XXX CHAPTER 36 XXX

ɸ69fanatic: #whatiloveaboutbaseball Rally beards!

In a weak moment last night, Edward confessed his fondness for Emmett's beard, hence today's tweet. The facial hair wouldn't have bothered Emmett at all if only he could have tamed it a bit. After all, late-October nights were cooler. Living with baseball's moral equivalent of Mother Teresa, though, Emmett didn't dare trim the damn thing until the end of the Series or—God forbid—sooner if they got knocked out of the playoffs.

For his part, Emmett had a love-hate relationship with the bushy, red beard sprouting from Edward's chin like a copper wire scrub sponge. On the one hand, Emmett loved that fresh-faced, clean-shaven, brilliant-but-innocent genius vibe Edward pulled off. At the same time, there was something appealing about Edward's team spirit, and though the ZZ Top look wasn't exactly Emmett's idea of sexy, it was kind of nice to have that extra handle to grab onto while Edward was riding him, and that wasn't all bad.

Emmett grinned as he typed his message. Yes, I am particularly fond of the way yours tickles my asshole while you're rimming me.

A sharp tweak of his nipple pulled Emmett's attention to the naked man lying beside him in bed. Edward's eyes were blocked by the phone he was busy tapping, but his smile was too wide to hide. Take your head out of your ass for once!

Fine. I'd much rather have my head buried in your ass. :)

Promises promises…

Enough with the phone play. Emmett climbed on top of Edward, tossing both their phones across the bed. "Grab a condom, Paul Bunyan."

Swaying to one side and tipping the big man on top of him, Edward reached for the drawer of his nightstand. "Does that make you Babe, babe?"

Emmett grinned, stroking his morning wood. "It wouldn't be the first time I've been called an ox."

"No, I imagine not," Edward said with a chuff. "You do know the animal's outstanding characteristic, right?"

"Of course. Strength."

"Try stubbornness." Edward lifted his hips, jostling Emmett as he attempted to roll the condom down his shaft.

"Hey! You don't want me to get you pregnant, do you?"

"Oh, I don't know," Edward said, grinning up at him. "I think our baby might look kind of cute, popping out with a little black or red beard."

"And what if it's a girl?"

Edward squeezed a glop of lube onto Emmett's tip. "Then I guess we'll be investing in electrolysis?"

"Just for that, you can stretch out your own damn hole," Emmett said, settling back on his haunches between Edward's legs.

The professor knew an act when he saw it; Emmett loved to watch Edward get ready for him. Coating his fingertips with lube, Edward opened his legs wide and worked his fingers into place. Emmett watched with greedy eyes while Edward's fingers disappeared inside. Edward laid it on thick, moaning and writhing, teasing poor Emmett until he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Out of the way! Make room for Babe."

Edward grinned as he moved his hand away. "Is this our new reality now? You're gonna call your penis 'Babe'? I don't know if I can keep a straight face."

"When have I ever asked you to keep a straight face?" Emmett lined up and nudged his tip inside. Pulsing forward with small, gentle strokes, he dropped forward to kiss Edward. "My beard missed your beard." Their mouths connected with loud, deep kisses as Emmett thrust inside, and Edward's hips rocked up to meet him.

After nearly four months of learning each other's rhythms, Emmett recognized Edward's deepening grunts as a dead giveaway and responded by pushing up onto his hands to carve out longer, deeper strokes. Edward ran his fingers reverently across Emmett's chest, rolling his palms over the pitcher's shoulders. Edward had that glazed look in his eyes, telling Emmett exactly where his partner's thoughts had wandered.

"I'm going to pitch my heart out tonight, and you'll be right there in the stands, cheering me on, won't you?"

"Yes!" Edward responded by squeezing his thighs around Emmett's hips, drawing him closer.

"You and your goddamn sexy lumberjack beard," Emmett said. "You need a flannel shirt with my name on the back."

"Your name's . . . . uh . . . underneath . . . gah . . . against my skin . . . ahhh!"

"I like that. All mine. Just like this beard"—Emmett flexed his elbows and lowered himself to Edward's mouth—"and these lips are all mine."

Edward looped his hands behind Emmett's neck, locking them together while Emmett thrust them both into oblivion. Emmett collapsed onto Edward's chest and nuzzled into his partner's neck. It didn't take long for Edward's fingers to migrate from Emmett's hair to the growth on his face. "Enjoy it while you can," Emmett said, smiling into the nails scratching at his sideburns.

"You've got to keep some of it at least. It's too sexy to waste."

Bargaining chips were rare with Edward; he wanted for almost nothing. It was frustrating and flattering as hell. Emmett latched on to his rare chance.

"I'll keep my beard if you let me be your assistant coach."

Edward's fingernails stopped. "No tee-ball for you. Especially with this beard. You might as well post a neon sign over the field: Emmett and Edward Forever. No, no, nuh, nuh, noooo. No!"

"So, does that mean you'll think about it?" Emmett tickled Edward behind his ear, smirking when Edward turned to glare at him.

Edward exhaled, a parent's long-suffering sigh. "I'm not going to be the one to out you. Don't ask me to work under inhumane conditions. A person can only be so strong!"

"Aww, shit. You're a pussycat, you know that?" Emmett kissed the pouty lips between Edward's mustache and beard. "I appreciate you every day. I want you to know that. I know it sucks in a million different ways that we have to keep this quiet, and I just want to tell you, I think you're awesome for putting up with all my shit."

"You're lucky you're hot."

Emmett chuckled at the grumpy expression Edward was working so hard to hold onto. "I'm lucky you're hot."

"Huh, probably not. We could've gone right on just being friends, and you wouldn't have all this turmoil in your life."

Grasping Edward's beard in his hand, Emmett held him in place. "Listen up, Professor. All kidding aside, I fell for you before I ever saw your kiss-me-harder lips or your follow-me-to-my-bedroom eyes or that fuck-me-again-why-don't-you little ass of yours. You got me with your heart, okay? The rest is gravy—smooth, rich, hot gravy—but the truth is, none of that would've mattered."

By the shade of Edward's blush, Emmett figured maybe he'd gotten through to the man, once and for all.

"So, does this mean you'll stop pestering me about tee-ball?"

There was only one answer Emmett could possibly give that face. "Fine."

Edward's smile returned, and he ran his palms up and down along Emmett's cheeks. "And maybe think about keeping the beard? Or at least some serious five o'clock shadow?"

"I'll think about it."

Edward grasped Emmett's unruly sideburns and covered his mouth with a kiss. "Now go win me that pennant."

XXX

Emmett was attempting to sit still in Trey's massage chair when Fuller threw the closing strike. The Safeco crowd erupted outside the locker room door, and Emmett jumped up and threw his arms over his head in celebration, sending the ice sling clattering to the floor.

Trey chuckled as he wrapped two cautious arms around Emmett's shoulders and slapped him on the back. "Congratulations, Mac! You just won the goddamn pennant!"

"We did." Emmett gripped Trey around his waist as the first tear broke loose. "Couldn't have done it without you, man."

The arms holding Emmett in place tightened in acknowledgment before Trey released him. "I'm guessing there's someone you want to call?"

Emmett nodded, checking the locker room door for the imminent stampede. "Better hurry!" Trey backed out of the trainers' room and closed the door with a knowing grin.

Edward's message was waiting for Emmett when he turned on his phone.

SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU! KNEW YOU COULD DO IT! YOU WON THE PENNANT!

If Edward was sitting in the stands—and where the hell else would he be right now?—there was no way he'd be able to hear Emmett, but he took a chance and called anyway.

"Holy shit! You did it!" Edward's exclamation points jumped through the phone.

"I had to! You told me to win it for you."

"I can't hear a damn thing. The crowd is going nuts out here! I didn't see you in the dugout. Did you go inside?"

"Yes, Coach sent me inside. I watched in the locker room with Trey."

"Did you say 'Trey'?"

That he heard. "Gonna text you."

"I can't hear you. Text me!"

Hey.

HEY! How's your arm? 65 fastballs tonight.

I'm fine. Gotta do the whole team thing for a bit. You know how it is.

No worries. Enjoy your moment. I'll see you when I see you.

Thanks for understanding.

Just tell me where and when. Mine or yours?

Might be after 1. Still want me?

YES! ALWAYS. I'll sleep when I'm dead.

You won't be cranky to your morning classes? I'll feel guilty.

My kids know I'm a die-hard Mariners fan. They'll understand if I stay up late celebrating.

Oh is THAT what the kids are calling it these days? ;)

Something like that. You coming to me?

Yes. Go to bed. I'll wake you up.

Promise?

Of course. Isn't that why you gave me your key?

Yep. Hey, you know what this means?

We go to the World Series?

10 more days of #MacBeard. :)

Not if we sweep!

Take your time. Beat them slowly.

Thanks for the great advice, Coach.

You drinking tonight?

Just a beer or two.

If you're tired or you feel like drinking more, just shoot me a text. Stay safe. I'll understand.

I know you would, but I'll be there.

The words they'd never said to each other were sitting right there on the tip of Emmett's fingers, their absence on both sides of the conversation creating a palpable presence in the empty spaces.

Love you.

XXX

Emmett slipped the key in the lock, tiptoed inside, and dead-bolted the door behind him. The weekend with Edward had been an oasis for both of them and the win a giddy endpoint, but the reality was that Edward had to get up at 6:30 for work. Emmett would've felt guilty waking him at 2:15 if he didn't honestly believe Edward would've gladly stayed up all night to "celebrate" with him.

Emmett could afford to be selfish for another couple weeks. After that, baseball season would be over, and Emmett could figure out how to be the kind of boyfriend who gave rather than took. He might even get his ass to the grocery store now and then. Only for Edward.

As he approached the bedroom, Emmett heard the familiar voices of the TV announcers calling the game. Shaking his head, he walked into the room. Edward was wide awake, propped up on a pile of pillows, arms folded behind his head, and a giant grin on his face.

"You're a nut. What are you doing?"

"Watching you."

Emmett stalked toward the bed, pulling off his shirt and tossing it on the floor. "I'm over here."

For one comical moment, Edward's gaze darted back and forth between the live and recorded Emmetts. "I've got you in stereo."

Emmett crawled across the bed, pulled down the covers until Edward was fully exposed, and planted a line of kisses up the inside of Edward's leg. "Can that guy do this?"

Playing along, Edward glanced at the television. "I would have to guess so. He looks pretty hot. Look, he's about to strike out Hardy."

Flopping down between Edward's legs, Emmett turned to watch his final pitch of the sixth inning. "Huh, ninety-six miles per hour. Not bad," he said. "But can he do this?" Emmett flipped over and opened his mouth around Edward's hardening cock. In no time, he had him as stiff as the bedpost.

Edward answered with a groan, grasping Emmett's hair with both hands. "C'mere, sixty-nine."

Emmett lifted his head. "You talking to me? Because if you want to be alone with your TV . . ."

The TV was turned off, the remote tossed to the floor. Emmett shimmied out of his clothes while positioning himself over Edward's mouth. This was the moment he'd been looking forward to on the ride over, their favorite way to play. Emmett was revved and exhausted all at once, and Edward had the secret formula of tongue and teeth and fingers to draw him out. If he didn't know better, Emmett might think the professor had developed a secret formula using Emmett's energy level, arousal factor, and some ratio of good pitches to bad—the guy was voodoo.

Jesus, now he's got me thinking in stats during sex!

The cock filling his mouth was more than enough to occupy Emmett's available mental capacity, and he set all his concentration on pleasing his partner. Edward would be thinking about the hand that won the pennant, so Emmett gave him a little extra grip and twist on each stroke. And that beard Edward loved so much? Emmett swept the wild thicket along Edward's balls on each downward trip.

Edward responded by humming against Emmett's ass, his tongue working frantically inside while his hands took care of the rest. The two were playing a familiar game of chess; at first, a pawn was sacrificed for a pawn, then a rook for a rook. But now, the stakes were higher. Queens and kings were in jeopardy; who would fall first? This was a game Edward usually won and Emmett happily conceded, but tonight, Emmett was determined to hang on. Maybe the challenge of his alter ego had gotten to him, but Emmett McCarty was a man who knew how to rise to the occasion.

He'd toss in some filthy talk; that always worked. A little reminder of his hundred-mile-per-hour fastball to Cruz would have Edward popping his nut in no time, but that would require taking his mouth off the subject at hand, so to speak, and Emmett opted for Plan B instead. Sucking his middle finger into his mouth, Emmett reached around and pressed against Edward's taint, sliding his finger slowly but surely into his hole. Edward moaned and opened his legs. Attaboy.

Meanwhile, the pressure was building at the other end as the two battled to the finish. The first tang of Edward's release hit the back of Emmett's throat as the flutter in Emmett's belly turned into an unstoppable thunder. Edward writhed beneath him, filling Emmett's mouth with his release while pumping and gliding his fist along Emmett's shaft with increased determination. Emmett swallowed in that final second before he lost control and came fast and hard on Edward's chest.

When Edward's alarm went off at 6:30, Emmett found himself feet-to-headboard but under the twisted covers with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. Emmett yawned and squinted at his boyfriend. "Did you get any rest?"

"Shh, go back to sleep." Edward dropped a kiss on Emmett's cheek as he shuffled out of bed.

Emmett squinted through tired eyes, unable to resist the sight of Edward's backside heading toward the shower. With a huge smile on his face, Emmett flipped himself around, stretched out in the middle of the bed, fluffed Edward's pillow, pulled the covers up to his chest, and watched Edward get ready for work in the dim light of the bathroom. "You don't have to be quiet. I'm not going back to sleep until you leave."

Edward shook his head and laughed. "Suit yourself." Edward moved through his bedroom with Emmett's eyes on him. Emmett caught him peeking at him in the mirror as Edward tied his tie, and he gave him a little wave.

"You act like you've never seen a guy get dressed before."

Emmett guffawed. "To be honest, you might be the only one. I don't think I ever stuck around long enough."

Edward grabbed a pair of socks from the drawer and sat down next to Emmett on the bed. "Okay watch. First I slide one foot in . . . and then, the other. Pretty exciting, huh?"

"Mmhmm."

"For my next trick, I'm going to tie my shoes."

"I can't wait."

Edward's head shook the whole way to the closet as he bent over to grab his shoes. "Did you hear any of the commentary last night on your way over here?"

"Why would I listen to talk radio when I have you?"

Not sure whether to take him seriously, Edward plopped down onto the bench just outside his closet. Pulling on the first shoe, he nonchalantly said, "They're talking Cy Young, Em."

"Is that right?"

Edward smiled. "I know you have your eye on the World Series right now, but that would be huge. I think you've got it. With your ERA and strikeout stats, the no-hitter and the perfect game—"

Emmett cleared his throat. "Not perfect game."

"Whatever," Edward said, fully dressed and heading for the door. "You've got this."

"Aren't you gonna say a proper goodbye?"

Edward eyed him suspiciously. "You're not gonna muss me all up, are you?"

"I thought about it, but no. I don't want you to get in trouble with your mean boss."

Edward approached the bed cautiously, leaned over, and dropped a kiss on Emmett's head. "Have a great day today, Mac. Enjoy your time in the sun."

Author's Note: Looks like Big Mac is headed to the World Series. Who knew? Oh wait, ALL OF YOU! :) I can't say I'm a fan of the baseball beards per se, but I do love me some team spirit! Check out the patch for the rally beard illustration.

Time again to thank my support staff, who put up with my totally random chapter spewing and erratic vacation schedule and somehow manage to get their eyeballs through the story and wrangle this words into submission. Jayme, Shell, Shad, LadyV, sometimes Tammy, and always Chayasara, thank you all.

And here's something cool. Reviews on Wild Pitch are about to kick over the 2000 mark, which is pretty cool for a slash story, so THANK YOU to each and every one of you who's left me a kind word. It seems each chapter I hear from a brand new reviewer, which is very exciting for me, considering all the damn chapters of all the damn stories I've posted. If you haven't read the Meet the Mate contest entries and voted yet, better get yourself over there soon! (Search on author name MeetTheMate for the 80 entries!) Did I forget anything? Hee hee!

XXX~BOH