Page 9 of All Bats are Off (Rose City Roasters)

Tucker

The World Series: Game Seven

“S trike three.”

I was already in motion before the umpire finished pumping his fists, glove flying from my hand, legs burning as I sprinted toward the mound like it was the only place in the world I wanted to be.

The stadium erupted. A wall of sound slammed into me—cheers, screams, laughter, crying, all of it crashing together into one beautiful roar that shook the ground beneath my cleats.

We were World Series champions. I was a World Series champion.

And in that split second—my arms wrapped around Pink and Roman, teammates piling on, Champagne arcing through the air like liquid gold—I knew every minute of pain, every bruise and blister, every early-morning weight session and late-night ice bath . . . they had all been worth it. It had all led to here.

“We did it!” Roman screamed, throwing his arms around me in the tightest of bear hugs. “We fucking did it, man.”

“Pass the Champagne,” Matty cried.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might rip through my chest, but I didn’t care. I could taste sweat and dirt and joy in the back of my throat. I couldn’t stop laughing, shouting, grabbing my teammates like they were extensions of myself. We’d done the impossible—in our first season, no less—and we’d done it together.

And still, in the middle of my elation, I knew something was missing. I scanned the crowd, heart still jackhammering, eyes cutting through the chaos like a man starved for something he couldn’t name.

Until I saw him.

Front row, just behind the dugout, in the section reserved for friends and family. Loved ones. And fuck, did I love Brock Heller.

Every vegan-ish inch of him.

His hands were braced against the railing; his pink lips were slightly open like he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. Or maybe he could —after all, he was always telling me how much he believed in me.

The moment our eyes locked, everything else fell away. The noise, the confetti, the cameras—it all just blurred into white noise.All I saw was him. He smiled slowly and so full of pride it damn near knocked me over.

I didn’t think. I just moved .

We had come a long way in the last few weeks. From cautious texts and closed doors to handholding in public and sleepy mornings tangled up in each other on my sofa.

My teammates knew about us now, and much to my surprise, none of them had given me shit for it. All of them had welcomed Brock into the fold as if he were part of the team, including our coach, who had taken to exchanging vegan recipes with Brock via text.

I didn’t even have Coach Ward’s phone number.

Brock, for his part, had taken a step back from his job at the Portlandia Press . Not because of me or our relationship, but because he’d finally admitted that there was something he liked writing about more than baseball—alien sex. And like a good partner, I’d encouraged him to go for it. He still had his podcast, which was raking in record numbers, so it couldn’t hurt to take some time off from the paper to pursue his dreams.

“Don’t put off your passions,” I’d told him late one night while stroking his hair strewn across my chest. “It took me ten years to make it to the major league, and that could go away in a nanosecond. You owe it to yourself to try now .”

He had smiled at me like I’d handed him permission to want more. In that moment, I’d known—I’d felt —we were building something real. Something worth protecting.

Something worth winning for.

My feet carried me toward the dugout wall. When I finally got to the divider, I reached up, grabbed a fistful of Brock’s Roasters jersey, and tugged him toward the railing. He barely had time to react before I crushed my mouth to his.

The kiss was rough with joy, messy with months of pent-up want and relief and love, and it didn’t matter who saw it. It didn’t matter that the cameras were probably getting it from every angle or that forty-thousand people were still screaming around us.

I kissed Brock like he was mine. Because he was .

Brock’s hands gripped my arms like he needed something to hold onto, like he was still trying to catch up to the moment. But then he melted into it, kissing me back just as fiercely.

When I finally pulled back, we were both breathless, grinning like idiots in love.

“You won,” he said, voice rough, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

“We won,” I told him.

I pulled him in again, this time for a hug. It was fierce and tight; the kind you give someone who never stopped believing in you, who made the pain, sweat, and tears worth it.

All around us, the celebrations raged on, but in that moment—in Brock’s arms—I felt like I had already won the biggest prize of all.

As it turned out, there was no trophy or diamond-crusted ring that measured up to the sublime pleasure of my boyfriend’s lips straining around my cock.

“That’s right, baby,” I cooed, gently guiding his head up and down my throbbing length. “You feel so fucking good.”

I tipped my head back against the edge of the tub. The warm, soapy water lapped around my chest and splashed over the side with each thrust of my hips. To think, I had almost gone to the club with the rest of the guys. Fuck that . This was by far the best post-game celebration I could have asked for.

My fingers tangled in his wet hair, holding him still while I thrust deeper into the heat of his mouth. The sound of him gagging around my length made me tighten my grip, pushing his head down farther.

“That’s right. Take it all.”

He met my eyes, and his lips curved in a smirk around the rigid flesh filling his mouth. The sight of his pink, swollen lips stretched wide sent a jolt through me, and my balls tightened, drawing up against the base of my dick.

Brock Heller was a world-class cocksucker, but I had other plans for him this evening, none of which included coming down his throat.

I stood up, pulling myself free from his mouth. He groaned low at the sudden movement, like an animal who had just been deprived of his favorite meal.

“Don’t worry, baby,” I said, voice thick with desire. “You’re going to get all of me, but I want this gorgeous ass first.”

I punctuated my words with a slap to his bare cheek, and the sound reverberated off the bathroom tiles. Fuck, I had already come once tonight and I still wanted more.

“Stand up,” I ordered.

He licked his lips and got up off the floor of the tub. He watched, mesmerized, as I tore open a condom packet and rolled the latex onto my length. I stroked myself a few times before turning him to face the wall, positioning him just where I wanted him.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered.

I nudged his legs wide. “No, you’re unbelievable.” He moaned when my finger prodded his puckered entrance. I coated my cock with lube and spread the excess around his hole. “The way you take my cock, the way you love me.”

I pressed my finger inside him, past the tight ring of muscles.

“ Yes, ” he hissed.

His eyes closed and he dropped his head forward.

“Fuck, Brock, I could eat you again right now.”

His breath caught. “Then do it.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I knelt behind him and leaned in, licking up the mess between his cheeks like it was dessert—groaning at the taste of the lube and bubble bath mixed together. My tongue dipped inside him, swirling around his asshole, slow and deep, while my hand fisted the base of my cock.

He reached down to stroke himself too, but I slapped his hand away. “Not yet.”

I stood back up to full height and guided my cock between his cheeks. He let out a ragged groan as I started to push inside him.

“Oh my god,” I rasped against his neck, thighs trembling as I sank another inch deeper. “You feel so fucking good.”

I held still, long enough for him to adjust before I was pulling back and slamming into him again.

Time ceased to exist while we moved together, like the world had narrowed down to this. The angle was devastating. I thrust up and into him—slow, deep strokes that dragged my cock across his prostate. One hand gripped his waist, the other wrapping around his cock, jerking him in time with my thrusts. My mouth never stopped—kissing, biting, licking over every inch of his throat and shoulders I could reach.

And all the while, Brock moaned my name like it was the only word he knew.

“Fuck, Johnny.”

His fingers scraped against the tile wall as his knees went weak. I reached around his hips and grabbed his dick, already slick with precum. I circled my thumb over the tip before sliding my fist over him in slow, agonizing strokes.

He whimpered loudly.

The sound only spurred me on, and I increased the speed of my thrusts, driving into him so fiercely that his whole body trembled around me.

“Ah, you’re fucking close,” I rumbled against his throat. “You gonna milk my cock, Heller?”

“ Yes. ”

“You want me to fill you up?”

“ Yesss. ”

He turned his head slightly, brushing my lips with his. “Make me yours, Johnny.”

His back arched and his thighs shook. I slammed into him one last time and he was done. Brock came hard, spurting hot cum all over the shower wall, his ass clenching tight around my dick. The sensation was enough to pull me over the edge right behind him. I groaned as my cock pulsed, filling the condom with everything I had.

I stayed like that, still buried deep inside him, until my legs started to shake and Brock made a small noise. I pulled out, and he winced.

“I got you,” I said, gathering him back against my chest.

He turned, and I caught him around the waist and brought our mouths together in a long, lazy kiss.

After we were both satisfied, I pulled back and looked at him, grinning. His eyes were glazed over, his face flushed and sweaty. His bottom lip was raw and swollen from my kisses.

My eyes roamed lower, past the dark patch of hair on his chest and the ridges of his abs, all the way down to his dick. It was softening, nestled among a patch of wiry curls.

He sucked in a harsh breath when I slid a hand up his shaft, gathering his cum onto my fingers and lifting it to my lips. He groaned when I licked the sticky substance off my hand.

“You want a taste, baby?”

His cheeks warmed as he bobbed his head. “Please, Johnny.”

I pressed him back against the tile wall, pinning his arms above his head and kissing him, letting him taste the remnants of his cum on my tongue. He moaned into my mouth, kissing me back eagerly, desperately.

He whimpered softly when I released him. My eyes scanned over him, taking in his flushed, wet skin. Hot damn. Buttoned-up, man bun Brock was a sight to behold, but bare and needy Brock brought me to my knees.

Literally.

He looked like the perfect mix of innocent and debauched.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Heller.” I pressed another kiss to the corner of his lips, soft and lingering. “Isn’t it obvious by now? I would do anything for you.”

His brows furrowed as he stared back at me, brow still slightly furrowed in confusion. I smirked, brushing my thumb along the edge of his jaw.

“I love it when you let go like that,” I told him.

A flush crept up his neck, but this time he didn’t look away. “Even when I lose control?”

“Especially then.” I leaned in close enough for our noses to brush. “But only when you lose control with me.”

His breath hitched, his body still humming under my touch. And in that quiet look he gave me—part awe, part disbelief—I saw it. The trust. The surrender. The same thing I’d felt the moment I’d realized loving him didn’t scare me anymore.

He kissed me again then—slower, deeper, full of everything we didn’t have to say out loud.

And I kissed him back like I never wanted the night to end.