Nasty Hanging Curve
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,899
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,899
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter 1
So okay, I follow baseball just a little bit. I can\'t resist a game where athletic men play with their balls, play with their wood and slap each other on the ass when one of them slides home. I realized that there\'s a lot of jargon in this one, so I\'m providing baseball vocab for the heathens among you: http://untruefairystories.blog-city.com/baseball_vocab_for_the_heathens_among_you.htm
Chapter 1
Davey Jensen liked pressure. He liked being in the clutch, pushing things too far, digging himself a little hole, just so he could work his way out of it. He liked the rush of overcoming, beating the odds, getting the big win. When other guys choked, he was in his glory. Grandstanding was the biggest high and he was its bitch, victory\'s strumpet, adrenalin\'s jonesin\' strung-out, crack head. Playing ball was like sex and winning was like coming, only better. So, yeah, he liked winning. Luckily, he almost always had it in him to pull it out, the later the minute the better, the last minute- the juiciest of them all. It served him well- loving high-pressure gigs- it served him well in the show.
He\'d come up towards the end of the last season- last minute replacement for the injured Alberto Consuelo, the well loved, big gun that played first base for the Albuquerque Cougars. They were already so far out of the pennant race that nothing Davey did was gonna garner much attention and it didn\'t. They sent him back down to the minors at the end of the season. Then, Consuelo had gone into free agency and they\'d lost him to a larger market. Davey wasn\'t invited to spring training because the team had blown a whole mess of dough replacing Consuelo with some hot shot from Japan, who broke his arm in three places colliding with a runner in the second game of the season. They called Davey back up in desperation. He\'d come into a cheesed-off clubhouse and a cheesed-off fan base and shone like a new penny. With the all-star break just a week away, he was leading the team in RBIs, was second in stolen bases and had made the first base position, the clubhouse and the fans his own.
On the field, his only problem was Brody Deighton, one of the starting pitchers for the Vancouver Trout. Every slugger has his Achilles heel, and Deighton was his.
Deighton was the only pitcher he\'d faced who had shaken him, had harshed his buzz, had had his Goddamn, frickin number. Somehow, Davey just couldn\'t get a bat on Brody Deighton, couldn\'t get on top of him. It made him hate the guy, even though he knew he shouldn\'t. Deighton was just playing the game, it wasn\'t personal, but Davey didn\'t care because Deighton felt like his enemy.
A few weeks later the Trout traded Deighton to Albuquerque just before the trade deadline- a last minute deal and shit, now Davey was gonna have to play with the bastard, root for him, slap him on the ass when he makes a game-winning strikeout. Other players might have thought it was good- not having to face the one pitcher he couldn\'t hit should sweeten up his already decent hitting record, but it just burned Davey\'s biscuits he wasn\'t gonna get to find the way around Deighton\'s fastball or learn the tell in Deighton\'s face that meant he was gonna throw his change-up or that nasty hanging curve nobody but nobody could tell was a curve until it was to damn late. His only hope was that one of them would be traded in the off-season, but that was at least two months away, three if they made the playoffs.
As luck would have it, Davey was the only one in the locker room when Brody Deighton came through before his first game. Davey liked to get there before anyone else to start getting his head in the game before the jokes (practical and dirty) started flying. He didn\'t have a problem with the dynamic- the locker room was a locker room- there should be razzing and stupid shit going on- it broke the tension, kept the team loose. Davey didn\'t mind the dynamic, he just wanted to get all Zenned up with the stadium and the bats and the balls before it started. If playing was like sex and winning was like coming, then meditation before the game was like foreplay. He didn\'t actually need it but it made things much more satisfying. Davey knew he wanted his pre-game meditations even more that day, but just as he\'d settled down on the floor in the corner and started his mantra (Deighton sucks, ooommm, Deighton sucks, ooommm), the cause of his unbalance walked in, put his things in the empty locker next to Davey\'s, stripped naked and walked to the showers.
The hiss of the shower wasn\'t that much distraction, so he just took a cleansing breath, integrated the added noise into the general hum and vibration of the stadium and started over.
(Deighton sucks, ooommm, Deighton sucks)
He was one with the cool hardness of the concrete beneath him, behind him and stretching from the locker room to the dugout.
(Deighton\'s going down, ooommm, Deighton\'s going down)
He was one with the warm, damp Earth that fed the sweet, soft green of the infield.
(Deighton\'s gonna choke, ooommm, Deighton\'s gonna choke)
He was one with the clotted red clay and the parched, white chalk of the baseline.
(Deighton\'s gonna give up five runs and get pulled in the second inning, ooommm, Deighton\'s gonna give up five runs and get pulled in the second inning)
He was one with- \"TRAILER FOR SALE OR RENT, ROOMS TO LET . . . FIFTY CENTS, NO PHONE, NO-\"
Goddamn, what was he singing? There was no communing with the concrete to that caterwauling. Davey got up and went to the showers.
\"I AIN\'T GOT NO CIGARETTES-\"
\"What the hell are you doing?\" Davey shouted at Deighton over all the noise.
\"TWO HOURS OF-\" Deighton turned around to face him, naked and wet, still scrubbing his chest. \"Oh hey, I didn\'t think anybody was here yet. It\'s Jensen, first base, right?\" he asked.
\"Uh . . . yeah.\" Davey\'s eye was drawn to the way Deighton was concentrating on getting his left nipple very, very clean and how the extra suds were gliding leisurely down his stomach and slowing, just a moment, at his navel before making their way south.
\"Enjoying the show?\" Deighton asked and Davey snapped his eyes back up to Deighton\'s face, blushing. Busted.
\"I . . . uh-\" Davey stammered.
\"This is your rookie season, right?\" Deighton redirected his efforts to his right nipple and Davey couldn\'t stop himself from briefly following the action again. Then Deighton\'s words caught up with him.
\"Oh, the Show? Yeah, it\'s, you know, the Show,\" Davey answered, feeling stupid.
\"So, nice meeting you, Jensen,\" Deighton said turning towards the showerhead to rinse. \"I\'M A MAN OF MEANS BY NO MEANS-\"
\"Uh, could you not do that?\" Davey shouted.
Turning again, Deighton asked, \"Beg your pardon?\"
Davey started counting tiles on the wall behind Deighton\'s head and replied, \"It\'s just that I come early- before anyone else, so I can meditate, you know, kind of get my head in the right place and the singing sort of disturbs my pre-game ritual.\"
\"Oh, it\'s a pre-game ritual. I gotta respect that.\" Deighton soaped his navel, slipping a lazy finger in and out of it.
\"Thanks.\" Davey turned and took three steps back towards the lockers.
\"Course, lots of fellas have pre-game rituals. For instance, I like to come early, take a long hot shower and sing old country songs at the top of my lungs. It relaxes me. I\'M A MAN OF MEANS BY NO MEANS, KING OF THE ROAD,\" Deighton belted out again.
\"Uh, seriously, couldn\'t you just hum or something?\" Davey asked, only turning his head half way around, speaking over his shoulder. He wasn\'t able to face Deighton again without possibly embarrassing himself further by salivating.
\"Hum, hmm? Don\'t you have that covered with your meditating? Listen, kiddo, there\'s a whole lot of stadium for you to do your new-age mumbo-jumbo in. There\'s only one set of home team showers. Why not sit on the first base bag and hum to your little hearts content?\"
Drooling or not, Davey had to turn around. \"But I need to be in the locker room- it\'s part of it-\"
\"Jensen!\" barked Jack Wallis, the head coach, from behind Davey, \"In my office.\"
Davey gave up the singing argument for the moment and followed Wallis because if Jack Wallis barked, you better well hop to.
\"DON\'T TELL MY HEART, MY ACHEY BREAKY HEART-\" Oh God- not that, not Billy Ray. Anything but that.
Author\'s Note- Songs Brody Deighton sings in this chapter:
King of the Road by Roger Miller (one of my favorites, even though Davey thinks it sucks)
Achey Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus (I agree with Davey on this one)
Chapter 1
Davey Jensen liked pressure. He liked being in the clutch, pushing things too far, digging himself a little hole, just so he could work his way out of it. He liked the rush of overcoming, beating the odds, getting the big win. When other guys choked, he was in his glory. Grandstanding was the biggest high and he was its bitch, victory\'s strumpet, adrenalin\'s jonesin\' strung-out, crack head. Playing ball was like sex and winning was like coming, only better. So, yeah, he liked winning. Luckily, he almost always had it in him to pull it out, the later the minute the better, the last minute- the juiciest of them all. It served him well- loving high-pressure gigs- it served him well in the show.
He\'d come up towards the end of the last season- last minute replacement for the injured Alberto Consuelo, the well loved, big gun that played first base for the Albuquerque Cougars. They were already so far out of the pennant race that nothing Davey did was gonna garner much attention and it didn\'t. They sent him back down to the minors at the end of the season. Then, Consuelo had gone into free agency and they\'d lost him to a larger market. Davey wasn\'t invited to spring training because the team had blown a whole mess of dough replacing Consuelo with some hot shot from Japan, who broke his arm in three places colliding with a runner in the second game of the season. They called Davey back up in desperation. He\'d come into a cheesed-off clubhouse and a cheesed-off fan base and shone like a new penny. With the all-star break just a week away, he was leading the team in RBIs, was second in stolen bases and had made the first base position, the clubhouse and the fans his own.
On the field, his only problem was Brody Deighton, one of the starting pitchers for the Vancouver Trout. Every slugger has his Achilles heel, and Deighton was his.
Deighton was the only pitcher he\'d faced who had shaken him, had harshed his buzz, had had his Goddamn, frickin number. Somehow, Davey just couldn\'t get a bat on Brody Deighton, couldn\'t get on top of him. It made him hate the guy, even though he knew he shouldn\'t. Deighton was just playing the game, it wasn\'t personal, but Davey didn\'t care because Deighton felt like his enemy.
A few weeks later the Trout traded Deighton to Albuquerque just before the trade deadline- a last minute deal and shit, now Davey was gonna have to play with the bastard, root for him, slap him on the ass when he makes a game-winning strikeout. Other players might have thought it was good- not having to face the one pitcher he couldn\'t hit should sweeten up his already decent hitting record, but it just burned Davey\'s biscuits he wasn\'t gonna get to find the way around Deighton\'s fastball or learn the tell in Deighton\'s face that meant he was gonna throw his change-up or that nasty hanging curve nobody but nobody could tell was a curve until it was to damn late. His only hope was that one of them would be traded in the off-season, but that was at least two months away, three if they made the playoffs.
As luck would have it, Davey was the only one in the locker room when Brody Deighton came through before his first game. Davey liked to get there before anyone else to start getting his head in the game before the jokes (practical and dirty) started flying. He didn\'t have a problem with the dynamic- the locker room was a locker room- there should be razzing and stupid shit going on- it broke the tension, kept the team loose. Davey didn\'t mind the dynamic, he just wanted to get all Zenned up with the stadium and the bats and the balls before it started. If playing was like sex and winning was like coming, then meditation before the game was like foreplay. He didn\'t actually need it but it made things much more satisfying. Davey knew he wanted his pre-game meditations even more that day, but just as he\'d settled down on the floor in the corner and started his mantra (Deighton sucks, ooommm, Deighton sucks, ooommm), the cause of his unbalance walked in, put his things in the empty locker next to Davey\'s, stripped naked and walked to the showers.
The hiss of the shower wasn\'t that much distraction, so he just took a cleansing breath, integrated the added noise into the general hum and vibration of the stadium and started over.
(Deighton sucks, ooommm, Deighton sucks)
He was one with the cool hardness of the concrete beneath him, behind him and stretching from the locker room to the dugout.
(Deighton\'s going down, ooommm, Deighton\'s going down)
He was one with the warm, damp Earth that fed the sweet, soft green of the infield.
(Deighton\'s gonna choke, ooommm, Deighton\'s gonna choke)
He was one with the clotted red clay and the parched, white chalk of the baseline.
(Deighton\'s gonna give up five runs and get pulled in the second inning, ooommm, Deighton\'s gonna give up five runs and get pulled in the second inning)
He was one with- \"TRAILER FOR SALE OR RENT, ROOMS TO LET . . . FIFTY CENTS, NO PHONE, NO-\"
Goddamn, what was he singing? There was no communing with the concrete to that caterwauling. Davey got up and went to the showers.
\"I AIN\'T GOT NO CIGARETTES-\"
\"What the hell are you doing?\" Davey shouted at Deighton over all the noise.
\"TWO HOURS OF-\" Deighton turned around to face him, naked and wet, still scrubbing his chest. \"Oh hey, I didn\'t think anybody was here yet. It\'s Jensen, first base, right?\" he asked.
\"Uh . . . yeah.\" Davey\'s eye was drawn to the way Deighton was concentrating on getting his left nipple very, very clean and how the extra suds were gliding leisurely down his stomach and slowing, just a moment, at his navel before making their way south.
\"Enjoying the show?\" Deighton asked and Davey snapped his eyes back up to Deighton\'s face, blushing. Busted.
\"I . . . uh-\" Davey stammered.
\"This is your rookie season, right?\" Deighton redirected his efforts to his right nipple and Davey couldn\'t stop himself from briefly following the action again. Then Deighton\'s words caught up with him.
\"Oh, the Show? Yeah, it\'s, you know, the Show,\" Davey answered, feeling stupid.
\"So, nice meeting you, Jensen,\" Deighton said turning towards the showerhead to rinse. \"I\'M A MAN OF MEANS BY NO MEANS-\"
\"Uh, could you not do that?\" Davey shouted.
Turning again, Deighton asked, \"Beg your pardon?\"
Davey started counting tiles on the wall behind Deighton\'s head and replied, \"It\'s just that I come early- before anyone else, so I can meditate, you know, kind of get my head in the right place and the singing sort of disturbs my pre-game ritual.\"
\"Oh, it\'s a pre-game ritual. I gotta respect that.\" Deighton soaped his navel, slipping a lazy finger in and out of it.
\"Thanks.\" Davey turned and took three steps back towards the lockers.
\"Course, lots of fellas have pre-game rituals. For instance, I like to come early, take a long hot shower and sing old country songs at the top of my lungs. It relaxes me. I\'M A MAN OF MEANS BY NO MEANS, KING OF THE ROAD,\" Deighton belted out again.
\"Uh, seriously, couldn\'t you just hum or something?\" Davey asked, only turning his head half way around, speaking over his shoulder. He wasn\'t able to face Deighton again without possibly embarrassing himself further by salivating.
\"Hum, hmm? Don\'t you have that covered with your meditating? Listen, kiddo, there\'s a whole lot of stadium for you to do your new-age mumbo-jumbo in. There\'s only one set of home team showers. Why not sit on the first base bag and hum to your little hearts content?\"
Drooling or not, Davey had to turn around. \"But I need to be in the locker room- it\'s part of it-\"
\"Jensen!\" barked Jack Wallis, the head coach, from behind Davey, \"In my office.\"
Davey gave up the singing argument for the moment and followed Wallis because if Jack Wallis barked, you better well hop to.
\"DON\'T TELL MY HEART, MY ACHEY BREAKY HEART-\" Oh God- not that, not Billy Ray. Anything but that.
Author\'s Note- Songs Brody Deighton sings in this chapter:
King of the Road by Roger Miller (one of my favorites, even though Davey thinks it sucks)
Achey Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus (I agree with Davey on this one)