(no subject)
TITLE: Ramblings of a Backup
AUTHOR: Jennie
PART: 3
CHARACTERS: Scott Clemmensen of the New Jersey Devils and Ryan Miller of the Buffalo Sabres.
SUMMARY: Ryan thinks Scott uses his sexual escapades for more than just pleasure. Scott debates rambles this point.
RATING: R. Scotty can’t help but curse. J
DISCLAIMER: Like it’s counterpart, this fic is random. You have been forewarned. The only thing true about this story is the fact I wrote it. I don’t own any characters.
As written on the back of a flier for free beer at Gary’s Grubs in Harlem.
Dear Scott,
This is one of those letters that people write but never send. I don’t know, maybe someday I’ll give this to you, but not right now. I really thought that this time could be it. But, you know what? I’m not mad at myself, or even upset. I’m just kind of...ambivalent. Of course I’m upset. I’m pissed off more than anything. But I’m not as upset or pissed as I thought I’d be. Overall, I think you’re scared. You haven’t played in so long and you believe your career is over. To compensate for that feeling, that feeling of worthlessness, you abuse your body. You have sex with anyone who’ll look at you sideways, just to know you’re not a piece of shit on the bottom of someone’s shoe. Well, you know what? I don’t think you’re a piece of shit. I think you’re a bar of Ghirardelli chocolate, one of those really big $50 bars with the caramel oozing out of the center. That’s why I said what I did. I really can’t see myself being with anyone who’s straight and narrow and all suit and tie, because I’m not like that. I’m an eagle, flying down the Colorado River (even though I’m in Buffalo, but whatever), just doing my thing. To be honest, I don’t think you even thought about it. I keep thinking it was a mistake for me to say it, but then I think about what we could be and I push that thought out. I want to be with you, and not just for your sex.
Bally
As written in the blank spaces of a brochure for Paris Las Vegas.
I, Scott Clemmensen, can honestly say that I have never been in love, and I’m proud of that fact. Actually, you know what? I pat myself on the back. Not too many people can say that they’ve never been in love. And hey, have I ever gotten hurt? No. I just do my thang, and I keep on rolling along. I’m like a train. I choo choo and don’t stop choo-chooing until my stop comes, and then I bang a hottie. I’m the Scottie Hottie train. But still, sometimes I watch a movie and I want someone to cuddle with, instead of fuck. Like yesterday, for instance. I was watching The Notebook with Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling (he’s got that tortured soul hotness going on. He’s so fucked up, but just so fuckable. On the scale of fuckability, he ranks in at a..99.9. I have to take off .1 point because I don’t think he’d fuck me. But hey, if he experienced by good looks and charm..) and the one part where they kiss in the rain and Little Scotty always salutes the TV, I think about how much I want to be Rachel McAdams and kiss someone like that and know that someone loves me; not just for my good looks and charm, but for my personality and smarts and love for all things chocolate.
As written on the back of a December 2003 issue of Sports Illustrated.
I got a letter from Bally today and I did something I’ve never done before; I cried over a guy. Strange, right? And it wasn’t those tears you get when you have something in your eye; it was full on waterfall boo-hoo tears. Brian and I were going to have some beers and watch the game and he heard me crying from outside and practically broke the door trying to get himself in. He thought I was having a seizure or something. Anyway, I ended up spilling all my feelings about Bally and how I wanted to be with someone but I didn’t want to be with him just for the sake of being with someone but because I really liked to spend time with him. He’s everything I could ever want from a guy. But getting back to the letter, it was basically him telling me his feelings about that night. I think I cried because he hit right on the mark. All of those things he said were bottled up inside of me just waiting to burst and I was using sex to push them away. I just don’t want to admit he’s right because then that’ll mean-
As written on a sticky Scott Clemmensen back.
I think you’re brave. If I was in your position, I couldn’t sit for months at a time, not knowing if my job was secure or not, especially at your age. Not that you’re old or anything. Well, older than me, but not Chelly old. You’re like George Clooney; not age wise, but hotness wise. I wish I would have sent that letter sooner. It feels so good spooning with you. Your butt pushes right up against my pelvis, but it just all fits so well. I like that you’re comfortable being naked all the time. I like a lot of things about you. Most of all, I like that I’m here in your apartment writing on your back because it just feels so right.