Connecting Room
by Synchronik

Buster wakes up in the pre-dawn hours to the feeling of his mattress dipping to one side. He reaches out and his hand encounters a smooth flank and that's when he opens his eyes.

The room is mostly dark--a combination of the time and the heavy drapes--but it only takes him a second to figure out that it's Lincecum sliding under the sheet and it only takes an instant more to realize that Lincecum is totally and completely naked.

"Tim--" Buster says and that's all he gets out before Lincecum is on top of him, wrapping his arms and legs around him, kissing him. Buster has a hundred things he wants to say, a thousand, starting with "I'm sorry" again and ending with "oh god yes," but he can't say anything with Lincecum's tongue in his mouth, and he thinks that might be the way Lincecum wants it.

The kisses are fevered and deep and intense and Buster wraps his arms around Tim, one hand in the center of his back, one hand on the beautiful curve of Tim's tight ass, to keep him from getting away.

Tim writhes on top of him, pressing his hard on into Buster's stomach, his tongue into Buster's mouth. Buster hoists him up by his thighs and rolls him onto his back, landing between his legs. Tim grabs for him and kisses him, over and over, clinging to his neck and grinding against him.

But that's not going to get either of them off, not anytime soon, so Buster pulls back, just a bit, avoiding Tim's seeking mouth. "What do you want?" he whispers. "Tell me what you want."

Tim stops moving for the first time since he crept into Buster's bed. He seems to be...thinking about it.

"Suck me," he says finally. He's not whispering, although his voice is low. "I want you to suck me off." His hand pushes on Buster's shoulder.

"Yeah," Buster breathes. He rests his cheek for a minute on Tim's chest, just breathing in his smell, hotel soap and skin, then edges over Tim's knee so he's in between his thighs. He lies on his stomach and hooks Tim's knees over his shoulders. Buster starts high up on Tim's leg and slides his tongue down, until he's licking Tim's balls, sucking them, taking them into his mouth one at a time. Tim squirms on the mattress, his breath high and panting.

By the time Buster actually takes Tim's cock in his mouth, it's throbbing and dripping, and Tim moans and shudders simultaneously. His hips pulse in Buster's hands, begging for a rhythm, but Buster resists the urge to give in and keeps it slow and unpredictable, sometimes sucking for a one-two-three count before letting Tim slide out of his mouth, sometimes just tickling with the tip of his tongue.

"I hate you," Tim pants when Buster backs off to plant wet kisses on Tim's stomach. "Hate you, hate you, ha--oh, oh god!"

Buster closes his mouth over Tim's cock, stroking the shaft with one hand, his other arm curled around Tim's thigh, holding him in place. He can feel Tim trembling. He can see Tim's head tossed back, dark against the pillow, in the dim room.

"Swallow it," Tim gasps. "I want--swallow it."

Buster sucks again. His hand moves faster. Whatever Tim wants from him, Tim's gonna get, for as long as Buster can possible provide it.

Tim's moaning is sudden, high and desperate, the type of noise that only happens when the sex is almost too good to bear. Tim arches his back, his cock hitting the roof of Buster's mouth, and then its full of salt and fluid and Buster swallows and swallows and keeps moving, hands and mouth, until Tim is shaking involuntarily, shoving at Buster's shoulders, whispering "stop, stop, stop."

Buster stops.

Tim pants underneath him, reminding Buster of a racehorse or a freight train. Buster wipes his mouth with one hand, then reaches down and adjusts his own hard on. It was easy to ignore when he was focused on Lincecum, and he knows, somehow, that he needs to ignore it, that Lincecum showing up in his room is some sort of test and that if he whips out his dick he's going to fail.

Instead, he crawls up the mattress next to Lincecum--acutely aware of how tight his underwear is on his cock, his ass--and lies down next to him. The room is a little lighter now (it must be real morning outside), and Buster can see the contrast between Tim's tanned forearms and the pale skin on the rest of his body. He's virtually hairless everywhere except his head and his crotch. On impulse, Buster rests his hand over the faint trail of hair from Tim's belly button to his groin, spreading his fingers wide.

Tim starts, but doesn't jerk away and doesn't tell Buster to remove his hand. He lies still for a second, then curls his arm under his head and rolls toward Buster, his eyes dark and liquid in the strange light. He doesn't say anything, although it looks like he has several things he wants to say.

Buster reaches out and puts his hand in Tim's hair, pushing it back from his face, stroking his fingers through it. Tim lets him.

The End

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