[Fic - Real Madrid] A Coming of Hattricks
Title: A Coming of Hattricks
Fandom/Pairing: Real Madrid - Cristiano Ronaldo/Mesut Özil, side showings of a shit ton of other pairings (Karim Benzema/Esteban Grenaro, Marcelo/Pepe, Iker Casillas/Sergio Ramos, Gonzalo Higuain/Jose Callejon, hinted at Cristiano Ronaldo/Kaka, hinted at Mesut Özil/Sami Khedira)
Rating: NC-17
Author: onyxexistance/openmoments
Spoilers: --
Word Count: 9, 069
Summary: Mesut has a special birthday present for Cris.
Disclaimers: Do not own/not mine/would not be writing fic/etc.
Prompt: Birthday fic.
Author's Notes: It's late for Cris's birthday, but better later than never. But here it is, all 9K of it.
“But why didn’t you come?” he whispers against his mouth and he can feel Mesut’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek and he pulls back to look at him, his face red and eyes wide and lust blown and wanting.
He pushes his hand through his dark hair, tugging on the ends, waiting for an answer and smiles when Mesut bites on his lips, all of a sudden shy.
“I want,” Mesut starts and then hesitates for a moment, and then looks at him, “I want to come with you inside me,” and even though he’s said it before Cris still sucks his breathe in because it never fails to blow him away, that Mesut has this want, has this desire, still.
Cris groans at the thought, “God Mesut, you really are trying to kill me?” he asks as he buries his face into his neck and can taste the sweat that’s hiding there.
“Is it working?” and Cris bites at the skin there, smiles when he feels Mesut moan.
“I’ll hold it off to make you come,” he promises, voice low and thick and smiles against his collar bone when Mesut bucks his hip up against his side, cock thick against his thigh.
They lay there like that for several minutes, with Cris running his hand down Mesut’s side and wondering how he got so lucky, got Mesut, got this, and tilts his head when Mesut brushes soft kisses against his chin, his jaw, his throat as his breathing starts to even out and he starts to come down, stops feeling like he’s run a marathon.
It’s slow this time. The way that he kisses down from Mesut’s chin down his throat to his collar bone where he sucks a bruise, dips his tongue in the hollow there, before he rolls Mesut onto his back, mouths at his chest, bites on his nipple, sucks it into his mouth blows it until it’s pebble hard and does the same to the other.
He looks up and sees Mesut’s eyes fluttering shut and Cris can feel his cock starting to harden against his thigh and smiles as he kisses his way down to his hips and his grin widens at the sight of the bruises still dark on his skin from where he’d sucked them into his skin earlier and he moves his mouth over them, bites into them and Mesut bucks his hips up at the feeling, and Cris smooths his tongue over the mark before moving over just a space and repeats it, sucking on the area before biting it and smoothing over the area and moving to another spot and repeating the process again.
When he finishes, Mesut’s hips are slick with saliva and he presses his fingers to the sensitive spots he’s just sucked into his skin and Mesut hisses at the feeling and Cris looks at him, a question in his eyes and Mesut nods before his head falls back against the messy bed and his eyes slide shut.
Cris switches his attention from Mesut’s hip to his dick and wraps his hand around the end of it, and lowers his mouth to the tip of it, sucks it between his lips and Mesut bucks his hips up, trying to get it into his mouth.
“God Cris,” Mesut whines, hands scrabbling on the sheets and Cris blows a cool puff of hair over the hot skin of his cock and whispers.
“Shhhh,” he soothes against the hot skin that’s next to his cheek and he doesn’t know if Mesut can hear him but he continues, “Shhh, I’ll take care of you,” and he slips his lips back over the head of his cock, wraps his tongue around it and sucks it down into his mouth and let’s Mesut buck up into his mouth, takes the extra length down his throat and when Mesut starts making the sounds that indicate he’s close Cris pulls his mouth off, wraps his hand around his balls and reminds him, “Remember, you want to come with me buried inside you,” and Mesut nods, eyes glassy.
Cris sticks his own fingers into his mouth, wets them thoroughly and pushes Mesut’s feet onto the bed so his knees are in the air and spreads them so that he can shuffle in between them and teases the tight ring of muscle there but not for long because he knows, by now, that Mesut can take this, that he’ll do it gladly and pushes it up to his first knuckle before drawing it back out and sliding it back in and then pushes the second finger in next to it.
It doesn’t take long to stretch Mesut out and Cris’s cock is starting to fill back up again and he wonders how the fuck this is possible but doesn’t question it too much further, scissoring his fingers and closing his eyes at the sounds coming from Mesut’s mouth when he does it.
He grabs the bottle of lube from where Mesut discarded it on the bed earlier, leaning over him to get it, in the process pushing his fingers further in and Mesut pushes his hips down and Cris kisses him quickly before he slips them out and liberally squirts some into the palm of his hand before he wraps his hand around his cock, jerks it several times as Mesut slowly blinks his eyes open and looks at him, licking his lips when he catches sight of what Cris is doing and that spurs Cris’s hand faster, fills his dick up and he swears to god Mesut should win an award if he does come a third time this evening.
Cris moves to slide between Mesut’s legs but Mesut manages to push himself up, shakes his head and gestures for Cris to move back to the head of the bed, which he does quickly, even as he’s wondering what Mesut is doing and when his back is back up against the wall and Mesut right there, hand on his dick, a few quick strokes before he climbs onto his lap, guiding Cris’s cock inside him as he slowly lowers himself down onto it.
Cris’s mouth hangs open as he watches Mesut slide onto him, his mouth dry and Mesut’s tight and hot and fucking hell -
“God you’re perfect,” and Mesut’s face is tight and concentrated and he’s biting hard on his bottom lip and Cris can feel him adjusting before he lifts himself up before lowering himself slowly back down.
He repeats it, starting to go a little more quickly and Cris’s eye lids start to flutter shut but he resists, wants to watch it, watch all of it. The way Mesut’s eyes are screwed tightly shut, his lip between his teeth, the tendons in his neck tight and strained, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and he reaches out, touches the tendon in his neck, trails his hand down over his chest, his stomach, his hips until his fingers brush against Mesut’s cock and wraps his hand around it and the way Mesut’s muscles clench around him are his undoing.
He pushes Mesut back who squeaks with surprise and Cris feels himself slip out a fraction but he slams back in and Mesut’s mouth opens in a big ‘O’ and that’s exactly what Cris wanted and he does it again, and he knows the right angle to get Mesut off and he hits his prostate over and over.
Mesut warns him, “I’m going to cum,” loud and strained, head thrown back and he cums with a loud, long moan, sticky and warm between them and Cris has never seen anything so fucking perfect and he pounds into him once, twice and Mesut’s so tight and he goes over the edge and he’s so strung out he doesn’t make a sound, just lands on Mesut’s chest, not caring that he gets cum all over himself in the process.
Cris is positive he must have passed out because he wakes up and he’s stuck to Mesut, who’s carding his fingers softly through his hair, smiling at him, softly and sated and Cris returns the smile as he attempts to push himself up and finds that his arms aren’t working properly.
“That was,” Mesut tells him, and then lets out a puff of air, “You were perfect,” he finally settles on. “I can’t believe you actually came three times,” and Cris is surprised by it as well.
“Well,” he says as he wrangles his fist under his chin and looks at Mesut, “when you’re boyfriend is as fucking brilliant with his fingers, tongue and cock as mine is,” and he trails off and Mesut gets embarrassed, pulls his puffy and bruised lip into his mouth.
“Seriously,” Cris continues seriously and he uses his other hand to slips his fingers through Mesut’s, “that was absolutely amazing. I’ve never,” and he can’t find the words so he just gestures with their joined hands and he knows Mesut knows what he’s trying to say and instead he lifts himself forward, ignores the pull of the drying cum on his stomach and places a chaste kiss on his mouth.
They lay there for a time, Cris just staring at Mesut, the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and the soothing way his fingers are still moving through his hair and it starts lulling him to sleep when suddenly the baby monitor starts going off again and he sighs but Mesut tugs on his hair and smiles, “I’ll get him. I’m less...tired out,” he says with a cheeky smile and Cris rolls his eyes.
“He’s going to think his dad is too busy getting laid to take care of him,” Cris mumbles as he rolls off of Mesut and onto his back.
“We both know that’s not true, so he won’t,” he gets teased and rolls his eyes as Mesut grabs his boxers from the floor and wipes his stomach off with Cris’s dropped t-shirt.
“But, while I’m with him, want to, I don’t know, change the sheets and clean up?” he asks with raised eyebrows, looking pointedly at the mess they’ve made on the bed and Cris’s stomach.
“I don’t think I can move,” he moans and Mesut shakes his head and Cris smiles at him, “Of course.”
Mesut leaves the room and Cris lays there for a few seconds more before pushing himself up and padding to the bathroom, soaks a towel in the sink and wipes himself clean, takes a look at himself in the mirror and grins at all the bruises and bite marks dotting his skin before heading back to the bedroom and grabbing the sheets and pillows and dumping them off in the corner before covering them with extras from the closet.
By the time he’s settled on fresh pillows and slipped under clean sheets, the only light on the one on the bedside table, Mesut comes back in, his son whimpering on his shoulder, a bottle in his other hand.
“He wants his Daddy’s attention,” Mesut says with a tired smile and passes him to Cris before disappearing into the bathroom and Cris can hear the tap running and Mesut comes back out, shirtless, before heading Cris’s drawers and pulling a clean white t-shirt from the drawer and slips it on.
“God I love you in my clothes,” Cris tells him as Mesut gets to the foot of the bed and crawls up to Cris’s side.
Mesut doesn’t say anything, just looks up tiredly at him, slips his feet under the comforter and Cris can feel them tangle with his under the blankets.
“I hope you had a happy birthday,” Mesut says through a yawn and Cris looks at him as he tips the emptying baby bottle farther up.
“Of course I did, you idiot. It was...you were perfect,” he tells him and leans over, presses a kiss to the top of Mesut’s head and then looks back at baby Cris and feels Mesut’s head propped up against his arm and when he looks back down at him, his eyes have slid shut, mouth slightly open, breathe fanning gently across his arm.
“This is perfect,” Cris mumbles to himself as he slips his arm around the sleeping Mesut’s shoulders, Mesut’s hand coming to rest on his chest, and baby Cris’s own eyelids fluttering gently and Cris knows that, while this...
....while this might not be the most traditional family he envisioned for himself, it is fucking perfect, and it’s his.
Fandom/Pairing: Real Madrid - Cristiano Ronaldo/Mesut Özil, side showings of a shit ton of other pairings (Karim Benzema/Esteban Grenaro, Marcelo/Pepe, Iker Casillas/Sergio Ramos, Gonzalo Higuain/Jose Callejon, hinted at Cristiano Ronaldo/Kaka, hinted at Mesut Özil/Sami Khedira)
Rating: NC-17
Author: onyxexistance/openmoments
Spoilers: --
Word Count: 9, 069
Summary: Mesut has a special birthday present for Cris.
Disclaimers: Do not own/not mine/would not be writing fic/etc.
Prompt: Birthday fic.
Author's Notes: It's late for Cris's birthday, but better later than never. But here it is, all 9K of it.
“But why didn’t you come?” he whispers against his mouth and he can feel Mesut’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek and he pulls back to look at him, his face red and eyes wide and lust blown and wanting.
He pushes his hand through his dark hair, tugging on the ends, waiting for an answer and smiles when Mesut bites on his lips, all of a sudden shy.
“I want,” Mesut starts and then hesitates for a moment, and then looks at him, “I want to come with you inside me,” and even though he’s said it before Cris still sucks his breathe in because it never fails to blow him away, that Mesut has this want, has this desire, still.
Cris groans at the thought, “God Mesut, you really are trying to kill me?” he asks as he buries his face into his neck and can taste the sweat that’s hiding there.
“Is it working?” and Cris bites at the skin there, smiles when he feels Mesut moan.
“I’ll hold it off to make you come,” he promises, voice low and thick and smiles against his collar bone when Mesut bucks his hip up against his side, cock thick against his thigh.
They lay there like that for several minutes, with Cris running his hand down Mesut’s side and wondering how he got so lucky, got Mesut, got this, and tilts his head when Mesut brushes soft kisses against his chin, his jaw, his throat as his breathing starts to even out and he starts to come down, stops feeling like he’s run a marathon.
It’s slow this time. The way that he kisses down from Mesut’s chin down his throat to his collar bone where he sucks a bruise, dips his tongue in the hollow there, before he rolls Mesut onto his back, mouths at his chest, bites on his nipple, sucks it into his mouth blows it until it’s pebble hard and does the same to the other.
He looks up and sees Mesut’s eyes fluttering shut and Cris can feel his cock starting to harden against his thigh and smiles as he kisses his way down to his hips and his grin widens at the sight of the bruises still dark on his skin from where he’d sucked them into his skin earlier and he moves his mouth over them, bites into them and Mesut bucks his hips up at the feeling, and Cris smooths his tongue over the mark before moving over just a space and repeats it, sucking on the area before biting it and smoothing over the area and moving to another spot and repeating the process again.
When he finishes, Mesut’s hips are slick with saliva and he presses his fingers to the sensitive spots he’s just sucked into his skin and Mesut hisses at the feeling and Cris looks at him, a question in his eyes and Mesut nods before his head falls back against the messy bed and his eyes slide shut.
Cris switches his attention from Mesut’s hip to his dick and wraps his hand around the end of it, and lowers his mouth to the tip of it, sucks it between his lips and Mesut bucks his hips up, trying to get it into his mouth.
“God Cris,” Mesut whines, hands scrabbling on the sheets and Cris blows a cool puff of hair over the hot skin of his cock and whispers.
“Shhhh,” he soothes against the hot skin that’s next to his cheek and he doesn’t know if Mesut can hear him but he continues, “Shhh, I’ll take care of you,” and he slips his lips back over the head of his cock, wraps his tongue around it and sucks it down into his mouth and let’s Mesut buck up into his mouth, takes the extra length down his throat and when Mesut starts making the sounds that indicate he’s close Cris pulls his mouth off, wraps his hand around his balls and reminds him, “Remember, you want to come with me buried inside you,” and Mesut nods, eyes glassy.
Cris sticks his own fingers into his mouth, wets them thoroughly and pushes Mesut’s feet onto the bed so his knees are in the air and spreads them so that he can shuffle in between them and teases the tight ring of muscle there but not for long because he knows, by now, that Mesut can take this, that he’ll do it gladly and pushes it up to his first knuckle before drawing it back out and sliding it back in and then pushes the second finger in next to it.
It doesn’t take long to stretch Mesut out and Cris’s cock is starting to fill back up again and he wonders how the fuck this is possible but doesn’t question it too much further, scissoring his fingers and closing his eyes at the sounds coming from Mesut’s mouth when he does it.
He grabs the bottle of lube from where Mesut discarded it on the bed earlier, leaning over him to get it, in the process pushing his fingers further in and Mesut pushes his hips down and Cris kisses him quickly before he slips them out and liberally squirts some into the palm of his hand before he wraps his hand around his cock, jerks it several times as Mesut slowly blinks his eyes open and looks at him, licking his lips when he catches sight of what Cris is doing and that spurs Cris’s hand faster, fills his dick up and he swears to god Mesut should win an award if he does come a third time this evening.
Cris moves to slide between Mesut’s legs but Mesut manages to push himself up, shakes his head and gestures for Cris to move back to the head of the bed, which he does quickly, even as he’s wondering what Mesut is doing and when his back is back up against the wall and Mesut right there, hand on his dick, a few quick strokes before he climbs onto his lap, guiding Cris’s cock inside him as he slowly lowers himself down onto it.
Cris’s mouth hangs open as he watches Mesut slide onto him, his mouth dry and Mesut’s tight and hot and fucking hell -
“God you’re perfect,” and Mesut’s face is tight and concentrated and he’s biting hard on his bottom lip and Cris can feel him adjusting before he lifts himself up before lowering himself slowly back down.
He repeats it, starting to go a little more quickly and Cris’s eye lids start to flutter shut but he resists, wants to watch it, watch all of it. The way Mesut’s eyes are screwed tightly shut, his lip between his teeth, the tendons in his neck tight and strained, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat and he reaches out, touches the tendon in his neck, trails his hand down over his chest, his stomach, his hips until his fingers brush against Mesut’s cock and wraps his hand around it and the way Mesut’s muscles clench around him are his undoing.
He pushes Mesut back who squeaks with surprise and Cris feels himself slip out a fraction but he slams back in and Mesut’s mouth opens in a big ‘O’ and that’s exactly what Cris wanted and he does it again, and he knows the right angle to get Mesut off and he hits his prostate over and over.
Mesut warns him, “I’m going to cum,” loud and strained, head thrown back and he cums with a loud, long moan, sticky and warm between them and Cris has never seen anything so fucking perfect and he pounds into him once, twice and Mesut’s so tight and he goes over the edge and he’s so strung out he doesn’t make a sound, just lands on Mesut’s chest, not caring that he gets cum all over himself in the process.
Cris is positive he must have passed out because he wakes up and he’s stuck to Mesut, who’s carding his fingers softly through his hair, smiling at him, softly and sated and Cris returns the smile as he attempts to push himself up and finds that his arms aren’t working properly.
“That was,” Mesut tells him, and then lets out a puff of air, “You were perfect,” he finally settles on. “I can’t believe you actually came three times,” and Cris is surprised by it as well.
“Well,” he says as he wrangles his fist under his chin and looks at Mesut, “when you’re boyfriend is as fucking brilliant with his fingers, tongue and cock as mine is,” and he trails off and Mesut gets embarrassed, pulls his puffy and bruised lip into his mouth.
“Seriously,” Cris continues seriously and he uses his other hand to slips his fingers through Mesut’s, “that was absolutely amazing. I’ve never,” and he can’t find the words so he just gestures with their joined hands and he knows Mesut knows what he’s trying to say and instead he lifts himself forward, ignores the pull of the drying cum on his stomach and places a chaste kiss on his mouth.
They lay there for a time, Cris just staring at Mesut, the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and the soothing way his fingers are still moving through his hair and it starts lulling him to sleep when suddenly the baby monitor starts going off again and he sighs but Mesut tugs on his hair and smiles, “I’ll get him. I’m less...tired out,” he says with a cheeky smile and Cris rolls his eyes.
“He’s going to think his dad is too busy getting laid to take care of him,” Cris mumbles as he rolls off of Mesut and onto his back.
“We both know that’s not true, so he won’t,” he gets teased and rolls his eyes as Mesut grabs his boxers from the floor and wipes his stomach off with Cris’s dropped t-shirt.
“But, while I’m with him, want to, I don’t know, change the sheets and clean up?” he asks with raised eyebrows, looking pointedly at the mess they’ve made on the bed and Cris’s stomach.
“I don’t think I can move,” he moans and Mesut shakes his head and Cris smiles at him, “Of course.”
Mesut leaves the room and Cris lays there for a few seconds more before pushing himself up and padding to the bathroom, soaks a towel in the sink and wipes himself clean, takes a look at himself in the mirror and grins at all the bruises and bite marks dotting his skin before heading back to the bedroom and grabbing the sheets and pillows and dumping them off in the corner before covering them with extras from the closet.
By the time he’s settled on fresh pillows and slipped under clean sheets, the only light on the one on the bedside table, Mesut comes back in, his son whimpering on his shoulder, a bottle in his other hand.
“He wants his Daddy’s attention,” Mesut says with a tired smile and passes him to Cris before disappearing into the bathroom and Cris can hear the tap running and Mesut comes back out, shirtless, before heading Cris’s drawers and pulling a clean white t-shirt from the drawer and slips it on.
“God I love you in my clothes,” Cris tells him as Mesut gets to the foot of the bed and crawls up to Cris’s side.
Mesut doesn’t say anything, just looks up tiredly at him, slips his feet under the comforter and Cris can feel them tangle with his under the blankets.
“I hope you had a happy birthday,” Mesut says through a yawn and Cris looks at him as he tips the emptying baby bottle farther up.
“Of course I did, you idiot. It was...you were perfect,” he tells him and leans over, presses a kiss to the top of Mesut’s head and then looks back at baby Cris and feels Mesut’s head propped up against his arm and when he looks back down at him, his eyes have slid shut, mouth slightly open, breathe fanning gently across his arm.
“This is perfect,” Cris mumbles to himself as he slips his arm around the sleeping Mesut’s shoulders, Mesut’s hand coming to rest on his chest, and baby Cris’s own eyelids fluttering gently and Cris knows that, while this...
....while this might not be the most traditional family he envisioned for himself, it is fucking perfect, and it’s his.