*A/N - let's pretend that there isn't a rule in the MLB that prevents pitchers from batting. :)
Sloane
I could feel it.
The sinking feeling in my gut as I watched Chris retighten his batting gloves told me this was going to end poorly. His muscles were tight, his broad shoulders raised 2 inches higher than normal.
This is not going to end well.
It's been a rough game, both teams fighting tooth and nail to get the upper hand and now, it all fell to him. And he was too deep in his own brain to pull off the win everyone was hoping for, it was written all over his body.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs while he approached home plate again, my interlaced fingers covering my mouth. My eyes locked on Chris, the stadium lights blinding against the night sky.
It was the bottom of the fucking 12th inning, the game going into extra innings 3 hours ago. Not a single run had been scored until the top of the 12th, the Yankees driving in one run with 2 outs and a runner on 3rd. Thankfully, Chris still had a clear head then and was able to strike out the next at-bat before they could pull ahead too much.
But now... it was the bottom of the 12th, Chris was at bat with a full count and 2 outs. He rolled his shoulders, adjusted his jersey, and took a deep breath before stepping into the batter's box.
This was it.
This next pitch would make or break Chris's night.
"Come on, baby. Come on, baby. Come on, baby," I muttered into my hands, my left leg bouncing as the pitcher wound up. "Come on, Chris. You got this baby," obviously he couldn't hear me, but it made me feel a little better thinking my words might make a difference.
I wanted to close my eyes, but I forced them to stay open, my heart pounding against my ribs.
The pitch came in, hard and fast and I sucked in a breath, holding it in my lungs.
Chris's hands twitched around the bat, anxious to get a hit. But I just knew he wouldn't. Not lost in his head like this.
My heart sank when the ball came in and smacked against the catcher's mitt, Chris's bat swinging hard, but missing the curve.
"Motherfucker," I mumbled, closing my eyes and sitting back in the hard plastic seat. I adjusted the Red Sox cap on my head, pulling the brim down to cover my eyes, "Shit."
I looked up just in time to see Chris's bat fly through the dugout, wincing when it cracked against the concrete wall.
It was going to be a long night.
Cami leaned over, patting my thigh. "It was a good game."
"I know," I sighed, "He won't think so. You know that."
And she did. She smiled softly, "They never do."
"Touche," I snorted a small laugh, watching Chris forcefully remove his batting gloves as he slumped onto the bench.
"He'll be okay."
I knew that. He always was. But I understood his frustrations. Chris knew himself well enough to see that he was in his head and that was the only thing stopping him from getting ahold of that curveball.
Chris could hit that in his sleep.
"I know, I know. I just hate that I can't do anything to help."
Cami stood and stretched, yawning softly. "You wanna ride home?"
She knew Chris's loss routine almost as well as I did. Not that it happened too frequently, but she knew he'd be here for hours going over every single mistake before he finally came home. "No, that's okay. You get out of here. I'll hang around until he's ready."
She shrugged, gathering her things. "I'll see you next weekend for the charity event, right?"
"Yeah, we'll be there," I stood, wrapping my best friend in a hug, "Go get some sleep, I'll call you tomorrow."
After Cami walked away, I slumped back into my chair, knowing I was in for a long night. Chris was going to stay in the locker room for as long as he could and be grumpy for the rest of the night. Which was understandable given the circumstances, but that didn't mean I didn't hate it.
The seats around me slowly emptied, everyone making their way home after a long game. But not me. I waited. And waited. The same crew members I was used to seeing after a loss were sweeping the stands around me as I waited some more.
I scrolled through my phone to pass the time, almost an hour passing before the athletic trainer popped his head over the dugout, whistling for my attention. "He said to go home."
"He knows better!" I responded, rolling my eyes. In the month that Chris and I have been officially dating, I've somehow gotten to know the team and every member of the staff even better than before.
I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"That's what I tried to tell him. But he thought maybe you'd listen this time."
I snorted, Aaron's face telling me he thought Chris was full of shit for thinking I'd actually just leave. "Come on, everyone else cleared out. It's just him."
I rose to my feet, walking towards home plate as Aaron popped the gate open for me to walk onto the field. I had a striking suspicion that Chris would immediately tell me to leave. It worked once. But never again after that. Even if he wouldn't admit it, my comfort after a game pulled him out of his head faster than just sitting by himself.
"He hurt?"
Aaron shook his head, "Only his pride."
I sighed in response. "It was a good game."
His hand clapped over my shoulder as he led me through the dugout and to the locker room, "It was."
"You hanging around?"
"Nah, gotta get on the road. Chris knows the deal."
I nodded, thanking Aaron when he pushed the locker room doors open for me, gesturing for me to walk ahead. Most of the lights were off, only a couple of dim lights illuminating the cubbies that held their gear. Chris sat on one of the tables used for physical therapy and stretching, his legs dangling over the side, chin pressed into his chest. His large hands gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white.
"Good luck," Aaron whispered, smiling softly as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder. He nodded at Chris, though Chris wasn't looking, and walked to the exit.
I knew that Chris knew I was there, but still, he sat. I waited for the door to latch shut again before making a move toward Chris. There was a towel wrapped around his waist, his brown hair disheveled. Droplets of water dripped from the ends of his hair, down to his face. At least he showered already. That was a step in the right direction.
I stepped between his legs, using my index finger to tilt his chin, "Hey, baby," I smiled softly, his blue eyes meeting mine. Chris's stubble scratched against my palm as I cupped his chin. "It was a good game."
All he did was huff in response.
"You had a good game, Chris."
Another huff. The corners of my mouth twitched as I held back a smile.
"Anything I can do?"
Chris sighed, "No. I just– That fucking sucked."
It did. It really did. Seeing the way his shoulders fell as he made his way back to the dugout sank my heart into my stomach. He always took every loss to heart, whether it was his doing or not. This late-night locker room hangout was nothing new to me. Normally, I'd just sit off to the side and let him process whatever emotions and frustrations he needed to before heading home to our apartment.
Tonight seemed different. Like he was taking it a little harder than he normally did.
"I know, baby. I'm sorry. I wish I could say something to make you feel better. I really do. Even though it was a loss, you had a great game. I'm a stats girl, you know that. Strikeouts in the double digits, a home run, two walks, and did I mention a home run? You struck out once, Chris. You had six at-bats. That's pretty fucking good." I reached up, raking my fingers through his wet hair to brush it out of his face.
His hands found my hips, squeezing gently as he pulled me closer. "Why are you so amazing?" Chris smiled, his hands sliding up to my waist. "I just need a sec to cool off, blow off some steam or something."
"I am pretty amazing, huh?" My arms snaked around his neck, fingers interlacing behind his head. "Let's just get you home." He smiled at the flicker of mischief in my eyes. "Get you into that jet bath... nice and relaxed."
Chris chuckled, "The jets?"
"Mmm, the jets." I nodded, wiggling my eyebrows at him.
His hands slid down my back, tucking them into the back pockets of my jean shorts. "I could think of a couple of things that could make me feel better right here." Chris's hands squeezed my ass hard, yanking me even closer, his breath warm against my lips.
"Just one or two things?" I whisper, meeting his eyes. He licked his lips and pulled me even closer. "Whatever you need, Chris." I ran my fingers through his hair again, my fingernails scraping softly against his scalp.
"I just need you," His lips crushed against mine with force, one of his hands gripping at the jersey I wore with his last name spelled across the back. His tongue slid against the seam of my lips, parting them gently. Chris worked at the buttons on the jersey while our tongues curled together, eventually getting frustrated and pulling at the fabric, sending the buttons flying across the locker room.
I reached down, palming his length over the towel while pulling him closer, his kiss hungry and desperate for more.
Chris pulled the jersey off of my shoulders in a rush, flinging it to the side and in one swift motion, had my bra unclasped and joining the jersey on the floor. With a hungry look in his eyes, Chris dipped down, taking one of my nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the now hardened tip.
I bit back a moan. "Is... anyone here?" I rasped, barely containing the moan building in my chest.
He stood up straight, my nipple popping out of his mouth. "No, Pip. Just me and you." Chris undid the button of my shorts, sliding them down over the curve of my hips, taking my panties with them.
"I thought I was supposed to be making you feel better," I laughed breathlessly, kicking my shorts and sandals off to the side with the rest of my discarded clothes.
Chris cupped the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to his in a desperate kiss. His lips lingered for a second before he sat up straight and guided me away gently, just enough from him to slide off of the table.
Chris towered over me, the towel dropping from his waist, my mouth salivating at the thick length fisted in his hand. "Then get on your knees and make me feel better, Pip."
My thighs clenched together, heat flooding my body at his words. But I did as he told, dropping down, my knees bruising against the concrete floors. I took his cock in my hand, pumping a couple of times as I stared up at him through hooded eyes.
I took him into my mouth, his head falling back as he groaned, "Fuck, baby." He reached down, threading his fingers into my hair to guide me, the other gripping the table.
My tongue swirled around the soft, veiny skin, cheeks hollowed as I took his full length into my mouth. Chris moaned again then used the fist in my hair to keep my lips sealed around the base of his cock, my eyes watering and saliva dripping down the sides of my mouth.
"God, fucking look at you. You look so fucking pretty taking my cock like that, Pip." His eyes burned with lust as he took me in, my naked body kneeling on the floor, his cock buried in my throat.
He pulled out of my mouth, giving me a second to take a breath then pushed back in. My hand wrapped around him, pumping in sync with the movement of my mouth, my other hand reaching up to cup his balls.
Chris's hips bucked, the grip on my hair tightening as his chest heaved, "Fuck, you keep going like that, I'm not gonna last much longer."
I released him from my mouth, my hand still pumping as I looked back up at him, "Isn't that the point?" I teased.
Chris cupped my chin, his thumb wiping at the saliva that dripped from my mouth. He loved it when I looked like this, desperate, needy, a complete mess.
"C'mere, Pip."
I stood, Chris, stepping to the side, his hands gripping my bare hips as he turned me, my ass pressed against the table. "Hop up," he jerked his chin, gesturing for me to do as he told.
I eagerly complied, settling onto the blue cushioned table, Chris licked his lips, his eyes falling to my clenched thighs. His gaze flickered back up to me and almost immediately, my legs separated, responding to the silent command that burned in those blue eyes.
He smirked, "Good girl."
I gasped, Chris wasting no time, his fingers sliding through my arousal. Two fingers dipped inside my entrance and Chris pulled my lips to his, swallowing the moan that left my mouth.
His palm rubbed against my clit, my hips bucking in response, "Oh my god, Chris," I moaned loudly, my head falling back, his lips finding my neck.
A shiver ran down my spine as his fingers pumped inside of me and his tongue trailed against my exposed skin. I let out another strangled moan, my toes curling from the pleasure surging through my body.
"Chris!" I gasped, my fingernails gripping Chris's bare skin, digging into him.
"Your turn, Pip. Tell me what you need."
I moaned again, my legs trembling as I tried to formulate a sentence. "I– fuck, Chris! Please– Just fuck me," I begged, desperately needing more. Needing something to push me over the edge.
He grinned, fisting his cock as I clawed at him to come closer.
Chris teased me, sliding the tip of his cock through my arousal a few times before lining up at my entrance.
I threw my head back, moaning loudly as Chris thrust into me, bottoming out and giving me no time to adjust. I fucking loved it.
The slight pain quickly shifted to pleasure the second his hips started grinding into mine. Chris wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me closer to him, his other hand moving between my legs.
My fingernails dug into the back of his neck as I buried my face into his shoulder, biting down gently, then soothing it with a kiss. The sound of our skin slapping together echoed through the concrete room, Chris grunting and moaning as he pounded into me, taking everything he needed to work out this loss.
"God, Pip, you feel so fucking good," his thumb moved faster against my swollen clit, my legs still trembling around his waist, "So fucking good."
He picked up the pace, my vision blurring from the sheer pleasure rippling through my body. The breathy moans that left his lips warmed my neck, making me tilt my head back again. He nibbled softly on my skin, then trailed his tongue along the column of my throat.
I could feel myself clenching around him, both of our bodies seeking the release they desperately needed.
"I can feel you getting close, Sloane," he rasped, the grip on my waist getting tighter, "Come, baby. I wanna feel you coming around my cock."
My body relaxed into his, Chris's words instantly sending an eruption of pleasure through me as I came. "Oh my god, I'm coming, Chris!" I cried out, my body shaking and hips bucking as he fucked me through my climax.
"Good fucking girl, Pip," Chris praised, placing a trail of open-mouthed kisses along my jawline. His movements faltered for a second as he buried his face into the crook of my neck, both arms securing around my waist.
He pumped into me, a few grunts slipping between his lips as he finished inside of me, "Fuck, baby. So fucking good," he muttered, both of our chests heaving in sync as we caught our breath.
Chris stood up straight, sliding out of me as he pressed his lips to mine. "Come on." He scooped me off of the table, gently setting me down on my feet. "Let's get cleaned up. I wanna get home to those jets. You owe me a bath."
I smiled, kissing him again, "Mmm, that sounds nice."
"You know what else sounds nice?"
"What?"
He walked with me over to the showers, turning the knob until the water was warm, guiding me under the showerhead as his hands ran up and down my sides. "Having you come see me after every damn game."
I rolled my eyes, "We live together. I see you after every game."
Chris chuckled, leaning down and grazing his teeth against my earlobe. "Not like this you don't. How the fuck am I supposed to walk by that damn table every time I'm in this locker room and not see you spread out like that or on your knees?"
I shuddered at his words, leaning into his chest, "I don't know. I hope you do."
"I hope I do, too, Pip."