Fic: Anythin', AJ Burnett/David Robertson, NC-17
Title: Anythin'
Pairing(s): AJ Burnett/David Robertson
Rating: NC-17 (sex, language)
Summary: I could write something cute, but this is just PWP, no way around that.
Warning(s): Breathplay, recreational drug use
Word count: 2,500
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and no harm is intended. The events in this story are not meant to represent real life, and I make no profit from this (or anything else for that matter). I'll flesh out this disclaimer when I get home from school.
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AJ’s glad when his phone rings. Nothing interesting has happened all day and even a call from Robertson promises enough of a break from the monotony to convince him to pick up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Robertson says. “Doin’ anything?”
“Not really.” AJ fumbles for the television remote, accidentally hits the power button instead of the mute button, and doesn’t bother to turn the damn thing back on. “Planning something?”
“Feel like coming over?”
“Sure,” AJ says. Anything to get out of this goddamn apartment without ending up at the gym.
+
AJ knocks on the door and Robertson opens it instantly. He’s in a t-shirt and shorts and his hair’s somewhere in between wet and dry. “Come in,” he says, voice a little dry.
AJ steps inside and Robertson locks the door behind him.
“Have a seat,” Robertson says, and points at the couch. He seems just a little shaky, maybe a bit sweatier than what a properly air-conditioned apartment warrants, but AJ doesn’t think too much of it. Season’s going to start soon, of course the kid’s nervous.
AJ sits down and before he has time to put his feet up on the coffee table, Robertson’s on top of him, knees on either side of AJ’s hips and now that he’s closer, AJ can see him better, and he doesn’t look so calm. His eyes are wide and his tongue is flicking back and forth across his lips; when he puts his hands on AJ’s arms, his palms are white-hot and damp. AJ puts his hands on the younger pitcher’s shoulders, just to keep him a semi-decent distance away. Damage control. Not that “semi-decent” means a lot when Robertson’s straddling his lap. “Jesus,” AJ says under his breath. The more he looks at Robertson, the more just off he seems: glassy eyes, nervous smile, red cheeks.
Robertson laughs. “You got the wrong guy.”
“Are you on something?”
“Maybe,” Robertson says. His eyes are nice, AJ notices, brownish grey and darker around the outside edge of the iris than the inner edge.
“What did you take?” AJ asks. Hasn’t done drugs in something like 5 years now and he has no clue what crazy things they’ve come up with.
Robertson shrugs. “Some stuff. You do want me, don’t you?” Robertson looks down at AJ and runs his tongue over the tips of his own teeth.
“I -”
“‘S alright, you don’t have to hide from me.”
This kid knows, AJ thinks. He doesn’t know how, but Robertson figured him out. No point in lying, then. “I guess, yeah, I -”
Robertson leans in real close, until his lips are almost touching Burnett’s jaw. “Then why won’t you fuck me?”
Because you’re not yourself and I don’t know if you actually want this, because there’s a slight chance you might go crazy on me in the middle of it, because you’re not Roy or Josh, because no one should bottom for the first time when they’re high (AJ learned that one the hard way). “Don’t want to hurt you.” That covers enough of his reasons.
“Oh, you won’t,” Robertson says. His voice is low and it makes AJ’s skin crawl. AJ doesn’t remember the last time he heard someone sound so singularly lascivious - Robertson looks him up and down and licks his lips. “Not unless you want to.”
“You into that?” AJ asks. Just for future reference, you know.
“Oh yeah.” Robertson spreads his legs so he can sink farther down on AJ’s lap. He’s already hard, AJ can tell with one look down at his shorts. Not bad, not bad at all. “I jacked off thinking about you,” he says. Slides his hands under AJ’s shirt. His skin is white-hot where it touches AJ’s waist. “Wasn’t enough, though. Wanted to get you here so I could do this.” He opens his mouth on the side of AJ’s neck, just below the corner of his jaw, and bites down hard. His teeth dig into AJ’s skin while he slides his hands farther up under AJ’s shirt, stopping to rub and pinch his nipples. “I want you.”
“I can tell.” AJ isn’t sure what to do. He doesn’t want this, really… well, he does, but not like this. Not when Robertson’s probably going to show up for the game tomorrow with his sunglasses shoved up the bridge of his nose and his hat pulled low over his face and something extra careful in the way he walks. But Robertson’s already in his lap, licking his jaw and running his nails up and down his chest, and AJ wonders for a moment whether it would cause more trouble not to do this than to do it and risk the consequences. “We shouldn’t -”
“Yeah,” Robertson says, “yeah we should.”
Fuck it. Burnett pushes Robertson just far enough away that he has space to take his own shirt off. Robertson does the same, grinning a wicked smile and laughing like he’s won something. AJ shuts him up with a deep kiss, pulling him in by the waist. He explores Robertson’s mouth with his tongue, licking his teeth and biting his lips and pushing their mouths together maybe hard enough to bruise. Robertson uses his tongue to play with AJ’s, teasing and stroking and fighting for control. AJ loves it, loves the feel of Robertson’s tongue slipping against his own, loves how insistent the kid is. Robertson grabs handfuls of AJ’s hair. AJ keeps his hands on Robertson’s waist, pulling him in until their chests are pressed together and AJ has to crane his neck up to keep their lips touching.
“Shit, yeah, AJ.” Robertson’s breathing so fast he’s almost panting, and he tightens his grip on AJ’s hair until it starts to hurt. He’s grinding down onto AJ’s lap and AJ can feel the tip of his cock grazing AJ’s waist, just above his jeans, through the fabric of the younger pitcher’s shorts. AJ reaches between Robertson’s legs and just puts his hand there for Robertson to move against. Robertson’s breath hitches and he lets out a rough moan.
“Want me to fuck you?” Burnett asks, feeling the shape of Robertson’s cock through the fabric, and god, if this thing with Robertson works out, AJ might let him top sometime. Kid’s big.
“Yeah,” Robertson gasps. “God, AJ, want you inside me.”
“Go get in bed.”
“‘Kay.” Robertson scrambles off of him and half-jogs, half-skips into the back of the apartment.
Burnett sits on the couch and stares at the coffee table for a few seconds. Last chance to get out of this, he thinks, but then he thinks about Robertson’s perfect ass and fierce kisses and suddenly this, whatever it is, doesn’t seem so bad. He follows Robertson into the bedroom, kicking off his shoes as he goes, and maybe he’ll admit that he’s not entirely ready for what he sees.
Robertson’s lying on his back on the bed, legs spread, three lube-slicked fingers inside himself while he strokes his cock with his other hand. AJ watches from the foot of the bed and swears he could come right then, watching Robertson arch up off the mattress, veins pulsing in his arms and neck. He finishes getting undressed and he climbs onto the bed. Robertson looks down at him and smiles. “Hey.” He nods his head toward the nightstand. “Condoms in the top drawer.”
AJ takes one out and puts it on in a hurry, tossing the wrapper onto the floor. He gets on top of Robertson and crushes their lips together again - Robertson’s a good kisser, hot and wet and frantic with one hand in AJ’s hair again, and AJ kisses Robertson until they’re both gasping for air. “Ready?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. He pushes into Robertson, all the way in on his first thrust. Robertson tightens and loosens around him and AJ has to bite his lip and pause to stop himself from coming. Robertson feels even better than AJ thought he would, hot and slick and tight as hell, he changes his angle slightly and Robertson’s eyelids flutter closed. The redness on his cheeks spreads down to his neck and he whimpers and laughs a bit, cute little girly sounds that make AJ want to -
“Hit me,” Robertson says, glossy eyes locked on AJ’s.
“What?”
“Slap me. C’mon. I wanna be your bitch, AJ. Do whatever you want.”
“Anythin’?” Burnett’s leaned in with his lips pressed against Robertson’s ear. Anythin’ is a promise Robertson shouldn’t make lightly.
“Yeah, s’long as you keep fucking me.”
AJ looks at Robertson for a long moment, sees the pretty little smirk on his face, and… god, he looks good. “You’re gonna regret that,” AJ says, bringing his left hand up off the bed and fastening it tight around Robertson’s neck. Robertson looks surprised for a moment and then AJ resumes his rhythm, long slow strokes inside the younger pitcher, and Robertson’s expression changes. He doesn’t look surprised, or upset, he looks happy. Euphoric, even. He closes his eyes and parts his lips and AJ kisses him ferociously, nipping at his lower lip and doing his very best to suck what little air’s left out of him. “Slut,” he snarls, mouthing at Robertson’s neck just above his own hand. Robertson whimpers. “You like that?”
“Yeah,” Robertson gasps. He’s struggling for air, trying his best to take deep breaths but it’s not quite working, his cheeks are flushed and his lips are dry and seeing him like this is driving AJ crazy.
“Jesus christ, Davey.” AJ focuses on how Robertson feels, tight around his cock and slick with sweat where their bodies are pressed together. The muscles in his neck are twisting back and forth under AJ’s hand, straining to keep his throat open, and it’s been so long, AJ had almost completely forgotten what this felt like. Total control. He won’t be forgetting this time any time soon, though, not with Robertson tugging at his hair and struggling to breathe, not with Robertson’s eyes watering and neck pulsing under AJ’s fingertips, not with Robertson still so tight around his cock that it’s obvious he’s not used to the way getting fucked is supposed to stretch you out and loosen you up. “Say somethin’.”
“AJ.” His voice is thin and rough and desperate, everything AJ wants to hear.
“Yeah?”
“Please,” Robertson whispers. AJ sees the word more than he hears it, sees Robertson’s cracked lips form the sound but doesn’t quite hear it escape, sees his tongue flit out of his mouth in a vain, split-second attempt to wet his lips. He’s got a deep flush on his cheeks and neck, partially from arousal and partially from shortness of breath and (presumably) partially from whatever he took to get his courage up to ask AJ over, and AJ wants to watch him come, wants to watch him struggle for air and clench the sheets in his fists, wants to watch his eyes lose focus and his teeth sink into his lower lip.
“Alright,” AJ says. “Shit, yeah, Davey, fuck, you’re tight. Fuck.” AJ slams his hips forward and Robertson’s breaths rasp through his throat faster than before - AJ feels each one slide past his hand, in and out, in and out, in and out. Robertson still has both his hands in AJ’s hair, tugging hard enough to make AJ wince. “Let go of my hair, kid,” AJ pants, mouth open on the curve where Robertson’s neck meets his shoulder. “Wanna watch you come.”
Robertson slides his left hand down to the back of AJ’s neck and moves his right hand down so he can grab his cock, and there’s barely enough room between his hips and AJ’s but he manages somehow. He strokes himself in time with AJ’s thrusts and AJ makes the mistake of watching and if he’s not careful then he’s going to lose it soon, going to go flying over the edge buried deep in Robertson’s ass and the kid won’t have a choice but to take it. AJ can’t get over how good he looks like this, breathless and sweaty, with his AJ’s hand around his neck and his own hand around his dick. Robertson arches his back, pressing his throat up against the heel of AJ’s hand - AJ rubs his thumb in little circles over the pulse point on Robertson’s neck and just like that the kid’s coming, AJ can feel it on his stomach and he can tell by the way he tightens around him. Robertson tries to moan but he doesn’t have enough breath in him to push the sound out of his throat, and AJ, AJ just doesn’t feel like letting him make any noise yet. He gasps and twists and digs his nails into AJ’s shoulder and AJ comes too, kissing Robertson with more tongue than what’s fair, given how little room he already has to breathe. AJ thrusts hard into Robertson, over and over again until he’s completely done. “Fuck,” he says. Just rests for a few seconds, head on Robertson’s shoulder.
Robertson whimpers and AJ can see a flash of pain across his face when AJ pulls out. Let me go, Robertson mouths. AJ takes his hand off of Robertson’s neck and Robertson turns away immediately, burying his face in the crook of his elbow and coughing for what seems like minutes. AJ watches him intently - each cough starts at the small of his back and ripples up his spine and AJ would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching the muscles in Robertson’s back shift over each other, trying to force air back into his lungs. It’s fascinating. When he can breathe again, Robertson turns towards AJ and twitches a curious eyebrow at him. “What part of that was I s’posed to regret?” he asks. His voice is dry and hoarse but he’s smiling that triumphant grin again.
Fuck you, AJ thinks as he sits up and puts his feet on the floor. “Sleep it off, kid. See you tomorrow.”
+
AJ sneaks up on Robertson from behind during batting practice and taps him on the shoulder. He jumps and turns to face AJ. “Scared me,” he says with a smile.
“You sure look happy,” AJ says.
“‘Course I do. I got something I’ve been wantin’ for a long time.” Robertson reaches up and rubs the bruises on his neck. He fixes his eyes on AJ’s, like he’s daring him to make a move in front of the whole team. Feisty kid, AJ thinks. “Hope you don’t have plans for tonight.”
AJ grazes his fingers along Robertson’s neck, tracing the bruises he gave him. Robertson’s fucking gorgeous like this, skin shining with sweat in the Florida heat, lips spit-slick and slightly parted, marks from AJ’s own hands peeking out from under the collar of his jersey. Hidden in plain sight. AJ pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll make time for you.”
Pairing(s): AJ Burnett/David Robertson
Rating: NC-17 (sex, language)
Summary: I could write something cute, but this is just PWP, no way around that.
Warning(s): Breathplay, recreational drug use
Word count: 2,500
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and no harm is intended. The events in this story are not meant to represent real life, and I make no profit from this (or anything else for that matter). I'll flesh out this disclaimer when I get home from school.
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AJ’s glad when his phone rings. Nothing interesting has happened all day and even a call from Robertson promises enough of a break from the monotony to convince him to pick up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Robertson says. “Doin’ anything?”
“Not really.” AJ fumbles for the television remote, accidentally hits the power button instead of the mute button, and doesn’t bother to turn the damn thing back on. “Planning something?”
“Feel like coming over?”
“Sure,” AJ says. Anything to get out of this goddamn apartment without ending up at the gym.
+
AJ knocks on the door and Robertson opens it instantly. He’s in a t-shirt and shorts and his hair’s somewhere in between wet and dry. “Come in,” he says, voice a little dry.
AJ steps inside and Robertson locks the door behind him.
“Have a seat,” Robertson says, and points at the couch. He seems just a little shaky, maybe a bit sweatier than what a properly air-conditioned apartment warrants, but AJ doesn’t think too much of it. Season’s going to start soon, of course the kid’s nervous.
AJ sits down and before he has time to put his feet up on the coffee table, Robertson’s on top of him, knees on either side of AJ’s hips and now that he’s closer, AJ can see him better, and he doesn’t look so calm. His eyes are wide and his tongue is flicking back and forth across his lips; when he puts his hands on AJ’s arms, his palms are white-hot and damp. AJ puts his hands on the younger pitcher’s shoulders, just to keep him a semi-decent distance away. Damage control. Not that “semi-decent” means a lot when Robertson’s straddling his lap. “Jesus,” AJ says under his breath. The more he looks at Robertson, the more just off he seems: glassy eyes, nervous smile, red cheeks.
Robertson laughs. “You got the wrong guy.”
“Are you on something?”
“Maybe,” Robertson says. His eyes are nice, AJ notices, brownish grey and darker around the outside edge of the iris than the inner edge.
“What did you take?” AJ asks. Hasn’t done drugs in something like 5 years now and he has no clue what crazy things they’ve come up with.
Robertson shrugs. “Some stuff. You do want me, don’t you?” Robertson looks down at AJ and runs his tongue over the tips of his own teeth.
“I -”
“‘S alright, you don’t have to hide from me.”
This kid knows, AJ thinks. He doesn’t know how, but Robertson figured him out. No point in lying, then. “I guess, yeah, I -”
Robertson leans in real close, until his lips are almost touching Burnett’s jaw. “Then why won’t you fuck me?”
Because you’re not yourself and I don’t know if you actually want this, because there’s a slight chance you might go crazy on me in the middle of it, because you’re not Roy or Josh, because no one should bottom for the first time when they’re high (AJ learned that one the hard way). “Don’t want to hurt you.” That covers enough of his reasons.
“Oh, you won’t,” Robertson says. His voice is low and it makes AJ’s skin crawl. AJ doesn’t remember the last time he heard someone sound so singularly lascivious - Robertson looks him up and down and licks his lips. “Not unless you want to.”
“You into that?” AJ asks. Just for future reference, you know.
“Oh yeah.” Robertson spreads his legs so he can sink farther down on AJ’s lap. He’s already hard, AJ can tell with one look down at his shorts. Not bad, not bad at all. “I jacked off thinking about you,” he says. Slides his hands under AJ’s shirt. His skin is white-hot where it touches AJ’s waist. “Wasn’t enough, though. Wanted to get you here so I could do this.” He opens his mouth on the side of AJ’s neck, just below the corner of his jaw, and bites down hard. His teeth dig into AJ’s skin while he slides his hands farther up under AJ’s shirt, stopping to rub and pinch his nipples. “I want you.”
“I can tell.” AJ isn’t sure what to do. He doesn’t want this, really… well, he does, but not like this. Not when Robertson’s probably going to show up for the game tomorrow with his sunglasses shoved up the bridge of his nose and his hat pulled low over his face and something extra careful in the way he walks. But Robertson’s already in his lap, licking his jaw and running his nails up and down his chest, and AJ wonders for a moment whether it would cause more trouble not to do this than to do it and risk the consequences. “We shouldn’t -”
“Yeah,” Robertson says, “yeah we should.”
Fuck it. Burnett pushes Robertson just far enough away that he has space to take his own shirt off. Robertson does the same, grinning a wicked smile and laughing like he’s won something. AJ shuts him up with a deep kiss, pulling him in by the waist. He explores Robertson’s mouth with his tongue, licking his teeth and biting his lips and pushing their mouths together maybe hard enough to bruise. Robertson uses his tongue to play with AJ’s, teasing and stroking and fighting for control. AJ loves it, loves the feel of Robertson’s tongue slipping against his own, loves how insistent the kid is. Robertson grabs handfuls of AJ’s hair. AJ keeps his hands on Robertson’s waist, pulling him in until their chests are pressed together and AJ has to crane his neck up to keep their lips touching.
“Shit, yeah, AJ.” Robertson’s breathing so fast he’s almost panting, and he tightens his grip on AJ’s hair until it starts to hurt. He’s grinding down onto AJ’s lap and AJ can feel the tip of his cock grazing AJ’s waist, just above his jeans, through the fabric of the younger pitcher’s shorts. AJ reaches between Robertson’s legs and just puts his hand there for Robertson to move against. Robertson’s breath hitches and he lets out a rough moan.
“Want me to fuck you?” Burnett asks, feeling the shape of Robertson’s cock through the fabric, and god, if this thing with Robertson works out, AJ might let him top sometime. Kid’s big.
“Yeah,” Robertson gasps. “God, AJ, want you inside me.”
“Go get in bed.”
“‘Kay.” Robertson scrambles off of him and half-jogs, half-skips into the back of the apartment.
Burnett sits on the couch and stares at the coffee table for a few seconds. Last chance to get out of this, he thinks, but then he thinks about Robertson’s perfect ass and fierce kisses and suddenly this, whatever it is, doesn’t seem so bad. He follows Robertson into the bedroom, kicking off his shoes as he goes, and maybe he’ll admit that he’s not entirely ready for what he sees.
Robertson’s lying on his back on the bed, legs spread, three lube-slicked fingers inside himself while he strokes his cock with his other hand. AJ watches from the foot of the bed and swears he could come right then, watching Robertson arch up off the mattress, veins pulsing in his arms and neck. He finishes getting undressed and he climbs onto the bed. Robertson looks down at him and smiles. “Hey.” He nods his head toward the nightstand. “Condoms in the top drawer.”
AJ takes one out and puts it on in a hurry, tossing the wrapper onto the floor. He gets on top of Robertson and crushes their lips together again - Robertson’s a good kisser, hot and wet and frantic with one hand in AJ’s hair again, and AJ kisses Robertson until they’re both gasping for air. “Ready?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. He pushes into Robertson, all the way in on his first thrust. Robertson tightens and loosens around him and AJ has to bite his lip and pause to stop himself from coming. Robertson feels even better than AJ thought he would, hot and slick and tight as hell, he changes his angle slightly and Robertson’s eyelids flutter closed. The redness on his cheeks spreads down to his neck and he whimpers and laughs a bit, cute little girly sounds that make AJ want to -
“Hit me,” Robertson says, glossy eyes locked on AJ’s.
“What?”
“Slap me. C’mon. I wanna be your bitch, AJ. Do whatever you want.”
“Anythin’?” Burnett’s leaned in with his lips pressed against Robertson’s ear. Anythin’ is a promise Robertson shouldn’t make lightly.
“Yeah, s’long as you keep fucking me.”
AJ looks at Robertson for a long moment, sees the pretty little smirk on his face, and… god, he looks good. “You’re gonna regret that,” AJ says, bringing his left hand up off the bed and fastening it tight around Robertson’s neck. Robertson looks surprised for a moment and then AJ resumes his rhythm, long slow strokes inside the younger pitcher, and Robertson’s expression changes. He doesn’t look surprised, or upset, he looks happy. Euphoric, even. He closes his eyes and parts his lips and AJ kisses him ferociously, nipping at his lower lip and doing his very best to suck what little air’s left out of him. “Slut,” he snarls, mouthing at Robertson’s neck just above his own hand. Robertson whimpers. “You like that?”
“Yeah,” Robertson gasps. He’s struggling for air, trying his best to take deep breaths but it’s not quite working, his cheeks are flushed and his lips are dry and seeing him like this is driving AJ crazy.
“Jesus christ, Davey.” AJ focuses on how Robertson feels, tight around his cock and slick with sweat where their bodies are pressed together. The muscles in his neck are twisting back and forth under AJ’s hand, straining to keep his throat open, and it’s been so long, AJ had almost completely forgotten what this felt like. Total control. He won’t be forgetting this time any time soon, though, not with Robertson tugging at his hair and struggling to breathe, not with Robertson’s eyes watering and neck pulsing under AJ’s fingertips, not with Robertson still so tight around his cock that it’s obvious he’s not used to the way getting fucked is supposed to stretch you out and loosen you up. “Say somethin’.”
“AJ.” His voice is thin and rough and desperate, everything AJ wants to hear.
“Yeah?”
“Please,” Robertson whispers. AJ sees the word more than he hears it, sees Robertson’s cracked lips form the sound but doesn’t quite hear it escape, sees his tongue flit out of his mouth in a vain, split-second attempt to wet his lips. He’s got a deep flush on his cheeks and neck, partially from arousal and partially from shortness of breath and (presumably) partially from whatever he took to get his courage up to ask AJ over, and AJ wants to watch him come, wants to watch him struggle for air and clench the sheets in his fists, wants to watch his eyes lose focus and his teeth sink into his lower lip.
“Alright,” AJ says. “Shit, yeah, Davey, fuck, you’re tight. Fuck.” AJ slams his hips forward and Robertson’s breaths rasp through his throat faster than before - AJ feels each one slide past his hand, in and out, in and out, in and out. Robertson still has both his hands in AJ’s hair, tugging hard enough to make AJ wince. “Let go of my hair, kid,” AJ pants, mouth open on the curve where Robertson’s neck meets his shoulder. “Wanna watch you come.”
Robertson slides his left hand down to the back of AJ’s neck and moves his right hand down so he can grab his cock, and there’s barely enough room between his hips and AJ’s but he manages somehow. He strokes himself in time with AJ’s thrusts and AJ makes the mistake of watching and if he’s not careful then he’s going to lose it soon, going to go flying over the edge buried deep in Robertson’s ass and the kid won’t have a choice but to take it. AJ can’t get over how good he looks like this, breathless and sweaty, with his AJ’s hand around his neck and his own hand around his dick. Robertson arches his back, pressing his throat up against the heel of AJ’s hand - AJ rubs his thumb in little circles over the pulse point on Robertson’s neck and just like that the kid’s coming, AJ can feel it on his stomach and he can tell by the way he tightens around him. Robertson tries to moan but he doesn’t have enough breath in him to push the sound out of his throat, and AJ, AJ just doesn’t feel like letting him make any noise yet. He gasps and twists and digs his nails into AJ’s shoulder and AJ comes too, kissing Robertson with more tongue than what’s fair, given how little room he already has to breathe. AJ thrusts hard into Robertson, over and over again until he’s completely done. “Fuck,” he says. Just rests for a few seconds, head on Robertson’s shoulder.
Robertson whimpers and AJ can see a flash of pain across his face when AJ pulls out. Let me go, Robertson mouths. AJ takes his hand off of Robertson’s neck and Robertson turns away immediately, burying his face in the crook of his elbow and coughing for what seems like minutes. AJ watches him intently - each cough starts at the small of his back and ripples up his spine and AJ would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy watching the muscles in Robertson’s back shift over each other, trying to force air back into his lungs. It’s fascinating. When he can breathe again, Robertson turns towards AJ and twitches a curious eyebrow at him. “What part of that was I s’posed to regret?” he asks. His voice is dry and hoarse but he’s smiling that triumphant grin again.
Fuck you, AJ thinks as he sits up and puts his feet on the floor. “Sleep it off, kid. See you tomorrow.”
+
AJ sneaks up on Robertson from behind during batting practice and taps him on the shoulder. He jumps and turns to face AJ. “Scared me,” he says with a smile.
“You sure look happy,” AJ says.
“‘Course I do. I got something I’ve been wantin’ for a long time.” Robertson reaches up and rubs the bruises on his neck. He fixes his eyes on AJ’s, like he’s daring him to make a move in front of the whole team. Feisty kid, AJ thinks. “Hope you don’t have plans for tonight.”
AJ grazes his fingers along Robertson’s neck, tracing the bruises he gave him. Robertson’s fucking gorgeous like this, skin shining with sweat in the Florida heat, lips spit-slick and slightly parted, marks from AJ’s own hands peeking out from under the collar of his jersey. Hidden in plain sight. AJ pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll make time for you.”