ladyjanelly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ladyjanelly) wrote2007-08-22 09:19 pm
ladyjanelly) wrote2007-08-22 09:19 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Rollerball (J2, nc-17, 5/6)
Title:Rollerball
Author:Ladyjanelly
Movie Adapted: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0246894/
Genre: CW RPS
Characters/Pairings:Jared/Jensen
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 10,202
Warnings: violence
Notes/Credits: Thanks to Jellicle for looking over this for me and giving me hand-holding and feed-back.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
Jensen gets fucked up in Prague. One second he’s flying across the track in a pack of his team, and the next, Misha’s going down under his wheels. He dodges desperately to the inside. An opponent’s motorcycle roars by, clipping his shoulder as it passes, spinning him around and dumping him like road kill against the wall.
It hurts like hell--he can’t even figure what’s fucked up, he hurts so much all over, but he stands and grins that ‘fuck you’ grin that the sponsors love. Fuck you for making money on my pain, fuck you for not letting me out, fuck you and your control and your spies and your tempting Texas-boy piece of ass.
The crowd roars to see him back on his feet. He manages to keep grinning, keep skating, through the last minutes of the game and the god-damn victory lap. His left arm’s screwed; he can’t bring that hand up past his shoulder. There’s a sharp pain in his chest when he breathes too hard and he’s never been so grateful for the dark tunnel heading back to the locker room.
Costas guides him to where Jared’s waiting, helps him up onto the table.
“Keys,” Jensen says before Jared can start making the fuss he’s drawing a breath for. “Keys. To the car, they’re in my bag. Gotta get out of here.”
“Ackles--” says Jared, frustration dripping from the word. “You’re hurt, man, you need a medic.”
“Shut up,” Jensen says under his breath. “Shut up. Get me out of here. They can’t know, they can’t see.” One foot in front of the other, he can do this. He has to. He’s too close to stop now.
He stares at Jared, waiting to see if this is when he turns, if this is when he gives Jensen up.
“You’re crazy,” Jared whispers as he bends down and gets Jensen out of the roller blades and into a pair of boots. “If you fucking die and I’m left here alone, I’m screwed, man.”
“Not gonna die,” Jensen says as he stands up again, although it hurts so bad that death seems like a damn viable option.
------
Jared gets Ackles back to the hotel, up a back elevator to avoid the eager eyes of the fans that loiter in the lobby. He swears the man almost passes out with the pain of getting out of the car. He’s so pale he’s almost grey, and Jared wonders if his teeth hurt, his jaw’s clamped so tight the muscle keeps twitching
In Ackles’ room, Jared slowly strips the flashy leathers and sturdy safety gear off Ackles’ bruised body. This--this isn’t what he signed up for. He’s not a doctor, damn it. “Look--” he starts, but Ackles shakes his head and points over to the radio. Paranoid fuck.
Once there’s some background noise going, Jared comes closer and whispers his unprofessional diagnosis.
“You need a doctor, you stupid shit.”
Ackles smirks that death’s head grin, no humor in it at all.
“Can’t be out,” he says back, “Two weeks, the beginning of the South American tour. Mexico City. If they pull me from the track, we’ll miss the best chance we have of getting to the states. If they know I’m hurt, they might wreck me and cash in on the ratings spike.”
Jared, to his shame, doesn’t argue right off. “Dude, I think your collarbone’s broken. You really think you can play?”
Jensen nods, his hair sweaty against the pillow. “You’ll wrap it for me. I’ll rest. One more game in the Med and one in Mexico. Then we’ll slip across the border and home.”
“You’re crazy,” Jared says, even as his stomach twists. He wants this, has wanted it for two years.
-------
Watching Ackles play with a broken bone is the most horrible thing Jared’s seen, and he’s witnessed a lot in the recent past. The mask shadows Ackles’ eyes, and he tries to hide the pain behind his usual cocky posture, but Jared can see it in the hesitation taking the ball, the crooked landing after he scores a point.
Their coach sees it too, and Jensen's waved back to the bench twice, but each time he grins and shakes his head and goes right back out again.
Brotski notices too, and Jared’s called up to the box seats in the middle of the game.
“What is this shit?”
Brotski is even scarier in a suit than he had been in his smoking jacket. At least Jared doesn’t have to see him naked this time.
Jared plays stupid at first. “It’s um--what?”
Brotski’s hand comes down hard on the table in front of him, making Jared jump like he’s shot. “Ackles plays like the shit. Like the bad shit. This costs me money. I want to know why.”
Jared tries to crush down the fear the little man instills in him, but power is power, and this guy doesn’t have to be big to make Jared disappear off the face of the earth.
“I’m sorry,” says Jared, going for contrite, “I’m sorry. We stayed up a little late, partied a little hard. He wanted an exciting night before the game and I wanted to make sure he’s having a good time.” He leaves the ‘how else can I be there to screw him up when it’s time?’ unspoken.
Brotski’s eyes narrow, and guys like that are used to far better liars than Jared will ever be. Still, he seems to believe it. “He is pleased with you, yes?”
“Yeah,” Jared nods. “He’s all into the sex and everything. And he hasn’t fucked anybody else since I came around.” At least it’s half the truth.
“Good!” says Brotski. “This is excellent to hear. Soon, there may be a thing we need for him to do. We will call you when we need for you to influence him.”
And that’s--it. Jared leaves the box and heads down to the locker room to be there for Ackles and he wonders, Can it really be that easy?
-----------
The move to Mexico City is mind-boggling. Everything goes--the ring, the players, the cars, the gear. The Sunbirds take three cargo planes and a chartered 747 across the Atlantic.
Jared ignores the procession except when it affects him directly. He only has eyes for Ackles. The guy looks like hell. The constant pain is taking its toll, and the meager pills Misha and Costas have been able to score don’t seem to make much difference. He’s not running a fever, but his collar bone is a deep angry purple and Jared’s sure its healing crooked. Eating’s a joke, not gonna happen. Jared has enough work talking him into drinking some water on a regular basis.
“One more game,” Ackles whispers to Jared whenever they’re alone. “I need you. One more game and we’re out of this forever, both of us.” He doesn’t have the energy to kick Jared out of the bedroom anymore. Jared sleeps on his good side, one hand flat on Jensen's stomach, just feeling him breathe.
Jared’s pretty sure he trusts Jensen. They’ve lived this far, Jensen's paid his passage with pain and Jared’s paid him back with trust, lying to Brotski, risking his life. Still, he’s not sure the guy’s gonna be able to pull it off in the end, and if he hides in the alley behind the hotel and makes a few calls, who the hell can blame him, huh?
-----------
“Here.” Jensen puts the roll of bills in Jared’s hand. Getting cash wasn’t easy. Getting cash with some actual value in these parts was even trickier, but he’s had a long time to plan this.
“On the way to the ring, I’ll stage a diversion. You get out of the arena and get us a car. Buy it, steal it, rent it, I don’t care.” Jared nods, but he looks shaky, nervous. It’s too late now, if the kid’s screwing him over. He’s got no choice but to trust him or give up. He can’t do it on his own now, not with the bad arm.
He takes the last of the pain pills in the locker room as Jared suits him up for the match. His shoulder’s taped to hell and back, but he knows it’s not gonna be much use. All he has to do is stay in the ring until the game is over. All he has to do is not get carried out on a stretcher.
On the way to the arena, just in sight of the cameras and the seats nearest the entry, Costas comes up and bumps him, right on schedule. Jensen shoves him back, cursing and shouting and Jared slips off past security.
Right on plan.
Everything stays on plan too, through the first quarter. Then the coach calls Jensen back to the bench, and when he goes, an earpiece with a tiny microphone is slipped up inside his helmet and the coach points up to the owner’s box.
“You thought you could fool me?” Brotski’s voice is like honey-covered razor blades in the ear. “You and your pretty boy.”
And there’s Jared, standing next to Brotski. There’s blood on his face and a gun to his head and Jensen's world slips sideways.
“What do you want?” His voice is a feeble whisper. It’s over; it’s all over and he’s out of plans, out of ideas.
“It is too late for you, Hawk. For you to leave would be bad precedent for others.”
Jared flinches away from the muzzle of the gun and Jensen can see, even over the distance that he hurts.
“Just let him go,” Jensen pleads, knowing it’s weakening his stance but unable to stop himself. “He never had any power in all this.” And even if it’s a ruse, even if Jared’s chosen now to betray him, even if the blood is fake, Jensen can’t find it in himself to hate him.
“You will play the game,” Brotski answers. “You will score points. You will fight hard. You will not quit.”
Jensen swallows hard. It’s funny, how distant he feels from his own death sentence. At least he’s moved most of his money to his family’s account. All his loose ends are tied up, all but Jared. “And you’ll let him go.”
“Sure.” Says Brotski, but it sounds like a joke.
Author:Ladyjanelly
Movie Adapted: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0246894/
Genre: CW RPS
Characters/Pairings:Jared/Jensen
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 10,202
Warnings: violence
Notes/Credits: Thanks to Jellicle for looking over this for me and giving me hand-holding and feed-back.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
Jensen gets fucked up in Prague. One second he’s flying across the track in a pack of his team, and the next, Misha’s going down under his wheels. He dodges desperately to the inside. An opponent’s motorcycle roars by, clipping his shoulder as it passes, spinning him around and dumping him like road kill against the wall.
It hurts like hell--he can’t even figure what’s fucked up, he hurts so much all over, but he stands and grins that ‘fuck you’ grin that the sponsors love. Fuck you for making money on my pain, fuck you for not letting me out, fuck you and your control and your spies and your tempting Texas-boy piece of ass.
The crowd roars to see him back on his feet. He manages to keep grinning, keep skating, through the last minutes of the game and the god-damn victory lap. His left arm’s screwed; he can’t bring that hand up past his shoulder. There’s a sharp pain in his chest when he breathes too hard and he’s never been so grateful for the dark tunnel heading back to the locker room.
Costas guides him to where Jared’s waiting, helps him up onto the table.
“Keys,” Jensen says before Jared can start making the fuss he’s drawing a breath for. “Keys. To the car, they’re in my bag. Gotta get out of here.”
“Ackles--” says Jared, frustration dripping from the word. “You’re hurt, man, you need a medic.”
“Shut up,” Jensen says under his breath. “Shut up. Get me out of here. They can’t know, they can’t see.” One foot in front of the other, he can do this. He has to. He’s too close to stop now.
He stares at Jared, waiting to see if this is when he turns, if this is when he gives Jensen up.
“You’re crazy,” Jared whispers as he bends down and gets Jensen out of the roller blades and into a pair of boots. “If you fucking die and I’m left here alone, I’m screwed, man.”
“Not gonna die,” Jensen says as he stands up again, although it hurts so bad that death seems like a damn viable option.
------
Jared gets Ackles back to the hotel, up a back elevator to avoid the eager eyes of the fans that loiter in the lobby. He swears the man almost passes out with the pain of getting out of the car. He’s so pale he’s almost grey, and Jared wonders if his teeth hurt, his jaw’s clamped so tight the muscle keeps twitching
In Ackles’ room, Jared slowly strips the flashy leathers and sturdy safety gear off Ackles’ bruised body. This--this isn’t what he signed up for. He’s not a doctor, damn it. “Look--” he starts, but Ackles shakes his head and points over to the radio. Paranoid fuck.
Once there’s some background noise going, Jared comes closer and whispers his unprofessional diagnosis.
“You need a doctor, you stupid shit.”
Ackles smirks that death’s head grin, no humor in it at all.
“Can’t be out,” he says back, “Two weeks, the beginning of the South American tour. Mexico City. If they pull me from the track, we’ll miss the best chance we have of getting to the states. If they know I’m hurt, they might wreck me and cash in on the ratings spike.”
Jared, to his shame, doesn’t argue right off. “Dude, I think your collarbone’s broken. You really think you can play?”
Jensen nods, his hair sweaty against the pillow. “You’ll wrap it for me. I’ll rest. One more game in the Med and one in Mexico. Then we’ll slip across the border and home.”
“You’re crazy,” Jared says, even as his stomach twists. He wants this, has wanted it for two years.
-------
Watching Ackles play with a broken bone is the most horrible thing Jared’s seen, and he’s witnessed a lot in the recent past. The mask shadows Ackles’ eyes, and he tries to hide the pain behind his usual cocky posture, but Jared can see it in the hesitation taking the ball, the crooked landing after he scores a point.
Their coach sees it too, and Jensen's waved back to the bench twice, but each time he grins and shakes his head and goes right back out again.
Brotski notices too, and Jared’s called up to the box seats in the middle of the game.
“What is this shit?”
Brotski is even scarier in a suit than he had been in his smoking jacket. At least Jared doesn’t have to see him naked this time.
Jared plays stupid at first. “It’s um--what?”
Brotski’s hand comes down hard on the table in front of him, making Jared jump like he’s shot. “Ackles plays like the shit. Like the bad shit. This costs me money. I want to know why.”
Jared tries to crush down the fear the little man instills in him, but power is power, and this guy doesn’t have to be big to make Jared disappear off the face of the earth.
“I’m sorry,” says Jared, going for contrite, “I’m sorry. We stayed up a little late, partied a little hard. He wanted an exciting night before the game and I wanted to make sure he’s having a good time.” He leaves the ‘how else can I be there to screw him up when it’s time?’ unspoken.
Brotski’s eyes narrow, and guys like that are used to far better liars than Jared will ever be. Still, he seems to believe it. “He is pleased with you, yes?”
“Yeah,” Jared nods. “He’s all into the sex and everything. And he hasn’t fucked anybody else since I came around.” At least it’s half the truth.
“Good!” says Brotski. “This is excellent to hear. Soon, there may be a thing we need for him to do. We will call you when we need for you to influence him.”
And that’s--it. Jared leaves the box and heads down to the locker room to be there for Ackles and he wonders, Can it really be that easy?
-----------
The move to Mexico City is mind-boggling. Everything goes--the ring, the players, the cars, the gear. The Sunbirds take three cargo planes and a chartered 747 across the Atlantic.
Jared ignores the procession except when it affects him directly. He only has eyes for Ackles. The guy looks like hell. The constant pain is taking its toll, and the meager pills Misha and Costas have been able to score don’t seem to make much difference. He’s not running a fever, but his collar bone is a deep angry purple and Jared’s sure its healing crooked. Eating’s a joke, not gonna happen. Jared has enough work talking him into drinking some water on a regular basis.
“One more game,” Ackles whispers to Jared whenever they’re alone. “I need you. One more game and we’re out of this forever, both of us.” He doesn’t have the energy to kick Jared out of the bedroom anymore. Jared sleeps on his good side, one hand flat on Jensen's stomach, just feeling him breathe.
Jared’s pretty sure he trusts Jensen. They’ve lived this far, Jensen's paid his passage with pain and Jared’s paid him back with trust, lying to Brotski, risking his life. Still, he’s not sure the guy’s gonna be able to pull it off in the end, and if he hides in the alley behind the hotel and makes a few calls, who the hell can blame him, huh?
-----------
“Here.” Jensen puts the roll of bills in Jared’s hand. Getting cash wasn’t easy. Getting cash with some actual value in these parts was even trickier, but he’s had a long time to plan this.
“On the way to the ring, I’ll stage a diversion. You get out of the arena and get us a car. Buy it, steal it, rent it, I don’t care.” Jared nods, but he looks shaky, nervous. It’s too late now, if the kid’s screwing him over. He’s got no choice but to trust him or give up. He can’t do it on his own now, not with the bad arm.
He takes the last of the pain pills in the locker room as Jared suits him up for the match. His shoulder’s taped to hell and back, but he knows it’s not gonna be much use. All he has to do is stay in the ring until the game is over. All he has to do is not get carried out on a stretcher.
On the way to the arena, just in sight of the cameras and the seats nearest the entry, Costas comes up and bumps him, right on schedule. Jensen shoves him back, cursing and shouting and Jared slips off past security.
Right on plan.
Everything stays on plan too, through the first quarter. Then the coach calls Jensen back to the bench, and when he goes, an earpiece with a tiny microphone is slipped up inside his helmet and the coach points up to the owner’s box.
“You thought you could fool me?” Brotski’s voice is like honey-covered razor blades in the ear. “You and your pretty boy.”
And there’s Jared, standing next to Brotski. There’s blood on his face and a gun to his head and Jensen's world slips sideways.
“What do you want?” His voice is a feeble whisper. It’s over; it’s all over and he’s out of plans, out of ideas.
“It is too late for you, Hawk. For you to leave would be bad precedent for others.”
Jared flinches away from the muzzle of the gun and Jensen can see, even over the distance that he hurts.
“Just let him go,” Jensen pleads, knowing it’s weakening his stance but unable to stop himself. “He never had any power in all this.” And even if it’s a ruse, even if Jared’s chosen now to betray him, even if the blood is fake, Jensen can’t find it in himself to hate him.
“You will play the game,” Brotski answers. “You will score points. You will fight hard. You will not quit.”
Jensen swallows hard. It’s funny, how distant he feels from his own death sentence. At least he’s moved most of his money to his family’s account. All his loose ends are tied up, all but Jared. “And you’ll let him go.”
“Sure.” Says Brotski, but it sounds like a joke.
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I'll get it all up tonight and then you can take your time.
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So hoping the conclusion lives up to everyone's expectations.
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Can't wait for the conclusion.
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Duuude. Cheezy fight movies for the win.
Rollerball had a good chance of being a decent movie--I'm not sure what's wrong with it that made it not be a good movie. It's very strange that way.
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