Chapter 11 Batter （and other things） Up! #2
Grayson hums like he’s considering it. Instead of pulling the shorts off, he shifts, groans low as he settles onto Finn’s thighs, pressing them together cock to cock, hot and slick. His flushed cheeks glow in the low light, chest gleaming with sweat.
He leans forward. Licks a slow stripe up Finn’s neck. Sucks gently on his earlobe before licking at the corner of his mouth, not quite a kiss. The roll of his hips is maddening, steady friction with no relief.
Just as Finn leans in to chase him, Grayson pulls back. Feet planted on either side of the chair, one hand braced behind Finn’s head, he bends at the waist and shoves his shorts down under his cheeks.
All the air in the room is sucked out.
Someone gasps. Maybe all of them.
“Gray, holy shit,” Rowan groans. “This whole time?”
“Pretty,” Gideon says, voice rough. “You are full of surprises. We’ll be revisiting this when we get home.”
“The whole time. Feels good.” Grayson’s voice is low, but his eyes never leave Finn’s. “Wanna see?”
Finn barely has time to nod.
Grayson turns without waiting, bends at the waist, and lets the shorts slide to the floor. His body catches the light, all gold skin and shadowed muscle—every inch of him bare.
Except for the silver chain and plug.
A silver circle nestled between his cheeks, gleaming with slick and topped with a glittering ruby.
Finn swears he feels it—just imagining how it must have pressed with every twist and grind, every beat of the music riding up through Grayson’s spine. A low sound breaks in his throat. He doesn’t even realize he’s leaning forward.
Grayson stands.
And whatever Rowan sees is enough to catapult him over the edge.
He comes with a raw groan, locking Luca tight on his knot. Their beta slumps back against his chest, boneless, eyes dark and glittering behind heavy lids. His cock’s soft, but a final pulse sends another spurt across his thigh.
Jay’s next, fisting himself to completion with a strained moan. “Gray—fuck.”
Finn’s cock jumps hard. Watching his mates fall apart always pushes him closer, but this—this is unbearable. He pulses under his skin, just one touch away from losing it.
But he’s not ready for it to be over.
Grayson turns, slow and deliberate, so Finn can see what brought his more experienced mates to their knees.
The chain trails down, anchored to a silver ring sitting snug just beneath the flushed head of Grayson’s perfect cock.
“Gonna make you come now, Finnie,” he says, voice wrecked and steady. “I want to ride you, okay?”
Thank the gods the question is rhetorical because Finn couldn’t speak even if he tried.
The music changes. Rihanna’s Skin starts slow and deliberate, her voice pouring through the room like melted honey.
Finn doesn’t wait. Can’t for one minute longer.
He grabs Grayson’s hips and leans forward, taking his cock deep into his mouth. The weight of it, the taste, the metallic drag of the chain against his tongue—he wants it all stamped into memory.
Salty. Sweet. Love and pack.
Grayson moans, hips rolling. One hand threads into Finn’s hair, the other traces along the edge of his stretched lips, reverent and teasing.
“Goddess, Finnie. So good,” he pants, the words punched out in time with a thick blurt of precome that coats the back of Finn’s throat.
The dance brought him close, but this? Being watched, being wanted, being taken apart?
It’s pushing Finn to the edge.
“Stop, baby. I want to come with you,” Grayson groans, though his hips keep moving, grinding like he’s chasing orgasm despite himself. “Please, Finnie.”
The scent hits Finn first—basil, sweet and wet and thick with heat—coiling around his thoughts like a vine. It’s almost enough to keep him down, lost in taste and motion.
But that please. It cuts through where the hand in his hair hadn’t, pulling him back to himself, back to the ache in Grayson’s voice.
Grayson reaches for the buttons of Finn’s white shirt, fingers trembling as he works them open one by one.
The fabric sticks where it clings to sweat, peeling back to reveal flushed skin, the rise and fall of Finn’s chest fast and shallow.
When he spreads it open fully, his mouth drags across Finn’s collarbone, leaving a streak of red lipstick behind.
He leans in close, just enough to sing with Rihanna, “All I want to see you in is just skin…”
Grayson’s thighs tremble as he leans back. He braces both hands on Finn’s shoulders, panting as he settles back into his lap, skin slick and glowing. Across Grayson’s belly, the chain glints—a strip of silver against sweat-slick skin, catching the light.
Grayson reaches behind himself, pulls the plug free with a low, shaking moan, and drops it onto the towel Jay tosses beside them.
Finn’s cock is flushed dark, twitching, the head wet with pre-come. He expects drag, maybe burn—he hasn’t been touched, not really—but when Grayson starts to sink down, it doesn’t catch.
For a second, panic flares, and Finn’s hands are on Grayson’s hips, stopping his descent. He can’t take his mate with only pre-come to ease the way, no matter that he wants to pull him down and fuck up into his heat.
But then he feels it—slick. Lube. A lot of it. Warm and slippery coating the head of his aching cock.
His breath leaves him in a rush.
Grayson’s been holding this inside. Plugged and full of slick. He planned for this.
Finn’s mind reels.
All through the chaos of the morning, the packing, the group hug, the flight—he’d been sitting next to Finn in the SUV, giving architectural critiques, pointing out skyline features, sounding calm and clever and composed—all while stuffed full and dripping for him.
Holding himself open. Stretching in secret.
Waiting to give Finn—and himself—pleasure.
Finn’s cock jerks. The realization nearly undoes him.
“Holy fuck,” he mutters, voice shredded. “You’ve been wet this whole time?”
Grayson grinds once, slow and cruel. His cock drags against his slick stomach. “Since before we left. Been wanting to be full of you all day, Finnie. You think I’d let you knot me dry?”
One grind of their hips sends a jolt through them both.
“Let me,” Grayson pants. “Wanna feel you inside. Wanna ride you ‘til you cry.”
Finn can’t speak—can only nod.
Grayson lifts up, hand reaching behind to guide Finn’s cock through the mess between his cheeks. The head catches at his rim, and Finn nearly comes right there—the way Grayson moans, the way he opens.
“Fucking perfect,” Finn growls, claws digging into the seat again as Grayson lowers—slow, so slow—until the tip pushes inside.
It’s hot. Velvet slick and tight, pulling him in like Grayson’s body wants it. A wet, gasping slide as Finn stretches him open, inch by inch.
“Goddess, so good,” Grayson chokes, sweat dripping from his temples. He shudders and sinks lower, thighs quivering as he takes more.
The chain between his thighs pulls taut as he leans back, changing the angle of entry so Finn’s cock hits his prostate.
Finn’s scent spikes—black currant gone syrupy-sweet, tartness long since replaced by arousal. The room is heavy with it. Basil and sweat and sex and Pack.
Grayson takes him to the base with a cry, hole fluttering as he bottoms out.
The bass rolls through his spine, syncing with every clench around his cock. Fuck, even the music wants him deeper.
“Fuck, fuck, you’re deep—stay just like that, don’t move,” Grayson gasps, head thrown back.
Finn does as he’s told, panting, thighs burning, barely hanging on.
Grayson starts to move. Small rolls of his hips at first. Rocking back and up, slow grind down, letting Finn feel every inch of that tight heat sliding over his cock.
“Fuck, Gray,” Finn groans. “So tight. So wet for me. You gonna ride my knot, too?”
Grayson laughs—hoarse and filthy.
“I’m not leaving until I’m full. Better hold on.” And then he starts to ride.
Full tilt, thighs slapping, ass bouncing, that cock ring glinting as his cock bobs between them, leaking with every bounce.
Finn can’t breathe. Every motion is slick, hot friction, pressure building low in his spine. His knot is swelling, heavy, and Grayson is working it, chasing it like he wants to get caught.
Sweat drips from both of them. The room is a blur of groans and scent and the hard sound of skin on skin.
“Touch yourself,” Finn orders, voice wrecked.
Grayson obeys instantly, wrapping his slicked hand around his cock and jerking in time with the rhythm.
“Gonna come, Finnie. Gonna come all over you—fuck—I’m gonna ride that knot, ride it—”
Finn’s hips snap up once, twice, his claws sink into Grayson’s hips, and then his knot pops inside, and Grayson screams.
And that’s what does it. Not the tight heat. Not even the pulsing of Grayson’s hole around the base of his knot.
It’s the sight of Grayson—his gorgeous Grayson—coming apart for everyone to see. Riding him like he was made to take it. Screaming like he wants the whole stadium to hear.
Finn’s orgasm hits like a fist to the spine.
His vision goes black at the edges. His cock throbs deep inside, filling Grayson with thick pulses of come, knot lodged tight. He groans, desperate and spent, breath knocked out of him.
Rihanna’s voice cuts out, and the room is silent except for their breath and that of his pack following them over into ecstasy.
Grayson falls forward onto his chest. Finn can’t form words yet, so he hums something soothing and satisfied under his breath.
He finally looks at his mates, discovering they’re in various states of dishabille. Each man with a hand on a wet cock, either his own or his mate’s.
When Finn checks the television over the catering table, the Braves are up 5–4 with the last batter for the Tempest up in the top of the ninth.
He finds he has no interest in the last part of the game, instead closing his eyes as Grayson sucks a mark into the side of his neck.
“Best birthday ever.”
“Yeah?” Grayson murmurs, wiggling a little and sending shivers down Finn’s legs to his toes. “Do you think we made the Love Cam?”