must have been slacking, man." "I was saving myself," Jim replied, his hands pulling Blair's shirt from his trousers. "Who for?" Blair queried, now attacking Jim's neck. "Just for you, Blair, just for you." Blair drew back so he could see Jim's face. Jim smiled at his lover's slightly tousled state. "What?" Blair asked when Jim failed to speak. "Just wondering how much bad luck I would be in if I let you first foot?" Jim explained. Blair nodded, a serious expression crossing his face. "Only one way to find out." "True," Jim uttered as he leant forward and started to undo Blair's trousers. Blair aided in his own disrobing until he knelt naked before Jim, wearing only a grin. "This isn't going to work, Sandburg," Jim stated firmly. "What!" Blair was confused. "You're supposed to put a lump of coal on my fire," Jim teased. "I have something much better that I can use to fan the flames." "Will it bring me good luck?" Jim asked as Blair leant forward. "This year, next year, every year," Blair nodded. "Forever?" Jim asked. Without his knowing how, the moment had turned serious. "Forever," Blair stated. "To us," Jim said simply. They kissed. Blair 'first footed' on the couch and, just to be safe and guarantee them good luck for the next year, Jim 'first footed' in bed after. As they lay in bed in each other's arms watching the sun rise through the skylight, letting sleep claim them, Jim spoke one more word. "Forever." The end.