After Nineteen Comes Twenty
Rating: NC-17.
Pairing: Nemanja Vidic/Dimitar Berbatov.
Disclaimer: Nope, not real. I'm just sad and imagining things now that Berba has left United. The video I talk about is completely real, though. I loved it. Some opinions (such as the SAF thing) are real, though.
Summary: After a season not seeing each other, two lovers have to say goodbye.
Nemanja had called Dimi that morning to see if he could show up at his flat later. He was feeling good--after a whole season out, it was great to be playing again! Especially since, now he knew, he was an important part of the team, the one that could give them the precious twentieth title. Of course!
And the defender wanted to know if the Berba was ready too. There was no one who had been more excited than the Bulgarian when they had made history, Premiership Title #19 in their pockets, finally overtaking Liverpool. He remembered his smile at the locker room, a smile so big and happy Rio had actually filmed him for his vlog.
"Do you know vat's better than nineteen?" Dimi had asked the camera.
"What?" Rio had asked back.
"Tventy." Dimitar had said it with such security one would have said that Premiership title was already in their hands. Then came Pat and started cheering for the Bulgarian. It had been a great season for the Berba as well, with him being top scorer and everything, even if in the final games he didn't show up as much.
And it had been a great season for them, the Serbian defender thought fondly, as his mind went beyond the locker room and to that flat he would be visiting soon. That flat where he had stumbled that day after the celebration, half dizzy with booze and with the sensation of that body he was holding close... with the sensation of Dimitar against him, Dimi, who kissed him roughly, pushed him, pulled at his jacket, and eventually shoved him on the bed, before joining him.
That night, the Bulgarian gave himself up to Nemanja.
Oh yes, that night had eventually led them to better nights, during the tour, then when the season started again--until Vida had to leave because of his injury. Of course, he had spent time with his family, but... there was the other half of his heart, the one that belonged to that other love. Nemanja loved his wife the way a man loves a woman, but he loved Berba with that love that two men who have fought together, side by side, know and understand.
He got to Dimi's flat. He knocked on the door. He could hardly wait.
So, he felt a bit surprised when Dimitar only responded with a half-smile at his enthusiastic greeting.
"Is anyzing the matter?" he asked.
"No. Zing's ok," the Bulgarian dismissed it. "Vanna drink?"
"Dimi... somezing's vrong. I can feel it. Don't say me zat."
"Nozing, I say." But, even then, Vida noticed how the Bulgarian gave him a drink even though he hadn't said he wanted one and took a long gulp from his glass himself, avoiding the other man's eyes, it seemed.
"Dimitar, speak. Don't tell me you're jealous of Ana and ze baby--"
The Bulgarian drank his whiskey (he had poured that liquor without even asking his guest) in one gulp and shook his head.
"You know our families are not a part of vat ve are."
"Zen? Vat is it?"
Dimi bit his lip.
"You have not been here."
Nemanja looked at his lover. Maybe that was the thing. Of course he had not been there--he had to take care of his family, and to heal. Maybe Dimitar was just needy.
"I had to take care of ze baby and Ana," he reminded the Berba, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But I be zere now."
"But, Vida... maybe I not be here no more."
Right then, the Serbian understood.
"Is zat right, then? But, Sir Alex said you stay--"
"Sir Alex say, but let's face it. I vould do nozing for team. I vould only stay on bench or even no bench." Dimi sighed and poured himself another drink. "It's vat it is. In fact, I no think Sir Alex vants me here anymore."
Nemanja let out a sigh. He knew, deep inside, Dimi was disappointed with the boss ever since he'd been left out of the Champions League final. However, when he didn't leave, he thought nothing would happen, after all.
It had only been a matter of time.
"Vhere?" Vida almost choked out.
"Italy, maybe." The Bulgarian was still speaking with his back to his lover. "Fiore and Juve are interested."
Silence.
"I'm happy because I played for United," Berba went on. "It was dream for me. But, if I leave, Nemanja, I no look back."
The Serbian knew he had to do something. He sat next to his lover and cupped his face gently, but made the Bulgarian look at him.
"You von't even look back for me?"
Some more silence. Dimi freed his face from the other man's hand and turned away. His hand went to his pocket, took a cigarette out, and smoked. So Berbatov, that, thought Vida.
"Time vill make you forget me. I know..." The Bulgarian blew smoke out.
"How can you be so sure?" Nemanja insisted.
"It happens."
Another drag of smoke. More silence. Vida looked around the flat, the Manchester flat that, probably, would be on sale soon.
"How many times have ve made love here?"
The Bulgarian seemed confused when he heard that question, but, nonetheless, he answered:
"Nineteen. I counted zem vhen I thought of you."
"Vell..."
The movements were slow, controlled, but certain. Nemanja walked on to Dimi, snatched the cigarette away from his hand, and then stepped on it, putting it out--then, he whispered on the dark-haired man's ear:
"Vat comes after nineteen?"
Dimitar finally faced his lover, finally looked at Vida's eyes. A small smile formed in the corners of his mouth.
"Tventy."
Nemanja kissed Dimi. A long kiss, one that wanted the moment to linger on and on. For his part, the Berba's hand reached out and grabbed a handful of the defender's newly grown hair.
"Like ze curls," Dimitar said with a smile, cutting the kiss.
"Happy to know," Nemanja smiled, before taking his lover's hand and guiding him towards the room, as if that flat had been his. The Bulgarian, for his part, seemed happy to follow, seemed happy to recognize his home as someplace else, someplace Vida knew as well. He was happy to be, for a second, a stranger at his own home.
The Serbian opened the door. There was the room he knew, the bed waiting for them, the balcony where Dimitar fed the squirrels, as he himself had declared to some magazine when asked about his hobbies. The desk with sketches, paper, dedicated to his other hobby: drawing. And the big TV, for watching footy. Bulgaria, or--
The games when Sir Alex had not called him.
That thought made the Serbian sad, so he distracted himself, and his lover, with another hungry kiss. He could feel Dimitar's hands pulling at his leather jacket, taking it off, and then looking for the buttons of his shirt. In a somewhat teenage gesture, Nemanja had primped himself up: nice jacket, shirt that showed off his muscles, jeans that enhanced his butt: some little details to impress his lover. Dimi, for his part, had been sitting alone, thinking, wondering, so his old jeans and t-shirt may not have been the best outfit there was (especially for a man who liked to show up as a fashionista in red carpet shows) but the Serbian didn't care.
In fact, when his leather jacket hit the floor, he thought his lover would look so much better without his shirt, too.
The first time, Dimi had taken his shirt off by himself, his fingers shaking, perhaps a little nervous.
Vida's shirt was half-open, but he had better things to worry about. For example, his lover's torso. He might not have been the best body at the United showers; however, Dimitar's body was sexy, slender, hints of muscle, everything adding to the charm.
That second time, they had taken more minutes to explore their bodies, to enjoy what had started as a night of passion. And that second time had come half an hour after the first one, so...
The Serbian started licking at Dimitar's torso, focusing on his nipples, making them hard against his cold tongue, reveling on the electric feeling, and on the other man's moans--
That third time, Vida had actually bitten Berba's nipples so hard that he'd made the Bulgarian beg him to stop. Yet, the next part, the one of licking his toothmarks away, had been really enjoyable...
When his nubs were hard enough (not to mention his shaft, still inside his old jeans) Dimi decided it was his turn. His hands found the rest of the buttons in Nemanja's shirt, the ones that were still unattended, and his mouth found his lover's ear.
"Remember zis?"
Vida's erection threatened to pierce his jeans when the striker bit his neck as he continued struggling with the buttons, leaving a red mark on that pale European skin, vampire fangs. Berbatov's trademark, thought the Serbian, smiling. He loved when his man did that. The fourth time, he had teased the Bulgarian about him being some kind of Dracula lookalike, and he'd gotten that bite in return. Not to mention feverish sex.
Nemanja's neck sported that fierce red mark then. He would not try to hide it from his teammates this time, like the fifth time, when they wore scarves to training after lots of lovebites. But not this time...
Both were half-naked now, and they got rid of their own pants, eager to see each other, wanting, needing. They were fully hard by then, but it was the Berba the one who finally got down on his knees and took Vida's cock in his mouth. The Serbian was big and thick--his shaft matched his build. The sixth time, Berba had sucked that dick for the first time, and Nemanja had gotten so horny he'd just bucked his hips, wanting more, forgetting about his girth--the Bulgarian had almost choked. Of course, Vida had apologized after that, and the striker had changed his technique for a blowjob. Right then, he was sucking avidly at that cock, his head bobbing up and down, while his hand was taking care of that part of the defender's shaft that would make him gag, but setting a rhythm that contrasted with the one of his mouth.
Well, he'd had lots of practice during the seventh to tenth times, mainly.
"No... let me... finish..." Vida asked, almost gasping, but the Bulgarian didn't stop.
"I vant to taste you again."
The eleventh time, Dimi had swallowed Nemanja's seed and had made the defender taste himself with a kiss, in a kinky and romantic gesture. This time, he made Vida come inside his mouth, and he received his warm fluid.
"Dimi... Mitko..." the Serbian gasped, using both the pet name everyone used and the one that was used in Bulgaria.
"I don't know if I vill get another chance..." Berba answered after he had swallowed, before kissing his lover, fiercely. Nemanja could recognize inside his mouth the remnants of his fluid. The twelfth time he'd felt comfortable with tasting himself.
"You vill..." the Serbian almost swore. "You vill."
Now it was him the one who made Berba stand up, watching that lovely body and that erect cock, smaller than his, delectable anyways. The defender got down on his knees, but not to suck...
Instead, he bit, avidly, at the striker's thighs. It was something he'd liked ever since the thirteenth time they'd made love: feel the Bulgarian's muscles, his teeth against them, just as Dimi loved to bite his neck. The other man's legs tensed and resisted, making everything rough, the way the defender, known for his fierceness, liked it. Even if there was a chance somebody could see them if Dimitar pulled his shorts up.
Berba felt his legs could no longer hold him upright. Even if it wasn't being touched, his cock began to leak. He had to pull at Nemanja's newly-grown hair to distract him from his ministrations.
The Serbian's response was to introduce one finger inside the striker's tight entrance.
"Nemanja..." Dimi gasped as well as he could. "Please... vant... fuck..."
The defender was on his feet then. He pushed the black-haired man towards the bed. He didn't feel like doing Dimi standing up against the wall, like the fourteenth time. Pretty soon, he was opening those pale legs, settling himself comfortably between them. Two fingers went inside.
"Vida... Nemanja..."
Three fingers.
"I love you, Dimi. You know this love is special and that no even you going avay vill stop it."
The Bulgarian couldn't even answer--immediately, his mouth was hushed with a kiss, and he wouldn't have been able to talk, anyways, for Nemanja penetrated him then, one slow thrust, that thick cock burying itself deep inside the striker's entrance, making the moment last.
Since the fifteenth time, Dimitar didn't need lube any longer.
The defender started moving then: slow thrusts, focused on his lover's pleasure. Dimi, for his part, held Vida impossibly close, breaking the kisses only when he needed to breathe, all the time wanting that body to stay that way. There. On top of him. Close. So close. Always.
"I love you too Vida," he suddenly said, breaking a kiss. There was a moment of silence, in which not even the Serbian continued to move, but then, the striker added: "And I vill alvays look back at United for you."
Nemanja smiled, and went for the Bulgarian again--but his kisses seemed even more hungry, as if Dimitar's confession had set him on fire, a fiercer fire that the one before. He hadn't felt like this before--nor the sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, or nineteenth time, when he actually fucked Dimi on the floor, so horny he was.
The striker, for his part, was sandwiched against the mattress--but he didn't care. In fact, it even increased his pleasure--not only because Vida was there, making love to him even better than the minutes before, but because his erect dick, that had been unattended, now was sandwiched too, and was rubbing itself against the defender's exquisite abs.
The bed was warm underneath Dimi's body. Nemanja's body was burning on top of him. And then, just then, a harsh thrust from the defender let all his seed go, let all that hot fluid inside the Bulgarian's body. That familiar liquid, combined with the friction of his cock against the Serbian's smooth skin, made it throb and finally explode, his semen staining both of them.
Both had their eyes when their orgasm came. They opened them at the same time. Two clear eyes, meeting each other in the dark, begging for eternity. They didn't have to talk.
Vida started pulling out, but Dimi stopped him.
"No do so. Please. I vant to sleep vith you inside me."
"I vill squish you."
"Vait."
Dimi started moving then, positioning himself as if they were both spooning, trying to keep Nemanja inside him. He succeeded, in a way, even though the Serbian had to pull half his shaft out, and, when they were both comfortable, the defender buried his face in Dimitar's dark hair, that still smelled faintly of shampoo. However, the striker's entrance, its warmth, was starting to act on him again.
"Maybe tomorrow you vill get love session number 21," he chuckled, his warm breath teasing Dimi's nape of his neck. The other man laughed too.
"I vould love to vake up to zat."
Silence. Then, the Serbian asked:
"How many titles Juve has?"
"Tventy-somezing," Dimi answered. "I no know exact number because of scandal."
"Vell..." Nemanja whispered, "maybe you can give zem a new trophy? Like, you know vat... I no know Juve's locker rooms... ve could see about zat..."
Dimitar laughed. He was going to miss his lover, but... yes.
Numbers were infinite, after all.
(Author's note: Sometimes I want to believe Dimi stayed at Fulham not because his wife didn't want to leave England, but to be close to Vida :3)
Pairing: Nemanja Vidic/Dimitar Berbatov.
Disclaimer: Nope, not real. I'm just sad and imagining things now that Berba has left United. The video I talk about is completely real, though. I loved it. Some opinions (such as the SAF thing) are real, though.
Summary: After a season not seeing each other, two lovers have to say goodbye.
Nemanja had called Dimi that morning to see if he could show up at his flat later. He was feeling good--after a whole season out, it was great to be playing again! Especially since, now he knew, he was an important part of the team, the one that could give them the precious twentieth title. Of course!
And the defender wanted to know if the Berba was ready too. There was no one who had been more excited than the Bulgarian when they had made history, Premiership Title #19 in their pockets, finally overtaking Liverpool. He remembered his smile at the locker room, a smile so big and happy Rio had actually filmed him for his vlog.
"Do you know vat's better than nineteen?" Dimi had asked the camera.
"What?" Rio had asked back.
"Tventy." Dimitar had said it with such security one would have said that Premiership title was already in their hands. Then came Pat and started cheering for the Bulgarian. It had been a great season for the Berba as well, with him being top scorer and everything, even if in the final games he didn't show up as much.
And it had been a great season for them, the Serbian defender thought fondly, as his mind went beyond the locker room and to that flat he would be visiting soon. That flat where he had stumbled that day after the celebration, half dizzy with booze and with the sensation of that body he was holding close... with the sensation of Dimitar against him, Dimi, who kissed him roughly, pushed him, pulled at his jacket, and eventually shoved him on the bed, before joining him.
That night, the Bulgarian gave himself up to Nemanja.
Oh yes, that night had eventually led them to better nights, during the tour, then when the season started again--until Vida had to leave because of his injury. Of course, he had spent time with his family, but... there was the other half of his heart, the one that belonged to that other love. Nemanja loved his wife the way a man loves a woman, but he loved Berba with that love that two men who have fought together, side by side, know and understand.
He got to Dimi's flat. He knocked on the door. He could hardly wait.
So, he felt a bit surprised when Dimitar only responded with a half-smile at his enthusiastic greeting.
"Is anyzing the matter?" he asked.
"No. Zing's ok," the Bulgarian dismissed it. "Vanna drink?"
"Dimi... somezing's vrong. I can feel it. Don't say me zat."
"Nozing, I say." But, even then, Vida noticed how the Bulgarian gave him a drink even though he hadn't said he wanted one and took a long gulp from his glass himself, avoiding the other man's eyes, it seemed.
"Dimitar, speak. Don't tell me you're jealous of Ana and ze baby--"
The Bulgarian drank his whiskey (he had poured that liquor without even asking his guest) in one gulp and shook his head.
"You know our families are not a part of vat ve are."
"Zen? Vat is it?"
Dimi bit his lip.
"You have not been here."
Nemanja looked at his lover. Maybe that was the thing. Of course he had not been there--he had to take care of his family, and to heal. Maybe Dimitar was just needy.
"I had to take care of ze baby and Ana," he reminded the Berba, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But I be zere now."
"But, Vida... maybe I not be here no more."
Right then, the Serbian understood.
"Is zat right, then? But, Sir Alex said you stay--"
"Sir Alex say, but let's face it. I vould do nozing for team. I vould only stay on bench or even no bench." Dimi sighed and poured himself another drink. "It's vat it is. In fact, I no think Sir Alex vants me here anymore."
Nemanja let out a sigh. He knew, deep inside, Dimi was disappointed with the boss ever since he'd been left out of the Champions League final. However, when he didn't leave, he thought nothing would happen, after all.
It had only been a matter of time.
"Vhere?" Vida almost choked out.
"Italy, maybe." The Bulgarian was still speaking with his back to his lover. "Fiore and Juve are interested."
Silence.
"I'm happy because I played for United," Berba went on. "It was dream for me. But, if I leave, Nemanja, I no look back."
The Serbian knew he had to do something. He sat next to his lover and cupped his face gently, but made the Bulgarian look at him.
"You von't even look back for me?"
Some more silence. Dimi freed his face from the other man's hand and turned away. His hand went to his pocket, took a cigarette out, and smoked. So Berbatov, that, thought Vida.
"Time vill make you forget me. I know..." The Bulgarian blew smoke out.
"How can you be so sure?" Nemanja insisted.
"It happens."
Another drag of smoke. More silence. Vida looked around the flat, the Manchester flat that, probably, would be on sale soon.
"How many times have ve made love here?"
The Bulgarian seemed confused when he heard that question, but, nonetheless, he answered:
"Nineteen. I counted zem vhen I thought of you."
"Vell..."
The movements were slow, controlled, but certain. Nemanja walked on to Dimi, snatched the cigarette away from his hand, and then stepped on it, putting it out--then, he whispered on the dark-haired man's ear:
"Vat comes after nineteen?"
Dimitar finally faced his lover, finally looked at Vida's eyes. A small smile formed in the corners of his mouth.
"Tventy."
Nemanja kissed Dimi. A long kiss, one that wanted the moment to linger on and on. For his part, the Berba's hand reached out and grabbed a handful of the defender's newly grown hair.
"Like ze curls," Dimitar said with a smile, cutting the kiss.
"Happy to know," Nemanja smiled, before taking his lover's hand and guiding him towards the room, as if that flat had been his. The Bulgarian, for his part, seemed happy to follow, seemed happy to recognize his home as someplace else, someplace Vida knew as well. He was happy to be, for a second, a stranger at his own home.
The Serbian opened the door. There was the room he knew, the bed waiting for them, the balcony where Dimitar fed the squirrels, as he himself had declared to some magazine when asked about his hobbies. The desk with sketches, paper, dedicated to his other hobby: drawing. And the big TV, for watching footy. Bulgaria, or--
The games when Sir Alex had not called him.
That thought made the Serbian sad, so he distracted himself, and his lover, with another hungry kiss. He could feel Dimitar's hands pulling at his leather jacket, taking it off, and then looking for the buttons of his shirt. In a somewhat teenage gesture, Nemanja had primped himself up: nice jacket, shirt that showed off his muscles, jeans that enhanced his butt: some little details to impress his lover. Dimi, for his part, had been sitting alone, thinking, wondering, so his old jeans and t-shirt may not have been the best outfit there was (especially for a man who liked to show up as a fashionista in red carpet shows) but the Serbian didn't care.
In fact, when his leather jacket hit the floor, he thought his lover would look so much better without his shirt, too.
The first time, Dimi had taken his shirt off by himself, his fingers shaking, perhaps a little nervous.
Vida's shirt was half-open, but he had better things to worry about. For example, his lover's torso. He might not have been the best body at the United showers; however, Dimitar's body was sexy, slender, hints of muscle, everything adding to the charm.
That second time, they had taken more minutes to explore their bodies, to enjoy what had started as a night of passion. And that second time had come half an hour after the first one, so...
The Serbian started licking at Dimitar's torso, focusing on his nipples, making them hard against his cold tongue, reveling on the electric feeling, and on the other man's moans--
That third time, Vida had actually bitten Berba's nipples so hard that he'd made the Bulgarian beg him to stop. Yet, the next part, the one of licking his toothmarks away, had been really enjoyable...
When his nubs were hard enough (not to mention his shaft, still inside his old jeans) Dimi decided it was his turn. His hands found the rest of the buttons in Nemanja's shirt, the ones that were still unattended, and his mouth found his lover's ear.
"Remember zis?"
Vida's erection threatened to pierce his jeans when the striker bit his neck as he continued struggling with the buttons, leaving a red mark on that pale European skin, vampire fangs. Berbatov's trademark, thought the Serbian, smiling. He loved when his man did that. The fourth time, he had teased the Bulgarian about him being some kind of Dracula lookalike, and he'd gotten that bite in return. Not to mention feverish sex.
Nemanja's neck sported that fierce red mark then. He would not try to hide it from his teammates this time, like the fifth time, when they wore scarves to training after lots of lovebites. But not this time...
Both were half-naked now, and they got rid of their own pants, eager to see each other, wanting, needing. They were fully hard by then, but it was the Berba the one who finally got down on his knees and took Vida's cock in his mouth. The Serbian was big and thick--his shaft matched his build. The sixth time, Berba had sucked that dick for the first time, and Nemanja had gotten so horny he'd just bucked his hips, wanting more, forgetting about his girth--the Bulgarian had almost choked. Of course, Vida had apologized after that, and the striker had changed his technique for a blowjob. Right then, he was sucking avidly at that cock, his head bobbing up and down, while his hand was taking care of that part of the defender's shaft that would make him gag, but setting a rhythm that contrasted with the one of his mouth.
Well, he'd had lots of practice during the seventh to tenth times, mainly.
"No... let me... finish..." Vida asked, almost gasping, but the Bulgarian didn't stop.
"I vant to taste you again."
The eleventh time, Dimi had swallowed Nemanja's seed and had made the defender taste himself with a kiss, in a kinky and romantic gesture. This time, he made Vida come inside his mouth, and he received his warm fluid.
"Dimi... Mitko..." the Serbian gasped, using both the pet name everyone used and the one that was used in Bulgaria.
"I don't know if I vill get another chance..." Berba answered after he had swallowed, before kissing his lover, fiercely. Nemanja could recognize inside his mouth the remnants of his fluid. The twelfth time he'd felt comfortable with tasting himself.
"You vill..." the Serbian almost swore. "You vill."
Now it was him the one who made Berba stand up, watching that lovely body and that erect cock, smaller than his, delectable anyways. The defender got down on his knees, but not to suck...
Instead, he bit, avidly, at the striker's thighs. It was something he'd liked ever since the thirteenth time they'd made love: feel the Bulgarian's muscles, his teeth against them, just as Dimi loved to bite his neck. The other man's legs tensed and resisted, making everything rough, the way the defender, known for his fierceness, liked it. Even if there was a chance somebody could see them if Dimitar pulled his shorts up.
Berba felt his legs could no longer hold him upright. Even if it wasn't being touched, his cock began to leak. He had to pull at Nemanja's newly-grown hair to distract him from his ministrations.
The Serbian's response was to introduce one finger inside the striker's tight entrance.
"Nemanja..." Dimi gasped as well as he could. "Please... vant... fuck..."
The defender was on his feet then. He pushed the black-haired man towards the bed. He didn't feel like doing Dimi standing up against the wall, like the fourteenth time. Pretty soon, he was opening those pale legs, settling himself comfortably between them. Two fingers went inside.
"Vida... Nemanja..."
Three fingers.
"I love you, Dimi. You know this love is special and that no even you going avay vill stop it."
The Bulgarian couldn't even answer--immediately, his mouth was hushed with a kiss, and he wouldn't have been able to talk, anyways, for Nemanja penetrated him then, one slow thrust, that thick cock burying itself deep inside the striker's entrance, making the moment last.
Since the fifteenth time, Dimitar didn't need lube any longer.
The defender started moving then: slow thrusts, focused on his lover's pleasure. Dimi, for his part, held Vida impossibly close, breaking the kisses only when he needed to breathe, all the time wanting that body to stay that way. There. On top of him. Close. So close. Always.
"I love you too Vida," he suddenly said, breaking a kiss. There was a moment of silence, in which not even the Serbian continued to move, but then, the striker added: "And I vill alvays look back at United for you."
Nemanja smiled, and went for the Bulgarian again--but his kisses seemed even more hungry, as if Dimitar's confession had set him on fire, a fiercer fire that the one before. He hadn't felt like this before--nor the sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, or nineteenth time, when he actually fucked Dimi on the floor, so horny he was.
The striker, for his part, was sandwiched against the mattress--but he didn't care. In fact, it even increased his pleasure--not only because Vida was there, making love to him even better than the minutes before, but because his erect dick, that had been unattended, now was sandwiched too, and was rubbing itself against the defender's exquisite abs.
The bed was warm underneath Dimi's body. Nemanja's body was burning on top of him. And then, just then, a harsh thrust from the defender let all his seed go, let all that hot fluid inside the Bulgarian's body. That familiar liquid, combined with the friction of his cock against the Serbian's smooth skin, made it throb and finally explode, his semen staining both of them.
Both had their eyes when their orgasm came. They opened them at the same time. Two clear eyes, meeting each other in the dark, begging for eternity. They didn't have to talk.
Vida started pulling out, but Dimi stopped him.
"No do so. Please. I vant to sleep vith you inside me."
"I vill squish you."
"Vait."
Dimi started moving then, positioning himself as if they were both spooning, trying to keep Nemanja inside him. He succeeded, in a way, even though the Serbian had to pull half his shaft out, and, when they were both comfortable, the defender buried his face in Dimitar's dark hair, that still smelled faintly of shampoo. However, the striker's entrance, its warmth, was starting to act on him again.
"Maybe tomorrow you vill get love session number 21," he chuckled, his warm breath teasing Dimi's nape of his neck. The other man laughed too.
"I vould love to vake up to zat."
Silence. Then, the Serbian asked:
"How many titles Juve has?"
"Tventy-somezing," Dimi answered. "I no know exact number because of scandal."
"Vell..." Nemanja whispered, "maybe you can give zem a new trophy? Like, you know vat... I no know Juve's locker rooms... ve could see about zat..."
Dimitar laughed. He was going to miss his lover, but... yes.
Numbers were infinite, after all.
(Author's note: Sometimes I want to believe Dimi stayed at Fulham not because his wife didn't want to leave England, but to be close to Vida :3)