XXX CHAPTER 31 XXX

"How did you keep your legs under you? I can barely walk!"

Emmett slapped his belly and laughed. "It was all those carbs. You loaded me up but good."

The key jangled in the door knob, and Edward turned back to give Emmett a shy grin. "I think you loaded me up better."

"Don't make me attack you on your front stoop."

"Attack me? We just ran five miles!"

"Yes, and I can guarantee you I wasn't thinking about chess moves for any of those miles." The knob turned, and Emmett's arms closed around Edward's waist the second the door clicked shut behind them. "You. Shower. Now!"

Edward's feet barely touched the floor as Emmett dragged him to the bathroom. Poor Edward. Emmett had tried to go easy on the guy last night, but once he'd unplugged the dike, the floods were relentless—and so was Emmett. That tight little ass of Edward's was going to be the death of them both.

Emmett couldn't be sure whether Edward's "Oh God" groan was one of his I'm-about-to-[fill-in-the-blank]-with-Emmett-McCarty moments—the blank in question being "take a shower"—or something more primal: Again?

Oh yes, Edward. Either way, the answer is hell, yes. While Emmett strongly suspected Edward was more than up for it—yep, a quick check confirmed it—he had an idea about how to get Edward's head fully in this game.

Standing on the fluffy shower mat together, Emmett grabbed the bottom of Edward's tank top, teasing the soaked fabric slowly up his slick chest.

"It's the bottom of the fifteenth on a sweltering, sticky Seattle night. Game is tied at seven apiece, two outs, no men on base."

Edward turned surprised eyes on Emmett. Baseball? Really?

"The guys are spent. The bench is so ripe, you can smell us from your seat."

Edward's eyes glazed over, and he stood stock still except for the telltale swish of his tongue across his lower lip. "Mmm."

Ah, there's my boy.

Emmett grasped Edward by the back of the head—a mess of warm, sweaty clumps saturating Emmett's fingers—and pulled him to his armpit. Edward buried his nose, sucked in a breath, and whimpered.

"Suarez is up. The guy's done bupkis all night. He stares down two strikes; the tension from the dugout is bearing down on him like a thousand blazing suns. Not another goddamn inning in this fucking heat. At least take a swing at it!"

Emmett peeled off his shirt, looped it behind Edward's neck, and locked him in place against his chest. Off balance and woozy, Edward clutched Emmett's hips to brace himself. As Emmett continued to spin his story, he pulled his fingers through Edward's hair as a child might stroke a cherished stuffed animal held to his heart.

"Suarez swings; there's a loud crack; the bench clears—we're up on our feet . . . watching, praying . . . Suarez runs toward first; the ball sails out of the park! The team is delirious, spilling out of the dugout and stampeding toward the plate, jumping around like we'd just won the fucking World Series."

The soft tip of Edward's nose burrowed deeper. Lulled by the hypnotic head patting, Edward swayed ever so slightly on his feet. His hands curled around Emmett's back and embraced him slow-dance style.

"We pile into the locker room like a human caterpillar—one torso with fifty legs. Cleats go flying. Shirts and pants are stripped off at the door and tossed into a giant heap." Emmett's lips moved to Edward's ear; his tone grew more intimate, more demanding. "Take off your shorts."

Emmett released him from his tight grip, and Edward pulled away and reached for his shorts. His gaze dropped to the floor; his lungs labored; his cheeks flushed as he kicked out of his shorts. Edward's erection was a lead pipe lying on its side, and Emmett gave it a good, hard stare before stripping down to his jock.

Edward lifted his eyes and locked onto the tiny sliver of red between Emmett's legs. "Dear lord," Edward whispered under his breath.

Yeah, you look pretty hot too, my friend.

"There I am, bare-ass in my jock, shoved into the middle of this moving pig pile. Hot, hard, grimy bodies crushed in all around me, inching toward the showers . . ."

Emmett spun Edward to face the shower stall and pressed his groin against Edward's ass. "It's an agony of naked flesh and careless hands"—his palms skimmed down Edward's belly, drawing a low moan from Edward as he casually brushed over his erection—"and my cock is so . . . fucking . . . haaaaard, it aches. Can you imagine how that feels?"

Edward answered with a soft hum.

Nipping Edward's ear lobe between his teeth, Emmett whispered, "It gets worse."

While Edward was still reeling from the teasing, Emmett smacked him on the ass. Edward grunted and dropped forward, flattening his hands against the shower door and offering up his perfect ass for more. Yes, I have so much more for you. With a cupped hand, Emmett slapped again. Edward released a sexy "Unh!" and wriggled against Emmett's palm.

"The shower is turned on, and all the guys strip off their jocks . . ."

Without further prompting, Edward grabbed his underwear and slid them to the floor. Oh, Teach, aren't you a quick learner? Emmett rewarded him by slapping his bare flesh, which Edward answered with the perfect cheek jiggle and a soft grunt.

"Imagine—dicks everywhere you look, everyone punch-drunk and handsy . . ." Smack! Groan. "How the hell can I take off my jock with this flagpole hiding in my pouch?"

Craning his neck, Edward gave Emmett's package a hungry leer. "For the record, it's not exactly hiding."

Emmett looped his thumbs under the elastic straps holding up his very brief briefs. "Don't you want to watch?"

Edward spun around, his eyes laser focused on Emmett's crotch. "Yes."

Emmett smirked at him. Pivoting so his back was to Edward, he inched the straps down over his gyrating ass, stepped out of the jock, and winged it over his shoulder at Edward's face.

"You're not getting this back," Edward said, wadding the fabric between his hands.

Emmett's eyebrows popped up as a wide grin stretched his cheeks. "You dirty boy." With his arms at his sides, Emmett turned to face Edward.

Edward swallowed hard. "Helllllo, flagpole . . . What happens next?" The professor was relentless when he set his mind to something, and his head was clearly all the way inside the locker room.

"Next . . ." Emmett advanced on Edward and shuffled him into the shower stall. He twisted the faucet, and a stream of chilly water pelted them both.

"Ahh! Shit!"

Emmett burst out laughing. "Sorry. Fix it! Fix it!"

Edward fiddled with the handles until the water warmed up. "You were saying?"

Back to the fantasy . . .

"So, the first guy to notice bumps elbows with the guy next to him, and they point and snort, and pretty soon, they've got me surrounded. One loudmouth grabs his dick and says, 'Hey, Mac, how's about I throw you a slider?' Everyone laughs, but he's watching me and stroking himself, and I notice his cock is getting hard in his hand—just like yours."

Sure enough, Edward had played his role perfectly. He stared, spellbound, stroking himself and waiting for Emmett to narrate.

"I step toward him, under the stream, and I ask, 'You mean that?' There's dead quiet, just the water echoing off the tiles. He looks around at his buddies. Most of them are tweaking the twinkie; nobody's laughing anymore. 'Sure,' he says. 'Nobody gives head like a cock jockey, right?'"

Edward shook his head and chuckled. "Cock jockey? Seriously?"

Ignoring him, Emmett continued. "The circle closes around me, and the guys start chanting my name: 'Mac! Mac! Mac!' and I sink to the floor"—Emmett dropped to his knees—"and swallow down this monster cock."

Edward dropped back against the wall as Emmett closed his mouth over the tip and tongued his way down. With his right hand gripping the base of Edward's shaft and the other firmly wrapped around his own, it didn't take long for Emmett to work them both into a frenzy. Edward's hips pumped erratically while Emmett's right hand glided up and down the shaft . . . crap!

Remembering his earlier concern, Emmett quickly swapped his smooth left hand onto Edward and took the rougher pitching hand to his own cock for the first time. The new sensation was definitely less pleasant, but there was no stopping this freight train now. Emmett worked his mouth over that cock as if he hadn't eaten in a week. Edward's grinding intensified, and his hand closed around the back of Emmett's head. Those skinny hips of his pounded away at Emmett's face; Emmett's grip tightened.

"Nnngh, coming!" Edward tensed and stilled. Emmett pulled his mouth away, finishing him off instead with a tight fist. Edward burst like a fountain, spurting cum into the descending spray.

"Fuck me! That is so sexy!" Emmett sat his ass down on the shower floor while his fisted hand tugged relentlessly along his shaft.

Sinking to the floor behind him, Edward straddled Emmett's body and reached around with both hands. "Let me do that for you, Mac."

Emmett dropped his hands away, leaning back into the support of Edward's chest.

"They want to see you get off. The whole team is watching."

Emmett groaned as Edward gripped him tighter, pumped faster. His ass was riding the water pockets on the floor like a water skier skimming across a lake.

"C'mon, Mac. Give the boys a good show."

"Aww, fuck!" Emmett's hips bucked violently until the pressure released in an explosive rush.

Edward milked him with both hands until there was nothing left, then wrapped his arms around Emmett's belly and gave him a soft kiss on his shoulder.

Still panting hard, Emmett turned toward Edward's face and smiled. He lifted a weary arm around Edward's head and drew him in for a long, slow kiss. "I think we both just got dirtier," he said.

Edward chuckled. "There's soap up there somewhere, but I'm too tired to move."

"I'll get it," Emmett said, pulling Edward in for another kiss. "As soon as I can feel my legs again."

They kissed and laughed until the water turned cold, quickly cleaned off, and reluctantly left the sanctuary of their private, shared fantasy.

XXX

Emmett watched in amused awe as Edward pulled out one deli bag after the next: turkey, roast beef, corned beef, Muenster, and Swiss. Two loaves of bread waited on the counter with a bottle of Russian dressing and a container of coleslaw, sliced tomatoes, pickles, hot peppers, sweet peppers, and two kinds of mustard. "What have you done?"

"I wasn't sure what you liked."

"You could've asked. We only spent about thirty hours talking and texting while I was gone."

Edward shrugged. "There were more important things to talk about."

"More important than food?" Emmett grabbed a pickle spear off the platter and popped the end into his mouth.

"Potato chips or pretzels?"

"Let's go all out with chips."

"Okay . . ." Edward set the chips onto the counter. "What am I forgetting?"

"To relax?" Emmett chuckled. "C'mon, hand me a plate. I'm starved."

Edward took out two plates and passed one to Emmett, who slapped condiments and fillings between two slices of whole wheat bread and poured a generous heap of Ruffles next to his sandwich.

Sampling a potato chip, Emmett looked up and noticed that Edward hadn't moved. "Aren't you eating?"

"I am. I just wanted to see what you liked . . . for next time."

"Damn, Professor. You are too sweet to me. I'll eat anything. I'm really not picky."

"I want to keep you happy," Edward said.

Holding Edward's gaze across the counter, Emmett said, "I'm extremely happy. How about you?"

"Me?" The cold cuts suddenly required all of Edward's attention. As he reached for the corned beef, a blush colored his cheeks.

Emmett waited as patiently as he was able while Edward painted the empty slice of bread with meticulous strokes of mustard until every last grain was covered. Emmett had been fairly confident of Edward's satisfaction up to this point, but the man's silence had a way of unnerving Emmett like nothing else. "Do I need to refer you to the complaints department?" His quip was meant to be lighthearted, but even Emmett could hear the tremor in his voice.

Edward glanced up at Emmett, a puzzled expression on his face. "You seriously need to ask me that? I'm living the dream—literally. Better than the dream because your imagination is obviously way better than mine." His blush deepened. "Speaking of dreams . . ." Edward started, then shook off the rest of his thought. "Never mind."

He does this on purpose just to torture me. "You just committed a serious conversational balk there, Professor."

Ignoring Emmett, Edward sliced his sandwich down the middle, split apart the two perfect halves, and sprinkled a handful of chips in between.

Emmett stared him down, not letting up until Edward looked up again.

"Let's go sit outside. Here, have a water." Edward led him to the patio out back, a small paved area with a black metal table for two. "It's very quiet back here," he assured Emmett. "Nobody will see us."

Settling into the chair, Emmett leaned into Edward's ear. "I'll try not to maul you . . . just in case." He added a little wink before grabbing his sandwich and taking a suggestive bite.

Edward rolled his eyes. "God, you're a horrible tease."

"Really? Hmph! I thought I was pretty good at it."

"Yes. You're an all-star. Is that better?" Edward grinned around the half-sandwich he raised to his mouth.

"Hey, look who's talking about teasing. What did you want to say back there? It's driving me nuts."

As Emmett looked on with great amusement, Edward's pride lost yet another battle against his desire to please Emmett. "Fine. I was wondering . . . shit, here goes . . . that locker room story . . . Obviously, it's not real, but do you ever . . . ?"

Aww, poor Edward. Emmett smiled. "I don't want to ruin the fantasy for you."

"Don't worry; you won't," Edward answered with a sly smirk.

Emmett reached under the table and placed his hand on Edward's knee. "My teammates are like brothers to me. I can appreciate their talent and their many physical gifts, but I can assure you, I am not attracted to any of them."

"So the gang bang shower scene doesn't do it for you?"

He tried not to laugh, but Edward playing it oh-so-cool was just too much. "Edward, I was turned on because you were turned on. Do I enjoy watching a good, hard gang bang in my porn now and then? Sure! Who doesn't?"

The blush that rose on Edward's face told Emmett that his lover was not the exception to the rule. It also told Emmett more teasing was in order. "It's always the quiet ones," he said.

Edward responded in his usual way, with a weary head shake and averted eyes.

Emmett jiggled his hand on Edward's knee. "Hey, this gang bang thing isn't a deal-breaker for you, is it? I mean, I've never done one, but if that's your thing . . ." Yeah, right. That would actually require someone else knowing about you.

"No, Emmett," he said, wiping away any trace of doubt with the hard line of his mouth. "I'm a one-man guy. I could never watch while anyone else laid a hand on you."

Emmett's heart took a flip inside his chest. He squelched the urge to kiss Edward's scowl back into a smile. You could never be too sure which bushes were hiding the paps. "Likewise, I'm sure."

Edward's shoulders unhunched, and he made another pass at his sandwich. Emmett wasn't sure why Edward's deep confessions always brought on the desire to spill his own secrets, but before he knew what was happening, he was sharing.

"I should probably apologize in advance for all the different ways I'm gonna fuck this up."

"What do you mean?"

"Here's the thing." Emmett drew back his hand from Edward's knee. "I've never been in a relationship. Sex was sex, but it had nothing to do with whether I liked someone or really even took the time to know them. You're the first experience where the two have come together in my head. You make me crazy horny with your whole Spock vibe and don't even get me started on your ass."

With a shy smile, Edward answered. "Okay?"

"I'm sure I'm doing this all wrong because I'm making it up as we go along. You're so much better at all this than I am." Emmett turned his right hand over and brushed the rough blistered skin. "I mean, I only just realized my hand must feel like a cheese grater against your skin."

Edward's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Is that why you switched hands in the shower?"

"Yeah, I told you; I'm an idiot."

"Yep, you are." Edward reached for Emmett's hand, dropping it into his palm and stroking the calluses with a tenderness that nearly brought tears to Emmett's eyes. "This hand leads the league in strikeouts. This hand pitched a perfect game right before my eyes. This hand is going to lead its team to victory in the World Series, and this hand is going to win the Cy Young Award. Do you have any idea what a turn-on it is when this hand touches me?"

With a heavy heart, Emmett closed his left hand over the pile. "Edward, that superstar pitcher you're talking about lives on the mound. Between games, I'm just a plain, regular guy with lumpy scars on his hand."

"I don't see how you can separate one from the other."

"I have to, because I'm afraid you're not seeing the real me here. And one day, when you're expecting Big Mac, the superstar, to be all heroic and perfect, Emmett, the very ordinary man, is going to disappoint you."

"You're wrong. You are Mac, and Mac is you. As good as you are, you're not infallible as a pitcher, and who takes control when things start going haywire on the mound?"

"You?"

"No! You! Emmett McCarty, the 'plain, regular guy' with his strict work ethic and vulnerability and determination and insecurities. And who do you think I'm playing chess with when I sit down with ordinary Emmett?"

"I give up," Emmett said with an exhausted sigh.

Edward smiled at him. "Try Big Mac, the tenacious son of a bitch whose curiosity and thirst for perfection makes you exponentially better every game. And by the way, did you notice the cocky, dirty-talker in the shower with us this morning?"

Emmett grinned. The professor did have a way of seeing Emmett that knocked his feet out from under him. He wondered if he'd ever get used to it. "I guess I see your point. Can I have my hands back now?"

Edward chuckled. "Sure." They both went back to their sandwiches in silence until Edward broke it a few bites later. "You know, you're not the only one with more than one side."

"Do tell."

Taking the last bite of his sandwich, Edward chewed and swallowed thoughtfully. "Maybe it's the Spock thing—half this, half that—but I vacillate between giddy fanboy and scholarly mathematician when I'm with you."

"Hey, don't forget chef, coach, and sex slave!"

Edward's laughter floated across the table. "How could I?"

"I think I get it now," Emmett said.

The teacher smiled at his student, pleased to have successfully conveyed his point. "Good."

"What you're saying is, we had our gang bang shower scene today with all our multiple personalities."

Edward threw a potato chip at Emmett's mouth. "Here I was worried you weren't paying attention."

"I'm always paying attention. For example, right now, it's time for me to get my ass to practice. We better go inside so I can say a proper goodbye."

Author's Note: Hmm, now who's wondering if this is too good to be true? Was Edward convincing?

First, here's a big thank you to everyone who contributed a question or idea for the Benched retelling. I've kept track of them all, and you can be sure your comments were all heard.

Regarding who's pitching and who's catching... To me, Emmett is the most natural top I've written since Marcus, and Edward reads bottom all the way. I simply haven't "heard" or "seen" Edward "topping" Emmett [in the strictest definition of the expression]. Does that mean Edward is going to lie there like a log and be passive or submissive? Hell to the no! The Professor's got some moves and he's going to bottom Emmett so hard at times, he won't know what hit him! All that said, I have NO doubt that Emmett and Edward would do anything to please the other. They've both shown enormous flexibility in every realm, and this honeymoon phase they're in will likely involve all kinds of experimentation. For that first time, it was important to Edward that he understand what would be expected of him, and Emmett answered his question exactly the way he'd hoped (and frankly, expected). I write what I hear and see, and so far, the boys are pretty happy with this arrangement. :)

I hope I didn't disappoint you too terribly by leaving the boys to their privacy for their first time ... Hey, I love sex as much as the next guy, trust me! (You do know this, right?) But it has to be really interesting and move the story forward, and to me, this was not the moment to highlight the details. I don't know about you guys, but I skim the gratuitous scenes. I don't want any skimmers here! I'd much rather watch them make sandwiches. That's just how I roll (see what I did there?)!

Thank you all for the insightful comments. You really do keep me on my toes!

XXX ~BOH