Who'da thought, baby? We're civilians. (dugindeep) wrote,
Who'da thought, baby? We're civilians.
dugindeep

J2 AU RPS: I Think It’s Time to Give This Game a Ride (1/4)

Title: I Think It’s Time to Give This Game a Ride
Genre: RPS AU
People: Jared/Jensen. Some Chad, Gabe, Jeff and minimal Tom and Mike. very minimal.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 37,000
Warning: Lots of bad words - there is Chad, so swearing is a requirement. Some sex, well, lots of sex.
Summary: Jared Padalecki loves his summer softball, and his team doesn't take it too lightly either. They play with a vengeance and are still in a deep, hate-filled rivalry with the league's other hot team. Jared's play lights up when he hooks up with Jensen Ackles, but will the hot streak last all summer long? He has to face the rivals and what created it in the first place.
Disclaimer: Absolutely a figment of my imagination


Notes: This is absolutely inspired by the icon above because baseball shirts on anyone is awesome, but you do it to Jared Padalecki, and it's absolutely the hottest. BUT it is also inspired by grace_fully from these comments here. So if you even remotely enjoy this, she deserves thanks.

I put this in Chicago, not just because I know and love it, but because I am absolutely fascinated by grown men playing 16" softball all hard and dirty, and 16" is Chicago's own. A good friend plays every summer and those guys go balls-out, sliding, jumping, going crazy. So this story, the intense gameplay, kind of touches on my Friday nights watching that league and hours at the sponsor bar after. 16" gets insane because you're without a glove, the ball's bigger, but it's still tough to manage when it gets dusty and beat up. In case you just didn't know and perhaps were only knowledgeable on baseball, short center is a position that plays directly behind second base, and it makes play a hell of a lot more interesting. In recreational leagues, they play slaughter rules that go something like 12 runs up at the end of the fourth, 10 at the fifth, and nine at the sixth. Also, a typical game is only seven innings, so don't think I'm cheating on that. You may already know that. Whatever. In case you didn't know how that worked, now you do.

As far as the guys and language and whatever? I have a lot of guy friends and things I've put in here are things either I've literally heard them say or are things very likely for them to have said. These guys, here, get foul-mouthed and vulgar and it shows. Real guys do that sometimes and I didn't want to take away from that, because they're 10 guys spending hours on end together and drinking. Somehow, I feel the need to explain because I don't always agree with gratuitous vulgarities and upon editing some of this, I realize how bad it gets. But just remember, they're drinking, they're competitive, and most of the time it's Chad. So yeah. Also, the guys I hang with really do drink pitcher upon pitcher upon pitcher. I'm not making these characters alcoholics, men really do knock back the beer.



Now let's play some ball!



Each and every time Jared steps up to the plate, he means business. He removes his hat, sweeps a hand over messy, wavy hair, and resets the hat. Backwards as always; it serves more as a hair restraint while big, fashionable sunglasses serve to shield the late sun. He swings the bat low, back and forth, as he digs his cleats so perfectly into the dirt. The bat comes back, not quite resting at his shoulder and he slowly nods his head. Keeps his eyes on that big fat, 16-inch softball coming his way.

It’s only the third game of their summer season, but it’s tight. The Gamecocks are down 5-4, bottom of the last inning, no outs, man on first. Jared’s ready. He’s been here before, bringing in the game-tying and game-winning runs. He’s gonna get this done. Just one solid swing and they’re right there. They’re playing their rivals, Going Deep, and it’s so incredibly tense. Everyone is stretching out each hit; they’re reaching for every ball. It’s been nine years that Jared’s been a Gamecock and every year, they get down and dirty with Going Deep. To the point that when they’re all at the local bar, they sit on opposite ends of the bar and don’t go anywhere near the other. They don’t like to share two words outside of ‘good game’ at the end – though plenty of vulgarities, threats, and complaints are thrown around the field when things get heated. No matter who wins, they have that. Otherwise, nothing is given. It is all taken. And at present, the Gamecocks’ overall record against Going Deep is pretty damned close. But Jared wants to tips that scale.

He smacks the crap outta the now-battered ball, sending it deep into left field. It’s not quite hugging the line, but it’s making the left fielder sprint for his life to get that close to it. Jared’s sprinting himself, rounding first and barely watching the ball course its way through the air. He’s had this blessed feeling before. The solid connection with the ball, the thwack off the bat, the release in his shoulders from all the power rushing out at once. He’s rounding second, trying to stretch this thing out. He’s done it before – in-the-park homer – he’s doing it now. His long legs serve not just for reach on defense but so well for making each stride around the diamond break into long leaps of distance.

He sees Chad, his best friend, first baseman, and third base coach. The guy’s hands are swinging in the air, but suddenly they’re dropping and he’s curling his lips ugly. Jared tosses a glance out to left field and sees the fielder jogging easily and quickly before launching the ball back into play so they can get the out at first, since Brian is still on the other side of third – who in the world thought that ball would’ve been caught? – and not able to get back to first to tag up.

The left fielder is still so far back, it’s taking him a while to get back into position; at least that means Jared really did slap the shit out of the ball. Jared’s pace slows to a crabby walk by the time he reaches Chad. “What the fuck?”

Chad huffs. “I know. That kid just jumped ass deep into the field. Fucking dick.”

Jared yanks off his hat as he moves next to Chad, throwing daggers into left field. He sees the guy use one hand to lift his hat and the other to swipe across his forehead. He’s sweating, but his chest is pretty steady, which tells Jared that he’s feeling the same heat they all are dying in, in the middle of a typical Chicago June. But it didn’t kill him to run out to the far edge of the field and steal his homer. Jared’s at least glad he’s not smiling, but he wants to see the guy's face, his eyes, see if he’s watching Jared back and trying to taunt him. But the guy’s sunglasses and the brim of his hat are blocking way too much.

“Who the hell is that guy?”

“Some other douche they picked up this year? I don’t know. Don’t fucking ask me.”

Jared’s still huffing out his breath from sprinting around the bases, and also just out of hysteria that the fielder caught that ball. His hands plant on his hips and he watches the action continue as Gabe, short center, settles at the plate with two outs. “Shit.” He goes so far as to kick the dirt around them.

Chad rolls his eyes. Jared gets pissy so easily and doesn’t tend to back down from a nice tantrum on the field. “Get the hell outta here. You’re ruining the game.”

He kind of laughs, but still punches hard at Chad’s back as he passes on his way to the dugout.

Gabe gets a quick slap of a single, but no one can do anything after that and the Gamecocks lose. It’s their first loss of the season, and their first in about two seasons. Last summer they charged through regular play and the playoffs in tip-top shape, obliterating all competition with non-stop slaughters (well, except for Going Deep, who kept the games within one and two runs each but still lost). The Gamecocks are back with last year’s lineup, but the first two games were a little closer, and this loss here hurts them all. Because it was close and well-fought, but not enough.

Jared’s still bitter as the teams go through the line. Enough so that his ‘good game’ is muddled so far in his throat that no one can understand it, but he doesn’t care. He’d grounded out in the second, got a messy single in the fourth, couldn’t beat a tag at second base in the sixth, and then flew out in the seventh and final inning. Not to mention he flubbed a few plays throughout the game, knocking down balls at shortstop, but not grabbing them in time to get some runners out.

He’s heading with Chad to his friend's car and sees some of the Going Deep guys heading to the parking lot as well. He keeps his head down and tries to pretend there is no one else around him. Like he always does with them. But then the left fielder is near him and offers up, “Good hit there.”

Jared barely looks his way and just snorts. “Yeah.”

“Nah, c’mon. If it makes you feel any better, I barely got my fingers on it.”

“Doesn’t,” he grunts back and just goes right to the car. He hates that team, hates everyone on it, hates losing to them. He fucking hates it.

It wasn’t a good game for him, having to continually deal with Going Deep is killing him, and he plans on getting full and drunk to be put out of his misery.

*

They’re at Kenny’s three streets down from the fields. Twelve dirty, sweaty, vulgar softball players across four tables that’ve been tucked together. Four pitchers of beer, two of water, and half eaten wings and pizza are spread across the space for everyone to share. They’ve already polished off five pitchers and are not even close to being drunk yet; twelve healthy men aged 24 to 37 take the beer like water and keep going. This is Jared’s every Friday night from mid-May through late August. And he couldn’t be happier.

Jared’s mindlessly listening to Chad sound off on his latest conquest, a girl he hit on last week and took out two days later. It was just two hours before he had her squirming in the backseat of his Trailblazer, and he couldn’t be happier. Jared keeps his eyes to anything but Chad’s excited eyes and flashing hands, because he couldn’t possibly care less about Chad’s sex. Or any of the guys’ stories, really, seeing as he tends to prefer ogling the six-foot, five-inch blonde male bartender than the petite brunette with a huge rack who delivered their food.

The whole team knows his preference and no one cares. Sometimes they even try to set him up with random guys passing through the bars they frequent – which usually only brings embarrassment to the ‘prospects’ since Jared’s friends are never able to pick out the guys who actually like sucking dick – or they do what Chad’s doing right then. Get way too graphic, and possibly create stories that rival Penthouse Forum and are pretty much the furthest thing from the truth.

“So, she’s down there, nose down to the fucking bottom of my dick. Just swallowing the whole thing and it’s bumping at the back of her throat, you know,” Chad is smirking while talking a little too loudly, considering the topic.

He looks at Gabe, who’s only about five-foot-six, but the guy’s little legs propel him so quickly around the bases and he snaps up everything hit in the vicinity of his short center position. Gabe’s nodding his head, big, dark eyes open wide in excitement and anticipating the rest of this. “Yeah, shit,” he laughs.

“Well, no, Gabe,” Chad starts with an odd glance. “There’s no way your dick ever hits that far back.”

“Screw you. It happens.”

“Maybe with your mom.”

The crowd laughs and even Jared does, too, but he slaps an easy hand at Gabe’s back with a smile. Telling him it’s not a big deal. Gabe is the newest to their group; he’s only been here three years, but he was a colossal spark to their fielding and the kid’s batting average is likely over .800 because he can slap nearly every ball tight against the foul lines or into the spaces between each fielder. He’s got awesome aim, quick hands, and pretty much always takes Chad’s ribbing. The Gamecocks like him.

“So, anyway. Her fucking nose is like digging into me.” Chad’s always animated when he’s talking about sex, blow jobs in particular. So in addition to him constantly sitting up and throwing his hands around, now he’s digging fingers into his lower stomach. “And it’s just digging, and digging, and digging. Fucking killing me. But she’s got a clamp down on me, what’m I supposed to do?”

“You could slap her head to release,” Jared says numbly. He’s not really watching Chad, but it’s hard to not hear him.

“Dude,” Chad whines, because Jared’s totally just given away the end of the story and he’s pissed. Yeah, he told it to him the day after it happened, but still. He’s pissed. “You fuck everything up.”

“No, go on,” Jared smirks. “I insist. Tell what happened when she bit you.”

Chad yells back. “Fuck you.”

“What happened next?” Gabe asks, trying to get back to the good stuff and give Chad a break.

Chad’s voice goes flat as he pulls his pint glass to his lips. “She chewed into my dick and I slapped her on the ear.”

Jared’s laughing, because he always loves getting to Chad. And because Gabe’s face went from hopeful to disappointed in about half a second. No one else at the table is impressed and most of them turn to other conversations and ignore Chad. Which is what always happens when his stories fail to really impress anyone.

“She might be deaf.”

“Really?” Jared asks with a smile, and then he takes a large gulp of beer. “This because you quite possibly ruptured her eardrum?”

Chad scowls at Jared, like he always does when they bicker. But they’re also best friends, so they never take it to heart. Also, this happens like every Friday night. “Dude, fuck off.”

Gabe cuts in. “Why do you think she’s deaf?”

Jared laughs. Gabe’s not dumb; just awfully curious and always asks more to get Chad to talk more. He’s always amused by the stories, too. “Because she won’t return his texts.”

“Maybe you should actually call her,” Gabe offers.

“Maybe you should suck my dick, Cheesehead.”

“Dude, I’ve lived on this side of the border the last twenty years. Suck your mom’s dick.”

“I don’t give a shit if it was South Beloit, it’s still right there, Cowfucker.”

Jared tunes out when they get even more heated on the Illinois-Wisconsin battle, which happens a bit too much for a guy who only lived on the north side of the rival border for the first two years of his life. He’s tuning out because it’s an old fight, they’re getting heated under the haze of alcohol, and because he realizes there’s a guy at the bar who’s eyeing him and not letting go. Jared looks – okay, stares – at the guy, who’s drinking from his own pint glass and casually glancing at Jared a little too casually.

It always puts Jared on the edge when he finds someone checking him out in Kenny’s because he’s always stuck with about 10 guys who all talk about vaginas with the regularity of their digestive systems. He’s not usually thinking about cocks or guys who might want to get a hold of his. So when this guy – this hot guy – checks him out, he’s not only caught off guard, but he’s swimming in a giant blush that marks his cheeks. So much so that Chad stops ragging on Gabe about living on a farm and screwing sheep to take notice.

“Jay, c’mon man. Go jerk that guy off so he stops staring over here.”

Jared’s eyebrows drop and he shoots a glare at his friend. “Dude, just no.”

“You don’t want to? He looks like he’d beg for it.”

He looks back at the guy, dark blonde hair purposefully short and styled into a pressed point at the tip of his hairline. Eyes sharp on him. Pouty lips that Jared would like to see wrapped around …

Chad punches his shoulder. “Just go! Before his gaybeams turn us all.”

“Fuck you,” Jared hisses. But he rises and takes an empty pitcher and his half-filled glass with him to the bar. Closer to the guy, but not quite there; the guy’s to his left, just around the bend of the bar. Jared clears his throat, waiting on the bartender, and gives a careful glance at his new admirer.

They’re each drinking from their pint glasses, and Jared watches as the bartender places a newly filled pitcher of Lite in front of the guy. Who glances quickly at the bartender, mumbles something, and then looks back to Jared with a sideways glance and tiny smirk. He likes that smirk right there, and the guy’s eyes are nice and clear even though the darkness in the bar dilute the color.

When the bartender gets to Jared, the guy’s gone and Jared’s watching him retreat to another corner of the bar that’s blocked by one of numerous posts around the space. He knows he’s caught – hook, line, and sinker –because he’s watching for this guy and not even caring that the tall, hot, blonde bartender is now taking care of him.

“Heard you guys lost a hard one?” he asks Jared as he fills up the pitcher.

“Yeah, it was rough.” Jared’s still trying to find that guy, just to see if he’s still looking, which would tell him he wasn’t imagining anything there.

“Who’d you play?”

Jared glances quickly at the bartender, knowing everyone from both his team and the rival talk a lot of game in the place, so the guy would know enough to ask about the game. But Jared doesn’t want to answer. “Hey, that guy that was here?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

And here, Jared feels a little embarrassed because while his entire team knows he goes that way, he doesn’t want to be obvious about it and ask the bartender about some dude. He flushes a little, and finally says, “Nah, I thought I knew him from somewhere.”

“I dunno. I‘ve only seen him a few times lately.”

Jared sighs while taking the pitcher and his newly filled glass back to the table. Chad and Gabe are still arguing over the mighty Wisconsin-Illinois issue.

“Dude, you drink Miller Lite. From Milwaukee. Do you see how hard your argument fails?”

Chad sits forward. “You did not just use the fail tag on me. Tell me you didn’t before I slap your face.”

“I ain’t sucking your cock, so don’t come near me.”

“I don’t give a shit.” Chad licks his open hand and shows it to Gabe. “I will palm the fuck outta your cheek.”

Jared stares and hides his smile. “How long was I gone? You letting Gabe suck your dick now, too?”

“Fuck you!” they both yell in return.

Chad goes on. “This bitch is just asking for a head slap.”

Jared replies at the edge of his pint glass. “Be careful, you might bust an ear drum.”

Chad scowls. “Dude, whatever.” Then he flips the subject. “You suck that guy’s dick or what?”

“Nah, man. He’s gone. Lost cause.”

“You were there for four minutes and you screwed it up? You are the worst gay in the world, I swear.”

“Fuck you.”

“That guy was sucking his lips and eyefucking you from across the room and you can’t seal that deal? That shitpacker is still fucking you.”

“What?” Jared squawks and follows Chad’s view. The guy is back with another empty pitcher and eyeing Jared. But not as hard or as often as before. Jared’s heart pumps wildly and he’s drunk enough to start imagining how he’d push him against the bar and lick the spot just under his ear as he grinds into his ass. Which is looking nice and round in his well-fitting jeans.

Jared’s hand settles at his stomach and he wishes he were alone and could pull it lower. Instead, he sweeps up high, palm resting across the green screen-print rooster and letters across his chest that read Gamecocks in a loopy cursive font on his game shirt. (Chad insists Jared picked it because he's gay and likes sparkly, pretty letters; Jared insists Chad likes dick and that’s why he chose the name Gamecocks)

He feels overly skuzzy and filthy, still wearing his baseball tee; the green sleeves are still bright as the day they got them two years ago, but the white of his torso is grungy and dirt-beaten from a few too many slides in the dirt as he’s prayed for the ump to call him safe. But he chances a hand through his hair as he rises, his again-half-full glass in his other hand. “Go get ‘em, Sally!” Chad encourages as he slaps Jared in the ass.

Jared does his best to approach the bar with nothing more than a careless walk. But he stalls when he hears Chad call out ‘shake that ass!’ and Gabe tacks on ‘use the dirty pout!’ and he realizes he really hates his friends. When he opens his eyes again, the guy isn’t watching him, but he’s chuckling a little at Chad and Gabe and then looks into his glass before taking a long sip.

The bartender smirks; he knows how much shit that whole team doles out every week. It’s always fun for the employees to listen to so they take a lot of the vulgarity with it.

“Dicks,” Jared grumbles as he pushes his glass to the cute bartender – the guy’s getting downgraded the more Jared sees the other guy – and waits for a refill.

“They don’t seem like the type who like dick.”

Jared’s attention whips to his left. The guy’s voice is low, amused, and gravelly. It goes right Jared’s dick.

The guy raises an eyebrow and takes another drink. His glass is nearly empty.

“Yeah. Not so much.” He glances at the bartender briefly. “On the tab?” Then he looks at the guy and mumbles to the bartender, “Him, too?”

If possible, the guy’s eyebrow goes even higher. He pushes his suddenly empty pint closer to the bartender with a nod, then grabs his just-filled pitcher and takes it back to wherever it is he’s residing for the evening. Jared flinches at the disappearance, looks to the bartender, and retrieves his beer. He’s heading back to the table, tail tucked between his legs, before he hears the voice again. “Jaybird!”

Jared turns and stares oddly. Then he remembers that’s the name on the back of his shirt.

“You buy and ditch? Lousy date.”

Jared turns back quickly with a crappy frown. “Guy, you walked off.”

“I walked back.”

“That’s fair.”

“Fair enough to share a beer?”

Jared moves closer, but he’s holding the same smug, fake-pissy face. “I bought you the beer. What’re you gonna do for it?”

The guy tosses a hand out and mocks Jared’s face. “I was going to offer some witty and charming conversation, but I can see you’re all stocked up.”

Jared smiles easily - he does it so much it’s like his mouth’s default position - and offers a hand. “Jared. What’s up?”

“Jensen.” The hands curl into each other and to an outsider it’s a manly, introductory handshake. But their palms are hot and pressed tight, and they both know what it means.

It means that not even ninety minutes later, they’ve shared another two pitchers of beer and make their way out to the parking lot under the guise of Jensen showing off his classic ’67 Chevy Impala. But they both know what they’re doing in far reaches of that backseat when hands are jerking steady and lips are wiping across bare skin and their heavy breathing has collected as condensation on the inside of the windows.

“Fucking hot as hell,” Jared grunts as he’s biting a trail along Jensen’s neck and his fingers are reaching deep into Jensen’s jeans to fumble with his balls.

“Pretty little fucker yourself,” Jensen smirks in return as his fingers curl around the base of Jared’s dick and start their easy stroke up and then back down.

They’d both had quite a few beers before they had that first handshake, and then they easily slopped more down to bring them to this heady mix of sex and booze and heat rivaling the humidity outside the confines of the car. And it’s not stopping until they're well and done with each other.

Jensen’s other hand reaches for the back of Jared’s neck and the fingers tug on his hair for attention. “C’mere,” he grunts as he assaults Jared’s mouth. His tongue is pushing in and sweeping the full space, winding with Jared’s and getting just as sloppy as his hand goes. Because Jared’s hand slips over Jensen's ass then under. A fingertip rounds the rim of Jensen's asshole. “Fuckin’” he groans against Jared’s mouth. “Gettin’ dirty?”

Jared’s finger edges itself in, not even asking for permission. “Dirty would be your lips on my cock.”

Jensen scoots back onto Jared’s finger, which is now up to its middle knuckle in tense, begging muscles, and he tugs his hand with a twist of the wrist to kill Jared and his dick. “Don’t know why I gotta move. This works for me.”

He moans and starts to withdraw his finger. He smiles at the groan of disappointment from his makeout partner. “What? You want that back?” he teases as the fingertip drags across the hole.

Jensen laps a lazy tongue into Jared’s mouth. He pulls back and suggests with heat deep in his belly and want in his voice, “I go down, you keep working that finger.”

“At the same time?” Jared asks with a trembling smile, trying to imagine the stretch of his arm and fingers while he’s engulfed by Jensen’s damp mouth. He’s fucking loving the idea even more than Jensen seems to.

“Whadya think?” he asks, pushing back onto the finger but also tugging at Jared’s athletic shorts. They go to his knees at the same time that Jensen folds himself down and gets his mouth wrapped around Jared’s hard dick.

“Oh, fuck.” Jared practically creams from the moist heat enveloping him and it takes him a few seconds of Jensen’s bobbing to remember that he had a responsibility here. So he pops his finger back into Jensen’s ass and curls the tip inside on each drag back out.

They’re going fast now, despite the haze of drunkenness and the fog of body heat in the air. Jensen’s sucking Jared’s dick with one hand on his hip to keep him moving in time with his own mouth and the other is practically juggling his balls. And Jared’s totally losing it, but not so much that he can’t work a second finger into Jensen and swing them both around the muscles as they stretch for him.

“Fuck, ah, ah, fuck,” Jared starts panting as he reaches the very edge. His fingers tuck tight inside Jensen, bordering on pain but still so much pleasure. Jensen’s getting excited at the whole thing – Jared’s hand at his ass, the dick tightening within his mouth, the slurping he can’t hide as he slides far down the shaft and suckles his way back up. And then Jared’s done, punching his free palm to the hood of the car and cursing and somehow working Jensen’s name out of his mouth, even while it curls ugly with the break of his orgasm. And even more with the great feeling of Jensen swallowing all his cum.

Jensen quickly moves up Jared’s body, his dick just as hard as Jared had been only moments before and Jared’s fingers lifeless in his ass. He slides along Jared’s leg, a trail of precome traced on the thigh. “Hey, asshole,” he murmurs playfully. “You forgot something.”

Jared’s smile is so entirely lazy that it’s amazing he can even speak through the lips. “Calm the fuck down, Dude.” He pushes Jensen onto his back and slowly moves those fingers again, edging them all the way out before he punches them right back and spikes Jensen further against the seat.

“Oh, shit,” Jensen curses angrily. He pushes his hands against the inside of the door for leverage as he rocks back onto Jared’s fingers, and eventually rocks himself into Jared’s other hand as it wraps around his dick.

“Let’s go pretty boy. Get this shit done,” Jared smirks. He loves this feeling – wrapped tight in the high of his drunken orgasm and watching Jensen writhe beneath him. He’s got Jensen’s torso locked tight, working his asshole and his cock. And the guy ain’t doing anything other than fucking Jared’s hands and begging for it to never end. Jared’s getting bold and pushing harder and faster and swallowing up every little whimper Jensen feeds him, until finally the guy breaks and he’s streaking his own chest with come, the muscles of his ass pulsing around Jared’s fingers. And Jensen sighs so deeply, that Jared’s convinced he was holding his breath for the last five minutes of their fucking.

Jared’s not exactly the cleanup kinda guy, but he’s pretty damned drunk and still soaring on the excitement of this thing between them and having himself a hot hookup with a hot guy. So he leans forward and licks at Jensen’s cum, swiping the flat of his tongue across the guy’s chest. And Jensen’s groaning in appreciation as his fingers curl into Jared’s hair. Jared looks up to Jensen and they both see heavy, grateful eyes. Jensen’s hand is tighter at Jared’s head and he tugs him forward for a wide, sucking kiss. One Jared can’t believe Jensen can manage at the moment because it’s been at least five minutes since Jared came down off his orgasm and he’s still feeling a little too sloppy to work his tongue that well.

“Fucking beautiful,” Jensen grunts out.

Jared’s feeling a little awkward because they screwed around and they’re drunk, and yeah, Jared knows he’s a good looking guy, but this still feels a little weird to say on the first night they meet and fuck.

“Those fingers,” Jensen chuckles when he sees Jared’s eyes have dazed off with worry. “Your fingers are awesome. I need to take them home.”

Jared lies out across Jensen, pushing his hips against Jensen. “I’m so there.”

They start messily kissing again and Jared’s grinding against Jensen. But then there’s pounding at the hood and he hears the distinct shout of Chad’s voice. “Let’s go, Sally. Last call! Get your fingers outta dark places.”

“Fuck,” Jared mutters as he stills.

Jensen’s sitting up but he’s also laughing, so Jared guesses it’s okay. “At least he wasn’t here ten minutes ago.”

Jared tugs his shirt back into place and reaches for his shorts. “Ten minutes ago, I wouldn’t have stopped.” He’s about to pull his bottoms back into place but he starts to get that itch where he wants to say something that is usually taken better when he’s still naked with a guy as a reminder of how awesome it just was between them – Jared has a system for hookups that go this well and its works a good 80% of the time. You don’t ask for more once the clothes are back on because everyone’s thinking about leaving already. He leans back into Jensen and kisses him hard, his tongue effectively fucking its way through the mouth and making the guy moan all over again. He pulls off with a loud smack. “Can I have your number?” he asks before going back in for another quick, loud, messy kiss.

Jensen eyes him, and Jared can’t read if it’s good or not. “Yeah?”

He wants to remind him, so he tucks a hand under Jensen’s balls and his finger inches close to his hole. “Shit this good can’t be kept away.”

His voice goes dark and his hand wraps tight around Jared’s neck. “You can follow me home right now.”

“Chad’s my ride.”

“We can just go to your place.”

And then Chad’s pounding again on the roof. Jared is still thankful there is too much steam on the windows for Chad – or anyone, really – to see them each half naked. “C’mon, assmonkeys!”

He frowns but is kind of unapologetic. “He’s also my roommate.”

“Lucky you.” Jensen quickly pops his clothes into place, which Jared takes as a cue to do as well. Jensen slides over the front bench seat and grabs his cell from where it had slipped out of his pocket during the first round of their makeout up there. “What’s your name again?”

Jared eyes Jensen and finally sees a smirk break. “Fucking dick.”

“I fully intend to.” Jensen hands his cell to Jared. It already has his name typed in and waits for Jared’s fingers to feed it his number.

When Jensen checks out Jared’s phone, he sees the main screen’s banner reads “Jaybird,” and he smirks, remembering it from the back of his shirt. “Where’s Jaybird come from?”

Jared rolls his eyes. “Chad. I guess because they both start with a J?”

“That’s pretty gay.”

He huffs a little, as if it actually hurt (it didn’t, but Jared pouts enough to play it off well). “You just sucked me off and fucked my hand. That’s pretty gay.”

Your hand just fucked my ass. That’s gay.”

Jared smiles and it doesn’t go away when he exits the car, or when he’s walking alongside Chad, who’s trying to break his mood. “Don’t you tell me about any sucking or poking going on in there. I am clean and free of the homovirus and would like to stay that way.”

He wipes his hand through Chad’s hair, fussing up the already messy do. “Guess which hand I had in his ass?” Jared taunts, and then cackles as Chad chases him to the Trailblazer in the corner of the parking lot.

*

The Gamecocks don’t practice during the week like some teams do. Years ago, schedules were a little tight, and they were mostly interested in just fucking around on the field, enjoying the summer outdoors, and then enjoying it from within the bar. Now, even as they’ve all become exceedingly more serious about it each season, it’s because they’re good enough without it, so why spend more time than they have to? They’re dedicated to a point.

But they have modified team meetings on Tuesdays and some Thursdays, when Jared’s at work – managing the nearby Dick’s Sporting Goods – with a light crew and no one will complain that half the team congregates in the store. And in all realities, it’s just a bunch of guys coming around to talk shit about each other’s playing or just passing the time screwing around with any bit of sporting equipment they want.

Chad’s the first one there, laid out on a weight bench and lifting the barbell with minimal weights on it.

“Graduated to ten pounders, I see,” Sandy calls out as she gets close.

Chad turns his head to see how the Dick’s uniform polo is pulled tight against her plump breasts. They seem so out of proportion on her tiny, short frame, but Chad ogles them anyway. “Graduated to double D, I see?”

“Screw you.” She slaps her palm at his forehead, knowing he’s blatantly staring at her chest.

“Dude!” he harps and sits up instantly, still juggling the barbell.

“Here, you want help?” she offers in a childish voice, belittling him even further.

“Fuck you.”

“Nah-uh.”

“Whatever. I got it.” Chad puts the bar back into its place and sits up. “Where’s our favorite little Gaybird?”

“I dunno. But, did he get a boyfriend or something? He’s been cloud-nining it for days.”

Chad picks under his nails like it’s the most interesting thing he’s got going on. “Some guy blew him in the backseat of his car Friday.”

Jared makes his presence known by smacking the back of Chad’s head and planting himself onto a bench across from him. “You a little jealous it wasn’t your dick?”

“Dude, no. I prefer my mouths to come with vaginas.”

“Like yours?” Sandy asks. She high fives Jared with a proud smile.

Jared laughs. “At least mine didn’t bite.”

Sandy pokes at the bruises on his neck that can’t be hidden by the collar of his polo. “Liar.”

“Dude, he’s hot.”

She playfully slaps the side of his head. “Dude, don’t care.”

“C’mon,” Chad suddenly whines. “Those are new, aren’t they?”

Sandy eyes Chad. “What do you care?”

“Because that faggot borrowed my truck last night.”

Jared smirks and shrugs. “Dude’s hot.”

The front door sounds off to notify them of customers. But they all hear the distinct voices of Brian, Gabe, and Jared’s brother Jeff, so Sandy scuttles off to avoid all the guys hitting on her and trying their best to manhandle her.

“Hey!” Jared calls after her. “Make sure the Tiger’s Milk is stocked at the counter.” She yells something in return that he thinks is in consent.

Jeff lands next to Jared, easily sharing the space of the weight bench. “Jay, how in the hell do they milk those tigers?”

Jared rolls his eyes because his brother asks him that far too many times, like it’s a new joke. “I don’t know, Jeff. How in the hell does Josie milk you?” and he reaches over to twist at his brother’s nipple.

He winces out a “Fuck” while Gabe replies, “Very carefully.”

“And with tweezers,” Chad laughs.

Jeff sits up. “Y’alls just jealous you’re not getting any regular ass.”

“Jay does now,” Chad nods back.

Jeff elbows his little brother. “Got yourself a boyfriend?”

Jared furrows his eyebrows. “Nah. Just screwing around.” He’s grateful when he spots a customer milling around the golf clubs, so he jumps up to handle that and not get any deeper into the conversation.

Yeah, he met up with Jensen last night and it was almost better than Friday night – on one hand, they were sober through this new time and could fully feel every single thing going on; on the other hand, the liquor had pretty much eased up everything Friday, and last night it took them a little longer to get to the good stuff because they both seemed a little awkward without liquid courage. He’d gone by Jensen’s apartment and they played some Wii to waste the weird early time of seeing each other again. They were pretty equal on the sports challenges so the trash talking and competition of the whole thing got pretty heated. Which led into an extremely heated makeout session on Jensen’s couch. They barely made it to the bedroom where Jared got another lazy blow job and then rewarded Jensen by screwing him long and hard. They both came a few times that night.

But unlike all the other Gamecocks, Jared doesn’t share those stories. Not just because they’re not likely to enjoy hearing about his big gay sex, but also because he just doesn’t like to. He’d call himself a gentleman if it didn’t make him throw up a little, but he’s considerate enough to not fully share everything in his sex life. Partly to save his partners from any embarrassment, but also to save himself from lots of ragging from the team. It works well for all parties involved.

When he gets back to the guys, there’re about seven of them hanging out on the weight equipment while Chad jogs on a nearby treadmill and Gabe gradually increases then decreases both speed and incline just to screw with him. They’re all going through the last game and everyone’s getting a little pissy over the loss. Between breathing, Chad gets out, “Who was the guy in left? I wanna kick him in the teeth.”

Jared rolls his eyes at Chad. Sure, he’s pissed, too, because that guy stole his game-winning homer, but it’s been a few days. Plus Jared got laid last night, so he’s not as bitter as he was on Friday. “Guy, save it for the playoffs. We’ll crush them then.”

Chad’s stride isn’t too fast so he’s fairly easily talking, but he isn’t looking anywhere but where Gabe’s fingers fumble over the controls to bring the incline even higher. “I am going to fuck that guy’s shit up. Drop some eye drops in his water bottle.”

“You know that doesn’t really work?” Jeff asks.

“Jeff Padalecki, M.D.,” Brian sounds off in a mock-serious voice. “Saving assholes from diarrhea.”

Chad comes to a stop on the treadmill and loses his footing as the belt continues flipping. He quickly hits the stop bottom and steadies himself. “That don’t work?”

Jeff shrugs. “Not really.”

“Prove it.”

“You volunteering for the trial run?”

Jared stands and stretches. “Hey, guys, this is awesome and all? But fifteen minutes ‘til close.”

Jeff looks up. “Hey, did you get that DeMarini bat in yet?”

“Dude, you’ve been here an hour and now you wanna shop?”

“Better late than never.”

Jared sighs. “I’ll bring it Friday.”

Jeff stands and pushes a hand at his brother’s shoulder. “What if I wanna hit the cages with it?”

“Use the Miken I got you. C’mon,” he whines.

“Why’s you gotta be such a crabass?” he asks, clearly annoyed. “How’m I gonna hit any better if I can’t have that bat?”

“Can’t really hit any worse, either.”

“Screw you,” he shoots back to Chad without looking.

The rest of the guys clear out and Chad calls out to Jared that they’re all running to the Steak ‘n Shake across the street to wait for him.

Jared rights the treadmill Chad was using but never bothered to actually turn off, and he moves a few other items back into place that the guys had messed with. He can tell Jeff is still there so he glances at him and then goes back to cleaning things up. “What’s up?”

“You really got a new guy?”

He shrugs, but can’t help the tiny smirk.

“Jay? C’mon, you can talk to me.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s nothing, though. Just screwing around.”

“Kinda late for a rebound.” Jared shoots him a confused glance. “It’s been like four years since Tom screwed you over and not much since.”

“Nah, it’s not that.”

Jeff follows Jared as he moves through the aisles, repositioning stock that Sandy had ignored. “You sure? Sure that’s why you’re not doing anything?”

Jared keeps going, pushing boxed basketballs into place and pulling the front row into an even line. “Look at who I hang out with. You think it’s easy to find guys?”

“Maybe you need to find a new league?”

“Man, I can’t not play with you guys.”

Jeff’s voice is getting more careful, like he’s not sure how long he can carry this conversation with Jared. They’ve never really gone this far on the topic, but it seems that with Jared busying himself, he’s unable to really realize how much they’re talking. “Maybe we find a new league.”

Jared pauses, but then he moves on. And it’s so right. Jared’s got his own issues and he doesn’t like discussing it with people, but right there, it feels okay. Because it’s his big brother, no one else is around, and he’s not even looking at the guy. He’s looking at which bats go where, placing the 34-inch ones into the right slots and putting the 30-inchers back in their basket. “You guys don’t want to leave that field. I know that.”

“Yeah, but if it’s hard on – ”

Jared finally turns at that and levels his brother with a hard stare. “It’s not, I’m cool.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he huffs back.

“I saw how quickly you tore past first base.”

Jared flashes back to that game and every time he hit a ball, he wasn’t even thinking about first. He was picturing how he could run right past the baseman without a glance and make it to second. Because he didn’t want to even catch a glimpse of Tom playing there. Guilt pinches his stomach for his brother figuring it out. But then anger rips right past it when he thinks about how hard the whole rivalry blew up after things blew up between him and Tom. No matter, he flippantly replies, “Yeah, I wanted to get the game going. Maybe win?”

Jeff nods and lets Jared off the hook. Lets him continue cleaning up his work and settle a little. “Who’s the new guy?”

“Someone from the bar. It’s not a big deal. We hooked up, that’s all.”

“Nothing more?”

“Nah, it was just good to burn a little steam after the game, ya know? Like you didn’t go home to Josie?” Jared smirks, glad they’re back to joking and easing out of any serious conversations.

*

Friday, the Gamecocks are playing like they have been for the last two seasons. Gabe’s sucked up a few tough grounders and started two nice double plays. Chad’s grabbing everything tossed his way at first. And hardly any ball is making it out of the infield, giving the outfielders a chance to just watch the tight play and not run themselves too ragged – like they did last week.

The bats are lively, too, letting them jump out to a possible slaughter rule by the fourth inning, up 14-3. In the bottom of the inning, with the home team up, they’re trying to shut the Masterbatters down. And that’s when it goes to hell. Jared, at shortstop, usually uses his long limbs to his advantage, stretching so unnaturally to reach any ball hit in the vicinity of his space. But this time, his left cleat sticks in the dirt as he turns that way to chase down a grounder. His foot won’t turn, so he trips over his own feet and just rolls into the dirt. He does stop the ball from leaving the infield, but he’s on the ground long enough that the batter gets on base.

When Jared stands up, he pounds the ball down into the ground with enough force that it pops back up into his hands. He’s cursing and wanting to just bean that runner in the face with the ball because the guy is fucking grinning at Jared. He knows – hell, they all do – that Jared hardly commits errors, so if he got one over on him, he should fucking take it and not gloat.

And then Jared’s anger spikes higher when he sees the guys from Going Deep congregating in the bleachers behind the home team’s dugout, watching. And he distinctly sees Tom laughing with Mike, their pitcher, and a few other guys milling around and watching the game and Jared’s error. Like they enjoyed seeing him screw up. He smacks the ball to the ground again.

“Dude, c’mon. Head on!” Chad yells across the field at Jared. He claps his hands quick and sharp to make his point.

Jared’s pissiness has brought him closer to Jeff on the mound, who just gives a bit of a scowl. He always gets mad at Jared for letting his emotions mix too sharply with his competitive nature. Jared’s always the first to start pouting, kick sand, and throw the ball to the dirt like a little kid in a tantrum.

“Seriously, Jay,” Jeff crabs at him, a hand out for the ball.

“Shit,” he mutters.”

“Let’s play, guys!” the ump calls out.

Jared tosses the ball at his brother and points a finger at first, aiming mostly for Chad, but not minding at all the way the runner thinks he’s going after him. His heart spikes when he sees the guy shake his head, reposition his hat, and mouth something that looks distinctly like ‘faggot.’

The next batter pegs a ball to Jared’s left – like they all want to get in on the action of Jared’s errors. But he’s easily shuffling over and scooping it up. Gabe is at second base with his hands open to start the double play, but Jared just charges with everything he’s got. He steps on the bag and hops up when the baserunner’s sliding in and trying to mess up his throw. But he gets it off with such accuracy that Chad doesn’t move but an inch and his hands just flip up to grab the softball at his chest. Jared, in the meantime, doesn’t even attempt to land on his feet and purposely drops right onto that baserunner. Who immediately starts swearing and pushing Jared off. Jared’s not sure how he landed, but his knee was resting on the guy’s chest by the time he tries to get up with a lame hand from Gabe.

When they’re both on their feet, Jared’s shoulder pops against the other guy’s and he grumbles, “Who’s the faggot?”

Gabe is immediately pushing at Jared’s shoulder, not sure what’s going to come next but getting in the mix all the same. The guy looks a little horrified, like Jared might actually rip his arms off and beat him with them, so he just jogs over to the dugout without another word. Jared’s smirking at the Masterbatters and nodding a little slightly, knowing they’re watching and kind of worried. When he gets back to his position, he again points his finger Chad, who’s pointing right back at him with a huge grin – because he’s about the only one on the team who likes Jared’s antics on the field.

He can see the next batter’s a bit leery about where to hit the ball, and he eventually grounds out to Gabe, who gets an easy toss to Chad for the final out. Everyone cheers and heads off to the bar with the win.

Once there, no one’s really bringing up the incident, knowing Jared gets animated during his play and sometimes he’s touchy about some things. Someone on another team calling him a faggot is a sensitive thing, obviously, made even more so because they all call each other names all the time. They don’t really have a leg to stand on because faggot is a word they toss around their circle so many times without even looking at Jared when it’s being used. But then, it’s the age old ‘no one makes fun of my brother but me,’ sort of thing. So they’re all a little irritable themselves. Enough that no one mentions it; which is the sick realization of how demented they all are.

Jared’s still crabby about the whole thing and the only upward feelings of winning he has are swimming with the beer in his belly and the smug smile he carries throughout the night. Because he took care of his shit and taught that guy a lesson. Even faggots play hard.

He’s at the bar to grab two fresh pitchers when his brother comes behind, pressing two tight hands at his shoulders. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, just more beer,” Jared laughs. It’s a lazy sort of sound because he’s already had quite a few beers, marching himself through his own pitchers, it seems.

Jeff massages the muscles and tries to ease his question back in. “You okay, though? That play was a little rough.”

Jared tenses enough that Jeff can feel it under his fingers, but he doesn’t show it in his face or voice. “It’s fine. Tough game.”

His brother’s face is flat and annoyed. They won by slaughter rule in four innings. No one can call it tough.

Jared swings around and finally huffs. “Guy called me a faggot.”

“Chad calls you that every day.”

“Chad’s a douche, I accept that.”

“Jay, look,” he starts a little too easily, like his brother being drunk may ease what he has to say. It’s possible, but it’s also Jared, who likes to travel back to his childhood when it comes to emotions and throws hissy fits. So Jeff’s face is still cautious. “Hate to break it to you, but you kind of are a faggot.”

Jared scowls and turns back to the bar, pushing the empty pitchers at the bartender. “Doesn’t mean I want someone calling me that.”

“Jay,” Jeff tries again.

Jared turns back but his face is tight, pissy and ugly. “You want people calling you a dick all the time just because you are?”

Jeff raises his hands. “Alright, Bro. We’ll leave it there.”

“Yeah, you should,” Jared nods in return.

It’s another ten minutes before Jared comes back, having stopped in the bathroom and splashed some water on his face before taking the longest piss he can ever remember. There was a lot of beer in his system, and he’s about to replace every drop he just let out. Everyone’s watching him between their conversations but no one’s really talking to him. The guys are happy for the win, but on edge because of Jared’s anger in that game and how it’s still bubbling beneath the surface.

“That girl ever call you?” Gabe asks Chad, and the table laughs and cracks jokes about Chad picking up on girls with disabilities.

Jared just keeps drinking his beer, numbly watching them all, fully aware that no one is giving him any real attention. He doesn’t really care. He just wants to get wasted and pass out in the passenger seat of Chad’s truck on the way home. Maybe Chad will be nice enough to help into the house? Maybe he’ll leave him in the car. Either way, he’ll be there and fine and the whole thing will be a distant memory.

“Even if she did call,” Chad’s laughing. “If she did, how could we even talk? I mean, how I could tell her how she shouldn’t chew on my dick?”

“You have to learn sign language, that’s the only answer,” Brian pipes up.

A few other guys start making obscene gestures that could be sign for ‘don’t clamp down’ and Chad finally turns to Jared. It’s the first time he purposely acknowledges him. “You okay?”

Jared grumbles. “Why’s everyone asking me?”

“Because you threw one of your legendary tantrums out there and all but humped that dude in the dirt.”

“He called me – ”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chad sighs. “We know. Gotta get this back in,” and his hand clamps down on Jared’s head, moving it around. “Your head ain’t gonna win us games. It loses them.”

Jared eyes his roommate, a little weirded out by how much that made sense. But he knows he’s right. When he’s not so inside his head with all the anger and pissiness over being competitive and on edge, his play is outstanding and unfolds without much thought. When he’s too far into his own mind, the mistakes just breed upon themselves.

“Hey, don’t look too fast, but your boyfriend’s here.”

His head swings a little lazy – partly because of the whole ‘don’t look too fast’ warning, and also because he’s already drunk. So when he sees Jensen leaning on the bar to grab a new pitcher of beer memories of Jensen’s mouth on his dick and Jared subsequently sticking his dick into Jensen’s ass flash before him. They reel in his mind as he feels the tug on his dick. He tucks his hand around his pants, trying to will himself down and then he’s on his way to the bar.

He settles next to Jensen, crossing his arms and resting elbows at the bar. “I hear you can get good blow jobs here.” Jensen’s eyebrow rises and Jared goes on. “Ever had the shot?”

Jensen’s mouth quirks just so. That burns a little fire in Jared’s belly. “You offering?”

Jared shifts to the side so he’s facing Jensen and hitches his elbow on the bar. He knows he looks cool and relaxed leaning on a tight angle from the bar to the floor. And he’s got all the nerve of about seven beers behind him. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps I know someone who could accept.”

Jared smirks, still so smug but he knows his eyes are going dark and dirty as he zeroes in on Jensen’s plush lips. He wants to kiss them and stab his tongue inside, grope the guy’s ass and hipcheck him into next year. When the bartender is close – the one that Jared always lusted after, but can’t even bother to look at right now because Jensen is in front of him and those green eyes are piercing him so sharp – Jared says over his shoulder. “Can we get two Chad specials?”

In a minute, two shots are on the bar with whip cream covering the lips of the glasses. Jensen gives off a short, humored laugh. “You douchebag.”

Jared lifts the glass to his mouth, the tip of his tongue flipping through the cream and it’s melting on the warm pink of his tongue, leaving behind a milky residue that Jensen can’t stop staring at. Jensen watches Jared clear all the cream from his shot, how slowly his tongue moves through it all and then finally he kicks the liquor back into his mouth and swallows easily.

In a quick movement, Jensen slaps his own shot back, ignoring the thickness of the cream in his own mouth and throat. He swallows hard and glares at Jared. “We leaving?”

“You driving?”

“Five minutes?”

“Three,” Jared replies and walks back to his table without looking back.

*

At Jensen’s apartment, Jared is fierce with his mouth on Jensen’s dick and even fiercer when he finally enters Jensen from behind. His hands are tight at the guy’s waist and his hips are canting so hard and fast that Jensen’s whimpers sound more painful than anything else, but he’s not asking for it to be easy. So Jared just keeps pounding in quicker than should be possible when someone’s that drunk.

As his orgasm breaks, his arms circle Jensen’s waist and he plasters his chest against his back. His chest is heaving and pushing at Jensen. His forehead is breaking sweat all across the guy’s shoulders. “Fuck, yeah,” he sighs happily.

“Yeah, right,” Jensen laughs as he continues to jerk himself, seeing as Jared had stopped helping him get to his own orgasm.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jared slurs through his haze. His arms pull against Jensen’s hips as he settles back on his haunches and makes Jensen sit in his lap. He’s still inside, going partway soft, but loving the heat circling him right at the core. Jensen’s pressed against Jared’s chest with one of Jared’s huge palms holding him at the chest. “I got ya, baby,” he murmurs at Jensen’s ear. His other palm strokes Jensen easily while he alternates bites and kisses across Jensen’s shoulder and neck.

Jensen’s now rocking against Jared, which only creates a bitter sensation in the pit of his stomach because he’s already come and he usually needs more time to even consider Round Two. But Jensen fits so perfectly around him, and the guy’s keening and pressing back against him when he’s not pushing up into his hand. So it’s pretty hot for the both of them and Jared can’t help but feel his dick harden right back up. He rises off his haunches and starts pushing back against Jensen, easily striking his prostate while slipping his hand up and down at opposing thrusts. Jensen starts to move a little helplessly, like he doesn’t know if he should follow Jared’s hips or his hand, and eventually, he has absolutely no rhythm and just takes what Jared’s giving him. “Oh, shh, uh, uh,” Jensen mutters, not even able to put real words to the goodness he’s feeling

For the third time since they met one week ago, he’s utterly helpless as Jared controls it all and takes Jensen on a nice stroll through the warmth of building an orgasm before shoving him right off the edge of the cliff. Jensen’s pushing himself up to his knees as he comes across Jared’s hand, trying so hard to make that count more than what’s going on behind him. But Jared rises, too, arching up into Jensen as his orgasm ripples through his ass, the muscles clamping down on Jared. And just as Jensen is careening back to earth, Jared’s breaking through and shoves himself hard into Jensen, but clenching his arms so tight that Jensen can’t help but take Jared’s second orgasm.

They rest back on their knees, Jared’s head thumped into the back of Jensen’s. Jared’s arms are slung tight around Jensen still, and the guy’s hands loosen their grip at Jared’s thighs. “Fuck, man,” Jensen pants with a bit of humor in his voice.

Jared’s head drops between Jensen’s shoulderblades and he’s still breathing heavily and not willing to let Jensen go. “We just did.”

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Tags: .au, .fic, j2, verse: softball
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