FNL -- All The Trees Of The Field Will Clap Their Hands
Model-turned-actors are not really high on my credibility rating. I mean Tom Welling is hot, but I don't see him earning any Emmys for his craft unless they make an Emmy for male hotass!divas. So imagine my shock when smonsterbite informed me that Taylor Kitsch (ain't that a fabulous surname?) AKA Tim Riggins used to model for friggin soft porn, err, Abercrombie. I knew he was hotassery, but I mean the boy can actually ACT. So, you know, I'm almost conflicted, but not really.
Friday Night Lights
Jason Street, Tim Riggins, Smash Williams, various footballers (PG-13)
Pre-series and inspired by said photograph.
All The Trees Of The Field Will Clap Their Hands
It's the Texas heat. Sometimes it's dry and hot, sometimes it damp and hot, most times it's just fucking hot. For about six months out of the whole year, all Jason does is sweat. He sweats during practice; he sweats during the off-season; he sweats with Lyla in the backseat of his car -- hell, he even sweats with the boys when they're just hangin' out by the river.
It's the end of August, and the heat is even more disgusting in the middle of the day than it is at the start. Or that could just be Smash's feet. Even with the breeze blowing through the trees on the bank, the smell is kinda nasty.
"Smash, you gonna do something about those feet of yours?" Jason hollers over several bodies stretched out on the dock. "I can smell 'em all the way over here."
Riggins snorts by Jason's leg, and Jason prods Tim's bare shoulder with his toe. His skin is slick and damp and Jason's foot slides right off.
"These feet are gonna carry your ass to state," Smash calls back from where he's lying face down at the end of the dock. "So, you best get used to their smell."
He punctuates his statement by splashing some water in Jason's general direction. Most of the water lands on Miller and Caffrey, who both flinch and grumble, but don't bother to move.
It's too hot to move. It's too hot for most anything.
Jason prods Tim again with his toe and snickers when Tim grabs his ankle. "Keep it up, Six," Tim mumbles, "and you'll be swimming back to practice."
Beside Riggins, Bellweather cranes his head back, "Shit, that ain't a bad idea in this heat."
Jason has to agree. One practice in the morning and one practice in the afternoon is the only way to state according to Mr. Garrity and Jason's dad and Coach. Although, if it were up to Jason's dad, he'd probably practice on Saturday and Sunday too, and the season hasn't even started yet. Thankfully it's only a Tuesday, and that means lying on the dock in the sun, trying to rest up before they're due back at the field. Jason's trying to pretend that he's not just a little bit sore after the licking he already took this morning.
"Gotta practice getting sacked," Coach Taylor told him. "Gotta get you ready for the inevitable."
"Nothin's gonna happen to Street as long as I'm around," Riggins called over his shoulder from formation. "Ain't nothin' inevitable."
"It is if it's you," Smash called down the line.
"You let Riggins protect you, and you'll need all the Charmin your sore ass can get," Reyes chimed in.
"Did I tell y'all to give an opinion?" Coach Taylor interjected. "Then shut up until I give you one to have!"
"YES, COACH!" The entire offensive line barked.
And then they just let the defense plow right through them and put Jason on his ass.
Seven times.
Around the fifth sack, Jason suggested they put Saracen in so he could get some practice too, but Coach Taylor just laughed. "That's real nice of you, Street, but he'll get his chance when you're gone. And since that ain't happened yet..."
Jason got the hint. Got the bruises too -- which is why he's gonna stop lying on his back on the dock. When he pushes himself upright, Tim glances upward. "Goin' somewhere, Six?'
Tim's hair is in his face, and his eyes are flashes of green between the brown strands. "Nah, just trying to find the best angle to kick your ass for lettin' Moose and his boys run all over me."
Tim's smile is all white teeth. "Coach said to."
"Man, you'd let the whole Cowboys line through if Coach said to, wouldn't you?" Jason grumbles good-naturedly.
Tim winks at him. "Gotta do what the man says -- he's the coach."
"You two gonna shut up any time soon?" Bellweather grumbles.
"What's wrong, Bellweather? We interruptin' your tanning session?" Tim mocks.
"Man, I'm gonna interrupt you all over this dock," Bellweather counters sitting upright.
Tim rolls over onto his left side, using his elbow to prop his head up. "You couldn't hit the broadside of a barn," he mocks.
Jason can see the heat rising off of Bellweather's shaved head. "I know you're not gonna let him talk to you like that," Jason says, getting to his feet. "Hell, if it were me, I wouldn't let Riggins talk to me like that."
Tim glances up at Jason, and it's Jason's turn to give a toothy smile. "Well, I wouldn't," Jason continues stepping between them. "I mean if it were me, I'd probably just push him in the water --" Which is exactly what Jason does.
One minute he's standing there innocently and the next he's crouched down and rolling Tim right over the side of the dock.
Tim's body makes a huge splash, momentarily disturbing the rest of the team, but like most athletes, they're really good at not doing things if nobody's telling them to do 'em.
Tim pops up sputtering, his hair plastered to his head and water running in rivulets down his chest. Jason stands up, grinning. "How's the water?"
"Why don't you come in and find out." Tim makes a grab for Jason's legs and just misses when Jason takes a step back.
Unfortunately Jason's step back lands him right on Bellweather.
"I've had about enough of you two," Bellweather says, giving Jason the glare of bad shit is about to happen.
"Respect your captain," Jason warns, but it's too late. One minute he's on Bellweather's lap and the next he's flying head first into the water next to Tim.
The water is crisp and green; it's a cold shock to Jason's system, wiping away all the sweat and grime he accumulated this morning. When Jason surfaces, Tim's right next to him, ready to take him back down again.
Jason barely has time to gasp for breath before he's submerged all over again, grappling at Tim where he's holding Jason down. Tim's body is solid under Jason, and his hands slip and slide over biceps and triceps and long, golden arms.
It's wrestling, and playing, and perhaps even copping a feel if Tim's hands on Jason's ass are anything to go by, but Jason'll just ignore that. They ignore a lot of things that other people probably wouldn't let slide.
Jason's fingers snag at the waistband of Tim's swim trunks and for a moment his hand has a mind of its own, slipping over fine hairs and touching places it doesn't ever go. And then Tim's hand is there too, not pushing him away, possibly even guiding him down -- but it's only for a moment, and then they're back above the water, grinning and shoving each other away.
"It's about time to get back to your ass-kicking, Riggins," Smash calls from the dock where everyone else is gathering their things.
"In your dreams, Williams," Tim snarls.
Jason rolls his eyes and splashes Tim. "Play nice with the other kids, Riggins."
The surly look Tim gives him reminds Jason how well Tim doesn't share with others.
"Be right there," Jason calls, taking a stuttering step forward when Tim's hand brushes against his own underneath the surface of the water.
When Jason glances back at Tim there's a flash of something he's never seen before on Tim's face. When Jason blinks, it's gone.
He thinks about saying something and then shakes it off. They have plenty of time.
-end-
Thanks to smonsterbite for the photo.
Betas by antheia and ethrosdemon. You know shit is serious when I have TWO betas. Next up, Matt and Landry. Or Smash. Or maybe porn. Oh god, there's so much to play with I don't even know where to begin.
Title from Sufjan Stevens.
Friday Night Lights
Jason Street, Tim Riggins, Smash Williams, various footballers (PG-13)
Pre-series and inspired by said photograph.
All The Trees Of The Field Will Clap Their Hands
It's the Texas heat. Sometimes it's dry and hot, sometimes it damp and hot, most times it's just fucking hot. For about six months out of the whole year, all Jason does is sweat. He sweats during practice; he sweats during the off-season; he sweats with Lyla in the backseat of his car -- hell, he even sweats with the boys when they're just hangin' out by the river.
It's the end of August, and the heat is even more disgusting in the middle of the day than it is at the start. Or that could just be Smash's feet. Even with the breeze blowing through the trees on the bank, the smell is kinda nasty.
"Smash, you gonna do something about those feet of yours?" Jason hollers over several bodies stretched out on the dock. "I can smell 'em all the way over here."
Riggins snorts by Jason's leg, and Jason prods Tim's bare shoulder with his toe. His skin is slick and damp and Jason's foot slides right off.
"These feet are gonna carry your ass to state," Smash calls back from where he's lying face down at the end of the dock. "So, you best get used to their smell."
He punctuates his statement by splashing some water in Jason's general direction. Most of the water lands on Miller and Caffrey, who both flinch and grumble, but don't bother to move.
It's too hot to move. It's too hot for most anything.
Jason prods Tim again with his toe and snickers when Tim grabs his ankle. "Keep it up, Six," Tim mumbles, "and you'll be swimming back to practice."
Beside Riggins, Bellweather cranes his head back, "Shit, that ain't a bad idea in this heat."
Jason has to agree. One practice in the morning and one practice in the afternoon is the only way to state according to Mr. Garrity and Jason's dad and Coach. Although, if it were up to Jason's dad, he'd probably practice on Saturday and Sunday too, and the season hasn't even started yet. Thankfully it's only a Tuesday, and that means lying on the dock in the sun, trying to rest up before they're due back at the field. Jason's trying to pretend that he's not just a little bit sore after the licking he already took this morning.
"Gotta practice getting sacked," Coach Taylor told him. "Gotta get you ready for the inevitable."
"Nothin's gonna happen to Street as long as I'm around," Riggins called over his shoulder from formation. "Ain't nothin' inevitable."
"It is if it's you," Smash called down the line.
"You let Riggins protect you, and you'll need all the Charmin your sore ass can get," Reyes chimed in.
"Did I tell y'all to give an opinion?" Coach Taylor interjected. "Then shut up until I give you one to have!"
"YES, COACH!" The entire offensive line barked.
And then they just let the defense plow right through them and put Jason on his ass.
Seven times.
Around the fifth sack, Jason suggested they put Saracen in so he could get some practice too, but Coach Taylor just laughed. "That's real nice of you, Street, but he'll get his chance when you're gone. And since that ain't happened yet..."
Jason got the hint. Got the bruises too -- which is why he's gonna stop lying on his back on the dock. When he pushes himself upright, Tim glances upward. "Goin' somewhere, Six?'
Tim's hair is in his face, and his eyes are flashes of green between the brown strands. "Nah, just trying to find the best angle to kick your ass for lettin' Moose and his boys run all over me."
Tim's smile is all white teeth. "Coach said to."
"Man, you'd let the whole Cowboys line through if Coach said to, wouldn't you?" Jason grumbles good-naturedly.
Tim winks at him. "Gotta do what the man says -- he's the coach."
"You two gonna shut up any time soon?" Bellweather grumbles.
"What's wrong, Bellweather? We interruptin' your tanning session?" Tim mocks.
"Man, I'm gonna interrupt you all over this dock," Bellweather counters sitting upright.
Tim rolls over onto his left side, using his elbow to prop his head up. "You couldn't hit the broadside of a barn," he mocks.
Jason can see the heat rising off of Bellweather's shaved head. "I know you're not gonna let him talk to you like that," Jason says, getting to his feet. "Hell, if it were me, I wouldn't let Riggins talk to me like that."
Tim glances up at Jason, and it's Jason's turn to give a toothy smile. "Well, I wouldn't," Jason continues stepping between them. "I mean if it were me, I'd probably just push him in the water --" Which is exactly what Jason does.
One minute he's standing there innocently and the next he's crouched down and rolling Tim right over the side of the dock.
Tim's body makes a huge splash, momentarily disturbing the rest of the team, but like most athletes, they're really good at not doing things if nobody's telling them to do 'em.
Tim pops up sputtering, his hair plastered to his head and water running in rivulets down his chest. Jason stands up, grinning. "How's the water?"
"Why don't you come in and find out." Tim makes a grab for Jason's legs and just misses when Jason takes a step back.
Unfortunately Jason's step back lands him right on Bellweather.
"I've had about enough of you two," Bellweather says, giving Jason the glare of bad shit is about to happen.
"Respect your captain," Jason warns, but it's too late. One minute he's on Bellweather's lap and the next he's flying head first into the water next to Tim.
The water is crisp and green; it's a cold shock to Jason's system, wiping away all the sweat and grime he accumulated this morning. When Jason surfaces, Tim's right next to him, ready to take him back down again.
Jason barely has time to gasp for breath before he's submerged all over again, grappling at Tim where he's holding Jason down. Tim's body is solid under Jason, and his hands slip and slide over biceps and triceps and long, golden arms.
It's wrestling, and playing, and perhaps even copping a feel if Tim's hands on Jason's ass are anything to go by, but Jason'll just ignore that. They ignore a lot of things that other people probably wouldn't let slide.
Jason's fingers snag at the waistband of Tim's swim trunks and for a moment his hand has a mind of its own, slipping over fine hairs and touching places it doesn't ever go. And then Tim's hand is there too, not pushing him away, possibly even guiding him down -- but it's only for a moment, and then they're back above the water, grinning and shoving each other away.
"It's about time to get back to your ass-kicking, Riggins," Smash calls from the dock where everyone else is gathering their things.
"In your dreams, Williams," Tim snarls.
Jason rolls his eyes and splashes Tim. "Play nice with the other kids, Riggins."
The surly look Tim gives him reminds Jason how well Tim doesn't share with others.
"Be right there," Jason calls, taking a stuttering step forward when Tim's hand brushes against his own underneath the surface of the water.
When Jason glances back at Tim there's a flash of something he's never seen before on Tim's face. When Jason blinks, it's gone.
He thinks about saying something and then shakes it off. They have plenty of time.
-end-
Thanks to smonsterbite for the photo.
Betas by antheia and ethrosdemon. You know shit is serious when I have TWO betas. Next up, Matt and Landry. Or Smash. Or maybe porn. Oh god, there's so much to play with I don't even know where to begin.
Title from Sufjan Stevens.