Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

The next season was an up and down year for the Richmond Flying Squirrels and for Will Hocking. The Flying Squirrels were winning again after a rough year in the previous season, so their world was up. Will Hocking wasn't enjoying the upswing, though. As the Richmond team touted up wins, which they credited to now having a solid roster, with the acquisition of the catcher, Cruz Cordero, Will Hocking slowly slid down the roster of pitchers. His touch was slipping, too many of his pitches were going wild, and too many of the batters he faced were getting on base. He clearly was having trouble with pain in his wrists, which was obvious to anyone who saw him wince as he released the ball, but he refused to acknowledge the problem and declared that he was just in a temporary slump.

The day that the Richmond team management knew it was much more than that was one of the worst in Hocking's life.

After he had left a particularly distressing meeting with team management in their offices under the stands at The Diamond baseball stadium in downtown Richmond, he walked back through the warren of locker, trainer, and equipment rooms until he found himself outside the visitor locker rooms, where he fully intended to let loose with foul-mouthed screaming and beating on the walls. He wanted to do this in private. He didn't want the club managers seeing how this affected him.

But when he got there, he heard the sounds of two men in deep rut. He peered around the corner into the locker room and there they were. The big black stud of a left fielder, Justin Bond, had Cruz Cordero trapped underneath him. Cruz was on all fours on a towel on the floor, and Bond had mounted his hips like a dog and was fucking the young Puerto Rican catcher hard.

Just like a black mutt fucking a sweet young bitch, Will thought in disgust. And Cruz loving it. Asking for it deeper. Everyone knew Bond had a nine incher hard. And Cruz was begging for more of it stuffed inside him. Like Will wasn't satisfying him.

Feeling even more like he wanted to scream, Will instead retreated to a nearby men's room and retched his guts out.

He was waiting at their shared apartment in the Fan district of Richmond when Cruz came home a couple of hours later.

"Want to talk to you, Cruz."

"It's fine with me," Cruz answered. "I saw you looking into the locker room."

"How long has Bond been cocking you?"

"For months, if you must know. He's got the thickest cock on the team."

"What I heard you begging for was length. You've done a comparison, have you?"

"Of those who are interested, yes. Let's stop this and get to the chase, Will. I told you when I came to Richmond that we'd only work if you kicked the Provigil. And you haven't, have you? You've been so hopped up that you haven't even noticed I've been screwing around. And I started that to get your attention. Now I do it because Bond has the biggest, thickest cock on the team. And maybe I like black cock. You have your bad habits; I have mine. I still want you. But I want you sober. You get sober and I get monogamous and all white bread. That's the signal I've been trying to send you, and you haven't even noticed."

"Fuck you."

"Let's just stop this, Will. We have to play on the same team. I can move out, if that's what you want, but on the field, let's just put this aside."

"Too late for that."

"What do you mean?"

"I was put on suspension today."

"Why?" Cordero knew the answer, he'd already heard the rumors—even before Will, in his doped-up state, had tuned into them. But he wanted Will to say it.

"I haven't passed the drug tests. They gave me a bye on the last one, but now they can't cover for me anymore."

"Didn't I tell you this would happen?"

Will sat there, saying nothing, his belligerence building. He needed release. He needed to fuck something.

"Com'ere."

"No, Will. Everything can't be answered and forgotten just by you fucking me."

"I said Com'ere. I can do you better than that fuckin' Justin Bond can. We'll do it doggy style, if that turns you on. I'll paint it black if you want." Will stood up from the tub chair he'd been sprawled in.

"No, Will." Cruz backed up, toward the front door of the apartment.

Will circled around, though, herding Cruz toward the corridor back to the bedrooms. Cruz started to move fast, but Will moved faster. And Will was bigger and stronger than Cruz was. They collided in the bedroom where they both slept, and Will trapped Cruz under him on his belly on the bed, as Will reached for a vial of Provigil and a condom packet on the nightstand.

He had one of Cruz's arms pinned painfully on his back as he worked his hard, energized cock inside Cruz's channel and began to stroke.

"Bond give it to you this good, does he?"

"No, Will," Cruz whimpered. "You're the best. Always were."

"It's not the length or the thickness, Cruz. It's the technique. The speed. Findin' the G-spot and keeping with it. Right?"

"Oh, shit, oh fuck, right, Will. I'm gonna come."

"Yes, you sure are."

Afterward, as they lay there calming their breathing, Cruz whispered, "It doesn't change anything, Will. You want me—ever again—you've got to get off the drugs."

"I know," Will murmured back.

"I've got a three-month tryout with the Norfolk Tide, Will. That's Triple A. From there, it's a chance in the majors with the Baltimore Orioles. I'm going to try it. If I come back, it will be because you've given up that drug."

"Fuck you," Will muttered. But when Cruz turned his face toward Will's, he saw that Will was crying.

* * * *

"I'm off it," Will said as soon as Cruz entered the Richmond apartment three months later. "And I've got a part-time job doing scouting reports across Virginia on high school and college players."

"I heard you passed the last two drug tests. Hadn't heard about the part-time job. You like it?"

"Well, you know. I guess I can't complain. They could have banned me from the sport altogether. I guess I should have known the career was winding down, with or without the Provigil. So, how about it? You coming back to the Flying Squirrels? I've missed you. Gone cold turkey on the sex too, hoping you'd come back to me."

"I haven't had any either, Will."

They fucked right there, on the couch in the living room, both of them in high heat, neither able to get enough of the other, Cruz seated, with Will crouched between his legs until Will pushed Cruz over his side and lifted one of the catcher's legs, pushed his own knee under Cruz's buttocks and took him in a side split.

"Wow," Cruz whispered afterward. "You're better without the drug."

"Am I? So, you coming back?"

"No, Will, I'm not coming back to Richmond. I've signed with the Tide—and they've included a tryout with the Orioles after the first season in my contract."

"Oh."

"But there's another clause in my contract, Will. They have an opening for a pitching coach. The job is yours if you want to move to Norfolk with me.

"So I'm still pitchin' . . ."

"And I'm still catchin'." Cruz finished the phrase.

"In that case," Will said as he reached over to the coffee table for another condom.

"No, Will. No condoms. Not anymore. Trust. This time we build on trust. And I want to feel you, skin on skin, nothing between us now. When you come I want to feel it deep inside me."

Will was shuddering as Cruz positioned himself over his lap and held Will's naked cock steady with his hand and lowered his channel on the ramrod. Both sighed and moaned and lips and tongue collided as Cruz began to rise and fall in rhythm to Will's upward thrusts.