Fic: hold it against me [Sami Khedira/Mesut Özil]
Title: hold it against me
Author: foot_faults
Characters/Pairing this chapter: Sami Khedira/Mesut Özil
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,370
Disclaimer: this is an entirely fictional story with fictional characters. Any resemblance to real life is a coincidence.
Summery:
There's a spark in between us /When we're dancing on the floor
I want more, wanna see it /So I'm asking you tonight
If I said my heart was beating loud /If we could escape the crowd somehow
If I said I want your body now /Would you hold it against me?
Sami/Mesut, first kiss, first time. That basically sums it up.
Notes: Nothing makes an incredibly shitty day better than some sweet/hot porn. Written for liroa15, but I hope all the Sami/Mesut shippers out there enjoy. baronessbadger and snuzzie’s inputs and cheerleading were vital to getting this done. Thanks ladies ♥
Practice is done, and they’ve gone back to the hotel to rest and relax. Mesut had showered first (Sami always lets Mesut shower first) and when Sami comes out of the shower himself, toweling dry his hair, he sees the back of Mesut’s head over the back of the couch. The TV is facing Sami and he can see Mesut is playing FIFA.
Sami wanders over to his suitcase, trading his towel for boxers, a comfortable pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Once he’s made his way around the couch, he sees Mesut has forgon the t-shirt altogether and is slouched on the couch bare-chested, shorts slung low over his hips.
“Want to hang out with the guys?” Sami asks as he settles on to the couch to the left of Mesut.
“Nah,” Mesut says, not taking his eyes off the TV screen. “I’d rather say here.”
“Okay.”
Mesut does take a second to glance at Sami. “If you want to go hang, go. I’m cool.”
“Nah.” Sami settles further into the plush couch cushions. “I’d rather chill.” The ‘with you’ remains unsaid.
Sami watches in silence as Mesut plays grinning as his friend periodically cusses at the screen when his little figures don’t do exactly as he wishes. “Ronaldo is the best player in the world, why is he so shit in this game?!”
Sami laughs. “Why don’t you play as yourself?”
“That would be boring. I play as me every day, no?”
“True.” Sami laughs again and then lapses into silence.
“Fucking Barca!” Mesut starts swearing in three languages, and Sami’s chest vibrates with his laugher.
“Fine!” Mesut snaps. “You do better!” Without even pressing pause, he pushes the controller over to Sami.
“Gah!” Sami quickly moves his fingers in to place on the controller and Mesut leans back, arms folded over his lean chest as he smirks. “Jerk,” Sami says with a grin, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Mesut sticking out his tongue.
Mesut watches Sami play for a while, and then he puts his head on Sami’s shoulder. “My turn,” he says, holding his hands out.
Sami rolls his eyes fondly, but hands the controller back over. “We could play two person, you know.”
“That would require getting up,” Mesut says, eyes glued to the screen once more. “And I'm comfortable.” He shifts more so that his head is more firmly wedged against Sami’s shoulder.
“I suppose I’m not allowed to get up either.”
“Noooope.”
This isn’t the first time Mesut’s used Sami as a human pillow, and it certainly won’t be the last, so Sami just rolls his eyes and sighs and goes with it.
Mesut is doing better in the match now, so he’s swearing less, but still, he periodically lets out a curse or two when he misses a pass. After a while, Sami starts to lose interest in the match though, and his attention and gaze begin to wander. Somehow, no matter where his eyes rove, they keep coming back to the long lean planes of Mesut’s chest, following the lines all the way down to where the divots of Mesut’s hips disappear into the waistband of his shorts. Mesut’s gotten fitter since he’s been at Real Madrid, and Sami can’t help but cast an appreciative eye … from a purely aesthetic perspective, of course. He’s not some weirdo who pervs on his best friend. Besides, he’s seen Mesut shirtless or naked plenty of times, in the locker room, in showers … Without looking up, Mesut butts his head into Sami’s shoulder, shifting back and forth until he’s in a more comfortable position, pressed more firmly in to Sami’s side. Sami lets out a breath of a chuckle.
“You’re gonna make my arm fall asleep.”
“Then move it.”
Sami shrugs, jostling Mesut, and then jostles him further by pulling his right arm out from between them. After a moment’s consideration, he drapes his arm over Mesut’s shoulder. Mesut doesn’t seem to notice, but instead, scooches until he’s satisfied with his position once more, head now on Sami’s chest and elbow digging into Sami’s side.
“Ow,” Sami tells Mesut teasingly.
Mesut takes his eyes off the game long enough to look up at Sami so Sami can see him roll his eyes. “Deal with it.”
Sami snorts, and in retaliation moves the fingers of the arm that’s hanging over Mesut’s shoulder until he can drag them teasingly up the smooth tan skin of Mesut’s side.
Mesut jerks, squirming at the ticklish contact. “Hey!” He digs his sharp little elbow into Sami’s side, and Sami grunts. “I’m trying to play here!”
Sami snorts, but subsides. This leaves the tips of the fingers of his right hand resting gently against the warm soft skin of Mesut’s ribs. He can feel the ribcage move, expanding and contracting as Mesut breathes softly, and he can faintly feel the beating of Mesut’s heart.
Sami feels himself relaxing, breath even and slow as he watches Mesut from under heavy-lidded eyes, finger tips exerting just the slightest bit of pressure. Mesut doesn’t seem to mind, for he doesn’t object. The warmth of Mesut’s body pressed in against his side is nice to, and as Sami’s mind wanders, he starts thinking of bare skin and bodies pressed close.
He’s kind of zoned out, until he notices Mesut has stopped his game. Sami blinks. “Is it over already?” But the screen shows it’s on pause. He looks down questioningly at Mesut, who’s mouth is twisted into something like a smirk.
Mesut uses the controller to poke Sami in the thigh. “Dude, you want to go take care of that?”
Sami’s eyes widen as he realizes the languid feelings of arousal he’d been feeling had, well, lead to arousal, and his cock is clearly hard, tenting the fabric of his white shorts where it falls across his lap. “Uh. Yeaah. I’ll just … go take care of that.”
Mesut snorts and moves, wiggling out from under Sami’s arm to let his friend off the couch.
Sami’s mortified as he stands, the action making his erection more apparent, but he’s not too worried about it. They’re both guys, and guys know that sometimes you randomly get hard for no reason at all. Most likely Mesut wouldn’t even consider that it might be because of his own hot body and smooth bare skin pressed in close against Sami’s side, and that’s good. Sami will just go to the bathroom, take care of it, and there’ll be no harm, no foul.
Once the bathroom door is shut behind him, and he can finally side his hand in his shorts and wrap it around his dick, Sami comes embarrassingly quickly, with a hastily muffled grunt. He doesn’t let himself think about why he’s climaxed so fast, doesn’t let himself think about Mesut in the other room, with only the thin door separating them. Quickly, he washes off his hands, and quickly he opens the door to go back out into the hotel room, wanting to be casual, wanting to act like this was no big deal.
As he pushes the door open though, Sami hears something that sounds suspiciously like snapping elastic. Like the elastic in the waistbands of shorts, specifically. Sami’s eyebrows draw together as he frowns in confusion, looking towards Mesut on the couch. Mesut’s climbing to his feet, his back still to Sami. “That was fast,” Mesut says. He glances over his shoulder as he starts to walk around the end of the sofa further away from Sami, body angled so that his back is still to Sami. “What do the ladies say, when you’re done so quickly?”
“The same thing your mom says,” Sami says automatically, because he’s still frowning. Something about Mesut’s behavior is … off.
“Bitch,” Mesut says, then, “I’m cold, I’m gonna put some more clothes on.”
And then Sami sees it, as Mesut turns to round the corner of their L-shaped room, heading over to where his suitcase is by his bed; an erection clearly outlined in Mesut’s shorts.
Sami blinks as his brain puts two and two together. His mind is screaming at him that the answer can’t possibly be four, but his body seems to have other ideas, for he’s already striding across the room towards Mesut, who gives him a wide eyed glance and quickly turns away, bending over his suitcase.
“I’m gonna get some clothes and go to the bathroom, man,” Mesut says as he digs quickly through his clothes.
“What’s the rush?” Sami hears himself asking. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”
Mesut stands, spinning to face Sami, sweatshirt clutched in his hands. “Nothing!” he snaps, glaring at Sami. “Nothing’s got me hot at all, okay?”
“Really,” Sami drawls. “That's-“ his eyes glance down at the front of Mesut’s shorts and the back up to his face, “-awful coincidental timing, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what your problem is, but lay the fuck off!” Sami snaps. “I don’t fucking want to deal with you going all weirdo and creeper on me.” He tries to push past Sami, heading for the bathroom, but Sami catches his arm.
“Liar.”
“Let me go!” Mesut’s features show he’s pretty angry, but given that his erection hasn’t diminished any, Sami’s pretty sure the anger’s not all directed at him. Mesut shakes his arm, trying to escape Sami’s grip, but Sami just tightens his hand.
“C’mmer.” And he’s spinng Mesut around, pulling Mesut’s back against his body so that he can wrap his arm around Mesut’s chest and pin the smaller man in place. “Why don’t you,” he asks in a conversational tone, his softer now that his mouth is directly next to Mesut’s ear, “tell me what this is about, hmm?” And he’s let go of Mesut’s arm so that he can slide his hand down Mesut’s stomach, over his smooth skin, until his hand comes to rest, cupping Mesut’s erection through his shorts.
Mesut gives a strangled gasp, body arching into Sami’s touch. “Fuck you,” he snaps. “Let me go you asshole, this isn’t funny-“
“Is that what you want?” Sami asks in that same conversational tone, heel of his hand stroking over Mesut’s hard cock, as Mesut hisses and his back arches more. “I’ll let you go ... but I don’t think that’s what you want.” He draws his hand back, trailing his fingers across the tempting dip of Mesut’s hips before pulling his hand completely away. At the same time with his other arm he lets go of Mesut’s chest.
Mesut jerks away from Sami, spinning to face the taller man, fire in his eyes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls. “You think this is some kind of joke?” He shoves Sami in the chest, hard. Mesut’s got some muscle on him, but Sami just rocks with the push, only having to take one step back to keep his balance.
“I have a theory,” Sami says calmly.
“I don’t want to know your theory!” Mesut practically yells, stepping in closer once more, getting up in Sami’s face. “I want to know what the fuck is wrong with your brain!” He pushes Sami again, palms braced against Sami’s wide shoulders.
“I think you’re mad,” Sami continues, “because you got hard when I got hard, and you wanted to pretend like nothing happened. You certainly didn’t want me to know.”
“That’s the most moronic thing I’ve ever heard!” Mesut’s still half yelling. “Did a football hit you too hard in the head and you got brain damaged or something?! I don’t care if you know jack shit, because there’s nothing to know!”
“If there was nothing, you wouldn’t be over-reacting like this,” Sami points out.
“Over-reacting? I’m not fucking over-reacting! You groped me, man!”
“And you’re mad ‘cause you liked it.”
Mesut gets right up close, face inches from Sami’s. “I did not fucking like it!”
Sami waits half a beat, and then says very softly, “liar.”
He’s not surprised, not really, when Mesut hauls back and hits him. Mesut packs more of a punch than Sami would have thought, but then he should have expected that too. It’s always the quite little ones that have the most fire, and that’s something Sami knows well. His head rocks back, and he lets himself go, lets the momentum topple him over so he tumbles gracelessly to the ground.
Mesut is on him in a second, one fist curling into a death grip on the front of Sami’s shirt, while the other the other pulled back to let go another hit. Sami just stares up at Mesut, not flinching, not blinking, and Mesut hesitates. Sami takes his chance.
“What are you so afraid of?” he asks softly. “That I’ll mock you? That I’ll tell other people? That I’ll reject you? It’s me.” He gives a lopsided smile. “I’m not gonna do any of those things.”
Mesut just breathes for a couple moments, angry huffs through his nose. Then he lowers his fist, letting his hold of Sami’s shirt loosen. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks, voice a little harsh.
Sami shrugs as well as he can with his back on the floor and Mesut on top of him. “What do you want to do?”
Mesut shifts, still-hard dick digging into Sami’s stomach. He stares down at Sami for several more moments, eyes unblinking. And then he leans down, pressing his mouth to Sami’s, hot and fast and hard. When he pulls back again, he’s got his lower jaw jutted out, a challenging look on his face, as if to say ’there, I called your bluff, now what’re you gonna do?’
What Sami does is reach up, threading his fingers through Mesut’s hair so that he can draw Mesut’s mouth back down to kiss him again, slower and more thoroughly this time.
When Mesut pulls back a second time, he’s smiling faintly, and his eyes are heavy-lidded. When he takes in Sami’s face though, his eyes widen. “Oh shit. I punched you.”
“You did,” Sami agrees, finally allowing himself to wince. His look turns regretful. “Unfortunately, we probably better get ice on it ASAP, or tomorrow we have to explain to coach how I got a black eye.”
“Shit,” Mesut says, scrambling off of Sami, offering the other man a hand up. “Why’d you let me punch you, you dumbass?” He frowns, as if the whole thing is Sami’s fault, which in a way, Sami supposes it is.
“You were pretty … agitated. I thought I better let you let off some pressure.”
“I know how I’d rather let off pressure,” Mesut mumbles as he searches for the ice bucket.
Sami chuckles. “We can get to that too … after the ice.”
Mesut glances down at himself. “I’m not going out there like this.” He strides over to Sami’s suitcase, rooting quickly through it until he pulls out an oversized sweatshirt, which, once he puts it on, is big enough on him to cover his lap. Mesut casts a concerned glance at Sami as he shoves his feet in flip-flops. “I’ll be right back.”
”I’m not going anywhere,” Sami promises.
When Mesut returns, Sami is sitting on the couch, hand pressed to his aching eye. Quickly, Mesut makes an improvised ice pack out of a towel, and Sami gratefully puts it on his eye. When he looks up, he sees Mesut sitting at the end of the couch, staring at him.
“Dumbass,” Mesut says when he catches Sami’s eye. “Why the hell did you do that, huh?”
Sami hold’s Mesut’s gaze. “… Having second thoughts?”
Mesut huffs. “Only about a billion.”
“… Do you wish I hadn’t done it?”
There’s a pause, and the corners of Mesut’s lips twitch up in a faint smile. “That was either incredibly brilliant or incredibly stupid, and I’m not sure which.”
“Or both,” Sami says with a slight smirk.
“Or both.” Mesut smirks in return.
“C’mmer,” Sami says, patting his lap.
Mesut frowns. “What, you want me to sit on you?”
“Just go with it. … But lose the sweatshirt.”
Mesut’s expression starts to turn from confusion to pleased as he gets to his feet, stripping off Sami’s sweatshirt to reveal his bare chest once more. He settles on Sami’s sturdy thighs. “… I feel dumb.”
“Lean back,” Sami instructs. Mesut does so, and suddenly his back is pressed to Sami’s chest again, and Sami’s chin is resting on Mesut’s shoulder, where he has a view down the lovely golden length of Mesut’s torso. Mesut isn’t hard anymore, but Sami’s pretty sure he knows how to take care of that problem.
Sami keeps one hand with the ice pack pressed firmly against his eye. Then he lets himself do what he wanted to do before, placing his other hand on the warm skin of Mesut’s chest and trails his fingers down, tracing across Mesut’s pecs, down across the contours of his abs, down, down, down. Mesut shivers under the touch. “What-“
Sami turns, so his mouth is to Mesut’s neck. “I would think that’s obvious.” And then his hand slips into Mesut’s shorts, cupping his cock, and Sami presses a sucking kiss to the side of Mesut’s neck.
Mesut gasps, body arching between the two points of contact like a lovely taut bow. His head falls back on Sami’s shoulder, and Sami presses a kiss to Mesut’s shoulder, stubble scraping against the tender skin of Mesut’s neck. Mesut shudders even more, hips twitching, which presses his dick up into Sami’s hand. Sami’s never held another guy’s dick before, but he’s sure he knows what to do with it, and he’s damn sure he can make it good. He smiles against Mesut’s shoulder as he starts to stroke, alternating pressure with friction.
“Fuck,” Mesut gasps as his torso twists in a beautiful dance, hips thrusting up into Sami’s hand.
Sami’s got Mesut hard and thrusting up into his one hand when Mesut pulls away from him. “What?” Sami tries, but Mesut is twisting around, lean limbs seemingly everywhere, until he ends up facing the other way, straddling Sami’s lap.
“I’m not a girl,” Mesut tells Sami even as his finger are finding the hem of Sami’s t-shirt and tugging upwards. “Don’t think I’m gonna be satisfied laying there passively while you do all the work.”
“… I could never mistake you for a girl,” Sami says. He has to set his icepack aside momentarily, while Mesut strips his shirt off, but as soon as the ice is back in place, Mesut is all over the uninjured side of his body, all lips and teeth and tongue, and hands everywhere.
When Mesut finally comes, it is with his own hand wrapped around his dick, and Sami’s hand wrapped around his. He lets his head fall forward, pressing his sweaty forehead to the shoulder on Sami’s uninjured side. He’s breathing hard and so is Sami, and they both take a moment to catch their breaths as they come down off of the high.
“So,” Mesut says as he pulls back, so he can see Sami’s face. “Incredibly stupid and incredibly brilliant. And no. … I don’t regret it.”
Sami’s smile is soft and happy. “Good. Me neither.”
Mesut smiles back, and they’re silent for a moment. Then Mesut punches Sami in the arm. “Don’t sap out on me man.”
Sami snorts.
Mesut grins briefly. “Seriously though. Nothing’s changed right? You’re not gonna suddenly want to talk about our feelings or some shit, are you?”
Sami rolls his eyes. “Neither of us suddenly got a personality transplant.”
“So we’re still just friends, and everything’s cool?”
Sami shrugs. “I’m cool if you’re cool.”
Mesut surveys Sami for a bit longer, then nods. “Good. I’m gonna go rinse off in the shower real quick. Then wanna watch TV?”
Sami laughs. “I bet there’s nothing good on.”
“There’s never anything good on. But maybe there’ll be a replay of F1 or something.” Mesut climbs to his feet, stretching luxuriously before he turns, heading back towards the bathroom.
Sami watches him go, then picks up the remote, beginning the hunt through the channels to find something Mesut will want to watch.
Author: foot_faults
Characters/Pairing this chapter: Sami Khedira/Mesut Özil
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,370
Disclaimer: this is an entirely fictional story with fictional characters. Any resemblance to real life is a coincidence.
Summery:
There's a spark in between us /When we're dancing on the floor
I want more, wanna see it /So I'm asking you tonight
If I said my heart was beating loud /If we could escape the crowd somehow
If I said I want your body now /Would you hold it against me?
Sami/Mesut, first kiss, first time. That basically sums it up.
Notes: Nothing makes an incredibly shitty day better than some sweet/hot porn. Written for liroa15, but I hope all the Sami/Mesut shippers out there enjoy. baronessbadger and snuzzie’s inputs and cheerleading were vital to getting this done. Thanks ladies ♥
Practice is done, and they’ve gone back to the hotel to rest and relax. Mesut had showered first (Sami always lets Mesut shower first) and when Sami comes out of the shower himself, toweling dry his hair, he sees the back of Mesut’s head over the back of the couch. The TV is facing Sami and he can see Mesut is playing FIFA.
Sami wanders over to his suitcase, trading his towel for boxers, a comfortable pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Once he’s made his way around the couch, he sees Mesut has forgon the t-shirt altogether and is slouched on the couch bare-chested, shorts slung low over his hips.
“Want to hang out with the guys?” Sami asks as he settles on to the couch to the left of Mesut.
“Nah,” Mesut says, not taking his eyes off the TV screen. “I’d rather say here.”
“Okay.”
Mesut does take a second to glance at Sami. “If you want to go hang, go. I’m cool.”
“Nah.” Sami settles further into the plush couch cushions. “I’d rather chill.” The ‘with you’ remains unsaid.
Sami watches in silence as Mesut plays grinning as his friend periodically cusses at the screen when his little figures don’t do exactly as he wishes. “Ronaldo is the best player in the world, why is he so shit in this game?!”
Sami laughs. “Why don’t you play as yourself?”
“That would be boring. I play as me every day, no?”
“True.” Sami laughs again and then lapses into silence.
“Fucking Barca!” Mesut starts swearing in three languages, and Sami’s chest vibrates with his laugher.
“Fine!” Mesut snaps. “You do better!” Without even pressing pause, he pushes the controller over to Sami.
“Gah!” Sami quickly moves his fingers in to place on the controller and Mesut leans back, arms folded over his lean chest as he smirks. “Jerk,” Sami says with a grin, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Mesut sticking out his tongue.
Mesut watches Sami play for a while, and then he puts his head on Sami’s shoulder. “My turn,” he says, holding his hands out.
Sami rolls his eyes fondly, but hands the controller back over. “We could play two person, you know.”
“That would require getting up,” Mesut says, eyes glued to the screen once more. “And I'm comfortable.” He shifts more so that his head is more firmly wedged against Sami’s shoulder.
“I suppose I’m not allowed to get up either.”
“Noooope.”
This isn’t the first time Mesut’s used Sami as a human pillow, and it certainly won’t be the last, so Sami just rolls his eyes and sighs and goes with it.
Mesut is doing better in the match now, so he’s swearing less, but still, he periodically lets out a curse or two when he misses a pass. After a while, Sami starts to lose interest in the match though, and his attention and gaze begin to wander. Somehow, no matter where his eyes rove, they keep coming back to the long lean planes of Mesut’s chest, following the lines all the way down to where the divots of Mesut’s hips disappear into the waistband of his shorts. Mesut’s gotten fitter since he’s been at Real Madrid, and Sami can’t help but cast an appreciative eye … from a purely aesthetic perspective, of course. He’s not some weirdo who pervs on his best friend. Besides, he’s seen Mesut shirtless or naked plenty of times, in the locker room, in showers … Without looking up, Mesut butts his head into Sami’s shoulder, shifting back and forth until he’s in a more comfortable position, pressed more firmly in to Sami’s side. Sami lets out a breath of a chuckle.
“You’re gonna make my arm fall asleep.”
“Then move it.”
Sami shrugs, jostling Mesut, and then jostles him further by pulling his right arm out from between them. After a moment’s consideration, he drapes his arm over Mesut’s shoulder. Mesut doesn’t seem to notice, but instead, scooches until he’s satisfied with his position once more, head now on Sami’s chest and elbow digging into Sami’s side.
“Ow,” Sami tells Mesut teasingly.
Mesut takes his eyes off the game long enough to look up at Sami so Sami can see him roll his eyes. “Deal with it.”
Sami snorts, and in retaliation moves the fingers of the arm that’s hanging over Mesut’s shoulder until he can drag them teasingly up the smooth tan skin of Mesut’s side.
Mesut jerks, squirming at the ticklish contact. “Hey!” He digs his sharp little elbow into Sami’s side, and Sami grunts. “I’m trying to play here!”
Sami snorts, but subsides. This leaves the tips of the fingers of his right hand resting gently against the warm soft skin of Mesut’s ribs. He can feel the ribcage move, expanding and contracting as Mesut breathes softly, and he can faintly feel the beating of Mesut’s heart.
Sami feels himself relaxing, breath even and slow as he watches Mesut from under heavy-lidded eyes, finger tips exerting just the slightest bit of pressure. Mesut doesn’t seem to mind, for he doesn’t object. The warmth of Mesut’s body pressed in against his side is nice to, and as Sami’s mind wanders, he starts thinking of bare skin and bodies pressed close.
He’s kind of zoned out, until he notices Mesut has stopped his game. Sami blinks. “Is it over already?” But the screen shows it’s on pause. He looks down questioningly at Mesut, who’s mouth is twisted into something like a smirk.
Mesut uses the controller to poke Sami in the thigh. “Dude, you want to go take care of that?”
Sami’s eyes widen as he realizes the languid feelings of arousal he’d been feeling had, well, lead to arousal, and his cock is clearly hard, tenting the fabric of his white shorts where it falls across his lap. “Uh. Yeaah. I’ll just … go take care of that.”
Mesut snorts and moves, wiggling out from under Sami’s arm to let his friend off the couch.
Sami’s mortified as he stands, the action making his erection more apparent, but he’s not too worried about it. They’re both guys, and guys know that sometimes you randomly get hard for no reason at all. Most likely Mesut wouldn’t even consider that it might be because of his own hot body and smooth bare skin pressed in close against Sami’s side, and that’s good. Sami will just go to the bathroom, take care of it, and there’ll be no harm, no foul.
Once the bathroom door is shut behind him, and he can finally side his hand in his shorts and wrap it around his dick, Sami comes embarrassingly quickly, with a hastily muffled grunt. He doesn’t let himself think about why he’s climaxed so fast, doesn’t let himself think about Mesut in the other room, with only the thin door separating them. Quickly, he washes off his hands, and quickly he opens the door to go back out into the hotel room, wanting to be casual, wanting to act like this was no big deal.
As he pushes the door open though, Sami hears something that sounds suspiciously like snapping elastic. Like the elastic in the waistbands of shorts, specifically. Sami’s eyebrows draw together as he frowns in confusion, looking towards Mesut on the couch. Mesut’s climbing to his feet, his back still to Sami. “That was fast,” Mesut says. He glances over his shoulder as he starts to walk around the end of the sofa further away from Sami, body angled so that his back is still to Sami. “What do the ladies say, when you’re done so quickly?”
“The same thing your mom says,” Sami says automatically, because he’s still frowning. Something about Mesut’s behavior is … off.
“Bitch,” Mesut says, then, “I’m cold, I’m gonna put some more clothes on.”
And then Sami sees it, as Mesut turns to round the corner of their L-shaped room, heading over to where his suitcase is by his bed; an erection clearly outlined in Mesut’s shorts.
Sami blinks as his brain puts two and two together. His mind is screaming at him that the answer can’t possibly be four, but his body seems to have other ideas, for he’s already striding across the room towards Mesut, who gives him a wide eyed glance and quickly turns away, bending over his suitcase.
“I’m gonna get some clothes and go to the bathroom, man,” Mesut says as he digs quickly through his clothes.
“What’s the rush?” Sami hears himself asking. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”
Mesut stands, spinning to face Sami, sweatshirt clutched in his hands. “Nothing!” he snaps, glaring at Sami. “Nothing’s got me hot at all, okay?”
“Really,” Sami drawls. “That's-“ his eyes glance down at the front of Mesut’s shorts and the back up to his face, “-awful coincidental timing, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what your problem is, but lay the fuck off!” Sami snaps. “I don’t fucking want to deal with you going all weirdo and creeper on me.” He tries to push past Sami, heading for the bathroom, but Sami catches his arm.
“Liar.”
“Let me go!” Mesut’s features show he’s pretty angry, but given that his erection hasn’t diminished any, Sami’s pretty sure the anger’s not all directed at him. Mesut shakes his arm, trying to escape Sami’s grip, but Sami just tightens his hand.
“C’mmer.” And he’s spinng Mesut around, pulling Mesut’s back against his body so that he can wrap his arm around Mesut’s chest and pin the smaller man in place. “Why don’t you,” he asks in a conversational tone, his softer now that his mouth is directly next to Mesut’s ear, “tell me what this is about, hmm?” And he’s let go of Mesut’s arm so that he can slide his hand down Mesut’s stomach, over his smooth skin, until his hand comes to rest, cupping Mesut’s erection through his shorts.
Mesut gives a strangled gasp, body arching into Sami’s touch. “Fuck you,” he snaps. “Let me go you asshole, this isn’t funny-“
“Is that what you want?” Sami asks in that same conversational tone, heel of his hand stroking over Mesut’s hard cock, as Mesut hisses and his back arches more. “I’ll let you go ... but I don’t think that’s what you want.” He draws his hand back, trailing his fingers across the tempting dip of Mesut’s hips before pulling his hand completely away. At the same time with his other arm he lets go of Mesut’s chest.
Mesut jerks away from Sami, spinning to face the taller man, fire in his eyes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls. “You think this is some kind of joke?” He shoves Sami in the chest, hard. Mesut’s got some muscle on him, but Sami just rocks with the push, only having to take one step back to keep his balance.
“I have a theory,” Sami says calmly.
“I don’t want to know your theory!” Mesut practically yells, stepping in closer once more, getting up in Sami’s face. “I want to know what the fuck is wrong with your brain!” He pushes Sami again, palms braced against Sami’s wide shoulders.
“I think you’re mad,” Sami continues, “because you got hard when I got hard, and you wanted to pretend like nothing happened. You certainly didn’t want me to know.”
“That’s the most moronic thing I’ve ever heard!” Mesut’s still half yelling. “Did a football hit you too hard in the head and you got brain damaged or something?! I don’t care if you know jack shit, because there’s nothing to know!”
“If there was nothing, you wouldn’t be over-reacting like this,” Sami points out.
“Over-reacting? I’m not fucking over-reacting! You groped me, man!”
“And you’re mad ‘cause you liked it.”
Mesut gets right up close, face inches from Sami’s. “I did not fucking like it!”
Sami waits half a beat, and then says very softly, “liar.”
He’s not surprised, not really, when Mesut hauls back and hits him. Mesut packs more of a punch than Sami would have thought, but then he should have expected that too. It’s always the quite little ones that have the most fire, and that’s something Sami knows well. His head rocks back, and he lets himself go, lets the momentum topple him over so he tumbles gracelessly to the ground.
Mesut is on him in a second, one fist curling into a death grip on the front of Sami’s shirt, while the other the other pulled back to let go another hit. Sami just stares up at Mesut, not flinching, not blinking, and Mesut hesitates. Sami takes his chance.
“What are you so afraid of?” he asks softly. “That I’ll mock you? That I’ll tell other people? That I’ll reject you? It’s me.” He gives a lopsided smile. “I’m not gonna do any of those things.”
Mesut just breathes for a couple moments, angry huffs through his nose. Then he lowers his fist, letting his hold of Sami’s shirt loosen. “What am I supposed to do?” he asks, voice a little harsh.
Sami shrugs as well as he can with his back on the floor and Mesut on top of him. “What do you want to do?”
Mesut shifts, still-hard dick digging into Sami’s stomach. He stares down at Sami for several more moments, eyes unblinking. And then he leans down, pressing his mouth to Sami’s, hot and fast and hard. When he pulls back again, he’s got his lower jaw jutted out, a challenging look on his face, as if to say ’there, I called your bluff, now what’re you gonna do?’
What Sami does is reach up, threading his fingers through Mesut’s hair so that he can draw Mesut’s mouth back down to kiss him again, slower and more thoroughly this time.
When Mesut pulls back a second time, he’s smiling faintly, and his eyes are heavy-lidded. When he takes in Sami’s face though, his eyes widen. “Oh shit. I punched you.”
“You did,” Sami agrees, finally allowing himself to wince. His look turns regretful. “Unfortunately, we probably better get ice on it ASAP, or tomorrow we have to explain to coach how I got a black eye.”
“Shit,” Mesut says, scrambling off of Sami, offering the other man a hand up. “Why’d you let me punch you, you dumbass?” He frowns, as if the whole thing is Sami’s fault, which in a way, Sami supposes it is.
“You were pretty … agitated. I thought I better let you let off some pressure.”
“I know how I’d rather let off pressure,” Mesut mumbles as he searches for the ice bucket.
Sami chuckles. “We can get to that too … after the ice.”
Mesut glances down at himself. “I’m not going out there like this.” He strides over to Sami’s suitcase, rooting quickly through it until he pulls out an oversized sweatshirt, which, once he puts it on, is big enough on him to cover his lap. Mesut casts a concerned glance at Sami as he shoves his feet in flip-flops. “I’ll be right back.”
”I’m not going anywhere,” Sami promises.
When Mesut returns, Sami is sitting on the couch, hand pressed to his aching eye. Quickly, Mesut makes an improvised ice pack out of a towel, and Sami gratefully puts it on his eye. When he looks up, he sees Mesut sitting at the end of the couch, staring at him.
“Dumbass,” Mesut says when he catches Sami’s eye. “Why the hell did you do that, huh?”
Sami hold’s Mesut’s gaze. “… Having second thoughts?”
Mesut huffs. “Only about a billion.”
“… Do you wish I hadn’t done it?”
There’s a pause, and the corners of Mesut’s lips twitch up in a faint smile. “That was either incredibly brilliant or incredibly stupid, and I’m not sure which.”
“Or both,” Sami says with a slight smirk.
“Or both.” Mesut smirks in return.
“C’mmer,” Sami says, patting his lap.
Mesut frowns. “What, you want me to sit on you?”
“Just go with it. … But lose the sweatshirt.”
Mesut’s expression starts to turn from confusion to pleased as he gets to his feet, stripping off Sami’s sweatshirt to reveal his bare chest once more. He settles on Sami’s sturdy thighs. “… I feel dumb.”
“Lean back,” Sami instructs. Mesut does so, and suddenly his back is pressed to Sami’s chest again, and Sami’s chin is resting on Mesut’s shoulder, where he has a view down the lovely golden length of Mesut’s torso. Mesut isn’t hard anymore, but Sami’s pretty sure he knows how to take care of that problem.
Sami keeps one hand with the ice pack pressed firmly against his eye. Then he lets himself do what he wanted to do before, placing his other hand on the warm skin of Mesut’s chest and trails his fingers down, tracing across Mesut’s pecs, down across the contours of his abs, down, down, down. Mesut shivers under the touch. “What-“
Sami turns, so his mouth is to Mesut’s neck. “I would think that’s obvious.” And then his hand slips into Mesut’s shorts, cupping his cock, and Sami presses a sucking kiss to the side of Mesut’s neck.
Mesut gasps, body arching between the two points of contact like a lovely taut bow. His head falls back on Sami’s shoulder, and Sami presses a kiss to Mesut’s shoulder, stubble scraping against the tender skin of Mesut’s neck. Mesut shudders even more, hips twitching, which presses his dick up into Sami’s hand. Sami’s never held another guy’s dick before, but he’s sure he knows what to do with it, and he’s damn sure he can make it good. He smiles against Mesut’s shoulder as he starts to stroke, alternating pressure with friction.
“Fuck,” Mesut gasps as his torso twists in a beautiful dance, hips thrusting up into Sami’s hand.
Sami’s got Mesut hard and thrusting up into his one hand when Mesut pulls away from him. “What?” Sami tries, but Mesut is twisting around, lean limbs seemingly everywhere, until he ends up facing the other way, straddling Sami’s lap.
“I’m not a girl,” Mesut tells Sami even as his finger are finding the hem of Sami’s t-shirt and tugging upwards. “Don’t think I’m gonna be satisfied laying there passively while you do all the work.”
“… I could never mistake you for a girl,” Sami says. He has to set his icepack aside momentarily, while Mesut strips his shirt off, but as soon as the ice is back in place, Mesut is all over the uninjured side of his body, all lips and teeth and tongue, and hands everywhere.
When Mesut finally comes, it is with his own hand wrapped around his dick, and Sami’s hand wrapped around his. He lets his head fall forward, pressing his sweaty forehead to the shoulder on Sami’s uninjured side. He’s breathing hard and so is Sami, and they both take a moment to catch their breaths as they come down off of the high.
“So,” Mesut says as he pulls back, so he can see Sami’s face. “Incredibly stupid and incredibly brilliant. And no. … I don’t regret it.”
Sami’s smile is soft and happy. “Good. Me neither.”
Mesut smiles back, and they’re silent for a moment. Then Mesut punches Sami in the arm. “Don’t sap out on me man.”
Sami snorts.
Mesut grins briefly. “Seriously though. Nothing’s changed right? You’re not gonna suddenly want to talk about our feelings or some shit, are you?”
Sami rolls his eyes. “Neither of us suddenly got a personality transplant.”
“So we’re still just friends, and everything’s cool?”
Sami shrugs. “I’m cool if you’re cool.”
Mesut surveys Sami for a bit longer, then nods. “Good. I’m gonna go rinse off in the shower real quick. Then wanna watch TV?”
Sami laughs. “I bet there’s nothing good on.”
“There’s never anything good on. But maybe there’ll be a replay of F1 or something.” Mesut climbs to his feet, stretching luxuriously before he turns, heading back towards the bathroom.
Sami watches him go, then picks up the remote, beginning the hunt through the channels to find something Mesut will want to watch.