Title: Very Bad Jockey Slash Fic, 3a/4
Disclaimer: Still not gay. Luce still torturing jockeys for the fun of it.
Pairings: Gary Stevens/Alex Solis, Corey Nakatani/David Flores
Rating: R, for swearing and references to sexual situations
Genre: Humor, melodrama, angst
Warnings: More slash than you can shake a chicken bone at. And that autographed naked picture mentioned in this installment? IT'S REAL. I'M NOT JOKING. gennia has proof.
Summary: Tyler does something unexpected, and Luce's poor attempt at plot really starts cracking.
Another day, another slew of races to ride, another bitch fight between Corey and David in the infamous jockeys’ room of Santa Anita.
All in all, a normal day at the racetrack.
“Who’s Stacy?” asked Corey with a dangerous glint in his eye.
“NO ONE,” said David, knitting furiously in front of his locker and carefully avoiding eye contact with Corey. He always knitted when he was nervous, and if the blurred clicking of his needles was any indication, David was on the verge of panic.
“Then why do you have a naked picture of her on the wall in front of your locker?” Corey shouted.
“IT DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING!” Click click click click click.
“Sure it doesn’t.” Corey began reading the message written in slopping handwriting in a high, squeaky voice. The result was him sounding even gayer than he already did. “To David Flores: Keep on winning races. I’ll give you a tour anytime.” The look on his face darkened. “What kind of a tour is she talking about, huh David?”
“A NORMAL KIND OF TOUR.” Clickclickclickclickclickclick.
Corey snapped, and began abusing caps lock like his boyfriend.
“YOU’RE NOT EVEN STRAIGHT, DAVID. YOU’RE GAY. WITH ME.” He pointed to himself to clarify any doubt of who ‘me’ was.
“I COULD BE STRAIGHT IF I WANTED TO.” The knitting needles were now moving so fast the individual clicks could not be heard; instead, a steady bzzzzz filled the room.
“DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH!”
“LIKE I WANT TO!”
“YOU’RE A LYING, CHEATING BASTARD, DAVID FLORES!”
“YOU’RE A POSESSIVE, STUPID SHITHEAD, COREY NAKATANI!”
Alex and Gary observed the raging battle from a safe fifteen feet away.
“You know,” said Alex, “it’s amazing how many words Corey can put in one sentence when he’s mad at David.”
“I know what you mean,” said Gary. “Usually he’s dumber than a trough full of leftover slop and water.”
“…” said Alex.
“Nothing.” Alex beamed at Gary. “Nothing at all.”
Gary looked at the clock on the wall and inhaled sharply. “Time for my first race!” He leaned over and kissed Alex on the cheek quickly (And subtly. Sort of.). “Catch you later!”
“Later.” Alex grinned, and went about his day happy as a lark. Life was good.
Gary whistled as he undid his left boot. He was tired and sore, but a satisfied kind of exhaustion seeped over his bones. He had won a race today and placed in two others. By chance and the races they were riding in, he hadn’t seen Alex all day, and felt a smile touch his face at the thought of the other man. He couldn’t wait to meet him for dinner as soon as he got out.
Moving quicker than before, Gary tugged impatiently at the laces of his other boot. He was concentrating so much that he didn’t notice when someone slammed a drug-laced cloth against his nose.
His last thought before he faded into unconsciousness was that Alex would be madder than a hornet when Gary didn’t show up.
Alex tapped his foot against the pavement. Where the hell was Gary? He’d been waiting here for over twenty minutes.
He was about to go back into the jockeys’ room when Corey walked out of it, still sporting a disgruntled, scowling expression from his earlier fight with David.
“Hey Corey,” said Alex. “Have you seen Gary?”
“Gary. You know, that other jockey? The one I make out with sometimes?”
Corey’s confused face cleared. “Oh, him. Yeah. Tyler Baze kidnapped him.”
“I was just coming out of the shower so he didn’t see me. Took ‘im.”
“Corey,” Alex bit out, advancing on him slowly. “Why. Didn’t. You. STOP HIM?”
“Uh…” Corey’s brain overloaded and he just stood there, unblinking, as it tried to process the question Alex had just asked.
Shit. He worked with idiots. Alex ran passed him into the jockeys’ room, heart pounding in his chest. Oh God oh God. Please let Corey be playing some sort of sick practical joke that only intellectually-challenged people find funny. Please please please--
He stopped short.
The jockeys’ room was empty save for a single boot lying crumpled on the floor in front of Gary’s locker.
Alex sank to his knees and sobbed.