Valencia - Real Madrid Part I
When they don’t meet for months and there are only occasional phone calls it’s easy to forget all doubt and just accept the unlikely attraction between them, but whenever Sergio comes to him (it’s always, always Sergio who takes the initiative) Unai is overwhelmed by how young the boy is. His sunny smiles, his big, disturbingly innocent eyes all make Unai’s fingers twitch with guilt, as if he was doing something illicit by touching that impossibly white skin.
“I’m old enough to be your father,” he says quietly, his thumb ghosting over Sergio’s lips, but the boy just wraps his strong legs around Unai and presses their bodies together with urgent need. And the moan that erupts from Sergio’s throat as hot skin touches skin tells Unai beyond doubt that this is meant to be.
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prompt: dirty
pairing: Karim Benzema/Vicente Guaita
rating: R
word count: 130
Karim lingers just outside the Valencia locker room, waiting for everybody to leave. When he’s sure only one person remained inside, he sneaks in and locks the door behind him. Vicente doesn’t even look up, just keeps staring at his hands like they have somehow betrayed him. Karim doesn’t wait for a reaction, he leans down and tips Vicente’s head up for a deep kiss. The goalkeeper groans and soon Karim is pressed hard into the row of lockers, writhing in need against Vicente’s body. It’s quick, messy, and desperate, hands buried in sweaty jerseys, fingers leaving bruises on skin, teeth biting lips until there’s blood tainting their tongues. But when it’s over Vicente looks just a bit less like he wants to drown himself in a glass of water.
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prompt: blindfold
pairing: Cristiano Ronaldo/Roberto Soldado
rating: NC-17
word count: 225
Roberto likes Cris like this: pliant, wanting, submissive. Kneeling on the bed with a hunched back, hands handcuffed behind his back, head hanging low. The makeshift blindfold (a red and blue Barcelona jersey Roberto bought just for this purpose) makes Cris look even more vulnerable, almost to the point of helplessness.
Robertoloves to watch him like this, in such stark contrast to his confidence on the pitch, but what he loves even more are the small, needy sounds Cris makes when Roberto tugs at his hard cock with almost furious speed, pushing him closer and closer to climax. But before Cris could come Roberto pulls his hand away; he pushes Cris on his stomach and thrusts into his well-prepared body hard, causing Cris to cry out wantonly. It’s fast and rough and raw, everything they both love and Cris needs.
Because Cris needs this, more than anything, that much is clear, which is the only reason Roberto is not castrated by a hoard of angry Real Madrid players whenever they see a new bruise on Cris’ skin in the showers. He still gets the occasional ‘Break our Cris and you’re dead’ looks from some of them but Kaká keeps smiling at him whenever they meet and that’s enough for Roberto to know that he’s good for Cris.
And he’s not about to go anywhere.
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prompt: phone call
pairing: Ezequiel Garay/Juan Mata
rating: PG
word count: 250
It’s part of the life of any footballer: distance. From home and family, friends and old teammates, and sometimes lovers too. Eze is used to it by now. Spain has been his home for almost six years now and the longing for Argentina stopped being a constant weight in his chest somewhere along the way. He makes a point of keeping in touch with everyone he cares about, not just his family and closest friends but also most of the guys he used to play with, and usually it’s enough.
But this is different. It’s the first time he has to make do with phone calls and a handful of visits in a relationship and it’s taking its toll on him. Juan can tell just by Eze’s tone of voice that he’s upset.
“What do you need?” he asks softly and Eze smiles, gripping the phone tightly. He longs to wrap his arms around Juan, to let his nostrils fill with his lover’s scent after a workout, to taste the sweat on his hot skin.
Eze closes his eyes.
“You,” he whispers. “Juan…”
“I know,” Juan sighs. “Just a few more days, Eze. You’ll beat the shit out of Barca and we’ll celebrate together.”
Eze bites back a moan at the words and he’s not even really sure which is a more erotic thought: Juan leaving worshipping little kisses down his chest with a wicked glint in his eyes or Barca’s ego kicked in the butt by Real Madrid’s brilliance.