In honor of the World Series, which Steve is totally into

Tony didn’t mind spending time listening to Steve grumble and snort while watching a baseball game. He’d work on coding problems next to an intense Steve on the couch, occasionally getting more snacks and beer from the kitchen when needed.

If the Mets won, they’d celebrate in the bedroom. If the Mets lost, Tony would offer to cheer him up the same way. Tony liked that angle of fandom.

Tonight though wasn’t the usual fun time. It was the third game of the World Series and Steve was very invested in the Dodgers winning. Tony set down a couple of pizza and a six pack of Steve’s favorite beer on the coffee table, then plopped down on the couch as usual. “Dodgers, Steve?”

“Anyone who beats Boston is my team,” Steve said

Tony kind of knew enough about baseball to follow along. He’d watched enough games with Steve before they dated and more games since they were married. During the season there was always a game one somewhere. Steve swore allegiance to the Mets since he wasn’t ready in this lifetime or the next to support the Yankees. But he followed a handful of other teams too.

So Tony grunted approval or disapproval whenever Steve made a comment that required agreement. He hadn’t been following along close enough to know the inning or anything. But he sure picked up on Steve’s rising anger.

After the seventh inning, he asked innocently enough, “Two more innings to go?” He yawned. If this went on longer, he’d fall asleep before sexytimes with Steve. And it had been awhile since the last romp in the bedroom – this was their first night alone together in a couple of weeks.

“Baseball is going to hell in a handbasket. That’s what,” Steve snapped.

“Dodgers losing?”

“No, commercials. Look at that – they’re playing commercials during the damn game.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the tiny moving square at the bottom right of the screen.

“But the Dodgers are winning.”

“Not before midnight at this rate.”

Tony went back to coding, only to hear Steve groan awhile later when the Red Sox tied the game up. Eighth inning. Tony pondered if it was a blow-job night or just hand-jobs. Nothing too strenuous though. His back had been acting up since their recent fight with the Red Skull.

He had a difficult bit of coding so Tony let Steve’s lengthy rant about analytics in baseball ruining the game wash over him. “They should put out the best players, damn the statistics,” Steve snarled. “This is insane.”

Tony’s dry comment about inviting the Baseball Commissioner to dinner for Steve to personally complain netted him a dirty look from his husband.

The ninth inning came and went. Then the tenth, the eleventh, and the twelfth. Tony yawned and had to put the laptop away once all the code was blurry and his eyes stung. “The game is still going on?” he asked confused at the time past midnight.

“Still going on,” Steve replied.

Tony bit his tongue before he suggested they head to the bedroom for their own private game involving balls. Steve supported his robot addiction so he should support Steve.

He feel asleep on Steve’s solid shoulder. He shook himself awake when the crick in his back was too painful. “What time? 1 am?” The odds of getting a little nookie in after the game were vanishingly small.

“Later. It’s the 14th inning,” Steve said, in a monotone of the doomed sports fan. “They’re tied.”

“Steve, bedroom?”

“Not much longer, Tony. I promise.”

After the fifteenth inning came and went, Tony had had enough. “I’m going to bed,” Tony announced.

“It can’t go much later.”

“I’m not a super-soldier. If we get called out in the morning for a mission, I can’t call in ‘staying-home-because-game-went-on-too-long’.” Leaning over, Tony kissed Steve’s temple. “You can let me know in the morning if you want to get up to something in the shower.”

Steve actually looked torn for a second when it dawned on him that it really was going to be either sexytimes or the game, not both. “Hang in there, Tony. The game really can’t go on any longer.”

After Boston and LA failed to score in the 16th inning, Tony crawled into bed, husband and nookie be damned. He needed the sleep. As he drifted off, he heard Steve shouting at the tv again.

Tony found Steve passed out on the couch in the morning. He toed Steve awake. “What happened?”

Steve flailed around a couple of seconds, then yawned and stretched. “Game ended in the 18th inning. Dodgers won with a walk-off home run. I must have fallen asleep during the press conferences.” He got up. “The 1939 World Series was played over four games in less time than that whole game last night.”

“That’s nice,” Tony replied brightly.

Steve asked hopefully, “Shower time?”

“It’s 10 am and I’ve got work to do.” Steve looked appropriately crushed but it was all his fault. Tony dug the knife in deeper. “We’re at the dinner-out-at-my-favorite-restaurant level of payback here, Steve. I’ve already made the reservations.”

Steve drew a sharp breath. “But the game tonight –”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want to miss out if the game goes on too long?”

Steve caught onto Tony’s implied threat. “I’ll record it.”