Title: Inches
Author: SassyInkPen
Fandom: Sentinel
Paring: Jim/Blair (Pre-slash)
Rating: Mature Humor
Word Count: 2380
Part: 1/1

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.



Inches
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 Jim.

"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 up. Later."

"Right." Blair scrunched down on the sofa, sulking slightly.

"Now, what?"

"It's just...if you don't go pick it up, I can't ask you to get me another beer..."

"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 can?"

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 beer."

"No."

"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 his chest.

"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."

"Prove it."

"Prove which?"

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 that?"

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 cool."

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?"

"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 think?"

"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.

"Nope."

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, Sandburg."

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 life."

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 place?"

"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."

"Touchy."

Jim stared at him and held out a hand. "Just give me the tape measure."

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 that."

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 them.

"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 anyway."

"'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, you know."

"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 registration."

"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. Now, fetch."

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 dick..."

Jim stood up and stared at him over the refrigerator door. "Are you serious?"

"You got anything better to do?"

Jim grinned. "Nope."

END