Sunday, December 2, 2012

Sunday Flash Fiction: It Was Supposed to Be a Fun Game

It's Sunday, and we love our football here in Washington DC. So today I'm sharing a little "touch football" flash fiction piece that I originally posted some time ago at Cryselle's Bookshelf as part of her Thousand Word Thursday event. You can find out more about Thousand Word Thursday here, and you can find more of my free fiction, here.

Happy reading and happy Sunday, Love, Ellis.

I bit back a curse when we both went for the ball at the same time. Paul yelled from beside me and pain tore through my rib cage when we crashed into each other. For a second everything went black, and when I came to my ears were ringing.

To say nothing of my pounding head.

The next play was more of the same. I swear he made a point of pushing my face into the grass when he tackled me, which was still soft by the way from when it rained on Thursday. So I got him back by pantsing him while he did his stupid touchdown victory dance. Mrs. Carmalli from next door saw the whole thing.

Guess that’s what she gets for being a pervy old woman.

His big paw slapped me on the back while I was on the side, looking for a towel to wipe the Scotts Turf Builder off my face. “Dammit Danny, what was that good for?”

I turned on him and tried to jab my finger into his sternum but it slid right down to his navel cuz of all the sweat. “You tell me, asshole, you’re the one who started it.”


I got all mature-like and rolled my eyes at him, then I crossed my arms over my chest because that sweaty finger had started to slide toward the waistband of his sweats and I was trying to stay mad, not go, ya-know…there. “Yeah, you. You started this fight.”

I started to say more but then a super-loud throat clear made me turn, and there were all the guys, milling around nearby. They were doing that thing where you pretend like you’re not listening but you really are, and I guess they didn’t know if they should keep playing or what. My face burned hotter than it already had been—it was real assholery of Paul and I to air our dirty laundry here in front of everyone, not just makin’ the situation uncomfortable, but holding up the game.

Jerry Vedder gestured vaguely at the rest of the gang “Uh, should we just…”

I waved a hand at them. “Yeah, finish the game, we’re sorry, guys. We’ll meet up at the ‘Gator after, okay?”

I grabbed Paul’s arm and tromped toward the house that we rented together, and headed around the back. I could pretend like we still had some privacy in this, if half the neighborhood didn’t watch us snarling at each other while we trudged through the front door together.

“Fuck! Danny, let the hell go, will ya?”

I turned again when we got to the back porch.

“Why you gotta be like that, Paul, it’s effed-up to go airing our business in front of the guys like that.”

His eyes got wide. Damn, I loved those eyes. Deep brown, and when he was turned-on they were like these bottomless wells you could fall into and never return from. Not that you’d want to.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was just long enough you could tangle your fingers in it— I shook my head to clear it. That was totally the wrong train of thought.

“Danny,” he finally said, “We were playing ball. I wasn't playing any differently than usual. You were the one who starting showing bad sportsmanship. I tried to apologize for running into you like that earlier, but you wouldn't listen. You get so closed-up when you’re mad.” He breathed out a shaky, nervous kind of laugh. He did that a lot when he was uncomfortable, especially when we had anything that resembled an emotional kind of talk. Let’s face it—guys don’t like those.

He took a step toward me, and I took a few back, pushing through the porch door and into the kitchen. He followed. Those eyes of his, they were getting darker. And me, I’m a grudge-holder. I wasn't done being mad just yet.

“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry. Whatever it was.” He laughed again. “See, I don’t remember. Do you? I remember you started it.” But he smiled when he said it.

My back hit our ugly 1970’s goldenrod refrigerator and I stopped. My jaw clamped tight and the crazy-loud scream of my teeth grinding together echoed inside of my head. I couldn’t exactly remember either. It had something to do with…something he’d said that made me feel stupid. Paul was better educated and more into news and current events and whatnot. “Sometimes I feel like you think I’m dumb,” I muttered.

He laughed. “Is that what you think?” Another step closer. “Baby, what was it you said to me the other day? ‘Why watch all that depressing shit on the news when you can’t change it.’ I feel like you think I’m the stupid one.” Closer.

“Nah,” I whispered. “You’re…compassionate. I’ve always respected that about you.” But I was having a hard time looking into his eyes now. That part of me that wanted to hang onto my mad was fighting for purchase and if I looked at those eyes now it’d be all over.

His hand worked to unclench my fist and he threaded his fingers through mine. “Well maybe I could learn to be a little more level-headed sometimes. I’m sorry,” he said. “Come on, Danny. What were we really fighting about?”

I shook my head. Shrugged my shoulders. “I guess I don’t know.”

He hooked his other arm around my neck, and when I looked up those deep, dark eyes were staring into mine. “Hey. If we hurry, we can squeeze in some makeup sex before we have to meet the guys at the ‘Gator.”

My cock swelled. I bumped my nose against his. “They’ll know.”

“So? They’ll make fun a little. They’ll be happy we’re not fighting anymore. Yeah?” He licked across my lips, and I let him kiss me, cuz damn…kissing Paul was home for me.

“Yeah,” I said.

We laughed and pulled each other down the hall toward the bedroom.


  1. Awww... such sweet boys. :)

    Though I do take exception to the assertion that we're ALL into football, here around DC. LOL

  2. Well at the very least, we pay attention because it affects traffic, lol!