Date: Fri, 20 Jul 2018 08:31:11 -0500 From: Scott Coffin Subject: Boys of Summer 1 Disclaimer: This story is complete and utter fantasy, and should in no way be believed to say anything definitive about the characters involved, their sexual orientation, or their personal desires. It is 100% about the author thinking that this scenario would be fucking HOT. You should also realize by now that in a fantasy world, everyone is always safe from disease and disfigurement. We do not live in a fantasy world, so do with that knowledge what you will. If you are underage according to your jurisdictions applicable laws (18 or 21 in most cases), please do not read or disseminate this story in anyway. This story is copyrighted by the author as of 07-19-2018 Constructive input and/or encouragement is welcome at scoffin.2814@gmail.com. Flames will be ignored. I do hope you enjoy this story. Please consider donating to Nifty Archive. The archivist does awesome work here, and doesn't get any support except for our gratitude. Help keep this amazing site open for all of us! Boys of Summer 1: All-Star Hook-Up Prologue Neither man could say how they had ended up in their current position. It had certainly not been planned, but it was more than that. One minute they were gleefully ribbing each other, playing up the invented rivalry while on their way to their respective locker room surrounded by their fellow All-Stars. And now they were here. Alone. None of the events of the last several years had specifically brought them to this place. They hadn't ever talked about any of it, each preferring to play their game, rack up their stats, contribute to their teams, and let the press tout all of the "rivalry" nonsense; the what-ifs and where-fores they wanted. That affected neither of them in any way, they just wanted to play baseball. Still, it is true that when they were both being honest with themselves, all of the what-ifs and where-fores had made their current situation inevitable. Since even before they had each snagged their respective NL/AL Rookie of the Year awards, it had not been a question of if this moment would come, but when and where. The when had suddenly become now. The where had just as suddenly become this dark little out of the way exam room deep inside Nationals Park, in the heart of DC. Part 1 Bryce Harper's 6'3" frame was half leaning, half sprawled on the exam table behind him. All Star jersey undone, compression tee half pushed up, legs spread as much as possible with his uniform pants tangled up around one knee and one ankle. His elbows digging hard into the uncomfortable, barely padded surface of the table. Jock pouch pulled partly aside to allow his sweaty nuts breathing room. At least they did have breathing room for the maybe second and a half before Mike Trout inhaled the full, over heated sack into his mouth. In the moment that he felt the hot wetness envelope his balls, as the agile tongue started lashing over the smooth surface, the Nat's right fielder let his head sag back, exposing his throat as his hair brushed the exam table under him. Harper shifted one muscled arm off the surface below him, bringing it around to cup the back of Trout's skull, reveling in the wicked sensation of the sweaty, buzz-cut hair under his fingers as he dragged the Angel center fielder tighter against his scrotum, shivering at the contrast of short sharp exhalations along the base of his cock and the boiling heat of the man's mouth eagerly sucking his churning balls. Fifteen minutes ago the two had been in the hallway surrounded by other players and the press, congratulating and commiserating with each other, answering questions, nearly blinded by the flashes of digital cameras. Five minutes ago their bodies were crashing together, lips locked and tongues dueling in a bruising kiss as fingers scrambled to undo buttons and snaps and flies, pumped up jock bodies tight against each other. Two minutes ago, Bryce Harper's fingers had wrapped around the rapidly hardening shaft of Mike Trout's impressive cock while his other hand pulled the blond studs cup out of his jock strap, temporarily breaking their kiss so he could huff on the Angel's sweaty soaked gear. The deep, guttural laugh slipping from Trout's lips an acknowledgment of understanding as much as it was a statement of superiority. Now Mike Trout's lips were clamped around his nut sack as the stud had shifted into a catcher's crouch between his thighs. The center fielder's tongue dancing over every millimeter of sweat slicked skin. One hand trailed up under Harper's compression tee, tracing along the ridges of his abs and the indentation of his navel as the other gripped his achingly hard seven and a half inch cock, still trapped and tangled by his jockstrap. The Nat's stud did the best he could to grind himself hard against Trout's face, wanting desperately to free his cock from it mesh prison, but loathe to pry the exquisitely gripping hand off long enough to make that happen. Mike Trout swore he could smell and taste the rising heat virtually steaming off Bryce Harper's body, his spit flowed like a flood in his mouth as he vacuumed the stud's nuts nearly into his throat. What had once been a very hard erection pulsing under his gripping hand was now diamond hard, it's heat burning against his palm, under his fingers like an electrical wire. The right fielder's gasping, shallow breaths telling him he was doing his job amazingly well. The scent of unmistakable lust hitting his nerves each and every time he inhaled as the 6'3" muscle jock writhed under his ministrations. A stray movement of his thumb confirmed it all as it made contact with the flaring head of Bryce Harper's cock as it peeked out just beyond the waist band of the stud's damp, musky jock. Pulling off the churning, sweaty nuts with a loud pop, Mike Trout shifted his position lightning quick, clamping his hand around the nuts and pulling, stretching them away from his buddy's body and clamping his lips over the stretched mound of Harper's strap, making sure to capture the already oozing crown of the stud's cock between his lips, lashing it's entire, angrily red surface with his tongue. The movement, the dizzyingly quick shift of attention was greeted with a deep gasping moan from Harper. A moan that intensified in strength and volume as Trout brought the broad tip of his thumb to bear on the winking lips of Harper's jock hole. Tracing teasingly, pressing firmly around and against the stud's ass, it's thickness, it's agile insistence hinting at the glorious pain that actual entry would bring. Bryce Harper's body was quivering in need under Mike Trout's pressure. The Nationals stud grinding fore and aft, eager to feel every bit of licking, sucking mouth and every trace of searching, teasing fingers he could, reveling in the base, twisted need for jock sex. The home run derby champ of a day ago, confident and in control, was nowhere to be found at the moment as he shifted himself greedily to soak in the feelings enveloping the top few inches of his cock as it was eagerly and expertly sucked, and the previously unknown feelings of desperate need to feel his jock ass be breached by Trout's teasing thumb. It took the center fielder several minutes to exert enough pressure against the right fielder's body to still him, to show Harper that he could have all he needed and more simultaneously if he would only lie still. When the Nat's stud finally got the message, the Angel shifted his ministrations into over drive, using his lips, tongue and determination to slide further down Harper's cock shaft under the wickedly stretched jock strap, and using the right fielder's own sweat to lubricate his thumb's entry into the winking jock hole it had been teasing unmercifully. The vibrations that rocked through Bryce's body made both men momentarily think that Harper's orgasm was not going to be held back any longer. Trout's tightening, chocking grip around his ball sack and the attendant pain it caused choked it off just in time. Bryce Harper's head sagged back, drooping to the surface of the exam table as a smile split Mike Trout's already cock split lips. Both men were having far too much fun for this to end too quickly. Both men needed for this to last long enough to make the last several years of sniffing and posturing worth while. The vein etched shaft in his mouth, long and perfectly thick, coupled with the loose foreskin sliding and shifting in whatever way his tongue desired drove Trout to higher and higher planes of lust. The musky, masculine scent wafting to his nose from Harper's slick and muscular body fueled his own lustful heat as he became more and more aware of the pulsing hardness of his own longer and thicker cock, bobbing in the open, now fetid air of the small room as it bobbed, almost lazily between his spread thighs. Thighs that were beginning to tighten, threatening to cramp painfully, if he remained in this crouching position. That would absolutely not do. Dragging Harper's 220 pond body precariously lower, Trout shifted to his knees. The new position allowed for the happy accident of digging his chin hard into the still jock trapped base of Bryce's cock. A move which drew a long, low, seemingly endless gasp from the Nat's stud's lips, bordering on a threat of hyper-ventilation, even as Trout's lips pulled the top half of Harper's cock away from his body, pre cum oozing freely, viscous and salty on Trout's tongue before sliding into the now kneeling stud's throat. The Angel center fielder's nose inhaling every atom of the National right fielder's scent as humanly possible. Had Mike Trout been able, or even willing, to lift his head and look up across Bryce Harper's torso the sight that would have greeted him would have been awash in twisted, erotic and almost perverse sexual need. As it was, with every shred of energy, every bit of focus, centered on keeping his face and hands attached searingly to his buddy's groin, the yearning ache vibrating over and through Harper's body went un-witnessed. The stretch of the compression tee, taut over quivering musculature, showing the stud's abs and pecs flexing in sharp relief. The languid hang backward of the man's head, handsome face slack with desire, lips parted, eyes closed but still visibly rolling back under the lids. Longish, fashionable hair wet with sweat that brushed and dripped onto the surface of the exam table. He barely even registered the movements of the stud's hips as he continued sucking cock. Certainly didn't even consider the abject need inherent in the feeble rocking motions that said the Nat's stud was too far gone to even be able to fuck back against the face so brilliantly devouring him no matter how much he obviously wanted to. A copious pulse of pre cum meeting his tongue in tandem with a rasping, greedy moan and a tight clenching of muscle around the base of his thumb, told Trout it was time to move on. Loathe as he was to move away from the iron hard cock in his mouth, to deny himself the tang of Bryce Harper's freely flowing pre cum, he knew that there were still more areas of the man writhing under him that needed and deserved his tongue's attentions. In the brief space of time it took for Trout to complete the maneuver, Harper felt sure that he was falling. One powerful leg hitched over the center fielder's shoulder as his other leg, toes barely in contact with the floor, was nudged aside by the other shoulder, hand gripping once again, and with greater force than previously, around his still jock tangled cock, as the other hand slid upward across his stomach and chest, between the sweat dampened fabric and skin. Trout's powerful forearm pressing hard against him, rough fingertips trailing over a nipple he only now realized was as erect as his cock. Nose and chin wedging their way into his crack. The moan that escaped him at the teasing of the Angel's fingers and lips was violently cut off, morphing into a choked, anguished sob as the fingers pinched down on his nip at the same time that Trout's talented and powerful tongue speared it's way past his winking sphincter and into his sweaty, greedy hole. The rise and fall of his chest beating time with his gasping breaths as Mike Trout rimmed his jock ass deep and true while continuing the grasping, pinching actions up with hands and fingers on Bryce Harper's tit and cock. Trout reveled in the feeling of Harper's ass lips clamping and releasing along his digging, starving tongue. Gloried in the quivers and tremors washing over the stud's body as he pinched and squeezed the right fielder's erect flesh. Savored the taste and smell of the jock's hole. Sweaty, salty, acrid, mouthwatering. The Angel's own mouth was awash with his own saliva as the hunger rose higher and higher inside him, a hunger he knew was matched perfectly by the man he was now tonguing. Risking a too quick orgasm, Trout slid his thumb under the waistband of Harper's jock, dragging his nail lightly across the angrily sensitive crown and slit of the achingly hard cock in his grasp. He was rewarded with a guttural moan, a further clenching of muscle around his tongue and a massive surge of pre cum onto his thumb. The reward was further heightened by the choked gasp of 'too fuckin close' and a near desperate scramble by Harper as he tried to slither away from the man currently using him so perfectly. A desperate scramble that let Trout know that Harper needed, and was more than ready, for so much more than just a quick suck and rim. The Angel's lust swelled as he pulled away from the National and was greeted with a sobbing gasp that spoke of loss and need. Mike Trout rose quickly, yanking Bryce Harper upright with him by the nipple, crushing his lips against his fuck buddy's a split second before their powerful jock frames crashed together. Harper nearly sucked Trout's tongue out of his mouth when the Angel slipped it between his full lips. Just before his eyes fluttered shut with lust, Trout registered the look in Harper's eyes, the realization that he had just admitted to his buddy that he needed to taste his own ass on the center fielder's tongue. The grinding of to horned up jocks against each other punctuated the shared perversion. Trout forced himself to pull away from Harper's body, yanking his pants and jock down to his knees as he stared deep into his buddy's eyes, adding subtle but insistent pressure to Harper's shoulder. "Get me wet!" The look in Mike Trout's eyes, the way his jaw was clenched, the sharpness of his gaze, and the steel in his voice was completely alien to any experience Harper had ever had with the man. That knowledge sent a profound pulse to his groin. Even as he did it, Harper acknowledged and accepted the full meaning of his actions. Understood that he was agreeing to the terms of their contract, he still gave a slight nod and bent his knees, lowering himself before Trout in willing, if anxious subjugation. Offering himself to be fucked. And hopefully fucked HARD! Part 2 His eyes drank in the sights as he sank to kneel before Mike Trout, absorbing the vision of the broad, powerful chest, the tangle of blond pubes, and the massive cock in front of him. Trout was an inch shorter than his own 6'3" height, but weighed 15 or so more pounds than he did, and while the Angel's musculature wasn't as sharply defined as his own, it emanated a studly power that made the man standing before him seem like a giant. The thick shank of jock cock pulsing before his lustful gaze only amplified the effect. At least an inch longer, and definitely thicker than his own respectable size, the shear beauty of Trout's cut cock brought floods of saliva polling in Harper's mouth. Lips slightly parted, the Nat's stud leaned closer, slipping his tongue between his lips to swirl over the Angel's broad and flaring head, taking it between his lips, tightening them securely just beyond the pronounced ridge. Bigger by far than any of the few cocks he had ever taken, Harper felt anxious at his ability to serve Trout in the way that he deserved. Before that thought could be fully overcome by the realization of what it said about him, it was driven from his mind as Mike Trout's fingers tangled in and gripped his hair, yanking Bryce Harper's mouth forward in a sharp drive, determined to impale the stud jock sucker's throat. It was that suddenness, that lack of warning that did it. The fear that he wouldn't be able to measure up to Trout's needs flew from his mind as his nose was ground deep into the sweaty, dizzying musk of his throat fucker's bush. The Angel held him there, both hands now gripping his skull tight, fingers digging into him even as they tangled in his hair. He sucked what breath he could through his nose, soaring to a crazy high as the air was filtered through testosterone laden sweat. Harper slipped his hands up along the back of Trout's powerful thighs, splaying them out over the jut of the man's ass, digging his fingertips into the glutes and mapping the flex and clench and release as Mike Trout began to draw outward until just the head of his rock hard cock was still inside him, only to reverse in powerful driving thrusts, flattening his tongue along the underside of the shaft as the head now knocked insistently at the entrance to his throat. So caught up in the play of his face fucker's muscular ass and the fleeting tastes of the stud's pre cum washing over his tongue that he only occasionally remembered to suck air in. The ratcheting up of the speed of the thrusts was slow and steady, and the faster it got, the more Bryce Harper dug his fingers into Mike Trouts powerful ass. The more Harper dug his fingers into Trout's ass, the more pre cum the Angel released onto the eager tongue of the National. The more pre cum oozing onto Bryce's tongue, the more of his own pulsed into the already sticky mess that was his jock's pouch. The more pre cum he himself poured forth, the more his balls ached for release and the more his balls ached for release he was reminded of the bloated nut sack bouncing almost painfully off his bearded chin. The ratcheting up moved ever forward in a continuous loop. His spit was drooling out of the corners of his wide stretched, overstuffed mouth, and yet Trout forced two thick fingers in alongside his shaft, scooping saliva from his cock and off Harper's tongue, coating his fingers liberally. If there was any thought at all left in Bryce Harper's mind that he might not actually get fucked tonight, they were banished from his fevered brain the minute Mike Trout released his skull and bent down and over him, dragging those two spit soaked fingers along the deep trench of his ass before driving them hard up his ass. The right fielder quivered nearly to the point of passing out as it hit him that he was being lubed up by his own spit as the center fielder dug and flexed and spread and twisted his fingers inside him. Bryce Harper groaned in abject need as Mike Trout dug around inside his very nearly virgin hole, the groan sent a near flood of Angel pre cum flowing onto his tongue as Trout continued driving into his throat with hard, short jabs. The feeling of two thick and widely spread fingers popping themselves out of his ass, only to regroup and drive almost immediately back into him brought too deep a need to the surface of Bryce Harper's lust addled psyche. The Nat's stud realized almost too late how tightly his nut sack had pulled up, how profound the flow of his pre cum was, and yet Mike Trout was still finger fucking his ass with the same level of force as he fucked his throat. For his part, Trout almost missed the signal of Harper's fists pounding against his thighs, mistaking it at first as sudden balking at his impalement. As it was, he nearly left his own load spewing along Harper's tongue as he dragged his cock from between the bruised lips of the cock sucking jock kneeling before him. Hooking his free hand under Harper's arm, Trout yanked the man upright, his still digging fingers adding an encouraging push from below. The Angel held the National upright as Harper struggled to find his legs under him once again as they met in a teeth cracking, tongue wrestling kiss of pure jock power. Trout's free hand worked to push Harper's uniform pants lower in a desperate bid to free the stud's legs, the minute he was sure Harper was capable of holding himself upright. The right fielder's hands joined in the struggle to finish stripping himself with both men giving up when finally one shoe had been kicked off, and one powerful leg had been freed. Mike Trout pushed Bryce Harper away, using the fingers still digging into the stud's ass to turn him around, gripping his leg with one powerful hand the Angel pushed the National forward in the same motion that the leg was lifted. The side of Harper's face slamming into the slick pool of sweat he had long been dripping onto the surface of the exam table even as Trout hooked his leg up on that same table. The pain in his cock as it was pried away from his body, trapped in a downward point along the table's side brought a sharp gasp from his lips. Harper moved to reach under himself to reposition his cock only to have both hands grabbed by Trout. Gathering both of Bryce Harper's hands into a firm and controlling grip, Mike Trout pressed them hard against Harper's lower back. Looking down to aim a last dollop of saliva onto the National stud's ass, the Angel gasped at the sight below, realizing maybe for the first time that Harper's cock was still painfully tangled in his jock strap. A jock strap that framed the rock hard ass spread whorishly wide for his use. A leering smile twisted in a slash across his boyish face as he realized that Harper had only intended to move his cock to a more comfortable position. That smile widened and deepened as he grasped his jock bitch's hands tighter. The drop of spit landed perfectly, running down along Harper's shaved trench, meeting Trout's thumb where it was smeared around and driven into Bryce's winking hole. As Trout thumbed in the last little bit of lube he was going to get, Harper tried to tell himself that it would be enough, even though he knew better. Tried to relax sure in the knowledge that saliva was just as good as lube, and that even though he had never taken anything near the size of Trout's jock shank up his ass, and that those cock's had been very liberally oiled up, that he was going to be alright. The sudden forward stab of nearly nine thick inches of Angel cock tearing into his tight, clutching ass knocked the wind out of him, froze his entire body in mid balk, even choking off the scream he should be loosing, leaving only a feeble, choking sob in it's place. Mike Trout ground his sweaty pubes hard against Bryce Harper's shaved ass, twisting his hips in shallow circular motions even as he flexed his already massive cock deep inside the gasping piece of jock ass under him. The stud center fielder was determined to hold himself there, deep inside the stud right fielder until Harper realized for himself that even though his mind was balking at the invasion, his body was pushing ever so slightly back against the cock fucked deep into him, content for the time being to keep up with the grinding, twisting pressure. Watching the realization lock into place as he gazed down at Bryce Harper's profile was one of the most amazing sights Mike Trout had ever seen. The jaw unclenched, lips parted slightly, gaze lost focus as eyelids fluttered nearly closed. The Angel watched a smile creep onto the corners of the National's lips, caught the slight nod and the whooshing, satisfied gasp of pure pleasure even as the right fielder flexed the muscles in his powerful upper body to push back hard against the immovable force that was Mike Trout. The Angel slid his hands down to the National's muscled ass soothingly, smiling in amusement as Harper kept his arms bent behind him for several heartbeats before realizing he could move them to his sides, palms pressed flat against the surface of the table. Trout dug his hands harder and tighter into Harper's glutes as Harper brought his hands finally into play, pushing himself up slightly, using them to leverage himself back against Trout's powerful body. Mike Trout dragged his cock almost all the way out of Bryce Harper's clutching jock hole before sliding back inside with assured control, setting a powerful rhythm for the fuck. A rhythm Harper picked up on and matched perfectly as the two jock studs rutted in long denied need. Speed picking up slowly as Mike continued the long languid strokes, digging as deeply as possible into Bryce's ass each time. Harper's moans near constant, bliss sweeping over his handsome face as he clenched and released the muscles inside himself, milking his stud's cock with a slutty eagerness that ratcheted Trout's lust to higher and higher levels. By the time Harper was begging in a constant, near whispered stream of 'fuckmefuckmefuckme's' Trout found himself moving inexorably toward the need to abuse the holy hell out of Harper's jock cunt, felt his thrusts becoming shaky as his body's desire's clashed against his mind's feverish needs. He was going to need to see the final completeness of Bryce Harper's surrender. Several full throttle, power driving fuck thrusts later and Harper was groaning like a stuck pig. Mike Trout ripped his cock unceremoniously from the clenching hole drawing a gasping sob of pure loss from his bottom bitch's lips even as he whipped the jock slut over onto his back and climbed onto the table between his legs. Trout had no way of knowing that the look of fear on Harper's face was all about the twisted savageness present on his own, the Angel only thinking that the National was afraid the fuck was over, that the look stayed plastered on Harper's handsome mug even after he had driven his cock forcefully back into Bryce's still clenching jock snatch might have let him know something was up if he had been capable of anything approaching rational thought at the moment. The look of abject fear slipped from Bryce Harper's face by the end of the third deep thrust, the new position allowing for a fraction more depth on each driving stroke, the angle allowing for the wide, over heated cock to rasp bruisingly across Harper's prostate, the flare of his fucker's coronal ridge flicking it hard on each outward stroke. Mike Trout collapsed hard onto Bryce Harper, once again taking control of the man's lips in a desperate, devouring kiss. The right fielder wrapped his legs around and behind the center fielder's body, locking his ankles together just under the powerfully flexing glutes of his jock cunt fucking top, sucking on Trout's tongue even as he voiced gasping pleas for more and deeper into Mike's throat. The two men rocked and rutted together in a level of need that neither had ever known. Massive, thick Angel cock splitting muscular, clenching National jock cunt wide, sweat and spit mingling, hearts racing as they rode higher and higher toward the crest of the wave of lust neither had really known that they wanted not even an hour ago. Both men recognized the rising tide of impending orgasm in the other as much as they did in themselves. Felt in in the shorter' shallower breaths, the deeper, more desperate gasps against each others lips. Mike Trout Ripped himself unwillingly away from Bryce Harper's lips and tongue, rising above the stud like a god, still for a mere second before bending and arching down, thumbs prying the still jock entangled cock away from his shaved pubic bone, Trout captured Harper's cock head between his lips and clamped down tight with his lips, vacuuming it as deep as possible into his mouth as if his life depended on it. Harper had just enough time to register the wet, fiery heat enveloping him, the thrilling pain of his nuts being nearly crushed as they were trapped between the two rutting studs very nearly at the place place they were joined. He felt the continuing thrusts of the massive cock deep in his greedy jock cunt for two more full strokes before the third ripped his cum from his balls and a scream from deeper inside him than he had ever known existed. Three powerful blasts of Bryce Harper's cum flooded into Mike Trout's mouth as the Nat's stud's creams echoed off the walls of the small, dank room, he didn't care if or how far those echoes carried beyond as he felt Trout's already massive cock swell even further inside him, followed by the flooding, soothing warmth of the Angel's load pulsing out inside his aching, greedy, starving ass. The force of Trout's orgasm pushing two more blasts of cum from his own balls as he tried to count off the deeply depositing pulses flooding his bowels, losing count after six, or maybe it was seven. Mike Trout rose above Bryce Harper again, letting the fucked out stud's cock slip from his lips one last time and slap against the sweat slick pubic bone. Teetering precariously for a second before crashing down once again across Harper's powerful, heaving frame, capturing the stud's lips to share the right fielder's load between them. For several long minutes, the two men heaved in deep lung fulls of air as their breathing slowly returned to normal under the influences of kisses that while more gentle and searching lost none of their intensity. For several more long minutes the two stud All Stars worked almost lazily to extricate themselves from each other, neither in a hurry to do so, but both understanding it was necessary. The two men gazed, sated and heavy lidded at each other as they righted their clothes as best they could, sharing small, near constant smiles of acknowledgment. Accepting that they both knew that they reeked, not just from a hot summer night's game on the diamond, but from the powerful jock rut they had both so badly needed. Agreeing silently that neither of them cared about that reek. Trout began to move toward the door, turning back to speak in a tone that belied the facts of the last 45 minutes, as if he was discussing stats. "You better make the All Star team next year, because I am definitely going to want a replay." Harper's grin widened, mirroring Trout's. "You're going to make me wait a year for a crack at your ass, bud?" Trout shook his head as he opened the door. "Yes. Yes I am." Throwing a quick wink at his fuck buddy, just catching the growing smile splitting Harper's face as the door closed between them. Bryce Harper's smile widened further as he ran one sweaty palm over his crotch, feeling one last pulse of desire.