![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Took my very first trip to the corner laundromat today. Thought it would be a tedious pain in the ass, but time flies when you're ficcing. (Surprisingly, writing Yankeeslash in a laundromat is not as surreal is you'd think.)
TITLE: "Looking"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (catslash33@yahoo.com)
PAIRING(S): *takes a deep breath* Derek Jeter/Tino Martinez, Jorge Posada/Alex Rodriguez, implied Jeter/Rodriguez, implied Jeter/Posada, distantly implied Jeter/Nomar Garciaparra
RATING: PG-13 for RPS occurences
SUMMARY: Jorge is done watching.
NOTES: A follow-up of sorts to "Clown," but can also be read as a stand-alone fic.
DISCLAIMER: It's all fiction. Never happened, not currently happening, never will happen, implies nothing about any of the people mentioned. No libel to see here, folks, move it along.
.
Tino and Derek are standing in a corner of the locker room, talking quietly.
Neither of them is particularly demonstrative, so their hands stay mostly at their sides. There is no exchange of little caresses, no plucking at pretend lint or straightening of collars to give them away.
But the signals are still there. They're standing close together, voices in a low, intimate murmur. Their eyes are locked, and there's a slight flush in Tino's cheeks that says exactly what's on his mind.
Across the room, Alex is having trouble with his lock. He's been fighting with it for a while, long enough to mutter once or twice about how he hates combination locks, always has, really needs to get his locker fit for something with a key.
An observer would see - is, in fact, seeing - that he's glancing into that corner more often than he thinks he is, and that his hands are trembling.
He watches the three of them for a moment more, then goes over to Alex.
"Here," Jorge says, brushing Alex's hands away from the lock. "What's the combination?" Alex looks annoyed, but tells him. Jorge gets it on the first try.
"Thanks," Alex says, a bit grudgingly.
"No problem." He watches Alex's eyes go back to Derek and Tino again.
"Stop that," he says. Alex blinks, looks back at him.
"What?"
"That." Jorge nods toward the corner. "Don't do that."
The look that shows on Alex's face for a split second is one all too familiar to Jorge. Then his expression shifts into the smooth, bland Alex Rodriguez face, the one he uses when he wants people to believe what he's about to say.
"I wasn't doing anything."
It doesn't work on Jorge. "Of course not," he says, level and quiet.
Alex's eyes harden a little, his mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. He turns away from Jorge, concentrating deliberately on the things in his locker. Jorge is dismissed.
He stays right where he is. He watches as Alex rummages through his locker, movements rough and unsteady.
And he places a hand on the small of Alex's back. "Come have drinks with me."
Alex stops what he's doing and looks at him. Jorge's hand stays where it is; Alex's eyes trace the arc of his arm, flicker just a bit in the direction of that corner, and then meet Jorge's. He studies what he sees there for a long moment.
"Okay."
As they leave, it's Jorge who flicks a last glance into the corner. Derek and Tino are still there, still talking, still hungry, still oblivious, in the corner where Tino has been before, where Jorge has been, where Alex has been.
"Don't," Alex says, jibing and gentle at the same time, so Jorge doesn't, and they go.
**********
Jorge brings out a couple of six packs he has for the occasion. They sit on his couch and talk - nothing special, about baseball mostly - and drink. When there are only a couple beers left, Jorge sets his down on the coffee table, takes Alex's bottle from his hand and puts it with the others, and kisses him. Alex pulls him close, and Jorge ends up straddling him as they kiss, hands on his shoulders, Alex's arms secure about his waist.
The coupling is cool and detached, almost clinical. Alex doesn't look at him much, but that's fine with Jorge because his thoughts are elsewhere too. He thinks about why they are there, and how crowded the quiet living room is because nothing else could have put them here. There is no real chemistry between them, no pent up desire, and certainly no passion. There is only Derek, and Tino, and Nomar too, though that was before Alex and only Jorge remembers that jolt.
After they're done, long after Alex has kissed him and dressed and left, the room is still crowded. Jorge drinks the last beers and wonders why this has done the opposite of what he planned, and if Alex's apartment is full too.
TITLE: "Looking"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (catslash33@yahoo.com)
PAIRING(S): *takes a deep breath* Derek Jeter/Tino Martinez, Jorge Posada/Alex Rodriguez, implied Jeter/Rodriguez, implied Jeter/Posada, distantly implied Jeter/Nomar Garciaparra
RATING: PG-13 for RPS occurences
SUMMARY: Jorge is done watching.
NOTES: A follow-up of sorts to "Clown," but can also be read as a stand-alone fic.
DISCLAIMER: It's all fiction. Never happened, not currently happening, never will happen, implies nothing about any of the people mentioned. No libel to see here, folks, move it along.
.
Tino and Derek are standing in a corner of the locker room, talking quietly.
Neither of them is particularly demonstrative, so their hands stay mostly at their sides. There is no exchange of little caresses, no plucking at pretend lint or straightening of collars to give them away.
But the signals are still there. They're standing close together, voices in a low, intimate murmur. Their eyes are locked, and there's a slight flush in Tino's cheeks that says exactly what's on his mind.
Across the room, Alex is having trouble with his lock. He's been fighting with it for a while, long enough to mutter once or twice about how he hates combination locks, always has, really needs to get his locker fit for something with a key.
An observer would see - is, in fact, seeing - that he's glancing into that corner more often than he thinks he is, and that his hands are trembling.
He watches the three of them for a moment more, then goes over to Alex.
"Here," Jorge says, brushing Alex's hands away from the lock. "What's the combination?" Alex looks annoyed, but tells him. Jorge gets it on the first try.
"Thanks," Alex says, a bit grudgingly.
"No problem." He watches Alex's eyes go back to Derek and Tino again.
"Stop that," he says. Alex blinks, looks back at him.
"What?"
"That." Jorge nods toward the corner. "Don't do that."
The look that shows on Alex's face for a split second is one all too familiar to Jorge. Then his expression shifts into the smooth, bland Alex Rodriguez face, the one he uses when he wants people to believe what he's about to say.
"I wasn't doing anything."
It doesn't work on Jorge. "Of course not," he says, level and quiet.
Alex's eyes harden a little, his mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. He turns away from Jorge, concentrating deliberately on the things in his locker. Jorge is dismissed.
He stays right where he is. He watches as Alex rummages through his locker, movements rough and unsteady.
And he places a hand on the small of Alex's back. "Come have drinks with me."
Alex stops what he's doing and looks at him. Jorge's hand stays where it is; Alex's eyes trace the arc of his arm, flicker just a bit in the direction of that corner, and then meet Jorge's. He studies what he sees there for a long moment.
"Okay."
As they leave, it's Jorge who flicks a last glance into the corner. Derek and Tino are still there, still talking, still hungry, still oblivious, in the corner where Tino has been before, where Jorge has been, where Alex has been.
"Don't," Alex says, jibing and gentle at the same time, so Jorge doesn't, and they go.
**********
Jorge brings out a couple of six packs he has for the occasion. They sit on his couch and talk - nothing special, about baseball mostly - and drink. When there are only a couple beers left, Jorge sets his down on the coffee table, takes Alex's bottle from his hand and puts it with the others, and kisses him. Alex pulls him close, and Jorge ends up straddling him as they kiss, hands on his shoulders, Alex's arms secure about his waist.
The coupling is cool and detached, almost clinical. Alex doesn't look at him much, but that's fine with Jorge because his thoughts are elsewhere too. He thinks about why they are there, and how crowded the quiet living room is because nothing else could have put them here. There is no real chemistry between them, no pent up desire, and certainly no passion. There is only Derek, and Tino, and Nomar too, though that was before Alex and only Jorge remembers that jolt.
After they're done, long after Alex has kissed him and dressed and left, the room is still crowded. Jorge drinks the last beers and wonders why this has done the opposite of what he planned, and if Alex's apartment is full too.
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
*pulls Boston cap down over her eyes* Okay, that's better.
That is a great capture of Alex.
*grins* I like that line too. I think that's exactly what happens when you're dealing with someone as calculating as A-Rod.
Derek is a real slut, y'know?!
Ha! It's funny you should say that, because when I saved the file before I had the title, I named it, "derek is a slut, y'all." =D
and even Tino is more than flat (with the blush, and reference to what went on before - if he knows what happens, why is he coming back?)
Hmm. I actually hadn't given that much consideration. Maybe he thinks forewarned is forearmed?
Thank you very much for your feedback. Characterization is generally my biggest concern, so getting some discussion of that specifically is great.