Date: Thu, 10 Oct 2013 02:08:22 -0400
From: Playoff Writer <playoffwriter@outlook.com>
Subject: MLB playoffs (Part 6)

MLB playoffs 2013 (part 6)

Disclaimer: This story is
fiction and is not intended to imply anything about the true sexuality of
the celebrities mentioned or any personal knowledge about their private
lives.

(Photo aids at the end.)

NLDS - Cardinals vs. Pirates - St. Louis, MO

This was how an off day in the postseason was supposed to be, Matt Holliday
thought as he relaxed into a huge leather chair. Got in late the night
before from Pittsburgh after his homer rallied the Cardinals to tie the
division series. Good rest and quick shower this morning. Solid workout
with his teammate David Freese this morning before heading back here to
Freese's place to clean up, have a beer, and watch TV the rest of the
afternoon. Freese's bachelor pad gave the two Cards plenty of room to
stretch out, and Holliday had already told his wife that she and the kids
shouldn't expect to see him till later -- by now she was used to her
husband hanging at Freese's for hours on end and didn't think a thing of
it.


The St. Louis left fielder had his bare feet up on the coffee table, a
luxury Freese was happy to afford him. Holliday's post-workout look was
pure casual: baggy black athletic shorts and a loose sleeveless team
t-shirt that rode up just enough to bare a few inches of his
stomach. Across the room, feet up too, sat David Freese, similarly
uninterested in appearances in a pair of red Cards shorts, a plain gray
t-shirt and a cap flipped to the side.

The guys talked a little shop -- scouting reports on the Pittsburgh starter
the next day, ideas for tweaking their swings, even how the cooler weather
would change the game. Freese asked after Holliday's wife and kids, a topic
they didn't dwell on long. As the day wore into night and the A's-Tigers
game came on, the conversation turned to who they'd rather face, which got
both guys feeling a little nervous about the next day's game again.

"You think Waino'll be all right?" Matt asked, toying with the hem of his
shorts.

"No doubt, man," Dave said, nodding confidently. "Dude's a fuckin' beast. I
wouldn't want anybody else up there."

Holliday looked over at his teammate, then back, thinking. Eventually he
nodded, too. "Guess you're right. Never knew that guy to come up short in a
big spot." Matt chuckled to himself.  "Besides, heard he's been on a
special kinda prep routine."

Freese looked at him, his eyebrow creased. "Special?"

"Yeah, special." Holliday turned to the third baseman, his smile impossible
to read.

"You don't mean he's been...he ain't seeing McGwire, right?"

"Naw, man!" Matt waved his hand, dismissing the idea that a stand-up guy
like Adam Wainwright would ever be caught with a needle in his arm. "Naw,
he ain't gettin' stuck...but somebody else is." The left fielder chuckled
again at his own joke, his firm belly and pecs rising tight against his
shirt as he laughed.

The big third baseman didn't follow. "Whatever, man," Freese said, turning
back to the game. There was a long pause, filled only by the crack of Josh
Reddick's bat on the TV. Matt looked thoughtful again, his lips parted like
he was gonna say something.

"I mean...I'm a little surprised you ain't heard." He looked directly at
his teammate, the smile now more mischievous than ever. "Heard you're on
the same routine with Kozma."

Freese, who'd been absently flicking the tab of his empty beer, stopped
suddenly at the sound of the name of the Cardinals shortstop. He sat up,
eyes locking with Holliday's. "The fuck you mean by that?"

"Oh, don't sweat it, man. Just heard Pete's been helpin' you...relax."

"Fuck..."  Freese shook his head, then sat up farther, scooting up to the
edge of the couch and turning his body to look closer at Matt Holliday,
searching his teammate's eyes for a glimmer of his intentions in bringing
this up. Dave's own eyes narrowed. "All right. Let's say, just
hypothetically, that I know what you're getting at, and I'm not sayin' I
do, but let's just say I do."

Holliday snorted, taking a swig of beer. "Yeah?"

"Well..." Freese paused. "Maybe I heard you been doin' exactly the same
thing."

Matt's eyes widened. "The fuck I am! I got a wife, man! Kids!" He looked
almost insulted as he sat up too. Freese grinned. He knew he fuckin' had
the big outfielder now.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." Dave sat back, eyes back on the TV. "There's
nothin' at all between you and Robinson." Fuck. Matt Holliday swallowed
hard. The name alone was enough to make his heart beat a little
faster. "And you never once took a look at him like you never looked at a
guy before." Holliday just exhaled slowly, staring forward, suddenly
fascinated by the baseball game. "Never felt your dick swell in your jock
looking over at him in center...or screwin' around in the dugout...or in
the showers." Holliday had started twisting his shirt in his fingers. "And
you definitely -- definitely never fuckin' acted on it. Never took Shane
out for drinks after the game, got both of you good and liquored up, gave
him those looks that you'd held in before, let that little stud read you
like an open book, see the need in your eyes." Matt was breathing hard
now. "No way you would ever let him take you back to his place, peel off
his button-down, tug off his jeans right in front of you, then come right
up to you and run his hand over the front of your jeans, finding that
thick, rock-fucking hard dick aching into your pants...just like it is
right. Fucking. Now."

Holliday suddenly realized Freese's voice had gotten low and quiet and very
close, and he turned with a start to see his teammate just inches away from
him. "Fucker!' Matt yelped, shoving Dave away and jumping to his feet. The
third baseman broke into cackling laughter, lying back where Matt had
thrown him across the couch.

"Fuck, look at that thing. You got it even worse than I do, bro." The
Cardinal slugger looked down; it would be pointless denying it. Matt
Holliday's cock was huge, hard, and swollen beautifully into his black
shorts, nearly tugging the waistband away from his tight hips, he was so
goddamn hard. "Just give it up, man. It's hopeless. I should fucking know."
David Freese licked his lower lip, shaking his head. "I feel the same
fuckin' way about Kozma." The tall infielder reached down and let his
fingers curl slowly around his cock through his shorts -- Freese hadn't
realized that he was rock-hard himself till right then.

Holliday slumped back in his chair. "It ain't right."

"Your dick says different," Freese said, openly groping at his dick
now. Pete Kozma's firm, lean body was dancing through his mind now -- first
on the field at short, Kozma's uniform stretching tight against his ass
when he leaned forward for the pitch; then in the clubhouse, stripping off
his jersey and underarmor to reveal the handsomely defined physique
underneath. Finally in David Freese's bed, bare and hard and hungry,
opening himself up to meet Freese's hard 8-inch dick as Freese took Kozma
in his arms and slid himself deep inside the shortstop's tight little
ass. At 6-foot, 195, the 25-year-old kid with maybe more "heart" than raw
baseball talent was just the right size for Dave, who loved nothing more
than to wrap his smaller teammate up in his arms and just fuck Kozma
senseless, from the front, from behind, as they lay curled up together in
bed, Freese's big dick easing into Kozma like the kid's asshole had been
made for Dave's cock.

Matt sighed in resignation. Unconsciously he let his own hand slip under
his shorts and grope the wide head, already leaking pre-come over Matt's
fingers. "So you been fuckin' Kozma," he said, marveling.

"Not gonna lie, bro. I'm fuckin' hard for the guy." Maybe even more'n that,
Freese thought. His dick throbbed in his hand as he remembered kissing the
young, hard-charging Cardinal just last night, the beard that Kozma had
grown out in the playoffs scratching against the stubble that Freese
usually wore just out of laziness, as he thought back to the way his chest
had tingled when Pete told him how much he loved Dave's smile. He looked
over at Holliday, the left fielder's pecs swelling with his deep
breaths. "How'd you get hooked on Shane?"

"Fuck," Matt muttered. "Dude, I looked at him once and I was hooked." He
closed his eyes, biting his lip, as he stroked himself a little harder. He
could hear Freese doing the same. "Just somethin' about the way he
plays...fuck...the way he looks in that cocked St.  Louis cap, the way he
fuckin' smiles..." Holliday licked his lips. "The way he's maybe 5'10, 170,
but got a honest-to-God 9 and a half incher between his legs, fucks like a
goddamn animal and comes all over his tight abs and pecs..." He stopped
suddenly. "Jesus, listen to me, you prob'ly don't want to hear this shit."

Freese didn't respond, staring blankly at Holliday's hand rubbing his cock
under his shorts. At that particular moment David Freese was thinking it
might be fun if Shane Robinson were here right now, pulling off Holliday's
shirt to reveal the slugger's massive, muscle-magazine physique, tug down
Matt's shorts to let Holliday's 9 inches spring up hard and wet against his
belly, then sink down to his knees and take that fat Cardinal dick between
his lips. Bet Holliday would look good leaning back getting his dick
sucked, Freese thought absently. He imagined coming in his room to find
Matt bent over Shane's smaller but nicely cut body, fucking the outfielder
lovingly, his own incredible muscle ass raised in the air. It'd be so
fucking easy for Freese to slick himself up, climb on the bed, slide an arm
around Holliday's tight waist and just drive his dick inside the straight,
married stud's ass.

"Ey Freese," Holliday was saying. The third baseman looked
up. "Huh. Oh. Naw, man, nothing I ain't already thought myself."  Freese
resumed playing with the tab of his beer can. "So who's...working with
Waino?"

Holliday grinned, looking over. "The only rookie I know who damn near threw
two no-hitters this year."

"No shit," Freese said, whistling. Unbidden, the thought of Adam Wainwright
coming up behind Michael Wacha, both the proven 32-year-old veteran and the
fresh-faced 22-year-old Midwest boy bare and hard, and Wainwright
whispering something into the rookie's ear before taking him by the hips
and driving his cock easily into the kid's untouched hole.

"God, I'm fuckin' backed up," Holliday groaned, lifting his hips in the
air, making his cock stick out obscenely into his shorts. "Can't have Shane
over when we're at home...though if I'd known your place was free..." Matt
trailed off, looking over at Freese.  "Speaking of which, where's your boy
tonight?"

"Would you believe they're actually hanging out together right now?"
Holliday's eyes widened again. "Yeah. Pete told me he was gonna have Shane
and a couple of the other guys over."

"No kidding," Matt said. That thoughtful look was back. "You know, if I
know Shane, they probably ain't just watching the game."

Freese laughed. "Yeah, man. Shane's a good-lookin' dude. Be surprised if
Kozma keeps it in his pants past two beers."

"Buddy, I got that problem myself sometimes." They both laughed and toasted
their cans, then drained the last of the contents.  When Matt set his empty
on the coffee table, he couldn't help noticing the other two already
sitting there. He stared at them for a second, then looked over at
Freese. Dave was staring right back. The two tall, powerfully muscled
Cardinals held each other's gaze for a long moment.  Both Holliday's
gray-green eyes and Freese's baby blues were tinged with uncertainty,
nervousness, but more than anything else, a desperate, heart-pounding
hunger. Neither guy would ever have imagined fucking a guy -- let alone a
goddamn teammate -- just six months earlier, but the two younger Cardinals
had flipped some switch in each of them. And once they'd gone that
far... Neither ballplayer was breathing. And neither guy's thick hard-on
had gone down an inch.

Holliday's eyes flicked down to the huge tent in Freese's shorts.

It was all his buddy needed. Dave Freese surged forward, pinning Matt
Holliday to the couch, kissing the muscular left fielder hard. Freese
pulled down his red mesh shorts as Holliday quickly whipped off his own
shirt. "Fuck..." the slugger breathed. All six feet four inches and 250
pounds of MLB power-hitter muscle was clenched tight as he felt Dave
Freese's beautiful 8-inch cock grind against his stomach. If any hesitation
had remained before, it disappeared then. Holliday shucked his shorts too,
letting his own fat dick slap against his stomach as Freese pulled lube
from God knew where -- it was a bachelor pad, after all. Dave flipped him
over on his stomach and Matt wrapped his arms around the armrest, his
biceps bulging full as he held on tight.

"You got a gorgeous ass, bro," Freese breathed. He ran his hand once, twice
over his ramrod-stiff spike, gave a single swipe to the tight, sensitive
spot between Matt's round, muscled cheeks, then slowly but steadily drove
his cock into Matt Holliday's cherry jock ass.


But the two Cardinals were far too pent up to go only once. Freese was so
horny, and Holliday's new jock cunt so tight, that within minutes Dave had
unloaded his balls into his teammate and was just holding his buddy's body
tight, one hand palming Holliday's pec, the other sliding down over his
muscled stomach to find...


"Fuck...you're still hard as a fucking rock, dude."

Holliday thrust his prick into Freese's hand needfully. "I didn't get off,"
Matt grunted.


Freese's own cock was still hard too, and it swelled even fuller as he felt
out the long, rigid length of Matt Holliday's dick. Suddenly a new
curiosity flashed through his mind, and he felt an itch inside him he'd
never felt before. He kissed Matt's neck, put his lips to his teammate's
ear. "Maybe we just let our boys hang out a couple more nights." Freese
pulled back, laying himself back on the couch. Dave was already pressing a
lube-slick finger against his own tight hole as Matt turned, his steel-hard
9 inches curving high in the air.


Holliday grinned as he lifted Freese's legs over his shoulders. "Maybe we
do."


http://b.vimeocdn.com/ts/246/449/246449500_640.jpg (Freese)
http://a.espncdn.com/photo/2013/0628/mlb_g_freese11_576.jpg (Freese)
http://www.stevebonini.com/data/photos/804_1sl.jpg (Holliday)
http://bosoxinjection.com/files/2010/01/matt-holliday-cardinals.jpg (Holliday)
http://kotv.images.worldnow.com/images/2493903_G.jpg (Kozma)
http://bloximages.newyork1.vip.townnews.com/stltoday.com/content/tncms/assets/v3/editorial/9/64/96447740-cc01-5301-9124-4c62015bc10f/513db006918f9.preview-620.jpg (Robinson)