Page 17 of Serving Bunt

“I don’t know the full story,” Soren said, scratching at his beard. “What I do know is that two of my friends are hurting and it’s starting to affect their games. This show might be the push you both need to figure your shit out.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know . . .”

Soren nodded. “Clarke told me that Matty requested you as his partner.”

I let his words sink in.

After weeks of awkward silences, polite nods, and stunted conversations, Matty had specifically asked for me to be his teammate.

Was he trying to repair our friendship? I certainly hoped so.

Or punish me? I deserved it.

Or was it neither? Maybe, it was just Matty being Matty, decent to a fault, willing to suffer through awkwardness for charity.

Soren watched me carefully. “He asked for you, man. That’s got to mean something.”

Bennett nodded. “I agree. You both need this. The team needs this.”

I stared down at the half-eaten food on the table, pulse pounding. The thought of being under a microscope with Matty for five straight days terrified me. But the thought of never fixing what I’d broken between us terrified me more.

Bennett and Soren were right.

This was about a lot more than my heart; it was about the team and the trust we had spent years building.

I couldn’t risk that.

“Fine,” I said. I let out a long, defeated breath. “I’ll do it.”

For the team, I told myself. Just for the team.

But even as I thought it, I knew I was lying.

A Helping Hand

by @PeteRoseCity9

RATING: Explicit

CATEGORIES: M/M

FANDOMS: Rose City Roasters RPF

CHARACTERS: Peter Diaz, Matty Miller

ADDITIONAL KEYWORDS: Shower Sex, Voyeurism, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Team Locker Room, Baseball Players, Slight Dom/Sub Vibes, #MIAZ

SUMMARY: After practice, the locker room showers are empty except for Matty and Diaz. What starts as a shared glance turns into something much hotter . . .

The locker room showers were empty except for the two of them. Steam curled thick in the air, water cascading down tiled walls as Matty and Diaz stood under adjacent heads, the rest of the team long gone.

Diaz leaned one shoulder against the cool tile, water streaming down his shaved head and chest. His eyes were locked on Matty, on the way soap suds slid down the defined lines of his abs, over the sharp cut of his hip.

And lower . . .

Matty’s hand was already wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly, deliberately. His hazel eyes flicked up to meet Diaz’s, dark with heat.

“You just gonna watch?” Matty asked, voice breaking through the running water.