Balls and Strikes

by Sean Michael

  Balls and Strikes

  By Sean Michael

  Motherfucker.

  Mac stormed into the hotel room, throwing his gear hard enough to leave a dent in the wall. Every joint in his fucking torso burned, the rubdown from the trainer and the ten thousand gallons of Icy Hot not helping in the motherfucking least.

  Six to one.

  Six to ONE.

  How the fuck had they let six fucking runs slide by? Why the fuck had Coach let that idiot Greg play for five fucking innings? The kid had to be giving out free fucking blowjobs.

  Six runs down before they let him pitch and against those East Coast assholes. Against that evil son of a bitch.

  He slammed his hand into the doorframe, the pain jolting him, right through the shoulder. "Fuck!"

  "That can be fucking arranged." The voice was low and deep, a thread of anger running through it. "But you hurt that arm, and I'll make you go cold fucking turkey."

  Mac spun around, heart slamming in his chest. "You leave me the fuck alone, you bastard!"

  He glared at Jason Dover, the sonofabitch who'd hit two homeruns and accounted for five of those six runs.

  Dove gave him a hard grin, steel in his eyes. "Oh, I don't think so."

  "This is my hotel room." He had to keep looking; he couldn't stop. So fucking fine, so solid, so real. Dove's teeth were bright against the dark skin.

  "Yep." Dove advanced on him, strength and promise in every fucking step.

  "I'm not doing this." They didn't do this on the road. There was too fucking much to lose, too much to risk.

  "You are." Dove's big hands wrapped in the collar of his shirt and pushed him up against the back of the door with a bang, hard lips descending on his, not giving him a chance to breathe, let alone respond.

  Near black eyes stared into him, bored into him as that tongue fucked his lips and the big, solid body gave him no quarter; he was stuck between the wall and a hard place.

  Evil bastard. Mac hated him. Hated him.

  He grabbed Dove's head, the short, tight, black curls tickling his palm. Growling into the kiss, Dove ground against him, hard cock the best damn thing he'd felt all god damn day.

  He pushed back, fighting Dove's strength, making Dove work for it. They hadn't called him in for innings. They thought he was fucking washed up. He'd shown them washed up, pitching a fucking no-hitter in his innings. He'd show Dove washed up, too, fight that fine fucking son-of-a-bitch for it.

  He could feel Dove's muscles working to keep him right there, feel them flex and shift beneath the tight jeans, the even tighter t-shirt.

  "Hate you." He bit Dove's full bottom lip, wanting to make it sting.

  Dove grunted, hands leaving his shirt collar. One wrapped around the back of his head, the other grabbed hold of his ass, hard. He could feel that heavy club of a cock, grinding against him, making promises that Dove kept, over and over.

  Dove broke the kiss, moving to bite at his throat. "Go on and fight me. Show me how fucking mad you are."

  "You asshole. This is my fucking hotel room. Mine." He shoved at Dove's shoulders, hands sliding on the t-shirt.

  Dove pressed him back into the door harder. "Yep. And I walked right in."

  Dove covered him, taller and broader. The fucking bastard made him feel small, and he wasn't. One big hand tore open his shirt and those hot lips moved to his right shoulder, teeth digging in.

  "Asshole!" He jerked, head slamming against the wall. There was ink, right there. One of a dozen doves, scattered over his body.

  Dove's lips wrapped around the ink, sucking hard enough that it wasn't soothing the sting from the bite, not one little bit.

  "Bastard. I'm not yours, you hear me? Not during the season."

  That stopped the bite, Dove straightening to look him right in the eyes. "You. Are. Mine. Always."

  The next thing he knew, Dove was dragging him to the mattress and tossing him onto it like he was a featherweight. The tight T-shirt was ripped off, baring Dove's dark skin, his amazing six-pack. Dove undid his belt next, not dawdling, but moving slowly enough it was a show. A tease.

  A god damn fucking promise.

  Mac didn't move, he just watched, eyes wide, his entire body lit up.

  The sound of the belt sliding along denim was fucking loud, Dove's jeans' zipper even louder. Then those tight Levis slid down dark, muscled thighs; Dove was going fucking commando. Jesus.

  A dark, wet spot started to grow on Mac's jeans and he had to spread to give his prick more room.

  Dove's cock had plenty of room now and that thick rod of meat was hard, climbing up toward Dove's beautiful belly. The silence was unbroken aside from his breath, which sounded fucking loud in his ears as Dove stepped out of his shoes, out of his jeans and stood there, gloriously naked.

  Time slowed, stretched, and Mac fought to suck in breath. He knew what was coming, knew that belt dangling from Dove's hand was for him. What he didn't know was whether it was for his wrists, for his balls, or for his skin.

  Dove's gaze dragged over him like a touch, moving over every inch of him.

  Finally, the silence broke, Dove's voice thick. "You don't get those clothes off in the next ten seconds, I'm tearing them off you."

  "You've already torn my shirt, fucker. Cost a fortune."

  "Five... four... three..." Dove looked like he didn't care one way or the other how him getting naked went down.

  "You said ten!" He fumbled with the buttons, but he wasn't going to make it.

  "You wasted the first five bitching," Dove pointed out evenly.

  "Fuck you."

  Dove reached down, yanked open his pants, ripping them from his legs. "No, I'll fuck you."

  Mac's shoes popped off, too, and he got his shirt open properly.

  Dove's nostrils flared. "That one's new."

  "I was needing." This dove was on his hipbone, dark and perfect. It had hurt, so good.

  Dove climbed up onto the bed, immediately wrapping his lips around it. Mac's eyes rolled back in his head and he jerked, hips humping restlessly. Teeth scraping, Dove bit and sucked at his hip, fingers sliding up along his ribs.

  Every fucking tattoo was touched, pinched, stroked. Dove knew where every one was, unerringly, even though the man had never once seen him get a single tattoo. Hell, the piercing between his legs, under his balls, Dove had done that himself.

  When Dove's lips closed over his again, this kiss was thorough, deep. One thigh pushed between his legs, spread him wide, nudged his balls, hard.

  Grabbing his belt, Dove nodded. "Wrists up against the headboard."

  "We don't play during the season." He lifted his arms up, though, because he needed it. Bad. He needed that shit that Dove gave him.

  "You need me tonight." Dove wrapped the leather around his wrists and tied the belt onto the headboard. When he was done, he dragged his fingers along Mac's arms, down his chest.

  Dove's fingers looked so fucking black against Mac's skin. He was pasty, Irish, red-headed.

  "You need my bruises." Dove pressed a thumb between his ribs. The ache was deep, slow, the promise of a mark blooming under his skin. "Gonna paint you black and blue."

  Please. Fuck, please. Mac wanted to let the world to go the hell away.

  Dove took his right nipple between sharp teeth, biting hard before sucking.

  "Fucker." Mac's abs drew up, tight, his body aching, so bad.

  Dove laughed, the sound husky and settling right in his balls. Then that maddening suction started again, dragging over his skin, pulling at him. Dove began adding biting to the mix, teeth scraping his skin. Mac pulled against the belt, the ache turning into a burn.

  "Gonna make your skin as dark as mine."

  Mac actually chuckled. Like that was po
ssible. Dove's smile burned against his skin.

  "You always make promises." And Mac was stupid for the son of a bitch.

  "Always keep them." Dove snapped his teeth together, just above Mac's prick.

  "Dove!" He curled, tugging on the belt, his legs pushing at Dove's side.

  "Needy fucking son of a bitch." The tip of his prick was fucked, Dove's tongue pushing into him.

  "Yes. Yes." He humped up, needing that mouth, that pleasure.

  Lips closing around the tip, Dove sucked, the pressure of that mouth tight, hard. It was almost pain, but it was so fucking good.

  "You bastard. Need you. Driving me crazy." Mac twisted, pulled hard. "Bought sounds to fuck my prick, and it doesn't work. It isn't like with you."

  Pulling off him, Dove growled. "That's my fucking job. Not yours."

  "Bought huge plugs. Cock rings." He was going to push and push.

  Dove's dark eyes met his. "You shouldn't have done that."

  "I needed." And the alternative was finding someone else, and that wasn't going to happen. He was Dove's boy.

  "We'll figure something out. Later." Two fingers pushed into his hole, the invasion immediate, fucking intense.

  He clenched, his eyes crossing from the sensation. "Oh, fuck yes."

  Dove's fingers spread, then pushed deep again, catching his gland. Mac gasped as he rolled up, the action catching his shoulders. Dove's free hand landed on his chest, pushed down.

  "Goddamn it!" Mac flexed, his body on fire. "Dove. Sir. Come on."

  "Come on?" Dove asked.

  "I... I need. Please."

  Dove pushed his fingers in harder, lighting Mac up inside over and over.

  "Yeah..." Oh, he was gonna shoot, was gonna blow, so hard.

  "No coming." How the fuck did Dove always know?

  Mac shook his head. He was gonna. He was. Damn it.

  Grabbing his balls, Dove yanked on them. "I said no coming."

  Mac's teeth clacked together, his focus razor sharp.

  "Better." Dove's fingers pushed in again, three this time.

  Mac panted. "Fucking hate that I need this."

  Dove's fingers stilled, eyes hard when they met his.

  "I jack off, wanting it to be your hand. I dream about you." He gave the words to Dove like a gift.

  "I can order you not to jack off," Dove told him.

  "No man can do that."

  Dove got up for a moment, coming back to bed with a little band of leather.

  "Dove?" Mac stared, confused as hell. "What the fuck are you doing?"

  "Tying your cock and balls, gonna make you look obscene for me." Dove's hands dragged over his legs, spread him wide enough his thigh muscles screamed.

  The leather looped around his balls, then his cock, Dove drawing it tight. The dull ache spread through Mac and he twisted, one leg drawing up high.

  "Gonna give you something you'll never forget." God, the promises Dove made. And kept. Three fingers pushed back into him, slick with lube.

  Dove always did do things to him he never forgot. Dove had taught him more about his body than he thought he could learn. Another finger pushed in with the other three, spreading him wider than he'd been stretched since the season had started.

  "D...dove."

  "Sir." The single word was bitten out.

  "Sir."

  Nodding, Dove pushed those fingers in deep, hitting his gland. His lips parted and he couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything. Dove's grin was bright in his face. The pressure on Mac's gland made him mad, the pleasure too big. And Dove kept pushing it again and again.

  "I..." Mac sobbed softly, legs kicking. His heart raced, his exhausted muscles screamed.

  "Almost there." Dove kept watching him as those fingers disappeared and more lube was applied. Then Dove's fingers were back, only it was bigger now, huge.

  Mac stilled, staring, fighting to breathe.

  Dove held his gaze even as that whole hand pushed into him, stretching him wider than he could fucking believe. This sound tore out of him, pushed out of his lungs.

  Nodding, Dove kept on stretching him, hand going deeper. "That's it. Let it all out."

  He couldn't hold anything in. He screamed for Dove, moaned and cried, the pressure inside him huge. Suddenly Dove's hand was inside him, his body closing tight around his lover's wrist. Oh, god. Oh Fuck.

  "Dove." He pulled on the belt, the headboard screaming.

  "I've got you. Holding you in my hand so you can just let go."

  He sobbed softly, fighting to breathe. Dove's fingers moved inside him, touched his gland.

  "I can't..." He couldn't think, couldn't do this.

  "My hand is inside you -- you can do anything." Dove kept moving his fingers, sensation building on sensation inside him.

  Mac's eyes rolled, his legs kicking restlessly, trying to find that space inside him. Dove drew his fingers together, making a fist inside Mac. He looked down, stunned that he couldn't see Dove's hand inside him.

  "Is it all out? Is there any room left in you except for my hand?"

  He shook his head, blinking away the wetness in his eyes.

  "Good. Then the rest of this is about pleasure." Dove began moving his fist.

  "Uhn..." He braced himself, sinking into the pressure.

  "That's it. Just go with it. Enjoy it."

  "Uh-huh." Mac was stunned. Dove was inside him, filling him.

  "I could do this all night." Dove leaned forward, licked the leaking tip of his cock.

  His toes curled and this needy, broken sound left him. "Please..."

  "Please what?" Dove never did let him get away with anything.

  Love me. He didn't say it, though. It didn't do any good.

  Dove's hand pushed in harder. "Please what? Tell me what you want." Another lick swiped more liquid from the tip of his cock.

  "You. You. Need you."

  "Good." That fist pushed in deeper. "I'm right here."

  He moaned and Dove's mouth covered his, tongue tasting him. His prick throbbed in its bindings as Dove's tongue fucked his mouth in time with the hand deep inside him. His legs tingled, his balls drew up against the cord binding them.

  "You'll wait 'til I say you can come."

  "Fuck..." He knew Dove meant it. He remembered this lesson, knew it in his bones.

  Dove's mouth slid over his jaw, leaving quick biting kisses that he knew wouldn't leave marks. Dove knew exactly how much pressure he could use before he made them and never left a mark on his face or neck. Never threatened their livelihood, the game.

  A bite came to his chest, just above his right nipple. The hand inside punched against his gland.

  "Pay attention."

  "I am!" Oh, fuck. He so was.

  "You sure?" God Dove's eyes were even darker now, black. Boring right into him.

  "I swear. I promise. I'm here."

  "Good." Dove's hand kept moving, kept lighting him up inside.

  How could his attention be anywhere else? And he was. He was good. Good. Dove's.

  Dove's tongue flicked across one nipple, then the other. Then that mouth wrapped around his prick. His entire body tightened, as it fought to shoot, to spend. Dove's sharp teeth threatened but didn't break the skin of his prick. A string of curse words left him, like Dove jerked them out on a string.

  Still the sucking continued, and he could feel himself leaking, drops sliding out of him. Pouring into Dove.

  Dove finally pulled off. "When I undo the leather, you can come."

  "Thank you. Please. Sir."

  Dove dragged his mouth along Mac's prick, tongue hot. Mac's eyes rolled back into his head, balls needing release.

  Using his teeth, Dove began to work open the leather binding Mac’s prick and balls.

  "Dove..." Mac didn't know what the fuck to do.

  Dove's fingers moved inside him. "Wait for it."

  "I am! I am, damn it!"

  Chuckling, Dove tugged open the bindings leather sliding from his skin, feeing hi
m.

  "Oh. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck!" His orgasm slammed through him, making him dizzy.

  His ass grabbed Dove's hand, rippling around it as Dove licked at his balls, tongue so hot. He couldn't breathe, all he could do was feel. The sensations faded slowly and sent shivers and aftershocks through him. He melted, eyes closed, the world so far away, so distant.

  Mac felt Dove take his hand out, but it was only on the edge of his awareness. He heard the water run, then a hot washcloth moved over his skin, cleaning him. The covers were tucked around him, a soft kiss dropped onto his forehead.

  "Stay?" Please? He knew he shouldn't ask, but he had to.

  It was quiet for so long, he thought Dove had left. Then the bed dipped and he was taken into that huge son of a bitch's arms, Dove wrapping around him.

  He knew that, when he woke up, Dove would be gone and it would be over again, but he had what he had.

  And that had to be enough.

  ***

  Another shut out. Mac opened his door and flung his bag toward the bed, feeling good. Feeling fucking great. He was on fucking fire and the playoffs were just around the corner. He'd shown everyone he was on top of his game, and it felt amazing.

  He stopped short as he saw the FedEx box on the bed.

  Fuck.

  In St-Louis there'd been flowers. Dozens of them. In Cincinnati it had been flavored condoms. In Florida, chocolates. The best damned chocolates he'd ever tasted. Chicago had been a fucking dildo the size of god damn Calcutta.

  There was never a name; they always came anonymously. But he knew who they were from.

  God knew what this box contained.

  Mac headed for the bed, his cock already filling, and he rubbed it as he walked. This box was small, and when he opened it, the little case inside was even smaller.

  Opening the case, he found a sound and a note, which read. "You can look, you can touch, but don't you dare use it without me."

  His eyes went wide and he tore his jeans open, jacking himself dry, pulling hard. That was when he noticed the postscript on the note. "PS, it vibrates."

  Seed sprayed from him, hips fucking the air violently.

  Dove had taught him about sounds, and he’d tried to use them on his own, to get that same loss of control, a dry orgasm, but he couldn't. Plus doing it himself made Dove growl. Not that that was a bad thing. In fact, it was usually great.