
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/386220.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Baseball_RPF, Sports_RPF
  Relationship:
      Madison_Bumgarner/Buster_Posey
  Character:
      Madison_Bumgarner, Buster_Posey
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time
  Series:
      Part 3 of Taking_BP
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-04-18 Words: 819
****** Taking BP III: Madison Bumgarner ******
by light_source
Summary
     Southern boys don't. Until they do.
Notes
     Written in response to a prompt in the 2012 mlbanonmeme kinkmeme:five
     baseball players Buster fucked and one baseball player Buster 'made
     love' to.
     In progress; Part 3 of 7.
Southern boys don’t.
//
It’s hot up here on the third floor. There’s no air conditioning, so Buster
gets up and hauls open the bottom sash of the dormer window and props it open
with a book. But the heavy, wet air just slithers in over the sill and over the
floor like a snake, and that’s probably what starts it.
Buster slinks back to his couch and his textbook. Across from him, on the other
couch, facing in the opposite direction, the other kid’s reading and scratching
a line under his jaw, which gleams with sweat.  The guy's tall and skinny, with
dark blue eyes that droop a little at the corners.  His ears stick out like the
handles on a sugar bowl.
Buster whips his tee shirt off one-handed without disturbing the civics book
that’s heavy on his thigh. The tall kid - North Carolina, maybe? - doesn’t look
up, but he pulls his tank top off too, fingers it into a ball and tosses it
under the table.
It’s the last weekend in April, the southern conference championship, and no
matter what happens on the field tomorrow, they’ll be back at their respective
high schools on Monday, to tests and teachers. And Buster’s gotta take his SATs
next Saturday.
While the tall kid’s studying, he’s eating peanuts, and the sound’s driving
Buster crazy.  The guy cracks the shells with his teeth and then tips his head
back, sucking in the two nuts like it’s an oyster. There’s a trail of peanut
dust down his sweaty neck and he’s stacked the shells into a heap on his
stomach, where a line of dark hair trails downward towards his jeans.
If Buster were looking, he’d notice how the pile of shells on the kid's flat
belly rises and falls with each breath. And how the V of brown on the guy’s
neck matches his forearms. And his jaw, where there’s the beginning of a beard,
but he’s still too young to have figured out he needs to shave it.
Buster sighs. The book in his lap’s gotten heavier - the laminated cover’s
cutting into his thigh. And it’s poking into his shorts.
When he shifts his hip to ease the pointy cover off himself, he realizes he’s
half-hard, his cock printing against the cotton jersey like a heavy length of
pipe. He feels the flush creeping up his neck, a trail of sweat trickling down
his side from his armpit.
//
Southern boys don’t.
But the tall boy’s pulled Buster’s blue gym shorts down with a single flick of
the wrist, and he’s got his mouth on Buster’s cock, which is straining against
his white jockey underwear, and the kid’s breathing hot against the fabric,
tongue and teeth. It’s not long before the fabric’s stretchy and slick with
pre-come and spit and sweat.
It’s so impossibly hot, seeing the boy's long eyelashes and that wet red mouth
working his tool, that Buster squirms his ass up and reaches down with both
hands to shimmy off his shorts.
The kid slaps Buster’s hands away. His hand joins his mouth, slowly stroking
the shaft through the fabric while he works over the sensitive head with his
lips. Buster can’t help the way his hips buck up into that maddening heat.
When the kid finally, finally, uses his fingers to pull the elastic waistband
back, Buster’s cock springs free, arching up and snapping against the boy’s
chin. His eyes fasten on Buster’s. He licks his own hand, his long tongue
glistening with spit. When that wet hand starts stroking his shaft and that wet
mouth’s tonguing his dickhead, Buster can’t help moaning, out of his mind with
how good it feels.
That’s when the kid’s other hand flies up and clamps Buster’s lips shut. When
their eyes meet, the kid’s shaking him off with a warning glance and a single
shake of the head.
//
Southern boys don’t.
The tall boy’s even younger than Buster, and straighter, and religious -
there’s a cross around his neck - and he’s from some tiny town inNorth Carolina
for fuck’s sake.
So when the boy licks the fingers on his other hand , digs under Buster’s hips
and eases one of them into Buster’s tight, puckered hole, all the older boy can
think is that they must have some amazing sex-education classes up there in the
Tarheel State.
And oh, yeah. Yeah. Oh, fuck.
//
When they’re both back on their couches, and Buster’s turned his attention back
to the Dred Scott Decision, he realizes that the sound of the way the kid’s
cracking open the peanut shells is still driving him crazy.
But there’s a trace on Buster's mouth of the salty dust he’d licked off the
boy’s lips. And there's the musky, sweet, slippery taste of cock and come.  
Buster figures he can tune it out for at least another couple of chapters.
Because Southern boys don’t, right?
Until they do.
 
 
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
