Bottom of the Fifth
by Elina, Lesa Soja, Nemoinis, and Schuyler

It was Lesa's AU bunny. We looked at its pink twitching nose and fell upon it like rabid animals.


Chris and Joey are tired. It was a close game, and they only won because Joey threw a bullet past the cutoff man straight to home. Lance plucked the ball out of the air even as he leaned into Nick's rush and refused to budge, because nobody scores a run off of Lance when he has the ball at home plate. Nick tried though, and he's bigger than Joey, but Lance held onto the ball even when Nick 'accidentally' planted a size 13 cleat in his thigh. They all hate Nick more than anyone else.

So here they sit in their hotel room on their respective beds, letting the air conditioner flow over their nakedness, Joey resting lazily against the headboard and Chris holding an ice pack against his knee because he had to slide hard into second to break up a double play in the top of the seventh.

Justin and JC bound through the connecting door, all full of energy and wonder at being in a new city and winning the game. They want to party; they think they're one step closer to going to the show.

'Rookies,' Chris thinks to himself, but all he says is, “Man, if you'd been on the circuit as long as I have, you'd learn to stay in at night.”

The phone rings. "I'll get it!" Justin says. Chris and Joey don't fight him for it.

"Hang on, I'll ask," Justin says into the phone, and then lifting his head, "Lance wants to know if you have any of that stuff left. For his leg."

"Yeah," Chris says. "Tell him to come over, we'll help him put it on."

"Chris says come over," Justin reports. And a few minutes later JC opens the door to Lance, who is freshly showered and hasn't bothered putting on anything more than underwear for the trip down the hall.

Lance lowers himself onto Joey's bed, his breath releasing in one long rush. Joey pulls him close, cradles him between his thighs and spreads Lance's legs. They all crowd in close to see the pattern forming, purple-black smudges against pale skin.

"Ooh," Justin sighs and reaches out with a hesitant finger to outline it, feeling the heat sear at his fingertip. Lance hisses a sharp breath at the contact but doesn't flinch from Justin's hand. He knows that Justin is young and fascinated with the way his own body moves and stretches, how the muscles twitch when he's been worked too hard. And his infatuation extends to all of them.

But Chris pushes him aside, to protect Lance from Justin's enthusiasm. He settles on the floor, knee braced on a pillow, his breath hot on Lance's thigh. Justin's chin digs into his shoulder. Lance relaxes against Joey and lets his eyes slide closed.

"Does it hurt here?" Chris asks Lance. He runs his finger over the edge of bruise.

"Yes," Lance sighs, because it does. The skin feels tight, hot and swollen.

Chris leans forward, flicks his tongue against it. The cool brush of his tongue burns and Lance shudders, but his legs slip further apart. Joey is rubbing Lance's stomach, fingertips barely brushing the edge of his white briefs, Joey's other arm firm across Lance's chest.

"Here?" and suddenly Chris is sucking at the middle of the bruise, scraping it with his teeth. He imagines he can taste the coppery tang of the blood pooling there. Lance cries out, leg jerking uncontrollably, and then JC's hand is cool over Lance's mouth, his shushing noises filling Lance's ears.

When Chris finally pulls away, Justin slips an ice chip into Chris' mouth. His finger follow, rubbing Chris' teeth on their way out. Chris presses the ice chip against the bruise, and JC gasps when Lance bites at his slender fingers.

Justin's arm encircles Chris as Justin strips Lance of his underwear, carefully moving it down past the bruise. When they're off, Joey tucks one hand beneath Lance's knee and pulls his leg up so that Chris can get even closer. Justin presses nearer, watching intently, learning. He's shed his own clothing, and his erection grinds insistently into Chris.

JC lets a finger slip into Lance's mouth, and now it's his turn to shiver as Lance starts to suck. Chris smiles up at JC -- he knows how talented Lance is. JC's eyes flutter as Lance nurses, and Chris ducks his head back down and starts moving towards the skin he can reach now that the cloth is gone.

Joey cups the base of Lance's dick, holding it out of Chris' way. Justin has another ice chip ready, and this time, Chris trails it along the back of Lance's leg, raising goose bumps while Lance moans around JC's finger. Lance feels drunk on the burn from his wound and Chris' icy mouth. JC adds another finger and they're firm in his mouth, moving against his tongue. When he pulls them out, Lance shifts restlessly, until JC gives him something else to suck on.

Lance welcomes JC greedily while JC leans over him to lap at Joey's lips. Joey's hands tighten involuntarily on Lance, who sucks harder at the hot length in his mouth, making low purring groans. Joey resettles his grip on Lance's leg and hitches him up slightly and down, until Joey's cock is free, the head nudging against Lance's balls. It makes Lance's cock jerk in Joey's hand and he strokes it gently. Teasingly. Lance arches into the touch, begging wordlessly, never taking his mouth from JC.

Justin slips Chris another chip, using his own mouth this time. He rests his ice-bucket-cold fingertips at Chris' waist, and Chris jumps a little. Justin revels in the lewd wet noises their chilled lips make with the slippery ice. It slips away, but they continue to explore each other's mouth, oblivious, until Chris puts his hand on the back of Justin's neck and pushes him downwards. Chris' cheek rubs against Joey's cock.

Lance is practically bouncing on Joey, JC's thrusts quick and solid, the slap of flesh on sweating flesh filling the room. JC keeps sliding his tongue between Joey's lips, fucking his mouth like he's fucking Lance's. When he comes he pulls out, just to see the pointed tip of Lance's tongue reach for him and listen to the whimpering noises high in Lance's throat.

Joey's strokes on Lance are growing heavier, faster. Caught between Joey's hard hand, JC's taste, and the brush of Chris' hair against the delicate skin of his balls, Lance is mewling now. His back arches and he quakes.

Chris nuzzles around the head of Joey's cock, mouthing it without thought, caught in the sweet feelings Justin is creating. They all know how Justin looks spread out and thrashing, but now he's taking a moment to focus his attention on someone else; taking his time, being careful and slow and never clumsy, and Chris can't help but rest his head against Lance's thigh, clench his hands into fists, and pray for control.

But Justin knows how close Chris is, because he's making that noise -- that noise that would be a moan from anyone else, but is just a fraction too high coming from Chris, and means the end is near. He lets Chris slip from between his lips, because he wants to do it right. He wants Chris to tangle his fingers in his hair and pull. He wants his own lips to be so bruised tomorrow that he'll feel it when he licks them.

And Chris knows what Justin wants, so he lets his fingers slip through the curls and tighten painfully. Justin opens his mouth and gets ready for what's next. Another grunt, and then a hard thrust into his mouth. He can't swallow it all, but that's okay, because Chris pulls him up with fingers still tight in his hair and licks Justin's chin clean with his rough tongue that always reminds Justin of a cat.

Joey uncurls his hand from Lance's dick and pulls JC back to him by the jaw, curling their tongues together obscenely, hot and wet. They can hear Justin's needy little gasps and the glide of Chris' mouth over skin. JC's suddenly slick fingers graze Lance's cock, and Lance jerks suddenly back to life, twisting his shoulders into Joey's chest.

"Yes," Lance murmurs and twists again, his wound forgotten as he scrabbles for leverage against the bed. JC pulls back, and Joey grunts at the loss, but JC's cool hands are coating his cock, and Lance's weight shifts until Joey can feel the sleek pull of Lance's ass and slips in, an inch at a time. Lance rides him slowly, the angle awkward, but Lance doesn't seem to care, and Joey can do nothing more than clutch at Lance's grinding hips.

JC slides to the floor, where Justin is lying spread out now. He licks at Justin's neck while Justin tries not to twist and tangle the way he always does. Justin knows he'll fail. He always does, under Chris's insistent mouth. He tells himself that he won't beg, even though he can feel the words bubbling to his throat already, eager and heartfelt.

Chris is trying to teach him that there's nothing wrong in begging. It's just asking. And you always have to ask for what you want.

Opening his mouth and breathing "Chris" isn't begging, is it? Justin thinks. It doesn't matter anyway, he's afraid he's already said it, because Chris is going slower, taking a little more time. He really has to mean it before he gets what he wants.

"Yeah, Justin, yeah," JC croons in his ear, while he pins Justin's arms to the floor above his head. Justin's too-big feet take to the air for a moment to compensate for the loss of movement, then scrabble across Chris' arched back. Chris sweeps his tongue along one side, and Justin sighs and lets his feet fall again. His wrists tremble as his balls tighten up, but JC forces his arms back down to the ground.

"Say it, Justin," JC whispers in his ear, "tell him what you want." Justin shakes his head, partly out of macho pride, and partly because he hasn't got the wind left in him to talk, and maybe, if he's quiet, Chris will continue with what he's doing and it won't matter anymore. Even though he knows that if he just speaks up, he'll get what he wants.

JC whispers it again, "tell him," and licks the line of his jaw in encouragement.

"Chris -” Justin finally moans, but doesn't finish because he doesn't *know* what he wants. There are too many choices, too many possible outcomes, and with each one there's an ending. And Justin doesn't want an ending. He wants to feel this hazy drunk sensation forever, Chris' dark gaze touching his skin and his fingertips grazing his belly and ribs. He's shaking. Only Chris can keep him at the edge like this.

"Please," is all Justin can say. And hope that Chris understands. Chris glances up and meets JC's eyes, bright suggestion dancing up at him, and JC purses his lips and finally nods. JC smiles at Justin and leans in. Justin knows that everything will be fine, and Chris is mercifully, drowningly back on him, and Justin throws his head back and comes and comes and comes while JC swallows his cries.

Part of Lance really wants to fall forward, wants to brace himself on his palms so he can match words to the sounds of Justin's whimpering cries and Chris' little wet smacks. But it's so nice being held in Joey's arms, feeling Joey all along his back and hearing Joey moaning in his ear.

There's getting to be just enough sweat that their skin slides along smoothly. He feels little sparks shoot through his spine every time he pushes down on Joey, but he knows he needs more. Lance relaxes suddenly, can't try anymore, lets Joey drag him up, lets himself fall back down while Joey's fingers bit into the smooth curve of his hips. Lance's hands scrabble desperately over Joey's thighs, a part of him hating the begging noises coming from his throat, but he's so desperate.

Joey understands. He thrusts again and heaves and Lance is face-down on the bed, Joey's weight pressing him down, his over-sensitive cock pushing into the raspy sheet. Lance's thigh screams but it doesn't matter, nothing matters except the hard shock of Joey slamming into him again and again. He comes, cries muffled with his fist.

Joey can hear vague noises from the floor but can't parse anything except Lance's wordless urgency. He's kissing Lance's shoulder blades, but the kisses become frantic, become sucking, become biting, and Lance is shuddering beneath him, crying -- and it pushes him over, forcing him to batter Lance's pliant body once, twice, and then fall heavily upon him, the nape of Lance's neck still between his teeth.

JC listens to all their labored breathing, Lance's low hum of contentment, Joey's murmured apologies. A quiet groan at the stretch of overtaxed muscles. Someone slides tentative fingers over the inside of his knee.

They're going to be exhausted tomorrow. He thinks they may lose the next game.

They won't mind.


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