(no subject)
Title: Football Picthes & Hotel Rooms
Pairing: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso
Word Count: 1155
Dislcaimer: Fiction
Rating: NC-17
Notes: I set out to write smut, plain and simple, but ended up complicating it along the way. I'm not sure what this is to be honest!
Football Pitches & Hotel Rooms
Soft moonlight bathes the hotel room with an almost ethereal glow, it might be considered a romantic setting if you let yourself think in those terms, but you don’t. You’ve learnt to be more pragmatic, know that romance can’t survive on football pitches (where you’re not alone) and dark hotel rooms (that aren’t home).
You feel the bed dip and hold your breath. Steven slips his legs between yours, presses a moist kiss against the nape of your neck and your body betrays you instantly. The sudden closeness after weeks apart is dizzying; you bury your face in the pillow and let out a soft whimper as his lips caress your earlobe.
“Steven, we need to stop this,” but even as the words leave your mouth, your breath starts to hitch and your resistance - for what it was - dissipates pathetically.
His finger slides down the bridge of your nose, his thumb grazes your bottom lip; you can feel him studying you like he’s forgotten what you look like this close.
“I can’t,” Steven replies, his wet lips flicker tantalisingly against your ear, “I don’t want to stop, it’s like asking me to stop breathing,” he says, plaintively.
People think Steven is shy, they think he’s quiet and struggles with words, yet you know better than they do. You know how effectively, effortlessly, Steven communicates his feelings. The moonlight catches his face just right, his eyes are always transparent when he looks at you - he doesn’t mask them. You worry about it constantly, you worry that other people will see what you’re seeing and your world will be turned on its head because of one look from Steven.
He gazes down at you and frowns, “Yer thinking too hard,” he whispers, inching closer until his breath ghosts across your lips and you inwardly curse the way your lips part for him - too easy. He kisses you like always, carefully, with damp caresses and majestic flicks of his tongue, commanding your mouth. Your body breaks free of your mind, your fingers curl in the short strands of his hair and you respond to the kiss, turning it clumsy and heavy - always too needy, you think.
But it’s your neediness that elicits the delicious moans from Steven’s lips into your mouth, vibrating down your throat and putting more life into your tired body. Your back arches under the weight of him, the contact of flesh on flesh is full and firm, you fit together like your bodies are carved for this.
“God, Xabi you can’t take this away from me,” Steven gasps.
And you know you can’t... but you think you have to.
His hand lands on the switch and you find yourself blinking in the sudden flood of light. He stares at you with a glint in his eyes that makes you blush; you feel the heat rise in your cheeks and avert your eyes self-consciously. He grins wide and continues to stare at you.
“What?”
“Yer fuckin’ gorgeous,” he replies, like it’s a revelation to him.
You let out a frustrated grunt and pull him down for another kiss, filling his mouth with your tongue to stop him from saying further embarrassing things to you.
His feverish lips start to descend lower, fluttering wet open-mouthed kisses across your chest while you cradle his head between your hands and marvel at his knowledge of your body. His tongue swirls around your swollen nipple and you bite your bottom lip, suppressing the sounds of your pleasure. He starts to use his teeth because he knows what that does to you. Your body spasms involuntarily but his hands are right there, safe and reassuring, holding you in place, making your toes curl into the soft hairs on the back of his legs.
Steven’s tongue trails down over your abdominals and it gets all seven layers of your skin tingling delightfully. His warm lips are delicate yet devouring as he maps the contours of your body with attentive kisses. When you feel his fingers curl in the waistband of your shorts, your cock quivers in anticipation but he doesn’t free it just yet.
He glances up at you with twinkling eyes and a lascivious grin, “This for me?” he asks, smoothing his fingers over your bulge and lifting his eyebrows suggestively.
You roll your eyes and buck your hips urgently, letting out a whiny sound that would embarrass you if it didn’t delight Steven so much. He starts to lower your shorts, grazes his teeth along the waistband and bites down on your hip, teasing the smooth flesh with his tongue.
Steven presses a kiss directly onto the head of your cock, causing it to quiver in front of him. Your fingers curl in the scrunched muscles of his upper-back and you lift your head to watch his tongue glide up and down your shaft, wetting you with luxurious licks. And then he sinks his mouth down on you and begins to suck you with deep silky strokes. You let out a loud gasp, start thrusting into the moist heat of his mouth, your body trembles likes a withering leaf and through it all, Steven’s eyes gaze up at you, daring you to look away, challenging the notions you have about what this is and what it means.
Afterwards, as the euphoria of your orgasm fades and you lie in Steven’s arms, you feel your anxiety flare up once more, preventing you from slipping into a restful sleep like he has. You can’t stop yourself from thinking that this hotel room is just another stop en route to another football pitch. That’s all it is. You tell yourself to reconcile with it, to stop looking for romance in places where it cannot be found.
You try to roll onto your side but your arm is trapped beside you, against Steven’s stomach, his fingers curled possessively around your wrist. You reach down and attempt to loosen his grip but as you touch him, he starts to stir so you quickly withdraw your hand.
When you awaken a few hours later, the soft moonlight is replaced by the brightness of a new day’s sun. You turn and face Steven, his lips slightly parted in sleep, his fingers still holding your wrist, but the grip is lighter. You lift your arm and study the dark prints of his fingers on your tender flesh. On your way to the bathroom, you stand in front of the dressing mirror and lightly brush your fingers over the bite mark on your hip.
At first, you worry about these tell-tale signs on your body, but then you imagine seeing and touching them for days to come and it makes you smile to think that what you did in this hotel room will last beyond the next football pitch.
It may not be everything you want, but it’s certainly more than what you admit to having.
[End]
Pairing: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso
Word Count: 1155
Dislcaimer: Fiction
Rating: NC-17
Notes: I set out to write smut, plain and simple, but ended up complicating it along the way. I'm not sure what this is to be honest!
Football Pitches & Hotel Rooms
Soft moonlight bathes the hotel room with an almost ethereal glow, it might be considered a romantic setting if you let yourself think in those terms, but you don’t. You’ve learnt to be more pragmatic, know that romance can’t survive on football pitches (where you’re not alone) and dark hotel rooms (that aren’t home).
You feel the bed dip and hold your breath. Steven slips his legs between yours, presses a moist kiss against the nape of your neck and your body betrays you instantly. The sudden closeness after weeks apart is dizzying; you bury your face in the pillow and let out a soft whimper as his lips caress your earlobe.
“Steven, we need to stop this,” but even as the words leave your mouth, your breath starts to hitch and your resistance - for what it was - dissipates pathetically.
His finger slides down the bridge of your nose, his thumb grazes your bottom lip; you can feel him studying you like he’s forgotten what you look like this close.
“I can’t,” Steven replies, his wet lips flicker tantalisingly against your ear, “I don’t want to stop, it’s like asking me to stop breathing,” he says, plaintively.
People think Steven is shy, they think he’s quiet and struggles with words, yet you know better than they do. You know how effectively, effortlessly, Steven communicates his feelings. The moonlight catches his face just right, his eyes are always transparent when he looks at you - he doesn’t mask them. You worry about it constantly, you worry that other people will see what you’re seeing and your world will be turned on its head because of one look from Steven.
He gazes down at you and frowns, “Yer thinking too hard,” he whispers, inching closer until his breath ghosts across your lips and you inwardly curse the way your lips part for him - too easy. He kisses you like always, carefully, with damp caresses and majestic flicks of his tongue, commanding your mouth. Your body breaks free of your mind, your fingers curl in the short strands of his hair and you respond to the kiss, turning it clumsy and heavy - always too needy, you think.
But it’s your neediness that elicits the delicious moans from Steven’s lips into your mouth, vibrating down your throat and putting more life into your tired body. Your back arches under the weight of him, the contact of flesh on flesh is full and firm, you fit together like your bodies are carved for this.
“God, Xabi you can’t take this away from me,” Steven gasps.
And you know you can’t... but you think you have to.
His hand lands on the switch and you find yourself blinking in the sudden flood of light. He stares at you with a glint in his eyes that makes you blush; you feel the heat rise in your cheeks and avert your eyes self-consciously. He grins wide and continues to stare at you.
“What?”
“Yer fuckin’ gorgeous,” he replies, like it’s a revelation to him.
You let out a frustrated grunt and pull him down for another kiss, filling his mouth with your tongue to stop him from saying further embarrassing things to you.
His feverish lips start to descend lower, fluttering wet open-mouthed kisses across your chest while you cradle his head between your hands and marvel at his knowledge of your body. His tongue swirls around your swollen nipple and you bite your bottom lip, suppressing the sounds of your pleasure. He starts to use his teeth because he knows what that does to you. Your body spasms involuntarily but his hands are right there, safe and reassuring, holding you in place, making your toes curl into the soft hairs on the back of his legs.
Steven’s tongue trails down over your abdominals and it gets all seven layers of your skin tingling delightfully. His warm lips are delicate yet devouring as he maps the contours of your body with attentive kisses. When you feel his fingers curl in the waistband of your shorts, your cock quivers in anticipation but he doesn’t free it just yet.
He glances up at you with twinkling eyes and a lascivious grin, “This for me?” he asks, smoothing his fingers over your bulge and lifting his eyebrows suggestively.
You roll your eyes and buck your hips urgently, letting out a whiny sound that would embarrass you if it didn’t delight Steven so much. He starts to lower your shorts, grazes his teeth along the waistband and bites down on your hip, teasing the smooth flesh with his tongue.
Steven presses a kiss directly onto the head of your cock, causing it to quiver in front of him. Your fingers curl in the scrunched muscles of his upper-back and you lift your head to watch his tongue glide up and down your shaft, wetting you with luxurious licks. And then he sinks his mouth down on you and begins to suck you with deep silky strokes. You let out a loud gasp, start thrusting into the moist heat of his mouth, your body trembles likes a withering leaf and through it all, Steven’s eyes gaze up at you, daring you to look away, challenging the notions you have about what this is and what it means.
Afterwards, as the euphoria of your orgasm fades and you lie in Steven’s arms, you feel your anxiety flare up once more, preventing you from slipping into a restful sleep like he has. You can’t stop yourself from thinking that this hotel room is just another stop en route to another football pitch. That’s all it is. You tell yourself to reconcile with it, to stop looking for romance in places where it cannot be found.
You try to roll onto your side but your arm is trapped beside you, against Steven’s stomach, his fingers curled possessively around your wrist. You reach down and attempt to loosen his grip but as you touch him, he starts to stir so you quickly withdraw your hand.
When you awaken a few hours later, the soft moonlight is replaced by the brightness of a new day’s sun. You turn and face Steven, his lips slightly parted in sleep, his fingers still holding your wrist, but the grip is lighter. You lift your arm and study the dark prints of his fingers on your tender flesh. On your way to the bathroom, you stand in front of the dressing mirror and lightly brush your fingers over the bite mark on your hip.
At first, you worry about these tell-tale signs on your body, but then you imagine seeing and touching them for days to come and it makes you smile to think that what you did in this hotel room will last beyond the next football pitch.
It may not be everything you want, but it’s certainly more than what you admit to having.
[End]