xxii

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my finger slipped.

5.4k words of basically just baseball porn lmaooo. i've played baseball/softball since i was three years old so if y'all don't understand what's going on, don't worry, tyler doesn't either.

a lot of josh's anxieties around the sport i delve into here are my own feelings and worries whenever i play, so i hope y'all don't mind if i indulge a bit while exploring his thoughts and feelings around playing.

hope you enjoy!

(here's a fun game: can you find the other ship i shamelessly squashed in here from a different fandom because i'm an annoying author and love my crime fighting boys?)

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[present day; 12th; 18/18]

TYLER WAS BAKING underneath the warm April sun. Granted, he was also wearing Josh's varsity baseball jacket in 80-degree heat, but he wasn't about to just take it off. He was here to support his boyfriend after all.

Sighing dreamily, Tyler leaned an elbow on his thigh and rested his chin in his palm. The brunette didn't really know much about baseball, just that it was boring and long. But at least he got to see Josh stand and throw the ball back to Pete after every pitch.

He recalled Josh explaining to him what being a catcher meant, how he helped call the pitches and lead the team. Tyler wasn't sure what all that meant, but Josh sure did look dreamy when he had that determined, excited look on his face, the look he always had when he talked about baseball.

The brunette let out a puff, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Tyler was sweating, and Tyler hated sweat, but Tyler was also stubborn and was set on staying put. He had never missed one of Josh's games before and he wasn't planning on leaving now because of a little heat. He could push through it. If Josh was able to play while in his heavy, clunky catcher's gear, then Tyler could stand the heat in a sweater.

Josh, on the other hand, wasn't as confident in the boy's ability to withstand extreme temperatures as Tyler was. His delicate, little peach would have chattering teeth in barely-under 70 degrees, and his body dealt with heat the same way: it didn't.

He could see Tyler's flushed face from the corner of his eye where he crouched behind the plate, but he couldn't tilt his head to look in risk of missing a pitch and letting the runner on first—who he'd already tried to fake out with a couple throws and had stayed put—steal second base.

Josh barely had time to process the next pitch as it whizzed into his glove. Gotta pay attention! he snapped at himself. Worry 'bout Ty later.

Yeah, like that was even a possibility.

The batter at the plate was tall and thin; Josh signaled for a low, inside corner pitch, hiding his fingers in his glove so the batter wouldn't see his call. Pete gave a small nod from his position on the mound, and Josh shifted his feet, throwing his right hand behind his back.

The pitcher wound up, then fired; the ball made a thump when it hit Josh's glove. "Ball," the ump said in a monotone voice. "Two balls, two strikes." There were two outs already, and it was the bottom of the seventh inning. With their team being behind by one point, they couldn't risk letting the runner on first scoring. If they could just strike this guy out...

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