Mickey - The View From Here - Gallavich

Fun at the Diamond (SMUT)

It took me a while to figure out where Ian was taking me, but when I set eyes on our old baseball diamond, my heart fluttered in my chest. It had been so long since we'd come here, I had almost forgotten about it.

Like old times, we climbed over the fence to get into the dugout. This was much harder for Ian to do because of his hand, which he revealed had been burnt at work. I wouldn't find out until later that he had intentionally pressed his hand onto the grill, just to feel something.

"Jeez, haven't been here in a minute." I couldn't stop smiling like an idiot as I thought with glee, we're gonna bang. We had never come to the diamond and not had sex. This had to be Ian's attempt at recasting the setting into the shape of our better erotic moments. I was excited for it, eyeing my lover longingly with each step he took.

Ian set his backpack down on the bench. "Lets do some pull-ups."

"Your hand, man," I pointed out.

Ignoring my concern as usual, Ian took ahold of the bar over the opening to the field. He managed one pull-up before it became a struggle.

I could still remember him before he joined the army, blowing me away with his strength and agility.

He grunted and dropped flat on his feet. "I'm out of shape," he stated while I lit a cigarette.

Still grinning obliviously, I waited for Ian to make his move.

Going into his backpack, he pulled out a can of beer and a small knife he'd taken from the kitchen. "Shotgun."

"No, no," I protested, dropping my cigarette and snapping out of my hopeful giddiness. I thought he would be impressed with my knowledge when I said, "look, you're not supposed to drink on lithium. It makes your blood fuckin' toxic, and it gets you hammered in, like, two seconds flat. You can't--"

Ian swiftly punched me in the mouth after setting the knife and can down.

"Ow!" I cried out more in surprise than pain as the taste of metal coated the inside of my mouth. "What the fuck, Ian?"

As I spat out specks of blood, he zeroed in on me like I owed him money. He could've made a good enforcer. "I'm sick of your whiny, pussy crap. I don't need a fucking caretaker, alright? I need the shit-talking, bitch-slapping piece of South Side trash I fell for. Where is he?" he shoved me up against the fence. "The fuck is he, Mickey?"

My fuse was burning dangerously low. I shoved him away. "Fuck you. Fuck me for givin' a shit, you prick." I spat out more blood, discovering a gash on the inside of my bottom lip.

"Give all the shits you want, but the next time my dick is limp from all the meds, don't go all, 'oh, it's okay, wah wah,'" Ian mocked me before he spat, "just suck it harder, you f--"

The fuse burnt away and my rage exploded. I started punching him in the face, growling, "fuck you!"

He charged at me, trying to tackle my midsection only to push me back and out onto the diamond. Struggling to stay in place, I sent my fist into his ribs over and over until he wrestled me to the ground. In the grass on the neglected baseball diamond, we rolled around, punching and choking one another as the resentment that had built over the past year reared its head.

"You fucking dick!" I snarled, my hands around his neck and his hands around mine.

He managed to knock me to the side so that we were both on the ground, still trying to strangle each other.

Fatigued, we both huffed, letting the other go and coughing, our throats sore from the mutual throttling.

With some groans and winces, we got up and made our way back to the dugout, our faces smeared with blood. Ian stabbed a can of beer, spraying it into my mouth before I took it from him. When he punctured his own can, he aimed it so I was sprayed even more.

I flipped him off as we chugged back our beverages. With a burp, I dropped the empty can to the gravel at my feet and leaned against the brick ledge behind us.

Ian sat next to me and, well, we laughed. I didn't know why, but I felt better than I had since the night I came out. All of the subconscious and buried resentment I'd been holding against Ian had been washed away.

He felt better too, a genuine smile gracing his lips at long last before it faded away. "That was the first time I've felt anything since, uh..." his voice broke before he could finish.

Looking him over, I reached out to flatten his messy, bloody hair. "You look like a fuckin' wet rat." When I kissed him, I could feel the difference our fight had made. With passion, Ian kissed me back, letting me help take off his jacket.

We stripped down to the bare minimum. It was the middle of the day, so we kept on our pants and shirts.

I pushed Ian onto the dugout bench and knelt in front of him. His jeans were already unzipped. I eagerly pulled his cock out of his boxers, relieved that it was getting stiff in my hand. I didn't waste time, sucking it with vigor.

"Get up," Ian instructed, his smile spanning from ear to ear. He got up, turned me around and pressed me up against the fence again. I paid the cold metal against my cheek no mind as Ian quickly prepped himself and slid his cock into me.

Ian let out a grunt while I released a quiet moan. Pushing himself deep into my asshole, Ian reached around and grabbed my manhood in my boxers, pulling my hips away from the fence. Biting my neck, Ian stroked my dick and fucked me harder.

"Fuck, you're good at that," I though out loud as I inched closer to climax.

"I'm close, Mickey," he panted.

My fingers gripped the chain link fence in front of me as ecstasy throbbed throughout my body. "Me too."

With his cock deep in my ass, I could feel Ian blow his load, causing me to blow mine.