Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters do not belong to me. They are owned by Pet Fly and Paramount. No copyright infringement was intended by the author.

Author's Notes: Christmas 2002; a Christmas to remember. Our house was undergoing remodeling, and there was nowhere to set up a tree or do decorations. On Christmas Eve, I hustled down to the local Wal-Mart, bought a 3-foot artificial tree, lights and decorations, and set it up in our bathroom, on the mirrored shelf behind our bathtub. Gifts filled the quilt-lined tub and the stockings decorated the steps up to it. It was a unique celebration, to be sure. I made the mistake of saying that the only thing better than Christmas in the bathtub, would be Jim and Blair in the bathtub. Lisa Duncan's Twin challenged me to write it. This is the result. Silliness ahead.

If you want to see what that Christmas really looked liked, click HERE.

Acknowledgments: It's Lisa's fault!!! Blame her! Then give many kudos and thanks to my betas, Elaine and Mary. They're the best!

Rating: R

Category: Humor

Summary: A drunken Jim and an unexpected outing.

Comments welcome and appreciated!

Ah-choo! Jim sniffled and wiped at his mouth with his sleeve.

"Ah, geez, Jim!" Sandburg said, walking up to the sick man with a box of tissues. "That is so unsanitary!" He paused a beat, then continued. "You sure you feel up to going to the party?"

"Haven't got a choice," Jim's muffled voice answered. "We just have to make an appearance."

"Well, change your shirt, then," Blair said, digging through the closet to find something appropriate. "Here, wear this." He tossed the clothing onto the bed.

Jim looked at the blue silk shirt like it was a snake about to strike. "That's my I-want-to-have-sex-with-you-tonight-Sandburg shirt," he snuffled through the congestion. "I can't wear that to Simon's Christmas housewarming."

"It's a party," Blair argued. "Nobody is going to look at that shirt and say, 'Geez, Jim must be screwing Sandburg'."

"How do you know?" Jim said, taking off his soiled shirt and slipping into the clean one.

Blair just shook his head. "Trust me," he muttered. Following Jim down the stairs, he added, "Are you going to take some of that cold medicine before you leave?"

"Are you kidding?" Jim snorted. "It's going to be enough of a challenge to enjoy the party with my senses off-line. This is the virus from hell! I don't need blurred vision and a drunken stupor on top of everything else."

Blair slipped into his coat, then handed Jim his jacket. "I hope you're going to be a little more cheerful once we get to Simon's," he commented, eliciting a growl from the miserable Sentinel.

==========

Simon's new condo:

Henri Brown glanced around, noting that only his partner was anywhere nearby. Slipping a flask from his coat pocket, he poured some of the clear liquid into the punch.

Rafe rolled his eyes. "That's not what I think it is, is it?"

"Everclear Vodka," Henri smirked. "Totally flavorless when mixed with other drinks."

"And potent as rocket fuel!" Rafe hissed. "You'd better hope you diluted it enough."

Both men fell silent as Blair Sandburg approached the refreshment table. "Hey, Rafe, H!"

"How's it shakin', buddy?" Henri replied, a shit-eating grin plastered across his broad features.

"I've got myself a grumpy partner tonight," Blair confessed with a sigh. "I was hoping that maybe I could cheer him up with a little punch."

"Still under the weather, huh?" Rafe asked. "That bug sure is making the rounds."

Blair picked up the filled cup and looked up at the young detective. "If he doesn't get over it soon, I'm going to have to do something desperate. I can't take much more of this."

"Well, I'm sure the punch will cheer him right up," Henri said, still smiling.

Blair took the drink over to where Jim stood next to Megan Connor. The Aussie Inspector was doing a fine job of sweet-talking the grumpy detective. "Here, Jim. Have a bit of punch," Blair offered.

"I'm not thirsty," Jim growled.

"Oh, just drink up, mate!" Megan smiled. "You'll start to feel better once you've had a chance to mingle and get a little something into your stomach. Simon's set out a wonderful buffet. Maybe you should go take a look."

"Maybe I'll do that," Jim agreed, taking off with his punch toward the buffet table. Balancing a paper plate on top of the cup, he loaded up with a sandwich, chips and cookies.

"You've got all carbs and fat there," Blair scolded. "You need more protein."

"It's a party, dammit," Jim said, scowling at his lover. "Get over it."

"I'm just trying to watch out for your health," Blair replied, unexpectedly hurt by the comment.

"How about getting me some more of that punch?" Jim asked, holding out the empty cup. Blair took it and headed back to the refreshment table.

Three cups of punch later, Jim was having a great time. His loud laughter filled the room after one of Taggert's jokes. Suddenly, he looked around, desperation in his eyes.

"What's the matter?" Simon asked, concerned.

"Where's the bathroom?" Jim asked under his breath. Simon pointed the way and Jim staggered in the proper direction.

Blair took note of his partner's departure and made his excuses to Rhonda, as he hurried to follow.

"Jim, man. Are you all right?" he asked, steadying the detective as he walked into the bathroom.

"Great. I'm great," Jim said with a crooked grin. "Jus' need to pee." He was pulling down the zipper on his slacks before he even got near the toilet. Blair stayed close behind, in case his unstable partner needed any help.

When Jim was finished, Blair steered him over to the sunken bathtub and made him sit. "Stay put while I take a leak," he instructed. "You're in no shape to walk back out there alone. If I didn't know Simon was throwing a dry party this year, I'd swear you were drunker than a skunk."

"I'm not drunk," Jim slurred, "jus' a little woozy. Must be the virus."

Blair shook his head and went about his business. Before he could get himself tucked away, he felt another hand wrap around his flaccid penis. "Jim!" he hissed. "Not here, for God's sake!" He tried to pull away, but his partner had a firm grip. Despite his concern, he found himself growing hard beneath the massaging fingers.

"C'mon," Jim insisted. "It's a party, and I'm wearing my fuck-Sandburg shirt."

"Jim, the door's not locked," Blair pointed out, sinking to his knees as Jim's mouth engulfed the head of his cock. "Oh, Godddd...."

A loud crash, followed by some muffled swearing, brought Simon on the run. He was followed by half the contingent of Major Crime, curious about the ruckus. Opening the bathroom door, the Captain found his detective and police observer tangled in the bottom of his tub. Jim had a hold of Blair's spent cock, while semen coated the sated observer.

Simon just shook his head and began closing the bathroom door, shoving the noisy crowd back into the living room.

The last thing Jim and Blair heard before the door clicked shut was Simon's deep growl. "Just make sure you clean up after yourselves."

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