Page 20 of Choke Up

"Hope!"

I try to disguise my smile while I watch Ellis flinch and slink out of the dugout. There's always the possibility that the coach might be yelling for Elliot, but considering he's on the pitcher's mound and has struck out two players in a row, everyone knows which of the Hope brothers is getting Coach's wrath. Ellis has been distracted today, and I'm getting a little too much enjoyment out of watching him. He's spent most of his time staring at each player that comes up to the base to hit, and I've caught him watching the outfield more than is necessary as well.

Coach gives Ellis a pointed look as he hands him a bat and helmet that he failed to retrieve. I turn my head back toward the game, but my attention is still on Ellis. A fastball hits my glove, hard, and it's only thanks to quick reflexes and muscle memory that I'm able to close my glove around it. I look up to see Elliot giving me an exasperated look as the assistant coach, acting as umpire for this scrimmage, calls another strike. I signal for a mound visit, and jog over to Elliot.

"What the fuck are you over there daydreaming about?" he bitches when I get close enough.

Your brother, and whether he's wearing those tight, white briefs that I like. Whether the front of them has a little wet spot, knowing that his anonymous boyfriend is out here watching him. Whether my jock strap and pads are going to be able to hide a massive boner if I keep watching him walk back and forth between the dugouts.

"Nothing, man. Chill. It's a scrimmage. You're not giving the other side a chance to do much more than outfield."

"If Matt's arm doesn't improve over the practice season, there's a chance Coach will move us up to starting," he tells me. "We should be showing them what we can do and making our team work harder, not going easy on them."

Our senior pitcher was injured over the summer, and the second-string relief pitcher is nowhere as good as Elliot. And since Elliot sold us as a package deal, if Elliot's on the mound, I'm almost guaranteed to be behind home plate. Coach likes me as catcher because of my size, and I'm quick as well, so I've been behind the plate more often than not, but I know this could be big for Elliot. I nod, promising I'll behave, before I smack his ass and run back to my place. I nearly trip on my way back when I see Ellis remove his helmet and shake out his chin length dark hair. The breath that leaves me steels my resolve not to look at him at all for the rest of the game.

Luckily, with Elliot throwing heat the way he is, the scrimmage moves quickly. I manage not to ogle his brother while I'm behind the plate, but I can't help but show off a little when it's my turn to hit. Catchers don't always make the best hitters, but one major benefit of having an anal-retentive perfectionist as a best friend is that I've spent the last ten years watching as he learned and analyzed the anatomy of each pitch. I can usually tell by a pitcher's body language what they're going to be throwing at me, and I know how to throw my size and strength behind the bat. Admittedly, I don't have the best aim, but if it flies high and far enough, it doesn't matter much.

Miller, the team's second-string pitcher, walks the guy before me with a curveball that went wide. The bases are loaded, and it's my moment to shine.

"Good luck," Ellis says, watching me through a couple of practice swings. I'm preening inside, knowing that however much he thinks he wants Johnny, I'm the one he's wanted for years.

"Over the wall, Little E."

He rolls his eyes. "Cocky much?"

"You have no idea," I say suggestively, waggling my eyebrows.

The way his cheeks flush makes me thicken behind my cup, and I end up missing Miller's first pitch, swinging so hard I feel a twinge in my shoulder blade. When I look back, I see Ellis roll his lips in, looking at the ground to keep from laughing. Narrowing my eyes, I refocus on Miller, letting everything outside of him quiet. If the catcher is smart, he'd call a curveball here. Miller shakes his head no, then nods. He pulls up his leg as he winds back, and I can feel the fastball coming before it even leaves his hand. It's a little high, but I take it, using my height to my advantage. I swing hard, hitting the ball in the sweet spot so hard I feel the impact all the way up my arms. I don't even watch the ball. Instead, I turn around and remove my helmet, casually passing it and my bat to Ellis with a wink before lightly jogging around the bases like I don't have a care in the world. I feel his bright blue eyes on me the entire run, and for the last two innings, Ellis watches me instead of examining each of my teammates for signs they could be Johnny.

By the time the scrimmage is over, I'm thankful for the heavy pads and large catcher's mitt I carry around. My cock is heavy and throbbing when I watch Ellis bend over and pick up the equipment. Recklessly, I pull out my phone to send a message.

JOHNNY: I want to bend you over and rub myself on your tight little ass until I cum.

I hide in the back of the dugout, pretending to remove my pads, while I watch Ellis open and then react to the message. His lips part on a breath, his face turns bright red, and his eyes dart around to all the players still out on the field, the staff milling about, and the people in the stands. I press myself against the far wall of the dugout so he can't see me and send him another message.

JOHNNY: Promise not to peek?

Ellis looks down again, and his eyes widen. I can see him swallow from here, and I imitate the movement, thinking about how much I want to suck on his Adam's apple. There isn't a part of him I don't want to suck on, but I specifically want to leave marks all around his throat. A necklace to let everyone know he's owned and untouchable.

Ellis doesn't message back, but looks around again, then nods. He knows I'm watching him.

JOHNNY: Take the bats and helmets to the equipment room. Keep the light off. Bend over the table and wait for me.

Ellis' face flashes through a series of emotive colors. Ghostly white, pink, red, purple, and then blue as he holds his breath. After cutting his eyes around the field again, he takes a deep breath and continues picking up the discarded bats and helmets. When he's turned the other way, I rush out of the dugout and down the short path toward the athletic building. Tearing my chest protector over my head, I run right into Elliot on my way down the hallway.

"Dude, where have you been? Let's go hit the showers."

Fuck. Caught. And Ellis will be here any minute. I hold my gear in front of my body to hide my current predicament.

"Yeah, I'll catch up to you. I, uh…" I scramble to think of anything, landing on the lowest hanging fruit to excuse myself. "I need to take a huge shit!" I blurt. "Gonna use one of the handicap bathrooms," I say, pointing toward the lobby.

"Want me to take your gear?"

"No time!" I shout, shuffling off with my chest plate held over my stomach and groin, hopefully distracting enough from the real reason I'm walking uncomfortably.

Before I open the door to the equipment room, I look back to make sure Elliot is gone and no one else is in the hallway before slipping in. I quickly drop my equipment to the ground, kicking it over to the side where it won't be noticeable, and hide in the walled off laundry area. The longer I stand there and wait, the more I start to second guess myself.

What am I doing?

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