WRAPPING

By Scribe

Jim carefully folded a knife-edged crease, checked to be sure that the fold followed the line he'd chosen as his marker, then used the (sharpened before he began) scissors to cleanly cut along the fold. When he was done he had a rectangle of wrapping paper that would have made a geometry professor weep with joy. He laid the paper wrong side up on the table, then placed the box containing the tie that he'd bought for Rafe on it. He cocked his head, studying the arrangement, then moved the box a fraction of an inch north. He frowned. He stood up to view the position from above. He sat back down and frowned again. He reached for a ruler.

"For cryin' out loud, Jim!"

Jim calmly began measuring the distance from each edge of the paper to the box. "What?"

Blair, sitting on the other side of the table, watched in disbelief as his lover dragged a notepad over and began to make calculations. "I don't believe this. You've turned wrapping Christmas presents into a math exercise."

"I just want them to look nice, Chief."

"It took you a half hour to wrap that pin you got Megan. Lots of people would have thought the nice satin box was wrapping enough."

"And have her think I didn't care enough to put forth a little effort?"

"You could have pitched it into a gift bag."

"Same argument."

"You could have tucked fucking tissue paper on top of it."

"You're just pissed because this is the last of my gifts, and you haven't even started yours."

"Don't give me a hard time, Mr. Oh, are you still shopping? I finished in September." Blair examined the neat stack of presents sitting beside Jim. "Sheesh. Only an anal retentive like you could buy candy-striped wrapping paper and manage to get the damn stripes to line up exactly on every fucking seam."

"Instead of kibitzing, why don't you try wrapping your own presents?"

"I think I will, if you're done."

"The table is yours."

"Good. I'll need all of it."

Jim transferred his neatly wrapped packages to the closet (they didn't have the tree up yet). When he returned, he stared at the table. "Sandburg, I wasn't gone more than five minutes, and that's just because I had to take a pee. How the hell did you manage to make such a mess in that amount of time?"

"Talent."

Two... enthusiastically wrapped presents were on one end of the table, and the rest of the space was strewn with a half-dozen rolls of assorted wrapping paper and as many rolls of different colored ribbon. A cellophane bag of pre-tied satin bows was ripped open, the candy-colored contents spilling out. There were scissors, tape, glue pens, and drifts of tiny scraps of paper scattered over the tabletop.

As Jim watched, Blair reeled off a swath of paper decorated with dancing, martini-brandishing reindeer and began to chop his way from one side of the sheet to the other. Jim winced. "Chief, you're going to leave ragged edges."

"Shut up, Jim."

Blair plopped an oddly shaped package, already heavily wrapped in tissue paper onto the sheet. "Wait, I think I have a box that will fit."

"Excuse me, was I speaking Chopec? I thought I just said to shut up." He pulled the edges of the paper together and used half a roll of tape to seal it. Then he picked up a clear plastic tube and a glue pen.

Jim dialed up his vision a bit, concentrating on the tube's contents, then groaned. "Glitter? I'll be vacuuming for..."

Blair, not looking at him, pointed a finger at him. "One more word and you don't get Christmas cookies this year."

Jim remembered Blair's unique method of serving the cookies (which involved marshmallow creme and a very naked Blair) and went to sit on the couch. He couldn't bear to watch. Fifteen minutes later, he heard Blair carry his presents to the closet, then come to stand behind him. "Do I dare look?"

"It's not so bad. I swept the detritus into a garbage bag. A quick pass with the vacuum later on will take care of it."

"Later? I don't think..." he started turning around, "so..." His voice trailed off. "You have scotch tape all over the front of your shirt."

"Yeah. I was holding it there until I needed it. I didn't need as much as I thought."

"You also..." Jim was fighting a laugh.

"What?"

"Shit, Chief, you look like Tinkerbelle sneaked up on you and nailed you with the pixie dust."

"I do?"

Gold flakes sparkled in the depths of Blair's mahogany curls, and there was a dusting of glitter across his high cheekbones. "Either that, or you're ready for some serious 80s glam club-hopping."

"Yeah?" Blair started for the stairs, doing a bump-and-grind as he sang 'Jinglebell Rock'. "C'mon upstairs and you can put those Sentinel senses to good use tracking down the glitter. I accidentally spilled a handful in my lap."

Jim jumped up and followed him. "You know, Sandburg, the way you were throwing that stuff around, I bet some of it sifted down the back of your pants..."

The End