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2minsforslashingMatt Greene and Dustin Penner post-trade almost-gen. Beer and fish and Tila Tequila.
Everyone clears out as soon as the season ends, but it takes hearing about the trade to make Dustin recognize the sudden wash of loneliness dragging him down. He manages to waste an entire day in bed – only a few hours of which are spent actually doing something worthwhile, even if it's only with his right hand. Or sometimes his left, just to change it up. After that, the laziness gets to be too much even for him, so he gets up, pours a large bowl of cereal, and reads the three days worth of newspaper comics he’s missed. Twice over, since some are totally funnier the second time around. He refolds the sports section carefully without more than a glance and tosses the entire thing into recycling. Third time through kills them every time. He pours another bowl of cereal anyways, and then goes to get dressed.
By mid-afternoon he’s watered the plants outside, run the dishwasher, folded that last load of laundry, and vaccumed the floor for good measure. He considers dusting, but since he can’t even write his name on the shelves yet, it seems like a waste of time. Instead, he opens two beers and takes them out to the porch with his portable DVD player and the Shot of Love box set. Even lesbians don’t improve his day, although the beers help a little. He thinks briefly about going out, but he’s not up to putting in the effort tonight. Instead, he drinks another two beers, the crappy shit Matt had left behind, pulling on a hoodie when it gets colder, and he listens to his neighbours going about their perfectly normal days.
At ten pm, he’s surfing the internet, glances around the free porn sites halfheartedly before he finds himself on the Air Canada site, looking at flights and wondering how long it’ll take to get to the airport at this time of night.
As he books an open-ended ticket to Detroit, Dustin wonders if there’s medication for this sort of shit.
He packs light, just throws a few essentials in a small duffel, shoves his cell in his pocket and a hat on his head before calling for a cab. Highway 2 is dead by this point, so he slips the cab driver a little extra to step on the gas to make the red-eye he’d booked. He sleeps all the way to Toronto, shuffles through customs, then ends up checking out the flight attendant most of the way to Detroit when he can’t sleep.
Throughout the year, he’d gotten used to spending most of his free time on Matt’s couch or waiting for him to cross the street – still shirtless and in flip flops in the dead of winter – so it doesn’t even occur to Dustin that maybe he should call ahead until he’s already in Michigan, trying to decide if he wants to rent an SUV or a truck. Thankfully, it seems Matt’s still used to it too, all he says is: “Awesome. Bring beer.” Neither of them say a word about LA, but he steals a pen from the lady at the front desk to scribble instructions on his palm.
He ends up in some crappy liquor store along the way, staring at a cooler full of beer. They don’t have his usual and he doesn’t want more of that crap he was drinking on his deck and he isn’t sure what most of these are. Eventually he just mutters “fuck it,” and buys one of each, with a bottle of Crown to top it all off. Just in case.
It’s not a long drive to the cabin where Matt’s staying and the truck radio’s already set to some classic rock station, so he finds himself pulling up before he decides exactly what he wants to say to Matt. He stays in the truck for a few moments before realizing Matt had probably heard him pull up, and figures what the hell. Not like he’s accomplishing anything outside, anyways.
Matt’s in the kitchen making sandwiches, and something in Dustin’s chest relaxes at seeing him, even in a ripped sweatshirt with tufts of hair sticking up everywhere. He turns and smiles and maybe that makes Dustin’s dick twitch. It happens every so often around Matt, but the guy’s pretty damn awesome so it doesn’t bother Dustin too much. “Hey big D,” Matt says, glancing down at the beer cases. “Planning on getting me drunk and taking advantage of me? ‘Cause you know, I’m not that cheap of a date.”
“First off, I’d have to be pretty fucking drunk too for that to happen.” He starts to put it all in the fridge, of course there’s always space for beer, but finds himself glancing over his shoulder every so often, just in case. “Making me a sandwich?”
Matt snorts, reaches over him for the mustard. “More like three, fatty. Pass me a beer.” They eat out on the porch, where Dustin complains about how bored he is and Matt bullshits about the fish he’s caught lately. Dustin’s trying not to smile too widely, caught up enough that he doesn’t even notice something wrong with his sandwich until two bites in. “Think this one’s yours, buddy,” he says, takes another bite to be sure. Yep, roast beef. Matt squints at his for a moment.
“Huh. I thought it tasted weird. Switch?” They do, and Matt goes back to describing the impossibly huge jackfish from two days ago: “At least the size of my dick,” Matt smirks, holding his hands appropriately far apart. “Maybe even bigger.”
Dustin opens another beer and tosses the cap at Matt’s head. “I’ve seen you in the shower, man. That fish wouldn’t feed a two-year-old.”
Matt leers. “Maybe I’m a grower.”
Dustin shifts, looks away, and changes the subject to football before he can think about that one too much.
After lunch, Dustin rinses the plates while Matt gets the fishing gear, and he remembers he’d left a dishwasher full of dishes back home. Maybe he should call someone to make sure he’d locked the back door. On the way to the phone, he realizes that he could actually write his name on Matt’s shelves. Dustin grins to himself, writes ‘Greener Sucks’ next to the CDs, and goes to stock a cooler with beer before heading outside again.
They do more drinking than actual fishing, not really caring about training quite yet, sitting out on the small dock with their feet propped up on the cooler. “You’re such a fucking liar,” Dustin says after a few hours have gone by without so much of a nibble. “There are no fish in this lake.”
Matt rolls his head over to wink at him. “It’s all about faith, Big D. You’ve got to believe the fish. Be the fish. Not my fault you’re not in the zone.”
Dustin just rolls his eyes and casts again. “Yeah, it should be easier for you. Got a lot in common with ‘em,” he deadpans. Matt just throws a worm at him.
“Don’t be dissing my skills when they’ll feed you tonight.”
No one catches any fish, so supper’s made up of salad from a bag and steaks that Matt digs up from the back of the freezer. They eat that outside too, watching the sun sink slowly and listening to the crickets. “You should come visit,” Matt says, and it takes Dustin a moment to realize what Matt’s referring to. “Show me your old stomping ground, you know?”
“Yeah,” Dustin mutters, tipping his head back. “Sure.” He can see Matt squinting at him in his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t really feel like looking down yet. He counts ten heartbeats before Matt reaches over to take his plate.
“I’m gonna go wash these.” Dustin sits there for a few more minutes before he takes a deep breath and follows Matt in. If they’re going to start talking about that, he’ll definitely need to break out the Crown.
Matt’s flipping through the DVDs, just barely glances up when Dustin walks in. “You wanna watch anything?"
“Not unless you've got the back half of season one of A Shot Of Love” Matt actually pulls it out, grinning, and Dustin frowns. He’s had a buzz going for the better part of two days and he’s just – tired. He doesn’t think lesbians will help this time, either. “I guess you don’t have a spare bedroom in this place, do you.”
"You’ll probably have to take the couch.” He looks up fully this time, smirks. “Or you could share with me."
“I’d rather sleep in the truck,” Dustin says, but he’s smiling too.
“My bed’s real comfy. At least that’s what your mom said last night.” Dustin laughs and punches his shoulder, which leads to Matt taking him out at the knees, and he really is too drunk for this but they wrestle anyways, nearly taking out the coffee table and probably putting a good-sized dent in the wall. Matt finally gets the upper hand, knee on his chest.
“You’ll throw your back out on that couch,” Matt points out, a little breathless, even as his knee pushes down more. His cheeks are flushed and he's grinning widely and Dustin thinks for a moment that it would be so easy to just –
“Jesus, fine, get off me,” Dustin shoves him off easily, as his dick does a little more than twitch. He looks around for his dufflebag a little frantically, sees it over by the corner. “I, uh, didn’t really pack sweatpants.” Matt raises one eyebrow, then the other, but shrugs and stands without commenting.
“You can borrow a pair of mine,” he says, and disappears for a few moments before tossing a pair at him. “Go nuts.”
“Thanks.” Dustin gets to his feet and heads for the bathroom, careful to keep the pants in front of him. What the hell. He jerks off quickly and quietly, a talent born in years of sharing rooms with others, washes his hands, then puts on the sweatpants and heads back out.
Matt's already in bed, although he's not snoring so there's no way he's asleep. Dustin hesitates and then crawls in. He's planning on facing away, but something makes him turn around, even if the bed is small enough that curling up comfortably makes their knees touch. Matt's smiling at him, open and warm and just barely visible, and Dustin's suddenly aware that he'd forgotten to brush his teeth.
"Hey," Matt says quietly, reaches out to brush a stray bit of hair back from Dustin's forehead. "It's gonna be okay." Dustin exhales hard at that, nods jerkily. Matt scoots forward and Dustin nearly backs right off the bed, torn between punching Matt's stupid face in and running for his toothbrush and -- Matt just presses their foreheads together and breathes deeply. "Go to bed, jackass. We'll talk about this in the morning."
Dustin blinks fuzzily and his nod comes easier this time. He fists a hand in the front of Matt's shirt, not sure if it's to pull him closer or push him away. Eventually he just keeps it there, and they spend long enough staring at each other that his eyes start to droop slowly. As he falls asleep, his last thought is to remember the recipe for his grandmother's fish fry tomorrow night.
By mid-afternoon he’s watered the plants outside, run the dishwasher, folded that last load of laundry, and vaccumed the floor for good measure. He considers dusting, but since he can’t even write his name on the shelves yet, it seems like a waste of time. Instead, he opens two beers and takes them out to the porch with his portable DVD player and the Shot of Love box set. Even lesbians don’t improve his day, although the beers help a little. He thinks briefly about going out, but he’s not up to putting in the effort tonight. Instead, he drinks another two beers, the crappy shit Matt had left behind, pulling on a hoodie when it gets colder, and he listens to his neighbours going about their perfectly normal days.
At ten pm, he’s surfing the internet, glances around the free porn sites halfheartedly before he finds himself on the Air Canada site, looking at flights and wondering how long it’ll take to get to the airport at this time of night.
As he books an open-ended ticket to Detroit, Dustin wonders if there’s medication for this sort of shit.
He packs light, just throws a few essentials in a small duffel, shoves his cell in his pocket and a hat on his head before calling for a cab. Highway 2 is dead by this point, so he slips the cab driver a little extra to step on the gas to make the red-eye he’d booked. He sleeps all the way to Toronto, shuffles through customs, then ends up checking out the flight attendant most of the way to Detroit when he can’t sleep.
Throughout the year, he’d gotten used to spending most of his free time on Matt’s couch or waiting for him to cross the street – still shirtless and in flip flops in the dead of winter – so it doesn’t even occur to Dustin that maybe he should call ahead until he’s already in Michigan, trying to decide if he wants to rent an SUV or a truck. Thankfully, it seems Matt’s still used to it too, all he says is: “Awesome. Bring beer.” Neither of them say a word about LA, but he steals a pen from the lady at the front desk to scribble instructions on his palm.
He ends up in some crappy liquor store along the way, staring at a cooler full of beer. They don’t have his usual and he doesn’t want more of that crap he was drinking on his deck and he isn’t sure what most of these are. Eventually he just mutters “fuck it,” and buys one of each, with a bottle of Crown to top it all off. Just in case.
It’s not a long drive to the cabin where Matt’s staying and the truck radio’s already set to some classic rock station, so he finds himself pulling up before he decides exactly what he wants to say to Matt. He stays in the truck for a few moments before realizing Matt had probably heard him pull up, and figures what the hell. Not like he’s accomplishing anything outside, anyways.
Matt’s in the kitchen making sandwiches, and something in Dustin’s chest relaxes at seeing him, even in a ripped sweatshirt with tufts of hair sticking up everywhere. He turns and smiles and maybe that makes Dustin’s dick twitch. It happens every so often around Matt, but the guy’s pretty damn awesome so it doesn’t bother Dustin too much. “Hey big D,” Matt says, glancing down at the beer cases. “Planning on getting me drunk and taking advantage of me? ‘Cause you know, I’m not that cheap of a date.”
“First off, I’d have to be pretty fucking drunk too for that to happen.” He starts to put it all in the fridge, of course there’s always space for beer, but finds himself glancing over his shoulder every so often, just in case. “Making me a sandwich?”
Matt snorts, reaches over him for the mustard. “More like three, fatty. Pass me a beer.” They eat out on the porch, where Dustin complains about how bored he is and Matt bullshits about the fish he’s caught lately. Dustin’s trying not to smile too widely, caught up enough that he doesn’t even notice something wrong with his sandwich until two bites in. “Think this one’s yours, buddy,” he says, takes another bite to be sure. Yep, roast beef. Matt squints at his for a moment.
“Huh. I thought it tasted weird. Switch?” They do, and Matt goes back to describing the impossibly huge jackfish from two days ago: “At least the size of my dick,” Matt smirks, holding his hands appropriately far apart. “Maybe even bigger.”
Dustin opens another beer and tosses the cap at Matt’s head. “I’ve seen you in the shower, man. That fish wouldn’t feed a two-year-old.”
Matt leers. “Maybe I’m a grower.”
Dustin shifts, looks away, and changes the subject to football before he can think about that one too much.
After lunch, Dustin rinses the plates while Matt gets the fishing gear, and he remembers he’d left a dishwasher full of dishes back home. Maybe he should call someone to make sure he’d locked the back door. On the way to the phone, he realizes that he could actually write his name on Matt’s shelves. Dustin grins to himself, writes ‘Greener Sucks’ next to the CDs, and goes to stock a cooler with beer before heading outside again.
They do more drinking than actual fishing, not really caring about training quite yet, sitting out on the small dock with their feet propped up on the cooler. “You’re such a fucking liar,” Dustin says after a few hours have gone by without so much of a nibble. “There are no fish in this lake.”
Matt rolls his head over to wink at him. “It’s all about faith, Big D. You’ve got to believe the fish. Be the fish. Not my fault you’re not in the zone.”
Dustin just rolls his eyes and casts again. “Yeah, it should be easier for you. Got a lot in common with ‘em,” he deadpans. Matt just throws a worm at him.
“Don’t be dissing my skills when they’ll feed you tonight.”
No one catches any fish, so supper’s made up of salad from a bag and steaks that Matt digs up from the back of the freezer. They eat that outside too, watching the sun sink slowly and listening to the crickets. “You should come visit,” Matt says, and it takes Dustin a moment to realize what Matt’s referring to. “Show me your old stomping ground, you know?”
“Yeah,” Dustin mutters, tipping his head back. “Sure.” He can see Matt squinting at him in his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t really feel like looking down yet. He counts ten heartbeats before Matt reaches over to take his plate.
“I’m gonna go wash these.” Dustin sits there for a few more minutes before he takes a deep breath and follows Matt in. If they’re going to start talking about that, he’ll definitely need to break out the Crown.
Matt’s flipping through the DVDs, just barely glances up when Dustin walks in. “You wanna watch anything?"
“Not unless you've got the back half of season one of A Shot Of Love” Matt actually pulls it out, grinning, and Dustin frowns. He’s had a buzz going for the better part of two days and he’s just – tired. He doesn’t think lesbians will help this time, either. “I guess you don’t have a spare bedroom in this place, do you.”
"You’ll probably have to take the couch.” He looks up fully this time, smirks. “Or you could share with me."
“I’d rather sleep in the truck,” Dustin says, but he’s smiling too.
“My bed’s real comfy. At least that’s what your mom said last night.” Dustin laughs and punches his shoulder, which leads to Matt taking him out at the knees, and he really is too drunk for this but they wrestle anyways, nearly taking out the coffee table and probably putting a good-sized dent in the wall. Matt finally gets the upper hand, knee on his chest.
“You’ll throw your back out on that couch,” Matt points out, a little breathless, even as his knee pushes down more. His cheeks are flushed and he's grinning widely and Dustin thinks for a moment that it would be so easy to just –
“Jesus, fine, get off me,” Dustin shoves him off easily, as his dick does a little more than twitch. He looks around for his dufflebag a little frantically, sees it over by the corner. “I, uh, didn’t really pack sweatpants.” Matt raises one eyebrow, then the other, but shrugs and stands without commenting.
“You can borrow a pair of mine,” he says, and disappears for a few moments before tossing a pair at him. “Go nuts.”
“Thanks.” Dustin gets to his feet and heads for the bathroom, careful to keep the pants in front of him. What the hell. He jerks off quickly and quietly, a talent born in years of sharing rooms with others, washes his hands, then puts on the sweatpants and heads back out.
Matt's already in bed, although he's not snoring so there's no way he's asleep. Dustin hesitates and then crawls in. He's planning on facing away, but something makes him turn around, even if the bed is small enough that curling up comfortably makes their knees touch. Matt's smiling at him, open and warm and just barely visible, and Dustin's suddenly aware that he'd forgotten to brush his teeth.
"Hey," Matt says quietly, reaches out to brush a stray bit of hair back from Dustin's forehead. "It's gonna be okay." Dustin exhales hard at that, nods jerkily. Matt scoots forward and Dustin nearly backs right off the bed, torn between punching Matt's stupid face in and running for his toothbrush and -- Matt just presses their foreheads together and breathes deeply. "Go to bed, jackass. We'll talk about this in the morning."
Dustin blinks fuzzily and his nod comes easier this time. He fists a hand in the front of Matt's shirt, not sure if it's to pull him closer or push him away. Eventually he just keeps it there, and they spend long enough staring at each other that his eyes start to droop slowly. As he falls asleep, his last thought is to remember the recipe for his grandmother's fish fry tomorrow night.
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