Real Person Fic - Football: Just to Get Struck
Title: Just to Get Struck
Fandom: NCAA Football RPS
Characters/Pairings: Colt McCoy/Jordan Shipley
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,197
Author’s Note: My first attempt at writing these boys! Kind of a nervous wreck since I’m much less familiar with them than I’m comfortable with, but this scenario is begging for Hurt/Comfort fic and I cannot resist that siren song. Written for tamingthemuse prompt #189 - Peppermint. Title is from the Red Hot Chili Peppers song "Make You Feel Better" because the whole thing sounded really appropriate at 3 in the morning.
Summary: In the aftermath of the National game, Colt needs Jordan more than ever.
From the sidelines, it’s hard to see. The stadium lights are blinding and you can only get the bare outlines of the game. Colt can make out the plays, he can hear the crowd and he knows what the cheers and jeers mean-it’s a language he’s been fluent in since he learned how to stand on his own. He knows they’re losing, who drops the ball and when, how many yards left to a first down. He has to imagine the rest of it, the things that really matter.
It’s easy for Colt, but it’s not pleasant. He pictures what it looks like on the field, standing where he should be standing. He can sense the worried looks Jordan darts towards the sidelines, he can feel the nervousness that must have Gilbert’s heart racing out of control, and he knows that if he were out there, he could turn his head and see the smug satisfaction on Nick Saban’s face. It makes it worse to know. He knows because he’s been working for it and imagining every detail for years and somehow he still ends up sitting on the bench, still has to imagine it. Colt’s never had a broken heart until tonight.
It’s not a disaster. Alabama’s good, but they aren’t perfect. They’ve been making sloppy mistakes all night and Colt doesn’t doubt it for a second that the Longhorns could have won. That should make him feel better, proud that his team has come so far, but it doesn’t. No one will blame him, but Colt’s always going to know he let them down.
Still, they fight and fight. Jordan fights more than anyone. Colt never thought he’d have to watch his best friend fight this one alone, but Jordan doesn’t seem deterred at all. He plays one of the best games Colt’s ever seen him play, Colt hears the announcers talking about the records he’s smashed, and every time Jordan’s running a touchdown, he can’t help running down the sidelines cheering, caught up in the game. It’s almost nice to just be able to admire the talent Jordan’s grown into-maybe this could have been a blessing if it had come during any other game.
They don’t say much when the defense is out. Jordan stands behind Colt, one hand on his shoulder. Colt can’t feel the comfort, can’t feel anything, not even pain, but knowing that Jordan’s there, trying to hold him together like he always does…it’s not enough, but it’s close.
The team passes him on the way to the lockers, every eye set to the floor. Colt doesn’t know if they’re ashamed to face him or if they’re just politely avoiding the shame he owes them. It’s the most silence he’s ever heard after a game, win or lose. They all stop and ask if he’s okay, genuine concern on every face, but no one sticks around to do the handholding-Colt isn’t the only one who got hurt.
“Colt?”
He looks up to see Jordan and smiles the best he can. “You played an incredible game, man.”
“Colt.”
“Seriously. I mean, not that you’re not always great, but you really…considering-”
“Colt.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t do that.”
“What? Congratulate you?”
“Pretend it’s okay.”
He swallows hard and looks back towards the ground. Jordan always has his number; he just doesn’t usually bring it up so bluntly.
“It is what it is. God chose to-“
Jordan sits down and doesn’t even bother to make sure the other players have left the room before he pulls Colt into him. Colt can’t help it, he puts his head on his friend’s shoulder instead of fighting it.
“You don’t believe it right now. You don’t have to say it to me.”
Colt nods against Jordan’s jersey. It smells the same way it always smells after a game: sweat and grass and that peppermint deodorant Jordan gets for Christmas every year and doesn’t stop wearing until it runs out, no matter how out of season it is. They don’t usually go near each other after games-half because of the other guys and half because they’re rank until they’ve showered, but right now Colt knows he wouldn’t be able to get through it unless Jordan was right there, being exactly what Colt needs him to be.
Colt feels lips brush his hairline so softly it’s almost imperceptible. They’re alone, and if they weren’t, Jordan’s being subtle enough that the other players would think he was just trying to help. They would keep their distance. Colt’s relieved to be able relax into this; he isn’t sure he could hide it all the way back to Texas.
“I couldn’t convince him to let me play. I wanted to so bad.”
“I know. I could tell.”
“There was no point keeping me out, there's nothing left to save me for. This was the one that mattered. And he didn’t even let me try.”
“Not like you coulda won it with a dead arm.”
“I could’ve tried. Was it still everything we talked about?”
“No, it was just a game.”
“Bullshit. It was National and you nearly won the damn thing by yourself.”
“Just a game, Colt. Wasn’t even a good one. I was worried the whole time.”
“You didn’t play like you were.”
“I wanted to win it for you. That’s why I kept going. But I…”
Jordan shrugs and Colt can’t believe Jordan thinks he has anything to feel guilty about. Colt wants to tell him there’ll be other games, but there won’t, not really, not ones where they can win together. And even if there will be, if they both end up drafted to the same team by some freak chance, that won’t change anything right now.
“We had a hell of a run,” Jordan finally points out, after long minutes of silence. “And we did everything we could. Nothing to regret.”
“Stop being healthy when I’m trying to mope.” Colt is surprised by the smile breaking through his own words.
Jordan just gives him a firm pat on the thigh before standing and lifting Colt up by his good arm. “We need to get clean before we go and the bus isn’t gonna wait forever.”
Colt’s not used to being led by anyone, but with Jordan it feels right. Colt knows he’ll be taken care of, that no matter how many stupid things go wrong for him, the thing that matters most will be as right as it’s always been.
He wants to say something stupid and girly like “What would I do without you?” but instead he just swats Jordan’s hand away and makes a bitter face.
“I don’t need a shower. I didn’t play.”
“I did and I smell like it.”
“I like it,” Colt says, trusting that Jordan will take the hint. He doesn't want that familiar scent to go away, recognizing it is the only thing reminding him he's a part of the team.
“Let’s go home then, McCoy.” They’re the first ones on the bus and Colt isn’t embarrassed when he wakes up to find that he was leaning on Jordan all the way to the airport.
[8]
Fandom: NCAA Football RPS
Characters/Pairings: Colt McCoy/Jordan Shipley
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,197
Author’s Note: My first attempt at writing these boys! Kind of a nervous wreck since I’m much less familiar with them than I’m comfortable with, but this scenario is begging for Hurt/Comfort fic and I cannot resist that siren song. Written for tamingthemuse prompt #189 - Peppermint. Title is from the Red Hot Chili Peppers song "Make You Feel Better" because the whole thing sounded really appropriate at 3 in the morning.
Summary: In the aftermath of the National game, Colt needs Jordan more than ever.
From the sidelines, it’s hard to see. The stadium lights are blinding and you can only get the bare outlines of the game. Colt can make out the plays, he can hear the crowd and he knows what the cheers and jeers mean-it’s a language he’s been fluent in since he learned how to stand on his own. He knows they’re losing, who drops the ball and when, how many yards left to a first down. He has to imagine the rest of it, the things that really matter.
It’s easy for Colt, but it’s not pleasant. He pictures what it looks like on the field, standing where he should be standing. He can sense the worried looks Jordan darts towards the sidelines, he can feel the nervousness that must have Gilbert’s heart racing out of control, and he knows that if he were out there, he could turn his head and see the smug satisfaction on Nick Saban’s face. It makes it worse to know. He knows because he’s been working for it and imagining every detail for years and somehow he still ends up sitting on the bench, still has to imagine it. Colt’s never had a broken heart until tonight.
It’s not a disaster. Alabama’s good, but they aren’t perfect. They’ve been making sloppy mistakes all night and Colt doesn’t doubt it for a second that the Longhorns could have won. That should make him feel better, proud that his team has come so far, but it doesn’t. No one will blame him, but Colt’s always going to know he let them down.
Still, they fight and fight. Jordan fights more than anyone. Colt never thought he’d have to watch his best friend fight this one alone, but Jordan doesn’t seem deterred at all. He plays one of the best games Colt’s ever seen him play, Colt hears the announcers talking about the records he’s smashed, and every time Jordan’s running a touchdown, he can’t help running down the sidelines cheering, caught up in the game. It’s almost nice to just be able to admire the talent Jordan’s grown into-maybe this could have been a blessing if it had come during any other game.
They don’t say much when the defense is out. Jordan stands behind Colt, one hand on his shoulder. Colt can’t feel the comfort, can’t feel anything, not even pain, but knowing that Jordan’s there, trying to hold him together like he always does…it’s not enough, but it’s close.
The team passes him on the way to the lockers, every eye set to the floor. Colt doesn’t know if they’re ashamed to face him or if they’re just politely avoiding the shame he owes them. It’s the most silence he’s ever heard after a game, win or lose. They all stop and ask if he’s okay, genuine concern on every face, but no one sticks around to do the handholding-Colt isn’t the only one who got hurt.
“Colt?”
He looks up to see Jordan and smiles the best he can. “You played an incredible game, man.”
“Colt.”
“Seriously. I mean, not that you’re not always great, but you really…considering-”
“Colt.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t do that.”
“What? Congratulate you?”
“Pretend it’s okay.”
He swallows hard and looks back towards the ground. Jordan always has his number; he just doesn’t usually bring it up so bluntly.
“It is what it is. God chose to-“
Jordan sits down and doesn’t even bother to make sure the other players have left the room before he pulls Colt into him. Colt can’t help it, he puts his head on his friend’s shoulder instead of fighting it.
“You don’t believe it right now. You don’t have to say it to me.”
Colt nods against Jordan’s jersey. It smells the same way it always smells after a game: sweat and grass and that peppermint deodorant Jordan gets for Christmas every year and doesn’t stop wearing until it runs out, no matter how out of season it is. They don’t usually go near each other after games-half because of the other guys and half because they’re rank until they’ve showered, but right now Colt knows he wouldn’t be able to get through it unless Jordan was right there, being exactly what Colt needs him to be.
Colt feels lips brush his hairline so softly it’s almost imperceptible. They’re alone, and if they weren’t, Jordan’s being subtle enough that the other players would think he was just trying to help. They would keep their distance. Colt’s relieved to be able relax into this; he isn’t sure he could hide it all the way back to Texas.
“I couldn’t convince him to let me play. I wanted to so bad.”
“I know. I could tell.”
“There was no point keeping me out, there's nothing left to save me for. This was the one that mattered. And he didn’t even let me try.”
“Not like you coulda won it with a dead arm.”
“I could’ve tried. Was it still everything we talked about?”
“No, it was just a game.”
“Bullshit. It was National and you nearly won the damn thing by yourself.”
“Just a game, Colt. Wasn’t even a good one. I was worried the whole time.”
“You didn’t play like you were.”
“I wanted to win it for you. That’s why I kept going. But I…”
Jordan shrugs and Colt can’t believe Jordan thinks he has anything to feel guilty about. Colt wants to tell him there’ll be other games, but there won’t, not really, not ones where they can win together. And even if there will be, if they both end up drafted to the same team by some freak chance, that won’t change anything right now.
“We had a hell of a run,” Jordan finally points out, after long minutes of silence. “And we did everything we could. Nothing to regret.”
“Stop being healthy when I’m trying to mope.” Colt is surprised by the smile breaking through his own words.
Jordan just gives him a firm pat on the thigh before standing and lifting Colt up by his good arm. “We need to get clean before we go and the bus isn’t gonna wait forever.”
Colt’s not used to being led by anyone, but with Jordan it feels right. Colt knows he’ll be taken care of, that no matter how many stupid things go wrong for him, the thing that matters most will be as right as it’s always been.
He wants to say something stupid and girly like “What would I do without you?” but instead he just swats Jordan’s hand away and makes a bitter face.
“I don’t need a shower. I didn’t play.”
“I did and I smell like it.”
“I like it,” Colt says, trusting that Jordan will take the hint. He doesn't want that familiar scent to go away, recognizing it is the only thing reminding him he's a part of the team.
“Let’s go home then, McCoy.” They’re the first ones on the bus and Colt isn’t embarrassed when he wakes up to find that he was leaning on Jordan all the way to the airport.
[8]