Danish
Danish
Pairing: Fernando Torres/Daniel Agger
Raiting: PG14 (explictly sexual language)
Disclaimer: not true, though Fernando has been getting a little squishy lately
A/N for robbie96 who took my inadvertant "danny filled danish" comment and demanded a story with lots of "bottom-boy Fernando). So, as I live to serve, here it is. It's a little random, but I was tired when I wrote it lol cut me some slack, I'm still struggling for inspiration for the 5 times Iker/Cesc challenge
“Fernando, not now.” That was what Dan had said, unbelievably, this morning when the Spaniard had tried to pull him away from some very boring looking papers with his *ahem* charms.
What. Fernando’s inner voice had hissed in shock, catty and offended. Dan never said no. He could feel a pout coming on and looked down at himself, taking a quick inventory and his attention was drawn, inevitably, to his slightly (Fernando took care to emphasize that even in his own head) less than toned tummy. But that couldn’t be it… right? He pouted to himself, it wasn’t that he was letting himself go, it was just that he found pastries to be… helpful… in certain circumstances. The blonde’s eyebrows creased as he hopped up on the kitchen counter and swung his legs, watching Dan and biting into a cherry danish. Fernando lapped at the jelly center thoughtfully and the defender looked up, feeling his gaze. Dan froze. Fernando’s tongue swirled round and round the sweet centre, now and then flicking a little jelly into his mouth.
Then Dan shook his head sharply and snapped, “For fucksakes, Fernando, stop that!”
“Stop what?” The striker asked innocently, tongue flicking out to taste the pastry again.
“Stop fucking rimming that danish!”
“Well,” Fernando said thoughtfully, licking the lingering glaze off his lips, “It’s apparently the only thing danish in this house that’ll let me rim it.”
“Fernando,” Dan whined a little, gesturing to the papers spread around him on the kitchen table, “This is important, it’s about my contract.”
“Fine, fine.” Fernando said as if he wasn’t bothered, his tongue sweeping the pastry in his hands, the defender’s eyes fixed on that darting, pink temptation.
Three, two, one…
“When I get transferred, it’ll be your fault.” The defender growled, launching himself at Fernando, who barely got his precious pastry out of the way of the Dane’s tackle.
Yes, Fernando thought as he was dragged towards his bedroom, pastries were definitely worth the pounds.