Title: The Big Easy

Author: Scribe

Fandom: The Sentinel

Pairing: Jim/Blair

Rating: NC17

Genre: PWP, fluff

Summary: Blair has talked Jim, against his reservations, into going to Mardi Gras. Mister
Repressed meets the Big Easy.

Archive: Heck yeah! Just tell me where.

Status: Done

Sequel/Series:

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.

Notes: Answer to SciFiCatGirl18's (Ami) Challenge #1. Must include: Chocolate body paint, A chenille boa, Strawberry shampoo (you, know, like 'I really like his new shampoo, it makes his hair smell like strawberries'), A feather pillow(s), A bell (or a ringing phone). May include: Fingerless leather gloves, A black mesh t-shirt, A nipple/navel/earring, or all three, Salty French fries.

The Big Easy
By Scribe

Early February

Blair was leaning on the windowsill, cheerfully surveying the noisy, mostly drunken, crowd milling in the street below. *Ah, Mardi Gras in the French Quarter. When public debauchery reaches an all time high. How I love it.*

Blair had received an invitation from a former professor to spend a weekend in New Orleans. The lady was on sabbatical, helping run the small family hotel while she researched her doctoral thesis on the history of gays among the 'coloreds' of New Orleans. It was perfect. Blair and Jim both had some vacation coming, things had been slow in Major Crimes, and Jim had been so antsy that Simon was ready to throw him in a headlock and drag him on the plane in order to get him to take some down time.

Blair had explained to Jim that this would be a perfect opportunity for him to 'practice being gay'.
Jim had said sourly that he thought he was doing a pretty good job of it, judging from the amount of noise Blair made in the sack. "That's not what I mean, man, and you know it. Hell no, I don't have any complaints in that department. You got the physical side of gay lovin' DOWN. But everywhere else?" He shook his head. "I don't expect you to wear a Pink Pride t-shirt when you work out at the gym, but we're supposed to be OUT, remember? Hello? We're on each other's medical insurance. But since you've admitted to the world that you find male booty (and my booty in particular) attractive, you seem to be doing everything you can to disprove the statement. Hell, you've even stopped patting the other guys on the butt after a good play in b-ball. That's not natural, Jim." He'd put his arm around Jim's shoulder, and the older man had stiffened. "See? This is what I mean."

"Chief, we're in the break room."

"I know, and it isn't as if I'm grabbing your crotch. Hell, I've seen H. do this when he and Rafe are putting their heads together on something. No on thinks THEY'RE involved," Jim started to say something, "And don't give me that 'H. is married and Rafe is a babe magnet' shit--it doesn't wash. YOU were married, and -I- was a babe magnet. And don't give me 'the look' either. I was SO a babe magnet." He sighed. "The thing is, Jim, that I just want you to loosen up and have some fun with your chosen lifestyle. It's called 'gay', right? It shouldn't be grim. Think about it. Since we've been TOGETHER-together, have you been playful with me in public? The least little bit?" Jim was silent. "You don't even give me noogies anymore. Not that I miss those, but you see my point."

"Yeah, I do." Jim's voice had been a little contrite. "So, New Orleans, huh? Think we'd get a chance to tour the Super Dome?"

Blair was recalled from the memory. "This is the LAST time I ever let you talk me into wearing a costume, Darwin." Jim sounded grumpy.

*So what else is new? I may have the hair, but Jim is the bear in this relationship.* Blair didn't turn around. "I TOLD you that you had to wear a costume, or I wasn't going out in public with you. You should have known I wouldn't let you weasel out by claiming to have forgotten. Costumes are a bitch to locate this time of year, especially in those hard-to-fit sizes, like caveman, so you have to make do with what I could scrounge up. You're just lucky that the desk clerk is friendly, and was willing to share his weekend wardrobe. Personally, I think it turned out fantastic."

Jim was surveying himself in the full-length mirror that hung on the inside door of the hotel room's closet. "But when I was in vice I used to ARREST people dressed like this." The jeans were worn only slightly looser than Jim's own skin, were so faded that they were more white than blue, and had rips that would have called down an indecent exposure charge if they'd been an inch or two in another direction. They were the most sedate portion of the ensemble. Below they were tucked into boots, which were decorated with shiny chains that matched the one threaded through the belt loops of the jeans. The outfit was topped by a black mesh t-shirt. Jim's skin glimmered through the thousands of tiny openings. For accessories, Jim was wearing a pair of fingerless black leather gloves. Ray, the clerk, hadn't wanted to loan those, but Blair had pleaded. He kept imagining how it would feel when Jim touched him, wearing those--the contrast of skin and leather.

"I don't see why YOU couldn't have worn the damn t-shirt instead of me. I look like a hustler."

"That's the idea, man. And me--wear mesh with THIS pelt? Don't think so. I'd lose too many of the curlies taking it off. Dontcha LIKE my outfit?" He smiled, turning back toward Jim.

Jim examined his partner, and had to agree that he looked good. His costume was even more simple than Jim's--wine colored satin knee breeches, knee high brown boots, and a loose, white shirt with flowing sleeves and a frilly front, a silver dagger (letter opener) tucked in his wide sash. ("Just the dagger--swords are too dangerous, and I'd never be able to get through the crowds with one of those on my hip.") He'd let his hair down, and there was a bright red bandana knotted around his forehead, keeping it out of his eyes. "All that's missing is the parrot and peg leg."

"Parrots shit on your shoulder, and I'm not losing a limb, even for the sake of authenticity. Are you
almost ready? We're missing good partying time here."

"I guess so. Let's go." Jim started for the door.

"Wait, wait!" Blair snatched something off the table and hurried after him, extending it.

Jim stared. "No fucking way."

"Jiiiiim."

"Oh, all right!" Jim took it, then jammed it on his head. "Happy?"

Blair carefully tilted the motorcycle cap down over Jim's forehead. "Ecstatic. Let's cruise."

As they left the room, Jim groaned. "I REALLY wish you wouldn't use that term.

The clerk whistled at them when they went through the lobby. "Hope that outfit gets you as much action as it does me," he called as they exited.

The street was thronged with the damnedest assortment of freaks, hookers, and pimps Jim had ever seen. Then he looked again and realized that it was just partiers--in costume. It was just that the more flamboyant and skimpy costumes seemed to be the most popular.

Jim looked around. "We are NEVER going to be able to get a taxi in all this."

"A taxi could never make it through this area," Blair assured him. "I'd think that the insurance rate for any hack driving in the Quarter during Mardi Gras would be stupendous. The club Mona recommended is only about a mile away--we can walk it." He started down the sidewalk, and Jim had no choice but to follow him. "Besides, the street scene IS Mardi Gras, Jim."

A woman wearing what looked like a thong, two spangled handkerchiefs, some body glitter, and about a pound of feathers (made into a mask), led a conga line past them. "Well, it certainly is a show, all right," agreed Jim. "I'm feeling less conspicuous by the minute."

As they made their way along, Jim said, "You know, with this crowd, it would be difficult to catch anyone who committed an assault. They could just," he made a swinging gesture, "whoomp! Then disappear."

*WHOOMP*

Blair caught the feather pillow that had wrapped itself around Jim's head before it hit the street.
Jim whirled, fists clenched, ready to do battle.

He was confronted with a small, slender girl dressed in baggy pajamas, with Mouseketeer ears perched on her short, bright red hair. Behind her was a cluster of smirking people. Blair quickly identified a Dr. Frank N. Furter, an Eddie, a Brad Majors and Janet Wiess (both in underwear, and Blair wondered how many women owned half-slips these days), and even a Dr. Scott in
a wheelchair. Blair grinned. "Hey, Columbia. How goes it?"

He was rewarded with a high-pitched giggle. She held out her hand and said in a squeaky voice, "Gimme back my pillow."

Blair hugged it, lifting his eyebrows. "Do you have a rip in the same place as you did in the movie?"

She giggled again, grabbed the hem of her pajama top, and jerked down. One pale pink nipple winked into view through a rip, while her friends, Blair, and several other people who had stopped to watch the exchange shouted, "Nipple!" Jim's eyes bugged, and that got a few laughs. Blair tossed the pillow to her, explaining, "You'll have to excuse my friend--he's a virgin."

Jim stared at Blair. "Blair, I haven't been a virgin in any sense of the word for a LONG time, as YOU should very well know."

More laughter, and Jim had the distinct impression that he was somehow out of the loop. The tall guy (even taller, because he was wearing spike heeled pumps) in the bustier, panties, fishnet hose, and lots of make-up sashayed over and tickled Jim's chin with the end of his chenille boa. "What he means, dear boy," he purred in a husky baritone, "Is that you haven't seen the Holy Grail yet, you poor, deprived, LUSCIOUS thing, you."

"There aren't any showings back home, but I'm sure I can find one nearby," Blair assured them.

"Do it quick, honey," squeaked the redhead. "He's too nice to go to waste. Now," she put her hands on her hips. "You saw mine--show me yours."

Blair whipped his shirt open with a flourish, throwing out his chest. They were under a streetlamp, and the light glinted off his nipple ring. There were cheers and applause. He bowed to the Rocky Horror group as they started off, Columbia swinging her pillow and looking around for fresh victims. Jim said, "What the fuck was THAT all about?"

"It would take too long to explain, and you really have to experience it to understand. I'm gonna start canvassing movie theaters when we get back to Cascade. C'mon, it's just up here."

It was called the Club Lookout, because, "on the weekends--look out!" Blair informed him. There was a sharply dressed man standing on the sidewalk, calling to the crowd. "Come on in! This is where all the horny people go? You gay! Hottest dancers in town, man! We got bears, we got twinks, we got every flavor in between. You a lesbian? You a straight guy? We got the prettiest girls, an' they don't mind if you stuff those tips DEEP. You undecided?" He gave a merry, dirty laugh. "C'mon in an' we'll be happy to help you make---up---yore---mind!"

"Nothing like class, Blair," muttered Jim as Blair tugged him past the smirking shill, who held the door open for them, bowing deeply as they passed.

"Jim, I've noticed that your definition of 'class' borders on my definition of 'embalmed'. This place
looks FUN!"

"It looks DEBAUCHED."

"Like I said..."

"I don't see any empty tables."

"This is the Big Easy, Jim--we make friends." Blair walked to a table near the dance floor--one that seated floor, but was only occupied by two young men. "Hi! I'm Blair, this is Jim. Are those seats taken?"

The two men looked at Blair, looked at Jim, looked at each other, then each pulled out a chair. The one dressed as a cowboy said, "Park it, dudes."

Jim sat reluctantly, positive that they were going to be fighting off advances, but he was surprised. It turned out that Jon and Creed were a committed couple, and this was their 'honeymoon'. Creed, dressed in harem pants and jacket ("It was HIS idea.") turned out to be a pretty interesting guy, and Jim began to feel like maybe he WASN'T unique in the annals of homosexuality. Apparently Jon was on a mission to loosen him up--just like Blair was with Jim. "Just relax and enjoy the ride, man," he advised. "Besides," he nodded toward the other two, who were deep in a discussion of horror movies, "they're worth it, aren't they?"

Jim sprang for the deluxe snack tray--nachos, buffalo wings, fried mushrooms, an onion bloom, and french fries. When he lifted the saltshaker, Blair snatched it away. "Taste first, taste first! This is the south, man!"

Jim tasted, then blinked. "Those are the first ever commercially made french fries I've ever tasted that actually have enough salt on them."

Jon offered to buy a round of drinks. When the waitress (dressed as Elvira) took the order, Blair
hushed Jim before he could order a beer. "We'll all have Hurricanes."

Elvira snapped her gum, scribbling on her pad, "Cool, sweetie. Y'all timed it just right--happy hour."

As she walked off, Jim said, "What the heck is a Hurricane? It isn't too strong, is it?"

He didn't notice the looks that Don and Creed were exchanging as Blair said seriously, "It's mostly fruit juices--passion fruit and lemon, and a little rum."

"Well, all right. I don't want anything too strong. I'll be right back--I need to run to the men's room."

When he was gone, Creed said, "Blair, every one of those has four ounces of rum in it."

"I knoooow." Blair grinned.

The waitress showed up at about the same time as Jim came back. She was almost grunting under a laden tray--eight tall glasses of bright, pinkish drink. She unloaded them and, as Jim was checking his wallet for a tip, whispered to Blair, "Tryin' to get him drunk and take advantage?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Cool. But those are all of those you can get--we're only allowed to serve two to a customer."

"Don't worry. We're staying within walking distance, and I'll stay sober."

"Cool. Oh," she pulled some slips of paper from her cleavage and passed them around the table. "Here ya go. There'll be drawings for prizes in a little while."

Jim drank his first drink, rather quickly. "Say, this is pretty good. Hurricane, huh?"

None of the others had drunk more than half of their own drinks. "Yeah," said Jon. "Jim, they're named Hurricanes for a reason, you know."

"Why?"

"Because," Blair said hastily, making motions off to the side for the other two to keep the secret, "it's traditional to name each one alphabetically, and whoever gets the fartherest down the alphabet, wins."

"That's an interesting drinking game," Jim said. "I think I'll name that one Antoine." He picked up the second. "And this one will be Blair, of course." The other men watched, a little stunned, as Jim chugged the drink, then smacked his lips. "Man, those french fries WERE salty."

"Fuck," whispered Creed. "You'd have thought he'd have gotten a cold headache at the very least."

Jon whispered back, "Well, it takes more to affect the big guys."

"Hey," said Jim. "That guy dancing up in the cage is cute. Looks like the one who plays Clark on
Smallville."

"He's of age, Jim," Blair said hastily as Jim got up and headed for the cage that was up on one end of the stage, sure that Jim was about to go cop and start checking Ids. Jim was pulling out his wallet. *Oh, Jesus, don't let him flash the badge. We'll be pitched out, and I'll die of embarrassment, and..." The thought died away as Jim shoved a ten-dollar bill into the side of the dancer's g-string. The dark haired boy smiled, leaned down, and gave Jim a kiss through the bars, then bumped his butt in his direction in thanks. Jim then called a waitress over and changed a hundred for fives and tens, and went to stand with the crowd by the stage.

Blair sat back at the table. Creed said, "Looks like the 'loosen Jim up' campaign worked."

Blair watched as another ten went into a tiny fire engine red thong, worn by a dancer who was also wearing a fireman's helmet, and a tiny cropped t-shirt that said 'ASK ME ABOUT MY HOSE'. "I think I may have created a monster."

Jim returned to the table a little later and downed Blair's second Hurricane. He leaned on his partner's shoulder, grinning, and said, "You don't mind with the tips, huh, Blairbear? All in fun. I'm not groping anyone."

"No, it's fine, Jim." He smiled. "It's good to see you enjoying yourself."

"Say, do you think we could get the recipe for these Big Wind things? They're great. Wouldn't it make a great change if I served them at the next Major Crimes poker party?"

"I think it would definitely make a difference."

The DJ came over the sound system. "Let's all have a seventies moment, people! Hey, before there was techno-dance, there was DISCO!"

A thumping song started, a woman singing, "I'm glad you're home, Well, did you really miss me? I guess you did by the look in your eye. Well lay back and relax while I put away the dishes, then you and me can rock a bell..."

"Hey! I know that one! C'mon!" Blair yelped as Jim jerked him out onto the teeming dance floor. He found himself dancing for the first time with his lover, as Jim sang along with the song. "You can ring my be-e-ell, ring my bell! You can ring my be-e-ell, ring my bell! Dingaling!"

*Son of a BITCH! Jim can MOVE!* Blair thought delightedly as they bumped and swiveled. *Guess I shouldn't be surprised, all that cat in him. I'm gonna have to get him drunk more often. I just hope he can still walk when it's time to go home. He's too damn big for me to carry.*

The music finally stopped, and the MC bounced up on the stage, grabbing a microphone, and pinching the ass of whatever giggling dancer came within reach. "Hey, guys and girls, time for the prize giveaways! And we have some niiiice stuff, too! First up is a coupon booklet for the Hot Shoppe Video Store, good for a free rental a week for a year..."

They gave away that, an autographed poster for La Cage au Folle, a small shopping spree at Leatherette, a novelty cake from the Sexy Baker ("Shaped in the body part of your choice"), and "finally the prize of the night--a whole BOX of goodies! We have an edible jockstrap, chocolate body paint, scented personal care products..." He opened a bottle of shampoo. "Mmm... Strawberry. You'll smell goood after this, and it will go just GREAT with the vanilla-cinnamon flavored massage oil, boxes of designer condoms, and the honey-gold body dust. Plus there's an assortment of toys," he wiggled his eyebrows, "In various sizes. If whoever wins this wants my phone number, they can have it." Laughter. "And the winning number is..." he drew a slip. "Number 69!" There were hoots and laughter. "No, really, this time I'm not kidding. The winner really is number 69. Who has it?" The crowd peered around, murmuring.

"Here!" Blair looked at Jim, who was waving a slip of paper over his head, making his way toward the stage--dragging Blair after him.

He dragged Blair right up onto the stage, and the MC smiled at them. "Which one of you is the lucky one?"

"Both of us." Jim was rummaging in the box. He came up with the jar of chocolate body paint. As he was unscrewing the lid he said, "Can this be used to finger-paint?"

The audience was beginning to titter, and the MC chuckled. "I think that's the idea."

"Good." Jim grabbed Blair and jerked his shirt open, baring one shoulder. He unscrewed the jar, dipped a finger in, and drew a smear across his shoulder. Then, to the howls of approval, he leaned over and licked it off.

The MC was shaking his head, smiling. "Terrific, but take it off the stage, guys. We're not zoned for that sort of entertainment."

The box under his arm, Jim dragged Blair after him, off the stage. The waitress was standing nearby, watching them with a smirk. Jim said, "'Vira, about that talk we had earlier?"

She pulled a key out of her cleavage. "Always happy to be in the service of true love, toots--and that fifty will take care of my babysitter situation for the next week. Third door down the corridor, and ya have a half hour."

"Jim, what are you thinking?"

Jim had pulled him down the small hall off to the side, and was unlocking the third door. "That I'm horny as hell."

"Me, too. You're hotter than hell when you cut loose, but let's walk back to the hotel. You'll be sobered up by the time we get there, and YIPE!"

Jim had jerked him into the small closet, which held boxes of cocktail napkins, coasters, jars of
maraschino cherries, bags of daiquiri mix, and other supplies. Jim shoved the door shut and locked it, then put the key in his pocket, set the box of prizes on a shelf, and started to rummage in it. "Jim, really, I know that I'm always after you to be spontaneous, but... What's that?"

"Massage oil. Hey, I just noticed--those pants unlace instead of unzipping or unbuttoning."

"Well, yeah. I went for authenticity, and..." *whiskslitherwhisper* *blink* "Shit! It took me
about five minutes to get those done up right! How did you get 'em open so fast?"

"I'm motivated. Oo, you went commando."

Blair took a deep breath. "Jim, I really think you should..." *snap* "turn the lights back on to start
with."

"Nah. More romantic this way."

"But..." Warm, slippery fingers engulfed Blair's cock, stroking. "Um, we ought to quit. Soon."

"They say this is flavored. Let's see."

Blair was engulfed in hot wetness. "Oh, man." A slick finger stroked the length of his ass crease,
then started to press inward. "Ohmanohmanohman."

The wetness was taken away. "Excuse me? Do you want me to stop?"

"Fuck no."

"Good thing, cause some of those condoms are glow in the dark, and I'd like a chance to try them out."

A half hour later the two men emerged from the supply closet. Elvira was waiting by the hall entrance. She noticed the happy, dazed expression on the younger man's face, and the way he was walking a little stiffly. He was muttering, "I GOTTA get him drunk more often. Talk about the Big Easy! Boo-yeah!"

She giggled as the swaggering, older man handed back the key, and kissed her on the cheek. "Ya gonna tell him?"

"What?"

"That you arranged for me to give you virgin Hurricanes, and you've really only had about a fourth of what he THINKS you had."

He winked at her. "Nah, not right now. I'll wait till he tries the same thing again--probably
Valentine's Day." He chuckled. "I'll mix the drinks--he's cute when he's drunk. Then when he's
tipsy, I'll spring the news that I'm sober on him. Then maybe he'll let up on the 'get playful'."

Elvira cocked her head, watching as a blissful Blair settled gingerly at the table, under the amused gazes of Jon and Creed. "Yeah? You better watch it. He looks like the kind who'll get REAL creative thinking of a way to get you back."

Jim grinned as he started back toward his lover. "I'm counting on it."

The End