I Hear It's Beautiful This Time of Year
Title: I Hear It's Beautiful This Time of Year
Author: 2theletter
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Cliff Lee/Roy Oswalt
Synopsis: Cliff Lee had rules about this kind of thing. But rules were made to be broken, right?
Disclaimer: Hey! It's fake! As in, completely fictional. Any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, would be really sad.
Writer's note: This was written in response to a prompt from mlbanonmeme. The prompt read thusly: "ESPN informs me that Cliff Lee and Roy Oswalt go on fishing trips together. So prompt is, of course, Lee/Oswalt, 'you don't go up there to fish!'" I loved the idea.
Cliff Lee made it a rule never to get involved with his co-workers.
Which meant the part of his brain that governed ethical behavior had a lot of explaining to do the morning Lee woke up in bed next to Roy Oswalt.
The Mississippi-bred righty was still asleep, one arm draped over his stomach, the other behind his head. His unconscious morning hard-on throbbed beneath the thin sheets. Lee licked his lips and willed himself to look away from the lengthy bulge in the crisp tan cotton.
Lee turned onto his side, facing Oswalt. He could kinda sorta remember what led to this specific moment in time, but it seemed like a twist in a pretty long road. Cliff and Roy first met years before, when Roy was in Houston and Lee was coming up in Cleveland. They were both men of the South, growing up on opposite sides of the great dividing line of the Mississippi River. They had common interests in extracurriculars, like fishing and hunting. Roy always clobbered Lee when they hunted together at Roy's ranch, but Cliff could hold his own when they fished on his home turf in Arkansas. He realized early on that Roy was, for lack of a more sophisticated term, hot as fuck. His body, his demeanor, his aw-shucks attitude, even that drawl cultivated deep in the heart of the Magnolia State. The Cliff Lee Checklist of Excellence rated him very highly.
Cliff got to hang out with Roy only occasionally, and it seemed like a cosmic prank when Lee landed with the Rangers around the time Roy left Houston. But fate gave him a break, and within a year they were both wearing Philly red. One of Lee's first official acts when the season ended was to invite Roy up to his lakeside retreat for a weekend.
As co-workers, you know? Because rules are rules.
Lee wasn't a particularly big guy, but he towered over Oswalt. He loved that feeling. When Roy stepped out of his beat-up Chevy in front of Cliff's house on a coolish Friday afternoon in late October, Lee greeted him with a hug instead of a perfunctory handshake. His arms wrapped around the smaller man's torso, burying Oswalt's face in his chest. Lee felt as if he could just pick him up and take him inside. Instead, he offered to take Roy's bags up to the guest room.
The next day, out on the lake, Cliff found himself staring at Roy unashamedly. Oswalt didn't notice or didn't care; he couldn't tell which. But he thought he was getting away with it until at one point, after lunch, Roy reached for another beer from the cooler and said, "Uh...you need to take care of business, buddy?"
Lee snapped out of his lull. "Huh?"
Oswalt cracked open the beer and took a swig. He chuckled and pointed to Lee's crotch, which was noticeably swollen. Cliff felt his face turn what must have been fifteen different shades of red, each deeper than the first. But Roy didn't say anything else about it, just cast his line out again and whistled some vague tune.
The guys made small talk, and toward sunset decided to call it a day. After dinner, Cliff rattled around in the kitchen as Roy examined the stuffed and preserved fish mounted on the living room wall, and the various photos of Lee and his catches. His eyes landed on one of Cliff taken not that long ago, judging from his appearance. Lee's eyes were invisible behind dark sunglasses, and his face beamed as he held aloft a largemouth bass. Oswalt smiled.
Lee walked into the room. Oswalt turned around and gestured at the picture. "That's a good one."
Cliff squinted at the image. "Oh, yeah. That was Lake Wheeler, North Carolina, about two years ago. Twelve-pounder."
Roy nodded. "Hey, I didn't say yesterday...thanks for inviting me."
"Yeah, no problem."
"Seriously," Roy said. "I really like spending time with you. When you visit me down on the ranch, it's like the best part of my year."
He paused, then grinned. "'Cept for the postseason, that is."
Lee remembered his rule about not acting upon his attraction to co-workers. And then his libido declared an immediate suspension of the rule. He dove in and planted his mouth on Roy's. Cliff got a bit too eager, because the force took him and Oswalt down onto the couch. Lee wasn't even thinking about it, just enjoying the feel of Oswalt's tongue against his for as long as Roy would allow it. Not fast or hungry, but with intensity. He bit at Roy's lip and let his teeth graze over his jawline. And then a switch flipped in his brain and he remembered who he was, and who was squirming under him and WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING?
Lee suddenly pushed himself up, mouth agape. "Oh God, Roy. Christ. I'm sorry."
Oswalt looked confused. "It's okay."
"Is it?"
"'Course it is."
Good enough, Lee thought, helping peel Roy off the sofa and leading him into the bedroom before he could change his mind.
What Oswalt may have lacked in height he made up for below the equator, and Lee had a moment of speechless shock when Roy's eight-and-a-half inch erection sprang out from his briefs. Cliff stripped his own clothes and half-shoved Roy onto the soft, expansive comforter. Cliff jumped onto the bed and crawled over Oswalt, his big body hovering over the smaller underneath. Lee's big hands felt every part of Roy's body, from his strong shoulders, down to his thick thighs, to the tiniest hint of a gut developing beneath Oswalt's reddish-brown treasure trail. A devilish grin emerged from the shadowy stubble covering Lee's face. The rest of the night -- how long, he didn't know -- was a kaleidoscope of tingling and wetness, of tightness and warmth, of Oh, I didn't know I had nerve endings THERE, until both men fell asleep from exhaustion sometime long after the Moon rose above the horizon and sailed toward the top of the sky.
Lee was getting hard thinking about it. He looked back over at Oswalt, who was still deeply asleep. Cliff looked down at the part of Roy that was most definitely not asleep, and decided to get the day started right. Gently, he reached toward Roy's crotch and dragged a finger down the length of his erection. Oswalt's breath hitched slightly, but then leveled out again. Smiling, Lee used his thumb and forefinger to trace dual paths from the base of Roy's cock to the swollen head. The organ throbbed larger in response. Lee quickly shifted his eyes back to Roy's face. The fucker was still asleep.
"That won't do," Lee whispered. He slowly peeled the sheet away from Roy's body, leaving his erection exposed to the morning light. Lee tried again to rouse his partner with light touch, then gently grasped Oswalt's shaft, stroking it. Roy groaned in his sleep. Cliff grinned. As quietly as he could, he climbed out and walked to the foot of the bed. His own erection was in need of attention, but Cliff made a mental promise that he'd make Roy take care of it once he finally woke his redneck ass up.
He crawled back up on the bed, straddling Oswalt's sleeping body. He lowered himself onto his elbows. His right hand raised Oswalt's thick cock slightly, and Cliff took a long swipe of it with his tongue. Oswalt grunted.
Lee wasted no more time, and took the flared purple head of Roy's morning wood into his mouth. He inched midway down the shaft, and then back up. He loved it. He rolled his tongue along the underside of Roy's dick, feeling every vein and swell of tissue along the way.
Finally, Oswalt's eyes fluttered open. Slow and drowsy at first, but then blinking with awareness. He raised his head and looked at Lee. He cocked a smug grin.
"The hell are you doin' down there?" he said, his accent lazy and warm.
Lee popped Roy's cock out of his mouth long enough to shrug and say, "Good morning?"
Roy chuckled and laid his head back on the pillow. Lee went back to work, lavishing attention on Oswalt's balls. The vague taste of salt and sweat reminded him of the previous night, and he had to keep from smiling.
"Good morning," Oswalt repeated. He folded his arms behind his head as he watched Lee's head bobbing up-and-down. "Best wake-up call I ever got."
Author: 2theletter
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Cliff Lee/Roy Oswalt
Synopsis: Cliff Lee had rules about this kind of thing. But rules were made to be broken, right?
Disclaimer: Hey! It's fake! As in, completely fictional. Any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, would be really sad.
Writer's note: This was written in response to a prompt from mlbanonmeme. The prompt read thusly: "ESPN informs me that Cliff Lee and Roy Oswalt go on fishing trips together. So prompt is, of course, Lee/Oswalt, 'you don't go up there to fish!'" I loved the idea.
Cliff Lee made it a rule never to get involved with his co-workers.
Which meant the part of his brain that governed ethical behavior had a lot of explaining to do the morning Lee woke up in bed next to Roy Oswalt.
The Mississippi-bred righty was still asleep, one arm draped over his stomach, the other behind his head. His unconscious morning hard-on throbbed beneath the thin sheets. Lee licked his lips and willed himself to look away from the lengthy bulge in the crisp tan cotton.
Lee turned onto his side, facing Oswalt. He could kinda sorta remember what led to this specific moment in time, but it seemed like a twist in a pretty long road. Cliff and Roy first met years before, when Roy was in Houston and Lee was coming up in Cleveland. They were both men of the South, growing up on opposite sides of the great dividing line of the Mississippi River. They had common interests in extracurriculars, like fishing and hunting. Roy always clobbered Lee when they hunted together at Roy's ranch, but Cliff could hold his own when they fished on his home turf in Arkansas. He realized early on that Roy was, for lack of a more sophisticated term, hot as fuck. His body, his demeanor, his aw-shucks attitude, even that drawl cultivated deep in the heart of the Magnolia State. The Cliff Lee Checklist of Excellence rated him very highly.
Cliff got to hang out with Roy only occasionally, and it seemed like a cosmic prank when Lee landed with the Rangers around the time Roy left Houston. But fate gave him a break, and within a year they were both wearing Philly red. One of Lee's first official acts when the season ended was to invite Roy up to his lakeside retreat for a weekend.
As co-workers, you know? Because rules are rules.
Lee wasn't a particularly big guy, but he towered over Oswalt. He loved that feeling. When Roy stepped out of his beat-up Chevy in front of Cliff's house on a coolish Friday afternoon in late October, Lee greeted him with a hug instead of a perfunctory handshake. His arms wrapped around the smaller man's torso, burying Oswalt's face in his chest. Lee felt as if he could just pick him up and take him inside. Instead, he offered to take Roy's bags up to the guest room.
The next day, out on the lake, Cliff found himself staring at Roy unashamedly. Oswalt didn't notice or didn't care; he couldn't tell which. But he thought he was getting away with it until at one point, after lunch, Roy reached for another beer from the cooler and said, "Uh...you need to take care of business, buddy?"
Lee snapped out of his lull. "Huh?"
Oswalt cracked open the beer and took a swig. He chuckled and pointed to Lee's crotch, which was noticeably swollen. Cliff felt his face turn what must have been fifteen different shades of red, each deeper than the first. But Roy didn't say anything else about it, just cast his line out again and whistled some vague tune.
The guys made small talk, and toward sunset decided to call it a day. After dinner, Cliff rattled around in the kitchen as Roy examined the stuffed and preserved fish mounted on the living room wall, and the various photos of Lee and his catches. His eyes landed on one of Cliff taken not that long ago, judging from his appearance. Lee's eyes were invisible behind dark sunglasses, and his face beamed as he held aloft a largemouth bass. Oswalt smiled.
Lee walked into the room. Oswalt turned around and gestured at the picture. "That's a good one."
Cliff squinted at the image. "Oh, yeah. That was Lake Wheeler, North Carolina, about two years ago. Twelve-pounder."
Roy nodded. "Hey, I didn't say yesterday...thanks for inviting me."
"Yeah, no problem."
"Seriously," Roy said. "I really like spending time with you. When you visit me down on the ranch, it's like the best part of my year."
He paused, then grinned. "'Cept for the postseason, that is."
Lee remembered his rule about not acting upon his attraction to co-workers. And then his libido declared an immediate suspension of the rule. He dove in and planted his mouth on Roy's. Cliff got a bit too eager, because the force took him and Oswalt down onto the couch. Lee wasn't even thinking about it, just enjoying the feel of Oswalt's tongue against his for as long as Roy would allow it. Not fast or hungry, but with intensity. He bit at Roy's lip and let his teeth graze over his jawline. And then a switch flipped in his brain and he remembered who he was, and who was squirming under him and WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING?
Lee suddenly pushed himself up, mouth agape. "Oh God, Roy. Christ. I'm sorry."
Oswalt looked confused. "It's okay."
"Is it?"
"'Course it is."
Good enough, Lee thought, helping peel Roy off the sofa and leading him into the bedroom before he could change his mind.
What Oswalt may have lacked in height he made up for below the equator, and Lee had a moment of speechless shock when Roy's eight-and-a-half inch erection sprang out from his briefs. Cliff stripped his own clothes and half-shoved Roy onto the soft, expansive comforter. Cliff jumped onto the bed and crawled over Oswalt, his big body hovering over the smaller underneath. Lee's big hands felt every part of Roy's body, from his strong shoulders, down to his thick thighs, to the tiniest hint of a gut developing beneath Oswalt's reddish-brown treasure trail. A devilish grin emerged from the shadowy stubble covering Lee's face. The rest of the night -- how long, he didn't know -- was a kaleidoscope of tingling and wetness, of tightness and warmth, of Oh, I didn't know I had nerve endings THERE, until both men fell asleep from exhaustion sometime long after the Moon rose above the horizon and sailed toward the top of the sky.
Lee was getting hard thinking about it. He looked back over at Oswalt, who was still deeply asleep. Cliff looked down at the part of Roy that was most definitely not asleep, and decided to get the day started right. Gently, he reached toward Roy's crotch and dragged a finger down the length of his erection. Oswalt's breath hitched slightly, but then leveled out again. Smiling, Lee used his thumb and forefinger to trace dual paths from the base of Roy's cock to the swollen head. The organ throbbed larger in response. Lee quickly shifted his eyes back to Roy's face. The fucker was still asleep.
"That won't do," Lee whispered. He slowly peeled the sheet away from Roy's body, leaving his erection exposed to the morning light. Lee tried again to rouse his partner with light touch, then gently grasped Oswalt's shaft, stroking it. Roy groaned in his sleep. Cliff grinned. As quietly as he could, he climbed out and walked to the foot of the bed. His own erection was in need of attention, but Cliff made a mental promise that he'd make Roy take care of it once he finally woke his redneck ass up.
He crawled back up on the bed, straddling Oswalt's sleeping body. He lowered himself onto his elbows. His right hand raised Oswalt's thick cock slightly, and Cliff took a long swipe of it with his tongue. Oswalt grunted.
Lee wasted no more time, and took the flared purple head of Roy's morning wood into his mouth. He inched midway down the shaft, and then back up. He loved it. He rolled his tongue along the underside of Roy's dick, feeling every vein and swell of tissue along the way.
Finally, Oswalt's eyes fluttered open. Slow and drowsy at first, but then blinking with awareness. He raised his head and looked at Lee. He cocked a smug grin.
"The hell are you doin' down there?" he said, his accent lazy and warm.
Lee popped Roy's cock out of his mouth long enough to shrug and say, "Good morning?"
Roy chuckled and laid his head back on the pillow. Lee went back to work, lavishing attention on Oswalt's balls. The vague taste of salt and sweat reminded him of the previous night, and he had to keep from smiling.
"Good morning," Oswalt repeated. He folded his arms behind his head as he watched Lee's head bobbing up-and-down. "Best wake-up call I ever got."