XXX CHAPTER 37 XXX
ɸ69fanatic: Turning over my #whatiloveaboutbaseball tweets to Emmett McCarty during World Series. Today's tweet, ɸbigmac69
Retweeted ɸbigmac69 #whatiloveaboutbaseball: The excitement of the Series.
The summer's field whittled from 30 to 2, soon to be one victor.
"I don't understand why they didn't start you tonight. You could've started games one and four, even seven if the Series goes that far, and you still could've been in the bullpen for late innings in between. Now you have to dig the team out of a hole instead of leading off with a win."
Emmett sighed into the phone. "Your faith in me really is extraordinary. The Giants were tough tonight, Edward. I don't know that I would've fared any better than Hernandez."
"Bullshit!" Edward's outburst bounced off the walls of Emmett's car, echoing his own frustration.
It wasn't just that they'd lost tonight. Emmett wasn't slated to start until game three in San Francisco, and Edward wouldn't be there to see it. If the Mariners didn't turn this ship around quickly enough, that might well be Emmett's one and only World Series appearance.
"Edward, I just pitched two nights ago. You know Coach wouldn't risk blowing out my shoulder."
Edward's answer was quiet, repentant. "I know. I'm sorry. Logic is failing me right now, and I shouldn't be venting to you, of all people."
"It's okay. I get it. We'll just have to hope we can pull off the win tomorrow night, and I'll do what I can to rest up for Friday in San Fran."
It was Edward's turn to sigh. "I don't suppose I can see you tomorrow night before you board the bus."
"I don't see how. We go straight from the press conference to the airport."
"Yeah, okay. Listen, you know I'm here for you, day or night, anytime. I don't want to be in your way or distract you."
"I know. I'll come straight to your place when we touch down from San Francisco." Emmett didn't voice what they were both thinking—his season might be over at that point.
"Sounds good. I love it when you wake me up in the middle of the night."
Emmett chuckled, remembering the last time. Was it his fault he got worked up on the long drive from Sea-Tac to Renton? Whatever. That would teach Edward to sleep on his stomach!
"Have a sexy dream about me, Professor."
"Always, sixty-nine."
XXX
Retweeted ɸbigmac69 #whatiloveaboutbaseball: The camaraderie of the team.
The higher the stakes, the more we come together.
How was the mood in the locker room after your big win?
Relief. Hitting the road 0 and 2 would've been depressing.
Definitely. Fly safe, Em.
Will do. Where are you watching the game tomorrow?
With my folks. Couldn't possibly inflict myself on anyone else.
Emmett chuckled to himself, picturing Edward screaming at his TV, pulling on his hair, pacing . . . He was right; it wasn't a pretty picture. Hang in there, Prof.
Call me if you need to talk. I'm free at lunch and 6th period (1:38-2:28).
I have your schedule in my phone.
Yes, I know, but last week you texted me five times during my Honors class. I had to take my phone out of my pants.
Just trying to shake things up a bit.
I'll be shaky enough this week, thanks very much.
Only Edward could get more worked up than the actual teams about the Series. Emmett wished he could give him a hug and a "There, there." Give your rally beard…and other parts...a good tug for me. Positive thoughts.
You know it, Mac.
XXX
Adrenaline still lighting up Emmett's system, he sank into his seat on the bus and closed his eyes—finally. Not that Emmett had particularly minded talking in the locker room about tonight's win with every reporter who stuck a microphone near his face, but the relative quiet of the ride back to the hotel gave him a chance to digest the victory. The guys were fired up but cautious after the win; a two-one lead meant little in a best-of-seven series, they knew, and the Mariners had two hard nights ahead of them at AT&T Park.
Emmett's phone buzzed again, and he pulled it from his pocket. 128 text messages and climbing right before his eyes. Thumbing through screen after screen of messages, Emmett scanned the pre-game well wishes, chuckling at the creativity of some of his friends. Baseballs and bats, beards and peanuts . . . scroll, scroll . . . Mom, Dad, Jasper, Alice . . . UCLA teammates and former coaches . . .
Losing patience, Emmett abandoned the fruitless scrolling and typed in Edward's name in the search bar at the top. The screen populated with at least forty messages from Edward, starting with the very first pitch.
Looking good, Mac. I'm referring to your pitching form here. Then again, the rest looks mighty fine too.
You own that field! Way to strike out Belt and Hudson! Keep it up! So proud of you!
I'm buying Saunders a crate of Cubans for catching that fly ball.
BALL? NFW! You HAD him, Mac! #getsomeglassesump!
The blow-by-blow continued, keeping a grin on Emmett's face as he relived every controversial call and every sweet strikeout through the eyes of his number one fan.
Mom's freaking out here—worse than me! Look out, Big Mac…you have a new admirer! You thought I was bad? HA!
OMG she's yapping about how cute your buns look in your uniform. NO! And every time they zoom in on your face, she's all about the "piercing blue eyes"! I might have to leave.
Remind me to ask what you and Seaver were talking about in the 5th. Didn't look like meat loaf recipes!
Love watching you in the dugout, surrounded by your teammates. You look like you're having the time of your life. I hope you are, Em. You deserve this.
WHAT? TERRIBLE CALL!
How much fun would it be to someday go to a game with Edward and experience firsthand the complete emotional undoing of Spock?
Another "off-they-go-into-the-sunset" moment brought to you by endorphins and fatigue. Oh, Mac. You're turning into a sappy fool. A sap who wanted desperately to speak to his boyfriend right now.
Ha! Think you can steal a base while my man is on the mound? Think again, Pence!
Two down, one to go…
You're glorious, baby. GLORIOUS.
Uh oh. Here comes the hook…you were fantastic tonight, from the edge of your beard to the tips of your teal shoes. Thanks for bringing the Series back to Safeco! I'm blocking out the 28th and 29th and planning a light lesson plan for the week. Did I tell you we're doing a unit on baseball stats?
Call me if you want to talk. Don't worry about the time. You know I'll be watching the video for hours.
At least the powers that be had sprung for separate hotel rooms for the duration of this last road trip of the season. One player's demons were enough to quiet at night; put two together, and there might not be any sleep to be had. Emmett closed his eyes and locked the highlights of the game into his memory; tonight was an experience to remember, and with at least two more games to play, chances were good that he hadn't yet thrown his last pitch of the season.
As they pulled into the circular driveway of the Marriott Courtyard to unload, Coach congratulated the team one more time. "Now, we all know some of you need more beauty sleep than others, not mentioning any names, Miller." He paused for the predictable chuckles while Miller took his razzing. "Let's not forget, boys, we've been training for this all summer. The Series is a marathon, not a sprint. We have to pace ourselves."
Emmett covered his mouth with the back of his hand and chuckled to himself. He could so clearly visualize Edward running next to him, then out in front of him to slow him down.
"Let's all be good for five more days, and then you can let loose—responsibly, of course," Coach added, when the sniggers bubbled up all around him, "but tonight, ignore whatever is waiting in the lobby bar and just go to bed, guys—alone."
One or two guys would probably be idiots; that pull of I might not be here again could be somewhat irresistible, and they wouldn't let the opportunity slip through their fingers. With any luck, they wouldn't have their picture taken in some compromising position or pull a muscle doing some crazy Kama Sutra move. Normally, Emmett might make a pass through the danger zones and grab a younger player by the arm before he found himself in too deep, but not tonight. Emmett had a man waiting for him in bed—not Emmett's bed but the next best thing.
Emmett exercised admirable restraint, or so he thought, waiting to call Edward until after he'd washed and brushed and tucked himself into bed. Edward answered the phone with a contented hum.
"Did I wake you?"
Scratchy with sleep, Edward's voice was even sexier than usual. "I might've dozed off, but I wanted you to call. I want to know how it feels."
"Probably the same as yours, big boy. Soft on the outside, hard as steel on the inside. Want to compare notes?"
Edward burst out laughing. "Are you rubbing one out right now?"
"I wasn't, but you're making me kind of horny now."
"You were born horny. Don't blame me."
"So . . . Speaking of horny, Mrs. C has the hots for me now?"
Edward groaned. "I told her I'm not sharing, but she now claims you are her type. You should've seen Dad's eye roll."
"I can imagine," Emmett said with a chuckle. "Did you enjoy the game?"
"I was wrecked by the end. The highs, the lows . . . I don't know how you guys can stand it."
"What happened to Mr. Logical? We hit the post-season, and Spock left the stadium."
"Oh, all bets are off during the Series." Edward's voice was dead serious. "And with you on the mound? Forget it! Dad was standing by to administer CPR."
Emmett was getting caught up in the scene, grinning as he pictured the family drama playing out in front of the Cullens' giant screen. "I wish I could've watched it with you."
"That would've been a good trick!"
"Are you going back to their house for the next two games?"
"Nah, I'll probably stop at Sluggers after work, toss down a few beers, and watch with other fans. It's just that when you're pitching, I can't imagine not giving myself away. Shit! They might put you in tomorrow or Sunday! Maybe I shouldn't venture out."
"Relax. Coach said he wouldn't play me tomorrow, so you're safe. Sunday, I will be in the bullpen, so who knows? Depending on how things go, they might save me for a game seven start."
"Holy shit! How exciting would that be?"
Emmett sighed. He'd never get to sleep if he started thinking about that. "I know. Crazy, huh?"
"Yep."
"So, Edward . . ."
"So, Emmett . . .?"
"Speaking of rubbing one out . . ."
XXX
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Retweeted ɸbigmac69 #whatiloveaboutbaseball:
The quick release of the ball when you throw to first and pick off a runner.
The Mariners got crushed on Saturday, bringing the Series to two games apiece. Sunday night, nothing was working. You could almost feel the panic in the dugout. We're losing our lead, digging ourselves a hole. The Giants picked up a pair of early-game runs, the kind that creep up on a pitcher one batter at a time. Coach put Emmett in for two innings at the bottom of the fifth, and though Emmett held his own on defense, the Mariners couldn't buy a run. Emmett watched helplessly as the Giants took game five in a five-nothing shutout.
The plane ride home after the game was somber, to say the least. The coaching staff rode up front, reviewing mistakes, plotting strategies for the last two games at Safeco. Emmett was a bundle of nerves. He wanted to pitch again; he knew damn well his only chance might be game six, but even if the Mariners pulled out the win, the deciding game would be left to Hernandez. If they saved Emmett for game seven, there might not be a game seven. And, of course, there was always the possibility that Emmett could lose though he rarely allowed his thoughts to stray toward that particular neighborhood.
Far from the conquering hero returning home to enjoy the spoils of war, Emmett drove to Edward's a weary soldier returning home with battle scars deep beneath the skin. For the first time in a long time, Emmett debated whether he should even head to Edward's or just go home to deal with his nerves in private. Edward had certainly seen Emmett in periods of anxiety, but this wasn't the side he relished sharing with his partner.
Tiptoeing through Edward's kitchen, Emmett willed the hardwood floors not to creak under his weight. Lighted by the soft glow of the nightstand lamp, Edward lay face-down on top of the covers in nothing but the briefest—Dat ass!—of fire-engine-red briefs, legs bent at an unnatural angle, one arm extended over an abandoned book. Emmett couldn't tell if he'd been trying to stay awake or trying to fall asleep, but the result was the same.
Gently replacing the book—The Art of Pitching, Emmett acknowledged with an inner chuckle—to its place on the nightstand, Emmett turned off the light, undressed quietly, and climbed onto the bed without jostling Edward awake.
His willpower at an all-time low, Emmett crawled straight toward Edward's briefs, curling his fingers over the edge of the waistband and sliding them down over the greatly missed humps of flesh. Without warning, Emmett drew a sloppy, wet line with his tongue between the juicy cheeks he was holding open.
Edward stirred and let out low moan. "'Zat you, Em?"
Emmett bit back the first response that popped into his head: Are there many other men who enter your apartment at 2:30 in the morning to lick your asshole? Instead, he answered, "Shh, you're dreaming, baby." Because he couldn't resist, Emmett pinched Edward's ass cheek. "See? Go back to sleep."
Edward feigned sleep, playing along as usual with Emmett's latest game, but the smile in his voice gave him away. "Best dream ever."
Emmett was hard and wanting, five long days away from his lover catching up with him now that he had no other distractions. As he thrust his tongue into Edward's hole, Emmett's hips matched the rhythm of Edward's, now pumping against the mattress.
Edward surprised him, suddenly clambering onto all fours and opening for him, but it was Edward's raw request in the dark that caught Emmett totally off guard. "Fuck me, Mac."
Emmett rose to his knees and gave Edward a light slap on the ass. "Condom."
When Edward didn't move, Emmett's heart skipped a beat. A shaky voice responded, "What are we waiting for, Emmett? We're both clean. Fuck me like this . . . please."
On top of the emotionally exhausting road trip, Edward's unexpected plea deprived Emmett of his last ounce of willpower. He grabbed Edward's hips, leaned forward, and dropped a soft kiss in the middle of his back. "Okay, baby, if you're sure."
Whether Edward craved the intimacy for himself or whether he was pushing the issue for his partner's sake, Emmett was extraordinarily grateful and far too tired to overthink it. He slicked up his shaft and spent a few more minutes preparing Edward before entering him for the first time without a barrier. Pushing cautiously through the ring of muscle, Emmett let go as the new sensations took hold of him. So hot. So tight. I am right here touching your insides.
Edward pushed himself up, circling his arms up and over Emmett's head, locking his back against Emmett's chest as they moved together as one. Emmett reached around and grabbed Edward's leaking cock with one hand, gripping his hip tighter with the other.
Edward matched each of Emmett's thrusts with a grunt and an invitation for more. Emmett pushed further inside, the once familiar act surprising Emmett with its novelty. Tonight was not about longevity; this was connection, intimacy on a level the two had not explored before, knowing each other from the inside out in a way Emmett had never allowed himself to be known by any other lover.
Nipping his teeth at Edward's ear lobe, Emmett whispered a desperate, "Come with me, baby." Edward rode him harder, grunting on each downstroke as he swallowed Emmett's shaft inside him.
Emmett's orgasm hit like an electrical storm—lightning flashing before his eyes as the thunder rolled through, shaking them both to the core. Emmett was vaguely aware of Edward's hand gripping his, the two of them pumping Edward's shaft until ribbons of hot cum coated their joined fingers.
Their grunts died back into breathy sighs, and a benevolent silence opened up around them as they swayed together ever so slightly on bent knees. Emmett nestled his nose into the base of Edward's neck while his brain quieted down.
When Emmett finally pulled out, Edward spun into his arms and kissed him. What normally amounted to a post-pop, perfunctory goodnight kiss took on a life of its own. A seismic shift had just taken place in their relationship; kissing was their way of processing the new connection. The kisses tapered off with a few departing pecks on the lips. Emmett would've collapsed into the pillows if Edward had not caught his face with both hands.
"Em?" Edward's soft breath tickled Emmett's whiskers.
"What?"
"I . . . didn't want to say this after you won the Series and have you think . . ."
It had been a while since Edward had tortured him with one of his famous unfinished statements, but the terror returned in full force. "Say what? Think what?" Jesus, if Edward didn't speak soon, Emmett was gonna—
"But I really do need to tell you before the next game . . . shit."
Emmett's brain was short circuiting. Was Edward breaking up with him? After that? Now? "Dammit, Edward, say what you need to say!"
"I was only gonna say . . . I love you, Emmett."
With a huge sigh of relief, Emmett grabbed Edward around the waist and pulled him down to the mattress. They landed with a messy thwap of fluids and spent limbs. "I love you too, Professor, but if you're gonna scare me like that again, you better learn CPR because I swear my heart just stopped beating there for a minute."
Edward's smile was so wide, Emmett could see his teeth in the dim light seeping in around the shades. "You do?"
"Of course I do."
"Now I know I'm dreaming."
"Good night, Professor."
"'Night, sixty-nine."
Author's Note: Well, most of you guessed the ILY's were coming sooner rather than later. I pressed a few of you to guess who you thought would say it first. Of course, like most of the big moments of this story, my boys hijacked the chapter and did exactly what they wanted. Would I have guessed Edward would say it first? Probably not, to be honest. Especially during the Series. He took a huge risk there with Emmett's emotions. The poor guy simply could not help himself. Can you blame him? And for those of you who played, THANK YOU! I always love hearing your ideas and predictions!
I'd like to thank 2amlovesick for giving me the fantastic tweets (and more) from her own son's baseball repertoire. I had to write a few from Emmett just to include those! Looks like the boys have had their last road trip apart. *throws confetti* Now...can Emmett win us that Series? Not much suspense when you're writing the prequel, is there?
XXX ~BOH