November Rain
Title: November Rain
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is all fiction, but I guess it really hits you with a hammer in this one.
Warning: This is supposed to just be the setup for more parts, but I'm stuck and right now don't have that much time to continue it anyway. I guess it can be read as a stand-alone even if it would probably make more sense if it'd be continued, especially the lyrics. So please blame jumping_down if this will take ages (!) to be updated, she wanted to have it anyway. Love, are you happy now?! ♥
Summary: How vivid the memory was of the dim light in the room bathing them in a warm glow, of unrestrained laughter, of Fernando wrapping his arms over his shoulders from behind, grinning brightly, “Come on, Danny, sing for me again.”
A/N: Another AU, I know, bear with me. Many thanks to ombu_tree for her encouragement. This is the longer story to my drabble Expiration. No idea what I should think about it, so you tell me - just don't take it too seriously. :)
November Rain
I
When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darling when I hold you
Don’t you know I feel the same
Cause nothing lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it’s hard to hold a candle
In the cold November Rain
***
Dolphin's Cry
The way you’re bathed in light reminds me of that night
- Live
It was a drop of sweat glinting in the soft, dim light that caught his eye.
He watched how it accumulated on the back of the neck between the tips of soft, blond hair, parting with them to slide down over smooth skin, meeting freckles on its way in between the gentle slope flanked by two shoulder blades. His eyes followed it over each small dip of the spine as it rolled down ever so slowly, spurned on by the calming breathing of its path’s inhabitant.
He raised a hand, his fingertips exploratorily following the drop down over the bumps, hot to his skin, clammy.
A shudder.
With a smile he finally lowered his head, an open mouthed kiss taking in that drop, a faint taste of salt.
The blond man lying on his front next to him practically purred.
Dan propped his head onto his hand again and chuckled.
“I swear, you’re like a cat, Fernando.”
The Spaniard, who had his head pillowed on his folded arms, cracked his eyes open to look at him, amusement sparkling in the dark depths.
“And what makes you come to that conclusion?”
Dan shrugged but grinned.
“One only has to do something nice to you and you purr. Isn’t that endearing?”
“Then what about those?” Fernando asked, nodding at some faint red marks on Dan’s shoulder. “I thought cats don’t show their claws if you do something they like.”
“Well, sometimes they simply do that when they play.”
He watched how Fernando bit his lower lip to hold back a grin and he had to stifle the urge to just bury his hand in those still slightly sweaty blond strands again. Instead he plopped back down onto the bed, looking up to the ceiling while a grin spread on his features.
“Not to mention that they’re just as headstrong and proud, that they wrap everyone around their finger to get exactly what they want and - sometimes - become right little bitches when something doesn’t go their way… oh, and how could I forget: they’re very picky about who and when they let someone… pet them.”
It was something between a snort and a laugh that escaped Fernando. The mattress shifted and the next thing Dan felt was warm breath ghosting over his ear and a soft voice muttering teasingly, “How very observant”, sending goose bumps over his skin. A gentle bite into his earlobe, then Fernando rolled out of bed, his bare feet almost inaudible on the light parquet of his luxurious bedroom.
The Dane rolled over onto his front in the white satin sheets to be able to watch Fernando walk over to the shining black grand piano on the far side of the room, enjoying the sight of his naked silhouette.
As the blond sat down and began to play something that was unknown to Dan - probably improvised - he was reminded of the very first time he had seen him play. The feeling was still the same.
They had met five years ago in one of Liverpool’s most famous pubs, the Cavern Club - a Dane and a Spaniard in a foreign country, a meeting at the bar by chance, a casual conversation turning quickly into a discovery of each other’s passion for music. They had talked until closing time and long after on the streets of Liverpool. Then they had arrived on Fernando’s doorsteps and instead of saying goodbye, they had taken it inside the small apartment where stacks of music sheets had been lying everywhere and an old piano - against all laws of physics - had somehow been squeezed into a corner.
He remembered perfectly how Fernando had talked about his classical education despite his love for rock, and how he had sat down and first played Tchaikovsky as softly as humanly possible as to not risk the wrath of his neighbours, but with a precision and feel to it that had left Dan stunned - and then an adaption of Soldier of Fortune that had him want to weep with joy.
Finding that he just couldn’t take his eyes off of him.
Five years had passed, and some things had changed.
Today, they were on top of the world. No tiny, cramped apartments with too thin walls and irritated neighbours anymore, but luxurious hotel rooms, tours around the whole world, home a Spanish villa on the hills of Santa Barbara that they sometimes didn’t see for months at a time. Hardly being able to walk around the streets anymore without being recognized, reading gossip about themselves every now and then when they failed to avoid it entirely. Filling concert halls with thousands of people that sang with them word for word, intoxication no drug could provide.
From the very beginning they had been the heart and soul of their small band, those that had brought them together, four young men who had become fast friends, working and relishing in this together, complimenting each other.
Fernando was still the one writing most of their songs, even though Dan had the feeling that more or less simple rock songs or ballads were under challenging him. Sometimes he needed something more than just guitars and drums and even his piano, and then songs came pouring out of him that were purely epic, that needed a whole orchestra to be recorded. Songs that made Dan shiver in pleasure, and he suspected it was that combination of simple rock and complex symphonies even the great composers of their time would take notice of, that so many of their fans were drawn to.
There was only one thing Dan wasn’t sure if he could actually call it a change or not.
They had been close from that very first conversation in Liverpool’s Cavern Club, a bond, an understanding formed without words. They just didn’t grow tired of each other, he and Fernando. Not while they were practically together day and night during their concert tours, when working on new songs, a new album - they couldn’t stay apart for too long even when they were taking some time off. Sooner or later they ended up in one of their villas, together.
And despite all that almost two years had passed until that one night.
They had just played one of their concerts, coming into their hotel room late at night, both high and drunk on adrenaline, thousands of voices still echoing in their head.
How vivid the memory was of the dim light in the room bathing them in a warm glow, of unrestrained laughter, of Fernando wrapping his arms over his shoulders from behind, grinning brightly, “Come on, Danny, sing for me again.” Of his scent, aftershave, clean sweat from hours in warm headlights, of just letting go of everything, an uncomplicated kiss, no questions asked, warm legs wrapped around his waist, and he would never forget Fernando’s closed eyes as he threw his head back, his lips parting for a moan that tore right into him, a sight that would stay with him until his very last day.
They hadn’t talked about it that night, or the next morning, or ever at all. They had never defined whatever was between them because nothing had changed, and when they had fallen into the same bed again two weeks later, neither had demanded any answers.
Despite everything, they were still the same, still eating their Chinese takeaway together, still going for walks in a park in the middle of the night, juggling a football between them, still meeting to watch episode after episode of Scrubs and House and How I met your mother, sharing a bucket of ice cream between them. Still connecting through their music like they had done that very first night in some small apartment in northern England.
“Don’t tell me you’re already conceptualizing something new, Nando, we just came back from our tour,” Dan finally sat up, rolling his shoulders but his eyes never leaving the blond. He watched the small grin appearing on Fernando’s features.
“I don’t know. Do you like it?”
“What kind of a question is that?” the Dane snorted good-naturally, slipping out of the sheets. He walked over to the piano to watch over Fernando’s shoulder how his fingers flew over the keys just like a caress to coax the melody out of the instrument.
“I’m thinking you should take a break though,” Dan commented, letting his hands rest on Fernando’s shoulders.
“Yeah? Why?”
Unsurprisingly not enough to distract the Spaniard’s attention. With a small smile he drew his hands over the freckled shoulders and down his upper body, one continuing its journey to the front over the soft skin of Fernando’s stomach, the other starting at the back of his neck again. Fingertips nestling the tips of soft blond hair, once more leisurely ghosting down his spine. His smile widened as the piano play faltered and the back under his hand arched.
Sometimes Dan thought he could play Fernando just as skilfully as his guitar, knowing exactly where to put his fingers to string all the right chords. He didn’t miss the short hitch in Fernando’s breathing.
“No reason in particular,” he finally muttered innocently right next to the Spaniard’s ear. As his arm tightened around his waist to draw him to his feet, Fernando’s fingers left the keys without any protest.
And now he could let his fingers slide further down that spine, fingertips searching teasingly, testing if he was still slick enough.
He certainly was.
Dan bent his head to bite down on Fernando’s shoulder playfully, then turned him around, for a moment caught in the dark chocolate eyes, not breaking their locked gazes as he lifted him up onto the closed top of the piano, hands on his hips. And oh did he know that look well.
If there’s any stain on my piano when we're done, I’m gonna rip your head off your shoulders.
Dan just bit back a grin, his thumbs tracing the gentle curve of Fernando’s hipbones.
Finally the blond broke into an almost daring smile. “Well… think you can make me purr again?”
And Dan just slid his hands beneath Fernando’s thighs, edging closer, smirking.
“Bet on it.”
~ MBC ~