(no subject)
Title - 1. Temperance
Rating - NC17
Pairing - Fernando Torres/Alvaro Arbeloa
Disclaimer - Not true, did not happen
Word count - 400
Summary - Temperance - Practicing self-control, abstention, and moderation.
Have not been around for awhile but, I felt a little creative and a little daft with words so I thought I would write something up.
Am trying to detatch, footballishly, because our club is in a mess, at present, but we did beat The Arse and that does make me feel rather special.
Oh, and no Christmas baby for me.
:(
(*)
Naked, hard, his skin glistens in the dim light and he offers himself dressed in nothing but dewdrop diamonds. They fade away when long fingers trail too-hot skin that responds without manipulation. His tongue presses between ivory teeth, flickering in and out, serpentine, yet not reptilian, and he kisses this mouth with no hesitation.
Alvaro surrenders to Fernando without reservation. He lets him kiss him until he cannot breathe, sometimes, lets him steal his air if Fernando chooses to, for he offers without moderation. He offers him love on a platter made of solid gold because that’s what he is.
Gold.
He doesn’t hold back, never holds back. Sometimes, he lets Fernando fuck him so hard that he bleeds, yet all the time he whispers his name, again and again, as if he will never wear it out…as if Fernando will never wear him out. When done, he will look at him with eyes as wide as the world itself and whisper, “Again?”
He whispers it, now, as he lies in strong arms, done, spent yet willing, a red flush dancing over his ever-ready body where the friction between them has burned him.
Again…
More?
Fernando abstains.
He abstains for Alvaro, for he has no abstinence.
He controls, for him, because he has no self-control.
He moderates…for, he understands no moderation, would give until he had nothing left, and Fernando would take, if he were less of a man.
Fernado practice a self-control that he never knew he possessed as he takes Alvaro's request and presses it back inside of him with tongue and lips and whispers “Not tonight,” as he tells him “you’ve given me enough.”
Not tonight, but tomorrow, perhaps - tomorrow, when the touch of his mouth against Alvaro's skin will feel fresh and warm; when the scent of his hair, to Fernando, will be new.
Not tonight, but tomorrow, when the sight of colour rising to his cheeks and his body will be novel and the gasping, aching sigh of Fernando's name against his will be fresh and untainted.
Not tonight but tomorrow, when he peels back his layers and shows Fernando his all, when he pulls off his clothes and strips down to the bone, naked and exposed - when the sight of these things will bring those butterflies to Torres' stomach and that smile to his face.
Tomorrow, not tonight.
He will love him in moderation.
Rating - NC17
Pairing - Fernando Torres/Alvaro Arbeloa
Disclaimer - Not true, did not happen
Word count - 400
Summary - Temperance - Practicing self-control, abstention, and moderation.
Have not been around for awhile but, I felt a little creative and a little daft with words so I thought I would write something up.
Am trying to detatch, footballishly, because our club is in a mess, at present, but we did beat The Arse and that does make me feel rather special.
Oh, and no Christmas baby for me.
:(
(*)
Naked, hard, his skin glistens in the dim light and he offers himself dressed in nothing but dewdrop diamonds. They fade away when long fingers trail too-hot skin that responds without manipulation. His tongue presses between ivory teeth, flickering in and out, serpentine, yet not reptilian, and he kisses this mouth with no hesitation.
Alvaro surrenders to Fernando without reservation. He lets him kiss him until he cannot breathe, sometimes, lets him steal his air if Fernando chooses to, for he offers without moderation. He offers him love on a platter made of solid gold because that’s what he is.
Gold.
He doesn’t hold back, never holds back. Sometimes, he lets Fernando fuck him so hard that he bleeds, yet all the time he whispers his name, again and again, as if he will never wear it out…as if Fernando will never wear him out. When done, he will look at him with eyes as wide as the world itself and whisper, “Again?”
He whispers it, now, as he lies in strong arms, done, spent yet willing, a red flush dancing over his ever-ready body where the friction between them has burned him.
Again…
More?
Fernando abstains.
He abstains for Alvaro, for he has no abstinence.
He controls, for him, because he has no self-control.
He moderates…for, he understands no moderation, would give until he had nothing left, and Fernando would take, if he were less of a man.
Fernado practice a self-control that he never knew he possessed as he takes Alvaro's request and presses it back inside of him with tongue and lips and whispers “Not tonight,” as he tells him “you’ve given me enough.”
Not tonight, but tomorrow, perhaps - tomorrow, when the touch of his mouth against Alvaro's skin will feel fresh and warm; when the scent of his hair, to Fernando, will be new.
Not tonight, but tomorrow, when the sight of colour rising to his cheeks and his body will be novel and the gasping, aching sigh of Fernando's name against his will be fresh and untainted.
Not tonight but tomorrow, when he peels back his layers and shows Fernando his all, when he pulls off his clothes and strips down to the bone, naked and exposed - when the sight of these things will bring those butterflies to Torres' stomach and that smile to his face.
Tomorrow, not tonight.
He will love him in moderation.