a las cinco de la tarde
title a las cinco de la tarde
rating r
pairing raul gonzalez/sergio ramos
summary from this prompt at footballkinkSo today I saw this picture of a wounded bullfighter (NSFW just to be safe, its not too graphic but don't click if you're squeamish): http://farm1.static.flickr.com/68/187706958_628394abef_o.jpg
With that in mind: Raúl González/Sergio Ramos, bullfighter AU.
Seasoned bullfighter Raúl looking after a scarred, bruised and bleeding Sergio after a faena goes wrong.
The Maestranza is hot.
It's August, Sergio thinks hazily. His right thigh hurts. The sun is shining brightly enough to make him squint. The dirt floor of the arena looks like gold when the light catches it just right. His leg buckles as he takes a step, trying to complete the faena. He hears someone shouting at him and then he feels someone's arms hook around his torso. The muleta flutters out in front of him as he lets himself be dragged out of the arena. It's five in the afternoon.
The infirmary is cold.
Iker keeps the air conditioning up because he always wears long sleeves. Sergio dozes for a little bit and when he wakes up, there’s a starched, white bandage around his right thigh. It's wrapped too tightly. The top of the bandage chafes against his skin when he tries to move.
"How are you feeling?"
Sergio startles and turns.
The older matador is sitting in one of the chairs lined up against the wall. He's still wearing his costume. Sergio wonders how long he's been sleeping, if Raúl has already finished.
"I don't know," he says. His voice is unsteady. He coughs, trying to clear his throat. Raúl stands up. Sergio runs his thumb along the top of the bandage, trying to loosen it.
Raúl's skin is dark from years in the sun. The callouses on his hands are rough against the soft skin of Sergio's leg. His eyes are dark and intent, focused on Sergio the way he focuses on the bull in the ring. Sergio reaches out towards him. His palm catches on Raúl's costume and he clenches his fingers as Raúl begins to unwind the bandage, revealing the lighter skin of at the top of Sergio's leg.
Sergio squeezes his eyes shut and hisses when Raúl pulls the bandage off of the actual wound. He lets the strip of fabric float to the ground and kneels, eye to eye with Sergio's thigh.
The skin is torn open. Iker's done a good job of cleaning the wound, but there is no getting around the fact that there is a messy, slightly jagged hole in Sergio's leg. The flesh around it is red and raw and it hurts when Raúl lightly brushes his fingers over it.
"You'll have a pretty scar," Raúl tells him. Sergio opens his eyes to look at Raúl. He bites his lip and shakes his head. Scars aren't pretty, he thinks. "Do you remember what happened?"
What Sergio remembers is how bright the sun was. He remembers his leg shaking. He remembers dully registering pain in his leg. He remembers that he couldn't walk out of the arena on his own. He remembers what time it was- his first faena as a professional matador, he will know the date and time (18 August, five in the afternoon) for the rest of his life.
"No," he says after a moment.
"You scared me,when it happened," Raúl says. Sergio is glad that he doesn't go into detail about it. "You were so beautiful out there, nobody could take their eyes off of you." Raúl moves his hand up to cup Sergio’s hip. Sergio shivers. "The perfect debut, and then you terrified us all." His thumb rubs firm circles into Sergio’s lower abdomen.
"Do you have scars?" Sergio asks abruptly. His body relaxes when Raúl pulls his hand away and nods. "Show me."
Raúl takes off his costume slowly, putting each piece carefully on the chair. When he finally peels off his trousers, Sergio gasps for the deep lines of mottled purple that crisscross Raúl's legs. He reaches out and Raúl obliges, stepping forward so Sergio can touch the raised scar that cuts over his left kneecap. It's silky soft to the touch but still hard and knotted. Sergio presses down on with his thumb. "Can you feel it?"
"Yes," Raúl breathes. Sergio spreads his hand out so his fingers graze the soft place where Raúl's legs meet his hips.
Sergio has big hands, but Raúl's cover them completely. He slides his fingers over Sergio's wrist and moves Sergio's hand to rest on his own thigh, just far enough away from his wound. Raúl leans over him and Sergio blinks. Before he can say anything, Raúl's lips slide over his, soft but demanding. Sergio pushes himself towards the older matador and Raúl slides his tongue into his mouth. The taste of him is overwhelming and Sergio lets him take what he wants, falling pliant. Raúl's hands skim over his biceps and then come to rest for a moment on his chest. He flicks one of Sergio's nipples back and forth with his thumb until Sergio lets out a small, desperate noise.
His leg is starting to throb with pain. Sergio assumes whatever anesthetic Iker gave him is wearing off. He notices it less and less the lower down Raúl's hands wander, exploring the planes of his abdomen.
"Keep your leg still," Raúl says. Sergio doesn’t have a chance to ask why before Raúl crouches down and slides his mouth over Sergio's cock. Raúl's stubble prickles against the inside of Sergio's legs and he has to gingerly spread them further apart to keep the raw skin untouched.
"Sorry," he gasps. Raúl licks up the underside of his cock. Sergio can feel his heartbeat in his whole body. One of his hands comes to erratically pet at Raúl's hair. "I know you said not to move but I-" Raúl cuts him off by swallowing hard around his cock.
When Sergio comes, Raúl swallows. Sergio reaches for Raúl, but his hands are batted away and Raúl finishes himself with a few quick strokes.
"When the scar first forms, it’s the most sensitive," Raúl says. He finds a towel in one of the cupboards and tiesit around his waist. He tosses another one to Sergio, who drapes it over himself.
"Oh," Sergio replies, and then- "Oh."
Las Ventas is hot.
It's not the ancient hot of Andalusia. It's a more spacious hot. Sergio scuffs his toe in the dirt and adjusts his grip on the muleta. If he squints just right, the bull's horns shine like ivory and the dirt floor of the arena gleams like gold. When he shifts his weight back and forth, the fabric of his costume pulls heavily over the scar on his right thigh. He takes his first step forward.
It's his first mano a mano, and his performance is coming just after Raúl's. It's five in the afternoon.
rating r
pairing raul gonzalez/sergio ramos
summary from this prompt at footballkinkSo today I saw this picture of a wounded bullfighter (NSFW just to be safe, its not too graphic but don't click if you're squeamish): http://farm1.static.flickr.com/68/187706958_628394abef_o.jpg
With that in mind: Raúl González/Sergio Ramos, bullfighter AU.
Seasoned bullfighter Raúl looking after a scarred, bruised and bleeding Sergio after a faena goes wrong.
The Maestranza is hot.
It's August, Sergio thinks hazily. His right thigh hurts. The sun is shining brightly enough to make him squint. The dirt floor of the arena looks like gold when the light catches it just right. His leg buckles as he takes a step, trying to complete the faena. He hears someone shouting at him and then he feels someone's arms hook around his torso. The muleta flutters out in front of him as he lets himself be dragged out of the arena. It's five in the afternoon.
The infirmary is cold.
Iker keeps the air conditioning up because he always wears long sleeves. Sergio dozes for a little bit and when he wakes up, there’s a starched, white bandage around his right thigh. It's wrapped too tightly. The top of the bandage chafes against his skin when he tries to move.
"How are you feeling?"
Sergio startles and turns.
The older matador is sitting in one of the chairs lined up against the wall. He's still wearing his costume. Sergio wonders how long he's been sleeping, if Raúl has already finished.
"I don't know," he says. His voice is unsteady. He coughs, trying to clear his throat. Raúl stands up. Sergio runs his thumb along the top of the bandage, trying to loosen it.
Raúl's skin is dark from years in the sun. The callouses on his hands are rough against the soft skin of Sergio's leg. His eyes are dark and intent, focused on Sergio the way he focuses on the bull in the ring. Sergio reaches out towards him. His palm catches on Raúl's costume and he clenches his fingers as Raúl begins to unwind the bandage, revealing the lighter skin of at the top of Sergio's leg.
Sergio squeezes his eyes shut and hisses when Raúl pulls the bandage off of the actual wound. He lets the strip of fabric float to the ground and kneels, eye to eye with Sergio's thigh.
The skin is torn open. Iker's done a good job of cleaning the wound, but there is no getting around the fact that there is a messy, slightly jagged hole in Sergio's leg. The flesh around it is red and raw and it hurts when Raúl lightly brushes his fingers over it.
"You'll have a pretty scar," Raúl tells him. Sergio opens his eyes to look at Raúl. He bites his lip and shakes his head. Scars aren't pretty, he thinks. "Do you remember what happened?"
What Sergio remembers is how bright the sun was. He remembers his leg shaking. He remembers dully registering pain in his leg. He remembers that he couldn't walk out of the arena on his own. He remembers what time it was- his first faena as a professional matador, he will know the date and time (18 August, five in the afternoon) for the rest of his life.
"No," he says after a moment.
"You scared me,when it happened," Raúl says. Sergio is glad that he doesn't go into detail about it. "You were so beautiful out there, nobody could take their eyes off of you." Raúl moves his hand up to cup Sergio’s hip. Sergio shivers. "The perfect debut, and then you terrified us all." His thumb rubs firm circles into Sergio’s lower abdomen.
"Do you have scars?" Sergio asks abruptly. His body relaxes when Raúl pulls his hand away and nods. "Show me."
Raúl takes off his costume slowly, putting each piece carefully on the chair. When he finally peels off his trousers, Sergio gasps for the deep lines of mottled purple that crisscross Raúl's legs. He reaches out and Raúl obliges, stepping forward so Sergio can touch the raised scar that cuts over his left kneecap. It's silky soft to the touch but still hard and knotted. Sergio presses down on with his thumb. "Can you feel it?"
"Yes," Raúl breathes. Sergio spreads his hand out so his fingers graze the soft place where Raúl's legs meet his hips.
Sergio has big hands, but Raúl's cover them completely. He slides his fingers over Sergio's wrist and moves Sergio's hand to rest on his own thigh, just far enough away from his wound. Raúl leans over him and Sergio blinks. Before he can say anything, Raúl's lips slide over his, soft but demanding. Sergio pushes himself towards the older matador and Raúl slides his tongue into his mouth. The taste of him is overwhelming and Sergio lets him take what he wants, falling pliant. Raúl's hands skim over his biceps and then come to rest for a moment on his chest. He flicks one of Sergio's nipples back and forth with his thumb until Sergio lets out a small, desperate noise.
His leg is starting to throb with pain. Sergio assumes whatever anesthetic Iker gave him is wearing off. He notices it less and less the lower down Raúl's hands wander, exploring the planes of his abdomen.
"Keep your leg still," Raúl says. Sergio doesn’t have a chance to ask why before Raúl crouches down and slides his mouth over Sergio's cock. Raúl's stubble prickles against the inside of Sergio's legs and he has to gingerly spread them further apart to keep the raw skin untouched.
"Sorry," he gasps. Raúl licks up the underside of his cock. Sergio can feel his heartbeat in his whole body. One of his hands comes to erratically pet at Raúl's hair. "I know you said not to move but I-" Raúl cuts him off by swallowing hard around his cock.
When Sergio comes, Raúl swallows. Sergio reaches for Raúl, but his hands are batted away and Raúl finishes himself with a few quick strokes.
"When the scar first forms, it’s the most sensitive," Raúl says. He finds a towel in one of the cupboards and tiesit around his waist. He tosses another one to Sergio, who drapes it over himself.
"Oh," Sergio replies, and then- "Oh."
Las Ventas is hot.
It's not the ancient hot of Andalusia. It's a more spacious hot. Sergio scuffs his toe in the dirt and adjusts his grip on the muleta. If he squints just right, the bull's horns shine like ivory and the dirt floor of the arena gleams like gold. When he shifts his weight back and forth, the fabric of his costume pulls heavily over the scar on his right thigh. He takes his first step forward.
It's his first mano a mano, and his performance is coming just after Raúl's. It's five in the afternoon.