Fic: Bojan Krkić/Ibrahim Afellay, NC-17
Title: Communication Skills
Pairing: Bojan Krkić/Ibrahim Afellay
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: no
Word Count: 743
Disclaimer: Not true. As simple as that.
Summary: If he could talk to him, he's say…
Notes: And yet another awkward attempt to write Afellay. Still for ibuyu, who wanted more Afellay fics (are you getting tired of them already?).
He'd really like to be able to talk to him. If he could, he'd say…well, he's not exactly sure, actually, so he'd rather blame the fact he doesn't say anything on the language barrier.
If he could, he'd say he's…what does one say in such situations? He can't tell him that he think he's so pretty, he can't stop looking at him, can he? That's the kind of thing one might say to a girl. If one's really pathetic, that is.
Maybe he'd tell him that seeing him undressing slowly in a showers makes his heart beat faster and his cock twitch. Or maybe just the last part. That, at least sounds a bit more…manly. Maybe.
Maybe it's really for the best he can't say anything at all. That he can only smile at him and hope that Ibrahim would blame his awkwardness around him on their inability to communicate.
Yes, that's probably for the best. When he sees him smiling, he thinks that if he could talk to him, he wouldn't be able to help himself and end up saying something incredibly embarrassing. Like maybe offering to suck his cock. Or begging him to let him suck his cock. Or something.
Ibrahim smiles at him again, all the way from the other side of pitch. Bojan's heart jumps and his hands fist. How can he…he doesn't even know him at all. How can he think about him, about his smile, about his eyes, about him naked, all the fucking time? How can he see it so vividly, so clearly, how pretty he'd look flushed and hot and moaning with Bojan's lips on his cock?
He's trying so hard to focus on not thinking all those things he doesn't notice that Ibrahim has made his way from the other side of the pitch and is standing next to him, tugging at his sleeve and motioning him to follow him.
Bojan stands up automatically, following Ibrahim without a word. He does it sometimes - tries to communicate with his new teammates with his hands instead of words.
He's definitely trying to communicate with Bojan with his hands - his hands, that are suddenly pushing Bojan against the wall and making their way beneath his shirt and into his shorts as Ibrahim kisses him - slowly and sweetly and so hotly that Bojan feels a little light headed. His lips part to let Ibrahim thrust his tongue into his mouth and he clutches his shoulders when he feels Ibrahim's erection rubbing slowly against his thigh.
He should say something, ask something, but really, he doesn't want to say anything at all. He wants to let Ibrahim's hands do the talking; he understands them, understands perfectly well when one of Ibrahim's hands is caressing his nipple, when his fingers tug another, making Bojan's cock respond and harden against Ibrahim's other hand, the one he shoved so unceremoniously into his shorts and is now stroking his cock faster and faster, making his feel like…
He's sure Ibrahim understands what he's trying to say when he's groaning in frustration when he suddenly stops - stops kissing him, stop jerking him off - and looks at him expectantly.
But Bojan understands too; he tugs on Ibrahim's shorts impatiently, a little too fervently, perhaps, his hands eager to touch Ibrahim's hard cock, his tongue already wetting his lips as he drops to his knees and takes Ibrahim's cock into his mouth.
Bojan sucks eagerly, pleased to feel Ibrahim's cock hardening in his mouth, feeling his own cock throbbing when Ibrahim moans and whispers encouragements he doesn't understand but understands quite perfectly after all. He sucks harder and harder as Ibrahim's doing his best not to thrust too hard into his hot, eager mouth, pulling Ibrahim's hips closer, eager to get more, to get everything he can out of him. He'd like to say he's any less eager, any less desperate than the boy moaning so hotly above him, but he can't wait anymore, his own hand tugging violently on his cock until he comes just when Ibrahim comes into his mouth with a strangled moan and Bojan swallows greedily.
He kisses him after that, a hot, long, eager kiss, and gives him that brilliant smile, shoving a small piece of paper into his hand before he leaves.
Bojan pulls his shorts up and slowly unfolds the crumbled piece of paper.
An address. Bojan smiles.
Maybe it's for the best they can't say anything at all.