Football'verse Part 1a of 4 (complete)
Title: Fade Back to the Football'verse (4 parts complete)
Part: Part 1: "Incomplete Passes"
Author: bksncleverness
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: J2, implied Jensen/Tom, Mike/Tom (Chad is single)
Summary: Jensen Ackles is the quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys. Jared Padalecki is a newly drafted receiver on the team. With Welling on the injured list, Padalecki steps up to play, but there's some tension on and off the field.
Word Count: for the whole 4 parts: 23,000+
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my smutty imagination. Also, this is an alternate universe, so it may be happening *somewhere* but it ain't here.
Notes: Many thanks to my awesome betas who spent far too long reading this thing, stephanometra, juice817, mooncharm. I spilled the beans about this verse to steph and juice at WinCon and they were most enthusiastic. But the girl who made this whole thing happen by being my awesome slashmuse is mooncharm. Love you.
Special thanks to stephanometra for correcting and suggesting all the Texas stuff I threw in there. She kicked my ass and I will be forever grateful.
You are reading Part 1a
Part 1b
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
There are also two more ficlets in the same 'verse
Weight Training and Three Days Without Jared
Football'verse Part 1a: Incomplete Passes
"Goddamnit, Ackles!" Coach Morgan spat. "What the fuck were you doing out there? Padalecki is wide open in the fuckin' endzone and you throw wide? Jesus H. Christ on a cracker!" he bellowed. "This ain't some Pee Wee Football camp! You're the quarterback of the Dallas Fucking Cowboys!"
Coach Morgan wheeled around to look at his receivers, lowering his voice. "And you, Padalecki. You ain't in college no more, boy. You better learn to read the QB better. You see him throw wide, you get your ass where that ball is going and you catch that fuckin' pigskin!" He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven face and drew in a deep breath. While the team waited for the next wave of the tirade, the receiver in question looked over at the QB, raised his still-padded shoulders in an almost imperceptible shrug. The quarterback held his gaze for a minute, gritting his teeth, before looking away and huffing out a breath.
"Now," Coach said quietly. "We won today, but it wasn't pretty. And no thanks to you two."
"Sorry, Coach," Padalecki mumbled.
"Well, you're gonna be sorry if this bullshit continues. You play like this against Green Bay in two weeks, and Favre and his boys are gonna run roughshod right over us. All right, team, hit the showers. Except for you," he said, pointing at Ackles and Padalecki.
The rest of the team, sweaty and exhausted, got to their feet and began undressing at their lockers, wrapping towels around their waists and heading for the showers. Coach Morgan walked a ways over to the side and waited for Ackles and Padalecki to follow him.
Once the three of them were alone, Coach said: "Listen up, ladies. Y'all fucked up… more than once, and we just can't afford that kind of shit, not with Welling and Rosenbaum on the injured list. You gotta figure out a way to connect and get your fucking rhythm right. I don't care how you do it, but you better get it done." He looked at the two of them and softened his tone a bit, "Now, we got a bye week on our hands, and that means you got three days off. So why don't you use that time to get in some extra practice. By the time Wednesday rolls around, I'd better see some fucking chemistry between y'all or I'mma bench the both of you, I don't care who you are. Got it?"
"Yes sir," Padalecki mumbled, looking at the helmet in his hands.
"Yeah, Coach," Ackles repeated, wiping a hand across his forehead.
"Hit the showers," Coach yelled over his shoulder as he walked away.
Padalecki let out the breath he was holding and gave Ackles a small smile. "Shit. I ain't been reamed like that since high school."
“You think he was wrong?" Ackles asked.
"No. No sir. Not wrong. I just… I ain't used to screwing up," Padalecki said, flipping sweaty bangs off his forehead.
"Yeah. I got your number, Padalecki. In line for the Heisman, first-round draft pick, golden boy. Must be rough."
Padalecki looked at him, and Ackles could feel the younger man reading his comments for bitterness and sarcasm. Then Padalecki smiled with a grin so disarming, Ackles couldn’t help but feel his game face disappear. "Wasn't so long ago you were in the Heisman race as I recall, Ack-"
"Jensen. Just Jensen, all right? And shit, my Heisman days feel like a long time ago, especially after games like this.”
"Well, Jensen," he said, testing out the name as if for the first time. "We gotta make this right. You got any ideas?"
Jensen stood thinking for a minute. He definitely had some ideas, but none of them filled him with hope. "Listen, I gotta clean up and do this press conference. Why don't we grab a couple of beers afterwards and we'll try to figure this bullshit out. How’s that sound, Padalecki?"
"Yeah. S'all right. And call me Jared."
Pulling his pads off, Jensen ran the plays over and over again in his head, and it just didn't add up. He'd threaded the needle more times than he could count. He was throwing a football through an old tire swing in the yard since he could stand up by himself. Seems like that's all he ever did. Practicing hard, playing all the time, throwing for more yards than just about anyone. And yet, when he tried to throw to Jared, something went haywire. That kid was a goddamn giant, tall and strong, long arms and legs helping him break away from the blockers. So why the hell couldn't Jensen put the ball right in the kid's fucking numbers?
Jensen looked over his shoulder at Jared, who stood next to his locker, jersey and pads tossed aside, bare chest still glistening with sweat. Jared idly began untying the lace drawstring of his pants, oblivious to Jensen's gaze. Jensen shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and began taking the rest of his uniform off. There was something like panic building in his chest, a worry that there might not be an easy solution to this, but he shrugged it off. He needed to figure this shit out, and he only had three fucking days to do it.
Jensen washed quickly in the shower stall on the end, knowing the press was waiting for the QB and Coach to explain the Cowboys’ close call. Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen saw Jared walk by-the man never bothered with a towel before he got wet-and step into the shower stall a few down from him. The kicker in the stall next to his leaned in to talk to Jared while Jensen listened hard over the sound of the water and the low-grade locker room chatter.
“Hey, Jared. How’s that new asshole feel?” the kicker teased.
“Shut the hell up, Chad,” Jared said, more weary than angry.
Chad stood in front of Jared’s stall, still naked and wet, and Jensen-even over all the noise-could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. “What the hell was with you today? They finally put you in and you play like it’s your first day on the new legs.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Shit man, I wouldn’t want to talk about it either,” Chad said. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Dude, why are you even showering? You didn’t even break a sweat, warming the bench like that.”
“Hey, the kicker is a very important part of the game.”
“Yeah, the third-string kicker is most important of all, I suppose.”
“In case you didn’t notice, Padalecki, a field goal won us the game tonight,” Chad said smugly. Jensen winced. He hated that that was the truth.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Jared said.
“Hey, you wanna get some wings tonight? Maybe score some tail?”
“I can’t. Coach says me and Jensen gotta figure our shit out.”
“Oh it’s Jensen now, is it?” Jensen leaned back into his own stall, hiding at the mention of his own name.
“Yeah. So?” Jared said, sounding defensive.
“Shit, Jared. Ackles wouldn’t even know your name if Welling hadn’t gotten injured. You know how they are. Fucking QBs, man,” Chad said, lowering his voice. “Think they’re the fucking kings of the world.”
Jensen wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back out to the lockers, not wanting to hear anymore, even if part of him wondered what Jared said in response. Pulling on jeans and a pullover, Jensen thought of how wrong that little shit Chad Michael Murray was-no surprise there; in the short time Jensen had known the kicker, he was almost always wrong about everything. Because Jensen didn’t think he was a king. If anything, he felt more pressure than anyone else on the team. And besides, Jensen never forgot-even when he’d been a teenager playing in Richardson-that he was part of a team. “This ain’t no solo act,” his coach used to say, and goddamnit, Jensen believed it.
Chad was wrong about something else too: Jensen knew plenty about Jared. Maybe too much. When he heard that the Cowboys were scouting a senior tight end at UT, Jensen had taken a good, hard look at that boy. Jensen’s mouth went dry as that tight feeling in his chest started to rise again.
He swallowed thickly and ran a towel quickly through short, wet hair before tossing it in the bin and heading towards the press room.
After getting grilled by the press-Jensen promising the feature sports writer from the Dallas Morning News that he’d practice with Jared until they got things right-Jensen walked out of the press room to see Jared leaning against the wall waiting for him. Jensen noticed Jared’s clothes were just a tiny bit too big for him. The sleeves of his pullover halfway covered his hands, jeans just a little too long. Maybe he was trying to look smaller, but that was pretty much impossible. Jensen swallowed, feeling his blood rush at the sight of Jared scrubbed clean and slouching.
“Nice job in there,” Jared said, nodding towards the press room. “You’re really good with reporters.”
“Thanks. I had a lot of practice at ‘SC. Two press conferences a week all season long."
"Not to mention all the interviews you did."
"Yeah. I did do a lot of those. L.A. press never went easy on me, that's for sure," Jensen said, his face really relaxing for the first time all day.
“You look like a natural in front of the cameras.”
“Me? No. I mean, playing is one thing, but sitting there talking is just… part of the job. I have to do it. I’d rather just play and shut the hell up.”
Jared nodded like maybe he understood. “So, where are we going?”
“Lone Star for a few beers?”
“Sure,” Jared said, shrugging.
“You can leave your car here, I’ll drive,” Jensen said.
“Cool.”
Half an hour later, Jared and Jensen walked into the Lone Star Bar and found an empty table in the back corner. The place was a popular post-game hangout for the team so Jensen wasn’t surprised to see a table of linebackers waving to him as they passed by, while a few guys from special teams-sitting at the bar-raised their bottles to the QB.
“Hey, Jensen,” the bartender called out to him.
“Hey, Jim,” Jensen said, waving.
“The usual?” Jim asked.
“Sure.”
By the time the waitress came by with two beers and two shots of tequila, Jared and Jensen were having a spirited discussion about the state of college football.
“Thanks, Lauren,” Jensen said, giving the petite brunette waitress a wink as she walked away.
“I’m telling you, Jared, ‘SC is going to kick Washington’s ass.”
“Dude, you’re crazy,” Jared said, laughing. “There’s no way it’s gonna happen this year! Did you see what Washington did to Arizona last year?”
“Yeah, I saw it. And it ain’t the same team this year, Jared. They’re too young. Too inexperienced.”
“Maybe. But there’s a lot to be said for youth over experience,” Jared said, looking up at Jensen through his shaggy fringe.
Jensen’s heart thrummed a little harder in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. He looked down at his hands. God, what was wrong with him? He lost all game when Jared looked at him that way.
Luckily for Jensen, the silence between them was broken with a “Yo, bitches!” that could only belong to one person. Jared and Jensen looked up to see Mike and Tom hobbling towards them, Mike on crutches, Tommy walking slowly because of his groin injury.
“Hey guys,” Jensen said, a somewhat relieved grin coloring his face. “Have a seat.”
“So, you bitches drowning your sorrows in drink?” Mike asked, the two of them easing into a couple of chairs across the table.
“Sure, why not,” Jensen said.
“Why would we drown our sorrows? We won,” Jared said.
“Is this guy for real?” Mike asked, indicating Jared with his thumb. “Lemme explain something.
You won because of a field goal. You might as well just cut your dick off right now,” Mike said, signaling the waitress over to the table. When she arrived, he flirted with her and ordered a round.
“Hey Jared, how are you finding things?” Tom asked, slapping Jared on the thigh.
“It’s crazy, you know? Overwhelming,” Jared said, and Jensen melted a little at how young and genuine Jared seemed.
“Well, you can thank Tom Brady for the opportunity,” Mike said, his attention drawn back to his tablemates. “If the Pats hadn’t injured Tommy here, you’d still be warming the bench,” he said, pointing at Jared.
“I’ll be back in the game in no time. That is,” he leaned over to Jensen and said, “if I can get my girl to keep her hands off me for five minutes.” He glared at Mike.
“Oh, you’re complaining now, Welling?” Mike said, cuffing Tom on the back of the head.
“Thought you’d be glad to get some action.”
Jared looked over at Jensen who shrugged, laughing.
“I have a groin injury, stupid. The more I use my groin, the longer I’ll be out,” Tom said.
“Shit. I’m sure she does all the work anyway,” Mike muttered.
Mike and Tom stared daggers at each other for a second. Then Tom drew in a breath and started, “What the hell is that supposed-”
“Hey, what about your knee, Mikey? What’s the doc say?” Jensen interrupted.
“Says I’m pretty much out for the season.” He turned to Tom and said, an edge to his voice: “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my copious free time. Read? Better myself? Learn Japanese?” He reached out and punched Tom in the shoulder.
“What part of groin injury don’t you understand?” Tom asked Mike quietly.
“Oh great!” Jensen said loudly, “Lauren’s here with the drinks!”
“Lauren,” Mike said, shifting gears and batting his eyelashes. “When are you going to quit working here and let me take you away to Tahiti?”
“Oh, Mike. I keep saying yes, and you just keep asking,” she smiled at him. He smacked her butt as she walked away.
Mike huffed at Tom, and then turned his attention to Jensen. “By the way, my replacement doesn’t give you enough coverage, Ackles. If I had been out there today, your ass wouldn’t have been sacked twice.”
“Yeah yeah, I know.”
Tom raised a shot glass. “To Jared’s move to first string,” he said, and then drained his glass.
Mike, Jensen and Jared followed suit.
A couple of hours and several drinks later, Mike and Tom were stumbling to their feet and saying goodbye.
“All right, ladies,” Mike said, pulling his crutches up under his arms. “I expect you guys to bond like brothers over the next few days. Get your motherfucking shit together, all right? Injured or not, I still wear the star, so you better not embarrass me again.”
“You got it, Mikey,” Jensen said with mock seriousness.
Tom leaned in to Jared. “Don’t sweat it man. It took a while before Jensen and I clicked, but we did.” He shot Jensen a sideways glance and a little smile. “You guys throw the ball around a little and you’ll find your rhythm. You’re both good. You just gotta figure out how to work
together, you know?”
Jared and Jensen looked at each other and nodded. Jensen’s cheeks were pink.
“All right. I’m done with my pep talk. See you guys later,” Tom said, winking at Jensen.
“Let’s go, bitch,” Mike said, slapping Tom lightly on the ass.
Tom turned around and smacked Mike on the side of the head. “Asshole.”
Mike turned back and mock-whispered over his shoulder with a smirk: “He loves it.”
When Tom and Mike were out of earshot, Jared asked: “Are they always like that?”
“Yeah, kinda.”
“Are they… you know… together?” Jared whispered.
“What? No. No. Of course not. No. Nothing like that,” Jensen said quickly.
“Oh come on,” Jared said.
“No, really. They’re not. Just friends, you know?” Jensen said, trying to sound as sincere as
possible.
Jared nodded, unconvinced. “Sure. Just friends. Got it.”
Jensen stared at Jared for a minute before changing the subject. "So, um how’s your first season going-not counting today, of course.”
“S’good. It’s different.”
“Hey, you know, I’m sorry we haven’t really had much of an opportunity to hang out before now.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re QB. Of the Cowboys. I know what that means.”
“Still, I feel like, maybe if I’d been better about practicing with some of the receivers that I don’t get to play with, we’d have this figured out already,” Jensen said, but he wasn’t sure it was the truth. Maybe they just would have found out there was a problem sooner.
“Well, I had that broken finger for most of training camp, so. I didn’t really get to play until a couple of weeks ago. And since then, I’ve been running a lot of plays with the second-stringers.” He looked down at his hands and shook his head. “Believe me, I never thought Coach would call me up. It’s my first season and all. I’m just proud to be wearing the uniform.”
“Yeah. Baptism by fire. My first season was the same. I never thought I’d find my groove,” Jensen said.
Jared just stared at him in utter disbelief.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Dude, you routinely threw more than 250 yards a game. Consistently. You threw for 360-something against Minnesota that season.”
Jensen looked into his beer, suddenly feeling very exposed. “You saw that, huh?”
“I’m from San Antonio, for fuck’s sake, man. You think I didn’t see every single game?” And then a little more quietly, “Shit. I’ve been watching you since you were at ‘SC.”
Jensen nodded, smiling. When he looked up, Jared was looking right at him with a gaze that was equal parts respect, awe, and… something else Jensen couldn’t quite place. It made him want to change the subject again.
“Well, I played with some good folks. Can’t take credit for everything,” Jensen said, shrugging. “Mikey may be a pain in the ass, but he blocks like a motherfucker, you know?”
“Yeah, he does. Too bad about his knee. Think he’ll end up playing at all this season?”
“Don’t know.”
“Hey, remember that blocker from ‘SC? Bryn Tortuga?”
“Sure. Plays for the Ravens.”
“Now, that guy took care of you, man. That game against UCLA your senior year was intense,” Jared said, leaning in. “I mean, the Bruins just wanted to see you on your back. Like, they wanted to sack you so bad, they forgot how to do anything else. And Bryn was like fuck all y’all, and held them to one sack the whole fucking game. And then you guys came alive in the second half and just crushed ’em.”
“Shit, you remember more about it than I do,” Jensen said, and he meant it as a joke, but then when Jared stared down at the table, he was afraid he’d embarrassed him.
But Jared looked up, wide-eyed and smiling. “When I got drafted to play with you and the Cowboys, I was fucking stoked. I mean… damn. I’m just this kid from San Antonio and now I’m in the NFL playing with Jensen Fucking Ackles.”
Jensen blushed to the tips of his ears and coughed. “Jesus. That’s not a lot to live up to, or anything.”
“Sorry man, I just get excited when I think about where I am,” Jared said, and Jensen marveled at the pure joy in Jared’s face, the utter lack of guile.
“Well, that’s cool. I mean, I know how you feel. I grew up in Richardson, for chrissakes. Coming back home to play for the Cowboys was a dream come true for me.”
“So why’d you go to L.A. for college. Why not play at UT or A&M?”
“Well, USC scouted me pretty hard, and I guess I thought I needed to get out of Texas for a
while. Get a little perspective, you know? Maybe try surfing.”
“What was it like? Living there, I mean.”
“It was great. Completely different vibe. Nice people,” he shrugged. “Didn’t miss running wind sprints in the Dallas heat, that’s for sure. But I’ll tell you one thing, coming home and playing here? It’s just… there’s nothing better than that.”
“Yeah,” Jared agreed, offering his beer bottle in a cheer. Jensen clinked.
“And what about the surfing?”
Jensen laughed. “I did try, man, but I just couldn’t get the hang of it. I sucked at it, actually.”
“I can’t imagine you sucking at anything,” Jared said, and then he looked away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.
“Well, I do. Suck. At some things, anyway,” Jensen said, and for some reason, the look on Jared’s face just made his heart fucking pound. Jared’s smile and his laugh and his big fucking hands, and Jensen couldn’t deny that being this close to Jared made him feel fluttery and awkward like a high school kid talking to his crush. His palms were sweating when he finally admitted to himself that he’d been half-hard all night sitting here with the guy.
“All right. I got an idea. If you think playing with me is good, maybe you should try playing against me.”
“Whatcha mean?”
“Madden, man. You play?”
“Is Texas God’s country?” Jared asked, wide smile splitting his face.
“That it is,” Jensen said, nodding.
*-*
Part 1b
Part: Part 1: "Incomplete Passes"
Author: bksncleverness
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: J2, implied Jensen/Tom, Mike/Tom (Chad is single)
Summary: Jensen Ackles is the quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys. Jared Padalecki is a newly drafted receiver on the team. With Welling on the injured list, Padalecki steps up to play, but there's some tension on and off the field.
Word Count: for the whole 4 parts: 23,000+
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my smutty imagination. Also, this is an alternate universe, so it may be happening *somewhere* but it ain't here.
Notes: Many thanks to my awesome betas who spent far too long reading this thing, stephanometra, juice817, mooncharm. I spilled the beans about this verse to steph and juice at WinCon and they were most enthusiastic. But the girl who made this whole thing happen by being my awesome slashmuse is mooncharm. Love you.
Special thanks to stephanometra for correcting and suggesting all the Texas stuff I threw in there. She kicked my ass and I will be forever grateful.
You are reading Part 1a
Part 1b
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
There are also two more ficlets in the same 'verse
Weight Training and Three Days Without Jared
Football'verse Part 1a: Incomplete Passes
"Goddamnit, Ackles!" Coach Morgan spat. "What the fuck were you doing out there? Padalecki is wide open in the fuckin' endzone and you throw wide? Jesus H. Christ on a cracker!" he bellowed. "This ain't some Pee Wee Football camp! You're the quarterback of the Dallas Fucking Cowboys!"
Coach Morgan wheeled around to look at his receivers, lowering his voice. "And you, Padalecki. You ain't in college no more, boy. You better learn to read the QB better. You see him throw wide, you get your ass where that ball is going and you catch that fuckin' pigskin!" He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven face and drew in a deep breath. While the team waited for the next wave of the tirade, the receiver in question looked over at the QB, raised his still-padded shoulders in an almost imperceptible shrug. The quarterback held his gaze for a minute, gritting his teeth, before looking away and huffing out a breath.
"Now," Coach said quietly. "We won today, but it wasn't pretty. And no thanks to you two."
"Sorry, Coach," Padalecki mumbled.
"Well, you're gonna be sorry if this bullshit continues. You play like this against Green Bay in two weeks, and Favre and his boys are gonna run roughshod right over us. All right, team, hit the showers. Except for you," he said, pointing at Ackles and Padalecki.
The rest of the team, sweaty and exhausted, got to their feet and began undressing at their lockers, wrapping towels around their waists and heading for the showers. Coach Morgan walked a ways over to the side and waited for Ackles and Padalecki to follow him.
Once the three of them were alone, Coach said: "Listen up, ladies. Y'all fucked up… more than once, and we just can't afford that kind of shit, not with Welling and Rosenbaum on the injured list. You gotta figure out a way to connect and get your fucking rhythm right. I don't care how you do it, but you better get it done." He looked at the two of them and softened his tone a bit, "Now, we got a bye week on our hands, and that means you got three days off. So why don't you use that time to get in some extra practice. By the time Wednesday rolls around, I'd better see some fucking chemistry between y'all or I'mma bench the both of you, I don't care who you are. Got it?"
"Yes sir," Padalecki mumbled, looking at the helmet in his hands.
"Yeah, Coach," Ackles repeated, wiping a hand across his forehead.
"Hit the showers," Coach yelled over his shoulder as he walked away.
Padalecki let out the breath he was holding and gave Ackles a small smile. "Shit. I ain't been reamed like that since high school."
“You think he was wrong?" Ackles asked.
"No. No sir. Not wrong. I just… I ain't used to screwing up," Padalecki said, flipping sweaty bangs off his forehead.
"Yeah. I got your number, Padalecki. In line for the Heisman, first-round draft pick, golden boy. Must be rough."
Padalecki looked at him, and Ackles could feel the younger man reading his comments for bitterness and sarcasm. Then Padalecki smiled with a grin so disarming, Ackles couldn’t help but feel his game face disappear. "Wasn't so long ago you were in the Heisman race as I recall, Ack-"
"Jensen. Just Jensen, all right? And shit, my Heisman days feel like a long time ago, especially after games like this.”
"Well, Jensen," he said, testing out the name as if for the first time. "We gotta make this right. You got any ideas?"
Jensen stood thinking for a minute. He definitely had some ideas, but none of them filled him with hope. "Listen, I gotta clean up and do this press conference. Why don't we grab a couple of beers afterwards and we'll try to figure this bullshit out. How’s that sound, Padalecki?"
"Yeah. S'all right. And call me Jared."
Pulling his pads off, Jensen ran the plays over and over again in his head, and it just didn't add up. He'd threaded the needle more times than he could count. He was throwing a football through an old tire swing in the yard since he could stand up by himself. Seems like that's all he ever did. Practicing hard, playing all the time, throwing for more yards than just about anyone. And yet, when he tried to throw to Jared, something went haywire. That kid was a goddamn giant, tall and strong, long arms and legs helping him break away from the blockers. So why the hell couldn't Jensen put the ball right in the kid's fucking numbers?
Jensen looked over his shoulder at Jared, who stood next to his locker, jersey and pads tossed aside, bare chest still glistening with sweat. Jared idly began untying the lace drawstring of his pants, oblivious to Jensen's gaze. Jensen shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and began taking the rest of his uniform off. There was something like panic building in his chest, a worry that there might not be an easy solution to this, but he shrugged it off. He needed to figure this shit out, and he only had three fucking days to do it.
Jensen washed quickly in the shower stall on the end, knowing the press was waiting for the QB and Coach to explain the Cowboys’ close call. Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen saw Jared walk by-the man never bothered with a towel before he got wet-and step into the shower stall a few down from him. The kicker in the stall next to his leaned in to talk to Jared while Jensen listened hard over the sound of the water and the low-grade locker room chatter.
“Hey, Jared. How’s that new asshole feel?” the kicker teased.
“Shut the hell up, Chad,” Jared said, more weary than angry.
Chad stood in front of Jared’s stall, still naked and wet, and Jensen-even over all the noise-could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. “What the hell was with you today? They finally put you in and you play like it’s your first day on the new legs.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Shit man, I wouldn’t want to talk about it either,” Chad said. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Dude, why are you even showering? You didn’t even break a sweat, warming the bench like that.”
“Hey, the kicker is a very important part of the game.”
“Yeah, the third-string kicker is most important of all, I suppose.”
“In case you didn’t notice, Padalecki, a field goal won us the game tonight,” Chad said smugly. Jensen winced. He hated that that was the truth.
“Yeah, I noticed,” Jared said.
“Hey, you wanna get some wings tonight? Maybe score some tail?”
“I can’t. Coach says me and Jensen gotta figure our shit out.”
“Oh it’s Jensen now, is it?” Jensen leaned back into his own stall, hiding at the mention of his own name.
“Yeah. So?” Jared said, sounding defensive.
“Shit, Jared. Ackles wouldn’t even know your name if Welling hadn’t gotten injured. You know how they are. Fucking QBs, man,” Chad said, lowering his voice. “Think they’re the fucking kings of the world.”
Jensen wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back out to the lockers, not wanting to hear anymore, even if part of him wondered what Jared said in response. Pulling on jeans and a pullover, Jensen thought of how wrong that little shit Chad Michael Murray was-no surprise there; in the short time Jensen had known the kicker, he was almost always wrong about everything. Because Jensen didn’t think he was a king. If anything, he felt more pressure than anyone else on the team. And besides, Jensen never forgot-even when he’d been a teenager playing in Richardson-that he was part of a team. “This ain’t no solo act,” his coach used to say, and goddamnit, Jensen believed it.
Chad was wrong about something else too: Jensen knew plenty about Jared. Maybe too much. When he heard that the Cowboys were scouting a senior tight end at UT, Jensen had taken a good, hard look at that boy. Jensen’s mouth went dry as that tight feeling in his chest started to rise again.
He swallowed thickly and ran a towel quickly through short, wet hair before tossing it in the bin and heading towards the press room.
After getting grilled by the press-Jensen promising the feature sports writer from the Dallas Morning News that he’d practice with Jared until they got things right-Jensen walked out of the press room to see Jared leaning against the wall waiting for him. Jensen noticed Jared’s clothes were just a tiny bit too big for him. The sleeves of his pullover halfway covered his hands, jeans just a little too long. Maybe he was trying to look smaller, but that was pretty much impossible. Jensen swallowed, feeling his blood rush at the sight of Jared scrubbed clean and slouching.
“Nice job in there,” Jared said, nodding towards the press room. “You’re really good with reporters.”
“Thanks. I had a lot of practice at ‘SC. Two press conferences a week all season long."
"Not to mention all the interviews you did."
"Yeah. I did do a lot of those. L.A. press never went easy on me, that's for sure," Jensen said, his face really relaxing for the first time all day.
“You look like a natural in front of the cameras.”
“Me? No. I mean, playing is one thing, but sitting there talking is just… part of the job. I have to do it. I’d rather just play and shut the hell up.”
Jared nodded like maybe he understood. “So, where are we going?”
“Lone Star for a few beers?”
“Sure,” Jared said, shrugging.
“You can leave your car here, I’ll drive,” Jensen said.
“Cool.”
Half an hour later, Jared and Jensen walked into the Lone Star Bar and found an empty table in the back corner. The place was a popular post-game hangout for the team so Jensen wasn’t surprised to see a table of linebackers waving to him as they passed by, while a few guys from special teams-sitting at the bar-raised their bottles to the QB.
“Hey, Jensen,” the bartender called out to him.
“Hey, Jim,” Jensen said, waving.
“The usual?” Jim asked.
“Sure.”
By the time the waitress came by with two beers and two shots of tequila, Jared and Jensen were having a spirited discussion about the state of college football.
“Thanks, Lauren,” Jensen said, giving the petite brunette waitress a wink as she walked away.
“I’m telling you, Jared, ‘SC is going to kick Washington’s ass.”
“Dude, you’re crazy,” Jared said, laughing. “There’s no way it’s gonna happen this year! Did you see what Washington did to Arizona last year?”
“Yeah, I saw it. And it ain’t the same team this year, Jared. They’re too young. Too inexperienced.”
“Maybe. But there’s a lot to be said for youth over experience,” Jared said, looking up at Jensen through his shaggy fringe.
Jensen’s heart thrummed a little harder in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. He looked down at his hands. God, what was wrong with him? He lost all game when Jared looked at him that way.
Luckily for Jensen, the silence between them was broken with a “Yo, bitches!” that could only belong to one person. Jared and Jensen looked up to see Mike and Tom hobbling towards them, Mike on crutches, Tommy walking slowly because of his groin injury.
“Hey guys,” Jensen said, a somewhat relieved grin coloring his face. “Have a seat.”
“So, you bitches drowning your sorrows in drink?” Mike asked, the two of them easing into a couple of chairs across the table.
“Sure, why not,” Jensen said.
“Why would we drown our sorrows? We won,” Jared said.
“Is this guy for real?” Mike asked, indicating Jared with his thumb. “Lemme explain something.
You won because of a field goal. You might as well just cut your dick off right now,” Mike said, signaling the waitress over to the table. When she arrived, he flirted with her and ordered a round.
“Hey Jared, how are you finding things?” Tom asked, slapping Jared on the thigh.
“It’s crazy, you know? Overwhelming,” Jared said, and Jensen melted a little at how young and genuine Jared seemed.
“Well, you can thank Tom Brady for the opportunity,” Mike said, his attention drawn back to his tablemates. “If the Pats hadn’t injured Tommy here, you’d still be warming the bench,” he said, pointing at Jared.
“I’ll be back in the game in no time. That is,” he leaned over to Jensen and said, “if I can get my girl to keep her hands off me for five minutes.” He glared at Mike.
“Oh, you’re complaining now, Welling?” Mike said, cuffing Tom on the back of the head.
“Thought you’d be glad to get some action.”
Jared looked over at Jensen who shrugged, laughing.
“I have a groin injury, stupid. The more I use my groin, the longer I’ll be out,” Tom said.
“Shit. I’m sure she does all the work anyway,” Mike muttered.
Mike and Tom stared daggers at each other for a second. Then Tom drew in a breath and started, “What the hell is that supposed-”
“Hey, what about your knee, Mikey? What’s the doc say?” Jensen interrupted.
“Says I’m pretty much out for the season.” He turned to Tom and said, an edge to his voice: “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my copious free time. Read? Better myself? Learn Japanese?” He reached out and punched Tom in the shoulder.
“What part of groin injury don’t you understand?” Tom asked Mike quietly.
“Oh great!” Jensen said loudly, “Lauren’s here with the drinks!”
“Lauren,” Mike said, shifting gears and batting his eyelashes. “When are you going to quit working here and let me take you away to Tahiti?”
“Oh, Mike. I keep saying yes, and you just keep asking,” she smiled at him. He smacked her butt as she walked away.
Mike huffed at Tom, and then turned his attention to Jensen. “By the way, my replacement doesn’t give you enough coverage, Ackles. If I had been out there today, your ass wouldn’t have been sacked twice.”
“Yeah yeah, I know.”
Tom raised a shot glass. “To Jared’s move to first string,” he said, and then drained his glass.
Mike, Jensen and Jared followed suit.
A couple of hours and several drinks later, Mike and Tom were stumbling to their feet and saying goodbye.
“All right, ladies,” Mike said, pulling his crutches up under his arms. “I expect you guys to bond like brothers over the next few days. Get your motherfucking shit together, all right? Injured or not, I still wear the star, so you better not embarrass me again.”
“You got it, Mikey,” Jensen said with mock seriousness.
Tom leaned in to Jared. “Don’t sweat it man. It took a while before Jensen and I clicked, but we did.” He shot Jensen a sideways glance and a little smile. “You guys throw the ball around a little and you’ll find your rhythm. You’re both good. You just gotta figure out how to work
together, you know?”
Jared and Jensen looked at each other and nodded. Jensen’s cheeks were pink.
“All right. I’m done with my pep talk. See you guys later,” Tom said, winking at Jensen.
“Let’s go, bitch,” Mike said, slapping Tom lightly on the ass.
Tom turned around and smacked Mike on the side of the head. “Asshole.”
Mike turned back and mock-whispered over his shoulder with a smirk: “He loves it.”
When Tom and Mike were out of earshot, Jared asked: “Are they always like that?”
“Yeah, kinda.”
“Are they… you know… together?” Jared whispered.
“What? No. No. Of course not. No. Nothing like that,” Jensen said quickly.
“Oh come on,” Jared said.
“No, really. They’re not. Just friends, you know?” Jensen said, trying to sound as sincere as
possible.
Jared nodded, unconvinced. “Sure. Just friends. Got it.”
Jensen stared at Jared for a minute before changing the subject. "So, um how’s your first season going-not counting today, of course.”
“S’good. It’s different.”
“Hey, you know, I’m sorry we haven’t really had much of an opportunity to hang out before now.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re QB. Of the Cowboys. I know what that means.”
“Still, I feel like, maybe if I’d been better about practicing with some of the receivers that I don’t get to play with, we’d have this figured out already,” Jensen said, but he wasn’t sure it was the truth. Maybe they just would have found out there was a problem sooner.
“Well, I had that broken finger for most of training camp, so. I didn’t really get to play until a couple of weeks ago. And since then, I’ve been running a lot of plays with the second-stringers.” He looked down at his hands and shook his head. “Believe me, I never thought Coach would call me up. It’s my first season and all. I’m just proud to be wearing the uniform.”
“Yeah. Baptism by fire. My first season was the same. I never thought I’d find my groove,” Jensen said.
Jared just stared at him in utter disbelief.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Dude, you routinely threw more than 250 yards a game. Consistently. You threw for 360-something against Minnesota that season.”
Jensen looked into his beer, suddenly feeling very exposed. “You saw that, huh?”
“I’m from San Antonio, for fuck’s sake, man. You think I didn’t see every single game?” And then a little more quietly, “Shit. I’ve been watching you since you were at ‘SC.”
Jensen nodded, smiling. When he looked up, Jared was looking right at him with a gaze that was equal parts respect, awe, and… something else Jensen couldn’t quite place. It made him want to change the subject again.
“Well, I played with some good folks. Can’t take credit for everything,” Jensen said, shrugging. “Mikey may be a pain in the ass, but he blocks like a motherfucker, you know?”
“Yeah, he does. Too bad about his knee. Think he’ll end up playing at all this season?”
“Don’t know.”
“Hey, remember that blocker from ‘SC? Bryn Tortuga?”
“Sure. Plays for the Ravens.”
“Now, that guy took care of you, man. That game against UCLA your senior year was intense,” Jared said, leaning in. “I mean, the Bruins just wanted to see you on your back. Like, they wanted to sack you so bad, they forgot how to do anything else. And Bryn was like fuck all y’all, and held them to one sack the whole fucking game. And then you guys came alive in the second half and just crushed ’em.”
“Shit, you remember more about it than I do,” Jensen said, and he meant it as a joke, but then when Jared stared down at the table, he was afraid he’d embarrassed him.
But Jared looked up, wide-eyed and smiling. “When I got drafted to play with you and the Cowboys, I was fucking stoked. I mean… damn. I’m just this kid from San Antonio and now I’m in the NFL playing with Jensen Fucking Ackles.”
Jensen blushed to the tips of his ears and coughed. “Jesus. That’s not a lot to live up to, or anything.”
“Sorry man, I just get excited when I think about where I am,” Jared said, and Jensen marveled at the pure joy in Jared’s face, the utter lack of guile.
“Well, that’s cool. I mean, I know how you feel. I grew up in Richardson, for chrissakes. Coming back home to play for the Cowboys was a dream come true for me.”
“So why’d you go to L.A. for college. Why not play at UT or A&M?”
“Well, USC scouted me pretty hard, and I guess I thought I needed to get out of Texas for a
while. Get a little perspective, you know? Maybe try surfing.”
“What was it like? Living there, I mean.”
“It was great. Completely different vibe. Nice people,” he shrugged. “Didn’t miss running wind sprints in the Dallas heat, that’s for sure. But I’ll tell you one thing, coming home and playing here? It’s just… there’s nothing better than that.”
“Yeah,” Jared agreed, offering his beer bottle in a cheer. Jensen clinked.
“And what about the surfing?”
Jensen laughed. “I did try, man, but I just couldn’t get the hang of it. I sucked at it, actually.”
“I can’t imagine you sucking at anything,” Jared said, and then he looked away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks.
“Well, I do. Suck. At some things, anyway,” Jensen said, and for some reason, the look on Jared’s face just made his heart fucking pound. Jared’s smile and his laugh and his big fucking hands, and Jensen couldn’t deny that being this close to Jared made him feel fluttery and awkward like a high school kid talking to his crush. His palms were sweating when he finally admitted to himself that he’d been half-hard all night sitting here with the guy.
“All right. I got an idea. If you think playing with me is good, maybe you should try playing against me.”
“Whatcha mean?”
“Madden, man. You play?”
“Is Texas God’s country?” Jared asked, wide smile splitting his face.
“That it is,” Jensen said, nodding.
*-*
Part 1b