Work Text:
The kettle is whistling by the time Armitage makes it upstairs, though that’s no surprise – he’d told Techie he had a late appointment. “Go ahead and make some dinner for yourself,” he had said while they were taking their lunch break, down at the fancy hipster vegetarian wrap place that had just opened up a few doors down. “Don’t wait up for me, all right?”
“Who wants a massage that late?”
“The guy from the gym, remember him?”
“You’ve got to be more specific, Tidge.”
“He’s like, a semi-pro boxer and plays baseball and things like that. Quite the athlete.”
Something out of the ordinary had sparkled in Armitage’s eye as he said that, and Techie didn’t fail to notice as he munched on his hummus wrap. Athletes came in all the time, since one of Armitage’s specialties was sports massage, and handsome, built guys didn’t normally get any notice from him. This particular client, Ren, is different, though, Techie can tell. Wavy dark hair that’s tied up in a stubby ponytail like a docked Doberman’s tail, big brown eyes, tall and muscled all over. Armitage sees cut guys all the time, really good-looking ones, but he’s got very strict hours, and on weeknights, he’s done at seven. No exceptions.
Except apparently that isn’t so, because he made an exception for this baseball player-boxer guy.
Techie has eaten all the leftover lasagna and has decided to make a cup of Sleepytime tea to sip while he cleans up the kitchen and listens to music. He’s hoping that his brother doesn’t mind doing all of the general clean-up tasks by himself (unplugging the little gurgling rock pile fountain in the waiting area, tossing the towels in the laundry, closing the shutters, turning out the lights), but he knows that Armitage probably doesn’t want to be disturbed if this guy managed to charm him into staying late. What are they talking about? Techie wonders. For a brief moment, fear flashes through him – this guy is so strong, and though Armitage is no weakling, the guy definitely could easily take him, there’s no question. What if…?
But then he hears the sound of Armitage making his way up the steps to their apartment above their holistic treatment shop, distinct as anything. Their cat, Millicent, meows like she’s been waiting as impatiently as Techie has been, and the kettle whistles.
“You ate?” Armitage asks, kicking off his shoes in the little hallway nook.
“Mmhm. All the lasagna. What would you like me to make you?”
“I’ll make scrambled eggs or something in a minute.” Armitage sprawls himself out on the sofa, smiling. “I appreciate you asking, though…”
That smile! He’s got an expression on his face like a cat that’s stolen something off a dinner plate without getting caught. Techie snatches the kettle off the stove, trying not to rush so he won’t burn himself, and pours out his tea before joining his brother on the couch. “I’ll make them for you if you tell me how this last appointment with Ren went.”
For a minute it seems like Armitage won’t tell him anything. Unlike Techie, who is a helpless gossip, Armitage has always been tight-lipped about his romantic interests, and has been focusing on growing the family business instead of on dating, anyway. “Don’t date clients,” he’d scolded Techie several times in the past, apropos of nothing, and Techie would just nod and laugh, making Armitage frown, trying to force him to take his warning seriously. “We’ve worked so hard, we can’t let anything mess it up, you know?”
“I know,” Techie had said, every time.
But Armitage is a hypocrite, and Techie, frankly, just wants the details. And even Armitage can’t resist giving them up this time.
“…Will you make scrambled eggs with black pepper and cheese?” Armitage asks.
Techie sets his tea down and practically runs to the fridge to grab the egg carton. “I can hear you from here,” he calls, cracking the eggs into a bowl. “Start talking!”
Armitage pulls an exaggerated sigh. “There’s not much to tell. He’s quite the gentleman. He’s from some big-name family in politics, and he plays baseball for some team that’s having a ridiculously bad season. He says he’ll be back a week from today.”
“Did you guys talk during his session?” Normally Armitage forbids his clients from talking unless they’re uncomfortable or in pain or have a question relevant to their massage. “And baseball? What, like the Orioles or something?”
“Think more local. Much, much more local. The chain of gyms he works for has amateur teams. He says he’s good but the team is shitty.” Techie can hear him snort to himself over the sizzle of the eggs going into the pan. “Humble, right?”
Techie rolls his eyes, grinning to himself. It’s not like Armitage, who is constantly boasting about the success of their business, is exactly the lowly, modest type himself. “It sounds like you guys talked a lot.”
“He’s a talkative guy. He’s easy to talk to.”
“And cute.”
“I suppose.”
“Very cute.”
“I forbid you to date him.”
“Yeah, I know, you’re keeping him for yourself,” Techie calls, laughing. “No wonder you’re trying to keep my hands off him.”
“Well, he doesn’t seem to need acupuncture. Though he said he’d be referring one of his teammates, who apparently does.”
The eggs are done. Techie deftly piles them out of the skillet and onto a plate, grabs a fork, a napkin, a cup of ice water, and brings everything to the sofa where Armitage is still lying in the exact same position. “Room service.”
“Jesus, kiddo, you’re the best. Really.”
Techie holds out the plate, away from Armitage’s reach. “Not until you tell me if you like him.”
Armitage’s ears go pink. “He’s very charming. He tips well and is a pleasure to talk to. He says he’s single…”
“He says he’s single? When did that come up?” Techie jerks his arm back so the eggs all shift dangerously to one side, though only a single quarter-sized piece actually falls to the floor, and Millicent wastes no time cleaning it up.
“Hey--! Don’t—!”
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it…”
Techie settles himself beside his brother and hands over the eggs at last. “I’m serious, when did he tell you he was single?”
Armitage makes him wait until he’s swallowed the first forkful before answering. “It was simply a detail from a conversation, it wasn’t like he shouted it and waved his arms or anything. Ren just mentioned he probably wouldn’t have time to do the baseball team if he weren’t single, that’s all.”
“Armie, he wants you to know that detail! He wouldn’t have said so otherwise!” Techie steals a bit of the eggs off Armitage’s plate. “Did you tell him you were single?”
“I’m sure he knows. I’m not wearing a ring, am I?”
“You’ve got to tell him!” Techie laughs, as annoyed as he is excited. “What, do you want to live here with me for the rest of your life?”
Armitage ruffles Techie’s hair, swallowing another bite of his dinner. “Techie, you’re a wonderful person to live with. And to work with. I’m not trying to escape from you, you know.”
“But you could find a nice boy and get married…”
“You sound like Mother.”
“Well, you could!”
“I’m married to this job,” Armitage grumbles.
“You can be a bigamist. He’s a fitness guy, you could like, start a thing together. Personal training and sports massage. That’s a good business marriage, see?”
Armitage sighs, defeated by Techie’s optimism, his cheer. “Let’s talk an actual date before we discuss marriage, all right?”
“So when are you going on an actual date?”
“Well, he hasn’t asked me. He’s just coming back next week…”
“So you ask him, you chicken!”
The look on Armitage’s face is so play-insulted that Techie erupts into cackles. “Call me a chicken again, brat.”
“I’m not a brat, I made you dinner!” Techie protests over his giggles. “You’re just a chicken….Armie, if he asks you out, you should say yes. Are you going to say yes?”
Armitage rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t change the fact he looks pleased. “We’ll see,” he says.
The teammate of Ren’s that comes on his recommendation turns out to be a tall, broad-shouldered guy -- he has a mess of yellow curls that looks unbrushed, though he’s nervously trying to comb it with his fingers, making up for lost time or a lost hairbrush. He’s full of uncertain energy, fidgeting, bouncing his foot as he sits. He seems unsure if he’s in the right place, even though it seems impossible to mistake it for anything else. While he’s sitting in the softly-lit waiting area, waiting while Techie prints a few more forms, he’s peering around a lot, poking his finger into the burbling fountain, looking at the pattern on the curtains. Then, right before Techie goes out to the waiting room with the forms, he gets on the phone with someone and sounds kind of pissed off.
“No, I already told you, I’m not coming for like, two hours? What do you mean I’ll be late for dinnertime? I never told you what time I was going to be there! I just said I’d be there in the afternoon…:”
Maybe this guy needs to relax more than Techie had initially expected.
But the new guy’s eyes are big and dark, puppy-sweet, and he’s got a nice smile, even though it lasts for only one second, when Techie comes out to have him fill out the paperwork and explain to him what exactly he’s gotten himself into.
“Sorry, I’m kind of. Unsure. I’m sure you like, see this a lot,” the guy says, half apologetically and half belligerently. Bren looks down at the page he’s filled out in his broad, all-caps handwriting. Matt, that’s his name. Lower down, under ‘Reason for visit’, he’s simply written ‘My head hurts and this is cheaper than going to my GP.’ Techie frowns at that as Matt continues. “People probably don’t love getting needles stuck in them, right?”
“A lot of people are nervous at first,” Techie agrees, looking back up into Matt’s face. “But I know what I’m doing, don’t worry. People usually feel so relaxed that they almost fall asleep, and plenty of them actually do. And everybody fills out a questionnaire afterward, so...you know, if you weren’t happy with it, you can rate it poorly.”
“Oh, wow,” Matt says. “I mean, you guys came really highly recommended. Ren said your brother is just like, magic. He can’t shut up about him. And I like--read your Yelp reviews? After that, you know. And everyone is really complimentary. I just, um, don’t like the idea. But I’m doing it anyway. These headaches -- I guess you want to know why I’m here? I started getting a bunch of headaches.”
“All of a sudden?” Techie asks smoothly, waiting for him to finish his halting monologue. There’s something strangely charming about how flustered Matt is. No smooth operator, that’s for sure, but it feels genuine to hear him falling over himself.
“Well, yeah, but I know why. I got hit with a fuckin’ -- oh, Christ, sorry, I do that too much -- I got hit with a baseball.” Matt indicates where it struck him. “I was in the outfield and thought I was gonna catch it and it just, like, whacked me.”
“Oh, no,” Techie says, in the soothing way a mother might when her little one has scraped a knee or elbow. “Okay, well, unless you have any other questions, we can go ahead and get started…”
They’ve come out into the room that Techie works out of, which is the safest little spot Techie can imagine. There’s a window to allow natural light, but the glass is textured so nobody can see in or out. It’s the perfect temperature, the perfect degree of dimness, the perfect size, and Matt looks around approvingly at Techie’s setup. “Are those whales?” he asks, and Techie nods as Matt undresses. He’s playing a soundtrack of whale calls and breaking waves, his favorite.
“I went on a whale watch in Boston when I was a kid. That was like, the coolest thing. We saw a bunch. They didn’t sound like this, though.”
“That’s a good memory to think about while I get started,” Techie suggests. “I swear, you’re not even going to feel anything…”
Even after saying that, Techie’s sure Matt will flinch when he inserts the first needle, despite the fact he’s done this a trillion times, could probably do it with his eyes shut. But Matt’s broad, muscled back just rises and falls with his normal breath.
“Did you do it?” Matt whispers, with a sort of dread anticipation.
“Mmmhm. Shh...” He hopes he sounds assuring, not the reproachful, spectacled librarian hissing silence into Matt's face. He feels a strange need to prove himself to this new client, like Matt’s competitive, sporty aggression has rubbed off on him a bit. He slides the next needle in, then the next. He wonders if Matt is lining up his memories of his own whales with the ones singing softly in the background. But a few minutes later, just as Techie predicted, Matt has fallen fast asleep, his breath coming out in soft purrs that are not quite snores, but that are audible among the faint questioning calls of the whales.
Techie wonders about his brother, seeing lots of good-looking guys every day but seeing something different in one in particular, something special. Why doesn’t every guy with nice muscles or nice hair or whatever get you going, and why does one out of the whole bunch make you curious to know more? He’s wondering this particularly hard, looking at Matt asleep on the table. Matt, whom Techie has known for under sixty minutes and spent the majority of this time either flustered or knocked out, already makes him a little eager to know more.
The whalesong track has ended and a new one, rain on water, has begun by the time Techie gently nudges Matt awake. (Techie is quite practiced at this -- just as he told Matt, his clients tend to sink into a heavy, gooey sleep fast. He knows just how to wake someone who’s in such a deep slumber without shoving or shouting.)
“All done,” he says softly, and Matt’s teddy bear eyes are hazy with confusion as he tries to pull himself back into wakefulness.
“The needles are out?”
“All out,” Techie confirms. “How did it feel?”
“God almighty, I’ve never slept so well in my life. I’m serious. I’m not convinced I’m--” He lets out a long, graceless yawn, stretches the way Millicent does, hands flat down on the table and with his back curved so that it cracks in a satisfying way. “Mm, not convinced I’m not like, dreaming this whole thing.”
“Have I made a convert out of you?” Techie asks, teasing. Teasing! He feels himself blush at his daring, and at the fact that Matt has actually said out loud that he feels like it might be a dream. That’s a flirtatious thing to say, isn’t it?
“You just might have, actually.”
Back in the lobby, Techie hands him the survey to fill out while he processes his credit card. “I’ll spoil the ending for you,” Matt says, writing his comments down in that quick broad hand of his. “I’m definitely coming back. I’ve just got to figure out like, how to work out my schedule with Lucia’s, and the baseball team and everything. But I’ll be back for sure.”
It heartens Techie less than he hoped, because now he’s wondering who Lucia is. He thinks back to the phone conversation Matt had before his session, about coming in time for dinner or whatever that was all about. Must be a girlfriend--Matt’s not wearing a ring. He shoves his disappointment aside and smiles at Matt once he brings the survey back, folded in half. “Thanks again,” he tells Techie, looking genuinely pleased.
“How’s your head?”
“I mean, it’s fine right now, and I’m hoping it stays that way. But the rest alone I got was worth my trouble. I never manage to just like, turn off so well.”
“You’ll probably sleep better tonight, too.” Techie places the survey in the file that he and Armitage use to store them. “Would you like to schedule a follow-up right now, or do you want some time to think about it?”
“Can I come back a week from today?” Matt asks, no hesitation. Techie blinks at the immediate sureness of it but then smiles.
“Same time?”
“Same time.”
Before he walks out the door, Matt wordlessly leaves a twenty percent tip on the counter of his desk, and Techie stares at it in wonder for a moment before peering outside. Matt’s on his phone again, and even though Techie can’t see him, he somehow knows Matt’s shouting. Well, he never said the acupuncture would cure anything on the first visit. And now he knew for sure that Matt will be back.
Armitage has never broken so many of his own rules for a client before. He’s hardly thought about how many times it’s happened with Ren, at least not until Techie teases them on their lunch break a couple weeks after Armitage first allowed Ren an after-hours appointment. “I’m starting to doubt you’re actually doing your job, Armie,” Techie says, picking the strawberries out of his salad so he can eat them first.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re always ‘working late’?” Techie uses his first two fingers on each hand to make quotation marks, his fork gripped loosely in the ring and pinkie finger of his right hand. “I think you’re being seduced.”
“I’m not being seduced,” Armitage grumbles. “He works long hours at his gym, Techie, and I don’t mind extending my hours for him.”
“You don’t mind extending your hours? Who are you?” Techie looks at him in mock horror. “Whatever happened to closing up shop at 7 sharp? Either he’s seducing you or he’s like, blackmailing you. I’d prefer to think it’s the former.”
Armitage wipes his mouth with his napkin and says nothing. It all feels too casual; a seduction tends to involve longing glances and heavy sighs, romance novel verbiage and fewer jokes, doesn't it? Ren’s just too genial to seem particularly seductive, at least in the stereotypical, sleek jungle cat, James Bond way. But that doesn’t mean Armitage doesn’t want more, or that he isn’t bending the rules -- okay, fine, breaking them -- in order to improve his odds at getting it. Extending his hours so he can ensure Ren gets to have an appointment that week, letting Ren talk during his session, and then talking himself during the session, talking about himself...to the extent that they know each other awfully well now. Armitage knows all about the guys on the baseball team, what life is like at the gym, what Ren’s favorite places to eat are.
And in turn, Ren knows now about Armitage’s plans for the shop, and about Techie -- they'v even speculated over Matt and Techie’s relationship. Techie can’t shut up about this guy, honestly, even if he hasn’t quite gotten to the point of admitting that he’s head over heels for him. Though it’s so obvious that it’s hardly necessary. From what Ren tells him, that feeling goes both ways.
“The way Matt’s seducing you?” Armitage asks, hoping to turn the tables on this lunchtime conversation.
The reaction is immediate--Techie goes red as the strawberries in his salad, and he pokes at a spinach leaf with his fork. “He’s not,” he says firmly, staring down at his meal. “I think he has a girlfriend.”
This is news to Armitage. “Why do you think that?”
“He’s always talking about this woman, like, when he’ll see her or when he has to go have dinner with her or whatever.” Techie stabs the spinach leaf, shrugging in the exaggerated way he does when he’s trying to make it seem like something doesn’t affect him even though it does. “I don’t want to, you know. Come on to someone who’s already seeing somebody.”
“So you’d come onto him if he wasn’t?”
“I--oh--” Techie realizes he’s walked right into the pit that Armitage has dug for him. “I…”
“I mean, you see him far more than I do,” Armitage cuts in, swift and sure. “But in my conversations with Ren, he’s never mentioned anything like that, and I would be astonished if he was hoping that his teammate would cheat on his girlfriend with you.”
“He wants Matt to get with me?”
It was Armitage’s turn to realize he’d said a bit too much. “Well. He hasn’t said so in so many words, he just...he seems to want to his friend to find someone good to date, and apparently Matt speaks highly of you, so. That’s why I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Maybe this woman he’s talking about is a sister, or a roommate, or something like that.” Armitage sets his silverware down on his empty plate with a decisive clatter, as though he has settled the matter once and for all. “At any rate. Probably you shouldn’t just roll him onto his back and ravage him the next time he’s on the table--”
“Armie!”
“Especially not with all the needles in him--”
“Armie!”
Armitage gives him a sly smile. “I’m just saying! But the point is that-- just talk to him about it, yeah? A little honest communication won’t do any harm, or if it does, if he’s really the kind of a person who doesn’t appreciate you wanting him to be honest, well, you can simply stop making appointments for him. Or maybe stick your needles into a voodoo doll instead of his back.”
Techie frowns, but in a playful way, like he’s trying hard not to smile. “All right, then. That’s. Thank you, Tidge. Really, thanks.”
Seeing his brother glow with his reassurance gives Armitage a little boost of confidence for the rest of the day. He wonders if Matt is coming in for an acupuncture session that afternoon, but his schedule today is busy and he hardly has time to find out between the various athletes sore from weight-lifting and moms pampering themselves after endless errands while lifting up their needy toddlers. As usual, Ren’s the last appointment of the day that, coming in at seven, and as usual, he insists on overtipping when he pays, in order to show his appreciation.
“Really, by now you ought to know I’ve simply altered my hours for you,” Armitage says, smiling as Ren holds out the cash, not taking it.
“It doesn’t change the fact you’ve had to change them.” Ren takes Armitage’s wrist gently -- this is the first time, Armitage realizes with a sudden hammering heartbeat, that Ren has ever touched him, instead of the other way around. He places the cash in Armitage’s open palm and closes Armitage’s fingers around it. It is so casual, the way Ren’s just gone ahead and done this in the midst of their usual payment and wrap-up banter, and yet it has shifted everything. Ren’s hands aren’t baby soft or anything, but softer than Armitage expects. There’s a look in Ren’s eye like he knows he’s raised the stakes of -- whatever it is between them. Armitage takes a deep breath, a bit louder than he intends.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” Armitage answers. “It’s not a big deal, though. I hardly do much of anything in the evenings anyway, and for a good customer, it’s not -- I don’t mind at all.”
If Techie could hear him! He’s always been the taskmaster, the rule-lover, and now, saying it’s not a big deal? Thankfully, Techie’s upstairs, no doubt watching TV and hopefully getting in touch with Matt to get to the bottom of this girlfriend situation, if he hasn’t already. “In that case,” Ren says, that sly expression not going anywhere, “I’d really like to invite you and your brother to our next game. Tomorrow night. If you two would like to come. I can give you vouchers for free admission, and hot dogs. Only if you want it.”
Armitage does just what Techie did earlier that day, pretending he’s not shining with happiness, squishing up his face to hide his smile. “Well. I suppose I can find time in my schedule. I’d like that a lot, and I know Techie would too. And we wouldn’t say no to a free hot dog, either.”
“Would you say no to a kiss?”
Ren says it in a way that sounds so teasing, almost like he’s not serious, but Armitage can just tell he is, it’s the way Ren is watching for Armitage’s reaction so closely, like he’s woken up a beast that might bite but might nuzzle him. Armitage feels his insides sparkling, but he doesn’t miss a beat in responding, countering with a tease of his own.
“Your team still hasn’t won a game, has it? I’ll tell you what,” Armitage says, trying to resist the urge to pull Ren over the check-in desk and say yes, yes to that kiss. He has to maintain some facsimile of professionalism, after all. “Win this game for me tomorrow, and you’ll get your kiss. Even I draw the line at mixing business and pleasure in my own office, Ren.”
Ren doesn’t seem disappointed in the least -- instead, he seems invigorated by the challenge. He’s already digging through his wallet for the vouchers that he must just carry around everywhere, trying to get people to come to these games. “But at a baseball game, it’s all right, yes? Well, then, I think I can manage to win one of them. Just for you.”
The vouchers are creased and smell like the leather of Ren’s wallet. He sets them in Armitage’s hand, right on top of the tip that he’s insisted on handing over. “So I will see you there?” he continues, and Armitage nods, knowing they’re both on the same page, playing the same game.
“If you’ve promised to win for me, how can I say no?”
Dusk, and the air feels thick, like a hot shower has just been turned off, as Armitage and Techie make their way to the stands to watch the Knights play the Rebels. The vouchers assure the two of them free hot dogs, one each, but Techie is hungry -- he skipped lunch and has been whining about how much he regrets it their whole ride here, and nothing will do until he cleans out the concession stand. He clambers down the aluminum bleachers while Armitage squints to see the field better. The seating doesn’t have professional visibility or anything, but it was free, and beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, it’s not ever difficult to spot Ren, who’s so tall and broad, who saunters like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like he knows this game’s already won, despite the fact the Rebels are loudly joking about the losing streak Ren and his teammates have been on. It’s seeming to get to Matt far more -- he seems to be straddling the line between nervous and angry, constantly swinging bats around, pawing at the ground with his shoe like a bull about to charge. Armitage watches him for a long moment, wondering what he’s like on the acupuncture table, wondering what Techie sees when they’re alone.
Well, maybe now he’ll find out. Here comes Techie, laden down with snacks, holding the two hot dogs in their paper boats, one in each hand, a bag of Swedish Fish under his arm, and a big paper bag of popcorn tight between his teeth. “You brought the water, right?” he asks, once Armitage relieves him of the popcorn.
“You know I did.”
“Good, this is so much salt.”
“You’d better share. Have you talked to Matt recently?”
“Only to tell him I was coming to the game. He didn’t have an appointment yesterday, so I just, uh, texted him today to say so.”
“You have his number? You’ve been texting?”
Techie shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth with the aimless force of a baby cramming Cheerios in the general direction of its face. “Well, nothing scandalous.”
“In case his wife or whoever sees?”
“Armitage, don’t! I’ll die of embarrassment if that’s the case.”
“God, what happened to communication? Did my lecture go in one ear and out the other?” Armitage taps Techie’s head with his knuckles. “You’re not going to make me go talk to him myself, are you?”
“Do it and I’ll cut all your hair off while you sleep.” Techie’s not really angry, of course, and he still holds out the popcorn bag so Armitage can get a handful of his own. “I’ll talk to him tonight. I just haven’t had a chance, that’s all.”
His chance comes sooner than he expects; in the seventh inning, as a matter of fact. The Knights are ahead by two runs, and those who have come to see their loved ones on the team play are holding their breath that this might actually be a win, but of course they’ve been close before -- defeat, it seems, has always been snatched from the jaws of victory in the final seconds. Someone in the row behind Techie and Armitage says that they were up by four the last game, went into overtime after tying in the ninth, and then lost by three in the end.
Out on the field, Matt keeps pawing at the ground outside of third base with his foot, digging his foot into the earth like he’s buried treasure by the plate. Ren’s among those manning the outfield, his dark hair a glowing halo under the harsh fake stadium lighting, his filthy knees and socks standing out sharply against the crisp white of his uniform shirt. The guy at bat strikes once, but the second attempt is far more successful, and there’s a satisfying crack as he connects, drops the bat, takes off running. Matt’s running too, he’s definitely closest to being able to catch it, and if he just picks up his pace the smallest little bit, he’ll catch it, he knows it, too, and he’s moving so fast and with such determination to catch this ball that he dives down, arm outstretched, and drives his whole body into the ground, like a belly-flop into the pool, except it’s hard grass and dirt and Techie is up on his feet, fearful, Swedish Fish scattering all over the metal bleacher seats.
The ball drops to the ground not even a foot outside of his reach, and the batter has closed the gap between the scores by one run. They’re 5-4 now and Techie is clattering his way down the bleachers again, crushing gummies underfoot and not caring who he’s running into. Matt’s up and on his feet now, moving with the barest suggestion of a limp, his entire uniform front filthy-green.
Techie doesn’t stop running until he hits the section of chain-link fence closest to the dugout, nearly crashing into it himself, his hands spread wide and his fingers gripping the links with all his strength. The look of distress on his face must be obvious, because Matt makes a beeline for him rather than sitting back down with the rest of the guys, who are throwing exaggerated groans and loving insults his way.
“You okay?” Matt asks.
“Me? Are you okay? You fell so hard…”
“I know, right? God.” Matt ruffles his hair like he’s his own good-natured coach-dad, proud of himself for being a good sport. “Think I knocked all the air out of my lungs.”
“Are you going to be okay to play?”
Matt gives a warm little smile. “You know, nobody ever asks me things like that. They’re always like, come on Mattie, get up and finish this shitty game, let’s go, you’re good.”
“But are you?” Techie insists on knowing, standing on his tiptoes to see him better. There are squished Swedish Fish on the soles of his yellow Converse shoes.
‘
“I mean. I probably knocked something loose up here.” Matt points to his head. “And I’m gonna ache like hell tomorrow. Maybe I can come back for another session sooner than I planned?”
“Matt, of course. I’ll--I’ll text you once I look at my schedule, okay?”
“You’re an angel, you know that? Can I take you out for pizza after the game is over? To thank you for like, being so flexible, and for coming and everything?”
Techie’s heart is beginning to slow down, now that he knows Matt hasn’t crushed every organ in his body during the slide. “Y-Yes,” he says. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to talk to things over, just like Armitage wanted him to, although he’s feeling pretty confident right now about the whole situation, since there’s no girlfriend also running up to make sure Matt is okay, no indication that Techie is elbowing his way into anybody’s place. And even after all those snacks and the ballgame hot dog, he’s still hungry, could definitely go for some pizza. Matt wouldn’t ask him out for pizza if...right?
“Yes,” he says more confidently, and Matt grins, clicks his tongue and throws him a jaunty salute as he heads back towards the dugout to face the ribbing of his teammates.
The eighth inning yields no change in the score, and the summer night doesn’t get any cooler even as it gets darker. Ants swarm over the spilled candy that’s hit the blacktop, and the Knights are clinging to their one-run lead with all their might. Armitage actually finds himself nervous at the top of the ninth. He’s still trying to decide what he’s going to do if they lose. Will he just give in and kiss Ren anyway? Or will he try and play coy, draw out the game longer? He crumbles a piece of popcorn between his fingers, watching each of the Knights strike out, one two three. No runs. The teams switch position and Techie is glowing too bright to give the slightest damn about the score.
The Rebel’s first batter’s up. Strikes out. Second batter strikes out. Third. Out.
The final score’s 5-4, the sole win the Knights have gotten that season, and for the first time, the patient family members, the boyfriends and girlfriends and spouses that have dragged themselves out to this crummy season, they all have a reason to celebrate. Finally.
It’s going to take a long time for Ren to extract himself from his teammates, who are shaking his shoulders and whooping, howling like wolves, shaking up cans of Natty Boh and spraying them on each other in delight. They’re acting like they’ve won the World Series, and who can blame them? Like everybody else, Armitage is on his feet, cheering, clapping, he who’s never cared about sports in the slightest, but for Ren, he’s happy to make the exception.
Ren’s still in the mosh pit of his teammates, but he turns his head to meet Armitage’s eye, and he cocks his head once they’ve made eye contact. Soon, we’ll meet up as soon as we can, and you can pay up? he seems to ask, without saying a word. And Armitage, still clapping, nods, of course, of course.
“My family owns this place, actually,” Matt says as they make the short drive from the baseball field to the pizzeria that Matt's been talking up so much. “I pick up shifts here sometimes, just to make a couple extra bucks, or when they’re swamped. But this late, we can probably grab some free pizza and garlic knots. Even if it's swamped.”
“No guaranteed free pizza for the family employee?” Techie teases, pleased. “They make you pay?” He’s tried to look around the car for any evidence of the girlfriend he’s now less and less convinced exists, but he can’t shake the possibility of her entirely.
“Well, you know, they don’t like it when I go nuts and take like, ten pizzas at a time,” Matt grumble-laughs. “But maybe tonight they won’t mind, now that I’ve won a game for once.”
“You’ve made your family proud, you know.”
“Oh, God, I wouldn’t go that far. I did the absolute least to help the team tonight."
“But you won, that’s the important part….” Techie’s reassurances trail off as they pull up in front of the pizza place and he sees the name of it. Lucia’s.
It takes every ounce of Techie’s strength to not groan, in embarrassment, in relief.
He has never, ever felt so ridiculous in his life. All of that worrying, all of that freaking out, for weeks! And Lucia isn’t even a person, just the pizzeria where he works. He can feel his ears getting hot enough to fry bacon as they get out of the car, Matt still limping just a little bit as they make their way to the front door. “So who is Lucia, anyway?” Techie asks, which he really should have asked in the first place. Armitage is always right, he thinks, always right.
“My grandma, on my dad’s side. She was an amazing cook, and she like, started the whole thing. Not too modest, since she named the joint after herself. But with skills like that, who needs modesty?”
Techie nods, thankful that the lighting in here is more on the reddish side anyway. It’s an old-fashioned place, all dark wood and stained glass. It’s pleasantly crowded, not packed, but full enough that Techie doesn’t feel on display for Matt’s family members, who are serving beer and breadsticks and fried ravioli. Now that the shadow of Lucia has fallen away at last, it’s much easier for Techie to feel happily flirtatious, to lean a little closer over their shared mozzarella sticks, let their fingers brush.
“You want some stuff to take home?” Matt asks, pleased, clearly, to be able to show such generosity. “If they find out you’re the one giving me all that acupuncture, you know, and improving my mood so much--they’ll insist on giving you everything they’ve got.”
“I’m always glad to know it’s improving your mood. That’s a great takeaway.”
“Well, you know. Getting to see someone so nice while I get it done….even getting needles stuck in you is fine when it’s you.”
That makes Techie go even redder, so red that even in this lighting Matt notices, and he grins to see it's so.
Techie tries, again and again, to offer money for the pizza that he’s getting piled with, there's so much that he might even consider sharing with his brother, but neither Matt nor any of his family will allow him to hand them the cash. “We’ll just throw it out anyway,” Matt assures him. “Come on, seriously, take it all.”
Out in the parking lot, Techie’s so laden down with pizza boxes that he has to set them down on the floor of Matt’s passenger seat and check to make sure that no grease has spilled out onto him.“Maybe we can come here again?” he suggests as they climb into the car, feeling like the most daring man alive. “After a session, if--you were the last one of the day, or…”
“Wouldn’t even have to be after a session,” Matt says. “I could come and pick you up from the shop, anytime you liked. Unless I was already working, but, you know.”
“Like a date?”
Matt hits the brakes. “Oh, well--if you don’t want it to be-- I didn’t want you to feel--pressured--”
“No, that’s not what I meant at all--I’d really--”
“Only if you like--”
The two of them are so damned nervous, it’d be hilarious if Techie weren’t so breathless with anticipation, because he knows what’s about to happen about a full second before it does. They both taste like pizza, once Matt finally just goes for it and plants a kiss on him, opening his mouth just a little bit--uncertain, like he’s asking a question, but Techie goes for it, does the same, answers it for him.
“Don’t, um,” Matt says, low, near Techie’s ear once they part. “Don’t tell me you do this for all your clients?”
It’s too hard to think of a snappy comeback to that -- Armitage is much better at that sort of thing -- so Techie just shakes his head. “Just you,” he whispers, leaning in for another kiss. “Just you.”
Ren gets away from the rest of the team at last, not that Armitage has been impatient or anything, not that he’s been standing at the foot of the bleachers near the dugout, his arms folded, shivering with anticipation even though it’s so hot out. Techie runs past, and all in one breath he announces he and Matt are going to get pizza and Matt will drop him off, no need to worry about him, just leave the door to their apartment unchained. It takes a second for the words to penetrate, and by the time he’s processed them, Techie’s already gone. Did he have that talk in the two minutes he was down by the chain link fence? Oh, well, what’s important is how happy he looks.
At last, Ren extracts himself from the celebration of his team and makes his way to Armitage. He’s gross-sweaty, his loose waves plastered to the back of his neck and the white of his uniform wilted and discolored with green and brown. He’s never looked more beautiful, or smug, for that matter. “Glad you stayed to the end,” he quips, once Armitage is in earshot. “Most people don’t bother.”
“If I had and you’d just told me your team won, well, how could I believe you? It’d be downright suspicious.”
“Maybe I’m just that devoted.”
“I should have told you to win by two. Or five.”
“Next time, I’ll do it, just for you.”
Armitage snorts. “You make it sound like you ran the winning home run instead of your team just messing up less than the other one.”
“You never specified how we were supposed to win,” Ren shoots back, grinning. “So how about it? I think I delivered on my end...”
Armitage is no stranger to Ren’s body, of course, not after weeks of Thursday massages at exactly seven p.m. every week, he could navigate the map of Ren with his eyes shut. And surely Ren is fully accustomed now to Armitage’s touch, knows how well Armitage has learned him -- but of course this is different, not the purposeful and removed touch of a masseur. Instead, Armitage pulls him into a greedy embrace, concerned not with Ren’s health and renewal but with a selfishness that Ren just loves, if the way he’s pressing hard on Armitage’s back to get him closer is any indication.
“Again,” Ren whispers, when they finally pull apart.
“I only promised you a kiss, Ren,” Armitage teases.
“What can I do to get another?” Ren wants to know, as the last of the game-goers make their way to the parking lot, leaving them alone under the bright-white stadium lighting -- which will surely be turned off in the next few minutes as the place closes up.
Armitage brushes a lock of damp hair behind Ren’s ear. “Take a shower, first,” he begins, and when Ren makes a face like that’s-not-what-I-meant, he adds, “At my place.” Then, in a low, secretive voice -- “And I might even join you.”
Something jumps across Ren’s face, a realization that they’re on the same page, they’re both willing to speeding down this particular road. “Easier than winning another game with this team,” Ren murmurs. “I think I can do that for you, if it’ll get me another kiss.”
He does more than just shower once they’re back at the apartment over the shop, of course. He has Armitage groping at the condensation-filmed shower door, Titanic style, trying to withstand the fierce wanting force of Ren’s touches and kisses. They manage to get washed up, the sweat and stink of the outdoors gone at last, and Ren falls, grinning and finally clean, into Armitage’s immaculately made bed. When they’re finally ready to sleep, he doesn’t hog the blankets, and he melts like a child’s popsicle in Armitage’s hands when he receives a little impromptu massage to send him off to sleep properly. Normally he doesn’t give anybody a massage for free, why give it away when you can get paid -- that’s always been his policy. But Ren is just so very good at loosening the tight bolts on his ironclad rules.
There’s the sound of the door opening, quietly clicking shut, the cat meowing in greeting, the refrigerator door peeling open. Techie, Armitage thinks. It’s so late--he and Matt must have gotten up to something, and Armitage is dying to know what. But even more, he wants to lie here, warm and content, next to Ren, to be nosy tomorrow, there’s time for that in the morning.