I thought I'd go completely blogless today...
Since I'm boycotting LJ and all. This worked fine last night. I actually finished chapter four of my original baseball smut. All was cool, too, this morning. I spent the time I'd normally be reading LJ reading an actual BOOK. But then, I got to work. Managed for about an hour, and then thought: hey, I could always go on Insane Journal. *g*
So much for my bloglessness!
If I am going to hang out on IJ today, it seems only right to post aome smut. So here's an excerpt from my baseball thing. To sum up, there's a grumpy older pitcher and the young puppy of a catcher called up from the minors to work with him. This is their firt kiss.
That evening, Jim hit his favorite spring training bar, The Inlet, with fifteen beers on tap, the right kind of music, and none of the Miami-style glitz that always made him feel like shooting something. He took his time threading his way through the crowd, the hard press of bodies, warm brush of skin, buzz of lust. By the time Jim slid onto a stool, he was all revved up and ready for company.
Gus, the owner of the place, was tending bar that night. "How's it going?" He set a tall, frosty mug of Jim's favorite down in front of him.
Jim raised the glass in a toast. "Can't complain."
Gus nodded and went off to wait on other customers, leaving Jim to his reconnaissance. A set of identical twins shimmied their hips out on the dance floor, tow-headed and no more than half dressed. Jim happily imagined himself sandwiched in the middle of them. There was a Swedish model, or a serious wanna-be at least, drinking champagne with an older man in a pinstriped suit. The old guy kept leaning closer, the expression in his eyes something you could do time for in a few parts of Texas, while the wannabe just looked sullen and bored. Jim caught his eye, and the boredom disappeared just like that. Yeah, Jim thought smugly, the wanna-be could be had. On the other side of the bar sat the boy next door, wide-eyed and clean cut, with a milk-toothed smile. He dipped his head bashfully whenever anybody talked to him, and Jim had to wonder if he'd even had sex before. That right there was an interesting possibility.
Jim tipped back the rest of his beer and was just about to go say hello to Mr. Boy Next Door when he caught sight of Alex Martin. Professional sports drew its fair share of groupies looking to get laid by a star, and not all of them were women. Every year during spring training, Alex hooked up with a ballplayer, got his brains fucked out for a few weeks, and then cheerfully said "see ya" when the team headed north. It was a sweet deal. Jim should know. He'd been the beneficiary of it the past three seasons.
This year, apparently, Alex had gotten cozy with somebody else. The prospect was sitting nearly on top of him in one of the banquettes along the wall, smiling and whispering, hands getting frisky beneath the table. The guy was big and square, a lot younger than Jim, with a face that looked like it had seen the business end of a blender. Jim didn't recognize him from around the league.
He called Gus over. "Who's that?" He jerked his head toward Alex and the mystery man.
"Gary Tucker. Or Taylor. Something like that. Semi-pro hockey player."
Jim couldn't keep the grimace off his face. Gus poured him another beer, setting it down with a sympathetic look. Alex always went for the hottest, most highest profile athlete he could get his hands on, everybody knew that. Jim had been passed over for a blender-faced hockey player who wasn't even in the NHL.
He sipped his beer sourly and was just starting to think about calling it a night when he caught sight of a familiar curly head coming through the door. Jim followed the kid's progress through the crowd, and it was like he had a neon sign advertising "fresh meat" stuck to his ass. Guys looked him up and down, called out "hey, baby," and one particularly ballsy bastard got rather grabby.
"Hands off the kid," Jim barked at the jackass.
The guy slunk away, no doubt thinking he'd messed with Jim's boyfriend and fists were about to fly. Noah slid gratefully onto the neighboring bar stool. Jim nodded to Gus, who set a beer down in front of Noah.
"Oh, um, thanks," the kid said.
Jim nodded. "How'd you find me?"
"The guys told me where you hang out."
Jim hid his grin behind his mug. He imagined they hadn't bothered to mention what kind of bar it was. "Okay, kid. You're here. I'm here. What's so important?"
Noah took a big breath. "Well, it's like I've been trying to tell you. Losing speed off your fastball doesn't have to be an insurmountable problem. And don't get pissed at me for saying it's gotten slower. That's just a fact, and you know it."
"Kid, I'm thirty-eight. You can't expect miracles."
"What about Roger Clemmens?" Noah challenged.
Jim made a face. "I'm not a fan of running my ass off the way the Rocket does to stay in shape." He added with a grin, "And juicing would take away from my sexual prowess."
The kid just rolled his eyes and steamed right ahead. "I really think it's more about pitch selection. You used to throw a changeup. A really good one. But you got away from it when you started throwing the cutter. That was great when you were hitting ninety-five miles an hour, but now it's time to go back to the changeup. I know I'm just a rookie, but I really would like to help you work on it."
Jim vaguely registered "change up." He'd gotten distracted when he noticed Alex glancing over at them. The look he leveled at the kid practically screamed, "You bitch!" Jim broke into a malicious grin. Throw him over for some semi-pro hockey player, huh? This was going to be fun.
"Okay, kid. Let's hear more about this game plan of yours."
Noah brightened. "Really? Cool! So I was thinking--"
Jim nodded toward the dance floor. "I pay better attention when there's music." He didn't wait for an answer, trusting that the kid would follow.
"If this is some initiation thing--" Noah caught up to him, sounding exasperated.
"Look, kid, you do me a favor and help me get someone's attention, and I'll give pitching your way a shot, okay?"
Noah narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"What have I got to lose?" Jim reasoned. "Did you not see me suck last year?"
Noah muttered, "You'd better not be playing me."
Jim settled his hands on Noah's waist and pulled him close. The kid's body was warm and solid, and Jim could feel the intake of his breath, sharper now that they were pressed together. "I'm not playing you, Chief. And this is all just for show, so don't go into a homosexual panic on me or anything, okay?"
"I'm not worried," Noah said confidently.
"No?" Jim stroked his fingers along Noah's side, just to test his reaction.
Noah shook his head, his hair brushing Jim's cheek, and it was just instinct for Jim to breathe in. God, the kid smelled good. Maybe Jim shouldn't go making promises he wasn't so sure he wanted to keep.
"This guy you're trying to make jealous. Is he someone special?"
Jim shrugged. "Someone I used to sleep with. Now he's fucking somebody else."
"Ah. So, this is an ego thing then."
Jim laughed. "Don't ever change, kid." He moved his hands over Noah's broad back, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin cotton of his shirt. The kid wasn't making any grand declarations about his sexual orientation, so Jim figured that meant he was pretty damned straight. "You got a girl?"
"Well--" the kid hesitated.
Jim nudged him. "Come on. What's her name?"
"Holly," he said at last. "But we're not going out anymore. She was really pissed when I turned down graduate school to play baseball. She's not all that crazy about jocks."
"Graduate school, huh? So, you're a college boy."
Noah stepped on Jim's foot and didn't look the least bit sorry for it. "I don't like that label any better than 'hippie boy' or 'kid'. I'm twenty-four, not twelve."
Jim grinned. "Okay, Chief. I'll do my best to treat you like the old man you are."
He glanced over Noah's shoulder and found Alex still staring. Blender Face was stroking his arm, trying to get his attention, but Alex couldn't seem to pry his gaze away from Jim and Noah.
"Anyway, back to baseball," the kid said. "I really think we can get you back on track if we just come up with the right pitching sequences--"
Jim leaned in to kiss Noah's neck, and the sentence ended in a breathy little gasp, Noah's body arching into Jim's, an instinctive reaction. Apparently, Jim had found the right spot. To test the theory, he kissed there again, lingering. Noah's hips pressed hotly against his, and the kicker was, Jim wasn't the only one who was hard. Clearly he needed to reassess his opinion of the kid's irrevocable heterosexuality.
He slid his hands down Noah's back, cupping his ass, pulling him even closer. Alex was still staring, his expression darkening by the moment. Jim whispered in Noah's ear, "Try not to look like you want to hit me."
He bent his head, slowly, so Noah could turn away if he really wanted to. He didn't, and his lips were firm and soft. Jim moved his mouth lightly against them, the dry brush of skin against skin. That was as far as he'd intended to go, honestly, but then Noah's mouth opened beneath his and he brought his hands up to Jim's chest, fingers tangling in Jim's shirt.
That pesky little rule about not getting it on with teammates collided with Jim's general philosophy of life that insisted opportunity should be greeted with an enthusiastic "hell, yeah." It was philosophy that won. Jim cupped Noah's face between his palms, worried Noah's bottom lip with his teeth, explored Noah's mouth lazily with his tongue. Noah squeezed Jim's shoulders, holding on, pulling Jim closer. He kissed back eagerly, demandingly even, as if this had nothing to do with any deal.
They broke away only when they were breathless and sweating. Noah's lips looked wet and soft from kissing, and Jim really wanted to make them look that way some more.
Noah cleared his throat. "So, uh, do you think that got his attention?"
For a second, Jim honestly had no idea what he was talking about. He was too busy staring at Noah's mouth.
"Worked like a charm," he said at last. Not that he particularly gave a damn anymore.
Noah hesitated. "Well, I guess-- I should probably call it a night. I'll see you tomorrow." He took a few steps toward the door and then turned back around. "Change up."
Jim laughed. "Whatever you say, Chief."
He returned to the bar, and Gus had a beer waiting for him. He managed all of one sip before Alex joined him, not a terribly surprising development.
"Hey, Jimmy," Alex said, his voice a come hither rasp.
Jim nodded, concentrating on his beer.
Alex settled on the barstool next to him and leaned closer. "I haven't see you much lately."
"You must have been busy," Jim said dryly. "Because I've been around."
"Come on, Jimmy. Don't be like that." He put a hand on Jim's thigh and slid it slowly upward until his palm covered Jim's cock. "I missed you."
Jim brushed his hand away. "I think somebody's waiting for you." He jerked his head toward Blender Face, who was looking by turns wounded and murderous.
"Your loss." Alex thumped off in a huff.
Jim finished his beer and went home, still nursing a hard on, something that hadn't happened to him since-- well, he couldn't remember. He started stripping off his clothes as soon as the door shut behind him, leaving a trail on the stairs up to his bedroom, cock already in hand. He flopped back onto the bed, rubbed his thighs, started to move his fist, his grip tight around his shaft.
He'd never passed up an easy lay in his life. The way he figured it, Noah owed him an orgasm. He closed his eyes and conjured up images of Noah on his back and with his legs up in the air and bent over pieces of furniture, pornographic and begging for it.
But the kid just wouldn't cooperate. The picture kept shifting in Jim's head, Noah kissing and smiling and babbling on about changeups and game plans. It was this that finally brought Jim off.