Minor League
Title: Minor League
Rating: NC-17 (for sex, not too explicit, but I guess you could say I'm...covering all the bases. Boo.)
Characters/Pairings: Ninomiya Kazunari/Kamenashi Kazuya; Nishikido Ryo
Summary: It wasn't lack of skill that kept Kame from pitching, Nino came to understand. It was Kame himself.
Notes/Warnings: For ninoexchange. Nino is a journalist, Kame is a baseball player.
.top of the first.
When he finally got off the plane in Billings, Montana, Nino wanted to turn right back around and fly to Japan again. He'd tried everything in his power to turn down the assignment. Faking illness, threatening to quit the paper in protest, claiming to be allergic to Americans. Yoko had seen right through all his bullshit, which was probably the only reason why he was the man in charge of the sports desk and not Nino himself after all these years at the paper.
There were tons of teams to cover in Japan, and Nino thought he'd been doing an admirable job. But no, apparently it wasn't enough. Not when a Japanese player got to play in America. Then someone just had to pack their bags and go along. At first Nino thought that Yoko was packing him off to Texas to cover Darvish's Major League Baseball debut. He'd been okay with that, if it meant getting to see all the big U.S. parks, sit in awe of the American superstars.
Instead, their paper didn't have the finances to send Nino across the U.S. for Darvish fever. Nino would be covering the exploits of a different Japanese player, someone who hadn't signed a $60 million contract with a big team. Nino was instead going to spend the summer covering the Pioneer League, the rookie league of Major League Baseball, along with the Billings Mustangs' newest relief pitcher, Kamenashi Kazuya.
Nino had never heard of Kamenashi before, which probably explained why he was playing with a bunch of nobodies in the middle of nowhere.
His English didn't consist of much more than "Hello" and "Thank you," so once he gathered his suitcase from the baggage claim his nervousness grew. He could just imagine Yoko, the bastard, sitting back in Tokyo with a smug look on his face, delighting in Nino's suffering. For the next three months Nino was stuck in this place, surrounded by Americans who probably wore cowboy hats 24/7, all in the name of sports journalism.
He finally found the one other Japanese person in the Billings airport, seeing a bored-looking guy waiting near the taxi stand with a half-assed "NINOMIYA" sign. He walked over, rolling his bag behind him.
"I'm Ninomiya," he said.
The guy still looked bored. "Oh. Good. Come on, I'm parked in a tow zone."
What a reception. The guy introduced himself as Nishikido Ryo, the son of Japanese immigrants and originally from Seattle, who was serving as the Billings Mustangs' Japanese interpreter and Kamenashi's assistant. As Ryo drove them away from the airport and off to the motel where Nino would spend most of his summer, he learned that Ryo had not grown up with the dream of translating between English and Japanese all day, every day.
"The pay is shit," Ryo said. "They treat me like shit. And I fucking hate baseball," Ryo explained, switching through the radio dials to find something that wasn't "country" music.
"Then why are you here? How the hell did you get this job?"
"I followed a girl. I'd never live in Montana by choice."
"And the girl?"
"Went back to Seattle." Ryo turned the radio up, effectively ending their conversation.
It was mid-June and the Mustangs' season was just getting started. They played through to the beginning of September, and the Pioneer League had teams all across Montana and then a few to the south in Utah and a couple other states that Nino had equally never heard of before. The team took a bus back and forth for games, so Nino would have the pleasure of being Kamenashi's seatmate on the bus for the duration of the summer.
Ryo pulled his car into the motel's parking lot, and Nino hid a shiver at the sight of the place. This was where the paper could afford to keep him for his stay, and coincidentally, Ryo informed him, it was where the Billings Mustangs could afford to keep their Japanese player. Ryo left the car running, wandering into the motel office to get Nino a room key and get him registered.
Ryo left him inside room number 9. One double bed, stained carpet, a TV without cable, and a bathroom with a dripping sink. And when he tried to hook up his laptop, he couldn't get the Internet to work. Billings, Montana wasn't Tokyo, but it also wasn't a ghost town. He frowned and gave up, deciding it was time to meet the person he had to write exhaustively about for the next three months.
Kamenashi was probably still at the park practicing. It was about a mile up the road, Ryo had explained, and "Kame" as he was apparently called liked to walk to and from the field. So Nino opened his dusty motel blinds and waited for the guy to come back. Though practice was supposed to have ended at 6:00 PM, there was still no sign of Kame when 8:00 rolled around.
Nino was exhausted, needed to sleep through his jetlag, but found himself growing more and more curious. Maybe Kamenashi had gone out to enjoy the Billings nightlife, whatever that might entail. Probably a rodeo or something, he thought with a smirk. But no, Kamenashi came walking across the parking lot asphalt at half past 9:00, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and lugging a duffel bag with him.
Despite his need to sleep, he figured it would be decent to at least introduce himself. He opened his door just as Kamenashi was about to vanish into room 7 two doors down.
"Kamenashi-san?"
The guy's head perked up at the sound of his native tongue, and he turned around. Nino had been around baseball players before, having covered the Japanese leagues for years. Kamenashi was not what Nino expected. He was maybe only an inch or two taller than Nino, who was pretty short. And he wasn't bulked up like most of the players he'd met. He looked like just another one of the guys Nino had played ball with in high school, someone who simply wasn't built for the big leagues.
He had a pretty face, more like a model than a baseball player, and he looked as tired as Nino felt. "Are you...the one from the paper? Ninomiya-san?"
"Ninomiya Kazunari," he said. "My name's like yours, but mine's read Kazunari, not Kazuya. But since that might be a little creepy, I'm sure Nino's easier to remember."
"Nino then. Nice to meet you," Kamenashi said quietly, hoisting his duffel over his shoulder. They were probably similar in age, which Nino thought was odd. If Kamenashi was in his mid-20's, he would have been in the Japanese majors by now. But in America he was just a rookie, playing with kids fresh out of high school or college.
"How was practice?" he asked. "Oh, and don't worry. This won't be in an article or anything. I just wanted to say hello."
Kamenashi's face changed from the polite smile of greeting to a frown in irritation. "It was very nice to meet you. Have a good night."
And with that Kamenashi went into his room and slammed the door. Well, Nino thought. Three months of this was going to be fun.
.bottom of the third.
It was kind of hard to cover the exploits of a baseball player who never played. It was almost halfway through July, and Nino had been in America for almost a month now. The Mustangs played games seven days a week, and tonight was their first day off in three weeks of play. He'd been to Helena, Montana. Boring. Missoula, Montana. Boring. And they were just back from a three-game series against the Great Falls Voyagers. Also boring.
Three weeks of Montana. Three weeks of only having Ryo to talk to (and Yoko by email when he sent his articles using the wi-fi at the Billings Public Library). They were heading down to Utah later next week for a series, and Nino had had very little to write about.
Kame was a relief pitcher, but the team had nearly ten relief pitchers, and Kame was rarely chosen. It wasn't for a lack of trying, Nino knew. He went to Dehler Park every day they were at home and watched Kame practice, and he watched him on their opponents' fields when they were on the road. On the bus Kame sat by himself, separate from the rest of the team. He watched hour after hour of game footage and practice footage on his computer.
So why wasn't he chosen? If it was based on skill, then Nino couldn't understand it. He'd never seen someone work so hard in his life, and despite his height and small frame, he still looked intimidating enough. He'd seen Kame get called in during the top of the 8th during the last homestand, watched as he quietly and quickly struck out three batters in a row. But when the top of the 9th began, there'd been a different pitcher.
Nino usually had a decent vantage point for games. Dehler Park had a small press box, but Yoko had managed to cough up money for Nino to sit a few rows behind home plate every night instead. And the stands were never full anyhow, the one exception being on free fireworks night. From there he saw everything from the batter's point of view, got to see Kame's performance from the perfect spot. When Kame was on the mound, Nino couldn't look anywhere else. His form was excellent, his control almost perfect. His fastball clocked in at 90 nearly every time.
It wasn't lack of skill that kept Kame from pitching, Nino came to understand. It was Kame himself.
From his vantage point, Nino could also see inside the dugout. Every night Kame sat at the very end of the line. The players around him chatted, laughed, got to know each other. Nobody ever talked to Kame, and Kame made no effort to talk to them. Ryo usually sat with Nino, beer in hand, for most of the games. The pitching coach rarely called Ryo down to translate. Even on the road, Kame kept to himself, staying in his room reviewing more game tapes. Nino knew the Mustangs players better than Kame did, simply because Ryo dragged him along whenever the team went out after a game.
So it was their day off before a long seven day homestand. The Owlz for three, Grand Junction for four. None of the other players were at Dehler that afternoon, and that evening a local high school would be using the park for a game. But the groundskeeper had a soft spot for the team's foreign player, and Nino found Kame on the field along the third base line, throwing pitches into a basket he'd set up.
He parked himself in an empty seat, watching the pitcher at work. He usually had five balls at a time, throwing them all and then walking to the basket to retrieve them before starting up again. Kame was a little off today. Half of his throws missed the basket. Nino waited until Kame was out of baseballs before he spoke up.
"Aren't you supposed to be resting today?" he called, seeing Kame's cleats stop in the grass. He turned his head, looking over. The sound of Japanese still seemed to surprise him, even if Nino had tried to talk with him dozens of times for the past several weeks. Kame had refused numerous dinner invites, interview requests, and even off-the-record nights out with him and Ryo. He'd always refused politely, but Nino was getting sick of it.
Kame actually stopped his robotic dedication for a minute, walking over to the wall next to the dugout and hopped over. "This is how I spend my days off," he said quietly, and Nino couldn't ignore the sadness in Kame's eyes. The loneliness.
"Seven home games in seven days," Nino said, holding his hand up to face to try and block out the sun. "How many are you scheduled for? I hear Herrera on the Rockies is having a great season, think you'll get to face him?"
Kame sat a few seats down from Nino, putting his cleats up on the seat in front of him. "I think you know the answer to that by now."
Oh great, Nino thought. Self-pity. Always attractive in a baseball player. "Do you speak English, Kame?"
"No."
"Have you tried to learn any?"
"I haven't had time."
Nino got up, moved a few seats over until he was sitting next to Kamenashi. "I think you've had plenty of time. I sit here every night and watch you scratch your balls in the dugout..."
"I don't scratch my..." Kame immediately interrupted, only to turn away with a scowl. "You don't know what it's like."
"These guys aren't your enemies. The coaching staff isn't either," he said. "Talk to them. You've got Ryo-chan if you need him. They don't know you, so they'll never put you in. They probably think you don't want to be here."
Kame rolled his eyes. "You think I haven't tried?"
"No," Nino said bluntly. "I don't think you've tried at all."
Kame stood up. "You came all the way here to make fun of me? Is that what's getting printed in your paper every day, 'Kamenashi Kazuya flew several thousand miles to sit in the dugout and watch a bunch of kids play?'"
"More or less," Nino lied. "You're not giving me much to work with."
He knew Kame wanted to hit him, wanted to just go off on him. But maybe the guy knew Nino was right. Maybe he'd known all along what he was doing wrong. Kame was embarrassed - people like Darvish Yu, Ichiro, Matsui...they came over and made big money, played for important teams. And here Kame was in the middle of nowhere, and nobody was cheering him on. The rest of the pitching rotation had six to eight inches on him, fifty to sixty pounds in weight. Kame was out of place, and he thought if he just tried hard enough that it would matter.
"I need to practice," Kame said, heading back down to the field.
Nino kept watching.
.top of the fifth.
Gonzalez tore his rotator cuff, and the coach put Kame in during the seventh inning one night against the Brewers. Nino watched from the stands as Kame seemed to be on fire. Two strikeouts and a fly ball straight into the center fielder's glove. Ryo even went without his end of the game beer as the crowd got behind Kame in the 8th. One, two, three strikeouts again, and people were taking notice.
Kame even got an at-bat in the bottom of the 8th, surprising everyone with a double that brought in a run, putting the Mustangs on top by one. All Kame had to do now was get three outs in the top of the ninth.
Ryo elbowed him as Kame came trotting back out onto the field as the inning began. "Coach is going to let him finish, holy shit."
Nino found his fingers tightening around his pen and notepad. Kame had only been brought in for an inning here and there before - he'd never been responsible for closing the game. Even the crowd around them was cheering him on. They couldn't pronounce his name, and some group of Boy Scouts watching from the first base side started chanting "Ja-pan Ja-pan Ja-pan!"
As Kame struck out the first batter, the chants started to get louder. "Ja-pan Ja-pan Ja-pan!" they all cheered. After all, Nino knew, if the Mustangs won tonight the crowd got a coupon for a free hot dog at a neighborhood restaurant.
The second batter hit a fly ball to the right fielder, who caught it easily. Two down, and the crowd got to their feet.
"Come on, Kame," Nino said, the stadium lights making Kame's small body look huge on the mound.
The first pitch was a strike, and the tiny stadium of loyal fans roared.
"Ja-pan! Ja-pan! Ja-pan!"
Ryo was sobering up, holding onto Nino's wrist like a vise. "My god, he's going to win the game. Dude, he's going to win the game!"
"Shut up," Nino hissed as Kame went into his wind-up.
Strike two, and the screams got louder.
Nino didn't know if his half-assed pep talk had been responsible for this or not, or if Kame was just finally getting his shot to shine. But it all came down to the next pitch. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. The catcher gave the signal, and Nino thought he saw Kame almost smile when he nodded.
He went into his wind-up. Fastball right down the center. A swing. And a miss. 98 miles per hour.
"Kamenashi!" Ryo screamed, launching his tub of popcorn into the air as the team came running over to the pitcher's mound, throwing a surprised Kame into the air. The crowd kept chanting, unless they were rushing off to guest services to claim their hot dog coupons.
Nino could only watch with a smile on his face as it happened, as Billings, Montana and the Billings Mustangs finally got to see what Nino had seen since the first day he'd watched Kame throw in the bullpen.
He and Ryo raced down to the field, Ryo stumbling over the wall to hurry over as the local press gathered around the winning pitcher. Nino followed close behind as the rest of the team headed for the showers, and Kame finally received some recognition. Ryo translated, and Kame smiled. He smiled, and for the first time since he'd arrived in the middle of nowhere, Nino was happy to be there. Kame met his eyes despite the rush of people around him, looking away in embarrassment before mumbling something for Ryo to translate.
After the showers, the team wanted to go to a bar to celebrate, and Kame turned them down. At least in Japanese. Ryo intervened, wrapping an arm around Kame's shoulders and happily agreeing to go out on the town. Nino tagged along, and they ended up at some bizarre motorcycle bar down the road.
He sat at a table, munching on peanuts with Ryo as the other players took turns talking to Kame, patting him on the back, ordering him beer after beer and talking in very broken Japanese that Ryo attempted to teach them. Kame looked like a kid in the middle of all the bulky players, but he was more than that now. He was a part of the team. Finally Kame, drunk and smiling and just a bit giddy, begged to take his leave.
The team was sad to see him go, but Ryo offered to stay and teach them any Japanese swear words they wished to learn, which seemed to be a decent tradeoff. Nino helped Kame out of the bar, heading down the road with him back to their crappy motel.
As soon as they were away from the bar, Nino jumped when Kame threw his hands in the air and let out a triumphant scream. "Wow," Nino said, lighting a cigarette as they walked. "You'd think you won the World Series or something."
Kame ignored him, doing his best to walk normally as they headed down the street. "I did it! I did it!"
"Now I'm no English expert," Nino commented, blowing out some smoke. "But I think Ryo told those guys that you were paying for those last four rounds."
"I don't care!" Kame said gleefully, as different from his on-field persona as he could possibly get. "I would buy anyone a beer right now!" When they stopped for a red light, he screamed in broken English at a waiting car. "Beer I buy for you!"
He was rewarded with a honked horn, and Nino steered him over the crosswalk, linking arms with him. "I think you need some sleep."
Kame calmed down a bit as soon as they were walking in step, smelling like someone had poured a beer over his head. "Nino."
"Yes?"
"I did what you said," Kame admitted. "I tried."
"I'm glad it worked," Nino told him with a nudge to Kame's ribs. "And keep it up so I can surprise the hell out of my editor with your success."
They made it to the motel, and Kame fumbled with his room key. Nino finally yanked it from his hand and unlocked the door. "Come on," he said, pushing Kame inside. "Bed time for you."
He tried to push Kame down, but Kame wouldn't let go, pulling Nino down onto the mattress with him. They were face to face then, and Nino sucked in a breath.
"I should go," Nino said quietly as Kame's drunken eyes darted all over his face before settling on his mouth.
"Nino," Kame said, bringing his fingers to Nino's lips. They were rough, callused from hours of throwing fastballs and curveballs. "Nino."
"You're drunk," he said, even as the temptation lay before him. He didn't know exactly when he'd started thinking of Kamenashi Kazuya as more than his news assignment. Maybe it was still the high he was on from watching Kame win the game.
"I'll win again, then," Kame said, smiling his goofy drunken smile. "I'll win again, and you'll have to do something about it."
It was incredibly difficult to get up, walk away. Kame was his job; it would be wrong to compromise that. But what did it really matter? He was a minor leaguer, and they were in the middle of nowhere.
Nino paused at the door, looking back and seeing Kame watching him from the bed, his t-shirt riding up to expose the soft-looking skin of his stomach.
"Win then," Nino said. "Win and don't stop winning. Give me something to write about."
He closed the door and went back to his room, unable to keep from grinning.
.seventh inning stretch.
The Mustangs entered August on a five-game winning streak, four of those wins courtesy of Kame's pitching. It was hot even up here in Montana, the night games at the park full of nipping mosquitoes and sweaty fans. Kame labored on every night in his uniform, sweat pouring down his face and his hair clinging to his neck. Nino found himself growing uncomfortable as he watched Kame pitch now, remembering how close they'd been that other night. Watching Kame now, it was difficult to understand why he'd turned Kame down at all.
They were on the road in Helena for the first few days of August, and the Brewers were a tough rival. Nobody in the crowd here knew Kame, but they booed him every time he struck a home team batter out. That had to count for something, and Kame laughed all the way to a win, disappointing the crowd but impressing his team and Nino both. The game wrapped up in an astonishing two and a half short hours thanks to Kame's entry in the fifth inning.
They were staying at a hotel just outside of downtown, and Kame wouldn't be pitching tomorrow. Helena was a smaller town than Billings, and Kame was still full of energy after his win. He should have been back at the hotel so he could ice his shoulder, but he cajoled Nino into visiting a park a few blocks from the hotel. He happily let Kame drag him along, let him brag about his victory again. A happy Kamenashi Kazuya wasn't necessarily a modest one, and Nino far preferred it to the sullen, gloomy one he'd first met.
There were still lights on in the small field past the playground, and Kame insisted they play catch like a couple of schoolkids. Kame had an extra glove in his bag, and as they stood under the flickering street lamps, Nino tossed the ball back and forth with him.
"You're good," Kame said as Nino's throw smacked into his glove. "You play?"
"In high school," Nino admitted, feeling his fingers sting as soon as Kame returned the throw. Even when he was trying to throw casually he could still pack a punch.
"Why'd you quit?"
"Wasn't good enough."
"Nino," Kame chided him before tossing a knuckleball his way that sent him running after it. "Maybe you just didn't try."
Nino laughed at that, retrieving the ball and getting ready to throw it back when the park lights went out. "Ah, damn," Nino grumbled. "Guess they don't want any strange Japanese guys in their parks after 10:00 PM."
"Can you blame them?" Kame said with a laugh, and they fumbled through the dark to find his bag, putting the gloves and the ball away.
They started to walk back in the direction of the hotel when they reached the fence behind the batter's box. He anticipated Kame's move before it happened, smiling into the kiss as Kame dropped his duffel bag and pushed Nino back against the fence.
Kame's mouth was hot and sweet, the sensation all the more satisfying in the dark as the crickets chirped and the empty park was swallowed up in the night. He knew there were some kids on skateboards at the opposite end of the park, but he was too preoccupied with Kame pressed against him to care.
He arched up against Kame's body, against his lean, but muscled form, brushing his tongue along Kame's lips until he was allowed inside. Kame moaned quietly, his hands on either side of Nino, fingers twisted in the chain links. Nino turned them with a chuckle, slamming Kame back against the metal, licking a stripe down his neck, warm and wet, and wanting more.
"Should we go back?" Kame murmured, desperate to find Nino's mouth in the darkness.
"We wouldn't make it," Nino told him, moving his hands under Kame's t-shirt, dragging his sweaty fingers along Kame's smooth skin. "You know we wouldn't make it."
"Nino," Kame muttered, moving his hips, and sending all of Nino's blood and common sense straight south.
"I want you," Nino said. "Right here."
"Don't suppose this will make it into the newspaper," Kame said as Nino unbuttoned his jeans for him, yanked the zipper down.
Nino knelt down, tugging Kame's jeans to the dirt. "No underwear," Nino complained. "This why your ass looks so good on the mound?"
Kame's hand fisted in Nino's hair. "I wear underwear with my uniform. Unspoken rule of the locker room."
"But outside of work?" he asked, feeling Kame shudder as Nino kissed his abdomen, stroked him with his fingers until he was nice and hard.
"Outside of work, I find it's unnecessary." Kame gasped then as Nino took him deep in his mouth. "Oh fuck."
Kame's hand in his hair became more insistent, his body sagging back against the fence. The night air prickled the hairs on Nino's arms, but all he knew was heat as he set a quick pace so Kame could get off before anyone found them out here in the open.
Nino imagined Kame on the pitcher's mound, the way his body stretched, pulled taut as a bowstring before rocking forward and sending a fastball into the catcher's mitt. He grew more urgent, wanting Kame so badly he clumsily undid his own jeans, touching himself in time with the movements of his mouth. Kame groaned, losing control and starting to move until he was fucking Nino's mouth.
All he could smell was Kame, his sweat mingling with whatever soap he'd used in the shower after the game. His hand on his own cock moved faster and faster until he was moaning himself. Nino was lost, torn between his fantasy of Kame at peak performance under the stadium lights and the reality of Kame trapped between him and the fence, hard and needy.
Kame stopped moving suddenly, giving Nino a few seconds of warning before he came with a gasp, coating Nino's throat with a murmured apology. It didn't take much more to put Nino over the edge, slipping his mouth away from Kame's cock. He chuckled in embarrassment as his sticky release coated his fingers and hopefully not Kame's jeans where they still rested around his ankles.
He looked up, barely seeing Kame in the shadows looking down at him. "Well then," Nino said with a laugh.
"Well then," Kame repeated before easing himself away, shrugging his jeans back up his hips. "I've got some tissue in my bag, hold on."
Kame tangled his fingers in Nino's hair again as he cleaned himself off, hoping he wasn't going to be walking back into the hotel with a very obvious stain on his clothes. He got to his feet, feeling pretty damn satisfied. He could cross "baseball field at night" off of his non-existent list.
"Do you blow a lot of people in public, Nino?" Kame teased him as they walked back in the dark.
"Hmm," Nino considered, wondering just whose room they were going to end up in, what kind of excuse they'd have to make in the morning if they didn't sneak apart in time. "I have certain criteria."
"And what criteria is that?" Kame asked.
"They have to have an ERA under 3.00."
Kame laughed loudly, and Nino was pretty certain he'd never hear a better sound.
.bottom of the ninth.
August wound down, and with it, Nino's job was almost done. Kame had gone on to have a respectable season, going from a bench warmer to one of the most reliable closers the Mustangs had. Everyone suspected that he'd be moved up to play Double-A, maybe even Triple-A ball the next year. The Mustangs were the rookie team for the Cincinnati Reds, and Nino knew he'd seen a few scouts and men from the Reds' organization at a few games. He was still too small for the Majors, everyone knew, but things might be promising if he still wanted to play for a Major League affiliate.
Ryo might have been the most excited about Kame's prospects. "Anything that will get me out of Montana," Ryo said every time Kame's future came up in conversation. "The Reds' Double-A team's in Florida. I could live at the beach!"
Kame, though, had seen enough of America. "I thought I could make it here. Me and Darvish, it was going to be our big year," he told Nino one night at their shitty hotel in Billings.
"Hate to break it to you," Nino said, switching off the TV and turning over on the bed to look at him. "But Darvish is a little better. And much larger than you. No offense."
"None taken," Kame said with a laugh. "The Mustangs don't even pay me enough to get some steroids to bulk up."
"I think you're fine the way you are," Nino admitted. "What would I do if you played for the Majors, huh? Yoko would never pay for me to follow you around the country."
"I suppose he wouldn't."
The shortened rookie league season ended the second week of September, and Nino watched from the stands as Kame was brought in. The Mustangs, however, were down by four, and there'd be no heroics, no chanting of "Ja-pan! Ja-pan! Ja-pan!" Even as the Billings fans had learned Kame's name, they'd stuck with the Japan cheer for superstition's sake.
Kame did his job admirably, striking out the first batter, walking the second, and getting the second and third players both with a double play. Kame was on the bench when the Mustangs struck out in the bottom of the ninth, and as the fans left, Kame came out onto the field, sitting on top of the dugout as the rest of the team headed for the showers.
He and Ryo wandered their way over, sitting on either side of him.
"Well that's a shitty way to end the season," Ryo said, clapping Kame on the shoulder.
Kame shrugged as the stadium lights started to dim. "Can't win them all."
Nino realized that the summer was over. He had a flight back in a few days, and it was back to covering the Japanese baseball scene and then any other sport Yoko felt generous enough to give him. The time they'd spent together, his and Kame's, and hell, even the time with Ryo...it was ending. They'd never again sit under the Montana sky, listening to all the English being spoken around them and maybe about them. Nino had to admit that he'd miss being in this crazy place.
"I've been a good interpreter," Ryo said, looking sure of himself. "I think that's worth buying me a cheeseburger."
Kame wrinkled his nose. "I don't have a paycheck as of next week."
"But you have money now," Ryo pointed out. "And it's a cheeseburger, not a steak or something."
The three of them headed for the McDonald's a couple blocks from the stadium, eating horrible food that would probably make Nino sick later, but it was fun, just the three of them. Things had changed a lot since June. He took out his notepad and pen, holding the pen to Kame's face like a microphone.
"So in summary, Kamenashi-san, what do you have to say about your experience this summer?"
Kame smiled, taking a sip of his milkshake. "I learned what I was capable of. I learned my strengths and my weaknesses as a player. It's been a terrific experience."
"Hmm, intriguing," Nino said, watching Ryo shove french fries in his mouth. "As a player, we've watched you mature and grow. But what about as an individual? As a human being?"
Ryo snorted. "Who cares?"
Kame looked down at his food. "I learned something I'll never forget." Ryo rolled his eyes, stealing one of Kame's chicken nuggets. But Nino didn't much care, keeping his gaze on the pitcher he'd fallen for, the baseball player who'd stolen his heart. Kame was smiling despite his obvious embarrassment.
He finally looked up, grinning from ear to ear. "I learned that you can't do everything alone."
.extra innings.
His press pass got him into Yokohama Stadium without a paid admission. Spring training was underway, and Nino almost felt a little lost wandering around the place. The BayStars were having their first exhibition game of the year, and the stands were about half full, maybe a little less. He settled himself a few rows behind home plate as the teams came out onto the field.
Inning after inning went by, and it wasn't until the top of the eighth that the pitcher he'd been waiting for came jogging out of the bullpen. Nobody in the stadium seemed to know much about the pitcher, and the announcer noted that he'd played in America the previous season. This seemed to turn a few heads, and Nino grinned, watching him throw a few warm-up pitches.
It was a rough inning for the BayStars' newest relief pitcher - there were two hits and a run scored, but he got the last batter with a 95 mile an hour fastball that seemed to impress the crowd. It still wasn't enough to earn the pitcher a spot in the ninth when the coach brought in someone else. Nino watched the player sit on the bench in the dugout, looking a little disappointed.
He headed for the locker room after the game (3-2 in favor of the BayStars), and after a few friendly interviews with some of the players, the person he was looking for came into the room. As soon as the pitcher spotted him, Nino just inclined his head and left.
It was chilly outside, even with his jacket, and Kame found him waiting just in front of the box office.
"Not much of a debut," Kame admitted, toting his bag along behind him.
"At least the announcer knows how to pronounce your name," Nino teased him as they walked together. "That has to count for something."
Kame laughed. "Well, please continue to support me," he said, bowing humbly as they waited to cross the intersection.
"Of course," Nino said. "So long as you grant me exclusive interviews."
"Mmm," Kame replied, licking his lips. "I think that can be arranged."
They laughed then, and Nino couldn't wait for the new season to get underway.
Rating: NC-17 (for sex, not too explicit, but I guess you could say I'm...covering all the bases. Boo.)
Characters/Pairings: Ninomiya Kazunari/Kamenashi Kazuya; Nishikido Ryo
Summary: It wasn't lack of skill that kept Kame from pitching, Nino came to understand. It was Kame himself.
Notes/Warnings: For ninoexchange. Nino is a journalist, Kame is a baseball player.
.top of the first.
When he finally got off the plane in Billings, Montana, Nino wanted to turn right back around and fly to Japan again. He'd tried everything in his power to turn down the assignment. Faking illness, threatening to quit the paper in protest, claiming to be allergic to Americans. Yoko had seen right through all his bullshit, which was probably the only reason why he was the man in charge of the sports desk and not Nino himself after all these years at the paper.
There were tons of teams to cover in Japan, and Nino thought he'd been doing an admirable job. But no, apparently it wasn't enough. Not when a Japanese player got to play in America. Then someone just had to pack their bags and go along. At first Nino thought that Yoko was packing him off to Texas to cover Darvish's Major League Baseball debut. He'd been okay with that, if it meant getting to see all the big U.S. parks, sit in awe of the American superstars.
Instead, their paper didn't have the finances to send Nino across the U.S. for Darvish fever. Nino would be covering the exploits of a different Japanese player, someone who hadn't signed a $60 million contract with a big team. Nino was instead going to spend the summer covering the Pioneer League, the rookie league of Major League Baseball, along with the Billings Mustangs' newest relief pitcher, Kamenashi Kazuya.
Nino had never heard of Kamenashi before, which probably explained why he was playing with a bunch of nobodies in the middle of nowhere.
His English didn't consist of much more than "Hello" and "Thank you," so once he gathered his suitcase from the baggage claim his nervousness grew. He could just imagine Yoko, the bastard, sitting back in Tokyo with a smug look on his face, delighting in Nino's suffering. For the next three months Nino was stuck in this place, surrounded by Americans who probably wore cowboy hats 24/7, all in the name of sports journalism.
He finally found the one other Japanese person in the Billings airport, seeing a bored-looking guy waiting near the taxi stand with a half-assed "NINOMIYA" sign. He walked over, rolling his bag behind him.
"I'm Ninomiya," he said.
The guy still looked bored. "Oh. Good. Come on, I'm parked in a tow zone."
What a reception. The guy introduced himself as Nishikido Ryo, the son of Japanese immigrants and originally from Seattle, who was serving as the Billings Mustangs' Japanese interpreter and Kamenashi's assistant. As Ryo drove them away from the airport and off to the motel where Nino would spend most of his summer, he learned that Ryo had not grown up with the dream of translating between English and Japanese all day, every day.
"The pay is shit," Ryo said. "They treat me like shit. And I fucking hate baseball," Ryo explained, switching through the radio dials to find something that wasn't "country" music.
"Then why are you here? How the hell did you get this job?"
"I followed a girl. I'd never live in Montana by choice."
"And the girl?"
"Went back to Seattle." Ryo turned the radio up, effectively ending their conversation.
It was mid-June and the Mustangs' season was just getting started. They played through to the beginning of September, and the Pioneer League had teams all across Montana and then a few to the south in Utah and a couple other states that Nino had equally never heard of before. The team took a bus back and forth for games, so Nino would have the pleasure of being Kamenashi's seatmate on the bus for the duration of the summer.
Ryo pulled his car into the motel's parking lot, and Nino hid a shiver at the sight of the place. This was where the paper could afford to keep him for his stay, and coincidentally, Ryo informed him, it was where the Billings Mustangs could afford to keep their Japanese player. Ryo left the car running, wandering into the motel office to get Nino a room key and get him registered.
Ryo left him inside room number 9. One double bed, stained carpet, a TV without cable, and a bathroom with a dripping sink. And when he tried to hook up his laptop, he couldn't get the Internet to work. Billings, Montana wasn't Tokyo, but it also wasn't a ghost town. He frowned and gave up, deciding it was time to meet the person he had to write exhaustively about for the next three months.
Kamenashi was probably still at the park practicing. It was about a mile up the road, Ryo had explained, and "Kame" as he was apparently called liked to walk to and from the field. So Nino opened his dusty motel blinds and waited for the guy to come back. Though practice was supposed to have ended at 6:00 PM, there was still no sign of Kame when 8:00 rolled around.
Nino was exhausted, needed to sleep through his jetlag, but found himself growing more and more curious. Maybe Kamenashi had gone out to enjoy the Billings nightlife, whatever that might entail. Probably a rodeo or something, he thought with a smirk. But no, Kamenashi came walking across the parking lot asphalt at half past 9:00, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and lugging a duffel bag with him.
Despite his need to sleep, he figured it would be decent to at least introduce himself. He opened his door just as Kamenashi was about to vanish into room 7 two doors down.
"Kamenashi-san?"
The guy's head perked up at the sound of his native tongue, and he turned around. Nino had been around baseball players before, having covered the Japanese leagues for years. Kamenashi was not what Nino expected. He was maybe only an inch or two taller than Nino, who was pretty short. And he wasn't bulked up like most of the players he'd met. He looked like just another one of the guys Nino had played ball with in high school, someone who simply wasn't built for the big leagues.
He had a pretty face, more like a model than a baseball player, and he looked as tired as Nino felt. "Are you...the one from the paper? Ninomiya-san?"
"Ninomiya Kazunari," he said. "My name's like yours, but mine's read Kazunari, not Kazuya. But since that might be a little creepy, I'm sure Nino's easier to remember."
"Nino then. Nice to meet you," Kamenashi said quietly, hoisting his duffel over his shoulder. They were probably similar in age, which Nino thought was odd. If Kamenashi was in his mid-20's, he would have been in the Japanese majors by now. But in America he was just a rookie, playing with kids fresh out of high school or college.
"How was practice?" he asked. "Oh, and don't worry. This won't be in an article or anything. I just wanted to say hello."
Kamenashi's face changed from the polite smile of greeting to a frown in irritation. "It was very nice to meet you. Have a good night."
And with that Kamenashi went into his room and slammed the door. Well, Nino thought. Three months of this was going to be fun.
.bottom of the third.
It was kind of hard to cover the exploits of a baseball player who never played. It was almost halfway through July, and Nino had been in America for almost a month now. The Mustangs played games seven days a week, and tonight was their first day off in three weeks of play. He'd been to Helena, Montana. Boring. Missoula, Montana. Boring. And they were just back from a three-game series against the Great Falls Voyagers. Also boring.
Three weeks of Montana. Three weeks of only having Ryo to talk to (and Yoko by email when he sent his articles using the wi-fi at the Billings Public Library). They were heading down to Utah later next week for a series, and Nino had had very little to write about.
Kame was a relief pitcher, but the team had nearly ten relief pitchers, and Kame was rarely chosen. It wasn't for a lack of trying, Nino knew. He went to Dehler Park every day they were at home and watched Kame practice, and he watched him on their opponents' fields when they were on the road. On the bus Kame sat by himself, separate from the rest of the team. He watched hour after hour of game footage and practice footage on his computer.
So why wasn't he chosen? If it was based on skill, then Nino couldn't understand it. He'd never seen someone work so hard in his life, and despite his height and small frame, he still looked intimidating enough. He'd seen Kame get called in during the top of the 8th during the last homestand, watched as he quietly and quickly struck out three batters in a row. But when the top of the 9th began, there'd been a different pitcher.
Nino usually had a decent vantage point for games. Dehler Park had a small press box, but Yoko had managed to cough up money for Nino to sit a few rows behind home plate every night instead. And the stands were never full anyhow, the one exception being on free fireworks night. From there he saw everything from the batter's point of view, got to see Kame's performance from the perfect spot. When Kame was on the mound, Nino couldn't look anywhere else. His form was excellent, his control almost perfect. His fastball clocked in at 90 nearly every time.
It wasn't lack of skill that kept Kame from pitching, Nino came to understand. It was Kame himself.
From his vantage point, Nino could also see inside the dugout. Every night Kame sat at the very end of the line. The players around him chatted, laughed, got to know each other. Nobody ever talked to Kame, and Kame made no effort to talk to them. Ryo usually sat with Nino, beer in hand, for most of the games. The pitching coach rarely called Ryo down to translate. Even on the road, Kame kept to himself, staying in his room reviewing more game tapes. Nino knew the Mustangs players better than Kame did, simply because Ryo dragged him along whenever the team went out after a game.
So it was their day off before a long seven day homestand. The Owlz for three, Grand Junction for four. None of the other players were at Dehler that afternoon, and that evening a local high school would be using the park for a game. But the groundskeeper had a soft spot for the team's foreign player, and Nino found Kame on the field along the third base line, throwing pitches into a basket he'd set up.
He parked himself in an empty seat, watching the pitcher at work. He usually had five balls at a time, throwing them all and then walking to the basket to retrieve them before starting up again. Kame was a little off today. Half of his throws missed the basket. Nino waited until Kame was out of baseballs before he spoke up.
"Aren't you supposed to be resting today?" he called, seeing Kame's cleats stop in the grass. He turned his head, looking over. The sound of Japanese still seemed to surprise him, even if Nino had tried to talk with him dozens of times for the past several weeks. Kame had refused numerous dinner invites, interview requests, and even off-the-record nights out with him and Ryo. He'd always refused politely, but Nino was getting sick of it.
Kame actually stopped his robotic dedication for a minute, walking over to the wall next to the dugout and hopped over. "This is how I spend my days off," he said quietly, and Nino couldn't ignore the sadness in Kame's eyes. The loneliness.
"Seven home games in seven days," Nino said, holding his hand up to face to try and block out the sun. "How many are you scheduled for? I hear Herrera on the Rockies is having a great season, think you'll get to face him?"
Kame sat a few seats down from Nino, putting his cleats up on the seat in front of him. "I think you know the answer to that by now."
Oh great, Nino thought. Self-pity. Always attractive in a baseball player. "Do you speak English, Kame?"
"No."
"Have you tried to learn any?"
"I haven't had time."
Nino got up, moved a few seats over until he was sitting next to Kamenashi. "I think you've had plenty of time. I sit here every night and watch you scratch your balls in the dugout..."
"I don't scratch my..." Kame immediately interrupted, only to turn away with a scowl. "You don't know what it's like."
"These guys aren't your enemies. The coaching staff isn't either," he said. "Talk to them. You've got Ryo-chan if you need him. They don't know you, so they'll never put you in. They probably think you don't want to be here."
Kame rolled his eyes. "You think I haven't tried?"
"No," Nino said bluntly. "I don't think you've tried at all."
Kame stood up. "You came all the way here to make fun of me? Is that what's getting printed in your paper every day, 'Kamenashi Kazuya flew several thousand miles to sit in the dugout and watch a bunch of kids play?'"
"More or less," Nino lied. "You're not giving me much to work with."
He knew Kame wanted to hit him, wanted to just go off on him. But maybe the guy knew Nino was right. Maybe he'd known all along what he was doing wrong. Kame was embarrassed - people like Darvish Yu, Ichiro, Matsui...they came over and made big money, played for important teams. And here Kame was in the middle of nowhere, and nobody was cheering him on. The rest of the pitching rotation had six to eight inches on him, fifty to sixty pounds in weight. Kame was out of place, and he thought if he just tried hard enough that it would matter.
"I need to practice," Kame said, heading back down to the field.
Nino kept watching.
.top of the fifth.
Gonzalez tore his rotator cuff, and the coach put Kame in during the seventh inning one night against the Brewers. Nino watched from the stands as Kame seemed to be on fire. Two strikeouts and a fly ball straight into the center fielder's glove. Ryo even went without his end of the game beer as the crowd got behind Kame in the 8th. One, two, three strikeouts again, and people were taking notice.
Kame even got an at-bat in the bottom of the 8th, surprising everyone with a double that brought in a run, putting the Mustangs on top by one. All Kame had to do now was get three outs in the top of the ninth.
Ryo elbowed him as Kame came trotting back out onto the field as the inning began. "Coach is going to let him finish, holy shit."
Nino found his fingers tightening around his pen and notepad. Kame had only been brought in for an inning here and there before - he'd never been responsible for closing the game. Even the crowd around them was cheering him on. They couldn't pronounce his name, and some group of Boy Scouts watching from the first base side started chanting "Ja-pan Ja-pan Ja-pan!"
As Kame struck out the first batter, the chants started to get louder. "Ja-pan Ja-pan Ja-pan!" they all cheered. After all, Nino knew, if the Mustangs won tonight the crowd got a coupon for a free hot dog at a neighborhood restaurant.
The second batter hit a fly ball to the right fielder, who caught it easily. Two down, and the crowd got to their feet.
"Come on, Kame," Nino said, the stadium lights making Kame's small body look huge on the mound.
The first pitch was a strike, and the tiny stadium of loyal fans roared.
"Ja-pan! Ja-pan! Ja-pan!"
Ryo was sobering up, holding onto Nino's wrist like a vise. "My god, he's going to win the game. Dude, he's going to win the game!"
"Shut up," Nino hissed as Kame went into his wind-up.
Strike two, and the screams got louder.
Nino didn't know if his half-assed pep talk had been responsible for this or not, or if Kame was just finally getting his shot to shine. But it all came down to the next pitch. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. The catcher gave the signal, and Nino thought he saw Kame almost smile when he nodded.
He went into his wind-up. Fastball right down the center. A swing. And a miss. 98 miles per hour.
"Kamenashi!" Ryo screamed, launching his tub of popcorn into the air as the team came running over to the pitcher's mound, throwing a surprised Kame into the air. The crowd kept chanting, unless they were rushing off to guest services to claim their hot dog coupons.
Nino could only watch with a smile on his face as it happened, as Billings, Montana and the Billings Mustangs finally got to see what Nino had seen since the first day he'd watched Kame throw in the bullpen.
He and Ryo raced down to the field, Ryo stumbling over the wall to hurry over as the local press gathered around the winning pitcher. Nino followed close behind as the rest of the team headed for the showers, and Kame finally received some recognition. Ryo translated, and Kame smiled. He smiled, and for the first time since he'd arrived in the middle of nowhere, Nino was happy to be there. Kame met his eyes despite the rush of people around him, looking away in embarrassment before mumbling something for Ryo to translate.
After the showers, the team wanted to go to a bar to celebrate, and Kame turned them down. At least in Japanese. Ryo intervened, wrapping an arm around Kame's shoulders and happily agreeing to go out on the town. Nino tagged along, and they ended up at some bizarre motorcycle bar down the road.
He sat at a table, munching on peanuts with Ryo as the other players took turns talking to Kame, patting him on the back, ordering him beer after beer and talking in very broken Japanese that Ryo attempted to teach them. Kame looked like a kid in the middle of all the bulky players, but he was more than that now. He was a part of the team. Finally Kame, drunk and smiling and just a bit giddy, begged to take his leave.
The team was sad to see him go, but Ryo offered to stay and teach them any Japanese swear words they wished to learn, which seemed to be a decent tradeoff. Nino helped Kame out of the bar, heading down the road with him back to their crappy motel.
As soon as they were away from the bar, Nino jumped when Kame threw his hands in the air and let out a triumphant scream. "Wow," Nino said, lighting a cigarette as they walked. "You'd think you won the World Series or something."
Kame ignored him, doing his best to walk normally as they headed down the street. "I did it! I did it!"
"Now I'm no English expert," Nino commented, blowing out some smoke. "But I think Ryo told those guys that you were paying for those last four rounds."
"I don't care!" Kame said gleefully, as different from his on-field persona as he could possibly get. "I would buy anyone a beer right now!" When they stopped for a red light, he screamed in broken English at a waiting car. "Beer I buy for you!"
He was rewarded with a honked horn, and Nino steered him over the crosswalk, linking arms with him. "I think you need some sleep."
Kame calmed down a bit as soon as they were walking in step, smelling like someone had poured a beer over his head. "Nino."
"Yes?"
"I did what you said," Kame admitted. "I tried."
"I'm glad it worked," Nino told him with a nudge to Kame's ribs. "And keep it up so I can surprise the hell out of my editor with your success."
They made it to the motel, and Kame fumbled with his room key. Nino finally yanked it from his hand and unlocked the door. "Come on," he said, pushing Kame inside. "Bed time for you."
He tried to push Kame down, but Kame wouldn't let go, pulling Nino down onto the mattress with him. They were face to face then, and Nino sucked in a breath.
"I should go," Nino said quietly as Kame's drunken eyes darted all over his face before settling on his mouth.
"Nino," Kame said, bringing his fingers to Nino's lips. They were rough, callused from hours of throwing fastballs and curveballs. "Nino."
"You're drunk," he said, even as the temptation lay before him. He didn't know exactly when he'd started thinking of Kamenashi Kazuya as more than his news assignment. Maybe it was still the high he was on from watching Kame win the game.
"I'll win again, then," Kame said, smiling his goofy drunken smile. "I'll win again, and you'll have to do something about it."
It was incredibly difficult to get up, walk away. Kame was his job; it would be wrong to compromise that. But what did it really matter? He was a minor leaguer, and they were in the middle of nowhere.
Nino paused at the door, looking back and seeing Kame watching him from the bed, his t-shirt riding up to expose the soft-looking skin of his stomach.
"Win then," Nino said. "Win and don't stop winning. Give me something to write about."
He closed the door and went back to his room, unable to keep from grinning.
.seventh inning stretch.
The Mustangs entered August on a five-game winning streak, four of those wins courtesy of Kame's pitching. It was hot even up here in Montana, the night games at the park full of nipping mosquitoes and sweaty fans. Kame labored on every night in his uniform, sweat pouring down his face and his hair clinging to his neck. Nino found himself growing uncomfortable as he watched Kame pitch now, remembering how close they'd been that other night. Watching Kame now, it was difficult to understand why he'd turned Kame down at all.
They were on the road in Helena for the first few days of August, and the Brewers were a tough rival. Nobody in the crowd here knew Kame, but they booed him every time he struck a home team batter out. That had to count for something, and Kame laughed all the way to a win, disappointing the crowd but impressing his team and Nino both. The game wrapped up in an astonishing two and a half short hours thanks to Kame's entry in the fifth inning.
They were staying at a hotel just outside of downtown, and Kame wouldn't be pitching tomorrow. Helena was a smaller town than Billings, and Kame was still full of energy after his win. He should have been back at the hotel so he could ice his shoulder, but he cajoled Nino into visiting a park a few blocks from the hotel. He happily let Kame drag him along, let him brag about his victory again. A happy Kamenashi Kazuya wasn't necessarily a modest one, and Nino far preferred it to the sullen, gloomy one he'd first met.
There were still lights on in the small field past the playground, and Kame insisted they play catch like a couple of schoolkids. Kame had an extra glove in his bag, and as they stood under the flickering street lamps, Nino tossed the ball back and forth with him.
"You're good," Kame said as Nino's throw smacked into his glove. "You play?"
"In high school," Nino admitted, feeling his fingers sting as soon as Kame returned the throw. Even when he was trying to throw casually he could still pack a punch.
"Why'd you quit?"
"Wasn't good enough."
"Nino," Kame chided him before tossing a knuckleball his way that sent him running after it. "Maybe you just didn't try."
Nino laughed at that, retrieving the ball and getting ready to throw it back when the park lights went out. "Ah, damn," Nino grumbled. "Guess they don't want any strange Japanese guys in their parks after 10:00 PM."
"Can you blame them?" Kame said with a laugh, and they fumbled through the dark to find his bag, putting the gloves and the ball away.
They started to walk back in the direction of the hotel when they reached the fence behind the batter's box. He anticipated Kame's move before it happened, smiling into the kiss as Kame dropped his duffel bag and pushed Nino back against the fence.
Kame's mouth was hot and sweet, the sensation all the more satisfying in the dark as the crickets chirped and the empty park was swallowed up in the night. He knew there were some kids on skateboards at the opposite end of the park, but he was too preoccupied with Kame pressed against him to care.
He arched up against Kame's body, against his lean, but muscled form, brushing his tongue along Kame's lips until he was allowed inside. Kame moaned quietly, his hands on either side of Nino, fingers twisted in the chain links. Nino turned them with a chuckle, slamming Kame back against the metal, licking a stripe down his neck, warm and wet, and wanting more.
"Should we go back?" Kame murmured, desperate to find Nino's mouth in the darkness.
"We wouldn't make it," Nino told him, moving his hands under Kame's t-shirt, dragging his sweaty fingers along Kame's smooth skin. "You know we wouldn't make it."
"Nino," Kame muttered, moving his hips, and sending all of Nino's blood and common sense straight south.
"I want you," Nino said. "Right here."
"Don't suppose this will make it into the newspaper," Kame said as Nino unbuttoned his jeans for him, yanked the zipper down.
Nino knelt down, tugging Kame's jeans to the dirt. "No underwear," Nino complained. "This why your ass looks so good on the mound?"
Kame's hand fisted in Nino's hair. "I wear underwear with my uniform. Unspoken rule of the locker room."
"But outside of work?" he asked, feeling Kame shudder as Nino kissed his abdomen, stroked him with his fingers until he was nice and hard.
"Outside of work, I find it's unnecessary." Kame gasped then as Nino took him deep in his mouth. "Oh fuck."
Kame's hand in his hair became more insistent, his body sagging back against the fence. The night air prickled the hairs on Nino's arms, but all he knew was heat as he set a quick pace so Kame could get off before anyone found them out here in the open.
Nino imagined Kame on the pitcher's mound, the way his body stretched, pulled taut as a bowstring before rocking forward and sending a fastball into the catcher's mitt. He grew more urgent, wanting Kame so badly he clumsily undid his own jeans, touching himself in time with the movements of his mouth. Kame groaned, losing control and starting to move until he was fucking Nino's mouth.
All he could smell was Kame, his sweat mingling with whatever soap he'd used in the shower after the game. His hand on his own cock moved faster and faster until he was moaning himself. Nino was lost, torn between his fantasy of Kame at peak performance under the stadium lights and the reality of Kame trapped between him and the fence, hard and needy.
Kame stopped moving suddenly, giving Nino a few seconds of warning before he came with a gasp, coating Nino's throat with a murmured apology. It didn't take much more to put Nino over the edge, slipping his mouth away from Kame's cock. He chuckled in embarrassment as his sticky release coated his fingers and hopefully not Kame's jeans where they still rested around his ankles.
He looked up, barely seeing Kame in the shadows looking down at him. "Well then," Nino said with a laugh.
"Well then," Kame repeated before easing himself away, shrugging his jeans back up his hips. "I've got some tissue in my bag, hold on."
Kame tangled his fingers in Nino's hair again as he cleaned himself off, hoping he wasn't going to be walking back into the hotel with a very obvious stain on his clothes. He got to his feet, feeling pretty damn satisfied. He could cross "baseball field at night" off of his non-existent list.
"Do you blow a lot of people in public, Nino?" Kame teased him as they walked back in the dark.
"Hmm," Nino considered, wondering just whose room they were going to end up in, what kind of excuse they'd have to make in the morning if they didn't sneak apart in time. "I have certain criteria."
"And what criteria is that?" Kame asked.
"They have to have an ERA under 3.00."
Kame laughed loudly, and Nino was pretty certain he'd never hear a better sound.
.bottom of the ninth.
August wound down, and with it, Nino's job was almost done. Kame had gone on to have a respectable season, going from a bench warmer to one of the most reliable closers the Mustangs had. Everyone suspected that he'd be moved up to play Double-A, maybe even Triple-A ball the next year. The Mustangs were the rookie team for the Cincinnati Reds, and Nino knew he'd seen a few scouts and men from the Reds' organization at a few games. He was still too small for the Majors, everyone knew, but things might be promising if he still wanted to play for a Major League affiliate.
Ryo might have been the most excited about Kame's prospects. "Anything that will get me out of Montana," Ryo said every time Kame's future came up in conversation. "The Reds' Double-A team's in Florida. I could live at the beach!"
Kame, though, had seen enough of America. "I thought I could make it here. Me and Darvish, it was going to be our big year," he told Nino one night at their shitty hotel in Billings.
"Hate to break it to you," Nino said, switching off the TV and turning over on the bed to look at him. "But Darvish is a little better. And much larger than you. No offense."
"None taken," Kame said with a laugh. "The Mustangs don't even pay me enough to get some steroids to bulk up."
"I think you're fine the way you are," Nino admitted. "What would I do if you played for the Majors, huh? Yoko would never pay for me to follow you around the country."
"I suppose he wouldn't."
The shortened rookie league season ended the second week of September, and Nino watched from the stands as Kame was brought in. The Mustangs, however, were down by four, and there'd be no heroics, no chanting of "Ja-pan! Ja-pan! Ja-pan!" Even as the Billings fans had learned Kame's name, they'd stuck with the Japan cheer for superstition's sake.
Kame did his job admirably, striking out the first batter, walking the second, and getting the second and third players both with a double play. Kame was on the bench when the Mustangs struck out in the bottom of the ninth, and as the fans left, Kame came out onto the field, sitting on top of the dugout as the rest of the team headed for the showers.
He and Ryo wandered their way over, sitting on either side of him.
"Well that's a shitty way to end the season," Ryo said, clapping Kame on the shoulder.
Kame shrugged as the stadium lights started to dim. "Can't win them all."
Nino realized that the summer was over. He had a flight back in a few days, and it was back to covering the Japanese baseball scene and then any other sport Yoko felt generous enough to give him. The time they'd spent together, his and Kame's, and hell, even the time with Ryo...it was ending. They'd never again sit under the Montana sky, listening to all the English being spoken around them and maybe about them. Nino had to admit that he'd miss being in this crazy place.
"I've been a good interpreter," Ryo said, looking sure of himself. "I think that's worth buying me a cheeseburger."
Kame wrinkled his nose. "I don't have a paycheck as of next week."
"But you have money now," Ryo pointed out. "And it's a cheeseburger, not a steak or something."
The three of them headed for the McDonald's a couple blocks from the stadium, eating horrible food that would probably make Nino sick later, but it was fun, just the three of them. Things had changed a lot since June. He took out his notepad and pen, holding the pen to Kame's face like a microphone.
"So in summary, Kamenashi-san, what do you have to say about your experience this summer?"
Kame smiled, taking a sip of his milkshake. "I learned what I was capable of. I learned my strengths and my weaknesses as a player. It's been a terrific experience."
"Hmm, intriguing," Nino said, watching Ryo shove french fries in his mouth. "As a player, we've watched you mature and grow. But what about as an individual? As a human being?"
Ryo snorted. "Who cares?"
Kame looked down at his food. "I learned something I'll never forget." Ryo rolled his eyes, stealing one of Kame's chicken nuggets. But Nino didn't much care, keeping his gaze on the pitcher he'd fallen for, the baseball player who'd stolen his heart. Kame was smiling despite his obvious embarrassment.
He finally looked up, grinning from ear to ear. "I learned that you can't do everything alone."
.extra innings.
His press pass got him into Yokohama Stadium without a paid admission. Spring training was underway, and Nino almost felt a little lost wandering around the place. The BayStars were having their first exhibition game of the year, and the stands were about half full, maybe a little less. He settled himself a few rows behind home plate as the teams came out onto the field.
Inning after inning went by, and it wasn't until the top of the eighth that the pitcher he'd been waiting for came jogging out of the bullpen. Nobody in the stadium seemed to know much about the pitcher, and the announcer noted that he'd played in America the previous season. This seemed to turn a few heads, and Nino grinned, watching him throw a few warm-up pitches.
It was a rough inning for the BayStars' newest relief pitcher - there were two hits and a run scored, but he got the last batter with a 95 mile an hour fastball that seemed to impress the crowd. It still wasn't enough to earn the pitcher a spot in the ninth when the coach brought in someone else. Nino watched the player sit on the bench in the dugout, looking a little disappointed.
He headed for the locker room after the game (3-2 in favor of the BayStars), and after a few friendly interviews with some of the players, the person he was looking for came into the room. As soon as the pitcher spotted him, Nino just inclined his head and left.
It was chilly outside, even with his jacket, and Kame found him waiting just in front of the box office.
"Not much of a debut," Kame admitted, toting his bag along behind him.
"At least the announcer knows how to pronounce your name," Nino teased him as they walked together. "That has to count for something."
Kame laughed. "Well, please continue to support me," he said, bowing humbly as they waited to cross the intersection.
"Of course," Nino said. "So long as you grant me exclusive interviews."
"Mmm," Kame replied, licking his lips. "I think that can be arranged."
They laughed then, and Nino couldn't wait for the new season to get underway.