21. Chapter 21

Connor was slowly going out of his mind.

He'd tugged the underwear on in his hotel room—he could've done it in the clubhouse; God only knew how many weird rituals he'd witnessed his teammates participating in—but at least this first time, it felt too personal and too private for him to share with anyone else.

"You good?" Alejandro asked him, as he tried desperately not to squirm on the bench in the dugout.

So far, he'd managed to warm up and then pitch the opening inning. He understood why Jackson had suggested this tactic. Because he was only thinking of what he was doing with about half his brain.

The other half?

Thinking about the itch—both literal and metaphorical.

And how Jackson was not currently here to scratch it.

"I'm fine," Connor said, but confusion crossed Alejandro's face and he realized he hadn't sounded even remotely fine. "Honestly," he continued, "I'm okay. Trying some new stuff. To not . . .not think so much."

"Well, it's working," Alejandro said, flashing him a grin as he patted him on the knee. "You're pitching great."

"Glad it's working," Connor said weakly. By the end of this game, he was going to be a wordless, blubbering mess, desperate for someone—something—to touch him that wasn't the underwear.

They hugged his hips, wide swaths of lace on either side, and cupped his dick in all the right ways, the faint scratch of the lace reminding him every moment that he was wearing them.

He wanted to forget, but there was no fucking way he could.

It was exactly what Jackson had had in mind, but Connor still wanted to fly straight to Raleigh and press him into the nearest flat surface and show him just how insane this idea had made him. How wild for sex. And not just any sex. Jackson sex.

But it wasn't just sex he wanted. He craved Jackson— the way he made him feel, not just how he touched him.

The inning came to a close, and Connor stood, feeling a little drunk and hoping that he didn't noticeably wobble as he jogged out to the mound.

But then Alejandro settled into his stance, behind home plate, and like before, he fell into the routine, as easy as anything.

He hadn't been sure if he'd make it a single pitch in, but the longer the game went on, the easier it got—like his brain had been divided in half, and one half was understandably distracted, but the other half, it had been honed to a sharp edge.

"Shit, man, that was some gorgeous pitching," Alejandro told him after the game, when he was sitting in the clubhouse, wondering how soon would be too soon to call Jackson.

"Thanks," Connor said, half-expecting Alejandro to move on after he'd given the compliment—Alejandro had been politely friendly but they hadn't exactly become friends. He hadn't found that open willingness to be friends with anyone on the team yet, and he'd been here two weeks now. But when he'd brought it up to Jackson, he'd reminded him that major leaguers saw so many players come and go, they were naturally a bit more reserved.

"But they'll come around," Jackson had promised.

Connor had thought that was all a bunch of bullshit—after all, nobody saw more players come and go than the minors—but it meant something Jackson had tried to reassure him. So he'd tried to be patient.

Alejandro settled down next to him. "I wasn't sure of you right away," he said with a blunt honesty tempered with the kind smile on his face. "Thought you were a bit erratic, to be honest."

"I can be," Connor admitted.

"Not today. Today, every pitch you threw was a fucking masterpiece," Alejandro said. "Just when I thought your placement couldn't get better, it did."

"I overthink sometimes. Try too hard, and it fucks me up." It wasn't easy to admit he wasn't always brilliant, wasn't always perfect, but he'd thought Alejandro's bluntness might be an olive branch. And it seemed like it was, because his smile widened even further.

"Lot of pressure, but you're handling it," Alejandro said.

"Thanks."

Connor thought he was being nicer than he deserved, but it did feel good. Not the same way it had felt when he'd finally earned Jackson's respect, but good nonetheless.

And it felt even better because this time, he'd battered those fears back all on his own.

You gotta do it. This is the new normal. Jackson's not ever gonna catch you again.

He'd been reminding himself of that fact ever since he'd gotten called up, but it had never felt real, not until now.

There was a part of him that would always want to go to Jackson for advice and suggestions—and he hoped Jackson wouldn't ever hesitate to give him both—but he thought that he could talk to Alejandro now.

"Hard to adjust to a new catcher, too," Alejandro pointed out wryly, as he stood. "But you've made real progress. You're gonna be great on this team, next year."

"Next year? I thought I was pretty fucking great, today."

Connor didn't miss Alejandro's wince. "You didn't hear? Tommy's coming back off the DL. Maybe you'll stick around, but I have a feeling you'll end up finishing the season in Raleigh."

"Oh. Oh." There was a part of him undeniably disappointed. He'd wanted and waited and worked for this chance for too damn long to feel differently about it. But if he went back to Raleigh . . .

"But I know how excited everyone is about you, kid. You're gonna be the new ace of the franchise. Don't rush it, you know? Enjoy it. You'll get there, and if you push, you'll never be that good."

He'd been pushing before. Connor knew he had been. Not taking his time. Hoping to rush through the levels. Get to the majors as fast as possible.

But maybe Alejandro had a point. If he was going to get here—and he'd already been here, so coming back seemed inevitable—then there was no reason to not enjoy the journey. To not learn as much as he could while he was on it.

"Yeah, I like that," Connor said.

Alejandro put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Can't wait to catch you again, Comet."

"Can't wait to be back," Connor retorted.

Sure enough, the manager took him aside after he was cleaned up, and the meeting was thankfully short and sweet.

They'd thought he'd pitched very, very well, but for now, he was going back to Raleigh, to triple A, to finish out their season. And the next season . . .

"Well, don't be surprised to get an invite to our spring training," the manager said.

"I'll make the most of it, sir," Connor said, shaking his hand.

He chuckled. "I'm sure you will. You got a career ahead of you, Connor, if you keep pitching like you did tonight."

"Thank you," Connor said. He wanted to say, I couldn't have done it without Jackson Evans. You sure you don't have room on the spring training roster for him, too? But he didn't, because Jackson would've hated him for it, if he'd ever found out he'd suggested it.

He'd expected to be here through the end of the season—even the playoffs, if the team made it that far, but now, suddenly, he was going back to Raleigh.

To Jackson.

Connor considered telling him right away. His fingers itched with the need to text him, to not only give him the exciting news that he'd be back soon, but to work him through another hot phone sex orgasm.

In fact, before he'd gotten the news he'd be flying back to Raleigh tomorrow, he'd anticipated doing just that. Maybe even Facetiming Jackson and seeing him again. Just the anticipation of doing it had lit him up the whole afternoon and evening. But now he wasn't sure that was really what he wanted.

Tomorrow, he could have Jackson in full.

Not just over a phone line, or on a video.

On the way back to the hotel, Connor changed his mind half a dozen times. He wanted him so fiercely, wanted release so much, it felt like he'd go insane with desire.

But maybe there was a better way.

Sure enough, he'd barely gotten inside the room when he got the text he'd been anticipating. What a pitching line, Jackson sent. You owned the whole lineup.

He had. He'd given up only two hits and no runs in seven innings, with no walks and ten strikeouts. It was exactly the kind of performance he'd hoped for, not just when he'd gone to the majors, but literally anytime he took the mound.

It was such a dominant performance that there was no way Jackson would imagine he'd be sent down after it—and the manager had made it clear that if they weren't going with a little more experience for the last push to the postseason, then he'd have kept his spot.

And next year?

That starting lineup spot was essentially his, as long as he kept pitching like he was.

Thanks. Felt good.

Connor was still undecided if he was going to tell Jackson the truth—or surprise him. He was still debating as he entered the hotel, and nearly skipped the bar, where a few of his teammates were already congregating. He'd intended to head straight to his room, to put his hands on himself, pretending the whole time that they weren't his at all, but Jackson's. But now he hesitated.

He could have a snack now. Or he could have a whole fucking meal tomorrow.

How did everything else feel? Jackson asked.

Connor detoured to the bar.

Good, Connor said. I'm going out with some guys. But I'll check in tomorrow.

Little did Jackson know that when he did, it would be in person.

Connor grinned, unable to help his delight at what the surprise would bring.

Fine, fine, leave me hanging, Jackson texted back.

Connor felt a little frisson of guilt. Maybe he hadn't been the only one looking forward to a hot phone sex session tonight.

But however Jackson felt tonight, he wasn't going to be disappointed at all tomorrow.

"The asshole left me hanging," Jackson complained to a not-very-sympathetic Deke as they sat in the clubhouse, getting ready for batting practice.

"Maybe he was really going out with his teammates. You know, he's gotta be friendly with them. They're his new team."

Jackson made a face. "I know. I know. And that's worse, actually. I shouldn't be the one whining about this. But I am."

"It's not just last night you're worried about," Deke said knowingly. "You're worried he's growing away from you. That he'll leave you in the dust, and you'll be left alone."

Jackson shot his friend a look. "Wow, that really helps," he retorted sarcastically.

Deke just shrugged. "The truth hurts," he said.

It sure fucking did.

Was it worse, actually more painful, that he'd been worried about exactly this and had pushed that worry aside, promising himself and Connor a future he still wasn't sure they could grasp, or that it was happening at all?

Jackson didn't know.

Frankly, both sucked.

"Thought you'd look a hell of a lot happier," TJ said as he walked into the clubhouse, directing his comment towards Jackson.

Jackson made a face. Did everyone know he was pouting? That was embarrassing. But it would be worse if they all knew why.

Connor wore these fucking lace panties last night for his start that got me hot as hell just thinking about them, and I thought we'd share an epic phone sex orgasm, except he ditched me for his teammates.

"Why would I?" Jackson challenged.

"Well, first off, you're only a few dingers away from the record." Jackson nodded in acknowledgment. He was happy about that. Less happy—though he kept telling himself it did not matter—that he'd end up breaking it without Connor here. "Second off, didn't you hear the good news?"

"Good news?" Jackson questioned.

"Tommy Jane came off the disabled list. You know what that probably means," TJ said.

Jackson knew Jane's stint on the DL had made room for Connor in the rotation, but with the playoffs looming—and the expanded roster major league teams were allowed during that time—there was no way Connor was going anywhere. Especially not with how he'd pitched last night.

No, he was going to have to wait a few weeks longer to see him. If he was lucky. And, if Connor even wanted to see him anymore.

"Don't give the man false hope," Deke said casually.

It occurred to Jackson, as he watched them talk about him and Connor, that maybe they hadn't been nearly as circumspect as they'd hoped. Maybe more than just Deke had figured out their secret.

"Yeah, that's just cruel," Kevin agreed. "You see Connor's pitching line last night? He was legit on fire. They're not gonna let him go after that."

"I don't know, it could happen," TJ said. "And if it did, we could use the extra pitching, to make the playoffs, too."

"Like the major league club gives a shit about us making the playoffs," Ro muttered under his breath.

It was true. They were only a game or two out of the playoffs, and while it didn't mean anything in the scheme of things to head to the playoffs, it would be nice.

Especially since the longer this season dragged on, the more Jackson realized it was probably going to be his last.

Wouldn't it be awesome to go out after not only setting the record, a personal achievement, but helping the Rogues to a title—even a minor league title?

Maybe he'd never wanted to be traded here, but now, a few months in, he loved these guys. He wanted the best for them, and a great run in the playoffs wouldn't hurt any of their chances.

"I want to talk about something that is a sure thing," Jackson said, raising voice. "Like this team, and how close we are to proving everyone wrong. They thought that skid we had in August would finish us off. But it didn't."

"Nope," Deke agreed, a smile emerging.

"We got this, and I wanna see us all focused and motivated for these next few games," Jackson said.

He looked around the clubhouse and saw everyone nodding in agreement.

When he'd first gotten here, he hadn't wanted to overstep, to take over a clubhouse that already had a leader. But while Deke was the de facto leader, he was really too quiet, too introspective, to be the kind of leader this clubhouse needed.

It had felt natural to step up, the way these guys—and Connor, too—had needed.

He didn't want to let them down now, no matter how torn up he was about Connor.

They deserved his best, and he was gonna give it to them. Once he'd told Connor there were no leaders in the minors, but in this case, he was happy to be wrong.

He'd already begun to see it, begun to change his mind, that night they'd created the rainout and the way this team had come together, during the home stretch, had proved that a team was what you made of it.

"You got our backs, and we got yours," Deke said, patting him on it.

"Damn right," Jackson agreed.

He managed to push his discontent with last night away during batting practice, and through the game, even. But when the game ended, and he checked his phone in the clubhouse and realized that Connor hadn't texted him the way he'd promised he would, after blowing him off last night, his dark mood crashed back down on him.

"Come on, let's grab a drink. Celebrate another win," Deke said persuasively. "I'll even buy you a shot for that double that didn't quite make it over the wall and give you another homer."

"Thanks," Jackson said dryly. "But I'm . . .I'm not in the mood."

The understatement of the fucking century.

All he wanted to do was go back to his shitty little studio—with all its vivid memories of him and Connor together—and lick his wounds. Try to figure out how the fuck he was going to move on.

He'd never felt this way about anyone. Certainly never this way about Davy, though he supposed given time and space, he might've, but even then, Jackson wasn't convinced. The thing with Davy had been almost purely physical. With Connor, he even liked just talking to him.

There'd been a time when he hadn't imagined that could possibly be true, but it was so like Connor to have dragged him here, unwilling and unhappy, until he didn't know how he'd live without him.

And now there was the possibility that he was going to be forced how to do exactly that.

But when they exited the field house, Deke and the others breaking off towards the Strike Zone, Jackson turning in the direction of his apartment, but then he froze, the sight in front of him stopping him short.

Connor unfolded his long, lanky body from the wall he'd been leaning on, a bright, cocky grin on his face—looking not only like everything Jackson adored, but just like he had that first night they'd ever met—that his heart stuttered.

"You're back," TJ crowed. "I told y'all that he was coming back!"

Connor hugged everyone else who joyfully approached him. But as happy as Jackson was, love pumping unsteadily through his veins, making him drunk and high with endorphins, he hung back.

Not quite sure he could keep a poker face if he embraced Connor here, in front of everyone.

"You're here," he said stupidly.

Connor grinned. "Yeah, I am."

"But—" Before Jackson could get anything else out, Deke elbowed him in the side.

"And here I thought you were sulking," Deke pointed out under his breath.

"Not anymore," Jackson said. He still hung back, uneasy. Convinced they were going to give themselves away. And he . . .well, he mattered less. Everyone already knew about him. But Connor was a different story.

Even if Jackson was no longer one hundred percent sure that his sexuality had ruined his chances to be a major league baseball player, this wasn't his decision to make.

This was all on Connor.

He hung back, still, waiting. Saw as comprehension dawned on Connor's face.

"Yeah," Connor said, and he sounded equally as uncertain. Jackson was about to change the subject and suggest they head to the Strike Zone for a drink—even though that was the last thing he wanted to do, now that Connor was back.

It would mean at least an hour before he could embrace Connor the way he craved, way too long before he could touch him how he wanted.

But before he could suggest heading towards the bar, Connor took a step closer and then another and, before Jackson could react, he was wrapping his arms around him, holding him close.

It was justa hug, but it was as different as night and day to the platonically flavored hugs Connor had given the other guys on the team.

For a second, Jackson felt. Connor's warm, slender body pressed against his own, fitting together the way they always had.

"Guess you won't be heading to the Strike Zone with us for a drink," Ro said wryly when they broke apart. Connor's gaze hadn't moved away from Jackson's face, and his hand fell reluctantly from his back.

"No," Connor said.

Ro nodded, and Deke gave him a warm, understanding smile. "We'll see you two tomorrow," he said.

When the others had all turned away, and they'd started walking towards Jackson's apartment, Connor tucked a hand around Jackson's waist. "I guess they know now," he said.

He didn't look upset about that, but Jackson would be lying to himself if he claimed there wasn't any apprehension in Connor's voice.

"We can . . .uh . . .explain it away," Jackson said. "If you want to."

Connor shot him a hard look. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"What? You looked worried."

"I was worried because I didn't think you wanted anyone to know. You were so worked up about potentially destroying my career."

"I . . ." It was hard to deny it, because he had been. Worked up didn't even do it justice; he'd been fucking terrified of being the reason Connor didn't fulfill all his potential. Horrified at even the possibility that Connor could eventually turn on him and blame him. But the worst had always been when he'd imagined Connor as him, in ten years. Blaming himself, afraid and unable to accept this side of him because of what it had caused.

"Don't even try to argue. I know how you feel about it," Connor grumbled. "And I want you to know you're wrong. Well, maybe not back then. But things have changed. They are changing. Did you know the team has a strength and conditioning coach who's gay? His boyfriend goes to all the games. Nice guys."

"No," Jackson said. He didn't know.

"Yeah, he's not like out outbecause he doesn't want the attention, but he's out to the team. Doesn't even care if they know."

"Huh."

"If I looked worried, it's because I didn't think you'd be very happy about that, back there," Connor admitted.

"You thought I was going to be upset?" Jackson stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led up to his apartment. "Are you serious?"

"You hung back. You didn't even want to hug me," Connor complained. But his eyes were sparkling blue, filled with love.

He'd looked at Jackson like that before he'd left for Tampa, that much Jackson knew, but now it was impossible to deny what it was. Not when he was feeling the same.

"Honestly, I didn't think I could do it and pretend you were only a friend," Jackson admitted. "And so I thought I'd leave it up to you. Whatever you wanted to do."

Comprehension dawned on Connor's face. "So you're not pissed."

"Not even remotely, though, what the fuck were you doing trying to surprise me?"

"Surprising you," Connor retorted with a wry grin. "And man, you looked surprised."

I was afraid you'd brushed me off. Maybe forever.

That had been unfair, maybe. He would need to confess that doubt to Connor—if they were really going to do this, to try to make it despite all the odds stacked against them, honesty was going to be the most important thing—but he wasn't going to do it now. Not when he had one thing he needed to do very desperately, first.

"Come on," Jackson said and reached out, taking Connor's hand.

This time it was Connor who was surprised. But then it wasn't like they hadn't touched like this occasionally, in public. But Connor went easily, climbing the stairs next to Jackson. He unlocked the door with trembling fingers, and the moment it shut behind them, Jackson couldn't help it anymore.

He reached up, cupping Connor's face with his hands, tipping his head close.

"God, I missed you," he murmured, hearing the dark rasp of desperation in his own voice.

"Missed you too. So fucking much," Connor said and his eyes fluttered closed.

There was nothing else he wanted as much as he wanted to kiss Connor right now, but he held back, just feeling him for a moment. He'd missed the sex, the gut punch of the orgasms they teased out of each other. But he'd missed just this, the quiet of their embrace, even more. The quickness of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his arms tensed around Jackson. The soft, vulnerable skin of the back of his neck under his fingertips as he stroked it there. That they fit together, Connor taller and thinner, Jackson shorter and broader, like they'd been built for each other.

"Why did you surprise me?" Jackson asked.

Connor made a shrugging movement, but crowded in closer to Jackson after. Like he wanted to crawl inside him. "Seemed like a good idea, at the time."

"And?"

He chuckled. "Can't get anything past you, can I?"

"I thought you'd be calling me the minute you finished the game," Jackson admitted. "I thought . . ."

"You thought I'd be as horny as you," Connor teased lightly.

There was no denying it, not when Connor already knew.

"Yeah."

"I knew I'd be coming back here, right after the game," Connor admitted. "And I thought, we could have phone sex again, or we could have the real thing, and that seemed worth waiting for."

"It was. It is," Jackson said and then his control broke, he pushed up and pressed their mouths together in a hungry kiss.

Connor's hands were everywhere, long, broad strokes on his spine, dipping lower, cupping his ass, dragging him closer against him, his mouth moving restlessly against Jackson's, driving him to a fevered state way too quick.

Jackson broke the kiss, breathing heavily, feeling the hard ridge of his erection against Connor's thigh. He shifted, rubbing his dick against Connor's, pleasure cresting in fierce bursts.

"That good?" Jackson asked, already knowing the answer from the way Connor's head tipped back, his front teeth sinking into his lower lip.

He looked so fucking delectable like this, like a feast that Jackson couldn't wait to gorge on.

"Could be better." Connor's eyes shone as they dropped to his mouth.

They shed their clothes, tripping over shorts, and shoes, until Connor collapsed onto the edge of Jackson's bed, one sock still on, as he tugged his T-shirt off.

Jackson settled at his feet, underwear on because if he took them off, he might lose the rest of the tenuous grip on his self-control.

The heavy-lidded look Connor gave him made his pulse jump, but he bypassed his dick and instead hoisted himself up farther, kissing Connor's mouth until they were both panting, Connor's thighs tensing underneath his grip.

It was as good as all the sex they'd ever had, but different, too.

Every touch felt meaningful—like, hello again and also, I'm planning to touch you just like this, for as long as I can. Forever, if you'll let me.

And suddenly it felt so stupid that he was harboring all these feelings—feelings he'd never experienced before—and he was staying silent about them.

"I didn't just miss this, you know," he said.

"I know." Connor looked irresistible, dim light gilding his chest, his abs, his pecs, his arms as he braced himself on the bed.

"I missed you," Jackson said. He didn't usually have trouble speaking up when he knew he should, but somehow he kept missing the actual words, the actual phrase.

Don't be a chickenshit.

"I know," Connor repeated, the corner of his mouth quirking up like he had a very good idea of what Jackson was trying and failing to say.

Of course, the little shit couldn't say it first, even though it was apparent Jackson wasn't feeling this way alone. But then Connor hadn't been the one to insist so many times he didn't even like the guy. That had been all him.

"I . . .I love you," Jackson stammered out. Realized it didn't sound very convincing when he could barely get the words out, but he had gotten them out, hadn't he?

"I love you, too," Connor said, hand drifting down to trace Jackson's face. "Didn't even think I liked you."

"I think that was me," Jackson said.

"Oh, it was mutual."

Jackson smiled. "Still mutual."

"If that's true, then, baby, suck my dick." Connor hesitated, a smile blooming across his features. "With love?"

Jackson didn't need any more encouragement. He leaned in, his arousal spiking as he traced Connor's cock with the pads of his fingers and then the tip of his tongue.

"Want you so bad," Connor breathed out unsteadily. "So fucking bad."

Maybe if they hadn't spent the last few weeks apart, then Jackson could've teased him longer, held on harder, but with their confession of love still ringing in his ears and need coursing through his own body, he couldn't wait a second longer.

Dipping his head down lower, Connor's dick slid between his lips and he sucked hard. Loving the way it twitched against his tongue, how desperate Connor must be for some relief, but how his hands were still tender on his head. Not rushing. Not forcing. Caressing him, almost, like Connor couldn't believe he was here again, in this shitty apartment, with the man he loved.

Jackson couldn't quite believe it either. He wasn't a fanciful man, but he'd imagined it a time or two or twenty. Hoping it might happen, but never believing that it would.

But the hard length in his mouth and his own erection, pushing hard against the fabric of his underwear, told the truth.

Jackson groaned and went deeper, pressing a palm to his dick, trying to relieve some of the pressure. Above him, Connor groaned.

"Oh God, yes, touch yourself. God, you're so fucking hot for me, you can't even stop yourself. Shit, shit, shit," Connor exhaled with a sharp gasp.

"You're not gonna come. Not yet." Jackson's voice was already rough. He slipped his own underwear down and hissed at his own touch, cool fingers on his hot cock. "I gotta enjoy you a little first."

Jackson lifted his hand to Connor's mouth and his eyes went hazy blue as he understood what he wanted. He licked him, teasing and sure, tongue rasping along his fingertips as he got them nice and wet.

They both groaned deep when Jackson finally fisted his own cock again, hand slick from Connor's mouth.

He didn't think Connor would last much longer, and he certainly was right on the edge, even though he'd just started touching himself. But he still tried to make it good—for Connor, but for him too.

It was easy for it to be good because it was Connor. All he had to do was look up at him to see him laid out like this, like a fucking wet dream, and his orgasm felt close enough to taste.

"Come on, just a little more," Connor whispered, his fingers curling into Jackson's hair. "Suck me, baby."

Jackson let his cock slip deeper into his mouth, sucking hard on the head, employing every trick that he'd spent the lonely nights of the last few weeks remembering and cataloging as he'd used his own hand to get off.

He'd hoped to be in this position sooner rather than later, and even though it felt like he and Connor hadn't done this nearly enough, he knew plenty of ways to make his man scream.

Connor liked it especially when he teased him with his tongue, trapped in the warm wet cave of his mouth, tracing his balls with his calloused fingertips.

He heard him groan and then shout and then a minute later he was coming down Jackson's throat in long pulses, shuddering above him, fingers digging into his skull.

"Shit, God," Connor bit off. "That was so fucking good."

Jackson hesitated, balanced on a knife's edge of coming himself as he finished swallowing Connor's come.

"Let me see you," Connor said, leaning over, as his cock slipped from Jackson's mouth. "Oh yeah, baby, you're so fucking hard. I love it."

"Funny," Jackson said, voice rough from the blowjob and from his own deep arousal, "you didn't seem that big a fan of dicks, before."

"Maybe not everyone's, but yours? Oh, absolutely. Fuck, you're so gorgeous. Yeah, touch yourself. Can I—" He didn't even say the rest before he was already touching Jackson, fingers tracing the swollen head peeking through his fist.

"Yeah, yeah," Jackson moaned. "Oh shit, just like that."

And he was coming hard, just the soft touch of Connor's hand—Connor's whole fucking existence, frankly—enough to send him over the edge.

"God, I missed that," Connor said, when they were finally cleaned up, and settled back in bed.

"Yeah?"

"And I missed this, too," Connor said impudently, giving his shoulder a nudge. "Maybe more, but don't quote me on that, and definitely don't listen when I'm begging you to let me come."

"Next time," Jackson said, deep satisfaction winding its way through his body. This just felt right, having Connor tucked up next to him. It had never felt this way before but then that made sense . . .he'd never been in love before.

"I'm gonna be remembering the look on your face when you saw me for a very long time," Connor said in a smug tone. "Like I was the best thing you could ever imagine."

It was time. Jackson didn't really relish the idea of confessing his doubt, but he knew he couldn't keep silent about it either.

"I wasn't sure you were coming back," he admitted.

"What? Of course I was—"

But Jackson interrupted him. "I mean, I didn't know if you'd be coming back to me."

Connor tensed against him. "You thought I was going to ghost you."

"I didn't know. I didn't want to believe it. But you acted so strange last night, and it was the opposite of what I was expecting." Jackson took a deep breath. He didn't think this was going to be enough to drive Connor away, but the truth was humbling. Eye-opening. Maybe he wasn't the great man Connor had built up in his head this whole time. Maybe was just a man. "I thought maybe you found someone else to scratch that itch, after your last game."

"I told you, the only dick I wanted was yours," Connor said, and he sounded annoyed rather than hurt. Jackson didn't know if that was better or worse.

"Didn't have to be a dick," Jackson said quietly.

Connor turned his head. "I didn't say it until tonight, but you had to know it, that I loved you. I thought it was obvious. And I couldn't love you and just fuck around with anyone. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Jackson said, arm tightening around Connor's shoulders.

"You didn't even have to tell me that," Connor said, breaking the silence a few minutes later. "You didn't even have to go there."

"No." Jackson sighed. Turned so he could look right into Connor's eyes, so he could see his own, see the sincerity written across his face. "But how are we gonna do this, really do this, if we aren't honest with each other? We're gonna have moments of doubt. But if we hide it, if we don't come clean . . ."

"How are we ever gonna last?" Connor finished his sentence. "Yeah. I know. It's why I hugged you like that, in front of the guys tonight. We're never gonna make it hiding from everyone, even people we like and trust."

Jackson had definitely not always felt that way. Of course, after the Davy situation had blown up in his face, he'd been against any hookup that had a chance to last more than a night. But he'd certainly not wanted anyone to know about them. Even if they didn't stick.

But God, he wanted Connor to stick more than he wanted to breathe.

"I had an interesting conversation with Andy while you were gone, actually," Jackson said. "Uh . . .well, gist of it is that it might not be my fault I didn't stay in the majors."

"Told you so," Connor said sweetly, punching him in the arm lightly.

"And . . ." Jackson hesitated. Wasn't sure he wanted to even say it out loud. What if it didn't work out? What if he couldn't make a living at it? But he hadn't spent all these years making all these connections and friendships throughout baseball's major and minor leagues for nothing. He'd already reached out to a few people he knew and had heard positive feedback. There was a market, just like Andy said.

"And what?" Connor asked archly.

"I'm retiring at the end of this season," Jackson said.

Connor looked shocked. "Are you sure? It's not because of me, is it? Because of—"

But before Connor could say because of us, Jackson interrupted him. "It's for a hell of a lot of reasons, but yeah, a little. And there's nothing wrong with me wanting a life, a real life, after all these years of living half a one. You've got places to go, and sometimes I might tag along, and sometimes I might be doing some work of my own."

"You're not only welcome to be wherever I am, but encouraged, okay?" Connor reassured him.

Jackson nodded.

"What are you gonna do?"

It had felt right in his own head, right in a way that had surprised him. But he was still taken aback by his own reaction to saying it out loud—no, saying it to Connor. "I'm gonna be a pitching and catching consultant. You know, not on one permanent staff, but moving around, where I'm needed. Teachin' these guys what they need to know."

Connor's gaze went undeniably gooey. Probably it looked something like Jackson's own. "So you're gonna keep catching me, sometimes, yeah? Not in games, but to practice?"

Jackson nodded. "As often as you want, baby."

Connor hugged him then, hard and tight.