fic: Coupling (Aarón Ñíguez/Bojan Krkić, NC-17)
Title: Coupling
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football, Spanish U-17 2006
Pairing: Aarón Ñíguez/Bojan Krkić
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I'm a lying bastard and made this all up. I don't claim to know any of the players I write about, they're most definitely not mine, and this very probably didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Summary: Aarón and Bojan are supposed to form a partnership for the U-17 Euro, but somehow Aarón gets the impression that Bojan doesn't like him very much.
Dedication: For secondratestar, who requested this pairing when I offered drabbles and is all kinds of awesome. :)
Word Count: 3,693
Warning: In this story, Aarón and Bojan are 17 and 16 years old respectively, so they're technically underage, but the age of consent in Spain is 13 years.
A/N: Set in 2006, shortly before the U-17 Euro during which both Bojan and Aarón were part of the Spanish selection. Together, they scored eight goals until the semifinals, which Spain lost 2-0 to the Czech Republic. Also, this was supposed to be A DRABBLE, but I got carried away. *facepalm*
Thanks to my lovely sebastiona for the beta!
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from glomps to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
They had only been training together for a couple of days, but already Aarón had got the impression that Bojan didn't like him very much.
Not that he believed everyone had to like him, of course, but he thought that at least his partner on the pitch, his fellow striker, should be forced to make a bit more of an effort. Aarón did, so why couldn't Bojan?
But no, every time Aarón approached him these days, to pair up for stretching with him, to discuss something the coach had said, or to just chat a little during their breaks, Bojan either made a beeline to his Barcelona mates Vergara or Baena, or he gave monosyllabic replies and didn't even look at Aarón while he spoke to him.
Bojan was probably the best player on the team, and Aarón was very much aware of that fact, but surely that didn't give the Catalan the right to act like a complete prick towards him. Bojan had to realise that he and Aarón would have to play together during the tournament, and preferably score lots of goals together, so they had to start working on a connection at some point, right?
Instead, Bojan seemed to be interested in working on a connection with everyone else but him. He joked around with the others, played pranks with them, laughed with them, and gave Aarón the silent treatment.
And if the regular rejections during training hadn't been enough, Santisteban had put them in a room together and quite possibly had the same reasons for it as Aarón had for wanting to get through to the Barcelona striker.
Or maybe not quite.
Aarón wouldn't admit it to anyone, but beside all his noble, professional motivations, there was something else that made him seek Bojan's company and, in particular, his approval.
It had come pretty much out of nowhere; right when the squad had met up on the first day of the training camp, and Bojan's laughter had lit up the entire conference room, Aarón had turned his head to look at him, at his beaming face, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and his mouth curved up into a bright grin… One could argue that it had been Aarón's own fault to actually consider it, to hope for something to happen between them, but really, he hadn't chosen to have a crush on Bojan, it had simply happened. He had stood no chance at all.
And now he either had to get over it as quickly as possible, or to pursue the matter and see if Bojan was interested.
The first option was very much out of the question; not because Aarón didn't want to get over Bojan, but because it was quite impossible. He saw him every day, stole glimpses at his, admittedly ,quite ravishable body, secretly watched the muscles move beneath his training shirt, saw that grin, heard that laughter - although they were usually directed at somebody else - and he couldn't escape him. The more Bojan pushed him away, the more hooked Aarón became.
So he had to do something. But how do you signal to somebody that you're interested in doing something rather gay with him when everybody is watching?
Right. Stretching exercises!
As the team gathered for their next morning training, and Santisteban ordered his players to warm up, Aarón quickly bolted towards Bojan and, for the first time during the entire camp, was first to arrive there. Bojan didn't look too happy when the coach ordered them to pair up, but he couldn't really complain without making a complete fool out of himself, so he would have to endure it.
And Santisteban played right into Aarón's hands as he announced the exercises. Of course, everyone stretched for themselves at the beginning, but as they arrived at the eighth exercise, it got interesting.
"You go first," Aarón said, unable to hide his grin.
Bojan quickly looked away, but he nodded slightly as if to admit defeat. His right hand came to land on Aarón's left arm, and his left ankle on the Valencian's right shoulder.
Aarón quickly supported him, holding firmly onto his fellow striker's arm and shin as he leaned towards him, softly pushing up his fellow striker's leg with his shoulder.
The others around them were chatting happily and cracking jokes, but Bojan and Aarón remained silent. The Catalan's gaze was locked to some imaginary plane in the sky whereas the Valencian watched Bojan's face, wondering how to get his teammate to look at him again.
Experimentally, he pushed his shoulder a little further upwards, eliciting a little yelp from the younger striker who immediately clung to him more tightly, eager to keep his balance. His eyes sparkled at him, not quite dangerously but not very friendly either, and his lips formed a pout that did things to Aarón he couldn't even name. He could have snogged him right then and there, but he quickly regained his composure and lowered his gaze apologetically, mumbling a quick "sorry" that he didn't mean in the least.
Bojan didn't look too convinced, and he refused to loosen his tight grip on Aarón either, probably afraid he would attempt to make him fall over again. He didn't say anything, though, just looked away and (unwittingly) allowed Aarón to watch how the pout on his fellow striker's face slowly turned into an almost imperceptible smile - not directed at him, again, but maybe there was something he could do about that.
He gently stroked his thumb along Bojan's shin once, then paused for a while to search the Catalan's face for a reaction. There was none; Bojan was probably distracted by some teammates. So Aarón tried again, stroking with a bit more pressure this time, until Bojan's gaze rested on him again, his forehead curled into a light frown.
Aarón just grinned at him (it was impossible for him to do anything else anyway, being so close to Bojan, touching him, and having Bojan frown at him like that) and remained still for a while, until Bojan looked away again.
Then, Aarón continued, stroking forward and back, and forward and back, and enjoying himself immensely as he watched Bojan's face. He knew that Bojan was looking away on purpose this time, probably trying his best to ignore what Aarón was doing, and the Valencian could have continued this forever if Santisteban hadn't suddenly ordered them to switch positions, snapping him out of his daydream.
It would have been a bit too much to ask of Bojan to return the favour when it was his turn helping Aarón stretch, and he didn't do anything of the sort (and didn't even attempt to make Aarón lose his balance, either), so Aarón continued his little scheme, trying to lean towards Bojan as closely as possible, until he could almost feel the other striker's breath on his cheek - and was there a slight blush on his face, or was Aarón just imagining things?
Well, if he was just imagining things, he had to try a bit harder.
As Santisteban announced the next exercise, Aarón couldn't help chuckling lightly. This was getting better and better.
"I go first," he said as the coach had finished his instructions, and immediately lay down on the grass and spreading his legs, admittedly a bit more widely than he needed to, and grinned as Bojan gave in and kneeled down, cleared his throat, and grabbed his ankle to push up his leg.
"Come closer, I don't feel anything yet." That wasn't entirely true, but Aarón just couldn't resist.
And just like that, he'd managed to make Bojan look at him again.
The striker hesitated.
"Come on. We're supposed to warm up properly, right?"
Bojan just sighed and complied, leaning in a bit more, until Aarón felt a twinge in his thigh that would have been a bit unpleasant if it hadn't come with Bojan looking down at him like that, eyes fixed on him (for a change) as if to find out how much closer he could lean in before Aarón's face would display any sign of pain.
Fuck it. He could take more. He wanted more.
Far too early, their positions were reversed, and Aarón deliberately shifted as close to Bojan as possible, one knee against Bojan's ass and the other against the inside of his thigh, his right hand tightly around Bojan's ankle and his left hand on Bojan's thigh, as far up as possible without being blatantly obvious, his thumb in dangerous proximity to Bojan's crotch. Just a little move, and he'd make contact - not with Bojan's cock, for that was a bit further to the left (yes, Aarón had looked), but definitely with his balls.
Unfortunately, Bojan didn't do him that favour. He remained pretty immobile and once again refused to look at him, so Aarón leaned in a bit more, and more, and just a little more…
And immediately grew half-hard when Bojan let out a little moan. Holy shit, he needed to hear that again. No matter if he'd end up making a tent out of his shorts, he was way beyond caring about that, he just had to hear Bojan moan again.
He leaned in further, fingertips digging into Bojan's thigh as he steadied himself, and almost lost his composure when Bojan suddenly looked at him, his eyes dark and deep, his lips parted, his breath coming a little more quickly than before. As if he wanted to challenge him. And this time, he kept his gaze on Aarón, unrelenting.
The Valencian felt his throat go dry. He couldn't read Bojan for the life of him. Was he uncomfortable? Did he want Aarón to stop? Had he picked up on his plans? Did he approve? Or did he just want to tease him, taunt him, make him feel like an idiot?
Well, that he managed brilliantly. Despite himself, Aarón looked down to where their crotches were almost touching and nearly burned up at the sight, wondering how he'd get that under control again without attracting everyone's attention. He wondered if Bojan had the same problem right then but quickly discarded the thought. The Catalan's shorts always looked that… filled up, didn't they?
"What are you doing?" Bojan suddenly pulled him out of his thoughts, and Aarón winced, cursing himself for his one-track-mind.
"Nothing," he mumbled quickly, trying to look as innocent as possible but failing royally with that blush on his face.
Fantastic, now Bojan had caught him staring at his crotch. Aarón could just as well have approached him with a sign around his neck that said 'I'm gay for Bojan' and would have been about as subtle.
The Catalan fortunately didn't say anything else, but he didn't look away either, making it really difficult for Aarón to calm down again. He had to go through his entire repertoire of the most disgusting, unsexy things he could think of and at the same time had to force himself not to look at Bojan (that was particularly difficult because somehow Bojan had developed some kind of hold on him, as if he was controlling his mind), and when Santisteban blew the whistle and they had to get back up for ball control exercises, he was still half-hard, but to Aarón's great relief, it wasn't that obvious anymore.
He had to more or less avoid Bojan for the entire remainder of this morning's training, just as a precaution, considering the fact that his cock had been particularly responsive to the Catalan since their stretching exercises, but as soon as they returned to their rooms after lunch, he decided to take the next step. Bojan hadn't pushed him away earlier, and even though he hadn't exactly seemed jubilant about what Aarón had done, he hadn't looked angry or disgusted either. It was time to test the waters properly, and get an unmistakeable reaction.
Aarón had planned it in great detail. All it took was one blunt action, one obvious gesture or touch, and he'd have his answer - and at the same time, he'd have the chance to laugh it all off as a prank if Bojan protested or called him a pervert. (At this point, Aarón was rather certain that it would happen like that, with Bojan being shocked or disgusted, so he knew exactly what to say as soon as Bojan protested, knew what face to make to seem authentic, and he had almost convinced himself that it was all just a joke to get his teammate to loosen up a bit.)
He got up from his bed and looked at Bojan's, where the Catalan was lying on his stomach, deeply engrossed in a comic.
"You look a bit tense there."
Bojan turned his head. "Huh?"
"I said you look a bit tense," Aarón repeated, gesturing at Bojan's back. "Want me to rub it out?"
The Catalan stared at him. "What?"
"Rub it out," Aarón said patiently, trying not to grin too widely. "As in 'massage'?"
"You want to give me a massage." It wasn't even a question. Bojan probably thought Aarón was pulling his leg, his face a mix of disbelief and amusement.
"Yeah, why not?" The Valencian shrugged. "I've practiced a little. People have told me I'm good at it."
"I… uhm, I've just had one after training, and--"
"Then they must have done something wrong," Aarón said quickly. "You really look tense." He stepped towards Bojan's bed and sat down on it before squeezing his teammate's shoulder hard.
Bojan winced and glared at his fellow striker. "Ow!"
"See? You're tense." Aarón smiled innocently. "You sure you had a massage earlier?"
"I…" The Catalan swallowed, shifting on his bed to create more space between them.
"Well, not a proper one, definitely," Aarón continued, unfazed. "Let me do that." He took the book out of Bojan's hands and put it on his nightstand. "Well, then. Take off your shirt?"
Bojan didn't look very convinced.
"You can leave it on, no problem, but you might not be able to wear it again." He got up from the bed to rummage in his duffel bag, and shortly afterwards produced a little vial. "Peppermint oil. I was told it's excellent for massages."
The Catalan kept sitting on his bed, immobile.
"You don't like peppermint?" Aarón prodded, conversationally.
"Yes, I do, but--"
"Great!" the Valencian interrupted him. "Well, then, what are you waiting for?" He gestured at Bojan's shirt again, a little more impatiently this time.
And finally, Bojan complied, taking off his shirt and tossing it on the floor next to his bed.
Aarón couldn't resist feasting his eyes on the sight of Bojan's naked chest and his fingers twitched as he wondered how it would feel to touch him there, to run his fingertips over his nipples and down the thin line of hair below his navel, disappearing into his shorts… but he only granted himself the pleasure of the sight for a little while because he had a plan to follow through and couldn't risk getting too distracted.
"Lie on your stomach," he ordered as he returned to sit on the bed, and as soon as Bojan had assumed the required position, the Valencian shifted to straddle his hips and opened the vial to coat his hands in the thick, intense smelling oil.
Up till now, everything was going to plan.
Of course, Aarón had lied earlier when he'd said that he had experience at this, but he had received enough massages to have a good idea of the basics, and honestly, how difficult could it be? He put his palms on Bojan's shoulders and started kneading softly, rubbing the oil into Bojan's skin with gentle pressure.
After just a little while, the Catalan's body relaxed under him, and motivated by this, Aarón decided to apply a bit more pressure and make his way downwards, very slowly, of course, dedicating ample time to every region of Bojan's back (and what a nice back it was, and Bojan's skin was so soft that Aarón was sure he could get addicted to touching it).
By the time he'd started massaging Bojan's hips, the Catalan started making small sounds which spurred Aarón on even more. Once again, he was half-hard in his pants, but fortunately Bojan couldn't see it, and the Valencian made sure he couldn't feel it either. He would have to spend quite some time in the bathroom later, but he was more than willing to make that sacrifice for being able to touch Bojan like this, feel his muscles react to his touch, and hear him breathe and groan softly at times.
Eventually, he had to stop, because he had arrived just above Bojan's arse and couldn't really continue without ordering Bojan to take off his trousers, and also he couldn't linger at the small of his back for much longer without seeming obsessed with that particular body part. (Which he was, of course, but then again he was obsessed with all parts of Bojan's body, so it would have seemed unfair to focus on one for so long when he still had the entire front to do, wouldn't it?)
Aarón reluctantly climbed off of Bojan, which caused the Catalan to open his eyes (Aarón was more than pleased to notice he had closed them) and frown at him.
"Turn around?" Aarón offered. "Then I'll do your front." He nearly would have started giggling at the double entendre of his words, but he bit his lip just in time.
Bojan seemed unsure. "Why?"
"You mean you didn't like what I did to your back?" The Valencian gave him a mock-hurt look.
"I did, but…"
"Come on! There's still plenty of time until training." Aarón quickly glanced at the clock on the wall and saw to his great relief that he was right, there was still over an hour until their afternoon exercises were scheduled to start.
He was even more relieved when Bojan's resistance seemed to crumble under the weight of his excellent argument and the Catalan turned around, cheeks slightly flushed, looking at him with a mix of shyness and curiosity.
Now that was a look Aarón hadn't seen before, at least not directed at him.
Would this really just be a prank, or was there actually a chance of…?
No, he wouldn't think of that right now. There was no use in getting all hopeful. He'd have to laugh it all off in the end, and he couldn't do that in a believable manner if he was too busy being disappointed.
He straddled Bojan's hips again and shifted back a little to have proper access to his chest. Just when he leaned sideways, about to grab the vial of peppermint oil again, something suddenly made him stop right in his tracks, something firm and hard, pressing against the back of his thigh.
Unable to hide his surprise, he stared at Bojan, who looked quite a bit embarrassed.
The Catalan cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably underneath him. "I think--" he said weakly, but Aarón interrupted him.
"Don't think," he said, his voice thick with excitement as he thought about what had just happened, about Bojan being hard (no matter if it was because of Aarón or because of what he'd done). He couldn't hold himself back any longer. He had to do something.
And without wasting any more time, he bent down to press his mouth against Bojan's.
The kiss was a bit clumsy and maybe a bit too hard, but Aarón couldn't help himself, he needed this, he wanted this, and Bojan's lips felt so soft and brilliant against his own and tasted so good that he couldn't stop kissing him, even though in the back of his head, he wondered when Bojan would push him away.
He was all the more surprised when this didn't happen, not immediately and not even after a little while.
Instead, Bojan's hands suddenly came to rest around Aarón's hips, holding him in place, and then, finally, the Catalan kissed him back, hungrily, open-mouthedly, sucking in his lower lip and biting down softly on it before, very unexpectedly, jerking up his hips and thrusting his tongue into Aarón's gasping mouth.
Aarón thought he'd died and gone to Heaven. Or Hell, because apparently it was a lot more fun there.
Giving in to his basic instincts, he almost devoured Bojan, greedily kissing him as he slowly slid off of him, only to push his hand into Bojan's pants and curl his fingers around his cock. He hadn't done this to anyone except himself before, but apparently he was doing it right because Bojan groaned into his mouth as Aarón started wanking him and eagerly shifted on the bed to give him better access while his hand roamed across Aarón's body and finally disappeared into his shorts to return the favour.
It was awkward, the angle was all wrong, and Aarón felt he was going insane with the multiple sensations washing over him, the way Bojan kissed him, the way his hand felt around his cock, matching Aarón's own rhythm, Bojan's other hand on his hip, fingernails digging into his skin, and his erratic breathing and moans, but it was the most perfect thing Aarón had ever experienced.
Way too soon, he felt the familiar tingle in his stomach, signalling him that he was close, and he desperately tried to hold himself back, pulling away from Bojan to bite his lip hard and focus on the pain instead.
Yet, only a few instants later, the Catalan suddenly tightened his grip on Aarón's hip and let out a little sob, and the sight of Bojan coming, the feeling of his hot, sticky release against his skin, the thought of Bojan having found release because of him, because of what he was doing, forced Aarón to surrender, and he squeezed his eyes shut and blindly seeked out his teammate's mouth to muffle his groan as he came all over Bojan's hand and stomach.
Maybe he had been wrong from the beginning.
Maybe, just maybe, Bojan did like Aarón after all.
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football, Spanish U-17 2006
Pairing: Aarón Ñíguez/Bojan Krkić
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I'm a lying bastard and made this all up. I don't claim to know any of the players I write about, they're most definitely not mine, and this very probably didn't happen. No payment involved, no offence intended. This is for my own entertainment.
Summary: Aarón and Bojan are supposed to form a partnership for the U-17 Euro, but somehow Aarón gets the impression that Bojan doesn't like him very much.
Dedication: For secondratestar, who requested this pairing when I offered drabbles and is all kinds of awesome. :)
Word Count: 3,693
Warning: In this story, Aarón and Bojan are 17 and 16 years old respectively, so they're technically underage, but the age of consent in Spain is 13 years.
A/N: Set in 2006, shortly before the U-17 Euro during which both Bojan and Aarón were part of the Spanish selection. Together, they scored eight goals until the semifinals, which Spain lost 2-0 to the Czech Republic. Also, this was supposed to be A DRABBLE, but I got carried away. *facepalm*
Thanks to my lovely sebastiona for the beta!
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from glomps to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
They had only been training together for a couple of days, but already Aarón had got the impression that Bojan didn't like him very much.
Not that he believed everyone had to like him, of course, but he thought that at least his partner on the pitch, his fellow striker, should be forced to make a bit more of an effort. Aarón did, so why couldn't Bojan?
But no, every time Aarón approached him these days, to pair up for stretching with him, to discuss something the coach had said, or to just chat a little during their breaks, Bojan either made a beeline to his Barcelona mates Vergara or Baena, or he gave monosyllabic replies and didn't even look at Aarón while he spoke to him.
Bojan was probably the best player on the team, and Aarón was very much aware of that fact, but surely that didn't give the Catalan the right to act like a complete prick towards him. Bojan had to realise that he and Aarón would have to play together during the tournament, and preferably score lots of goals together, so they had to start working on a connection at some point, right?
Instead, Bojan seemed to be interested in working on a connection with everyone else but him. He joked around with the others, played pranks with them, laughed with them, and gave Aarón the silent treatment.
And if the regular rejections during training hadn't been enough, Santisteban had put them in a room together and quite possibly had the same reasons for it as Aarón had for wanting to get through to the Barcelona striker.
Or maybe not quite.
Aarón wouldn't admit it to anyone, but beside all his noble, professional motivations, there was something else that made him seek Bojan's company and, in particular, his approval.
It had come pretty much out of nowhere; right when the squad had met up on the first day of the training camp, and Bojan's laughter had lit up the entire conference room, Aarón had turned his head to look at him, at his beaming face, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and his mouth curved up into a bright grin… One could argue that it had been Aarón's own fault to actually consider it, to hope for something to happen between them, but really, he hadn't chosen to have a crush on Bojan, it had simply happened. He had stood no chance at all.
And now he either had to get over it as quickly as possible, or to pursue the matter and see if Bojan was interested.
The first option was very much out of the question; not because Aarón didn't want to get over Bojan, but because it was quite impossible. He saw him every day, stole glimpses at his, admittedly ,quite ravishable body, secretly watched the muscles move beneath his training shirt, saw that grin, heard that laughter - although they were usually directed at somebody else - and he couldn't escape him. The more Bojan pushed him away, the more hooked Aarón became.
So he had to do something. But how do you signal to somebody that you're interested in doing something rather gay with him when everybody is watching?
Right. Stretching exercises!
As the team gathered for their next morning training, and Santisteban ordered his players to warm up, Aarón quickly bolted towards Bojan and, for the first time during the entire camp, was first to arrive there. Bojan didn't look too happy when the coach ordered them to pair up, but he couldn't really complain without making a complete fool out of himself, so he would have to endure it.
And Santisteban played right into Aarón's hands as he announced the exercises. Of course, everyone stretched for themselves at the beginning, but as they arrived at the eighth exercise, it got interesting.
"You go first," Aarón said, unable to hide his grin.
Bojan quickly looked away, but he nodded slightly as if to admit defeat. His right hand came to land on Aarón's left arm, and his left ankle on the Valencian's right shoulder.
Aarón quickly supported him, holding firmly onto his fellow striker's arm and shin as he leaned towards him, softly pushing up his fellow striker's leg with his shoulder.
The others around them were chatting happily and cracking jokes, but Bojan and Aarón remained silent. The Catalan's gaze was locked to some imaginary plane in the sky whereas the Valencian watched Bojan's face, wondering how to get his teammate to look at him again.
Experimentally, he pushed his shoulder a little further upwards, eliciting a little yelp from the younger striker who immediately clung to him more tightly, eager to keep his balance. His eyes sparkled at him, not quite dangerously but not very friendly either, and his lips formed a pout that did things to Aarón he couldn't even name. He could have snogged him right then and there, but he quickly regained his composure and lowered his gaze apologetically, mumbling a quick "sorry" that he didn't mean in the least.
Bojan didn't look too convinced, and he refused to loosen his tight grip on Aarón either, probably afraid he would attempt to make him fall over again. He didn't say anything, though, just looked away and (unwittingly) allowed Aarón to watch how the pout on his fellow striker's face slowly turned into an almost imperceptible smile - not directed at him, again, but maybe there was something he could do about that.
He gently stroked his thumb along Bojan's shin once, then paused for a while to search the Catalan's face for a reaction. There was none; Bojan was probably distracted by some teammates. So Aarón tried again, stroking with a bit more pressure this time, until Bojan's gaze rested on him again, his forehead curled into a light frown.
Aarón just grinned at him (it was impossible for him to do anything else anyway, being so close to Bojan, touching him, and having Bojan frown at him like that) and remained still for a while, until Bojan looked away again.
Then, Aarón continued, stroking forward and back, and forward and back, and enjoying himself immensely as he watched Bojan's face. He knew that Bojan was looking away on purpose this time, probably trying his best to ignore what Aarón was doing, and the Valencian could have continued this forever if Santisteban hadn't suddenly ordered them to switch positions, snapping him out of his daydream.
It would have been a bit too much to ask of Bojan to return the favour when it was his turn helping Aarón stretch, and he didn't do anything of the sort (and didn't even attempt to make Aarón lose his balance, either), so Aarón continued his little scheme, trying to lean towards Bojan as closely as possible, until he could almost feel the other striker's breath on his cheek - and was there a slight blush on his face, or was Aarón just imagining things?
Well, if he was just imagining things, he had to try a bit harder.
As Santisteban announced the next exercise, Aarón couldn't help chuckling lightly. This was getting better and better.
"I go first," he said as the coach had finished his instructions, and immediately lay down on the grass and spreading his legs, admittedly a bit more widely than he needed to, and grinned as Bojan gave in and kneeled down, cleared his throat, and grabbed his ankle to push up his leg.
"Come closer, I don't feel anything yet." That wasn't entirely true, but Aarón just couldn't resist.
And just like that, he'd managed to make Bojan look at him again.
The striker hesitated.
"Come on. We're supposed to warm up properly, right?"
Bojan just sighed and complied, leaning in a bit more, until Aarón felt a twinge in his thigh that would have been a bit unpleasant if it hadn't come with Bojan looking down at him like that, eyes fixed on him (for a change) as if to find out how much closer he could lean in before Aarón's face would display any sign of pain.
Fuck it. He could take more. He wanted more.
Far too early, their positions were reversed, and Aarón deliberately shifted as close to Bojan as possible, one knee against Bojan's ass and the other against the inside of his thigh, his right hand tightly around Bojan's ankle and his left hand on Bojan's thigh, as far up as possible without being blatantly obvious, his thumb in dangerous proximity to Bojan's crotch. Just a little move, and he'd make contact - not with Bojan's cock, for that was a bit further to the left (yes, Aarón had looked), but definitely with his balls.
Unfortunately, Bojan didn't do him that favour. He remained pretty immobile and once again refused to look at him, so Aarón leaned in a bit more, and more, and just a little more…
And immediately grew half-hard when Bojan let out a little moan. Holy shit, he needed to hear that again. No matter if he'd end up making a tent out of his shorts, he was way beyond caring about that, he just had to hear Bojan moan again.
He leaned in further, fingertips digging into Bojan's thigh as he steadied himself, and almost lost his composure when Bojan suddenly looked at him, his eyes dark and deep, his lips parted, his breath coming a little more quickly than before. As if he wanted to challenge him. And this time, he kept his gaze on Aarón, unrelenting.
The Valencian felt his throat go dry. He couldn't read Bojan for the life of him. Was he uncomfortable? Did he want Aarón to stop? Had he picked up on his plans? Did he approve? Or did he just want to tease him, taunt him, make him feel like an idiot?
Well, that he managed brilliantly. Despite himself, Aarón looked down to where their crotches were almost touching and nearly burned up at the sight, wondering how he'd get that under control again without attracting everyone's attention. He wondered if Bojan had the same problem right then but quickly discarded the thought. The Catalan's shorts always looked that… filled up, didn't they?
"What are you doing?" Bojan suddenly pulled him out of his thoughts, and Aarón winced, cursing himself for his one-track-mind.
"Nothing," he mumbled quickly, trying to look as innocent as possible but failing royally with that blush on his face.
Fantastic, now Bojan had caught him staring at his crotch. Aarón could just as well have approached him with a sign around his neck that said 'I'm gay for Bojan' and would have been about as subtle.
The Catalan fortunately didn't say anything else, but he didn't look away either, making it really difficult for Aarón to calm down again. He had to go through his entire repertoire of the most disgusting, unsexy things he could think of and at the same time had to force himself not to look at Bojan (that was particularly difficult because somehow Bojan had developed some kind of hold on him, as if he was controlling his mind), and when Santisteban blew the whistle and they had to get back up for ball control exercises, he was still half-hard, but to Aarón's great relief, it wasn't that obvious anymore.
He had to more or less avoid Bojan for the entire remainder of this morning's training, just as a precaution, considering the fact that his cock had been particularly responsive to the Catalan since their stretching exercises, but as soon as they returned to their rooms after lunch, he decided to take the next step. Bojan hadn't pushed him away earlier, and even though he hadn't exactly seemed jubilant about what Aarón had done, he hadn't looked angry or disgusted either. It was time to test the waters properly, and get an unmistakeable reaction.
Aarón had planned it in great detail. All it took was one blunt action, one obvious gesture or touch, and he'd have his answer - and at the same time, he'd have the chance to laugh it all off as a prank if Bojan protested or called him a pervert. (At this point, Aarón was rather certain that it would happen like that, with Bojan being shocked or disgusted, so he knew exactly what to say as soon as Bojan protested, knew what face to make to seem authentic, and he had almost convinced himself that it was all just a joke to get his teammate to loosen up a bit.)
He got up from his bed and looked at Bojan's, where the Catalan was lying on his stomach, deeply engrossed in a comic.
"You look a bit tense there."
Bojan turned his head. "Huh?"
"I said you look a bit tense," Aarón repeated, gesturing at Bojan's back. "Want me to rub it out?"
The Catalan stared at him. "What?"
"Rub it out," Aarón said patiently, trying not to grin too widely. "As in 'massage'?"
"You want to give me a massage." It wasn't even a question. Bojan probably thought Aarón was pulling his leg, his face a mix of disbelief and amusement.
"Yeah, why not?" The Valencian shrugged. "I've practiced a little. People have told me I'm good at it."
"I… uhm, I've just had one after training, and--"
"Then they must have done something wrong," Aarón said quickly. "You really look tense." He stepped towards Bojan's bed and sat down on it before squeezing his teammate's shoulder hard.
Bojan winced and glared at his fellow striker. "Ow!"
"See? You're tense." Aarón smiled innocently. "You sure you had a massage earlier?"
"I…" The Catalan swallowed, shifting on his bed to create more space between them.
"Well, not a proper one, definitely," Aarón continued, unfazed. "Let me do that." He took the book out of Bojan's hands and put it on his nightstand. "Well, then. Take off your shirt?"
Bojan didn't look very convinced.
"You can leave it on, no problem, but you might not be able to wear it again." He got up from the bed to rummage in his duffel bag, and shortly afterwards produced a little vial. "Peppermint oil. I was told it's excellent for massages."
The Catalan kept sitting on his bed, immobile.
"You don't like peppermint?" Aarón prodded, conversationally.
"Yes, I do, but--"
"Great!" the Valencian interrupted him. "Well, then, what are you waiting for?" He gestured at Bojan's shirt again, a little more impatiently this time.
And finally, Bojan complied, taking off his shirt and tossing it on the floor next to his bed.
Aarón couldn't resist feasting his eyes on the sight of Bojan's naked chest and his fingers twitched as he wondered how it would feel to touch him there, to run his fingertips over his nipples and down the thin line of hair below his navel, disappearing into his shorts… but he only granted himself the pleasure of the sight for a little while because he had a plan to follow through and couldn't risk getting too distracted.
"Lie on your stomach," he ordered as he returned to sit on the bed, and as soon as Bojan had assumed the required position, the Valencian shifted to straddle his hips and opened the vial to coat his hands in the thick, intense smelling oil.
Up till now, everything was going to plan.
Of course, Aarón had lied earlier when he'd said that he had experience at this, but he had received enough massages to have a good idea of the basics, and honestly, how difficult could it be? He put his palms on Bojan's shoulders and started kneading softly, rubbing the oil into Bojan's skin with gentle pressure.
After just a little while, the Catalan's body relaxed under him, and motivated by this, Aarón decided to apply a bit more pressure and make his way downwards, very slowly, of course, dedicating ample time to every region of Bojan's back (and what a nice back it was, and Bojan's skin was so soft that Aarón was sure he could get addicted to touching it).
By the time he'd started massaging Bojan's hips, the Catalan started making small sounds which spurred Aarón on even more. Once again, he was half-hard in his pants, but fortunately Bojan couldn't see it, and the Valencian made sure he couldn't feel it either. He would have to spend quite some time in the bathroom later, but he was more than willing to make that sacrifice for being able to touch Bojan like this, feel his muscles react to his touch, and hear him breathe and groan softly at times.
Eventually, he had to stop, because he had arrived just above Bojan's arse and couldn't really continue without ordering Bojan to take off his trousers, and also he couldn't linger at the small of his back for much longer without seeming obsessed with that particular body part. (Which he was, of course, but then again he was obsessed with all parts of Bojan's body, so it would have seemed unfair to focus on one for so long when he still had the entire front to do, wouldn't it?)
Aarón reluctantly climbed off of Bojan, which caused the Catalan to open his eyes (Aarón was more than pleased to notice he had closed them) and frown at him.
"Turn around?" Aarón offered. "Then I'll do your front." He nearly would have started giggling at the double entendre of his words, but he bit his lip just in time.
Bojan seemed unsure. "Why?"
"You mean you didn't like what I did to your back?" The Valencian gave him a mock-hurt look.
"I did, but…"
"Come on! There's still plenty of time until training." Aarón quickly glanced at the clock on the wall and saw to his great relief that he was right, there was still over an hour until their afternoon exercises were scheduled to start.
He was even more relieved when Bojan's resistance seemed to crumble under the weight of his excellent argument and the Catalan turned around, cheeks slightly flushed, looking at him with a mix of shyness and curiosity.
Now that was a look Aarón hadn't seen before, at least not directed at him.
Would this really just be a prank, or was there actually a chance of…?
No, he wouldn't think of that right now. There was no use in getting all hopeful. He'd have to laugh it all off in the end, and he couldn't do that in a believable manner if he was too busy being disappointed.
He straddled Bojan's hips again and shifted back a little to have proper access to his chest. Just when he leaned sideways, about to grab the vial of peppermint oil again, something suddenly made him stop right in his tracks, something firm and hard, pressing against the back of his thigh.
Unable to hide his surprise, he stared at Bojan, who looked quite a bit embarrassed.
The Catalan cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably underneath him. "I think--" he said weakly, but Aarón interrupted him.
"Don't think," he said, his voice thick with excitement as he thought about what had just happened, about Bojan being hard (no matter if it was because of Aarón or because of what he'd done). He couldn't hold himself back any longer. He had to do something.
And without wasting any more time, he bent down to press his mouth against Bojan's.
The kiss was a bit clumsy and maybe a bit too hard, but Aarón couldn't help himself, he needed this, he wanted this, and Bojan's lips felt so soft and brilliant against his own and tasted so good that he couldn't stop kissing him, even though in the back of his head, he wondered when Bojan would push him away.
He was all the more surprised when this didn't happen, not immediately and not even after a little while.
Instead, Bojan's hands suddenly came to rest around Aarón's hips, holding him in place, and then, finally, the Catalan kissed him back, hungrily, open-mouthedly, sucking in his lower lip and biting down softly on it before, very unexpectedly, jerking up his hips and thrusting his tongue into Aarón's gasping mouth.
Aarón thought he'd died and gone to Heaven. Or Hell, because apparently it was a lot more fun there.
Giving in to his basic instincts, he almost devoured Bojan, greedily kissing him as he slowly slid off of him, only to push his hand into Bojan's pants and curl his fingers around his cock. He hadn't done this to anyone except himself before, but apparently he was doing it right because Bojan groaned into his mouth as Aarón started wanking him and eagerly shifted on the bed to give him better access while his hand roamed across Aarón's body and finally disappeared into his shorts to return the favour.
It was awkward, the angle was all wrong, and Aarón felt he was going insane with the multiple sensations washing over him, the way Bojan kissed him, the way his hand felt around his cock, matching Aarón's own rhythm, Bojan's other hand on his hip, fingernails digging into his skin, and his erratic breathing and moans, but it was the most perfect thing Aarón had ever experienced.
Way too soon, he felt the familiar tingle in his stomach, signalling him that he was close, and he desperately tried to hold himself back, pulling away from Bojan to bite his lip hard and focus on the pain instead.
Yet, only a few instants later, the Catalan suddenly tightened his grip on Aarón's hip and let out a little sob, and the sight of Bojan coming, the feeling of his hot, sticky release against his skin, the thought of Bojan having found release because of him, because of what he was doing, forced Aarón to surrender, and he squeezed his eyes shut and blindly seeked out his teammate's mouth to muffle his groan as he came all over Bojan's hand and stomach.
Maybe he had been wrong from the beginning.
Maybe, just maybe, Bojan did like Aarón after all.