The knock on the door is a surprise. Tim's been back in the hotel for almost an hour after a late dinner at a pub in the Gas Lamp District, the celebration for his no-hitter.
His first no-hitter.
He can still hardly get his mind around it. He'd gone out to the mound with a good feeling, and that hadn't left even when he'd run into a hiccup in the first inning. Posey'd come out to the mound after the walk and put an arm around him. "You feel okay?" he'd asked.
Tim had nodded. "Sure. I'm good."
"Alright. Let's get 'em."
And then they did. He did. He got them all, except for the fucking walks, but he can't complain. No hitter. No. Hitter.
Another knock. Tim frowns and glances over his shoulder. The room is mostly dark, except for one of the small lamps near the bed, so he can see from the light seeping under the door that someone is standing there. Fuck that. It's almost three in the fucking morning; there's no way he's answering the door, even if he is awake.
He'd been tired at the restaurant. He could almost feel the adrenaline draining from his body like water from a bathtub. But once he got back to the room and changed, he couldn't sleep. He's been sitting in the desk chair with his bare feet on the windowsill for the last twenty minutes, watching the lights flicker on the water.
Another knock, and this time Tim's phone buzzes simultaneously. "Jesus fuck," Tim mutters and heads for the door, picking up his phone on the way. He stops just before he looks out the peephole and swipes the picture on the phone.
A text from Posey. >>Open the door.
Tim glances through the peephole. Sure enough, Posey, staring down at the floor or his phone, Tim can't tell. He flips the safety lock and opens the door.
"I feel like an asshole out here," Posey says, coming into the foyer.
"It's your fault. I thought you were a stalker. What's up?"
Posey shuts the door behind him. "I just wanted to say congratulations. What you did tonight, Tim--it was amazing."
Tim ducks his head, suddenly embarrassed. "Thanks, man. Really. I couldn't have done it without you."
"It was really clicking tonight, wasn't it?" Posey says, smiling.
"Yep." Tim nods. He's really touched that Posey would take the trouble to come by on his own, privately. He'd been there the whole way--Tim can still feel the swoop of his stomach when Posey had swept him off his feet on the mound--but this is really thoughtful. "This is really...thanks, dude. I mean it."
Posey nods, smiling at the floor.
"Okay, well," he says after a long minute. "Congrats." He holds out his arm.
Tim steps forward into the hug, tipping his head to Posey's shoulder, patting Posey's solid ribs. He rocks back, ready to break the embrace, but Posey doesn't let go. He's got one hand on Tim's waist, just like he does when he comes out to the mound, but the other hand is suddenly on Tim's throat, sliding up into his hair. When Tim steps back, Posey's hand is on his face.
"Um," Tim says. Posey is starting at his mouth, his eyes as blue as the summer sky. "Um, Buster?"
Posey's eyes flick to his. "Can I, I want to try something. Is that...?"
Tim smiles, trying to diffuse the weird. Posey's married. He's not thinking what it sounds like he's thinking. "What do you want to try?" he asks, trying to make a joke.
Posey's thumb strokes Tim's cheek and then he leans in and Tim was wrong about what Posey was thinking, because they're kissing. It's just a peck at first, Posey's dry smooth lips against his, and Tim thinks okay, this is okay, this is just--
--and then Posey opens his mouth and tightens his arm around Tim's waist and it's a real kiss, deep and firm, and Tim has to grope for Posey's shoulders just to stay on his feet.
The kiss lasts for a minute, maybe two, then Posey pauses, drawing back just a little, breathing heavily. "Okay?" he pants.
Tim nods and presses his mouth against Posey's.
He's kissed men before. He doesn't call himself gay or bi or whatever, but every once in a while he...does things. With guys. It's been a little while, because guys are so much more complicated than girls when you're a famous athlete--they're just harder to explain. He can only have so many "friends from college."
He doesn't know if Posey's done this before or not, but if he hasn't, he's got natural talent. He's backed Tim against the wall, holding him there with his body weight. One hand is till on Tim's face, but the other, freed from embracing Tim, has slid to Tim's stomach and is pushing up his t-shirt, seeking bare skin. Tim can feel himself getting hard in his loose pajama pants; any second Posey's going to notice, if he hasn't already.
"Wait, wait," Tim gasps, pulling his mouth away from Posey's. Posey shifts to Tim's neck, just below his ear, biting lightly. Tim sucks air through his teeth. He's suddenly fully hard, his erection poking Posey's thigh. "Wait!"
"Hmm?" Posey asks, even though he's still mouthing Tim's neck. At least the biting has stopped.
"I...um...how far is this...I mean, how far do you want to go?" He feels foolish asking this, but better now than before things really get heavy.
His words stop Posey. "I dunno," he says. He leans back so that they're looking each other in the eye. "I think a no hitter deserves more than some making out against a wall."
"Oh yeah?" He's strangely upset by the answer. "How far did you go with Cainer?"
Posey laughs, a real belly laugh, his eyes tearing up with mirth, but Tim's sort of serious.
"No, really," he says.
"Oh, hey, no," Posey says, and then both of his hands are on Tim's face, stroking his hair back from his temples, forcing Tim to meet his eyes. "No, Tim. This isn't...it's not a reward."
"What is it, then?"
"It's..." Posey sighs, releases Tim's face, although he doesn't back away. "It's...you've been doing so much, and you were out there, looking at me, waiting for me, and it's...I don't know, Tim. I like it. I like you. And I wanted--I want--to touch you."
It's maybe the longest speech Posey's ever made to him about their relationship that didn't involve yelling. In the last three years, he and Posey have been good about fighting out the issues, but they haven't been that great about making up.
"Okay?" Posey says. He jostles Tim a little, bringing him out of his head.
"Yeah," Tim says. "Okay."
"Okay." Posey smiles, a little hesitant. "Okay."
Tim slides his hands down Posey's arms, feeling the thick muscles beneath Posey's plaid buttondown, then back up. He can't bring himself to say it--kiss me--but he tips his head back against the wall and fixes Posey with a gaze and thinks it, as hard as he can.
Posey's smile widens. His hand slips under the hem of Tim's t-shirt, his fingers trailing up over Tim's stomach, his ribs, his nipple, then back down, just as slowly. Tim's skin tingles in the wake of Posey's touch. His eyes close. Posey's fingers are warm and slightly rough and Tim finds himself holding his breath as they begin their journey back up toward his nipples.
Posey leans forward a little, until his mouth is near Tim's ear. "I'm gonna take this off," he whispers.
Tim lifts his arms and his shirt floats like magic over his head, leaving only Posey's hands on his chest. "How are you feeling?" Posey asks, squeezing Tim's right shoulder.
"Good," Tim manages.
"Good," Posey repeats, his lips moving against Tim's. "Good."
It's a very different feeling kissing Posey with his shirt off. His dick throbs against Posey's thigh. His fingers fumble with Posey's shirt, seeking buttons. He gets most of them, and then Posey's biting his neck again and Tim gives up and moans, grabbing for Posey's ass to pull him in tight against his groin.
Posey grinds against him slowly, and Tim moans again. He's known that Posey has a great ass--he's a catcher; it's sort of a job requirement--and Tim's seen Posey in various states of undress for years, but there's a difference between thinking "nice" as he gives Posey's ass a passing glance and feeling his muscles clench under Tim's palms as Posey presses against him.
They're chest to bare chest, and Posey's skin in surprisingly hot against him. His skin is hot, his mouth is hot...Tim feels sweat bloom at his hair line.
"Can we lie down?" he asks, dizzily.
In response, Posey reaches down and hoists Tim up by his thighs and carries him the three or four steps, before collapsing with him onto the bedclothes. Before Tim can even catch his breath enough to say "holy shit!", Posey's hooked his fingers in the waistband of Tim's pajama pants and pulled them down to mid-thigh. Tim would be embarrassed by his sudden nakedness, except Posey's kissing him again and has one hand around Tim's erection, stroking gently and rhythmically. Tim falls back, his hands useless, his mind blank. He can't think of anything but the fact the Buster Posey's slightly rough hand is on his cock. That's all he knows.
"Tim," Posey whispers between kisses. "Timmy."
He shifts to the side of Tim's body, his face on the pillow next to Tim's, his hand lifting from Tim's erection. Tim moans and opens his eyes.
"I want to, um, do it like this," he says, kissing Tim's shoulder.
Tim isn't certain what Posey means, what "it" is, what "like this" could involve, but everything Posey's tried so far has been pretty fucking delightful. "Sure," he says. "Whatever you want."
Buster nods solemnly. He takes Tim's left arm by the wrist and lifts it above Tim's head, so the elbow is slightly bent. Then he reaches across Tim's body and does the same with Tim's right arm. "How's that?" he asks, holding both of Tim's hands loosely in one of his. Their fingers tangle together.
"Weird," Tim says. The position exposes him, makes his back arch a little, forces his cock up into the air.
Buster smiles. "I mean, does it hurt?"
"Oh!" His shoulder. Buster's worried about his shoulder. "No."
"Great. Keep them here." He squeezes Tim's hands. He's on his right side, leaning over, his face close to Tim's. His left hand slips down the underside of Tim's pitching arm, trails over his chest, his bare stomach, and as his fingers curl once again around Tim's cock, Posey slips his tongue into Tim's mouth.
It's...it's...Tim can't think of what it is. His brain flickers between Posey's hand holding his wrists, Posey's mouth, Posey stroking his dick. He hears moaning, but he can't be sure if it's coming from him, or Posey, or some combination of them both. Tim arches his back and spreads his legs against the restraint of his pajamas.
"Posey," he mumbles between kisses. Posey's hand doesn't pause and he doesn't answer with words, but he squeezes Tim's wrist lightly. His other hand glides over the top of Tim's erection and his newly slick palm feels like warm wet silk.
It's so good. Posey's not doing anything fancy, but the combination--his mouth, and his hands and the pants around his knees--all focuses Tim on what Posey's doing to him. He's stretched out in front of Posey like a buffet and for once being seen feels like something he wants.
"Posey," he breathes, trying to control himself. The position, the reality of what is being done to him, has him shamefully close to coming already. "Posey, god."
"C'mon, Timmy," Buster murmurs against his mouth. "C'mon, baby."
Tim thrusts his hips and Posey shifts and then, oh god, there, there it is, his hips moving against Posey's stroke, and Tim can't stop, they're always the best together when they find their rhythm. "Posey!" he cries. "Posey, don't, don't stop, don't, don't--god."
He comes, calling Posey's name, splashing semen across his chest and the bedspread. He can't stop, even after, doesn't want to relinquish the feeling of all of Posey's attention on him, until he goes soft, overstimulated, and collapses into the bedclothes, panting.
Posey leans in and kisses him again, but it's a heavy, slow kiss, meant to calm him.
"Fuck," Tim breathes.
Posey chuckles. The bed shifts and then Posey's heat is gone, but by the time Tim can muster the energy to turn his head and open his eyes, Posey's already lying back down, his shirt finally off. He swipes the material over Tim's wet stomach and tosses it over the far side of the bed.
"How's your arm?" he asks, which is when Tim realizes his arms are still above his head.
"I have arms?" he says.
Another chuckle. Posey shifts around on the bed, fluffing a pillow, rearranging Tim like he's luggage, until Tim is on his side, Posey curled up behind him.
"Wait," Tim mumbles, when he realizes Posey's not trying anything kinkier than going to sleep. "I should--"
"You should go to sleep," Posey says. "It's after four."
"No." Tim shifts, but he feels likes he's underwater. Still, he should--
"148 fucking pitches and you're still shaking me off," Posey grumbles good naturedly, wrapping his arm around Tim's body to hold him in place. "Go to sleep."
"Posey," Tim mumbles, but Posey's arm is tight, and he's pressing soft kisses to the nape of Tim's neck.
"Some other time, okay?" he says. "There'll be other chances."
"Shh." Posey rocks forward for a second, the light goes out, and Posey rocks back, warm and bare chested, his arm around Tim's waist.
"I owe you," Tim mumbles.
"Sure," Posey says. His breath on the back of Tim's neck is warm and damp. "The first time I hit for the cycle."
"Deal," Tim wants to say, but he's asleep before the word can form.