Work Text:
Third Person Limited: Ishan's POV
Ishan really should've behaved.
Really. He knew Pat had an important call. Something to do with the board, sponsorships, schedules—whatever. Boring stuff. Ishan wasn't listening. Not when he could watch the way Pat's huge hands wrapped around his phone, not when he could see those veins on his forearms tense every time he tried to sound professional.
And definitely not when he was tucked under the hotel desk, legs folded, hidden from view.
All quiet.
All innocent.
Except his fingers were already not where they were supposed to be.
"Yeah, mate, no worries, we'll have the reports by Friday," Pat was saying, voice calm, low, steady as granite. "Just make sure the new net bowlers—Jesus Christ—"
Ishan grinned.
He hadn't even done much. Just let his hand wander up the inside of Pat's thigh, under the desk. Slow. Teasing. Curious.
Pat tensed. Ishan could hear it too, the faint break in his voice, the sharp inhale between words.
"You okay there, Pat?" came the voice on the other end.
Pat cleared his throat. "Y-yeah. Fine. Tripped on the... uh, chair. Go on."
Ishan bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. God, this was so bad. So stupid. And so worth it. He pressed his palm higher, fingertips brushing fabric.
Pat's hand hit the desk with a dull thunk.
Ishan flinched but didn't stop.
Pat leaned forward slightly, voice even again. "No, it's fine. Just hold on a second—"
Mute.
"Ishan." His tone was low. Warning low.
Ishan blinked up at him with mock innocence. "Yes, captain?"
"You're testing me."
"I think I'm winning."
He hadn't expected to be grabbed.
But Pat's hand was already hauling him out from under the desk, fast, with no gentleness, just sheer force. Ishan stumbled, breathless, and ended up sprawled across Pat's lap, laughing despite himself.
"Pat......you're still on the call—"
"Yeah. And I'm seconds away from showing you exactly what happens to brats who don't keep their hands to themselves."
Ishan's cheeks burned. He twisted, squirming in Pat's grip, still trying to sound smug. "You gonna punish me right here, skipper? Risk getting caught?"
Pat's hand slid to the back of his neck.
"I'll make it worse for you, champ," he murmured, voice curling soft and lethal. "I'll wait until you're begging me to stop teasing, and then I'll keep going. I'll make you say please three different ways before I even think of touching you."
Ishan let out a shaky breath. His bravado cracked.
Pat smirked.
And then, unmuted the call.
"Yep, sorry about that," he said smoothly, like nothing had happened, one big hand still heavy on Ishan's waist, keeping him right there. "Just a bit of a... disruption in the room."
Ishan tried to sit still.
He really did.
But he squirmed.
And Pat's hand slid lower.
Just enough to remind him who was in charge.
Ishan didn't even wait for Pat to sit down this time.
The second the phone started ringing, he was already moving—barefoot, hair messy, expression dripping with trouble.
Pat raised an eyebrow. "Don't."
"Not doing anything," Ishan said, sliding into his lap like he belonged there, straddling him with a grin. "Just sitting."
Pat answered the call.
"Yep. Go ahead."
Ishan leaned in, lips brushing just beneath Pat's ear.
No resistance.
Pat's arm slid around his waist, steady. Secure. Daring him.
Game on.
Ishan started slow—nipping at his jaw, slipping his fingers under Pat's training tee, tugging at the waistband of his shorts. Just light touches. Enough to test.
"I've looked over the new net schedules," Pat said evenly, voice smooth as ever. "But if you don't shift the fitness drills earlier, the bowlers are going to burn out before the second session."
Ishan's hand slid lower.
Nothing.
Pat didn't even flinch.
Ishan pressed a kiss under his jaw. Still nothing.
The audacity.
He rocked his hips slightly, daring him to break.
Pat simply switched the phone to his other hand. Then—calm as anything—he reached down and peeled Ishan's T-shirt clean off.
Ishan gasped, heat rushing to his face.
"Yeah, I've got the revised training loads on my end," Pat said smoothly into the phone. "Can share them if needed."
His hand drifted down Ishan's bare back, broad and possessive. Almost absent-minded, like it wasn't completely deliberate.
"Pat," Ishan hissed softly, scandalized. "You're not—"
Pat muted the call for half a second.
"Sit. Still."
The tone made Ishan freeze.
"I said I'd handle you," Pat murmured. "You wanted attention? You've got it."
Unmuted again. "Right, and the physio flagged the hamstring issue too, send me the reports by noon, yeah?"
Ishan blinked down at him, half-dressed, breathless, undone.
Pat was simply unbothered.
He bent down, pressed a slow kiss to Ishan's stomach, just above the waistband. Never breaking rhythm. His other hand anchored him tight at the waist.
Ishan let out a tiny, broken sound.
"You okay there, Pat?" came the voice through the phone.
Pat smiled against his skin.
"Fine," he said calmly. "Just keeping everything running smoothly on my end."
Ishan didn't expect this.
He didn't expect that.
He'd gone into it thinking he could break Pat's focus—poke at him, tease him, wreck his composure until the captain finally snapped and showed some raw edge. Something loud. Something messy.
But Pat didn't snap.
He just... handled him.
One broad hand stroking his spine like it belonged there. The other still holding his phone, voice low and even as he spoke to the management about travel itineraries and training schedules.
Like Ishan wasn't shirtless in his lap. Like he wasn't already trembling from nothing but attention.
Pat's mouth had moved once. A single kiss pressed into the base of Ishan's throat. Slow. Deliberate.
And that was all it took.
Something inside him just... gave.
His smirk fell away. His clever little provocations died in his throat. He melted, soft and wordless, sagging against Pat's chest with his cheek pressed into the captain's collarbone. Breath shallow, body loose.
Pat went still beneath him.
Ishan felt it. The way his chest stilled. The hitch in his breath. The hand on his back pausing like it suddenly realized it was holding something breakable.
"Yeah," Pat said after a moment, voice just a fraction tighter, "I've seen the revised tour plan too. No, send the updated fitness data through tonight."
A pause on the other end. Then, wary:
"You sound a bit distracted, Pat. Everything alright over there?"
A tiny laugh slipped out of Ishan against his shoulder.
Pat hit mute with his thumb, tilting his head down to look at him properly.
"What's happening to you right now?" he asked quietly.
Ishan blinked up, eyes glassy. Mouth open. No words.
Just... looking at him.
Like Pat had reached into his chest and wrapped his hand around it.
"...God," Pat whispered, brushing his thumb over Ishan's cheek. "You're not playing anymore. You're really... gone."
Ishan swallowed. His voice was threadbare when it came.
"I didn't know I could feel like this. You didn't even do anything and I'm—" His eyes flicked down at himself, shirtless, flushed, trembling from so little. From softness.
"I feel like I'll fall apart if you let go."
Pat stared. For one raw second, the call, the team, the schedules, all of it disappeared.
The voice on the line cut back in, tentative:
"Pat? You still there?"
Pat dragged in a breath. "Yeah. Still here." His voice hadn't cracked like his chest had. Somehow.
Ishan's lips curved into the smallest, wrecked smile.
"Pat?" he whispered.
"Hmm?"
"You're not allowed to leave me. Ever."
A long silence.
Then Pat, still holding the phone to his ear, murmured into Ishan's hair:
"Too late for that, sweetheart."
3:04 AM
Ishan woke with his heart too full. Not pounding. Not racing. Just... something.
The room was dark, the sheets warm, heavy with the faint smell of sweat and grass still clinging to them after a long day. The only sound was Pat's breathing, slow and steady, rumbling against the back of Ishan's neck.
He was being held. Fully, lazily, wrapped up like Pat was his own personal weighted blanket. A long leg tangled between his, one broad arm locked around his waist, chest pressed to his back, breath ghosting through his hair.
Ishan didn't know how they ended up like this every night. Only that it kept happening. And that he didn't ever want it to stop.
"Pat?" he whispered into the dark, not even sure why.
A low, gravelled hum came from behind him. "Mmm?"
"You awake?"
Pat's voice was soft: "What's wrong?"
Ishan hesitated.
"...Nothing. Just....can I say something dumb?"
Pat's arm tightened around him, pulling him closer. "Always."
Ishan stared at the wall. His chest felt like it might split open.
"That thing earlier," he said, voice small. "When I... when I melted. Or whatever you called it."
Pat made a soft sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a hum.
"Yeah. That."
"It wasn't just the way you touched me. Or the way you didn't hang up on that call."
"Mm?"
"It was how you just... handled me. Like it was nothing. Like I didn't scare you."
Pat didn't answer right away. He just pressed his face into the back of Ishan's neck, listening.
Ishan's voice cracked, barely a whisper. "I always scare people off. They say I'm too much—too cheeky, too stubborn. But you just..." He laughed once, breathless. "You multitasked me. Like I was one more thing on your list. And it should've pissed me off."
"And instead?"
Ishan exhaled. "You ruined me."
Pat shifted, slowly rolling him over until they were chest to chest. His eyes were heavy-lidded, soft in the dark, like he'd been waiting for this, waiting for Ishan to finally say it.
"You let me," Pat murmured. "You wanted me to hold you together."
Ishan nodded.
The silence stretched, quiet and endless, like falling. Then it slipped out, raw and real:
"I'm in love with you."
Pat stilled. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe for a second.
Then: "Say it again."
Ishan's smile was shaky, nervous. He bit his cheek. "I said I'm—"
Pat kissed him.
Not hot. Not wild. Just deep. Slow. Honest.
When he pulled back, their foreheads pressed together, he whispered:
"Good. Because I've been in love with you since the first time you mouthed off and still let me carry your kit bag."
Ishan laughed, soft, stunned, damp at the edges.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
....
"I really don't."
They stayed like that, tangled and raw, hearts pressed close.
And at 3:07 AM, Ishan drifted back to sleep to the sound of Pat's heartbeat, in love, and finally, safe.