Tener Exito
Title Tener Exito
Pairing Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres
Rating Nc-17
Wordcount 1.332 words
Disclaimer This is a work of fiction and untrue. No harm intended.
They're heavy, they're loud, they smell and down, at the bottom of the heap, Fernando feels his heart pounding against his rips, trying to break out because they make him feel so alive.
It all starts out with Villa tackling him to the ground and pressing him into the moist grass, that pricks him right where his sweaty hair is sticking to the nape of his neck. The rest of their team mates follow after quickly, one after the other, smothering him further into the ground until he only smells earth and sweat anymore. They're heavy, they're loud, they smell and down, at the bottom of the heap, Fernando feels his heart pounding against his rips, trying to break out because they make him feel so alive.
When he's back to his feet he gets passed around like a bottle of whiskey, arms wrapping around him, hands mussing his hair. He feels the firm pat of a broad hand and the scratch of a beard against his forehead, someone's hand squeezing his ass and fingers twisting into his shirt and hair. It all happens in a blur until his eyes crop the wet brown strands, held back by the black headband and Sergio's warm hands cup his neck before he plants a kiss on either side of his cheeks, letting his mouth linger just a little too long.
He's gone before Fernando can say a word, moved on to Busquets to ruffle his hands through his hair and distribute more sloppy kisses, but Fernando can feel the heat simmering in the pit of his stomach as he turns around to resume his position.
He tries to ignore it for the rest of his game as he curls the leather past the adversarial feet and fights to keep his focus on and his opponents off the ball. The heat keeps swelling, though, spreading through his guts and by the time the final whistle shrills over the field he feels like he's about to go up in flames.
He slips into Sergio's embrace as the team meets on the field for the indispensable victory pile. In the core of of the heap he's pressing his face against the side of Sergio's neck while they get wrapped up in the wild tangle of arms, legs and sopping hair, going under in the victory calls of the Spanish Armada.
When they finally make it to the showers Sergio lets his fingers stray over the small of Fernando's back, rough finger tips and short nails trailing over his slick skin. His eyes dart around worriedly, but Sergio is discrete about it and everyone else is still too giddy with victory as though they'd pay attention to them anyway.
His gaze is thrilling, even through the veil of water that pounds down on their heads, planting the most stupid ideas in his head. He bares his face to the relentless spray in the hope it'll rinse them out of his mind and down the drain, but when he tips his head forward again, Sergio's eyes still carry the enticing flicker he can't evade. He tries to look away, lowers his eyes, but he only sees the water sliding down his body, caressing the smooth skin and nestling so tightly against the toned thighs and abs and Fernando feels sick with envy because he's not as close.
Neither of them says a word, but when Sergio knocks on his door two hours later, leaning in the frame with his hair pulled back and his biceps bulging against his sleeves of his gray shirt, Fernando's already waiting impatiently.
His fingers twist into the collar of Sergio's shirt, pulling him into the room and he can feel the need prickling under his skin before the door has even clicked shut. His back is flush against the wall within seconds, his hips pinned down and he closes his eyes, the musky scent of Sergio's cologne filling his nostrils. He follows the warmth of his breath, his lips already parted as they search for Sergio's, meeting in a kiss that is rough and hungry, their tongues tangled between their mouths.
His hands are fast to shed Sergio's clothes, or at least they're eager to. He already struggles with the younger's shirt, leaving the other stuck with his hands in mid air while he almost furiously tries to drag the gray fabric off him. He can hear him laughing through his shirt and his voice rumbles pleasantly in his chest as he coos 'Despacio, cariño' just before he takes over and removes his shirt with a swift motion that leaves Fernando's cheeks flush with embarrassment.
Sergio's ponytail has come undone in the tussle and when Fernando leans in again he can smell the tart lime shampoo that brings back the vision of Sergio's body, dressed in nothing but water. He feels Sergio's full lips on his own, warm, soft and demanding. The clothes, the way to the bed, the grasp for the lubrication... it all turns into details that neither of them captures. They just struggle to slip between the sheets while they're pressing their bodies against one another.
He shivers as the wet tongue drags down the side of his neck, following the sinews that strain against his throat, to lick up the fine layer of sweat that's coating the freckle dusted skin. His body gets pushed up towards the headboard with each rotation of Sergio's hips, rumpling the sheets beneath his flushed body. His touches are well aimed and fluent, trailing along his skin without hesitation. He doesn't need to look, he trails his fingertips over hidden spots blindly, just like he locates the small alleys back in Camas, Sevilla. He's following the map he's drafted since he's lured Fernando between the sheets for the first time.
He looks down to where Sergio's hips move swiftly with a rhythm like he's dancing, snapping forward in slow, fluent bucks. His hands hold tightly onto Fernando's pelvis, guiding him into the right movements, taking the lead like he does with everything else, too, and Fernando lets him. He doesn't want to struggle for power, not when Sergio sinks inside of him and makes his breath hitch in his throat. All he does is suck his breath in through his nose and curl fingers even tighter around the thick flexing biceps.
It's been too long since the last time and he can feel the need crawling under his skin, tingling between his muscles like acid. Sergio doesn't even touch him, he just presses his thumbs against his hip bones as he sinks into him. He purrs into his ear and the heat of his breath is enough to let Fernando's orgasm explode in the pit of his stomach, rushing up to his head where it's searing in the back of his skull.
His lips gape open, gasping for air, but Sergio is quick to seal them with his own and lays his breath into his lungs as he comes undone beneath him, losing his last control. He desperately tries to find grip, his fingers slipping easily on the slick skin until they hook under the younger's shoulder blades, the bones adamant against the bent of his fingers.
Above him Sergio husks his name and tips his head forward, his brown strands falling around his face and brush along Fernando's cheeks until he reaches up and winds his fingers into them and pulls him down. “Sergio.” He lets the word roll off his tongue and into his ear like a pearl, feels Sergio's rhythm tripping and winds his legs around his hips. His guttural moan reverberates against Fernando's torso, his warm breath hits his skin moments before the heat seeps into his guts, spreading throughout him as Sergio's body weights him down into the mattress.
He stays awake long after Sergio has rolled over and dozed off with his chin tucked onto his shoulder and his hair splayed across the pillow. He brushes them to the side and trails the curve of his armor bow with his eyes, feeling his heart contracting in his chest as he wonder's if he knows he's not scoring for the cup, but for each game he gets to play at Sergio's side.
Pairing Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres
Rating Nc-17
Wordcount 1.332 words
Disclaimer This is a work of fiction and untrue. No harm intended.
They're heavy, they're loud, they smell and down, at the bottom of the heap, Fernando feels his heart pounding against his rips, trying to break out because they make him feel so alive.
It all starts out with Villa tackling him to the ground and pressing him into the moist grass, that pricks him right where his sweaty hair is sticking to the nape of his neck. The rest of their team mates follow after quickly, one after the other, smothering him further into the ground until he only smells earth and sweat anymore. They're heavy, they're loud, they smell and down, at the bottom of the heap, Fernando feels his heart pounding against his rips, trying to break out because they make him feel so alive.
When he's back to his feet he gets passed around like a bottle of whiskey, arms wrapping around him, hands mussing his hair. He feels the firm pat of a broad hand and the scratch of a beard against his forehead, someone's hand squeezing his ass and fingers twisting into his shirt and hair. It all happens in a blur until his eyes crop the wet brown strands, held back by the black headband and Sergio's warm hands cup his neck before he plants a kiss on either side of his cheeks, letting his mouth linger just a little too long.
He's gone before Fernando can say a word, moved on to Busquets to ruffle his hands through his hair and distribute more sloppy kisses, but Fernando can feel the heat simmering in the pit of his stomach as he turns around to resume his position.
He tries to ignore it for the rest of his game as he curls the leather past the adversarial feet and fights to keep his focus on and his opponents off the ball. The heat keeps swelling, though, spreading through his guts and by the time the final whistle shrills over the field he feels like he's about to go up in flames.
He slips into Sergio's embrace as the team meets on the field for the indispensable victory pile. In the core of of the heap he's pressing his face against the side of Sergio's neck while they get wrapped up in the wild tangle of arms, legs and sopping hair, going under in the victory calls of the Spanish Armada.
When they finally make it to the showers Sergio lets his fingers stray over the small of Fernando's back, rough finger tips and short nails trailing over his slick skin. His eyes dart around worriedly, but Sergio is discrete about it and everyone else is still too giddy with victory as though they'd pay attention to them anyway.
His gaze is thrilling, even through the veil of water that pounds down on their heads, planting the most stupid ideas in his head. He bares his face to the relentless spray in the hope it'll rinse them out of his mind and down the drain, but when he tips his head forward again, Sergio's eyes still carry the enticing flicker he can't evade. He tries to look away, lowers his eyes, but he only sees the water sliding down his body, caressing the smooth skin and nestling so tightly against the toned thighs and abs and Fernando feels sick with envy because he's not as close.
Neither of them says a word, but when Sergio knocks on his door two hours later, leaning in the frame with his hair pulled back and his biceps bulging against his sleeves of his gray shirt, Fernando's already waiting impatiently.
His fingers twist into the collar of Sergio's shirt, pulling him into the room and he can feel the need prickling under his skin before the door has even clicked shut. His back is flush against the wall within seconds, his hips pinned down and he closes his eyes, the musky scent of Sergio's cologne filling his nostrils. He follows the warmth of his breath, his lips already parted as they search for Sergio's, meeting in a kiss that is rough and hungry, their tongues tangled between their mouths.
His hands are fast to shed Sergio's clothes, or at least they're eager to. He already struggles with the younger's shirt, leaving the other stuck with his hands in mid air while he almost furiously tries to drag the gray fabric off him. He can hear him laughing through his shirt and his voice rumbles pleasantly in his chest as he coos 'Despacio, cariño' just before he takes over and removes his shirt with a swift motion that leaves Fernando's cheeks flush with embarrassment.
Sergio's ponytail has come undone in the tussle and when Fernando leans in again he can smell the tart lime shampoo that brings back the vision of Sergio's body, dressed in nothing but water. He feels Sergio's full lips on his own, warm, soft and demanding. The clothes, the way to the bed, the grasp for the lubrication... it all turns into details that neither of them captures. They just struggle to slip between the sheets while they're pressing their bodies against one another.
He shivers as the wet tongue drags down the side of his neck, following the sinews that strain against his throat, to lick up the fine layer of sweat that's coating the freckle dusted skin. His body gets pushed up towards the headboard with each rotation of Sergio's hips, rumpling the sheets beneath his flushed body. His touches are well aimed and fluent, trailing along his skin without hesitation. He doesn't need to look, he trails his fingertips over hidden spots blindly, just like he locates the small alleys back in Camas, Sevilla. He's following the map he's drafted since he's lured Fernando between the sheets for the first time.
He looks down to where Sergio's hips move swiftly with a rhythm like he's dancing, snapping forward in slow, fluent bucks. His hands hold tightly onto Fernando's pelvis, guiding him into the right movements, taking the lead like he does with everything else, too, and Fernando lets him. He doesn't want to struggle for power, not when Sergio sinks inside of him and makes his breath hitch in his throat. All he does is suck his breath in through his nose and curl fingers even tighter around the thick flexing biceps.
It's been too long since the last time and he can feel the need crawling under his skin, tingling between his muscles like acid. Sergio doesn't even touch him, he just presses his thumbs against his hip bones as he sinks into him. He purrs into his ear and the heat of his breath is enough to let Fernando's orgasm explode in the pit of his stomach, rushing up to his head where it's searing in the back of his skull.
His lips gape open, gasping for air, but Sergio is quick to seal them with his own and lays his breath into his lungs as he comes undone beneath him, losing his last control. He desperately tries to find grip, his fingers slipping easily on the slick skin until they hook under the younger's shoulder blades, the bones adamant against the bent of his fingers.
Above him Sergio husks his name and tips his head forward, his brown strands falling around his face and brush along Fernando's cheeks until he reaches up and winds his fingers into them and pulls him down. “Sergio.” He lets the word roll off his tongue and into his ear like a pearl, feels Sergio's rhythm tripping and winds his legs around his hips. His guttural moan reverberates against Fernando's torso, his warm breath hits his skin moments before the heat seeps into his guts, spreading throughout him as Sergio's body weights him down into the mattress.
He stays awake long after Sergio has rolled over and dozed off with his chin tucked onto his shoulder and his hair splayed across the pillow. He brushes them to the side and trails the curve of his armor bow with his eyes, feeling his heart contracting in his chest as he wonder's if he knows he's not scoring for the cup, but for each game he gets to play at Sergio's side.