FIC: "Beautiful Disaster" Crash/Nuke ("Bull Durham" FPS)
*meeps* Christ, I must be out of my goddamn mind.
Title: “Beautiful Disaster” 1/1
Fandom: “Bull Durham” FPS
Author: Brenda
Pairing: Crash Davis/Nuke LaLoosh
Rating: R
Summary: Free lessons that cost everything.
Website: Broadwriting
http://www.broadwriting.com/index2.html
Feedback: Of course.
Disclaimer: Never happened. All characters belong to Ron Shelton and the defunct Orion Studios, not me.
Notes: Takes place just after the ‘rain out’ scene. Written for the contralamontre ‘unusual kiss’ challenge.
“I tried to keep up
You wore me out and left me ate up
Now I wish you all the luck”
--311
“Fuck man, I think I’ve got mud in my underwear.”
Crash didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “I hope that’s not an invitation to wash your balls.”
“Fuck you, man. ‘Mnot queer.”
Crash cracked an eye open, glanced over at Nuke, shadows flickering from the passing streetlights. “Didn’t ask if you were queer. Asked if you wanted me to wash your balls.”
“No.” Nuke shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of the cab and picked at the mud drying on his forearm. “’Course not. Probably, um, get one of those ice skaters.”
Crash raised his can of beer to his lips, finally glancing at Nuke. “What about Annie?”
“Well, um, she’s not here. Gets, uh, lonely on the road.”
“We’ve only been gone five days, meat.”
“A very long, very draining five days, and why the fuck am I explaining myself to you, anyway?”
“Beats me.”
“I mean, you’re not my father.”
Crash chuckled, slumping down further in his seat. “Thank Christ.”
“Don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Nope.”
Nuke twisted in his seat just as the cab stopped. “Well?”
“Hmm?”
Nuke leaned over and paid the cabbie before giving Nuke a bland stare. “You coming up or what?”
* * *
Tight slide across sweat and water-damp, sticky skin, labored breathing echoing along dingy white tiles. “Ready?”
“Bring it, meat.” Low, keening groan drowned by the steady beat of the shower, sudden push, sliding home. Thought was lost in the sheer *wrongness* of the moment.
“Suppose you want me to dry you now?” Amused chuckle as capable hands shut off the water, sharp tongue circling a puckered nipple.
“Maybe I just like having you on your knees.”
“Maybe you should learn the difference between servitude--” Light, fluttering lick, smiling up into glazed eyes “--and power.”
"M-maybe..." Hands fisting tightly in wet clumps of hair "...you s-should teach me..."
* * *
“So, I see you finally made it to the show, Mr. Manager.”
Crash didn’t bother to look up from his book. He’d know that deep, rural accent anywhere. “Looks like.”
Nuke sprawled beside him on the dugout bench and looked out onto the playing field, large hands resting between his knees. “Ready for tonight’s game?”
“Yeah. You ready for my batters?”
“Bring it, meat.”
Both smiled, and Nuke passed Crash a stick of gum. “How’s Annie?”
“She’s good.” Crash popped the gum into his mouth, blew a large bubble before popping it. “I’m sure she’ll be around to say hi after the game.”
“That’s, um, good. Be nice to see her.”
“Imagine so.”
“Hey, um, you’re not still--” Nuke shrugged, wished he had a baseball to occupy his hands, but couldn’t quite leave the warmth of Crash’s thigh against his.
“Nah.” Crash nudged Nuke’s shoulder, amused. “You had your chance. She picked the better man.”
Nuke scoffed, scuffing his shoes in the loosely packed dirt. “Fuck she did. I’m the one with the multi-million dollar contact with the Yankees.”
“And a 3-5 record with a 4.20 ERA and the lowest number of strike-outs of any pitcher this season.” Crash winked at Nuke’s sputter. “Which is unfortunate, too. Your rookie year was astounding.”
“Just getting off to a slow start this year is all.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Hey, I remember some things,” Nuke said, smiling. “Fear and ignorance.”
Crash chuckled, the sound echoing through the empty dugout. “Yeah, that about describes you.”
“Just because I didn’t get Walt Whitman or James Cullen Bryant or whoever those crazy dead gay fuckers were doesn’t mean I’m ignorant.”
“Whomever,” Crash replied, clapping a warm hand on Nuke’s thigh, grin wicked. “And I don’t get those crazy dead gay fuckers either. I just sound like I do.”
Nuke stared down at Crash’s hand, noticed the new calluses, small nicks and cuts on tapered fingers. “You--um--ever tell her about--?”
“Nope.” Crash didn’t move his hand. “What happens on the road stays on the road.”
Nuke nodded, shifting slightly closer, thigh pressing tightly against thigh. “Another freebie?”
“No.” Crash’s teeth gleamed bright as he brushed warm, chapped lips across the smooth column of Nuke’s throat. “This one’ll cost you.”
* * *
Title: “Beautiful Disaster” 1/1
Fandom: “Bull Durham” FPS
Author: Brenda
Pairing: Crash Davis/Nuke LaLoosh
Rating: R
Summary: Free lessons that cost everything.
Website: Broadwriting
http://www.broadwriting.com/index2.html
Feedback: Of course.
Disclaimer: Never happened. All characters belong to Ron Shelton and the defunct Orion Studios, not me.
Notes: Takes place just after the ‘rain out’ scene. Written for the contralamontre ‘unusual kiss’ challenge.
“I tried to keep up
You wore me out and left me ate up
Now I wish you all the luck”
--311
“Fuck man, I think I’ve got mud in my underwear.”
Crash didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “I hope that’s not an invitation to wash your balls.”
“Fuck you, man. ‘Mnot queer.”
Crash cracked an eye open, glanced over at Nuke, shadows flickering from the passing streetlights. “Didn’t ask if you were queer. Asked if you wanted me to wash your balls.”
“No.” Nuke shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of the cab and picked at the mud drying on his forearm. “’Course not. Probably, um, get one of those ice skaters.”
Crash raised his can of beer to his lips, finally glancing at Nuke. “What about Annie?”
“Well, um, she’s not here. Gets, uh, lonely on the road.”
“We’ve only been gone five days, meat.”
“A very long, very draining five days, and why the fuck am I explaining myself to you, anyway?”
“Beats me.”
“I mean, you’re not my father.”
Crash chuckled, slumping down further in his seat. “Thank Christ.”
“Don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Nope.”
Nuke twisted in his seat just as the cab stopped. “Well?”
“Hmm?”
Nuke leaned over and paid the cabbie before giving Nuke a bland stare. “You coming up or what?”
* * *
Tight slide across sweat and water-damp, sticky skin, labored breathing echoing along dingy white tiles. “Ready?”
“Bring it, meat.” Low, keening groan drowned by the steady beat of the shower, sudden push, sliding home. Thought was lost in the sheer *wrongness* of the moment.
“Suppose you want me to dry you now?” Amused chuckle as capable hands shut off the water, sharp tongue circling a puckered nipple.
“Maybe I just like having you on your knees.”
“Maybe you should learn the difference between servitude--” Light, fluttering lick, smiling up into glazed eyes “--and power.”
"M-maybe..." Hands fisting tightly in wet clumps of hair "...you s-should teach me..."
* * *
“So, I see you finally made it to the show, Mr. Manager.”
Crash didn’t bother to look up from his book. He’d know that deep, rural accent anywhere. “Looks like.”
Nuke sprawled beside him on the dugout bench and looked out onto the playing field, large hands resting between his knees. “Ready for tonight’s game?”
“Yeah. You ready for my batters?”
“Bring it, meat.”
Both smiled, and Nuke passed Crash a stick of gum. “How’s Annie?”
“She’s good.” Crash popped the gum into his mouth, blew a large bubble before popping it. “I’m sure she’ll be around to say hi after the game.”
“That’s, um, good. Be nice to see her.”
“Imagine so.”
“Hey, um, you’re not still--” Nuke shrugged, wished he had a baseball to occupy his hands, but couldn’t quite leave the warmth of Crash’s thigh against his.
“Nah.” Crash nudged Nuke’s shoulder, amused. “You had your chance. She picked the better man.”
Nuke scoffed, scuffing his shoes in the loosely packed dirt. “Fuck she did. I’m the one with the multi-million dollar contact with the Yankees.”
“And a 3-5 record with a 4.20 ERA and the lowest number of strike-outs of any pitcher this season.” Crash winked at Nuke’s sputter. “Which is unfortunate, too. Your rookie year was astounding.”
“Just getting off to a slow start this year is all.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Hey, I remember some things,” Nuke said, smiling. “Fear and ignorance.”
Crash chuckled, the sound echoing through the empty dugout. “Yeah, that about describes you.”
“Just because I didn’t get Walt Whitman or James Cullen Bryant or whoever those crazy dead gay fuckers were doesn’t mean I’m ignorant.”
“Whomever,” Crash replied, clapping a warm hand on Nuke’s thigh, grin wicked. “And I don’t get those crazy dead gay fuckers either. I just sound like I do.”
Nuke stared down at Crash’s hand, noticed the new calluses, small nicks and cuts on tapered fingers. “You--um--ever tell her about--?”
“Nope.” Crash didn’t move his hand. “What happens on the road stays on the road.”
Nuke nodded, shifting slightly closer, thigh pressing tightly against thigh. “Another freebie?”
“No.” Crash’s teeth gleamed bright as he brushed warm, chapped lips across the smooth column of Nuke’s throat. “This one’ll cost you.”
* * *