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You stared at the phone clutched in your hands, held above your face. Ken’s number on the screen.
You’d gotten it about a week ago. You hadn’t spoken to him yet.
In all fairness, that was your fault. He didn’t have your number- you’d both been so dazed it was a miracle you’d remembered to ask him yourself, simply telling him you’d call him.
You hadn’t called him.
You sighed, your arms tiring out from the strain of holding up your phone, so you rolled onto your stomach, elbows digging into your bedsheets. The screen read the time- five to nine.
You bit your lip, and pressed the call button.
It took a couple of rings for him to pick up, and when he did, the silence was so deafening you didn’t even notice.
“Hello?” You asked tentatively.
“Hey- hey!” His voice was tired, weighed down by fatigue. It made something stir in between your legs. “[name]?”
“Yeah.” You ran your tongue over your lips nervously, listening to his soft breath on the other end of the line. “I’m not- I’m not bothering you, am I?” You asked weakly. He gave a low laugh, and oh my god it sounds so fucking hot.
“No,” he murmured. “You’re not bothering me.” Your chest untightened, despite the fact you could tell he sounds like he just woke up.
“Plus,” he continued, “If I got to hear your voice I’d hardly call it something bothering me.”
You sucked in a harsh breath, but didn’t say anything, biting the inside of your cheek.
“I was getting worried you wouldn’t call, you know.” You eased yourself onto your side as he spoke, pressing the phone against your ear. “So. Did you need anything, or…”
“No,” you said quickly, then froze up, wondering if it came out wrong. “N-no, I mean, I just wanted to wish you… good luck on your game tomorrow.” You buried your face half into the pillow, wrapping an arm around it. “You probably don’t need it, but…”
A few seconds of silence ticked by, and you wondered if you had angered him, when he spoke up again, voice still hoarse with sleep and now seemingly laced with something else you couldn’t- could have deciphered. But you pushed the thought away from your brain.
“You wanted to wish me good luck?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.
Your eyes became half lidded, as excitement raced through you. “Yeah,” you mumbled, lips still pressed against the soft fabric of your pillow cover.
“And you think I don’t need it.”
You hummed softly. “You’re a good player.”
He paused, amused. “I was under the impression you know nothing about baseball.”
You frowned. “Well, I’m not, just, like, saying it.”
“Oh sweetheart, I know.”
Your face suddenly grew hot, and not just at the nickname. Instead of insinuating you were just saying whatever came to mind to flatter him- was he implying that you specifically researched stuff for him? Or that maybe it was just him that you looked up?
Well, he was right. But that was far beyond the point.
“All I’m saying is that you’re a good player. You got a problem?” Your tone didn’t match your words at all.
“Nah… I actually quite like it when you compliment me. Go on, do it again.”
“What?”
“Say it again.”
You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile. “You’re good at baseball.”
“That’s right. And what else am I good at?”
You froze, muscles tensing up, then fell back face first into your bed, buzzing with embarrassment. “Don’t push it, Ken,” you mumbled, face burning.
He laughed again, slightly breathless this time, and you pulled your hand up and trapped it under your chest to stop it from sliding down below your waist. “Tell you what, sweetheart. If you wanted to wish me good luck so badly you called me while I was asleep, late at night-“
Your chest tightened with anxiety.
“-maybe you should come over and wish me good luck personally.”
You immediately shot up out of bed, heart hammering in your chest as you stared at the screen. “Y-yeah?”
“If you’re down.” His voice suddenly sounded slightly nervous.
“Oh, I’m down.”
“Great. I’ll see you th-“
You immediately cut the call.
You kicked the covers off of your legs, hands searching blindly for your keys as you pulled on a hoodie. A notification popped up on your phone- his number, a single text message, and address.
Oh, Lord, thank you for forcing me to go outside and undergo true human interaction that fateful evening.
-
“Hey.”
You stood outside his door, face flushed from the cold and shivering with your hands buried in your pockets. He looked you up and down.
“You got here fast,” he murmured, and you shrugged nervously.
“Excited to see you,” you tried, and he laughed, hand reaching out, fingers curling around your wrist and pulling you inside, up against him for a split second before he moved away, much to your disappointment.
“Get comfortable,” he said, flicking his head at the couch. You pushed your fists back in your pockets, following him over, where he flopped down, tipping his head back. You went to sit next to him but he grabbed your waist, pulling you into his lap.
You let out a sharp breath. “What are you doing.”
“Helping you get comfortable,” he said nonchalantly, slipping his digits in between yours, kissing your fingertips. A shiver shot up your spine, and he tilted his head. “You know what? Let’s talk.”
“Talk?” You echoed.
“Yeah, get to know each other better.”
“We got to know each other at the dinner,” you pointed out, and he rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, and after that too, right?” He remarked. Your face slowly turned red, making him grin. “And I said better, baby.”
“Fine, better. What do you want to talk about?”
“Anything. Just ask me a question.”
“Fine.” You thought hard, but with him pressed up against you, hands on your thighs, it was hard for you to think clearly. “How’d you get into baseball?”
He tilted his head. “It made my parents happy watching it, so I thought…” He looked down, and smiled softly. “I thought, if I could do that, if it would make them cheer like they-“ he sighed, cutting off his sentence. “Then I’d have to. You know?” His thumbs were rubbing circles into your skin.
You leaned over, running your hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. “That’s… sweet, actually.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did you think it wasn’t gonna be?”
“Considering how you act-“ you jabbed him in the chest, and he smirked. “-no.”
“How exactly do I act?”
You paused, then frowned. “I don’t know, confident?”
His hand went from your thigh to your hip. “What’s wrong with that?”
Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “Nothing.”
“Exactly.” His fingers dug into your skin. “So, why’d you become an author?”
You swallowed. “I like stories.”
He laughed. “Is that it?”
You smacked his chest. “Obviously there’s more. I’m just not good with words.”
“You’d think, being an author…”
“Whatever!”
“Don’t you work with words for a living?”
You stayed silent for a moment, then sighed. “I started daydreaming a lot when I was younger. I figured, if I could put those dreams down on paper, like other authors did, bring them to life, make people feel things-“ you shrugged, embarrassed. “Look, I don’t know. It just started with a massive maladaptive daydreaming problem.”
“Right.” He hummed, fingers splaying across your skin, creeping under the hem of your top. “For the record, I think that’s sweet too, you know.”
Your other hand was still buried in his hair. “Thanks,” you mumbled, feeling his breath on your lips.
“Maybe I should read one of your books some time. They’re really popular, right?”
“Yeah,” you said, then your eyes suddenly widened. “No way. No, you’re not reading them.”
He laughed, amused. “Why not? What’s stopping me?”
You glared at him.
“What did you say you write?” He continued. “Romance?”
Your face burned as you quickly looked away. “It’s not just that, okay?”
He hummed, eyes fixed on your collarbone, a few faded, barely-visible bruises. “Right. You ever include, like, sexual stuff in your novels?”
You almost shot out of his lap and threw yourself out the window right then and there. “Huh?” You spluttered. “What do you mean?” Yes, yes I do.
“Like, smut, or whatever it’s called. You write that?”
“How’s that relevant?” Your voice was slowly rising in pitch, and he smirked.
“Nothing, just wondering why you don"t want me to read your stuff so badly. Plus, I could figure out what you like.” He tapped his finger against your side, and you swallowed.
“I’d probably like anything you do,” you laughed, albeit breathlessly. He raised an eyebrow.
“Or you can tell me.”
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. He smirked, a subtle roll of his hips making him grind up against you not going unnoticed. You sucked in a harsh breath.
“I bet you write down every little fantasy you have onto that paper, yeah?”
“I type it,” you retorted, albeit breathless as your body responded to his touch, involuntarily bucking your hips. His grip on them tightened, holding you in place as he clicked his tongue.
“So you do write that sort of stuff.”
You bit your cheek to smother a whimper, instead worming your hand down to palm his growing bulge. His breath hitched visibly, a muscle in his neck tightening as you stroked gently.
“Maybe,” you breathed, eyes glittering.
Getting off of him, you sank to your knees, nestling yourself in between his legs. You pressed a kiss to the tented fabric, making him tense up underneath. “Now, you want me to ‘wish you good luck personally’ or not?”
Your hand unzipped his trousers, and you could feel him holding in a breath as you pulled his length from his boxers- throbbing, a pearl of precum on the tip. You could feel your saliva gathering in your mouth as you swiped your thumb across it, making him flinch and almost buck up into your hands.
“You know,” he said, voice wavering. “Maybe I’ll win the game from this alo-“ he cut off with a light groan, lips falling open and head tipping back as you pressed your lips to the tip, tongue flicking out in tentative kitten licks. You locked your eyes onto his as you dragged your lips down to his base, licking a long strip up his shaft. “Oh, fuck.”
You hummed, and he shuddered as your tongue languidly traced a vein, his eyes lidded as his hand came to bury itself in your hair.
Another curse, alongside your name, fell past his lips as you wrapped your lips around his head properly this time, trying to take in as much of him as possible. It hit the back of your throat, which tightened, tears springing to your eyes.
“Oh yeah baby, just like that,” he breathed, voice shaky as you bobbed your head up and down, hips bucking needily against you as he collapsed into a few groans and murmured praises. His grip on your hair tightened. “Fuck [name] I think I’m going to cu-“
You simply hummed in response, vibrations running down his shaft and making him twitch, eyes innocent and wide-eyed, a betrayal of your lewd position.
The look alone was enough to tip him over the edge, and his fingers curled around your locks, yanking your head away from him as he shook, his cum dripping down his length. You reached for the box of tissues on the table.
After cleaning up, he looked down at you, and frowned. You tilted your head. “What?”
“You have a little…” cupping your face in both hands, he pulled it to his, tongue darting out to lick up a trickle of saliva that had escaped the corner of your mouth. It made you burn with desire, and you turned slightly to press his lips against yours.
“Good luck,” you whispered against him, and he pressed back in, teeth nipping at your lower lip.
“After I win,” he breathed, “I’m taking you on a proper date.”
You flushed. He pulled away, your chin in his hands, tilting your head up to look at him.
“And that’s a promise.”