The usual--I don't own the characters, Pet Fly does. I'm just playing with them.

Thanks to TSL and another happy birthday.

#6 in the Sports Series, although this doesn't revolve around a sport, there is a game involved.

This story is a sequel to: Blind Pass

according to ACF rules, if a piece is touched and committed in either direction, the move must be completed in that direction. The penalty for violating this rule is forfeiture of the game.

Jim awakened early Sunday morning out of habit. His hearing automatically focused on his guide, and he heard Blair in his bedroom below, sleeping soundly. He squinted at the clock on the nightstand and stifled a groan--5:54. Too early to get up even for a weekday. He closed his eyes, trying to convince his body it was the middle of the night. His body was okay with that, but his mind wasn't so easily fooled.

After ten minutes of tossing and turning, Jim rose quietly and shivered in the loft's coolness. He swept on his soft, well-worn bathrobe over his boxers and t-shirt and slid his feet into warm slippers. Downstairs, he stopped at the bathroom, and then plodded into the kitchen to put on the coffee. With his sentinel vision, he didn't need to turn on a light. He retrieved his usual mug--the one with a mallard duck pair on it--from the cupboard and, by habit, pulled out Blair's, too. Jim smiled to himself at the words on his roommate's cup: The Truly Educated Never Graduate. So appropriate for the perpetual student.

Running a hand through his sleep-spiky hair, he leaned against the counter to wait for the coffee to brew. With their new Bunn coffeemaker, it was only two minutes before the glass carafe was full of enticing dark coffee.

He filled his mug and left Blair's empty one beside the coffeemaker. After taking a sip of the bracing liquid, Jim wandered over to the balcony windows and blinked in surprise. Big fat snowflakes were drifting past. He should've known. When he and Blair returned from Simon's at ten last night, the temperature had fallen considerably and Jim had smelled moisture in the air. It was a good thing they finished Simon's deck, but now it would be some time before the captain could use it.

He remained standing in front of the large windows, simply absorbing the hush of the snow as it settled on the balcony and whispered against the glass. At first the flakes melted, but then they slowly began to gather, one on top of another, layering and insulating until the balcony was cloaked in white. The view through the windows grew wavy and indistinct, giving the winter scene a surreal quality which matched Jim's odd mood.

He reined in his preoccupation and turned away. His gaze fell on the couch and his thoughts betrayed him. He could almost feel Blair's body against his own, his warm skin beneath his hands. Jim's body reacted and he snapped his eyes shut, willing the sensory memory to withdraw, to return to the locked room in his mind. Slowly, his breathing and heartbeat slowed, releasing him from the almost painful arousal.

He detoured past the couch and dropped into the yellow chair, the cushion as comfortable as his oldest pair of jeans. Balancing his now-cool coffee cup on his knee, he shifted until his neck rested against the back of the chair and his gaze was aimed at the high ceiling.

When he'd awakened yesterday morning to find Blair gone, he knew he'd blown it big-time. They hadn't talked about the attraction or what to do with it, and Jim had simply followed the dictates of his body--and Blair's. The younger man had been just as ready as Jim for the passionate explosion between them. But obviously, his mind hadn't been nearly as ready as his body, or he wouldn't have run the next morning.

Seeing Blair on the basketball court had been a balm to Jim's senses, from the sight of his sweat-sheened skin to the sound of his laughter to the smell of his unique musky scent with a hint of his previous night's release. Jim had quickly dialed down, embarrassed when his body had reacted so swiftly and powerfully to his partner.

My lover.

Playing basketball with him had been good--better than good. It proved to Jim that his momentary weakness of the night before hadn't harmed their relationship. It also proved that Jim still wanted Blair, wanted him more than he'd wanted another human being. But the panicked look in his best friend's eyes hadn't boded well for such a declaration. Blair was frightened, of giving something he thought he'd never given before--a commitment.

Jim laughed quietly and without humor. Blair had already committed himself--to being Jim's guide--and nothing had shaken him from that promise. Not serial killers, not South American thugs, not escaped prisoners, and not Jim himself And yet, the graduate student still didn't believe he could do commitments.

That's why Jim had pulled back and gave Blair some space. The song-and-dance about loving him, but not being "in love" with him had been part truth and part obfuscation. Jim had thought he'd loved Caroline, but what he felt for her paled in comparison to what he felt for his roommate, guide and best friend. So did that mean he hadn't been "in love" with Caroline, but was "in love" with Blair? Or was that elusive emotion still a question mark for Jim?

Jim suspected he knew the truth, but to face it meant he couldn't give Blair the time and space the younger man needed to figure things out for himself. He had to keep things light--normal--between them or Blair would cut a wide swath through the Cascade female population, to try to erase something that already existed.

A cross between a snort and a snore startled Jim and he realized his roommate was awakening. He tuned his hearing toward his guide and took guilty pleasure in listening to every snuffle and movement, until Blair muttered something unintelligible even to Jim's sentinel ears. The sound of Blair throwing back his covers and rising, then stumbling into the bathroom finally brought Jim to his feet. He refilled his coffee cup and filled Blair's.

Blair shuffled into the kitchen, his hair resembling Harpo Marx's and his sleeping attire looking like refugees from the American Pie wardrobe department. His eyes appeared closed but his path took him unerringly toward the coffeemaker.

Jim held up Blair's cup. "Looking for this, Sunshine?"

Blair merely grunted and reached out blindly, but accurately. He sipped the coffee and his little grunts of pleasure made Jim shift from one foot to the other.

"Thanks, Jim," Blair finally said, after half the coffee was gone. He sat down by the table and glanced toward the balcony, then did a rapid double-take. "It's snowing."

"I knew all that education wasn't wasted, Chief," Jim teased, easing down into the chair cattycorner to Blair's.

Blair wrinkled his nose at the sentinel, which garnered him a short laugh.

They drank coffee in companionable silence until Blair stood and refilled his and Jim's cups, then put on another pot.

"Breakfast at home or out?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded toward the increasing snowstorm. "Easy choice. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I'll run next door to get some bagels, muffins, and a paper."

Blair's stomach growled on cue. He smiled sheepishly. "I think it's unanimous."

Thirty minutes later, Jim returned to the loft to find his partner showered, shaved, and dressed. He looked better than the glazed buttermilk donuts Jim had buried under the bagels and muffins. He handed the goodies off to his roommate who met him at the door, and wished Blair had greeted him with more than a, "Smells great, Jim."

The sentinel removed his jacket, hung it up, and toed off his damp hiking boots. He'd left his slippers by the yellow chair and donned those--he liked the hardwood floor, but it was chilly on the feet.

There were three kinds of cream cheese, including plain, two glasses of orange juice, two knives and two plates set on the table. In the middle sat the white bakery bag with the top folded down. Fresh coffee filled their cups and the Sunday paper was setting on the corner of the table, between Jim and Blair's usual places. .

Jim smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Let's eat, Chief. I'm starved."

"I put the donuts on top if you want to eat them first," Blair said casually, but when he met Jim's gaze, his blue eyes twinkled.

Jim's face heated even as he chuckled. "Busted."

"Yeah, yeah, like you've never done that before." Blair rolled his eyes even as a smile lit his face.

Jim reached over to touch Blair's cheek, but stopped himself and turned the loving pat into a playful swat. Normal.

The sentinel ate the two donuts with gusto, not even trying to pretend guilt. Blair merely sliced a wheat bagel in half and slathered both sides with maple and walnut cream cheese. Jim thought it was cute how Blair insisted on healthy food, like bagels, but indulged his sweet tooth with a cream cheese Jim thought was too rich. It was just another one of those paradoxes he loved about Blair.

Loved.

There was that word again, but it was hard not to think of Blair without it.

Sections of the paper were read and exchanged until it lay in a pile at one end of the table and the bakery bag was empty. After the kitchen was cleaned up, Blair leaned against the island and turned to gaze at the white scene beyond the patio windows.

"I wonder if I can make it to the library. I was going to do some research for a paper that's due on Thursday," Blair said.

Jim shook his head firmly, envisioning the Volvo wrapped around a light pole or worse. "The plows aren't going to be able to keep up with this which means the roads will be a mess. We'll be lucky if this clears up by tomorrow morning."

"How do you know? Can you smell it? Or feel the atmospheric differences?" Blair asked, his perpetual curiosity coupled with excitement.

Jim held up a hand. "Whoa, Sandburg. Mrs. Davey has her radio on," he said, referring to their neighbor.

Blair's enthusiasm turned to sardonic amusement. "You listening to the neighbors again, man?"

Jim felt his face redden. Soon after Blair had moved in, when Jim was still struggling with control of his senses, he overheard the downstairs neighbor with an overnight guest. He had thought the woman was being attacked and had charged down there with his gun drawn. After Jim promised to pay for the door and Blair used his people skills to soothe ruffled feathers, she grudgingly decided not to sue. She moved out two months later.

"If I had your abilities, I doubt I'd be able to resist," Blair admitted with a leer. "I suppose I can do some on-line research."

Jim nodded, relaxing now that Blair wasn't going to test the weather or his sentinel's protective streak. Jim spent the next fifteen minutes getting a fire burning brightly in the fireplace. The heat would keep Blair from shivering like he so often did this time of year. Then he turned on the TV and found a football game. Soon, the loft was filled with the familiar sounds of clacking computer keys, sportscasters' voices, and a fire crackling merrily. This was why Jim liked to get all the chores done and errands run on Saturday--so they could simply kick back on Sunday. He only wished Blair would join him to watch the ball game instead of working. He always enjoyed the games more with Blair's quick wit and running commentaries.

As the afternoon progressed, Jim became aware of more and more silences from the dining room table. He glanced up and Blair's gaze skittered away. Was he watching Jim as much as Jim was observing him? Twice he managed to catch Blair staring at him, and the student's heartbeat would increase and a faint blush would color his cheeks. It sharpened Jim's awareness so he was even more focused on his guide. There had been plenty of times where Jim and Blair spent an entire Sunday in the loft together, but Jim couldn't remember a day so charged with expectation. Or laden with tension.

By the time the second football game ended and lights had been turned on to push back the season's early twilight, Jim felt like he was ready to jump out of his skin. "How're you doing on the paper, Chief?" he asked.

"It's going slow," Blair admitted. "I should just quit for now, but I don't feel like watching TV either."

"How about a game of chess?" Jim suddenly asked.

Blair, his glasses framing his large blue eyes, grinned. "Last time we played I beat you in less than ten minutes. How about checkers?" He held up his hands. "Not that I mind winning, but you don't even like chess, Jim."

Jim plucked at a thread on the throw pillow in his lap. "I figured checkers wouldn't be enough challenge for you."

"C'mon, man, I'm not a chess snob." The sound of Blair's computer shutting down brought Jim's attention back to his partner. "Checkers has been around since almost 2000 years BC, and it's one of the oldest board games in the world. In fact, it's believed that checkers is the grandfather of chess. Do you know only the United States calls it checkers, while the more common name throughout the rest of the world is draughts?"

Jim shook his head, a smile twitching his lips at his friend's amazing storage of facts. "Actually, I did. I used to play 'draughts' with some RAF personnel when I was in England during my army days."

"Cool. I didn't know you were stationed there."

"I wasn't. Just had a few temporary assignments in the U.K."

Blair's eyebrows shot upward. "I'm not even going to ask. So, where do you want to play, on the table or in the living room?"

"How about here?" Jim motioned to the coffee table. "We can pull the loveseat closer."

Blair retrieved the game board and pieces from the closet. He and Jim moved the loveseat, and then Jim sat down on the couch on the other side of the table to start setting up the board. Blair crossed to the stereo and tuned it to the local PBS radio station, which was broadcasting their weekly Sunday evening blues program. The student scrambled onto the loveseat and sat cross-legged. Jim shook his head in amusement at the typical Sandburg pose.

"Red or black?" Jim asked.

"Since red goes first..." Blair's eyes twinkled.

Jim turned the board so Blair had the red pieces. Blair leaned down and pushed one red circular piece diagonally to a square. Jim followed with his own move, knowing there was some kind of strategy he should be using, but unable to remember the different opening gambits. Being so close to Blair was playing havoc with his concentration.

Jim focused on Blair's long, slender forefinger as the younger man debated which piece to move next. The fingertip grazed one of his red pieces. "Have to move that one, Chief."

Blair's mouth dropped open. "I didn't touch it."

"Maybe not full contact, but you definitely touched it."

Blair pouted. "Give me some slack here, man."

"No way, Sandburg. Checkers is serious stuff." Jim could barely contain his amusement.

"All right." Blair moved the round piece and Jim promptly jumped it, removing it from the board. "That's why you wanted me to move that one," Blair accused.

Jim grinned without repentance. "Gee, ya think?"

Blair scowled, then propped an elbow on his knee, rested his chin in his palm, and surveyed the game board. He was silent as he kept his other hand trapped between his thigh and the cushion so he wouldn't be tempted to touch. Jim barely managed to keep from laughing. It seemed that Blair couldn't talk without both his hands free. He'd have to remember that for future reference.

The game continued fairly evenly, with Blair getting two of Jim's men, then Jim taking another of Blair's. Jim was the first to get a king, but it was Blair who ended the game by taking Jim's last king.

"Wooohoooo," Blair cheered with a grin.

Jim glared at the board game and Blair with equal frustration. "Let's play again."

Blair agreed and twenty minutes later, Jim won the second match.

"We have to play a tiebreaker," Blair said.

"You set up. I'll get the beer," Jim said.

"Sounds like a plan." Blair's smile dazzled Jim, making him ache for the freedom to touch.

All the way into the kitchen, Jim was aware of Blair's gaze following him. He could almost feel the heat of his friend's eyes and taste the alluring scent of his pheromones. Jim pulled two beers from the fridge and opened them, but remained standing by the counter for a moment longer. He needed to regain some semblance of composure. It was growing even more difficult to keep his hands to himself, to not drag Blair across the gameboard and tuck him close to nuzzle his hair and neck. Or even just sit on the sofa with Blair's feet in his lap. The thought of massaging Blair's slender feet made him bite his lower lip to keep from groaning aloud.

"You coming or what, Jim?" Blair called out.

His choice of words did nothing to ease Jim's predicament; in fact, they only exacerbated his condition. Jim took a deep breath and joined his roommate, passing him a bottle but making sure their fingers didn't come in contact.

Blair made the first move and Jim followed up. Back and forth they went as Jim attempted to keep his attention on the game and not Blair. But more often than not, Blair reigned in Jim's thoughts. It was too easy to get lost in the graceful motion of his hands, the sprinkling of hair on his wrists, the tiny chuffs of air escaping his full lips, and the little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Jim was suddenly glad he was wearing an oversized sweater, even though he kept having to shift on the couch to try to relieve the pressure against his zipper.

Jim lost another king, leaving him with only one. Blair had four. There was no way he'd win this round.

"I give," Jim said, shaking his head.

Blair lifted his gaze and their eyes met. A hushed silence expanded, enwrapped the two men, and the snowstorm increased the sensation of being enshrouded in their own world.

"Are you surrendering to me, Jim?" Blair's provocative voice trembled, sounding nothing like his usual grad student's lecture tone.

Jim's heart thumped in his chest. "What're your conditions?" he asked huskily.

Blair swallowed and glanced down. "Did you mean it, about no pressure?"

Even with his sentinel hearing, Jim could barely hear his softly worded question. He straightened his shoulders, suddenly uncertain. If he said yes, then he gave Blair permission to see other people, but wasn't that the only way he could have him? Jim couldn't box in his guide--he had to give him an open door. Although it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, Jim nodded. "Only as much or as little as you want to give, Chief." He was shocked by the hoarseness of his voice.

When Blair raised his eyes, Jim caught his breath at the desire which darkened the blue to almost black. Without a word, Blair rose and walked around the coffee table, then held out his hand to Jim.

The sentinel stared at the wide palm and nimble fingers. Could he take Blair on his conditions? Or did he need Blair to meet him on his terms?

The almost-physical ache Jim had for his lover's touch and his own need to touch Blair made his decision.

He lifted his hand and placed it in Blair's palm. His friend's hand curled around his and a sense of rightness filled Jim. His concerns evaporated and he followed Blair toward the small bedroom beneath the stairs.

The phone rang, startling them. Blair froze and Jim had no choice but to stop beside him. Passion-filled blue eyes met and parried, argued and made a decision. Blair released Jim and reached for the receiver.

"Hello," he said without his usual enthusiasm. The hard line of his mouth softened with a smile. "Hi, Holly. How's it going?"

Sighing, Jim walked back into the living room and carried the two empty beer bottles into the kitchen. He refused to listen to Blair make a date with a woman when all Jim wanted to do was get his lover naked and in bed. It was hard enough to pretend he didn't want to use some of his covert ops moves on Blair's other "friends." Returning to the living room, he packed away the checkers game back in the closet. He moved the loveseat and the coffee table back to their proper places.

Blair joined him, a hesitant look on his face. "Sorry, man. That was Holly."

"I heard," Jim said, not meeting Blair's eyes.

"She's a TA in archeology. Wanted to know if I'd heard anything about classes being canceled tomorrow."

Jim looked out the window, the darkness no impediment to seeing the continuing snowfall. "If this keeps up all night, I doubt the city will be open tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's what I told her." Blair slid his hands in his jeans pockets, looking incredibly adorable with his glasses slipping down his nose and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Sorry about the interruption."

Jim shrugged and turned away, unable to look at Blair without reaching for him. The phone call had effectively broken the mood. "No problem."

Jim felt the movement of air a moment before Blair encircled his waist from behind and laid his head between Jim's shoulderblades. Jim stiffened, afraid to move, afraid he'd scare Blair with the passion he held on a firm leash.

"If touched, the move must be completed," Blair quoted quietly, his breath warm and moist on Jim's back.

Trembling inside, Jim laid his hands on Blair's, feeling the life-giving blood coursing through the veins on the back on his lover's hands. The first time they'd been together, beer and whiskey had fueled their urgency, but Jim was determined to make the second time last longer, and give Blair something to remember in the days ahead when he was with someone else.

Turning in Blair's embrace, Jim wrapped his arms around Blair's waist and stared down into his lover's wide eyes and flushed face. Keeping his gaze locked with Blair's, Jim kissed him tenderly. The softness of Blair's lips and the welcome of his tongue made Jim groan, and he increased the intensity of his mouth on his lover's. When he drew away, both men breathed harshly.

Without a word, Blair took Jim's hand and completed the journey into his bedroom. They undressed one another silently, sight and touch speaking for them. The futon wasn't exactly large, but it was cozy, forcing Jim and Blair together, bare skin converging.

Jim maneuvered Blair beneath him and kissed him from his forehead to his ear down his jaw and neck, pausing on his mouth and moving to his chest. With the freedom to open his senses, Jim didn't hesitate to glut himself in his lover's sensual buffet. The coarse chest hair tantalized his sense of touch; his breathy moans tempted his sense of hearing; his arousal excited his sense of smell; his flush enticed his sense of sight; and his salty-sweet skin lured his sense of taste.

Sweat slicked their bodies as seconds wove into minutes and longer. Soft words and little mewls of desire escaped each man. The room reeked with unreleased passion.

Barely controlling his mind and body's wish to lose themselves in Blair, Jim returned to Blair's lips. He lowered his hips to Blair's and the smaller man clasped Jim's butt, pulling him closer, tighter against him. Silky hardness met and thrust, touching and stroking. The heavenly friction drove a spike of pleasure through Jim and he arched against Blair, feeling his own release travel from his toes to his groin. He felt his lover climax against his belly and smelled the pungent scent of pure Blair at the same moment.

Jim sagged onto his best friend, but remembered not to press all his weight on the smaller man. Blair's arms shifted to his back and clung to him as he tried to regain his breath.

"Oh, man, that was worth waiting for," Blair said, his voice uneven.

"Definitely," Jim whispered, pressing a lazy kiss behind Blair's ear as he nuzzled his damp hair. "I--" He broke off, shocked by his near admission. "That was great," he finished weakly.

Jim could feel Blair's smile against his shoulder. "Yeah, it was."

Was there a touch of wistfulness in Blair's voice? Or was it only Jim's wishful thinking?

All Jim knew was that he'd never felt this way before--so sated, so at peace.

So in love.

Blair's breath evened out and his hug grew lax. Carefully, Jim shifted to his side and covered them with the blankets. He gently pulled Blair into his arms, relishing his warm weight and closed his eyes.

For a little while, he could pretend Blair was his...and ignore the dull ache close to his heart.

End Touching Pieces by Romslinger: romslinger@yahoo.com

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