fic: I Can't Get No Satisfaction (Fernando Muslera/hand, NC-17)
Title: I Can't Get No Satisfaction
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS, Uruguayan national team
Pairing: Fernando Muslera/hand, implied Fernando Muslera/Diego Lugano/Diego Forlán/Martín Cáceres/Edinson Cavani/Jorge Fucile
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: Fernando is facing a rather unusual problem.
Dedication: For liberta, who inspired this and is generally awesome. I hope you like it!
Word Count: 691
A/N: Based on this gif from Uruguay's friendly against China.
Allergy Warning: May contain traces of crack. Read at own risk.
Thanks to jennis_footie for proofreading! :)
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
Fernando has no clue why it all happened, or how. He isn't taking any unusual pills, doesn't remember changing his diet, hasn't done anything that would explain why he keeps getting hard in the most unsuitable situations and without any encouragement whatsoever. It's like his cock is waging a private war against him, and Fernando wishes he knew what to do to make it stop.
Of course, all this is infinitely better than not getting it up at all, but honestly. A bit of a warning before it happens would not go amiss, and most importantly he would prefer for it not to happen when he's in the middle of a football match and supposed to keep a goal.
Unfortunately, his cock could care less about what Fernando wants, and the keeper doesn't dare to risk any incredibly uncomfortable injury by not doing anything about the problem.
Thankfully, his teammates manage very well without him these days; apart from some very rare saves, he finds himself pretty much unemployed considering Uruguay's current form.
This leaves him with ample time to deal with other things, but it doesn't necessarily make things much easier. The pitch of a first-division football stadium on matchdays doesn't really provide a lot of privacy as a rule, there are people everywhere, and if that weren't enough, there are also sneaky TV cameras.
He wishes he could just will his erection to fade, but even when he pictures the most unsexy things he can think of, even if he imagines them in the greatest detail, it doesn't help, and he needs to bend forward a little to not attract any attention with the tent in his shorts.
He needs to do something. Trying not to arouse any suspicion, he looks around, checking the scene. His teammates are keeping themselves busy in the other half of the pitch, the Chinese opponent doesn't prove much of a threat, the linesman is at the halfway line, the audience behind him isn't paying any particular attention to him.
It's not what one might call a perfect opportunity, but it's better than nothing. Wasting no more time, he takes off his glove, leans back against his goalpost, digs his hand into his shorts, wraps his fingers around his aching cock and starts jerking himself off. He wishes he were in his bed at home, wishes he could take it slow, make it good, draw out the pleasure. He wishes he could bend over, use one of his toys, or just stick a finger up his ass and stroke that sweet spot inside him until he sees stars. But he can't. He has to be quick.
He works his cock in a steady rhythm, rough and fast, while his eyes browse the pitch, seeking out his teammates. Forlán. Lugano. Cavani. Fucile. Cáceres. God, he would spread his legs for any of them gladly, would take everything they had to offer. He'd take two at a time, three, four, all of them. He imagines being on all fours right in front of them, feeling their lustful stares on him, his ass, his rock-hard cock, his mouth. He pictures Lugano kneeling behind him, fingering him until Fernando is begging to be fucked, pictures Forlán pounding into him so hard it takes Fernando's breath away while Martín is on his knees in front of him, fucking Fernando's mouth and groaning so loudly that Fernando feels he could come without being touched. He pictures Edinson and Jorge writhing against him as he jerks them off slowly, skilfully, relishing the soft moans that escape their mouths. He pictures them taking turns with him, making him come once, twice, three times, until he collapses to the floor.
Fernando grits his teeth, pulling and tugging at his cock like a madman, panting hard as the tingling sensation builds up in his stomach, and then finally, finally, he's coming, shuddering and jerking against the goalpost as he spurts into his shorts and all over his hand.
They beat China with four goals to none, a solid, satisfying result for everyone except for Fernando, whose satisfaction will once again prove to be short-lived.
Author: txorakeriak
Fandom: Football RPS, Uruguayan national team
Pairing: Fernando Muslera/hand, implied Fernando Muslera/Diego Lugano/Diego Forlán/Martín Cáceres/Edinson Cavani/Jorge Fucile
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: Fernando is facing a rather unusual problem.
Dedication: For liberta, who inspired this and is generally awesome. I hope you like it!
Word Count: 691
A/N: Based on this gif from Uruguay's friendly against China.
Allergy Warning: May contain traces of crack. Read at own risk.
Thanks to jennis_footie for proofreading! :)
Feedback: Everything is most welcome, from squee to constructive criticism. I even accept rotten tomatoes, so don't be shy. ;)
*****
Fernando has no clue why it all happened, or how. He isn't taking any unusual pills, doesn't remember changing his diet, hasn't done anything that would explain why he keeps getting hard in the most unsuitable situations and without any encouragement whatsoever. It's like his cock is waging a private war against him, and Fernando wishes he knew what to do to make it stop.
Of course, all this is infinitely better than not getting it up at all, but honestly. A bit of a warning before it happens would not go amiss, and most importantly he would prefer for it not to happen when he's in the middle of a football match and supposed to keep a goal.
Unfortunately, his cock could care less about what Fernando wants, and the keeper doesn't dare to risk any incredibly uncomfortable injury by not doing anything about the problem.
Thankfully, his teammates manage very well without him these days; apart from some very rare saves, he finds himself pretty much unemployed considering Uruguay's current form.
This leaves him with ample time to deal with other things, but it doesn't necessarily make things much easier. The pitch of a first-division football stadium on matchdays doesn't really provide a lot of privacy as a rule, there are people everywhere, and if that weren't enough, there are also sneaky TV cameras.
He wishes he could just will his erection to fade, but even when he pictures the most unsexy things he can think of, even if he imagines them in the greatest detail, it doesn't help, and he needs to bend forward a little to not attract any attention with the tent in his shorts.
He needs to do something. Trying not to arouse any suspicion, he looks around, checking the scene. His teammates are keeping themselves busy in the other half of the pitch, the Chinese opponent doesn't prove much of a threat, the linesman is at the halfway line, the audience behind him isn't paying any particular attention to him.
It's not what one might call a perfect opportunity, but it's better than nothing. Wasting no more time, he takes off his glove, leans back against his goalpost, digs his hand into his shorts, wraps his fingers around his aching cock and starts jerking himself off. He wishes he were in his bed at home, wishes he could take it slow, make it good, draw out the pleasure. He wishes he could bend over, use one of his toys, or just stick a finger up his ass and stroke that sweet spot inside him until he sees stars. But he can't. He has to be quick.
He works his cock in a steady rhythm, rough and fast, while his eyes browse the pitch, seeking out his teammates. Forlán. Lugano. Cavani. Fucile. Cáceres. God, he would spread his legs for any of them gladly, would take everything they had to offer. He'd take two at a time, three, four, all of them. He imagines being on all fours right in front of them, feeling their lustful stares on him, his ass, his rock-hard cock, his mouth. He pictures Lugano kneeling behind him, fingering him until Fernando is begging to be fucked, pictures Forlán pounding into him so hard it takes Fernando's breath away while Martín is on his knees in front of him, fucking Fernando's mouth and groaning so loudly that Fernando feels he could come without being touched. He pictures Edinson and Jorge writhing against him as he jerks them off slowly, skilfully, relishing the soft moans that escape their mouths. He pictures them taking turns with him, making him come once, twice, three times, until he collapses to the floor.
Fernando grits his teeth, pulling and tugging at his cock like a madman, panting hard as the tingling sensation builds up in his stomach, and then finally, finally, he's coming, shuddering and jerking against the goalpost as he spurts into his shorts and all over his hand.
They beat China with four goals to none, a solid, satisfying result for everyone except for Fernando, whose satisfaction will once again prove to be short-lived.