This could be AU. Or maybe not. I'm not really going for the particulars. (Its obviously AU to a point, judging by the fact that Derrick and Cam DO NOT hook up and have steamy man sex at any point of the books) but I mean, like I'm pretty sure Plovert is on crutches, but I don't really give a shit about that.
Despite Claire's insistence to stay for the soccer game, the girl's were forced into a conclusive round of Pinkberry, in which Claire spent the majority of the afternoon shifting in her seat and looking all around like she was going to be sick. A round of gossip download would no doubt lead to a round of Alicia telling all about Derrington in an entirely sly way. Claire wondered if Alicia new more then she let on, but decided against it. She could only hope that Derrington and Cam were at least enjoying themselves.
Which they were, intensely.
Or at least Derrington was.
There was nothing better then an entire afternoon watching Cam own ass on the field. The coach had made a dangerous move by subbing their usual left wing for Kemp, who was much faster and agile, but not as much of a power player. Coach probably thought Cam in center was overkill, anyway. Hotz was playing right wing, and he had Plovert on defense (Derrick wasn't sure if this was wise or not, because Plovert had a suspicious attraction to red cards).
The groundhogs were prepared for the offensive over power, but weren't ready for the steel defense that the Briarwood boys were known for.
Derrick spent half the afternoon wishing he was in goal, because watching the sub goalie was like kicking a crying kid. Satisfying, but kind of made him guilty. As the guy missed another pitiful shot to their goal, Derrick supposed that this would at least make the team a little more aware of all the shit he had to put up with. Sure, Briarwood's defense was stellar, but they had a way of always blaming Derrick for every shot (usually, it was JT's fault, because he usually played an offensive defense and left holes in the lineup)
Anyway, he spent the other half watching and enjoying himself, cheering Cam on and admiring the lean contours of his body in action, muscles tense and leaning back with a smug expression because that body belonged to him.
Course, Cam didn't know that.
"Good job today." He smiled genuinely as Cam trudged closer, hoisting his bag that was roughly equal to him in size.
"Thanks." He plopped it down and sprawled on the bleacher beside the blonde. "Had fun watching?" The brunette teased with a smirk.
Derrick rolled his eyes, before a cat smile made its way onto his face. "Would you believe me if I told you I liked watching your butt?"
Cam swallowed audibly and his cheeks flushed pink, as Derrick howled with laughter.
"I—I…"
Derrick tossed an arm over Cam, and to anyone but each other the gesture would have looked completely platonic. "I'm kidding, sweatheart." He whispered against the boy's ear, while said boy fidgeted uncontrollably and startled with an audible gasp.
"D—" Cam gathered his wits slowly with a flushed face. "Don't joke like that!"
He abruptly pushed the older boy off, and Derrick continued to chuckle at his embarrassment.
It wasn't his fault, though.
He never really asked Derrick if he'd ever had other relationships. And not the kind like he was pretending to have with Dylan—the kind he had with Cam. But Derrick always seemed to know what to do, when to hold his hand, when to give him a hug, what kind of dates would make them look more like good friends rather then a couple. Cam was completely lost. Before Derrick, he didn't even think of boys that way.
Of course, Derrington wasn't really joking, but he only smiled enigmatically at Cam's questioning bright eyes that peaked beneath the dark fringe of his hair.
"Anyway," The brunette began hotly, more because he was kind of irritated at his own embarrassment. "My parents are going to be here any minute."
"Alright." Derrick nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."
As Cam got up, he was kind of disappointed he didn't get a hug. Of course, displays of affection probably weren't the wisest idea at the moment, but there still was a tug of reluctance as he remembered the warm muscled arms that came around him and the beating thrum of Derrick's heart against his ear.
Instead, he gave a sad grin. "Make sure to ice that leg, okay?" And then, with a genuine laugh. "We don't want Kyle in goal for the next game."
Derrick snorted derisively. "God knows what that would do for our record."
Cam's laughter rang through the bleachers as he hopped down onto the sidewalk.
Derrick watched him go, hair a tousled skew of chocolate in the waning sunlight, the sky burning claret red as the sun became a benign presence on the horizon. Derrick was caught up in the slim contours of his body, the mobile shoulders lifting beneath the soccer jersey, the windy hair and cloudy eyes.
As Cam walked to his car he couldn't help the nagging feeling wrestling in his stomach at the very thought of Dylan. Not that he had anything against the girl. Out of the entire clique, sans Claire, he supposed she was one of the more manageable. As was Kristen (he may or may not be biased, seeing as though any soccer player, even one who spent a considerable amount of time judging her outfits, was a plus in his book). Alicia and Massie, he supposed, were too caught into their whirlwind of clothes and outrageous gossip. While the whole crew was attractive… he shook his head.
Anyway, the problem with Dylan was that she most likely had serious intentions. If what Claire told him about their circle of friends was true, then Dylan would never stick her neck out like that unless she was serious about Derrick. Which was, well, kind of a problem.
Cam walked into his house, his mother puttering about in the kitchen, and called an undecipherable mumble of response to her lyrical, sing-song greeting.
He trudged up the stairs and bypassed the room with blaring indie rock, Suis la Lune on the tip of his tongue and the latest poster for Anthroplogie Anthology taped haphazardly to the door, where Harris was probably rocking out with his thick skull-candy headphones. He dropped his soccer duffel bag onto the floor with a dull thud, and looked around his dark blue room. Clothes rose in waves on his floor, and he supposed eventually they'd get fed up and oust him. He threw his phone into the sea of white blankets on his bed, and flopped onto it.
His phone rang, "I don't practice Santeria, I don't got no crystal ball—
Derrington had a strange way of always having some sort of sixth sense which allowed him to know whenever Cam was becoming indecisive, or unsure. His texts always ended up cheering him up regardless.
What Cam really wanted to do, though, was find out if he was really, seriously overreacting, or that he was spot on. He wanted to ask Claire what she thought of all this.
