The Great White North
Title: The Great White North
Characters/pairings: Clay Buchholz/Jon Lester/Jacoby Ellsbury; George Kottaras/Jordan Caron
Rating: NC-17
Time: December 2009
Summary: Jon, Clay and Jacoby get together in the Dominican Republic, where David Ortiz is conducting his charity golf tournament; meanwhile, George is in Quebec with Jordan.
Author's note: I wrote a series of fics the past few months about George and Jordan Caron, who was the Boston Bruins' No. 1 draft choice in June. I posted them only on my f-list, but since this final fic involves my other main baseball characters, and bids something of a farewell to George, it was suggested that I post it here. So here it is, with links to the previous fics, so anyone interested can fill in the background. (Thank you to Offthepost for the help). (Jordan is from Sayabec, Quebec, but plays junior hockey in Rimouski).
George and Jordan meet, in July: September promise
George and Jordan get together: September, September Part One ; Part Two ; Part Three
Disclaimer: A fictional story, written only for entertainment purposes.
Could it possibly get any better? Perfect weather, ocean breezes, blue skies, the most beautiful golf course ever, a five-star hotel... and being balls deep in Jon Lester's ass.
Clay Buchholz couldn't imagine anything better. Jon was panting hard, head thrown back, arms around Clay's shoulders, legs around his waist, urging him on in a low growl. A cool breeze wafted through the open window and sighed across Clay's sweaty back as he slammed Jon as hard as he could, reveling in the feel of the hard, muscular body beneath his, the muscles squeezing his cock, the... oh shit, he was coming, coming in a rush, a shake, a sharp cry, dipping his head to Jon's shoulder and letting out a scream into the pillow beneath his head. Jon tightened his grip as Clay's body shook, once, twice, three times, his cock emptying inside Jon's ass.
"Holy fuck," a voice said in his ear, and Clay turned his head to meet Jacoby's lips as Ellsbury leaned across the bed to kiss him. "I'll say it again -- you guys are better'n porn."
Buchholz tried to think of a clever riposte, couldn't, and turned back to Lester, kissing him deeply. He slid off to one side of the bed, his arm still thrown across Jon's chest, as Jacoby moved down between Jon's legs and took his ramrod-straight cock into his mouth. Lester moaned. "Don't fuckin' tease me, Ells."
"Mm not teasn," Jacoby mumbled, sliding his tongue along the underside of Jon's shaft.
"Thought you... wanted... aaaaggghhh..." Jon groaned.
"I'm gettin' there." Jacoby took Jon's cock as far down his throat as he could and swirled his tongue, then slid his full lips the entire length, coming off it with an audible pop. Clay, watching intently, grinned. Jon groaned and swore. Jacoby chuckled, then climbed up Jon's body and kissed him, sliding his tongue deep inside."Ready?"
"I fuckin' been ready," Jon managed, lifting his hips as Jacoby reached down and slid his cock into Jon's dripping opening. In response, Jacoby coiled his muscles, paused and thrust, hard. Jon grabbed at Jacoby's impossibly thick hair and pulled hard in response. "Yeah, that's it. Just... like... THAT."
The last word came in a rush of air as Jacoby drove again. Then again, and again, as Jon urged him on and Clay watched, feeling his own cock start to twitch and harden again. He thought of lending Jon a hand, but another glance at Lester's throbbing cock changed his mind -- Jon needed no help -- and contented himself with sliding a hand along his own cock as Jacoby jerked hard and Jon bit his own lip and they both came, Jon all over his own chest, Jacoby deep inside.
Jon held on tight as Jacoby's post-orgasmic aftershooks rocked them both, then gradually their tense muscles relaxed and Ellsbury rolled off with a soft groan. Clay reached for the towel he'd left by the bed and ran it across Jon's chest. "Thanks," Lester said, taking the towel and sliding it under his ass. "Christ, I'm gonna be leaking spunk all night." Jacoby chuckled, then rolled over and gazed out the window. "Man, what a place. The only thing that'd make it better was if George was here."
Jon felt Clay twitch next to him and turned. "You talk to him, Buck?" Clay wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Yeah," he said, finally. "He didn't wanna come."
"Why not?" Jacoby asked.
"He's... in Quebec," Clay said.
"Quebec? What the hell's he doing there in December?" Ellsbury demanded.
"Visiting a friend," Jon said, before Clay could answer.
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he first person George had called after the Brewers called him was Clay.
"Hey, Buck."
"What's up, George?"
"Uh, the Brewers picked me up. Just wanted to let you know."
"The Brewers?"
"Yeah. Um, Clay, you there?"
"Yeah. Guess this is goodbye, then."
"Uh, yeah, I guess." So much left unsaid. So much he couldn't say. George felt like he was falling off a cliff.
"See you, George. Give me a call if you're around."
Dead phone.
He called Jacoby.
"Seriously, George? Well, that sucks. Not even an AL team."
"Yeah, I don't--"
"Give me a call when you can, OK, George? I gotta go."
George stared at his phone, then called Jon Lester.
"Jesus, George, I don't fucking believe it."
"I don't either." George by now felt periously close to tears.
Jon spent the next ten minutes ranting about the Red Sox front office, Jason Varitek, the stupidity of organized baseball, and how much he was going to miss him. George started to feel better, but still didn't dare broach the subject of Clay and Jacoby's detatched reactions. Jon concluded by wringing a promise from George to call him anytime, anyplace, if he needed anything from phone sex to someone to bitch to.
He texted Beckett. He didn't dare call, thinking he'd probably break down if he heard Josh's voice.
Josh texted him back. Hop along, Rabbit.
He stared at the message for a long time before deleting it.
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"I didn't understand it," George said.
"I don't understand it," Jordan replied. "Are you saying you do now?"
"I think so." George stared out the hotel window at the blinding snow, listening to the wind howl. It was 20 degrees and falling out there, but the bed was warm, with Jordan's natural blazing body heat outdoing even the radiators.
George turned to him. "It's that time of year. Jacoby and Clay are hearing their names constantly in trade rumors. You try to ignore it, but it freaks you out, y'know? Makes you paranoid. You don't want any reminders. When I called them like that, talked to them about leaving, it hit a nerve. They freaked. At least, that's what I think. Jon gave me the real clue -- he's not going to be traded, and he knows it, so he was OK with talking. The other guys didn't want to hear about it."
Jordan nodded, frowning. "And you... did not want to go to this golf tournament... because of that?"
"No," George said, pulling Jordan down, throwing the covers over them both. "Because I wanted to be here instead."
Jordan chuckled. "In Rimouski, freezing your ass off."
"It's not freezing," George replied, sliding his hands over Jordan's decidedly unfrozen posterior. "Come, Petit, and fuck me again."
Jordan's cock twitched against George's hip. "I'm supposed to be sleeping."
"I'll let you sleep... after."
After, however, Jordan was talkative, which George had quickly learned wasn't unusual. His shy persona had melted away after their first night together, when Jordan had awoken half an hour before the alarm and had fucked the living shit out of George before departing for training camp.
He called George later that night, and it began. They talked. They talked of pro sports, of the differences between hockey and baseball. They talked of being Canadians in America, of language difficulties, of their childhoods, of their friends and family. They talked of their relationships, their feelings for women (Jordan's registered as non-existent, though he kept up a facade for his teammates), how they lost their virginity. They talked about sex. They talked of hiding in a homophobic world. They talked through the rest of September, through October and November, and George finally tired of talking over space and came to Rimouski, watching Jordan play, eating dinner with his billet family, and spending almost every spare moment Jordan had engaged in what a former coach had called carnal activity.
He had discovered three things in the few days he'd spent in Rimouski: Jordan was a very good hockey player; Jordan was very good at carnal activity, and Jordan had grabbed his heart with both hands and didn't seem likely to let it go.
So now George had a new dilemma. What, if anything, was he going to do about it?
"You sleeping yet?" he whispered. Jordan, curled on his side, his eyes closed, chuckled. "No. I keep thinking about next week."
"You'll do fine. Wish I could be there, but I know how important it is. I don't want to distract you."
"Distracting might be good."
"The World Juniors are more important."
Jordan sighed theatrically. "Yeah, OK. And if I make the team, will you come to the tournament?"
"I'll think about it."
Jordan was quiet for a moment. Then he slid his arm across George's chest and rested his chin on George's shoulder. Kottaras was reminded fleetingly of Jon Lester, and blinked hard.
"I love you," Jordan said.
George suddenly couldn't breathe. He felt his heart slamming against Jordan's arm, his body shuddering in shock. He reached up with one hand, grabbing Jordan's wrist, feeling impossibly dizzy.
"You... you do?" he managed to breathe out. Jordan lifted his head. Dark blue eyes stared into George's dark brown ones. "Yes," he said simply. "Don't you?"
Falling. Falling off a cliff, arms pinwheeling, abyss yawning below. George tightened his grip, and felt solid earth between his feet. "Yes," he said. "Yes." And he felt safe at last.