Joshua Patrick
Title: Joshua Patrick
Characters: Josh Beckett, George Kottaras, Clay Buchholz, Jon Lester, Jacoby Ellsbury
Rating: NC-17
Time: August/September 2009
Summary: Beckett in a series of vignettes
Author's note: Please bear with me if the lj cut is weird looking. They've been acting up something awful.
Disclaimer: A fictional story, written only for entertainment purposes
GEORGE KOTTARAS
"Where the fuck you going again?"
"Gwinnett, Georgia."
"Dipshit, Georgia."
George bit his lip. Beckett frowned
"How long you gonna be gone?" he asked.
"Two weeks, all told."
"Two WEEKS!"
"Well, yeah. It is a rehab assignment, Josh."
"Rehab my ass. You ain't hurt."
"I know. But I'm Wake's catcher."
"You're MY catcher, goddammit. And don't you forget it."
"Um." George looked down and blushed. "Yeah."
"Goddamn minor leagues. Goddamn rehab. What am I supposed to do for two weeks?"
"There are other catchers here, Josh."
Beckett grunted and ran his hands up Kottaras's naked legs. George shivered. "Open up," Josh growled.
George obeyed, spreading his legs wide. Josh got up on his knees, his hand sliding over his cock, taking in the sight of the young catcher spread-eagled on his bed. He had to admit it -- he couldn't get enough of the little bastard. To lose him for two weeks -- and to Wake, of all people; that was like serving up a steak dinner to a goddamn vegetarian -- was going to drive him insane.
George lifted his hips, rolling his legs backward, and exposed his ass. Not wasting any time, Josh lined his cock up and shoved, hard. George's loud groan rattled in his ears, and his cock leaped in glee as hard muscles clamped around it.
"Fuck," Beckett grunted, slamming hard, rocking Kottaras with every determined thrust. "You're... fucking... mine... you... hear... me..."
George's reply was incoherent as he clawed at Josh's back, all snarls and growls and grunts and then a deep whine that started low in his chest and escalated into a resounding shriek as Josh hit the sweet spot dead on and George came in great spurts.
"Fuck, yeah," Beckett groaned, shoving himself down with one last, wild thrust, dropping his head and biting at George's shoulder as he came deep inside. For a moment, their bodies welded, they shuddered together.
The moment passed. Beckett lifted his head, studying George's face as the young catcher lay spent, eyes closed, panting, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Goddammit," he said, and got up to take a shower.
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CLAY BUCHHOLZ
"I'm proud of you."
Clay rolled over. Josh was sitting quietly at the edge of the bed, staring into space, a towel hanging loosely in his hands.
"You are?"
"Yeah," Beckett said quietly, handing Buchholz the towel. "I know it's been tough."
"Yeah," Buchholz agreed, sliding the towel between his legs.
"Victor's helped," Beckett said.
"Yeah," Buchholz busied himself with the towel. "Tek's not mad, is he?"
"Nah," Josh studied the young pitcher, noting the embarassed look, the tensing shoulder muscles. "Tek kinda gets on your nerves, huh?"
"Mmph," Clay said. He tossed the towel, then turned onto his side and reached for his toes, stretching his back. The wiry muscles contrasted sharply with the prominent buttons of his spine. Josh watched for a moment, then took a shot in the dark.
"Tek reminds you of your dad, doesn't he?"
Buchholz froze. The moments ticked by.
"Goddamn you, Beckett," Clay said at last.
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JACOBY ELLSBURY
Jacoby was studying the laptop on his thighs when he felt lips on the back of his neck. He jerked, almost sending the computer flying, grabbing it just in time as a sardonic chuckle sounded behind him.
"Jesus, Josh!"
"Now that's what I call concentration," Beckett said, leaning over the back of the couch in the upstairs players' lounge. "You learin' anything?"
"Maybe," Jacoby said, leaning back and turning his attention back to the laptop. Beckett looked over his shoulder. "Pettitte?"
"Yeah, can't figure out his move to first."
"That's 'cause he balks, every damn time," Beckett said.
"Yeah," Ellsbury sighed. "Just gotta go on instinct, I guess."
"Speaking of instinct..."
Jacoby smiled. "You lock the door?"
"Hell yeah."
Beckett took him over the arm of the padded couch, Jacoby clutching hard at the leather seat cushion and fighting to stifle his cries as his cock emptied onto the floor, Beckett driving hard into him, groaning in his ear as he came, holding on tight as Ellsbury's body shook in ecstacy. He then pulled Jacoby's shorts up, gave him a little push and left him in a panting puddle on the couch.
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JON LESTER
"Just what the hell is wrong with you?"
"Whatdya mean by that?"
"You're pitching like shit, that's what I mean. You can't be missing George that much."
Josh grunted. Jon eyed him. "You don't, do you? Not that fucking much."
"I dunno," Beckett rolled over and rested his chin on his hands. "It's mechanical."
"Then talk to Tek," Lester said.
"I don't wanna fuckin' talk to Tek," Beckett snarled.
The side of Jon's mouth curled up. "You want your binkie."
"My what?"
Jon broke into laughter.
"This isn't funny!" Beckett fumed.
"I know," Lester said, trying to compose himself. "I know. Look," he sighed. "You're out of your routine. One thing leads to another, and you're all out of whack. I know -- I've been there."
Beckett grunted. "Gotta get back into whack, or I'm fucked. We're fucked."
Lester looked at him, expressionless. "You'll do it." A grin broke over his face. "Just gotta get your binkie back."
"Why the hell did I throw that box away?" Beckett muttered as Lester rolled over in bed, laughing.
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GEORGE KOTTARAS
"What the fuck, Josh?"
Kottaras stood up and stared at the big right-hander, who glared back from the bullpen mound.
"What the fuck, what?"
"You're all fucked up."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"Jesus, where do we start?"
Beckett shrugged, pawing at the dirt with his cleats. Kottaras deliberately walked to the mound, stopped, and looked up. A red hawk soared over Fenway Park. The catcher watched it circle, then turned his gaze to Beckett.
"Your place or mine?" he asked.
Beckett stared at him for a moment. Then a grin tugged at his lips. "We could watch some video," he said.
"Good place to start," Kottaras agreed.
"Then I could fuck your ass."
"Even better."
"Back into whack," Beckett muttered.
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Let's go."