Marked
Title: Marked
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't know them so these are obviously imaginary counterparts.
Summary: He’d never been like this - or maybe he just hadn’t even known himself.
A/N: I don’t quite know where this came from, but a funny turnaround from my last ficlet. Thehe.
Marked
Maybe he was just that fucked up. Was he?
Fernando wasn’t sure.
But this, this wasn’t normal. Not what he used to do. To be. He’d never been like this - or maybe he just hadn’t even known himself.
He clenched his eyes shut and tried to find something to hold on to, but his hands only scratched uselessly over the blank surface of the table. Aimless.
Rain was pouring against the window glass. Sharp pattering. Blurring the world outside.
And he trembled and fell apart right there on the cold wood, raw, open, vulnerable at the forceful stabs inside of him. Powerless.
He’d always hated not being in control. But that was before. Now everything was just contorted, upside down, different. He was different.
Fingertips were digging harshly into the bruising skin of his hips and he hissed, the edge of the table digging into his abdomen. Oh God, everyone would see those bruises, treacherous, unadulterated.
Somewhere he had lost himself. Or found?
Fuck this, there was no going back. And he didn’t want to, he liked this. Liked to feel that body connected to his own shift slightly above him, liked the hot breath on his neck, liked the teeth biting down on his shoulder, liked how it made him whimper. Loved how they made it all even worse.
“No, please… ah… don’t…”
And he liked to pretend differently, even as he let his forehead sink down onto the table with a soft, ecstatic sob and spread his legs just that little wider. Almost obscenely.
Of course his façade was so easily seen through, he wouldn’t have it any other way, and they both knew it.
“As if you don’t love the thought of them all looking at you… wondering…”
Another hard thrust, the low, raw voice in his ear, and he shuddered and moaned openly.
Did that make him a whore? Because, God help him, he did love it. Thrived on it. How their gazes followed him, lingering on his body, on his bare skin like jerking, lewdly appalled fingers whenever he walked past them in the showers. How their imaginations were running on overdrive, with or without their consent. Oh how they wanted to know…
They just never would. Because even if all this made him one, in the end he was a whore only for one man. And he would smile a little and wear the scratches and bruises and bite marks like badges and soak up their stares.
And go home and wait for the night and for Dan to come and mark him all over again.
~ The End ~