MLB RPF - le gasp!
I've been writing for a long time and watching baseball for an even longer time, so this shouldn't be surprising. The football-slash thing just happened to develop first. And now I have a baseball icon, so it's legit~
Title: Every Inning of Every Game
Pairing: Alex Rodriguez/Mark Teixeira
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Won't ever be true.
Words: 1235
Summary: In which Alex Rodriguez tries to keep up his emotionally unavailable façade (all the way from Tampa!) and Mark Teixeira only curses when in bed. Also, phone sex.
Based on an offhand comment Michael Kay made late last month regarding A-Rod's rehab and Tex being the awesomest of friends: "Tex says he's been talking to Alex, and he says Alex watches every inning of every game ... "
Rodriguez rolls over, a heavy arm sliding from the couch to the floor. It's dark and he fell asleep in the living room again like a fucking teenager. For a second he just blinks, wondering what time it is. He should get up. He should eat something. But it's deathly hot in Tampa, and the air conditioning feels like a waterfall, rippling coolly over his bare back. Rodriguez sighs. He'll take what he can get.
After another few minutes he shifts a little and decides it's time to get the television remote out from under his leg; it's been digging angrily into his hipbone for the past twenty minutes. As he pushes up onto his elbows his knuckles scrape the floor, and in that split second he feels something vibrating. It's that thin, quieter vibration his phone uses to remind him that he has messages and emails and missed calls, so he slides his hand along the wood floor, hoping he can come up with his phone without having to look.
He has fourteen new emails, which he decides are spam without even reading their subject lines. His sister called - twice, which isn't good - and he has two texts from AJ Burnett about a car commercial he thinks is really funny and one from Russ about some shit he read on Deadspin. A-Rod ignores those too.
The oldest one, from a few hours ago, is from "Mark T," because for a while A-Rod was obsessed with that tribute video those Braves fans did for Teixiera in '07. (Alex would make fun of him and Mark would just shrug it off, sheepish, flattered and embarrassed with a blush creeping up his neck, imperceptible to anyone who wasn't looking for it. Alex always was.)
Why are you getting yourself in trouble? Teixeira had asked bluntly. Rodriguez doesn't know how to answer, at first. Tex spends so much time keeping up with the news in general; Alex doesn't think he can give him any new information, anyway.
dunno. is all A-Rod comes up with. didnt think it was a big deal.
His phone rings. "For future reference," Teixeira says quickly, "if there's cocaine present, it's 'a big deal.'"
"I know, I know," Rodriguez relents. "I'm fucking stupid."
Teixeira sighs. He never gives Alex a hard time in earnest - it's always implicit guilt trips and these heavy, disappointed sighs. Somehow, it's worse than getting ragged on. "How was your workout today?" he asks.
"Good, it was good. My legs are starting to feel like they're back under me."
"Awesome." A-Rod can hear the pride in his voice, the hope and the beaming smile.
"I ordered from that Chinese place we like again tonight," Teixeira volunteers after a second. "Leigh was kinda mad."
Rodriguez snorts. "'Cause it's the food we always get together? Or because it's kinda shitty?"
"'Cause she thinks I'm gonna get fat. Even though, you know. She wakes up every morning and I've already run six miles. But whatever." His voice is dry, but without malice. "And it's not bad."
"Women," Rodriguez says flippantly, ignoring the other comment, because at least he can admit that he likes shitty food. Teixeira just hmms. Rodriguez is pretty sure he can hear the pages of some type of reading material fluttering quietly in the background - Tex is probably reading Country Living or something. He can also hear the din of late night television and imagines Teixeira sprawled on the couch, bathed only in light from the TV, squinting to read the headlines in his magazine but really only kind of looking at the pictures.
"How hot was it today?" Teixeira asks absently.
"Like fuckin' 95."
"Gross."
"Always." Alex rolls over onto his back, hand absently moving to his shorts. "Wanna get me off so I can go to sleep? I'm wiped."
His fingers freeze at his waist for a second, because he secretly thinks Mark is just waiting for an out - waiting for the opportunity to say to Alex, as politely as anything, "I'm not sure if we should be doing this," or, "I'm starting to feel uncomfortable," or, simply, "No, thank you."
After a second, though, he hears Teixeira breathe in sharply, from a thousand miles away, and Alex smiles a little, struggling to unknot his shorts with one hand, happy and relieved and always surprised that he's going to get away with this at least one more time.
"I miss you, man," Teixeira says quietly. A pause. "I miss your fingers. Your hands." His breath hitches. "Your mouth. I miss you inside me."
"Fuck," A-Rod spits, his hand on his dick, finally, and says, "If I was there -- ah, fuck, if I was there, you'd be taking my fingers right now. Fuck."
"You fuck me so good," Teixeira breathes, not-quite-Southern accent drawing out the curse. Alex can't help but shiver a little. He imagines Mark, cock hard and leaking in his hand, and he feels the heavy warmth in his stomach.
Rodriguez lets his hand range back to his balls, a finger moving to press farther, toward his ass. "I'm close," he says. "And if I was there I would have you so close too, bent back over the couch." He closes his eyes. "Shit. I'd fuck your tight ass so hard. I'd be so fucking deep inside you."
Teixeira is silent for a second. Alex is afraid that he put him to sleep. "And I'd be jacking you off," he continues, fist around his dick again. "I'd pump your cock and you'd come so fucking hard, all over your chest and stomach and I'd keep jacking you off. I'd make you hard again. I'd make you come over and over."
"God, I want your cock so badly," Teixeira says quickly, which surprises Alex after the quiet, and he's snorting out a small laugh when he twists his hand around the head of his cock and comes all over his shorts.
But he knows Mark hasn't come yet, so Alex says, voice low, "And while I was still inside of you, I'd lean down and lick up all your come," and he hears Teixeira whisper, "Fuck -- oh, fuck," and he knows Mark pulled the phone away from his face, but he can still hear the strangled moan Teixeira chokes out as he finishes.
The line is dead for a moment, save the scratchy sound of heavy breathing. When Rodriguez finally gets his breath back, he sighs, content.
"That was the most inarticulate phone sex in the history of phone sex," Teixeira laughs throatily, after a long minute.
A-Rod smiles. "Remember when I wouldn't say a thing?"
"And we had to have that talk. 'Listen, Alex, this only works if you participate -- '"
"I remember That Talk," A-Rod interrupts, rolling his eyes. "You're embarrassing."
"Shut up."
For a minute neither speaks, Teixeira humming a little as he cleans himself up (he hums while he does a lot of things, so Alex knows he's not trying to be rude or dismissive; just mindlessly occupied) while A-Rod breathes into the phone loudly. He wants to say something. He thinks about, "I'm glad this isn't so awkward anymore," or, "I love that you only curse when we're having sex," or, "Your voice sounds so fucking wrecked over the phone when you're about to come," but instead he just goes with, "I miss you too, man."
A few short, pretentious author's notes:
- I usually don't slash baseball players because ... I have no idea why. So. That's another reason why this is my first foray into the MLB RPF world.
- Fortunately/unfortunately (we have a love/hate relationship), Alex will be back in the near future, which means my boy Eric Chavez will soon return to the bench. I will probably shed a tear.
- For reference - this is the Teixeira tribute video. It's one of my favorite things in the entire world.
Title: Every Inning of Every Game
Pairing: Alex Rodriguez/Mark Teixeira
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Won't ever be true.
Words: 1235
Summary: In which Alex Rodriguez tries to keep up his emotionally unavailable façade (all the way from Tampa!) and Mark Teixeira only curses when in bed. Also, phone sex.
Based on an offhand comment Michael Kay made late last month regarding A-Rod's rehab and Tex being the awesomest of friends: "Tex says he's been talking to Alex, and he says Alex watches every inning of every game ... "
Rodriguez rolls over, a heavy arm sliding from the couch to the floor. It's dark and he fell asleep in the living room again like a fucking teenager. For a second he just blinks, wondering what time it is. He should get up. He should eat something. But it's deathly hot in Tampa, and the air conditioning feels like a waterfall, rippling coolly over his bare back. Rodriguez sighs. He'll take what he can get.
After another few minutes he shifts a little and decides it's time to get the television remote out from under his leg; it's been digging angrily into his hipbone for the past twenty minutes. As he pushes up onto his elbows his knuckles scrape the floor, and in that split second he feels something vibrating. It's that thin, quieter vibration his phone uses to remind him that he has messages and emails and missed calls, so he slides his hand along the wood floor, hoping he can come up with his phone without having to look.
He has fourteen new emails, which he decides are spam without even reading their subject lines. His sister called - twice, which isn't good - and he has two texts from AJ Burnett about a car commercial he thinks is really funny and one from Russ about some shit he read on Deadspin. A-Rod ignores those too.
The oldest one, from a few hours ago, is from "Mark T," because for a while A-Rod was obsessed with that tribute video those Braves fans did for Teixiera in '07. (Alex would make fun of him and Mark would just shrug it off, sheepish, flattered and embarrassed with a blush creeping up his neck, imperceptible to anyone who wasn't looking for it. Alex always was.)
Why are you getting yourself in trouble? Teixeira had asked bluntly. Rodriguez doesn't know how to answer, at first. Tex spends so much time keeping up with the news in general; Alex doesn't think he can give him any new information, anyway.
dunno. is all A-Rod comes up with. didnt think it was a big deal.
His phone rings. "For future reference," Teixeira says quickly, "if there's cocaine present, it's 'a big deal.'"
"I know, I know," Rodriguez relents. "I'm fucking stupid."
Teixeira sighs. He never gives Alex a hard time in earnest - it's always implicit guilt trips and these heavy, disappointed sighs. Somehow, it's worse than getting ragged on. "How was your workout today?" he asks.
"Good, it was good. My legs are starting to feel like they're back under me."
"Awesome." A-Rod can hear the pride in his voice, the hope and the beaming smile.
"I ordered from that Chinese place we like again tonight," Teixeira volunteers after a second. "Leigh was kinda mad."
Rodriguez snorts. "'Cause it's the food we always get together? Or because it's kinda shitty?"
"'Cause she thinks I'm gonna get fat. Even though, you know. She wakes up every morning and I've already run six miles. But whatever." His voice is dry, but without malice. "And it's not bad."
"Women," Rodriguez says flippantly, ignoring the other comment, because at least he can admit that he likes shitty food. Teixeira just hmms. Rodriguez is pretty sure he can hear the pages of some type of reading material fluttering quietly in the background - Tex is probably reading Country Living or something. He can also hear the din of late night television and imagines Teixeira sprawled on the couch, bathed only in light from the TV, squinting to read the headlines in his magazine but really only kind of looking at the pictures.
"How hot was it today?" Teixeira asks absently.
"Like fuckin' 95."
"Gross."
"Always." Alex rolls over onto his back, hand absently moving to his shorts. "Wanna get me off so I can go to sleep? I'm wiped."
His fingers freeze at his waist for a second, because he secretly thinks Mark is just waiting for an out - waiting for the opportunity to say to Alex, as politely as anything, "I'm not sure if we should be doing this," or, "I'm starting to feel uncomfortable," or, simply, "No, thank you."
After a second, though, he hears Teixeira breathe in sharply, from a thousand miles away, and Alex smiles a little, struggling to unknot his shorts with one hand, happy and relieved and always surprised that he's going to get away with this at least one more time.
"I miss you, man," Teixeira says quietly. A pause. "I miss your fingers. Your hands." His breath hitches. "Your mouth. I miss you inside me."
"Fuck," A-Rod spits, his hand on his dick, finally, and says, "If I was there -- ah, fuck, if I was there, you'd be taking my fingers right now. Fuck."
"You fuck me so good," Teixeira breathes, not-quite-Southern accent drawing out the curse. Alex can't help but shiver a little. He imagines Mark, cock hard and leaking in his hand, and he feels the heavy warmth in his stomach.
Rodriguez lets his hand range back to his balls, a finger moving to press farther, toward his ass. "I'm close," he says. "And if I was there I would have you so close too, bent back over the couch." He closes his eyes. "Shit. I'd fuck your tight ass so hard. I'd be so fucking deep inside you."
Teixeira is silent for a second. Alex is afraid that he put him to sleep. "And I'd be jacking you off," he continues, fist around his dick again. "I'd pump your cock and you'd come so fucking hard, all over your chest and stomach and I'd keep jacking you off. I'd make you hard again. I'd make you come over and over."
"God, I want your cock so badly," Teixeira says quickly, which surprises Alex after the quiet, and he's snorting out a small laugh when he twists his hand around the head of his cock and comes all over his shorts.
But he knows Mark hasn't come yet, so Alex says, voice low, "And while I was still inside of you, I'd lean down and lick up all your come," and he hears Teixeira whisper, "Fuck -- oh, fuck," and he knows Mark pulled the phone away from his face, but he can still hear the strangled moan Teixeira chokes out as he finishes.
The line is dead for a moment, save the scratchy sound of heavy breathing. When Rodriguez finally gets his breath back, he sighs, content.
"That was the most inarticulate phone sex in the history of phone sex," Teixeira laughs throatily, after a long minute.
A-Rod smiles. "Remember when I wouldn't say a thing?"
"And we had to have that talk. 'Listen, Alex, this only works if you participate -- '"
"I remember That Talk," A-Rod interrupts, rolling his eyes. "You're embarrassing."
"Shut up."
For a minute neither speaks, Teixeira humming a little as he cleans himself up (he hums while he does a lot of things, so Alex knows he's not trying to be rude or dismissive; just mindlessly occupied) while A-Rod breathes into the phone loudly. He wants to say something. He thinks about, "I'm glad this isn't so awkward anymore," or, "I love that you only curse when we're having sex," or, "Your voice sounds so fucking wrecked over the phone when you're about to come," but instead he just goes with, "I miss you too, man."
A few short, pretentious author's notes:
- I usually don't slash baseball players because ... I have no idea why. So. That's another reason why this is my first foray into the MLB RPF world.
- Fortunately/unfortunately (we have a love/hate relationship), Alex will be back in the near future, which means my boy Eric Chavez will soon return to the bench. I will probably shed a tear.
- For reference - this is the Teixeira tribute video. It's one of my favorite things in the entire world.