There's so much background on this to give that I actually won't be presenting it, here. Though it is important that you have seen this: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/9318008/

Lance Cheval and the FBA are owned and run by  buckhopper and are their property. I made up Crosby Sutters. There are some bad words, but nothing dirty to be seen, here.

---

Friday nights in most cities see the working classes cast off the shackles of their week’s employment and revel in a night on the town, spending time with friends and family. For the Spectrums in Kansas City, it was no different. Their last two weeks had been rough, with constant practices and new drills, not to mention some difficult losses on the road. But, after a hard-fought win over the previously undefeated Winnipeg Voyageurs, head coach Randall Yoster (Border Collie) knew that the team could use a break. Besides, they had two days off before their next game, and a bit of rest could certainly be afforded.

A video recap of their last game’s high and low points was enough to at least remind them that they did need to keep their focus, but after only a few hours, Yoster smiled and told them to go hit the town and enjoy the rest of their night. There would be practice the next morning, so he reminded them to go easy on the drinking, but beyond that, they were free to do as they pleased.

Without the ability to sleep off any late-night partying, the team overhwelmingly settled on dinner and movies, despite knowing that they didn’t actually have to do anything as a team. But when one is in a strange place, it’s always nice to have someone you know nearby. Restaurants were called, VIP booths booked and players made their way in through the back doors as not to arouse the attention of the local media. From seven different restaurants, the team re-grouped to hit the same theater, with roughly half of them opting to see Lincoln, and the other half going to see Skyfall if they hadn’t already. Only Roxanne Proctor (Fossa, G/F), chose a different film, and dragged assistant coach Alan Foster (Dingo), off to suffer through Breaking Dawn, Part II.

When the audiences filtered out, a few players went out for a night on the town, while others returned to the hotel, each of them content to spend the rest of their evening as they saw fit.

Unlike most teams in the FBA, the Spectrums had re-adopted the old tradition of assigning their players roomates at hotels on away games. What had been abandoned due to egoes originally was brought back in order to combat some of that problem itself. That, and Yoster was old-school and knew that team unity was stronger when players had to be around each other more often. But, with an odd number of male players, that meant that one male would get a room to himself, and this season Lance Cheval (Percheron Stallion, C) had pulled the lucky straw among those who wanted to room solo. So, it was rather a surprise when eleven o’clock rolled around and Lance heard a knock at his door.

Room service? No, he hadn’t ordered room service, and neither of the coaches typically bothered any player with a “Do Not Disturb” sign on their door after the embarassing Wescot Yobia (Binturong, F/C) incident back at the Galveston Omni, two seasons ago. Whoever it was, they’d better have a damn good reason for interrupting him at this hour. Pressing pause on his oBook Pro, he halted the film he’d been watching, and slung himself out of bed to go look through the peephole.

Crosby. (Crosby Sutters, Genet, F/C)

A deep sigh vented through the stallion’s nostrils. Half of him wanted to just leave the genet on the other side of the door. They’d spent two years not actually talking to each other, another night wouldn’t hurt, would it? Leaning away from the door, Lance stopped himself. No, that would be rude, and despite his feelings toward the young player, he couldn’t just be that heartless. After another peek through the peephole, his fingers found the deadbolt and slide-lock and flipped both free before opening the door about a foot.

“Need something?” Lance asked. His voice was gruff, face grim as if Crosby had just interrupted something very important.

The effect was not lost on Crosby, who shrank back, his long, ringed tail drooping along with his ears, while his paws fidgeted on the long, cardboard tube he was carrying. Lance was still fully dressed, which was a good sign that he hadn’t woken the stallion up, but still Crosby appeared nervous. “Sorry about the late hour,” he started.

“It’s cool. What’s up?” Lance snorted.

Crosby fidgeted a bit more, and he could see that Lance was quickly losing patience. “I, um,” Crosby paused. “Can I come in for a moment? There’s, uh, there’s something I wanted to show you.”

Were it not for the long tube in Crosby’s paws, Lance would have shut the door in his face at that very moment. But Crosby had been good, recently, and so the stallion begrudgingly relented, easing the door open and stepping back. “Yeah, c’mon in.”

The room was much like Crosby’s own, but whereas he and Omar Pink (Saluki, F) had separate queen-sized beds, Lance’s was dominated by a massive king, and sported a couch against the far wall. When he’d joined the Spectrums, it was a fantasy of Crosby’s to be taken back to Lance’s room, one night, but along with many of his childish ways, that fantasy was long ago put to rest in favor of maturity and self-control.

“Thanks,” Crosby nodded. “I’ve, um, I’ve had this for a while, and, I hope you don’t get mad at me for bringing it up, but… I’d really be honored if you’d sign it for me.” From the tube, Crosby produced a mint-condition, original theatrical release poster from The Horse With No Name, Lance’s big Furrywood blockbuster. Laying it out on the table, Crosby gave a nervous smile, his ears still down a bit in worry.

A flood of mixed emotions flooded through Lance’s veins as he looked down at the poster. Pride and passion mixed with regret and despair, tugging at his heart with an old, familiar pain. It had been his big break, and it had all gone so horribly, irreparably wrong. But there it was, staring back at him with his own eyes, and nary a crease was to be found on the paper. In fact, the poster was in better condition than the one on his own wall at home.

After a silence, Lance looked back to Crosby. “Why would I be mad at you for this?” he asked.

Crosby swallowed, still intimidated by the big male he knew he’d uninetntionally wronged. “Well, you got really mad that one time we watched it on the plane,” he admitted.

“That’s because you assholes wouldn’t stop making fun of it!” Lance shouted.

Surprised by the outbutst, Crosby cowed back a step, visibly intimidated. “I… I wasn’t,” he spoke in a timid voice. “I liked it. I saw it twice in the theater when it came out. I… I thought you were a good actor. I still do.”

The genet’s response caught Lance off guard. Ears rotating back forward, and his posture easing, Lance canted his head a touch to the right as he asked, “Really? I mean, uh, thanks. I didn’t know.”

“Well, it’s not like we actually talk much,” Crosby shrugged. “Or, ever talk, for that matter.”

Lance opened his mouth to say something, but words wouldn’t come out.

“But, if you don’t want to sign it, I’ll understand,” Crosby said.

“Of course I’ll fucking sign it,” Lance snorted. “Give me that pen.”

Crosby watched as Lance uncapped the pen and readied his hand for his signature, but just before he could touch tip to paper, the genet blurted, “Could you make it out to me?” He smiled. “Please?”

Lance raised an eyebrow, looking at Crosby from under his flop of mane. “Sure, why not,” he grunted. The squeak of felt-tip permanent marker on glossy four-color process print paper sounded in the room as the one-time action movie star relieved a moment he’d had far too little time to bask in originally, and all too soon, it was done. “There we go,” he said, clapping the cap back on the Sharpie.

No response came from Crosby immediately as he stared down at the freshly-drying ink, but a wide smile worked up his face. Lance couldn’t help but smile as well, admitting, “Those were good days. Wish they could have lasted.”

“Me too,” Crosby nodded, still staring at his poster. “You really were a good actor. I’d bet you still are, too.”

“Thanks,” Lance replied, finding his gratitude coming out quite genuinely. “Director just brought it all down. I worked my ass off in that role, but he screwed us all over.”

Looking back up to his teammate, Crosby nodded. “I’m sorry that happened. I would have liked to see you do more films.”

A derisive snort came back from Lance as he shifted his weight to his right leg. “I wanted to do more, but nobody’d touch me after that one bombed. Did a few commercials, licensing gigs, stuff like that, but once you stop being famous...”

The stallion trailed off, and Crosby’s smile faded. “I, I heard it got pretty hard for you.”

It was a tactful maneuver, sidestepping an unsavory moment in Lance’s past, without dodging it completely. Lance’s tail whisked, cautioning the genet not to proceed along that line, but in the end it was Lance himself who did so.

“Yeah, I had to do another film,” Lance said. He regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth, but odds are if anyone on the team knew about it, it’d be Crosby. “I bet you loved that one even more.”

The words stung Crosby as if they had been poison darts. His lips pursed, tail wilting, he spoke flatly, “No. In fact I haven’t even seen it. And I’m not going to.”

A sharp laugh came back from Lance as he tossed Crosby back the pen. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You probably get all hot and bothered to that one every night.”

The droop in Crosby’s ears quickly flipped to a full flatten as his brow furrowed with anger, his tail bushing out as it began to flick. “Fuck you, Lance! I just told you I haven’t seen it, and I’m not going to! How could I? You’re my teammate; I don’t want to see you like that!”

“Well it sure as hell didn’t stop you from staring at me in the locker room!” Lance shot back. “You practically creamed your shorts from staring so long!”

“And I’m sorry!” Crosby fired off, his voice rising in volume to match Lance’s. “Yeah, I used to stare! I was a horny, stupid, virgin kid, and you were gorgeous! Well, you still are, but I don’t see you like that, anymore. I’ve grown up! I respect you, damn it, but you can’t see past the fact that I’m gay!”

“After how you looked at me, what else was I supposed to think?” Lance sneered. “I did what I had to, but I’m not going to do it with you. Not now, not ever, got it?!”

“I just told you I got it!” Crosby snarled. “I was wrong, and I’m really sorry. I should have said something, anything, but I was afraid to. Then I got outed and, well, you’ve said maybe ten words to me, since then. How could I apologize when you won't speak to me, and I know you hate me?!"

“Hate you?” Lance asked. “I never hated you. I mean, I didn’t always like you, but I never hated you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Crosby grumbled. “Even when I was backing you up on Center, you didn't seem to even notice I existed. I worked my ass off, and I asked you for your help. Damn it, Lance, I wanted to learn from you, but you just brushed me off."

"No I di-"

"Yes, you did!" Crosby cut him off. "Every time I've tried to get your help, or study your technique or try to learn from you, you'd either brush me off or glare at me. Yeah, I know you don't like me because I'm gay, but damn it, Lance, I admire you!"

Lance's face was stony, as was his voice as he replied, "I thought you said you didn't think of me like that, anymore."

Rolling his eyes, Crosby vented an exasperated groan. "There's more than one meaning to admire, dude!" he said. "I mean your game, your work ethic, your ease with the reporters, and your command of the court!"

"Oh." The syllable was enough to shock Lance back on course, and for once he actually began to think that there may be more to the lanky genet than he'd previously imagined. "Wow, uh, I... I didn't know that," he said. Reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, then smooth out his long, flowing mane, the Percheron stallion wondered what to do with such a revelation.

"Well, come on, you're not so bad, yourself," Lance said, hoping that might be enough to get Crosby to perk up, then shut up and leave. This wasn't how he was expecting to spend his evening, even if it was all about himself.

"Yeah, right," Crosby huffed. "I practice hard, I do everything Coach and Omar tell me, I study all the videos, all the plays, and I still can't even begin to compare with you or Omar on the court. Heck, even Coach knows; he's slashed my minutes because I'm not good enough."

There was no getting out of this now, Lance was sure of it. A glance at the clock told him he logically couldn't just tell Crosby to take a hike for another hour, and, well, Crosby did want his autograph on that poster, so it wouldn't be fair to even do that in the first place. Pep talk and cheer-up speeches being quite removed from the stallion's repertoire, the only thing he could think of was to take a seat on the edge of the bed, then pat the edge next to him for Crosby to sit down, too. Though his arm had made sure to reach as far as he could so that the genet wouldn't try and get cuddly or anything.

"I thought you and Pink were working out pretty good, together," Lance said. "You're a bit taller, but about the same build, and similar play style, so it's a good fit. So... why'd you want to be like me?"

Crosby took the offered seat, though even a bit further than Lance had suggested, just for good measure. Now that they were finally talking, he didn't want to take any chances. Letting his tail curl over one leg and into his lap, he held its tip in his paws, fidgeting once more like he always did when nervous.

"Because," he started, then took a deep breath, "you're everything I'm not."

"Well, I like pussy, so, yeah, I can see the difference," Lance laughed. In the back of his mind he was begging to find a way out of this. Anything to keep from talking about feelings!

The look Crosby shot him was enough to let him know he wasn't even close to getting off the hook with that joke. "I mean, you're a natural at everything you do, whereas I have to really work at it. When you want to make a play, you make it. The cameras love you, and you're so good with the reporters. People all over the world love you, and they always want to meet you whenever we go somewhere, while nobody ever rushes up to see me. You've been a movie star, you've had the greatest comeback of any FBA star ever, and, well... you're stronger than me."

"That's because I hit the gym, beanpole," Lance smirked, this time eliciting a laugh from Crosby.

"Well, you're stronger than me that way, too, but, I meant in character," the genet clarified.

Damn it, Crosby was still in his room! But worse than that, Lance felt he was actually starting to care. Was this really happening? Shaking his mane out of his eyes, the stallion ventured, "I'm selfish, I used to get more tail than Yobia, I'm shit with money, I'm a showboat on the court, and I never remember anyone's birthday but my own. So, how the fuck does that make me strong in character?"

The tirade had little effect on Crosby as he sat there, playing with his tail between his fingertips, and as he continued to look at it he said, "Because when you hit bottom, you did something you never wanted to in order to get a way back out. When I hit bottom, I loaded my dad's .38 and drove out to the riverside."

In that moment, things got real, and Lance realized he was dealing with something a whole lot deeper than just some gay guy with a crush on him. In fact, he'd rather Crosby were trying to hit on him than get into something like this. One semester of Intro to Psychology wasn't near enough to deal with issues so important, leaving Lance fumbling for the right words.

"Wait, you what?" he blurted. Those were words, right? Were they the right ones? He really didn't know.

Whether they were or not, Crosby carried on. "I didn't get picked in the draft, and I wasn't getting along well with my family. I knew that if I stayed on with the family business, they'd find out I was gay sooner than later, and they'd kick me out on my ass. I didn't have anywhere to turn, and it felt like I was a failure. So, I parked by the river, cocked the hammer and put the snub-nosed barrel in my mouth. Fuck, I nearly pulled the trigger when my phone went off, and it was Price. He wanted me for the team. If it wasn't for that call, right then and there, I wouldn't be here."

A sniff broke his patter, followed by a deep, shaky breath. Biting his lip so that it wouldn't tremble, Crosby sat there, staring off into the nothingness of the corner between the wall and floor. "I miss him, Lance," he said, his voice strained.

Cheval couldn't seem to look at anything either. The subject of Jackson Price came up frequently after his death almost a year ago, but over time it had become more and more rare. But at no time was it ever truly a comfortable one, and so the stallion replied, "But he used to yell at you. He made you cry, even. More than once, if I remember right."

"I know," Crosby nodded. "But he didn't do it to be mean. He did it because he believed in me. He was the only person to ever believe in me."

Despite his dislike of Crosby's early attitude, and despite his cocky, aloof demeanor, there were times when Lance Cheval's heart overrode his ego, and this being one of those rare times, he let a heavy hand rest on Crosby's shoulder, squeezing it. "He believed in all of us. But what I think he really wanted was for you to believe in yourself. You didn't make it here by luck, you worked for it. So keep working for it, but, just be yourself about it, okay?"

Reaching up to dry the moisture which had formed at the edges of his eyes, Crosby nodded, then sniffed once more before sitting up straight. "I'll try," he said.

Then he stood, looking at the poster once more. "I should probably get going. You were working on your computer, there, and I interrupted."

Standing up himself, Lance helped Crosby roll the poster back up and carefully reinsert it into its tube. "Actually, I was just watching a movie," he shrugged.

Crosby's ears perked, and his head ticked to the side. "Then why not use the TV? It's a lot better for that."

"Because this hotel has us locked out of the HDMI inputs, so I can't use my cable," Lance replied.

To that, Crosby just laughed and shook his head. "Oh, man. Here, let me show you how to get around that. Toss me your oPhone." With a few taps and a quick download, Crosby had Lance's phone installed with a universal remote, and he bypassed the hotel lockout. "There, just do that and you're in every time."

Lance looked on in amazement. Perhaps Crosby wasn't so bad after all. "Uh, wow. Cool. Thanks," he nodded, even allowing himself to smile, just a fraction. But it faded as a question came back to him; one that had been plaguing him the whole conversation.

"Crosby, if you don't mind my asking," he said, then bit his lip before continuing. "Why did you really come here, tonight? Why'd you tell me all this?"

Placing the protective cap back on the end of the poster tube, Crosby smirked and looked back into Lance's eyes. "Well, I did want you to sign this," he replied. "But, I also know what it's like not to have any real friends. I've been there all my life."

"I've got friends!" Lance was quick to fire back.

"You've got people who like to be seen with you, but they're not really your friends, are they?" Crosby shook his head. "And, I don't expect we'll be friends, either, to be fair. I just... didn't want to be strangers, anymore. I'm sorry for everything I ever did to make you uncomfortable."

Lance didn't know what to say to that, and so he just nodded before walking Crosby to the door. No good-nights were said, just another set of nods before Crosby found himself returning to his room, a new treasure held safely in his paws, and Lance resumed his place on his bed to complete his cinematic journey on the big screen as if nothing had even happened.