"Five People Jon Lester May or May Not Have Slept With" Part IV ~ Varitek/Lester (Red Sox) ~ hard R
Title: Five People Jon Lester May or May Not Have Slept With After Throwing a No-Hitter, May 19, 2008: Part IV.
Author: jennyagain
Pairing: Jon Lester/Jason Varitek (Boston Red Sox)
Rating: hard R
Summary: This is why Varitek became a catcher.
Disclaimer: The following is for entertainment purposes only. Real people, places, and things appear, but the work is complete fiction, and there is no intent to defame, insult, or slander. No money is being made. Any and all errors belong solely to me.
Notes: This is the fourth of five unrelated ficlets involving Jon Lester and his no-no.
Part the First: ( Jacoby Ellsbury. )
Part the Second: ( Clay Buchholz. )
Part the Third: ( Manny Delcarmen. )
Part the Fourth:
Jason Varitek.
He hadn’t been asked it in awhile, but someone late to the proverbial party always wants to know why he became a catcher.
The truth?
The pitchers.
::
He and Lester are the last ones being iced. The clubhouse hubbub has more or less died down; the fervor and energy created by Lester’s historic work on the mound has more or less dissipated. Well, it’s dissipated for everyone except Lester.
And Varitek.
After Lester has been cut free from his ice packs, he says goodnight to the trainers, receives what seems likely to be the last of the evening’s official congratulations. He finally peels off his damp camo undershirt, grabs a towel, heads towards a long-overdue shower. Varitek watches, waiting. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Lester’s night is not over, not quite yet.
::
Varitek gives him a solid head start. It only seems fair to allow the kid a moment’s peace, a bit of alone-time with some hot water and steam, this kid who’s been the center of attention for nine innings of baseball and at least an hour of the intimate post-game pokings and proddings of the reporters. Varitek imagines that Beckett’s got plans for Lester later on-the two of them are practically shacked up together-so he knows that his window of opportunity is now and that it is short.
Still, a head start doesn’t seem out of the question. He imagines Lester’ll be grateful for it later.
When Varitek pokes his head into the showers, Lester is almost completely obscured by steam. He’s got his arms raised up over his head, his back arched under the water, stretching under the hot spray. The bliss on his face is evident even through the steam. He turns under the hot water, and Varitek’s eyes sweep over his wet, broad shoulders, his strong back, the curve of his sweet, pale ass. Soapsuds puddle at Lester’s feet. Varitek grins and, shedding what little he’s wearing, steps into the steam to join him.
At first, Lester doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are shut, and he’s humming to himself, a tune Varitek can’t quite make out over the rush of running water. Lester scrubs at the shampoo bubbles in his hair with both hands, then rinses, shaking his head under the spray. Soap and water fly all over, little white clusters of bubbles cling to the shower’s tile walls. Varitek watches without touching, quietly coming closer, wondering how badly Lester will startle when he realizes he’s not alone.
Varitek is about to reach out, smooth his hand down Lester’s spine, still slick with shampoo suds, when Lester says, “Hey, Jace.”
Varitek lets his hand drop.
“Hey.”
Lester opens his eyes and throws a grin at Varitek over his shoulder, then does a double-take at just how close Varitek is to him. Before he has the chance to react further, Varitek closes the little remaining distance and crushes their mouths together.
A heady swoop of power courses through Varitek as Lester struggles for a moment, then shudders against him. When Lester’s lips part to let a sigh escape, Varitek moves in quickly, tongue darting out to taste and tease and conquer. The next thing he knows, Lester’s fingers are clinging to the back of Varitek’s neck, pressing him closer for an even deeper kiss. Varitek nips, not exactly gently, at Lester’s bottom lip, and Lester all but melts against him.
A smug smile crosses Varitek’s lips: if only every victory could be so easy.
With Lester suddenly languid and pliable, Varitek backs him up against the tiled wall of the shower, steam billowing all around them, hot spray all but forgotten. Lester must be exhausted, but he does have all that adrenaline on his side, so when Varitek slides a hand up Lester’s thigh to his cock, he finds him pleasantly ready.
Lester’s eyes are pinched closed and his breathing is already ragged as Varitek licks his own thumb, eases it along the cleft between Lester’s sweet, firm asscheeks. His thumb finds its target, and as Varitek strokes it home, he wraps his other hand around Lester’s cock.
Varitek hits both sweet spots at once: thumb crooking inside just like magic, his slick palm stroking over the crown of Lester’s cock at exactly the right moment. Varitek, with the length of his own body pressed up against Lester’s side, can feel each tiny, trembling vibration that shoots through Lester as pleasure registers and is magnified a hundred-fold by Varitek’s two-handed attack.
Varitek’s own cock aches, but that can wait. This is worth it, to have Lester trembling beneath his hands, each thought consumed by the electricity of sex and the exotic swirls of steam.
They don’t talk. There’s nothing to talk about. What Varitek loves about pitchers is how easily they get this, the rush of this, the sanctity of the post-game shower-space, the release this affords each of them, and God, how hot it is. Varitek knows Lester’s rhythm, the way he is, he’s worked so closely with him since he came back, and hell, they just spent the last three hours staring at each other, communicating without words and it’s working here, too, yes, reading each others’ bodies for all the cues they need. It’s easy. It’s perfect.
Varitek fucking loves pitchers.
He lets his teeth scrape lightly over Lester’s shoulder and Lester’s whole body shudders. The rhythm they’d perfected together bumps off just a titch, and Varitek decides it’s time.
Words still seem likely to make a mess of things, so Varitek nudges Lester with his own shoulder, pushes him gently to turn him to the wall.
Lester resists.
In his surprise, Varitek allows just the hint of a scowl to cross his face. He removes his hand from Lester’s ass and lays his open palm on his shoulder, pushing Lester towards the wall in a way that can’t be misunderstood.
Again Lester deliberately denies him, pushing back against Varitek’s hand, trying to wrap his own around the back of Varitek’s neck and bucking his hips into that soapy-slick-tight grip on his cock, insistent in his need.
No way.
Varitek lets him go, then takes both of Lester’s shoulders in his hands roughly and turns him, leaving no room for argument, pinning Lester to the slick shower wall. Varitek’s hands pin his shoulders, his hips pin Lester’s ass. Now, finally, Lester’s breath leaves him in a whoosh and he doesn’t struggle. He presses back against Varitek and drops his head, arms spread against the tiled wall, and the length and breadth of their bodies press flush and crackles of electricity pass between every sticky inch of skin touching skin.
This is why he loves pitchers.
Confident that Lester got the message, Varitek lets his hands smooth down the length of Lester’s spine as he shallowly thrusts his hips, nudging his cock against the steam-slick cleft of Lester’s ass. When his hands reach his own cock, he grips himself tightly. A few wrist-twisting strokes later, he’s ready.
Lester is ready, too. He presses back against the pressure at his opening, and Varitek takes him.
He enters Lester as smoothly as he can, reveling in the intense waves of power that radiate outward from the point of penetration. Lester still hasn’t gotten his breath back, but he’s pushing against Varitek excitedly-there is no doubt he wants this-and Varitek wants to take, oh fuck yeah, but he wants to give, too. It’s a two-part harmony, it’s a clichéd and scripted waltz, and Varitek fucking loves it.
They fuck in earnest. Everything Varitek wants, Lester gives. When he’s ready to speed things up, Lester widens his stance, giving Varitek more leverage, better purchase. When Varitek is ready to come, sweat and steam stinging his eyes, he reaches for Lester’s cock, finds Lester’s hand already there. He settles on splaying a hand wide on Lester’s hip and speeding up his rhythm, coaxing Lester towards climax with quick hips and tight hands and his teeth against the back of Lester’s neck. He runs his tongue over the last three vertebrae in Lester’s spine, and then, oh God, Lester tightens around him and gives a little keening cry as he comes, spattering the tile, pulling Varitek with him, and that last bit of increased intensity is just enough, and Varitek comes, too, fingers gripping the creamy skin of Lester’s thighs hard enough to bruise.
There is still nothing that needs saying.
Varitek slips out of Lester, lets his head dip to rest on Lester’s slick shoulder blade. Varitek can feel each post-orgasmic tremor as it courses through Lester’s sated, now truly exhausted body. Lester turns in the circle of Varitek’s arms, brings their mouths together once more. His kisses border on the edge of tenderness; they almost feel gratitude-filled.
Varitek thinks he should be the one to be grateful.
It’s not until they’ve each rinsed off, toweled off, and headed back toward their lockers-not together, of course, just in case they’re not actually the last ones there-that Varitek speaks.
When he does, all he says is, “Congratulations.”
Lester’s smile is the mirror image of the smug one Varitek had worn earlier. “You’re welcome,” he says, and Varitek has to laugh.
This is why he became a catcher.
Author: jennyagain
Pairing: Jon Lester/Jason Varitek (Boston Red Sox)
Rating: hard R
Summary: This is why Varitek became a catcher.
Disclaimer: The following is for entertainment purposes only. Real people, places, and things appear, but the work is complete fiction, and there is no intent to defame, insult, or slander. No money is being made. Any and all errors belong solely to me.
Notes: This is the fourth of five unrelated ficlets involving Jon Lester and his no-no.
Part the First: ( Jacoby Ellsbury. )
Part the Second: ( Clay Buchholz. )
Part the Third: ( Manny Delcarmen. )
Part the Fourth:
Jason Varitek.
He hadn’t been asked it in awhile, but someone late to the proverbial party always wants to know why he became a catcher.
The truth?
The pitchers.
::
He and Lester are the last ones being iced. The clubhouse hubbub has more or less died down; the fervor and energy created by Lester’s historic work on the mound has more or less dissipated. Well, it’s dissipated for everyone except Lester.
And Varitek.
After Lester has been cut free from his ice packs, he says goodnight to the trainers, receives what seems likely to be the last of the evening’s official congratulations. He finally peels off his damp camo undershirt, grabs a towel, heads towards a long-overdue shower. Varitek watches, waiting. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Lester’s night is not over, not quite yet.
::
Varitek gives him a solid head start. It only seems fair to allow the kid a moment’s peace, a bit of alone-time with some hot water and steam, this kid who’s been the center of attention for nine innings of baseball and at least an hour of the intimate post-game pokings and proddings of the reporters. Varitek imagines that Beckett’s got plans for Lester later on-the two of them are practically shacked up together-so he knows that his window of opportunity is now and that it is short.
Still, a head start doesn’t seem out of the question. He imagines Lester’ll be grateful for it later.
When Varitek pokes his head into the showers, Lester is almost completely obscured by steam. He’s got his arms raised up over his head, his back arched under the water, stretching under the hot spray. The bliss on his face is evident even through the steam. He turns under the hot water, and Varitek’s eyes sweep over his wet, broad shoulders, his strong back, the curve of his sweet, pale ass. Soapsuds puddle at Lester’s feet. Varitek grins and, shedding what little he’s wearing, steps into the steam to join him.
At first, Lester doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are shut, and he’s humming to himself, a tune Varitek can’t quite make out over the rush of running water. Lester scrubs at the shampoo bubbles in his hair with both hands, then rinses, shaking his head under the spray. Soap and water fly all over, little white clusters of bubbles cling to the shower’s tile walls. Varitek watches without touching, quietly coming closer, wondering how badly Lester will startle when he realizes he’s not alone.
Varitek is about to reach out, smooth his hand down Lester’s spine, still slick with shampoo suds, when Lester says, “Hey, Jace.”
Varitek lets his hand drop.
“Hey.”
Lester opens his eyes and throws a grin at Varitek over his shoulder, then does a double-take at just how close Varitek is to him. Before he has the chance to react further, Varitek closes the little remaining distance and crushes their mouths together.
A heady swoop of power courses through Varitek as Lester struggles for a moment, then shudders against him. When Lester’s lips part to let a sigh escape, Varitek moves in quickly, tongue darting out to taste and tease and conquer. The next thing he knows, Lester’s fingers are clinging to the back of Varitek’s neck, pressing him closer for an even deeper kiss. Varitek nips, not exactly gently, at Lester’s bottom lip, and Lester all but melts against him.
A smug smile crosses Varitek’s lips: if only every victory could be so easy.
With Lester suddenly languid and pliable, Varitek backs him up against the tiled wall of the shower, steam billowing all around them, hot spray all but forgotten. Lester must be exhausted, but he does have all that adrenaline on his side, so when Varitek slides a hand up Lester’s thigh to his cock, he finds him pleasantly ready.
Lester’s eyes are pinched closed and his breathing is already ragged as Varitek licks his own thumb, eases it along the cleft between Lester’s sweet, firm asscheeks. His thumb finds its target, and as Varitek strokes it home, he wraps his other hand around Lester’s cock.
Varitek hits both sweet spots at once: thumb crooking inside just like magic, his slick palm stroking over the crown of Lester’s cock at exactly the right moment. Varitek, with the length of his own body pressed up against Lester’s side, can feel each tiny, trembling vibration that shoots through Lester as pleasure registers and is magnified a hundred-fold by Varitek’s two-handed attack.
Varitek’s own cock aches, but that can wait. This is worth it, to have Lester trembling beneath his hands, each thought consumed by the electricity of sex and the exotic swirls of steam.
They don’t talk. There’s nothing to talk about. What Varitek loves about pitchers is how easily they get this, the rush of this, the sanctity of the post-game shower-space, the release this affords each of them, and God, how hot it is. Varitek knows Lester’s rhythm, the way he is, he’s worked so closely with him since he came back, and hell, they just spent the last three hours staring at each other, communicating without words and it’s working here, too, yes, reading each others’ bodies for all the cues they need. It’s easy. It’s perfect.
Varitek fucking loves pitchers.
He lets his teeth scrape lightly over Lester’s shoulder and Lester’s whole body shudders. The rhythm they’d perfected together bumps off just a titch, and Varitek decides it’s time.
Words still seem likely to make a mess of things, so Varitek nudges Lester with his own shoulder, pushes him gently to turn him to the wall.
Lester resists.
In his surprise, Varitek allows just the hint of a scowl to cross his face. He removes his hand from Lester’s ass and lays his open palm on his shoulder, pushing Lester towards the wall in a way that can’t be misunderstood.
Again Lester deliberately denies him, pushing back against Varitek’s hand, trying to wrap his own around the back of Varitek’s neck and bucking his hips into that soapy-slick-tight grip on his cock, insistent in his need.
No way.
Varitek lets him go, then takes both of Lester’s shoulders in his hands roughly and turns him, leaving no room for argument, pinning Lester to the slick shower wall. Varitek’s hands pin his shoulders, his hips pin Lester’s ass. Now, finally, Lester’s breath leaves him in a whoosh and he doesn’t struggle. He presses back against Varitek and drops his head, arms spread against the tiled wall, and the length and breadth of their bodies press flush and crackles of electricity pass between every sticky inch of skin touching skin.
This is why he loves pitchers.
Confident that Lester got the message, Varitek lets his hands smooth down the length of Lester’s spine as he shallowly thrusts his hips, nudging his cock against the steam-slick cleft of Lester’s ass. When his hands reach his own cock, he grips himself tightly. A few wrist-twisting strokes later, he’s ready.
Lester is ready, too. He presses back against the pressure at his opening, and Varitek takes him.
He enters Lester as smoothly as he can, reveling in the intense waves of power that radiate outward from the point of penetration. Lester still hasn’t gotten his breath back, but he’s pushing against Varitek excitedly-there is no doubt he wants this-and Varitek wants to take, oh fuck yeah, but he wants to give, too. It’s a two-part harmony, it’s a clichéd and scripted waltz, and Varitek fucking loves it.
They fuck in earnest. Everything Varitek wants, Lester gives. When he’s ready to speed things up, Lester widens his stance, giving Varitek more leverage, better purchase. When Varitek is ready to come, sweat and steam stinging his eyes, he reaches for Lester’s cock, finds Lester’s hand already there. He settles on splaying a hand wide on Lester’s hip and speeding up his rhythm, coaxing Lester towards climax with quick hips and tight hands and his teeth against the back of Lester’s neck. He runs his tongue over the last three vertebrae in Lester’s spine, and then, oh God, Lester tightens around him and gives a little keening cry as he comes, spattering the tile, pulling Varitek with him, and that last bit of increased intensity is just enough, and Varitek comes, too, fingers gripping the creamy skin of Lester’s thighs hard enough to bruise.
There is still nothing that needs saying.
Varitek slips out of Lester, lets his head dip to rest on Lester’s slick shoulder blade. Varitek can feel each post-orgasmic tremor as it courses through Lester’s sated, now truly exhausted body. Lester turns in the circle of Varitek’s arms, brings their mouths together once more. His kisses border on the edge of tenderness; they almost feel gratitude-filled.
Varitek thinks he should be the one to be grateful.
It’s not until they’ve each rinsed off, toweled off, and headed back toward their lockers-not together, of course, just in case they’re not actually the last ones there-that Varitek speaks.
When he does, all he says is, “Congratulations.”
Lester’s smile is the mirror image of the smug one Varitek had worn earlier. “You’re welcome,” he says, and Varitek has to laugh.
This is why he became a catcher.