Solstice. Jim knows all about its significance and rituals -- Blair's made sure of that -- but what Jim hasn't shared with Blair is that he already knows what matters about this night.
Longest night. The night when winter's grip begins to slacken and the spinning earth tips towards a far distant spring.
In theory, anyway. Jim knows (can feel it in his bones) that there's a cold snap on its way; that maybe they'll have a rare white Christmas; that frost and bone-deep chill will linger long past tonight.
It doesn't matter. Spring's no better than winter, not really. They're both necessary states; the earth sleeping and waking.
Jim just likes to feel the balance shift, and he always can. Impossible to describe to Blair; it would rob the feeling of its magic and Jim's selfish enough to want to keep that deeply satisfying certainty of change to himself.
When he feels it, this time when the blood-red sun splashes the sky scarlet as it sinks beneath the horizon, he walks over to Blair and gathers him up in a hug, holding him tight, breathing in Blair's scent with every breath he takes.
Blair stirs in his arms and gives him a bemused smile. "What was that for?"
Jim shakes his head and lets Blair kiss his pensive mood away; sweet, slow kisses, loving kisses, kisses that leave Jim helplessly murmuring endearments as he undresses Blair in the flickering light of the fire, baring warm skin to be touched and adored.
It's dark outside now, but Jim doesn't care how long the night is. Sunrise will come in time, but he's holding his own promise of renewal and hope in his arms.
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