Anthology Play Ball

205 Pages·2016·0.89 MB·English

by  Michael Sean

Play Ball
by CB Potts
Torquere Press
www.torquerepress.com
Copyright ©2006 by CB Potts
First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2006
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Play Ball
by CB Potts
Table of Contents
After the Old Ball Game by Sean Michael
Swordsmen by Syd McGinley
Football & The Beach by Sean Michael
Leaving the Pool by Dean Durber
Volleys & Touchdown by BA Tortuga
Still in the Gate by Vincent Diamond
Hitting Streak by Julia Talbot
Sticky Wicket by Fiona Glass
Coach by Alex Exley
Stick Handling by Landon Dixon
Dojo Men by Thomas Fuchs
On Ice by James Buchanan
Center Pocket by Emily Veinglory
Ringside by CB Potts
More than a Mouthful by Sean Hagan
Pick Up by Linnet
Horsin' Around by Richard Citrel
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Play Ball
by CB Potts
CONTENTS
After the Old Ball Game by Sean Michael
Swordsmen by Syd McGinley
Football and the Beach by Sean Michael
Leaving the Pool by Dean Durber
Volleys and Touchdowns by BA Tortuga
Still in the Gate by Vincent Diamond
Hitting Streak by Julia Talbot
Sticky Wicket by Fiona Glass
Coach by Alex Exley
Stickhandling by Landon Dixon
Dojo Men by Thomas Fuchs
On Ice by James Buchanan
Center Pocket by Emily Veinglory
Ringside by CB Potts
More Than A Mouthful by Sean Hagan
Pick Up by Linnet
Horsin' Around by Richard Citrel
* * * *
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Play Ball
by CB Potts
Play Ball!
Right now, while I'm writing these words, the entire
world's become obsessed with football. I hear about the
World Cup first thing in the morning and it's the last thing on
the news at night. Every broadcast is filled with legions of
good looking men kicking a ball around the field, an endless
battle for dominance and glory.
Who's going to win? Damned if I know. Who's playing?
Damned if I know that either. Some of us watch sports a little
differently. We don't care about RBI or first downs. We don't
care if that's a world record or a personal best. We just want
to see sweaty bodies working hard.
And here, we do. Sure, we've got some 'on the field' action
for you sports buffs—from cricket matches to the boxing ring,
hockey to ice skating, basketball and, of course, football—
American style. Jarheads style.
So read on. Enjoy. Root for your favorite athletes as they
strive for glory. It'll be better than the Olympics. I promise.
CB Potts
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Play Ball
by CB Potts
After the Old Ball Game by Sean Michael
Benj curled up in Brett's easy chair, watching the Marlins
crush the Wolverines on the brand new TV.
The chair smelled of his lover, musk and leather and a hint
of Cool Water, and was really the best seat in the house. It
sure beat the seats at the game and it was still early enough
in the year these evening games were cold. Besides, he didn't
drive and it would take him forever to get home if he
attended and Brett would beat him back and...
None of the excuses really made him feel any less guilty
for not attending Brett's home games in person, but he knew
the full body massage he was going to give Brett would.
He winced as the pitcher threw the ball right at Brett,
hitting him just above the elbow, catching the bulging tricep.
That was the second time the Wolverines had deliberately hit
Brett, keeping the slugger from hitting another home run.
Benj supposed it made sense strategically, Brett was
responsible for all six of the Marlins' runs, but it was still bad
sportsmanship as far as he was concerned and he knew it
would make Brett furious.
There was only an inning more to play and Benj watched
as the Marlins scored one more run before they struck McGee
out. Then the Marlin pitcher shut the Wolverines down in the
top of the ninth and it was over.
He turned off the TV and brought out his massage table,
putting the towels in the warmer and setting his oils up in a
bowl of hot water. Brett's coach wasn't likely to keep the
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players long, not after a blowout win like this one. Benj
wanted to be ready when Brett came through the door,
growling and hurt as a wounded bear.
All set up, Benj fluttered through the house, picking up this
and that, straightening the magazines, making sure there was
a cold beer or three in the fridge, that Brett's favorite glass
was clean and in freezer. He put on a bit of classical music,
Mozart to lift Brett's spirits and then curled back up in the big
chair that held the imprint of his lover's body.
It could have been forever, or just a few moments, before
the front door to their condo slammed open, Brett's arm
wrapped in an ice pack, his blond lover glowering. "Did you
see that motherfucker Jameson? I swear to God, baby, I
ought to go down to the Hilton and beat that bastard to
death."
"I did see! Twice! On purpose! They were just terrified you
were going to knock a couple more out of the park." Benj
leapt out of the chair and hustled over to Brett, taking the
duffel from Brett. Benj tossed it toward the laundry and
raised his face for a kiss.
He got a half-grin before Brett leaned down, kissed him
good and hard, just pouring all of that fury and frustration
and excitement into it, into him. It made his head spin. He
wrapped one arm around Brett's good shoulder, the other
around Brett's waist and just held on, mouth opening wide as
that little, close-cropped beard scraped his chin. Oh, he loved
this man, loved the passion Brett infused into his life.
Pressing close, Benj let his head drop back, the kiss going
deeper.
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Brett purred, one callused hand finding his ass and
squeezing, tugging him closer. "Taste good, baby."
He beamed up at his lover. Brett made him feel so damned
good. Like the center of the universe. "For you," he
murmured, rubbing against his favorite slugger's muscles.
"Shit yeah. I'll be pissed if you hid another ball player in
here."
He blinked up at Brett for a moment and then started to
laugh. "Nut," he accused fondly, squeezing Brett's shoulder.
"Like anyone else could hold a candle to you and your ... bat."
Brett's laugh shook him, jostled him as he moved them
toward the massage table. Benj started to undo Brett's
buttons, letting his fingers linger on Brett's skin as it was
exposed. "I found a new rubbing oil. It's supposed to warm
and soothe your muscles. The bottle says long-lasting so it
should keep working long after I stop."
"You're going to stop?" Tease. Those eyes just danced.
He looked Brett up and down, wincing as he noticed the
bruise on Brett's side. "I'll go all night if you need me to,
Brett."
"Mmm ... You and me? All night? I'm there, baby." Brett
took another kiss, this one slower, deeper. "You want my
jeans off?"
A shiver went through Benj and he whimpered softly, his
whole body going tight from the kiss. "Yeah. Take them off."
Swallowing, nodding to reinforce his yes, he helped Brett get
rid of the ice around his arm and the shirt came right off.
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Oh, that bruise was ... God. Just wrong on that tanned
skin. His fingers ghosted over it and Brett hummed. "They x-
rayed it, baby. Nothing's broken."
"Thank God for that. Does it hurt? Did they give you
anything for the pain?" He slid his fingers over Brett's face,
cupping his lover's cheek, looking into Brett's eyes.
"Just a little sore." He knew what that meant. It hurt and
they gave Brett something and Brett didn't take it.
He made a soft noise and let his fingers drift down to
Brett's shoulder, beginning to rub the warm skin. "Hurting
anywhere else tonight?"
"Mmm. Nowhere your hands won't fix it." Brett climbed
onto the massage table, settled nice and easy. "We fucking
kicked ass, baby."
He laughed softly. "I saw. And you drove in all the runs but
that last one, which you scored. I cheered so loudly the
neighbors knocked on the wall." He started to massage Brett,
working the wide shoulders first.
"They obviously weren't watching the game." The pale
tattoos fascinated him, dozens of white tigers inked on Brett's
shoulders, down the muscled back. He traced them with his
fingers, digging in, knowing Brett liked it when he really
worked the tired muscles.
"Obviously. I did though. You were really on your game
today."
"I want to go to the All-Star Game. I want to renegotiate
my contract in October."
"You keep playing like you have been and they'd be crazy
not to send you." He slid his hands down along Brett's sides,
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moaning softly. He did love the feeling of Brett's skin under
his hands.
"I hope so. My stats are solid." Brett stretched, sliding a
little under his hands.
He reached for the oil, pouring a generous portion into his
hands and then went back to rubbing Brett's skin. "You're an
awesome player—they're lucky to have you." And he was
lucky to have Brett, too. Such a gorgeous stud. And all his.
"Thanks, baby." Brett hummed, moving slow and lazy
under his hands. "Feels good."
"Yeah? That's good." He grinned and focused on carefully
pushing his fingers against Brett's spine; sometimes he got so
caught up in how good it felt to touch Brett that he forgot he
was supposed to be massaging. His hands drifted down to
Brett's buttocks, digging into the beautiful, strong muscles.
"Uh-huh." Brett's legs spread, the scent of male and need
heady. Whimpering, Benj forced himself to keep his hands
massaging, working Brett's thighs, his shins, then his feet,
making sure not to tickle.
"Turn over," Benj murmured, voice thick. "I'll do your
front."
"Uh-huh." Brett's cock was full, dark, the tip wet and wide.
Benj whimpered again, licking his lips. "How are you
feeling?" he asked. If Brett needed it, he'd be good and keep
massaging.
"Melted. Horny as hell."
"Perfect." He slid his hands up along Brett's legs, sliding
them over Brett's hips and up along the solid chest. Just as
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