The Sentinel, its characters and premise are the property of Pet Fly, who have been ignoring them. Our Lads and their friends deserve better. This story made no cash for anyone, least of all me.
Thanks to Mabin, beta extraordinaire, and to Mrs. Tilford, for making a cameo appearance and for figuring out what was wrong. This story is for your both--Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah!
This started out a year ago (2003) as an Obsenad which got way too long, so if it sounds a little familiar, that's why. It's been much revised and redone. I appear to have a previously-unknown leather glove fetish. Can you forgive me?

This was a long damn day. Blair's whole morning was spent with Jim trying to sort out the interviews of witnesses to an armed robbery that turned into attempted homicide when one of the thugs recognized his ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend among the patrons of the liquor store. It made him wonder why someone might think it was a good idea to attempt robbery of a crowded upscale liquor store two weekends before Christmas. Poor Jim-between the clerk who doused herself with patchouli oil and the stone-deaf old man who shouted at everyone, the whole thing was an absolute black hole for a Sentinel. Blair had no complaints about spending the morning touching his lover, but Jim was already exhausted after a week of pre-holiday criminal idiocy. This touching was serious work, not recreation.

After he deposited Jim in the familiar chaos of the bullpen, Blair intended to shop for his partner. Two weeks until Christmas, or the Solstice, or Hanukkah, or Yule-whatever culture he picked, he was still woefully without gifts or gift ideas. It was their first holiday as a couple, and the pressure to make it wonderful was wearing on Blair's delight in giving. The traffic snarled around the Cascade Commons mall finally overwhelmed him; he pulled out of the turning lane to a chorus of horns and just went home. Giving up on shopping did nothing to brighten his grouchy frame of mind, and he was stomping and slamming doors by the time he made it to the loft. He grabbed the mail on the way past the boxes and locked the door behind him, shutting out the holiday babble, feeling like he imagined Jim did on the verge of a zone.

As he put the kettle on to make a cup of tea, Blair sorted through the mail. Bill, bill, what the hell was that?-oh, invitation to a party from one of his former colleagues. Junk, junk, magazine, catalog. He looked at the catalog as it lay on top of the trash can while he filled his mug with boiling water. It was from a public-safety supply company. On the cover, a plain-clothes cop was cuffing some guy whose face was smooshed against a van. The photo gave a great view of the cop's ass, though it was probably aiming for a great view of the handcuff pouch and concealment holster he was wearing on his belt. Taking his mug from the counter, Blair retrieved the glossy catalog from the trash and headed to the couch, stopping to snag the phone as he went.

Here was the answer to his dilemma. He could get Jim stuff he could really use without fighting the herds of humanity that surged through every retail establishment in the country. Picking up a pen from the table, he settled back with a new sense of midwinter cheer and opened the cover.

He leafed past firefighter's turnout gear, looked in amazement at the variety of sirens, and was beginning to think he was still out of luck when he came across a page of flashlights. Now, that was pretty cool-a lighted handcuff key. Did Jim need it? Nope. Was it a great little gimmicky gift? Definitely! He pulled the order form out of the staples and spread it on the table to write down the stock number of the key so when he called in the order, he'd have everything in line.

He continued to browse. A few pages further on, he found some multi-purpose pocket tools. Jim had one when they first met, but he lost it months ago. Blair wavered between styles and finally picked the one that came in black metal with its own little belt pouch. So covert. Jim would love it.

Look at that-an LED visor light for the truck.. It was flatter than the double-lens job Jim had, and the beams were directional so the flashing lights wouldn't distract the driver-or zone the Sentinel. He wrote down the stock number on the form.

He was flipping toward the duty gear in the back when a glimpse of an illustration stopped him. He backtracked to a layout that featured gloves. At the top right-hand corner of the page was a pair of black leather frisk gloves. "Leather so thin you can count coins in your suspect's pocket!" "Tight fit for great tactile search capability!" Black gloves, tight over Jim's big hands, stopping just at the wrist. Soft leather, smoothing over Blair's skin in a caress. Sensitive fingers gripping his hips tightly through thin, stretched leather, pulling him in. Was it fair to give Jim a present that was really for himself?

At last, he came to the pages of duty gear. As he looked over the holsters and radio holders, Blair kept thinking about those gloves. When his list was complete, he dialed the customer service number on the back of the catalog and placed his order with the pleasant woman who clicked on her keyboard as he spoke.

"So, will that be all today?" she asked as he finished giving her his credit card information. "It looks like we have everything in stock, so your shipment will arrive well before Christmas."

Blair debated for about one second. "Um, those frisk gloves on page 44-do you have those in extra large?"

Jim Ellison had his hands full. He was leading Santa Claus into booking in cuffs. The guy was bitching and howling and screaming obscenities at the top of his lungs. Never mind that he'd had the unbelievable guts to try robbing a bank in a Santa suit, or that he'd been stupid enough to trust his getaway to an aging Dodge Dart with a push-button transmission and no oil in the crankcase; Santa (also known as Melvin Robert Gibble) was declaiming to all that the tyranny of taxation had driven him to a life of crime and he was being victimized by the very cause of his slide into the clutches of evil, blah, blah, blah.

Grim-faced, Jim dialed hearing down into the negative numbers, ignoring the good-natured gibes aimed at him by his fellow officers and the shrieks of righteous indignation from his perp. All he wanted was to get this crank booked so he could get out of the station for his scheduled afternoon off.

Finally, Santa was stashed in holding and the paperwork was done. Ellison used the stairs instead of the elevator; he'd parked the truck next to the stairwell in the garage in preparation for a quick escape. Not until he was clear of the station altogether and in the drive-through line at Wonderburger did he pause to draw breath. If only the rest of the afternoon would go that smoothly.

He knew, however, that it was extremely unlikely. Holiday shopping was not his forte. Once it dawned on him that just about anything from a jewelry store was a winner, he started doing better with Carolyn at Christmas, but that wasn't going to work now. Of course, he'd bought holiday presents for guys-cigars, liquor, stuff like that. He'd bought gifts for the person he loved, and he'd bought gifts for guys, but, um...never had to buy a gift for the guy he loved before.

He gazed out the window as he chewed, thinking about Blair. This morning, rolling over just before the alarm went off, he looked at the man beside him and was shocked all over again at how much it was possible to love someone. Very gently, he smoothed a lock of that crazy hair out of his partner's face and smiled at the sweet expression sleep gave him. Anything Blair wanted, anything that was within his power to give, he would give him. The only problem was that Blair claimed to have everything he needed, refused to give him any hints about a holiday gift, and blithely said that with the exception of gift certificates to Wonderburger, anything Jim gave him would be perfect. No damn help at all.

Jim turned the truck down a slushy street toward the Revival District. There were lots of funky Blairish stores in that part of town. He got lucky with a parking space not far from Serrano Avenue and smiled a little at the rare blue sky that arched over him as he made his way to the shopping area. Perhaps it was a good sign.

The odor in the first store he entered nearly knocked him out cold. What the hell were they thinking? That potpourri stuff should be outlawed. Jim vigorously dialed everything down except sight and touch. The shop was full of glass, from huge waist-high twisted whorls of clear glass shot through with vivid colors to tiny Christmas ornaments spun from filaments so fine it seemed impossible that they would survive being hung on a tree. Beautiful stuff, but nothing that would really knock Blair's socks off. He scooted back past the big glass bowls of potpourri and out into the fresh air again.

The shop next door was lingerie. He really could see Blair in silk, and mmm, the feeling of silk over that soft skin...but this was all for women, hyperfeminine and lacy, nothing like Blair. Tucking the idea of silk boxers away in the back of his mind, he left that window and went on to the next.

For the next hour, Jim looked through store after store crammed with beautiful objects. He saw some wonderful things, but nothing that really grabbed his attention, nothing with Blair's name on it. Frustration was beginning to take its toll; everything seemed dull and unpleasing. There was a coffee shop on the corner that looked close to normal so he decided to take a break.

As soon as he entered, he felt more relaxed. The scent of good coffee filled the place, along with smell of something baking. There was music coming from a stereo behind the counter, but it was quiet so it wouldn't interfere with conversation. Even the beverage sizes were comforting-small, medium, large. Easing himself onto a counter stool, Jim watched as the capable counter person filled his mug of Jamaican Blue Mountain, put it on a plate with an almond cookie and brought it to him with a tiny ceramic pot of real cream.

He thanked her. "How long has this place been here?"

She smiled at him as she cleared away dishes from the counter. "About two years, I guess. I just started in August."

"You a student?"

"You a detective?" Her smile was charming, but cool. Here was someone who knew better than to give too much away. She had no way of knowing that her flippant reply was right on the mark.

"Naw, I'm just a frustrated holiday shopper trying to unscramble my brains with caffeine." Jim gave her a smile of his own, wanting her to understand he wasn't prying. He was rewarded by her small chuckle.

"Oh, another one of those." She turned away, shoving a full bus pan into the kitchen on a cart. In a minute, she'd returned. "So, ask."

"What?" It seemed like a total non-sequitur to Jim.

"Ask me what I'd buy for so-and-so. I think I'm going to put another item up on the menu board: 'Holiday shopping advice, $30 per hour.' Seems reasonable."

Jim grinned at the young woman, liking her more and more. "That depends on how good the advice is, doesn't it? I've got one to stump you with."

"Try me."

Oh, shit. Now he'd gotten himself into it. But hey, he'd never seen this girl before, probably never would again. Nobody he knew ever shopped in these stores. And some days it was hard to hide what he had with Blair. Just once, wouldn't it be good to speak the truth? Jim took a deep breath.

"OK, here goes. Um, my, ah, lover and I are having our first Christmas together this year. I don't know what to get for..." another deep breath, "...him, and I'm running out of time."

When the woman focused a thoughtful expression on him, Jim was struck by the extraordinary grey-green color of her eyes. She smiled a little. "Sounds like there are a lot of new things going on in your life, Blue Mountain. Tell me more about this wonderful man of yours."

So Jim told her. About how amazing Blair was, how smart, how energetic. The way he'd seen Jim for who he was rather than who everyone thought he should be. Grey-eyes nodded and um-hummed, so Jim kept talking. How beautiful Blair was, how incredibly sensual-whoa, wait, Ellison, too much information there. He mumbled to a halt.

"I'd say you've got it bad, Blue Mountain." She shook her head a little as she made another pot of coffee. "So he's an anthropologist? You know where you might go, is around the corner on Longe Street. There's a store over there called, um..." she squeezed here eyes shut, trying to remember. "Wild Stones. Who knows how they name these places, eh? Anyway, they have some great textiles, lots of fair-trade third-world crafts, stuff like that. And music-that's where they buy the CD's we play here in the shop."

Jim swallowed the last of his coffee and stood, feeling like he'd just gotten a present for himself. "You know, you might be undercharging for that gift advice. Thanks very much."

Wild Stones was everything Grey-Eyes said it would be. Jim looked through kaleidoscopes made of recycled glass and shell casings, tasted marvelous coffee, listened to music that ranged from tranquil harps to the throbbing tones of didgeridoos. Blair would love this place. As he moved up the stairs to the second floor, Jim was having trouble making decisions. Coffee, certainly; and that CD with the drums in it; but he wanted something really special.

And there it was. This morning, after the alarm had gone off and the snooze button had been pressed not once but twice, Blair's first words had been, "Damn, this floor's cold!" Not any more. The shearling rug Jim was staring at would warm the floor of a stone hut. All wool, inches deep, and incredibly soft, Blair could put it on his side of the bed and step out into warm, creamy fleece. The rug had to be five by seven feet. Jim ran his hands through the deep, silky pile. He pictured Blair stretched out on it, smiling up at him, reaching for his hand to pull him down. Blair, nestled in the luscious shearling, sleepy-eyed and sated. Blair, nuzzling his neck while his hands...

Stop that.

Grabbing the rug, he headed down the stairs to the check-out counter, where the nice woman assured him he could make a pile of his purchases if he wanted. To the shearling, Jim added two CD's, a vest unlike any he'd seen anywhere outside his Guide's closet, and a big bag of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. Was it OK to get a present for his lover that was really for him as well?

"Will there be anything else today, sir?" the clerk asked as he returned to the counter.

"You don't carry silk items, do you?"

"Oh, certainly. I don't know how you missed them. There's a whole display of silk kimonos and western-style robes on the second floor, right next to the shearling rugs."

Jim knew exactly how he'd missed it, but he wasn't about to admit to fantasizing about his lover while looking at rugs. He went back up the stairs and found the display with no trouble. This silk was far from the whisper-fine stuff he'd expected; dense, substantial fabric, it was still smooth to the touch, and warmed quickly where his hand held it. He prowled around the rack, pulling the hangers along one by one as he checked out each garment. A flash of deep red caught his eye. The robe was a garnet hue that would make Blair's skin radiant. There was a leaf pattern woven into the material that gave it an iridescent finish. As he pulled it from the rack, the waterfall slide of fabric over his arm was almost enough to start a zone. Perfect.

As Jim pulled out his wallet to pay for the gifts, he smiled to himself. A stop at Wonderburger for a couple gift certificates, just to jerk Blair's chain a little bit, and he was done. He was beginning to believe that Santa wasn't really locked up downtown after all.

Four days before Christmas, Jim entered the loft with subterfuge on his mind. There was no evidence to make him believe that Blair was home-no backpack, no keys, no fresh Blairscent, no comforting beat of Blair's loving heart-but Jim had to be certain, so he cast his senses around the place real well before blocking the door open and trotting back down the hallway to the stairwell.

Holiday shopping for Blair had gone far better than he'd expected once he found the right place to shop. What a bonanza! He was filled with delight (and relief) at the thought of finding such perfect gifts. It wasn't until he was wrestling the five foot by seven foot shearling rug into the back of the truck that it dawned on him-he was going to have to find a way to hide this monster until Christmas morning.

Everything else was easy-wrap the stuff and stick it under the tree: end of story. A wrapped rug, however, looks pretty much the same as an unwrapped rug-long tube shape, floppy rather than firm, altogether a dead giveaway. Besides, Jim had been treasuring the idea of slipping out of bed on Christmas Eve, spreading the fleece by Blair's side of the bed while he slept, and then watching his face when he put his feet in it first thing Christmas morning. That was still the plan, but between now and that warm-and-fuzzy moment lay three and a half days of potential disaster. Starting right now.

Jim propelled the rug, which came up past the middle of his chest and was bigger around in the middle than he was, down the hallway from its stairwell concealment and into the loft. It was like trying to maneuver a droopy drunk into the tank. Pausing inside the door with the roll balanced precariously, he tried to think of a good hiding spot. Too big to go under anything; too tall to fit behind anything (maybe the fridge, but that was a ridiculous thought); too creamy-white to leave in the back of the truck. It was so awkward to move that he'd have to keep it upstairs if he wanted to go with Operation Warm-and-Fuzzy; the noise he'd make getting it up there would wake the dead, much less Blair, who stirred when Jim got up in the night anyway.

The only solution was to put it in his bedroom armoire. With a sigh, Jim thumped toward the stairs and began to back up one step at a time, trying to keep the rug upright and wondering where he was going to put his clothes.

"I'll see you at the station later, Jim. I have to stop by Rainier for a minute and talk to the dean about my schedule next semester."

"OK, Chief. You want me to tell Rhonda we'll help with the Neighborhood League party?"

"Sure. There will be no elf costumes in my future, right, Jim?" Blair's baleful glare pinned his partner to the door. The rumor that he was on tap to star as Santa's Best Elf for the party had reached his ears, and he was having none of it.

"No costumes of any sort or type, Chief, honest. They hire a Santa and Amelia Tilford from Records plays Mrs. Santa. That's it. We'll be handing out milk and cookies and keeping the kids from starting a riot. No costumes."

Blair relaxed. "All right then." He kissed Jim soundly on the mouth and held on for a second or two, pushing in with his tongue while his hands caressed his Sentinel's handsome face. "That's to last you until lunch. I love you. I'll see you in a little while."

Once Jim was out the door, Blair darted into the guest room and fished under the futon to extract the shipping boxes containing Jim's gifts. He was pleased with his forethought in buying gift bags. The odd shapes and sharp edges on some of the items would have been a bitch to wrap the traditional way. Pulling out the tissue paper and a marker, he got to work, adding steadily to the heap of goodies already waiting under the artificial tree.

Jim had really gone all out; Blair had been a little taken back when he saw the packages last evening. Still, there was a surge of silly excitement behind his adult worry that Jim had overdone it. The idea of having a real Christmas in his own real home with a real, warm, wonderful lover who really loved him back was so mind-boggling that the gifts were just icing on a very rich cake. Blair packed the black multi-tool in a little bag and stuffed tissue paper on top of it. He was determined to make this a top-five Christmas in Jim's memory.

The last item to wrap was the pair of frisk gloves he'd ordered on a whim. They were packaged in a cellophane envelope with an open flap. Blair pulled one out and eased it onto his hand. Black, thin as a second skin, exuding the intoxicating smell of leather, they clung to his fingers. He remembered the thoughts he'd had when he picked them out, and decided right then and there that these gloves were not going to be wrapped at all. He'd hide them in his bedside table and on Christmas morning, he'd let the Sentinel fill his senses with the scent of Blair and leather, with the sight of black against pale skin. There was no rush to get out of bed on Christmas day.

The Neighborhood League holiday party was on December 23. They'd worked late, trying to get loose ends tied up before Christmas Eve, and it was a rush to get ready in time.

"Are you sure you don't have a red shirt, big guy?" Blair reached for the door handle of Jim's armoire. "I could swear that..."

"NO!" Blair spun around and pinned a startled stare on Jim, who backpedaled. "No, baby, there's no red shirt in there. You're thinking of the knit one." Think fast, Ellison. "I want to clean up a little before we leave. Here -- look through my dresser and see what you can find."

Blair opened the first dresser drawer, wondering if his big, tough Sentinel was nervous about a room full of munchkins. He sure was jumpy. Have to keep an eye on him this evening.

"That went a lot better than I expected, man." Blair flopped down on the bed and started tugging at his boots. "I mean, all those kids wired on sugar and holiday expectations-it could have been a mess."

Jim smiled. "You did real good, Chief. Very gracious of you to help hand out presents after they insisted on the red pointy hat." He reached across the bed and rubbed his partner's strong back. "The pictures Taggart took are going to be priceless."

"I'm looking forward to the shots of you in those flashing reindeer antlers, lover. My pointy hat was dignified in comparison!" He rolled over to his partner's side of the bed and poked his fingers in the top-secret ticklish spot. Ellison shrieked (which was why the spot was top-secret) and grabbed for him; they wrestled around on the bed, crowing with laughter. Blair slid his hand underneath his opponent's shirt and went for the armpits, but got sidetracked on the way by a sweet budding nipple that just had to be teased. Jim gasped a little and started pulling his Guide's shirt out of his slacks. One item of clothing led to another; they were bare in no time, still rolling back and forth a little as their hands found sensitive places and their lips pressed tight. Jim broke the kiss but let his hands continue their exploration.

"Oh, yeah, gotta have you tonight. You smell so good, you feel so good, I'm gonna climb right inside you." He reached for Blair's bedside table drawer, fishing inside for lube.

Blair sat bolt upright. "WAIT!" Jim froze, his head snapping around in alarm.

"What's wrong, Chief? You OK?"

Think fast, Sandburg. "There's, ah, no lube in there. We used it all the other night, remember?" His Blessed Protector still looked pretty concerned, so Blair smiled and reached out for him, pulling him away from the dangerous drawer. "I think there's some on the dresser. You go get it, I'll pull back the blankets."

Jim fetched the lube, wondering what had gotten into Blair. His lover seemed oddly tense; maybe the stress of police work over the holidays was getting to him. Jim resolved to keep a close eye on him.

Blair looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. It was nice of Simon to ask them along to the Christmas Eve service at his church. No matter the theology, the shining reality of hundreds of tiny candles kindled together in the darkness was as powerful a symbol as any he'd ever found. Jim's step on the stairs up to their bedroom turned Blair's thoughts to their love-how it grew, not in one blinding flash, but a little at a time until one day he'd realized that it was lighting up his whole world. He must have done something really wonderful in his previous life to rate such a beautiful gift in this one. However it had come to him, Blair was never going to let it go.

Upstairs, Jim was changing for bed after he'd locked up for the night. Simon's thoughtful invitation to include them among his family at Christmas Eve church services meant a lot to him. For years, Jim was a watcher on the borderlands, feeling as though he was fundamentally unsuited for real inclusion in community. When Blair came into his life, he discovered that far from being an exile, he was a steward of his people. He was needed, and in turn he needed someone to show him how to find his way back from the edges. Blair lit the path home for him at the end of the day. Somehow he'd been found deserving of this great gift, and Jim was never going to let it go.

The sound of a truck jingling with tire chains roused Jim from his rest, and he blinked over at the clock; six-fifteen. He lay still for a moment, savoring the warmth Blair radiated. As he listened to his partner's soft breathing and strong heartbeat, he realized that this was his chance to put Operation Warm-and-Fuzzy into action.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, he paused to be sure there was no change in respiration from the lump beneath the covers. With quiet steps, he moved over to his armoire and opened the door which swung silently on its newly oiled hinges. Still no signs of Blair waking. Lifting rather than sliding the hangers along the bar, Jim cleared enough space to extract the rug. As he spread it next to Blair's side of the bed, he was struck again by how utterly soft the brushed wool was against his skin. The knowledge that his Guide would be swaddled in this gentle comfort in a few hours made Jim's protective heart glad. He gave the rug one last tug to settle it on the floor then crept down the stairs to use the bathroom. He hadn't been this excited about Christmas in years.

Blair opened one eye and cast a menacing look at the clock that glowed over his Sentinel's shoulder. What day was it, anyway? The quiet of the street below sank into his sleep-fuddled brain, and he realized that Christmas had finally come. Time to wake his Blessed Protector with his little Christmas surprise. He rolled over carefully to open the drawer of his bedside table. Bad angle; couldn't get the thing to pull out. He sat up a little, trying not to jostle Jim, but he was still having trouble with the drawer. Finally, taking care not to bounce, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached...

...And slid right off the bed into the most incredible, most luscious softness he'd ever felt. The second his feet touched this-this cloud-the rest of his body demanded to experience it, too. He rolled onto his back and wriggled. He nestled his hands deep in the cradling warmth. He rubbed his face against it with his eyes shut and sighed at the complete comfort it gave. He was petting the brushed fleece with happy fingers when a noise from the edge of the bed above him made him open his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, baby." Jim chuckled, a low, quiet, happy sound. "I take it you like your present."

Wordless, face shining with sleepy love and sensual delight, Blair reached one hand toward his love. Jim caught his breath; there was the fantasy he had when he bought the rug, come true for all his senses. He took the hand extended to him and slipped from the bed to stretch beside his Guide in the wooly nest. Wrapping his arms around Blair, he settled into a sort of voluntary zone, feasting as only he could on the sensations of love and well-being that surrounded him.

Blair's voice pulled him back. The murmured, "Thank you, thank you, oh, man, this is wonderful," sounded in Jim's ears like wind in high pines or water over round stones, a beautiful susurration that went right to his heart. He stroked his Guide's hair and covered his face with warm little kisses, telling him body-to-body about his happiness. When their mouths met at last, tender pleasure deepened to ardor.

Blair drew himself to his knees and pulled at Jim's hands to bring him up, too. Nuzzling at his Sentinel's neck, he tenderly cupped Jim's ass and tugged him a little closer. Jim buried his face in Blair's curls as Blair nipped and sucked his chest, drawing out a love bite just below his collarbone. A low growl rumbled in Jim's chest as he leaned back against the bed, tugging gently at Blair's hair until he could reach his mouth to kiss him again. They tasted and explored, their lips and tongues slow and languid against each other. Finally, Blair pulled back a little and rested his forehead against Jim's.

"Keep your eyes shut, big guy. Just sit back and stay right there."

Reaching to the table beside him, he pulled a scent-dampening zip-close plastic bag from the drawer and extracted the pair of gloves. As he slipped them onto Jim's hands, the Sentinel's nostrils flared at the distinctive smell. Blair guided the leather-covered hands to his own face, inhaling deeply and rubbing against the smooth, cool, decadent texture.

"You can open now."

The sight that greeted Jim's gaze went straight to his cock. His hands, encased in thin black leather, caressed his beloved's face. Blair's eyes were closed, his lips parted. He leaned his cheek against Jim's gloved hand. Jim traced the outline of those full lips; his gesture was greeted with an exploring tongue that escorted the fingers into a warm, suckling mouth. Blair's hum of pleasure vibrated through Jim's whole body and he shifted his hips forward a little.

"Oh, god, baby, yes, you like them too, don't you? You feel so good through the leather, it looks so sweet against your skin." He eased his fingers from his lover's mouth and left a kiss there, then nudged Blair around until his back was against Jim's chest. Jim stretched his legs to either side and bent his knees a little to cradle and support.

"Comfy?"

Blair nodded and wriggled against him with a sigh. The black-gloved hands began their exploration in earnest. Blair wriggled again as Jim's big, warm hands slipped along his shoulders and down his arms, then glided over to climb back up his flat, firm belly in search of... "Oh..."

He felt Jim smile behind him as his fingers rubbed tight little circles around Blair's nipples. It was warm; it felt tickly; it felt tingly; it was going to drive him wild if Jim didn't stop. He arched his back, whether to get more sensation or less he couldn't have said. The gloved fingers brushed back and forth over his nipples; the seam at the tips lent a slight scratch, and Blair bit his lip as the sensation intensified. He reached behind to pull Jim tighter against him.

Jim's hard cock pushed against Blair's back. He rocked forward a little bit, rubbing himself against the warm, smooth skin at the same time he shifted one hand to take his lover's erection in a gloved fist. Blair groaned and began to thrust into the tight, smooth grip as well as he could. Jim nibbled his ear and whispered encouragement.

"Is it good, baby? God, you make me so hot. You give it all to me, you know that?" He slid one thumb up to tease the leaking slit, and was rewarded with another cry. Jim pushed forward with his pelvis once again, rubbing against Blair. "I can't wait to get inside you."

There was a pause in the stroking of the leather-gloved hand. Jim devoted himself to kissing and biting the enticing shoulders in front of him. Finally, Blair rocked forward onto his hands and knees. Immediately, Jim began to massage his ass , working closer and closer to his anus. A sexy little wiggle told him how much Blair was enjoying the sensation of the leather against his smooth skin. Jim knelt up and took a second to strip off the right-hand glove before reaching for the lube, which had made its way back into the bedside table where it belonged.

The first finger slid in easily, and Blair pushed back against Jim's hand with a sigh of pleasure. The second finger took a little more effort, so Jim began to turn and spread his fingers in the tight opening. Blair's sighs turned to words. "Oh, yeah, come on, lover. I'm ready. Come on, fill me."

Jim was not about to rush-Blair was very tight, and they were pretty new at this. There was no way he was going to hurt the man he loved. He slipped a third finger in and curled them to find the magic spot. The shudder that ran through Blair's strong body told him when he'd found his mark, and he prepared himself with a little more lube before sliding home.

Sweet, hot, tight-god, how had he lived without this? Blair was mumbling and rocking back onto his cock. Reaching around, Jim pulled his lover upright against his chest.

"Ah, god, yes!" Blair howled, his head thrown back against Jim's shoulder. Jim braced his back against the bed and thrust upward as Blair rode his cock. With his lips against the sensitive ear, Blair spoke his love, his bliss, his wonder at the bond that lay between them. Jim kept the movement going, rolling his hips and helping Blair lift and settle on his rock-hard cock. Having this beloved man in his arms, giving him pleasure and being given it in return, was beyond any hope he'd ever had for happiness.

Blair arched back against him and gave a pleasured cry; Jim redoubled his efforts and took his lover's flushed, leaking cock in his gloved hand. The electric shock of sensation that surged through Blair passed right to Jim, and he gave up trying to stay in control, stroking his lover's cock and thrusting into his luscious heat with abandon.

"Yeah, lover, do it for me." Strands of hair were clinging to Blair's sweaty face, and he tightened his grip on Jim's ass, trying to pull them even further together. When he bit Jim's ear, the extra sensation sent a bolt of pleasure into Jim's belly. He only had a second to croak a warning before he pulled Blair down hard on his cock, hot seed filling him to overflowing. Blair followed, his climax cry turned carefully away from Jim's ear. They sagged together against the bed, before Jim eased them over to lie in the sensual comfort of the rug. Eyes shut, hands tender on each other's skin, they basked as the world came back to them.

Finally, Blair shifted. "Wow." He snuggled against his Sentinel's strong chest with a smile. Jim returned a smile of his own.

"I suppose this is where I say, 'Merry Christmas, Blair.'"

"Oh, yeah. Merry is just one of the adjectives I'd choose." He squirmed a little. "You know, if we don't want to have to figure out how to clean this rug right now, maybe I'd better get up."

The arm over his chest tightened a little before Jim released him with a sigh. "Okay. I'll meet you back in bed in a minute."

They were nestled against each other under the covers, soaking up the sweetness of the moment, when a rumbling sound disturbed the silence.

"Was that you?"

Jim laughed. "Well, if it wasn't you, it must have been me. Want some breakfast?"

"Yeah, and we have other gifts to open, too, big guy." Blair paused, then rolled around to look at Jim with happy eyes. "But you know, we could stop right here and it would still be the best Christmas I've ever had."

"Chief, you took the words right out of my mouth." After a moment filled with the moist sounds of kisses, Jim spoke again. "I love you, Blair."

"I love you, Jim. Merry Christmas."

End Gifts by EE: elmyraemilie@yahoo.com
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.