There's Always History
Title: There's Always History
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Markus Rosenberg
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is not real, this never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Takes place after the Denmarn/Sweden WCQ in Denmark. Beta by metafic
There's no plan, it's just that he's there and you cannot help yourself. You've never been able to help yourself. Everything's wrong about it. His team just walked all over yours. You're supposed to hate him, to hate his country and everything it stands for. Except that you're in love with him. And maybe he's a little bit in love with you, because he finds you.
You saw him more than you thought, while he was injured. You took care of each other, pretending everything else didn't exist. You never talked about football, or if you did, it was just in passing. You didn't get any tattoos, but you went with him. You held his hand, even though he never needed it. Then you fucked in the back of his car.
But now you're both healthy. Except he came flying back, slipping right into the spot that was always there for him. And you're barely playing, only to be subbed on after it's already too late.
Not that any of it matters now. Not with the way he's pressing you up against the door of the utility closet. Not when his mouth is on yours, his fingers in your hair. You arch your back, pushing your hands under his shirt. You dig your nails in, pulling him closer. As much as you want this to feel good, you also want it to hurt.
It's stupid, you're practically rolling your eyes as you're thinking it. But you can't help it. You hurt because you know this was probably your last chance to play in a World Cup. You know you're getting too old, at least for a forward. He's younger than you, but in four years you don't know if you'll be playing, much less where. And so you're not ashamed to admit that it sucks.
You bite at his mouth as he kisses you and you hear his breath catch, just a little. You grip his hips tighter because you know he understands how you feel. It's not like you haven't been here before. In this room, in this stadium. Only that time the outcome was different. But this time it's your turn.
He slides his hands down, over your hips and then resting on against your cock through your pants. You push against his hand and as much as you want to fuck him, as much as you want him to fuck you, you know there isn't time. So you shift, shoving him away and then onto the ground. You catch his gaze, holding it steady and there's no way you're doing this with the lights off.
He unzips your pants, pushing them down, then tugs your underwear off. He strokes your cock and again you miss his hair. You press your fingers against his face, the top of his head. He takes you into his mouth, sucking hard. You shudder, knees shaking, and it's been too long and yet not long enough. He sucks harder, then pulls back a bit, biting at your thighs.
Your breathing goes ragged, but you're not close, not quite yet. He takes you back into his mouth, hand around the base of your cock and he's going faster. You shudder again, bucking a little into his mouth. And then he's licking your cock, going down on you like it's some sort of apology and it's too much. Your knees give out and you come hard, his fingers leaving marks on your hips.
For a moment there's just the sound of your breathing. Panting loudly in the suffocating silence of the closet. But then Dan's shifting back, standing up as you pull your pants up. And then he's kissing you and it's all you can do not to break. You hold it together because you don't have time for this and neither does he. You just kiss him back, telling him you love him without having to ever say the words.
Your breathing slows and you rest your head against Dan's shoulder for a second, but then it's time to go. He looks at you and you know what he wants, but you can't do it. Not now, not tomorrow. You kiss him, hard and it's clear you're leaving him wanting. But you're fine with that, even if you had the time. He touches your face and you kiss him again, harder and needy and then your hand is on the door, twisting the handle and you're gone.
Gone before you can change your mind. Before you can justify staying. Or going home with him to wherever he's staying in Denmark. Instead, you catch a cab to the hotel and pretend that everything's just fine.
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Markus Rosenberg
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is not real, this never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Takes place after the Denmarn/Sweden WCQ in Denmark. Beta by metafic
There's no plan, it's just that he's there and you cannot help yourself. You've never been able to help yourself. Everything's wrong about it. His team just walked all over yours. You're supposed to hate him, to hate his country and everything it stands for. Except that you're in love with him. And maybe he's a little bit in love with you, because he finds you.
You saw him more than you thought, while he was injured. You took care of each other, pretending everything else didn't exist. You never talked about football, or if you did, it was just in passing. You didn't get any tattoos, but you went with him. You held his hand, even though he never needed it. Then you fucked in the back of his car.
But now you're both healthy. Except he came flying back, slipping right into the spot that was always there for him. And you're barely playing, only to be subbed on after it's already too late.
Not that any of it matters now. Not with the way he's pressing you up against the door of the utility closet. Not when his mouth is on yours, his fingers in your hair. You arch your back, pushing your hands under his shirt. You dig your nails in, pulling him closer. As much as you want this to feel good, you also want it to hurt.
It's stupid, you're practically rolling your eyes as you're thinking it. But you can't help it. You hurt because you know this was probably your last chance to play in a World Cup. You know you're getting too old, at least for a forward. He's younger than you, but in four years you don't know if you'll be playing, much less where. And so you're not ashamed to admit that it sucks.
You bite at his mouth as he kisses you and you hear his breath catch, just a little. You grip his hips tighter because you know he understands how you feel. It's not like you haven't been here before. In this room, in this stadium. Only that time the outcome was different. But this time it's your turn.
He slides his hands down, over your hips and then resting on against your cock through your pants. You push against his hand and as much as you want to fuck him, as much as you want him to fuck you, you know there isn't time. So you shift, shoving him away and then onto the ground. You catch his gaze, holding it steady and there's no way you're doing this with the lights off.
He unzips your pants, pushing them down, then tugs your underwear off. He strokes your cock and again you miss his hair. You press your fingers against his face, the top of his head. He takes you into his mouth, sucking hard. You shudder, knees shaking, and it's been too long and yet not long enough. He sucks harder, then pulls back a bit, biting at your thighs.
Your breathing goes ragged, but you're not close, not quite yet. He takes you back into his mouth, hand around the base of your cock and he's going faster. You shudder again, bucking a little into his mouth. And then he's licking your cock, going down on you like it's some sort of apology and it's too much. Your knees give out and you come hard, his fingers leaving marks on your hips.
For a moment there's just the sound of your breathing. Panting loudly in the suffocating silence of the closet. But then Dan's shifting back, standing up as you pull your pants up. And then he's kissing you and it's all you can do not to break. You hold it together because you don't have time for this and neither does he. You just kiss him back, telling him you love him without having to ever say the words.
Your breathing slows and you rest your head against Dan's shoulder for a second, but then it's time to go. He looks at you and you know what he wants, but you can't do it. Not now, not tomorrow. You kiss him, hard and it's clear you're leaving him wanting. But you're fine with that, even if you had the time. He touches your face and you kiss him again, harder and needy and then your hand is on the door, twisting the handle and you're gone.
Gone before you can change your mind. Before you can justify staying. Or going home with him to wherever he's staying in Denmark. Instead, you catch a cab to the hotel and pretend that everything's just fine.