Title-"For What We Are About to Receive..."

Name-Scribe

fandomSentinel/Sentinel

pairing-Blair/Jim

status finished

criticism-feel free

archive-You bet. Lemme know where.

disclaimer-None of the boys are mine, but this is strictly for fun, not for profit.

summary-The boys spend their first Thanksgiving together.

rating-Hard R, maybe NC-17

For What We Are About to Receive..
by Scribe

Jim Ellison swore softly as he tried to juggle the two large grocery bags and fit his key into the lock at the same time. He managed it, but after he set the bags inside the door, he had to return to the hall to retrieve an onion that had somehow escaped. He locked the door again, hefted the bags, and tiptoed into the kitchen.

The onion escaped again when he sat the bags on the table, thumping hollowly on the tile floor. Jim swore again, quietly, and retrieved it again. All was done as silently as his over six foot frame would allow. It was almost three am, and he didn't want to wake up Blair. The poor kid had been obsessing lately over a paper that was due, he needed his rest.

Sighing heavily, Jim sorted perishables into freezer and refridgerator, non perishibles into cupboards. He could have just crammed the chilled stuff into the refridgerator and separated it more carefully in the morning, but he hated leaving things unfinished. Anyway, it was going to be hectic enough tomorrow without the added work.

This was Jim and Blair's first Thanksgiving as a couple, and Jim was determined to cook a genuine old fashioned feast. Never mind that he had limited kitchen experience. Never mind that Blair had hinted that a trip to the Luby's Cafeteria would be just fine with him. Blair had seen the stubborn light in Jim's eyes, and stopped arguing about it. Once Jim had made up his mind, he was about as flexible as cast iron.

Food stowed, Jim thought about just beginning the meal NOW, and getting it over with. They could have it for breakfast. But the idea of the soft bed waiting upstairs, the bed that contained the man he loved, drew him away from that plan.

Jim sneaked up the stairs (and yes, he could move pretty silently, despite his size) and took a long, hot shower. He was stiff and sore. The reason he was so late was that a suspect had decided to get beligrant and stupid (the first implied the latter, at least wherever messing with Jim Ellison was concerned), and Jim had spent a couple of hours at the hospital while the idiot squalled through the doctors stitching up the cut he'd gotten when Jim had forcibly removed him from the policewoman he was trying to strangle).

At last Jim crawled naked beneath the cool sheets with Blair. He turned on his side and looked at his sleeping lover. God, he was beautiful. A year ago, Jim hadn't thought in terms of male beauty. It took Blair to introduce him to the concept. Now he was his, this manchild. An intoxicating combination of energy and serenity, impishness and ferocious intelligence, delicacy and strength. Only one Blair in the world, Jim thought, and he's mine.

That was why Jim was insisting on this production tomorrow. Anything that would strengthen the bond, draw them closer. It's just that nothing was working out like he hoped. It had seemed like such a good idea a week ago. He'd even gotten an old family reciped for stuffing from Simon's mother. Then the week had just gone to hell in a handbasket. Between his work, and Blair's school, they'd barely had twenty minutes at a time together, aside from exhausted sleep. The only sexual contact had been a hasty exchange of handjobs two days ago on his lunch hour. He was aching for his friend, his Guide, his lover...

But not now, not tonight. He needed sleep. If he awoke Blair now and they made love, there was the real possibility that Jim might...well, not fully satisfy. He wasn't ready to risk that. A few hours sleep, the Thanksgiving dinner, then they'd have the whole long evening, and the next day.

Blair's hair was loose, spilling across his pillow. Jim buried his face in the soft curls, inhaled the beloved scent, and drifted off to sleep.

Blair awoke slowly the next morning. He'd gone to sleep very early last night. Well, gone to bed, anyway. He'd lain awake for awhile, hoping Jim would be home. They had a lot of catching up to do. It had been almost a week, A WEEK!, with no real sex. That was not only unpleasant, it was downright unhealthy.as far as Blair was concerned. He needed Ellison injections on a regular basis. Blair knew Jim would be tired, but he fully intended to jump his bones as quickly as possible. If Jim was too tired to get active himself, Blair was perfectly willing to drive.

But insidious sleep had crept up on him. Now he was awake, the bed was still empty, but the sheets on the other side were mussed to show where that magnificent body had lately been. The clock on the table said just past ten. He frowned in concentration. Jim wouldn't have gotten back before say three. Knowing Jim, there'd been a session of hydrotherapy before bed, and he'd been up so long now that there wasn't even any redidual body heat in the mattress (dammit). That meant that he had probably had...no more than five hours sleep, six at the outside.

There was a clatter from the kitchen. It sounded like someone had dropped a pot lid on the counter, and hastily tried to muffle the clang. Blair groaned. He'd forgotten. Thanksgiving, Jim's crusade. Why was he insisting on doing this? Blair loved Jim, so anything that made Jim happy was kewl. But this didn't really seem to be making him happy. It was making him crazy.

Blair got up and crawled into a pair of cutoffs and a flannel shirt, which he left unbuttoned. He dragged his hair back into a tail, tying it with a piece of yarn, and padded barefoot down to the kitchen. Sure enough, there was Jim. He was in one of his old, soft tees and his perrineal jeans, but barefoot too. Barefoot in the kitchen. Hm, he must be a little distracted.

Jim was pulling the giblets out of a raw chicken. "Hey," Blair said quietly.

Jim looked up, rummaging in the chicken's innards, and smiled distractedly. "Hi yourself. I'm afraid it's going to be chicken instead of turkey. By the time I made it to Foodmart all they had left were frozen giants. I couldn't have defrosted it in time, and we just didn't need eighteen pounds of turkey."

"Kewl with me, man." Blair examined the counters and table laden with plates, boxes, bags, cans, canisters..."You got this organized?"

"Uh...sort of." He grabbed a stick of butter and began rubbing it briskly on the chicken.

Blair cocked his head, grinning wickedly. "That looks like fun. Lucky old chicken." Jim smiled, but kept up the poultry massage, not taking the bait. Blair rolled his eyes. "You're slipping, Ellison. That remark was designed to have you all over me."

"And a terrific invitation it was, too. But I'm busy right now, babe. Lots to do." His hands greasy, he gingerly picked up a recipe card by the edge and considered it. "If we're going to eat before midnight."

"We better. I'm starving."

"Fruit and cereal in the fridge." Jim consulted a pristine copy of `The Joy of Cooking' *my god, when the hell did he get THAT?* The book was so new that he had to set cans on the pages to keep it open to his place.

"Nah. I don't wanna spoil my appetite."

Blair came up behind Jim and encircled his waste, lacing his fingers across the flat belly. Jim turned his head just long enough to kiss Blair on the tip of the nose, then bumped him away with a firm push of his firm butt that made Blair's cock stir in interest, which was (sadly) probably not what Jim had meant to happen. "Later, Chief."

Blair went to lean against the counter. "It's been a week, Jim."

"What about Tuesday?"

"Please! Not that I didn't enjoy it, but I've developed a taste for more than just an occasional mutual wanking session."

"Just be patient. It'll only be a few more hours."

"Fine." Blair grumbled. He opened a tube of saltines and crunched, defiantly letting crumbs drop on the immaculate floor. Jim was really distracted. Instead of calling him on this misdemeanor, he just said, "Don't eat too many of those. I need them for the stuffiing."

He was shredding stale bread into a large bowl.Blair sighed resignedly. "What can I do to help?"

"Get out of my kitchen. Go watch the parades."

"Jim Ellison! I came into this relationship expecting us to spend time TOGETHER. I am NOT going to sit in the livingroom watching drill teams from Bumfuck, Egypt while you potter around in here playing Martha Fucking Stewert."

"Geez, alright. You can get the oysters out of the fridge."

Blair perked up. "Did you say oysters?"

"No, I said kumquats. Yes, oysters. For the dressing." Jim continued to reduce the bread slices to fine crumbs. A food processor would be more efficient. He didn't have one, of course. He heard Blair open the refridgerator. "Top shelf." The refridgerator closed. The jar lid was being unscrewed. "Blair, don't mess with those. If you spill them, it'll ruin the dressing, and the floor."

There was the stealthy scrape of a drawer opening. Of course, with his hearing it could hardly be considered stealthy. "What are you doing?" There was a sharp whiff of chlis, and a soft sucking noise that made his balls suddenly tighten. "Blair, what are you doing?"

"Nuffin."

Jim turned in time to see Blair sliding a quivering blob into his mouth. He gulped hasitly, and forked up another one. The jar already looked half empty. "BLAIR!"

Blair shook hotsauce on the oyster and swallowed it quickly as Jim stalked over. "PUT. THAT. DOWN." Blair meekly set the jar aside, and Jim picked it up gingerly, careful of his slippery fingers. "Shit, it's a good thing I don't need to made a full recipe of dressing."

"I'm sorry, but you know how I am about oysters. I'd rather have them raw than in the dressing. They get me horny."

"You don't need anything to get you horny, Blair. You screw like a mink in heat as it is."

"Well, I'm glad you can remember."

"Stop sulking." Jim put the lid back on the jar and set it on the counter. "I'm doing this for you."

"But why? I told you, I don't care. We could have delivery pizza and it would be fine with me. More than fine. I could flirt with the delivery boy and get you all worked up."

"You gotta stop that. The manager told me that the guys are getting into fist fights over who gets to deliver here."

"Jim, why is this so important to you?' Jim was silent, sifting sage powder into the breadcrumbs. "Dammit Jim, talk to me. If you won't tell me as your lover, then tell me as your Guide. I need to know what's going on with you."

Jim sighed, his head drooping a little. "I...I just want us to have...normal times together. You know? Like other couples.""And this is what you consider a normal time?"

"Well, I never did this much, myself. But I didn't want you to miss out."

Blair laughed. "Miss out? Jim, you are aware that my upbringing was...unorthodox, to say the least. Holidays don't mean exactly the same thing to me that they do to most of middle America. They basically mean a chance to have a good time and get laid without having toworry about getting up early the next morning."

Jim blinked. "Really?"

Blair shook his head. "For someone with hyperintense senses, you can miss a lot of the big picture, Ellison. Let's run down the major holidays since we've been together. Remember last Christmas?"

Did he ever. Jim got hard thinking about it. They had only been `together' a few weeks. Christmas Eve, Blair had ordered him upstairs while he `got your present wrapped.' When Jim came back down, there was Blair, naked and plastered with a couple of dozen Christmas cookies. He'd wondered dumbly how Blair got them to stay on, till he saw the empty jar of marshmallow creme and sticky knife. The only other attire was a red satin ribbon around his neck, and a strategically place candy cane. Ho ho ho.

Blair eyed his now tented crotch with satisfaction. "I see that you do. How about Valemtome's Day?" Jims balls seemed to get heavier, while at the same time drawing up. His Valentine's Day gift had been a box of assorted deluxe luxury brand ice cream toppings. They had never made it onto the ice cream. One set of sheets had to be jetisonned after repeated washings failed to reemove traces of marischino sauce. "Easter?" Ooo, jellybean and marshmallow bunny hunt in the MOST interesting places. "Fourth of July?" A picnic on a secluded hillside, watching distant fireworks. Blair had slurped up close to a dozen chilled oysters then, too, but not off the hallshell. He'd been so randy Jim had actually thought he might pass out. "And Halloween?" Okay, the pumpkin was a little disgusting. But...fun.

"So, Jim, running down that calendar, what makes you think I'll react any differently to Thanksgiving? We don't need the `traditional' activities. We can make our own traditions."

"I see what you mean, Blair. But, dammit, I got all this." He waved his hand around the bounty spread over the kitchen. "I can't just let it go to waste."

"Who said it had to go to waste?" Grinning evilly, Blair deliberately dug his bare hand into a bowl of quivering cranberry jelly.

"Blair, what the hell are you..." Jim's mouth dropped open as Blair rubbed the glistening scarlet jelly over his chest. "Blair..." He whispered. Blair popped the snap on his cutoffs, easing the zipper down, and got another handful of jelly.

Jim closed his eyes. "I'm not seeing this. You can't be that crazy."

"Jiiiimmy, look at meee." Jim opened his eyes a slit. "Oh, Christ, Blair! Stop that! How can we eat that chicken after you did that!"

"If I remember correctly, you like sausage stuffing better than oyster, anyway. And you've never complained about having the stuffing impliment in your mouth before."

Jim was starting to lose it. He was having a hard time keeping the lid on the laughter that was threatening to bubble over. And besides, his own turkey baster was standing at attention by now. "Blair, I swear...If you don't stop, I'll...I'll..."

"You'll what? Oooh, nice crisp celery. But...uhn...it's a tad cold. Ooo, that's better."

"I will never again be able to eat a crudite in public, you devil. I'll get a hard on every time I pass a vegetable plate."

"Excuse me, but I seem to have forgotten dessert. Let me check the fridge...Ah, here we go!"

"Oh, no, Blair! Have mercy! Not...not the Redi-Whip."

Sssssssssssssssssssss

"For what we are about to receive, may we be truly grateful..."

CRASH!

*****

END