Love In An Elevator
"It's not my fault."
This isn't the first time Alex has said that. In fact, it's been his mantra for hours, ever since the fourth inning when they both went after an infield pop up and Derek took an elbow to the face for his trouble.
"Also not my fault that we're trapped in this elevator," Alex points out.
Derek crosses his arms over his chest, not because Alex is wrong, but because Derek's cheek still hurts, and he's pissed at being cheated out of make-it-up-to-me sex by malfunctioning technology, and it gets old having to work so hard to reassure Alex when Derek is the one with the black eye.
"I really thought I had the ball," Alex says, also not for the first time. "It's not like I did it on purpose." He reaches out to touch Derek's face.
Derek jerks away, because Alex never thinks about things like security cameras, and Derek has to live in this building. He so doesn't need knowing glances from his doorman. He certainly doesn't need to be any more frustrated than he already is. If the fcuking elevator had just lasted three more floors before breaking down, he'd be getting a blow-job at this very moment, instead of waiting around for rescue. Alex touching him when they can't do anything about it is more than he can handle right now.
Alex apparently misinterprets this and stares at Derek, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. "You can't really think I'd--"
Derek sighs and turns to tell him not to be stupid, but the look on Alex's face stops him. His eyes are big and wide and genuinely wounded.
"I would never do that," Alex says softly. "You know I wouldn't."
You know why I wouldn't hangs there between them, unsaid. It's something Alex never talks about unless he's good and drunk, and even then, it's only come up a handful of times in all the years they've known each other, how Alex's dad always thought he was too big for his britches and liked to smack him around as a lesson in humility, how determined Alex is to be a very different kind of man.
Derek really kind of hates Victor Rodriguez.
"Hey." Derek bumps Alex's shoulder with his own. "At least you made the out." He gives Alex a sideways smile.
Alex blinks, and his pretty mouth curves into a smile, and he leans closer. "I could still make it up to you."
He's staring at Derek's mouth, and he leans in even closer, and it's clear that if Alex has his way they'll be putting on a show for whoever's manning the front desk.
Derek jerks his head toward the ceiling where the camera is. "We're not exactly alone."
Alex scowls and says, not entirely jokingly, "You're Derek-fcuking-Jeter. Can't you do something about that?"
Derek rolls his eyes, because it's just so Alex to believe that there's no problem that can't be overcome with enough name recognition, but then, he stop and thinks: Hey, I am Derek-fcuking-Jeter. He takes out his phone and calls the front desk.
It's Manny on duty, which is good, because Manny is a Yankees fan, and Derek arranged for him and his two boys to have their own personal tour of Yankee Stadium. Manny fcuking loves Derek.
"Hey, man," Derek says.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Jeter," Manny breaks in before Derek can get any farther than that. "I was just about to call you with an update. The repairman's on his way, but he's stuck in traffic. Freakin' Staten Island. I wouldn't live out there if you paid me. Anyways, I keep calling him to check where he is. I feel real bad it's taking so long."
"Nah, man. It's okay. I'm sure you'll have us out of here as soon as you can. The thing is, we're feeling kind of like we're in a fish bowl, you know? Can you do me a favor and kill the camera in the elevator?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Jeter," Manny says. "There. It's off now."
"Yeah?" Derek reaches out, strokes Alex's cheek as a test.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Manny asks, his tone perfectly even.
Derek seriously doubts he could manage that if he was watching his team's shortstop get up close and personal with his third baseman.
"Nah, Manny. Thanks. You're the best." Derek snaps his phone closed and pulls Alex by the belt loops until they're chest to chest. "So, you were making it up to me."
Alex's eyes go bright. "You think he really turned off the camera?" Exhibitionist that he is, he almost sounds like he's hoping against it.
Derek touches the side of Alex's face, tracing a cheekbone with his thumb. "He said he turned it off. You think he's going to lie to Derek-fcuking-Jeter?"
Alex laughs, and his face lights up with simple happiness. Sometimes Derek takes for granted how beautiful Alex is, and sometimes he has a moment like this when he's suddenly reminded. He hooks a hand behind Alex's head and pulls him into a kiss. Alex is caught off balance, probably not expecting Derek to actually do this where they could conceivably get caught, but he gets with the program quickly enough, clutching at Derek's shoulders. Alex's lips are soft and warm, and Derek licks his way inside his mouth. It always feels like coming home, the way Alex tastes, how he smells, and it's never like that with anyone else.
Alex tenderly traces the edge of Derek's black eye. "I'm sorry." His expression is earnestly contrite.
Derek gathers him closer and kisses his neck. "It probably was your ball," he says against Alex's skin.
"I'll call for it louder next time." Alex surges against him, his hard-on hot and straining against Derek's thigh.
Derek takes Alex by the shoulders and pushes him back against the elevator's mirrored panel and rests heavily against him. He kisses Alex deeply, intently. He can see himself in the glass, the expression on his face, like no matter how much he gets of this it will never be enough, like he wants to be inside Alex's skin.
Alex runs his knuckles down Derek's fly. "What do you want?"
He wants Alex spread out on his bed, but for now, he settles for unbuttoning Alex's shirt and running his hand up Alex's beautifully muscled chest.
"God," Alex mutters.
Derek slips his thumb beneath Alex's waistband, stroking the soft skin there, and Alex sucks in a breath, his chest dipping sharply. Derek pops the button on Alex's pants, undoes the zipper, pushes his underwear down over his hips.
Alex's cock springs free, dark with blood, wet at the tip, and Derek wraps his palm around it. Alex makes a desperate noise, and Derek squeezes gently and moves his fist up and down. Alex stares down at himself, breathing heavily, his mouth pink and wet and softly parted.
"Yeah, yeah," Derek tells him. "You look so good like that."
He spins Alex around, pulls him back against his body, stares at the picture they make in the mirror, Alex flushed and sweating and so turned on, Derek's hand moving on his erection. Alex moans and pushes his ass back against Derek's hard-on, and Derek can feel him trembling, can feel him coming apart beneath his hands.
"Who owns you?" Derek breathes against Alex's ear.
Alex whimpers and bites his lip. "Oh, God. You do. Derek."
Derek rubs his erection against Alex's ass. "I'm going to fcuk you so hard when we get out of here."
"Derek," Alex says again, more desperately.
Derek buries his face against Alex's neck. He smells like warmth and salt and home, and Derek jerks his cock harder. Alex closes his eyes, and his lips are moving, making the shape of Derek's name, but there's no sound coming out, like a silent prayer. Derek keeps his eyes wide open, staring into the mirror, not wanting to miss any of it, the way Alex arches against him and strains into his touch, the way his body begs for it.
"I'm going to come," Alex warns breathlessly. "God. I'm going to come."
Derek tightens his grip and speeds up his hand.
Alex hisses, "Shit!"
Then he's shoving his hips forward, hard, grappling at Derek's jeans, his fingers digging into Derek's thighs. He spills into Derek's fist and collapses back against him. Derek wraps his arm around Alex's chest, presses a kiss to his shoulder.
"So, am I forgiven?" Alex asks, breathing hard.
Derek smiles. "Yeah." He kisses behind Alex's ear. "But I'm still going to fcuk you."
Alex laughs and turns around in Derek's arms for a kiss, and Derek's phone interrupts.
He checks the number. It's the front desk. "Yeah?" he answers.
"Mr. Jeter?" Manny says. "I just wanted to let you know the repair guy's here. He says it's nothing serious. We should have you out any minute now."
Derek waves urgently at Alex, and Alex yanks his pants up and buttons his shirt and shoves it back into his waistband. Derek grabs a towel out of his gym bag and cleans up the evidence of what they were doing. It leaves behind a noticeable smear on the glass, but there's nothing he can do about that. He tosses the towel into the bag and zips it up, and untucks his shirt to hide his hard-on just in time before the elevator doors open.
Manny is standing there looking concerned. "Are you all right, Mr. Jeter? Mr. Rodriguez?"
Derek steps out of the elevator. "It's all cool, Manny. Thanks for getting us out of there."
Manny beams. "No problem, Mr. Jeter. Just sorry it couldn't have been sooner. You guys must have been getting real bored."
Derek shrugs. "We managed to pass the time."
He's careful not to look at Alex, because he may be good at not giving things away, but he's not that good.
"The elevator is working fine now, Mr. Jeter, if you want to head on up to your floor."
Derek shakes his head. "You know, Manny, I think we'd rather walk the three flights."
Manny smiles ruefully. "Yeah, I can understand that."
They head for the stairs, and for the first flight, they're quiet, decorous. But when they're sure they're out of hearing range, Alex looks back over his shoulder. "You want to fcuk me, you're going to have to catch me." His eyes sparkle with mischief.
"Oh yeah?" Derek makes a grab for him.
Alex ducks out of his reach and starts to race up the steps.
"You're going to have to run faster than that," Derek tells him, grinning and chasing after him. "I'm Derek-fcuking-Jeter, you know."