Fic: We go together
Nov. 20th, 2011 04:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icmezzo_archiveA/N: This fluffy flash fic involves Edward, Jasper, and the boys of summer. *Go Sox!* Thanks to ArcadianMaggie for prereading and TwilightMundi for betaing. Stephenie Meyer owns everything you recognize.
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We go together
I went to my first Red Sox game when I was 6 years old.
By the time I was 9, I knew that I could never marry a Yankees fan. (At 14 I realized I wouldn't be marrying a woman, either.
But at 25, sitting in the outfield grandstands of Fenway Park, I learned that you should never say never.
xXxXx
"No. No way. Never. You have got to be kidding me. Absolutely not." I threw my hands in the air in mock outrage. I was mostly kidding.
Though Jasper and I had been study partners for a while, we had only recently started dating. He had surprised me with tickets to a Sox/Yankees game and I was sure I'd won the boyfriend lottery.
Little did I know he was a fan of the pinstripes.
"Nope. Absolutely not," I repeated, gaping at his navy and white jersey as he stood in the sea of red that was Kenmore Square. There was no way I was walking into Fenway Park with a Yankees fan. It was utter blasphemy.
Like all good Red Sox fans, I was hardcore. And my beloved Youk jersey was not going to sit next to his A-Rod jersey, even if Jasper was really cute.
And smart.
And liked baseball.
Damn it. I was totally gonna have to sit next to him.
"How can you live with yourself?" I shook my head sadly.
"You knew I was from New York," he grinned in response and grabbed my hand. "Come on, let's go. I think we both need a beer before the game."
xXxXx
One beer turned into several as the first pitch advanced to the sixth inning.
But as much as we engaged in the form of highly erotic foreplay termed "smack-talk," the score remained tied at two apiece. We even agreed to a friendly wager, whereby the loser had to turn over his jersey to the other until such time as the new owner saw fit to give it back.
Not that I had any use for a Yankees jersey, but I'd claim it proudly if it meant we got the W. I'd also enjoy the bragging rights, of course.
Unfortunately, Beckett's fastball was singled down the third base line about six seconds after I'd finished my latest anti-New York tirade.
Jasper just smirked, but I began rationalizing immediately. "See the thing is, when Beckett pitches from the stretch, he always—"
"Haaaaawt Dog! Getcha Hotdog Heeeeeeah! Haaaaawt dog!"
I was interrupted by the concession vendor as he made his way toward us toting a large metal warmer.
I rolled my eyes. "Who eats those things? Why would someone pay $6.75 for a—"
"I'll take one!" Jasper piped up next to me.
I scrunched up my nose. "I'm starting to seriously question your taste," I informed him.
"I like you," he winked, handing over a few bills to the guy in exchange for his food.
I harrumphed, and studied the mustard-covered meat product as he raised it to his lips and... Oh God. For fuck's sake, his lips as he took the hotdog in his mouth were positively indecent. I stared as he licked them seductively, chasing a stray bit of mustard before opening wide and moaning as he took another bite.
"Jesus, Jasper!" I hissed, watching him suck some of the condiments off his thumb.
"Yes?" he asked, all feigned innocence and teasing and wide eyes.
Oh, he was gonna get it. I made it my personal mission then and there to make a very cute Yankees fan incredibly hard before he left Fenway Park. I had a good idea how.
I jogged into the concourse, familiar enough with the stadium to return quickly with my own ammunition: a gigantic soft serve ice cream cone.
I settled into my seat and began my show. I was subtle at first; a quick lick here, a little slurp there. When I noticed Jasper watching, I hummed my enjoyment—it really was quite delicious—and ramped up my game. After swirling my tongue around the tip of the cone, I parted my lips to suck the top into my mouth.
He narrowed his eyes when I dramatically licked the vanilla from my lips.
"Edward," he said, a warning in his voice.
"Jasper?" I continued to lick and slurp and suck along the ice cream. "Mmmm."
"Alright, that's it," he announced, snagging the cone from my hand, and immediately placing it upside down in the peanut-shells littering the stadium floor.
"Hey!" I started to protest, but was stopped in short order when Jasper pressed his lips to mine, kissing me firmly, deeply.
It was...
Sort of...
Well...
Absolutely disgusting.
I scrunched up my nose as Jasper frowned.
"Mustard," I said, the bold flavor from his lips still a shock to my tongue after the sweet vanilla I'd been eating.
"And ice cream," he nodded, cringing.
"They do not go together."
"Absolutely not," he agreed. "Almost as bad as..."
"Interleague play in national league ballparks?" I offered.
"Bunting during a no-no?" he grins.
"Yankees and Red Sox?" I laugh.
"Exactly," he confirmed.
"I have an idea," I announced, standing up. "Stay here. And clean that up!" I laughed, pointing at the ice cream cone melting away.
I quickly returned with two bottles of water.
"Drink up," I told him as I handed one to Jasper and uncapped my own. "I want to try that again. Without the condiments."
He took a swallow and made a show of gargling. I swatted him on the arm as he did so, and he very nearly spit it all over himself laughing.
Once he stopped choking, I made sure to kiss it all better. This time it was all Jasper on my tongue, and that was far more delicious. While his Yankee pride left a foul taste in my Sox-loving mouth, I had to admit the flavor of his lips was addicting.
Much to Jasper's chagrin, the Red Sox did win the game 3-2.
I had known they would, of course, as we were clearly the far superior team. I made sure to tell Jasper that several times on the way out of the stadium and back toward Kenmore as we weaved our way through the throngs of other jubilant fans.
I glared as we were held up by traffic, though, which made Jasper smile. "In a rush?"
"Absolutely," I informed him seriously. It had taken far fewer than nine innings for me to realize that, despite his questionable allegiances to pinstripes and overpriced tubular meat products, he was a keeper.
"Oh really?" he asked. "Why?"
"Because," I replied, giving him a peck on his surprised lips. "I'm taking you back to my place. Your jersey is now mine, and I'm going to need to get you out of it as soon as possible."
I laughed as his eyes glazed over a bit, and his mouth hung partway open.
"Don't worry," I grabbed his hand, and hauled him off to the subway. "You won't remember the game by the time I'm done with you."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We go together
By the time I was 9, I knew that I could never marry a Yankees fan. (At 14 I realized I wouldn't be marrying a woman, either.
But at 25, sitting in the outfield grandstands of Fenway Park, I learned that you should never say never.
xXxXx
"No. No way. Never. You have got to be kidding me. Absolutely not." I threw my hands in the air in mock outrage. I was mostly kidding.
Though Jasper and I had been study partners for a while, we had only recently started dating. He had surprised me with tickets to a Sox/Yankees game and I was sure I'd won the boyfriend lottery.
Little did I know he was a fan of the pinstripes.
"Nope. Absolutely not," I repeated, gaping at his navy and white jersey as he stood in the sea of red that was Kenmore Square. There was no way I was walking into Fenway Park with a Yankees fan. It was utter blasphemy.
Like all good Red Sox fans, I was hardcore. And my beloved Youk jersey was not going to sit next to his A-Rod jersey, even if Jasper was really cute.
And smart.
And liked baseball.
Damn it. I was totally gonna have to sit next to him.
"How can you live with yourself?" I shook my head sadly.
"You knew I was from New York," he grinned in response and grabbed my hand. "Come on, let's go. I think we both need a beer before the game."
xXxXx
One beer turned into several as the first pitch advanced to the sixth inning.
But as much as we engaged in the form of highly erotic foreplay termed "smack-talk," the score remained tied at two apiece. We even agreed to a friendly wager, whereby the loser had to turn over his jersey to the other until such time as the new owner saw fit to give it back.
Not that I had any use for a Yankees jersey, but I'd claim it proudly if it meant we got the W. I'd also enjoy the bragging rights, of course.
Unfortunately, Beckett's fastball was singled down the third base line about six seconds after I'd finished my latest anti-New York tirade.
Jasper just smirked, but I began rationalizing immediately. "See the thing is, when Beckett pitches from the stretch, he always—"
"Haaaaawt Dog! Getcha Hotdog Heeeeeeah! Haaaaawt dog!"
I was interrupted by the concession vendor as he made his way toward us toting a large metal warmer.
I rolled my eyes. "Who eats those things? Why would someone pay $6.75 for a—"
"I'll take one!" Jasper piped up next to me.
I scrunched up my nose. "I'm starting to seriously question your taste," I informed him.
"I like you," he winked, handing over a few bills to the guy in exchange for his food.
I harrumphed, and studied the mustard-covered meat product as he raised it to his lips and... Oh God. For fuck's sake, his lips as he took the hotdog in his mouth were positively indecent. I stared as he licked them seductively, chasing a stray bit of mustard before opening wide and moaning as he took another bite.
"Jesus, Jasper!" I hissed, watching him suck some of the condiments off his thumb.
"Yes?" he asked, all feigned innocence and teasing and wide eyes.
Oh, he was gonna get it. I made it my personal mission then and there to make a very cute Yankees fan incredibly hard before he left Fenway Park. I had a good idea how.
I jogged into the concourse, familiar enough with the stadium to return quickly with my own ammunition: a gigantic soft serve ice cream cone.
I settled into my seat and began my show. I was subtle at first; a quick lick here, a little slurp there. When I noticed Jasper watching, I hummed my enjoyment—it really was quite delicious—and ramped up my game. After swirling my tongue around the tip of the cone, I parted my lips to suck the top into my mouth.
He narrowed his eyes when I dramatically licked the vanilla from my lips.
"Edward," he said, a warning in his voice.
"Jasper?" I continued to lick and slurp and suck along the ice cream. "Mmmm."
"Alright, that's it," he announced, snagging the cone from my hand, and immediately placing it upside down in the peanut-shells littering the stadium floor.
"Hey!" I started to protest, but was stopped in short order when Jasper pressed his lips to mine, kissing me firmly, deeply.
It was...
Sort of...
Well...
Absolutely disgusting.
I scrunched up my nose as Jasper frowned.
"Mustard," I said, the bold flavor from his lips still a shock to my tongue after the sweet vanilla I'd been eating.
"And ice cream," he nodded, cringing.
"They do not go together."
"Absolutely not," he agreed. "Almost as bad as..."
"Interleague play in national league ballparks?" I offered.
"Bunting during a no-no?" he grins.
"Yankees and Red Sox?" I laugh.
"Exactly," he confirmed.
"I have an idea," I announced, standing up. "Stay here. And clean that up!" I laughed, pointing at the ice cream cone melting away.
I quickly returned with two bottles of water.
"Drink up," I told him as I handed one to Jasper and uncapped my own. "I want to try that again. Without the condiments."
He took a swallow and made a show of gargling. I swatted him on the arm as he did so, and he very nearly spit it all over himself laughing.
Once he stopped choking, I made sure to kiss it all better. This time it was all Jasper on my tongue, and that was far more delicious. While his Yankee pride left a foul taste in my Sox-loving mouth, I had to admit the flavor of his lips was addicting.
Much to Jasper's chagrin, the Red Sox did win the game 3-2.
I had known they would, of course, as we were clearly the far superior team. I made sure to tell Jasper that several times on the way out of the stadium and back toward Kenmore as we weaved our way through the throngs of other jubilant fans.
I glared as we were held up by traffic, though, which made Jasper smile. "In a rush?"
"Absolutely," I informed him seriously. It had taken far fewer than nine innings for me to realize that, despite his questionable allegiances to pinstripes and overpriced tubular meat products, he was a keeper.
"Oh really?" he asked. "Why?"
"Because," I replied, giving him a peck on his surprised lips. "I'm taking you back to my place. Your jersey is now mine, and I'm going to need to get you out of it as soon as possible."
I laughed as his eyes glazed over a bit, and his mouth hung partway open.
"Don't worry," I grabbed his hand, and hauled him off to the subway. "You won't remember the game by the time I'm done with you."
