Tell Me Something Good
I’m starting to feel like Scheherazade-every time I think I’ve reached the end, something new comes to mind. I think there's one more chapter and that'll probably be it. I hope I've left the door open enough for other people to use this pairing. (Was that hint subtle enough?)
Title: Tell Me Something Good
Author: 4thlaw
Rating: I’m guessing R. Maybe NC-17? It takes a while to get there, but hang with me.
Fandom: MLB, Philadelphia Phillies
Pairing: Chase Utley/Pat Burrell.
Summary: Chase and Pat face the reactions of their teammates, and the fans.
Disclaimer:This is absolute fiction. There is no intent to imply anything about any of the people mentioned herein. It’s just a story.
They sat in the locker room, just the three of them. Cole was already showered and dressed; Chase and Pat were waiting their turn. That was part of the deal, that they would wait till everyone else was done. They were also not to acknowledge one another or sit side-by-side during games. Cole had been irritated with all of it, but concessions had to be made. “I think it’s stupid,” he’d said when he’d told them, “but some guys, well, you know.”
Chase knew. He could tell what-and who-was behind each demand. He could see whose eyes were cold on him, whose were narrow with disgust, whose were veering with discomfort. Very few eyes looked at him the same way they had before.
“Well,” he said, “at least we didn’t have batteries thrown at us. I was waiting for all kinds of junk to be raining down.”
In truth, it hadn’t been nearly as bad as he’d imagined. Booing and catcalls, but mixed with cheers-probably the entire gay population of Philly had turned out, he mused. He’d heard the tales of players having cups of ice and rolls of coins thrown at them; all in all he thought they’d been pretty lucky.
“Yeah, well,” Pat said. “I got ridden pretty good. There’s something new.”
Cole nodded. Pat had been booed more or less chronically throughout his whole time in Philly; he’d obviously learned to deal, but Cole was still amazed the guy wanted to spend his entire career having to put up with it.
“I thought we’d get killed,” Chase said.
“Ah, I could’ve told you that wouldn’t happen,” Cole said. “The ones they go after are the ones who diss their team or their town. You guys made it clear you want to keep playing here. You got their respect for that.”
Finally the last shower cut off. Cole stood up. “I gotta go,” he said. “You guys gonna be OK?”
“Yeah.”
Walking into the hall, Cole wondered if he should have stayed and walked with Chase and Pat out of the stadium. If things were going to get rough, that was probably when it would happen. But then, they were grown men, and they could take care of themselves. Besides, they’d need the practice for road trips. New York, in particular, was going to be a real ride. He sighed. How had he suddenly become team leader? He sure hadn’t been angling for the position-he was more the type to lay back and let things wash around him. Of course, that was before the imaginary Jamie had started it all. Thanks, Dad, he thought dryly.
***
“You know,” Chase said as the water ran down over him, “we should do it just to be evil.”
“Oh yeah, in front of the security cameras. They’d probably throw pianos at us once that footage got out.”
Chase snickered, rubbing shampoo through his hair. “We still gotta walk out of here,” he said, his smile straightening.
“Yeah, I can’t wait. Three feet away from people who’ve been waiting for four hours to kill us.”
“Maybe not, though. It’s gonna be at least eleven till we get there.”
Pat just looked disgusted.
“Or maybe they got a rainbow brigade to keep order.”
“You know what, you’re a goof.”
“Yeah, but you laughed.”
***
Into the shark tank, Chase thought as they went through the door. There was only one security guard, and a gauntlet about fifteen feet long to run. He breathed deeply, straightened his shoulders, held his head up, looking straight ahead. As they walked out, a blaze of sound ran with them. Ugly words competed with other voices shouting, “Pride, pride, pride,” punctuated by whistles here and there. They had to work their way through the maelstrom silently; that was another part of the mandate.
They had come almost the whole way through when a voice with a South Philly accent cut through the noise: “Yo Pat, yo Chase, wait up.”
Before he could think what he was doing, Chase turned toward the voice. A thick, scuffy-looking guy in jeans, a Phillies cap, and a T-shirt with a Teamsters logo on it was standing beside them. Great, Chase thought, this is when we get punched in the face.
“Hey, hold up,” the guy said. Because he would look like a punk if he didn’t, Chase stopped and turned toward the man. For a moment they just looked at each other.
“I brought my kid here to see what courage looks like,” the Teamster said, and only then did Chase notice the boy of about ten, dressed exactly like his father.
“Go ahead, Mikey,” the Teamster said, patting his son on the back.
Hesitantly, Mikey held out a baseball. “Can you guys sign this?”
DON'T SIGN AUTOGRAPHS was the cardinal rule for leaving the stadium, if you wanted to get home the same day. But Chase wasn’t going to turn this kid away. “Sure,” he said, took the pen the Teamster had ready, and motioned to Pat. The boy looked gleamingly at the ball, his eyes moving between the two signatures.
“Thanks, guys,” the Teamster said, nodding at them, so Chase nodded back and entered clear space to a smattering of sound.
***
It started to rain on the way home. Well, Pat’s home, anyway. Chase didn’t really have a home now, so he was crashing at Pat’s until he figured out what to do.
You could street-park if you wanted to, but that would presume there would actually be a space left at this time of night. So Pat drove down the alley and into a tiny nook carved out of the back yard. “Shit, got to run through this rain,” he said, but Chase grabbed him as he went to unlock the door.
“Nah, let’s stay.”
“What? It’s almost freaking midnight.”
Chase made an emphatic face. “No, man, let’s stay.”
“Oh, Christ, you’re a ho.”
“Oh yeah?” Chase said, now pinching Pat’s arm. “Get the fuck in the back seat.”
“You want me to haul myself back there?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll push your ass.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he sighed, and worked his way between the seats. In an SUV, it wasn’t that difficult, except that the second he got back there, Chase bounced through and landed half on top of him. “Covered, man,” he said, smiling, worming up so they were face to face. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.”
Pat smiled back, and Chase could feel the undercurrent of excitement. He leaned forward, running his nose along Pat’s, but not kissing until Pat came up from beneath him. Chase loved to lead Pat on, and he had discovered he was very good at it. He dripped kisses onto Pat’s mouth, not pressing until the very last moment, and then slid like molten silk along his jaw, to his ear. A light puff of air, a soft touch of his tongue, and he heard Pat let his breath out.
“Yeah, you like this,” Chase whispered, letting his lips brush Pat’s ear. The answer he got was another quick breath. Slowly he ran his fingers down Pat’s throat, following with a trail of kisses, nestling further in as Pat’s arms went around him. Pat curled his neck, his chin against Chase’s temple; Chase could feel the heartbeat pounding through him. As he started to unbutton Pat’s shirt, Chase pushed forward, pressing his groin in-just long enough to feel that Pat was hard; then he raised himself up to his knees, starting the touch dance he loved to play.
“Mh,” Pat said, hand coming up to the back of Chase’s head, to bring his mouth close again. Chase let him kiss passionately, dabbed back at his tongue, feeling the heat of both their lips. It was this kind of stuff that made it hard to hold back; but holding back was half the fun. He managed to disengage, despite Pat’s frustrated sound, and undid the last shirt button, then pulled the shirt tails out. He could see that Pat’s nipples were hard; gently he tailed a fingertip across, feeling Pat jump beneath him. Then curled his fingers under the waistband of Pat’s jeans, feeling the lush skin of his abdomen, and further, the velvet head of his cock. Pat let out a rush of breath. Chase ran a finger back and forth over the velvet, just barely touching, watching Pat’s nails dig into the seatback.
“Come on,” Pat said, in the ashes of a voice.
Chase didn’t answer, just pulled his fingers out and worked at the button, then the zipper, opening it in tiny increments, feeling the hardness well up through it. It was one of his favorite things, a sort of luxury, to run his hand the length of it and feel it arch higher in his palm. He knew it was wet, and he wanted to tease it, so he grabbed Pat’s jeans and worked them down. Pat’s eyes were on him, heavy with desire. Chase loved the sight: Pat, splayed out on the seat with his clothes peeled back, revealing his beautiful body; Pat, totally under his power.
“Hah,” he said, smiling, on his knees again. He knew where to lick, where to nip, where to suck, and he knew how to make it the most exquisite torture. So he tortured with delight, flicking his tongue over a nipple, then mouthing it hard, hearing Pat make a shreddred sound. His own cock was twitching in his pants; quickly, one-handed, he opened his fly, then bit delicately across Pat’s stomach. Pat’s eyes were closed now, his fingers clenching the seat. Chase licked the flat of his tongue across Pat’s belly button.
“Come on!” Pat said, grating the words out.
“Come on what?” Chase said slyly, but the truth was he couldn’t wait either.
Pat frowned, opened his eyes to glare at Chase. Finally, with the last of his air, he said, “Suck it!”
“Ah,” Chase said triumphantly.
He leaned down and swirled his tongue, then softly threaded it along the tender slit, poised there to make Pat think he would tease some more-then pushed his mouth down forcefully, riding his tongue along the underside. Pat shrieked, his back arching, and all Chase’s control vaporized. He did it full-out, wrapping his hand around his own cock, knowing that neither of them would last much longer. Pat was whispering, “Oh god, I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” and at the same time as his fluid welled into Chase’s mouth, Chase drenched in his own hand.
“Snowball,” he said around the mouthful of liquid, came up, pressed his lips to Pat’s, and ejected a spurt. Pat’s tongue came licking into his mouth, greedy for the taste, and finally their kisses dissolved into desperate gasps for air. Chase rested his forehead on Pat’s shoulder, trying at the same time to clean up his hand. Pat’s arms came around him, fingers tracing over the back of Chase’s neck. For a few moments they stayed like that, catching their breath; then Pat leaned his head back on the seat, looking out the window upside down. Chase looked up.
“Still raining,” Pat said.
“We could stay here.”
“Nah. Let’s go to bed.”
It sounded good to a man who was tired, satisfied, and cramped from kneeling on the car floor. “Alright, let’s go,” he said, wincing as he straightened his leg. “And by the way, you owe me one.”
“One? Slacker. I would’ve given you two.”
Title: Tell Me Something Good
Author: 4thlaw
Rating: I’m guessing R. Maybe NC-17? It takes a while to get there, but hang with me.
Fandom: MLB, Philadelphia Phillies
Pairing: Chase Utley/Pat Burrell.
Summary: Chase and Pat face the reactions of their teammates, and the fans.
Disclaimer:This is absolute fiction. There is no intent to imply anything about any of the people mentioned herein. It’s just a story.
They sat in the locker room, just the three of them. Cole was already showered and dressed; Chase and Pat were waiting their turn. That was part of the deal, that they would wait till everyone else was done. They were also not to acknowledge one another or sit side-by-side during games. Cole had been irritated with all of it, but concessions had to be made. “I think it’s stupid,” he’d said when he’d told them, “but some guys, well, you know.”
Chase knew. He could tell what-and who-was behind each demand. He could see whose eyes were cold on him, whose were narrow with disgust, whose were veering with discomfort. Very few eyes looked at him the same way they had before.
“Well,” he said, “at least we didn’t have batteries thrown at us. I was waiting for all kinds of junk to be raining down.”
In truth, it hadn’t been nearly as bad as he’d imagined. Booing and catcalls, but mixed with cheers-probably the entire gay population of Philly had turned out, he mused. He’d heard the tales of players having cups of ice and rolls of coins thrown at them; all in all he thought they’d been pretty lucky.
“Yeah, well,” Pat said. “I got ridden pretty good. There’s something new.”
Cole nodded. Pat had been booed more or less chronically throughout his whole time in Philly; he’d obviously learned to deal, but Cole was still amazed the guy wanted to spend his entire career having to put up with it.
“I thought we’d get killed,” Chase said.
“Ah, I could’ve told you that wouldn’t happen,” Cole said. “The ones they go after are the ones who diss their team or their town. You guys made it clear you want to keep playing here. You got their respect for that.”
Finally the last shower cut off. Cole stood up. “I gotta go,” he said. “You guys gonna be OK?”
“Yeah.”
Walking into the hall, Cole wondered if he should have stayed and walked with Chase and Pat out of the stadium. If things were going to get rough, that was probably when it would happen. But then, they were grown men, and they could take care of themselves. Besides, they’d need the practice for road trips. New York, in particular, was going to be a real ride. He sighed. How had he suddenly become team leader? He sure hadn’t been angling for the position-he was more the type to lay back and let things wash around him. Of course, that was before the imaginary Jamie had started it all. Thanks, Dad, he thought dryly.
***
“You know,” Chase said as the water ran down over him, “we should do it just to be evil.”
“Oh yeah, in front of the security cameras. They’d probably throw pianos at us once that footage got out.”
Chase snickered, rubbing shampoo through his hair. “We still gotta walk out of here,” he said, his smile straightening.
“Yeah, I can’t wait. Three feet away from people who’ve been waiting for four hours to kill us.”
“Maybe not, though. It’s gonna be at least eleven till we get there.”
Pat just looked disgusted.
“Or maybe they got a rainbow brigade to keep order.”
“You know what, you’re a goof.”
“Yeah, but you laughed.”
***
Into the shark tank, Chase thought as they went through the door. There was only one security guard, and a gauntlet about fifteen feet long to run. He breathed deeply, straightened his shoulders, held his head up, looking straight ahead. As they walked out, a blaze of sound ran with them. Ugly words competed with other voices shouting, “Pride, pride, pride,” punctuated by whistles here and there. They had to work their way through the maelstrom silently; that was another part of the mandate.
They had come almost the whole way through when a voice with a South Philly accent cut through the noise: “Yo Pat, yo Chase, wait up.”
Before he could think what he was doing, Chase turned toward the voice. A thick, scuffy-looking guy in jeans, a Phillies cap, and a T-shirt with a Teamsters logo on it was standing beside them. Great, Chase thought, this is when we get punched in the face.
“Hey, hold up,” the guy said. Because he would look like a punk if he didn’t, Chase stopped and turned toward the man. For a moment they just looked at each other.
“I brought my kid here to see what courage looks like,” the Teamster said, and only then did Chase notice the boy of about ten, dressed exactly like his father.
“Go ahead, Mikey,” the Teamster said, patting his son on the back.
Hesitantly, Mikey held out a baseball. “Can you guys sign this?”
DON'T SIGN AUTOGRAPHS was the cardinal rule for leaving the stadium, if you wanted to get home the same day. But Chase wasn’t going to turn this kid away. “Sure,” he said, took the pen the Teamster had ready, and motioned to Pat. The boy looked gleamingly at the ball, his eyes moving between the two signatures.
“Thanks, guys,” the Teamster said, nodding at them, so Chase nodded back and entered clear space to a smattering of sound.
***
It started to rain on the way home. Well, Pat’s home, anyway. Chase didn’t really have a home now, so he was crashing at Pat’s until he figured out what to do.
You could street-park if you wanted to, but that would presume there would actually be a space left at this time of night. So Pat drove down the alley and into a tiny nook carved out of the back yard. “Shit, got to run through this rain,” he said, but Chase grabbed him as he went to unlock the door.
“Nah, let’s stay.”
“What? It’s almost freaking midnight.”
Chase made an emphatic face. “No, man, let’s stay.”
“Oh, Christ, you’re a ho.”
“Oh yeah?” Chase said, now pinching Pat’s arm. “Get the fuck in the back seat.”
“You want me to haul myself back there?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll push your ass.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he sighed, and worked his way between the seats. In an SUV, it wasn’t that difficult, except that the second he got back there, Chase bounced through and landed half on top of him. “Covered, man,” he said, smiling, worming up so they were face to face. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.”
Pat smiled back, and Chase could feel the undercurrent of excitement. He leaned forward, running his nose along Pat’s, but not kissing until Pat came up from beneath him. Chase loved to lead Pat on, and he had discovered he was very good at it. He dripped kisses onto Pat’s mouth, not pressing until the very last moment, and then slid like molten silk along his jaw, to his ear. A light puff of air, a soft touch of his tongue, and he heard Pat let his breath out.
“Yeah, you like this,” Chase whispered, letting his lips brush Pat’s ear. The answer he got was another quick breath. Slowly he ran his fingers down Pat’s throat, following with a trail of kisses, nestling further in as Pat’s arms went around him. Pat curled his neck, his chin against Chase’s temple; Chase could feel the heartbeat pounding through him. As he started to unbutton Pat’s shirt, Chase pushed forward, pressing his groin in-just long enough to feel that Pat was hard; then he raised himself up to his knees, starting the touch dance he loved to play.
“Mh,” Pat said, hand coming up to the back of Chase’s head, to bring his mouth close again. Chase let him kiss passionately, dabbed back at his tongue, feeling the heat of both their lips. It was this kind of stuff that made it hard to hold back; but holding back was half the fun. He managed to disengage, despite Pat’s frustrated sound, and undid the last shirt button, then pulled the shirt tails out. He could see that Pat’s nipples were hard; gently he tailed a fingertip across, feeling Pat jump beneath him. Then curled his fingers under the waistband of Pat’s jeans, feeling the lush skin of his abdomen, and further, the velvet head of his cock. Pat let out a rush of breath. Chase ran a finger back and forth over the velvet, just barely touching, watching Pat’s nails dig into the seatback.
“Come on,” Pat said, in the ashes of a voice.
Chase didn’t answer, just pulled his fingers out and worked at the button, then the zipper, opening it in tiny increments, feeling the hardness well up through it. It was one of his favorite things, a sort of luxury, to run his hand the length of it and feel it arch higher in his palm. He knew it was wet, and he wanted to tease it, so he grabbed Pat’s jeans and worked them down. Pat’s eyes were on him, heavy with desire. Chase loved the sight: Pat, splayed out on the seat with his clothes peeled back, revealing his beautiful body; Pat, totally under his power.
“Hah,” he said, smiling, on his knees again. He knew where to lick, where to nip, where to suck, and he knew how to make it the most exquisite torture. So he tortured with delight, flicking his tongue over a nipple, then mouthing it hard, hearing Pat make a shreddred sound. His own cock was twitching in his pants; quickly, one-handed, he opened his fly, then bit delicately across Pat’s stomach. Pat’s eyes were closed now, his fingers clenching the seat. Chase licked the flat of his tongue across Pat’s belly button.
“Come on!” Pat said, grating the words out.
“Come on what?” Chase said slyly, but the truth was he couldn’t wait either.
Pat frowned, opened his eyes to glare at Chase. Finally, with the last of his air, he said, “Suck it!”
“Ah,” Chase said triumphantly.
He leaned down and swirled his tongue, then softly threaded it along the tender slit, poised there to make Pat think he would tease some more-then pushed his mouth down forcefully, riding his tongue along the underside. Pat shrieked, his back arching, and all Chase’s control vaporized. He did it full-out, wrapping his hand around his own cock, knowing that neither of them would last much longer. Pat was whispering, “Oh god, I’m gonna, I’m gonna,” and at the same time as his fluid welled into Chase’s mouth, Chase drenched in his own hand.
“Snowball,” he said around the mouthful of liquid, came up, pressed his lips to Pat’s, and ejected a spurt. Pat’s tongue came licking into his mouth, greedy for the taste, and finally their kisses dissolved into desperate gasps for air. Chase rested his forehead on Pat’s shoulder, trying at the same time to clean up his hand. Pat’s arms came around him, fingers tracing over the back of Chase’s neck. For a few moments they stayed like that, catching their breath; then Pat leaned his head back on the seat, looking out the window upside down. Chase looked up.
“Still raining,” Pat said.
“We could stay here.”
“Nah. Let’s go to bed.”
It sounded good to a man who was tired, satisfied, and cramped from kneeling on the car floor. “Alright, let’s go,” he said, wincing as he straightened his leg. “And by the way, you owe me one.”
“One? Slacker. I would’ve given you two.”