broadwriting (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
broadwriting) wrote2006-10-11 07:58 am
broadwriting) wrote2006-10-11 07:58 am
Entry tags:
FIC: "Going Yard" 2/9 (Chad Michael Murray/Jensen Ackles) CW RPS
Title: "Going Yard" 2/9
Author: Brenda (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
azewewish)
Pairing: Chad Michael Murray/Jensen Ackles (Jared Padalecki, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Steve Carlson, Christian Kane, and a few others)
Rating: NC-17
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: Thanks toantheia for the beta, and to the Kansas City Royals for giving me the idea for the fight.
Previous Parts: Going Yard, Part One
July 28, 2006 – New York Mets vs. Atlanta Braves (in Atlanta)
Press Pass | Audio | Video | Gameday | Box | Wrap
W: H. Ramirez (7-8, 4.29)
L: C. Michael Murray (12-7, 3.57)
HR: NYM: J. Ackles (33); ATL: A. Jones (21), A. LaRoche 2 (15), C. Jones 2 (13)
"Hello everybody, Steve Phillips here, and welcome to Baseball Tonight. We begin tonight in Hotlanta, Georgia, where the Braves are looking to continue their hot offensive streak against their division rivals, the floundering New York Mets. How'd Chad Michael Murray fare against the league's best hitters? We go to Jon Kruk for the story."
"Thanks, Steve. Well, it wasn't pretty. In what has to be Murray's worst outing of the season, he gave up 7 - that's right, 7 – earned runs in 2 2/3rd innings, throwing only 24 of his 75 pitches for strikes. Ouch. The Braves batted around the order in the 2nd, with the Jones' boys, Chipper and Andruw, hitting back to back homeruns for the 4th time this year and the 18th time in their careers. The Mets' bullpen tried to contain the damage, but, by the time it was all said and done, Braves 11, Mets 3. Horacio Ramirez, staked to that comfortable lead, retired his last 13 batters in order.
And how did Action Ackles fare in his first game in a Mets uniform? Well, aside from his three-run shot that provided the only Mets offense of the night, he also got involved in a first inning dugout scuffle with his own pitcher. That's right, folks, just as we predicted, tempers between Ackles and Murray have already started to spill over."
"I'm sorry, I thought you said two members of the same team were exchanging punches."
"That I did, Steve. The Mets locker room might be subdued after their decisive loss to the Braves, but it's still buzzing after a bizarre incident involving newly acquired shortstop Jensen Ackles and Chad Michael Murray. Just after the first inning, with the Mets already down 3 runs, Murray and Ackles apparently exchanged a few choice words in the dugout, then a few punches, before being broken apart by catcher Jared Padalecki and right fielder Chris Kane. They both refused to talk to the press after, and all Jeff Morgan had to say about the incident was that it had been, and I quote, 'dealt with'."
"This can't be what owner Joe McNichols was expecting when he and Kripke were looking to get Jensen in a Mets' uniform."
"No, I'm sure it wasn't. We'll see what happens at the game tomorrow, after tempers have cooled."
***
Jeff barely waits for Jensen and Chad to follow him into the steam room before slamming the door shut and jabbing his hat at them. Jensen and Chad are both still in their uniforms, sweaty and dirty from trying to claw back into a game that had been lost by the third inning. "Mind telling me what the fuck that was about?"
Jensen stubbornly looks at the wall and stays silent. Nothing to say, far as he's concerned. Stupid to lose his temper like that. Stupid to let Chad get to him. But then, he's been doing a lot of stupid things where Chad's concerned.
Chad shrugs, and stuffs his hat in his back pocket, like pissing Jeff off is something he sees every day. Hell, for all Jensen knows, he probably does. "Nothin', man," Chad says, through clenched teeth. "It was nothing."
"Nothing?" Jeff scoffs, low-pitched, the sound angrily reverberating through the room. "Nothing, huh? Well, your little bit of nothing was live on ESPN." He flicks a finger in the direction of the purple and black bruise forming on Jensen's forehead – courtesy of Chad's fist. "Do I need to sit you both down for a few games?"
"It won't happen again," Chad says, back ramrod straight.
"Goddamn right it won't. Or I'll bench you both so fast it'll feel like one of Kim's fastballs hit you." Jeff shakes his head in disgust. "Get the fuck out and hit the showers. And have Joe look at that bruise, Jensen. Won't do to have swelling before tomorrow's game."
Both nod – what else can they do? – and exit the room. The hallway's deserted, but Jensen knows that everyone'll be talking about tonight for quite some time. The New York press, in particular, is going to have a fucking field day.
"I hope you're not expecting an apology," Chad states, defiant and serious, and Jensen lets out an ironic laugh, peering into cool blue eyes, unable to believe his own ears.
"Fuck, man, apologize? I expect you'll probably buy yourself a beer for getting the shot in you did."
"You deserved it."
Maybe he did. Hell, Jensen has no idea what he deserves anymore. But one thing he does know is that he can't just stand here with Chad looking at him like that. "We are going to have to deal with this sometime," Jensen says, voice low.
Chad gestures dismissively between the two of them. "There is no we, alright. Just a mistake."
Mistake... The word, ugly and raw, rips through him. "Mistake?" He steps closer, menace and hurt in his voice as he studies Chad. He's tired from the beat-down by the Braves, and absolutely not in the mood for Chad's self-deception. "So, I guess the way you were moaning for me that night like a..."
One of Chad's hands comes up, lightning-fast, and pushes at Jensen's chest. "Shut the fuck up, man," he hisses, eyes narrowing, lean body coiling for another fight. "What happened in Pittsburgh was a fucking mistake, alright, and if you keep this shit up, you're gonna rip this team apart."
Jensen steps even closer, pressing his chest against Chad's, the heat crackling through them, alive and untamed. "It was a mistake you were getting ready to repeat."
"Don't flatter yourself." Chad doesn't move by so much as a muscle. "It was just a kiss."
"Chad..."
Chad shakes his head, and takes a crucial, first step back. Jensen stumbles before righting himself. The loss of heat feels like winter. "It's Murray to you," Chad says. "Or teammate. We're not friends and I'm not interested."
The fuck you aren't, Jensen thinks, as he watches Chad stalk off to the showers.
Full Name: Christian Kane - 27|RF
Born: 06/24/1974
Birthplace: Dallas, TX
Height: 5'10" Weight: 180
Bats: Switch
Throws: Left
College: University of Oklahoma
MLB Debut: 07/16/1999
"Kid, this ain't exactly the best way to win friends and get us to the post-season."
Jensen doesn't even open his eyes when he feels Chris drop next to him on the bench. Has to be Chris – there's no mistaking his country-ass drawl for anyone else. The hot shower had taken had done nothing to soothe aching muscles and an aching brain. Everything about Jensen hurts, from the tops of his feet to his scalp. Hell, he may not even get dressed – he can think of worse things than just sticking around the locker room until tomorrow's game. "Fuck off, Chief, I don't remember asking for your opinion," he mumbles.
He cracks an eye open when Chris pokes him in the side. Chris' customary shit-eating grin is absent, wild dark hair pulled into a damp top-knot, and he's got to be wearing the loudest Hawaiian shirt in the history of Hawaii or shirts. Jensen has no idea how Chris isn't blind. "When it comes to the good of this team, I don't care if you ask or not," Chris says. "What the hell happened out there?"
"Nothing, man, we're cool." Which is about as blatant of a lie as it gets, but Jensen's not about to tell Chris a damn thing. Yeah, he's known the guy since they played together in the Rangers' farm system, but that don't mean he's gonna spill his guts.
"You're a bad fucking liar, Jen," and Jensen tilts his head, squinting, as Jared drops to his other side, dressed in one of his customary beat to hell t-shirts and torn jeans. "Can't remember the last time I've seen Chad so pissed."
"Yeah, well, I don't give a damn about Chad at the moment," Jensen states, and reluctantly stands, towel sliding to the floor. Fuck the both of them – if they wanna lecture him, they're gonna have to do it while he's getting dressed. He reaches for his deodorant and looks down in time to see Jared and Chris exchanging looks. "What?"
"Look, it's like this." Chris takes a tin of Copenhagen from his back pocket and stuffs a bit in his lower lip. Makes him look like he's pouting. "This is a big series for us."
"I know that, genius, they're the Braves. Fucking Chipper Jones thinks it's his mission in life to carve up Mets' pitching like a goddamn turkey. Even all the way in the American League, we know that."
Jared shoves straggly bangs out of his eyes. "Which is what we're trying to tell you. We can't afford this."
One thing Jensen's always hated is being told what to do. Another is being ganged up on. He pulls his shirt over his head, and glares down at two men he's always been proud to call friend. "If the two of you don't back the fuck off, I promise you, I will do everything in my power to sabotage this series. I'm dead serious. I don't want to talk about it." It's thinking about it – about soft lips and greedy hands – that's going to kill him.
"Fine, fair enough." Jared returns the look, steel for steel. "But stay away from Chad, or I'll brain you with your own bat."
"Fuck, you two are bloodthirsty, I'd forgotten that," Chris chuckles, then slaps his hands on his knees as he stands. "C'mon, let's be civilized about this and go grab a beer."
"Can't," Jared says, and also stands. "I should see about getting Chad calmed down."
"Pussy."
Jared jabs Chris' shoulder, then dances out of reach. "Shut up, Chief, don't bust my balls. I have to live with the guy."
"Lucky you," Chris drawls. Jensen forces the smile and buttons his jeans.
Full Name: Steven Paul Carlson - 25|CF
Born: 08/06/1975
Birthplace: Burbank, CA
Height: 5'11" Weight: 175
Bats: Right
Throws: Right
College: N/A
MLB Debut: 08/15/1996
The nice thing about getting drunk with Chris is that he generally pays. Of course, it means getting stuck doing shots of Jack all night, but Jensen figures he'll get into the hang of it again. It hasn't been that many years since their days in A-ball. Of course, he'd been younger then. And he'd never heard of one Chad Michael Murray.
Fuck Chad, man. And his goddamn gorgeously soft mouth. And his large, capable hands. And every other stupidly attractive thing about him. Jensen's just here to play ball and get the Mets to the play-offs, that's it.
He wonders how long it'll take him to believe it.
"Who're you bunking down with?" Chris asks, when they get out of the elevator.
"Steve."
"'Course, dunno why I asked." Chris claps Jensen on the back, grin whiskey-wide. "Well, if you need to talk, I'm in 1218. Probably by myself. Dave mentioned going out."
Good old Dave. Nice to know some things hadn't changed. "He still with that Brazilian model?" Jensen asks.
"This week. You know next week it'll be a different one." Chris leans in, like he's imparting a state secret. "We got a Victoria's Secret calendar in our locker room at Shea. We think he's using it like a catalogue."
The laughter is warm, welcome, and just what Jensen needs.
When he stumbles in his room, Steve is bouncing some tiny, but vocal, Asian chick on his dick, the bed rocking and moving like crazy. Jensen jerks to a halt, brows furrowing as he takes in the sight. He'd forgotten – stupid of him, really – about Steve's exhibitionist streak.
Steve's flat on his back, sheen of sweat covering his chest, hands curling comfortably around the girl's slender hips. Her head's thrown back, eyes closed, black hair shimmering in the light. "Hey," Steve drawls, but doesn't stop moving. His hips piston up like a jackhammer, girl moaning and crying out 'Ooh-oooh-yessss' in a disjointed rhythm.
When Jensen finally jerks out of his stupor and steps forward, he has every intention of brushing past them towards his own bed and passing out, despite the noise. Then the girl opens lazy-slitted eyes and smiles, slack-jawed, cheeks flushed with the way Steve is slamming into her. The smile is part invitation, part challenge, and Jensen's too tired to resist it.
She doesn't even bat an eyelash when Jensen reverses direction and puts one knee on the bed. She just opens kiss-bruised lips, and waits. Steve smirks, like he'd expected nothing less, and slows down, rotating his hips in small circles. When Jensen looks down, he can see the way her pussy's stretched around him, glistening and tight. He doesn't say anything as he unzips his zipper and takes out his cock. He's already painfully hard, and knows he won't be gentle. But his last coherent thought as the girl bends her head to swallow him whole and Steve starts to move again, is of the resigned look on Chad's face just before the last time they'd kissed.
Jensen closes his eyes, grabs a handful of hair, and tries not to think about Pittsburgh.
Going Yard, Part Three
Author: Brenda (
azewewish)Pairing: Chad Michael Murray/Jensen Ackles (Jared Padalecki, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Steve Carlson, Christian Kane, and a few others)
Rating: NC-17
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: Thanks to
antheia for the beta, and to the Kansas City Royals for giving me the idea for the fight.Previous Parts: Going Yard, Part One
July 28, 2006 – New York Mets vs. Atlanta Braves (in Atlanta)
Press Pass | Audio | Video | Gameday | Box | Wrap
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | R | H | E | |||
 | NYM | (59-44) | 0 | 3 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 3 | 5 | 1 |
 | ATL | (62-41) | 3 | 4 | 0 | 0 | 2 | 1 | 1 | 0 | X | 11 | 15 | 1 |
W: H. Ramirez (7-8, 4.29)
L: C. Michael Murray (12-7, 3.57)
HR: NYM: J. Ackles (33); ATL: A. Jones (21), A. LaRoche 2 (15), C. Jones 2 (13)
"Hello everybody, Steve Phillips here, and welcome to Baseball Tonight. We begin tonight in Hotlanta, Georgia, where the Braves are looking to continue their hot offensive streak against their division rivals, the floundering New York Mets. How'd Chad Michael Murray fare against the league's best hitters? We go to Jon Kruk for the story."
"Thanks, Steve. Well, it wasn't pretty. In what has to be Murray's worst outing of the season, he gave up 7 - that's right, 7 – earned runs in 2 2/3rd innings, throwing only 24 of his 75 pitches for strikes. Ouch. The Braves batted around the order in the 2nd, with the Jones' boys, Chipper and Andruw, hitting back to back homeruns for the 4th time this year and the 18th time in their careers. The Mets' bullpen tried to contain the damage, but, by the time it was all said and done, Braves 11, Mets 3. Horacio Ramirez, staked to that comfortable lead, retired his last 13 batters in order.
And how did Action Ackles fare in his first game in a Mets uniform? Well, aside from his three-run shot that provided the only Mets offense of the night, he also got involved in a first inning dugout scuffle with his own pitcher. That's right, folks, just as we predicted, tempers between Ackles and Murray have already started to spill over."
"I'm sorry, I thought you said two members of the same team were exchanging punches."
"That I did, Steve. The Mets locker room might be subdued after their decisive loss to the Braves, but it's still buzzing after a bizarre incident involving newly acquired shortstop Jensen Ackles and Chad Michael Murray. Just after the first inning, with the Mets already down 3 runs, Murray and Ackles apparently exchanged a few choice words in the dugout, then a few punches, before being broken apart by catcher Jared Padalecki and right fielder Chris Kane. They both refused to talk to the press after, and all Jeff Morgan had to say about the incident was that it had been, and I quote, 'dealt with'."
"This can't be what owner Joe McNichols was expecting when he and Kripke were looking to get Jensen in a Mets' uniform."
"No, I'm sure it wasn't. We'll see what happens at the game tomorrow, after tempers have cooled."
***
Jeff barely waits for Jensen and Chad to follow him into the steam room before slamming the door shut and jabbing his hat at them. Jensen and Chad are both still in their uniforms, sweaty and dirty from trying to claw back into a game that had been lost by the third inning. "Mind telling me what the fuck that was about?"
Jensen stubbornly looks at the wall and stays silent. Nothing to say, far as he's concerned. Stupid to lose his temper like that. Stupid to let Chad get to him. But then, he's been doing a lot of stupid things where Chad's concerned.
Chad shrugs, and stuffs his hat in his back pocket, like pissing Jeff off is something he sees every day. Hell, for all Jensen knows, he probably does. "Nothin', man," Chad says, through clenched teeth. "It was nothing."
"Nothing?" Jeff scoffs, low-pitched, the sound angrily reverberating through the room. "Nothing, huh? Well, your little bit of nothing was live on ESPN." He flicks a finger in the direction of the purple and black bruise forming on Jensen's forehead – courtesy of Chad's fist. "Do I need to sit you both down for a few games?"
"It won't happen again," Chad says, back ramrod straight.
"Goddamn right it won't. Or I'll bench you both so fast it'll feel like one of Kim's fastballs hit you." Jeff shakes his head in disgust. "Get the fuck out and hit the showers. And have Joe look at that bruise, Jensen. Won't do to have swelling before tomorrow's game."
Both nod – what else can they do? – and exit the room. The hallway's deserted, but Jensen knows that everyone'll be talking about tonight for quite some time. The New York press, in particular, is going to have a fucking field day.
"I hope you're not expecting an apology," Chad states, defiant and serious, and Jensen lets out an ironic laugh, peering into cool blue eyes, unable to believe his own ears.
"Fuck, man, apologize? I expect you'll probably buy yourself a beer for getting the shot in you did."
"You deserved it."
Maybe he did. Hell, Jensen has no idea what he deserves anymore. But one thing he does know is that he can't just stand here with Chad looking at him like that. "We are going to have to deal with this sometime," Jensen says, voice low.
Chad gestures dismissively between the two of them. "There is no we, alright. Just a mistake."
Mistake... The word, ugly and raw, rips through him. "Mistake?" He steps closer, menace and hurt in his voice as he studies Chad. He's tired from the beat-down by the Braves, and absolutely not in the mood for Chad's self-deception. "So, I guess the way you were moaning for me that night like a..."
One of Chad's hands comes up, lightning-fast, and pushes at Jensen's chest. "Shut the fuck up, man," he hisses, eyes narrowing, lean body coiling for another fight. "What happened in Pittsburgh was a fucking mistake, alright, and if you keep this shit up, you're gonna rip this team apart."
Jensen steps even closer, pressing his chest against Chad's, the heat crackling through them, alive and untamed. "It was a mistake you were getting ready to repeat."
"Don't flatter yourself." Chad doesn't move by so much as a muscle. "It was just a kiss."
"Chad..."
Chad shakes his head, and takes a crucial, first step back. Jensen stumbles before righting himself. The loss of heat feels like winter. "It's Murray to you," Chad says. "Or teammate. We're not friends and I'm not interested."
The fuck you aren't, Jensen thinks, as he watches Chad stalk off to the showers.
Full Name: Christian Kane - 27|RF
Born: 06/24/1974
Birthplace: Dallas, TX
Height: 5'10" Weight: 180
Bats: Switch
Throws: Left
College: University of Oklahoma
MLB Debut: 07/16/1999
| G |
AB |
R |
H |
2B |
3B |
HR |
RBI |
TB |
BB |
SO |
SB |
CS |
OBP |
SLG |
AVG |
|
| 2006 |
103 |
426 |
88 |
154 |
27 |
1 |
23 |
89 |
204 |
89 |
101 |
3 |
0 |
.416 |
.615 |
.312 |
"Kid, this ain't exactly the best way to win friends and get us to the post-season."
Jensen doesn't even open his eyes when he feels Chris drop next to him on the bench. Has to be Chris – there's no mistaking his country-ass drawl for anyone else. The hot shower had taken had done nothing to soothe aching muscles and an aching brain. Everything about Jensen hurts, from the tops of his feet to his scalp. Hell, he may not even get dressed – he can think of worse things than just sticking around the locker room until tomorrow's game. "Fuck off, Chief, I don't remember asking for your opinion," he mumbles.
He cracks an eye open when Chris pokes him in the side. Chris' customary shit-eating grin is absent, wild dark hair pulled into a damp top-knot, and he's got to be wearing the loudest Hawaiian shirt in the history of Hawaii or shirts. Jensen has no idea how Chris isn't blind. "When it comes to the good of this team, I don't care if you ask or not," Chris says. "What the hell happened out there?"
"Nothing, man, we're cool." Which is about as blatant of a lie as it gets, but Jensen's not about to tell Chris a damn thing. Yeah, he's known the guy since they played together in the Rangers' farm system, but that don't mean he's gonna spill his guts.
"You're a bad fucking liar, Jen," and Jensen tilts his head, squinting, as Jared drops to his other side, dressed in one of his customary beat to hell t-shirts and torn jeans. "Can't remember the last time I've seen Chad so pissed."
"Yeah, well, I don't give a damn about Chad at the moment," Jensen states, and reluctantly stands, towel sliding to the floor. Fuck the both of them – if they wanna lecture him, they're gonna have to do it while he's getting dressed. He reaches for his deodorant and looks down in time to see Jared and Chris exchanging looks. "What?"
"Look, it's like this." Chris takes a tin of Copenhagen from his back pocket and stuffs a bit in his lower lip. Makes him look like he's pouting. "This is a big series for us."
"I know that, genius, they're the Braves. Fucking Chipper Jones thinks it's his mission in life to carve up Mets' pitching like a goddamn turkey. Even all the way in the American League, we know that."
Jared shoves straggly bangs out of his eyes. "Which is what we're trying to tell you. We can't afford this."
One thing Jensen's always hated is being told what to do. Another is being ganged up on. He pulls his shirt over his head, and glares down at two men he's always been proud to call friend. "If the two of you don't back the fuck off, I promise you, I will do everything in my power to sabotage this series. I'm dead serious. I don't want to talk about it." It's thinking about it – about soft lips and greedy hands – that's going to kill him.
"Fine, fair enough." Jared returns the look, steel for steel. "But stay away from Chad, or I'll brain you with your own bat."
"Fuck, you two are bloodthirsty, I'd forgotten that," Chris chuckles, then slaps his hands on his knees as he stands. "C'mon, let's be civilized about this and go grab a beer."
"Can't," Jared says, and also stands. "I should see about getting Chad calmed down."
"Pussy."
Jared jabs Chris' shoulder, then dances out of reach. "Shut up, Chief, don't bust my balls. I have to live with the guy."
"Lucky you," Chris drawls. Jensen forces the smile and buttons his jeans.
Full Name: Steven Paul Carlson - 25|CF
Born: 08/06/1975
Birthplace: Burbank, CA
Height: 5'11" Weight: 175
Bats: Right
Throws: Right
College: N/A
MLB Debut: 08/15/1996
| G |
AB |
R |
H |
2B |
3B |
HR |
RBI |
TB |
BB |
SO |
SB |
CS |
OBP |
SLG |
AVG |
|
| 2006 |
103 |
426 |
93 |
136 |
17 |
0 |
13 |
64 |
239 |
72 |
122 |
4 |
1 |
.354 |
.508 |
.257 |
The nice thing about getting drunk with Chris is that he generally pays. Of course, it means getting stuck doing shots of Jack all night, but Jensen figures he'll get into the hang of it again. It hasn't been that many years since their days in A-ball. Of course, he'd been younger then. And he'd never heard of one Chad Michael Murray.
Fuck Chad, man. And his goddamn gorgeously soft mouth. And his large, capable hands. And every other stupidly attractive thing about him. Jensen's just here to play ball and get the Mets to the play-offs, that's it.
He wonders how long it'll take him to believe it.
"Who're you bunking down with?" Chris asks, when they get out of the elevator.
"Steve."
"'Course, dunno why I asked." Chris claps Jensen on the back, grin whiskey-wide. "Well, if you need to talk, I'm in 1218. Probably by myself. Dave mentioned going out."
Good old Dave. Nice to know some things hadn't changed. "He still with that Brazilian model?" Jensen asks.
"This week. You know next week it'll be a different one." Chris leans in, like he's imparting a state secret. "We got a Victoria's Secret calendar in our locker room at Shea. We think he's using it like a catalogue."
The laughter is warm, welcome, and just what Jensen needs.
When he stumbles in his room, Steve is bouncing some tiny, but vocal, Asian chick on his dick, the bed rocking and moving like crazy. Jensen jerks to a halt, brows furrowing as he takes in the sight. He'd forgotten – stupid of him, really – about Steve's exhibitionist streak.
Steve's flat on his back, sheen of sweat covering his chest, hands curling comfortably around the girl's slender hips. Her head's thrown back, eyes closed, black hair shimmering in the light. "Hey," Steve drawls, but doesn't stop moving. His hips piston up like a jackhammer, girl moaning and crying out 'Ooh-oooh-yessss' in a disjointed rhythm.
When Jensen finally jerks out of his stupor and steps forward, he has every intention of brushing past them towards his own bed and passing out, despite the noise. Then the girl opens lazy-slitted eyes and smiles, slack-jawed, cheeks flushed with the way Steve is slamming into her. The smile is part invitation, part challenge, and Jensen's too tired to resist it.
She doesn't even bat an eyelash when Jensen reverses direction and puts one knee on the bed. She just opens kiss-bruised lips, and waits. Steve smirks, like he'd expected nothing less, and slows down, rotating his hips in small circles. When Jensen looks down, he can see the way her pussy's stretched around him, glistening and tight. He doesn't say anything as he unzips his zipper and takes out his cock. He's already painfully hard, and knows he won't be gentle. But his last coherent thought as the girl bends her head to swallow him whole and Steve starts to move again, is of the resigned look on Chad's face just before the last time they'd kissed.
Jensen closes his eyes, grabs a handful of hair, and tries not to think about Pittsburgh.
Going Yard, Part Three