The main characters belong to Pet Fly and I bow to your genius. However, I like to borrow them and explore new avenues. But I promise to return them with really big smiles on their faces.

A late birthday gift. Thanks to the TSL gang, who continue to make the fandom fun. I wouldn't be here without you all.

#7 in the Sports Series.

This story is a sequel to: Touching Pieces

*sticking point -- the biomechanically weakest point where you get "stuck" during your rep (usually halfway through).*

The door's concluding click echoed in the silence of the loft as Jim stared into the emptiness left by Blair and Molly's departure.

Molly, whom Blair had dated eight months ago, when he'd also been assigned advisor to Alec, the child genius. Jim had liked Molly back then. She didn't have an ex-boyfriend who was a drug dealer, nor was she divorced from a mob leader, nor was she the daughter of a South American drug cartel leader. Molly had never even complained about Blair spending so much time with his roommate.

But that had been before Molly left for an internship in Florida. Now she was back and obviously wanting to pick up where she'd left off with Blair. And Blair, being a Casanova in flannel and an all-around nice guy, was thrilled to see her again.

No pressure.

That's what he'd told Blair last Sunday and that's the way it had to be. But that didn't mean Jim had to like it. Hell, he hated it. Hated seeing Blair with that Cheshire cat look after he'd kissed Molly when she'd arrived for their date. Hated that Blair was spending a Thursday evening with Molly rather than with him.

Jim knew what kind of date it would be, too; the kind that never made it past the appetizers, if they even made it to the restaurant. Remembering Blair's small intimate moans as they'd made love on his futon, and holding his guide afterward as he'd slept was enough to send Jim into a possessive frenzy. He flattened one hand on the kitchen island and leaned into it, fighting the impulse to drag Blair away from Molly and up to his bed.

Jim's treasonous ears followed the elevator down to the main floor and mocked him with Blair's light chatter and lighter laughter. Skin across cloth and Jim's imagination filled in the blanks--Blair touching Molly's arm or back or something infinitely more personal. Touches that would lead to more...

Jim shoved away from the island with a growl. There was no way he was going to be able to sit in the loft alone tonight. He had to do something. Taking the steps two at a time, Jim sprinted to his bedroom. Five minutes later, he was out the door and headed for the gym.

Coming out of the locker room dressed in shorts, a tank top, weight belt, and finger-less lifting gloves, Jim paused to ensure his dials were set firmly. The stale sweat smell from hundreds of people was embedded in everything, including the clean towels although Jim was the only one who could detect the stomach-turning odor. Because of that, he always brought his own towels.

Feeling some of his anxiousness ease in the familiar surroundings, he wandered around the equipment toward the weight training room and spotted many familiar faces. He gave them each a nod, but grinned widely when he saw an old friend running on a treadmill.

"Ellison," Eddie Peppard greeted, a mirroring smile on his handsome face.

Jim shook the Vice detective's hand. "How're you doing, Pep? I haven't seen you in months."

Pep smirked. "I've been undercover as a male dancer."

Jim laughed. "Well, you have the moves for it, buddy."

"Good thing one of us did. You could be the poster child for 'white men can't dance.'"

Jim couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's teasing. He and Pep had worked a few undercover gigs together when Jim had been in Vice. They'd made a striking couple--one tall and white, the other shorter and black, and both in peak physical condition. Pep always played the flamboyant one while Jim's role was the somber, business-like partner.

"Everything go down all right?" Jim asked.

"Not as well as we hoped, but we took a few down." Pep grabbed his towel from the treadmill's handrail and wiped his face as his feet continued pounding on the track. "I hear you and your partner are making the rest of us look bad."

Warmth and pride flared in Jim's chest. "Yeah, well, he's pretty good at looking at things from a different perspective."

Pep punched some keys on the treadmill and it began to slow until he was walking easily. "I've seen him. Sandburg, right?" Jim nodded. "Looks like he could be in Narcotics with that long hair and those earrings. Or maybe Vice."

Jim remained silent, uncertain what to say.

The treadmill came to a stop and Pep stepped off. "How come you've never introduced us?"

"We were never together when I ran into you."

Pep slapped his chest. "Don't give me that song-and-dance, Ellison. I've sang the song, danced the dance, and got the damned t-shirt."

Jim smiled, but he knew it was a weak attempt. "C'mon, Pep, I let you near my partner and you two'll be swapping stories about me all day."

"Yeah, I understand. Same reason I try to keep you and Jenna apart."

"Exact--" Jim broke off, knowing he'd been caught. He clutched the ends of the towel, which was slung around his neck. "It's not like that, Pep."

Pep scrutinized him for a long moment, and his features relaxed. "Why don't you come over to the house for a little while? Jenna and the kids would love to see you."

Jim was tempted, having nothing but an empty loft to return to and it had been a long time since he'd seen Pep's family. "I need to work out first."

"No problem. I'm going to be here for a while myself." He smiled. "Then we can eat Jenna's apple pie without feeling guilty."

Jim smiled, already tasting the delicious pie. "I could arrest you for bribing a police officer," he joked then nodded. "I'd like that."

Pep grinned. "Great. I look forward to catching up."

Jim watched his friend meander through the crowded gym to settle on a stair-stepper machine. Jim's assignments with Pep had been the brightest spots in his two years in Vice, and the times he'd spent with he and his family had dulled some of his sharper edges, showing him how normal a cop's life could be if the couple was strong enough to weather the tough times.

He and Caroline hadn't been nearly that strong. Or maybe it was love they'd been lacking.

Jim needed to do some mindless reps, keep his thoughts from going places he didn't want them going. He spotted an empty bench press and headed toward it. Checking the weights, he added ten more pounds to each side of the bar.

Taking a deep breath, he did some warm-ups, and then Jim laid down on the bench, feet flat on the floor. He slid his body up a little further, so his eyes were directly below the bar. Keeping his hands about shoulder-width apart and his wrists locked, he wrapped his fingers around the round metal bar and lifted. The pressure eased slightly when he looked up to see the upside down face of Barb, a patrol cop he'd dated a couple times last year.

"Rule number one, don't lift without a spotter," she scolded with a shake of her head. Although she was only five foot two, one hundred and ten pounds, she was an accomplished lifter in her class. It was something that played in her favor when the bad guys judged her on appearance alone.

"Uh, thanks."

"Still doing a dozen reps?" Barb asked.

"Yeah."

Holding the pose for a moment, he nodded to Barb to release the bar. He exhaled and then inhaled as he lowered the bar, almost touching his chest. As he let out his breath, he pushed the bar upward, focusing on his deltoids and pectorals, as well as keeping his hips and back flat on the bench. He did eleven more reps for his usual twelve set. On the last one, Barb gripped the middle of the bar and helped him raise it back to its resting position.

Jim smiled sheepishly as he slid out from under the bar and sat up. "Petty stupid move not to have a spotter, huh?"

Barb stood beside him and crossed her arms. "Yeah, it was. You're usually smarter than that, Jim." She glanced around. "Where's Blair?"

Irritation coiled in Jim's gut. "It's not like we're joined at the hip," he muttered.

Barb held up her hands in surrender. "Whoa! Where'd that come from?"

Jim closed his eyes and rubbed his brow. "Sorry. Just a little stressed tonight."

"It's been a rough week." Barb sighed. "Monday was a traffic nightmare with the snow, and the bad guys have been making up for lost time the last three days."

"Yeah. Nothing like a blizzard to keep even the bad guys off the street." Jim stood and walked over to the free weights. After searching a few moments for the correctly weighted dumbbell, Jim brought it back to the bench. He rested an elbow on his knee and began working single arm curls. "Thanks."

Barb smiled. "No problem. I'm headed over to the treadmill for a run. Catch you later, Jim."

"You, too."

He watched her take the treadmill next to Paul Logan who, according to the grapevine, Barb had been dating. Smiling to himself, he moved on to do some squats. For the next hour, he worked with the free weights, pushing his body and doing more than his usual variety of lifting exercises.

The gym had cleared considerably by the time Jim returned to the bench press. Although he was sweat-soaked, he needed the mindlessness of doing the repetitive motions. He readjusted the weights and looked around for Barb. Both she and Paul were gone, and he didn't see anyone he trusted enough to spot for him. Sighing, Jim inclined the bench so he sat at a slight angle to do the lifting. The workout wouldn't be quite as satisfying, but it was safer this way.

Jim shifted into a semi-prone position and wrapped his fingers around the bar, grateful for the lifting gloves that protected his palms. He held the bar above his chest for a moment, and then began his reps, concentrating on the motion, the expansion and contraction of his muscles. He focused on his shoulder blades, keeping them tight and in contact with the bench. He kept his elbows and chin tucked as he worked through the motions.

The burn started on the fifth rep. By number twelve, his muscles trembled dangerously as he began to raise the bar. Sweat rolled down his forehead and cheeks as he reached the sticking point, unable to lift it any further, but afraid to lower it without hurting his ribs. He suddenly had a sinking sensation he should've found someone to spot for him.

Blair figured Jim had come to the gym, and the sight of Sweetheart parked near the gym entrance confirmed his guess. It had been almost a week since Jim had worked out, and Blair had noticed the sentinel's growing restlessness. Blair noticed everything about Jim but, of course, that was so he could help him control his senses and stop impending zones.

Admit it, you notice him because he's hot.

Blair smiled to himself, thinking about the two times they'd slept together. The sex had been some of the best he'd ever had, but waking up in Jim's arms had been an eye-opener. Literally.

He found an empty locker and stowed his bag and jacket. Although he'd started coming to the gym more in the past year, he was always with Jim and to be alone left him feeling displaced.

Rafe came out of the shower area, a towel wrapped around his hips. "Hey, Blair, what're you doing here?" he asked in surprise. "I thought you had a date."

Blair shrugged. "It wasn't really a date. More like a meeting between old friends."

"You struck out," Rafe interpreted.

Blair smiled sheepishly, unwilling to admit it was Molly who'd struck out. "I wasn't even in the batter's box. Have you seen Jim?"

Rafe shook his head. "No, but I was in the main gym and he's probably with the weights."

"Thanks. Catch you later, man."

Blair found Jim in his favorite place--on the bench press. But the idiot didn't have a spotter. Hurrying across the room, he noticed Jim was frozen except for his arm's trembling. He hustled around to the front of the bench and grasped the middle of the bar. Between he and his partner, they lifted the bar high enough to set it in the resting position.

"Thanks," Jim said with heartfelt sincerity after he caught his breath. He tilted his head back and his eyes widened. "What're you doing here?"

Blair managed a smile, although he was shaking on the inside. "Saving your butt, as usual, Ellison."

Jim twisted around and sat up, groaning as he did. Blair took his arm and helped him.

"What were you trying to prove, Jim?" Blair demanded. "You could've been badly hurt. As it is, you're going to be really sore for the next few days."

Jim shrugged and glanced down, a sure sign he was feeling guilty. "Since it's been awhile since I worked out, I thought I'd do a little extra." He met Blair's gaze. "Why aren't you with Molly?"

Blair shrugged. "We made it an early night."

Jim tilted his head and frowned. "Why'd you come here?"

Blair studied his roommate, noticing the sweat-soaked tank top and wide belt around his waist, accenting the trimness of his muscular body. What was he supposed to tell Jim--that he didn't feel the old spark with Molly and the thought of sleeping with her didn't do anything for him? Jim would probably take him to the hospital.

"Hey, Ellison, see you soon?"

Blair spotted a handsome dark man about his size, but more muscular, in the doorway.

"I'll be over after I shower," Jim called back.

After the man disappeared, Blair crossed his arms, confused by the maelstrom of emotions storming through him. "Who was that?"

"Eddie Peppard. We worked together in Vice," Jim replied, removing his gloves. "He was the closest I had to a friend back then."

"Why haven't I ever met him?"

"He works undercover quite a bit," Jim replied, not meeting Blair's gaze.

"Oh." Blair didn't know what else to say, although he had more than one question poised on the tip of his tongue. He chose the least personal. "So you two went undercover together? In Vice?"

Jim finally raised his head. "Yes. We usually played a couple."

"A couple of what?"

Jim grinned. "It was Vice, Sandburg. What do you think?"

Blair managed a weak smile. Had Jim lied to him? He said he hadn't been with a man since the army. Still, if Blair had to guess Jim's type, it would be someone like Peppard.

Was he meeting Peppard for old times' sake, a fuck between friends?

A wave of dizziness crashed through Blair as recognition hammered him. That's all it was for himself and Jim--a fuck between friends. It's what Blair had almost demanded from his best friend. But was that what he really wanted?

"Sandburg! Blair! Are you all right?" Jim's worried voice broke through his confusion.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Jim." Blair was surprised at how normal his voice sounded.

Jim released him and Blair felt the loss keenly. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Blair asked innocently.

"That little zone-out." Jim smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. "I didn't think guides were susceptible to them, too."

"They must be contagious."

Jim studied him, but Blair controlled his breathing and was able to keep his heartbeat normal. The sentinel glanced away. "I should get going. I promised Pep I'd stop by."

"Sure man, no problem. I think I'll just hang around here and work off some of that frustration, y'know?" Blair winked and leered, implying it had been Molly's decision to end the date.

Jim looked as if he wanted to say something, but his lips thinned and he nodded curtly. "I'll see you back at the loft."

"Sure." Blair turned away.

After a moment, Blair heard him walk away. Moving like an automaton, he began working with the weights. Later, as he walked on the treadmill, he thought about tomorrow's Anthro 101 lecture, the state of the loft's cupboards, what to get for Naomi's birthday next month, and if he should ask out Patrick, the new chemistry TA.

The gym gradually emptied, but Blair was oblivious as he didn't think about Jim.

The streets were nearly empty as Jim drove away from Pep's. Although he enjoyed the visit--and Jenna's apple pie--he was anxious to get home now that he knew Blair would be there. Why the student hadn't spent the night with Molly was a mystery, but Jim decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

When Pep had walked him out to his truck, he'd asked him over for dinner on Saturday evening. He'd included Blair with the invitation--it was Pep's way of showing his support. And Jim found he wanted to bring Blair, who was so much a part of his life. In fact, he was the best part of Jim's life.

Jim braked for a red light and found himself across from the police gym. He glanced over at the parking lot and spotted a familiar green Volvo sitting in the nearly deserted lot. Frowning, he glanced in his rearview mirror and made a left turn from the right lane when the light turned green.

He parked beside the Volvo, apprehension clawing at his gut. He had left nearly three hours ago. Why was Blair still here? Or had something happened to him?

Forcing himself not to run, Jim entered the gym. Les looked up from behind the desk.

"I'm glad you're here. Maybe you can talk your partner into going home. He looks about ready to drop," Les said, relief obvious in his voice.

Jim's apprehension expanded to alarm. "I'll talk to him." He didn't ask Les where Blair was; he could hear the elliptical machine and his guide's harsh breathing.

Walking up behind the exhausted student, Jim studied his sweat-soaked shirt and limp hair. He sniffed the air, filtering out the typical gym smells. There was the obvious tang of Blair-sweat, but beneath it was an odd scent Jim couldn't identify and which made him uneasy. He moved around to the front of the exercise machine.

Blair's eyes widened. "Jim?"

The student's skiing motions faltered and he stopped. Jim had no trouble detected the trembling of his exhausted muscles. He reached out to grasp Blair's arm and helped him off the machine, but kept the steadying hand on him. "What were you trying to do, Chief? A month's worth of exercise in one night?"

Blair smiled shakily. "Can't be letting you down on the streets, man."

"You've never let me down yet, Chief," Jim stated honestly. "Tell me the real reason."

Although wobbly, Blair pulled out of Jim's grasp and grabbed his towel. He wiped his flushed face. "Man, I need some water."

Jim followed him to the water fountain and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed while Blair drank his fill. He monitored his guide's physical condition closely, and was relieved when his heartbeat and sweating gradually slowed.

Without a word, Blair headed to the locker room. Puzzled, Jim trailed after him.

Blair paused at the door. "You mind waiting out here, Jim?"

"Why?"

Blair's cheeks grew even ruddier and his gaze dropped.

Suddenly comprehending, Jim jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll keep Les company until you're done."

"You don't have to wait for me."

"I know, but I'll feel better, okay?"

After a moment, Blair nodded. He disappeared into the locker room and Jim wandered over to the front desk, although he kept track of Blair with his senses. By now, it was second nature to do so.

Fifteen minutes later, Blair joined him, his damp hair framing his still flushed face. "I'm ready."

Jim and Blair said goodnight to Les and left the gym. Blair stumbled slightly. The student was ready to drop from exhaustion.

"We'll pick up your car tomorrow," Jim said, taking Blair's arm and steering him toward his truck.

"I've got class at nine."

"I'll drop you there on my way to work and pick you up at lunch."

At first, Jim thought he'd argue, but Blair acquiesced with a tired nod. They climbed into the truck.

"Did you have a good time with your friend?" Blair asked quietly, keeping his gaze aimed at the backpack in his lap.

There was an edge to the question that bewildered Jim. "Yeah, I did." He smiled. "Jenna didn't even mind hearing the same old stories again."

Blair's head snapped up. "Jenna?"

"Pep's wife. She makes the best apple pie you've ever tasted."

"He's married?"

"For nearly ten years now. They've got two kids, a boy and a girl. I didn't get to see them tonight, but maybe Saturday." Jim paused. "Uh, Pep asked us over for dinner Saturday evening."

"Us?" Blair's eyes were wide.

"He wants to meet you. He figures anyone who's been my partner for three years has got to be as crazy as he is," Jim glossed over, hoping Blair didn't hear his nervousness.

"He's been married for almost ten years and he has two children?"

Jim frowned, wondering if Blair had been hit on the head recently. "That's right. Do you have a problem with that?"

Blair shook his head immediately and grinned. "Not at all, man. In fact, it's very cool."

Jim sent him a sidelong glance. "You're weird sometimes, Chief."

The student laughed exuberantly. "I love you, too, man."

Although perplexed by Blair's behavior, Jim felt a wave of warmth from the simple declaration. As he concentrated on driving, he expanded his senses and found the unknown scent which had bothered him now missing from Blair. But in its place was something more familiar--not exactly arousal, but more than pleasure.

As they drove down Prospect, Jim realized Blair hadn't answered his question. "Well, would you like to have dinner with them?"

Pure joy glowed in Blair's eyes as he answered earnestly. "I'd like that a lot, Jim."

A wide grin tug at Jim's lips. "Me, too, Chief."

They were silent as Jim pulled into his regular parking space in front of 852. Jim grabbed his gym bag from the back end of the truck and joined Blair.

"I'll bet Pep has a lot of stories about you, huh?" Blair asked, his eyes twinkling.

Jim held up a hand. "No way, Chief."

Blair's bounce was conspicuously absent as they walked across the street and into the building. He must've used up all of his energy at the gym. Jim didn't stray far from Blair, ready to catch him if he collapsed, which wouldn't have surprised him.

Inside the elevator, Blair stood close to Jim. "I figure you owe me," the student suddenly said.

"What?"

"Naomi and her photo album," Blair reminded. "I tell you what, you cough up your most embarrassing childhood pictures and I promise not to interrogate your friend."

A bubble of laughter arose in Jim's throat and he held it back. Barely. "That's blackmail."

Blair tipped his head back and captured Jim with his incandescent smile. "Yep, it is."

Although he wanted to do more, Jim tapped Blair's cheek. "Smart ass."

"Takes one to know one, man." Blair rose up on his toes and kissed Jim lightly. Then the elevator door opened and he walked out, as if kissing Jim in the elevator was as natural as breathing. Jim, however, was having a difficult time breathing.

"Are you going to sleep in the elevator?" Blair called back.

Jim blinked out of his reverie and followed Blair, who had already gone inside and was retrieving two bottles of water from the fridge. He handed one to Jim, and then opened his bottle and leaned against the kitchen island. He looked like he was going to fall asleep on his feet.

Blair finished his water and yawned widely, his eyelids at half mast. "I'm beat."

Jim took the empty bottle from his hand and steered him toward his room. "Time for bed, Sandburg."

Although stumbling from exhaustion, Blair waggled his eyebrows. "Gonna join me?"

"My bed's a lot more comfortable," Jim murmured.

Blair grinned and with surprising strength, tugged out of Jim's grasp. "Great idea, man." He made a beeline for the stairs.

Jim stared after him, his mouth gaping. He listened to the thump of Blair's shoes on the bedroom floor and the rustle of his clothes as they came off and were dropped beside the shoes.

"Jim?" There was a wealth of questions in Blair's single word.

The sentinel shook himself free of his shock. "I'll be up in a minute."

"Okay." The relief in Blair's voice was obvious.

Jim heard him slide in between the sheets and suddenly wondered what the hell he was doing down here when Blair was in his bed. Jim quickly double-checked the locks and shut off the lights. After using the bathroom, he climbed the stairs and beheld what he'd been dreaming about for weeks--Blair in his bed. However, in his erotic dreams, Blair had been awake.

Smiling fondly at the sleeping man, Jim stripped to his underwear, folded his clothes and placed them on the chair. He raised the bedcovers and crawled in, taking care not to jostle his roommate. Jim rolled onto his side and spooned up behind Blair, wrapping his arms around his chest. He didn't know why Blair and Molly hadn't ended up together tonight, or why Blair had acted so strange about him visiting an old friend, or why he wanted to sleep with him tonight.

But maybe all he needed to know right now was that Blair was here, with him, in his bed.

Jim kissed his brow tenderly. "Sleep tight, Chief, because tomorrow you have some explaining to do."

End Sticking Point by Romslinger: romslinger@yahoo.com

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