hockey gods help me, patient OP, this fucking fic has run away with me but I am writing it. It should be up tomorrow night; I make no promises as to its quality.
FILL: Stay Tuned After the Break (Peca/Duthie, 1/?)
anonymous
June 1 2010, 17:21:27 UTC
Sorry it’s so late, anon, my keyboard broke so I'm typing this up on ye olde iphone. (It's present tense because I am just that lazy.) ALSO. There might not really be any porn? idek I wimped out because the characters wouldn’t cooperate I’d like to be able to watch TSN in the future without dying of shame. Anyway. ---
At first he was like:
“We need a draw for game three,” one of the executive producers says during the morning meeting.
“It’s hockey. In May. In Canada,” James says. “What more of a draw could you possibly want
( ... )
Re: FILL: Stay Tuned After the Break (Peca/Duthie, 2/?)
anonymous
June 1 2010, 20:10:17 UTC
And then:
“James, Michael Peca. Mike, James Duthie.”
James smiles and shakes Peca’s hand, then goes over to where the production crew are milling about to double check his mike is working and his set of notes matches up with the set they’ve got. Sure, Peca’s pretty nice to look at but as long as James has enough money to retire before TSN starts airing Point/Counterpoint with Sean Avery and Colton Orr he doesn’t really care which retiree shows up to offer commentary.
He doesn’t think about how Peca’s hand was warm and dry or how he can feel Peca’s gaze following him around the set.
(Well, James allows himself to think about the gaze-following thing just a teeny-tiny bit. Bob McKenzie pounced on Peca like a rotund housecat on a juicy filet before James was even halfway across the room. Now McKenzie’s blustering on about something, gesticulating wildly and looking so pleased with himself that if his pants weren’t black there’d probably be a visible wet spot on the front and Peca is trapped; the mournful little looks James catches
( ... )
FILL: Stay Tuned After the Break (Peca/Duthie, 4/?)
anonymous
June 2 2010, 02:20:33 UTC
And then:
“Your legs are soft,” Peca murmurs at the start of the third period. They (being James and the rest of the crew) are back to taking notes. Peca’s dutifully following the play on multiple camera feeds but a quick glance tells James that Peca’s paper is covered with wavy lines of nothing scribbled in a fit of boredom. “I mean, obviously you’ve got some cute peach fuzz going there but, you know, soft. Do you exfoliate?”
James gives Peca a confused, pinched sort of look like what is this I don’t even because that’s really all the reaction he can coherently form without drawing too much attention to his predicament
( ... )
FILL: Stay Tuned After the Break (Peca/Duthie, 5/6)
anonymous
June 2 2010, 03:28:36 UTC
And then:
Game over. Chicago wins, and so does James because, fumbled lines? None. Inappropriate erection? Quelled. Because James Duthie is a professional. He’s 44 years old, has a degree in journalism and is far too mature for his professional mettle to be tested by a mere game of footsie. If a retired hockey player thinks he can throw James Duthie off his game with a little teasing on-air badtouch, James thinks, smirking to himself as he gathers his papers and thanks the staff, well, he can just bring it on.Peca sidles up to him like he can hear James’ thoughts. “You know, I've decided I like it when you blush,” he says. “Your lips do this little quirk thing like want to make a noise but you’re trying not to
( ... )
FILL: Stay Tuned After the Break (Peca/Duthie, 6/6)
anonymous
June 2 2010, 03:29:53 UTC
And then (he came):
James Duthie is 44 years old, has a degree in journalism and (ordinarily) far too much common sense, dignity, et cetera to ever trek a Walk Of Shame through the front lobby of 9 Channel Court with a hint of stubble and the same suit as the day before, much less while wearing someone else’s underwear and a lingering cloud of their cologne.
He cuts across the lawn and sneaks in through the loading bay. If anyone asks why he’s late he’ll say he’s looking for Sportsnet spycams or Lloyd Robertson’s batcave or whatever because he’s pleasantly fucked and doesn’t give a shit.
It’s almost like being back in first year. Well, no, that’s a blatant lie because he didn’t go to Western and thus has enough memories to support the assumption that no undergraduate could know things like, like those things. He’s covered in handprints and hickeys and sore in places he’d be fired for mentioning on camera. It’s pretty fucking awesome
( ... )
Re: FILL: Stay Tuned After the Break (Peca/Duthie, 6/6)jeka_ooieJune 2 2010, 13:55:49 UTC
I'm still the self un-anoned OP and this story is still FUCKING AWESOME! I just cannot describe the amount of awesome in this fic because infinity is unquantifiable, you know? Thank you THANK YOU so much for writing this, it was absolutely perfect!
BWHAHAHAHAHAH!!!
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All right, I'm in. If no one else claims this I'll take a shot when I've fulfilled my other claims.
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---
At first he was like:
“We need a draw for game three,” one of the executive producers says during the morning meeting.
“It’s hockey. In May. In Canada,” James says. “What more of a draw could you possibly want ( ... )
Reply
“James, Michael Peca. Mike, James Duthie.”
James smiles and shakes Peca’s hand, then goes over to where the production crew are milling about to double check his mike is working and his set of notes matches up with the set they’ve got. Sure, Peca’s pretty nice to look at but as long as James has enough money to retire before TSN starts airing Point/Counterpoint with Sean Avery and Colton Orr he doesn’t really care which retiree shows up to offer commentary.
He doesn’t think about how Peca’s hand was warm and dry or how he can feel Peca’s gaze following him around the set.
(Well, James allows himself to think about the gaze-following thing just a teeny-tiny bit. Bob McKenzie pounced on Peca like a rotund housecat on a juicy filet before James was even halfway across the room. Now McKenzie’s blustering on about something, gesticulating wildly and looking so pleased with himself that if his pants weren’t black there’d probably be a visible wet spot on the front and Peca is trapped; the mournful little looks James catches ( ... )
Reply
Reply
“Your legs are soft,” Peca murmurs at the start of the third period. They (being James and the rest of the crew) are back to taking notes. Peca’s dutifully following the play on multiple camera feeds but a quick glance tells James that Peca’s paper is covered with wavy lines of nothing scribbled in a fit of boredom. “I mean, obviously you’ve got some cute peach fuzz going there but, you know, soft. Do you exfoliate?”
James gives Peca a confused, pinched sort of look like what is this I don’t even because that’s really all the reaction he can coherently form without drawing too much attention to his predicament ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Reply
Game over. Chicago wins, and so does James because, fumbled lines? None. Inappropriate erection? Quelled. Because James Duthie is a professional. He’s 44 years old, has a degree in journalism and is far too mature for his professional mettle to be tested by a mere game of footsie. If a retired hockey player thinks he can throw James Duthie off his game with a little teasing on-air badtouch, James thinks, smirking to himself as he gathers his papers and thanks the staff, well, he can just bring it on.Peca sidles up to him like he can hear James’ thoughts. “You know, I've decided I like it when you blush,” he says. “Your lips do this little quirk thing like want to make a noise but you’re trying not to ( ... )
Reply
James Duthie is 44 years old, has a degree in journalism and (ordinarily) far too much common sense, dignity, et cetera to ever trek a Walk Of Shame through the front lobby of 9 Channel Court with a hint of stubble and the same suit as the day before, much less while wearing someone else’s underwear and a lingering cloud of their cologne.
He cuts across the lawn and sneaks in through the loading bay. If anyone asks why he’s late he’ll say he’s looking for Sportsnet spycams or Lloyd Robertson’s batcave or whatever because he’s pleasantly fucked and doesn’t give a shit.
It’s almost like being back in first year. Well, no, that’s a blatant lie because he didn’t go to Western and thus has enough memories to support the assumption that no undergraduate could know things like, like those things. He’s covered in handprints and hickeys and sore in places he’d be fired for mentioning on camera. It’s pretty fucking awesome ( ... )
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So much joy, oh man.
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