"Hi handsome." Sam looked up into those scorching blue eyes, flushed. "Hey Stark, you've gotta quit teasin' me this way" Sam tossed over his shoulder as he tagged third base. Sam was being honest; Stark put him in a trance, and he was a little unnerved by it. As usual, Stark pitched perfectly, and his tall, lanky frame and roman statue features added to the allure.

The game won, they herded together to have the team photo of the week. Sam jumped as he felt strong hands close over both sides of his hips from behind, thumbs resting right on that spot between his stomach and groin. "Nice play," whispered Stark as he rocked his thumbs nimbly over Sam's hipbone, causing him to writhe just as the flash went off, "but you really ought to relax."

Sam wondered if Stark knew, somehow, that his touch electrified Sam. He'd been embarrassed to writhe in Stark's grasp, and didn't want to discourage him. "I'll just play it cool," he thought.

As they all crowded around the bar, celebrating their conquest, Sam shirt a few buttons to cool down, revealing his muscular, if slender chest covered with shiny black hair typical of Italians. A couple guys cracked jokes about Sam showing off, and next thing he knew Stark's arms were wrapped about him, from the side and around the back to his other side, stroking his chest hair mischievously. Sam melted inside, but just grinned at Stark and started to lift his beer up for a swig.

As he did, he felt Stark's fingers slide quickly up his ribcage, inside his shirt, to rest right in that hollow under his arm. Sam did not pull away, his attraction to this killer was way too strong, and this uncontrollable grin widened over his face. Trying to be brave, he raised his arm further, trying to get a drink, but Stark's hand moved furtively as Sam froze and then started to try to edge away. But Stark cocked an eyebrow at Sam and used his other arm to pull Sam in to him, his left hand now in the crook of Sam's arm, and his right hand up under Sam's shirt on his stomach, both hands strumming, but not too much.

Sam was helpless. Taller and stronger, Stark would start that strumming shit every time Sam tried to get a sip of beer, causing fits of silent giggling while Sam struggled not to drop his bottle altogether. Two other guys on the team had caught onto Stark's game and ambled over to help him out. "Hey Sam, that's a pretty sheepish grin for a guy who almost dropped the game ball. What's so funny?" taunted Ed as his pal Erik stepped in close, his feet between Sam's and his hands low on his belt.

Sam, never one to pass by a challenge, started to retort that at least he'd made it to base but couldn't quite get it out, as Stark was prodding his fingers into some really sensitive spots on Sam's torso, causing him to sputter. Grinning winsomely, Stark stared into Sam's eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly to the duo.

"I'll hold him" he said as Erik grabbed Sam's beer and passed it away in the crowd and he pinioned Sam's arms behind his back as Erik made his left hand into a strong claw and dug right into Sam's muscular stomach while his right played staccato on his ribs. Laughter erupted from Sam and Ed stepped in a grabbed one knee in just that perfect spot and kneaded much more slowly on the other side of Sam's ribs. Laughter was coming in heaves from Sam, who was trying really hard not to make a scene or make to much noise - - but he was overcome by sensations.

Erik was particularly sadistic and kept up the torment for several minutes, leaving Sam to catch a breath when he could, while Stark held him firm, grinning a silent laugh of his own, eyes locked with tormented Sam's.

As Erik and Ed eased up, Stark grinned again and didn't let loose as Erik growled "this is for good measure" and attacked both sides at once ferociously.


Sam couldn't believe he and Stark go to be "bunk-mates" for the championship game in Indy. With two King beds and four guys to a room, that meant he would be sleepin' right there with him...

Not risking an overthrow, Stark let an opportunity for a double play go that afternoon, not unnoticed by Sam, always on the lookout for fodder to poke fun at Stark, who would then ominously threaten to punish Sam, making him laugh.

As night wore on, tremors went through Sam as he thought of sleeping with Stark. When they got into the room Sam ducked into the bathroom and was breathless to see Stark sprawled on the bed in just his boxers as he emerged. Sam undressed easily, trying not to quiver.

As they stretched out on the bed, joshing about the day, Stark's arms casually entwined Sam, who pressed into Stark, encouraging. With a glint in his eye Stark teased Sam about not hitting a homer, knowing that he'd get Sam's goat with that. Sam then remembered about the double-play and started to give Stark a hard time about it, laughing as he told the story up his way, somehow not even aware that he had one arm pulled up beside his head, and the other trapped behind him as he was pulled close to Stark.

So Sam didn't really have a sense of his danger until he saw Stark's hand poised above his stomach, fingers stretched out with purpose. When he saw that, Sam tried to pull in, but he couldn't move at all, and automatically started laughing even before Stark lowered his hand onto Sam's already spasming belly and whispered menacingly that Sam would have to pay for such insults.

With just his one hand, Stark raked his fingers across Sam's torso, fingering his belly-button, counting his ribs, then finally reaching up to Sam's armpit, where he drew countless circles in Sam's delirium.

He taunted Sam verbally every now and then, but didn't give him a single break in his torment. Once he had Sam laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face, Stark was pleased to notice how easy it was just to place a finger on the side of Sam's stomach and keep him in fit's just by wiggling a little. Finally, Sam gave in and nodded agreement to get Stark to stop.

Breathing heavily, he couldn't take his eyes off of the pulsating bulge in Stark's crotch, and just when he was about to mention it, Stark leaned back over him and started interrogating Sam about all the mistakes Sam had made that season. Helpless with giggles again in flash, he thrashed around as much as he could as Stark slyly suggested that maybe Sam should get to contemplate each and every error.

Before Stark had even gotten through Sam's second "error" Ed and Erik came traipsing in from the lounge, both a bit tipsy, but eager to hear more about Sam's "error's" as Erik straddled Sam's ankles and began to spider-walk up his feet while Ed volunteered to hold Sam's arms above his head, "for his own safety!" It was then about ten at night.