Fandom: MLB - Giants
Rating: NC-17, graphic sex
Characters: Barry Zito, Noah Lowry.
Disclaimer: It's all lies!
Summary: What time does night end?
Author's Notes: Written from Zito's POV. Zito and Haren were teammates in Oakland, Lowry and Haren were teammates and roommates at Pepperdine.
Never After Four
Pouring more syrup on the best french toast you've ever had - you've never had french toast while high - you pause to wonder why Noah even bothered to make it when there's boxes of cereal and a half-full carton of milk that's just a little bit expired; you fill your mouth, and your stomach, and the thought is squeezed out of your brain. You finish eating before Noah does and you lean back in your chair, watching him suck the syrup from his finger, fascinated by the way the saliva glistens in the light when he pulls his finger out of his mouth.
He's too busy eating to notice you watching him, and you mentally mark the places on his neck and collarbone and shoulders and chest that you want to taste, making up routes and directions in your head. He's barely swallowed the last bite and you're upon him, going from point A to point B as he sucks in a sharp breath, coming hazardously close to choking on his food.
"Still hungry, Barry?" he mumbles, and you stop abruptly, your name sounding strange and out of place on his tongue. He lowers his head to look in your eyes, and suddenly it hits you that Noah's the best friend you have on your team by way of Danny Haren. He says "Barry" in Danny's voice--not in pitch or cadence, but in a way that shows he learned your name from him. What else did Danny share with him about you, you wonder, because he's been a little bit too familiar with you in bed than seems natural, and he never says anything when you leave as fast as you can.
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.
You giggle, and Noah, who doesn't know what you're giggling about, decides to giggle too, and you think his mouth is pretty perfect, and nothing at all like a horse's. You kiss him for a lot longer than you should, and breathless and a little crazy, you notice that you've moved from kitchen table to bed, and you're taking an eternity to tug his pants off. A cold draft tells you he's done his part a lot more efficiently, and he slides his left hand down his stomach, lazily playing with himself while you stop and kiss his knee. Not the sexiest place you could stop, but he sighs softly when you do it, and it's a worthwhile detour.
Noah sits up when you're done, finally, and he gets on his hands and knees, moving in slow motion. You can see his muscles tensing and sliding under his skin, and he lowers his hips a little, bringing his ass closer to your face. He'd kill you if you ever told him, but his ass is shaped like a woman's, round, but in a soft way, not like the rock hard crack-an-egg-on-it asses you see on gym rats. It's firm too, though, this perfect in-between that drives you nuts, and you're half-dying to tell him, biting your tongue because you know he'd hate to hear it.
"You just going to look at it, or are you going to fuck it?" Noah's turned his head to look at you, his body a black and white silhouette in the dim light; he's the comic book version of Noah Lowry, all curved lines and coiled strength, and you, mere mortal, find him impossible to resist.
"Just... a second," you murmur, reaching over him to get the lube from the bedside table. Your fingers brush against the condoms, but they don't make it out of the drawer; there's a thought in your head that this is stupid, dangerous, wrong, but it doesn't stop you from what you're doing. You squeeze way too much lube into your hand and grasp your cock, sliding your hand slowly from base to tip as you draw your tongue over the nape of his neck, then blow cool air over it, making him shiver.
"Now," he growls, and you obey, muffling your groans in his arching back even though he's more than loud enough for the both of you. Hand still slick with lube, you snake up his thigh and grab his cock, trying to keep your shoulder still as you jerk him off. He doesn't cooperate - when does he ever? - and you flip him onto his back, keeping your cock inside him the whole time; you're just a little impressed with yourself for succeeding, and you hook his ankles over your shoulders, thrusting deep inside him as you dip your head down for a kiss.
He tastes like syrup, sticky sweet, and you move back on your knees, fucking him slowly as he closes his eyes, mouth falling open, shallow breaths making his chest rise and fall. You haven't fucked anyone bareback in a long, long time, and the feeling is so much more intense that you don't last very long. It feels so good that you don't think about the last time you did this, even though you remember, and it's a small mercy that won't register until later, when dawn breaks. You stay inside him when you come, and you think you shout his name in a voice that Danny taught you. Noah wraps his arms around you, kissing the stubble that's almost a beard by this point, as you lay on top of him, unwilling to move.
"You all right?" you ask, and you don't quite know what you mean. You feel his cock pressing hard into your belly and you pull out with a shiver, quickly sliding down his body to finish him off. The bitter taste of lube floods your mouth, and you grab a tissue to spit into.
"Why aren't you...?" Noah's looking down at you with a puzzled expression, but he quickly realises what the problem is. "It's okay, come back" he says as he starts stroking himself roughly, urgency taking control. You suck hard at the base of his throat, whispering secrets into his skin, and you pinch his nipple when he's about to come, feeling his body tense and shudder; he melts back into your arms, soft and pliable, every hard, black line blurred to gray.
It feels like you're in a dream, Noah fitting against you, not completely real. His curves fit into your hollows, jigsaw pieces in three dimensions, and there's just enough space to kiss, lighter and more infrequently as time passes, both of you fading into sleep. "Can I stay?" he whispers, or maybe you're dreaming that he is, and you think it's too proper a question for what you've just done. "Of course, " comes your answer, and the last thing you feel is him smiling against your lips.
You wake up, sense there's an empty space beside you, and sense that there being an empty space isn't quite right. The noise by the dresser is Noah's keys jangling as he puts his pants on, and you reach for the bedside table lamp, turning it on. Noah smiles at you, pulls his shirt on, and tells you he's going home. You might want to say something, but the words will never make it out of your dead throat and dry mouth. He presses a quick kiss to your lips, then he's gone, ghost-like into the night. You check the clock and it's a quarter past four, too late to be night, and too early to be morning. Dwelling on four, the number becomes confusing, bringing up questions you never had before.
Everything between you always ended by two, and you wonder if four means he stayed the night; you wonder if you wanted him to.