Title: More than Black and Blue
Fandom: Baseball RPF (SF Giants)
Pairing: Tim Lincecum/Buster Posey
Rating: explicit
Length: ~1,700
Content notes: Contains mild pain play
Summary: Awkward foul ball hops happen...and that's not always a bad thing.
Notes: For the "Bruises" challenge. This one's for the anon who prompted me on tumblr.



In the second inning, Buster takes a foul ball that bounces right in front of him before slamming into the inside of his thigh. It's close enough to his junk that he feels like he got lucky, but still, it stings like a sonofabitch. The umpire gives him time--walks a new ball out to Bum and then brushes off the plate--but then Buster's back down in the squat, all his thoughts on calling the next pitch. There's a tiny, petty part of him that wants to lay down the sign for Bum to hit Harper, but he'd never do that. Awkward foul ball hops happen; if you can't handle them then you need to hang up your catcher's gear and learn to love third base.

By the time the seventh inning rolls around, he can feel Tim's eyes on him--his gaze almost as palpable as the dull ache on his thigh. He didn't get to be one of the best catchers in the game by giving into distraction, however, even if that distraction involves Tim Lincecum. Later, he silently tells Tim with a glare as he pulls his mask on to head back out onto the field.

He gets through the rest of the game easily. It's a good one--they win and he goes two for four with an RBI--and he hurries through his shower and a couple of perfunctory questions from the press before heading back to their hotel. Some of the guys are going out, but tomorrow's a getaway day game and no one even blinks when he say he's making it an early night. He doesn't pay attention to Tim's excuse, but he suspects it has to do with him pitching tomorrow.

Tim falls in beside him in the lobby, talking a mile a minute about something only he cares about, and Buster knows that to anyone who sees them, they look like just a couple of guys. They continue looking like just a couple of guys in the elevator and then on the quick walk down the hall to Tim's room. It's always Tim's room before Tim starts; it's less of a distraction if you're not the one sneaking out in the small hours of the morning.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Tim's shoving Buster up against the wall. It should be ridiculous, given the size difference, but Buster feels himself relaxing and going pliant even as Tim pushes up against him with all his wiry strength and there's nothing ridiculous about it. Not at all.

"Are you sitting tomorrow or playing first?" Tim asks, his hand resting on Buster's hip.

"Sitting," Buster says with the usual mixed feelings. He's become used to seeing Sanchez catch Tim and he knows Boch is resting him with every expectation that they're heading into the post-season, which is all well and good, but he hates sitting on the bench. On the other hand....

"Oh," he moans, head tilting back until it hits the wall behind him.

"Yeah?"

Tim's fingers press against the bruise again, another light touch that's more tease than anything.

"Yeah...I think you're conditioning me to want to sit."

"Nah," Tim says, pressing again. He laughs a little as Buster sighs. "But I'm happy to take advantage."

"You can take better advantage if we're naked."

"Maybe I like teasing you."

This time Tim presses a little harder. Buster can't help it, his hips jerk and his dick goes fully hard. "You're doing a good job," he says and he can hear the note of desperation in his voice. "Tim...."

"You're so easy," Tim says, but he sounds more affectionate than mocking.

"Like that's a...oh fuck!" Now it's bordering on pain, close, but not close enough for Buster. "Like you don't know how easy I am for you."

"Mmmmmm...flattery."

Buster opens his eyes and looks down. Tim's face is flushed and his eyes are bright and Buster feels something that has nothing to do with pain catch in his chest. "Truth."

"Buster...." Tim bites his lip. "Naked."

There's nothing smooth about the way they pull their clothes off; by the time they reach the bed there's a trail behind them--plaid and denim and gray knit--and Buster almost falls over as he tries to get out of his boxer briefs.

"God," Tim says as he pushes Buster back onto the bed. "Look at you."

Buster can feel his face go red. He never sees anything all that special when he looks in the mirror; he'd rather look at Tim. But if Tim likes what he sees, Buster's not going to argue with him. "C'mon," he says, holding out a hand. "Don't you want to...."

"I always want you," Tim says and then he's sprawled out on top of Buster.

Kissing Tim is different than kissing anyone else; he can go from gentle to all teeth and tongue and back again in a hot second. Tonight's no different; it's wild and unpredictable and Buster gets so caught up in the feel of Tim's mouth on him that the sudden flash of pain in his thigh catches him by surprise.

The little squeak of surprise he makes is kind of embarrassing, but Tim just pulls back a little and grins at him. "Yeah?"

Before Buster can reply, Tim reaches for his hand. Sitting back until he's straddling Buster's calves, he pulls Buster's hand down until it's resting over the red mark on the inside of Buster's thigh. "Do it," he says. "I want to see you do it."

This is a new thing. Buster swallows hard and looks up at Tim. "Really?"

"Only if...." Tim pulls his hand away.

"I used to, all the time," Buster says. He presses down, lightly at first and then harder. It's different than it is when Tim plays with his various nicks and bruises. It takes him back to hot nights at home when sex was new and shocking and every little scrape or bruise was somehow a part of it. He pushes harder and catches his breath.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yeah," Buster breathes out hard and pushes down again and then again. "Always has...always been good...oh God...don't know why."

"Just wired that way," Tim says and there's no judgment in his voice at all. "I wish you could see...you look so hot."

Buster feels the blush wash across his cheeks again but something about the look on Tim's face makes him want to give Tim what he wants. He closes his eyes and presses against the bruise hard enough to make him gasp. He does it again and again and again; he's so hard, so turned on that his whole body is tense with it.

He wants to come, he wants Tim to bring him off, he wants more of that feeling, he wants...to talk?

"Used to do this," he says. "After games...all the bruises and scrapes, I'd play with them. Even before I knew...." He pushes at it again, feels the pain like a hot spark, jumping from his thigh to his cock. "Even before it was sex. And then later when I did know...."

He opens his eyes to see Tim watching him. "Buster," he says quietly. "Buster...." He reaches down and takes Buster's hand again. Turning it, he kisses the palm. They stay like that for a moment, Tim's hair brushing over Buster's knuckles and then Tim looks up. "Show me," he says, pushing Buster's hand back down over the mark again.

"Yeah," Buster says, "okay."

Buster knows it won't take much and he's way too wound up to drag it out. He curls his hand around his dick, stroking it roughly until he's almost there. Gulping down a quick breath, he pushes hard on the mark and that's it--he's there, coming in a hot rush all over his hand and stomach and it's so fucking good, so much better knowing Tim's watching. Just as he's coming down, he presses down on the bruise one more time, shuddering through an aftershock so strong it's almost like coming again..

When Buster finally opens his eyes, Tim's watching him, his eyes wide. "That is one of the hottest things I've ever seen."

"Mmmmm? Really?" Buster smiles through the floaty feeling he always gets afterwards. "Gimme a minute," he says, waving in the general direction of Tim's dick. "Or hey...scoot up and I'll blow you."

"You sure?"

"You trying to talk me out of it?"

"I just didn't want to harsh your afterglow."

"Tim? Get your skinny ass up here and let me suck you off."

"Well, if you put it that way...."

Buster loves this position because if he tilts his head back just right, he can take all of Tim's dick. The floaty feeling helps too; it makes it easier to relax and just suck hard, letting Tim set the pace. Sometimes Buster wants to make it last and last, wants to suck Tim's cock until his jaw hurts and the corners of his mouth feel sore, but tonight Tim's already close. A few quick thrusts and then Buster's swallowing hard as Tim groans and clings to the headboard.

"Fuck," Tim mutters. "Fuck." A quick twist of his hips and he's off Buster's chest and sliding down the bed. Once he's on his back, Tim tugs on Buster's arm. "C'mere."

Tim likes having Buster sprawled on him and he doesn't mind being sticky, so Buster just rolls until he's got a leg over one of Tim's legs and an arm slung over Tim's stomach. Tim runs a lazy hand down Buster's back and they lie like that in silence for a while.

"Thanks," Tim finally says.

"You know I like blowing you," Buster says, nuzzling at Tim's collarbone.

"That too, but I meant...earlier. Telling me stuff."

"Oh. Well...yeah. I mean you already knew most of it."

"Still," Tim says and kisses him. "I need to thank...who was that tonight?"

"Harper and don't encourage him. A couple inches up and in and I'd be spending the night humping an icepack."

"Ew," Tim says. "Think about this instead."

"Hmmmm?

"Day after tomorrow's an off day and by then...." His voice trails off.

"The bruise will be spectacular," Buster says. He kisses Tim's shoulder.

"Can't wait," Tim says.

Neither can Buster.

-end-