New Fic: Tonight
Title: Tonight
Pairing: Mike Mussina/Kyle Farnsworth (Yankees baseball)
Rating: hard R / borderline NC-17
A/N: I asked for prompts to use in a drabble, and nyychick23513 so kindly provided breathe, hipbone, trace, and burn. This is considerably longer than a drabble, by about 900 words. ;) Un-beta'ed, so any mistakes are purely my own. **Also, this is me flashing my artistic license - because I needed them to, the Yankees spent the night in Detroit following game 4 of the ALDS instead of returning immediately to New York. Still working on post-clinch fic, so hopefully I'll have something a little happier soon.
A/N 2: For prompt 3 (Angst) for my wordclaim50 challenge. Updated table here.
Disclaimer: Pretty sure this never happened. Also, I don't own them, I just like to play with them.
Feedback: Will be loved like a pitcher with a wicked slider.
You tip the glass to your lips and wince as the alcohol burns its way down your throat. You're standing at the window in your hotel room looking out at the darkened Detroit skyline and a still celebrating city. You can't see any raucous parties from your vantage point, but you know they're out there and you can't help but feel a little sick.
This wasn't how this year was supposed to end and if you're honest with yourself, it doesn't feel real. It feels like you're walking around in a fog, like it's all some dream. Or maybe it's a nightmare.
You're dreading the flight back to New York in the morning and you don't want to think about another year where you're cleaning out your locker stall in the clubhouse far too early in October. And you certainly don't want to think about how it really might be for the last time because you'll be a free agent this winter if the team doesn't pick up your option or make you another offer.
Brooding and lost inside your own head, you don't hear him slip up behind you and it takes a few seconds for you to register his presence when Kyle slips his arms around your waist. When you finally do, you blink and flick your eyes from the twinkling lights below to his reflection in the glass.
He looks as dazed as you feel and the two of you share a blank look for a few heartbeats before he bends slightly to press his lips to that spot right at the edge of your jaw. He shifts behind you and you feel his tongue snake out to trace the curve of your ear.
You grimace and drain what's left in your glass. "Not tonight, Kyle. I don't think I'm in the mood." You move to set your now empty glass onto the window ledge but it slips from your fingers and drops the final inch or so, landing with a dull thud.
Kyle tightens his arms around you and then his voice is in your ear, a rough almost-whisper. "I know. But I don't want to think about tonight, just let me do this." A puff of air ghosts across your skin. "Just... Let me."
And it's those words and the tone of his voice that do you in, makes you forget about your own misery tonight and remember that you're not alone in this situation. Because those words are the closest you'll hear to please, and Farnsworth isn't a please kind of guy. You decide that he's not the only one who doesn't want to think about what happened tonight and what it means.
So you acquiesce and show him that yes, you do want this tonight after all, by leaning back into him just a little more. Your eyes drift close and your head rolls back against his shoulder, offering a silent invitation.
It's one he doesn't pass up. His teeth nip once, twice at the base of your throat and your once disinterested body is starting to wake up and take notice while he turns you in his arms so your back is to the window. His hands slide down to your waist, and begin working your fly open at the same time he's pushing you back so that you're half sitting on the window ledge. He drops to his knees and you grip the window ledge with both hands and think for brief second that you're glad you emptied that glass because you've just knocked it on the floor.
And that's the last coherent thought you have.
One hand on the flat plane of your hipbone, he wraps his lips around you and you breathe, sucking in air like you're a drowning man. You look down on him and nearly come undone at the sight of Kyle on his knees, your dick slipping past his lips as he works himself with his other hand.
Without a thought, your hand comes to rest on the back of his head and it's at times like these that you really wish he'd let grow his hair just a little longer because you'd love to run your fingers through it. Love to fist your hands in it right now.
A particularly depraved slide of Kyle's tongue and your head drops back against the window with a heavy thunk. You grip the window ledge just a little harder as your world begins to white out around the edges and you're carried along in a blinding rush.
When you come back to yourself, Kyle's on his feet again, pressed against you, panting against the side of your neck. With one arm around your waist, he's crushing you against his chest, and out of the corner of your eye you see his other hand braced against the window next to you. As much as you're sure you could be content to stay like this all night, leaning against one another, holding each other up in more ways than one, you think maybe the window isn't the best place for it, backlit by the room lights for all the world to see.
You rest your hands on his hips and angle your head toward him a little more.
"Hey, not that I'm complaining because that was incredible, but exhibitionism isn't quite my thing."
Kyle pulls back a little and gives you a puzzled look. "Huh?"
Ever the man of few words, you think and quirk a grin at him. "The window."
He blinks and you see the confusion lift as he smiles back at you. "Oh. Good call." He wraps his fingers around your wrists and pulls you away from the window and toward the bed on the opposite side of the room.
You allow yourself to be led and follow him, deciding that there will be plenty of time to obsess over the past few days in the coming weeks and months, but just for tonight you can forget about it all.
Pairing: Mike Mussina/Kyle Farnsworth (Yankees baseball)
Rating: hard R / borderline NC-17
A/N: I asked for prompts to use in a drabble, and nyychick23513 so kindly provided breathe, hipbone, trace, and burn. This is considerably longer than a drabble, by about 900 words. ;) Un-beta'ed, so any mistakes are purely my own. **Also, this is me flashing my artistic license - because I needed them to, the Yankees spent the night in Detroit following game 4 of the ALDS instead of returning immediately to New York. Still working on post-clinch fic, so hopefully I'll have something a little happier soon.
A/N 2: For prompt 3 (Angst) for my wordclaim50 challenge. Updated table here.
Disclaimer: Pretty sure this never happened. Also, I don't own them, I just like to play with them.
Feedback: Will be loved like a pitcher with a wicked slider.
You tip the glass to your lips and wince as the alcohol burns its way down your throat. You're standing at the window in your hotel room looking out at the darkened Detroit skyline and a still celebrating city. You can't see any raucous parties from your vantage point, but you know they're out there and you can't help but feel a little sick.
This wasn't how this year was supposed to end and if you're honest with yourself, it doesn't feel real. It feels like you're walking around in a fog, like it's all some dream. Or maybe it's a nightmare.
You're dreading the flight back to New York in the morning and you don't want to think about another year where you're cleaning out your locker stall in the clubhouse far too early in October. And you certainly don't want to think about how it really might be for the last time because you'll be a free agent this winter if the team doesn't pick up your option or make you another offer.
Brooding and lost inside your own head, you don't hear him slip up behind you and it takes a few seconds for you to register his presence when Kyle slips his arms around your waist. When you finally do, you blink and flick your eyes from the twinkling lights below to his reflection in the glass.
He looks as dazed as you feel and the two of you share a blank look for a few heartbeats before he bends slightly to press his lips to that spot right at the edge of your jaw. He shifts behind you and you feel his tongue snake out to trace the curve of your ear.
You grimace and drain what's left in your glass. "Not tonight, Kyle. I don't think I'm in the mood." You move to set your now empty glass onto the window ledge but it slips from your fingers and drops the final inch or so, landing with a dull thud.
Kyle tightens his arms around you and then his voice is in your ear, a rough almost-whisper. "I know. But I don't want to think about tonight, just let me do this." A puff of air ghosts across your skin. "Just... Let me."
And it's those words and the tone of his voice that do you in, makes you forget about your own misery tonight and remember that you're not alone in this situation. Because those words are the closest you'll hear to please, and Farnsworth isn't a please kind of guy. You decide that he's not the only one who doesn't want to think about what happened tonight and what it means.
So you acquiesce and show him that yes, you do want this tonight after all, by leaning back into him just a little more. Your eyes drift close and your head rolls back against his shoulder, offering a silent invitation.
It's one he doesn't pass up. His teeth nip once, twice at the base of your throat and your once disinterested body is starting to wake up and take notice while he turns you in his arms so your back is to the window. His hands slide down to your waist, and begin working your fly open at the same time he's pushing you back so that you're half sitting on the window ledge. He drops to his knees and you grip the window ledge with both hands and think for brief second that you're glad you emptied that glass because you've just knocked it on the floor.
And that's the last coherent thought you have.
One hand on the flat plane of your hipbone, he wraps his lips around you and you breathe, sucking in air like you're a drowning man. You look down on him and nearly come undone at the sight of Kyle on his knees, your dick slipping past his lips as he works himself with his other hand.
Without a thought, your hand comes to rest on the back of his head and it's at times like these that you really wish he'd let grow his hair just a little longer because you'd love to run your fingers through it. Love to fist your hands in it right now.
A particularly depraved slide of Kyle's tongue and your head drops back against the window with a heavy thunk. You grip the window ledge just a little harder as your world begins to white out around the edges and you're carried along in a blinding rush.
When you come back to yourself, Kyle's on his feet again, pressed against you, panting against the side of your neck. With one arm around your waist, he's crushing you against his chest, and out of the corner of your eye you see his other hand braced against the window next to you. As much as you're sure you could be content to stay like this all night, leaning against one another, holding each other up in more ways than one, you think maybe the window isn't the best place for it, backlit by the room lights for all the world to see.
You rest your hands on his hips and angle your head toward him a little more.
"Hey, not that I'm complaining because that was incredible, but exhibitionism isn't quite my thing."
Kyle pulls back a little and gives you a puzzled look. "Huh?"
Ever the man of few words, you think and quirk a grin at him. "The window."
He blinks and you see the confusion lift as he smiles back at you. "Oh. Good call." He wraps his fingers around your wrists and pulls you away from the window and toward the bed on the opposite side of the room.
You allow yourself to be led and follow him, deciding that there will be plenty of time to obsess over the past few days in the coming weeks and months, but just for tonight you can forget about it all.