Fore
"You know," Chris said conversationally, one hand shading his eyes, head tilted up. "I've seen some spectacularly bad swings in my time, but yours. Well, I have to hand it to you, yours may be worse than mine." He grinned at AJ as he pulled his baseball cap back on.
"Fuck you," AJ distractedly responded, still tracking flight of the ball. "Bite, bite."
"Sorry. In public." Chris grinned as the sand kicked up. "Looks like you get to go play in the sand."
"At least I know where my ball is." AJ shot back. "And, Kirkpatrick," he reached out, clamping a hand over Chris's mouth. "Don't even say it."
There was a muffled response, to which AJ just shook his head, then Chris heaved a sigh. "You are no fun at all."
"You're right, that's me. Mr. Boring." AJ settled behind the wheel of the cart. "Now you coming or are you going to drag those decrepit bones of yours over to where your ball may possibly have gone."
Chris flipped AJ off, then hopped in the other side, leaning back and grabbing his water. "Too damn hot today."
"I know. I figured one of us was sure to die of heat stroke. And I didn't want to explain to Timberlake that your last wishes really were to be left by the water hazard to be eaten by an alligator." AJ smirked, swiping the bottle from Chris then taking a long drink.
Chris rolled his eyes, yanking the water back. "C'mon, you know you're more likely to keel over first. I have a layer of protective fat." He grabbed the water back, making a show of wiping off the mouth of the bottle. "Ewwwww. Cooties."
"Right," AJ stopped the cart. "I see how it is. Always picking on the skinny boys." He sniffed dramatically. "You cut me to the quick."
"Right." Chris rolled his eyes, then jumped out, yanking his clubs off the back of the cart.
"I'll just take a little nap while you look for your ball. Wake me in an hour." AJ leaned back, tipping his hat over his face.
"Such a comedian," Chris swatted at the branches, peering closely at the ground. A loud snore was his only response and Chris bit back a laugh before beginning to look in earnest. A few minutes later he let out a triumphant yell.
“Fuck you, McLean, found it. And I've got a pretty decent lie." Chris grinned when AJ jolted up. "Oh, sorry, were you napping? Did I wear you out or something?"
"Like that would ever happen," AJ grumbled, yawning broadly. He looked over, shaking his head slightly. "You are the luckiest bastard in the world, you know that?"
"Uh huh," Chris murmured in reply, yanking out a pitching wedge. He took a few practice swings, lining up the shot, then swung in earnest. The ball shot up, arching perfectly, before dropping down, bouncing a few times, then coming to rest six feet from the pin.
"I do not fucking believe it." AJ stared. "How the hell did you manage to do that? Your short game sucks."
"Talent, baby." Chris grinned. "It's all in the wrists."
"Ok, now I know you're suffering from sun stroke," AJ shook his head, grabbing his own clubs and stomping off to the sand trap. Chris leaned against the cart, still grinning.
"Think you can top that, Alexander?" Chris called after him, laughing loudly when AJ flipped him off. He watched as AJ slowly walked around the trap, head darting back and forth as he evaluated the shot.
"Top that, my ass," AJ muttered as he firmly planted his feet, gaze fixed on the ball. "Head down, elbows straight, half swing, follow through," he murmured, hands flexing as he checked his grip. His eyes never left the ball as he swung, tuning out Chris's laughter in the background. He was grinning before he even looked up, the solid clink of the club striking the ball telling him all he needed to know.
"You prick," Chris blinked, watching as AJ's ball skittered to a stop two feet from the pin.
"Talent, baby." AJ called over his shoulder, waving the rake slightly. "It's all in the wrists."
"Ha fucking ha," Chris hollered back, strapping up his clubs, then hopping behind the wheel of the cart. "I know a lucky shot when I see one."
"Of course you do," AJ replied, loping back to where Chris was waiting, "Since that's the only type of good shots you make."
"To quote my favorite arrogant jerk, bite me," Chris drummed his fingers against the wheel. "Come on, hurry up, I'm dying to get home and shower."
"You are rather rank," AJ slid into the seat, reaching back for another bottle of water.
"You don't exactly smell like a bed of roses either." Chris snorted, bringing the cart to a stop.
"Pot, kettle," AJ muttered as he climbed out, stretching slightly, then grabbing his putter. "You aren't actually going to make me putt out, are you?"
"Hell, yeah," Chris answered, walking alongside him. "I have all confidence in your ability to miss this."
"In your dreams," AJ pulled the pin from the cup, setting it off to the side of the green. "And as the gentleman is away," he bowed deeply, "The gentleman shall have the first shot."
"Whatever," Chris bent down, wincing as his knees cracked. He surveyed the green, hands cupped around the brim of his cap.
AJ tapped his foot, leaning against his putter. A few minutes passed and then he sighed deeply. "Look, Tiger, it's a six foot putt. Straight in. No break. Hurry it up, I want to get out of here, go home, get clean and collect my winnings."
Chris slowly stood, glaring over at AJ. "Shhhh. I'm trying to be Zen. Become one with the green." Chris grinned at the snort that produced. He carefully lined up his shot, then gently tapped the ball, watching as it rolled straight into the center of the cup. AJ groaned as Chris threw his arms in the air in triumph. "Who's the man? Who's the man? I'm the man. I'm Tiger Woods!"
AJ darted out of the way as Chris danced around the green. "Kirkpatrick. You are fucking with my line."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Starting to feel the pressure now, aren't you." Chris held his putter up, bending forward and speaking into the club head. "Ladies and gentleman, this is it, the moment of truth. Will McLean manage to sink this simple tap in or will he once again lose to his long time nemesis, the legendary Christopher Kirkpatrick. As we all know, McLean has a long history of choking in these situations and frankly, this announcer thinks,"
Chris yelped as AJ yanked the putter away. "That will be all from the peanut gallery." He strode back to his ball, giving only the most cursory glance to the hole before putting.
"Would you look at that," Chris moved to stand next to AJ. "You actually made it. I'll be damned."
"You don't have to sound quite so stunned," AJ reached into his back pocket, pulling out the scorecard. "That's what, 27 for you?"
"That would be a 7," Chris replied, bending down and retrieving AJ's ball. "And an 8 for you."
AJ looked up. "I so did not have an 8, there is no way," he paused, thinking back over the hole. "Fuck."
"Welcome to my world." Chris nudged AJ shoulder. "So. Who won?"
"Just a minute." AJ ran through the numbers again, double then triple checking the score. "Well, fuck me."
"Hmmmmm," Chris swiped the card out of AJ's hand. "This must be good." He glanced down, staring at the figures. "Well. Damn."
"Yup. A tie." AJ shook his head sadly. "You know what this means."
"Yup." Chris carefully set the flag back in the cup. "It's a damn good thing we were playing for blowjobs.”