drive me home and back again
So, hi, okay, I'm throat-deep in a research project, which means my attention span is desperate for ANYTHING else to focus on. My brain, man. Anyway, I'm thinking about posting the best version of my failed 2011 SPN/J2 Big Bang, which is VERY unfinished and about 17,000 words long. There are other, more complete versions, but this is the best of them.
Thoughts?
Teaser scene under the cut. 1500 words of semi-sappy baseball players!J2
(from chapter three)
They were both hard-throwing right-handers from Texas, which was enough similarity that the ballclub threw them together a lot over the next few years. Jensen found that he liked the kid, who was green and overenthusiastic but dedicated to baseball. The club wanted Jensen to learn a third pitch, a slider preferably, because the idea was that sure, a fastball/changeup combo is fine in college, but pros are going to smack your ass around if you don't have a third pitch.
They spent a little over three seasons together in the minors, the best of friends and usually roommates. That last year, Jared won Minor League Pitcher of the Year for his untouchable, lights-out beautiful season. The Indians were very good, World Series-bound, and the two of them watched the postseason together in Jensen's offseason home in Dallas.
Then '98 came around and Jared got hurt for the first time, a rotator cuff tear that pretty much torpedoed his whole season. Jensen made it to Cleveland that year but could barely enjoy it because Jared was back in Akron nursing an injury that made him mean and surly. At first, he made an effort to go visit him down there every spare moment he got, glad Jared was rehabbing in Akron and so close to Cleveland. But he gave up on trying by June because Jared told him not to bother.
"That's my job, fuckface," Jensen snapped at him over the phone one evening, after a game in Seattle that Nagy won just barely, midsummer swoon hitting everybody hard and all at once. "I'm the grumpy one."
"Fuck you," Jared shot back and then hung up.
Jensen was still mad three days later when they got back into Cleveland. It was early morning of an off day, and Jensen got in his car and drove the thirty miles to Akron.
The Aeros clubbies let him in, surprised to see him but not that surprised. "Where is he?" he asked Big Al, who didn't even have to ask who he meant. Al just pointed.
Jared was in a trainer's room, taped up and not cooperating. Jensen banged on the door until the trainer opened up, then demanded a moment alone with Jared. The trainer threw his hands up and stormed off, sick of Jared's shit. "All yours!" he tossed over his shoulder on the way.
Jensen stood in the doorway, fingers tucked into fists, and stared at somebody who had gone from best friend to stranger in a disconcertingly tiny amount of time.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked, voice desperate and ragged in a way he hated instantly, which pissed him off enough that he was going to take that out on Jared, too. "Tell me. What did I do to you? Is it because I can still pitch? Huh? Tell me. Because if so, fuck you. So you got hurt once. Grow up."
Jared got to his feet and glared as fiercely as he probably could (which wasn't really all that impressive, naturally friendly face like his). "This is the kind of shit that ends careers!" he yelled back.
Jensen punched the door with his left hand then stepped inside and let the door click closed behind him before responding. "So what, you're done? Fuck you. You got too much talent to just give up."
Jared looked away, deflating a bit. "I'm not… I'm not giving up. I just… you don't know how hard it is to be here, and you're out there doin' what you're doin', and that's all that's on the news. What d'you think that's like for me?"
"Jared, I can't help that," Jensen said slowly.
"I know! Fuck, you think I like being all, like, resentful? You think it feels good?" Jared was yelling again, face turning red, looking kind of sick.
"I don't know what I think!" Jensen hollers back before punching the door again and letting himself fume for a moment before calming down. "You can't do it like this, though, Jare. Please. It's not fair."
Jared sat down on the table again and shook his head so hard his hair fanned out around him. Jensen stared at the poster above his head, an illustration of the muscles of a man's body in a bunch of positions. Beside that, there was a chart with a series of smiley and frowny faces asking, "How much does it hurt? This much? This much? This much?" Jensen had a feeling his own expression probably matched the grimacing face somewhere on the frowning end of the spectrum. Jared's certainly matched the frowniest of all.
"I'm sorry," Jared said.
Jensen locked the door then went over and stood in front of him, resting a hand on the side of his neck until he looked up and made eye contact. "Hey," he said softly.
"Hey," Jared echoed sullenly.
He ducked his neck and rested their foreheads together. "You're going to be awesome again soon, Jared. 'Cause I said so."
Jared put both hands on Jensen's hips, giant paws that spanned him like plates. "Ain't something you can promise, Jen," Jared said.
"Yes, it is."
"No, it ain't. But I'mma be okay, I guess."
Jensen kissed him then, hard enough to cut his lip on Jared's teeth, hard enough to bruise them both. If Jared was hurt, Jensen needed to be hurt, too. He kissed him until he couldn't even taste the blood anymore, 'til he couldn't taste anything but Jared and whatever shitty AA clubhouse coffee Jared had been drinking earlier. Jared made a frightened animal noise in his throat, maybe panicking, but Jensen kept kissing him and quickly Jared gave in and pressed up close and kissed back.
"You have to," Jensen said after he broke back for air, kissing his way across Jared's cheek and down behind his ear, a spot he knew from extensive experience turned Jared into gelatin.
"I will," Jared gasped, a promise he'd deny ever making.
Jensen pushed him back on the table and then climbed on top of him, straddling his lap and loving the burn in his muscles where he was still a little sore from pitching eight innings the day before. Jared wrapped both arms around the small of his back to hold him there, tilting his face up for a kiss as deep as Jensen could make it.
His right arm wasn't as tight around him, the grip slack, and Jensen pulled back enough to drop a kiss to the top of Jared's right shoulder. "Where's it hurt?" he whispered.
"Everywhere," Jared whispered back.
"Don't have time to kiss you everywhere."
They went back to Jared's place, Jared driving, and Jensen was feeling delirious and desperate enough that he went down on him in the car, too, not even waiting 'til he reached his exit. "What're you-oh, my God. I'm going to crash. What are you doing? Stop it."
But Jensen kept going. Jared always drove with his seat too far back, claiming his long legs justified it, but it was really just because he liked to slouch. Jensen liked that it gave him plenty of room for his head.
Jared had to pull into a parking lot of a strip mall with a record store and a bank and an empty storefront. He parked in front of that and put a hand on the back of Jensen's head and moaned. "I hate you," he managed to grit out. "I hate you so much. Fuck, what are you doing?" and he came with a groan Jensen wanted to lick right out of his mouth.
He sat up when he was finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Nobody died," he said. Jared stared at him dumbly, which made him laugh. "Okay, so apparently I just killed you. Sorry." He grinned and got out of the car. "C'mon, man. Tuck your dick back in and let's go see if they have the new Chili Peppers CD."
And things were better after that. Jensen stayed the night and drove back to Cleveland in the morning. He won his next start because of an Omar Vizquel over-the-shoulder catch. Jared was throwing again by July and pitching in games by August, although the club declined to bring him up when rosters expanded in September.
"They want me to rest," he told Jensen, sounding disappointed.
"Well, come rest at my house," Jensen told him, so he did.
Jensen almost won Rookie of the Year, losing to Ben Grieve by three votes. They still celebrated like he had, holing up in Jensen's Dallas house with a case of champagne and even more condoms.
They got to Spring Training the next year ready to take on the world, and then Jared got hurt again just before camp ended, back on the shelf. The club sent him to AAA this time, at least, but that meant moving up to Buffalo, which is a hell of a lot farther from Cleveland than Jensen liked. They got very good at phone sex.
The guys who knew, Milo and Chad Murray and Mike Rosenbaum, mocked Jensen mercilessly for being in love, but that's what he was.
Thoughts?
Teaser scene under the cut. 1500 words of semi-sappy baseball players!J2
(from chapter three)
They were both hard-throwing right-handers from Texas, which was enough similarity that the ballclub threw them together a lot over the next few years. Jensen found that he liked the kid, who was green and overenthusiastic but dedicated to baseball. The club wanted Jensen to learn a third pitch, a slider preferably, because the idea was that sure, a fastball/changeup combo is fine in college, but pros are going to smack your ass around if you don't have a third pitch.
They spent a little over three seasons together in the minors, the best of friends and usually roommates. That last year, Jared won Minor League Pitcher of the Year for his untouchable, lights-out beautiful season. The Indians were very good, World Series-bound, and the two of them watched the postseason together in Jensen's offseason home in Dallas.
Then '98 came around and Jared got hurt for the first time, a rotator cuff tear that pretty much torpedoed his whole season. Jensen made it to Cleveland that year but could barely enjoy it because Jared was back in Akron nursing an injury that made him mean and surly. At first, he made an effort to go visit him down there every spare moment he got, glad Jared was rehabbing in Akron and so close to Cleveland. But he gave up on trying by June because Jared told him not to bother.
"That's my job, fuckface," Jensen snapped at him over the phone one evening, after a game in Seattle that Nagy won just barely, midsummer swoon hitting everybody hard and all at once. "I'm the grumpy one."
"Fuck you," Jared shot back and then hung up.
Jensen was still mad three days later when they got back into Cleveland. It was early morning of an off day, and Jensen got in his car and drove the thirty miles to Akron.
The Aeros clubbies let him in, surprised to see him but not that surprised. "Where is he?" he asked Big Al, who didn't even have to ask who he meant. Al just pointed.
Jared was in a trainer's room, taped up and not cooperating. Jensen banged on the door until the trainer opened up, then demanded a moment alone with Jared. The trainer threw his hands up and stormed off, sick of Jared's shit. "All yours!" he tossed over his shoulder on the way.
Jensen stood in the doorway, fingers tucked into fists, and stared at somebody who had gone from best friend to stranger in a disconcertingly tiny amount of time.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked, voice desperate and ragged in a way he hated instantly, which pissed him off enough that he was going to take that out on Jared, too. "Tell me. What did I do to you? Is it because I can still pitch? Huh? Tell me. Because if so, fuck you. So you got hurt once. Grow up."
Jared got to his feet and glared as fiercely as he probably could (which wasn't really all that impressive, naturally friendly face like his). "This is the kind of shit that ends careers!" he yelled back.
Jensen punched the door with his left hand then stepped inside and let the door click closed behind him before responding. "So what, you're done? Fuck you. You got too much talent to just give up."
Jared looked away, deflating a bit. "I'm not… I'm not giving up. I just… you don't know how hard it is to be here, and you're out there doin' what you're doin', and that's all that's on the news. What d'you think that's like for me?"
"Jared, I can't help that," Jensen said slowly.
"I know! Fuck, you think I like being all, like, resentful? You think it feels good?" Jared was yelling again, face turning red, looking kind of sick.
"I don't know what I think!" Jensen hollers back before punching the door again and letting himself fume for a moment before calming down. "You can't do it like this, though, Jare. Please. It's not fair."
Jared sat down on the table again and shook his head so hard his hair fanned out around him. Jensen stared at the poster above his head, an illustration of the muscles of a man's body in a bunch of positions. Beside that, there was a chart with a series of smiley and frowny faces asking, "How much does it hurt? This much? This much? This much?" Jensen had a feeling his own expression probably matched the grimacing face somewhere on the frowning end of the spectrum. Jared's certainly matched the frowniest of all.
"I'm sorry," Jared said.
Jensen locked the door then went over and stood in front of him, resting a hand on the side of his neck until he looked up and made eye contact. "Hey," he said softly.
"Hey," Jared echoed sullenly.
He ducked his neck and rested their foreheads together. "You're going to be awesome again soon, Jared. 'Cause I said so."
Jared put both hands on Jensen's hips, giant paws that spanned him like plates. "Ain't something you can promise, Jen," Jared said.
"Yes, it is."
"No, it ain't. But I'mma be okay, I guess."
Jensen kissed him then, hard enough to cut his lip on Jared's teeth, hard enough to bruise them both. If Jared was hurt, Jensen needed to be hurt, too. He kissed him until he couldn't even taste the blood anymore, 'til he couldn't taste anything but Jared and whatever shitty AA clubhouse coffee Jared had been drinking earlier. Jared made a frightened animal noise in his throat, maybe panicking, but Jensen kept kissing him and quickly Jared gave in and pressed up close and kissed back.
"You have to," Jensen said after he broke back for air, kissing his way across Jared's cheek and down behind his ear, a spot he knew from extensive experience turned Jared into gelatin.
"I will," Jared gasped, a promise he'd deny ever making.
Jensen pushed him back on the table and then climbed on top of him, straddling his lap and loving the burn in his muscles where he was still a little sore from pitching eight innings the day before. Jared wrapped both arms around the small of his back to hold him there, tilting his face up for a kiss as deep as Jensen could make it.
His right arm wasn't as tight around him, the grip slack, and Jensen pulled back enough to drop a kiss to the top of Jared's right shoulder. "Where's it hurt?" he whispered.
"Everywhere," Jared whispered back.
"Don't have time to kiss you everywhere."
They went back to Jared's place, Jared driving, and Jensen was feeling delirious and desperate enough that he went down on him in the car, too, not even waiting 'til he reached his exit. "What're you-oh, my God. I'm going to crash. What are you doing? Stop it."
But Jensen kept going. Jared always drove with his seat too far back, claiming his long legs justified it, but it was really just because he liked to slouch. Jensen liked that it gave him plenty of room for his head.
Jared had to pull into a parking lot of a strip mall with a record store and a bank and an empty storefront. He parked in front of that and put a hand on the back of Jensen's head and moaned. "I hate you," he managed to grit out. "I hate you so much. Fuck, what are you doing?" and he came with a groan Jensen wanted to lick right out of his mouth.
He sat up when he was finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Nobody died," he said. Jared stared at him dumbly, which made him laugh. "Okay, so apparently I just killed you. Sorry." He grinned and got out of the car. "C'mon, man. Tuck your dick back in and let's go see if they have the new Chili Peppers CD."
And things were better after that. Jensen stayed the night and drove back to Cleveland in the morning. He won his next start because of an Omar Vizquel over-the-shoulder catch. Jared was throwing again by July and pitching in games by August, although the club declined to bring him up when rosters expanded in September.
"They want me to rest," he told Jensen, sounding disappointed.
"Well, come rest at my house," Jensen told him, so he did.
Jensen almost won Rookie of the Year, losing to Ben Grieve by three votes. They still celebrated like he had, holing up in Jensen's Dallas house with a case of champagne and even more condoms.
They got to Spring Training the next year ready to take on the world, and then Jared got hurt again just before camp ended, back on the shelf. The club sent him to AAA this time, at least, but that meant moving up to Buffalo, which is a hell of a lot farther from Cleveland than Jensen liked. They got very good at phone sex.
The guys who knew, Milo and Chad Murray and Mike Rosenbaum, mocked Jensen mercilessly for being in love, but that's what he was.