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Man, I haven't written such a shite ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
contrelamontre fic in a long time. Oh, well. I saw the new challenge, and I've been reading Wells's autobiography, and they kind of exploded together in my brain. I just had to.
. . . no, I did not slash David Wells. You can stop covering your eyes now.
TITLE: "Out There"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (catslash33@yahoo.com)
FANDOM: Major League Baseball RPS
PAIRING(S): Kevin Millar/Manny Ramirez, implied Derek Jeter/Jorge Posada
SUMMARY: Boomer is bemused.
NOTES: Written in twenty-five minutes for thecontrelamontre "new" challenge. Short and pointless, because the one time I take a challenge where I get a full hour, of course I can't think of an actual plot.
RATING: PG-13 for language
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction. Never happened.
.
I thought I knew what I was getting into with the Red Sox. They play some serious ball, and then they turn around and call themselves idiots. I figured for a buncha guys relaxed off the field and focused on it. I was hardly expecting the Yankees part two, or even the Jays. Mostly, I was right.
I wasn't quite prepared for this, though.
I mean, not like it doesn't happen, in every clubhouse, more often than we'd like you to think. You have a good game, a good practice, a shitty game, or you're just bored, and sooner or later you end up fooling around in the showers or somewhere, no matter how straight you think you are.
Sometimes it's more serious than that. Like with the Yankees, we all knew about Jorge and Derek.
(I wonder how things are going there now. I'd bet real money, lots of it, that little miss A-Rod tried to get between those two. I'd make a killing if anyone would take that bet.)
And that's the thing exactly: We all knew. But nobody said, and nobody talked about it, and they didn't go around holding hands or some shit like that. You keep it quiet. That's how it's been in every clubhouse I've ever been in. Doesn't matter if it's a one-time blowjob or you're two seconds away from exchanging promise rings, you keep that shit quiet.
The Red Sox, though . . . it's like, the other day, I went into the locker room, and Manny and Kevin are standing there kissing. I mean seriously making out, just going at it, right in the middle of the locker room. And I must've made a noise or something, because they both looked up. And they don't jump apart and start staring at the ceiling or whatever, like normal guys'd do. Manny just does this little smile, and Kevin goes, "Hey, man," and they get right back to it. And I left. I mean, really, what does a guy even do? So I left.
And the killer is that I get back outside and Mirabelli's there - I passed him going in - and he smirks and goes, "By the way, Kevin and Manny are in there."
"No shit," I tell him. "That gonna happen a lot? Am I gonna have to start blowing a whistle every time I wanna go inside?"
"They sort of turn into scenery after a while. You get used to it."
"Right." The scary thing is, he's probably right. I bet I do get used to it. For a guy like me, likes to do his thing, the Red Sox are an easy club to get used to. Manny and Millar are the biggest couple around here, but the rest of the guys don't exactly hide in the corners. Soon, I probably won't even blink.
But if I'm ever the guy - or one of the two guys - standing in the middle of the locker room, five minutes away from the stage where I should be getting my own damn room, just shoot me. Seriously.
contrelamontre fic in a long time. Oh, well. I saw the new challenge, and I've been reading Wells's autobiography, and they kind of exploded together in my brain. I just had to.. . . no, I did not slash David Wells. You can stop covering your eyes now.
TITLE: "Out There"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (catslash33@yahoo.com)
FANDOM: Major League Baseball RPS
PAIRING(S): Kevin Millar/Manny Ramirez, implied Derek Jeter/Jorge Posada
SUMMARY: Boomer is bemused.
NOTES: Written in twenty-five minutes for the
contrelamontre "new" challenge. Short and pointless, because the one time I take a challenge where I get a full hour, of course I can't think of an actual plot.RATING: PG-13 for language
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction. Never happened.
.
I thought I knew what I was getting into with the Red Sox. They play some serious ball, and then they turn around and call themselves idiots. I figured for a buncha guys relaxed off the field and focused on it. I was hardly expecting the Yankees part two, or even the Jays. Mostly, I was right.
I wasn't quite prepared for this, though.
I mean, not like it doesn't happen, in every clubhouse, more often than we'd like you to think. You have a good game, a good practice, a shitty game, or you're just bored, and sooner or later you end up fooling around in the showers or somewhere, no matter how straight you think you are.
Sometimes it's more serious than that. Like with the Yankees, we all knew about Jorge and Derek.
(I wonder how things are going there now. I'd bet real money, lots of it, that little miss A-Rod tried to get between those two. I'd make a killing if anyone would take that bet.)
And that's the thing exactly: We all knew. But nobody said, and nobody talked about it, and they didn't go around holding hands or some shit like that. You keep it quiet. That's how it's been in every clubhouse I've ever been in. Doesn't matter if it's a one-time blowjob or you're two seconds away from exchanging promise rings, you keep that shit quiet.
The Red Sox, though . . . it's like, the other day, I went into the locker room, and Manny and Kevin are standing there kissing. I mean seriously making out, just going at it, right in the middle of the locker room. And I must've made a noise or something, because they both looked up. And they don't jump apart and start staring at the ceiling or whatever, like normal guys'd do. Manny just does this little smile, and Kevin goes, "Hey, man," and they get right back to it. And I left. I mean, really, what does a guy even do? So I left.
And the killer is that I get back outside and Mirabelli's there - I passed him going in - and he smirks and goes, "By the way, Kevin and Manny are in there."
"No shit," I tell him. "That gonna happen a lot? Am I gonna have to start blowing a whistle every time I wanna go inside?"
"They sort of turn into scenery after a while. You get used to it."
"Right." The scary thing is, he's probably right. I bet I do get used to it. For a guy like me, likes to do his thing, the Red Sox are an easy club to get used to. Manny and Millar are the biggest couple around here, but the rest of the guys don't exactly hide in the corners. Soon, I probably won't even blink.
But if I'm ever the guy - or one of the two guys - standing in the middle of the locker room, five minutes away from the stage where I should be getting my own damn room, just shoot me. Seriously.
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. . . you know, I think you're right. I think I accidentally became the first to write Manny/Millar. Weird.
Oh, yes, and of course I love you too. ;)
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ahhh, the love! Its so beautiful! <>
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Although that last paragraph made my sick little mind go 'Hmm, who would we pair Boomer up with I wonder?', for which I and NOT thankful.
From:
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God, I know. Manny and Kevin could be a little les subtle, but it would involve stripping down in the middle of the diamond. *considers* Yeah, no objections here.
And - yeah. I was sitting there like, "Thanks a lot, Boomer." At the moment, there are no clear pairings coming to me, but we'll see how chemistry develops as the season progresses. And if I do end up slashing David Wells, I will cry. And I will not be able to reread his book.