Mighty Casey (Duet)

By Willa Okati

Nate takes his lover out to the ball game. Who knows what might happen when Casey’s up at bat?

Mighty Casey: The only thing extroverted Nate loves more than baseball is his quiet, reserved wedding planner, Casey. The feeling’s mutual, thanks -- but it is

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Sep 29, 2018

Willa Okati

Willa Okati can most often be found muttering to herself over a keyboard, plugged into her iPod and breaking between paragraphs to play air drums. In her spare time (the odd ten minutes or so per day she's not writing) she's teaching herself to play the pennywhistle. Willa has forty-plus separate tattoos and yearns for a full body suit of ink. She walks around in a haze of story ideas, dreaming of tales yet to be told. She drinks an alarming amount of coffee for someone generally perceived to be mellow.

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The Mighty Casey (Duet)

Willa Okati

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2018 Willa Okati

Second Edition

BIN: 008575-02770

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Changeling Press LLC

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www.ChangelingPress.com

Anthology Editor: Karen Williams

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

The Mighty Casey (Duet)

Mighty Casey

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Home Run

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Willa Okati

The Mighty Casey (Duet)

Willa Okati

Mighty Casey: The only thing extroverted Nate loves more than baseball is his quiet, reserved wedding planner, Casey. The feeling’s mutual, thanks -- but it isn’t all fun and games. Casey cringes at the thought of ball games, and Nate freezes at the thought of tying the knot. Casey might wish things were different, but he wouldn’t trade Nate, his big heart, or his skills between the sheets for a wedding worthy of a Rockefeller. But things don’t go quite according to scheme for the odd couple when Nate takes his lover out to the ball game. And who knows what might happen when Casey’s called up to bat?

Home Run: If opposites attract -- and in this case, they do -- Casey and Nate fit like puzzle pieces. Though married for a year and still rocking the honeymoon lifestyle, Casey’s starting to feel like it’s time for the next big challenge. Casey’s never been interested in having kids, but he knows Nate would love a family of their own. He thinks he’s ready to put aside past prejudices, but he knows it’s not the kind of decision you make on a whim. Is Casey ready to grant Nate his wish to become a dad and wind up the pitch for a proper home run?

Mighty Casey

Willa Okati

The only thing extroverted Nate loves more than baseball is his quiet, reserved Casey. The feeling’s mutual, thanks -- but it isn’t all fun and games. A wedding planner, Casey’s booked solid during the summer months and thanks to a certain poem about the Mudville Nine, cringes at the thought of ball games. Fair’s fair -- with seven older sisters who redefined wedding drama, Nate freezes at the thought of tying the knot. Casey might wish things were different, but he wouldn’t trade Nate, his big heart, or his skills between the sheets for a wedding worthy of a Rockefeller.

After losing a strip poker bet, Casey’s promised forfeit is spending a full day at a softball tournament. He’s sure there’s more going on than a simple sports wager and wonders what Nate’s up to, but he’s curious enough to jump in and commit. And so, finally, is Nate, who’s planning a surprise involving an engagement ring and a proposal from the pitcher’s mound.

But things don’t go quite according to scheme for the odd couple when Nate takes his lover out to the ball game. And who knows what might happen when Casey’s called up to bat?

Dedication

For A.D. with thanks for the yarn that started it all, and for S.J.B., who gives good advice.

Chapter One

Dee, dee, dee-dee dee-dee-dee --

Neither skill nor natural talent were required for turning off a clock radio’s alarm with one’s eyes closed. Whether night or day, Casey knew exactly how to coil into the proper position on his side, work one arm out from beneath the duvet, and batter the monster into submission before it switched over from noise to chatter.

Correction: usually he knew exactly how to manage that feat.

Today was not a day for good aim.

Never too early in the morning for a game, Frank; that’s what I say.

You couldn’t be more right, Bruce, and how about that upset last night between the Red Sox and the Yankees?

Oh no. We’re not fighting another turf war in that age-old battle.

Janice, you like the Cubs. You’re out of this argument completely. But even you have to admit, that ninth-inning home run was a thing of beauty and a joy --

Casey groaned. He scrunched his eyes more tightly shut. He’d missed. How had he missed? He patted the top of the radio carefully, searching for the right button.

As he touched the snooze button, the volume rose.

Frank, Bruce, he was lucky. That’s all there is to it.

If you want to call it ‘luck’ instead of ‘talent’ or ‘skill,’ go right ahead, but I’ll disagree.

Why can’t he have all three? Mendez has been riding a rising star since he set foot on the field.

You might have a point, Bruce.

Exactly. Let’s take a look at his stats in the past year alone --

To Casey’s left, the bed, previously unoccupied, dipped under the weight of a very full-grown man. One who radiated the heat of a small blast furnace, the good cheer of a kennel’s worth of puppies, and the sex appeal of a bottle full of testosterone milked from a hundred well-experienced underwear models.

Casey turned to lie on his back and blinked his eyes open. Mmm. Morning, Nate.

Lips brushed Casey’s ear as Nate spoke in a warm whiskey tenor that soothed some ragged nerve ends and tickled others wider awake.

Morning, sunshine.

Casey dragged the covers over his head. Nope. It isn’t. It’s just your imagination.

And I have an excellent imagination, Nate said, tugging the bold Navajo-print duvet down, stripping it completely off Casey and their bed, and onto the floor. It liiiives. Here. I bet you’ll like me better if I do this.

Casey cracked his eyes open again for a bleary, blurry view of Nate aiming a remote control at the TV, which shut up with a pop that took the sportscasters’ enthusiastic chatter with it. Classic Sports Network?

Their Best of 2010 showcase, Nate confirmed. What a game.

I remember.

Nate beamed. And you say you don’t know anything about athletics.

What I remember is you needing to be peeled off the ceiling afterward. Casey rumpled Nate’s hair. A little too much excitement for me, thanks. Casey twisted to squint at the clock radio… which, being unplugged, had apparently never gone on or off at all. What did you do that for?

Nate brushed his lips across Casey’s before Casey could get a word out. All’s fair in love and war, he said, simply and cheerfully. And then, brighter and more enthusiastic still, nearly glowing from the inside out with the enthusiasm of the true zealot, "And in softball."

Casey took Nate’s pillow and put it over his face. Sometimes he wondered exactly how an introverted homebody from the Pacific Northwest ended up with a sports fiend from the Carolinas.

Nate plucked the pillow out of Casey’s hands and sent it after the blanket. He flopped happily down on the bare mattress and beamed at Casey.

Eyes open yet again, his vision clearer now, Casey got a prime look at the man’s face and had to admit he knew the answer to the particular aforementioned question. From the minute Casey had laid eyes on Nate, he hadn’t stood a chance. Bats and balls notwithstanding.

For as much as he loved Nate -- and he did -- there was nothing in the world Casey loathed more than softball or baseball. Team sports in general, actually, but games of ball and stick in particular. If anyone asked why a slim, clumsy man named Casey wasn’t a fan of either, Casey wasn’t about to explain.

Nate, on the other hand, had put himself through college on a baseball scholarship and played three parsimonious years in the minors between undergrad and going for his master’s degree in education. Some men Casey had known in his life loved the game. Love was not a strong enough word for Nate’s athletic fervor. Nor was passion or wildfire or zealotry, but after a few adjectives anyone would get the idea.

Very lucky for Nate that he loved Casey just as much. Which surprised Casey as much as anyone, but that was love for you. It never did make sense. Best thing to do was let go and enjoy the ride.

Speaking of… Casey twist-flipped over with a decided lack of grace to lie facing Nate and Nate’s side of the bed. What are you still doing here? It’s light outside. Every Saturday there’s a game, you’re bouncing around for hours before they even think of throwing the first pitch.

Nate tapped the center of Casey’s forehead. Ah, but this isn’t any ordinary Saturday. Remember?

Memories sifted through Casey’s mind as if through a sieve, filtering out bits and pieces. Awake early on the weekend… Nate making a point of it… Turned off the TV, so whatever’s going on is more interesting than a classic rerun…

Oh damn.

Casey groaned. It’s today, isn’t it? The community softball tournament.

Hmm? You mean the day I collect on the bet I won? Nate asked far too innocently. When you come and watch an entire day’s worth of games? That day?

If I hadn’t been sure of it before, I am now, Casey said drily.

No welching, Nate coaxed. He knew Casey well. C’mon. There’ll be no joy in Mudville if Mighty Casey --

Casey slapped a hand over Nate’s mouth. Rule number one.

He had to let go. Hard to even pretend to be stern when your lover, naked except for a ball cap turned backward, was laughing with force enough to jostle himself free anyway.

Promise me, Casey begged. No doggerel poem jokes today.

Nate very deliberately slipped one arm behind his back to ostentatiously fail to hide his crossed fingers. I would never.

Casey rolled his eyes and sighed. At least Nate had a comfortable chest to butt his head against. I’m doomed, aren’t I?

Mmm. Nate kissed the top of Casey’s head and ruffled the hair growing long over Casey’s nape. "Yes. But in the best possible way. Sorry about the wake-up call too. You slept through me pretending you had an emergency message from the florist, my knocking over a stack of client portfolios -- that was an accident, though, honest -- and through my, as you put it, bouncing around like a coked-up koala."

Casey snorted. He rubbed his face, still a little sleepy now Nate mentioned as much. You pretended to be tangentially involved in planning a wedding? Now I know you’re serious. He stopped. That’s not fair. I’m sorry.

As much as Casey loathed ball games, so too did Nate run shrieking in mortal terror at the mere thought of weddings. Not marriage as such, no, but weddings and their attendant fripperies, frills, and furbelows all brought Nate close to breaking out in hives. Casey, ever the romantic, still daydreamed once in a while about a wedding of his own, but for the most part he’d made his peace with the matter a while ago and honestly didn’t mind. He supposed Nate probably felt the same sort of bemused surprise at having ended up with a wedding planner as a life partner.

I’m not surprised I was fast asleep, Casey said, and neither should you be. I seem to recall now how someone kept me up until almost four in the morning burning off their excitement.

It bore mentioning that reciting baseball statistics was precisely the opposite way to turn Nate off. Live and learn.

Casey rolled over to lie on his back. Nate followed, as if they were connected by magnets in their hips. You’re awake, Casey said, studying Nate’s freshly scrubbed face and his hair, dry but smelling of shampoo. "You’ve been awake for a while. A glance at the door showed him a uniform left where it’d been stripped off. Why are you back in bed?"

Just in case the TV didn’t take, Nate said. He shrugged one-shouldered. Besides, having to come back to bed to drag you out of it? I’m okay with that.

Uh-huh. Casey reached up to ruffle the tips of Nate’s hair. A little long to be regulation, but it dried quickly. Reverse psychology?

Mmm? Nate had gotten distracted tracing the smooth skin over Casey’s ribs. I’ll do what I have to. And I know you’ll love softball if you give it a chance.

How can you be so sure?

Because I know you. He winked at Casey. And I’m not above fighting dirty.

I think everyone who’s met you knows that. Or more accurately, Nate’s uncanny ability to coax the world around to seeing things his way. And his skill at high-stakes strip poker.

Hence waking at six a.m. on an early summer morning.

Hence a day at a softball tournament. Not participating. There was only so far even a game of strip poker could push, pull, or prod a man, even one as quiet-natured as Casey. But watching? Therein lay the rub, and the forfeit due a winner at five-card stud. How would he know he didn’t like it if he wouldn’t try it?

Darn Nate’s hide for having a point, anyway.

Casey covered Nate’s hand with his to jostle him out of the light trance he’d fallen into. Nate wasn’t any more of a morning person than Casey. Nate had only learned to fake it better. You realize that your coming back to bed isn’t at all likely to coax me out of it. The ploy isn’t going to work out to its planned advantage.

Nate chuckled. He splayed his hand wide over Casey’s heart. "I figured that out about the time you opened your eyes. But… I figure this way it’ll still work out to an advantage."

When he was right, he was right.

Casey let his fingers do some of the walking, well pleased by Nate’s reaction of a quick breath and a shift of his hips, ever hopeful, closer.

Never let it be said Nate didn’t have a mind as quick as his body’s reflexes. He matched Casey and upped the stakes, palm skating down to come to rest with his littlest finger a hairbreadth away from the tip of Casey’s rising cock. Casey had long since resigned himself to morning wood for the rest of his natural life as long as he woke in the same bed as Nate.

Not that he planned on complaining.

Got your attention now, Nate murmured. His eyelids fell to half-mast as he gazed down at Casey. What would you be doing if I didn’t have you in hand today?

Casey shifted, hoping to scoot half an inch higher in the bed, but Nate was no small man, nor a weak one, and one small press let Casey know he wasn’t going anywhere until Nate let him.

He relented. Lazy morning. I’d catch up on my reading and paperwork. Maybe head down to the beach with an umbrella shade and a blanket.

And if we didn’t have a beach? Nate stroked lower, if not quite low enough. A park, maybe?

"Maybe a park."

There you go. You can do all that at the field. Mischief brightened Nate’s grin. He shifted to a kneel, straddling Casey’s thigh, caught his wrists in front of him, and jostled them in easy, looping punches toward himself, Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robot style. His weight made the bed rock to and fro, headboard thumping the wall with a highly distinctive sound; there was a sparkle of puckish light in the hazel eyes that would have been absolutely ordinary without his personality behind them, and definitely in the broad, boyish grin that was unique to him and him alone.

Look at you, Casey said, rolling with Nate’s punches. You took the best parts about being eighteen and tucked them under your hat, didn’t you?

Nate tilted his head, his personal sign language best explained as the physical expression of a question mark. What are the bad parts of being eighteen?

Not knowing what you’re doing.

Always? Nate eased Casey’s arms back over Casey’s head, guiding him to grab the slats of the headboard.

Almost always. Especially in bed.

Nate sat back to admire his work. That’s the only bad part you remember? Not knowing what you’re doing? Casey, no one ever knows what they’re doing. We all make it up as we go along. No one’s ever grown up if you measure with that yardstick. Still. He rested back on his heels. His cock, fat and dark, bobbed between his legs. You were right about that one part. Good thing I’m not eighteen anymore.

Very good thing, Casey said. He abandoned the slats -- usually not a game he had a problem with, but if Nate wanted him to enjoy a day’s worth of play, better to get it established now that the bargain cut both ways. And anything that got him or Nate buried inside the other, the faster the better, was the team to root for.

Besides, he’d had an idea.

Nate watched him with the question mark dancing over his head. What’re you planning? You look especially devious. Must be something good.

Maybe so, maybe no. Casey caressed Nate’s hip. I want to suck you. But I want you to suck me too. Any ideas on how to make that happen, Team Player?

Nate’s lips parted. He glanced down, the tip of his tongue tracing the bow of his lips.

Shame wasn’t one of Casey’s failings. He spread his legs wider, putting himself on display. I’ll bet you have a few ideas.

One or two, Nate said. He wasn’t at a loss for long. He braced his arms on the bed and performed a strange yet agile sort of twist and shout that slid him halfway down his bed. He licked once at Casey’s cock.

Casey hissed, striving to hold his hips still.

Easy now. I’ve got you. Slide down off the pillows, flat on the bed. Nate guided as he spoke, strong enough to move Casey at his whim, particularly when Casey let him. God, yes. Look at you, so hot. He stroked Casey’s thighs with less gentle finesse and more rough and tumble. I swear I’m going to get a mirror to put over the bed one day just so you can see yourself.

Casey covered his face with his hands, though he knew he couldn’t hide the beet-red blush coloring his skin. You’ll have to do a lot more than win at poker to get me to agree to that.

Hope springs eternal, Nate told him absently, not really paying attention, but neither was Casey, so it didn’t matter. He guided Casey into position and held him there. Graceful when he wanted to be, with a movement that should have been ungainly but wasn’t, Nate eased himself around to lie in a reverse curve at Casey’s side.

Casey didn’t need telling once, much less twice, what to do next. He set a hand on Nate’s hip to hold him steady, and drew the fat, leaking tip of Nate’s cock into his mouth. He moaned at the taste.

You were born for that, Nate said. God. So good.

Casey licked his way down, drawing Nate deeper and deeper, not replying. Anything he could say to that would either be baldest truth or most blatant lie. Though honestly? He hadn’t been much for the giving end before meeting the