squirming outta my skin (i'm in love with you) ch.1 - prologue: one helluva first meeting
AKA, the cheerleading fic. Also on Ao3
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The team hasn’t even gotten through their first set of ladders before Albert sidles up to him, scowling darkly.
“Heads up,” he says, jerking his chin over towards the sidelines. “DeLancey’s fucking with the cheer team again.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jack groans, turning away from the field to look.
Sure enough, Oscar’s making a complete ass of himself as usual, leering creepily at the cheer squad while they try to warm up. Even as Jack watches, he lets out an obnoxious wolf whistle, reaching out to tug at one girl’s skirt, then laughing meanly when she darts away.
“Where’s Coach?” Jack asks, already exhausted.
“Hell if I know,” Albert grunts. “Enrichment meeting or some shit, probably.”
“Of course he is,” Jack sighs. He tears off his helmet, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Keep an eye on everyone, will ya?” he tells Albert. “I’ll handle Oscar.”
“Yeah, sure,” Albert says, clapping him on the back. “Good fucking luck, man.”
One of the other cheerleaders—a male cheerleader, who ushers his teammate behind him with a protective arm—is already chewing DeLancey out before Jack’s even made it halfway across the field, clearly furious.
“—picking on freshman now?” Jack hears as he jogs over, the cheerleader’s tone utterly frigid. “That’s pretty pathetic, even for you, DeLancey.”
“Aw, don’t get your panties in such a twist, Jacobs. It’s just a joke, no harm done—“
“Oh, there’s gonna be some harm done when I kick your fucking teeth in you piece of shit—”
“Hey!” Jack shouts as he approaches. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, DeLancey? You’re supposed to be running drills, not harassing the cheer team. Get back on the field.”
“This is your last warning, DeLancey,” the cheerleader—Jacobs—continues, not paying Jack a single whit of attention. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself and leave us alone.”
“Or, what, Jacobs?” DeLancey sneers, the prick, crossing his arms over his chest. “You gonna shake your pom poms at me?”
“Hey!” Jack cuts in firmly, because if he doesn’t, this Jacobs guy might actually tear DeLancey a new asshole. “Oscar, get back on the field. Now.”
Jacobs glances towards him then, and for a split second, all Jack can think is blue. He’s got eyes like the summer sky, vivid and vibrant and vicious, made all the more striking by the dark curls that fall across his forehead and the angry flush blooming high in his cheeks. But his gaze only lingers for a moment, those piercing eyes swinging back towards DeLancey, who’s proving that he’s just as stupid as he looks by lingering instead of beating a hasty retreat.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Jacobs says, his voice hard. “Because I can and will kick your ass up and down the fifty yard line if I have to, but I’d hate to embarrass you in front of your teammates.” He pins DeLancey with a look of incredible disdain, then amends, “Not that you need any help in that department.”
“Oh, yeah?” DeLancey says, taking an angry step forward, his face starting to turn an ugly shade of red. “I’d like to see you try.”
“No,” Jacobs says, with a smile that’s all teeth. “You really wouldn’t.”
“DeLancey!” Jack barks, absolutely fed up with Oscar’s bullshit. “I swear ta god, if you aren’t back on the field in the next twenty seconds, you’re gonna be warmin’ the bench during tomorrow’s game!”
It’s this threat that finally lands.
“What? You can’t do that!” DeLancey blusters. “You need me!”
“Because who doesn’t need a wide receiver that couldn’t catch a pass if it literally hit him in the back of the head,” Jacobs mutters pointedly.
“Shut the fuck up, Jacobs!” DeLancey snarls at him. “Prissy fucking bitch, getting all huffy over nothing! Why don’t you go back to your cartwheels and toe touches before I have to teach you a lesson—“
Jacobs’ expression goes flat. Then he hauls his arm back and drives his fist directly into DeLancey’s face.
Oscar never even sees the hit coming—he falls flat on his ass, eyes watering as he cradles his nose.
“What was that, DeLancey?” Jacobs asks cooly, shaking out his hand. “The prissy fucking bitch didn’t quite hear you.”
“Holy shit,” Jack breathes, mouth agape.
“You—! You stupid fucking—!” DeLancey can’t even get the words out. Blood is trickling out one of his nostrils, the skin around it already starting to turn splotchy. “I’m gonna—”
He staggers to his feet, fists up, ready to charge.
“DeLancey.” Jack’s between the two of them in an instant, stopping Oscar in his tracks with a single, scathing look. “I said to get back on the fucking field.”
DeLancey gapes at him stupidly for a few seconds—Jacobs has clearly knocked a few brain cells out of him with that punch, and it’s not like he had that many to spare to begin with.
“You can’t just let him do this to me!” he finally sputters, like he ain’t the one that started all this shit in the first place. “What, just ‘cause some skirts got pissy over nothing? He’s just a cheerleader and I’m—“
“—already on thin fucking ice,” Jack says, voice hard. “I’m getting pretty tired of puttin’ up with your bullshit, Oscar, and once I tell him ‘bout this latest stunt, I’m pretty sure Coach will agree with me. So, you’re gonna wipe your face, stow the attitude, and get back on the green or I’m gonna drag you out there by the roots of your fuckin’ hair. Go.”
DeLancey throws him a sour, mutinous look, but finally, finally, does as he’s told, stomping off to locker rooms like the overgrown toddler he is.
“Asshole,” he mutters under his breath.
He turns to Jacobs, who stares back at him steadily, chin lifted. He’s still flexing his hand a little, the skin around his knuckles split in a couple places.
“So, uh,” Jack starts, hesitant in the face of Jacobs’ stony expression. “I’m real sorry ‘bout all that.”
“Uh huh,” Jacobs says, arching an unimpressed eyebrow. “Sure.”
“No, honest,” Jack insists. “It was about time someone knocked that smug look off his face… but it shouldn’t’ve had to come to that. Do you, uh,” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not sure what to do with himself. “Do you want some ice for your hand? That was one helluva left hook— or, I could, um—”
“I am just fine,” Jacobs interrupts, his tone biting. “So, please feel free to save the All-American, Boy Scout routine for someone who cares. If you really want to help—” the look on his face makes his opinion on the quality of Jack’s help crystal clear, “—then you can make sure shitheads like Oscar DeLancey stay the hell away from my squad. And if he comes within spitting distance of one of my girls again, I’ll have his fucking dick in a vice.”
A razor sharp smile. “So glad we had this talk.”
And with that, he marches away.
“Oh, fuck me,” Jack murmurs to himself, utterly enraptured as he watches him go. He’s real, real pretty and he’s real, real mean: Jack’s heart is already doing loop-de-loops around his chest, his skin buzzing with static. “‘M so fucked.”
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