Never Come Back to This Town Again -- Xabi Alonso/Kaká
Title: Never Come Back to This Town
Author: metafic
Pairing: Xabi Alonso/Kaká (implied Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The Champions League final took place. Everything else is not real and never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Post-final, post-celebration. Everyone deals with disappointment in their own way. Ten not-quite drabbles (ranging from 31 to 136 words long). Title from No Children, by the Mountain Goats.
One
He’s rougher than you expect, but you don’t mind. He bites at your neck, stubble scraping your skin, and you close your eyes and try to forget the past day. Try to forget where you are, in the wrong hotel, the wrong room. You should be with your team, getting drunk with Stevie and Carra like you did after Chelsea. Except that it’s not like that. There’s nothing to celebrate, especially for you, and so here you are, in the wrong part of Athens, and all you want to do is forget.
Two
You’d like to blame it on confusion-you got lost coming back after dinner, took a wrong turn, got bad directions or something. But you knew exactly where you were going.
Three
The good thing about Ricky is that he’s always in his room. He’s surprised to see you, but he doesn’t ask why you’re there. Not that you really talk much-even if there were anything more to say about the match, you don’t mention it, and he’s far too polite to bring it up. When the conversation flags, you press him against the wall and kiss him, your hands on his shoulders and you’ve never felt more like a traitor than you do right now.
Four
You slide your hand down, fingers playing at his waistband and you grind the heel of your hand against him and pull him closer to you. He steps away from the wall and leans into you, pulling you into a rough kiss and biting at your lip. He doesn’t taste like Nagore or Steven or anyone else you’ve kissed and your tongue slides into his mouth, wanting to taste him more. He deepens the kiss and slides his hand around your waist, down to your ass and you gasp before you can stop yourself.
Five
Ricky pushes you back roughly, against the wall and he’s in control of this. Almost in control of you; his hands are everywhere at once and you think right now you’d do anything he asked you to. He leans in and kisses you hard, nudging your legs apart with his knee and running his hands under your shirt, and you grind your hips into his. You should leave; you’re flying out way too early in the morning and you shouldn’t be here in the first place. But you don’t want to-you pull him closer, digging your nails into his back and growling “fuck me” into his ear.
Six
If anyone noticed the scrapes on your back and the stubble burn on your chin, they didn’t say anything. No one really talked on the ride to the airport, but you zipped your jacket up to your chin and turned up your iPod, just in case. You fell asleep almost as soon as the plane took off.
Seven
His hand presses on your back, sliding your jeans, your boxers, down. You step out of them and brace yourself against the wall, facing it and biting your lip, closing your eyes and waiting. The anticipation is almost too much, every nerve in your body tense and alert and when he touches you, slick and cold, spreading your thighs apart and sliding a finger inside you, it’s almost too much already. He adds another finger, twisting and moving them fast and skillful and god. It almost hurts, but it mostly feels good, and you arch your back and groan under him.
Eight
You hear Ricky unzip his pants and tear the condom wrapper. You reach down and stroke yourself with one hand and he thrusts into you, hard and everything at once and without meaning to, you cry out. It’s loud and if you didn’t know the rest of the team was out, you’d be worried that someone would hear you. But they’re all gone, so you let yourself go; he fucks you roughly, harder than you thought, but you like it, you love it and you grab his hand and pull it around, down onto your cock. He strokes you and you twist and arch under him; it’s intense and he sucks on your shoulder, your neck, and you forget everything, almost mindless with pleasure.
Nine
He comes first, deep inside you, groaning and biting your shoulder when he does. Even then, though, he doesn’t pull out, but pulls you closer, away from the wall, tipping your head back onto his shoulder and nipping almost gently at your neck. He grips your cock, stroking you hard, twisting his fingers around you and you moan, thrusting up into his hand. He starts talking, low and into your ear, and you can’t really understand Portuguese, but you don’t really need to. It’s his voice that sends you over as much as anything. It’s soft and forceful, and he reaches his other hand down, gripping your balls and touching you, just enough. He whispers to you, biting at your earlobe and stroking you hard, and your legs shake and you’re coming hard, into his hand.
Ten
You both clean up silently; if this wasn’t awkward before, it sure as hell is now and you can’t think of anything to say. Ricky smiles, because he always does, because he won, and you don’t have an answer. So you leave. After all, you both have places to be.
Author: metafic
Pairing: Xabi Alonso/Kaká (implied Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The Champions League final took place. Everything else is not real and never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Post-final, post-celebration. Everyone deals with disappointment in their own way. Ten not-quite drabbles (ranging from 31 to 136 words long). Title from No Children, by the Mountain Goats.
One
He’s rougher than you expect, but you don’t mind. He bites at your neck, stubble scraping your skin, and you close your eyes and try to forget the past day. Try to forget where you are, in the wrong hotel, the wrong room. You should be with your team, getting drunk with Stevie and Carra like you did after Chelsea. Except that it’s not like that. There’s nothing to celebrate, especially for you, and so here you are, in the wrong part of Athens, and all you want to do is forget.
Two
You’d like to blame it on confusion-you got lost coming back after dinner, took a wrong turn, got bad directions or something. But you knew exactly where you were going.
Three
The good thing about Ricky is that he’s always in his room. He’s surprised to see you, but he doesn’t ask why you’re there. Not that you really talk much-even if there were anything more to say about the match, you don’t mention it, and he’s far too polite to bring it up. When the conversation flags, you press him against the wall and kiss him, your hands on his shoulders and you’ve never felt more like a traitor than you do right now.
Four
You slide your hand down, fingers playing at his waistband and you grind the heel of your hand against him and pull him closer to you. He steps away from the wall and leans into you, pulling you into a rough kiss and biting at your lip. He doesn’t taste like Nagore or Steven or anyone else you’ve kissed and your tongue slides into his mouth, wanting to taste him more. He deepens the kiss and slides his hand around your waist, down to your ass and you gasp before you can stop yourself.
Five
Ricky pushes you back roughly, against the wall and he’s in control of this. Almost in control of you; his hands are everywhere at once and you think right now you’d do anything he asked you to. He leans in and kisses you hard, nudging your legs apart with his knee and running his hands under your shirt, and you grind your hips into his. You should leave; you’re flying out way too early in the morning and you shouldn’t be here in the first place. But you don’t want to-you pull him closer, digging your nails into his back and growling “fuck me” into his ear.
Six
If anyone noticed the scrapes on your back and the stubble burn on your chin, they didn’t say anything. No one really talked on the ride to the airport, but you zipped your jacket up to your chin and turned up your iPod, just in case. You fell asleep almost as soon as the plane took off.
Seven
His hand presses on your back, sliding your jeans, your boxers, down. You step out of them and brace yourself against the wall, facing it and biting your lip, closing your eyes and waiting. The anticipation is almost too much, every nerve in your body tense and alert and when he touches you, slick and cold, spreading your thighs apart and sliding a finger inside you, it’s almost too much already. He adds another finger, twisting and moving them fast and skillful and god. It almost hurts, but it mostly feels good, and you arch your back and groan under him.
Eight
You hear Ricky unzip his pants and tear the condom wrapper. You reach down and stroke yourself with one hand and he thrusts into you, hard and everything at once and without meaning to, you cry out. It’s loud and if you didn’t know the rest of the team was out, you’d be worried that someone would hear you. But they’re all gone, so you let yourself go; he fucks you roughly, harder than you thought, but you like it, you love it and you grab his hand and pull it around, down onto your cock. He strokes you and you twist and arch under him; it’s intense and he sucks on your shoulder, your neck, and you forget everything, almost mindless with pleasure.
Nine
He comes first, deep inside you, groaning and biting your shoulder when he does. Even then, though, he doesn’t pull out, but pulls you closer, away from the wall, tipping your head back onto his shoulder and nipping almost gently at your neck. He grips your cock, stroking you hard, twisting his fingers around you and you moan, thrusting up into his hand. He starts talking, low and into your ear, and you can’t really understand Portuguese, but you don’t really need to. It’s his voice that sends you over as much as anything. It’s soft and forceful, and he reaches his other hand down, gripping your balls and touching you, just enough. He whispers to you, biting at your earlobe and stroking you hard, and your legs shake and you’re coming hard, into his hand.
Ten
You both clean up silently; if this wasn’t awkward before, it sure as hell is now and you can’t think of anything to say. Ricky smiles, because he always does, because he won, and you don’t have an answer. So you leave. After all, you both have places to be.