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kitsune_writesAuthor: Fox
Title: Ballad of Nice and Easy
Rating: pg-13 for some language
Pairing: Gil Meche/Mike Sweeney
DISCLAIMER: This is a product of my (really rather vivid) imagination and is not suggesting that the following events are, in any way, based in reality. It is not meant to be a truthful/factual statement about the lives or sexual preferences of anyone mentioned herein. In plain English - IT AIN’T REAL FOLKS! I’m not making any money off of this either.
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
3551 who asked for Meche/Sweeney on my request entry. I hope this works for you, tk. ♥
Betaed by the fabulousdicorvo.
Arizona in spring again, Gil thought shaking his head at the familiar heat and desert scenery. He almost made the turn off of 60 too early; had to remind himself it was Surprise and not Peoria he was playing in this year. It was harder than he’d imagined it would be, driving past that exit; even knowing that most of the players he’d struggled with the past few years in Seattle weren’t there anymore. Rats abandoning the sinking ship, he thought bitterly before clearing his mind of the unpleasantness of the Bavasi/Hargrove years. No good focusing on that now that he was finally free. All he had to worry about now was fitting in on a new team and living up to his $55 million dollar contract. He snorted and rolled his eyes at himself even as the thought crossed his mind. Yeah, only those inconsequential details. You’re such a dick, Meche. He smirked into the rear view mirror and turned his attention back to the road.
Pulling into the player parking for Surprise Stadium, he realized he had no idea if there was a pecking order to the spots. On the Mariners, it had generally been the veterans who got the closest spots, and first come first served for the rest, but who knew how the Royals did it. He parked quite a distance away to be safe; not worth it to alienate any teammates on day one when he didn’t mind the walk, even though it was already 92 degrees and was only going to get hotter.
“You hiking in from bfn for any particular reason, Meche?”
Gil looked up to see Mike Sweeney walking toward him, a grin on his handsome face. He knew Sweeney; they’d played each other dozens of times over the past four years and he’d always thought the designated hitter to be attractive. They’d never actually met before, though, so Gil wasn’t prepared for the bolt of awareness that shot through him as they shook hands. He managed to not drop Mike’s hand too quickly, or stare at him like an idiot wondering if the other man had felt something similar, so he felt somewhat less of a fuck-up than usual. Sweeney didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, anyway.
“Don’t know the routine; didn’t want to step on any toes.” Excellent, Meche. No mumbling, voice even, you might just make it out of this.
“Well some damn rook from double A is going to be mad as hell you took that spot. Maybe you should move back further. Go on. I’ll wait.”
Gil laughed. “Damn, Sweeney! I can’t even get in the building ‘fore I’m catchin’ shit?”
“Wouldn’t want you to think we’d let up on you just because you’re not a rook, Meche.” Sweeney said, winking as he threw an arm around Gil’s shoulders. “Let’s get you settled in, shall we?”
“Absolutely,” Gil said as Sweeney squeezed his shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the muscles of Gil’s upper arm. A fresh start, Meche, he told himself firmly as he felt the further stirrings of arousal. You don’t get to fuck this up, so just stop wanting what you can’t have.
“You’re thinking hard on something.”
Gil blinked. “Just, you know, jitters.”
“Everybody gets them,” Sweeney agreed as they reached the door. He squeezed Gil’s shoulders again, and then released him to pull open the door. “After you.”
“Thank you, kind sir. I see chivalry ain’t dead, not even in folks from California.”
“Meche, you don’t want to play that card, man,” Sweeney smirked. “Because I’ve got cracks lined up for every geographical place you can name, and probably some they didn’t even bother to teach you kids out in the sticks, all right?”
“Yeah, all right, beach boy.”
“Okay, bayou boy.”
“Living in smog’s done your head in.”
“Oh I’m sure you got plenty of fresh air slogging through the swamp and rassling gators.”
“I can’t even believe you went there,” Gil said incredulously. He tried to maintain an offended front, but lost it after only seconds, throwing his head back and laughing loudly. “Oh my Gawd, Sweeney, ain’t nobody says ‘rassling.’ Stop watching Steel Magnolias to get your idea of the South.”
“You know, Meche,” Sweeney said grinning widely, “I think I’m going to enjoy having you around.”
Not as much as I’m gonna enjoy being around you, Gil thought as he grinned back.
Title: Ballad of Nice and Easy
Rating: pg-13 for some language
Pairing: Gil Meche/Mike Sweeney
DISCLAIMER: This is a product of my (really rather vivid) imagination and is not suggesting that the following events are, in any way, based in reality. It is not meant to be a truthful/factual statement about the lives or sexual preferences of anyone mentioned herein. In plain English - IT AIN’T REAL FOLKS! I’m not making any money off of this either.
A/N: For
3551 who asked for Meche/Sweeney on my request entry. I hope this works for you, tk. ♥Betaed by the fabulous
dicorvo.Arizona in spring again, Gil thought shaking his head at the familiar heat and desert scenery. He almost made the turn off of 60 too early; had to remind himself it was Surprise and not Peoria he was playing in this year. It was harder than he’d imagined it would be, driving past that exit; even knowing that most of the players he’d struggled with the past few years in Seattle weren’t there anymore. Rats abandoning the sinking ship, he thought bitterly before clearing his mind of the unpleasantness of the Bavasi/Hargrove years. No good focusing on that now that he was finally free. All he had to worry about now was fitting in on a new team and living up to his $55 million dollar contract. He snorted and rolled his eyes at himself even as the thought crossed his mind. Yeah, only those inconsequential details. You’re such a dick, Meche. He smirked into the rear view mirror and turned his attention back to the road.
Pulling into the player parking for Surprise Stadium, he realized he had no idea if there was a pecking order to the spots. On the Mariners, it had generally been the veterans who got the closest spots, and first come first served for the rest, but who knew how the Royals did it. He parked quite a distance away to be safe; not worth it to alienate any teammates on day one when he didn’t mind the walk, even though it was already 92 degrees and was only going to get hotter.
“You hiking in from bfn for any particular reason, Meche?”
Gil looked up to see Mike Sweeney walking toward him, a grin on his handsome face. He knew Sweeney; they’d played each other dozens of times over the past four years and he’d always thought the designated hitter to be attractive. They’d never actually met before, though, so Gil wasn’t prepared for the bolt of awareness that shot through him as they shook hands. He managed to not drop Mike’s hand too quickly, or stare at him like an idiot wondering if the other man had felt something similar, so he felt somewhat less of a fuck-up than usual. Sweeney didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, anyway.
“Don’t know the routine; didn’t want to step on any toes.” Excellent, Meche. No mumbling, voice even, you might just make it out of this.
“Well some damn rook from double A is going to be mad as hell you took that spot. Maybe you should move back further. Go on. I’ll wait.”
Gil laughed. “Damn, Sweeney! I can’t even get in the building ‘fore I’m catchin’ shit?”
“Wouldn’t want you to think we’d let up on you just because you’re not a rook, Meche.” Sweeney said, winking as he threw an arm around Gil’s shoulders. “Let’s get you settled in, shall we?”
“Absolutely,” Gil said as Sweeney squeezed his shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the muscles of Gil’s upper arm. A fresh start, Meche, he told himself firmly as he felt the further stirrings of arousal. You don’t get to fuck this up, so just stop wanting what you can’t have.
“You’re thinking hard on something.”
Gil blinked. “Just, you know, jitters.”
“Everybody gets them,” Sweeney agreed as they reached the door. He squeezed Gil’s shoulders again, and then released him to pull open the door. “After you.”
“Thank you, kind sir. I see chivalry ain’t dead, not even in folks from California.”
“Meche, you don’t want to play that card, man,” Sweeney smirked. “Because I’ve got cracks lined up for every geographical place you can name, and probably some they didn’t even bother to teach you kids out in the sticks, all right?”
“Yeah, all right, beach boy.”
“Okay, bayou boy.”
“Living in smog’s done your head in.”
“Oh I’m sure you got plenty of fresh air slogging through the swamp and rassling gators.”
“I can’t even believe you went there,” Gil said incredulously. He tried to maintain an offended front, but lost it after only seconds, throwing his head back and laughing loudly. “Oh my Gawd, Sweeney, ain’t nobody says ‘rassling.’ Stop watching Steel Magnolias to get your idea of the South.”
“You know, Meche,” Sweeney said grinning widely, “I think I’m going to enjoy having you around.”
Not as much as I’m gonna enjoy being around you, Gil thought as he grinned back.
