Jays2 (14/?)
Title: Jays2 (14/?)
Genre: J2 RPS, AU
Pairing: Jensen/Jared although - Heh! You know major league teams have 25-man rosters, right?
Rating: NC-17
Warnings (overall): Language, Baseball, Schmoop, Angst, Boy-Sexin’ (wait, what kind of warning is that?)
Word Count: ~ 3,600
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: It’s slow going, but we’re getting there! Really, trust me. Enjoy! Comments = Love!
Summary: Apparently singing in the streets of Toronto does wonders to up Jensen’s game... but what about Jared’s game? Penalty: Pass interference! Oh, wait - I’m pretty sure that’s football, not baseball. Still, in this case it’s valid. We can only hope it will work out in the long run. Also, Cory and Mark come to an understanding.
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FOURTEEN: HOW TO DEAL
Rogers Sportsnet Post-Game Broadcast:
Blue Jays Central with Matt Campbell and Caroline Millar
Welcome back to Blue Jays Central, I’m Caroline Millar here with Matt Campbell.
And the Jays have done it again, folks, taking two out of three from the Texas Rangers to win the series, after losing their first game. Michael Rosenbaum took the loss in Game One, but both Welling last night and Montieth tonight came away with wins. The big story from both games though, was Jays Shortstop, Jensen Ackles.
Ackles was incredible from the left side of the plate tonight against rightie starter, Rich Harden, becoming one of only four Blue Jays in the club’s history to hit for the cycle.
That’s right, Caroline. It was another stellar day at the plate for Jensen Ackles who’s gone 5-for-5 two games in a row now. In his first appearance at the plate in the bottom of the second, he hits this beauty of a line drive to the hard-to-reach corner of the park, and with Ackles’ good speed, he’s able to round the bases and slide into third, easily beating the relay throw from right-fielder David Murphy. Padalecki’s up next and he brings Ackles in to score with a ground-rule double.
With the toughest hit in the cycle out of the way, Ackles doubles his next time up, bringing Vahdat in to score all the way from first base. Padalecki draws a walk, and Ackles steals third uncontested. Kane will double to score them both. With a single in the seventh, Ackles is the last batter up in the bottom of the ninth, and with the game tied at 7, he hits a monster home run to centrefield, clocking in the game-winner at well over 400 feet. This one is going, going, sayonara. And there you have it... the cycle: single, double, triple, home run.
I just hope that this time, they celebrate without the pies.
Hey, I liked the pies!
I’m fairly certain the entire nation is aware of that by now, Caroline.
They were Jensen-flavoured chocolate cream pies, Matt...
Please don’t ever say ‘Jensen-flavoured’ on live TV again...
Aww, you’re just jealous. I’m sure Matt-flavoured pies would be awesome, too.
And on that note, it’s time we send you back to the studio. For Jays Central on Rogers Sportsnet, and for Caroline Millar, I’m Matt Campbell, leaving you with this: Just say no... to pie.
|*|*|*|
Jared woke up to an empty bed and a post-it on the pillow next to his.
@ Meeting. Back by 10.
He glanced at the clock by his bed. Just as his brain registered that it was after ten, he sniffed the air. Holy shit - Jensen was making waffles. That got him out of bed and into the shower faster than anything else could have. In under twenty minutes, he was standing at the kitchen door watching Jensen make that strawberry sauce thing that he poured over waffles. It smelled divine, and ordinarily that would distract Jared, but this morning, Jensen pretty much got all his attention.
There wasn’t anything unusual about him. He looked relaxed - which was good, considering he had already seen his father this morning at yet another business meeting - and he was singing along to the radio, which was tuned into an oldies station they both liked. He also looked good: soft, well-worn jeans, a green tee, bare feet.
If Jared had been asked to pick one adjective to describe Jensen at the moment, it would have been ‘sexy’.
The thought made his pulse speed up as he walked up to Jensen and hugged him from behind, kissing the soft skin under his ear.
“Morning, sunshine.”
“Morning, angel,” Jared smiled and then kissed the back of his neck, just because it was right there looking kissable. “You look happy.”
“I am happy. Happy to be home again, anyway. Happy to be having waffles with you.”
“Mmm, that makes me happy too,” Jared murmured. He hadn’t let go of him yet, so Jensen just leaned into him for a moment before whirling away with a mischievous smile, singing along to the song on the radio, using the wooden spoon in his hand for a mike.
“I've got sunshine... on a cloudy day. When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May,” he did a little twirl that made Jared laugh, “Well, I guess you'll say... What can make me feel this way? My guy. Talking 'bout my guy - my guy!”
“Your guy, huh?” Jared asked, a broad grin on his face as Jensen stood there and smirked at him.
Jensen shrugged nonchalantly as Jared advanced, pinning him up against the kitchen counter. “So, you’re not my guy then?” Jensen whispered, his eyes darting between Jared’s eyes and his mouth, which hovering mere inches from his.
And right there, that was the moment.
Something clenched in Jared’s chest, as fierce possessiveness warred with an overwhelming sense of joy.
“I am so your guy,” Jared breathed as he kissed the corner of Jensen’s mouth, his nose nuzzling Jensen’s cheek as Jensen’s hand buried itself in his hair.
Their mouths were a hair`s breadth apart when the doorbell rang.
“Ignore it,” they both murmured in unison, frozen in place, waiting to see if whoever it was would go away. A few seconds later, it rang again.
“It’s probably one of the guys,” Jensen muttered grumpily, “You go get rid of them, I’ll set the table.”
“Don’t forget the maple syrup,” he called out as he went to get the door.
It wasn’t one of the guys, it was Jensen’s Momma.
For a few long moments, he didn’t quite know what to say, but good manners instinctively kicked in. “Mrs. Ackles! Er... come on in! Welcome.”
“Thank you kindly. And call me Donna,” Jensen’s mother - Donna - smiled, and eyes almost like Jensen’s twinkled up at him. He couldn’t help but smile back as he took her bag and ushered her inside.
“I’m Jared Padalecki,” he reached out a big hand and she shook it daintily, warily eying his hand as if afraid he might crush hers. “Jen’s in the kitchen...”
“Jen?” She asked with a quizzical look at Jared as he moved towards the kitchen, calling out to Jensen.
“Jen, your Momma’s here!”
“What?” Jensen came out to the living room with a look of surprise on his face, which broke into a smile when he saw his mother. “Momma, what are you doing here?”
“I came to spend some time with my son before heading back.”
“How’d you manage that?” He asked as he pulled away from hugging her.
“The airline mysteriously cancelled my reservation, and put me on a flight out tomorrow morning.”
One corner of Jensen’s mouth quirked up. “That does sound mysterious.”
“Well, millions of people travel every day, son, someone’s bound to make a mistake sometime,” she shrugged nonchalantly, delicately picking imaginary lint from her impeccable dress, a smile on her face that was very much like the one Jensen was sporting.
“Did Alona have anything to do with these mysterious goings-on?”
“Why, Jensen - whatever do you mean?” Donna channelled her inner Southern Belle and Jared had to laugh with Jensen.
“Have you had breakfast yet, Momma?”
“No, are y’all offering?”
“Absolutely! Jen made waffles!” Jared exclaimed.
“Jen? You let him call you ‘Jen’?” Donna’s eyebrows shot high in surprise as she eyed her son.
Jensen blushed adorably. “Jared gets special privileges.”
“I see...” The corners of Donna’s mouth twitched.
Jared smirked, throwing his arm around Jensen’s shoulders and hauling him close. “I get to call him all sorts of names, don’t I, buttercup?”
“I’m sorry, sweetpea, did you even want waffles? ‘Cause I feel like I could eat your share too,” Jensen smiled up at him, all saccharine-sweetness.
Donna giggled. “I’m amazed that my Jensen even knows how to make waffles.”
“You learn to fend for yourself on the road, Momma.”
“You fend for yourself with waffles?”
Jensen chuckled and looked up at Jared. “Naw, that’s a new thing I picked up because Sasquatch here likes waffles. And I like pancakes. And he makes really good chocolate chip pancakes; so he makes me pancakes, I make him waffles.”
Jared nodded seriously. “He makes spaghetti and meatballs, I make lasagne.”
“He orders Chinese, I order Indian.”
“And I get the picture.” Donna chuckled as they walked into the kitchen. “I didn’t realize your camaraderie extended off the field too, but I suppose it makes a whole lot of sense now: it’s actually your friendship that manifests itself on the field,” she sighed and smiled as if the idea made her really happy. “Y’all have a lovely place here, Jensen.”
Jensen included Jared in his smile. “We sure like it.”
Donna patted his cheek, and then for good measure, patted Jared on the cheek too; Jared obligingly bending slightly at the knees so she didn’t have to over-extend herself. “You mind if I freshen up a bit?”
“No, of course not,” Jensen told her, “let me show you my bedroom. You can use the ensuite.” Jared picked up her bag from where he had put it down and followed them into Jen’s bedroom. “You can sleep in here, Momma.”
“That couch doesn’t look very comfortable for a boy your size, Jensen.”
“I’ll sleep with Jared,” Jensen said automatically, and then flushed beet-red. Jared hurried out of the room before Jensen’s Momma could see his face too, and then tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile when Jensen walked into the kitchen a couple of minutes later. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Jared said around a smirk, leaning back against the counter, absently humming along with the radio, but when the song actually registered in his head, he grinned and stalked towards Jensen, grabbing his hand when he tried to escape.
“Jared, don’t even think about it,” Jensen groaned, hiding his face in Jared’s shoulder. Jared wrapped his arms around Jensen and moved in time to the slow-paced music, not-quite-dancing as Jensen’s hand almost instinctively wound themselves around the back of his neck, his fingers buried in Jared’s hair.
“Earth angel, earth angel...”
“Jared...”
“Will you be mine?”
Jared turned them, and Jensen’s grip on his hair tightened. “Oh God...”
“My darling dear, love you all the time...”
“I hate you...”
“I’m just a fool...,” Jared took a deep breath and dipped Jensen, who chuckled and hung on for dear life. “A fool in love with you...”
Jensen blinked, and Jared froze.
He didn’t know how long they stood there, staring at each other, but when Jensen’s mother suddenly walked into the kitchen, they sprang apart.
Or well, that was the idea. Instead, Jared dropped him, and Jensen crashed down onto the cool tile floor.
“He tripped,” Jared explained, just as Jensen said,” He tripped me!”
Donna Ackles merely shook her head in bemusement and sat down, demanding waffles. They all had breakfast together before Jared made himself scarce so that Jensen could catch up with his Momma. He took himself up to the rooftop garden and hung out there all afternoon, wondering just how badly he and his big mouth had fucked up his friendship with Jensen.
He needn’t have worried though, because Jensen was completely normal; happy, even. They were normal when they went to bed that night - and yes, there was cuddling, because it was them, and because Jared couldn’t resist Jensen at all - they were normal when they woke up the next morning and had breakfast together; they were normal on the drive to the airport to drop off Jen’s Momma; they were normal, period.
So the abnormal inside must just be him, then... because Jensen - Jensen was normal.
And Jared - Jared was maybe, possibly, probably... falling in love like a fool.
|*|*|*|
Two Weeks Later
Subtlety had never been his strong suit, so when Mark went to see Montieth, it was by stalking across the hallway and pounding on his door. Incessantly.
He would have smirked at the annoyed look on his teammate’s face, had he not been there on very serious business.
“Your roomies around?” Mark asked without preamble.
Montieth frowned at him. “Yeah, we were watching the scouting report for the Rockies starting line-up. You wanna join us?” He sneered, no semblance of politeness in his mocking tone.
“No,” Mark scanned the hallway before leaning in a little closer, “I need to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“In private, Idaho.”
“Yeah okay, we can talk in my room...”
“Not good enough...”
“Your room, then...”
“Up top,” Mark told him, yanking him out the front door with a hand fisted in his t-shirt. He, obviously, did not take too kindly to that and they nearly ended up in a scuffle right there in the hallway before Mark remembered that he actually need the moronic poster boy for Hicksville, USA, on his damn side. He shoved him aside and held up an arm. “All right! Sorry! Goddamn - just come up top with me for a few minutes. I need to talk to you.”
Montieth looked well and truly stumped at his request. So stumped, in fact, that he merely nodded and followed Mark up the back stairs that lead to the roof-top garden.
Mark led them to the part of the garden furthest away from the entrance where there was a hidden alcove, rendered even more secluded by the gathering darkness, and once there, he turned to talk to his nemesis.
Then he turned away again and paced.
He turned to face Montieth again, groaned and turned away, rubbing a hand over his face in agony. He was never going to hear the end of this.
“Dude, spit it out!” Montieth finally said, exasperated and looking more than a little curious.
“I need you to fuck me!”
“What?!” Montieth squeaked, his face scrunched up in utter disbelief. “What? No seriously, I think I’m losing my... seriously, what?”
Mark took a deep steadying breath. “Before my start against the Angels,” he stated succinctly, “we fucked. Like bunny rabbits.”
Something that sounded like a cross between a horrified snort and a terrified giggle escaped Montieth’s lips. “Wha... Yeah. O-kay. So?”
“So?” Mark yelled, so freaking ashamed of himself, but having no other choice that he could see, “so I won that game, Idaho. I was loose. It honed my pitching. Then, my last two starts, I was tense again and I lost those goddamn games and Krip’s only got so much patience, man, and if we fuck before my next game and I win again, that’s like... proof!”
“Of what?” Montieth exclaimed, none too quietly, “that you’ve lost your goddamn mind? We can’t fuck every time you have a game! You... you find someone else to fuck!”
“My start is in two days, asshole! I’m good, but even I’m not that good.”
“Well, at least you’re not in denial... that’s like the first step to sanity,” he said turning away, “Godspeed on your journey, man.”
Mark couldn’t let him get away, so he grabbed his arm and slammed him back against the wall. “You lost your last game too,” he ground out fiercely, before Montieth could get a word in edgewise.
“Yeah, so? Shit happens.”
“You were tense. I could see it plain as day.”
“What the hell are you proposing?”
“You fuck me, I’ll fuck you.”
“Are you even listening to yourself, you arrogant moron?” Montieth all but hollered in his face, actually spraying him with spit. It should have been disgusting, but Mark recalled they had exchanged way more disgusting bodily fluids than spit in the past. “We can’t keep fucking each other all season long! That’s insane. You’re insane. I’m fucking insane to still be standing here listening to you, and having this conversation!” He shoved Mark off of him and stalked away.
“Put it to the test.”
Montieth froze mid-step. “What?”
“You pitch tomorrow. Put it to the test,” Mark tried to relax his tense stance but it was easier thought than done. “You lose, we forget about this little conversation and I find another fuck-buddy. You win - you fuck me again before my start. If I win, we make a mutually beneficial deal.”
“This is like fifty kinds of fucked up!”
“Yeah, well, it’s baseball. We’ve always been a bunch of superstitious morons who should know better, but whatever works, right?”
“I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” Montieth looked staggered; it was a good look for him, made him look dorkier than usual - less distracting. “Where are we even...?”
“I booked us a room at the Intercontinental.”
Mark couldn’t stop his lips from twitching into a smile at the ferocious, furious look on the other man’s face as he screamed, “You booked us a room already?”
“What can I say?” Mark chuckled. “I’m irresistible.”
“You son of a bitch,” Montieth snarled at him. “Deal’s off, asshole!”
Mark grabbed him by the bicep before he could go anywhere, swinging him around and up against the alcove wall in the blink of an eye, pinning him there with the might of his body. “Aww, don’t be that way, baby,” he coaxed as Montieth growled at him, pushing back against him. Mark reached around the bigger man’s body and plunged his hand down Montieth’s sweats and boxers, wasting no time in palming and cupping and squeezing his dick, which - why, hello there - was already hard.
Just like Mark’s.
What? Montieth had a lot of faults but he was hot. And Mark wasn’t blind. End of story.
He needed more than just his hand on Montieth’s cock though, Mark realized breathlessly, especially when Montieth’s head fell back against his shoulder as he moaned wantonly. Hot didn’t even begin to describe him right then, Mark gamely decided, but his brain refused to come up with a better adjective when all his blood was flowing decidedly south. He dragged Montieth’s pants and underwear down until his ass was bared to him before he dealt with his own clothes until finally - holy shit, finally - his cock was riding the crease of Montieth’s ass while Mark jerked him off.
Montieth had a death-grip on the backs of Mark’s thighs as he alternately rocked back against Mark’s dick and thrust into his hand, Mark feeling every sound he made throbbing hard in his sac, his release just there... so close... so, so close. Then Montieth opened his eyes and looked up at him over his shoulder. They stared at each other for endless seconds, still pushing and thrusting, until Mark closed the distance between them and covered Montieth’s mouth with his, the other man’s tongue immediately plunging inside his mouth, licking into every crevice, vicious and wet.
They hadn’t done this the last time they had fucked; there had been no kissing. This shifted everything on its axis, and it left Mark feeling a little unbalanced, but he couldn’t dwell on it, not when he could feel Montieth’s balls tightening up against his knuckles as he brushed past them, not when he could feel that tell-tale tingle at the base of his own spine. They shot together, both of them grunting through their release, spent in what seemed like minutes when it was just seconds.
Montieth collapsed against his chest panting like he’d run a marathon, and before Mark could even register it, his hand slipped under Montieth’s t-shirt, stroking the hard abs there in a gesture that would have been described as soothing had it been anyone else but Mark Salling doing it.
“Do you know which room we’re in?” Montieth breathed, his voice quiet in the darkness.
“1719.”
“That’s... that’s our numbers,” he stated quietly, turning to look at Mark.
“Yeah, so?” He bristled defensively. “I figured we would remember it easier.”
Montieth turned to look at him consideringly for a few seconds before nodding and righting his clothes. Mark took care of his own clothes. “What time?”
“Before practice. Around 11?”
“Okay.” Montieth nodded abruptly and then with one last quasi-uncomfortable look at him, turned to leave.
“Don’t stand me up, Idaho,” Mark couldn’t resist warning, “you won’t like the consequences.” Before the words were fully out of his mouth, Mark found himself slammed against the alcove wall.
“You know,” Montieth gritted out, “if this is going to become a regular thing with us... then I have some rules, too.”
“Like what? You’re getting fucked too, you know!”
“Yeah but I don’t need to get fucked to win.”
“Low blow, dude.”
Montieth smirked. “This is your superstition, not mine. You want me on board, you just need to do a couple of little things for me.”
“Fine,” Mark huffed, “I’ll bite.”
“Be nice.”
“What?”
“Be nice to me.”
“No!”
“Fine, then no sex...”
“Wait! Define ‘nice’.”
“No nasty name-calling, although you can still call me ‘Idaho’ - I think that’s cute; it’s grown on me,” Montieth - the asshole - grinned at him. “No growling or grunting or being mean to me,” he winked at Mark, “and every morning, you buy me an extra-large triple-triple Tim Horton’s coffee and a donut of my choice... let’s see... French Crullers and Sourdough Glazed are my favourites... and you bring them to me with a smile.”
“I hate you.”
Montieth leaned closer until their noses were almost brushing, his breath soft on Mark’s face. “And when we fuck, there will be kissing.”
Mark drew in a shuddering breath as Montieth pushed away, putting a couple of feet’s distance between them. “Why can’t you be normal and drink Starbuck’s like every other American here?” He asked for wont of something to say. Because he was not addressing the part of the deal that pertained to kissing right now. Later maybe, but not now.
“I like Tim Horton’s,” Montieth informed him with a smile, “it’s iconic Canadiana, which makes it cool,” he said walking away. He turned just before disappearing through the stairwell door. “Oh, and Mark? Don’t forget the Timbits. I love Timbits.”
|*|*|*|
Genre: J2 RPS, AU
Pairing: Jensen/Jared although - Heh! You know major league teams have 25-man rosters, right?
Rating: NC-17
Warnings (overall): Language, Baseball, Schmoop, Angst, Boy-Sexin’ (wait, what kind of warning is that?)
Word Count: ~ 3,600
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: It’s slow going, but we’re getting there! Really, trust me. Enjoy! Comments = Love!
Summary: Apparently singing in the streets of Toronto does wonders to up Jensen’s game... but what about Jared’s game? Penalty: Pass interference! Oh, wait - I’m pretty sure that’s football, not baseball. Still, in this case it’s valid. We can only hope it will work out in the long run. Also, Cory and Mark come to an understanding.
( 1 ), ( 2 ), ( 3 ), ( 4 ), ( 5 ), ( 6 ), ( 7 ), ( 8 ), ( 9 ), ( 10 ), ( 11 ), ( 12 ), ( 13 )
FOURTEEN: HOW TO DEAL
Rogers Sportsnet Post-Game Broadcast:
Blue Jays Central with Matt Campbell and Caroline Millar
Welcome back to Blue Jays Central, I’m Caroline Millar here with Matt Campbell.
And the Jays have done it again, folks, taking two out of three from the Texas Rangers to win the series, after losing their first game. Michael Rosenbaum took the loss in Game One, but both Welling last night and Montieth tonight came away with wins. The big story from both games though, was Jays Shortstop, Jensen Ackles.
Ackles was incredible from the left side of the plate tonight against rightie starter, Rich Harden, becoming one of only four Blue Jays in the club’s history to hit for the cycle.
That’s right, Caroline. It was another stellar day at the plate for Jensen Ackles who’s gone 5-for-5 two games in a row now. In his first appearance at the plate in the bottom of the second, he hits this beauty of a line drive to the hard-to-reach corner of the park, and with Ackles’ good speed, he’s able to round the bases and slide into third, easily beating the relay throw from right-fielder David Murphy. Padalecki’s up next and he brings Ackles in to score with a ground-rule double.
With the toughest hit in the cycle out of the way, Ackles doubles his next time up, bringing Vahdat in to score all the way from first base. Padalecki draws a walk, and Ackles steals third uncontested. Kane will double to score them both. With a single in the seventh, Ackles is the last batter up in the bottom of the ninth, and with the game tied at 7, he hits a monster home run to centrefield, clocking in the game-winner at well over 400 feet. This one is going, going, sayonara. And there you have it... the cycle: single, double, triple, home run.
I just hope that this time, they celebrate without the pies.
Hey, I liked the pies!
I’m fairly certain the entire nation is aware of that by now, Caroline.
They were Jensen-flavoured chocolate cream pies, Matt...
Please don’t ever say ‘Jensen-flavoured’ on live TV again...
Aww, you’re just jealous. I’m sure Matt-flavoured pies would be awesome, too.
And on that note, it’s time we send you back to the studio. For Jays Central on Rogers Sportsnet, and for Caroline Millar, I’m Matt Campbell, leaving you with this: Just say no... to pie.
|*|*|*|
Jared woke up to an empty bed and a post-it on the pillow next to his.
@ Meeting. Back by 10.
He glanced at the clock by his bed. Just as his brain registered that it was after ten, he sniffed the air. Holy shit - Jensen was making waffles. That got him out of bed and into the shower faster than anything else could have. In under twenty minutes, he was standing at the kitchen door watching Jensen make that strawberry sauce thing that he poured over waffles. It smelled divine, and ordinarily that would distract Jared, but this morning, Jensen pretty much got all his attention.
There wasn’t anything unusual about him. He looked relaxed - which was good, considering he had already seen his father this morning at yet another business meeting - and he was singing along to the radio, which was tuned into an oldies station they both liked. He also looked good: soft, well-worn jeans, a green tee, bare feet.
If Jared had been asked to pick one adjective to describe Jensen at the moment, it would have been ‘sexy’.
The thought made his pulse speed up as he walked up to Jensen and hugged him from behind, kissing the soft skin under his ear.
“Morning, sunshine.”
“Morning, angel,” Jared smiled and then kissed the back of his neck, just because it was right there looking kissable. “You look happy.”
“I am happy. Happy to be home again, anyway. Happy to be having waffles with you.”
“Mmm, that makes me happy too,” Jared murmured. He hadn’t let go of him yet, so Jensen just leaned into him for a moment before whirling away with a mischievous smile, singing along to the song on the radio, using the wooden spoon in his hand for a mike.
“I've got sunshine... on a cloudy day. When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May,” he did a little twirl that made Jared laugh, “Well, I guess you'll say... What can make me feel this way? My guy. Talking 'bout my guy - my guy!”
“Your guy, huh?” Jared asked, a broad grin on his face as Jensen stood there and smirked at him.
Jensen shrugged nonchalantly as Jared advanced, pinning him up against the kitchen counter. “So, you’re not my guy then?” Jensen whispered, his eyes darting between Jared’s eyes and his mouth, which hovering mere inches from his.
And right there, that was the moment.
Something clenched in Jared’s chest, as fierce possessiveness warred with an overwhelming sense of joy.
“I am so your guy,” Jared breathed as he kissed the corner of Jensen’s mouth, his nose nuzzling Jensen’s cheek as Jensen’s hand buried itself in his hair.
Their mouths were a hair`s breadth apart when the doorbell rang.
“Ignore it,” they both murmured in unison, frozen in place, waiting to see if whoever it was would go away. A few seconds later, it rang again.
“It’s probably one of the guys,” Jensen muttered grumpily, “You go get rid of them, I’ll set the table.”
“Don’t forget the maple syrup,” he called out as he went to get the door.
It wasn’t one of the guys, it was Jensen’s Momma.
For a few long moments, he didn’t quite know what to say, but good manners instinctively kicked in. “Mrs. Ackles! Er... come on in! Welcome.”
“Thank you kindly. And call me Donna,” Jensen’s mother - Donna - smiled, and eyes almost like Jensen’s twinkled up at him. He couldn’t help but smile back as he took her bag and ushered her inside.
“I’m Jared Padalecki,” he reached out a big hand and she shook it daintily, warily eying his hand as if afraid he might crush hers. “Jen’s in the kitchen...”
“Jen?” She asked with a quizzical look at Jared as he moved towards the kitchen, calling out to Jensen.
“Jen, your Momma’s here!”
“What?” Jensen came out to the living room with a look of surprise on his face, which broke into a smile when he saw his mother. “Momma, what are you doing here?”
“I came to spend some time with my son before heading back.”
“How’d you manage that?” He asked as he pulled away from hugging her.
“The airline mysteriously cancelled my reservation, and put me on a flight out tomorrow morning.”
One corner of Jensen’s mouth quirked up. “That does sound mysterious.”
“Well, millions of people travel every day, son, someone’s bound to make a mistake sometime,” she shrugged nonchalantly, delicately picking imaginary lint from her impeccable dress, a smile on her face that was very much like the one Jensen was sporting.
“Did Alona have anything to do with these mysterious goings-on?”
“Why, Jensen - whatever do you mean?” Donna channelled her inner Southern Belle and Jared had to laugh with Jensen.
“Have you had breakfast yet, Momma?”
“No, are y’all offering?”
“Absolutely! Jen made waffles!” Jared exclaimed.
“Jen? You let him call you ‘Jen’?” Donna’s eyebrows shot high in surprise as she eyed her son.
Jensen blushed adorably. “Jared gets special privileges.”
“I see...” The corners of Donna’s mouth twitched.
Jared smirked, throwing his arm around Jensen’s shoulders and hauling him close. “I get to call him all sorts of names, don’t I, buttercup?”
“I’m sorry, sweetpea, did you even want waffles? ‘Cause I feel like I could eat your share too,” Jensen smiled up at him, all saccharine-sweetness.
Donna giggled. “I’m amazed that my Jensen even knows how to make waffles.”
“You learn to fend for yourself on the road, Momma.”
“You fend for yourself with waffles?”
Jensen chuckled and looked up at Jared. “Naw, that’s a new thing I picked up because Sasquatch here likes waffles. And I like pancakes. And he makes really good chocolate chip pancakes; so he makes me pancakes, I make him waffles.”
Jared nodded seriously. “He makes spaghetti and meatballs, I make lasagne.”
“He orders Chinese, I order Indian.”
“And I get the picture.” Donna chuckled as they walked into the kitchen. “I didn’t realize your camaraderie extended off the field too, but I suppose it makes a whole lot of sense now: it’s actually your friendship that manifests itself on the field,” she sighed and smiled as if the idea made her really happy. “Y’all have a lovely place here, Jensen.”
Jensen included Jared in his smile. “We sure like it.”
Donna patted his cheek, and then for good measure, patted Jared on the cheek too; Jared obligingly bending slightly at the knees so she didn’t have to over-extend herself. “You mind if I freshen up a bit?”
“No, of course not,” Jensen told her, “let me show you my bedroom. You can use the ensuite.” Jared picked up her bag from where he had put it down and followed them into Jen’s bedroom. “You can sleep in here, Momma.”
“That couch doesn’t look very comfortable for a boy your size, Jensen.”
“I’ll sleep with Jared,” Jensen said automatically, and then flushed beet-red. Jared hurried out of the room before Jensen’s Momma could see his face too, and then tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile when Jensen walked into the kitchen a couple of minutes later. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Jared said around a smirk, leaning back against the counter, absently humming along with the radio, but when the song actually registered in his head, he grinned and stalked towards Jensen, grabbing his hand when he tried to escape.
“Jared, don’t even think about it,” Jensen groaned, hiding his face in Jared’s shoulder. Jared wrapped his arms around Jensen and moved in time to the slow-paced music, not-quite-dancing as Jensen’s hand almost instinctively wound themselves around the back of his neck, his fingers buried in Jared’s hair.
“Earth angel, earth angel...”
“Jared...”
“Will you be mine?”
Jared turned them, and Jensen’s grip on his hair tightened. “Oh God...”
“My darling dear, love you all the time...”
“I hate you...”
“I’m just a fool...,” Jared took a deep breath and dipped Jensen, who chuckled and hung on for dear life. “A fool in love with you...”
Jensen blinked, and Jared froze.
He didn’t know how long they stood there, staring at each other, but when Jensen’s mother suddenly walked into the kitchen, they sprang apart.
Or well, that was the idea. Instead, Jared dropped him, and Jensen crashed down onto the cool tile floor.
“He tripped,” Jared explained, just as Jensen said,” He tripped me!”
Donna Ackles merely shook her head in bemusement and sat down, demanding waffles. They all had breakfast together before Jared made himself scarce so that Jensen could catch up with his Momma. He took himself up to the rooftop garden and hung out there all afternoon, wondering just how badly he and his big mouth had fucked up his friendship with Jensen.
He needn’t have worried though, because Jensen was completely normal; happy, even. They were normal when they went to bed that night - and yes, there was cuddling, because it was them, and because Jared couldn’t resist Jensen at all - they were normal when they woke up the next morning and had breakfast together; they were normal on the drive to the airport to drop off Jen’s Momma; they were normal, period.
So the abnormal inside must just be him, then... because Jensen - Jensen was normal.
And Jared - Jared was maybe, possibly, probably... falling in love like a fool.
|*|*|*|
Two Weeks Later
Subtlety had never been his strong suit, so when Mark went to see Montieth, it was by stalking across the hallway and pounding on his door. Incessantly.
He would have smirked at the annoyed look on his teammate’s face, had he not been there on very serious business.
“Your roomies around?” Mark asked without preamble.
Montieth frowned at him. “Yeah, we were watching the scouting report for the Rockies starting line-up. You wanna join us?” He sneered, no semblance of politeness in his mocking tone.
“No,” Mark scanned the hallway before leaning in a little closer, “I need to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“In private, Idaho.”
“Yeah okay, we can talk in my room...”
“Not good enough...”
“Your room, then...”
“Up top,” Mark told him, yanking him out the front door with a hand fisted in his t-shirt. He, obviously, did not take too kindly to that and they nearly ended up in a scuffle right there in the hallway before Mark remembered that he actually need the moronic poster boy for Hicksville, USA, on his damn side. He shoved him aside and held up an arm. “All right! Sorry! Goddamn - just come up top with me for a few minutes. I need to talk to you.”
Montieth looked well and truly stumped at his request. So stumped, in fact, that he merely nodded and followed Mark up the back stairs that lead to the roof-top garden.
Mark led them to the part of the garden furthest away from the entrance where there was a hidden alcove, rendered even more secluded by the gathering darkness, and once there, he turned to talk to his nemesis.
Then he turned away again and paced.
He turned to face Montieth again, groaned and turned away, rubbing a hand over his face in agony. He was never going to hear the end of this.
“Dude, spit it out!” Montieth finally said, exasperated and looking more than a little curious.
“I need you to fuck me!”
“What?!” Montieth squeaked, his face scrunched up in utter disbelief. “What? No seriously, I think I’m losing my... seriously, what?”
Mark took a deep steadying breath. “Before my start against the Angels,” he stated succinctly, “we fucked. Like bunny rabbits.”
Something that sounded like a cross between a horrified snort and a terrified giggle escaped Montieth’s lips. “Wha... Yeah. O-kay. So?”
“So?” Mark yelled, so freaking ashamed of himself, but having no other choice that he could see, “so I won that game, Idaho. I was loose. It honed my pitching. Then, my last two starts, I was tense again and I lost those goddamn games and Krip’s only got so much patience, man, and if we fuck before my next game and I win again, that’s like... proof!”
“Of what?” Montieth exclaimed, none too quietly, “that you’ve lost your goddamn mind? We can’t fuck every time you have a game! You... you find someone else to fuck!”
“My start is in two days, asshole! I’m good, but even I’m not that good.”
“Well, at least you’re not in denial... that’s like the first step to sanity,” he said turning away, “Godspeed on your journey, man.”
Mark couldn’t let him get away, so he grabbed his arm and slammed him back against the wall. “You lost your last game too,” he ground out fiercely, before Montieth could get a word in edgewise.
“Yeah, so? Shit happens.”
“You were tense. I could see it plain as day.”
“What the hell are you proposing?”
“You fuck me, I’ll fuck you.”
“Are you even listening to yourself, you arrogant moron?” Montieth all but hollered in his face, actually spraying him with spit. It should have been disgusting, but Mark recalled they had exchanged way more disgusting bodily fluids than spit in the past. “We can’t keep fucking each other all season long! That’s insane. You’re insane. I’m fucking insane to still be standing here listening to you, and having this conversation!” He shoved Mark off of him and stalked away.
“Put it to the test.”
Montieth froze mid-step. “What?”
“You pitch tomorrow. Put it to the test,” Mark tried to relax his tense stance but it was easier thought than done. “You lose, we forget about this little conversation and I find another fuck-buddy. You win - you fuck me again before my start. If I win, we make a mutually beneficial deal.”
“This is like fifty kinds of fucked up!”
“Yeah, well, it’s baseball. We’ve always been a bunch of superstitious morons who should know better, but whatever works, right?”
“I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” Montieth looked staggered; it was a good look for him, made him look dorkier than usual - less distracting. “Where are we even...?”
“I booked us a room at the Intercontinental.”
Mark couldn’t stop his lips from twitching into a smile at the ferocious, furious look on the other man’s face as he screamed, “You booked us a room already?”
“What can I say?” Mark chuckled. “I’m irresistible.”
“You son of a bitch,” Montieth snarled at him. “Deal’s off, asshole!”
Mark grabbed him by the bicep before he could go anywhere, swinging him around and up against the alcove wall in the blink of an eye, pinning him there with the might of his body. “Aww, don’t be that way, baby,” he coaxed as Montieth growled at him, pushing back against him. Mark reached around the bigger man’s body and plunged his hand down Montieth’s sweats and boxers, wasting no time in palming and cupping and squeezing his dick, which - why, hello there - was already hard.
Just like Mark’s.
What? Montieth had a lot of faults but he was hot. And Mark wasn’t blind. End of story.
He needed more than just his hand on Montieth’s cock though, Mark realized breathlessly, especially when Montieth’s head fell back against his shoulder as he moaned wantonly. Hot didn’t even begin to describe him right then, Mark gamely decided, but his brain refused to come up with a better adjective when all his blood was flowing decidedly south. He dragged Montieth’s pants and underwear down until his ass was bared to him before he dealt with his own clothes until finally - holy shit, finally - his cock was riding the crease of Montieth’s ass while Mark jerked him off.
Montieth had a death-grip on the backs of Mark’s thighs as he alternately rocked back against Mark’s dick and thrust into his hand, Mark feeling every sound he made throbbing hard in his sac, his release just there... so close... so, so close. Then Montieth opened his eyes and looked up at him over his shoulder. They stared at each other for endless seconds, still pushing and thrusting, until Mark closed the distance between them and covered Montieth’s mouth with his, the other man’s tongue immediately plunging inside his mouth, licking into every crevice, vicious and wet.
They hadn’t done this the last time they had fucked; there had been no kissing. This shifted everything on its axis, and it left Mark feeling a little unbalanced, but he couldn’t dwell on it, not when he could feel Montieth’s balls tightening up against his knuckles as he brushed past them, not when he could feel that tell-tale tingle at the base of his own spine. They shot together, both of them grunting through their release, spent in what seemed like minutes when it was just seconds.
Montieth collapsed against his chest panting like he’d run a marathon, and before Mark could even register it, his hand slipped under Montieth’s t-shirt, stroking the hard abs there in a gesture that would have been described as soothing had it been anyone else but Mark Salling doing it.
“Do you know which room we’re in?” Montieth breathed, his voice quiet in the darkness.
“1719.”
“That’s... that’s our numbers,” he stated quietly, turning to look at Mark.
“Yeah, so?” He bristled defensively. “I figured we would remember it easier.”
Montieth turned to look at him consideringly for a few seconds before nodding and righting his clothes. Mark took care of his own clothes. “What time?”
“Before practice. Around 11?”
“Okay.” Montieth nodded abruptly and then with one last quasi-uncomfortable look at him, turned to leave.
“Don’t stand me up, Idaho,” Mark couldn’t resist warning, “you won’t like the consequences.” Before the words were fully out of his mouth, Mark found himself slammed against the alcove wall.
“You know,” Montieth gritted out, “if this is going to become a regular thing with us... then I have some rules, too.”
“Like what? You’re getting fucked too, you know!”
“Yeah but I don’t need to get fucked to win.”
“Low blow, dude.”
Montieth smirked. “This is your superstition, not mine. You want me on board, you just need to do a couple of little things for me.”
“Fine,” Mark huffed, “I’ll bite.”
“Be nice.”
“What?”
“Be nice to me.”
“No!”
“Fine, then no sex...”
“Wait! Define ‘nice’.”
“No nasty name-calling, although you can still call me ‘Idaho’ - I think that’s cute; it’s grown on me,” Montieth - the asshole - grinned at him. “No growling or grunting or being mean to me,” he winked at Mark, “and every morning, you buy me an extra-large triple-triple Tim Horton’s coffee and a donut of my choice... let’s see... French Crullers and Sourdough Glazed are my favourites... and you bring them to me with a smile.”
“I hate you.”
Montieth leaned closer until their noses were almost brushing, his breath soft on Mark’s face. “And when we fuck, there will be kissing.”
Mark drew in a shuddering breath as Montieth pushed away, putting a couple of feet’s distance between them. “Why can’t you be normal and drink Starbuck’s like every other American here?” He asked for wont of something to say. Because he was not addressing the part of the deal that pertained to kissing right now. Later maybe, but not now.
“I like Tim Horton’s,” Montieth informed him with a smile, “it’s iconic Canadiana, which makes it cool,” he said walking away. He turned just before disappearing through the stairwell door. “Oh, and Mark? Don’t forget the Timbits. I love Timbits.”
|*|*|*|