Fic: Diego Forlán/Sergio "Kun" Agüero, PG-13
Title: Perpetual Bliss
Pairing: Diego Forlán/Sergio "Kun" Agüero
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: no
Word Count: 923
Disclaimer: Not true. As simple as that.
Summary: When Diego doesn't leave Atlético, Sergio's relieved, but not satisfied. First time story.
Notes: Written for zimena's prompt on alldayfootiecp, "perpetual bliss".
He knows it's a little thing, a ridiculous thing, really. He knows that just because he didn't leave the team it didn't mean it meant anything at all. It didn't mean anything, he told himself, over and over again, it didn't mean anything important. It didn't mean he did it because of him. And yet it made him grin like a fool, made his heart beat faster, made him leap when he walked home.
Home. Where he'd be as lonely as he always have been. Because really, nothing changed; Diego… Diego was still there, but still so far away. So out of reach. So uninterested. And he - he truly was a fool, for letting it affect him this way. After all, all it meant…all it really meant, was that he'll see him, day after day, touch him, even, be close to him and yet so far away that maybe…maybe it would have been better if he just left. Maybe, if he was far, far away, unreachable, he'd stop haunting his dreams, his fantasies. Maybe he'd stop counting the minutes till he sees him again, stop thinking when he'll get to be near him and hug him and take in his scent and allow himself, for just a second, to think that he could do more than that. That he could do anything.
But he wanted him to stay. He wanted him to stay - so close, so unreachable even when he stood so close to him that he could take in his scent and feel his muscles quiver. He wanted him to stay so that he could hope and dream and imagine.
He wanted him to stay so that he could see him. Just see him, see him often, see him almost every day. And pretend it's enough.
Seeing him - like he was now, so beautiful even with his hair wet and disheveled from the rain - this was really all he could hope for. And he prayed - really prayed, every night, right before he allowed himself to think about him once more when he touched himself, when he imagined Diego's eyes piercing him with their steady gaze - that it'll be enough. That one day, he'll look at him and just seeing him will truly be enough.
He's not even sure why he's there, leaning against his door, in the middle of the night. He'd show up like this sometimes, unannounced, and Sergio never quite understood the purpose of these visits. They'd just drink a glass of wine and mostly keep quiet till he stood up and left. He never knew why he came at all, but it was so different, so quiet, so unlike any interaction they had in the daylight, he cherished every visit, every awkward silence. Every memory of Diego leaning against the couch cushions, relaxed and sipping his wine, and looking. Looking at him. Just at him.
He unlocked the door silently, Diego following him without a word, waiting for him to give him a glass of wine, sitting on the same couch he always sat on, sipping his wine slowly. And looking. Looking at him.
For the first time, Sergio didn't feel it was awkward at all. He didn’t want to say anything, to ask him why he stayed, why he's here, why with him. He just wanted to watch him and know he'll be back - caressing his wine glass in the same particular manner he had, licking his lips to catch a stray drop that coloured his pale lips red for a second. He just wanted to think it was enough.
But it wasn't; as he watched him, happy and content to know he'll be back, back for more of these nightly, silent visits, he knew it wasn't enough. And without thinking, without even drinking enough to justify his rush behaviour, he moved to sit next to him, took the wine glass from his hand and put it on the table, and licked the stray droplets of red wine from Diego's pale lips.
He should have been surprised, be he really wasn't, when Diego didn't protest, didn't flinch, just let his lick his lips and parted them to let him kiss him, hotly, deeply, slowly, and before he knew how it happened, Diego was the one kissing him and straddling him and removing his shirt and kissing his torso, like it was the way it was supposed to be all along. He shuddered and let him - let him kiss and caress and worship him, moaning quietly, honouring their silent tradition by stifling his groans and letting his body speak for him. He didn't really need to say anything, he's not even sure he'd know what to say; Diego understood him, understood him so perfectly, had him shuddering with every touch so quickly, he didn't really have to say anything, just let him, let him do whatever he wanted. Because that was so perfect, so what he himself wanted, he didn't have to say anything at all.
Maybe he should have wondered why now, or what has changed. But on a night like this, everything was possible, and he didn't have to say anything, just let Diego's eyes and hands and lips make him shudder and respond so perfectly, that there was nothing left to ask or say or think. He knew all there was to know when Diego touched him and teased him and marked him with a small, painfully arousing bite. He knew their silent nights will be theirs, theirs forever, and that was a perpetual bliss.