FIC: "Going Yard" 1/9 (Chad Michael Murray/Jensen Ackles) CW RPS

[broadwriting]

Title: "Going Yard" 1/9
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Pairing: Chad Michael Murray/Jensen Ackles (Jared Padalecki, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Steve Carlson, Christian Kane, and a few others)
Rating: R (language)
Summary: Will the biggest trade of the year backfire? Baseball AU.
Disclaimer: Far as I know, the guys are all actors, not professional baseball players.
Notes: Originally written for estrella30, with the following prompt – Jensen/Chad, sweating.
Special thanks to antheia for the beta.

All player stats and game stats are taken from real Major League players and games. Certain actual baseball players are also mentioned, and no disrespect is intended to them or their respective ball clubs.
'Going Yard', in baseball speak, means to hit a homerun.



The (AU) 2006 New York Mets Starting Lineup (Batting Order):


James Lafferty – Left Field
Chris Kane – Right Field
Jensen Ackles – Shortstop
Dave Boreanaz – Third Base
Tom Welling – First Base
Jared Padalecki – Catcher
Steve Carlson – Center Field
Mike Rosenbaum – Second Base
Chad Michael Murray – Pitcher (Starting)
John Shiban – Pitcher (Set-up)
Kim Manners – Pitcher (Closer)

Jeffrey Dean Morgan – Manager
Eric Kripke – General Manager
Joe McGinty Nichols (McG) – Owner



"Hello everybody, Steve Phillips here, and welcome to Baseball Tonight.

We'll begin with the biggest story of the night, and possibly of the season. With the July 31st trade deadline looming just 24 hours away, the Texas Rangers have made perhaps the biggest move of the year. All-Star MVP and Homerun Derby champ Jensen Ackles is going to the New York Mets for Carlos Delgado and cash. Let me repeat that. Action Ackles is going to the Mets, not the Yankees, as some people have been speculating.

Now some of you may remember the bench-clearing brawl last month in the Mets/Rangers game during inter-league play when Ackles charged the mound against Mets' ace Chad Michael Murray after Murray threw at Ackles' head. Both players were, of course, fined and suspended three games each. Krukie, what's the story here? What's General Manager Eric Kripke thinking?"

"Well, Steve, I think he's thinking that Jensen's hitting .340 with 32 homeruns and 104 RBIs already and we're still in July, folks. Those are MVP numbers in any season. I think Kripke's also thinking that the Braves are only ahead by a slender two game margin in the tight race over there in the NL East, and the Mets could use a switch hitter who can get things going for this sagging offense now that David Wright is out for the year with that knee injury."

"And the Murray situation?"

"Well, I think you gotta trust head coach Jeff Morgan to sit them down and keep a handle on the team. He's been around a long time, this is his 7th year with the Mets, and obviously Kripke trusts him to keep a lid on any outbursts. And you gotta give some credit to catcher Jared Padalecki – he's known both Murray and Ackles a long time, so he may be called upon to be the peacemaker if tempers flare."

"Well, all of us here at Baseball Tonight wish him – and the Mets – the best of luck with this one."


Player: Chad Michael Murray - 25|P
Born: 08/24/1981
Birthplace: Buffalo, NY
Height: 6' Weight: 180
Bats: Left
Throws: Left
College: N/A
MLB Debut: 06/16/2002

	W	L	ERA	G	GS	CG	SHO	SV	SVO	IP	H	R	ER	HR	BB	SO
2006	14	6	2.36	28	28	3	1	0	0	206.0	172	73	60	19	40	176

"You have got to be kidding me." Chad follows Jeff into his office, each word punctuated by a loud smack of gum. He's so mad he's vibrating with it, and looking for something to punch. "What the fuck is homeboy upstairs thinking?"

"Homeboy upstairs is Mr. Kripke to you, and sit your ass down before I tie you down." Jeff flops behind his desk, ancient chair squeaking as he leans forward. Once upon a time, Jeff had been the most feared hitter in the Majors, and his body is still in the same whipcord shape it had been when he was a player. When he looks at Chad, his gaze is church solemn and about as deep as the Pacific.

Chad takes a seat. His cleats still have bits of mud and grass in them, and his uniform reeks of sweat. Eight shut-out innings of work and this is his fucking reward? "Alright, I'm sitting."

"Keep it up and watch how fast I send you to the bullpen." Jeff jabs a finger at the desktop, but keeps his eyes on Chad. "Now, I really don't care about your history with Ackles, and I don't give a good goddamn if the two of you hate each other. What I do care about is finally winning a division title from those fucking Braves, and if Ackles can be our missing piece, then you will learn to get along with him if I have to throw you both in a small room and lock the door until you fight it out. We clear?"

Chad waits a beat – just long enough that he and Jeff both understand his feelings on the matter. "Crystal. Sir," he adds, just for good measure.

"Good." Jeff picks up his pen, and glances down at the papers littering his desk. "Now get the fuck out of my office and hit the showers."

Summarily dismissed like he's nothing. But then, it's not like Chad had expected anything else. Jeff's still got a team to run, and Chad's only one part of it (albeit, the most consistent part, pitching-wise).

Thank God Jeff doesn't know about Pittsburgh.

Chad's entire body aches when he stands, and heads for the door. The sudden loss of adrenaline's left him shaky, out of focus. He decides to blame it on the nail-biter of an 8th inning, and not Jeff's news about Jensen coming to the team. Yeah, it's a cop-out, but it might be the only way he keeps it together.

His hand is on the doorknob before Jeff speaks up again. "Oh, and Chad?"

"Yeah?" Chad tilts his head enough to see Jeff's familiar smirk.

"Threw a helluva game today."

Chad doesn't return the smile. "Yeah. I know."



Player: Jared Padalecki - 16|C
Born: 07/19/1982
Birthplace: San Antonio, TX
Height: 6'5" Weight: 210
Bats: Right
Throws: Right
College: N/A
MLB Debut: 06/22/2002

	G	AB	R	H	2B	3B	HR	RBI	TB	BB	SO	SB	CS	OBP	SLG	AVG
2006	102	426	67	135	31	1	14	56	180	20	30	3	0	.355	.423	.317

Jared's waiting for him when Chad finally makes his way out of the dugout. Chad's car – a 2006 BMW Z4 3.0si, bought during the off-season when he'd extended his contract to the tune of 5 years, $73 million – is the only one left in the player's parking lot. Jared's leaning his long, lean, lanky frame against the hood, big-ass Oakleys covering half of his face, wide grin firmly in place. His jeans are threadbare, worn at the knees and pockets, t-shirt a faded shade of red, cracked Birkenstocks on his feet. His hair's a shaggy, uncombed mess. Chad hopes they're not heading over to Jared's folks for dinner – he always catches shit for Jared's personal appearance, like the two of them being roommates and best friends since they were 12 means he has any measure of control over Jared.

Like anyone at all has control over Jared.

Chad smoothes his tie over his dress shirt (because he, at least, knows how to dress off the field, and follows regs), and flips his own shades down enough to give Jared a pointed glare. Jared, of course, ignores it. "Get the fuck off my paint, Paddy."

"Fuck off, man, what you get for taking eight million years in the shower." When Chad opens the trunk, they both toss in their gym bags. "So, what took you so long?"

"Jeff wanted a meeting."

Jared leans against the back bumper, arms crossed, looming over Chad the way he always does. Not that Chad is short – he's 6-foot and built, but, man, compared to Jared, everyone's a midget. Well, except maybe Chris Young and Randy Johnson. "About?"

Figures the dumbass hadn't heard the news yet. Figures Chad would have to be the one to tell him. "Ackles."

"Jensen?" Jared's brows wrinkle. "What about him?"

"He got traded, numbnuts, that's what about him." The urge to throw something is back in spades. Luckily, he doesn't carry a baseball around with him, unlike a lot of other players he knows.

"Wait, he got…oh. Oh, man, do not tell me..." Jared pushes his sunglasses up on his head. His eyes are as round as saucers. "Tell me he's not, man."

"Probably on a plane from Texas as we speak," Chad confirms, shoving his hands in his slacks' pockets and rocking back on his heels. "He'll be here in time to suit up against the Braves."

"Fuuuuuuuck."

"Yeah." Chad shrugs again. What else was there to say? "C'mon, let's go back to the house and get plowed."



Player: Jensen Ackles - 7|SS
Born: 03/01/1978
Birthplace: Dallas, TX
Height: 6'2" Weight: 190
Bats: Switch
Throws: Right
College: Texas Tech University
MLB Debut: 07/21/2000

	G	AB	R	H	2B	3B	HR	RBI	TB	BB	SO	SB	CS	OBP	SLG	AVG
2006	102	447	107	126	35	6	32	104	191	73	39	16	3	.396	.550	.340

"Well, well, if it isn't the Strikeout King himself."

At the sound of the familiar – and unwelcome – drawl behind him, Chad's hackles raise. His vision blurs, blood boiling, skin prickling, and he has to physically restrain himself from digging his nails into his fists. Even as pissed as he is, he knows better than to damage his pitching hand. Jensen's not worth it, especially not after the $20,000 fine and the missed start. "Welcome to New York, Jensen," he says instead, striving to make his voice as neutral as possible.

Figures the fucking locker room would be empty except for the two of them.

A bag drops next to Chad on the bench, and Jensen drops down right after it, straddling wood like he owns the joint. In a way, Chad doesn't blame him for the thought. After all, Jensen had been one of the hottest commodities on the trade market, and there's no denying the talent and drive he'll bring to the team.

The larger part of Chad, however, just wants to wipe that smug grin off of Jensen's too-pretty face. Preferably with his fist.

"Jeff thought it'd be a good idea to give me the locker next to yours," Jensen says, glancing around the room, then at Chad, pale eyes deceptively guileless. "He figured that oughtta keep us away from each other's throats."

"Don't worry, your throat's safe." Chad resumes tying the shoelaces on his cleats. If he doesn't look up, maybe Jensen'll disappear.

"Is this gonna be a problem?"

So much for not looking. Chad's head snaps up, temper flaring again. Jensen's still sitting there, looking serious, short, sandy hair carefully brushed away from a high forehead, dressed in Mets blue and black. Chad would be willing to bet money that Jensen's signature #7 is on the back of his jersey. "Is what going to be a problem?" he grinds out, jaw muscle twitching.

"This." Jensen's thighs flex as he moves closer, invading Chad's space and breath like he's got a right. Chad can smell aftershave mixed with talcum powder and wood and leather. Jensen smells like baseball, like summer. Chad fights the instinctive urge to back out of reach.

No fucking way he's giving in.

"There is no this, alright," he answers, meeting Jensen's gaze without flinching. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jensen's fingers toying with his batting gloves.

"And what happened in Pittsburgh?"

Pittsburgh. The All-Star Game. For a timeless second, all Chad can feel is the bruising imprint of Jensen's fingers on his hips, the heat of Jensen's breath in his ear, warm lips on pebbled skin. "Pretend Pittsburgh is Vegas and let it stay there."

"Least I don't have to worry about you aiming for my head," Jensen smiles, but there's no humor behind it.

"I wasn't aiming for your head."

"I know."

When Jensen's tongue pushes past Chad's teeth a second later – the heat of his solid chest pressing fully against Chad's as he scoots forward – Chad's only reaction is a muffled groan of need.


Going Yard, Part Two

Comments

[coiledsoul.livejournal.com]

You know, AUs don't usually interest me that much. Nothing personal, just not my style. But this? This is FUN! I definitely look forward to more.

[azewewish.livejournal.com]

Yeah, AUs are really my thing, either. But I can't resist BASEBALL!!! *grins*

Thanks for giving this a shot. ;)