Unseasonable Heat, Part 2
Title: It’s How You Play the Game
Series: Unseasonable Heat, Part 2
Author: 4thlaw
Rating: PG-13.
Fandom: MLB. Philadelphia Phillies
Pairing: Chase Utley/Pat Burrell
Summary: Chase’s dreams meet reality.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these dudes. This is fiction. It did not happen. It’s for entertainment purposes only.
Florida sucks in the summertime. It’s pretty crappy year-round, but in the summer it just swelters the life out of you till you feel like you had died yesterday, after years of planning your own suicide.
Chase felt like that even though the hotel was air-conditioned to the point of making his bones ache. He lay on the bed, hands behind his head, while the TV droned at the other end of the room. On the ceiling, the past few weeks played out in wincingly fine detail. How he had tried to be normal, but couldn’t meet Pat’s eyes. How he would jolt into an erection as the thoughts invaded him at all kinds of odd times. He was half-afraid to take a shower after games, and not even half-interested in getting laid. He did it with Jen, but he masturbated way more than he had sex. And his fantasies were becoming less contorted, more concrete.
He was waiting for Pat. A bunch of guys had decided to go out, but they were on the make to get wasted and score some pros, and Chase wasn’t interested. Neither was Pat, so they were going to go...somewhere. And do...something. He couldn’t really say no without looking weird, because they had always hung out occasionally. But that was before the dreams started, and now he didn’t see how he could act normal around the guy.
A palm slapped on the door. He knew it was Pat. Never hit a door with your fist, he’d told Chase once, you can break your hand that way. Chase had laughed, thinking, Goofball, till he’d had his own hand broken by a wild pitch and ended up having surgery. Now he slapped doors with his palm too. “It’s open,” he yelled.
Pat pushed the door open and Chase raised his head. “Dude,” he blurted out, “that shirt makes you look like a fag.”
“Fuck you too,” Pat said amiably. Chase shook his head. Pat had a weird wardrobe-half of it looked like it came from a thrift store, half was duded-up designer shit no one else would think of wearing in public. The shirt definitely fell into category #2. It was made of sheer, tan material with woven stripes, embroidery, and sequins. Sequins, for god’s sake!
“Sorry, man, but that shirt is definitely gay.”
“Bet the chicks won’t think so.”
“Ah, man, I don’t feel like that.”
Pat shrugged. “Okay, what do you wanna do?”
“I don’t know. Just hang.”
“Alright, let’s get going.”
***
They stepped out the hotel door into the buggy, smarmy heat of a Florida night. Instantly a haze of sweat started forming, and Chase wondered why he’d even taken a shower. They caught a cab and rode silently to the nightlife. The streets were humming with conversations, laughter, car engines, and the buzz of neon signs. “Where do you wanna go?” Pat shouted above the noise.
“I don’t know.”
“Look, man, do you want to club or just chill?”
“Just chill.”
“Alright,” Pat said, jerking his head to the side, “Let’s find a place.”
They walked several blocks, till they were out of the thick of things. Chase wondered if chilling would be a good idea. He couldn’t think of two words to say, and he kept feeling like he was putting out invisible vibes that unconsciously informed his teammates that he was a budding fruit with a crush on the left fielder. Does this make me gay? He thought for the ten-thousandth time. I can’t be gay. I’m not gay. Then why can’t I stop thinking about it? About...him. Shit!
They turned a corner and saw a blue neon sign that spelled out in cursive: Woody’s. “Let’s check it out,” Pat said.
Chase grimaced. “Dude, it’s called Woody’s. It’s gotta be a gay bar.”
Pat burst out laughing, then said, “Well, you wanna test out my shirt?”
“Are you crazy?”
“Listen, man, you don’t know it’s a gay bar. If it is, we’ll just walk right back out.”
“Yeah.”
“Besides, even if it is, you wanna chill without being recognized? Nobody’s gonna know you here.”
“They gonna know you?”
“Fuck off, dickwad.” He was still laughing.
“Alright, let’s just go. I need a beer.”
They walked in through a short, narrow hall, to a nightclub-looking place with a curving black bar outlined in more blue neon. At first Chase was relieved to see a sprinkling of women, but by the time he realized, Damn, they’re fag hags, it was too late to turn around. Dance music was pumping at the other end of the place, but it wasn’t so loud you couldn’t talk. They sat at the bar. “They’re checking out your shirt,” Chase said, snorting.
“But not yours,” Pat replied. Chase looked down at his cotton shirt and jeans. Nope, he didn’t look gay.
They got some beers and sat there drinking. Chase had no idea what to say. What the hell was he doing here? In a gay bar with a guy who made him so uncomfortable he couldn’t even sit still on the bar stool? Was Pat playing him because of the invisible vibes? Or was he just paranoid? Or was Pat vibing back? No way, he’s not gay. I’ve seen him run down chicks. Maybe he’s just not a homophobe. That would make him the only Major League player who isn’t.
Suddenly the bartender plunked a tiny paper cup in front of Chase. “Huh?” he said, looking up from his beer.
“The gentleman down there wants to buy you a drink,” the bartender said.
Chase was still looking bewildered. Pat’s eyes narrowed, and he took the cup and crumpled it up. “No, man, he’s with me,” he said.
“What?” Chase said, turning his head quickly.
“Do you want these guys to think you’re available?” Pat hissed softly, so only Chase could hear him.
“Oh, uh, right, I mean no,” Chase stammered, feeling himself blush. Fuck! So now he was on a date with Pat? Was the whole thing a set-up? Or did Pat know this stuff because he really was gay? Why did the damn dreams ever have to start anyway? His head was starting to ache.
“Will you lighten up?” Pat said. “You look like a deer in the headlights.”
Chase took a deep breath through his nose. The pressure inside him was so deep that he was seriously tempted to just spill the whole thing. But the pressure from without to deny it was just as strong. He was squeezing out between the two non-options. He breathed again. “Pat, look, I...” his voice faded.
Pat’s eyes were searching his. Please don’t look at me like that! he thought. It was too close to his dreams. “What is going on with you, Chase?” he said. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks.”
Chase pursed his lips, looking sideways. The invisible vibes were visible! Shit! If Pat knew, then it was probably obvious to everyone. “Man, I just can’t...I don’t know,” he said, then looked back at Pat, and slapped his fingers on the edge of the bar. “I just...” he had to look down.
Pat didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but Chase could feel his gaze. Finally he said slowly, “I’m gonna say this once. I’m gonna trust you never to say anything to anybody.”
“Um,” Chase said, nodding.
“If you want to try this...I do too.”
Chase felt his cheeks burn. “Man,” he said, blowing the air out of his mouth. Finally he turned to study Pat’s eyes. “Have you done this before?”
Pat huffed out a soft laugh. “No,” he said. “I never wanted to.”
“Yeah, me either.”
“Well, I said what I had to say.”
Chase looked at him for a few more seconds, poised between terror and excitement. Finally he bowed his head, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. Cold bumps washed over his skin.
“Okay,” he said. Pat didn’t answer, and Chase realized his answer hadn’t been clear. “We’re gonna have to be really, really careful,” he said.
“I know.”
Just then a skinny woman with cropped dyed-blonde hair walked by wearing a T-shirt that read: PHILLIES PHAN PHOREVER. “Fuck,” Pat said. “Let’s get out of here.”
They threw their money on the bar and hustled out, back into the cloying heat. Chase’s sweat was now coming from both outside and inside. They walked further down the block, and then suddenly Pat grabbed Chase’s shirt and pulled him back into a narrow walkway between two buildings. “What’re you doing?” Chase said, frowning.
“Being careful,” Pat said, pulling him further down the walkway, behind a wooden lean-to.
“This is careful? Anybody could see us.”
“Nobody can see us.”
Chase looked around. A blind alley, no windows on the buildings, no door on the lean-to. He felt half-ill, with both anxiousness and anticipation. He blew his breath out, puffing his cheeks, then slowly rotated himself so he was facing Pat. His knees had turned to jelly, his stomach into a Mobius strip. Pat looked kind of hesitant, which somehow made him glad. He thought he should say something, but what was there to say? So he leaned forward a little, and Pat leaned into him, and the corners of their mouths met. That was all it took-he turned his head full into Pat’s kiss, and it was ferocious. Chase pushed his tongue forward, tasting the beer in Pat’s mouth, the taste of a man. The smell of a man. Pat’s tongue came to meet his, and Chase fell drowning into a whirlpool of bone-melting desires and truncated thoughts that became a sort of static drumbeat with only one word repeating itself: Pat-Pat-Pat. Then Pat inhaled quickly, sucking the breath out of Chase’s lungs. He had to break away to swill some air, and as he did, Pat’s hands went to his waist, pulling their bodies together. “Oh, god,” Chase said, somewhere between a whisper and a groan.
“Yeah,” Pat said, but before he could do any more, Chase grabbed his head and covered his mouth with a thick kiss. Then slid down, along Pat’s jaw, to his neck. He was ignited, all he could do was burn, everything else in the world was smoking ash, everything but this tornado of fire. Pat’s mouth was at his ear, his groin against Chase’s. Hard as Chase’s own, making him grind slightly just to feel the length of it. He undid one button of Pat’s shirt, to touch the feverish skin inside, and Pat’s fingers were toying with Chase’s zipper-
“We can’t do this here,” Chase gasped, not exactly breathing but sucking air. After a moment, Pat backed away a little, his eyes dilated, wild. Finally he whispered, “Yeah.” He pushed his mouth onto Chase’s, and when he drew away he dragged his teeth across Chase’s lower lip. Chase shuddered. “We can’t do this here,” he said again, panting now. Pat’s lips looked swollen. All Chase’s blood drained from his chest into his crotch.
“We gotta find somewhere,” he said, and as Pat re-buttoned his shirt they took off at a dead run.
Series: Unseasonable Heat, Part 2
Author: 4thlaw
Rating: PG-13.
Fandom: MLB. Philadelphia Phillies
Pairing: Chase Utley/Pat Burrell
Summary: Chase’s dreams meet reality.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these dudes. This is fiction. It did not happen. It’s for entertainment purposes only.
Florida sucks in the summertime. It’s pretty crappy year-round, but in the summer it just swelters the life out of you till you feel like you had died yesterday, after years of planning your own suicide.
Chase felt like that even though the hotel was air-conditioned to the point of making his bones ache. He lay on the bed, hands behind his head, while the TV droned at the other end of the room. On the ceiling, the past few weeks played out in wincingly fine detail. How he had tried to be normal, but couldn’t meet Pat’s eyes. How he would jolt into an erection as the thoughts invaded him at all kinds of odd times. He was half-afraid to take a shower after games, and not even half-interested in getting laid. He did it with Jen, but he masturbated way more than he had sex. And his fantasies were becoming less contorted, more concrete.
He was waiting for Pat. A bunch of guys had decided to go out, but they were on the make to get wasted and score some pros, and Chase wasn’t interested. Neither was Pat, so they were going to go...somewhere. And do...something. He couldn’t really say no without looking weird, because they had always hung out occasionally. But that was before the dreams started, and now he didn’t see how he could act normal around the guy.
A palm slapped on the door. He knew it was Pat. Never hit a door with your fist, he’d told Chase once, you can break your hand that way. Chase had laughed, thinking, Goofball, till he’d had his own hand broken by a wild pitch and ended up having surgery. Now he slapped doors with his palm too. “It’s open,” he yelled.
Pat pushed the door open and Chase raised his head. “Dude,” he blurted out, “that shirt makes you look like a fag.”
“Fuck you too,” Pat said amiably. Chase shook his head. Pat had a weird wardrobe-half of it looked like it came from a thrift store, half was duded-up designer shit no one else would think of wearing in public. The shirt definitely fell into category #2. It was made of sheer, tan material with woven stripes, embroidery, and sequins. Sequins, for god’s sake!
“Sorry, man, but that shirt is definitely gay.”
“Bet the chicks won’t think so.”
“Ah, man, I don’t feel like that.”
Pat shrugged. “Okay, what do you wanna do?”
“I don’t know. Just hang.”
“Alright, let’s get going.”
***
They stepped out the hotel door into the buggy, smarmy heat of a Florida night. Instantly a haze of sweat started forming, and Chase wondered why he’d even taken a shower. They caught a cab and rode silently to the nightlife. The streets were humming with conversations, laughter, car engines, and the buzz of neon signs. “Where do you wanna go?” Pat shouted above the noise.
“I don’t know.”
“Look, man, do you want to club or just chill?”
“Just chill.”
“Alright,” Pat said, jerking his head to the side, “Let’s find a place.”
They walked several blocks, till they were out of the thick of things. Chase wondered if chilling would be a good idea. He couldn’t think of two words to say, and he kept feeling like he was putting out invisible vibes that unconsciously informed his teammates that he was a budding fruit with a crush on the left fielder. Does this make me gay? He thought for the ten-thousandth time. I can’t be gay. I’m not gay. Then why can’t I stop thinking about it? About...him. Shit!
They turned a corner and saw a blue neon sign that spelled out in cursive: Woody’s. “Let’s check it out,” Pat said.
Chase grimaced. “Dude, it’s called Woody’s. It’s gotta be a gay bar.”
Pat burst out laughing, then said, “Well, you wanna test out my shirt?”
“Are you crazy?”
“Listen, man, you don’t know it’s a gay bar. If it is, we’ll just walk right back out.”
“Yeah.”
“Besides, even if it is, you wanna chill without being recognized? Nobody’s gonna know you here.”
“They gonna know you?”
“Fuck off, dickwad.” He was still laughing.
“Alright, let’s just go. I need a beer.”
They walked in through a short, narrow hall, to a nightclub-looking place with a curving black bar outlined in more blue neon. At first Chase was relieved to see a sprinkling of women, but by the time he realized, Damn, they’re fag hags, it was too late to turn around. Dance music was pumping at the other end of the place, but it wasn’t so loud you couldn’t talk. They sat at the bar. “They’re checking out your shirt,” Chase said, snorting.
“But not yours,” Pat replied. Chase looked down at his cotton shirt and jeans. Nope, he didn’t look gay.
They got some beers and sat there drinking. Chase had no idea what to say. What the hell was he doing here? In a gay bar with a guy who made him so uncomfortable he couldn’t even sit still on the bar stool? Was Pat playing him because of the invisible vibes? Or was he just paranoid? Or was Pat vibing back? No way, he’s not gay. I’ve seen him run down chicks. Maybe he’s just not a homophobe. That would make him the only Major League player who isn’t.
Suddenly the bartender plunked a tiny paper cup in front of Chase. “Huh?” he said, looking up from his beer.
“The gentleman down there wants to buy you a drink,” the bartender said.
Chase was still looking bewildered. Pat’s eyes narrowed, and he took the cup and crumpled it up. “No, man, he’s with me,” he said.
“What?” Chase said, turning his head quickly.
“Do you want these guys to think you’re available?” Pat hissed softly, so only Chase could hear him.
“Oh, uh, right, I mean no,” Chase stammered, feeling himself blush. Fuck! So now he was on a date with Pat? Was the whole thing a set-up? Or did Pat know this stuff because he really was gay? Why did the damn dreams ever have to start anyway? His head was starting to ache.
“Will you lighten up?” Pat said. “You look like a deer in the headlights.”
Chase took a deep breath through his nose. The pressure inside him was so deep that he was seriously tempted to just spill the whole thing. But the pressure from without to deny it was just as strong. He was squeezing out between the two non-options. He breathed again. “Pat, look, I...” his voice faded.
Pat’s eyes were searching his. Please don’t look at me like that! he thought. It was too close to his dreams. “What is going on with you, Chase?” he said. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks.”
Chase pursed his lips, looking sideways. The invisible vibes were visible! Shit! If Pat knew, then it was probably obvious to everyone. “Man, I just can’t...I don’t know,” he said, then looked back at Pat, and slapped his fingers on the edge of the bar. “I just...” he had to look down.
Pat didn’t say anything for a few seconds, but Chase could feel his gaze. Finally he said slowly, “I’m gonna say this once. I’m gonna trust you never to say anything to anybody.”
“Um,” Chase said, nodding.
“If you want to try this...I do too.”
Chase felt his cheeks burn. “Man,” he said, blowing the air out of his mouth. Finally he turned to study Pat’s eyes. “Have you done this before?”
Pat huffed out a soft laugh. “No,” he said. “I never wanted to.”
“Yeah, me either.”
“Well, I said what I had to say.”
Chase looked at him for a few more seconds, poised between terror and excitement. Finally he bowed his head, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. Cold bumps washed over his skin.
“Okay,” he said. Pat didn’t answer, and Chase realized his answer hadn’t been clear. “We’re gonna have to be really, really careful,” he said.
“I know.”
Just then a skinny woman with cropped dyed-blonde hair walked by wearing a T-shirt that read: PHILLIES PHAN PHOREVER. “Fuck,” Pat said. “Let’s get out of here.”
They threw their money on the bar and hustled out, back into the cloying heat. Chase’s sweat was now coming from both outside and inside. They walked further down the block, and then suddenly Pat grabbed Chase’s shirt and pulled him back into a narrow walkway between two buildings. “What’re you doing?” Chase said, frowning.
“Being careful,” Pat said, pulling him further down the walkway, behind a wooden lean-to.
“This is careful? Anybody could see us.”
“Nobody can see us.”
Chase looked around. A blind alley, no windows on the buildings, no door on the lean-to. He felt half-ill, with both anxiousness and anticipation. He blew his breath out, puffing his cheeks, then slowly rotated himself so he was facing Pat. His knees had turned to jelly, his stomach into a Mobius strip. Pat looked kind of hesitant, which somehow made him glad. He thought he should say something, but what was there to say? So he leaned forward a little, and Pat leaned into him, and the corners of their mouths met. That was all it took-he turned his head full into Pat’s kiss, and it was ferocious. Chase pushed his tongue forward, tasting the beer in Pat’s mouth, the taste of a man. The smell of a man. Pat’s tongue came to meet his, and Chase fell drowning into a whirlpool of bone-melting desires and truncated thoughts that became a sort of static drumbeat with only one word repeating itself: Pat-Pat-Pat. Then Pat inhaled quickly, sucking the breath out of Chase’s lungs. He had to break away to swill some air, and as he did, Pat’s hands went to his waist, pulling their bodies together. “Oh, god,” Chase said, somewhere between a whisper and a groan.
“Yeah,” Pat said, but before he could do any more, Chase grabbed his head and covered his mouth with a thick kiss. Then slid down, along Pat’s jaw, to his neck. He was ignited, all he could do was burn, everything else in the world was smoking ash, everything but this tornado of fire. Pat’s mouth was at his ear, his groin against Chase’s. Hard as Chase’s own, making him grind slightly just to feel the length of it. He undid one button of Pat’s shirt, to touch the feverish skin inside, and Pat’s fingers were toying with Chase’s zipper-
“We can’t do this here,” Chase gasped, not exactly breathing but sucking air. After a moment, Pat backed away a little, his eyes dilated, wild. Finally he whispered, “Yeah.” He pushed his mouth onto Chase’s, and when he drew away he dragged his teeth across Chase’s lower lip. Chase shuddered. “We can’t do this here,” he said again, panting now. Pat’s lips looked swollen. All Chase’s blood drained from his chest into his crotch.
“We gotta find somewhere,” he said, and as Pat re-buttoned his shirt they took off at a dead run.