Dream A Little Dream Of Me
Title: Dream A Little Dream Of Me
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Sadly, none of this is real
Pairing: Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos
Summary: Fernando is standing on the pitch of the Calderon. It’s night, the sky is black in contrast to the harsh stadium lights and he feels them burning into his skin in the best way possible.
Word count: 2,021
Notes: I would keep this on repeat while reading this, mostly just because I had it on repeat while writing it
Fernando is standing on the pitch of the Calderon. It's night, the sky is black in contrast to the harsh stadium lights and he feels them burning into his skin in the best way possible. The grass is impossibly green and he is alone, and he thinks its very possible he is dreaming. He's wearing his favorite kit, his beloved rojiblanco with his name and number on the back, and there is no one there to keep him from doing what he loves, from running the field and shooting ball after ball into the back of the net. He feels happy and at peace with himself, at least until he hears a familiar voice call out his name. His body turns on a kick and he feels the ball slip wrong, hears it hit into the empty seats far beyond the goal rather than into it. He glares at Sergio, at least before he sees what Sergio is wearing and he immediately breaks into the biggest grin he might have ever smiled, his laughter turning to something uncontainable.
Sergio says nothing about the red and white stripes on his shirt, nothing about the blue of his shorts. He only looks down once Fernando is on the grass in laughter, and the smile on his face at the joy of the other man is immediately gone. "Really?" His voice drips with disgust as he approaches Fernando, kicks his foot out at the older man on the ground before joining him there, peeling the shirt off his body as if it’s going to taint him if he keeps it on any longer. "You would. This is all so... you."
"It's peaceful." It's all Fernando needs to say and Sergio knows its true, this has been inside him since he was a child. This has been inside him at every club he’s been at, every competition he's played in, every trophy he's lifted. Fernando has always been red and white through and through on the inside, and even if it makes Sergio's skin crawl to wear the kit, he loves that Fernando’s passion never dies. They sit on the grass together in silence, Sergio's fingers idly picking at the grass until Fernando reaches over to hit him to make him stop, but they are unable to keep from smiling at one another, speaking volumes with their silence. There is no worry here, no weight of the world or squad or nation or club on their shoulders, no families, no children, no expectations for the two of them in this moment, just two people who care about one another enjoying being with each other.
"You love it here don't you?" Sergio doesn't really need to ask the question, he knows the answer. Everything in this stadium Fernando loves, from the chalk lines to the furthest seats in the top tier, from the tiniest corner to each blade of grass on the pitch. He knows from the way Fernando breathes it all in before nodding, smiling that simple contented smile no one sees enough of from him anymore. Just watching that smile makes Sergio's heart break, so he lifts his hands and makes a little box with his thumbs and index fingers, framing Fernando's face in it. "Click." He presses an invisible button like his fingers are a camera and Fernando's smile is just for him, like he's somehow just become more wonderful than the Calderon.
The stadium melts behind them and they’re on the couch in Sergio's old apartment, the one he got when he first moved to Madrid. The kits are gone, replaced with jeans and tshirts and ratty trainers, or just jeans and trainers in Sergio's case. It's so typical Fernando, the clothes are too loose and wouldn't be out of place on a twelve year old, but it reminds Sergio of when they were younger, when they would spend hours on this couch watching movies and playing video games and being close, savoring every minute of being in the same city. Sergio feels wistful for the memories, for the time when he had him so close and all he had to do was call and Fernando would be there not long after, there wasn't countries between them. They're here for a reason though and Sergio knows that, lets Fernando play at the role he's good at, the one who never initiates anything no matter the fact that he wants it just as bad as Sergio does. He doesn't mind so much playing the big bad wolf to Fernando, lets the older man get up to get them cold beers from the fridge and waits for him to return. He doesn't let Fernando pass him, grabbing at his hips when Fernando moves to pass him, pulling the larger man down on top of him. Fernando knows what to do, shifts so he's straddling Sergio's legs, putting the beers down on the end table, not worrying about the sweat dripping off them and the fact that he didn't use a coaster. It's those little things that keep them both remembering what this is, that they need to savor this even more.
Fernando will never kiss him first. It's always been this way, but they've accepted it, Sergio knows the rules of being with Fernando. He likes to make him beg for it, keeps their noses pressed against one another with lips parted, eyes downcast so he doesn't have to meet Fernando's needy brown ones. His fingers slip up under Fernando's shirt and pulls it up, refusing to meet his lips in a kiss yet even though they are both having trouble breathing. They part only to pull the thin fabric off of Fernando's body and Sergio has to laugh because even here he is so pale.
"Shut up" is Fernando's petulant response before their foreheads are knocked together, brown eyes meeting brown eyes and Sergio smiles, a real one this time, not wanting or wishing for anything else. Finally he leans in and presses their lips together, slow and sweet and loving, and Fernando's lips move against his the same, telling him everything he needs to know in the simple movement. The older man's fingers tangle into Sergio's hair but the intensity doesn't change, he's just holding on for dear life, holding on so he doesn't melt into him completely. They kiss for what feels like forever and Sergio is content with just that. He feels the warmth grow in his belly, feels the fire inside him that is always there when he has Fernando like this, but these moments are the ones he wants to hold onto the most, the way Fernando tastes when he kisses him, the way he ebbs and flows against Sergio's own rhythm.
Fernando is the first one to insist for more. He savors these moments, but he's more aware of their limited time, slips off Sergio's lap and takes his hands and pulls him off the couch. He walks backwards a bit, at least until Sergio closes the space between them and kisses him again, harder and rougher because they need it to be, because they're running out of time for love and adoration. They move backward towards where Sergio's bedroom was, but behind the door isn't Sergio's old bedroom. It's his new one, in the new house that Fernando has barely seen, where he pretends everyone he takes back there is this man. He backs Fernando up against the mattress and Fernando pulls back on his own to undo his belt, to drop the loose jeans. He moves onto the bed on his own and Sergio devours him with his eyes, the way the tight white fabric of his briefs stretches over the expanse of his skin. Sergio's own jeans are down before he even realizes his fingers are working them off, dropping them to the floor with his own briefs. There's no time and the urgency is growing, they both know it. Fernando reaches up and pulls Sergio down on him by his hair, and they're kissing again, harsh and bruising with too much teeth, grinding their hips together.
If there was time, Sergio would keep Fernando pinned down under him and explore every inch of his skin with his mouth, taste every bit of him that he possibly could. If there was time, Fernando would make sure Sergio knows how beautiful he is, how easy it is to worship him like a god. There is no time though, and Sergio's fingers are tugging down the white cotton, down the thick pale thighs he loves to touch to make Fernando tremble. His fingers linger there and Fernando makes a noise of approval, but the feeling of urgency returns and Sergio finds the bottle conveniently located on the bedside table. He slicks his fingers and pushes two into Fernando, watching the way the older man's neck arches back onto his pillows, listening for the noise of approval he makes. He takes advantage of the other man’s position, moves his mouth over to the mole on his neck and sucks on his exposed skin, his fingers moving in a slow rocking movement, fucking into him.
Sergio keeps at it just a little longer before he decides he's ready for him, slicking his cock in preparation. "Hurry" is Fernando's only demand and he knows why, knows that they can't wait any longer for this. He lines himself up and pushes in, slow at first. Fernando isn't having it, and despite his winces and the fact that he knows he needs to adjust, he pushes himself towards Sergio until he's all in. They’re both breathing heavy, light sweat forming on both bodies, but Fernando's grip on Sergio's shoulders is still tight, nails carving little half moons into his skin as they start to move in a rhythm together. Their eyes are locked on one another, refusing to close or look anywhere else, just taking in the other's face in their limited time, memorizing these moments until the next time they can be together, until they find themselves joined together in a frenzy of love and lust and forgotten obligations.
They kiss again and Fernando feels something inside him change, knows he's not going to make it much longer. He's on fire and he has to release his grip on Sergio to slide his hand between them, stroking his cock in a frenzied pace to try and get there. The movement makes Sergio almost lose it then and there, like it does every time he thinks about the fact that Fernando does this thinking about him, with him buried inside him like he is. Their kiss is barely a kiss, Fernando's teeth taking hold of Sergio's lip and tugging before his body is overcome, letting out a loud cry when he cums, tightening his entire body around Sergio. The tightness is the final straw and Sergio lasts one two three quick thrusts of his hips before he's finished, panting and exhausted and unwilling for it all to be over. He wants to go again, they've never tested recovery time here, and Sergio thinks maybe they could...
Fernando's smile is loving. Tired but loving and his fingers brush through Sergio's sweaty hair slowly, pushes it back off his forehead and just looks at him in this way that it makes tears well in Sergio's eyes. They say nothing and Fernando flickers out until Sergio is alone in the bed, hovering over nothing.
"I love you." Sergio says to no one, to the shadow of his lover beneath him.
--
Fernando wakes up to the sound of his son crying in the baby monitor. His wife is asleep in bed next to him and while he'd love to stay in bed and think about his dream, she deserves to sleep. With a gentle kiss to her head, he slips out of bed and heads down the hall to tend to his son, to soothe him back to sleep, to fulfill his familial obligations.
Sergio wakes up alone. "I love you" he whispers to no one, to someone who will never say it back.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Sadly, none of this is real
Pairing: Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos
Summary: Fernando is standing on the pitch of the Calderon. It’s night, the sky is black in contrast to the harsh stadium lights and he feels them burning into his skin in the best way possible.
Word count: 2,021
Notes: I would keep this on repeat while reading this, mostly just because I had it on repeat while writing it
Fernando is standing on the pitch of the Calderon. It's night, the sky is black in contrast to the harsh stadium lights and he feels them burning into his skin in the best way possible. The grass is impossibly green and he is alone, and he thinks its very possible he is dreaming. He's wearing his favorite kit, his beloved rojiblanco with his name and number on the back, and there is no one there to keep him from doing what he loves, from running the field and shooting ball after ball into the back of the net. He feels happy and at peace with himself, at least until he hears a familiar voice call out his name. His body turns on a kick and he feels the ball slip wrong, hears it hit into the empty seats far beyond the goal rather than into it. He glares at Sergio, at least before he sees what Sergio is wearing and he immediately breaks into the biggest grin he might have ever smiled, his laughter turning to something uncontainable.
Sergio says nothing about the red and white stripes on his shirt, nothing about the blue of his shorts. He only looks down once Fernando is on the grass in laughter, and the smile on his face at the joy of the other man is immediately gone. "Really?" His voice drips with disgust as he approaches Fernando, kicks his foot out at the older man on the ground before joining him there, peeling the shirt off his body as if it’s going to taint him if he keeps it on any longer. "You would. This is all so... you."
"It's peaceful." It's all Fernando needs to say and Sergio knows its true, this has been inside him since he was a child. This has been inside him at every club he’s been at, every competition he's played in, every trophy he's lifted. Fernando has always been red and white through and through on the inside, and even if it makes Sergio's skin crawl to wear the kit, he loves that Fernando’s passion never dies. They sit on the grass together in silence, Sergio's fingers idly picking at the grass until Fernando reaches over to hit him to make him stop, but they are unable to keep from smiling at one another, speaking volumes with their silence. There is no worry here, no weight of the world or squad or nation or club on their shoulders, no families, no children, no expectations for the two of them in this moment, just two people who care about one another enjoying being with each other.
"You love it here don't you?" Sergio doesn't really need to ask the question, he knows the answer. Everything in this stadium Fernando loves, from the chalk lines to the furthest seats in the top tier, from the tiniest corner to each blade of grass on the pitch. He knows from the way Fernando breathes it all in before nodding, smiling that simple contented smile no one sees enough of from him anymore. Just watching that smile makes Sergio's heart break, so he lifts his hands and makes a little box with his thumbs and index fingers, framing Fernando's face in it. "Click." He presses an invisible button like his fingers are a camera and Fernando's smile is just for him, like he's somehow just become more wonderful than the Calderon.
The stadium melts behind them and they’re on the couch in Sergio's old apartment, the one he got when he first moved to Madrid. The kits are gone, replaced with jeans and tshirts and ratty trainers, or just jeans and trainers in Sergio's case. It's so typical Fernando, the clothes are too loose and wouldn't be out of place on a twelve year old, but it reminds Sergio of when they were younger, when they would spend hours on this couch watching movies and playing video games and being close, savoring every minute of being in the same city. Sergio feels wistful for the memories, for the time when he had him so close and all he had to do was call and Fernando would be there not long after, there wasn't countries between them. They're here for a reason though and Sergio knows that, lets Fernando play at the role he's good at, the one who never initiates anything no matter the fact that he wants it just as bad as Sergio does. He doesn't mind so much playing the big bad wolf to Fernando, lets the older man get up to get them cold beers from the fridge and waits for him to return. He doesn't let Fernando pass him, grabbing at his hips when Fernando moves to pass him, pulling the larger man down on top of him. Fernando knows what to do, shifts so he's straddling Sergio's legs, putting the beers down on the end table, not worrying about the sweat dripping off them and the fact that he didn't use a coaster. It's those little things that keep them both remembering what this is, that they need to savor this even more.
Fernando will never kiss him first. It's always been this way, but they've accepted it, Sergio knows the rules of being with Fernando. He likes to make him beg for it, keeps their noses pressed against one another with lips parted, eyes downcast so he doesn't have to meet Fernando's needy brown ones. His fingers slip up under Fernando's shirt and pulls it up, refusing to meet his lips in a kiss yet even though they are both having trouble breathing. They part only to pull the thin fabric off of Fernando's body and Sergio has to laugh because even here he is so pale.
"Shut up" is Fernando's petulant response before their foreheads are knocked together, brown eyes meeting brown eyes and Sergio smiles, a real one this time, not wanting or wishing for anything else. Finally he leans in and presses their lips together, slow and sweet and loving, and Fernando's lips move against his the same, telling him everything he needs to know in the simple movement. The older man's fingers tangle into Sergio's hair but the intensity doesn't change, he's just holding on for dear life, holding on so he doesn't melt into him completely. They kiss for what feels like forever and Sergio is content with just that. He feels the warmth grow in his belly, feels the fire inside him that is always there when he has Fernando like this, but these moments are the ones he wants to hold onto the most, the way Fernando tastes when he kisses him, the way he ebbs and flows against Sergio's own rhythm.
Fernando is the first one to insist for more. He savors these moments, but he's more aware of their limited time, slips off Sergio's lap and takes his hands and pulls him off the couch. He walks backwards a bit, at least until Sergio closes the space between them and kisses him again, harder and rougher because they need it to be, because they're running out of time for love and adoration. They move backward towards where Sergio's bedroom was, but behind the door isn't Sergio's old bedroom. It's his new one, in the new house that Fernando has barely seen, where he pretends everyone he takes back there is this man. He backs Fernando up against the mattress and Fernando pulls back on his own to undo his belt, to drop the loose jeans. He moves onto the bed on his own and Sergio devours him with his eyes, the way the tight white fabric of his briefs stretches over the expanse of his skin. Sergio's own jeans are down before he even realizes his fingers are working them off, dropping them to the floor with his own briefs. There's no time and the urgency is growing, they both know it. Fernando reaches up and pulls Sergio down on him by his hair, and they're kissing again, harsh and bruising with too much teeth, grinding their hips together.
If there was time, Sergio would keep Fernando pinned down under him and explore every inch of his skin with his mouth, taste every bit of him that he possibly could. If there was time, Fernando would make sure Sergio knows how beautiful he is, how easy it is to worship him like a god. There is no time though, and Sergio's fingers are tugging down the white cotton, down the thick pale thighs he loves to touch to make Fernando tremble. His fingers linger there and Fernando makes a noise of approval, but the feeling of urgency returns and Sergio finds the bottle conveniently located on the bedside table. He slicks his fingers and pushes two into Fernando, watching the way the older man's neck arches back onto his pillows, listening for the noise of approval he makes. He takes advantage of the other man’s position, moves his mouth over to the mole on his neck and sucks on his exposed skin, his fingers moving in a slow rocking movement, fucking into him.
Sergio keeps at it just a little longer before he decides he's ready for him, slicking his cock in preparation. "Hurry" is Fernando's only demand and he knows why, knows that they can't wait any longer for this. He lines himself up and pushes in, slow at first. Fernando isn't having it, and despite his winces and the fact that he knows he needs to adjust, he pushes himself towards Sergio until he's all in. They’re both breathing heavy, light sweat forming on both bodies, but Fernando's grip on Sergio's shoulders is still tight, nails carving little half moons into his skin as they start to move in a rhythm together. Their eyes are locked on one another, refusing to close or look anywhere else, just taking in the other's face in their limited time, memorizing these moments until the next time they can be together, until they find themselves joined together in a frenzy of love and lust and forgotten obligations.
They kiss again and Fernando feels something inside him change, knows he's not going to make it much longer. He's on fire and he has to release his grip on Sergio to slide his hand between them, stroking his cock in a frenzied pace to try and get there. The movement makes Sergio almost lose it then and there, like it does every time he thinks about the fact that Fernando does this thinking about him, with him buried inside him like he is. Their kiss is barely a kiss, Fernando's teeth taking hold of Sergio's lip and tugging before his body is overcome, letting out a loud cry when he cums, tightening his entire body around Sergio. The tightness is the final straw and Sergio lasts one two three quick thrusts of his hips before he's finished, panting and exhausted and unwilling for it all to be over. He wants to go again, they've never tested recovery time here, and Sergio thinks maybe they could...
Fernando's smile is loving. Tired but loving and his fingers brush through Sergio's sweaty hair slowly, pushes it back off his forehead and just looks at him in this way that it makes tears well in Sergio's eyes. They say nothing and Fernando flickers out until Sergio is alone in the bed, hovering over nothing.
"I love you." Sergio says to no one, to the shadow of his lover beneath him.
--
Fernando wakes up to the sound of his son crying in the baby monitor. His wife is asleep in bed next to him and while he'd love to stay in bed and think about his dream, she deserves to sleep. With a gentle kiss to her head, he slips out of bed and heads down the hall to tend to his son, to soothe him back to sleep, to fulfill his familial obligations.
Sergio wakes up alone. "I love you" he whispers to no one, to someone who will never say it back.