Cathryn (formerly catslash) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
remindmeofthe) wrote2005-04-22 08:34 pm
remindmeofthe) wrote2005-04-22 08:34 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
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.
no subject
That is a great capture of Alex.
Derek is a real slut, y'know?!
Beautiful rendering. You could adapt this to many different situations, but I love how you make it work with your particular characters. Alex and Jorge jump out, even in this short sketch, as three-dimensional characters, 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?)
Good work! I hope you continue!
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*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.
no subject
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.
I will not feel bad for A-Rod, I will not feel bad for A-Rod, I will not feel bad for A-Rod... but you're making it DAMN HARD.
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.
Oh yes, so well-put. So what he does, and stated so I can picture it perfectly.
"Don't," Alex says, jibing and gentle at the same time, so Jorge doesn't, and they go.
Aarrgh, I will NOT like Alex Rodriguez, not even in fake gay internet porn, I WILL NOT. I am totally lying to myself by now.
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.
Oh blimey. *shivers*
There is only Derek, and Tino, and Nomar too, though that was before Alex and only Jorge remembers that jolt.
!!! Yowch. I like how you give no details whatsoever, but somehow that hurts. Like, Jorge, you poor bastard, getting jerked around by your more popular and better-chinned peers. And Derek Jeter, you shameless little hussy.
Aaaah, you pack so much in such a short story. I must reread many times, until you write more. Not that I'm forever bugging you for more writing or anything. *cough*
no subject
Looks like. I mean, when they give us so tailor-made a situation as the chill between Alex and Derek and Derek's delight over Tino's return, what am I supposed to do?
I will not feel bad for A-Rod... but you're making it DAMN HARD.
Heh. The muse brought out his best sad pathos just for this fic.
I will NOT like Alex Rodriguez, not even in fake gay internet porn, I WILL NOT.
*g* You know, I mostly just threw that in there to establish that Alex has at least some understanding of Jorge's motives. I certainly didn't intend for any sort of charm or likability to wangle its way in there.
And Derek Jeter, you shameless little hussy.
Heh. Derek Jeter, spreading angst wherever he goes. In this particular universe, I don't think he realizes how much hurt he deals out. He's just having a good time, and either he thinks that his partners are doing the same (and probably some of them are, just not these particular ones), or simply won't allow himself to see otherwise.
Glad you liked the fic. *grins*
Speaking of bugging for more writing, what is the official status on The Long and Rambling etc etc? Can I just go ahead and give up hope, or are you going to string us along some more? ;)
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I've got a couple unfinished things that I need to either jumpstart or just give up on. I am currently all inspired to do the first, 'cos you are Setting An Example.
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Oh, Trot and I are getting married. You're invited to the wedding. Next week in front of the Green Monster. Be there. God I hate random 3am comments. *Blames it on non-existant beer*
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*ahem* I mean, glad to see you've joined the Dark Side. I had a feeling you might come around eventually.
Oh, and after yesterday, I think you're gonna have to fight a lot of fangirls for that wedding. I'll be right behind you, watching your back. With a cricket bat.
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I love a good, but slightly pointless, fight, and I love Trot for being such a hot head. Heck, I love 'em all. <3
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Okay, no. I mean, I like Jeter as much as the next Red Sox fan willing to accord him the respect he deserves on and off the field, but NO.
Don't even bother asking me to be the godmother.
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I love me some Arod now and then
*Hiding from crossbow*
:)
Sadly as I'm reading this the song "New York, New York" is playing on my computer as a Midi.
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You're in luck. This time. I forgot to load the crossbow. ;)
Glad you liked the story!
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And I love just about all manlove :)
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