43

Jason is dancing down the court, basketball seemingly glued to his hands as he makes his way past every obstacle and every person desperately trying to get in his way. He's nearly superhuman, expression fierce in concentration and Winston can't take his eyes off him. He can't hear a thing from the podcast he's got on, despite the loud volume blasting through the tiny earbuds.

His reality is cut down to simply Jason, Jason, Jason.

When Jason tosses the ball toward the hoop, Winston's heart in his throat, fingers clenched tight to the railing. He leans over so much it's got to be dangerous but he doesn't even think about that. Just watches as the ball soars through the air, up high, high, high, and then smashes right through the hoop in a single victorious moment.

Cheers rise from Jason's team, the visiting team playing a practice game with them groaning in despair. The score changes on the board, and Winston falls back in his seat with a whoosh of air leaving him boneless. He stares at the ceiling, then shakes his head and grabs his phone. Rewinds the podcast to until he hears something familiar, even if only vaguely.

He draws his knees up to his chest, planting his feet securely on the seat, and rests his chin on his knees. Eyes half-mast, he continues to follow Jason's progress around the court; watches Jason get into scuffles over the ball, watches Jason running from end to end of the court, watches Jason grin and shout and furrow his eyebrows.

Despite the fact that it's only a practice game in the practice court, the stands are still half-full. Nobody wants to miss when Jason plays; he's a beacon on the court and everyone else mere moths to his flame. There's no resisting him, no way to avoid his temptation. And Winston is but one person in the crowd, just another adoring fan watching him and cheering him on.

But during the break times, Jason sends him texts. Winston doesn't think he sends other people texts during the breaks in games; at the very least Winston has never seen him fiddle with his phone before during those times.

And yet. Now he does.

Winston gulps. He squeezes his arms around his legs, maneuvering his phone so he can easily text without moving. It's not a long pause, and Jason is back on the court before long, Winston's eyes continuing to track his progress. Jason nearly collides around right into Clyde at one point, but Clyde manages to spin on his heel and avoid a fateful collision.

Winston texts Clyde's a thumbs up on the messaging service on their socials.

Despite being enthralled by anything Jason does, Winston is not actually into basketball. He has a general idea now of how scoring works, but he's not invested in anybody winning beyond 'Jason's team should win because Jason is on it'. So his focus wavers sometimes, his concentration splitting the more time pass. He listens to the podcast with one ear while the sounds of sneakers running echoes throughout the court.

But the moment the game ends, Winston is pulling out his earbud. He stands, leaning over the railing, and grins at the rapidly approaching Jason running his way. Jason jumps and grabs the railing when he's close enough, pulling himself up enough to nearly be eye to eye with Winston. He hangs from it for a second and beams up at Winston, breathing a deep, "Hey."

Winston giggles. He rests his head on the railing and snorts, grinning down at Jason. "Hey," he responds, deepening his voice to match.

Jason blushes. It's extraordinarily pretty on his sweat-soaked skin, skin shining in the overhead lights. Some of his curls lie plastered to his forehead and Winston reaches out before he can think better of it, smoothing the hair strands back. They're soft in between his fingers, and he can literally feel his expression softening in turn.

It's a strange feeling. But not unwelcome.

Exhaling and blowing up his cheeks briefly on the corresponding inhale, Jason drops from the railing and lands without so much as a stumble. He tilts his head back to keep eye-contact with Winston, and Winston in turn leans over the railing like he's going to follow Jason down. It doesn't sound like a bad idea, he muses.

"You got any new clues?" Jason asks apropos nothing. Winston tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing, and Jason points to the earbud Winston still has in. "You're listening to Arrowhead Protocol, right?"

"I wasn't paying a lot of attention," Winston admits, arms crossed on the railing and head resting on it. He blinks, tries to do so prettily like in the movies, and adds, "You're very distracting."

"Oh, I am?" Jason smirks, tossing his head back like a wannabe lion.

Winston nods, not the least bit ashamed. "Sometimes I can't even think when I'm looking at you."

Jason's blush goes all the way down to the pit of his throat and Winston's eyes follow as if enchanted. He licks his lips, fingers twitching on the railing, and forces himself to ignore the sudden heat in his belly. It's nothing, he thinks. Jason is simply so perfectly to Winston's tastes that he can't help but lose control sometimes.

"You're—distracting. Too." Jason ducks his head, failing to hide his blushing ears from Winston's sight. Winston wants to reach out and touch, wants to lick and bite, wants to color Jason with his own body. It's an overwhelming need he doesn't want to have right now, right here, but he comforts himself with the knowledge that he's sufficiently covered by the railing.

Jason clears his throat and looks up, blush mostly but not entirely receded. "We're gonna play another game together, you sticking around?"

"Mnm," Winston says. He smiles, "I'll be back in time for the next game."

"You sure it's fine? You're not bored, or something?"

Shaking his head, Winston insists, "No, it's fine. I enjoy watching you play basketball, so I'll gladly sit through the absolute torture of watching a couple hot guys run around with balls. Appreciate my sacrifice."

Jason laughs. He jumps on his toes, energy visibly coursing through him. Looking up at the big clock at the center of the court's wall, he licks his head lips and glances at Winston with a forlorn expression. "I have to go," he gravely announces, sticking his hands in his uniform's pockets.

Winston hums. "Good luck," he says, then realizes that he never said— "And congratulations on winning!"

"Thanks," rasps Jason. He scratches the back of his neck and peeks at Winston with the kind of gaze that can bring any man to his knees. It's softness and vulnerability entwined, and if Winston wasn't clinging to the railing for dear life he's sure he'd already have fallen.

"No problem," he says automatically, mind gone.

Somebody calls Jason's name, and Jason flinches. He looks back, then gives Winston another forlorn look. "I have to go," he once more gravely announces.

"Alright. Have fun," says Winston, still on auto. Jason dillydallies for another second but another call of his name finally succeeds in summoning him, and he goes with a wave to Winston. Winston watches his movement, expression hard to explain. He thinks. He thinks that simply watching Jason is amazing, enough to sustain Winston's desire for his attention, for his love and trust and faith. Simply watching Jason shine with joy like that is—everything.

Winston gathers up his things in preparation to head to the toilet, and then he plans to buy something quick to snack on while watching the next game. He watches Jason out of the corner of his eyes as he leaves the court, observes Jason interacting with his coach and teammates, and Winston's chest burns unbearably hot.

He is a starving man, he thinks, and Jason is the only one who can save him.