Everything Starts At The Seam, pg, Alex/Scott preslash

Feb 07, 2011 01:31

Title: Everything Starts At The Seam
Paring/s: Alex/Scott preslash
Genre: I'm still confused about genre. I'll say...fluff.
Rating: PG for swears
Word count: 716
Warnings/Spoilers: Given a once-over by the lovely sashataakheru
Summary: More cricket!fic. It just keeps going in my head.

----



Of course Scott should have known that when Alex gets depressed he gets even more fidgety and that Alex’s brilliant ideas of how to blow off steam are often ludicrous, culminating in him either doing something stupid or convincing someone else to do something stupid. Often ending in minor injuries and the smile that encouraged such joy that any repercussions were merely laughed off.

This time it was Grace’s turn to suffer the hurricane that was Alex O’Loughlin trying to work off all that extra energy.

At least, in the theory according to Scott, it explained why Alex was currently standing behind Grace, practically folded over her, as he adjusted her grip on a cricket bat. Several crew members look on as Alex explains the necessity of Grace protecting her wicket (which were just three stumps set into the ground with tiny pieces of wood on top of them as far as Scott could tell) and how she should aim for a shot that was entirely dependent on how he swung the ball when he bowled. Scott thinks it was a driving shot. Or it may have been a hook shot. Scott sort of stopped paying attention when Alex’s fingers slid along the seam of what Scott could only assume is a cricket ball.

Alex’s fingers are distracting as they test the seam before curling neatly around the ball. Scott wonders why his life is so utterly fucking ridiculous and has to snort at the reason that builds itself so clearly in his head.

He tunes back in rather sharply however, when there’s an almighty crack (motherfucker that ball must weigh a ton) and Grace begins running up and down the apparent makeshift pitch while Alex whoops loudly in delight.

Scott might have to revise his opinions about Australians, as Alex catches Grace around the waist and drags her into a hug-turned-brotherly-back-pounding, apparently crazy isn’t a strong enough describing word.

“What the hell is that thing made of? Cast iron?” he calls across to Alex when the guy lets go of Grace, smiling that goofy grin and practically beaming at her for her shot even as a crew member tosses the cricket ball back to him.

Scott is curious to know if Alex knows he has the effect of making people go weak at the knees with that smile and maybe would he consider toning it down a little, especially when Alex turns to him at his words.

“Leather. And cork. Mostly cork, just gift-wrapped in leather and sewn with the seam.” Alex throws the ball idly from one hand to the other before tossing it casually at Scott, who catches it with both hands. The leather is worn, and the seam is deteriorating slightly, but the ball is still fairly heavy.

“Don’t people die when you fling this at their head?” He asks, running a finger experimentally along the seam as Alex comes to rest beside him.

“I’m pretty sure no-one has died, except maybe one or something,” Scott can nearly feel his eyes bug out of his head at Alex’s casualness, “but batsmen wear protective headgear and pads for a reason you know. Don’t want to catch one of these in certain places.” He takes the ball from Scott, fingers brushing against Scott’s palm for a brief moment. “Not if you want kids anyway.”

Alex’s grin is contagious and Scott can’t help the slight smile that tugs at his mouth, although it’s slightly pained. Why anyone would want to watch anyone else fling a ball at a batsman for god knows how long (and Scott’s heard that there are different forms of cricket and his mind is officially blown by boredom with that news) and watch someone run up and down a pitch is beyond him.

Even golf sounds more exciting.

“So, uh, how’s that Ashes thing going for you then?” He asks instead, remembering Alex’s mention of the first test and concluding neatly that there must be more than one.

Seriously, sometimes he really thinks he should be a detective.

“Oh. We lost the second test by an innings,” Alex shrugs, “and seventy-one runs.”

Wait, there are innings? Scott needs to start from the start with this one.

At least in order to understand what the hell people put in Australia’s drinking water.

fics, word count:0-999, hawaii five-o, alex/scott

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