There she goes again
Ok, here goes another one.
The ones before this where me writing my love affair with the rafalos with all the care.
But this is me attempting at silly.
Horrible silly :B
Title: Matches. (It was such a promising prompt XD)
Author: Meeee.
Rating: No idea. M? For Mentions-of-groping-and-snogging-and-the-gay-Kama-Sutra?
Pairing: Rafa Nadal/Carlos Moyá
Disclaimer: Fake.
Warnings: Oh the silly.
A/N: Thank you nastasie for putting up with me. I don't understand how you do it dude, it's like you have a special talent for dealing with terminal mental cases like me *loves* Thanks for the beta as well. Mistakes remaining are my fault.
Written for the Pairing of the Month fic challenge at tennisslash
The Kindergarten sexy talk is completely on purpose. Couldn't have him sounding like an ev0l Lord of Porn such as Goran. Not at this early stage of our relationship, at least.
Matches.
It’s all about match-ups. And there’s truth in this statement. But no one ever said anything about how it can take you some time to adapt to how the tables turn on you once you’ve found your match.
Carlos hadn’t really pictured Rafa as a “natural” anything in the land of tops and bottoms, but as a somewhat versatile creature - just like some players preferred to see him as some sort of assexual entity in order to have some peace of mind when allowing themselves be glomped and hugged (but only after they got a little bit of trust flowing between them and him, of course. Rafael didn’t just attack every player on tour, however it may appear). But such imagined versatility couldn’t have prepared Carlos for the way Rafa seemed unable to keep his hands off him after it was made clear that what they had was, indeed, something other than friendship. Carlos couldn’t begin to process the completely upfront way in which Rafa couldn’t get enough of him. There was always a hand on him, there were always little and not so little touches in public, pecks on his cheek, fingers casually brushing his hair back from his forehead, and hugs, Rafa’s body pushing up to Carlos until he was left breathless, and as time progressed there were gropes in public, at tournaments, before and after matches when they had to play each other, at the net, when they shook hands and walked to the chair umpire, and Rafa’s hand would subtly slip down his back. Of course no one would notice. No one would really care or read more into it. At player’s parties, at public events, when the lights were right and the attention of the gathered people was focused away from them, he would stealthily kiss the nape of his neck or press himself up against him from behind and nuzzle his jaw, or bite his ear discreetly. His arm would slither under Carlos’ jacket and snake snugly around his waist, and if there was a dark corner at hand he would pull Carlos in it and steal a kiss and a proper feel. When they sat side by side at banquets, the amount of action Rafa’s hands got under the table could very well be the thing for world records. Being in the same room with Rafa had become an eternal state of foreplay, something predatory in that ruthlessly charming smile keeping his blood in a constant low simmer. Carlos felt both intimidated and mind-numbingly aroused at the boy being this unashamedly hungry for him. And as an adult male, used to taking the initiative and to pursuing instead of being pursued, he felt out of his depth, to be frank. But to be frank as well, he felt relieved that for once he could just lie back and allow himself be wooed, letting someone else come up with ideas. And Rafa needed no help in the creativity department.
But even then, it was more than a little surprising when once, making out, as it were, a good two weeks into the most active part of their unresolved sexual tension, some groping and kissing had led them far into the point of no return - finally - and Carlos had instinctively taken up the top role. He was the one with the most experience, after all. He wasn’t a boy, he was a grown man who knew what to do. If, at some point, Rafa felt comfortable with it, they could try it the other way around, most certainly. But not on their first time. So after pinning the boy to the mattress for a while, engrossed in devouring his mouth and enticed by the soft sounds he was making in his throat and by the feline way in which he arched up against him, Carlos had been gently maneuvered onto his side and then onto his back to then be held down by strong hands. He had been taken aback at Rafa nudging his thighs apart with his knees while messily tonguing his mouth in sultry kisses which he could only describe in his mind as pornographic, and at the straightforward way his hand had reached down and fondled him, something undoubtedly possessive in his touch, watching his face through heavy-lidded blackened eyes all the time.
Carlos had pulled back a bit and given Rafa a somewhat puzzled stare. To which Rafa had only given Carlos a blank one in return.
“What?”
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Uh. Yes. Do you want me to explain it to you?” A flash of naughty dimples cracking the perfect flow of his cheekbones, and the utter mischief in the corners of his eyes crinkling them with mirth. “Do you want me to tell you in detail everything that I’m doing?” His last three words punctuated by more open-mouthed kisses tracing Carlos’ jaw line.
“Yes. No. I mean... have you done this before?”
“Yes”
“With a man, Rafa”
“No. But you have. I’m at a disadvantage here.”
“No, Rafa. Let’s see. I’d rather you didn’t. Not until you’ve had some… example. Something to guide you into knowing what you’re doing.”
Rafael laughed lightly.
“I’ve seen some examples, believe me.”
And the last thing Carlos needed was an image of Rafa gathering information on the subject, probably jacking off while doing it, to achieve a greater effect. He tried to erase it from his mind but he was getting a bit desperate.
“But not practical examples.”
And this little desperation seemed to stop Rafa, his face turning serious and intent.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Carlos.”
“You can’t be certain about that.”
“Yes. I can. And I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. And this is not to-to gain some experience or whatever it is you think I want to do this for, getting even. I was joking, Carlos. I know what’s to be done and I’m not a brute and I have you to guide me through it and it doesn’t really matter if I do it now or after you’ve fucked me in every position of the gay Kama Sutra because it would still be my first time and… It’s just… I just… I want you. Carlos, I want you. If you only knew how badly.”
His voice had gone lower and huskier after he got the Rafaramble out of the way, his eyes closing and his forehead pressing against Carlos’, the last phrase whispered directly into his lips. But Rafael wasn’t kissing him and the fingers between his legs had gone still. It was as if he was waiting for permission to be given and somewhere along the way Carlos’ brain had gone into a total blackout, his logic and his apprehension melting down at the naked honesty of those words. Rafa was right, he wasn’t a brute, he was a pretty smart boy, he’d know what to do, and if he didn’t there wasn’t anything down there that wouldn’t mend. He couldn’t think of anything better to say than “Eep”, so what he did was kiss him instead, feeling Rafa’s smile against his lips, followed by breathy words he barely registered because those fingers where moving again, firm and unshaken.
“You can also make some suggestions. The more descriptive the better, please.”
God, Octopus!Rafa-wanting-Carlos-for-breakfast is out of my system now! *hides* (for now)
The ones before this where me writing my love affair with the rafalos with all the care.
But this is me attempting at silly.
Horrible silly :B
Title: Matches. (It was such a promising prompt XD)
Author: Meeee.
Rating: No idea. M? For Mentions-of-groping-and-snogging-and-the-gay-Kama-Sutra?
Pairing: Rafa Nadal/Carlos Moyá
Disclaimer: Fake.
Warnings: Oh the silly.
A/N: Thank you nastasie for putting up with me. I don't understand how you do it dude, it's like you have a special talent for dealing with terminal mental cases like me *loves* Thanks for the beta as well. Mistakes remaining are my fault.
Written for the Pairing of the Month fic challenge at tennisslash
The Kindergarten sexy talk is completely on purpose. Couldn't have him sounding like an ev0l Lord of Porn such as Goran. Not at this early stage of our relationship, at least.
Matches.
It’s all about match-ups. And there’s truth in this statement. But no one ever said anything about how it can take you some time to adapt to how the tables turn on you once you’ve found your match.
Carlos hadn’t really pictured Rafa as a “natural” anything in the land of tops and bottoms, but as a somewhat versatile creature - just like some players preferred to see him as some sort of assexual entity in order to have some peace of mind when allowing themselves be glomped and hugged (but only after they got a little bit of trust flowing between them and him, of course. Rafael didn’t just attack every player on tour, however it may appear). But such imagined versatility couldn’t have prepared Carlos for the way Rafa seemed unable to keep his hands off him after it was made clear that what they had was, indeed, something other than friendship. Carlos couldn’t begin to process the completely upfront way in which Rafa couldn’t get enough of him. There was always a hand on him, there were always little and not so little touches in public, pecks on his cheek, fingers casually brushing his hair back from his forehead, and hugs, Rafa’s body pushing up to Carlos until he was left breathless, and as time progressed there were gropes in public, at tournaments, before and after matches when they had to play each other, at the net, when they shook hands and walked to the chair umpire, and Rafa’s hand would subtly slip down his back. Of course no one would notice. No one would really care or read more into it. At player’s parties, at public events, when the lights were right and the attention of the gathered people was focused away from them, he would stealthily kiss the nape of his neck or press himself up against him from behind and nuzzle his jaw, or bite his ear discreetly. His arm would slither under Carlos’ jacket and snake snugly around his waist, and if there was a dark corner at hand he would pull Carlos in it and steal a kiss and a proper feel. When they sat side by side at banquets, the amount of action Rafa’s hands got under the table could very well be the thing for world records. Being in the same room with Rafa had become an eternal state of foreplay, something predatory in that ruthlessly charming smile keeping his blood in a constant low simmer. Carlos felt both intimidated and mind-numbingly aroused at the boy being this unashamedly hungry for him. And as an adult male, used to taking the initiative and to pursuing instead of being pursued, he felt out of his depth, to be frank. But to be frank as well, he felt relieved that for once he could just lie back and allow himself be wooed, letting someone else come up with ideas. And Rafa needed no help in the creativity department.
But even then, it was more than a little surprising when once, making out, as it were, a good two weeks into the most active part of their unresolved sexual tension, some groping and kissing had led them far into the point of no return - finally - and Carlos had instinctively taken up the top role. He was the one with the most experience, after all. He wasn’t a boy, he was a grown man who knew what to do. If, at some point, Rafa felt comfortable with it, they could try it the other way around, most certainly. But not on their first time. So after pinning the boy to the mattress for a while, engrossed in devouring his mouth and enticed by the soft sounds he was making in his throat and by the feline way in which he arched up against him, Carlos had been gently maneuvered onto his side and then onto his back to then be held down by strong hands. He had been taken aback at Rafa nudging his thighs apart with his knees while messily tonguing his mouth in sultry kisses which he could only describe in his mind as pornographic, and at the straightforward way his hand had reached down and fondled him, something undoubtedly possessive in his touch, watching his face through heavy-lidded blackened eyes all the time.
Carlos had pulled back a bit and given Rafa a somewhat puzzled stare. To which Rafa had only given Carlos a blank one in return.
“What?”
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Uh. Yes. Do you want me to explain it to you?” A flash of naughty dimples cracking the perfect flow of his cheekbones, and the utter mischief in the corners of his eyes crinkling them with mirth. “Do you want me to tell you in detail everything that I’m doing?” His last three words punctuated by more open-mouthed kisses tracing Carlos’ jaw line.
“Yes. No. I mean... have you done this before?”
“Yes”
“With a man, Rafa”
“No. But you have. I’m at a disadvantage here.”
“No, Rafa. Let’s see. I’d rather you didn’t. Not until you’ve had some… example. Something to guide you into knowing what you’re doing.”
Rafael laughed lightly.
“I’ve seen some examples, believe me.”
And the last thing Carlos needed was an image of Rafa gathering information on the subject, probably jacking off while doing it, to achieve a greater effect. He tried to erase it from his mind but he was getting a bit desperate.
“But not practical examples.”
And this little desperation seemed to stop Rafa, his face turning serious and intent.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Carlos.”
“You can’t be certain about that.”
“Yes. I can. And I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. And this is not to-to gain some experience or whatever it is you think I want to do this for, getting even. I was joking, Carlos. I know what’s to be done and I’m not a brute and I have you to guide me through it and it doesn’t really matter if I do it now or after you’ve fucked me in every position of the gay Kama Sutra because it would still be my first time and… It’s just… I just… I want you. Carlos, I want you. If you only knew how badly.”
His voice had gone lower and huskier after he got the Rafaramble out of the way, his eyes closing and his forehead pressing against Carlos’, the last phrase whispered directly into his lips. But Rafael wasn’t kissing him and the fingers between his legs had gone still. It was as if he was waiting for permission to be given and somewhere along the way Carlos’ brain had gone into a total blackout, his logic and his apprehension melting down at the naked honesty of those words. Rafa was right, he wasn’t a brute, he was a pretty smart boy, he’d know what to do, and if he didn’t there wasn’t anything down there that wouldn’t mend. He couldn’t think of anything better to say than “Eep”, so what he did was kiss him instead, feeling Rafa’s smile against his lips, followed by breathy words he barely registered because those fingers where moving again, firm and unshaken.
“You can also make some suggestions. The more descriptive the better, please.”
God, Octopus!Rafa-wanting-Carlos-for-breakfast is out of my system now! *hides* (for now)