Chapter 10: Dream of Californication
Draco's first week with the San Diego Youth Baseball/Softball Association (which everyone seemed to call Triple B, or 'bring back the ball,' for short) wasn't an eventful one. Danny introduced him to other staff members that worked in "base," or the organization headquarters, and helped Draco start researching possible Foundations to target. He was provided with past grant proposals that Triple B had submitted, and after only a few minutes of glancing over them, concluded that Triple B was in desperate need of his assistance. It was a good thing that Danny hired him.
Even though Draco knew he had a ton of work ahead of him, there was a part of him that was insatiably excited to meet the New York baseball players. Draco had been longing to touch and be touched ever since the episode in Jake's car, and was secretly hoping that some of the new coaches would be hot and gay, or at least hot and bisexual. He tried to remind himself that it wasn't in his job description to go chasing around what were essentially going to be his co-workers, and almost succeeded. Draco's mind kept going back to the Quidditch changing rooms, and the fantastically muscled but athletically built men toweling off around him. He'd always tried not to let his eyes linger, but somehow, there was a certain messy haired, green eyed menace that always captured his attention…
The last weekend of May passed dreadfully slowly, but Draco was glad of the calm before the storm. He just knew that life was going to get really busy when the baseball players came into town. Also, there was that pesky stipulation about actually learning how to play the sport. Draco had grown up with Quiddich; it came naturally to him. He wasn't thrilled about having to learn a whole new game, especially one designed by muggles. Draco was especially disappointed that the videos on YouTube hadn't even done a proper job of explaining how baseball was played. He'd been half-hoping to go in on Monday with some small semblance of knowing what he was doing.
On Monday morning, Draco woke up bright and early at 8:30am. The team practice was supposed to be over at 10am, but he wanted to get there at least a half an hour early to get a little bit of intel on the nine people he was going to have to interact with for the rest of the summer. Draco threw on his favorite pair of blue European shorts and matched them with a creamy white shirt. Yes, maybe he would operate on the assumption that there was a hot gay baseball player who would want to ravish him. At least the thought motivated him to slurp down some coffee and Apparate out right on time at 9:25am.
Draco landed in the scrubby desert area behind the baseball fields, grimacing as he nearly stepped on one of the very prevalent San Diego sun lizards. He found a little pathway out of the wilderness and made a beeline for the field that had a ginormous bus parked next to it. Their coach must have hauled them off the bus and right on the baseball field as soon as they got into town. Draco almost thought it was cruel, and then reflected on the fact that their team was number one in the league. Clearly they worked to maintain their standing, but Draco had serious reservations about their team name "Joe Buck Yourself." He supposed people from New York had inside jokes that people in San Diego would not be privy to.
As he neared the field, Draco heard the crack of a bat smashing into a ball, and looked up instinctively to watch for the Bludger that was sure to be coming his way. Instead, there was a round, white ball flying towards the middle of the grassy part of the field. Draco watched, enthralled, as a man ran pell-mell towards the ball and caught it just before it hit the ground. Damn, did he have a fine ass. Draco admired its pertness as he continued towards the spot where there were several large bags scattered around, with random equipment sprawled all over.
There were some funny metal benches running down the right and left sides of the field, but Draco eschewed them in favor of the stadium seating directly behind the woman wearing a lot of gear. The man from the grassy field, who was now wearing some sort of head equipment and carrying a bat, was walking towards the strange white, flat object that looked like a rectangle with a triangle stacked on top of it. He stood in a white rectangular box and raised the bat above his right shoulder. Draco couldn't possibly see where this was going.
Then, before he could properly see exactly what happened, the person standing on top of a large dirt mound raised his leg and pulled back his arm to hurl the small white ball what looked like directly at the man with the bat. Draco sprang out his chair, sure that the man would end up in a shit ton of pain and attack the thrower with the bat. Were these muggles mad?
Instead, the ball whooshed over the rectangle-triangle and was caught by the woman wearing a lot of gear in a giant leathery hand.
"Strike!" shouted a man on the far right side of the field, near a white square that was raised off the ground.
"Are you blind, Nate?" hollered the man with the bat. He stepped out of the white rectangle, stepped over the rectangle-triangle, and waved the bat threateningly. "Sure, it bloody well hit the outside of the corner, but I'd have needed a club to hit it, it was so high!"
Draco took a minute to revel in the fact that the man with the bat had a British accent – there was one of his own out on the playing field! And he was clearly all muscle, even from here, with that very fine ass…
"Just making sure you didn't fall asleep on the ride out here!" returned Nate. "You're going to have to get used to playing after tiring conditions! Don't think that the kids are going to go easy on you – yes, I'm looking at you, Zee."
The man in the middle of the left side of the dirt field – Zee – turned to Nate, who seemed to be the team coach, and glared. Draco was appreciative; it was a good glare.
The grumpy man with the bat walked back into the white rectangle and put his bat back up on his shoulder. The man on the mound wound up again, and released the ball in what looked to Draco like the perfect spot for hitting. The man with the bat clearly thought so too: he swung, but hit nothing but air as the ball flew by him and landed in the odd leather hand with a loud thump.
"How about that one!" howled Nate. "Are you going to tell me that was a ball too, and that you didn't just pull your head skyhigh and swing with a cavemanesque blow?"
The entire dirt field broke out into laughter, and the grumpy batter pointed his bat at Nate again. "Just you wait, Coach, this one's coming right to you."
He stepped back into the rectangular box for the third time and prepared to swing. By some magical power, or through sheer force of will, Draco didn't really know, the batter swung again and with a loud crack the ball sailed off the bat and flew to the right of Nate. He was prepared, and ran at it with all his might. Even with the enormous effort expended, the ball still missed Nate's leather hand by a sliver and continued on its path to the grassy part of the field.
The grumpy batter motored towards Nate, and Draco thought for a minute that he was running out there to enact some vicious muggle vengeance. Then he realized that the man was sprinting towards the raised white square. What was this crazy game, anyway? Draco watched as Nate, after missing the ball, ran back to the white square as well. Was he going to try and trip the batter? There was yet another man in the grassy field running after the ball as well, and all too quickly he had it in his hands and was hurtling it towards Nate. But the grumpy batter had already touched the square and was in the process of slowing down his run. He turned on his right side and walked back to the base, and Nate chucked the ball back to the man on the dirt mound. Wow, was this confusing.
Draco continued to watch, fascinated, as another man stepped up to the rectangle-triangle and held up a bat. As soon as the man on the mound let go of the ball, the grumpy former batter leapt off the square and started running as fast as he could for the one directly behind the thrower. Before he could blink, the woman catching the ball behind the rectangle-triangle released the ball, just as fast, and the thrower ducked as the ball flew over his head. Suddenly, the grumpy batter was on the ground, and Nate shouted "Safe!"
"What are you talking about, I had him by a mile!" yelled an outraged Zee, showing the ball clasped in his leather hand to Nate.
"Brah, his foot slid right under your mitt," chimed in the man who threw the ball to the batter from the dirt mound, raising his mitt towards Zee.
"Work on securing the tag," instructed Nate, walking forwards and giving a visual demonstration. "We can't have any sneaky runners getting a free base on a regular pitch. José," he continued, turning to the man on the mound. "Don't be afraid to fake 'em out, or even to throw to the bag. The outfield has you covered."
Zee threw the ball back to José, and yet another man with a bat came up to the rectangle-triangle.
"Last batter!" shouted Nate. There was a small scuffle between Zee and a woman at yet another bag. Zee won, and ran to pick up some spare head gear before stepping up to the triangle-rectangle.
José threw it over the plate, and this time, the grumpy former batter only took a few running steps off the bag before pausing. The woman behind the rectangle-square wasn't taking any chances. Draco had to respect the way she fired the ball towards the man standing at the bag, waiting to catch it. The grumpy batter leapt back to the bag face first, reaching out a hand to touch it just a millisecond before the leather hand with the ball touched him, or rather, smacked him. The man with the leather hand wasn't very gentle.
Another throw over the rectangle-triangle, this one directly at the spot Draco thought would make him want to swing had he been the one out there with the bat. Zee clearly thought so too, because he crushed the ball out to the left part of the grassy field.
The grumpy batter was running faster than Draco even thought he could go, motoring around the last base before heading full speed ahead for the rectangle-triangle. The person in the grassy field, though, had the ball back to the dirt field before Draco could look away from the grumpy batter. The woman near the final bag chucked the ball hard to the woman in all the gear at the rectangle-triangle, and the grumpy batter was falling – no, sliding – in his attempt to touch it before the ball in the leather hand touched him.
"OUT!" shouted Nate from behind the woman in the gear. Draco hadn't even seen him come down from his bag. "Nice, Nels, that's exactly the kind of tag I want to see."
Nels gave Nate a huge grin, before slapping the grumpy batter on the helmet and then offering him a hand up. "You might have made it if you weren't checking out Becky Lou's ass on the way around third."
The grumpy batter snorted. "Yeah, right. I was busy running – blazed past the bag too fast to even see Becky Lou at third!"
Becky Lou shouted, from what Draco presumed was third bag, "Same, because I was too busy checking out your ass, sweetums!" Draco chuckled at the team's banter. They seemed like quite the lively bunch.
"Bring it in!" hollered Nate, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting loud enough for the players in the grassy field to hear. He caught Draco's eye, signaling him that it was time to come down, and Draco got the feeling Nate had known he was there all along.
As Draco approached the dirt field for the first time, Becky Lou saw fit to run up and actually slap the grumpy man on his ass. He jerked up into a ramrod straight posture and covered his butt – which was really quite delectable, decided Draco – with his hands.
"All right, you maniacs," said Nate. "It's time to meet some of the San Diego staff, as we'll be working closely –"
Becky Lou let out a loud guffaw, and Nate rounded on her. "Hey! I know you all are tired, after four days of driving, but come on now." She gave Nate a mock injured look, and he sighed. "They're a rowdy lot. But you'll mostly be working with Harry; his manners are usually okay." He gestured towards the grumpy man who was just pulling off his head gear. "The rest of you, go ahead and introduce yourselves."
Draco was thrilled to be working with the grumpy man even though he experienced a touch of unease with the name Harry, as it just brought back too many memories. He specialized in grumpy though, so it wouldn't be too much of challenge for him to be a superior grump to the man with the delectable ass. He admitted to himself that he would rather that the man be nice so Draco could get to know him and convince him to let Draco fondle those perky ass cheeks.
Everyone was still rattling off names, but the grumpy man had finally turned around and faced Draco for the first time. He was impossibly filthy, but Draco figured that was typical with all the sliding around in the dirt. Finally glancing at the man's face for the first time, Draco almost went into shock. He lost all sense of time and place and a chill shot down his spine when he remembered the memories he had of this man. Of course it had to be Harry Bloody Potter, Draco's rival and, at one point in time, sworn enemy. They had fought on opposite side of the war, and Draco's had lost. He owed Potter his freedom and even his life. Draco did not like thinking about all the debts he owed Potter. His vision blurred, and he felt the slightest touch of dizziness flooding his sensations. He hoped that his reactions weren't obvious to the rest of the team, who he'd had just the slightest bit of chance at liking before the grand reveal of Potter…
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Harry was thrilled to finally arrive in San Diego. Even though it was only early June, the weather was fantastic. He could spend all his time and California and die a happy, fulfilled man. After crossing from Arizona into California, Nate had had the most interesting (frustrating) time trying to figure out how to drive amongst Californians. Zee'd taken the piss out of him for the full 4 hours it took to finally arrive in San Diego, and Harry couldn't help but be amused by some of the funnier witticisms that were made. It was Nate, after all, who'd forced them to make the 2,500+ mile drive in less than 3 days. And it was also Nate that would only allow bathroom breaks every two hours and a game of catch every night after dinner. This was supposedly the man who'd coached the number one team in the New York CFBA.
Finally they'd been allowed out on the playing field again, and Harry had been in heaven pushing his muscles to the limits with running. Though Quidditch usually fulfilled a need deep within him, Harry couldn't help but feel a true sense of freedom when he was sprinting around the bases. He still couldn't believe how fast some of his teammates could get the ball to the bases; Nels, for example, possessed a brutally wicked arm. Harry almost wondered if she would make a decent pitcher while he was diving back to second base. Mike laughed at his panicked breathing before slapping his mitt against Harry's side anyway after catching the ball.
"Have you seen your admirer up in the stands? Been staring at you for the past fifteen minutes."
Harry gave Mike a death glare, and snapped, "Are you going to touch me with your balls all day, or let me the hell up?"
Snickering, Mike threw the ball back to José before turning back to Harry. "He's pretty fucking hot too, if you're into men. Good luck, stud."
Brushing himself off, Harry refused to give Mike the satisfaction of looking up in the stands to check out the mystery man. There was more than enough time to admire him later, especially if they were working closely with one another like Nate hinted that they would be. Right now, it was time to steal another base.
Sadly, he was tagged out at home, and Nate ended practice by bringing the team in to meet their new co-worker. Becky Lou was screwing around as usual, and Harry lost track of the conversation as he went to pull his helmet off and shake out his messy and slightly dirt covered hair.
Harry caught sight of the mystery man out of his peripheral vision and decided that it was a good, discreet moment to give him a quick once over. He noticed the long, long pale thin legs first. Merlin, he could just imagine them wrapping around his waist as he gently slid into the man's opening…No, no, no. This was absolutely not the direction he should be taking, especially not without seeing the man's face first. Somehow, Harry couldn't even bring himself to care about how vain and shallow that sounded. Mike said he was hot, though, so he probably wouldn't be disappointed.
The second thing he saw was the man's short blue shorts. God, those were European, weren't they? Harry hadn't yet met an American man that would be caught dead in shorts of that style, unless they were stuck in the '70s or '80s. Damn him to hell, because that's exactly where he was going based on the sinful way he kept imagining ripping them off the lithe pale man.
Inwardly nodding with approval, Harry gazed up the man's well-defined torso until he finally reached the man's face, which was slightly pointed and framed by gossamer white-blonde hair – dear God, this could not be happening to him. Draco Malfoycould simply not be standing in front of him a year after the War, in fucking California,dressed in short shorts and working for a muggle non-profit organization. There was something totally wrong with that picture. Maybe Mike was secretly a wizard and had glamoured the poor muggle they were really supposed to be working with.
Harry accidentally met Malfoy's smoldering silver eyes and felt a wave of nausea pass over him. This was actually happening. His only consolation was that Malfoy looked like he was about to swallow a beehive, so at least Harry wasn't the only one suffering. Suppressing the urge to turn tail and run away from Malfoy, and the Wizarding World he was surely here to represent, Harry took a deep breath and went to face his former nemesis.