by me
Rating: R for language
Disclaimer: Fake.
Summary: Glavine, National League Player Representative to the Executive Board
of the MLBPA, is not pleased with how things are going.
Notes: Please, please don't strike.
Greg stood in the doorway of the room in silence, watching as Tom angrily
swept all the papers spread on the desk of the hotel onto the floor,
dropping his head into his hands. The phone lay off the hook next to him,
the dial tone audible.
Biting his lip in worry, Greg crossed the room wordlessly and rested a hand on
Glavine�s neck, massaged the tense muscles gently. With the other hand he
reached over and hung up the phone. Glavine sat up, leaning back against
him, sighing.
�I take it the meeting didn�t go well.�
�Fuck,� Glavine groaned, drawing the word out in more of a sigh. �We�re going
to have to fucking walk. This is just�just�godDAMMIT!�
Greg didn�t reply, and his hand moved down Glavine�s chest, in circular
motions. �We�ll be ok.�
Abruptly, the lefty stood up, causing Maddux to step back, startled. �No,
we�re going to fuckin� strike and I�m going to be known as the NL rep that
fucking killed baseball.�
�Jesus, Tommy,� Greg muttered, sitting down on the bed and gazing at him
unhappily.
Tom turned helpless eyes on the other man. �What, Jesus that we�re going to
have to strike or that you�re associated with someone directly responsible
for this � this fucking disaster.�
Maddux shook his head. �It�s not over. You�ve got time.�
�Not enough! We�ve got�we�ve got�10 days?�
�A lot can be done in ten days.�
�Do you know how much I�m going to destroy? Smoltzie�s on pace to break the
major league saves record, and so�s Gagne. The Twins have the best lead in
the AL. The TWINS. The Mets are going to finish in last, which is always
fun. The AL West is a race that people are excited about! And after this
they may never be excited about baseball again! And our team�Maddy, we
have the best team we�ve had through this whole run, and we�we may not
even get the chance? And this � this,� his voice broke unexpectedly, and
he ceased the frantic pacing he�d picked up in the middle of the diatribe.
His eyes were clouded as he stared helplessly into Greg�s. �And this could
be our last season together and we may not even get to finish it,� he
finished softly.
His words washed over Maddux like a freezing wave. He�d forgotten. Somehow,
through everything else, he�d forgotten that they might not get to live
another postseason together, as teammates. His eyes locked again with
Tom�s, the lefty�s pleading for his�his forgiveness.
Greg stood up and pulled him close, kissing him gently. �It�s ok. It�ll be ok.�
�I�I�m sorry.�
�It isn�t your fault. You�re working as hard as you can, not to mention being
a starting pitcher.�
�I don�t want to lose you,� he mumbled into Maddux�s shoulder.
�Hey. It doesn�t matter. It doesn�t matter where we are next season. You won�t
lose me. I love you.�
Glavine pulled back suddenly, meeting his eyes again. �I know. I know, I love
you too, that�ll never change. But what I�ve�what I�ve loved most, what
I�ve cherished most about the past 9 years is having you as my teammate,
Greg. Charting your pitches and starting the day after you. I feed on your
performance so much. I�ve learned so much from you.�
Greg was taken aback, but a small smile tugged at his lips. �Ah, so you only
love me for my wins.�
Tom choked out unexpected laughter at the comment. �Yep, that�s it.�
Maddux nodded sagely. �I knew it.�
Smiling, finally, Tom stepped close again, brushing his lips gently over
Greg�s, decreasing the space between their bodies. Maddux�s hand, placed
firmly on the back of Tom�s neck, pulled him in, helping deepen the
kiss. �You�re going to fucking forget about player negotiations,� he
growled pulling Glavine to the bed.
"I can't."
Maddux raised his eyebrows as he looked down at Glavine. "No? Want to bet?"
Greg Maddux doesn't lose bets.
Fin