Post by maggie on Jun 4, 2007 16:02:26 GMT 10
In honor of Maura the Home-Run-Hottie and my (OUR!) beloved Red Sox (NOT the Yankees, or A-Rod's pitiful sportsmanship of late, or of the bad call that lost us the game this evening) I'm posting a wee little oneshot I had squirreled away...
Rated "N" for "NAUGHTY"!
"Baseball"
“Oh, what is this? Luka…” She bounced Joe gently as they entered the living room, dismayed to find the large frame leaning forward on the couch, staring intently at the television as a baseball game played on the screen. Books were scattered about, crumpled papers littered the floor, and a pencil rested over his ear. “Hey, Babe Ruth. Time to go.”
He looked up, expression serious. “I was just trying to do some crunching before the game. I’m not going to give Pratt and Morris the satisfaction of watching me make an idiot of myself again this year.”
Abby smiled a bit, and adjusted the soft baseball cap on her son’s head. “You mean cramming. And I hate to tell you, but there’s a difference between baseball and softball.”
“What?” His hazel eyes were wide. “But…I thought they were the same thing! Like soccer and football! They’re not just different words?”
“Come on, I’ll explain in the car.” She set the squirming infant in his father’s arms, and slung a baby bag and purse over her shoulder. “Luka. Move.”
He was flipping through a book again, Joe sitting on his knee as he tried to make sense of a chart. “Huh?”
A hand closed around his sleeve and pulled him towards the door. “Does the phrase ‘second base’ mean anything to you?” He shook his head, a puzzled frown on his face. “Well let’s just say if you don’t get a move on, you’ll never get that far again.”
***********************
“It’s a good thing you’re cute, because I don’t think you’ll ever get too far on your athletic abilities.” Abby smirked at him as she returned from tucking an overstimulated, rosy-cheeked infant into his crib, out cold after the excitement of softball, fireworks, and a barbeque. She settled onto the sofa next to a dejected-looking Luka, hat and jersey now cast aside, a streak of dirt still on his face. Licking her thumb to rub at the dirt, she smiled. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so let down, it was a good time.”
He muttered something to the effect of having been sabotaged, much to her amusement. She shifted to sit, facing him, on his lap, smiling at him sympathetically. He frowned. “Why don’t we ever play soccer? I’m good at soccer.”
“Because softball is a Fourth of July tradition.” Her hand smoothed his hair, still pouting at his deflated ego. “Are you really going to sit there and sulk all night?” He shrugged, casting a forlorn look at the floor. Her arms moved to encircle his neck. “Remember when I asked if you knew what ‘second base’ meant this morning?”
“No more baseball talk, Abby.” He rolled his eyes, clearly oblivious to her innuendo.
She leaned towards him, mouth nearly on his. “Luka. Trust me…you’ll appreciate this lesson.”
He looked at her, brows furrowed. “I don’t get it.”
“Well…” Her mouth moved to whisper in his ear. “Let me demonstrate. This is what we call ‘first base’.” Her lips were soft on his, at first, then more forceful as he pulled her forward, clearly enjoying the lesson. Her tongue slid into his mouth, drawing his into a reciprocal action as he instinctually moved to place his hands on her waist, thumbs hooking through the loops of her jeans.
“Mpff.” He mumbled something into her mouth as she brushed her fingers through his hair, matted from the cap, around the back of his head, to rest behind his neck. His teeth closed on that ever-succulent lower lip of hers, tugging her closer, urging. Her hand slapped at his as it began to creep up the hem of her tee shirt, prompting another, more indignant, “Mpff!”
She drew back. “If you want to learn, play by the rules. First base means keep your hands where I can see them.” He frowned, but relented, allowing her to move forward again to let her tongue sweep the interior of his mouth, teeth grinding gently against his as he began to wonder what exactly it was about baseball he disliked in the first place. One last kiss pressed to his lips, she drew back, tossing her hair over one shoulder. Her mouth rested next to his ear again. “Ready for second base?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I was kind of enjoying first.”
“Hmm…well, I think you’ll like second.” She lowered her lips to his neck, sliding her arms around his waist, then making a trail of soft kisses up to his ear. “You can go back to what you were doing.”
He grinned, cheeks already flushing. “And what was I doing?”
“Something about like this.” Her delicate fingers laced through his to bring his hands to her breasts, laying them over the thin cotton. He chuckled softly before bringing her into another kiss as his hands ran over her petite form, sneaking along the hem of her shirt to creep his fingers under the fabric, touching, caressing, admiring every curve and dip and line of her body. His palms slid over the rounded flesh, fingers kneading and pressing with artistic appreciation for the form he had in his presence. Thumbs and index fingers applied only the lightest touch, but a touch that left her with the sense she’d be lit on fire and then rubbed down with ice. Pressing her index fingers into the denim of his pants, she began running lines up and down his lap, drawing mutterings from him as he returned, again, to lavish her lower lip with attention. He loved that lower lip, could eat if for breakfast every day, and often did. She ran her nails harder along the lines in the denim, then crept up to fondle the hardening bulge to leave him choking for air, shifting, then groaning as she undid the buttons to touch him over the thin cotton, every tantalizing, fantastic inch of him. He was ready and wanting more, ready to make the mad dash to third, fourth, round that proverbial park she’d introduced him to, and yet she kept him at bay with only the pursed lips and glittering stare.
She knew he was losing his cool when another, louder groan escaped, his hands moving to grip her hips as though steering her in the desired direction, so obviously aroused she could barely keep from pitying him. “Second not doing it for you anymore, Babe?”
“Babe?” He shifted to find a comfortable position, unable to contain himself much longer.
She smiled. “Babe Ruth.”
He nodded slowly and leaned in to nuzzle her neck, then place a kiss by her collarbone, then allowing the tip of his tongue to run the faintest tracing over the line of her clavicle. “I think I’d like to see third.”
“You sure?” She raised her brows, lips pursed. One finger drew another long line down his thigh. His tightened hold on her waist gave away his answer. A seductive smile melted over her lips. “Easy. Remember, baseball is all about patience.” Cruelly, slowly, her hand inched up to trace the zipper of his pants, sliding off his lap to the floor to tug at his jeans, then boxers. He dragged her back up to him, well versed in the intention of her body language, to navigate the zipper of her own jeans, then lift her easily to slip them off without hesitation. He snickered quietly at her undergarment of choice, earning a scowl. “Something wrong?”
“No…I love daisies.” He traced the design with a light touch, toying with the elastic of the thin waistband.
The sensation of her fingers making their presence known in that same precarious location sent a rush of blood through him, then a shockwave as her fingers curled around him, a loose grasp that implied more than it acted. She let her head drop to rest on his shoulder as he continued tracing the patterns, urging a low murmur from her as he began a dangerous descent. “Luka…just…” She felt suddenly unable to focus on her explanation as a warmth spread over her, wholly and completely caught up in the moment. “Third base…hands…only.” Her eyes closed as she leaned further into him, sucking in deep, slow breaths as he brought a lucid smile to her face, her own half of the game abandoned. Warm breaths on his neck interspersed with gentle moans and then her fingers curling around the cushions as she shuddered and shivered and gasped. A finger, two, inside her, thumb circling her sweet spot like a shark circling its prey, methodical, cruel, savage. The fingers danced inside her, his famous tango that could bring her over the edge and to tears in less time than she would admit. No exception tonight…she nibbled and sucked at his neck as he brought her to oblivion, gyrating and moaning to drive him as maddeningly wild as he could imagine possible.
She grinned a delicious, mischievous grin up at his tousled hair, a streak of dirt still marring his cheek, face flushed redder than a cardinal. Tee shirts and a baseball cap over her mussed locks as they tumbling onto the sofa in a tangle of limbs and giggles and kisses, no explanations required. She let him take over, indulged his weakened ego, not as though it was a loss. His muscular frame over her, thin cotton leaving nothing to the imagination, that glorious grin that left her weak at all points relevant, and he moved inside her, bringing them together in another gasping peal of laughter. Athleticism at its finest, they strained and moved in stunning harmony until she froze in paralyzed ecstasy under him, a second later filled with the all-encompassing sensation of having brought him to the same point. His body over hers like a warm, supple blanket, she pressed her lips to his ear again. “Still hate baseball?”
The ensuing kiss was enough to speak for itself, but he managed words all the same, breathy and low as they were. “I think I love baseball, so long as I play with you.”
Rated "N" for "NAUGHTY"!
"Baseball"
“Oh, what is this? Luka…” She bounced Joe gently as they entered the living room, dismayed to find the large frame leaning forward on the couch, staring intently at the television as a baseball game played on the screen. Books were scattered about, crumpled papers littered the floor, and a pencil rested over his ear. “Hey, Babe Ruth. Time to go.”
He looked up, expression serious. “I was just trying to do some crunching before the game. I’m not going to give Pratt and Morris the satisfaction of watching me make an idiot of myself again this year.”
Abby smiled a bit, and adjusted the soft baseball cap on her son’s head. “You mean cramming. And I hate to tell you, but there’s a difference between baseball and softball.”
“What?” His hazel eyes were wide. “But…I thought they were the same thing! Like soccer and football! They’re not just different words?”
“Come on, I’ll explain in the car.” She set the squirming infant in his father’s arms, and slung a baby bag and purse over her shoulder. “Luka. Move.”
He was flipping through a book again, Joe sitting on his knee as he tried to make sense of a chart. “Huh?”
A hand closed around his sleeve and pulled him towards the door. “Does the phrase ‘second base’ mean anything to you?” He shook his head, a puzzled frown on his face. “Well let’s just say if you don’t get a move on, you’ll never get that far again.”
***********************
“It’s a good thing you’re cute, because I don’t think you’ll ever get too far on your athletic abilities.” Abby smirked at him as she returned from tucking an overstimulated, rosy-cheeked infant into his crib, out cold after the excitement of softball, fireworks, and a barbeque. She settled onto the sofa next to a dejected-looking Luka, hat and jersey now cast aside, a streak of dirt still on his face. Licking her thumb to rub at the dirt, she smiled. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so let down, it was a good time.”
He muttered something to the effect of having been sabotaged, much to her amusement. She shifted to sit, facing him, on his lap, smiling at him sympathetically. He frowned. “Why don’t we ever play soccer? I’m good at soccer.”
“Because softball is a Fourth of July tradition.” Her hand smoothed his hair, still pouting at his deflated ego. “Are you really going to sit there and sulk all night?” He shrugged, casting a forlorn look at the floor. Her arms moved to encircle his neck. “Remember when I asked if you knew what ‘second base’ meant this morning?”
“No more baseball talk, Abby.” He rolled his eyes, clearly oblivious to her innuendo.
She leaned towards him, mouth nearly on his. “Luka. Trust me…you’ll appreciate this lesson.”
He looked at her, brows furrowed. “I don’t get it.”
“Well…” Her mouth moved to whisper in his ear. “Let me demonstrate. This is what we call ‘first base’.” Her lips were soft on his, at first, then more forceful as he pulled her forward, clearly enjoying the lesson. Her tongue slid into his mouth, drawing his into a reciprocal action as he instinctually moved to place his hands on her waist, thumbs hooking through the loops of her jeans.
“Mpff.” He mumbled something into her mouth as she brushed her fingers through his hair, matted from the cap, around the back of his head, to rest behind his neck. His teeth closed on that ever-succulent lower lip of hers, tugging her closer, urging. Her hand slapped at his as it began to creep up the hem of her tee shirt, prompting another, more indignant, “Mpff!”
She drew back. “If you want to learn, play by the rules. First base means keep your hands where I can see them.” He frowned, but relented, allowing her to move forward again to let her tongue sweep the interior of his mouth, teeth grinding gently against his as he began to wonder what exactly it was about baseball he disliked in the first place. One last kiss pressed to his lips, she drew back, tossing her hair over one shoulder. Her mouth rested next to his ear again. “Ready for second base?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I was kind of enjoying first.”
“Hmm…well, I think you’ll like second.” She lowered her lips to his neck, sliding her arms around his waist, then making a trail of soft kisses up to his ear. “You can go back to what you were doing.”
He grinned, cheeks already flushing. “And what was I doing?”
“Something about like this.” Her delicate fingers laced through his to bring his hands to her breasts, laying them over the thin cotton. He chuckled softly before bringing her into another kiss as his hands ran over her petite form, sneaking along the hem of her shirt to creep his fingers under the fabric, touching, caressing, admiring every curve and dip and line of her body. His palms slid over the rounded flesh, fingers kneading and pressing with artistic appreciation for the form he had in his presence. Thumbs and index fingers applied only the lightest touch, but a touch that left her with the sense she’d be lit on fire and then rubbed down with ice. Pressing her index fingers into the denim of his pants, she began running lines up and down his lap, drawing mutterings from him as he returned, again, to lavish her lower lip with attention. He loved that lower lip, could eat if for breakfast every day, and often did. She ran her nails harder along the lines in the denim, then crept up to fondle the hardening bulge to leave him choking for air, shifting, then groaning as she undid the buttons to touch him over the thin cotton, every tantalizing, fantastic inch of him. He was ready and wanting more, ready to make the mad dash to third, fourth, round that proverbial park she’d introduced him to, and yet she kept him at bay with only the pursed lips and glittering stare.
She knew he was losing his cool when another, louder groan escaped, his hands moving to grip her hips as though steering her in the desired direction, so obviously aroused she could barely keep from pitying him. “Second not doing it for you anymore, Babe?”
“Babe?” He shifted to find a comfortable position, unable to contain himself much longer.
She smiled. “Babe Ruth.”
He nodded slowly and leaned in to nuzzle her neck, then place a kiss by her collarbone, then allowing the tip of his tongue to run the faintest tracing over the line of her clavicle. “I think I’d like to see third.”
“You sure?” She raised her brows, lips pursed. One finger drew another long line down his thigh. His tightened hold on her waist gave away his answer. A seductive smile melted over her lips. “Easy. Remember, baseball is all about patience.” Cruelly, slowly, her hand inched up to trace the zipper of his pants, sliding off his lap to the floor to tug at his jeans, then boxers. He dragged her back up to him, well versed in the intention of her body language, to navigate the zipper of her own jeans, then lift her easily to slip them off without hesitation. He snickered quietly at her undergarment of choice, earning a scowl. “Something wrong?”
“No…I love daisies.” He traced the design with a light touch, toying with the elastic of the thin waistband.
The sensation of her fingers making their presence known in that same precarious location sent a rush of blood through him, then a shockwave as her fingers curled around him, a loose grasp that implied more than it acted. She let her head drop to rest on his shoulder as he continued tracing the patterns, urging a low murmur from her as he began a dangerous descent. “Luka…just…” She felt suddenly unable to focus on her explanation as a warmth spread over her, wholly and completely caught up in the moment. “Third base…hands…only.” Her eyes closed as she leaned further into him, sucking in deep, slow breaths as he brought a lucid smile to her face, her own half of the game abandoned. Warm breaths on his neck interspersed with gentle moans and then her fingers curling around the cushions as she shuddered and shivered and gasped. A finger, two, inside her, thumb circling her sweet spot like a shark circling its prey, methodical, cruel, savage. The fingers danced inside her, his famous tango that could bring her over the edge and to tears in less time than she would admit. No exception tonight…she nibbled and sucked at his neck as he brought her to oblivion, gyrating and moaning to drive him as maddeningly wild as he could imagine possible.
She grinned a delicious, mischievous grin up at his tousled hair, a streak of dirt still marring his cheek, face flushed redder than a cardinal. Tee shirts and a baseball cap over her mussed locks as they tumbling onto the sofa in a tangle of limbs and giggles and kisses, no explanations required. She let him take over, indulged his weakened ego, not as though it was a loss. His muscular frame over her, thin cotton leaving nothing to the imagination, that glorious grin that left her weak at all points relevant, and he moved inside her, bringing them together in another gasping peal of laughter. Athleticism at its finest, they strained and moved in stunning harmony until she froze in paralyzed ecstasy under him, a second later filled with the all-encompassing sensation of having brought him to the same point. His body over hers like a warm, supple blanket, she pressed her lips to his ear again. “Still hate baseball?”
The ensuing kiss was enough to speak for itself, but he managed words all the same, breathy and low as they were. “I think I love baseball, so long as I play with you.”
).... just hate Streinbrenner's way of seing baseball 
