Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bradley Bradshaw's first game in the NFL is one for the books. 

He’s not even the starter at the beginning of the game, still learning the ropes, when one of the outside linebackers pulls a hamstring. One second he’s sitting on the bench, listening to the linebackers coach, and the next he’s putting on his helmet and entering the game. 

Hondo, one of the nicest guys Bradley’s ever met and also the veteran defensive player, pulls Bradley into the huddle as the opposing offense has their own a couple feet away. Bradley already knows who he’s lined up with, knows what he’s supposed to do. He listens as Hondo relays what the defensive coordinator is saying, and then they’re called to the line. 

He distantly knows the tight end he’s gotta keep an eye on - Seresin, he thinks. Can’t remember his first name. They had been in the same draft class, both picked in the second round, and Bradley thinks they spoke maybe once on draft night. And then they went to rival teams. Bitter rivals. 

Hondo’s words, clipped and firm, echo in Bradley’s brain as he watches the offensive line, the quarterback yelling at his receivers. 

“Knock it off with the penalties. You’re all toeing the line with ejections today and no matter how fucking annoying they are, you gotta keep your cool.”

The ball snaps and Bradley drops back, watching the tight end and running back in front of him. He knows behind him is the free safety, ready to pick up anyone who runs past him down the field. But then the ball is dropped into the arms of the tight end and Bradley’s moving. 

The guys quick, his eyes picking up on Bradley immediately. But Bradley knows he’s just as quick, knows this guy isn’t going to break his ankles in the open field. Scrambling backwards, Bradley turns in time to hook the guy around the chest as he tries to run past, in between Bradley and the free safety. Bradley grips his jersey tight and then makes his body dead weight as he pulls. They go tumbling to the ground, Bradley flat on top of the guy. 

“Fuck,” he swears, pushing at Bradley before they stop moving. Bradley starts to push himself up as well, the ref coming over for the ball. “Get the fuck off me.”

“I’m going, princess,” Bradley snaps, getting up with ease. The guy stares up at him, eyes narrowed, and then one of his teammates is running over to help him up. 

“Jake, leave it,” the teammate is saying and Bradley smirks when he sees that Seresin is glaring at him. 

“Yeah, Jake,” Bradley sneers, winking at him as he runs off back to the huddle. 

Two plays later, Bradley catches Seresin in the open field, wrapping his arms tight around his shoulders and using his legs to drop them to the ground. Seresin yells at him, kicking and elbowing him, and before Bradley has time to process what’s happening, there’s a crowd of players as Seresin and Bradley push and shove at each other. 

“Gonna break someone’s leg if you keep tackling like that!” Seresin yells at him, over the shoulder of his running back. 

“Get better at evading tackles!” Bradley yells back, letting Hondo pull him backwards. 

“Enough! Bradshaw, do you want to get pulled?” Hondo hisses, hitting the side of his helmet. “You’re matched with him all night - don’t be stupid.”

“You’re right,” Bradley breathes, glaring across the field to where Seresin is standing with his quarterback. He’s glaring right back at Bradley, holding up a finger and flipping him off. Bradley returns the gesture. 

Bradley wins, in the end. He keeps Seresin from getting another touchdown all game and becomes a starter. He tries not to be too smug about it in post game interviews. 

--- 

Bradley knew, when he’d been drafted to the Eagles, that he would constantly be at odds with anyone on the Cowboys. Even though his college roommate and (still) good friend Bob (or Bobby, as Bradley called him) had been drafted to the Cowboys as their punter, they are still bitter rivals. 

What Bradley had been wholly unprepared for was to have his own personal rival. His own personal pain in the ass. He didn’t expect there to be highlight reels of him and Jake Seresin arguing and jawing at each other after their first game against each other. His Uncle Mav’s recorded it, saying it’s the beginning of his long, successful career - to have a rival. 

Bradley thinks it’s a pain in the ass. 

The Eagles are up by ten points when Seresin lines up in the slot and Bradley narrows his eyes. It’s a freezing cold day in Philadelphia and Seresin is wearing a turtleneck under his uniform. Bradley is not. 

The ball snaps and Bradley reads the coverage before Seresin’s even turned his head. He steps forward, ducking out of the grasp of one of the Cowboy’s linemen and jumping up into the path of the ball. The tips of his hands push down on the ball and he falls forward, maneuvering the ball into his chest. He hears the roar of the crowd in his ears before he’s touched the ground. 

Securing the ball against his side, Bradley takes off down the field, the entire Cowboys offense now switching to trying to catch him. He sees Rueben on his left, coming up and providing a block. There’s only an open field in front of him, and Bradley pushes himself to run faster. He has no idea if anyone’s behind him, doesn’t have time to check, but he thinks he knows who’s reaching around him and trying to pull him down. 

They fall across the goaline, the ball still tucked into Bradley’s side, and he huffs as he’s slammed into the ground, a solid body against his back. The crowd is roaring and he can hear his teammates calling his name but he’s still on the ground.

“Get the fuck off him,” Mickey yells, Bradley pushing on Seresin’s shoulders as more Cowboy’s players come running over. There’s a crowd around where they fell, and Bradley thinks there must’ve been something that happened behind him, because people are yelling. 

“Yo, fuck you man,” someone on the Cowboys yells, pushing someone into Bradley’s back. Whistles fill the air as Bradley is pushed right into Seresin, who whips around and pushes back. 

“Watch it, Bradshaw,” he snaps before noticing the fighting behind Bradley. His eyes widen and he ducks under the ref next to him, running away from the action. Bradley doesn’t have time to think about that as he grabs Rueben’s collar and pulls him out of the drama. Hondo shoots him a thumbs up as he grabs someone else. 

There are no defensive flags on the play, so Bradley’s pick six stands. He cheers with everyone else on the sideline, letting his quarterback lift him off the ground. 

“Way to fucking go dude!” Logan yells, slapping the top of Bradley’s shoulder pads. “You get game ball, fucker!”

When the game is over, the Eagles winning by exactly one touchdown, Bradley collects a crowd of reporters around his locker after he changes. One of them asks a question that catches his attention. 

“You know, Jake Seresin on the Cowboys was quoted after the game calling you an annoying show off. That pick six was a pass to him down the slot,” the reporter starts and Bradley laughs. 

“He can say whatever he wants, man. I saw him ducking out of the brawl there in the endzone, didn’t even try to grab anyone out. Leaving your team hanging like that? That’s something an annoying show off does.”

When the reporters all move away, Bradley catches Rueben shaking his head at him, a smirk on his face. “It’s too bad you don’t use Twitter.”

“What are you talking about, man?” Bradley asks, walking to where Rueben is standing. His app is open to a tweet, from a @seresin_jake, retweeting a clip of Bradley’s post game interview. 

@seresin_jake: Just call me h_ngman then.

“Is he serious?” Bradley asks, pulling the phone closer to his face. Reuben is cackling, bent in half as people come over to see what Bradley’s geeking about. He hands the phone off and heads to his locker, already regretting what he's about to do. 

His agent laughs when he asks but sends the login info anyway. 

---

Their next game is very soon after, as they meet again in the playoffs. The Eagles are top of the division with the Cowboys in a wild card spot. They play in Philly again, and today it's snowing. 

Bradley caves and puts on a light undershirt as he's getting dressed, knowing the snow will make his arms colder than just plain old wind. They all grab a long trench coat, puffy and already warm, from the equipment manager when they reach their sideline. 

“Best behavior today,” Hondo says to him as Bradley's looking at film with the linebackers coach. 

“What did I do?” Bradley asks, trying and failing to keep the laugh off his face. Hondo rolls his eyes. They both know the tweet Bradley had sent earlier. A clear dig at Seresin. 

@bradbrad: no turtleneck for me today, but mom said i had to wear something (photo of bradley in thin under armor shirt, flexing for the camera) 

“Best. Behavior.” Hondo grounds out, pointing two fingers at Bradley. Bradley nods and pulls on his beanie. 

It's brutally cold on the field but adrenaline keeps Bradley warm. The Cowboys quarterback, Brigham Lennox, is conservative with his throws. They're playing their running backs more than their receivers. Bradley shifts to playing more of the inside, and manages to get a sack before the half. He catches Seresin glowering at him as he celebrates with his teammates. 

Halftime is more of a hassle during cold games - everyone warms up a bit in the locker room and then they have to head back out on the field as the sun is going down. Bradley comes back out onto the field and feels himself shiver. 

“It's just going to get worse,” Mickey complains, coat already wrapped around his body. Bradley nods, hands cold. 

Something has shifted when the 3rd quarter starts, a more intense feeling in the air. Lennox is attempting passes now, the Cowboys down by two touchdowns after failing to get anything going in the cold. Bradley's grateful for the change of attack because he gets to move more, running downfield after Seresin and the other wide receiver, Machado. 

Rueben and him are lined up against them, Rueben having shifted over to help against the speed Machado brings to the right side of the line. Bradley's fast, always has been, but not fast enough for both men. Rueben's the fastest guy Bradley knows. 

Lennox drops back in the pocket, the line holding well, so Bradley drops back into the open, watching the quarterback's eyes. He sees the shift of his weight and knows, even if Lennox is looking to the opposite side of the field, he's going to throw it to where Seresin is running, on Bradley's left. 

Bradley moves as the ball does, shifting to run for Seresin. He knows Seresin sees him and anticipates the smack of their gear as the ball lands in Seresins arms and Bradley slams into his side, both of them sliding across the snow covered turf and into the sidelines. 

“Fuck off, Bradshaw!” Seresin is yelling as they come to a stop. Bradley just laughs, trying to pull back, but their helmets are stuck together at the grills. 

“I would, but your stupid fucking helmet is stuck to mine.” 

“That sounds like a personal problem - get off me!”

“God, you're such a bitch.” 

The referee comes over as they struggle to stand, their heads stuck together. This close, Bradley can see the green of Seresins eyes and the murderous look he's seen shot across the line up close and personal. Bradley winks at him as he undoes his chin strap and pulls his helmet off his head. It stays attached to Seresin’s and even the ref laughs as Seresin glowers. 

“Give me a second boys,” the ref says, examining where the helmets are stuck. The Cowboys equipment manager comes running over, sparing Bradley a glance before he and the ref get Seresin out of his helmet to break the things apart. 

Seresin watches him carefully as they stand there, reduced to two grown men waiting for the ref to fix their issue. Bradley knows the cameras are right there, watching their every move, so he doesn't say anything. Just watches as the ref and Cowboys manager struggle. 

He's mostly trying to ignore the weight of Seresin’s eyes on him, or the fluffiness of his blond hair even though it's probably sweaty as hell. Bradley's always had a weakness for blonds. 

“That mustache is much uglier in person.” 

The helmets click apart and the ref sighs. Bradley looks up and catches Seresin’s eyes as he takes back his helmet. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he replies, blowing Seresin a kiss. The furrow of Seresin's brow as the ref blows his whistle to start the play clock again makes Bradley feel like he's won this round. 

The Eagles might lose later, by a single field goal, but Bradley won his personal battle. 

---

@seresin_jake: looks like that's one rooster who won't be getting up early for the divisional round next week 

@bradbrad: like what up i got a big 🐔

---

The Cowboys lose to the Packers anyway. Bradley definitely doesn't watch the post game interviews and definitely doesn't smirk big time when he sees how hard Seresin is glaring at the cameras. 

He definitely doesn't find himself getting a little hot under the collar watching Seresin’s eyes cut between reporters, the steady set of his shoulders as he speaks. His Texas drawl is much more defined in interviews. 

Bradley turns off the interviews and goes on a run. 

Bradley spends a week of his off-season at Bob’s home in Texas. Bob’s wife, Natasha, is a special teams coach for the 49ers and Bradley rarely gets to see her during the season. He had introduced them, forever ago at a college party. 

“So Bradley,” Natasha says as she walks out onto the back deck, handing him a beer and sitting down in Bob’s lap. Bob looks up at his wife and smiles and Bradley tries not to feel a little bit lonely. “What's up with you and Jake Seresin?” 

“Can we not?” Bob asks but Natasha shushes him. He looks up at her, bemused, and shrugs at Bradley. 

“He's just a jerk,” Bradley replies, taking a swig of his beer. Natasha levels him with a look and Bradley keeps the bottle against his mouth, hellbent on not giving in to her interrogation tactics. 

“And here I thought we’d catch up and talk about the families but noooo, you two wanna act like siblings and terrorize me.” 

“Bobby, dearest,” Natasha laughs, cupping her husband's face. “I just want Bradshaw to admit he thinks Seresin is hot.” 

Bob laughs, eyes bugging a bit out of his head as he turns to look at Bradley, who feels much the same. They both look at Natasha as they giggle, Bob covering his face with one of his hands. 

“Tasha, honey, what the hell?” Bob asks between laughs. 

“Nat,” Bradley starts, trying to think of ways to change the subject. Natasha is onto him though. 

“I know you have a thing for blonds, Bradley. You told me once while drunk!” Natasha points at him, leaning forward on Bob’s lap. “And he's mouthy. Gives you grief.” 

“He's also the most annoying guy in the world and he’s constantly calling me the 'ugliest porn star he's ever seen’, so like,” Bradley laughs, waving his hands around, “he could be the hottest guy in the universe and I’d find all of that unattractive.” 

“He really calls you that?” Bob laughs, trying to hide the wide smile on his face. Bradley rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, at least once a game. Sometimes twice.” 

Bob loses it, hiding his face in Natasha’s shoulder as they both laugh at him. Bradley flips them off and gets up from his chair, heading for their pool. He’s jumped in before Bob starts calling after him. 

A few minutes later, Bob jumps in the pool after Bradley, swimming to where he’s hanging onto the edge and looking out at the open land off in the distance. Bob nudges him as he hooks his arms over the edge. 

“You know,” Bob starts, sighing. “For what it’s worth, Seresin seems to have a great deal of respect for you.”

“I’ve read his interviews,” Bradley says. Bob nods. 

“You do think he’s kind of hot, don’t you?”

Bradley groans, pushing off the edge of the pool to get away from Bob. 

--- 

The Cowboys added a new receiver to their core during the off season - a smaller dude named Billy but Bradley hears everyone call him Fritz. Mickey is tasked with covering him, their similar builds and height perfect as a matchup. Bradley watches the highlights anyway, feeling for Mickey as he watches Fritz’s speed. 

The game is slow at the start, both teams a little rusty even with the preseason. Seresin doesn’t even line up on the ball until midway through the 2nd, eyes finding Bradley’s as Lennox yells the hard count. 

Reuben apparently reads the play faster than Bradley, because he’s pushing Bradley to his left and yelling at him to follow Seresin as everyone starts moving. Bradley does just that, staying right with Seresin as he cuts across the open field. He has his hand up even as Bradley’s right behind him and Lennox throws him the ball. Bradley gets a hand on Seresin’s arm, knocking the ball out before he has the chance to grab it.

They don’t fall but they stumble and Seresin pushes him a little harder than Bradley thinks is necessary but he doesn’t say much. A ref is over to them before they can even look at each other so Bradley jogs back to his huddle. 

It keeps going like that, all game. Bradley right in Seresin’s bubble, keeping him from getting a single pass. He can see the frustration mounting, Seresin’s shoulders getting closer and closer to his ears, and there’s a tiny thrill that goes up Bradley’s spine every time Seresin flips him off or glares his way. 

“Man, you’ve got his number today,” Mickey says as they walk out of the tunnel after halftime. Bradley just grins, knowing the NFL camera is right in his face. 

The Cowboys make some adjustments at halftime because suddenly, Seresin is lined up as a receiver. Bradley switches off covering him, letting Rueben slip into that role, leaving Bradley to cover Machado. It’s weird, covering someone who Bradley hasn’t obsessively studied on film for three seasons, but Machado gives Bradley a run for his money. 

Reuben has Seresin’s number, it seems, because Lennox has to pass to Machado every chance he gets. Bradley’s right there, tackling Machado to the ground and holding out his hand to help him up. The first time, Machado looks at him skeptically before letting Bradley pull him to his feet. By the fourth tackle, he’s already reaching before Bradley offers. 

“Oh, so I see how it is,” Seresin says as he walks over to where they’re at, hands on his hips. “You’ll tackle him with kiddie gloves and help him stand but you’re intent on breaking all of my ribs?”

Bradley snorts, turning on his heel to look at Seresin. Machado comes around and hooks an arm with Seresin, tugging. 

“Nah, I just like seeing you all out of breath,” Bradley calls, reveling in the way Seresin’s eyes bulge out of his head and his mouth drops open. When he looks to his right, he sees the ref shaking his head at them, an amused look on his face. 

--- 

The cameras pick it up, because of course they do, and in his post game interview, one of the reporters asks him about it. 

“If he’s out of breath he can’t mouth off,” Bradley responds, shifting in his locker. “He calls me the ugliest porn star he’s ever seen at least once a game.”

The reporters just laugh and Bradley thinks it’s over but someone else speaks up. 

“But what do you say to the people who seem to think you have it out for Seresin, that you tackle him a bit harder than you were tackling Machado?”

Bradley sighs, trying to keep a straight face as he thinks of his answer. “Machado’s an easier guy to tackle. No offense to him, he’s never insulted my face,” the reporters laugh as Bradley continues, “but he’s an easier guy to tackle. Seresin doesn’t go down without a fight.”

--- 

@seresin_jake: it’s bc i got that dog in me

@JavyMachado89: @seresin_jake man, i’m taking away your twitter privileges

@seresin_jake: @JavyMachado89 gonna have to fight that dog in me, bro

--- 

The teams meet in Philly on Thanksgiving and Bradley hates it a little. 

He knows the Cowboys play every Thanksgiving and he thinks it’s gotta suck for the players a bit. He’s been lucky enough so far to not play on Thanksgiving or Christmas but he knew this as a possibility. As it stands, his parents and his uncles are in the stands, refusing to let Bradley get them an inside box. 

There’s six minutes left in the 3rd when it happens. 

The Cowboys are marching down the field, grinding out first downs and making spectacular plays to convert on third. Bradley’s hands are starting to get cold from the wind, so he stands with his hands in his little hand warmer while he listens to Hondo try to hype them up as the offense is in their huddle. 

The offense moves to the line and Bradley finds where Seresin is, watching him line up in-between Fritz and Machado. It’s third down and the Cowboys need seven yard still. They know it’s going to be a pass play. 

The ball snaps and Bradley starts to move, running backwards a bit as Seresin starts running his route. Fritz cuts in front of him but he sees that coming, turning and finding where Seresin is waiting for the perfect pass Lennox is tossing him. He still has a few yards to go, so Bradley ducks his body down to tackle Seresin to the ground. 

His fingers, still a little cold and stiff, get caught on Seresin’s jersey as they fall to the ground. Bradley feels the moment his wrist hits the cold ground and he cries out in pain, immediately rolling off Seresin. The ref blows the whistle, stopping the clock, as Seresin moves off Bradley’s hand. 

“Mother fuck,” Bradley gasps, pulling his hand to his chest. The pain’s shooting up his arm and into his chest and he bites his bottom lip. He thinks some of his fingers are broken. He can’t be sure. Everything on his left side hurts and he only registers the medical staff because one of them is shining a light in his face. 

“Bradshaw, don’t move it,” someone is snapping at him and he tilts his head back as warm hands hold onto his arm. He catches Seresin watching him from a few feet away, an indecipherable look on his face. He looks away when he sees that Bradley’s caught him watching. 

Bradley ends up in the locker room, having his hand x-rayed and wrapped up once they find the breaks. He hisses through the pain and tries not to let himself cry too much as they let his mom into the locker room to check on him as the 4th quarter starts. 

“Mom, I’m fine,” he laughs but lets her hug him anyway. Carole shakes her head, watching the medical personnel still working on his splints. 

“Baby, I’m your mother. I get to worry,” Carole says, kissing the top of his head. Bradley hears the doctor huff a laugh. 

“Who let her in here?” he asks the doc. Dan shrugs. 

“Probably coach,” he replies, referring to Coach Bates. “You know how Warlock is.”

“He’s a fine man,” Carole says, kissing Bradley’s forehead again. With a sigh, Bradley lets it happen. 

--- 

He gets to come out onto the field at the end of the game, the doctors having finished getting his wrist and two fingers into a cast. His pinky and ring finger are sprained and his wrist has a clean break. It’s a relatively easy fix but also a major injury. Bradley’s going to be out for weeks. 

He’s surprised when Seresin walks up to him, his mouth pinched. He looks at Bradley’s arm, frowning, before he steps into Bradley’s space a bit. 

“I’m sorry, about your hand,” Seresin says, low enough that any of the microphones nearby won’t pick it up. Bradley blinks at him in confusion before realizing he should probably reply. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I fell on it,” Seresin says with a shrug. Bradley shakes his head. 

“I blame the cold. You’re all good, man.”

Seresin looks at him, searching for something. Bradley just raises an eyebrow at him and Seresin laughs a bit, shaking his head. 

“I am good, Bradshaw. I’m very good.”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay man.”

“In fact,” Seresin continues, a wide grin on his face now. Bradley sees Machado making his way through the crowd towards them, eyes wide. “By the time you come back, I’ll be too good to be true.”

Bradley laughs. “You know I’m just going to be watching your film each week. I’ll know your new tricks when I come back.”

Machado walks up to them, tugging on the neck of Seresin’s jersey. “Come on, man. You already broke the man's wrist.”

“And I apologized for that,” Seresin says, ignoring the shocked look on Machado’s face. Bradley files that away for later. “Come on now, Javy. You know I wouldn’t come over here to gloat about hurting anyone.” He pauses, shooting Bradley a withering look. “Even someone with a pornstache that ugly.”

“Kicking a man while he’s down, huh?”

“You’re always down, Bradshaw, that’s why we keep winning,” Seresin replies as Machado pulls him away, grinning before turning to walk correctly. 

“He’s such a piece of work,” Reuben says as he comes up next to Bradley, wrapping his arm around Bradley’s shoulder. 

“Don’t I know it,” Bradley replies, letting Rueben lead him towards the locker rooms. 

Bradley is so ready to go when the new season starts. 

He missed the rest of the season with his wrist injury, deciding when the team's odds of going to the playoffs were shot to sit it out instead of trying to play. He spends all off season doing his physical therapy and training and gets a perfect bill of health when training comes around. 

The first full day of training camp is fun and honestly a lot of catching up over training. He poses for some photos for the team photographer and lets Mickey tackle him to the ground once or twice. At the end of the day, he feels rejuvenated. Like his normal self - he may not be in pads and there aren’t thousands of fans screaming, but there’s a calmness with stepping onto a football field. 

“Bradley, man, you gotta see this.” Reuben catches up to him as Bradley walks through the facility towards the team parking lot. “Mickey just sent it to me.”

Bradley slows and waits as Reuben opens his phone. He taps a few times and then holds the phone up for Bradley to see. 

It’s a tweet from Seresin, which doesn’t shock Bradley at all. He’d kept up to date with all of Seresin’s dumb tweets over the offseason, even sending off a few himself when the Cowboys had crashed and burned in the NFC Championship Game. He learned the word ‘subtweet’ over the off season. 

This tweets seems less ‘sub’ and more blatant - it's a picture of Seresin on a field, practice jersey tight on his shoulders as he holds a finger up above his lip and scowls. He’s wearing dark sunglasses (which makes Bradley think this photo was not taken mid practice) and his hair’s fluffy on his head. The caption says “better than ever.” Bradley refuses to think about how good he looks. Instead, he turns to Rueben. 

“What?”

Reuben sighs and pulls up another tweet. It’s from the Eagles official account and it’s a photo of Bradley, scowling slightly at the camera with his helmet in his hands. The caption says, “He’s back and he’s better than ever!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bradley swears, rolling his eyes and stalking off down the hall. Reuben laughs after him, the sound echoing off the walls. 

--- 

@bradbrad: the dallas cheerleaders seem better conditioned than the team this year

@seresin_jake: is hunting eagles illegal? 

---

Bradley realizes about four minutes into his first game back against the Cowboys that Seresin wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be ‘too good to be true’ when Bradley came back. 

He feels like he’s constantly playing catch-up, always one step behind Seresin. Bradley just doesn’t know what’s clogging up his brain, keeping him from getting that edge he’s always had on Seresin back. He partially blames the rain, pouring down in Philly from early in the morning until game time. The NFL plays rain or shine and Bradley’s soaked shoes are proof of that. 

When the 2nd quarter starts he feels himself getting a handle on things. Seresin misses a catch, the ball slipping right through his fingers, and Bradley’s able to tackle him into the ground for the first time. They’re covered in mud, the field still disgusting even if the rain’s barely falling now. 

“And here I was doing so good, not ending up in the slop you call a field,” Seresin snaps at him as they stand, pushing away from each other. Bradley glares at him. 

“Oh no, did you break a nail princess? Do you need to go back to your temperature controlled dome?”

“Anywhere’s better than this shithole, Bradshaw.”

“Okay classist,” Bradley snaps, the first thing coming to his mind. “Sorry we aren’t all ‘daddy’s money’ rich, down there in Texas.” Seresin reels back slightly, but there’s something in Bradley that’s not done yet. “Some of us worked hard to get to where we are, didn’t just skate by on name-”

Seresin lunges at him and then Machado is there, grabbing him around the waist and lifting him off the ground like he weighs nothing. Bradley reels back, chest jumping at the fire in Seresin’s eyes. Bradley’s never actually seen him this mad, but he’s also never felt this mad at something Seresin’s said. 

“Fuck you, Bradshaw. You have no idea how hard I work, you piece of shit!”

“Not hard enough, huh? Still got all muddy here in this shithole!”

Someone’s grabbing Bradley around the waist, pulling him backwards as a ref runs between them. Bradley keeps his eyes on Seresin as Machado continues to drag him across the field, Seresin flipping him off as they go. Bradley realizes, as he loses sight of Seresin, that it's Rueben pulling him towards the sideline. 

Coach is standing there, a very serious look on his face. Bradley sighs and Warlock chuckles. 

“Yeah, you’re going to get chewed out for this one, buddy.” Warlock levels him with a glare, the refs still working on getting the ball reset. “You want to get ejected? Keep jawing at him like that. But if you want to win a game, stop letting him rile you up and keep on him. You have him now, he’s rattled. Don’t be stupid.”

“Thanks Coach,” Bradley laughs, grinning as Warlock shakes his head. 

“Don’t be stupid, Bradshaw.”

“I won’t Coach.”

And Bradley really, really tries. 

But the end of the game is close and Dallas is marching down the field, attempting to execute a two minute drill. They’re in no huddle and Bradley knows they’re all exhausted as they run back to the line. He can see Machado’s shoulders heaving as he lines up against Rueben, pointing at each other. Bradley’s never seen them so much as yell at each other, a much different dynamic than the one Bradley has with Seresin. 

Who hasn’t said a single word to Bradley the rest of the game, even when Bradley had tried to rile him up a bit in the beginning of the 4th. Seresin doesn’t take the bait, just glaring harshly at Bradley and continuing on to his spot on the line. 

It’s a little unnerving, if Bradley’s being honest. 

So when Bradley thinks he has the next play read, knows exactly what’s about to happen, he moves. Lennox drops back to pass and Seresin hesitates a moment before moving in his route. Bradley’s seen this route in film, knows where the ball is going to go. 

The ball falls right into Bradley’s hands as he cuts Seresin’s route off, securing the ball against his chest and heading towards the other end of the field. He knows Seresin will be right behind him, as will every other Cowboys player, so he puts his head down and runs as fast as he can. 

The Philly crowd is deafening as Bradley makes it across the goal line untouched. He twirls around as he holds his hands up in the air and has only a moment to think before Seresin is slamming into his chest shoulder first. 

Bradley sees red, honest to God rage filling him as he processes how late of a hit Seresin just got him with. There’s whistles in the air and more yelling and Bradley knows that the home crowd loves a good brawl. He shoves until Seresin’s off him but doesn’t let him go far, shoving him back down into the mud. 

“Man, what the fuck?!” Bradley yells, shaking off Rueben as he catches up to Bradley. “What’s your fucking problem!”

“You, you fucking asshole!” Seresin shoves Bradley’s chest, fighting off the hand Rueben’s trying to push him away with. “Hypocritical piece of shit.”

“Hey man, you started it,” Bradley replies, pointing at Seresin. The crowd around them is bigger now, the tension from the game boiling over and more little brawls break out around them. But Bradley and Seresin don’t seem to notice, even as Rueben and Lennox try to pull them apart. “Talking shit about Philly, real classy move.”

“Yeah, for a super classy place, huh?”

Bradley lunges at him again and he sees Seresin’s eyes widen for just a moment before they’re in the mud again. 

--- 

Maverick is the one who calls him first. 

He’s sitting in his apartment, watching the replay of the game. Reuben had told him not to, to leave it alone for a while before reopening the wound. But Bradley couldn’t help it. Outside of the intensity of the game, it’s much easier to parse what the fuck happened in the end zone. 

He’s watching Seresin catch up to Bradley as he slows in the end zone, ball held up in the air for the cheering Philadelphia crowd, before Seresin slams into him hard. It was called a late hit, a personal foul, but so late in the game it really didn’t matter. Bradley thinks Seresin will probably receive a fine but that’s about it. 

“Hey Mav,” Bradley answers, sighing a bit too heavily. Mav laughs at him. 

“Hey slugger,” he replies and Bradley groans. 

“Mav, I don’t-”

“No, we’re going to talk about this, kid.” Mav’s voice is firm and Bradley purses his lips. Mav’s rarely stern - always took the route of a fun uncle. Bradley nods even though he knows Mav can’t see him. “This guys got your number.”

“Mav, he was insulting Philly.”

“I know, I heard the fight.”

“Then you know why I was so upset!”

Mav sighs. “I do, but I also heard about you taunting him about his dad.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” Bradley argues, immediately defensive. “His dad got him into UT and was a player for the Cowboys, back when you played!”

“I know, Bradley,” Mav says, a little harshly. Bradley’s mouth snaps shut. “But come on kid, you have to realize how stupid you sound saying that to him.”

Bradley chokes on his own spit. “Excuse me?”

“Bradley, I’m your uncle. Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell of the 49ers, who still holds the single season receiving yards record for the team. And your other uncle is Tom Kazansky, one of the most well known quarterbacks of all time.”

“But neither of you helped me get into the league.”

“You think those relationships don’t hold any weight?”

Bradley’s eyes widen and he feels his stomach drop. “Oh, fuck.”

Mav hums. In the background, Bradley can hear Tom talking softly. Before Bradley can respond to Mav, there’s shuffling on the other end. 

“Bradley,” Tom says, letting out a deep sigh. “Having a rival in the NFL is about letting them push you to be better. You’re never going to be the best if no one tests your skills.”

Bradley knows he’s right. Tom usually is and Bradley’s forever grateful for him. It doesn’t mean Bradley finds it any easier to admit he’s right. 

“I understand,” Bradley mumbles, face scrunching up as Tom laughs softly. 

“I’m sure you do,” Tom laughs, Mav in the background. Bradley misses them suddenly, wishing he was on their property in California in the sun. “And who knows. Your uncle and I used to get in each other’s faces like you and Seresin did. Maybe you’ll become friends someday.”

“Ha, very funny,” Bradley mumbles, not letting himself think too hard about that. He feels like Tom knows though as he lets out a knowing hum. 

They say their goodbyes and Bradley’s left to watch the replay of the end zone brawl on repeat, multiple people pulling him and Seresin apart. He remembers Seresin insulting his face (unoriginal), calling him a big dumb oaf (new, kind of childish), and catching him off guard with a ‘that’s the kind of class I expect here in Philly’ (classist, again, in Bradley’s opinion). He can barely remember what he said in retaliation. 

He doesn’t listen to the replay to find out. 

--- 

ruebes: dude, look at this fucking catch 

Bradley opens the link Rueben sent him, already scowling when he sees it's from a recent Cowboys game. He waits for the ads to play and then the clip starts. 

“And look at this absolutely clutch catch by Seresin here - just marvelous awareness of where he's at on the field.” 

Seresin is up against a Falcons defender, incredibly close as they run down the field. The ball is a little overthrown, but Seresin extends up and is able to catch it with one hand. He comes down with the ball, managing to stay inbounds and make the touchdown. 

Bradley watches it four times, trying and failing to ignore how hot it's making him. He closes the video out and stares across his hotel room, counting backwards from ten in his mind. 

He opens Twitter, to distract himself, but the first thing he sees has him jamming the heel of his palm against his dick in his shorts. 

@seresin_jake: now THAT’S pure talent baby [photo of the catch, seresin’s lips turned up into a smile inside his helmet] 

If he jerks off in the shower later with visions of Jake Seresin running through his head, no one ever has to know. 

---

Pregame before a night game always feels different to Bradley. He personally hates playing Sunday nights, the anticipation of the game keeping him slightly on edge all day. He's out on the field, stretching and letting his music bring him into the right headspace, when a shadow falls over him. 

“Hey, Machado,” Bradley greets, pulling a headphone out. Machado holds out a hand and helps Bradley stand. When they’re face to face, Bradley sees that Machado isn’t smiling. He looks rather serious. “What’s up, man?”

Machado takes a deep breath, looking towards his own team for a moment before speaking. “Leave Jake’s dad out of your smack talk.”

Bradley’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms. He knows Machado can feel his defenses going up because Machado crosses his arms too. “Excuse me?”

“Look, he knows he shouldn’t have said shit about Philly. He got enough crap for that on Twitter over the past couple weeks. He’s learned his lesson.” Machado gives Bradley a firm look, waiting for Bradley to nod before continuing. “But leave his dad out of it. You don’t know shit about that.”

Bradley really looks at Machado, the firm set of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw, and nods. “Sure, whatever man.”

Machado laughs. “Hey, I have no problem with you.” Machado taps his arm, playful. Bradley snorts. “Whatever beef is happening between you and Jake is your own shit. Just… leave his dad out of it.”

“I hear you, man,” Bradley says, holding up his hands. Machado laughs, slapping their hands together and it breaks the tension. Bradley puts Machado into a headlock and they laugh as they wrestle a bit right there at the ten yard line. 

They’re laughing, so no one thinks they’re really being serious, but that doesn’t stop Seresin from walking over to them with a frown on his face. He has his headphones on still and he isn’t looking at Bradley. 

“Hey dude,” Machado says when he sees Seresin, swiping at the cable of Seresin’s headphones. “Come over to play referee?”

“No, you can continue beating the shit out of Bradshaw. I actually encourage you to do so. We do, however, need to get to team meetings.”

Bradley tries not to let the harsh tone of Seresin’s voice get to him. He’s also trying to not memorize the slight pout Seresin has on his face, lest it show up in his mind again when he’s jerking off in the shower. His brain’s buzzing again, his pregame calm leaving his body in an instant.

“Nah, I’ll stop kicking Bradshaw’s ass,” Machado says, grinning at Bradley. If possible, Seresin’s face pouts even more. “But I’ll come with you, dearest.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Seresin says but it’s less harsh than before, his body relaxing as Machado moves away from Bradley and hooks an arm around Seresin’s shoulders. 

“See you out there, dearest,” Bradley calls after them. Seresin flips him off without looking back. 

---

There's less than a minute left in the half when Bradley hears a sickening smack of bodies across the field as he hovers near Seresin. They both turn and see Machado laid out on the ground, next to Nickleson, an Eagles defender. Bradley's moving their way in an instant, coming to a stop a few feet away as the medical staff comes rushing over. 

Seresin runs up next to him and they stand in silence as a hush falls over the crowd. Machado seems to be out cold and Bradley feels his insides twist as Seresin takes off his helmet, eyes wide as he stares at his friend. Bradley takes his helmet off as well and puts one knee on the ground, Rueben coming to kneel next to him. 

Seresin looks down at him after a moment and Bradley catches a conflicted look cross his face. More players are kneeling - no one is talking as the medical staff works and slowly, Seresin kneels down next to Bradley. 

They simply look at each other for a moment - Seresin’s eyes are wide and a little damp, and his mouth is pinched. Bradley doesn't know what Seresin’s looking for as he stares at Bradley, so he reaches out and taps the back of his hand against Seresin’s chest pads. 

Seresin’s lips twitch, a ghost of a smile, and he bumps his knee against Bradley’s. 

“He's going to be okay,” Bradley says, watching as Machado starts to move his hands, finally awake. It feels like they all breathe finally as he wiggles his feet. Nickelson is up on his feet, looking slightly dazed, watching Machado intently. 

Seresin doesn't make a sound, doesn't respond to Bradley, and when Bradley turns to look at him, Seresin’s watching him again. His face is softer than before, almost kind, and he doesn't school his features when Bradley catches his eye. He offers Bradley a small smile before he turns to watch the medical team get Machado up on his feet. 

When Bradley turns back, he catches Rueben smirking at them. He decides to not ask. 

---

@JavyMachado89: thanks for all the love, cowboy nation. i promise i am doing well and will be back better than ever soon. meanwhile, here's @seresin_jake bringing me flowers [photo of Jake holding a large vase of bright flowers in one hand and flipping Javy off with the other] 

@bradbrad: glad you're okay man, despite seresin’s horrible bedside manners. 

@seresin_jake: 🖕🏻

It’s snowing, in Philly, when the Eagles and Cowboys play their last regular season game before they both go into the playoffs. 

The game determines who gets a bye week next week and who has to play in Wildcard Weekend. Bradley desperately wants a bye week, needing a week to relax and maybe see his family for a bit. It’s been a long season, the NFL expanding the number of games they play by one. Bradley’s tired. The snow doesn’t help. 

Bradley had put on a turtleneck for this game, at the insistence of his mother. Even his dad had pushed for it, nodding along as Bradley FaceTime’d them before the game. In pregame warmups, he catches Seresin pulling his own turtleneck, smirking at Bradley as he goes through his leg stretches. Bradley ignores him. 

The snow’s coming down thick when the game starts but it starts to lessen as the 1st moves along. Snow (or weather of any kind, really) means that the quarterback lays off passing, and that means that Bradley knows he doesn’t have to keep right on Seresin. He hovers, stays in his pocket, but doesn’t get too close. Seresin’s had a punchy look to him all evening. 

As the snow starts to dissipate, Bradley gets into Seresin’s space, Lennox throwing the ball a bit more. Seresin pushes at him, tries to keep Bradley away from him. Because of the snow, the score is tied at 3. Both teams desperately want to score before the end of the half. 

At the two minute warning, Bradley huddles up with his teammates. His wrist always hurts when it’s this cold and he shoves his whole hand in his hand warmer, shivering a bit. Reuben bumps into him, pulling Bradley’s sleeves down slightly. 

“Thank you, mother,” Bradley jokes, standing up straight when Hondo claps, their sign to get back to the line. 

The ref starts the play clock and the Cowboys line up, Lennox standing up and yelling at people. It’s 3rd down and the Cowboys need all ten yards. Bradley lines up across from Seresin and smiles when Seresin glares at him. 

“Lookin a little chilly there, Bradshaw.”

“I know your eyes don’t work but it is snowing.”

Seresin looks ready to bitch at him but Lennox snaps the ball and Bradley’s moving. He gets past Seresin with ease and heads right for Lennox, knocking the ball free from his hands as he tries to pass it away. Bradley gets the ball into his own hands and takes off through the snow towards the Eagles endzone. It’s rough work, trying to get through the snow and get his legs moving again after so much standing around. 

He feels Seresin before he sees him, a body crashing into him and trying to pull him down to the turf. Bradley keeps going, pushing his legs, until he thinks he’s close to the goal line and extends. 

There’s snow in his face and at least two bodies on him but he knows, as the crowd cheers, that he got a touchdown. He struggles against the bodies, pushing until he’s free. His hand aches where it’s laying in the snow and he pulls it closer to his body as Rueben and Hondo grab him by the chest pads and pull him to his feet. They’re all yelling, and Bradley feels euphoric with it. He catches Seresin glaring at him from nearby and laughs, tossing the ball to the ref. 

“You suck at tackling,” Bradley says as he jobs past Seresin. “Or is the snow just too cold for you?”

Seresin doesn’t reply, Fritz pulling him back towards the Cowboys sideline. 

They lose, the Eagles, with the Cowboys kicker making a last second field goal to push them to a win by one point. Bradley stands on the sidelines and resigns himself to not getting that bye week he so desperately wanted. 

--- 

@seresin_jake: number ONE baby, ride cowboys ride! [photo of cowboys locker room post game, all of them miming riding a horse and yelling]

@bradbrad: the snow makes this photo, don’t you think? [photo of bradley stretching across the goal line, snow dusting up around him, a single gloved hand in shot trying to pull him back, a cowboys logo on the glove]

@RobertFloyd: [retweets Cowboys official account celebrating being number one in the NFC]

@JavyMachado89: god BLESS home field advantage, i never want to play in the snow again (but much love philly, please don’t roast me)

---

The Eagles beat the Saints (it’s a close game, 21 to 20) in the Wildcard round. Bradley isn’t sure how, but they somehow pull it out. He’s exhausted after, sitting in an ice bath for a long time to let his muscles soak. 

They almost lose to the Packers in the Divisional round, Aaron Rodgers staging a massive two minute drill to get the Packers down the field and into field goal range. But then Mickey manages to knock the ball out of one of the receivers arms and Rueben catches it and he’s taking off down the field towards the end zone. He’s tackled at the 10 yard line but it doesn’t matter. The Eagles kicker could make that in his sleep. 

Which is how they end up playing the Cowboys in the Conference Championships, only each other in the path to the Super Bowl. Because of course, Bradley thinks to himself on the plane to Texas. 

--- 

The game starts with a Cowboys defender knocking Logan down to the ground and doesn’t really get any better from there. 

There’s a big brawl five minutes into the 1st, Bradley standing up from his bench on the sideline to watch as players run towards where a Cowboys defender is holding onto an Eagles running back a little too tightly. No one on the defense moves, under the stern eye of Hondo. They’ve all been threatened today to be on their best behavior. 

Bradley’s promise to do so flies out the window on the first play of the 2nd.

Seresin’s lined up on the outside, so Bradley lets someone else shift to cover him as Bradley focuses on Lennox. The quarterback's eyes flick to him right before he snaps the ball and Bradley almost smiles at that. He pushes past the offensive linemen, fighting with them until he’s able to slip free from their grasp, and he’s a step away from Lennox when someone slams into his back, knocking the air straight out of his lungs.

“Who the fuck," he yells as he rolls over, chest heaving. He grabs the hand offered to him and comes face to face with Seresin, who’s smirking at him. 

“How’s that for a tackle?”

Bradley shakes him off, pushing him hard enough for Seresin to stumble. The ref is over in a heartbeat, as Bradley knew he would be, and Bradley stalks over to the rest of the defense. 

“Bradshaw,” Hondo warns and Bradley waves him off. It’s not his fault the media had been hyping up his and Seresin’s rivalry all week, talking about their match up being one of the most exciting to watch. Seresin had retweeted one of the videos of the NFL Good Morning guys talking about it with a winking emoji. 

Now Bradley knows why. 

The tension doesn’t leave the game - even Rueben and Machado push at each other a bit unnecessarily. There’s a lot of trash talk happening between sidelines and Bradley catches Bob watching them all jaw at each other with the Cowboys kicker, both of them staying out of it. 

The game is tied going into the half, a frustrating place to be in Bradley’s opinion. The defense makes some adjustments and then they’re back out on the field, warming up on the sidelines and watching the end of the color guard performance. 

“They want this bad,” Reuben says as they walk out onto the field, pulling their helmets on. Bradley adjusts his chin strap, watching as the offense gets into their huddle. 

“So do we,” Bradley reminds him. Reuben holds out his fist and they bump hands, pointing at each other as they line up. 

The Cowboys go no huddle offense and Bradley smiles as he continues to follow Seresin down the field and then back to the line, bumping into a bit to get under his skin. He knows how annoyed Seresin gets when Bradley gets too much into his space when he’s not actively holding the ball. 

So Bradley makes sure he runs right next to Seresin, their arms and hands tangling as they move. He walks right next to Seresin back up to the line, laughing when Seresin pushes him away and scowls at him. When Seresin does almost manage to catch the ball, Bradley falls on top of him and doesn’t move for a second. 

“Fucking get off me Bradshaw,” Seresin snaps, pushing Bradley off him. Bradley just laughs as Seresin runs back to his own line. 

His little plan is working through, because Seresin is all riled up and having a hard time focusing on the ball. He drops two passes and glares at Bradley each time, his face pinching as he listens to Lennox yell at him. The score is still tied, as they head into the 4th. Bradley smiles as the safeties and corners high five each other for keeping the backfield from getting any passes. 

Bradley’s standing with one of the waterboys when Seresin walks past him, knocking their shoulders together. The water boy looks at them and moves on immediately, heading to other players while they wait for the refs to start the clock again. Somewhere down the field, someone’s lost a shoe. 

“It’s funny,” Seresin starts, turning on his heel so he’s facing Bradley, “that you chose to play defense when you come from a family of offensive players.”

“You mean my adopted uncles,” Bradley states flatly. Seresin smirks. 

“Your dad played wideout in college, didn’t he?”

Bradley stands up a bit straighter, glaring at Seresin. “Go snooping into my past, Seresin?”

“You snooped in mine.” Seresin’s voice is hard, mean. “He got injured, something with his knee? Had some scouts looking at him to play in the NFL. But all of that got shot to hell with his knee.”

Bradley takes a step towards Seresin and he sees the way Seresin’s eyes twinkle, the thrill of getting back under Bradley’s skin. 

“Javy asked me to leave your dad out of my smack talk, and I respect Javy,” Bradley says, watching as shock registers on Seresin’s face. “But man, if you keep talking shit about my dad, I’ll apologize to him later.”

Seresin smirks but then the whistle blows and they both seem to come back to themselves, looking around for the rest of their lines. Bradley flips Seresin off before jogging over to where Hondo is watching him closely. 

“Bradshaw.”

“I know,” he snaps. 

But it won’t leave him, simmering under his skin as he continues to play and get into Seresin’s space. Seresin keeps looking at him like he knows he’s got Bradley’s number and Bradley keeps getting a little too close, pushing Seresin out of bounds before he can make a catch or just because. 

Bradley’s only saving grace is the knowledge that the Cowboys defense is just as riled up and the Eagles offense isn’t taking any shit. He watches several small fights break out, nothing too big to draw the whole benches. The referee’s are working overtime to make sure things don’t get too out of hand. 

The game stays tied into the 4th, a war of attrition happening on the field as both teams simply try to make it into field goal range. Bradley doesn’t think he’s ever been more tired in his life as he follows Seresin down the field, batting the ball away from his hands right before he makes the catch. 

“Maybe you could’ve played offense,” Seresin says to him as he gets up off the ground, having fallen trying to grab the ball. Bradley pushes him, not really thinking, and then Seresin’s pushing him back and there’s whistles filling the air as people come to push them apart. 

“Watch your fucking mouth, Seresin.”

“Bite me, Bradshaw.”

Someone’s pulling Bradley back into the defensive huddle and Hondo’s glaring at him. Mickey knocks his shoulder and he looks at everyone, taking a deep breath. 

“That guy,” Bradley says, trying to joke. No one laughs, just giving him hard looks. “Yeah, I know. I’m controlling the urge to punch his lights out.”

“Aren’t we all,” Reuben mumbles, shaking his head. “I’m fucking tired man.”

“Tired or not, we still have to play our best game.” Hondo claps his hands together, looking at all of them. “Don’t lose sight of that goal, boys.”

The Cowboys march down the field, pushing nearer and nearer to the end zone. Seresin catches none of the balls in the drive, Bradley all over him and making his ability to signal for a pass impossible. He feels renewed by the anger simmering under his skin, intent on getting that smug look of Seresin’s face. He thinks he’s succeeding when Lennox tries to force a throw to Seresin over the middle and Bradley jumps up to knock it away. 

“Fuck,” Seresin gaps as he lands back on the ground, pushing on Bradley’s back. Bradley stumbles as he lands, his ankle moving weird, and he whips around to push Seresin back, hard enough to knock Seresin to the ground. 

“Watch it, fucker,” Bradley spits at him, already stepping back as the referee comes over. Seresin’s on his feet but Machado has him, pulling him back to the line of scrimmage. 

Bradley shakes off Reuben’s concerned look and lines up in his spot, across from Seresin. Lennox is yelling at his line, and someone’s not set correctly, but then the ball is snapped and Seresin is moving. Bradley follows. 

Lennox is flushed out of the pocket, turning and running to his right. Bradley sees him and knows he’s going to try to get to Seresin, who’s heading for the endzone. Almost as if in slow motion, Bradley watches Lennox release the ball. It’s coming right for him, and Seresin, and he jumps as Seresin does, getting his hand between Seresin’s face and the ball. He knows Seresin has it, two hands on the ball, but if Bradley can get the ball out of his hands before he hits the ground, it’s an incomplete pass. 

So he pushes and the ball and Seresin move forward, Seresin slamming into Bradley’s back as the ball goes flying. Bradley barely has time to go see where it goes because Seresin’s wrapping his arms around Bradley’s neck and pulling him down to the ground. 

The sound of the crowd rushes back to him as he struggles to get out of Seresin’s hold, kicking and yelling. Seresin’s yelling too, and they roll along the ground before Seresin lets him go and Bradley stands, already looming over Seresin as he stands and pushes Bradley’s chest. 

“Real class, trying to choke a guy out!”

“Fuck you, Bradshaw, you’re the one falling on me and trying to break my ribs.”

“As if you didn’t try to break my ankle earlier, you piece of shit!”

“Gonna blame the cold again?”

“Did your daddy teach you how to trash talk this badly?”

The punch comes before Bradley can register it and he throws his hands up against Seresin's hands, grabbing him and trying to wrestle him away. Bradley can only hear the sound of Seresin cussing him out and the referee’s whistles. He lands a punch on the side of Seresin’s helmet, arms flying out to hit anything he can of Seresin. 

“Break it up!”

“Fuck you, you hypocirte! Absolute piece of shit.”

“I said BREAK IT UP!”

Bradley nearly chokes as someone pulls him back by the collar of his uniform. Seresin’s in the same position, still yelling at Bradley as Machado manages to finally get him in a firm grasp. Bradley has no idea who has him around the neck but he follows them until they turn him around. He swallows when he meets Warlock’s eyes. 

“There are multiple fouls on the play,” the head referee is saying over the loudspeaker. “Personal foul - unsportsmanlike conduct, number 86 of the offense. Personal foul - unsportsmanlike conduct, number 59 of the defense.” Bradley looks across the field at the ref, his stomach sinking. “These penalties offset and we will replay the down. Both players have been disqualified.”

Warlock barely looks at him as he says, “Go hit the showers, Bradshaw. Now.”

---

Bradley’s pacing the locker room when he hears the roar of the crowd. It’s silent inside the locker room usually, but when the place is empty, he can just barely hear the crowd. He has no idea what’s going on - he turned off the television in the room when he walked in, too amped up to care anymore. There’s anger simmering under his skin and his brain won’t stop moving. 

He’s taken off his pads and his undershirt, leaving him in his game pants only. He kicks off his cleats and grabs his regular shoes, knowing that no matter what, the team will come in after the game and he needs to be somewhat dressed. 

Sitting in his locker, Bradley tries to get himself to calm down. He has no idea where Seresin went to look into his dad’s past but he can’t let it go. Nick Bradshaw is living happily in Northern California, near where Tom and Maverick live. He’s happy and healthy and last Bradley checked, not too broken up about blowing out his knee his senior year of college. Bradley knows it still hurts him, from time to time, and he has to use a cane when it’s colder, but still…

“Fuck it,” Bradley says to himself, standing up and heading for the locker room doors. 

The hallways inside the stadium are mostly empty, everyone outside at the field for the last few minutes of the game. Bradley follows the path he thinks will take him to the Cowboys locker room and he smiles when he’s proven right. No one blinks an eye at him as he pushes open the door and slips inside. 

“No, get the fuck out,” Seresin says immediately, clocking Bradley as soon as he’s inside. “Fuck off, Bradshaw, you’re such a piece of shit.”

“Oh, I’m a piece of shit? I’m the piece of shit? You looked up my dad's past and tried to use it to get me riled up, knowing he was severely injured!”

“He’s still walking, isn’t he?” Seresin snaps, throwing his arms out. He’s not wearing a helmet or any of his pads, in a similar state of undress to Bradley. “You outright said I’m only in the NFL because my daddy pays my way, so maybe spare me, okay?”

“If the shoe fits,” Bradley mumbles, crossing his arms. Seresin’s eyes widen and he steps closer to Bradley, his shoulders tense. “What, gonna hit me again?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Seresin jeers at him, smirking. “Got you all hot and bothered, don’t I? You let everyone get under your skin like this, Bradshaw, or am I just very special?”

“God, you just never shut up, huh?”

“You’re the one who came into my locker room,” Seresin reminds him, pushing at his chest. Bradley pushes back, Seresin stumbling back a bit. Bradley pushes him again and Seresin’s back hits a wall. “Oh what’cha you gonna do now? Shut me up? If you’d just haul your ugly ass out of here-”

Bradley grabs Seresin’s jaw, tilting his head back and kissing him, hard. It’s all teeth and their mouths smashing together, Bradley’s tongue moving into Seresin’s mouth almost immediately. Seresin makes a choked off noise and grips Bradley’s arms, his nails digging into skin. Bradley slides a thigh between Seresin’s legs and they both hiss at the same time, Bradley pulling back enough to look down between them. 

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Bradley says, biting at Seresin’s neck as he pushes his hands down the front of Seresin’s pants. Seresin shudders but doesn’t say anything, his hands gripping Bradley’s hair. He reaches down and cups Bradley through his pants and Bradley groans, pulling Seresin’s dick free.

“Fuck,” Seresin gasps as Bradley strokes him, still biting at his neck. “Fuck you, fucking - fuck.” Seresin reaches into Bradley’s pants and tugs his dick out and then their dicks are touching and Bradley’s groaning as he takes them both into one of his hands. 

“Gonna come all over you,” Bradley growls, sucking up Seresin’s neck. Seresin grips his hair tighter, whining slightly. It’s one of the hottest sounds Bradley’s ever heard and he sears their lips together again, shuddering as Seresin holds his face and pants into his mouth. 

“Do it, then,” Seresin snaps and Bradley moans, coming all over his hands and Seresin’s chest. He keeps stroking, ignoring the overstimulation of his own dick, until Seresin comes with a small cry, panting into Bradley’s mouth. 

They stand there for a moment, both panting, before they hear yelling out in the hallway. The moment comes back to them in a rush and Seresin ducks out from Bradley’s grasp, turning away and tucking himself back into his pants. He walks over towards his locker as Bradley tucks himself back in and watches Seresin stop at his locker, back tense. His hand is gripping the side of his locker. 

Bradley takes the dismissal for what it is and leaves before he gets caught. 

--- 

The Cowboys win, pulling off a last second field goal to keep them from going into overtime. Bradley learns of this when comes out of his extremely long cold shower. Reuben gives him a look but Bradley shakes him off. It’s not until later that he realizes there’s scratch marks on his arms. 

--- 

He doesn’t even think about it until after the Super Bowl. 

He goes to the Pro Bowl, having been selected for a second time in his career, and has fun in Hawaii with the other players. He hangs out with Bob before he has to leave for Indianapolis for the Super Bowl. He calls his dad, makes sure that he is okay with not playing football. 

“Of course I am, son!” Nick says, laughing a bit. “Think your ma would’ve been very upset if I had tried to play after that injury.”

“I sure would’ve!” Carole yells and Bradley smiles as he hears the smack of lips on a cheek and Nick laughing. “Bradley, what’s all this about?”

“Nothing,” Bradley lies, but he knows they don’t believe him. He gets off the phone in a rush and puts it in the back of his mind. 

He watches the Super Bowl on Maverick and Tom’s couch, beer in hand and Mavericks dog on his lap. Tom sits with him and they discuss how each team is playing and Nick comes over to butt in and rile Bradley up and no one mentions Bradley getting ejected or the fight. 

As a household, though, they do groan when the Cowboys pull out a win against the Bills. In solidarity with Bradley. 

--- 

@RobertFloyd: So proud of this team and all we’ve accomplished! Thanks for the ring, boys! [quote retweet of the Cowboys official Super Bowl win tweet.]

@JavyMachado89: LETS FUCKING GO COWBOYS NATION!!! SUPER BOWL CHAMPS!!! 

@seresin_jake: now that’s something money can’t buy [photo of Jake kissing the Lombardi Trophy, Super Bowl champs hat on his head, confetti falling around him.]

---

It’s the Tuesday after the Super Bowl when Bradley finally decides enough’s enough. 

He opens up Twitter and finds Seresin’s profile, scrolling down to find the one tweet he’s made about winning the Super Bowl. He thinks about it for all of ten seconds before he likes the tweet. He then scrolls to the top of the feed and clicks on the message button. 

Seresin doesn’t reply for days. Bradley had expected to be made to wait at least a day, Seresin seeming the type to let that kind of thing lie. When he doesn’t reply after three days, Bradley reaches out to Machado. Something’s nagging the back of his brain, and it’s manifesting in anxiety that Bradley can’t really handle. 

Because he doesn’t remember Seresin saying yes. He doesn’t remember Seresin kissing him back. All he remembers is Seresin walking away from him, shoulders tense, silent. And it’s starting to make his stomach churn. 

Javy is not exactly thrilled to hear from him, but he warms up when Bradley explains that he wants to apologize for the fight. It’s not even that big of a lie - it’s barely a lie - and soon Javy’s telling him that Seresin will get back to him soon. 

It’s another couple days until Seresin finally replies to Bradley’s Twitter DM. When Bradley opens it up, he’s surprised to see that all Seresin’s sent is his phone number. He shoots off a message to Seresin, the typical “hey, it’s me, bradley” and waits.  

seresin: what do you want? 

bradley: i want to talk, apologize maybe. 

bradley: for saying that shit about your dad

bradley: and also for the locker room. 

He doesn’t reply for a while again, Bradley’s anxiety spiking. He paces his living room, phone open in his hand, until it buzzes again. 

seresin: i’d rather not do this over text. 

seresin: you decent?

The next thing he knows, Seresin’s video calling him. Bradley swears, walking over to the couch and sitting down before he answers the call. 

“Hey,” Bradley says when the call connects, waving awkwardly. Seresin looks like he wants to laugh but he waves back. Bradley realizes he’s not using a phone, probably on his computer, and Bradley suddenly wishes he’d done the same. Putting his foot up on the coffee table, he rests the phone on his knee. 

“Javy said you reached out to him,” Seresin says, sitting at what Bradley can only assume is a breakfast bar, kitchen cabinets and a fridge behind him. 

“Well, you didn’t respond to my message.”

“I didn’t see your message,” Seresin says, shifting slightly. “You don’t follow me and I don’t follow you - it got buried in my message requests.”

“Oh,” Bradley says, laughing slightly. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

They’re quiet for a moment, an awkward pause settling over them. Seresin shifts again, looking very annoyed. He watches Bradley for a moment before speaking again. 

“You said you wanted to talk, Bradshaw,” Seresin says unkindly, hackles raised a bit. Bradley nods, scratching his face. 

“I did,” Bradley says, nodding. Seresin rolls his eyes and Bradley tries not to let this get to him. He pauses for a moment too long because Seresin speaks again. 

“Look, I don’t really - if you’re here to give me some speech about how you’re really straight, I promise you or whatever, you can save it. I’ve been around the league for a long time and I’ve heard it all-”

Bradley’s mouth drops open and he feels like something’s punching him in the gut. Seresin continues, not really looking at him to notice the shock on Bradley’s face. 

“-so I don’t really need to hear it again. We can just - we can just agree to never talk about it. I’m really good at keeping secrets.”

“What?” Bradley gasps, brow furrowing. “What are you on about?”

“Don’t be a prick, Bradshaw, I’ll just hang up and you can figure out your own feelings.”

“I’m not - fuck you, I’m not being a prick. I’m just… is that why you thought I reached out?”

Seresin rolls his eyes. “Is it not?”

“No,” Bradley replies, watching in fascination as Seresin’s face falls and he stares at Bradley blankly. Bradley speaks again before Seresin interrupts him. “I called to apologize not because I’m so straight or whatever but because I thought… well…”

Seresin’s watching him closely now, leaning forward a bit. His face is pensive, a little cautious, and Bradley takes a deep breath before continuing. 

“I didn’t ask before I shoved you into a wall. I was worried I’d… I don't know, taken advantage of you. Done something you weren’t comfortable with because you’re straight.”

Seresin laughs and covers his mouth, like he didn’t expect the sound to come out of him. He shakes his head, holding up a finger as he disappears from the screen for a moment. When he returns, he’s taking a drink out of a water bottle. 

“I’m sorry, you thought what?”

“Oh, come on. You thought the same thing!”

“Bradshaw, I’ve seen photos of you with women,” Seresin deadpans. “I follow sports gossip pages. I’ve seen you with women.”

“You know that bisexual people exist, right?” Bradley snaps, watching as Seresin rolls his eyes. 

“I do, thank you, but I’m not about to assume the hot brickhouse slamming me into the ground is bisexual just because I want him to be.”

“What?” Bradley gasps, leaning forward. He can see a blush moving up Seresin’s neck and he takes a deep breath, shaking his head. 

“You said you thought you’d taken advantage of me.”

Bradley nods, fiddling with a crease in his shorts. “Yeah, and I want to apologize for that.”

“You - thank you, but you don’t have to.” Seresin shrugs, settling into his chair again. “If it had been something I didn’t want, I wouldn’t have kissed you back.”

“Okay,” Bradley takes a deep breath, “but you looked upset after.”

Seresin tilts his head as he smiles, a little sadly. “Yeah, because I thought you were straight and having a… I don’t know, gay crisis moment.”

“Think you’re just that hot, huh?” Bradley teases but Seresin’s face falls a bit. 

“I apparently am,” he says, shrugging. Bradley wants to ask but Seresin shakes his head. “Is that all you wanted to say? To apologize for potentially violating my consent?”

“Uh,” Bradley starts, taking a deep breath. “I also wanted to apologize for getting us kicked out of the game.”

“That’s as on me as it is on you,” Seresin says quickly, shaking his head. “I should be saying sorry for bringing up your dad. I read about it - he really fucked up his knee.”

“He did,” Bradley replies. “He’s okay now though, so it’s fine.”

Seresin shakes his head but doesn’t say anything, watching Bradley again. The pause in their conversation gives Bradley a chance to think back to something Seresin said. 

“You think I’m hot?”

“Goodbye, Bradshaw.”

The call ends and Bradley laughs. 

--- 

They start texting after that, Bradley not letting it go. Seresin replies with short answers until he seems to realize that Bradley’s not just texting him out of misplaced guilt or obligation - Bradley sends him random texts about dogs he sees because he knows that Seresin has a dog, video highlights of their fighting from earlier seasons with commentary on how funny it is looking back, and random thoughts he has late at night. And slowly, Seresin starts sending Bradley photos of his dog (Jasper), of the cattle and horses on his family ranch, little random thoughts about football and life, and even one particularly endearing photo of him with his favorite horse (Dolly). 

Bradley takes a chance when Seresin sends that. 

bradshaw: she looks like a sweetheart

seresin: she very much is

bradshaw: i’ll have to find out for myself one day.

Seresin doesn’t reply for a while and Bradley figures he’s probably actually doing stuff instead of lounging around his house and playing video games. Bradley gets up to refill his water and when he comes back, there’s another text from Seresin. 

seresin: you got plans for the next week? you could come down and meet her

seresin: oh, and meet jasper, of course. 

Bradley’s heart jumps up into his throat and he’s typing before he can think too hard about it. 

bradshaw: i’ve never been to texas outside of football games. 

seresin: well then you definitely have to come down. 

Bradley smiles and opens his text thread with his agent. 

--- 

Bradley lands in Texas exactly six weeks after the Championship game, shivering as the warmth of Texas reaches his bones. It’s nice to get away from the frigid cold of Philadelphia and usually that means California for Bradley, hanging out with Tom and Mav. But Bradley thinks that maybe… hopefully, he can add Texas to the list. 

He’d told Seresin to not worry about picking him up, wanting to rent his own truck and drive out of the city. He follows the directions easily and ends up at the end of a long dirt road, punching in the gate code Seresin texted him and feeling a weird flush of relief when it works. He knows that by now, Seresin wants him to come. Seresin had gotten excited, planning out where to take Bradley when he arrived, as soon as Bradley told him he’d booked the tickets. 

The house is gorgeous - a long wrap around porch and a widow's walk at the front of the house. Bradley pulls up next to the other truck in the driveway and takes a few deep breaths before he grabs his bag and gets out. 

A dog’s at his feet instantly, barking softly but sniffing him all over. Bradley holds his hand out and smiles as the dog starts to lick him.

“Hi, Jasper,” Bradley says. The dog barks at him again, looking at him funny, before he runs back towards the house. When Bradley looks up, he sees Seresin standing on the porch, arms crossed and a smile on his face. 

“A Chevy? You come to my house, with a Chevrolet?” Seresin asks, shaking his head. Bradley can see the dimple in his cheek though and knows now, after a couple weeks of talking, that Jake is teasing him. 

“It’s all the rental agency had,” Bradley says, walking across the driveway to the bottom of the porch steps. Jake smiles at him, moving until he’s on the step above Bradley. Bradley gives him a once over, taking in his big white t-shirt and the obscenely short shorts he’s wearing. When he meets Jake’s eyes again, he’s smirking at him. 

“This Texas casual? I don’t think any of the shorts I packed are that short,” Bradley says, winking at Jake. With a laugh, Jake leans in slightly, his hands resting against the top of Bradley’s shoulder. 

“Can I kiss you?” Jake asks, bottom lip between his teeth. Bradley blinks at him, moving back a bit as he stares up at Jake. 

“Wait, for real?”

Jake laughs. “Yes? Unless you-”

“No,” Bradley says, too loud and quick. Jake smirks at him as Bradley grabs Jake’s hands. “No, please kiss me.”

“Oh, it’s please now, huh?” Jake says, leaning down to kiss Bradley softly, hesitantly. Bradley feels himself relax as Jake lets go of his hands and wraps his arms around Bradley’s shoulders slowly. With a gentle push, Jake’s legs go up around Bradley’s waist and Bradley drops his bag, walking them across the porch to the side of the house. He cradles the back of Jake’s head as they reach the wall, both of them groaning a bit at the contact of their hips. 

“Ah, a wall,” Jake says, smirking at Bradley. “We meet again.”

“Show me the way to your bedroom then,” Bradley says, nipping at Jake’s jaw. With a shudder, Jake pushes Bradley back so they can look at each other. 

“Rather presumptuous, aren’t you?” Jake teases, touching Bradley’s face. 

“Like you don’t also want to,” Bradley replies, rolling his hips into Jake’s. Both of their eyes flutter, Jake’s head falling back against the wall. “But we can just makeout.”

“Rather presumptuous , aren’t you?” Jake mocks, tapping Bradley’s chest. He drops his legs to the ground and slips out of Bradley’s grasp, throwing a wink over his shoulder. “Don’t forget your bag.”

Jasper wags his tail as Bradley grabs his bag, his entire body wiggling as Bradley reaches down to pet him. He crouches down next to the dog, letting him jump up to lick his face. 

“Why’s your dad like this?” he asks, just loud enough for Jake to hear him inside. He smiles as Jake laughs. “Why, buddy?”

“Come inside, you’re letting flies in!”

Bradley laughs and hops up the stairs, sidestepping Jasper as the dog runs inside and off to the right. The house is more homey than Bradley would’ve thought - there’s photos of blonde women Bradley can only guess are Jake’s sisters on the mantle, a box of kids toys in the corner, and blankets everywhere. Bradley feels affection rush through him at all of the little things he spots, his eyes lingering on the corner of a piano he can see in the other room. 

“Snooping is impolite,” Jake says right behind Bradley, making him jump slightly. He swears under his breath as he turns around, glaring at Jake as the man smirks. 

“I’m not digging through your underwear drawer.”

“Thinking about my underwear, Bradshaw?”

Jake’s eyes are full of mischief, his smirk more playful than Bradley’s ever seen it. It makes Bradley’s stomach swoop in a pleasant way, his cheeks warm a little. He reaches out and pulls Jake towards him, Jake’s eyes narrowing at him but not losing their playful glint. 

“If I said I was?”

Jake leans into him a bit, their noses touching slightly. “I’d say you’re rather presumptuous, as always.”

Jake pushes away from him and turns to the right, heading into where Bradley can see the kitchen. He takes a deep breath before following, willing his body to cooperate. If he has to adjust his jeans a bit, Jake doesn’t seem to notice. 

--- 

ruebes: so how’s texas, big guy?

brad squared: how did you know i’m in texas?

brad squared: are you in my phone?

ruebes: [screenshot of jake’s instagram story, jasper sitting on the couch with an arm around him, a tattoo visible in the background, panting happily.]

ruebes: is that not your tattoo?

brad squared: uhhhhhhhhhh

brad squared: i plead the fifth.

---

Jake takes him to his family ranch the next day, where Bradley meets his mother (a shorter woman named Beth who pinches his cheeks and says he needs to not hit her baby so hard) and two of his sisters (they both look at him like they’re going to interrogate him so he hides behind Jake and keeps his mouth shut). Jake pulls him out of the house quickly after he sees the looks his sisters are giving him, dragging Bradley off to a horse barn. 

Dolly starts making noise when she sees Jake, her head bobbing up and down. Jake coos at her, touching her face and scratching her side with a wide smile on his face. Bradley watches them, a smile blooming on his face. He schools his face when Jake looks at him. 

“You know how to ride?” Jake asks, still smiling happily. Bradley smirks. 

“I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it,” Bradley says, laughing as Jake reaches out to smack him. 

“You fucker, you know what I meant!”

Bradley giggles to himself as he helps Jake get the saddle on Dolly, the horse jerking her head as they tighten the straps. Jake assures Bradley that she’s okay, just excited, and Bradley nods like he agrees. 

“Wait,” Bradley asks as Jake turns to him, “I’m going to ride Dolly?”

“Well, as I’m currently unavailable…”

Bradley laughs, head thrown back as he reaches out to swat at Jake. He shakes his head as Jake grins at him, eyes crinkling slightly. 

“Okay, okay,” Bradley says, stepping up to the horse. 

Jake leads the horse and Bradley out to a paddock, telling Bradley how to get up on the horse and where to hold onto even though Bradley assures him he knows. Bradley settles in the saddle, Jake adjusting the stirrups to the right length, and then Bradley’s moving the horse around the paddock. Jake gets up on the fence and watches, a bright smile on his face. He’s pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes but Bradley can see the ends of the crinkles by his eyes. 

“Well, would you look at that - city boy knows how to ride a horse.”

“My uncles have horses,” Bradley says, turning Dolly back towards where Jake’s sitting. “Mav loves riding horses, makes Tom go on horse camping trips sometimes.”

Jake’s quiet for a moment, watching him with a curious look on his face. When Bradley pulls Dolly to a stop in front of him, Jake reaches out to scratch the horse's head. “So they’re like… they’re actually together?”

Bradley frowns, nodding slowly. “I thought that was common knowledge.”

“No,” Jake shakes his head, “it is, I just… I didn’t realize it’s like… they’re together together.”

“They have been for about thirty years, as long as I’ve been alive,” Bradley says, turning Dolly as she starts to get antsy and shift her weight. He walks her around the paddock some more, looking over his shoulder at Jake. “They were together while active in the NFL.”

“No shit,” Jake says, shifting on the fence. “That… must’ve been hard.”

Bradley kicks his feet gently and Dolly hurries up over towards Jake, stopping again within touching distance. Bradley holds her tight as he dismounts, landing on the ground easily. Jake’s watching him the entire time, a pensive look on his face, taking the reins from Bradley when he hands them off. 

“It was,” Bradley starts, placing a hand on Jake’s knee. “But they both say it was totally worth it. I think they’re like, common law married at this point.”

“Didn't actually get married?”

“Both were too stubborn to change their last names, even though we told them they didn’t have to,” Bradley says, laughing with Jake. “I think they like the way they are.”

“Yeah?” Jake asks, a little softer than before. Bradley nods, rubbing his thumb over Jake’s leg. 

“I don’t think they’d change anything about their lives. They’re pretty happy.”

Jake hums softly, letting his hand rest on top of Bradley’s. He’s smiling, softer than before, and Bradley squeezes his leg. 

“So now that I’ve proved I can ride… a horse,” Bradley starts, Jake laughing loudly. “Are we going somewhere?”

Jake jumps down from the fence, stepping into Bradley’s face. He kisses Bradley softly, like a promise, and Bradley reaches out to grip his waist. “We are, actually. I’ll ride Dolly, you can ride Gouda.”

“Gouda?” Bradley laughs, biting his bottom lip as Jake nods. 

“Gouda, because she’s the color of gouda cheese.”

“Okay,” Bradley says dumbly, his brain going offline at the proximity of Jake and the smile on his face. 

Jake gets Gouda tacked up as Bradley hangs out with Dolly, letting the horse nibble at his hands as she searches for treats. Jake walks out of the barn with a cowboy hat on his head and while Bradley thinks he would have once laughed, the sight just makes Bradley’s chest tug. 

“No hat for me?” Bradley asks, pouting a bit. Jake shakes his head, handing him Gouda’s reins. 

“Gotta earn it.”

Jake waits to get on Dolly until Bradley’s in his saddle, adjusting until he’s comfortable. Gouda jerks her head a bit, excited, and Braldey grins as Jake leads them over to the paddock gate.

“Follow me,” Jake says, as if Bradley would do anything else at that moment. 

They ride out into the property, following a well beaten path down towards a creek. Jake lets Dolly stop and drink, leaning forward to keep a hand on her reins as she splashes some water. Bradley does the same, laughing as Gouda makes a happy noise. They cross the creek and head on up a hill, following a line of trees to the top. 

Bradley gasps when they reach the top of the hill, eyes sweeping across the pasture in front of him. There’s cattle as far as the eye can see, stretching out off into the horizon. Bradley’s never seen so many cows in one spot, all with their heads down in the green grass. The sun is low in the sky, starting its descent below the horizon, and Bradley pulls out his phone to take a photo. He leans back to get Gouda’s ears in the shot and he hears Jake chuckle. 

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Jake says, dismounting. Bradley follows, walking over to a nearby tree to let Jake tie the horses off to a low branch. He grabs a blanket Bradley didn’t notice off of Dolly’s saddle and pulls Bradley over to the clearing. 

They spread out the blanket and then Jake plops down onto it, laying on his back with his hands behind his head. Bradley kicks off his shoes, smiling at the feeling of the grass on his skin, and drops down onto the blanket. He only lets himself think for a moment before he’s moving to sit on Jake’s waist, hand by his head as he hovers over the man. 

“Well, hello,” Jake says, sitting up slightly. He rests on his elbows, one hand cupping Bradley’s face. “And what are you doing here?”

Bradley moves back a bit but Jake’s hand is strong on his face. He’s pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and the setting sun is reflecting new colors of green in his eyes. Bradley lets himself settle more, wrapping an arm around Jake’s back. 

“You brought me here,” Bradley reminds him, their faces close. Jake grins at him. 

“I did.” He nudges his nose against Bradley’s. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a Texas sunset.”

“Sun sets the same everywhere, I’ve been told.”

Jake just shakes his head, leaning in to kiss Bradley. It’s soft and feels like a promise, all over again. Bradley lets Jake tilt his head slightly, their lips sliding together easily. Bradley grips the back of his shirt tight, holding them close. 

Bradley shifts off Jake’s lap after they kiss for a while, soft and unhurried. He stays leaning against Jake, letting his head rest against Jake’s chest. They’re quiet as the sun finally dips below the horizon, Jake’s hand rubbing soft patterns into Bradley’s chest and Bradley’s hand resting on Jake’s knee. As the sky starts to turn dazzling shades of pink and orange, Bradley pulls out his phone to take photos. 

“I told you,” Jake whispers to him. Bradley shrugs. 

“Whatever you say,” Bradley replies, flipping the camera so it’s on them. Jake ducks his head down, hiding his face in Braldey’s neck, and Braldey snaps a photo. He jerks his shoulder until Jake looks up at the phone, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. Bradley snaps the photo and then Jake’s kissing his cheek. Bradley snaps another photo before he drops the phone entirely and turns over to straddle Jake’s lap again, hands wandering as they start kissing. 

When Jake makes Bradley turn back around so they can watch the colors fade across the sky, he picks his cowboy hat off the blanket and places it gently on Bradley’s head. Breath caught in his throat, Bradley looks at Jake. 

“Yeah?” Bradley breathes, smiling as Jake touches his cheek. 

“Yeah,” Jake says, leaning in to kiss Bradley. 

--- 

@bradshawbrad: [photo of the sun setting from the back of a horse, the colors still blue and pink, photo of the sky changing to pinks and purples, photo of bradley, leaning against someone’s chest (their head cut off) with a cowboy hat on his head] caption : texan sunsets are something special 🤠

Two years later.

Tom sits down next to Jake, two beers in his hand. He hands one off to Jake, neither of them taking their eyes off the field as the Eagles and Bengals enter the last two minutes of the Super Bowl. The Eagles are up by three points but the Bengals have the ball, and Jake’s never been more nervous in his life. 

He knows by now that the cameras have caught sight of him, sitting amongst Bradley’s family. Tom’s been next to him all night and the seat next to him has been occupied by Nick and Carole at different points as they catch up with him, and Mav for all of five minutes before he started pacing again. 

His phone’s been blowing up since the 3rd, friends texting him to warn him about the images of him sitting next to Tom Kazansky, wearing an Eagles jersey with 59 on the front. He’d only answered Javy, letting him know that he’s aware of it, and he’s okay. 

They had talked about this extensively. Almost too much, in Jake’s opinion, but if there’s one thing he’s learned in the two years of dating Bradley Bradshaw, it’s that the man needs to talk about things. Over-communicates at times, tells Jake everything. It’s endearing at this point to Jake. And Braldey had wanted to talk and talk about Jake sitting with his family up in the private box to watch the Eagles play in their first Super Bowl. Jake hadn’t even really been upset, knowing what this means for both of them. 

So he ignores his phone and doesn't hide when he feels the camera on his face and sits forward in his seat as the two minute warning break ends and the teams line up on the field again. Tom’s pats Jake on the shoulder, a grin on his face. 

“It gets easier over time,” he says, jerking his head to where Mav is standing with Nick, holding hands and watching the field intently. Jake laughs as Carole sits down next to him, reaching out to hold his hand. 

“They’re always like this,” she says to him as the whistle marks the beginning of the play clock. Jake just grins at her, his stomach too tied up in knots to enjoy the fondness in Carole’s voice. 

The stadium is as loud as ever as the Bengals line up, their quarterback clapping his hands and pointing to his receivers. Jake’s eyes don’t leave Bradley, lined up on the inside. Jake’s eyes haven’t left him almost all night, mesmerized by him. He’s been watching Bradley run at him across the line for almost seven years and it’s never really looked as beautiful as it does now, on football’s biggest stage. 

The center snaps the ball and Jake sits up as the quarterback drops back. Carole’s hand tightens in his as they watch Bradley break through the line, jumping up into the air as the quarterback throws the ball. Time seems to move in slow motion as Jake watches Bradley bat the ball in the air and manage to land with it in his arms, taking off towards the end zone. 

Everyone’s cheering and screaming at once, Carole pulling Jake to his feet as Bradley takes off down the field and into the Bengals end zone. The crowd is deafening and Jake can feel it vibrating up his body as the Eagles swarm the field, running to where Reuben and Mickey have tackled Braldey in the end zone, shaking and yelling as they celebrate. 

“Holy shit!” Mav is yelling, lifting Nick up off the ground even though Nick’s much taller. Nick doesn’t seem to mind, yelling and reaching for his wife as they all collectively lose it. Tom wraps an arm around Jake’s shoulder and they hug as they watch the field, the referees trying to get everyone under control as there’s still 1:49 left in the game. 

“That’s our boy! He did it!”

“Oh they’re going to make him MVP!”

“That’s a ring each, huh?” Tom says to Jake over the yelling of everyone else. Jake just nods, his heart lodged in his throat. He’s about to answer when Carole pulls him into the group hug happening, Tom following. They all stand together, Jake’s eyes a little misty as Carole kisses his head and Nick ruffles his hair. 

They're ushered downstairs after that, Carole holding Jake’s hand again as they follow the other families through the private tunnels down towards the field. Jake’s entire body is vibrating, his stomach churning a bit. Carole squeezes his hand as they stand in the wings, the crowd noise growing this close to the field. 

“You going to survive?” she asks, smiling kindly at him. Jake shakes his head, laughing a bit. 

“I want to kiss him,” he confesses, cheeks burning. Carole coos at him, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

“You should,” she says right before the crowd noise reaches its peak and they know the game is over. 

The Eagles have won the Super Bowl on a pick six by Bradley. 

It’s a blur as they all are let out onto the field, every single Eagles player's family rushing out onto the turf. Jake stays close to Carole and Nick, knowing the cameras are going to find him even if he’s wearing a hat and sunglasses on his face. The green and silver confetti is falling in thick waves, blurring anyone’s vision, but Carole seems to know exactly where her son is, because suddenly there’s Bradley. 

He’s sweaty and flushed and his eyes light up when he sees them, rushing over to them through the other players. He goes to Carole first, lifting her up and laughing happily. Nick pats his son on the back and Jake stands back next to Tom and smiles at the three of them. 

But then Carole is reaching for him, holding out her arm and beckoning him over. Bradley seems to remember he’s there then, because his eyes sparkle as he looks at Jake. The man just won his hometown team a Super Bowl and he’s looking at Jake like he’s greater than any Super Bowl trophy. 

Bradley pulls Jake into his arms, holding him tight. Jake’s vaguely aware that they’re mostly hidden from anyone’s view, the confetti blanketing them and a group of players and their families pushing in around them. And then Bradley’s kissing Jake, his hand holding the back of Jake’s head and his arm tight around his waist, and Jake forgets everything for a few seconds. 

“Baby,” Jake says when they pull apart, cupping Bradley’s face. They just look at each other for a moment, both grinning wide. “You did it.”

“I did it,” Bradley croaks, his voice already scratchy from celebrating. Jake rubs his thumbs over his face. 

“Now we’re one for one,” Jake says, flashing Bradley his right hand where his Super Bowl ring sits on his ring finger. Bradley grins at him, bending in to kiss him again. 

“Whoever gets the next ring gets to pick where we honeymoon.”

Jake’s breath leaves him in a rush and he looks up at Bradley, eyes wide, as Bradley grins at him. It’s soft and loving and everything Jake’s become used to seeing from Bradley when he’s feeling romantic. Jake kisses him, holding his face tight. 

“Are you proposing to me at the Super Bowl?” Jake laughs, eyes fluttering as Bradley squeezes him tight. 

“No, not here,” Bradley kisses him again, “but it’s coming, sweetheart.”

Jake just grins and makes Bradley let him go so they can celebrate with the rest of his teammates. But Bradley keeps his hand in Jake’s, even as the cameras come over and reporters try to ask him questions. 

--- 

@bradbrad: FLY EAGLES FLY!!! [photo of Bradley holding up the Lombardi Trophy, confetti in his mustache and hair]

@RFitch: this guy!!!!! all for philly, we love y’all!! [photo of Bradley and Reuben on the ground in the end zone, yelling at each other as the rest of the Eagles defense runs to them]

@RobertFloyd: Congratulations to my best friend! #FlyEaglesFly [retweet of the Eagles official Super Bowl win tweet, Bradley featured in the photo running into the end zone]

@seresin_jake: the super bowl was alright [photo of Jake and Tom sitting together, Mav behind them making a face]

@JavyMachado89: @seresin_jake i like this photo better [photo from the television broadcast, Jake’s back to the camera and the word ‘Bradshaw’ clear across the back of his jersey, Carole standing next to him]

@seresin_jake: @JavyMachado89 i have a better one, if you’d like [photo of Bradley with his arms around Jake in the tunnels of the stadium, his head ducked down into Jake’s neck as Jake holds him tight]

@bradbrad: @seresin_jake @JavyMachado89 i like that one best too ♥️