Story time
Title: Story time
Characters/Pairings: Jacoby Ellsbury/Grady Sizemore; Jon Lester/Clay Buchholz. Sort of. ;-)
Rating: NC-17
Time: Summer 2008
Summary: Lester lets his imagination run wild.
Note: Tip of the cap to Ang (unloveablehands) for providing the inspiration. :-)
Disclaimer: All totally fictional, of course
"San Francisco Giants," Jon Lester said.
"Barry Zito," Buchholz replied.
"Good choice," Lester nodded. He and Clay Buchholz were standing in the Fenway Park outfield, shagging fly balls, as the Sox took batting practice. The sun slanted over the grandstand, bathing the two pitchers in a golden glow.
"Oakland A's," said Clay.
"Huston Street."
"Fuck yeah," Buchholz growled. "Not DiNardo, though?"
Lester smiled, a little smugly. "Done him."
"No!" Clay said. "When?"
"When he was here," Jon replied. He glanced around, then leaned closer to Buchholz. "He popped my cherry, in spring training - back in '05."
"Really?!" Buchholz grinned. "Wish I could have been there. Bet he and Street are fucking each other's brains out these days."
"No doubt," Lester replied. "That's some action I'd like to get in on."
"Remember..." Clay said.
"Yeah, yeah, use protection," Jon said. "I know. Not gonna happen anyway. I don't fuck the enemy. Except in my dreams. Your turn. Cleveland Indians."
"Grady Sizemore," Buchholz said.
Lester snorted. "No-fucking-brainer there."
Buchholz looked across the outfield, to where Jacoby Ellsbury was in animated conversation with Coco Crisp. "You think he's prettier'n Jacoby?"
Jon shrugged. "I'd call it a draw." His eyes followed Clay's. "I sure wouldn't mind seeing them together, though."
"I'd fuckin' sell tickets," Buchholz said.
"I can see it now," Lester said. "Jacoby's running in from center field, Sizemore's running out. They start to pass each other, then stop. They stare. Sizemore tackles Jacoby, throwing him to the ground. Jacoby starts to crawl away; Sizemore grabs him by the leg and hauls him back..."
"Why would he try to get away? Who the hell refuses Grady Sizemore?" Clay demanded.
"Sexier that way, you moron," Lester said. "Now shut up."
"Sorry. What happens next?"
"Sizemore throws Ells on his back and rips his spikes off. Then he's got his pants, his sliding shorts, his jock, his cup - they all come off, fuckin' flyin' all over the place. He throws Jacoby's legs open and starts sucking his cock. Jacoby's trapped. He knows he should be on the bench, but it feels so fucking good, he can't help it."
A fly ball sailed at the two pitchers. Buchholz waved his glove at it as it passed over his head, his eyes fixed on Lester.
"Jacoby's whimpering - you know how he does. Sizemore's going faster and faster. Ells comes in his mouth. He swallows it down, no problem. Jacoby starts to shake."
"Ellsquake," Buchholz said. He picked up his water bottle and squirted himself in the face.
"Grady ain't done yet. He pulls down his own pants, pulls Jacoby's legs up and slams his cock into his ass. Jacoby's shaking and screaming. Sizemore's pumping that perfect ass of his. Ells is screaming for more. He wants it harder."
"Jesus," Clay said.
Lester grinned. "Now they're both screaming. Ells has his feet straight up in the air - he's still got his socks on. Bright red. Red socks, and Sizmore's ass between them."
Buchholz laughed. "What's everyone else doing?"
Lester closed his eyes. "Manny's laughing. He thinks it's hilarious. Drew's got his hands over his eyes. Pedie's pissed - he wants to get on with the game. The crowd - they all went out for beer. Everyone's missing the show."
"What about the umpires?"
"They're huddling." Lester said, opening his eyes and frowning. "They don't know what the ruling is. Delay of game? On what team? Who gets penalized? This ain't in the rule book!"
Buchholz chortled. "Oh, man."
"Sizemore just keeps fucking Ells as hard as he can," Lester continued, closing his eyes again. "Jacoby's whimpering again. He's almost fucking crying by now. Sizemore's cussing a blue streak. He's calling Jacoby his whore, telling him he's got the tighest ass ever. Fuckin-A. Now the bastard's coming. Man, is he ever. Screaming bloody murder."
"Hey guys, what's up?" Jacoby meandered over to the two pitchers. They looked a bit odd, he thought, both standing with their legs apart, chests heaving. "You guys OK? Jon?" he queried, puzzled.
Lester's eyes snapped open. He looked unseeing at Ellsbury, then focused on Buchholz. Clay stared back, biting his lip. Where? he mouthed.
"There's a storage closet," Lester said hoarsely. "I got a key - Josh gave it to me."
Without a word, Buchholz sprinted for the dugout. Lester followed, hot on his heels, leaving Ellsbury standing alone in the outfield, looking decidedly confused.
Characters/Pairings: Jacoby Ellsbury/Grady Sizemore; Jon Lester/Clay Buchholz. Sort of. ;-)
Rating: NC-17
Time: Summer 2008
Summary: Lester lets his imagination run wild.
Note: Tip of the cap to Ang (unloveablehands) for providing the inspiration. :-)
Disclaimer: All totally fictional, of course
"San Francisco Giants," Jon Lester said.
"Barry Zito," Buchholz replied.
"Good choice," Lester nodded. He and Clay Buchholz were standing in the Fenway Park outfield, shagging fly balls, as the Sox took batting practice. The sun slanted over the grandstand, bathing the two pitchers in a golden glow.
"Oakland A's," said Clay.
"Huston Street."
"Fuck yeah," Buchholz growled. "Not DiNardo, though?"
Lester smiled, a little smugly. "Done him."
"No!" Clay said. "When?"
"When he was here," Jon replied. He glanced around, then leaned closer to Buchholz. "He popped my cherry, in spring training - back in '05."
"Really?!" Buchholz grinned. "Wish I could have been there. Bet he and Street are fucking each other's brains out these days."
"No doubt," Lester replied. "That's some action I'd like to get in on."
"Remember..." Clay said.
"Yeah, yeah, use protection," Jon said. "I know. Not gonna happen anyway. I don't fuck the enemy. Except in my dreams. Your turn. Cleveland Indians."
"Grady Sizemore," Buchholz said.
Lester snorted. "No-fucking-brainer there."
Buchholz looked across the outfield, to where Jacoby Ellsbury was in animated conversation with Coco Crisp. "You think he's prettier'n Jacoby?"
Jon shrugged. "I'd call it a draw." His eyes followed Clay's. "I sure wouldn't mind seeing them together, though."
"I'd fuckin' sell tickets," Buchholz said.
"I can see it now," Lester said. "Jacoby's running in from center field, Sizemore's running out. They start to pass each other, then stop. They stare. Sizemore tackles Jacoby, throwing him to the ground. Jacoby starts to crawl away; Sizemore grabs him by the leg and hauls him back..."
"Why would he try to get away? Who the hell refuses Grady Sizemore?" Clay demanded.
"Sexier that way, you moron," Lester said. "Now shut up."
"Sorry. What happens next?"
"Sizemore throws Ells on his back and rips his spikes off. Then he's got his pants, his sliding shorts, his jock, his cup - they all come off, fuckin' flyin' all over the place. He throws Jacoby's legs open and starts sucking his cock. Jacoby's trapped. He knows he should be on the bench, but it feels so fucking good, he can't help it."
A fly ball sailed at the two pitchers. Buchholz waved his glove at it as it passed over his head, his eyes fixed on Lester.
"Jacoby's whimpering - you know how he does. Sizemore's going faster and faster. Ells comes in his mouth. He swallows it down, no problem. Jacoby starts to shake."
"Ellsquake," Buchholz said. He picked up his water bottle and squirted himself in the face.
"Grady ain't done yet. He pulls down his own pants, pulls Jacoby's legs up and slams his cock into his ass. Jacoby's shaking and screaming. Sizemore's pumping that perfect ass of his. Ells is screaming for more. He wants it harder."
"Jesus," Clay said.
Lester grinned. "Now they're both screaming. Ells has his feet straight up in the air - he's still got his socks on. Bright red. Red socks, and Sizmore's ass between them."
Buchholz laughed. "What's everyone else doing?"
Lester closed his eyes. "Manny's laughing. He thinks it's hilarious. Drew's got his hands over his eyes. Pedie's pissed - he wants to get on with the game. The crowd - they all went out for beer. Everyone's missing the show."
"What about the umpires?"
"They're huddling." Lester said, opening his eyes and frowning. "They don't know what the ruling is. Delay of game? On what team? Who gets penalized? This ain't in the rule book!"
Buchholz chortled. "Oh, man."
"Sizemore just keeps fucking Ells as hard as he can," Lester continued, closing his eyes again. "Jacoby's whimpering again. He's almost fucking crying by now. Sizemore's cussing a blue streak. He's calling Jacoby his whore, telling him he's got the tighest ass ever. Fuckin-A. Now the bastard's coming. Man, is he ever. Screaming bloody murder."
"Hey guys, what's up?" Jacoby meandered over to the two pitchers. They looked a bit odd, he thought, both standing with their legs apart, chests heaving. "You guys OK? Jon?" he queried, puzzled.
Lester's eyes snapped open. He looked unseeing at Ellsbury, then focused on Buchholz. Clay stared back, biting his lip. Where? he mouthed.
"There's a storage closet," Lester said hoarsely. "I got a key - Josh gave it to me."
Without a word, Buchholz sprinted for the dugout. Lester followed, hot on his heels, leaving Ellsbury standing alone in the outfield, looking decidedly confused.