Title Meme RPS: Bubblegum
So I'm having much fun with this meme.The lovely valentinemichel gave me the title "Bubblegum," and asked for Jared/Tom. This got too long for the comments, so I'm posting it here. A word of warning to Tommy fans, he came out a little dark.
Bubblegum
By Lenore
Tom will give Vancouver this: when spring finally comes, it's really something, all blue sky and cotton candy clouds and lemon drop sun. He does have to wonder whose bright idea it was to play baseball on a precious Saturday off, Smallville cast and crew versus Supernatural, winner gets bragging rights and a round of beer at their bar of choice, a complete waste of time if you ask Tom. It must have been some brainstorm of the PR department. He can picture it now, a bunch of suits sitting around, drinking lattes, dreaming up ways to whore them all out just a little bit more. Supernatural did recently move to Thursdays after Smallville. They must have figured it would be the perfect photo op, only Tom hasn't seen a single camera yet. Everyone who's watching the game, he's pretty sure, came with someone who's playing in it. No one is scribbling notes. The PR stunt that wasn't.
Or maybe this was all Mike's covert finagling, and he's actually managed to keep a secret for once. Tom isn't sure which possibility would be more annoying.
The Smallville team voted Tom their pitcher because he played some high school ball. Not all that well, he'd tried to tell them, but they insisted anyway. He walked four batters in the first inning alone, even Tessa the makeup girl who held the bat like a snake that might bite her.
Mike being Mike handed Tom a beer when they got back to the dugout. "So you're a little rusty. Hang with 'em."
Four innings later, and Tom has figured out the strike zone at least. He throws a slow curve, and the guy at the plate, Bill or Bart or something like that, one of the electricians on the other show, flails at it, way out in front.
"Strike three!" the ump calls.
Bill slinks back to the dugout. One more out to go, but there's nobody on deck, because Jared is due up next, and he's sitting at the far end of the bench horsing around with Jensen as usual. If they're not already fucking each other, Tom feels sure, they will be soon enough.
"JT, get your ass up there!" one of his teammates yells at him.
Jared looks honestly startled. "It's my turn already?" He gropes around under the bench for his helmet.
Jensen hands him a bat. "Make me proud."
Jared lopes up to the plate. "Sorry," he tells Tom.
Tom stares in coldly. "If you had your mind on the game."
Jared shrugs, grinning, lifts the bat to his shoulder and blows a big, pink bubble with his gum. He's been doing that all damned day, like an exclamation point to everything that happens, when he reached base in the first on a walk, when he stole second in the third. That's Jared, all easy smiles, sun shining from his eyes, as if life, everything is just so utterly effortless. Tom knows that feeling. Or he once did, at least.
Tom winds up, delivers. The first pitch is high, the second a strike that Jared takes, the third a ball he swings at. Jared kicks at the dirt and laughs.
Jensen leans forward on the bench, clapping. "Ja-red!"
Tom grips the ball, considers the next pitch. He knows people talk about Jared as the new Tom Welling. "What does that make me," he complained to Mike, "the old Tom Welling?" Mike just grinned. "You're totally missing the point, dude. He's the poor man's version of you."
Tom hadn't been all that mollified.
He throws the next one high and tight, buzzing Jared at the helmet, making him lean back so far to get out of the way he ends up on his ass in the dirt. A collective gasp goes up, and Jensen flies off the bench, out to the mound, not surprisingly.
"What the fuck, Welling?" He gets right up in Tom's face.
Mike jogs in from short to play peacemaker. "Boys, boys, a little decorum please. Tom's not exactly Roger Clemens out here, Jen. That one just got away from him." He looks at Tom pointedly. "Isn't that right, Tommy?"
Tom shrugs. "It slipped."
For a moment, Jensen looks like he might push the issue, but then Jared calls out, "Hey, Jen, it's okay." Jensen reluctantly heads back to the dugout.
Most guys who get knocked on their ass are determined to hit the next pitch to Saturn, but Jared has his own ideas. He lays down a bunt, not a particularly good one, but then, nobody's expecting it. Tom overthrows Alison at first, and Jared ends up on second, blowing bubbles as he slides into base, like he's Derek freaking Jeter. The Supernatural team goes on to win 6-2, and Tom takes it personally.
They all pick up their gear and head off to the locker room. Jared and Jensen fall in together, and Tom and Mike trail behind. Jensen's shoulders are still a rigid line of not happy. He spent the last three innings glaring at Tom like he wished looks really could kill. Jared bumps his shoulder playfully to get him to relax. Jensen turns his head, and Jared grins. Tom knows that too, believing that a smile can make everything better. It doesn't of course, he knows that all too well now, and there's a part of him that wants to force that ugly truth on Jared, wants to hold up his divorce decree as proof.
Steam is already fogging up the mirrors when Tom makes it to the locker room. He strips and showers and gets dressed. By the time he's finished, it's only him and Mike, Jared and Jensen left. Everyone else has already headed off to O'Malley's for celebratory Molsons.
Mike drapes an arm over Jensen's shoulders. "What say we leave the kids to work things out among themselves?"
Jensen looks to Jared, and Jared nods.
When he and Tom are alone, he says, "Hey, man, no hard feelings, huh?"
His expression is the last straw, all quiet assurance, like there's a script for this moment, and he knows exactly what's coming next. Tom believed that once too, and it's all gone to shit ever since. This isn't Jared's fault strictly speaking, but he's here and he's convenient, and Tom's always been a little bit of a son of a bitch.
He closes the distance, shoves his fingers into Jared's hair and pulls too hard, pushes him bodily against the wall with enough force that there's a soft thud when Jared hits the cinderblocks. Sparks fly in Jared's eyes, like he's ready for a fight if that's what this is coming to, and Tom uses the element of surprise to his advantage, sinks to knees, opens Jared's pants with both hands.
A strangled sound comes out of Jared as Tom lifts his cock in his hand, circles his tongue around the head. It feels like a triumph that Jared gets hard at his touch, and Tom sets out to dazzle, puts to work all the dirty tricks he learned getting where he is now. He remembers in too much detail the first time he gave some photographer an obligatory blowjob. Just a catalogue shoot, but back then, it seemed like a huge break. The photographer smelled like sweat and cigarettes, and he twined an arm around Tom's waist when he said, "This could lead to big things. Maybe you want to show some appreciation."
Tom feels certain that Jared knows nothing about shit like this, and it makes him work him over all the more ruthlessly. Jared curls his hands into fists, pounds them against the unforgiving wall, like he doesn't want to do it, doesn't want Tom to win. Tom pushes a finger behind Jared's balls, strokes the soft skin there, and Jared never had a chance.
Even after he's come, Jared's chest continues to heave, his eyes wide and unfocused, like he doesn’t know what just hit him. Tom gets to his feet, in no particular hurry. He gives Jared a lazy smile. "See you at O'Malley's."
He saunters to the door. He knows none of this is really about Jared. It's just easier than being mad at the world. Tom whistles all the way out to the street. Sometimes being a son of a bitch can be damned convenient.
Bubblegum
By Lenore
Tom will give Vancouver this: when spring finally comes, it's really something, all blue sky and cotton candy clouds and lemon drop sun. He does have to wonder whose bright idea it was to play baseball on a precious Saturday off, Smallville cast and crew versus Supernatural, winner gets bragging rights and a round of beer at their bar of choice, a complete waste of time if you ask Tom. It must have been some brainstorm of the PR department. He can picture it now, a bunch of suits sitting around, drinking lattes, dreaming up ways to whore them all out just a little bit more. Supernatural did recently move to Thursdays after Smallville. They must have figured it would be the perfect photo op, only Tom hasn't seen a single camera yet. Everyone who's watching the game, he's pretty sure, came with someone who's playing in it. No one is scribbling notes. The PR stunt that wasn't.
Or maybe this was all Mike's covert finagling, and he's actually managed to keep a secret for once. Tom isn't sure which possibility would be more annoying.
The Smallville team voted Tom their pitcher because he played some high school ball. Not all that well, he'd tried to tell them, but they insisted anyway. He walked four batters in the first inning alone, even Tessa the makeup girl who held the bat like a snake that might bite her.
Mike being Mike handed Tom a beer when they got back to the dugout. "So you're a little rusty. Hang with 'em."
Four innings later, and Tom has figured out the strike zone at least. He throws a slow curve, and the guy at the plate, Bill or Bart or something like that, one of the electricians on the other show, flails at it, way out in front.
"Strike three!" the ump calls.
Bill slinks back to the dugout. One more out to go, but there's nobody on deck, because Jared is due up next, and he's sitting at the far end of the bench horsing around with Jensen as usual. If they're not already fucking each other, Tom feels sure, they will be soon enough.
"JT, get your ass up there!" one of his teammates yells at him.
Jared looks honestly startled. "It's my turn already?" He gropes around under the bench for his helmet.
Jensen hands him a bat. "Make me proud."
Jared lopes up to the plate. "Sorry," he tells Tom.
Tom stares in coldly. "If you had your mind on the game."
Jared shrugs, grinning, lifts the bat to his shoulder and blows a big, pink bubble with his gum. He's been doing that all damned day, like an exclamation point to everything that happens, when he reached base in the first on a walk, when he stole second in the third. That's Jared, all easy smiles, sun shining from his eyes, as if life, everything is just so utterly effortless. Tom knows that feeling. Or he once did, at least.
Tom winds up, delivers. The first pitch is high, the second a strike that Jared takes, the third a ball he swings at. Jared kicks at the dirt and laughs.
Jensen leans forward on the bench, clapping. "Ja-red!"
Tom grips the ball, considers the next pitch. He knows people talk about Jared as the new Tom Welling. "What does that make me," he complained to Mike, "the old Tom Welling?" Mike just grinned. "You're totally missing the point, dude. He's the poor man's version of you."
Tom hadn't been all that mollified.
He throws the next one high and tight, buzzing Jared at the helmet, making him lean back so far to get out of the way he ends up on his ass in the dirt. A collective gasp goes up, and Jensen flies off the bench, out to the mound, not surprisingly.
"What the fuck, Welling?" He gets right up in Tom's face.
Mike jogs in from short to play peacemaker. "Boys, boys, a little decorum please. Tom's not exactly Roger Clemens out here, Jen. That one just got away from him." He looks at Tom pointedly. "Isn't that right, Tommy?"
Tom shrugs. "It slipped."
For a moment, Jensen looks like he might push the issue, but then Jared calls out, "Hey, Jen, it's okay." Jensen reluctantly heads back to the dugout.
Most guys who get knocked on their ass are determined to hit the next pitch to Saturn, but Jared has his own ideas. He lays down a bunt, not a particularly good one, but then, nobody's expecting it. Tom overthrows Alison at first, and Jared ends up on second, blowing bubbles as he slides into base, like he's Derek freaking Jeter. The Supernatural team goes on to win 6-2, and Tom takes it personally.
They all pick up their gear and head off to the locker room. Jared and Jensen fall in together, and Tom and Mike trail behind. Jensen's shoulders are still a rigid line of not happy. He spent the last three innings glaring at Tom like he wished looks really could kill. Jared bumps his shoulder playfully to get him to relax. Jensen turns his head, and Jared grins. Tom knows that too, believing that a smile can make everything better. It doesn't of course, he knows that all too well now, and there's a part of him that wants to force that ugly truth on Jared, wants to hold up his divorce decree as proof.
Steam is already fogging up the mirrors when Tom makes it to the locker room. He strips and showers and gets dressed. By the time he's finished, it's only him and Mike, Jared and Jensen left. Everyone else has already headed off to O'Malley's for celebratory Molsons.
Mike drapes an arm over Jensen's shoulders. "What say we leave the kids to work things out among themselves?"
Jensen looks to Jared, and Jared nods.
When he and Tom are alone, he says, "Hey, man, no hard feelings, huh?"
His expression is the last straw, all quiet assurance, like there's a script for this moment, and he knows exactly what's coming next. Tom believed that once too, and it's all gone to shit ever since. This isn't Jared's fault strictly speaking, but he's here and he's convenient, and Tom's always been a little bit of a son of a bitch.
He closes the distance, shoves his fingers into Jared's hair and pulls too hard, pushes him bodily against the wall with enough force that there's a soft thud when Jared hits the cinderblocks. Sparks fly in Jared's eyes, like he's ready for a fight if that's what this is coming to, and Tom uses the element of surprise to his advantage, sinks to knees, opens Jared's pants with both hands.
A strangled sound comes out of Jared as Tom lifts his cock in his hand, circles his tongue around the head. It feels like a triumph that Jared gets hard at his touch, and Tom sets out to dazzle, puts to work all the dirty tricks he learned getting where he is now. He remembers in too much detail the first time he gave some photographer an obligatory blowjob. Just a catalogue shoot, but back then, it seemed like a huge break. The photographer smelled like sweat and cigarettes, and he twined an arm around Tom's waist when he said, "This could lead to big things. Maybe you want to show some appreciation."
Tom feels certain that Jared knows nothing about shit like this, and it makes him work him over all the more ruthlessly. Jared curls his hands into fists, pounds them against the unforgiving wall, like he doesn't want to do it, doesn't want Tom to win. Tom pushes a finger behind Jared's balls, strokes the soft skin there, and Jared never had a chance.
Even after he's come, Jared's chest continues to heave, his eyes wide and unfocused, like he doesn’t know what just hit him. Tom gets to his feet, in no particular hurry. He gives Jared a lazy smile. "See you at O'Malley's."
He saunters to the door. He knows none of this is really about Jared. It's just easier than being mad at the world. Tom whistles all the way out to the street. Sometimes being a son of a bitch can be damned convenient.