Paring: Jim/Blair (Pre-slash)
Rating: Mature Humor
Word Count: 2380
Summary: Jim and Blair come up with a creative way to determine who
gets the next round.
Disclaimer: They belong to Pet Fly, not me. Sadly.
by SassyInkPen (December 2006)
Jim drained the last of his beer and threw the bottle at the garbage can,
missing by several inches. Blair stared over at it for a long time, and
then looked at Jim, who wasn't moving. Then back at the bottle. Then at
"What?" Jim furrowed his brow.
"Dude," Blair said, arching an eyebrow at him, "You must be
pretty drunk if you're not planning to pick that up..."
"I'm not drunk, I'm just mellow. And I am planning to pick it
"Right." Blair scrunched down on the sofa, sulking slightly.
"It's just...if you don't go pick it up, I can't ask you to get me
"So? It's your turn, Darwin." Jim pointed at him. "I got
the last round."
Blair rolled his eyes. "I got the one before that."
"Yeah, and who got the one before that?"
"Only because it was your turn."
They both gazed wistfully into the kitchen.
"Is it still snowing?" Blair asked after a long moment.
"Oh christ," Jim groaned, "Can't you hear it?"
Blair snorted, "Of course I can't. Are you telling me that you
Jim blinked at him. "Are you serious?"
"You're not Superman...you just hear good."
"Yes, I can hear it. It's giving me a fucking headache."
Blair put his feet up on the table. "Well...no school tomorrow either
then, I guess."
"What's it been? Two days already?" Jim rubbed his temples and
rolled his head around, easing the stiffness from his neck.
"Two and a half, if you count that nasty drive home..."
The snow had been falling hard and fast since mid-afternoon on Monday, and
it was now Wednesday evening and it was still snowing. Sure, the snow had
taken a few breaks to recharge its batteries...but it still came around
enough to keep the city at its mercy. Shut down. Ground to a halt. Nothing
happening nowhere, no how. Jim and Blair had barely made it home intact,
and they'd been stuck there ever since.
And they were bored.
Fortunately, they'd been able to stop for supplies on that daring drive
home. Tuesday had been a pretty good day as snowed in days go. They'd
cleaned the loft, done the laundry, taken care of a few projects, and
watched some movies. Wednesday started out all right with organizing
projects, deep cleaning, and cartoons...But by the time Wednesday evening
rolled around, they'd run out of things to do. In the long run, they'd
decided to see how much beer two men could reasonably drink while sitting
around with nothing else to entertain them. Turns out it was a lot.
"So, my point is, Sandburg, that it's your turn now, and it
doesn't even matter if you want another beer, although you've clearly
stated that you do, because I want another beer, and it's your turn
to get it."
"No way, man, you get it."
Jim made an irritated sound and turned to stare him. "Get the fucking
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that I'm smarter than you, I'm better looking than
you, and I have a bigger dick than you." Blair folded his arms across
"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," Jim said.
"'Cause you know it's true."
"What?" Jim scoffed, "The hell it is. I might give you
smarter, but that's only because I'm much better looking than you and
I have a bigger dick, which means in college I spent my time dating
instead of studying."
"That does not mean you have a bigger dick, man, it just means women
still believe that thing about hands and feet."
"Hey, I never had any complaints," Jim said smugly. "I got
the goods and the package to sell 'em in."
Blair raised an eyebrow. "Looks are subjective, but numbers,
man...numbers don't lie."
"You want me to prove how big my dick is? How are we gonna do
Blair rolled his eyes. "Measure it, asshole."
"So what good's that gonna do? Whatever it is you'll just say yours
is bigger. If we want to settle this fairly, we have to measure yours
too." Jim gave him a smug grin.
"Yeah, ok," Blair said, nodding. "I can see that. I'm
Jim stared at him. "You're serious. You're really suggesting we get
out a tape measure and compare dicks?"
"You got something else to do?"
"Well, no, but...." Jim frowned. "Isn't that a little
"Weird like a fox," smirked Blair.
"Sandburg, that doesn't even make any sense."
Blair blew a stray length of hair out of his face. "What do you
expect from me, man, I'm drunk. Are we facing off or not?"
"And if I say no?"
"Then I know you have a shrimpy dick, and I earn the right to
call you an uptight chickenshit forevermore."
Jim sighed loudly and scrubbed a hand over the top of his head.
"That's what I thought."
Blair bounced up off the couch. "All right, now we're talkin',"
he said, rubbing his hands together gleefully.
Jim eyed him warily. "Gettin' a little enthusiastic here, aren't ya?"
"Just go get the tape measure," Blair said, waving him off.
Still regarding Blair with suspicion, Jim got up and went to the drawer in
the kitchen where he kept the tools.
"While you're in there, Jim..." Blair said, "Get a
couple of beers, would ya!"
Jim paused and stared at him hard. "You planned this."
A shit-eating grin was the only response he got as Blair rocked back and
forth on his heels.
"Asshole," Jim said.
"I think I'd like to try one of those honey ales," Blair said
with smug self-satisfaction. He reached down to fluff the couch cushions,
and was preparing to flop back into his place.
"Freeze right there, Chief!" Jim ordered, pointing at him. He
clutched two beers in his hand.
Blair blinked like a deer caught in headlights. "What?"
"You'll have an easier time measuring if you're standing, don't you
"Come on, Jim," Blair said, rolling his eyes. "That was a
joke, a set-up. Gimme my beer."
Jim crossed the room, handing Blair the beer and taking a sip of his own.
"Wow...I never took you for a shrimpy dicked, uptight chickenshit..."
Blair narrowed his eyes. "Those are fightin' words."
"Put your money where your mouth is, then." Jim grinned at him
and pulled the tape measure from his pocket. He tossed it in the air and
caught it again.
"Now you're bluffing..." Blair cocked his head.
Blair licked his lips slowly. "All right. But if we're doing this,
we're not trusting it to some clunky Black & Decker POS." He set
his beer down and headed toward his room. When he returned, he was
carrying a hard plastic case about the size of a shoebox.
"What's that?" Jim asked, furrowing his brow.
Blair put the box on the dining table and opened the lid, grinning like
kid at Christmas. "It's my field kit," he said, reverently. He
lifted out a gleaming instrument with curved prongs.
"What the hell is that? Claws?" Jim balked, taking a step back.
"Is that claws? You're not getting near my dick with claws,
Blair snorted and gave Jim an exasperated look. "It's calipers,
moron. There's more to dick size than length, you know. I also have a
decent tape in here with more precise increments on it."
"And you think it's going to be that close..."
"Oh, no way, man," Blair said offhandedly, taking out a notepad
and pencil, "You're gonna be fetching me beer for the rest of your
Jim scowled and sucked his teeth. "All right, enough with the
bullshit. Let's get this settled once and for all."
Setting his beer on the table, Jim yanked open the snap of his jeans and
unzipped them. Blair set out the rest of his equipment and then did the
same, shoving his pants and underwear to his knees. Jim hesitated for a
moment, suddenly feeling extremely awkward. Fortunately, the knowledge
that Blair would never let him live it down if he backed out, spurred him
on, and he too, bared all.
When he glanced up, he saw that Blair was standing there, beer in one hand
and his dick in the other...stroking himself. Right there at the dining
room table, playing with his goddamned dick.
"What the hell are you doing, Sandburg?"
Blair gave a little shake of his head. "There is no way I'm going
into this half hard, man. If I'm putting my stuff up for assessment, I'm
giving my best presentation."
Jim shrugged and turned back to grab his beer bottle. Then he frowned.
"Hey, wait a minute...What were you doing half hard in the first
"We were talking about my dick," Blair told him, looking
slightly exasperated. "When people are talking about my dick, my dick
takes notice, you know what I'm sayin'?"
"Your dick can hear?" Jim eyed him skeptically. "Because my
dick doesn't usually eavesdrop on my conversations."
Blair smirked and pointed. "No...your dick appears to be more
visually oriented. Now that he can see."
Jim looked down to find that he was actually more than a little
hard all of the sudden. He blushed and stammered, "Must be the beer
and the whole getting undressed thing..."
"Yeah, ok, Woody," Blair grinned.
"You call me that again, and I'll make sure it never applies to you
for as long as you live."
Jim stared at him and held out a hand. "Just give me the tape
Blair was obviously having a difficult time keeping a straight face as he
passed it over. "Good luck, Jim, may the best man-"
"Shut up." Jim stretched out the tape and placed it
against his body, holding it down to the length of his erection, and
taking a reading off the head. "Ha! Nine and five eighths. Beat
Blair leaned over and confirmed the measurement. "Not bad, Big
Guy...I guess we can keep calling you that."
He jotted it down on his notepad and then took the tape and measured
himself. There was a little scowl as he wrote down his own number.
"Well?" Jim asked, grinning broadly. "What's the verdict?
Short all the way around?"
"We still have to get a radius so I can calculate volume. That's the
only concise comparison."
Jim laughed out loud and took a swig of beer. "I'm almost done with
this one, Chief," he said gleefully, "I think I want one of the
oatmeal stouts next."
"You shut up, Jim, we're not finished yet." Blair grabbed
Jim's free hand and slapped the calipers into it.
"What am I supposed to do with these?" Jim asked, examining
"Get a diameter."
"I thought you needed a radius."
"I think you'd find that rather painful," Blair said.
"Radius is one half the diameter."
"Oh...right," Jim nodded, fumbling around with the calipers.
He messed around with them long enough that Blair finally huffed and
yanked them back. "Here...let me do it, you'd probably break them
"'Cause I'm so massive," Jim grinned.
Blair rolled his eyes, crouching down so he could get a clear look at what
he was doing. He twisted the little knob to open them and then paused,
looking up at Jim. "You want to hold it, or should I?"
By way of an answer, Jim reached down and held his cock at approximately a
ninety degree angle from his body. Blair fitted the points of the calipers
around it carefully, and started to adjust the knob.
After a second, he stopped and scowled. "Hey, you're holding your
breath, that's not fair."
"What? Chief, if holding your breath could make your dick
bigger, men would be extinct."
"Yeah, well stop it. Breathe normally."
Jim sighed and tried breathing normally.
"Now you're panting."
"Would you just get the reading and get out of there!"
"Why are you panting?"
Jim groaned, but Blair just kept staring up at him. "Because it's
been a while, and I've been snowed in for three days, and someone is
breathing hot air on my dick."
"Hey..." Blair said grinning. "How hard up do
you have to be if having your housemate exhaling
on your hard-on has you horny?"
"Laugh it up, jackass," Jim ground out. "Have I ever told
you you're a real asshole?"
Blair snickered and got up to make more notes on the pad. This time when
he took his own measurement, his expression was much more smug.
"A fraction of an inch in width isn't going to put you out in front,
here, Sandburg," Jim said, cocking his head. He glanced over Blair's
shoulder at the mass of numbers scrawled across the paper. "Jesus,
what is this? Higher math? You only get three dimensions to beat me with,
"Exactly," Blair said, not looking up. "Volume is pi times
radius squared times length. And thanks to my often complimented generous
girth, you owe me a beer!" Blair straightened up and
waved the paper triumphantly, grinning like a loon.
Jim snatched it out of his hand and scowled at the paper. "How the
hell could anyone tell from this mess of chicken scratch? No wonder you
haven't graduated yet, they're still trying to process your
"Come on, now, Jim," Blair chided, "Don't be a sore loser.
You've got length and you're just going to have to be happy with that.
Jim stared at the numbers a while longer, then set the notes down and
resigned himself to getting the beer, muttering about irritating science
geeks the entire way.
Blair leaned against the post and folded his arms over his chest, watching
Jim. Licking his lips and smiling wickedly, he said, "You know...if
you like, I'd be willing to blow more than just a little hot air over your
Jim stood up and stared at him over the refrigerator door. "Are you
"You got anything better to do?"
Jim grinned. "Nope."