Love at First Sight And All That Jazz
Title: Love at First Sight And All That Jazz
Author: salmiaggi
Paring: Fernando Torres/Daniel Agger
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, angst, the usual...
Summary: Most of the time, he was perfectly happy. Contented and flattered by all the attention Daniel was giving him. Yet, every once in a while the panic crept inside of him.
Disclaimer: This is (obviously) not true.
Author’s Notes: This was requested by rayziz for imyourheroine , who just loves Togger. ;P
Feedback: keeps me alive and writing.
I
Such a cliché, Daniel mused, as he thought back at the time he’d first met Fernando. Love at first sight and all that jazz. Not that he’d ever believed in any of it, that kind of thing only happened in movies, in those cheesy chick flicks (starring Hugh Grant or some other heartbreakingly handsome man with lots of hair) that his mother loved to watch.
There was something in the quiet Spaniard that had drawn him closer, so curious and so attracted, that there was no way of resisting the mysterious magical power. The man was gorgeous, as simple as that. His hair, although cut in a very unfortunate way, had great potential, his eyes were gentle, friendly and bright, he could almost imagine himself drowning in the depth of these two pools of innocent playfulness and intelligence (or some shit like that he’d read from a paperback edition of some ridiculously horrible love story once), his dimples were so awfully cute, every time he saw them appear on the young face of his newfound crush, the urge to grin like a fool in love was enough to drive him a tiny bit mad. But the best of it all, the things that really did make him grin like a fool were the freckles. The uncountable number of delicious freckles, not only decorating that beautiful face, but the delicate hands, and probably every other spot in his body, too.
The freckles did drive him mad. There were so freaking many of them that counting them was impossible, yet something he tried to do nevertheless.
“I can’t believe a girl like you would be with a guy like me.” Such a cliché of a line it was, used in too many books, too many movies and too many TV series. Daniel had never in his life thought that it would ever apply to his life. He had always thought of himself as a relatively good-looking guy, a perfectly decent lad and the kind of bloke any other man would be lucky to be with. But after meeting this new, love-at-the-first-sight guy, it was written all over his face. I can’t fucking believe a man like this would be with someone like me. And this was after an hour of getting to know each other. Love at the first fucking sight.
Falling in love in a matter of seconds, fucking each other’s brains out in a matter of hours. Talking about nothing particular, joking about something spectacular. Laughing, flirting, touching, groping, kissing, licking, sucking, biting, stroking, pushing and pulling, climaxing with shutters and groans and moans and shouts. This was his idea of romance. This was the kind of romance even he would watch a movie about (like he already hadn’t).
II
Free, relaxed and loved. That was how Daniel made him feel, Fernando thought. The Dane was gorgeous, in every fucking aspect. Quite obviously, he had the looks to die for, with his beautiful face, nicely formed abs and slim waist and, not to mention, arse that was pure perfection. But it wasn’t all there was to him. He was quiet, yet quite hard to shut up after he got going. He was funny and had the cutest grin anyone had ever seen. He was considerate and loving. And when he laughed, it felt like nothing could ever go wrong again.
So, why did it have to be so very hard? Fernando had the perfect man, the seemingly perfect job and a fabulous apartment. And why did he have to be such a cliché? He was just a poor little rich guy, who had everything and was satisfied with nothing.
Most of the time, he was perfectly happy. Contented and flattered by all the attention Daniel was giving him. Yet, every once in a while the panic crept inside of him; slowly and agonisingly taking over his body and his mind, reminding him of the unthinkable. Sometimes it happened while he was in the bathroom, getting out of the shower or shaving his non-existent beard. Daniel might come inside, give him a kiss or two, and then go back to making breakfast or reading the fresh newspaper. The feel of Daniel’s hand on his wrist, squeezing (gently, reassuringly), the click of the door as it was shut by the Dane after he left; anything at all could’ve triggered it.
One moment he was perfectly alright and the second he was shivering and gasping for air as the memories of the man came back as flashbacks, intruding the peace of his mind.
Him locked inside the dark bathroom by the man.
Him crying himself to sleep on the cold tiles as the door just wouldn’t open.
Him forced into opening his legs for the man.
Him begging for help, for mercy.
Him beaten up.
Him decorated by hideous marks all over his young body.
One moment he was all alone, trembling and with tears rolling down his pale cheeks and the second Daniel was there, hugging him so close, so close. Soft hands in soft hair, on wet cheeks, stroking and smoothing. Careful kisses and soothing words.
Maybe the way Daniel got so angry, so furious when Fernando told him about his last boyfriend would’ve been endearing to him if he hadn’t been so damn shattered.
Why did it have to be so very hard?
III
Dear Daniel,
Have I ever told you how much I love the feel of sand against my skin? Because I do love it a lot, probably more than anything. Except for maybe my Danish Delight, I haven’t quite decided that yet.
I love sitting in the sand, while reading a book, or listening to some lame-ass music Steven has recommended to me (I wonder if I could ever get you to listen to “One More Night” by Phil Collins. It’s actually not that bad. Okay, it is, but please don’t Steven let see this.) or just hanging out with old friends.
According to my therapist I am doing very well and can come home soon enough.
I can’t wait.
Yours, like it or not,
Nando
Nando,
I’ll be waiting for you. Cock rock hard and ready for action.
Daniel
P.S. I love you
Author: salmiaggi
Paring: Fernando Torres/Daniel Agger
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, angst, the usual...
Summary: Most of the time, he was perfectly happy. Contented and flattered by all the attention Daniel was giving him. Yet, every once in a while the panic crept inside of him.
Disclaimer: This is (obviously) not true.
Author’s Notes: This was requested by rayziz for imyourheroine , who just loves Togger. ;P
Feedback: keeps me alive and writing.
I
Such a cliché, Daniel mused, as he thought back at the time he’d first met Fernando. Love at first sight and all that jazz. Not that he’d ever believed in any of it, that kind of thing only happened in movies, in those cheesy chick flicks (starring Hugh Grant or some other heartbreakingly handsome man with lots of hair) that his mother loved to watch.
There was something in the quiet Spaniard that had drawn him closer, so curious and so attracted, that there was no way of resisting the mysterious magical power. The man was gorgeous, as simple as that. His hair, although cut in a very unfortunate way, had great potential, his eyes were gentle, friendly and bright, he could almost imagine himself drowning in the depth of these two pools of innocent playfulness and intelligence (or some shit like that he’d read from a paperback edition of some ridiculously horrible love story once), his dimples were so awfully cute, every time he saw them appear on the young face of his newfound crush, the urge to grin like a fool in love was enough to drive him a tiny bit mad. But the best of it all, the things that really did make him grin like a fool were the freckles. The uncountable number of delicious freckles, not only decorating that beautiful face, but the delicate hands, and probably every other spot in his body, too.
The freckles did drive him mad. There were so freaking many of them that counting them was impossible, yet something he tried to do nevertheless.
“I can’t believe a girl like you would be with a guy like me.” Such a cliché of a line it was, used in too many books, too many movies and too many TV series. Daniel had never in his life thought that it would ever apply to his life. He had always thought of himself as a relatively good-looking guy, a perfectly decent lad and the kind of bloke any other man would be lucky to be with. But after meeting this new, love-at-the-first-sight guy, it was written all over his face. I can’t fucking believe a man like this would be with someone like me. And this was after an hour of getting to know each other. Love at the first fucking sight.
Falling in love in a matter of seconds, fucking each other’s brains out in a matter of hours. Talking about nothing particular, joking about something spectacular. Laughing, flirting, touching, groping, kissing, licking, sucking, biting, stroking, pushing and pulling, climaxing with shutters and groans and moans and shouts. This was his idea of romance. This was the kind of romance even he would watch a movie about (like he already hadn’t).
II
Free, relaxed and loved. That was how Daniel made him feel, Fernando thought. The Dane was gorgeous, in every fucking aspect. Quite obviously, he had the looks to die for, with his beautiful face, nicely formed abs and slim waist and, not to mention, arse that was pure perfection. But it wasn’t all there was to him. He was quiet, yet quite hard to shut up after he got going. He was funny and had the cutest grin anyone had ever seen. He was considerate and loving. And when he laughed, it felt like nothing could ever go wrong again.
So, why did it have to be so very hard? Fernando had the perfect man, the seemingly perfect job and a fabulous apartment. And why did he have to be such a cliché? He was just a poor little rich guy, who had everything and was satisfied with nothing.
Most of the time, he was perfectly happy. Contented and flattered by all the attention Daniel was giving him. Yet, every once in a while the panic crept inside of him; slowly and agonisingly taking over his body and his mind, reminding him of the unthinkable. Sometimes it happened while he was in the bathroom, getting out of the shower or shaving his non-existent beard. Daniel might come inside, give him a kiss or two, and then go back to making breakfast or reading the fresh newspaper. The feel of Daniel’s hand on his wrist, squeezing (gently, reassuringly), the click of the door as it was shut by the Dane after he left; anything at all could’ve triggered it.
One moment he was perfectly alright and the second he was shivering and gasping for air as the memories of the man came back as flashbacks, intruding the peace of his mind.
Him locked inside the dark bathroom by the man.
Him crying himself to sleep on the cold tiles as the door just wouldn’t open.
Him forced into opening his legs for the man.
Him begging for help, for mercy.
Him beaten up.
Him decorated by hideous marks all over his young body.
One moment he was all alone, trembling and with tears rolling down his pale cheeks and the second Daniel was there, hugging him so close, so close. Soft hands in soft hair, on wet cheeks, stroking and smoothing. Careful kisses and soothing words.
Maybe the way Daniel got so angry, so furious when Fernando told him about his last boyfriend would’ve been endearing to him if he hadn’t been so damn shattered.
Why did it have to be so very hard?
III
Dear Daniel,
Have I ever told you how much I love the feel of sand against my skin? Because I do love it a lot, probably more than anything. Except for maybe my Danish Delight, I haven’t quite decided that yet.
I love sitting in the sand, while reading a book, or listening to some lame-ass music Steven has recommended to me (I wonder if I could ever get you to listen to “One More Night” by Phil Collins. It’s actually not that bad. Okay, it is, but please don’t Steven let see this.) or just hanging out with old friends.
According to my therapist I am doing very well and can come home soon enough.
I can’t wait.
Yours, like it or not,
Nando
Nando,
I’ll be waiting for you. Cock rock hard and ready for action.
Daniel
P.S. I love you