Belong
Title: Belong
Pairing: Jed Lowrie/Jacoby Ellsbury
Rating: R/NC-17
Beta: Un-betaed this time
Disclaimer: I don't own the Red Sox or any of its players. (And what a shame that is!)
Summary: Jed Lowrie is worried about what Alex Gonzalez's acquisition means for him. But Jacoby knows how he feels, and tries to put that out of Jed's mind.
Other comments: My favourite pairing. ♥ Comments & critique are both appreciated!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Rangers’ Park at Arlington, Texas
Shit. Jed certainly didn’t begrudge Alex Gonzalez for being acquired - the list of Red Sox shortstops since Nomar was well-documented and lengthy - but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t scared about what it meant for himself. He had to sit back with his injured left wrist, and wait to see what happened. What would happen. Another year, another shortstop.
He looked out at Jacoby on the field. He looked like he belonged there, patrolling centerfield. And he did belong there. What Jed would give to belong to the field, that stretch of land between second and third base. He had started to feel that way this past spring training, battling Lugo for the spot. In a way, he was sad that Lugo had left, because he had forced Lowrie to step up his game. And although it had been Lowell’s injury that had allowed him to debut in the majors last year - talk about baptism by fire - Jed always attributed his position on the team to Lugo’s injury, as mean as that sounded. To state the tough truth, Lugo never did too well with the Red Sox, and it was this that gave Jed the chance to show the team what he was made of.
The 2008 season had been a whirlwind set of experiences for the young player. Some games were more ephemeral - a frenzy of sounds, scores and at-bats - while others stood firm in his memory. That August 1st game - Bay’s first game - when Jed drove in the former Pirate, not once, but twice; it felt great. It was something that he could never forget - that satisfied feeling of helping the team win.
But now, all that was in jeopardy. No more walk-offs at Fenway, no more hugs from Clay and Jacoby and Jon… if it came to that, would he be able to stand it? Already given a taste of the real deal - the big leagues - he didn’t know if he could go back down to Pawtucket. Or anywhere else. He had been so scared when his name was mentioned in the Santana trade, from what seemed like ages ago. He wasn’t sure he could deal with it again.
What made it all the more scary was the recent trade of Justin Masterson. His good friend. Gone. “V-Mart” was a great guy, but no one could replace the tall Jamaican’s sunny disposition, constant humor and unwavering loyalty. He missed him badly.
It was then that Jacoby stepped off the field, heading towards Jed and the orange coolers full of Gatorade. Fielding practice must be over? Jed smiled at his friend as he filled a paper cup and took a large gulp as he sat down on Jed’s left. The scent of sweat, eyeblack and fresh grass pervaded his senses, masking the sweet smell of Jed’s bubblegum.
“Whew, it’s really hot out there. Beckett must be happy though.” Jacoby glanced at Jed, grinning.
“Yeah. Well at least someone is,” Jed couldn’t help thinking, chewing his gum vigorously. It could be infuriatingly hard to remain optimistic sometimes.
A few hours later, and it was still running through Jed’s mind. “Well, that was a comeback win if I ever saw one.” Six runs in the top of the ninth inning - exciting stuff. Jed had to hold back a chuckle, remembering how out-of-place Buchholz looked on the basepath. Really, someone should have given him tips beforehand. “I guess it was too late by then. They just needed to get him out there,” his mind reasoned. Poor Clay. He was fast, probably the only guy (let alone pitcher) who could even think about giving Jacoby a run for his money.
Speak of the devil; Jacoby entered their hotel room. He smelled like beer, but not drunk. Probably just a tall glass. Jed could tell these kinds of things. People were always amazed at his keen sense of smell. To be honest, he was more concerned with his sight, given his line of work (if you could call it that).
“Hey; you’re back early.” Midnight had passed only a few minutes ago.
“Yeah, well you were back even earlier than me.” Jacoby flicked on the lamp and sat on the edge of Jed’s bed.
“I didn’t play today; haven’t played in days. And you know, the doctor said to ‘take it easy’ and all that.” A touch of bitterness coloured his tone, even though he tried to hide it behind a grin.
“Yeah…” Jacoby, not fooled, scooted up closer to Jed, and the two sat in silence. The atmosphere felt thick, and it wasn’t only because of the humid, Texan air. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Jed sighed. “I just wish I could play.”
“Don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll be back to normal soon.”
“Soon isn’t soon enough.” Another pause. “And will I?” Jed looked down at his fingernails, curling and uncurling his fist. Jacoby patiently waited for him to explain himself. “Gonzalez is starting tomorrow.” As an afterthought, he added, “He’s even using my glove.” He fell silent again.
“Let me guess. It seems like he’s displacing you?” Jed made no answer. “You’re overanalyzing again, man.” Jacoby gave him an affectionate smile. “He just doesn’t have his own glove with him yet. If you wanna analyze that, you could say that he’s not a real Red Sox player yet.”
Jed looked up, quirking his head. “You stick to stealing bases, and I’ll stick to analyzing things.” As he reached out to flick off the bedside lamp, Jacoby’s warm laugh cracked a smile from the shortstop. The outfielder leaned into Jed, rubbing circles into his lower back. “Relax. No one’s sending you anywhere.” Jed let his head fall onto Jacoby’s broad shoulder. “Don’t think for awhile. Just relax.”
Even though Jacoby had grown slightly scruffy in the past couple of days, the smell of his vanilla-scented aftershave lingered, and it calmed Jed. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but he felt oddly tranquil, like he used to feel waking up late on a Saturday morning in Salem. Ells was amazing - he really was. He could make Jed feel better in a matter of minutes, without saying a word.
That was their way though. They didn’t really need to speak in order to understand each another. They had known each other for so long. Of course, talking was always pleasant - not unwanted - but it wasn’t strictly necessary.
Jed had forgotten his earlier troubles.
“Oh crap.” He groaned inwardly. It was just like “the Game.” (By the way, he had just lost.) His brain would just never let him rest.
But Jacoby could tell. He could always tell. Cupping Jed’s cheek, he guided his head up and placed a light kiss on his forehead. His lips lingered. Jed could feel the starting of cracks and instantly remembered where Jacoby had left his cinnamon-scented chapstick - back in Fenway - in Jed’s locker for some odd reason he couldn’t recall.
Meanwhile, the slightly older Oregon native moved his lips higher, caressing Jed’s soft brown hair with his nose and mouth. He could hear Jacoby inhale deeply. Jed had started using green apple shampoo ever since his friend had made a passing remark of liking waffles with applesauce. (Apple was the closest he could get to applesauce.)
Jed couldn’t remember exactly when, but he had made a recent discovery that his internal voice usually rambled on about various and sundry things when he felt content. Actually, he had realized this when he was hanging out with Jacoby. He found his mind filled with facts and memories most often around him. He once joked that he would bring Jacoby along with him when presenting his graduate thesis so that he’d have an unlimited supply of information. (Needless to say, he did pretty well even without him.)
He felt Jacoby’s lithe fingers creep further down his back. When a warm palm reached under his cotton shirt, Jed’s thoughts shifted.
Pleasure.
He arched into Jacoby’s touch instinctively. When he felt a now-moist, insistent mouth kiss his ear, Jed placed a hand on Jacoby’s thigh, rubbing his thumb across a patch of blue-jean-material that had begun to tear.
When Jacoby captured his lips in a tender kiss, it felt right. Their breaths mingled together when they broke apart for air. The fresh air felt delicious, but being smothered against Jacoby’s mouth felt infinitely better, in a sort of irrational way. “Screw rational.” He met him half-way, the intensity building.
A hand came around to his front, fumbling for the belt buckle. Finally, Jacoby succeeded, and pulled down the fly of Jed’s khakis, never once breaking the kiss. Jed groaned into Ellsbury’s mouth as Jacoby grasped his cock, stroking the tip. When he gave a quick upwards stroke, Jed gasped audibly. Looking into Jacoby’s dilated eyes, he could barely see himself reflected in the dark pools of black, despite having adjusted to the room’s darkness. He glanced down to find that the outfielder’s other hand was making quick work of his fly. Jed swatted the hand away, pulling the zipper down fully, sliding his own hand down Jacoby’s boxers. His hand felt feverishly hot, much like the rest of his body, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The air was still humid and smelled of sex, but he could still smell Jacoby’s distinctive scent over everything, making Jed almost unbearably aroused.
And then Jacoby moaned.
Oh, it sounded beautiful. Ragged. To others, Jacoby was perfect - and he essentially was. He could run all morning and still look flawless, gorgeous as always. But although Jed loved Jacoby’s perfection, it was moments like this that he appreciated most. It was Jacoby’s human side, human emotions like lust, that he loved - flaws, bad jokes and all.
And he certainly loved Jacoby’s hand pressing against his erection. That able hand, sliding up and down, while Jed matched it stroke for stroke. Becoming faster and faster…
It didn’t take long for them to bring each other off. The gasps and softly muttered “fucks” grew more numerous as their strokes became more erratic, more desperate. Jacoby bit Jed’s collarbone several times, leaving marks that Jed found the next morning. Jed broke out a sweat; perfectly formed droplets which Jacoby licked from his brow. And with one flick of the wrist, Jed saw brightly coloured dots dance beneath his eyelids.
As they both came, Jed kissed Jacoby hard on the mouth, sealing away the words that they didn’t need to say in order to be understood.
Some other ballplayers slept with each other just to kill off stress. Keeping it within the team was a way of helping each other out, and a way of avoiding groupies and sleazy hookers. A more “dignified” and convenient way of getting off.
But it wasn’t that way with Jacoby. Jed grinned as he leaned back on the dugout bench. There wasn’t any awkwardness when they lay together in a post-coital haze. They even joked around - “We didn’t even manage to get our pants off this time,” Jacoby had mentioned before falling asleep next to Jed.
What they did had nothing to do with convenience or bragging rights. (Only a few people knew what really went on between the two.) No, it simply had everything to do with what Jacoby had said last night.
“You’ll always belong when you’re with me.”
Pairing: Jed Lowrie/Jacoby Ellsbury
Rating: R/NC-17
Beta: Un-betaed this time
Disclaimer: I don't own the Red Sox or any of its players. (And what a shame that is!)
Summary: Jed Lowrie is worried about what Alex Gonzalez's acquisition means for him. But Jacoby knows how he feels, and tries to put that out of Jed's mind.
Other comments: My favourite pairing. ♥ Comments & critique are both appreciated!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Rangers’ Park at Arlington, Texas
Shit. Jed certainly didn’t begrudge Alex Gonzalez for being acquired - the list of Red Sox shortstops since Nomar was well-documented and lengthy - but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t scared about what it meant for himself. He had to sit back with his injured left wrist, and wait to see what happened. What would happen. Another year, another shortstop.
He looked out at Jacoby on the field. He looked like he belonged there, patrolling centerfield. And he did belong there. What Jed would give to belong to the field, that stretch of land between second and third base. He had started to feel that way this past spring training, battling Lugo for the spot. In a way, he was sad that Lugo had left, because he had forced Lowrie to step up his game. And although it had been Lowell’s injury that had allowed him to debut in the majors last year - talk about baptism by fire - Jed always attributed his position on the team to Lugo’s injury, as mean as that sounded. To state the tough truth, Lugo never did too well with the Red Sox, and it was this that gave Jed the chance to show the team what he was made of.
The 2008 season had been a whirlwind set of experiences for the young player. Some games were more ephemeral - a frenzy of sounds, scores and at-bats - while others stood firm in his memory. That August 1st game - Bay’s first game - when Jed drove in the former Pirate, not once, but twice; it felt great. It was something that he could never forget - that satisfied feeling of helping the team win.
But now, all that was in jeopardy. No more walk-offs at Fenway, no more hugs from Clay and Jacoby and Jon… if it came to that, would he be able to stand it? Already given a taste of the real deal - the big leagues - he didn’t know if he could go back down to Pawtucket. Or anywhere else. He had been so scared when his name was mentioned in the Santana trade, from what seemed like ages ago. He wasn’t sure he could deal with it again.
What made it all the more scary was the recent trade of Justin Masterson. His good friend. Gone. “V-Mart” was a great guy, but no one could replace the tall Jamaican’s sunny disposition, constant humor and unwavering loyalty. He missed him badly.
It was then that Jacoby stepped off the field, heading towards Jed and the orange coolers full of Gatorade. Fielding practice must be over? Jed smiled at his friend as he filled a paper cup and took a large gulp as he sat down on Jed’s left. The scent of sweat, eyeblack and fresh grass pervaded his senses, masking the sweet smell of Jed’s bubblegum.
“Whew, it’s really hot out there. Beckett must be happy though.” Jacoby glanced at Jed, grinning.
“Yeah. Well at least someone is,” Jed couldn’t help thinking, chewing his gum vigorously. It could be infuriatingly hard to remain optimistic sometimes.
A few hours later, and it was still running through Jed’s mind. “Well, that was a comeback win if I ever saw one.” Six runs in the top of the ninth inning - exciting stuff. Jed had to hold back a chuckle, remembering how out-of-place Buchholz looked on the basepath. Really, someone should have given him tips beforehand. “I guess it was too late by then. They just needed to get him out there,” his mind reasoned. Poor Clay. He was fast, probably the only guy (let alone pitcher) who could even think about giving Jacoby a run for his money.
Speak of the devil; Jacoby entered their hotel room. He smelled like beer, but not drunk. Probably just a tall glass. Jed could tell these kinds of things. People were always amazed at his keen sense of smell. To be honest, he was more concerned with his sight, given his line of work (if you could call it that).
“Hey; you’re back early.” Midnight had passed only a few minutes ago.
“Yeah, well you were back even earlier than me.” Jacoby flicked on the lamp and sat on the edge of Jed’s bed.
“I didn’t play today; haven’t played in days. And you know, the doctor said to ‘take it easy’ and all that.” A touch of bitterness coloured his tone, even though he tried to hide it behind a grin.
“Yeah…” Jacoby, not fooled, scooted up closer to Jed, and the two sat in silence. The atmosphere felt thick, and it wasn’t only because of the humid, Texan air. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Jed sighed. “I just wish I could play.”
“Don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll be back to normal soon.”
“Soon isn’t soon enough.” Another pause. “And will I?” Jed looked down at his fingernails, curling and uncurling his fist. Jacoby patiently waited for him to explain himself. “Gonzalez is starting tomorrow.” As an afterthought, he added, “He’s even using my glove.” He fell silent again.
“Let me guess. It seems like he’s displacing you?” Jed made no answer. “You’re overanalyzing again, man.” Jacoby gave him an affectionate smile. “He just doesn’t have his own glove with him yet. If you wanna analyze that, you could say that he’s not a real Red Sox player yet.”
Jed looked up, quirking his head. “You stick to stealing bases, and I’ll stick to analyzing things.” As he reached out to flick off the bedside lamp, Jacoby’s warm laugh cracked a smile from the shortstop. The outfielder leaned into Jed, rubbing circles into his lower back. “Relax. No one’s sending you anywhere.” Jed let his head fall onto Jacoby’s broad shoulder. “Don’t think for awhile. Just relax.”
Even though Jacoby had grown slightly scruffy in the past couple of days, the smell of his vanilla-scented aftershave lingered, and it calmed Jed. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but he felt oddly tranquil, like he used to feel waking up late on a Saturday morning in Salem. Ells was amazing - he really was. He could make Jed feel better in a matter of minutes, without saying a word.
That was their way though. They didn’t really need to speak in order to understand each another. They had known each other for so long. Of course, talking was always pleasant - not unwanted - but it wasn’t strictly necessary.
Jed had forgotten his earlier troubles.
“Oh crap.” He groaned inwardly. It was just like “the Game.” (By the way, he had just lost.) His brain would just never let him rest.
But Jacoby could tell. He could always tell. Cupping Jed’s cheek, he guided his head up and placed a light kiss on his forehead. His lips lingered. Jed could feel the starting of cracks and instantly remembered where Jacoby had left his cinnamon-scented chapstick - back in Fenway - in Jed’s locker for some odd reason he couldn’t recall.
Meanwhile, the slightly older Oregon native moved his lips higher, caressing Jed’s soft brown hair with his nose and mouth. He could hear Jacoby inhale deeply. Jed had started using green apple shampoo ever since his friend had made a passing remark of liking waffles with applesauce. (Apple was the closest he could get to applesauce.)
Jed couldn’t remember exactly when, but he had made a recent discovery that his internal voice usually rambled on about various and sundry things when he felt content. Actually, he had realized this when he was hanging out with Jacoby. He found his mind filled with facts and memories most often around him. He once joked that he would bring Jacoby along with him when presenting his graduate thesis so that he’d have an unlimited supply of information. (Needless to say, he did pretty well even without him.)
He felt Jacoby’s lithe fingers creep further down his back. When a warm palm reached under his cotton shirt, Jed’s thoughts shifted.
Pleasure.
He arched into Jacoby’s touch instinctively. When he felt a now-moist, insistent mouth kiss his ear, Jed placed a hand on Jacoby’s thigh, rubbing his thumb across a patch of blue-jean-material that had begun to tear.
When Jacoby captured his lips in a tender kiss, it felt right. Their breaths mingled together when they broke apart for air. The fresh air felt delicious, but being smothered against Jacoby’s mouth felt infinitely better, in a sort of irrational way. “Screw rational.” He met him half-way, the intensity building.
A hand came around to his front, fumbling for the belt buckle. Finally, Jacoby succeeded, and pulled down the fly of Jed’s khakis, never once breaking the kiss. Jed groaned into Ellsbury’s mouth as Jacoby grasped his cock, stroking the tip. When he gave a quick upwards stroke, Jed gasped audibly. Looking into Jacoby’s dilated eyes, he could barely see himself reflected in the dark pools of black, despite having adjusted to the room’s darkness. He glanced down to find that the outfielder’s other hand was making quick work of his fly. Jed swatted the hand away, pulling the zipper down fully, sliding his own hand down Jacoby’s boxers. His hand felt feverishly hot, much like the rest of his body, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The air was still humid and smelled of sex, but he could still smell Jacoby’s distinctive scent over everything, making Jed almost unbearably aroused.
And then Jacoby moaned.
Oh, it sounded beautiful. Ragged. To others, Jacoby was perfect - and he essentially was. He could run all morning and still look flawless, gorgeous as always. But although Jed loved Jacoby’s perfection, it was moments like this that he appreciated most. It was Jacoby’s human side, human emotions like lust, that he loved - flaws, bad jokes and all.
And he certainly loved Jacoby’s hand pressing against his erection. That able hand, sliding up and down, while Jed matched it stroke for stroke. Becoming faster and faster…
It didn’t take long for them to bring each other off. The gasps and softly muttered “fucks” grew more numerous as their strokes became more erratic, more desperate. Jacoby bit Jed’s collarbone several times, leaving marks that Jed found the next morning. Jed broke out a sweat; perfectly formed droplets which Jacoby licked from his brow. And with one flick of the wrist, Jed saw brightly coloured dots dance beneath his eyelids.
As they both came, Jed kissed Jacoby hard on the mouth, sealing away the words that they didn’t need to say in order to be understood.
Some other ballplayers slept with each other just to kill off stress. Keeping it within the team was a way of helping each other out, and a way of avoiding groupies and sleazy hookers. A more “dignified” and convenient way of getting off.
But it wasn’t that way with Jacoby. Jed grinned as he leaned back on the dugout bench. There wasn’t any awkwardness when they lay together in a post-coital haze. They even joked around - “We didn’t even manage to get our pants off this time,” Jacoby had mentioned before falling asleep next to Jed.
What they did had nothing to do with convenience or bragging rights. (Only a few people knew what really went on between the two.) No, it simply had everything to do with what Jacoby had said last night.
“You’ll always belong when you’re with me.”