The characters belong to Pet Fly, not me, but they quit playing with them, so I borrowed them.

For another birthday. Thanks to TSL for your kind words and catches.

#4 in the Sports Series.

This story is a sequel to: Learning How to Fall

*MisQ (aka Miss Cue-ing) occurs when the cue-ball isn't hit solidly where the cue was being aimed. This in turn will push the cue-ball in a direction that was not intended by the player. It tends to happen often when the pressure is high, and during extreme draw shots.*

"Ellison! Sandburg! My office!"

The familiar boom sent Jim frantically pawing through the haphazard pile of papers which threatened to teeter off his desktop. "Where's the Sawyer file?" he muttered.

Blair leaned over his partner's shoulder and plucked a file from the chaos. "Got it."

With a frown, Jim turned to look at his guide. "How'd you do that?"

"I am the great and all-seeing Sandburg, who can leap mountains of paperwork with a single bound and--"

"Today, gentlemen!" Banks' impatient voice sliced through the air.

Jim stood and followed Blair to Simon's office. He leaned down and spoke close to Sandburg's ear. "Gotta do something about those delusions of grandeur, Chief."

"Admit it, Ellison, I can run circles around you when it comes to paperwork." Blair didn't even bother to turn his head as he whispered the words--he knew Jim would hear him.

Blair heard the smile in his sentinel's quiet snort.

"Close the door," Captain Banks ordered from behind his desk.

Jim eased the door shut with a quiet click as Blair placed the Sawyer file on the captain's desk.

Simon flipped it open and glanced at the neat, concise report. "Just what I was looking for. Is everything ready for the DA on this one?"

"Yes, sir," Jim replied. "Sandburg finished typing the last of the witness statements an hour ago."

"Good job, Sandburg," Simon said. He closed the file and fingered an unlit cigar. "Do you know what today is?"

Jim searched his memory but couldn't come up with anything. He glanced at Blair who had the same puzzled expression on his face.

"Uh, no, sir," Jim said. "Should we?"

"Two years ago today my divorce was final," Simon said thoughtfully, his gaze aimed at the end of his cigar.

"Oh, man, that's a tough one," Blair said, shaking his head sympathetically.

"How're you doing, Simon?" Jim asked.

For a long moment, there was awkward silence and Jim wondered if he shouldn't do something sensitive and supportive, like give Simon's shoulder a pat. The mere thought made him shift like a kid needing to use the bathroom.

Finally, Simon raised his head and smiled broadly. "I'm doing great."

Jim's mouth gaped. "'Great?'"

"For the first time, I really feel like Joan and I did the right thing by getting divorced. All that fighting wasn't good for us or Daryl."

"That's so true, Simon," Blair interjected, his hands flying with his words. "It used to be common practice to stay in a bad marriage for the sake of the children, but that reasoning is like so wrong. Even today, there are tribes throughout the world where children are raised by the entire village, not just the biological mother and father."

"Thanks for the cultural anthropology lesson, Sandburg," Simon said dryly, but his dark eyes twinkled.

Jim hid a smile at his partner's blush and looked at his boss and friend. "I know how tough it was for you to sign your name on the dotted line but pretty soon, you'll be able to think about Joan and remember the good times. Believe me, I know."

He was aware of Blair's scrutiny, but didn't meet his gaze.

"I'll have to take your word for it," Simon said dubiously. He clapped a hand on the Sawyer file. "I appreciate you two getting this done so quickly. The DA's been breathing down my neck for it. I'm going to take it down there and call it a day." He encompassed both Blair and Jim in his gaze. "It's been a long time since we've gone to Brannigan's--anybody game?"

"Oh, yeah," Blair replied, his face lighting up. "Rafe's been wanting another shot at me."

Jim laughed. "So do H and Megan."

"And me," Simon growled, but the curl of his lips revealed his teasing.

Blair rubbed his hands together. "Cool. This'll be better than poker night."

"Ooooh, a little cocky there, Sandburg," Jim said.

Blair bumped shoulders with his sentinel. "As I recall, you mentioned something about a re-match, too."

"You're on, Chief."

Simon stood. "Why don't you two round up the gang while I deliver this, and when I get back, we'll head out."

"Yes, sir," Jim said with a smile.

Brannigan's possessed an Irish pub atmosphere--minus the cigarette smoke--which made sense since Michael Brannigan was originally from Eire before emigrating to the United States when he was a teenager, nearly fifty years ago. Michael opened the pub less than a year after his retirement from the Cascade P.D. and Brannigan's had become a popular place among cops, as well as blue- and white-collar workers. It was, as Michael put it, a melting pot for Cascade's working class.

Arriving at five thirty, the Major Crime gang found the bar already crowded, but then it was Friday and the Jags would be on the big screen. The game was being played in New Jersey against the Nets so with the time difference, it would start at six o'clock local time. Although there was a mix of male and female customers, there was definitely a preponderance of men.

Jim guided Blair through the throng, following Simon's impressive stature as he cleared a path to the back room. H, Rafe, Megan and Joel trailed after them, greeting fellow officers.

"Megan," a voice boomed out.

Jim and Blair paused to see the Aussie inspector standing close to Jason Bellows, a Narcotics detective. The hug they exchanged appeared more than mere friendship.

"Looks like Megan's been holding out on us," Blair whispered to Jim.

"We'll have to get some Foster's in her and get the scoop," Jim replied, leaning close to his partner's ear.

Blair grinned. "Only if you want to get your ass kicked. A true Aussie wouldn't be caught dead with Foster's."

Laughing, they continued to the Billiards room, which was marginally less congested although all the pool tables were in use. Simon commandeered a corner with a round table tall enough to stand around. Directly above them was a television mounted on the wall with the closed caption running across the bottom of the screen. With all the noise, it would've been impossible for anyone but a sentinel to hear the announcers discuss the upcoming game.

Rafe and H snagged another table just being abandoned and added it to their corner. Joel confiscated two vacant stools for anyone who wanted to sit rather than stand around the tables.

Blair caught Jim's gaze. "You doing okay?" he asked softly.

Jim nodded. "Hearing's turned down."

"Let me know if you have any problems."

"Will do, Chief."

Shoulders brushing, Jim and Blair claimed a side of the table where they had a clear view of the television. Everyone else shifted around them. When Megan joined the group, Jim could see the heightened color in her face and the faintest scent of pheromones surrounded her.

"So, you know Bellows?" Jim asked innocently.

Megan smiled sweetly. "Not nearly as well as I'd like, but I hope to change that later."

"Go for it, Megs," Blair said, pumping his arm in the air and nearly hitting Jim's head.

Megan grinned and high-fived Blair across the table.

Simon and Jim exchanged a roll of eyes at their adolescent shenanigans. The captain raised his hand, trying to capture the waitress's attention.

"Hey, guys," Kandy, the waitress, greeted the Major Crime detectives. "Long time no see."

Blair drew his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. "You know how it is, trying to keep the city safe from the perils of crime and depravation."

Kandy laughed. "Sounds like a line from 'Batman.'" She eyed Jim. "But I'm afraid Detective Ellison doesn't look anything like Robin."

"Nah, he's Robin, I'm Batman," Jim corrected.

"Which means Captain Banks is Alfred?"

Snorts and laughter erupted from the lopsided circle of detectives.

"What can I get you all?" Kandy asked after the chuckles faded.

Everyone decided on beer and after a minute or two of good-natured arguing, they settled on three pitchers of different brands. After the pitchers and seven pint glasses were delivered by Kandy and put on a tab, the pool table nearest them opened up. Everyone dug into their pockets for quarters and piled them in stacks of four along the table's edge.

H and Rafe challenged Megan and Simon, which left Joel, Jim and Blair to kibitz the game. Megan shot first, breaking the balls with a loud clatter. The orange striped one dropped into a corner pocket. She lined up the next shot, an easy straightaway, but missed and muttered an Aussie expletive.

Blair flinched. "Ouch."

"So how come you're so good at this game?" Joel asked Blair curiously.

The grad student chuckled. "When I was thirteen years old, we lived with this pool hustler for a couple of months. He taught me some of the trickier shots and strategies--said I was a natural. I think if we would've stayed longer, he would've adopted me." Blair's grin faded. "During my undergrad days, sometimes my grant money ran out before the end of the semester and I needed a few bucks to get by. I used to cruise the pool rooms at the bars, but I never went back to the same place twice. I didn't want them guessing my game."

"Cascade's own Minnesota Fats," Jim commented, wondering if he'd ever stop learning about his partner.

"I preferred Washington Skids."

Joel's eyes widened. "I heard that name before, back when I was a patrol cop." The round-faced detective thought for a moment. "A fight broke out at this place called Roosters. The guy I talked to blamed the whole brawl on someone called Washington Skids."

Blair shifted restlessly and Jim could feel the warmth of embarrassment emanating from his partner. "It wasn't my fault. The guy lost and accused me of being a hustler."

"Which you were," Jim interjected dryly.

Blair gave him a dirty look. "It wasn't like I was ripping off thousands of dollars here, man. My biggest win was a couple hundred bucks." He glanced down at his hands, which were wrapped around his pint. "Roosters was the last place I tried that gig. Gave it up after I barely got out of there before the cops came."

"You could've been arrested or worse."

"I had bills to pay," Blair muttered.

Jim wrapped his arm around Blair's shoulders. "I'm not pissed, Chief. Hell, if I'd've known you then, I would've helped you out."

Blair grinned, his mercurial mood swinging upward again. "By letting me live with you for a week?"

"Whatever you needed, Sandburg."

Jim glanced at Joel, to see the broad captain studying them closely, as if trying to figure out a cryptic crossword puzzle. He removed his arm from Blair's shoulders, suddenly self-conscious.

"Did you know today is the two year anniversary of Simon's divorce?" Jim asked Joel, hoping to sidetrack his sharp mind.

The bomb squad captain took a sip of his dark beer. "He told me this morning when we met for breakfast."

"He seems to be taking it pretty well," Blair said.

"I went to his and Joan's wedding," Joel began. "Simon was so nervous, afraid he'd mess it up. I talked to him, calmed him down, assured him everything would be all right." He sighed. "For twelve years it was, then things just started to go downhill. A cop's life isn't an easy one and for the spouse, it's even harder. She--or he--has to put up with the long hours and shitty moods after a bad case. Not many people can do that without it getting to them."

Jim traced his thumb and forefinger up and down his pint, detecting the minute temperature differences from top to bottom. "When you're married to another cop, it's even worse. Caroline and I would take turns bringing the job home; sometimes we'd both have rotten days. Pretty soon there were more rotten days than good ones."

Joel nodded, his dark eyes understanding. "Caroline wanted both a career and the white picket fence."

"Yeah." Jim smiled wryly. "I grew up with a white picket fence. I didn't want another one."

"You never wanted a family?" Blair asked curiously.

Jim shrugged. "What man hasn't thought about it? But I'm thirty-nine years old and pretty set in my ways." He cast a sidelong glance at his roommate. "What woman is going to put up with my house rules?"

Blair studied him for a long moment. "You're too hard on yourself, man. Not all women are like Caroline. Hell, if I were a woman, I'd throw myself at you."

"Now there's a vision." Jim feigned a shudder.

Blair wrinkled his nose at him. "I'll have you know I look damn good in heels and a sequined gown."

"Do I want to know how you know that?"

Blair took a drink of his beer. "I did some acting in my undergrad days. We did this revue where all the women dressed as men, and the men like women. Cool, huh?"

"Don't let Vice know," Joel warned, his dark eyes mischievous. "They'll want to borrow him for their next transvestite undercover assignment."

"Over my dead body," Jim growled instinctively.

"Whoa, man, no problem," Blair said, placing a hand on Jim's wrist. "The only way I'd do anything like that was if I knew you were right there keeping an eye on me."

"You're damned right. Besides you're not--"

"A cop," Blair finished with Jim. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

Another pool table opened beside the one Major Crime had already claimed.

"Let the challenges begin," Blair announced.

"Jim, take over for me, would you?" Rafe asked. "I'm going to take Blair on first." The young detective slapped down a ten-dollar bill. "Winner takes all."

Blair dug into his pocket and dropped two fives on top of the ten. "Like taking candy from a baby," he said with a grin and a wink. He left his beer on the table and went to pick out a cue stick. After hefting them all, he finally chose one.

"You sure?" Jim asked wryly, making his own selection after checking two.

"Since my stick's at home under my bed, this'll have to do."

Jim grinned and patted his partner on the back. "Go get 'em, Tiger."

"Just remember that when it's you I'm playing," Blair warned, playing the cocky hustler role to the hilt. However, Jim had no trouble seeing the amusement in his friend's eyes.

Jim divided his attention between the game he was playing with H, Simon and Megan and the match between Rafe and Blair. It'd been close to three months since they'd come to Brannigan's to knock some balls around and kick back. Jim had watched Blair play then, but this time there was a certain grace about his partner he hadn't noticed before.

Rafe put two solid balls in with the break shot. "Yeah!"

Blair grinned. "Lucky break."

Everyone groaned at the awful pun.

"Hey, Jim, your turn," H said, nudging his arm.

Jim blinked his attention away from the other game and surveyed the balls on the green felt surface. "What do we have?"

"Solids," Megan replied, straight-faced.

"Stripes," H immediately said.

Megan wrinkled her nose at H. "Spoilsport."

Jim leaned over the table, checking a couple angles before settling on one.

"No fair using your senses," Blair said so softly nobody but Jim heard him.

Jim turned to roll his eyes at his guide, even though he had been tempted to use his advantage. The sentinel lined up his shot and tapped the white ball, sending it rolling across the felt. It struck his target, sinking it into a corner pocket.

"All right." H raised a hand and Jim slapped the palm.

"Not bad," Blair commented.

At their table, Rafe attempted to put in a third ball. It struck the corner of the pocket and stayed up.

Jim jockeyed around to find his best shot. When he did, he leaned over and his ass bumped into a familiar body. Blair paused from his own strategizing to move out of his partner's way. Jim could feel the heat of Blair's gaze on him. He hit the cue ball, which sideswiped the ball he'd been aiming for and sent it skittering across the table, hitting only the cushion.

Straightening, Jim heard Blair's quiet chuckle and his face heated. Obviously Blair knew why Jim had missed. The little shit.

"I thought you were good at this game, Ellison," H complained.

"Concentration off there, Jimbo?" Megan teased.

Jim glared at Megan, then spotted Joel perched on one of the stools guarding their tables and beer. He had a knowing smirk on his face.

Obviously, Jim wasn't as good at hiding his feelings as he used to be. He'd have to work on that, starting...

He stared at Blair who was stretched across the pool table, only one foot touching the floor. He could see the muscle delineation in Blair's upper legs against his snug jeans. His plaid shirt was tugged upward by his stretch, exposing the caress of denim against his hips, thighs, and ass. A small patch of skin was exposed between his shirt and the waistband of his pants. A movement from Blair and Jim's attention was drawn to the V where his legs met his ass. With Jim's sentinel vision, he had no trouble discerning the line separating his cheeks, which led to the slight bulge toward the front of his pants.

The sharp report of two balls striking one another snapped Jim out of his fascination with his friend's assets. A cool sweat broke out on his forehead and he detoured to the table to finish his beer in two long swallows.

"Want a refill?" Joel asked, holding up a pitcher half full of beer.

"Sure," Jim replied without hesitation, then paused. "We need a DD."

"I'll take DD duty," Joel offered. "We can all pile into my car."

Jim slapped Joel's arm. "Thanks."

Jim rejoined his current pool partner, doing his best to ignore Blair. He diverted his attention between the basketball game on the corner television and his pool game.

It wasn't long before Blair put away the eight ball, beating Rafe, much to the young detective's chagrin. Rafe exchanged places with Joel, who added a ten to the pot and joined Blair.

Jim and H lost to Simon and Megan when H sunk the eight ball in the wrong pocket. Instead of starting up another game, they decided to watch Blair take on his challengers.

Simon refilled his pint and finished it just as Blair beat Joel. He slapped down a ten on the growing pile of bills. "I'm next," he said.

"Go for it," Jim said, slapping Simon's back companionably.

Blair made a quick detour to their table and finished his beer. "Are you driving?" he asked his partner.

"Joel said he'd get us all home," Jim replied.

He grinned. "Then fill 'er up."

Jim refilled his own and his partner's glass. "I'm expecting a tip, Sandburg."

"Put your money on the Jags to go all the way."

The sentinel laughed at his guide's goofy expression. "And maybe the Mets'll win the pennant next year."

"Stranger things have happened," Blair said with a Bela Lugosi accent.

"You going to shoot pool or shoot bull?" Simon asked. He'd removed his suitcoat and tie in his car, and had rolled up his shirtsleeves while playing the first game of pool.

"Are you that anxious to get beat?" Blair asked, smiling smugly.

"We'll see who gets beat, Sandburg."

"Oooh, I'm shakin' in my boots."

Simon turned to Jim. "He's your partner. Can't you control him?"

Jim raised his hands. "You know how well he listens to me."

The group laughed, knowing how true Jim's words were.

While Simon and Blair squared off, the others divided their attention between watching the Jags against the Nets; egging on either Simon or Blair or both; and distributing the latest gossip around the department. Kandy magically appeared as the last pitcher was emptied and brought them three fresh ones, as well as a free Coke refill for Joel.

It wasn't long before Simon joined Rafe and Joel in the losers' circle. Someone had refilled Banks' pint and the captain drank it down without pause. Jim exchanged a look with Blair, who shrugged. Simon filled his glass again, but only took a swallow from it.

"Who's next?" Blair asked, sipping from his third pint of the evening.

Megan cracked her knuckles. "Are you ready for the Aussie Angler?"

Puzzled silence met her comment.

"What?" she asked, bewildered.

"An angler is someone who fishes," Blair answered, his lips twitching with suppressed amusement.

Megan thought about that a moment, then shrugged. "Well, then, shall we drop the line and see what nibbles?"

"I think you already did," Rafe called out.

"Jason," H said in a false soprano Aussie accent.

Megan merely tossed her hair over a shoulder. "At least I know how to bait a hook."

The chorus of wounded "ooohs" was aimed at H.

Restraining a grin, Jim leaned his elbows on the table to watch Blair and Megan play. As he did, he appreciated Conner's curves and the view of her cleavage as she leaned over to sink a ball, but found his attention wandering back to his male roommate. Blair's feet were braced a couple feet apart and his upper body parallel to the table. Above his glasses, his brow held tiny furrows of concentration. A muscle flexed in his forearm as he drew back the cue and slid it forward through the closed bridge he made with his left hand. Blair stayed bent over until a solid ball dropped into the side pocket. The white ball settled into perfect position for a corner shot. Blair put another away.

Simon elbowed Jim's ribs. "Don't let Bellows see you eyeing Conner like that."

Jim blinked, startled. "It's not Conner I'm interested in." Realizing what he'd blurted out, Jim's mouth grew dry and he finished his third beer in two swallows.

Simon leaned close to Jim. "So who's the woman you got your eye on, Ellison?" The captain searched the room and zeroed in on a tall, athletic looking redhead on the other side of the eight pool tables. "I see Jenny Ferguson from Vice over there giving you the look."

Relief slammed into Jim--Simon hadn't noticed his slip-up. "Yeah, well, she asked me out to lunch the other day." He didn't bother telling his boss he hadn't taken her up on the offer.

Simon slapped his back. "Way to go, Jim."

Hiding his embarrassment, Jim poured more beer into his pint and topped off Simon's. Megan's curse alerted Jim to another Sandburg victory.

Blair returned to the table and emptied his drink, then refilled the pint, ignoring Jim.

Megan finished her own beer with a flourish and tossed her purse strap over a shoulder. "Thanks for the company and the re-match, gents."

"Going somewhere, Conner?" Simon demanded, his words slurred slightly.

"As a matter of fact, I am, sir." She waved over her shoulder. "Ta-ta."

"Bye-bye," H said.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Rafe called.

Megan merely smiled like a cat headed for the spilled cream.

Having already imbibed five beers, H was less than spectacular as he took Blair's challenge next. A part of Jim laughed at the detective's antics, while another part wondered why Blair was suddenly ignoring him.

When Blair sank the eight ball, H still had four solids left on the felt surface. For a smaller guy, Sandburg could hold his liquor pretty well.

"Come drown your sorrows with the rest of the losers," Rafe said, wrapping an arm around his partner's shoulders. They leaned on each other and shuffled back to the table.

"Your turn, Jim," Simon said. "Time to put the shark back in his cage."

"This shark is still looking for fresh meat," Blair said.

Jim arched an eyebrow, his own imbibed quantity of beer making him more reckless. "So you think I'm fresh meat, Chief?"

Blair gave him a quick go-over. "You sure you want me to answer that?" the grad student asked under his breath.

Jim felt the heat in the sentinel-soft innuendo and for the first time, allowed the sensory memory of Blair's kiss to wash across him. He thought they'd taken the first step at the park after their in-line skating adventure, but life had gone back to what constituted normal in the Ellison-Sandburg household.

Jim chalked his cue, giving the task more attention than required, especially since the alcohol buzz was more than a little distracting to his sentinel senses.

"Challenger breaks," Blair said.

Jim tipped his head in acknowledgment and set the cue ball behind the line. Moments later, balls rolled everywhere, including a striped into a corner pocket. Jim ignored his partner as he examined the tabletop. He set up a bank shot and took it. Another ball down.

"Not bad, Ellison," Blair commented.

Jim cast him a smug grin. The other Major Crime detectives were arguing as they watched the basketball game above their tables. Jim shook his head in amusement, noting only Joel was completely sober.

Jim leaned over the pool table, the green felt more rough than soft against his sensitive forearm. The cue ball had been unforgiving, stopping in a position which made it difficult to reach, as well as out of an easy line with all the striped balls. Jim maneuvered his body across the pool table, careful to keep one foot touching the floor. Nearly lying on the table, he formed an open bridge and debated where to hit the cue ball.

Blair's pheromones suddenly swamped him. He blinked at the potent, but pleasant scent and his own body reacted, making his position against the pool table more than a little uncomfortable. His brain cells scrambling for purchase, Jim mis-hit the cue ball and it caromed off the cushion.

Blair sidled up beside him. "Miscue, Jim?"

The sentinel noted his dilated pupils and the slight flare of his nostrils. He shrugged with a casualness he didn't feel. "You know what they say, Chief. One wrong move and you lose."

A flicker of something--disappointment?--flashed in Blair's eyes. Then he turned away and surveyed the balls on the table. He began to put the solids away with cold precision, making Jim narrow his eyes.

One...two...three, four...five...six.

Blair missed the last one. "Not every wrong move brings a loss," he said softly. "Sometimes it's only a temporary setback."

Jim stared at his roommate for a long moment.

"C'mon, Jim, if anybody can beat Hairboy, you can," H hollered to him.

With the alcohol skewing his perceptions slightly, Jim forced himself to concentrate on lining up his shots and setting up the next one. The balls began to fall into the pockets with a steady rhythm. The final five stripes disappeared in under three minutes. The only two balls left on the green surface was a solid and the eight ball.

"Eight ball into the side pocket." Jim followed words with action. He beat Washington Skids.

H, Rafe, and Simon rushed over to clap Jim on the back. Joel nabbed Blair and tugged him to the table with the rest. Shots of JD were ordered and downed by everyone but the designated driver. More beer was consumed while they alternately cheered the Jags and booed the Nets. It was almost ten when Joel made the executive decision that it was time to go home and sleep off the effects of their evening. Jim donated his winnings to pay for the bar tab and leave a hefty tip for Kandy.

Piling into Joel's sedan was like watching a film clip of the Keystone Kops. After arguing in the parking lot about who would sit where, the men were finally seatbelted in. With Rafe between Simon and Joel in the front, and Blair between Jim and H in the back, Joel headed out.

Jim rested his arm along the back of the seat, curling his wrist so his fingers brushed Blair's hair. The first drop-off was H and he waved as he entered his security apartment building. Blair undid his seatbelt and slid over to take H's former position. Jim frowned, not liking the distance his partner put between them.

Rafe's place was next and Simon carefully extricated himself from the car to let Rafe out. After a few moments of fumbling, Rafe unlocked his townhouse door and waved goodnight. Joel continued driving.

"I gotta jump back in," Simon suddenly said.

"Into what?" Joel asked patiently.

"Dating. Y'know, like Jim does." He leaned closer to Joel and spoke conspiratorially, but loud enough that all the car occupants could hear. "Did you know he's seeing Jenny Ferguson?"

Joel's eyebrows climbed upward and he met Jim's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Really."

"Not really," Jim interrupted. "I told Simon she asked me to lunch, but I said no."

Joel appeared relieved, which puzzled the sentinel, but his beer-fuzzy brain couldn't process what it meant.

"I'm gonna ask Diane out," Simon stated.

"Who's Diane?" Joel asked, humoring the drunk man.

"Nurse at the hospital. Prettiest eyes you've ever seen and a body--" The usually reserved Simon shaped an hourglass in the air.

Blair turned to Jim and whispered in a somewhat slurred voice, "So you aren't seeing Jenny?"

There was more than curiosity in his best friend's voice. "Nah. Not my type."

Jim actually heard Blair's smile, followed closely by the release of his seatbelt and the glide of cloth over vinyl. The student leaned against Jim and fastened the middle seatbelt. "So what's your type, Ellison?"

The warmth of Blair against his side and the lazy flow of alcohol through the sentinel's veins made Jim more daring. He wrapped an arm around Blair's chest, relishing the steady rise and fall, as well as the soothing heartbeat.

"You are," Jim replied the booze making his tongue looser. He leaned close enough to his roommate that he could kiss Blair's earlobe, but didn't. "You're sexier than her and Conner combined."

Blair muffled a snort of laughter. "I didn't know you thought Conner was sexy."

"You tell her I said that and your ass is mine."

"No can do." Blair tipped his head back to gaze up at Jim. "This ass is already yours, Ellison."

Liquid heat surged in Jim's belly. It didn't help when Blair smiled wickedly and wiggled his butt against Jim's thigh. Joel and Simon continued to talk, reassuring Jim that they couldn't see what kind of mischief Sandburg was up to.

The car stopped and Jim noticed they were in front of Colette's. "This is our stop, Chief," he said, his voice husky.

Blair clamored out and waited for Jim to join him. Jim leaned into the car as he stood on the sidewalk. He felt a familiar pair of hands cup him from behind and nearly choked on his words. "Thanks, Joel. See you both on Monday."

"Yeah, thanks, Joel. You're a good friend," Blair added, thankfully removing his hands from Jim.

"You're welcome," Joel said. "Goodnight."

Jim slammed the back door and waved, glad he'd worn his baggy brown trousers today. He guided Blair to 852 with a hand at the small of his back. Blair had a difficult time walking a straight line, too, and it wasn't all the alcohol's fault.

Once inside the building, they boarded the elevator in silence. The doors closed and suddenly Jim found himself with an armful of warm Sandburg.

"I had a good time tonight," Blair commented, his mouth less than three inches from Jim's.

"The night's not over," Jim said, his voice husky with passion and lust.

Taking advantage of Blair's proximity, Jim kissed him. On the lips. Fully. Thoroughly. No break. Not even when the elevator stopped. Glued together at the mouth, Jim back-walked Blair to the loft and managed to unlock the door. Once the door was closed, jackets were stripped and tossed at the coat rack. Jim toed off his shoes and felt Blair mutter beneath his lips.

Reluctantly, Jim withdrew and Blair removed his boots. Before the atmosphere lost its sexual charge, Blair grabbed Jim's shirtfront and hauled him to the couch and plopped him down. Blair climbed on top of him, his knees straddling the sentinel's hips.

"Now, where were we?" Blair asked, his eyes twinkling with devilish delight.

Jim plunged his fingers into Blair's hair and pulled his face toward him. "Right here."

Lips meshed and their tongues mated. Lust crackled like electricity between them. Blair frantically tugged Jim's shirt out of his pants and smoothed his hands over the sentinel's firm stomach and higher. Jim groaned and arched into Blair's knowing hands.

Blair pulled his lips away long enough to murmur, "You feel just like I thought you would." Then his mouth settled on Jim's again.

Jim tried to keep track of every individual sensation, from the glide of Blair's fingers across his skin to the bolts of pleasure from his warm, pliable lips and rasp of tongue against tongue, as well as the unique taste of his guide beneath the beer and whiskey. But the alcohol plundering through Jim made control unreliable and he felt himself falling into the most powerful sense--smell. Blair's musky arousal swamped Jim, but a sudden pinch of his nipples jerked him back from a near zone-out. He wanted to thank Blair, but his mouth was busy. Instead, Jim decided to show him his gratitude.

The sentinel slid his hands under the back of Blair's shirt, caressing the patch of skin above the waistband which had fascinated him while Blair had been leaning over the pool table. The memory of his guide's body laid out on the green felt surface made him throb and Blair answered with a moan. Delving into the back of Blair's jeans, Jim palmed the upper slope of Blair's ass. He stroked the smooth skin, occasionally digging his fingers into the soft flesh. It'd been a long time since he'd been with a man and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out for long.

His groin ached and his hips flexed upward. Despite the layers of denim and underwear between them, Jim could feel Blair's hard column against his and he sought to press them closer together. He held Blair's cheeks, holding him firmly as he humped against him.

Pheromones swirled through Jim, settling in the pleasure center of his brain and making his arousal almost painful. He needed relief and knew Blair did, too.

Jim ground his groin against Blair's as their kiss turned feral and wild. Blair pulled his mouth from Jim's and reared back, arching his back and baring his neck. His pungent release scattered all civilized thoughts from Jim's head and he latched onto Blair's neck, biting and sucking. Jim's climax exploded in the confines of his underwear.

Harsh panting filled the loft. Blair's head fell forward, his forehead resting on Jim's collarbone. Jim pulled his hands from Blair's jeans and they roamed up and down his roommate's back with lazy motions.

After long minutes of returning to themselves, Blair raised his head and met Jim's gaze. "We oughta play pool more often," he said, his dark blue eyes heavy-lidded and sated. Then he flopped sideways onto the couch, passing out as soon as his head hit the cushion.

Exhausted, Jim toppled over beside him and draped his arm over Blair's waist. "Any time, Skids, any time," he murmured before he, too, slipped into a deep sleep.

End MisQ by Romslinger: romslinger@yahoo.com

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