Jays2 (8/?)
Title: Jays2 (8/?)
Genre: J2 RPS, AU
Pairing: Jensen/Jared although - Heh! You know major league teams have 25-man rosters, right?
Rating: Mild R
Warnings: Language, Baseball, Schmoop, Angst, Boy-Sexin’ (wait, what kind of warning is that?)
Word Count: 3,884
Disclaimer: Fiction not fact. All these beautiful guys belong to themselves. Jensen and Jared belong to each other, we all know that :D Only the words are mine. No copyright infringement intended for the use of the MLB teams/players/logos, the Toronto Star, or Rogers Sportsnet. This is for fun, not profit.
A/N: Well, hell. I hate having my boys hurting, but this had to be done. It had to, I swear. Read, review, enjoy! Comments = Love!
Summary: When Jensen had his epiphany of stupidity, he didn’t realize how much it would change the relationship he had thus far cultivated with Jared. Everyone else realized it though...
( One ), ( Two ), ( Three ), ( Four ), ( Five ), ( Six ), ( Seven )
Eight: Careful What You Wish For, You Just Might Get It
Jackson Donnelly was a smart man. He picked up on it almost immediately.
The Toronto Star Sports: Baseball
The Last Word by Jackson Donnelly
TORONTO - With the All-Star break fast-approaching, the Jays brought their A-game to the park this week to make the most of their homestand before they hit the road again and head down to Atlanta to battle the Braves. The Jays bullpen is finally showing signs of life which is music to Eric Kripke’s ears right now after starter Lou Diamond Phillips had to leave the game on Monday with an injury. The team has confirmed that Phillips’ rotator cuff injury, which was supposed to put him on the 30-day disabled list, is now more serious than first thought and will likely require surgery. This of course means that Phillips will be out of the line-up for the foreseeable future and his position in the starting rotation is up for grabs. Word in the dugout is that both pitchers Mark Salling and Charles Malik Whitfield will be vying for the job. Although Salling has been strong in the short haul of middle relief, especially in recent games, he made his debut in the starting rotation, but after four consecutive disastrous starts, fans may be happier if Kripke hands Whitfield the ball for next Thursday’s game. It’s also heartening to report that the Jays’ bats seem to be rising from their season-long slumber: Aldis Hodge, Misha Collins and hold on to your ballcaps, ladies and gentlemen, even Chad Michael Murray are riding four-game hitting streaks. Beach, Bratt and Kane are as steady as ever but it was centerfielder Pej Vahdat who was the most powerful at the plate, garnering him the nod from the MLB as Player of the Week. Surprisingly, the two most exciting players so far this season, Ackles and Padalecki, have been having a rather uninspiring time this past week both in the field and at the plate. It’s not hugely worrying, of course, because everyone has an off-day, but this Jays fan just can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right in the infield.
|*|*|*|
Chris and Zach noticed it on the flight to Atlanta...
Chris reached over Zach’s slumbering form to pull down the window shutter. Just as he moved his hand though, his fingers brushed against Zach’s stomach and the other man startled awake. Chris patted him on the chest.
“Chill, man,” he murmured with a smile, “I was just shutting the window.”
“Oh... mmm,” Zach moaned, his sleepy brown eyes smiling up at him and suddenly Chris felt that something again. That something that sent sparks shooting through his body every time Zach looked at him a certain way.
It was starting to get a little distracting.
“Are you dating?” Chris blurted out without conscious thought. Zach blinked up at him, his gaze becoming more focused and lucid with every movement of his eyelids. He frowned in confusion.
“Yeah... no.”
Chris squinted at him. “Yes or no?”
“Maybe?” Zach’s gaze darted across his face, from his eyes to his mouth, where Chris was nervously licking his lips. “Are you dating?”
“No... er, sure...I dunno.” He momentarily shut his eyes. Wow, that response had been ingenious.
Zach’s eyebrows shot up, but those coffee-coloured eyes twinkled with amusement. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Yeah, okay,” Chris agreed, and then frowned. What was he agreeing to? “No. Wait. What?”
Zach chuckled, the sound low and sexy in the darkness of the airplane. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m not sure...,” Chris hesitated, more than a little nervous. Then he looked into those eyes again and he just... had to try. “I thought maybe you would... you know, if you’re not dating anyone right now...,” he paused to inhale deeply, because breathing was a good thing, and kind of necessary if he wanted to date Zach.
“If I’m not dating anyone right now, what?” Zach prodded.
Be a man, goddamn it, Chris told himself. “Maybe you’d like to, I dunno, er... date me?”
Zach blinked, his long black lashes kind of mesmerizing Chris a little, making him forget what the fuck he was talking about or thinking about and holy fuck, he had just asked his teammate out on a fucking date. “You?”
“Me.”
“You and me?”
“Me and you.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.” The silence seemed interminable as Zach quietly stared up at him.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Chris whispered, blinking in shock, not daring to hope just quite yet. “Okay okay or okay yeah?”
“Okay yeah.”
Chris let down a gusty breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. He leaned back in his seat, eyes facing forward as he ran a hand through his hair. “Cool.”
“Awesome,” Zach agreed, also facing forward, moving his arm from the armrest between them, careful not to inadvertently touch him.
Yeah, awkward much? Chris leaned on the armrest on the aisle-side to give Zach a little more space, when he was jostled by someone walking by.
“Chris,” Jared said, his big hand patting Chris on the bicep. “Sorry, dude. Damn aisles are too narrow.”
“Or you’re just too damn big, Sasquatch,” Chris smirked up at him and Jared smiled back, looking a little tired as he nodded and went back to his seat. Chris frowned and leaned over his armrest, watching as Jared took a seat up front, buckling himself in. That was odd, because Chris could have sworn that he saw Jensen... he swivelled in his seat to look behind him, and sure enough, there was Jensen sitting two rows back, eyes closed, dozing in the darkness as he listened to whatever was being piped into his ears from his headset. His mouth hung open in surprise as he turned to look at Zach.
“Jensen and Jared aren’t sitting together.”
Zach looked incredulous, but then he loosened his seatbelt and leaned over Chris’ body to look for himself. “What the fuck?”
“I know, right?” Chris tried to say as normally as possible, but the words may have sounded a bit breathless, considering the fact that the man he was seriously attracted to was currently draped across his chest.
Zach stared at him from across the few scant inches that separated them and cleared his throat. “You know, tomorrow is an early game. We should be done before 5-ish...”
“Yeah...”
“Maybe we could... I dunno, go out after?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Cool.”
“Awesome.” Chris couldn’t help but smile as Zach leaned back into his seat, this time with his right arm pressed up against him, so Chris leaned in too, his legs sprawling wide, bringing his thigh flush against Zach’s. Their fingers touched... and there were those little sparks again. His smile widened to goofy proportions as he laid his head back and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow. Hell, yeah. Tomorrow.
|*|*|*|
It hit John after his first practice session at Turner Field...
“That change-up needs work,” Boreanaz called from the sidelines, where John was practicing with Steve catching him. John gritted his teeth, resolutely ignoring the snide voice of his so-called mentor, and focused on Carlson’s glove before he let the ball fly. His pitch just narrowly missed where Steve had set up.
“It’s too fast, slow it the fuck down.”
His nostrils flared with the exertion it took not to shove his fist down Boreanaz’s throat right then. He threw a curve ball next.
“How’d they even let you in the majors? There was no movement on that! Jesus.”
John’s hand fisted so hard around the ball it felt like his bones would snap. He turned to glare at the smirking Boreanaz, ignoring Carlson when he stood and ripped his catcher’s mask off, shaking his head at the two of them.
“Daley, that’s enough for today, I’ma hit the showers,” Steve called out. “Boreanaz behave!”
David chuckled and turned to follow him but John blocked his way. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Francis?”
“You know, I am getting sick and tired of your bullshit attitude, David,” John growled at the older man. “I know nobody’s making any secret outta the fact that they brought me in to replace you. But that is not my fault, goddamn it - you don’t get to take that out on me.”
The smug smile fell off the closer’s face. “Get the fuck outta my way, Francis.”
“Or what?”
“Or what? Do you even see how much bigger than you I am? You really want me to answer that?”
“Yeah, you’re bigger but you’ve also got your head stuck so far up your ass, I’m thinking I can take you.”
David planted his big hands on John’s chest and shoved him. Hard. John fell back against the bullpen wall. “What the fuck do you want me to do, huh? You want me to hold your hand, show you exactly where your fingers need to go on the ball? That’s the kind of stuff you learn in little league, kid,” David snarled, getting right in his face. John tried to control his erratic breathing and keep a tight rein on his temper. “Oh right, I forgot - you got drafted out of kindergarten, you skipped a league or two. Well, this is the majors, boy, and I do what the coach tells me to do. Nothing more, nothing less...”
“Jealous that I’m better than you, David?”
“You’re not quite there yet, kiddo.”
“But I will be,” John couldn’t help but taunt. “Is that why you’re holding back? Afraid I might take your spot on the roster before you’re really ready to give it up?”
“I was probably ready to give it up before you were even born, asshole.”
“So that’s it? My age? You know, you keep bringing that up but I just don’t get it,” John huffed in the other man’s face. “Terry is even younger than me and I see you talking him through practice with no problems at all. So, I’m asking you for the last time...” John leaned in almost impossibly closer, his voice more menacing than he had ever thought it could get, “what the fuck is your problem with me?”
David blinked, his breathing heavy, fire in his eyes and fury written into every rigid muscle in his body. Then, for a just a second, his dark eyes flicked down, and John could almost physically feel the heat of his gaze on his mouth. Those eyes flashed up at him again and then, almost against his will John thought, David looked at his mouth again, his gaze lingering there as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. John gulped. The open-air stadium felt suddenly claustrophobic as David continued to devour him with his eyes. John shivered at the intensity of that look, all the angry words he had pent up inside him catching in his throat, along with his next breath.
Oh.
So that was the problem.
“David...” John whispered, but it was too late. The defences were going up again; he could see it in David’s eyes as he gave John one last shove and stalked off in the direction of the clubhouse.
John exhaled, pushing away from the wall and taking a few steps away from the clubhouse in an effort to calm down. He walked to the fence divide between the bullpen and the field, looking almost unseeingly at the infield, as he took off his ballcap and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.
God, what now?
So he had a thing for David Boreanaz. He thought he was keeping it well-hidden, but after that just now - God, even the possibility that David had guessed and was holding it against him was mortifying. The hero-worship was bad enough; no one needed to know about the crush he had been nurturing ever since he was old enough to know he had a thing for guys, and maybe, just maybe, that was the reason he liked watching David Boreanaz pitch so much.
John closed his eyes as he leaned his forehead on the fence, his mind bringing up a mental image of the six-foot-plus closer gearing up to pitch to homeplate: that predatory gleam in his eyes as he looked for the sign from his catcher; the self-assured confidence once his decision had been made; the fluid, high leg-kick as he revved up his delivery; the smooth, powerful release. David Boreanaz pitching was poetry in motion, and his age in terms of his pitching prowess was still just a number.
Too bad, then, that he was also a giant asshole.
His thoughts of obstinate, overbearing pitchers was suddenly diverted by the unusual sight in front of him.
Jared.
Without Jensen.
John squinted at the team’s second baseman as he approached the dugout after the infield’s practice session. He seemed his usual self, horsing around with Chad and Misha; Chad actually jumping on him to piggy back a ride to the dugout, while still standing in the infield - alone - was Jensen.
John blinked as he watched the solitary figure of the Jays shortstop stare after the other three men. Or stare at Jared, more likely. And as Jensen came closer, John could clearly see the longing on his face. That look hit him like a punch to the gut; it made him want to go out to Jensen and hug him and not let go - but he didn’t think Jensen would appreciate that. He always seemed a little more reserved and aloof when Jared wasn’t around.
Like now.
Jensen turned suddenly and his gaze locked with John’s, the hurt in his eyes so tangible, that John found it a little harder to breathe. He lifted his hand in a half-hearted greeting. Jensen merely nodded back at him and disappeared down the steps into the dugout.
Fuck. And there went the team.
|*|*|*|
Cory saw it during their first game against the Braves...
Cory was digging himself into a hole and he knew it, there just didn’t seem to be a goddamn thing he could do about it just then.
He had just pitched the third inning, and had loaded the bases, lucky to have only one run come in to score before getting out of that jam, thanks to his amazing outfield flagging down high pop-flies almost at the warning track.
“Get your head back in the game, kid,” Kripke told him as he came back into the dugout in the middle of the inning.
“Yes, coach,” he muttered, as he looked for an empty spot on the bench. He took the first one he saw, and shrugged his pitching arm into his jacket to keep it warm. It was then that he realized who was sitting to his left. Jensen. He looked to his right. Huh. No Jared. In fact, Jared wasn’t even sitting on the bench; he and Kane were leaning against the railing watching Hodge take a couple of warm-up swings as the top of the order came up to bat for the Jays.
Cory blinked in surprise, quite forgetting his pitching woes. He looked back at Jensen with some sort of smile on his face that he really hoped passed for normal.
“You all right?” Jensen asked him, his voice low and gruff. He looked like death warmed over; bloodshot eyes and pallid skin underneath the scruff of his beard. And when had he stopped shaving, Cory wondered.
“M’good,” he mumbled, and couldn’t help turning to look in Jared’s direction again, the distance - and he didn’t just mean spatially - between the two men seriously freaking him out.
“You seemed distracted out there.”
“Can’t seem to focus on the game.”
“Lemme guess,” Jensen looked at him, green eyes pinning him in place, “you had another run-in with Salling.”
Cory huffed out a breath. “At the airport last night. He said some things... I said some things. Jesus. He’s is such a dick and then I feel bad!”
Jensen chuckled humourlessly. “You can’t let him mess with your head.”
“I’m trying, man. I really am! But sometimes - God, sometimes, I could just bash his stupid, smug, bastard face in,” Cory growled, recalling their fight in the men’s room at the Toronto airport. “It’s just that he thinks he’s better than me, you know? Thinks I’m some hick kid from Idaho and he’s all badass street from New Jersey. Sometimes, I think I hate him, and I don’t hate anyone.”
Jensen looked out onto the field as Bratt drew a walk, advancing Hodge to second. “You know, you’re lucky to make it into the majors in the draft. Real lucky. There will always be guys like Salling who will rain on your parade, but man, they are not important,” Jensen turned to look at him, and patted his thigh. “It’s you. It’s the love of this game we all sacrifice so much for. It’s a fickle bitch, man; you can have a decade-long career and be awesome, or be average, or you can fall funny one day picking up a routine ground ball and it’s over, you know? In the grand scheme of things, Salling isn’t important. You are.”
Cory’s mouth fell open. It was the most Jensen had said to him in their short acquaintance and it may possibly be the best advice he had gotten to date. “Thanks, man.” Jensen merely nodded and refocused on the game as Beach struck out at the plate for the first out. Cory jumped in with both feet. “What happened with you and Jared?”
Jensen’s eyes almost involuntarily darted in Jared’s direction, and he visibly swallowed as he looked back at the infield. “In the grand scheme of things, maybe that’s not important either.”
|*|*|*|
Kripke didn’t pull any punches...
“Ackles! Padalecki! In my office!” He yelled, stalking out of the locker room before realizing that they weren’t in Toronto and he didn’t actually have an office here. He yanked open the door to a supply closet and shoved both young players inside before going in himself and shutting the door behind him. “What the hell is going on between you two?”
“Nothing, Krip,” Jared was quick to reassure him. He looked at Jensen and the other man’s lip curled in a mockery of a smile.
“Everything’s peachy,” Jensen muttered. “Did you just push us all into a janitor’s closet?”
Eric prayed for patience. “It’s a supply closet.”
“Yeah, cleaning supplies,” Jensen wrinkled his nose at a nearby mop.
Eric looked at Jared, expecting him to laugh. His second baseman just looked supremely uncomfortable and was doing his level best to shrink away from Jensen. Eric blinked. What the fuck was going on here? Then he realized that he was the goddamn manager of this team and he could actually voice his question out loud.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
“I haven’t been sleeping too well,” Jensen stated flatly, before Jared could say anything. “I’m sorry, Krip, but it’s been making me lose focus on the field. I’m working on it.” Jensen tried to look earnest and Jared tried not to look at Jensen.
Eric sighed and tried not to sound too deflated. “There doesn’t seem to be any animosity between you two... just, I don’t know... what happened to the spark? Where’s the chemistry?” Eric whipped off his ball cap and rubbed his hand over his the fuzz on his scalp that passed for hair. “Somewhere along the way to where we are right now, you two became the heart and soul of this team. I’m not just talking about on the field, or at the plate, or in the dugout, or in the clubhouse. You’re fan favourites; the press love you. We love you guys. Whatever this is - fix it.” He jammed his ballcap back on his head, his eyes getting a little teary. It was totally the cleaning stuff in the closet - bleach and shit; it had nothing to do with the mushy direction the conversation had taken. “Fix it.”
|*|*|*|
And Mike and Tom were Mike and Tom...
“Uh-oh,” Mike muttered, almost in shock as he saw Jensen walk into his hotel room after returning from their first game against the Braves.
“What?” Tom asked him.
“Did you say that when you went to drop off that scouting report for John, you saw Jared go into the room next door?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a floor below us, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Jensen is on this floor.”
“What?”
“I just saw him go into a room down the hall from us.”
“Wait,” Tom frowned, “why isn’t he rooming with Jared?”
“That would be the million-dollar question,” Mike smirked up at Tom for a split second before shoving the bigger man into the room they were sharing. The door had barely shut behind them before he pushed Tom up against it, pressing the entire length of his body against the hard planes of Tom’s body, and fusing their mouths together in a heated kiss.
Tom moaned, the sound almost obscene in the quiet of the room, and for the split second that Mike pulled away, he was tantalized by reflections the streetlights of downtown Atlanta, filtering in from the open windows, cast on his beautiful face. Tom pulled him closer then, taking control of the kiss and angling his head so that their mouths could slot more comfortably together, his tongue sliding over Mike’s, tracing patterns over his palate and skimming the ridges of his teeth. Mike was loath to do it, but he managed to pull away.
“You take Jared, I’ll take Jensen,” he whispered against Tom’s kiss-swollen lips.
“Take them where?” Tom asked, still dazed.
Mike chuckled and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Talk to Jared; ask him what happened between them - see if he’ll spill. I’ll take Jensen.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah. Just give me a minute.”
“Hurry,” Mike leaned up to suck his earlobe, and kiss the skin just below it. “Because the sooner you go talk to him and come back, the sooner I get to fuck you through that mattress over there.”
Tom groaned and ate at his mouth. “How about you fuck me now and we talk to them later?”
“Once I start with you, I’m not gonna want to stop for a good long while...”
“Works for me...”
“They’re cute kids. They looked like they were hurting out there. I didn’t know about the separate hotel rooms, or I would have cornered them earlier.”
Tom sighed and pushed Mike away from him. “All right. Jesus. You pick a fine time to go all team captain/mother hen on me.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Mike returned about five minutes before Tom did. “Any luck with Jared?”
“Nada,” Tom huffed in annoyance, “apparently everything’s fine even though a blind person could see that everything’s not.”
“Yeah. Jensen’s worse. Flat out refused to say a word, but he looks like shit. So, I just left him with some advice.”
Tom stripped down to his boxers and got into bed with Mike. “And what advice would that be, O wise one?”
“Said that he better come up with one hell of a musical number if he wants Jared to forgive him,” he smirked up at Tom as the other man hovered over him. “Mine’s gonna be hard to top.”
|*|*|*|
Genre: J2 RPS, AU
Pairing: Jensen/Jared although - Heh! You know major league teams have 25-man rosters, right?
Rating: Mild R
Warnings: Language, Baseball, Schmoop, Angst, Boy-Sexin’ (wait, what kind of warning is that?)
Word Count: 3,884
Disclaimer: Fiction not fact. All these beautiful guys belong to themselves. Jensen and Jared belong to each other, we all know that :D Only the words are mine. No copyright infringement intended for the use of the MLB teams/players/logos, the Toronto Star, or Rogers Sportsnet. This is for fun, not profit.
A/N: Well, hell. I hate having my boys hurting, but this had to be done. It had to, I swear. Read, review, enjoy! Comments = Love!
Summary: When Jensen had his epiphany of stupidity, he didn’t realize how much it would change the relationship he had thus far cultivated with Jared. Everyone else realized it though...
( One ), ( Two ), ( Three ), ( Four ), ( Five ), ( Six ), ( Seven )
Eight: Careful What You Wish For, You Just Might Get It
Jackson Donnelly was a smart man. He picked up on it almost immediately.
The Toronto Star Sports: Baseball
The Last Word by Jackson Donnelly
TORONTO - With the All-Star break fast-approaching, the Jays brought their A-game to the park this week to make the most of their homestand before they hit the road again and head down to Atlanta to battle the Braves. The Jays bullpen is finally showing signs of life which is music to Eric Kripke’s ears right now after starter Lou Diamond Phillips had to leave the game on Monday with an injury. The team has confirmed that Phillips’ rotator cuff injury, which was supposed to put him on the 30-day disabled list, is now more serious than first thought and will likely require surgery. This of course means that Phillips will be out of the line-up for the foreseeable future and his position in the starting rotation is up for grabs. Word in the dugout is that both pitchers Mark Salling and Charles Malik Whitfield will be vying for the job. Although Salling has been strong in the short haul of middle relief, especially in recent games, he made his debut in the starting rotation, but after four consecutive disastrous starts, fans may be happier if Kripke hands Whitfield the ball for next Thursday’s game. It’s also heartening to report that the Jays’ bats seem to be rising from their season-long slumber: Aldis Hodge, Misha Collins and hold on to your ballcaps, ladies and gentlemen, even Chad Michael Murray are riding four-game hitting streaks. Beach, Bratt and Kane are as steady as ever but it was centerfielder Pej Vahdat who was the most powerful at the plate, garnering him the nod from the MLB as Player of the Week. Surprisingly, the two most exciting players so far this season, Ackles and Padalecki, have been having a rather uninspiring time this past week both in the field and at the plate. It’s not hugely worrying, of course, because everyone has an off-day, but this Jays fan just can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right in the infield.
|*|*|*|
Chris and Zach noticed it on the flight to Atlanta...
Chris reached over Zach’s slumbering form to pull down the window shutter. Just as he moved his hand though, his fingers brushed against Zach’s stomach and the other man startled awake. Chris patted him on the chest.
“Chill, man,” he murmured with a smile, “I was just shutting the window.”
“Oh... mmm,” Zach moaned, his sleepy brown eyes smiling up at him and suddenly Chris felt that something again. That something that sent sparks shooting through his body every time Zach looked at him a certain way.
It was starting to get a little distracting.
“Are you dating?” Chris blurted out without conscious thought. Zach blinked up at him, his gaze becoming more focused and lucid with every movement of his eyelids. He frowned in confusion.
“Yeah... no.”
Chris squinted at him. “Yes or no?”
“Maybe?” Zach’s gaze darted across his face, from his eyes to his mouth, where Chris was nervously licking his lips. “Are you dating?”
“No... er, sure...I dunno.” He momentarily shut his eyes. Wow, that response had been ingenious.
Zach’s eyebrows shot up, but those coffee-coloured eyes twinkled with amusement. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Yeah, okay,” Chris agreed, and then frowned. What was he agreeing to? “No. Wait. What?”
Zach chuckled, the sound low and sexy in the darkness of the airplane. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m not sure...,” Chris hesitated, more than a little nervous. Then he looked into those eyes again and he just... had to try. “I thought maybe you would... you know, if you’re not dating anyone right now...,” he paused to inhale deeply, because breathing was a good thing, and kind of necessary if he wanted to date Zach.
“If I’m not dating anyone right now, what?” Zach prodded.
Be a man, goddamn it, Chris told himself. “Maybe you’d like to, I dunno, er... date me?”
Zach blinked, his long black lashes kind of mesmerizing Chris a little, making him forget what the fuck he was talking about or thinking about and holy fuck, he had just asked his teammate out on a fucking date. “You?”
“Me.”
“You and me?”
“Me and you.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.” The silence seemed interminable as Zach quietly stared up at him.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Chris whispered, blinking in shock, not daring to hope just quite yet. “Okay okay or okay yeah?”
“Okay yeah.”
Chris let down a gusty breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. He leaned back in his seat, eyes facing forward as he ran a hand through his hair. “Cool.”
“Awesome,” Zach agreed, also facing forward, moving his arm from the armrest between them, careful not to inadvertently touch him.
Yeah, awkward much? Chris leaned on the armrest on the aisle-side to give Zach a little more space, when he was jostled by someone walking by.
“Chris,” Jared said, his big hand patting Chris on the bicep. “Sorry, dude. Damn aisles are too narrow.”
“Or you’re just too damn big, Sasquatch,” Chris smirked up at him and Jared smiled back, looking a little tired as he nodded and went back to his seat. Chris frowned and leaned over his armrest, watching as Jared took a seat up front, buckling himself in. That was odd, because Chris could have sworn that he saw Jensen... he swivelled in his seat to look behind him, and sure enough, there was Jensen sitting two rows back, eyes closed, dozing in the darkness as he listened to whatever was being piped into his ears from his headset. His mouth hung open in surprise as he turned to look at Zach.
“Jensen and Jared aren’t sitting together.”
Zach looked incredulous, but then he loosened his seatbelt and leaned over Chris’ body to look for himself. “What the fuck?”
“I know, right?” Chris tried to say as normally as possible, but the words may have sounded a bit breathless, considering the fact that the man he was seriously attracted to was currently draped across his chest.
Zach stared at him from across the few scant inches that separated them and cleared his throat. “You know, tomorrow is an early game. We should be done before 5-ish...”
“Yeah...”
“Maybe we could... I dunno, go out after?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Cool.”
“Awesome.” Chris couldn’t help but smile as Zach leaned back into his seat, this time with his right arm pressed up against him, so Chris leaned in too, his legs sprawling wide, bringing his thigh flush against Zach’s. Their fingers touched... and there were those little sparks again. His smile widened to goofy proportions as he laid his head back and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow. Hell, yeah. Tomorrow.
|*|*|*|
It hit John after his first practice session at Turner Field...
“That change-up needs work,” Boreanaz called from the sidelines, where John was practicing with Steve catching him. John gritted his teeth, resolutely ignoring the snide voice of his so-called mentor, and focused on Carlson’s glove before he let the ball fly. His pitch just narrowly missed where Steve had set up.
“It’s too fast, slow it the fuck down.”
His nostrils flared with the exertion it took not to shove his fist down Boreanaz’s throat right then. He threw a curve ball next.
“How’d they even let you in the majors? There was no movement on that! Jesus.”
John’s hand fisted so hard around the ball it felt like his bones would snap. He turned to glare at the smirking Boreanaz, ignoring Carlson when he stood and ripped his catcher’s mask off, shaking his head at the two of them.
“Daley, that’s enough for today, I’ma hit the showers,” Steve called out. “Boreanaz behave!”
David chuckled and turned to follow him but John blocked his way. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Francis?”
“You know, I am getting sick and tired of your bullshit attitude, David,” John growled at the older man. “I know nobody’s making any secret outta the fact that they brought me in to replace you. But that is not my fault, goddamn it - you don’t get to take that out on me.”
The smug smile fell off the closer’s face. “Get the fuck outta my way, Francis.”
“Or what?”
“Or what? Do you even see how much bigger than you I am? You really want me to answer that?”
“Yeah, you’re bigger but you’ve also got your head stuck so far up your ass, I’m thinking I can take you.”
David planted his big hands on John’s chest and shoved him. Hard. John fell back against the bullpen wall. “What the fuck do you want me to do, huh? You want me to hold your hand, show you exactly where your fingers need to go on the ball? That’s the kind of stuff you learn in little league, kid,” David snarled, getting right in his face. John tried to control his erratic breathing and keep a tight rein on his temper. “Oh right, I forgot - you got drafted out of kindergarten, you skipped a league or two. Well, this is the majors, boy, and I do what the coach tells me to do. Nothing more, nothing less...”
“Jealous that I’m better than you, David?”
“You’re not quite there yet, kiddo.”
“But I will be,” John couldn’t help but taunt. “Is that why you’re holding back? Afraid I might take your spot on the roster before you’re really ready to give it up?”
“I was probably ready to give it up before you were even born, asshole.”
“So that’s it? My age? You know, you keep bringing that up but I just don’t get it,” John huffed in the other man’s face. “Terry is even younger than me and I see you talking him through practice with no problems at all. So, I’m asking you for the last time...” John leaned in almost impossibly closer, his voice more menacing than he had ever thought it could get, “what the fuck is your problem with me?”
David blinked, his breathing heavy, fire in his eyes and fury written into every rigid muscle in his body. Then, for a just a second, his dark eyes flicked down, and John could almost physically feel the heat of his gaze on his mouth. Those eyes flashed up at him again and then, almost against his will John thought, David looked at his mouth again, his gaze lingering there as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. John gulped. The open-air stadium felt suddenly claustrophobic as David continued to devour him with his eyes. John shivered at the intensity of that look, all the angry words he had pent up inside him catching in his throat, along with his next breath.
Oh.
So that was the problem.
“David...” John whispered, but it was too late. The defences were going up again; he could see it in David’s eyes as he gave John one last shove and stalked off in the direction of the clubhouse.
John exhaled, pushing away from the wall and taking a few steps away from the clubhouse in an effort to calm down. He walked to the fence divide between the bullpen and the field, looking almost unseeingly at the infield, as he took off his ballcap and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.
God, what now?
So he had a thing for David Boreanaz. He thought he was keeping it well-hidden, but after that just now - God, even the possibility that David had guessed and was holding it against him was mortifying. The hero-worship was bad enough; no one needed to know about the crush he had been nurturing ever since he was old enough to know he had a thing for guys, and maybe, just maybe, that was the reason he liked watching David Boreanaz pitch so much.
John closed his eyes as he leaned his forehead on the fence, his mind bringing up a mental image of the six-foot-plus closer gearing up to pitch to homeplate: that predatory gleam in his eyes as he looked for the sign from his catcher; the self-assured confidence once his decision had been made; the fluid, high leg-kick as he revved up his delivery; the smooth, powerful release. David Boreanaz pitching was poetry in motion, and his age in terms of his pitching prowess was still just a number.
Too bad, then, that he was also a giant asshole.
His thoughts of obstinate, overbearing pitchers was suddenly diverted by the unusual sight in front of him.
Jared.
Without Jensen.
John squinted at the team’s second baseman as he approached the dugout after the infield’s practice session. He seemed his usual self, horsing around with Chad and Misha; Chad actually jumping on him to piggy back a ride to the dugout, while still standing in the infield - alone - was Jensen.
John blinked as he watched the solitary figure of the Jays shortstop stare after the other three men. Or stare at Jared, more likely. And as Jensen came closer, John could clearly see the longing on his face. That look hit him like a punch to the gut; it made him want to go out to Jensen and hug him and not let go - but he didn’t think Jensen would appreciate that. He always seemed a little more reserved and aloof when Jared wasn’t around.
Like now.
Jensen turned suddenly and his gaze locked with John’s, the hurt in his eyes so tangible, that John found it a little harder to breathe. He lifted his hand in a half-hearted greeting. Jensen merely nodded back at him and disappeared down the steps into the dugout.
Fuck. And there went the team.
|*|*|*|
Cory saw it during their first game against the Braves...
Cory was digging himself into a hole and he knew it, there just didn’t seem to be a goddamn thing he could do about it just then.
He had just pitched the third inning, and had loaded the bases, lucky to have only one run come in to score before getting out of that jam, thanks to his amazing outfield flagging down high pop-flies almost at the warning track.
“Get your head back in the game, kid,” Kripke told him as he came back into the dugout in the middle of the inning.
“Yes, coach,” he muttered, as he looked for an empty spot on the bench. He took the first one he saw, and shrugged his pitching arm into his jacket to keep it warm. It was then that he realized who was sitting to his left. Jensen. He looked to his right. Huh. No Jared. In fact, Jared wasn’t even sitting on the bench; he and Kane were leaning against the railing watching Hodge take a couple of warm-up swings as the top of the order came up to bat for the Jays.
Cory blinked in surprise, quite forgetting his pitching woes. He looked back at Jensen with some sort of smile on his face that he really hoped passed for normal.
“You all right?” Jensen asked him, his voice low and gruff. He looked like death warmed over; bloodshot eyes and pallid skin underneath the scruff of his beard. And when had he stopped shaving, Cory wondered.
“M’good,” he mumbled, and couldn’t help turning to look in Jared’s direction again, the distance - and he didn’t just mean spatially - between the two men seriously freaking him out.
“You seemed distracted out there.”
“Can’t seem to focus on the game.”
“Lemme guess,” Jensen looked at him, green eyes pinning him in place, “you had another run-in with Salling.”
Cory huffed out a breath. “At the airport last night. He said some things... I said some things. Jesus. He’s is such a dick and then I feel bad!”
Jensen chuckled humourlessly. “You can’t let him mess with your head.”
“I’m trying, man. I really am! But sometimes - God, sometimes, I could just bash his stupid, smug, bastard face in,” Cory growled, recalling their fight in the men’s room at the Toronto airport. “It’s just that he thinks he’s better than me, you know? Thinks I’m some hick kid from Idaho and he’s all badass street from New Jersey. Sometimes, I think I hate him, and I don’t hate anyone.”
Jensen looked out onto the field as Bratt drew a walk, advancing Hodge to second. “You know, you’re lucky to make it into the majors in the draft. Real lucky. There will always be guys like Salling who will rain on your parade, but man, they are not important,” Jensen turned to look at him, and patted his thigh. “It’s you. It’s the love of this game we all sacrifice so much for. It’s a fickle bitch, man; you can have a decade-long career and be awesome, or be average, or you can fall funny one day picking up a routine ground ball and it’s over, you know? In the grand scheme of things, Salling isn’t important. You are.”
Cory’s mouth fell open. It was the most Jensen had said to him in their short acquaintance and it may possibly be the best advice he had gotten to date. “Thanks, man.” Jensen merely nodded and refocused on the game as Beach struck out at the plate for the first out. Cory jumped in with both feet. “What happened with you and Jared?”
Jensen’s eyes almost involuntarily darted in Jared’s direction, and he visibly swallowed as he looked back at the infield. “In the grand scheme of things, maybe that’s not important either.”
|*|*|*|
Kripke didn’t pull any punches...
“Ackles! Padalecki! In my office!” He yelled, stalking out of the locker room before realizing that they weren’t in Toronto and he didn’t actually have an office here. He yanked open the door to a supply closet and shoved both young players inside before going in himself and shutting the door behind him. “What the hell is going on between you two?”
“Nothing, Krip,” Jared was quick to reassure him. He looked at Jensen and the other man’s lip curled in a mockery of a smile.
“Everything’s peachy,” Jensen muttered. “Did you just push us all into a janitor’s closet?”
Eric prayed for patience. “It’s a supply closet.”
“Yeah, cleaning supplies,” Jensen wrinkled his nose at a nearby mop.
Eric looked at Jared, expecting him to laugh. His second baseman just looked supremely uncomfortable and was doing his level best to shrink away from Jensen. Eric blinked. What the fuck was going on here? Then he realized that he was the goddamn manager of this team and he could actually voice his question out loud.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
“I haven’t been sleeping too well,” Jensen stated flatly, before Jared could say anything. “I’m sorry, Krip, but it’s been making me lose focus on the field. I’m working on it.” Jensen tried to look earnest and Jared tried not to look at Jensen.
Eric sighed and tried not to sound too deflated. “There doesn’t seem to be any animosity between you two... just, I don’t know... what happened to the spark? Where’s the chemistry?” Eric whipped off his ball cap and rubbed his hand over his the fuzz on his scalp that passed for hair. “Somewhere along the way to where we are right now, you two became the heart and soul of this team. I’m not just talking about on the field, or at the plate, or in the dugout, or in the clubhouse. You’re fan favourites; the press love you. We love you guys. Whatever this is - fix it.” He jammed his ballcap back on his head, his eyes getting a little teary. It was totally the cleaning stuff in the closet - bleach and shit; it had nothing to do with the mushy direction the conversation had taken. “Fix it.”
|*|*|*|
And Mike and Tom were Mike and Tom...
“Uh-oh,” Mike muttered, almost in shock as he saw Jensen walk into his hotel room after returning from their first game against the Braves.
“What?” Tom asked him.
“Did you say that when you went to drop off that scouting report for John, you saw Jared go into the room next door?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a floor below us, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, Jensen is on this floor.”
“What?”
“I just saw him go into a room down the hall from us.”
“Wait,” Tom frowned, “why isn’t he rooming with Jared?”
“That would be the million-dollar question,” Mike smirked up at Tom for a split second before shoving the bigger man into the room they were sharing. The door had barely shut behind them before he pushed Tom up against it, pressing the entire length of his body against the hard planes of Tom’s body, and fusing their mouths together in a heated kiss.
Tom moaned, the sound almost obscene in the quiet of the room, and for the split second that Mike pulled away, he was tantalized by reflections the streetlights of downtown Atlanta, filtering in from the open windows, cast on his beautiful face. Tom pulled him closer then, taking control of the kiss and angling his head so that their mouths could slot more comfortably together, his tongue sliding over Mike’s, tracing patterns over his palate and skimming the ridges of his teeth. Mike was loath to do it, but he managed to pull away.
“You take Jared, I’ll take Jensen,” he whispered against Tom’s kiss-swollen lips.
“Take them where?” Tom asked, still dazed.
Mike chuckled and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Talk to Jared; ask him what happened between them - see if he’ll spill. I’ll take Jensen.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah. Just give me a minute.”
“Hurry,” Mike leaned up to suck his earlobe, and kiss the skin just below it. “Because the sooner you go talk to him and come back, the sooner I get to fuck you through that mattress over there.”
Tom groaned and ate at his mouth. “How about you fuck me now and we talk to them later?”
“Once I start with you, I’m not gonna want to stop for a good long while...”
“Works for me...”
“They’re cute kids. They looked like they were hurting out there. I didn’t know about the separate hotel rooms, or I would have cornered them earlier.”
Tom sighed and pushed Mike away from him. “All right. Jesus. You pick a fine time to go all team captain/mother hen on me.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Mike returned about five minutes before Tom did. “Any luck with Jared?”
“Nada,” Tom huffed in annoyance, “apparently everything’s fine even though a blind person could see that everything’s not.”
“Yeah. Jensen’s worse. Flat out refused to say a word, but he looks like shit. So, I just left him with some advice.”
Tom stripped down to his boxers and got into bed with Mike. “And what advice would that be, O wise one?”
“Said that he better come up with one hell of a musical number if he wants Jared to forgive him,” he smirked up at Tom as the other man hovered over him. “Mine’s gonna be hard to top.”
|*|*|*|