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The slam of car doors, a far-off whistle, and a chorus of playful shouts. The harsh midday sun hurts your eyes for a moment as you step into the open air, and you blink and shake your head to adjust your vision.
Chance slides to your side, his fingers automatically threading with yours, engulfing you in their warmth. As your vision clears, you look up to see a soft smile adorning his face. “Alright?”
“Mhm. Just brighter out than I thought. Should’ve brought some sunglasses.” You two begin walking out of the parking lot towards a concrete path, in the vague direction where you know Parker is. He had invited you to watch another one of his Little League games, and you in turn had invited Chance to come with you to watch Parker. You always felt slightly awkward, sitting alone in the stands while watching kids you didn’t know play baseball badly, trying not to ogle Parker too openly. At least Chance’s company offered a slight relief in your awkwardness - plus you two got to spend more time together, on a rare day when he was out early from his work.
It certainly wasn’t the first time you had stopped by Chance’s tabletop therapy clinic, but it was the first time you had joined in on a session. He was nearing the end of a campaign with a group of children when you walked in; intending to just slip into his office to patiently wait until he was free for your lunch date, you were instead caught off guard when he caught your hand and pulled you to sit beside him behind the screen, suddenly proclaiming you to be the big evil villain while discreetly showing you his notes to catch you up on the story. After one extremely dramatic villain monologue interspersed with Chance’s narration, an exciting battle that involved the kids using mindfulness to channel their powers into one powerful attack, and then ten minutes of excited children pushing Chance away to crowd around you to show you their characters’ drawings (and for some reason, one with Chance as a My Little Pony character), you two were gathering your belongings.
“Lunch?” You had asked, leaning against his desk as he gathered messy notes into a folder. But then he’d flashed you a grin as he adjusted his glasses, walking over to rest a hand against your hip. A thrill had shot through you, feeling his warmth and having him tower over you, the scent of fresh linen and sandalwood enveloping you completely.
“Actually, I’m free the rest of the day. It’s been a slow week.” Leaning in and tilting his head down, he’d brushed a light kiss to your lips. “What about you?”
“Mmm…Parker invited me to one of his games.” You returned a featherlight kiss back to him, but then leaned away when you noticed the quizzical look in his eyes. “What?”
“Like, a board game night?”
“No, but we still have those. I’m going to his Little League game.” An even more confused look in response, his eyebrows furrowing and his head tilting to one side. You leaned further back , hand against his chest, as a laugh bubbled up out of you. “He’s the umpire, he doesn’t play in them himself. Haven’t you talked to him lately?”
Chance shook his head, glancing away as pink dusted his cheeks. “No, we’ve- I mean, you know. We’ve both been busy, I suppose. Different lives. Different people.”
And that settled it. Chance had put up a half-hearted resistance for all of five seconds, claiming it would be awkward and Parker wouldn’t want him there, but he’d given up when you kept strategically interrupting his argument with kisses.
Now, after a quick lunch, you two walked on the concrete path winding through the park, joined hands swinging idly. The chorus of sounds was getting louder as you two got closer, with an unmistakable voice shouting, more clearly defined than all. Beside you, Chance let out a huff of a laugh, shaking his head. You met his eyes with a grin, squeezing his hand and walking faster towards the familiar stands, warmth jumping around in your chest.
The game was already in full swing when you two found an empty spot, settling down. The stands along the other side of the baseball diamond were filled with parents sporting red jerseys and pennants, shouting and cheering for their kids; the green-clad parents around you seemed less cheerful, watching as the game seemed to go poorly in their kids’ favors. A woman in a full green ensemble and baseball cap stood against the chainlinked fence, hands on her hips as she watched a heated exchange between a stocky man- who you presumed to be a coach- and Parker.
The coach was doing an impressive imitation of the watching woman, hands on his hips, his face red and sweating. His obvious attempt at intimidating Parker seemed to fail as Parker remained perfectly calm, standing expressionlessly as the coach argued. After a moment, Parker shook his head once decisively and said something that made the coach stalk off in anger, muttering underneath his breath. Parker’s eyes followed him - then suddenly turned to you.
It was embarrassing, but no matter how often it happened, Parker turning directly to look at you during his games always made heat rise to your cheeks. The sudden intensity of his unwavering attention tended to catch you off guard. This time though, he graces you with a soft smile and tilt of his head, his eyes lighting up as his gaze bounced from you, to Chance, then back to you. Then just as suddenly he turns away.
He crouches down beside a child who had been standing to the side, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as the two adults argued. Parker said something to him, then pointed back to where the rest of his teammates sat. The boy looked down at the dirt, but then Parker said something else and raised his hand, palm upright and waiting; the boy brightened and slapped him a high-five, before running off to his teammates.
Amidst the cacophony of noise - of parents chattering, of other kids shouting elsewhere in the park, of the rustling of trees and wind kicking up dust - it was such a quick, nondescript moment. The game proceeded as another player took to the pitch and Parker crouched low in position. But that one moment nonetheless made your heart skip, a warmth spreading through your chest.
Beside you, Chance squeezes your hand. “I’m not sure what I expected but this is...strangely fitting for him. I’m glad he’s found something.”
You turn your gaze to him. His eyes are locked onto Parker, following his movements, his commanding shouts; within them you see an admiration rising, familiar from all your shared G&G campaign planning sessions. The breeze is ruffling the ends of his soft hair, and you can’t tell if the pink dusting his cheeks is a blush or the effects of being out in the harsh sun. Your adjoined hands were beginning to get sweaty, but neither of you let go.
You grin, then lean towards him, lips just brushing the shell of his ear. “He’s a good kisser, you know.”
Chance sputters, and the pink that deepens his cheeks this time is definitely a blush. “I - I did not need to know that!” He lets out a huff as you giggle against him, before also turning back to watch Parker.
The stark red of his umpire shirt is a surprisingly nice color on him. It hangs more loosely on him than his usual shirts, hiding his lean build and the tattoos adorning his upper arms. When he calls plays with a loud growl of a voice, his hands slicing through empty space, it’s like he takes control of the air around you, shifting it as he pleases. And then, of course, as if reading your mind - Parker turns abruptly and locks eyes with you for a few unbroken seconds before turning back to the game.
Again, another huff from Chance, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. The flush has spread across to the tips of his ears now. You would tease him for it if you weren’t blushing like a lovestruck teenager as well, heart thumping.
After a few minutes, when you zone out while admiring the slight curve of Parker’s back and the subtle strength of his arms as he moves, Chance leans down to you. He nudges your shoulder and nods his chin towards the coach from earlier, who is busy glowering at Parker. “Do you think he rolled relationship dice with him?”
A snort of laughter peals from you as you shake your head. Chance’s eyes light up with a grin at the noise, and just as he’s about to say something else, a voice speaks up from behind you. “My, you two make a cute lil’ couple!”
The woman in all green who had been standing against the fence sits down gracefully beside you, adjusting the brim of her cap as she flashes you a sweet smile, her crows lines deepening. She points to the child you had seen earlier, who Parker had given a high five to before sending off. “That one there is my little Truman, been playing since he could walk. Which darling one is yours?”
Without hesitation, both you and Chance point directly to Parker.
Within seconds, her sweet smile drops; she looks like you just spit in her face with spoiled milk. Her eyes, swirling with confusion and disgust, flicker between you two, then Parker. “Oh.”
Then, wordlessly and like the conversation had never even happened, the woman stands back up and goes to sit further down on the end. Chance bursts into laughter, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. The soft locks of his hair tickle your cheek, the edges of his glasses slightly digging into your skin, and you grin. “She must’ve rolled ‘hate’ with him.”
That makes Chance shake more with muffled laughter. From down the bench, you feel daggers being stared at you two, followed by a loud noise of disapproval.
A sharp whistle blows, calming down Chance’s laughter as he sits back up and adjusts his glasses with flushed cheeks and a happy glow. On the field, the teams are switching places. Parker jogs in your direction, and you pull Chance up as you stand beside the fence, letting go of his hand as you thread your fingers through the chainlinks.
Parker slides his helmet off, shaking his vividly colored locks free with a wide grin as he reaches you two. “Looks good, right?”
An interesting effect of Parker being made human was that his hair color faded over time, going from his usual bright colors to an off-white, like faded old paper. He had taken to dying it on his own, albeit in your house while you sat beside him in your bathroom and watched him make a multicolored mess everywhere.
You had, the first time, tried to dye it for him. But he got very flustered having you so close with your hands on him for so long, despite him literally having been inside you multiple times already (and once, against your elbow). Now you were only allowed to point out his blind spots and help with the cleanup.
You hummed, watching his sweaty hair floof up with a run-through of his hand. “Yeah. Might need a haircut soon but it looks good, Parker.”
His blue eyes light up at your words. Then, he turns to the man beside you. “Nice to see you, Chance. I heard the clinic is still going well. You look great.”
Chance blinks in surprise, but recovers quickly with a genuine smile, a hand reaching up to grasp the chainlinks. “Thanks. It’s…nice to see you too, Parker.”
“Now tell me I look great.”
That does throw Chance off for a moment, and you laugh as Parker gives a shit-eating grin. To save Chance from his embarrassment, you hop on your heels as you lean closer to the fence. “Parker! We’ve got a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Did you roll the relationship dice with that guy?” You motion towards the coach, whose back is turned away from the field as he talks with another adult in a green uniform. Parker’s eyes look, but then flicker back to you. It’s just like all those times he does it during his games, except up close like this it’s almost overwhelming. You can see the gentle rise of his chest, his dilated pupils, the warmth rising to his cheeks. You can see the gears turning in his mind as he seems to peer into you like you’re made of glass. Intense. Admiring.
Ever so slowly, Parker’s dark gaze slides from you, to Chance, then back to you. He holds eye contact as he steps forward, his voice low. “No. I only do it for the people who matter.”
A few seconds of silence. A lick of heat is curling through your body, but you favor ignoring it while you try to focus on your breathing, focus on not jumping the fence and kissing Parker stupid. Then, shattering the bubble he built around you three, Parker tilts his head to your right, towards the woman from earlier. He lifts a hand. “Hey Sharon!”
An audible sound of disgust comes from her. Parker grins. “Just wanted to remind you that being the top donor to the league does not enable your husband to bribe calls in your son’s favor. He’s a sweet kid, just needs to play better. If your husband keeps it up I’ll have to call a forfeited game.”
Another sound of disgust, followed by not-so-subtle cursing and tittering from the other parents. Parker catches your gaze again as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers wrapped through the chainlink fence. Then he slips his helmet back on and walks back to the plate.
After a second to collect yourself, you sit back down with Chance. You slip your arm through his, pressing against the warmth of his soft body. His hand moves to rest on top of your knee, and from your right you hear an offended gasp of, “There are children around!”
Chance moves his hand to your inner thigh, thumb stroking circles, and you bite back a giggle, resting against his shoulder. “You two are such little shits.”
“Well.” He shrugs, gaze following Parker’s movements again. “You’re the one who likes us so much.”
That you do. His thumb continues its ministrations, his hand covering a large portion of your leg. It’s honestly not helping calm your desire from earlier. You close your eyes for a moment, your world slipping down to the bright sunlight against your closed eyelids, the sounds of the game and Parker’s voice, and Chance’s body nestled beside yours. Idly, you think about his hand moving down, down, down…
“He reminds me of a cat.” Chance murmurs. “Especially when he does that whole unbroken stare thing.”
“Mmm…I think he likes making sure I’m paying attention to him.”
“I think he likes making sure we’re ogling him.”
Your daydreaming thoughts pause and your eyes pop open again at that. You tilt your head slightly to glance at him better, curious with a teasing question on the tip of your tongue. As if sensing it, Chance rolls his eyes, but when he shifts to look at you he pauses. His hand moves up to cradle your cheek, and he shudders out a breath. “Holy crit, sweetheart, don’t look at me like that.”
You smile sweetly, especially as he leans in to press a featherlight kiss to your forehead with a shaking restraint. “Like what?”
Another soft huff of breath, fanning across your lips. Unconsciously, you tilt your head upwards to meet him.
But despite your desires, Chance drops his hand from your cheek and angles back to the game, although the grip on your thigh tightens for a moment like a warning. “Like there aren't any children around. And nosy, judgemental parents.”
“Damn. What a shame.” You let out a dramatic sigh, and he squeezes your thigh again before both of your attentions fall back on Parker.
A few more minutes pass before the teams switch again. You think Parker is going to come back over to you guys, but he’s caught in a conversation with the other coach, who leads him into the field while gesturing manically about something. As you two watch, Chance squeezes his hand - now more appropriately close to your knee- and says, “He actually stopped by my clinic once. Back when it had just started and I didn’t have much of a team or reputation.”
“Really? Like…as a patient?”
“No, no.” He pauses, tilts his head in thought. “Well, you know him. He doesn’t tend to talk about himself, especially back then. He came in and just asked to play a short campaign with me, just us two. I did get the feeling something was up with him but it didn’t seem like he wanted me to pry…”
On the field, Parker and the coach are looking down at something beside second base. The coach is pointing at something, drawing a line from the base to a sprinkler, off but sticking up from the ground a distance away. From the green team dugout, the other coach gets up and starts hurrying over to them.
Chance continues, “It was actually really nice. At the time I was starting to burn out, with having to come up with new campaign beats while trying to help people, make it something worthwhile to come back to. And,” he nudges you gently, “you already know how long it took before I started getting enough clients to break even.”
You nod, remembering all his stressed venting, all your wishing to be able to do more for him. On the field, the two coaches are talking animatedly to each other. Parker stands silent between them, listening. Then he says something and motions to the red team coach.
“But Parker came in and didn’t let me properly plan anything, it just was built up as we played. Following the rules, of course. I think we played for four hours straight. And then he wished me luck and I didn’t see him or hear from him again. Didn’t even know he was still in town, honestly.” Another pause, and then an incredulous grin graces his lips. “I don’t know. Being human is so damn weird. I have no idea how you do it. It’s so exhausting sometimes.”
He falls silent then, getting lost in thought. You don’t miss the way his gaze keeps snapping back to Parker like a magnet. You would tease him for it if you knew you didn’t do the same thing yourself; the way you wander into a room and you orientate yourself to them, to Chance and Parker. The way they pull the shift of your gaze, the flush to your face and the hike of your heart. The way they appear and you transform, in love and beloved.
With a fluttering in your chest and a light shrug, you say, “I just do what I can. Try my best for my loved ones. Nothing particularly amazing.”
When Chance looks at you, his expression is nothing short of complete reverence and adoration, eyes shining. His hands return to cradle your cheeks, and he kisses you without hesitation, without a care for the woman who makes another sound of judgement from behind you. Then he rests his forehead against yours. “Absolutely amazing. Absolute perfection.”
You huff, but he cuts off your rejections with another kiss.
You and Chance jump away from each other when there’s a loud, abrupt sound of a fence shaking violently. Caught up in your own bubble world, you hadn’t noticed the game was called as a forfeit, as annoyed or cheering parents began packing up their things around you two.
You glance at the fence just in time to finish watching Parker scale over the top of it easily, landing on his feet in front of you. He roughly pulls his helmet off his hair, then leans down and pulls you into a dizzying kiss, one firm hand cradled around the back of your neck. You melt into it after the initial surprise, and he nips your bottom lip and captures your responding whine before letting you go.
Again from your right, Sharon gasps. You turn a dazed look as she points at you and says, “You three are! Are disrespectful! Inappropriate!” Then she points at Parker, and - you have to stop yourself from laughing at this- stomps her foot. “I will get you fired!”
He shrugs carelessly. With the most contempt you’ve ever seen a Little League mother possess, she glares at all three of you before she stalks away to her husband, muttering obscenities underneath her breath.
Chance blows out a breath, eyes still shining. “Sheesh. And I thought my job was hard.”
Parker barks out a laugh at that, his face lighting up. “It’s really not too bad usually.” He motions a hand in the general direction she stalked off in. “They’re the only team that tries to cheat and expect to get away with it. Trying to bribe me? No effort. Watering down the basepaths for the opposing runners? That’s just desperate. It’s a shame since the kids can’t get any practice with their coach basically sabotaging them every game, they’d be really great players otherwise.”
Chance makes a noise of acknowledgement, standing up and stretching, the hem of his shirt rising just enough to flash the slightest bit of stomach. Then two sets of eyes fall to you expectantly, still sitting in an overheating daze.
With a small sound in the back of your throat, both of them grab a hand and pull you to stand, steadying you. You regain your balance, and they let you go for only a moment before Chance turns, again taking your left hand and Parker moving to your right, beginning to walk the path out of the park.
You can’t help the flood of thoughts that flow through you then, like how large both of their hands are, how slightly more rougher and calloused Chance’s are to Parker’s lithe fingers. How easily they fall into your step and the light conversation they keep up over your head, voices low and laughing. How natural it feels to be beside them, walking hand in hand in hand out of a park on a hot, sunny random weekday.
How Chance turns to your advice for campaigns, how he trusted you without hesitation to play an important part in the session today. How Parker seeks you out during his games. How Parker turns to you and Chance for help, without outright saying it. How Chance looks at Parker.
You stop walking abruptly. Both of them fall silent, turning to look at you, mirror images of concern. You glance at both of them, heart bursting, and say, “I love this. I love you.”
You revel in the blush that colors both their faces, the soft chuckle that comes from Chance and the squeeze Parker gives your hand. It looks like he’s about to say something before Chance says, “At uh- at the clinic. Some people were suggesting that I start doing livestreams of my campaigns. They think it would be popular, and could help more people.”
You tilt your head, confused but waiting. Chance clears his throat then continues, gaze fixed above your heads, “I figured you know, sounds crazy but worth a shot. Why not, right? Although I…I would need some help…People to play with.”
Parker’s free hand twitches, as if to reach forward. You three stand together, probably closer than you really need to be, quiet.
When Chance speaks again, his voice is unbearably soft, vulnerable. “It could be a long commitment, so I understand if not but,” His gaze flickers between you and Parker, “I know you guys. I know how great of players you can be-”
At this, Parker does reach forward, his fingers threading with a flustered Chance’s. The surprise, and slight confusion, does cut off his speech, but Parker picks it up with a, “Yippee!”
“Oh my god,” you groan, “I’m in love with a man who unironically says ‘yippee’.”
Softly, with a raise of your hand, Chance goes, “Yippee!”
You roll your eyes as Parker grins wide, swinging both of your adjoined hands back and forth. Chance makes no move to break free of his handhold, an adoring glow about him.
“I’d love to play in a campaign with you guys.” Parker says, to which you nod in agreement. Chance somehow glows brighter at that, uttering a soft, “okay”.
“But for now, I happen to be off of work early today.” Parker takes a step back blindly and pulls your hands with him, something both loving and hungry in his gaze.
You two follow willingly as he continues walking backwards, utterly trusting of you two to catch him if he stumbles. “Wanna play some board games?”