Page 9 of The Battery

Cody

T wo weeks had passed since my last game.

Two friggin weeks. Almost nobody goes that long on the pitching staff without playing.

I heard the vapid excuses, that I needed to rest my arm longer, that I mentally wasn’t up to the task.

It was only a matter of time before they dropped me into the minors and I lost everything I had worked so hard for.

Leo stopped speaking to me entirely. Gone were the side-eyes, the piss off looks that I had come to find reliable.

He just simply stopped everything and only performed the perfunctory needs.

On occasion he would join practice and take his turn with me.

Standard comments. Halfhearted reactions. It crushed more than I cared to admit.

After it became obvious they weren’t putting me back on the field, I started arriving early at the stadium.

I took a cab to not bother Freddie. I had to find a balance between practicing and not overusing my arm.

The pitching coaches were helpful enough, neutral party that they were.

I managed to avoid the Assholes as much as I could.

Part of me felt like a coward. Maybe because I was?

I didn’t want to admit that out loud, but the quiet part of my brain made the fact known.

I had dealt with plenty of bullying and teasing in the minors.

I could wipe it from my shoulders as easily as dirt.

I couldn’t understand why I took it to heart now that I played full time for the Riders.

There were psychologists available for me to see—and the only reason I knew that was because Romo suggested I see one.

That felt like a capitulation of sorts. Giving in to the fact that something snapped in my brain and I needed help.

My dream was slipping away, all because of the naysaying in my head that I couldn’t shake.

I arrived at the stadium an hour after daybreak.

During the past week I had thrown myself into regular gym exercises in an effort to rest my arm.

No one was around when I got there—just a peaceful quietude.

With the silence in the morning, no noise but the kind that I made, I didn’t need the white noise from my headphones.

In the gym proper I got the squat rack set up to my desired setting and pulled out gloves from my gym bag.

As I strapped on the right glove, the Velcro strap snapped off.

Dammit. I tossed them in the bin and headed to the supply closet.

Well, more like supply depot . I pushed open the metal door to a room with a vaulted ceiling and overly bright halogen lights.

The shelving ran perpendicular to the door, four deep, ten paces wide.

The shelving directly in front of me contained the usual: bats, mitts, helmets.

I stepped inside and the door shut behind me.

Second row was bulkier equipment. Third row was…

Him.

Leo, with his straight-backed posture, looking down at a package held in his hand.

He cocked his head to the left to look at me with that stare of his.

The blue ball cap sat backward on his head.

He wore exceptionally short training shorts, like a pair of MMA briefs, and a muscle tank that hung loosely around his body, exposing his obliques with a peek at his chest.

He eyed me for a moment as I stood there, frozen.

“Early bird, eh,” he said. He tapped the box in his hand against his palm. Looked like unopened pine tar. Hitters got picky about what kind they liked.

My heart beat faster. I wanted to turn and leave. I didn’t really need workout gloves, but I did prefer them to prevent calluses that might affect my ball grip.

“Yeah,” I said in a vain effort to muster up the same confidence with which he spoke. “I like working out alone.”

His left leg was a full sleeve tattoo, but his right was bare. I spied more intricate whirls and patterns like interconnecting spikes and geometric, puzzled shapes. All of it in the classic tattoo ink shade of black. He noticed my stare. How could he not? I was only five feet from him.

“Same,” he said.

“Yep.” I tapped my thighs with the palms of my hands.

The aisle was narrow, only four feet across.

The workout gloves were at the far end. “Just, um, gonna…” I pointed at the gloves.

He didn’t turn to look at the direction, just followed me with those cat eyes of his.

I approached and he didn’t move. I had an option in the moment to turn and face him while eking by or put my back to him.

Both felt distinctly awkward, so I chose the lesser of two oddities and faced him.

He smelled amazing . I had my eyes level on his chest as we faced each other, and I side-stepped past him. The scent was… heady. Intoxicating. He smelled expensive. Gift-wrapped sex. It made me pause before remembering myself and getting to the gloves.

“I can get you some. If you want,” Leo said after I found the size I needed.

“What?” I turned and slipped the gloves on, then flexed my fingers.

“The cologne.”

I pursed my lips and felt heat rising in my cheeks. “I don’t think I have that kind of swagger.”

He gestured toward me with the box he was holding. “See, that’s part of your problem.”

The redness in my cheeks drained as quickly as it appeared. “The hell does that mean?”

He shook his head. For a moment I thought he’d turn away. He tossed the pine tar onto the shelf and fully turned toward me while crossing his arms. It bunched his shirt together, exposing his left nipple, a single dot of pink in an otherwise ink-filled pectoral.

“I think you know exactly what that means, Cody.”

I fidgeted with the Velcro strap of my lefthand glove, pulling, setting, flexing. He wanted an argument. I could see that. This was his game, to poke me until I gave him what he wanted. I said, “What I’m saying is that I’m not as suave as you.”

He nodded. “So you agree, then, that you at least have swagger?”

I scoffed. He spoke in a serious tone, but the question suggested anything but. When he didn’t speak further, I realized I needed to respond. “Sometimes. I guess.”

“When?” he asked. I shrugged, then fidgeted with my righthand glove. Leo pointedly looked at my hands. “Stop doing that.” When I opened my mouth to rebuke him, he continued with, “You show your hand too much. You have tells. Fidgeting is a tell for your nerves.”

“Because you make me nervous,” I blurted out before thinking better of it. “Shit, Leo, I thought people called you the Spartan because you look like one. I didn’t realize it’s probably because you’re ruthless.”

“Determined,” he corrected. “Now, more than ever. You could use some of that.”

“Trust me, I’m determined.” He didn’t respond to that. Didn’t need to. The lie left ash on my tongue.

Silence swelled for the span of a few heartbeats. Leo was the first to break it. He rotated his body to put his back to the shelving in an obvious display to let me leave. He unfolded his arms, one of them swinging out to gesture for me to pass.

I took the out and passed through the gauntlet again. That smell. Nothing overpowering, like most men did with fragrance. Subtle. Enough to make you want to lean in.

I stopped in front of him, chest to chest.

“I want to be determined,” I said, louder than I had intended, given how close we stood. I had to drop my head back to look up at him. “I was determined.”

“So what happened?”

The game. No longer the best. “I lost confidence.” In myself. In what I can do.

“Then get it back.”

I snorted. “Easier said than done.”

He moved forward to close the inches between us. “Seemed confident enough with me the other week.”

I didn’t move. I wanted to feel him pressed against me. “Different,” was all I managed to say.

“Confidence is confidence.” He put his left hand on my shoulder.

Ran it up my neck. Cupped my cheek. The pad of his thumb ran over my lips, then dipped into my gums, exposing my lower teeth.

“You wanna see confidence?” I was captivated by him now.

The smell of his cologne. The feel of his thumb in my mouth.

The taste. I wanted more. “ On your knees, Hill ,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

I dropped without question. My hands slid down his side.

The size of his dark green training shorts left little imagination to what they contained.

I took a moment to appreciate his well-toned leg and ran my hand along the swirls of his tattoos.

Traced his inner thigh. Smooth. Recently shaved.

But he had light hair on his other leg, save for the faint scars from his ACL tear surgery.

I wondered if he shaved his chest, his arms.

Leo grabbed my attention with a handful of my hair in his right hand.

Gentle. Not forced. With his left hand, he pried open my mouth and held it open.

His eyes flicked to both open ends of the aisle.

We’d have to be quick. Well, he had to be quick.

It was early and I didn’t think anyone would walk in. Still.

I started to undo the Velcro of my gloves to take them off but his voice halted me. “Keep ’em on.”

I resecured the Velcro, then, with gloved hands, pulled down his shorts to reveal a pair of black trunks. Head still forced back, mouth yanked open, I only had one option. I wanted to take a moment to appreciate it, press my face into the fabric of his briefs, but we needed to get going.

Both of my gloved index fingers hooked the elastic lip of his trunks and slowly tugged, to at least savor the moment.

His cock sprang free, hard and standing at full attention, then his heavy, large balls dropped as the trunks hit his ankles.

The hair had been recently buzzed to reveal the edge of his tattoo, a symmetry of sickle shapes, like a lattice of thorns.

The cock itself was, thankfully, not something large enough to hurt, but certainly not small. Perfect, really. For me at least.

I jutted my head forward to take him in. He tutted, pulled back. The thumb holding my mouth open went to the base of his dick, his right hand still holding my hair.

“You want it?” he growled playfully.

We don’t have time to play. The danger, though…

My eyes nearly crossed as I stared at the shapely head of his cock. It freely leaked like a faucet. Was he… coming? No. It was crystal clear, gel-like precome just… flowing .

I nearly came from the sight of it.

“You like that?”

I looked up at him, then back down. Fuck me. “Yes.”

“Show me you want it. Then you can have it.”

I swallowed. Licked my lips. Stuck out my tongue as far as it would go.

He exhaled with a grunt, then smacked the head of his cock against my tongue. Precome splashed and I lapped hungrily, rewarded with the sweet, tangy taste of him. I lurched forward in desperate need of more, but once again he pulled back.

“Please,” I said in a breathy tone, unable to turn my eyes away from it.

“Look at me,” he demanded. My gaze snapped up. He had a sneer written on his face. Not angry, but… dominating? “Now tell me you want it.”

I braced my hands against his thighs and grabbed the thick, tree-trunk muscles of his quads, one smooth, one dusted with hair. My brow furrowed.

Confidence.

“Give me your cock. Now.”

He drove forward. My mouth dropped open as he slid into me, slick with ribbons of precome.

Fully lubricated, he glided in and out of my mouth easily.

I let him set the rhythm. His left hand went to the other side of my head.

The grip on my hair slacked, now replaced by a gentle but intentional guidance of my head.

I closed my eyes to savor the moment, breathing fiercely through my nose.

I forced my throat to relax so I could take in all of him down to the base.

His balls, thick, heavy, and hanging low, slapped repeatedly into my chin.

I wanted to pop his cock out so I could dive my face into the junction of his thighs. To smell, to taste. Maybe next time.

His breathing dramatically increased. I looked up. He had been staring at me. His defaulted look shifted to something primal. A man in the process of getting exactly what he wanted. His balls started to tighten up.

“Gonna come,” he warned me. Then, to my surprise, he pulled out so as not to burden me.

Like hell. I inched forward when he tried to remove himself.

“Cody,” he said in a new tone I hadn’t yet heard. “You don’t have to…”

“I want it. Give it to me.” I made solid eye contact then.

“ Fuck ,” he whispered, then dove back in. He repeated himself, over and over until finally, his body shuddered.

An explosion of heat in my mouth. A mix of salt and sweet gushing down my throat. Repeated eruptions that at first, I didn’t think would stop. Damn but this guy could produce.

I swallowed all of it and never broke suction with his cock. He swore again in amazement until I had every drop of him.

Finally, he pulled away and I let him. His chest rose and fell in great heaves, a light sheen of sweat having formed over his face. I leaned back and bumped into the shelving behind me, breathing just as hard. I licked my lips, then wiped my mouth with the back of my gloved hand.

Leo waddled back a half step, then pulled up his trunks and shorts. His rapid breathing slowed. He cupped my head in a forceful way. Not gentle, but nothing that hurt. A… rugged way to say he appreciated it?

Then he turned, grabbed the pine tar from the shelf, and left.

I stayed in my squat for the next few minutes, trying to climb down from the climax of Everest. The only thing I could think of was when we were going to do that again.