Chapter Text
It’s around the middle of June 2013. Pete Bourjos has been off the DL for a couple of weeks. Having him back has certainly been a boost. The Angels have been showing signs of coming back into contention.
The season has finally started to pick up. The locker room has a certain buzz, things are changing. Although they’re still playing under .500 Chris knows the team, his other family, they’re going to start chipping away at those standings. Tonight’s win against Seattle was certainly hard fought.
Most importantly it was a series win. As he’s sitting at his locker Chris notices Pete trying put on his shirt across the room. It was Pete who really got the scoring going tonight with his homerun in the bottom of fifth. Without him who knows if that spark would have been lit.
He smiles, he’s trying to put his head through one of the sleeves of his shirt. For someone extremely agile and athletic as hell out on the field the kid can be extremely clumsy off the field. He nudges Pujols as he walks by, “look, he’s been struggling with that shirt for the last two minutes.” Albert starts cracking up, as does Chris. Soon enough about half of the team is dying of laughter.
Finally, after enough pictures and video have been taken he walks over and helps Pete out of his shirt dilemma. Flushed and flustered Pete takes his shirt from Chris and mumbles “thanks.”
Chris rubs the top of his freshly shaved head, “no problem kid, it happens to the best of us.”
It’s at that moment he notices the lean, strong, and defined torso of his teammate. All of a sudden, he’s the one feeling flustered. He’s only ever had this reaction once before. Years ago in Colorado, it was only his second year in the Rockies organization. Matt Holiday. His mind flashes to the nights in the backseat of his car, sneaking into each other’s rooms while on the road, the feel of the strong hands on chest…he coughs.
“So how about a few beers and steaks to celebrate tonight’s win? It’ll be my treat kid.” Pete smirks. “You dick, you know you’re only four years older, but sure OLD MAN. I’ll even get the biggest steak possible.”
During dinner Chris can’t help but feel like he’s 15 and it’s his first date all over again. He hardly says a word as Pete devours, as promised, the biggest steak The Prime Cut Café has to offer. He almost feels guilty for gulping down his third glass of cabernet sauvignon, but he hates feeling nervous.
After dinner and another glass of wine for Chris and a sixth beer for Pete they both decide that since tomorrow is a rare day off that they should take advantage of that. Chris’ inhibitions are dulled and all he really wants is to be alone, alone with Pete. He also can’t help but feel like Pete has been staring at him intently for the last hour.
“So kid, I finally got settled into my new place down the street, let’s grab a 36 pack and see if any of the other guys want to stop by.” Chris sighed; thankful that he had brought up inviting other people, he hated to think that if he hadn’t he would have scared him off.
“Sure! I’ll text them right now.” Pete whips out his phone and furiously started texting. As he’s texting Chris pays the bill and calls a cab. Neither of them is in any shape to drive even though the Stadium Lofts are three minutes down the street. While standing outside the restaurant the dispatcher informs him that their cab would be there in about 10-15 minutes.
Pete hears him repeat the time frame and his lips turn into that goofy grin that could only mean trouble. As he hangs up Pete looks him straight in the eye and says, “10-15 minutes huh? Want to race around the theater and restaurants?”
He looks at him, “Fuck dude, you must be wasted if you think I’d race you.”
“Oh come on old man. I’ll even give you a head start; I really need to work off the steak.”
“You run like a damn gazelle Pete. I'm a catcher, built for fucking stamina, not speed. You’ll always kick my ass in a race.”
“Fine, fine.” Pete punches him on the shoulder, “you’re right, old man.”
Maybe it was that last glass of wine, but Chris could have sworn Pete had just winked at him.
Chris grins, “old man, eh? Watch how you treat your elders KID.” He proceeds to put him in a headlock until Pete surrenders. When the cab arrives both of them are sweating and out of breath from struggling. As Pete tries to fix his hair Chris can’t help but laugh.
“Hey just because you gave up on your hair doesn’t mean I can’t care about mine! Pshh, Mr. Clean…”
He grabs Pete by his left wrist; they both turn and look at each other. Then it happens, that moment where they both know this is something they both want…
“That’ll be 10 bucks,” the cab driver says. The moment is broken, but only for a second. Chris hands a twenty at the driver and both him and Pete hurry out of the cab.
On the elevator ride up to the third floor they both stare at each other, not wanting to say anything, waiting to see if this is real. The second they reach the door to his apartment he shoves Pete against the door.
“Wait,” breathes Pete. Chris drops his keys; he can’t believe how excited he is. He remembers the anticipation with Matt, but it was never this hurried. With Matt it always felt right, but easier. Maybe it was because it was Matt that had initiated it. That was probably it, now with Pete, he needed him, badly.
He finally managed to get the door open, they rushed in. Almost immediately there was an amazing view of the street below. Part of the stadium was visible, it's beautiful. “Wow, what a great view,” said Pete. Chris barely made out what he said, he grabbed his face in his hands, “how the hell did I not notice you before?” Pete smiles back at him, “I’ve always noticed you, you’re hard not to notice Chris.”
They kiss. Chris parts his lips open. Their tongues meet, he taste like Bud light and steak. It’s perfect. Their hands are all over each other, Chris is moving fast, he wraps his arm around Pete’s slender strong frame, bringing him closer to himself. Then he stops and takes a step back.
“Shit, shit, didn’t you invite some of the guys over?”
A sly smile creeps on his lips, he looks down, sticks his hands in his back pockets, “I never texted anyone, I just played Candy Crush.”
“You sneaky son of a bitch,” Chris shoves his teammate against the wall. Again Chris can’t get enough; he reaches down to Pete’s belt buckle wishing the damn thing would just take itself off. Pete nibbles on his earlobe, flicks his tongue over it.
“Holy fuck,” Chris groans. At that point he didn’t think he could get any harder, but his dick twitches, aching to get out. He manages to get Pete’s belt off, his fingers trace the top of jeans, and he hears him moan. He unbuttons his pants and reaches down; he grabs a hold of his outfielder. He can’t believe this is happening. The apartment is so quiet that the only noise is their breathing, their kissing.
Then its broken by that familiar iphone ring. They stop its Pete’s phone. He answers, “hey baby, wait what? Is she ok? Yeah I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” “It’s my girlfriend, her mom was in some car crash, she’s ok, but she wants me there. I wish I didn’t have to...” Chris shakes his head, “no, I understand, you need to go.”
He walks him to the door. They stand at the doorway; it’s hard to put into words what tonight is. For Chris, he knows that now that he’s had a taste of Pete, now that he’s had him in his hands, he’ll always want more. He goes to say that when Pete kisses him again. “Yeah, me too,” and walks away.