Rocket to hell
Title: Rocket to hell
Pairing: J.D. Drew/Brian Roberts
Rating: NC-17
Time: May 2008
Summary: Drew can't figure out why Roberts is always so friendly. But he likes it.
Author's note: Yes, I'm working on the next chapter of Tie me up/tie me down (Honest! Really!). But a friend suggested this challenge of a pairing and I could not resist. Had to feed the bunny.
Disclaimer: Don't know these guys, don't own, totally fictional.
J.D. Drew always looked forward playing Baltimore. It wasn't because he feasted on their pitchers. It wasn't because he liked Camden Yards. It was because of just one thing. Because of just one person.
Because of Brian Roberts.
How had it started? Oh, it was easy to peg when - Boston's first game against the O's in 2007, Drew's first year in the American League, when he'd hit a double and was standing on second base and Brian Roberts was standing there and he gave Drew a big smile and said, "Hey."
"Hey," Drew said back, puzzled at Roberts' easy familiarity. It was like the guy was an old friend, someone he hadn't seen in years, someone he'd swapped lunches with in third grade. Roberts grinned and Drew grinned back and it was like they'd known each other all their lives. Just how did that happen?
The two teams faced each other almost 20 times a season, and Drew found himself anticipating each game, looking around the field for Roberts as the teams took batting practice, waiting for that sunny smile, feeling that odd sensation of warmth whenever the second baseman met his eyes. "Hey," Roberts would say, and grin, and his eyes would shine, and J.D. would feel....
How DID he feel?
Friendly, he thought. Brian's a friendly guy, cheerful, happy, always with a smile. Everybody liked Brian Roberts. So did Drew. Brian was like... a kid brother type. Yeah. That was it. Kid brother.
Except....
Brian Roberts didn't smile for anyone else the way he did for Drew. Roberts didn't hover near second base, chatting away, utilizing every spare moment to stand near the Boston outfielder before skittering back to his position, just as the pitcher was about to deliver, with anyone else but J.D. He just didn't sparkle - damn, that was the only word! - for anyone else the way he did for J.D.
So how did it make him feel? When Brian smiled, stood close, chattered some nonsense under his breath about Daniel Cabrera being the world's biggest ayhole, grinning as Drew cracked up, slipping him a quick wink before stepping away... how did it make him feel?
Like he was going straight to hell, that's how.
He was a married man. A happily married, decidedly heterosexual man. So why did the sight of Brian Roberts, smiling at him, eyes lighting up as he watched the Boston outfielder running into second base, why in God's name did that sight make his groin ache? Why did his eyes keep returning to Roberts' ass? Why did he awaken from sweaty dreams of his hands tangling in Brian's long brown hair, his cock sliding between Brian's legs? Why was this diminutive second baseman in an Orioles uniform driving him insane?
And if he was on a rocket ride straight to hell, why was he enjoying these thoughts so much? Why did he still meet Roberts' eyes, say "Hey," and grin stupidly?
Gotta stop, he thought. Stop thinking like this. You're crazy. And then he looked up from where he was stretching near the Boston dugout in Camden Yards on a sultry May night, and Roberts was trotting across the infield, and he looked over and caught Drew's eye, and he waved and grinned, and Drew waved and grinned back.
Damn.
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Sure enough, it wasn't even halfway through the game and he was standing on second base, and here came Roberts. "Hey," he said. Drew turned, meaning to give him a quick glance and a nod, but Roberts caught his eye and gave him that look again and suddenly Drew was grinning like a fool.
"Hey," he said back. Baltimore's manager was coming out to change pitchers, and Roberts folded his arms across his chest and canted a hip, resting all of his weight on his right leg. He spoke quietly to Drew, though nobody else was within earshot.
"Dinner tonight?" he asked.
"Huh?" Drew replied.
"My treat. I know a great place, serving late, quiet. Waddya say?"
NO! Drew's mind shouted. Don't do it. This is trouble. You'll regret it. You can't do this. You CAN'T!
He looked into Brian's large brown eyes. "Sure," he said. Roberts grinned.
Straight to hell.
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The friendly awkwardness of their on-field encounters quickly faded as they walked the streets near Camden Yards. Roberts chatted animatedly, switching gears easily, making Drew laugh with his witty criticisms of mutual opponents. By the time they reached the restaurant and were seated in a quiet booth by a waiter who recognized Roberts, all doubt was gone. This had been a great idea.
"Bottle of wine?" Roberts asked. Drew shook his head. "I don't drink."
"Aw, c'mon, Drew," Roberts smiled. "You know, Jesus drank wine."
A theological discussion was the last thing J.D. wanted. "All right, go ahead. I'll have a little." The waiter appeared with a bottle, uncorked it at Roberts' nod, poured a small amount into each glass and disappeared.
Cautiously, Drew raised the glass and took a sip. "Hey, this is pretty good," he said, taking a bigger swallow. Roberts smiled. "Thought you'd like it."
The food was great, the company better, the wine... intoxicating. Or was that the company? Drew's head was spinning. Was that... was that Roberts' leg, touching his own? He had to be imagining things. Brian gave no hint, still talking, still smiling. He lifted his wine glass to his lips, and J.D. found himself riveted by the sight.
OK, time to get out of here while you still can. Goodnight, Brian, thanks for dinner.
"Ready?" Roberts asked, picking up his credit card and standing up. Drew nodded and followed the second baseman outside, expecting him to turn toward Camden Yards and his car. Instead, Brian looked at him. "Where you staying?"
"Um, uh," Drew fumbled, pointing over Roberts' shoulder. Brian smiled. "Let's go."
"Go?"
"Back to your hotel," Roberts said, looking up at Drew. He glanced quickly around, then reached up and tentatively touched the outfielder's face, tracing his finger along Drew's strong jawline.
J.D. froze. Brian's touch was the only thing on earth, the only thing he could feel. Other than his cock, that is. His cock jumped to life at the touch, swelling painfully in his shorts. "Brian...." he gasped.
"Shhhh...." Roberts said. "Come on." He turned and walked away. J.D. followed, watching the smaller player's graceful movements with lust raging in his heart.
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He felt like he was 16 again, chasing girls at the church picnic, hiding behind the bushes. He poked his head into the hotel lobby, whispered "it's clear," and sprinted to the elevator bank, Roberts on his heels. They fell into one of the elevators, laughing a bit too hysterically, then sprinted down the hall to Drew's room.
Roberts was on him the instant Drew opened the door, pulling him backwards, shoving his ass against the wall, standing on his toes to kiss him, hard. Drew bent into his embrace, sliding his arms around the second baseman's back, opening his mouth and shoving his tongue past Roberts' welcoming lips. Their bodies pressed together, the two players reveling in their hard muscularity. How good does hard feel? Drew thought. Better than I ever could have imagined. He grabbed at Roberts' hair, sliding his hands into the long locks, just as he'd dreamed. Pulling Brian's head back, he bit at the smaller man's throat, sucking hard, leaving a mark. Roberts gasped and squirmed. "Easy, Drew, you're gonna make me come right here," he said, pulling the outfielder toward the bed. "We've got plenty of time."
"Want... you... now..." Drew growled, pushing Roberts down and crawling on top of him. Yes, I've lost my mind. It's official, a distant, very small, sober part of him said. Lost my mind and going to hell and I don't give a fuck because I want to fuck Brian Roberts right fucking now.
The Orioles infielder was pulling at his own shirt, lifting it over his head as best he could with Drew's weight pinning him on the bed. Drew sat up and pulled his shirt off, then quickly unbuckled his pants and shed them and his boxers, kicking off his shoes and socks as he did so. He then leaned down and undid Brian's belt, yanking off his pants, shorts, shoes and socks in a few rapid moves. J.D. grabbed Brian's wrists and pinned them over the second baseman's head, leaning down to kiss him again, hard. Brian moaned, squirmed. "J.D., turn over. Turn over for me, please."
Drew responded to the plea in Brian's voice, letting go of Roberts' wrists and falling onto his back. The second baseman grinned, sat up, and ran his hand down J.D.'s body, slipping it around his erect cock. Drew sucked in air, hard, electified by the touch, arching his hips up reflexively. Roberts chuckled quietly and bent his head, taking Drew's cock into his mouth.
Oh. My. God. Oh, that tongue. Oh yes, oh God, yes...
"Brian," he moaned. "My God, Brian."
Roberts moved faster, taking Drew's cock deeper, deliberately letting it slide down his throat. J.D. whimpered, clutching at Brian's head, pulling at his hair. His body started to shake. Roberts suddenly halted, lifting his head, and grinned at Drew, the same grin he gave the Boston outfielder at second base. He licked his lips.
"Wanna fuck me now?" he asked, looking like the devil himself.
He reached down, picked his pants up off the floor, and pulled a condom and a small bottle of lube out of a pocket. Displaying his lightning reflexes, he ripped the package open and rolled the condom onto J.D.'s cock before the outfielder could protest.
Not that he was going to protest. He watched as Roberts lubed his cock for him and then bent over onto his elbows, lifting that perfect ass in the air. "Come and get it, J.D."
He'd never done anything like this before. He never remotely wanted to do anything like this before. But now, with Brian Roberts prone before him, looking over his shoulder with wanton lust in his eyes, begging for his cock, he had no hesitation. The nagging voice of reason had disappeared. If he was going to hell, he didn't care anymore. It was worth it. Drew pulled himself up to his knees, slipped his hands around Roberts' hips, lined up his cock, and pushed. Hard.
Roberts grunted, his head dropping, as Drew entered. The outfielder snapped his hips forward, driving the second baseman down into the mattress; Brian cried out, then steadied himself on his arms and managed to shove his ass back. His muscles clenched around J.D.'s cock as the outfielder thrust and pulled, falling into a manic rythmn, pumping his hips, harder and harder and harder, listening to Brian moan in ecstacy. The sound was driving him mad, the easy obscenties dropping from Roberts' lips, his name mixed in, rockets exploding in his mind, in his body, under his skin, in his cock, in Brian's ass, red and gold and orange and sharp, sharp silver and ohmygodImgonnadie and his body shook with his orgasm and Brian shrieked and came too, his cock spurting white come onto the white sheet below their straining bodies.
Roberts' trembling arms and legs gave way and the second baseman collapsed onto his side, pulling Drew down with him. They lay side by side, their chests heaving, J.D. still clinging to Brian's hips. Finally the Boston outfielder lifted a hand and rubbed the sweat out of one eye. Roberts stirred, looking back over his shoulder.
"Hey," he said, and grinned.
"Hey," Drew said, and grinned back.
Pairing: J.D. Drew/Brian Roberts
Rating: NC-17
Time: May 2008
Summary: Drew can't figure out why Roberts is always so friendly. But he likes it.
Author's note: Yes, I'm working on the next chapter of Tie me up/tie me down (Honest! Really!). But a friend suggested this challenge of a pairing and I could not resist. Had to feed the bunny.
Disclaimer: Don't know these guys, don't own, totally fictional.
J.D. Drew always looked forward playing Baltimore. It wasn't because he feasted on their pitchers. It wasn't because he liked Camden Yards. It was because of just one thing. Because of just one person.
Because of Brian Roberts.
How had it started? Oh, it was easy to peg when - Boston's first game against the O's in 2007, Drew's first year in the American League, when he'd hit a double and was standing on second base and Brian Roberts was standing there and he gave Drew a big smile and said, "Hey."
"Hey," Drew said back, puzzled at Roberts' easy familiarity. It was like the guy was an old friend, someone he hadn't seen in years, someone he'd swapped lunches with in third grade. Roberts grinned and Drew grinned back and it was like they'd known each other all their lives. Just how did that happen?
The two teams faced each other almost 20 times a season, and Drew found himself anticipating each game, looking around the field for Roberts as the teams took batting practice, waiting for that sunny smile, feeling that odd sensation of warmth whenever the second baseman met his eyes. "Hey," Roberts would say, and grin, and his eyes would shine, and J.D. would feel....
How DID he feel?
Friendly, he thought. Brian's a friendly guy, cheerful, happy, always with a smile. Everybody liked Brian Roberts. So did Drew. Brian was like... a kid brother type. Yeah. That was it. Kid brother.
Except....
Brian Roberts didn't smile for anyone else the way he did for Drew. Roberts didn't hover near second base, chatting away, utilizing every spare moment to stand near the Boston outfielder before skittering back to his position, just as the pitcher was about to deliver, with anyone else but J.D. He just didn't sparkle - damn, that was the only word! - for anyone else the way he did for J.D.
So how did it make him feel? When Brian smiled, stood close, chattered some nonsense under his breath about Daniel Cabrera being the world's biggest ayhole, grinning as Drew cracked up, slipping him a quick wink before stepping away... how did it make him feel?
Like he was going straight to hell, that's how.
He was a married man. A happily married, decidedly heterosexual man. So why did the sight of Brian Roberts, smiling at him, eyes lighting up as he watched the Boston outfielder running into second base, why in God's name did that sight make his groin ache? Why did his eyes keep returning to Roberts' ass? Why did he awaken from sweaty dreams of his hands tangling in Brian's long brown hair, his cock sliding between Brian's legs? Why was this diminutive second baseman in an Orioles uniform driving him insane?
And if he was on a rocket ride straight to hell, why was he enjoying these thoughts so much? Why did he still meet Roberts' eyes, say "Hey," and grin stupidly?
Gotta stop, he thought. Stop thinking like this. You're crazy. And then he looked up from where he was stretching near the Boston dugout in Camden Yards on a sultry May night, and Roberts was trotting across the infield, and he looked over and caught Drew's eye, and he waved and grinned, and Drew waved and grinned back.
Damn.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sure enough, it wasn't even halfway through the game and he was standing on second base, and here came Roberts. "Hey," he said. Drew turned, meaning to give him a quick glance and a nod, but Roberts caught his eye and gave him that look again and suddenly Drew was grinning like a fool.
"Hey," he said back. Baltimore's manager was coming out to change pitchers, and Roberts folded his arms across his chest and canted a hip, resting all of his weight on his right leg. He spoke quietly to Drew, though nobody else was within earshot.
"Dinner tonight?" he asked.
"Huh?" Drew replied.
"My treat. I know a great place, serving late, quiet. Waddya say?"
NO! Drew's mind shouted. Don't do it. This is trouble. You'll regret it. You can't do this. You CAN'T!
He looked into Brian's large brown eyes. "Sure," he said. Roberts grinned.
Straight to hell.
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The friendly awkwardness of their on-field encounters quickly faded as they walked the streets near Camden Yards. Roberts chatted animatedly, switching gears easily, making Drew laugh with his witty criticisms of mutual opponents. By the time they reached the restaurant and were seated in a quiet booth by a waiter who recognized Roberts, all doubt was gone. This had been a great idea.
"Bottle of wine?" Roberts asked. Drew shook his head. "I don't drink."
"Aw, c'mon, Drew," Roberts smiled. "You know, Jesus drank wine."
A theological discussion was the last thing J.D. wanted. "All right, go ahead. I'll have a little." The waiter appeared with a bottle, uncorked it at Roberts' nod, poured a small amount into each glass and disappeared.
Cautiously, Drew raised the glass and took a sip. "Hey, this is pretty good," he said, taking a bigger swallow. Roberts smiled. "Thought you'd like it."
The food was great, the company better, the wine... intoxicating. Or was that the company? Drew's head was spinning. Was that... was that Roberts' leg, touching his own? He had to be imagining things. Brian gave no hint, still talking, still smiling. He lifted his wine glass to his lips, and J.D. found himself riveted by the sight.
OK, time to get out of here while you still can. Goodnight, Brian, thanks for dinner.
"Ready?" Roberts asked, picking up his credit card and standing up. Drew nodded and followed the second baseman outside, expecting him to turn toward Camden Yards and his car. Instead, Brian looked at him. "Where you staying?"
"Um, uh," Drew fumbled, pointing over Roberts' shoulder. Brian smiled. "Let's go."
"Go?"
"Back to your hotel," Roberts said, looking up at Drew. He glanced quickly around, then reached up and tentatively touched the outfielder's face, tracing his finger along Drew's strong jawline.
J.D. froze. Brian's touch was the only thing on earth, the only thing he could feel. Other than his cock, that is. His cock jumped to life at the touch, swelling painfully in his shorts. "Brian...." he gasped.
"Shhhh...." Roberts said. "Come on." He turned and walked away. J.D. followed, watching the smaller player's graceful movements with lust raging in his heart.
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He felt like he was 16 again, chasing girls at the church picnic, hiding behind the bushes. He poked his head into the hotel lobby, whispered "it's clear," and sprinted to the elevator bank, Roberts on his heels. They fell into one of the elevators, laughing a bit too hysterically, then sprinted down the hall to Drew's room.
Roberts was on him the instant Drew opened the door, pulling him backwards, shoving his ass against the wall, standing on his toes to kiss him, hard. Drew bent into his embrace, sliding his arms around the second baseman's back, opening his mouth and shoving his tongue past Roberts' welcoming lips. Their bodies pressed together, the two players reveling in their hard muscularity. How good does hard feel? Drew thought. Better than I ever could have imagined. He grabbed at Roberts' hair, sliding his hands into the long locks, just as he'd dreamed. Pulling Brian's head back, he bit at the smaller man's throat, sucking hard, leaving a mark. Roberts gasped and squirmed. "Easy, Drew, you're gonna make me come right here," he said, pulling the outfielder toward the bed. "We've got plenty of time."
"Want... you... now..." Drew growled, pushing Roberts down and crawling on top of him. Yes, I've lost my mind. It's official, a distant, very small, sober part of him said. Lost my mind and going to hell and I don't give a fuck because I want to fuck Brian Roberts right fucking now.
The Orioles infielder was pulling at his own shirt, lifting it over his head as best he could with Drew's weight pinning him on the bed. Drew sat up and pulled his shirt off, then quickly unbuckled his pants and shed them and his boxers, kicking off his shoes and socks as he did so. He then leaned down and undid Brian's belt, yanking off his pants, shorts, shoes and socks in a few rapid moves. J.D. grabbed Brian's wrists and pinned them over the second baseman's head, leaning down to kiss him again, hard. Brian moaned, squirmed. "J.D., turn over. Turn over for me, please."
Drew responded to the plea in Brian's voice, letting go of Roberts' wrists and falling onto his back. The second baseman grinned, sat up, and ran his hand down J.D.'s body, slipping it around his erect cock. Drew sucked in air, hard, electified by the touch, arching his hips up reflexively. Roberts chuckled quietly and bent his head, taking Drew's cock into his mouth.
Oh. My. God. Oh, that tongue. Oh yes, oh God, yes...
"Brian," he moaned. "My God, Brian."
Roberts moved faster, taking Drew's cock deeper, deliberately letting it slide down his throat. J.D. whimpered, clutching at Brian's head, pulling at his hair. His body started to shake. Roberts suddenly halted, lifting his head, and grinned at Drew, the same grin he gave the Boston outfielder at second base. He licked his lips.
"Wanna fuck me now?" he asked, looking like the devil himself.
He reached down, picked his pants up off the floor, and pulled a condom and a small bottle of lube out of a pocket. Displaying his lightning reflexes, he ripped the package open and rolled the condom onto J.D.'s cock before the outfielder could protest.
Not that he was going to protest. He watched as Roberts lubed his cock for him and then bent over onto his elbows, lifting that perfect ass in the air. "Come and get it, J.D."
He'd never done anything like this before. He never remotely wanted to do anything like this before. But now, with Brian Roberts prone before him, looking over his shoulder with wanton lust in his eyes, begging for his cock, he had no hesitation. The nagging voice of reason had disappeared. If he was going to hell, he didn't care anymore. It was worth it. Drew pulled himself up to his knees, slipped his hands around Roberts' hips, lined up his cock, and pushed. Hard.
Roberts grunted, his head dropping, as Drew entered. The outfielder snapped his hips forward, driving the second baseman down into the mattress; Brian cried out, then steadied himself on his arms and managed to shove his ass back. His muscles clenched around J.D.'s cock as the outfielder thrust and pulled, falling into a manic rythmn, pumping his hips, harder and harder and harder, listening to Brian moan in ecstacy. The sound was driving him mad, the easy obscenties dropping from Roberts' lips, his name mixed in, rockets exploding in his mind, in his body, under his skin, in his cock, in Brian's ass, red and gold and orange and sharp, sharp silver and ohmygodImgonnadie and his body shook with his orgasm and Brian shrieked and came too, his cock spurting white come onto the white sheet below their straining bodies.
Roberts' trembling arms and legs gave way and the second baseman collapsed onto his side, pulling Drew down with him. They lay side by side, their chests heaving, J.D. still clinging to Brian's hips. Finally the Boston outfielder lifted a hand and rubbed the sweat out of one eye. Roberts stirred, looking back over his shoulder.
"Hey," he said, and grinned.
"Hey," Drew said, and grinned back.