Archive of Our Own ^beta

Author's webpage: http://www.skeeter63.org/jayci/

Author's disclaimer: The characters from the TV series "The Sentinel" are not my property, and I am not making money off of them. That's all I have to say.

The Beret: Man in a Uniform - Epilogue by J.C.

Jim entered the apartment with his arms full, weighed down by his load, but not feeling burdened in the least. In fact, he was feeling decidely unburdened. Downright free. The smell of fresh evergreen, mingling with cinnamon, a touch of vanilla underneath it, teased his nose, and he felt like singing, caroling at the top of his lungs to bear witness to his present state of happiness. He couldn't sing, or rather he *wouldn't* sing, but inside of him, a whole choir of Jim Ellisons were belting out a get-down, funky, bluesy rendition of "Merry Christmas, Baby."

He stood for a brief moment, staring at the decorated tree, smiling to himself as he remembered Blair's face the first day he had come home to find it there. Even though they had, in fact, spent every Christmas together since they'd known each other, they hadn't really celebrated. Not in a 'This is Christmas, and I want to spend it only with you' kind of way. The tree had been a nice touch, even if a certain James Ellison said so himself. It had been two weeks since they had discovered, declared and acted on how love between Sentinel/Guide, cop/partner, and best buddies had escalated into an emotional and sexual situation that could no longer be ignored. Two weeks... two incredible weeks, and Jim had felt that they should have some sign of taking their celebration to the next level. Blair had been stunned to find a tree standing in the loft, boxes of ornaments, tinsel and lights laying in wait. And a stunned Blair makes for a very enthusiastically loving partner, once the shock wears off.

Jim went upstairs to put away the stuff he was carrying. It wasn't a Christmas gift. Pursuant to popular belief, yes, he had done his shopping a long time ago. But it wasn't because of his anal personality. It was simply a matter of the preservation of his sanity that made him stay away from the Christmas rush of shoppers. All of the dials in the world couldn't compete with the bell-ringing, ho-ho-hoing, kids crying, consumers shoving, lights twinkling, Musak-caroling, chocolatey/piney/perfumey fogged conditions of a mall in the days leading up to Christmas.

So, there was indeed a wrapped package marked 'To Blair, From Jim', already tucked away, but Jim felt the need to take the practical edge off of his gift giving. After all, when you're doing the wild thing with somebody and telling them that you love them, practical is not necessarily how you want your gift labeled. Jim found that even he was looking for something a little more from Blair. Something that said not just 'best friends', but 'you're the fine hunk of man I love.' He pulled out the hidden gift as he put the other things away in the bedroom closet, then lay out one special item, smack dab in the middle of the pillow on Blair's side of the bed.

He knew that Blair would have had no problem latching on and running away with any idea that Jim could come up with. He wouldn't have been surprised at all to come home to see Blair himself laid out, done up, naked, except for a bow around his neck, or a ribbon on his cock, or whatever Jim had on his mind. James Ellison, though, couldn't quite bring himself to just go for it. Better to let the Guide guide. He'd just bring up the rear, so to speak. Plus, he had perfected the art of making the quiet statement that loudly spoke volumes.

Returning to the living room, he placed his wrapped package under the tree, and sprawled on the couch to wait.

-->>>>> <<<<<--

It had been a joke, really. Just something to say to fuck with Jim. He did it all the time, dozens of times a day - made remarks, teased, said anything to crack the surface, see the Jim that Jim only let him see. It was fun, and the beret thing had been damned funny. A major line that had that certain jaw muscle fairly dancing as Jim tried to decide what reaction he would eventually show. But Guides everywhere must sometimes underestimate their Sentinels. Lovers most certainly underestimate each other once in a while. And, it seemed Blair Sandburg hadn't yet learned not to underestimate Jim Ellison.

-->>>>> <<<<<--

Blair had his arms full as he entered the apartment. Looking like one of Santa's overworked helpers, laden down with packages as well as his usual Sandburg stuff, a Santa cap perched on his head. Somewhere in all of it was a special gift, purchased just that day. He had bought Jim a present weeks ago, the inability to contain his excitement sending him out shopping way earlier than usual. But, it was a 'here, buddy' gift, not an 'oh baby, love supreme' gift, and 'oh baby' was definitely called for. Especially since he had been calling out exactly that on a regular basis for the past few weeks.

Blair noticed his lover sitting on the couch, looking wonderfully happy and content, as he tossed the presents amongst his load under the tree. It made him happy to see Jim happy, and he went over to spread a little more joy. The sound of Jim bursting into laughter was not exactly the reaction he had been expecting.

"Who are you supposed to be, Chief?" Jim nodded in the direction of the hat, pompom swaying gently by one pierced ear. "You're too big to be an elf, and way too small to be Santa Claus."

Never let it be said that Blair Sandburg wasn't quick on his feet. Regrouping, he gazed into the clear, blue eyes of his lover, and replied, "*I'm* your spirit of Christmas present, and, if all goes according to my plan, Christmas future, too."

Jim felt dizzy. Wow. His life had come to this. This sprite. Okay, this hairy, muscular, damned fine man, with a heart..., a spirit, if you will, that was almost too great for Jim to imagine. Wow.

It wasn't that Jim thought of himself as a bad guy. 'All things right and good' was practically stamped on his forehead. But that came mostly from his sense of duty and obligation. His own spirit had rivaled that of Ebenezer Scrooge on more than one occasion. And still...damn. He had lucked out in the partner department. The ghost of Marley had absolutely nothing on Blair Sandburg. It seemed that overworked, emotionally overdrawn, hypersensitive cops weren't left completely out of the guardian angel loop. Merry Christmas to Jim Ellison. And a Happy New Year. Happy fucking life.

No one ever accused Jim of being a man of words. Man of action all the way, he almost always used some deed to express the thoughts that came so easily in his head, but were never quite so easy to communicate. He reached out and grabbed Blair by the collar of the coat he hadn't yet bothered to take off, and kissed him. Kissed the life out of him. Kissed the life back into him. Hey, it wasn't talking, but he got points for using his mouth, right? If the look on his lover's face was any indication, the answer was a resounding, "Hell, yeah!"

"Take your coat off, Sandburg. Stay awhile."

Blair shrugged out of his jacket, face moving forward all the while for a second round of kissing.

Jim industriously avoided the pull of the full lips sexily framed by a five o'clock shadow. "Chief? Put your stuff away, shower, change, and eat. Think you can handle that?"

In return for that remark, Jim got the patented Sandburg smirk. "Jim, you are the only man I know, probably the only man in this whole universe, that could sit there with his dick throbbing out a beat that would put the Little Drummer Boy to shame, and still send his lover on his merry way."

Thank god there was no rule that said hard-ass cops and blushes had to be strangers, because Jim would have broken that rule. And risk taker though he may be, Jim tried hard not to be a rule breaker, even if he had to make up a few of his own along the way.

"I'll be here when you get back. Right here. Just like this." He eyed his lover, the Ellison version of the smirk on his face. "Beat and all."

Blair laughed, squeezed Jim's crotch, gathered up his things, and actually picked his coat up from the floor, hanging it up on his way upstairs.

-->>>>> <<<<<--

For Jim, it was like an explosion. At the top of the stairs, Blair just dropped everything, Sandburg paraphernalia crashing to the floor. And the scent filled the air like the mushroom cloud of a nuclear blast. One minute, the spicy, tangy scent of the average happy, horny grad student. The next, the full-blown musk of a man millimeters away, milliseconds away from spontaneous combustion.

And for Blair, it was no less monumental. It was like Jim just reached out and, in one quick turn, dialed up his dick from 'slow simmer' to 'red-hot and smoking'. Just by laying out one simple thing.

The beret.

There it sat atop his pillow, quiet and unassuming, just like the man who had once worn it. The same man that, if one sexually charged anthropologist had anything to say, would be wearing it again in the very near future.

Rationally, Blair knew it was just a soft lump of material, but he also understood the significance. Jim Ellison was definitely no slouch in bed, and was an eager participant, at the very least. But this wasn't like rolling over in the middle of the night, to find him ready, willing and able. Or the sessions of frantic making out that turned into frantic sessions of love making, whenever, wherever. This was the strong, silent approach, the equivalent of an engraved invitation or maybe more like a neon sign. An announcement that Jim was offering him a gift. Hell, it packed more punch, than if he had come home to see Jim butt-naked, on his knees, ass in the air, ready.

Blair swallowed, trying to get his heart out of his throat, choking back a groan, at the thought of the strong, capable hands that he wanted on him, taking care of the overgrown problem in his pants.

"Uh... James?"

Jim jumped, telling himself that he was just caught off guard by the uncharacteristic use of his name. It wasn't like he wasn't expecting to have to follow through. You didn't try to bluff Sandburg. If you were to ask him, "Are you game?", chances are he'd beat you to the starting gate, or at least be the first one to gather data, reciting chapter and verse whether you needed him to or not. So he had known something would happen, had been expecting something would happen, was ready to follow the ball wherever Blair started it rolling. Still, he jumped, his dick following suit and doing some jumping of its own.

"Yeah, Chief?"

Blair leaned over the railing, the tail of the Santa cap swinging crazily in front of his face. "Are you for real, here? I mean this isn't some sort of twisted Ellison joke, is it?"

Jim was tempted to feign ignorance, and probably would have if Blair had just jumped in with both feet, tossing him the beret and telling him to strip. But although he was sure Blair knew it wasn't a joke, sometimes words are necessary. At least a few.

"No. No joke."

Blair groaned, gripping the railing tightly to keep from falling headfirst to the floor below. Softly, he spoke.

"Then, uh, Jim?

"Yeah, babe?"

"Can you get your ass up here?"

"No problem." No problem, indeed. Jim felt his cock was so hard, he probably could have pole vaulted to the upper level. "Be right there."

Blair scrambled backwards, "Wait, wait. Stand at the bottom of the stairs." He grabbed the beret, situating himself seated on the top step, looking down. He dangled the beret from one fingertip as he watched his lover down below. "Okay, strip."

"You don't want to see the whole thing? It's hanging up in the closet."

Hallelujah and hot damn. He had loved Jim in his fantasies, and found love with the living reality, and now Jim was offering him the melding of the two...

Blair had always thought of himself as a good guy. He knew he wasn't perfect, but he was damned conscious, well aware of people and things, impacts and effects, and he tried to always act accordingly. But there were lots of good people in the world, people that hadn't found the happiness that he had. So, he was thankful, grateful to the extreme. Happy Holidays, Blair Sandburg. There be good stuff ahead.

Time to gain back at least a little of his control.

"No, just the beret, James. This time." Blair watched as Jim removed his shoes and socks. "Although, it you had let me in on this little surprise, I could have gotten you a camouflage thong, and we could have polished up your boots."

Jim stopped in the middle of freeing his arms from his sweatshirt. How was it possible that this guy could always be off and running, way ahead of him?

"Still time, Chief. I just wanted to let you see the possibilities, not make it so you had to do it now."

"Jim, I'm so on edge, if I had bells on, I'd be jingling. Oh, it's gonna be now."

Jim tossed his shirt up to his partner. "Fold that for me."

The shirt was caught, folded and put aside. "Next."

All that was left was Jim's sweatpants. And Jim pulled those off, revealing himself to be naked, hard and ready underneath. He tried the toss and fold maneuver again, but Blair didn't even blink, letting the sweatpants hit the step below him.

Man, oh man, oh man. Man indeed. James Ellison in all his glory. "Come here...please."

Jim slowly climbed the stairs, dick leading the way. He stopped when he was within arm's reach, fighting the urge to step up and line up his hard-on with those lips, and watch them say 'please' again, before swallowing him whole. Instead, he reached out to unwrap the many-layered form of his lover.

Blair grabbed Jim's hands, pressing the beret into them, then looked up at the older man's face, as he spoke huskily. "Here, put it on."

Jim did. And Blair stared.

Great minds must think alike, because Blair scooted down a couple of steps until he was eyeballing Jim's one-eyed monster, and swallowed him whole. Working the length of it with his lips, mouth and throat until Jim was making these little 'oh, oh, oh' sounds. Sounds that to Blair's lust-filled holiday mind, sounded like Santa Claus was getting a blow job and couldn't quite get his mouth to say 'Ho, Ho, Ho'. He would have laughed, but that would have put him in danger of either choking or biting down on Jim's erection. Neither one pleasant prospects.

There had been a whole 'fuck me silly on the stairs' scenario brewing in his mind, but all of a sudden he realized he still had all of his clothes on, and Jim felt so good sliding in and out of his mouth, and he had him so close. Hell, he was so close, Jim could probably whisper 'Merry Christmas' in his ear and he would explode. No way could he stop. He tightened one hand on Jim's ass, and the other around Jim's balls and joyfully accepted the gift of cum as his lover climaxed. He swallowed greedily, thinking it was creamier and more delicious than any holiday eggnog.

He leaned back on his elbows, licking his lips, and watched Jim ride out the last of the waves.

Jim looked down through half closed eyes, and reached for his lover, hoping to at least get Blair's fly open.

Blair grabbed him by the wrist. "No, Jim. Let me get my breath back, then we can take this to the bed."

Jim got down on his knees, rubbing persistently at Blair's trapped hard-on, despite the hand holding his wrist, and whispered, as he flicked at one earringed ear, "Blair...please."

Moaning, Blair could only hope that Jim meant, '...please come for me...', because that's what he did. His cock was jumping towards Jim's hand, only to find itself still held tight in its denim confines, but it didn't let a little thing like that keep it from spilling its load.

Jim rested his forehead on Blair's shoulder, as both men worked on controlling their breathing.

"Jim...?"

The older man turned to look at his lover. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"I love you."

"Yeah, that's what I mean. Thank you for loving me."

Jim smiled that little Ellison smile that he was sure he didn't even have before Blair shoved his way into his life. "You never did put your stuff away, shower, change or eat. Why don't you pick up all of these things while I get the shower running?"

"Yeah, yeah. You gotta get off of me first."

Jim got up, extending a hand to help his lover to his feet.

"Wait a minute. I have something for you. Since I got my gift early, it's only fair." He rooted through the stuff he had dropped and picked out a small, wrapped box.

"I can wait until tomorrow, Chief."

"Nah, open it now."

Jim eased the paper off of the package, then opened the box and pulled out a set of dog tags. One tag had the impression of a wolf and panther stamped into it. The other said: To guide, protect, and love - forever. Jim handed them to Blair, and bent his head, so that his lover could put the chain around his neck. There was a catch in his voice as he expressed his thanks. He could no longer count the number of times or the various ways that Blair had done just those three things.

"Merry Christmas, Jim."

Helping his Guide to his feet, Jim answered, "Happy Holidays, Chief."

Blair started picking up his dropped belongings, stealing long looks at the retreating form of his lover, mumbling under his breath about 'combat boots' and 'nightsticks' and 'next time'.

Downstairs, Jim turned on the CD player, and started the shower. As the bathroom filled with steam, and music filled the air, Jim smiled.

>"Merry Christmas, Baby - you sure did treat me nice..."

THE END