[Fic - Real Madrid] I Don't Need a God (I Have You & Your Beautiful Mouth) (Part VII)
Title: I Don't Need a God (I Have You & Your Beautiful Mouth) (Part VII)
Fandom/Pairing: Real Madrid - Mesut Özil/Sergio Ramos
Rating: So very NC-17
Author: onyxexistance/openmoments
Spoilers: --
Word Count: 2,210
Summary: Sequel to Can't Let Go. In which Mesut and Sergio can't keep it in their pants and therefore just have sex in places that aren't their bed.
Prompt: --
Author's Notes: I had a bit that didn't fit into the first fic, but I didn't want to just leave it as a weird 1.3k of disjointed fic. And thencagedlight was all, "I want moar!" and I really suck at saying no to her, so I went ahead and wrote more. And more. And more. Basically: it's all porn with a little bit of plot. Exactly how things should be.
Ten Years Later...
He wakes up in an empty bed, Mesut’s pillow pulled close to his chest, fabric cool against his cheek. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes as he sticks his hand across the bed, fingers searching for the paper that he knows is going to be there.
Good morning schatzi,
If it’s before 9, stay in bed. We’ll be right up. If it’s after, someone went to the hospital.
Happy birthday old man.
Mesut
It’s a variation of the same note Mesut’s been leaving on his half of the bed for a decade now and he still looks forward to it, smiling as he puts it on the bedside table as he stretches, sneaks a peek at the clock and sees he still has fifteen minutes. He contemplates having a shower, but knows that it’s better if he stays in bed and doesn’t mess with birthday tradition.
It doesn’t take long before he hears feet on the stairs and his smile gets bigger even as he cringes when the door slams up against the wall and two bodies throw themselves on the bed before crawling up to him. He winces as he gets a sharp, knobby knee digging into his thigh and a hand accidentally slapping him under his eye before two sloppy, sticky kisses are pressed against his cheeks.
“Happy birthday!” is sung right in his ears and he grips his hands around their waists as he pulls them back, pressing a kiss against first one forehead and then the other.
“We brought you breakfast,” Alara says as she bounces on the bed and he looks up to see Mesut at the foot of the bed, tray in hands, smile on his face as he watches the three of them on the bed.
“We made the pancakes,” Selin adds as she cuddles up against Sergio’s side.
“All by yourself?” he asks and both girls nod excitedly and he looks back at Mesut who nods his head along as well and Sergio knows that the sink is going to be piled when he makes it downstairs.
“Well, we know that’s better than Daddy making pancakes, right?” he says, leaning in against Selin to nuzzle against her neck and Alara laughs as she falls on her back.
“He set the fire alarm off last time,” she says as she peeks over at Mesut who sits on the edge of the bed and shakes his head.
“And I had to come help,” Sergio adds.
“Even though it was your birthday,” Selin points out.
“Even though it was my birthday,” he repeats, looking at Mesut who rolls his eyes before he turns his head to the dresser.
“Rene’s up!” Alara chirps as the baby monitor goes off as she springs to her feet wobbling as the bed moves. Sergio tugs on the back of her pajama top.
“Who’s going to help me eat these pancakes if you go get him?” he asks as he sticks his bottom lip out and she falls back to the bed, rolling up against his leg as she giggles.
“I’ll help you,” she says and Selin chirps in right behind her and he reaches across the bed to grab the tray from Mesut before he leaves to get their youngest.
Sergio does the same thing he’s done for the last six years: spreads jam on one pancake and syrup on the other, a mess destined to get all over the bed but he and Mesut have learned to ignore that over the years. Selin eats hers carefully, licks her fingers clean even as Alara gets syrup all over her face and dripping down her chin.
Birthdays have turned into almost a big of a deal as Christmas in the Özil-Ramos house. It started after the ‘I love you’s on Sergio’s birthday with a ring on Mesut’s that year. They got married the day before Sergio’s birthday a year later with the twins born two years later just after Mesut’s birthday.
Sergio remembers when they saw the ultrasound, their surrogate beaming in their doorway, hands placed on either side of her maybe not quite there stomach. Mesut looked over at him, biting his bottom lip and the only thing he could say was, “We’re having twins,” and Mesut’s face broke out in a shy smile.
He remembers the first time they brought them home and each sat in a rocking chair for the evening, holding them, how Mesut laughed at him, just a little, at how he bolted every time he thought he heard them cry. Remembers the first time he woke up in the middle of the night and found Mesut in one of the rocking chairs, a baby cuddled up against the crook of each elbow, staring at them. When he entered the room, he’d looked up and whispered, “They look like you,” and the way he’d said it, like that was all he wanted from life had made Sergio’s chest hurt in a new way.
Rene was born just before Mesut’s last birthday, just before he turned thirty-three, the first season he wasn’t playing football, didn’t know what to do with himself. Sergio got it. He’d been doing it for four years, partly for the girls, mostly because it was time and he knew that, like Cris, Mesut was going to need longer to accept it. So, he waited patiently. And then Rene was born and Sergio remembered what Mesut was like with babies, with their baby, and how he looked when he lifted his head, when he rolled from his back to his front.
It scared him how much Rene turned out to look like Mesut all dark hair and open eyes, watching everything so solemnly until he let out a peal of laughter. The girls doted on him, Selin playing peek a boo and Alara rolling the mini football a little too hard at him across the floor, his bottom lip sticking out as his eyes welled up as she slid to pat him on the head in a way that was to be consoling but ended up being too hard and a call of, “PAPA!” would be followed directly by a loud wail and Sergio liked the way he could fit both of them on his lap.
Mesut comes back with Rene tucked over his shoulder, different pajamas from when Sergio had gotten up in the middle of the night to change him. He makes his way around the bed and slides in on his side, Alara already reaching with her sticky fingers to grab him. Mesut bats them away gently, telling her she can hold him after she’s washed up and she just shrugs and grabs another pancake from where Sergio’s readied it.
He leans over after Mesut’s settled, presses a kiss to his shoulder, smiles against his mouth when Mesut leans down to kiss him properly.
“You’re moving the tray!” Alara tells him, moving in between them, bumping her nose against his and he settles back.
“Is that better?” he asks and grins at the way she nods her head, face all serious.
“You were going to spill the syrup,” Selin tells him, voice serious and tickling against his ear.
“Well, thank you for warning me,” he tells them as he straightens the near empty tray, drips of syrup and globs of jam spread all over it, a sole remaining pancake left in the middle.
“If you two are done, go wash up and we’ll open presents,” Mesut tells them and they’re off the bed so quickly that Sergio has to grab onto the sides of the tray to keep it from following them onto the floor.
“When did they get up?” he asks as he rolls up the last pancake, half with jam, half with syrup and sticks it in his mouth.
“Around seven,” Mesut tells him as he slides down the bed, Rene balanced on his chest and they laugh as he stuffs his fist into his mouth.
“Better than last year,” Sergio grins and Mesut pulls a face at the memory of being pulled out of bed at five in the morning.
“Is Sami coming over?” he asks after he licks his fingers clean and sets the tray on the floor.
Mesut nods as he pushes the thick hair out of Rene’s eyes, “Yeah. He said he’d be here around eight and I told him Lena could come too, if she wanted, bring the kids. You know, just so Alara has someone other than Sami to tire out,” he tells him with a grin.
Sergio’s about to say something about their daughter and her energy just as she barrels through the room presents in hand, Selin following close behind. It doesn’t take long before wrapping paper is spread around the bed, eager six-year-old fingers helping him with the unwrapping. He oohs and aahs appropriately over each present and is more than rewarded with proud little faces looking up at him.
Afterwards Mesut shepherds the girls out of the room to brush their teeth and get dressed and Sergio has a quick shower before he takes Rene from Mesut and the girls to the basement, their own mini pitch all set up and lets Mesut get ready.
When he comes downstairs, hair damp and Sergio knows he just barely towel dried it, maybe ran a brush through it and Selin’s got her arms crossed and has her eyebrows raised at Alara’s claim that she needs a free kick and Mesut whispers, “You looked exactly like that when it was suggested you’d fouled someone.”
Sergio turns to look at him, mock hurt spreading across his face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I played clean football,” and Mesut snorts as he shakes his head.
Selin finally allows the kick with a toss of her short hair, strapping the goal keeping gloves Iker had gifted for Christmas the previous year, stands in net and hops to the left, knocks the ball away, a proud smile on her face as Alara kicks the ground.
“Iker’s going to take all the credit if she does well with that,” Sergio says with a laugh as he claps for her save as Mesut tells Alara to go out and try again.
“His kids need to hurry up and get old enough to kick a ball,” Mesut remarks and Sergio bumps their shoulders together.
“Who better to teach them to be a keeper than Uncle San Iker?” he asks and Mesut grins.
Eight o’clock rolls around quickly enough and Sami’s at the door fifteen minutes early, Lena in tow with their two and Alara’s already wrapped around his leg when he makes it to the kitchen, Selin looking small with her arms wrapped around his neck.
His greeting is to tell Mesut that there’s no way that shirt is wearable and he should really go change and that Sergio’s belt buckles have gotten unnaturally large over the last couple of years even as Lena just shakes her head and presses a kiss to Mesut’s cheek as he picks up their oldest.
It’s another twenty minutes before they’re ready to leave with Mesut changing his shirt and Rene crying unusually loud as he’s handed off to Sami and Sergio shuffles Mesut out, telling him Sami’s a big boy and if he can’t deal with it, Lena’s there to help him and Mesut waves apologetically as they leave.
“Think we can ditch the reservations and just fuck in the back instead?” Sergio asks as they make their way to the car and Mesut just throws him a look of amusement.
“How do you know I made reservations?” Mesut asks and Sergio raises an eyebrow as he leans across the console.
“Does this mean you didn’t and we can?” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes and Mesut lets out a laugh.
“You’ll see,” and Sergio wrinkles his nose as they leave the driveway.
It’s only fifteen minutes later and Mesut’s grabbing a bag from the back before handing the car off to a valet and Sergio looks at him as he steps out of the car, forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“It’s a hotel,” he points out and Mesut just rolls his eyes before heading in through the automatic doors and Sergio follows him, confused, up to the front desk. He waits until Mesut’s handed the keys in their in the elevator that he asks.
“What about Sami and Lena?”
“I told them we’d be back before lunch. That’s why I had them bring the kids. And Sami bring Lena,” Mesut tells him as the elevator dings at their floor.
Sergio smiles as he starts to get it, pushing up behind Mesut, finding his hand as they walk down the hall. Mesut checks for their room number and when he finds it Sergio crowds him up against it, back to the door.
“Mesut Özil-Ramos, are you giving me birthday sex?” Sergio asks and he loves the way Mesut’s eyes go dark and his smile’s slow as he shrugs.
Sergio leans in and kisses him, soft and slow before he pulls away, “Unless you want it to be out here for the world to see, I suggest you open that door. Now.”
Fandom/Pairing: Real Madrid - Mesut Özil/Sergio Ramos
Rating: So very NC-17
Author: onyxexistance/openmoments
Spoilers: --
Word Count: 2,210
Summary: Sequel to Can't Let Go. In which Mesut and Sergio can't keep it in their pants and therefore just have sex in places that aren't their bed.
Prompt: --
Author's Notes: I had a bit that didn't fit into the first fic, but I didn't want to just leave it as a weird 1.3k of disjointed fic. And thencagedlight was all, "I want moar!" and I really suck at saying no to her, so I went ahead and wrote more. And more. And more. Basically: it's all porn with a little bit of plot. Exactly how things should be.
Ten Years Later...
He wakes up in an empty bed, Mesut’s pillow pulled close to his chest, fabric cool against his cheek. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes as he sticks his hand across the bed, fingers searching for the paper that he knows is going to be there.
Good morning schatzi,
If it’s before 9, stay in bed. We’ll be right up. If it’s after, someone went to the hospital.
Happy birthday old man.
Mesut
It’s a variation of the same note Mesut’s been leaving on his half of the bed for a decade now and he still looks forward to it, smiling as he puts it on the bedside table as he stretches, sneaks a peek at the clock and sees he still has fifteen minutes. He contemplates having a shower, but knows that it’s better if he stays in bed and doesn’t mess with birthday tradition.
It doesn’t take long before he hears feet on the stairs and his smile gets bigger even as he cringes when the door slams up against the wall and two bodies throw themselves on the bed before crawling up to him. He winces as he gets a sharp, knobby knee digging into his thigh and a hand accidentally slapping him under his eye before two sloppy, sticky kisses are pressed against his cheeks.
“Happy birthday!” is sung right in his ears and he grips his hands around their waists as he pulls them back, pressing a kiss against first one forehead and then the other.
“We brought you breakfast,” Alara says as she bounces on the bed and he looks up to see Mesut at the foot of the bed, tray in hands, smile on his face as he watches the three of them on the bed.
“We made the pancakes,” Selin adds as she cuddles up against Sergio’s side.
“All by yourself?” he asks and both girls nod excitedly and he looks back at Mesut who nods his head along as well and Sergio knows that the sink is going to be piled when he makes it downstairs.
“Well, we know that’s better than Daddy making pancakes, right?” he says, leaning in against Selin to nuzzle against her neck and Alara laughs as she falls on her back.
“He set the fire alarm off last time,” she says as she peeks over at Mesut who sits on the edge of the bed and shakes his head.
“And I had to come help,” Sergio adds.
“Even though it was your birthday,” Selin points out.
“Even though it was my birthday,” he repeats, looking at Mesut who rolls his eyes before he turns his head to the dresser.
“Rene’s up!” Alara chirps as the baby monitor goes off as she springs to her feet wobbling as the bed moves. Sergio tugs on the back of her pajama top.
“Who’s going to help me eat these pancakes if you go get him?” he asks as he sticks his bottom lip out and she falls back to the bed, rolling up against his leg as she giggles.
“I’ll help you,” she says and Selin chirps in right behind her and he reaches across the bed to grab the tray from Mesut before he leaves to get their youngest.
Sergio does the same thing he’s done for the last six years: spreads jam on one pancake and syrup on the other, a mess destined to get all over the bed but he and Mesut have learned to ignore that over the years. Selin eats hers carefully, licks her fingers clean even as Alara gets syrup all over her face and dripping down her chin.
Birthdays have turned into almost a big of a deal as Christmas in the Özil-Ramos house. It started after the ‘I love you’s on Sergio’s birthday with a ring on Mesut’s that year. They got married the day before Sergio’s birthday a year later with the twins born two years later just after Mesut’s birthday.
Sergio remembers when they saw the ultrasound, their surrogate beaming in their doorway, hands placed on either side of her maybe not quite there stomach. Mesut looked over at him, biting his bottom lip and the only thing he could say was, “We’re having twins,” and Mesut’s face broke out in a shy smile.
He remembers the first time they brought them home and each sat in a rocking chair for the evening, holding them, how Mesut laughed at him, just a little, at how he bolted every time he thought he heard them cry. Remembers the first time he woke up in the middle of the night and found Mesut in one of the rocking chairs, a baby cuddled up against the crook of each elbow, staring at them. When he entered the room, he’d looked up and whispered, “They look like you,” and the way he’d said it, like that was all he wanted from life had made Sergio’s chest hurt in a new way.
Rene was born just before Mesut’s last birthday, just before he turned thirty-three, the first season he wasn’t playing football, didn’t know what to do with himself. Sergio got it. He’d been doing it for four years, partly for the girls, mostly because it was time and he knew that, like Cris, Mesut was going to need longer to accept it. So, he waited patiently. And then Rene was born and Sergio remembered what Mesut was like with babies, with their baby, and how he looked when he lifted his head, when he rolled from his back to his front.
It scared him how much Rene turned out to look like Mesut all dark hair and open eyes, watching everything so solemnly until he let out a peal of laughter. The girls doted on him, Selin playing peek a boo and Alara rolling the mini football a little too hard at him across the floor, his bottom lip sticking out as his eyes welled up as she slid to pat him on the head in a way that was to be consoling but ended up being too hard and a call of, “PAPA!” would be followed directly by a loud wail and Sergio liked the way he could fit both of them on his lap.
Mesut comes back with Rene tucked over his shoulder, different pajamas from when Sergio had gotten up in the middle of the night to change him. He makes his way around the bed and slides in on his side, Alara already reaching with her sticky fingers to grab him. Mesut bats them away gently, telling her she can hold him after she’s washed up and she just shrugs and grabs another pancake from where Sergio’s readied it.
He leans over after Mesut’s settled, presses a kiss to his shoulder, smiles against his mouth when Mesut leans down to kiss him properly.
“You’re moving the tray!” Alara tells him, moving in between them, bumping her nose against his and he settles back.
“Is that better?” he asks and grins at the way she nods her head, face all serious.
“You were going to spill the syrup,” Selin tells him, voice serious and tickling against his ear.
“Well, thank you for warning me,” he tells them as he straightens the near empty tray, drips of syrup and globs of jam spread all over it, a sole remaining pancake left in the middle.
“If you two are done, go wash up and we’ll open presents,” Mesut tells them and they’re off the bed so quickly that Sergio has to grab onto the sides of the tray to keep it from following them onto the floor.
“When did they get up?” he asks as he rolls up the last pancake, half with jam, half with syrup and sticks it in his mouth.
“Around seven,” Mesut tells him as he slides down the bed, Rene balanced on his chest and they laugh as he stuffs his fist into his mouth.
“Better than last year,” Sergio grins and Mesut pulls a face at the memory of being pulled out of bed at five in the morning.
“Is Sami coming over?” he asks after he licks his fingers clean and sets the tray on the floor.
Mesut nods as he pushes the thick hair out of Rene’s eyes, “Yeah. He said he’d be here around eight and I told him Lena could come too, if she wanted, bring the kids. You know, just so Alara has someone other than Sami to tire out,” he tells him with a grin.
Sergio’s about to say something about their daughter and her energy just as she barrels through the room presents in hand, Selin following close behind. It doesn’t take long before wrapping paper is spread around the bed, eager six-year-old fingers helping him with the unwrapping. He oohs and aahs appropriately over each present and is more than rewarded with proud little faces looking up at him.
Afterwards Mesut shepherds the girls out of the room to brush their teeth and get dressed and Sergio has a quick shower before he takes Rene from Mesut and the girls to the basement, their own mini pitch all set up and lets Mesut get ready.
When he comes downstairs, hair damp and Sergio knows he just barely towel dried it, maybe ran a brush through it and Selin’s got her arms crossed and has her eyebrows raised at Alara’s claim that she needs a free kick and Mesut whispers, “You looked exactly like that when it was suggested you’d fouled someone.”
Sergio turns to look at him, mock hurt spreading across his face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I played clean football,” and Mesut snorts as he shakes his head.
Selin finally allows the kick with a toss of her short hair, strapping the goal keeping gloves Iker had gifted for Christmas the previous year, stands in net and hops to the left, knocks the ball away, a proud smile on her face as Alara kicks the ground.
“Iker’s going to take all the credit if she does well with that,” Sergio says with a laugh as he claps for her save as Mesut tells Alara to go out and try again.
“His kids need to hurry up and get old enough to kick a ball,” Mesut remarks and Sergio bumps their shoulders together.
“Who better to teach them to be a keeper than Uncle San Iker?” he asks and Mesut grins.
Eight o’clock rolls around quickly enough and Sami’s at the door fifteen minutes early, Lena in tow with their two and Alara’s already wrapped around his leg when he makes it to the kitchen, Selin looking small with her arms wrapped around his neck.
His greeting is to tell Mesut that there’s no way that shirt is wearable and he should really go change and that Sergio’s belt buckles have gotten unnaturally large over the last couple of years even as Lena just shakes her head and presses a kiss to Mesut’s cheek as he picks up their oldest.
It’s another twenty minutes before they’re ready to leave with Mesut changing his shirt and Rene crying unusually loud as he’s handed off to Sami and Sergio shuffles Mesut out, telling him Sami’s a big boy and if he can’t deal with it, Lena’s there to help him and Mesut waves apologetically as they leave.
“Think we can ditch the reservations and just fuck in the back instead?” Sergio asks as they make their way to the car and Mesut just throws him a look of amusement.
“How do you know I made reservations?” Mesut asks and Sergio raises an eyebrow as he leans across the console.
“Does this mean you didn’t and we can?” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes and Mesut lets out a laugh.
“You’ll see,” and Sergio wrinkles his nose as they leave the driveway.
It’s only fifteen minutes later and Mesut’s grabbing a bag from the back before handing the car off to a valet and Sergio looks at him as he steps out of the car, forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“It’s a hotel,” he points out and Mesut just rolls his eyes before heading in through the automatic doors and Sergio follows him, confused, up to the front desk. He waits until Mesut’s handed the keys in their in the elevator that he asks.
“What about Sami and Lena?”
“I told them we’d be back before lunch. That’s why I had them bring the kids. And Sami bring Lena,” Mesut tells him as the elevator dings at their floor.
Sergio smiles as he starts to get it, pushing up behind Mesut, finding his hand as they walk down the hall. Mesut checks for their room number and when he finds it Sergio crowds him up against it, back to the door.
“Mesut Özil-Ramos, are you giving me birthday sex?” Sergio asks and he loves the way Mesut’s eyes go dark and his smile’s slow as he shrugs.
Sergio leans in and kisses him, soft and slow before he pulls away, “Unless you want it to be out here for the world to see, I suggest you open that door. Now.”