Chapter 7: Turn Around, Bright Eyes
"Go, Harry! Faster!" shouted Nate from the first base line, planted firmly in the dirt, furiously pointing towards second base with his right hand and wheeling madly with his left.
After rounding first base, Harry briefly looked toward the outfield and saw the left fielder getting ready to throw the ball into second. He put on a fresh burst of speed and focused intensely on second base. Behind him, he could vaguely hear Nate yelling "Down! DOWN!"
It came more naturally to him than it should have. Of course, all the spills he'd taken on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch had been excellent preparation. Harry executed an textbook slide, bending his left knee and stretching out with his right foot as long as he possibly could, but the ball was already flying through the air. The second baseman straddled the bag in preparation, glove in place to catch the ball, and easily swing his arm down to tag Harry out. And that's just how it happened. He really thought he'd gotten there first, but rest of the team resoundingly declared him "Out!"
After a quick chuckle, Mike the second baseman reached down to grab one of Harry's hands and pull him to his feet. "You're pretty damn fast, man, but you're going to have to be faster if you want to steal on Chris." Chris was the left fielder, and Harry grudgingly admitted that he had one hell of an arm.
Nate was jogging over now, after having retrieved his clipboard from where it leaned against the fence. "I knew Chris would get you, but I wanted you to get some extra practice in with sliding. Looks like all that time on the Slip n' Slide paid off last week," he said with a straight face.
Harry smiled good-naturedly while Mike broke out in fresh chuckles. The team had had a field day (pun intended) last Friday teaching him sliding techniques on an adult version of the popular child's toy. They swore by it, though there was one memorable moment when he careened out of control and smashed into a particularly ugly lawn gnome. Harry hadn't questioned their methods as it had been useful in helping him refine his base running skills.
"I'll say! It would have gone much worse had I tried it on this rocky-ass field first," Harry grinned, kicking some of the loose pebbles towards the green. Talking shit about the city's sub-par baseball fields was collectively the team's favorite pastime.
By this time, José, the team's pitcher, had wandered over to take his own turn ragging on Harry. "Brah, you're really going to wow the ladies with those moves. But they're not going to want to take you home if you steal all the dirt off the field." It was true; after a slid, the whole right side of Harry turned muddy reddish-brown.
"It's not like I've never gotten dirty before," Harry smirked, brushing himself off while raising his eyebrows and rolling his hips suggestively.
Mike and José roared while Nate covered the lower half of his face with the clipboard. As the team's unofficial coach and manager, he tried his best to remain professional even through the bawdy humor that prevailed in every practice, scrimmage, and game.
"Hey, y'all!" shouted Becky Lou from third base, one of the two women on the team. "I don't mind me a dirty bird if he's got an ass like that!" She turned to Harry. "I suppose you're coming home with me tonight, then aren't you sweetheart?"
It was too much for Mike and José; they bent double laughing as even Nate couldn't hold back any longer and joined them. Zee, the shortstop who up until this point had been obsessively re-lacing his cleats, could be heard unsubtly snickering as well (and he was usually more composed than Nate). It was well known on the team that Becky Lou was only into women, but she flirted shamelessly with her teammates – especially Harry. He had no idea how to get her off his back, and now was no exception: he flushed a bright shade of red as Nels the catcher shouted from home plate "Bring it in! Looks like there's thunder!" Practicing in the rain was fine, if cold and wet, but the team couldn't take any chances with metal bats getting struck by lightning.
Harry appreciated Nels a great deal. If there was anyone who had a chance of getting Becky Lou to back off, it was Nels. She was a fierce baseball player with a pure talent for picking off baserunners. Off the field, however, she had a heart of gold. Though completely straight, Nels had saved Harry from an uncomfortable situation last week by turning the tables on Becky Lou by flirting shamelessly with her. He brought her chocolate the next week as a thank you, and they became fast friends instantly.
As the team pounded towards home plate, Cale the right fielder slapped Harry on the shoulder. "I think you've got a real chance with her, mate!"
Cale was from London area as well, and Harry was endlessly thankful to have someone around that, so to say, spoke his language. The rest of the team was great, but they didn't have the proper amount of appreciation or mirth when he called someone a wanker. As center fielder, Harry had grown quite close with both Cale and Chris, as they had to work together seamlessly to be effective.
The day after Apparating into Yankee Stadium, Harry magically located every single baseball field in the city, hoping to find someone who could teach him the game. He found one better. The New York City Co-ed Fastpitch Baseball Association (CFBA) so happened to be holding its last set of tryouts that very day. He was absolutely, positively lost – but followed directions to a T. Timed runs around the bases? Done. Swinging the much-thinner Beater's bat at the flying white ball? Cakewalk. The only odd part had been they suited him up with a spare mitt and told him to go field some grounders and fly balls. The grounders made him uneasy, but Harry found that shagging fly balls came to him on the first try, awkward mitt or not. It was quite similar to catching the Snitch; the same mechanics of locating the ball and getting in position applied. Even though there was less flying and more running, Harry's skillsets transferred easily. He wasn't the best one at tryouts, but not the worst by far. Good enough, in fact, for him to be picked up by Nate – first baseman and unofficial coach of "Joe Buck Yourself," the second-best team in the league. He saw that Harry was foreign to baseball but realized his potential. It was the beginning of January, but the team had until March 1 to whip Harry into playing condition.
They converged on home plate, José slapping Harry on the ass and grinning. Even after two months in America, Harry hadn't yet grown used to the level of familiarity Americans had with one another.
Nate gave them a look, expecting, as usual, no goofing off while he was doing a motivational talk. "Okay, team," he said, Nels dropping her catcher's mask on the ground. "Our first game is on Monday. Us versus the Paleo Pandas."
Harry spared a quick what the fuck for the opposing team's name, and then tuned back into what Nate was saying. "I think we're nearly there, guys –"
"And girls," broke in Becky Lou.
"And girls," conceded Nate.
"Say," chirped Zee, "How about letting us off practice tomorrow then?" They met 4 times a week for practice (Nate's team wasn't second in the league for nothing) on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturday mornings.
Nate glared at him. "Absolutely not, Zee. You don't come tomorrow and I'll have your ass. We're nearly there, but we absolutely need another day to put on the finishing touches. Don't you want to whoop some Panda ass on Monday?"
The team jeered and roared with Harry joining in, feeling utterly and completely at home in a way he hadn't since the war ended. Nate shouted "Bring it in!" and thrust his fist into the middle of the circle. Everyone else piled their hands on top of his, and yelled "ONE! TWO! JOE BUCK YOURSELVES!"
The more juvenile members of the team laughed uproariously again, encouraging even the more composed to join in. This was usually how it went.
They started to break, grabbing bats, assorted mitts, and batting gloves and carrying them off toward the dugout. Nate exited the diamond and walked around the other side of the high surrounding fence. "I have your uniforms here," he called. "Pick them up on your way out – and for heaven's sakes, don't wear them tomorrow!"
Harry was first over and started reaching for number 0. "Ah ah ah," said Nate, snatching it back out of his hands. "Nels always takes 0, and it's too small for you anyway."
Becky Lou walked up, smirking. "Here you go sweets, take this one." Unwittingly, Harry accepted the jersey from her. He looked down to find himself with number 1. She gave him a winning smile. "You're always number 1 in my book."
José, also finished putting his gear away, howled. He accepted the number 5 Nate thrust at him and retreated down the path towards the parking lot, shaking his head.
Chris and Cale came over as well, rooting through the box for their usual numbers, 7 and 13.
"Come on mate," urged Cale. They had a spare room in their apartment, and Harry had moved in after the very first team practice.
"Not again," groaned Harry. During the past two months it had become something of a tradition for Cale and Chris to drag him out drinking on Fridays after practice – they pre-gamed on Chris's never-ending supply of Stoli vodka and ginger ale and then spent the night out at the bar. Unwittingly, Harry drank a little too much last week and was dragged into karaoke at Cale's insistence.
They shared evil grins. "Yes, again," Chris said. "Come on now, you know Saturday morning practice is going to feel weird if you're not totally hung over for it."
Harry sighed, and threw up his hands. "Only if I pick the songs tonight. You're going to love the new hits I've got in store for you…"
Draco loved his new muggle clothing, when it finally arrived via muggle snail mail. With Steve's help, Draco had managed to navigate around online and find a brand of muggle clothing that suited his fancy. Naturally, it was made by one of the finest European clothing makers. Draco despised how many Americans were content wearing low-quality clothes; ones from other countries, at that. He was also rather put off by the alternating preppy/surfer style shorts and tank tops other Millennial men were typically seen wearing. Though he had vowed to start avoiding stereotypes, Draco couldn't help but classify each a "fuck boy." Sure, the shorts he'd ordered were somewhat shorter than the ones American men wore, but combined with the relaxed-but-stylish short sleeve shirts he'd gotten to match, he looked every bit as European as his accent proved he was. Draco wouldn't have it any other way.
After using the first two weeks of the spring semester to fall into a routine, Draco became bored. He and Jake continued to kick ass during Debate Club sessions, though he avoided every party invitation that came his way, and his reading load for all his new English classes was manageable. Term papers wouldn't start until much later in the semester, thankfully. Draco realized that he needed a change; a new challenge. Making a life in the muggle world had been easier than he anticipated. He did feel isolated much of the time – bonding with Americans was different and much more difficult, and Draco still had to keep his magic a secret. Without being able to share two of the biggest parts of him, Draco didn't really expect to be able to form any truly strong relationships.
After one particularly rousing debate at UCSD over the rights of the LGBTQ community, where Jake and Draco argued fervently in favor of single stall gender-neutral restrooms, they drove back to campus together. Jake was singing loudly along with the his favorite CD–"And there's nothing wrong with me, this is how I'm supposed to be, in a land of make believe, that don't believe in me"–drumming on the steering wheel in time to the beat. Draco found it strangely endearing. He wasn't familiar with the song, of course, but the strong punk rock beat was catchy, and the lyrics actually did something to fill the ever-present void of loneliness and regret in Draco's chest.
They continued to fly the highway at 80 mph, perfectly safe from a ticket because that was just the speed of traffic around them. Jake looked over and caught Draco's eye, grinning. Draco returned the smile, desperately trying to omit the lust he was feeling from reaching his face. Jake looked back to the road, and continued to sing along line for line as he exited on College Ave. The atmosphere was still compatible, but Draco had the feeling it wasn't going to last long.
Sure enough, after Jake pulled into the parking garage and turned the car off, Draco was halted by Jake's hand on his left elbow as he went to open his door. Shit. He thought Jake had gotten the message after he hadn't followed up on any of Jake's numerous advances since their first kiss.
"Jake," Draco began; hand still on the door opener. "Didn't you say you wanted to make pizza? We better get started in the kitchen before those irritating third floor girls come down and hog it all night again baking cookies."
"Yeah, for sure," Jake mumbled, "but I just wanted to ask you something first."
Draco waited, but Jake was apparently waiting for some sort of reply from him. He removed his hand from the door opener, silently accepting that he was not getting out of this, and turned his body towards Jake in the driver's seat. "Mhm?" he prodded.
Jake fiddled with his car keys, not meeting Draco's eyes. "I was kind of wondering," he slowly said, "if you'd thought more about, you know, us. I really like you, and I think we could have a real shot."
Draco closed his eyes. He hadn't expected Jake to be this direct, and it didn't help matters that he was so turned on by Jake's singing that his erection was bulging against his short European shorts (though he had worn black to try and be more appropriately dressed for the debate).
"You have a great sense of humor," Jake continued. "When you want to, at least. And we have share so many of the same political views. I never thought I'd meet someone with values and beliefs so similar to mine." He reached out his hand and touched Draco's cheek, gently stroking his way down to his cheek. "And you're so, so attractive. I literally can't even help myself – I always want to touch you. I want you all the time."
Jake's touch lit Draco's blood on fire, increasing his desire tenfold. Eyes still closed, he breathed out unsteadily. Seeing the effect he had on Draco emboldened Jake, who leaned across the center console to kiss Draco, moving his hand from Draco's cheek to his soft blonde hair. Draco vividly remembered how Jake kissed from the time he spent the night at Jake's apartment. This time though, it felt much more intimate. Jake's lips were just as soft, plump, and warm as before, but this time, instead of sweetly kissing Draco he demanded Draco's participation. Draco meant to stop before things went too far; he had to talk to Jake properly, but this rougher treatment drove Draco to desperation and all thoughts of being honest with Jake flew out of his head. He smashed his lips against Jake's, opening his mouth to allow Jake's tongue to probe his mouth.
They continued to kiss for another minute or two, tongues clashing and teeth sometimes scraping, but Draco wasn't conscious of any pain. All he could feel was the desire to finish what they'd started, which wasn't an urge he'd ever experienced so overwhelmingly. Jake's free hand slipped under Draco's shirt to rub over one of his nipples, and he shuddered in Jake's mouth. God, how was he going to walk out of the car if they stopped here?
Jake solved that dilemma for him by climbing over the center console and settling himself on Draco's lap, knees spread on either side of Draco's legs. Draco reached up and grabbed Jake's shoulders, pulling him closer. On the way down, Jake's clothed but firmly erect cock brushed up against Draco's, and he groaned into Jake's mouth as they continued to kiss. Jake reached down to Draco's shorts with the clear intention of undoing the button and freeing his cock, which scared Draco. Still trembling from the touch of Jake's lips and hands, he shook his head no until he could finally whisper it, grabbing Jake's hands with his own to stop them from touching his cock.
Draco still wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten himself in this situation, but fortunately Jake respected his decision. Instead of naked, Draco found himself pressed more firmly against the seat as Jake trapped both his hands above his shoulders. Jake pulled back just enough to meet Draco's eyes before seductively brushing his pelvis against Draco's shorts, meeting the base of Draco's penis and again stoking the flame within him. Draco closed his eyes, waiting for Jake to rub up against him again, but instead Jake gripped his wrists even harder, finally releasing pressure after Draco opened his eyes. Jake cocked his head questioningly, and Draco realized he was waiting for consent. "Yes," he murmured, moving his body wantonly beneath Jake's.
He didn't have to wait long. Jake immediately rutted his cock against Draco's, nipping furiously at Draco's neck. Draco thought vaguely of how he would have to heal those marks later. He responded to Jake's movements, frotting himself roughly against Jake's cock. The pressure against his own cock was blissful, even though the clothes were a bothersome barrier, but one he absolutely did not want to remove. Jake moved down to Draco's collarbone, but Draco found he wasn't enjoying himself nearly as much as when they were kissing.
"Jake," he said, trying to reclaim Jake's focus. It worked. Jake looked up, and Draco's need must have been evident on his face. Unfortunately, Jake began kissing him how he would kiss a lover – soft, sweet, and loving. Draco couldn't let that continue. He wrenched his hands free from where Jake still held them pinned above his head and wrapped them around Jake's back, driving Jake's body harder against his cock. He made the kiss rougher, wetter, and hotter, trying to send them both over. Draco could feel the heat and pressure building in his cock, and he was so, so close.
Jake's hand unexpectedly came down and slapped Draco just under his left hipbone, very close to his ass. It was enough – Draco groaned as orgasm overtook him. He arched up against Jake's cock, and that was encouragement enough for Jake to slap him again. For one blissful moment, Draco forgot who he was with as hot come spilled out into his pants and powerful hormones overrode his senses. He was so, so relaxed and peaceful, despite the uncomfortable conversation that was sure to follow with Jake.
After a minute, Draco looked back at Jake and saw him wearing a look of smug satisfaction, probably because he had pleased Draco so well. Inwardly, he frowned. That simply wouldn't do. Jake still hadn't come yet, and Draco knew it would be selfish to quite literally stiff him, so he obliged Jake as he leaned forward again and put both hands on Draco's cheeks to kiss him intimately. After a good thirty seconds of this, Draco started to fervently wish that Jake would just come already, and so he grabbed Jake around the back again and started moving their bodies together roughly once more.
This seemed to do the trick. Jake wrapped his right arm around Draco's shoulders and started moving more erratically, his left hand still caressing Draco's face. He breathed "I love you" in Draco's ear and Draco's entire body immediately froze. Jake rode out the rest of his orgasm, crying "Draco, Draco" and Draco couldn't breathe, both out of disgust and because of how poorly he had judged the depth of Jake's feelings.
Jake apparently hadn't noticed how uncomfortable Draco was. He tried again to kiss Draco, but was deflected as Draco turned his head away. Hurt, Jake asked, "Draco?"
Though it went against every one of Draco's instincts, he met Jake's gaze. "I'm not in love with you," he said. Being blunt would hurt Jake, but Draco didn't have it in him to string the man along, which would definitely happen if he misinterpreted what Draco said.
It happened anyway, as Jake laughed. "I didn't expect for you to fall in love with me right away. I've had a long time to feel that way about you, though."
"No, Jake," Draco said directly, adopting his favorite clinical, detached tone for when he meant business. Jake had heard him use it earlier tonight as he shut down those protesting free HIV testing for LGBTQ youth. "I don't love you. I will never love you in the way you want me to. Yes, I'm attracted to you, but I only want to be your friend, nothing more."
Draco thought his message had finally gotten through, because Jake's face flushed and his eyes filled with tears. "Then why," Jake asked slowly, heartbreakingly, "did you just do–" he gesticulated madly between them, still perched on Draco's lap "what we did?"
Sighing, Draco reached up and wiped Jake's tears away as they begin rolling down his face. He responded gently. "Like I said, I am very attracted to you. I've also never been with a man before, and what we did felt so much better than being with a woman that I couldn't stop."
Jake gave him a hopeful look, perhaps entertaining fantasies that Draco might be persuaded yet, and Draco was forced to continue with his explanation. "I knew you wanted to date me, but I was completely unaware of the depths of your feelings for me. If I knew that you cared for me so, I never would have allowed anything physical to happen. Ever."
Crushed, Jake's eyes started welling up again. Draco couldn't think of anything helpful to say, so he apologized. "I'm sorry, Jake." It wasn't as hard as some of the apologies he'd had to make to other wizards, at least.
Draco completely understood as Jake hid his face and started to climb off of Draco. Their pants were both soaked through with come, brushing up stickily against one another. Though it was awkward as hell, Draco had no intention of losing Jake as a friend.
"Oh, Jake," he said, grabbing Jake's left arm as he continued trying to escape. Jake pulled back desperately, causing Draco to utter "no, no–Jake, no" as he fought to keep the other man from leaving. Draco won, drawing Jake back into his chest for a hug as tears silently ran down Jake's face.
"Hey," Draco said, keeping the pressure on Jake. "I still want to be friends with you. This doesn't change anything, I promise." Jake softly nuzzled Draco's shoulder, and Draco let him.
"What if I don't want to go back to the way things were? What if I can't?" asked Jake, muffled by Draco's shirt.
"Think it over," Draco said, running his fingers lightly up and down Jake's back in a way he thought was comforting. "Truly, I would like to stay friends with you. I don't connect with most of these other crazy Americans, and I'd be out a debate partner."
Jake laughed, and finally met Draco's gaze. "I want to stay friends with you too. I can't promise I'll be, um, perfect about everything, though."
Draco nodded. "I can accept that."
Hesitatingly, Jake ventured, "Did you still want pizza? Or would it be best to call it a night?"
"I should probably get back home," Draco said. "Plus, we're both a mess."
"A hot mess," Jake laughed. "I'm sorry too, Draco, especially for pushing you into this."
"There's nothing to forgive," Draco said, making small motions with his legs to make Jake realize he should get off now.
As Jake moved over, he asked, "So are we still on for tomorrow, then?"
"Of course," Draco replied, wishing that Jake wouldn't notice if he wordlessly performed a Cleaning Charm on his sticky shorts. "We're not going to beat USC on environmental regulations without practice."
"Did you know," asked Jake, starting the car, "that there are over 700 different chemical agents that can be used in the process of fracking?"
"No, I did not," said Draco, settling back into conversation that always came easy with Jake. "You'll have to tell me where you found that source…"
Author's Note: Jake sings "Jesus of Suburbia" by Green Day.
